Bev McLeish is an emerging writer from a small town north of Toronto, Canada. She has undergraduate degrees in Psychology, English, and Herbalism, living many lives both inside and outside the corporate world prior to publication. Now, she dedicates her time to family and writing stories that illuminate. 

Burning Rome

Thick trees crowded the road and heavy clouds smothered both moon and star. The air stood as if nature held its breath. Every scuffle of my feet insulted the quiet. I doused the torch and surrendered to black. The night blindness brought memories of my fright when I first ran to the forest.

I remember little of what came before the tailor took me. Recollections of my parents dwindled to a cascade of my mother’s blonde hair and a blurry image of my father’s rough hands. We lived in a small shack in the woods, making the occasional supply trip to town. I sat in my usual place at the back of the wagon. Huge brown sacks loomed on either side of me, fat and heavy. I dangled my legs off the edge, swishing them back and forth to the rhythm of Pa’s whistling, as he drove the horses through the wood towards home.

The wagon hit a sharp stone jutting up from the dirt and I tumbled off, my vision snapping violent black. I woke in the middle of the roadway, staring up at the waving trees. The wagon was gone.

I must have been five or six then, but I stopped crying when the tailor came, his whistling comforting me. The next thing I remember was the sight of his lean hand taking coins from a short, fat man with a greasy smile curling over mustard yellow teeth.

I found myself in a place where men came wanting something I didn’t know I had. The men never stopped coming. They gave and gave, but in their giving took much more. They stole from us, rushing through the doors like thick, dirty rats, as if we were the only source of food in miles, bringing blood, disease, and the breaking of flesh and bone with them.

What they took didn’t have a name. It was an invisible something given to every soul. But once gone, it never returned and with every new girl, I’d watch it fade. I still don’t know what’s worse, having it happen or watching someone else descend into the abyss where the rest of us existed.

This nameless something didn’t leave all at once. The shock of the first time took most of it, but it was terribly resilient. Crying, mourning, and fear kept it alive for some time, but as painful weeks turned to cruel months and horrific months became agonizing years, eyes dulled, cheeks hollowed, shoulders slumped, and gazes stayed glued to the floor. The possibility of laughter disappeared. We became empty, hollow, ruined.

The years passed. Peace only came while I slept and my dreams showed me things, tricks I could use to gain an upper hand. Once I’d learned how to put the men to sleep, I scooped my courage off the floor and ran far, far away.

I ran to the trees, to the place where the dreams promised safety. I made my home among the rabbit, fox, and wolf. And I found my true mother, the one who would never leave my side. Her children showed me how to survive.

The elder tree taught which plants were safe to eat and others that could stem the blood oozing from a wound. The pines whispered how to tickle a fish from the stream and strike a fire by finger snap. And all along, the sweet, blessed earth sheltered me. I learned the secrets reserved for women from water currents, the meaning of birdsong, and why the wolf howls. My friends were the animals and birds of the wood. I had everything I needed and more.

I had silence and freedom, for there were no demands. No one hurt me or blamed me for things outside my control. The smell of dirty sweat, the grunting and squeak of bed springs faded, and the space it vacated gave me the capacity to learn the most important thing of all. A world without unnecessary cruelty or suffering was possible.

I became accustomed to living alone and forgot the sound of the human voice. I learned a new language. My speech was a bird call, the howl of a coyote, the caw of a crow. Words became crude and barbaric, used to manipulate; the sound carrying no refinement. Words were for liars and cutthroats. With the disappearance of human language, I became happy, and the life all around assured me I was never alone.

As I grew and began to bleed, my dreams became nightmares. On the new moon, when dark ruled the forest, sick memories clawed their way back. I’d wake in the hollow night, breathless and terrified as one simple question screamed through my head.

A Great Horned owl glided across my path, interrupting my thoughts. Its wings stretched wide, floating like death come silent. I continued past the tall oak. Not long now. The fork in the road waited just beyond the bend and a strong breeze from the east brought a smile to my lips.

I’d prepared for nine moons, performing every task she asked of me. I made offerings to the elements, danced, and sang under the glow of moonlight through each of her lovely phases as I pledged my devotion. All had been made ready.

As I reached the crossroads, the wind rose, swirling dust and dirt high into the air. A woman’s sigh reached my ears, my hair leaving the back of my neck. Laughing, I raised my hands to the night sky and twirled with the swells of air. The wind flowed like water around me.

The whirlwind stopped, the dust floating back to dry earth. A mighty cauldron, the colour of midnight shadow, appeared on the grassy island where the four roads met. Dark rolled across the land as the wind swept the clouds away and the full moon shone its dusky light on the silent landscape.

I approached, then hesitated, waiting for a sign of welcome. Faint green light throbbed from inside the dark vessel. For the first time in years, I spoke words, asking the question plaguing my dreams. “Dark Mother, can you return to me what men took?” Just when I thought an answer would never come, the green light glowed brighter.

“Living is not for the faint of heart. Parts of a soul will hide when evil is done. But you are always whole.” The Goddess’ voice was firm, but not unkind.

My toes dragged through the soil as an invisible force pulled me towards the vast bowl until I stood beside it. My skin rose in gooseflesh, the hair on my arms standing. The cauldron’s power filled the air, weighing it down. The surrounding space held every possibility, a vast potential of all living things, every molecule of every planet and those yet to be swum inside. This spot held everything that is, was, or would be. And yet, the immense space was vacant, a mammoth nothing. The air hummed. I had the sensation of falling, falling through an unending void to the bottom of existence before the beginning of the world, before the burst of creation.

My mind oscillated between terror and euphoria. Here was a gift, a tremendous privilege but a terrifying responsibility. Petrified to speak or think, I froze so as not to affect creation. I stood at a still point, balancing on the point where entire worlds and galaxies spun.

“Look. See, daughter.”

The green light pulsed, then no more. I leaned forward to gaze down into the great kettle. Glistening specks of silver reflections illuminated the water’s surface. Here sat the foundational waters of the universe, where all life began and to which it returned.

“Rest your worried mind. All will be made clear.”

My shadowy reflection shimmered over the water’s slick surface. Images and symbols flew past. Creation laid itself bare. I understood who I was, how crucial my existence was to all that is. Hot tears trailed down my cheeks and fell into the murky water, blurring my view. The imagery slowed, then stopped.

Her voice came on the wind. “Witches are not so delicate.”

What I lost was gone for good, but I no longer needed it. Innocence was something every soul gives away, some sooner and more violently than others. It was part of life’s plan.

I understood why there had been no safe harbour, why I had no rest or peace so young. I’d suffered in the flames of cruelty for this pivotal moment. Iron only gains its strength after a scorching fire. My time in cruelty’s forge had tempered me well. I hadn’t suffered to play meek. The Dark Mother had made me ready to truly live.

Shed of impurity, I had transformed into the witch I always was, molded by pain and experience. My love for the world still burned bright. The open-hearted kindness I had as a child still lived. I realized my tenderness is to be earned, not automatically given. Raising my head from the black water, the way I saw the world and my place shifted.

“Now you see. Wisdom cannot come while innocence holds sway. Drink deep, dear one and receive my power.”

A ladle appeared, hanging off the rim. I scooped the cauldron’s black liquid and drank. Damp earth, deep green, starlight, laughter, mirth, bitter tears, and hot sunshine ran like fire down my throat, pooled as embers in my stomach, warming my heart, soothing muscle, and spirit. I collapsed as waves of loving warmth washed through me. Every nerve buzzed, and I laughed.

The Goddess appeared, hovering over the kettle in a dark robe. Her long white, crooked fingers held a wood staff with oak leaves curled around it. Her white hair fell like mist down to her waist. She smiled, her face full of love and pride.

“My woods have healed you. Now you must return to the world of man. Choose your path and go with my love.”

I should shake and cower at the thought of going back but Ceridwen’s brew had fortified my soul. Boundaries sprouted around my heart like stabbing thorns encircling a red rose.

At my feet lay a staff, clear of bark and stem. I picked it up and called for my best friend, Frith. The raven landed on my shoulder as I turned to the eastward road.

I whistled as I walked towards town, to the house that pain built. This time, I would be the giver. And I would take it all. There would be nothing left.