CHAPTER 3

In time, Sharon became accustomed to her new surroundings. The old woman, Olden Jade, was a witch, strange as it seemed. Sharon had no doubt of that after seeing the old woman fly away on her broom. The cabin in which she lived rested just outside the border of what was known as The Blackwoods, which consisted of those gigantic black trees. Olden Jade told her that The Blackwoods were packed with the spirits of all who died in these parts. That sounded rather superstitious to Sharon, but it wasn’t long before she learned that the story was more than just folklore.

At midnight, on her first night at the witch’s abode, Sharon awoke to unearthly wails and moans coming from The Blackwoods. The night was pierced by shrieks of anguish, like those of women in agony. Sharon curled up beneath her covers like a frightened child, terrified by the horrible wailing and screeching. Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore. She cried for Olden Jade, who came immediately.

“The shades and banshees, they be keepin’ ye awake, lass?” she said with understanding. Sharon nodded her head, humiliated. She felt like a baby afraid of the boogeyman.

“Now, don’t ye be worryin’. Olden Jade be blessin’ this ground often enough, so they be knowin’ better than to be comin’ near.” The witch shut the window and bolted it. “There, all be quiet now?”

The shuttered window muffled the horrible wailings but they were no less disturbing. “Is it always this noisy at night?” Sharon asked.

“Heavens, no, lass,” said the old witch. “The banshees always be wailin’ the most each month when the moon be full to mourn the passin’ of all whose souls have entered The Blackwoods. And all the shades and ghosts be moanin’ an’ wailin’ with them. Like wolves they be.”

Olden Jade responded to Sharon’s anxious expression with reassurance. “Now there be no need to be frightened, lass. They won’t be comin’ out of The Blackwoods, though we be this close to its edge. Just never be goin’ in there. Ye be understandin’ Olden Jade?”

Sharon nodded. After hearing the unearthly wails and screams coming out of the forest, the old witch did not have to tell her to stay away from those haunted woods twice. She recalled awakening in The Blackwoods on that stormy night. She shuddered to think that all of those things had been in there with her. The fog had been so thick that she couldn’t see two feet in front of her. She imagined them standing just out of view and watching her with malevolent eyes as she trudged through the muck and rain, unaware of their presence. Sharon shivered at the thought.

“Olden Jade be knowin’ jest the thing to be helpin’ ye sleep,” said the old witch. She walked to the northern wall and pointed her right index finger down. Then she slowly strode around the bed in a circle. And then, a gleaming, amethyst wall rose from the wooden floor in the wake of Olden Jade’s gliding finger as the witch chanted:

I conjure ye, O great circle of power

To be providin’ protection on this dark hour.

An’ provide a barrier ‘twixt living and dead

So no harm be befallin’ on no one’s head.

O spirits of the North, East, South, and West

Olden Jade beseech ye to do yer best

To be makin’ a place fer peace an’ none other

In the name of the potent Father an’ Mother.

Olden Jade walked the circle three times as the amethyst wall formed a dome above their heads. Then the witch moved to the North quarter of the circle and pounded her hand on the floor.

The circle be sealed fer all to see

So mote it be.

Her spell complete, the witch looked at Sharon, amused by the girl’s astonished expression as she gazed at the translucent dome around her. “What did you do?” Sharon asked.

“Olden Jade be conjurin’ a magic circle,” the witch replied. “It be holdin’ in all good magic fer me use while it be keepin’ evil magic out. Can ye be feelin’ the difference?”

Sharon supposed that it had a certain psychological effect. She could still hear the wails of the shades and banshees outside, but she felt more relaxed and secure beneath the translucent dome.

The wailing and weeping slowly died away as the night wore on. And with the comforting presence of the witch’s magic circle around her, protecting her, Sharon drifted off to sleep.

                                                               * * *

The old witch’s amethyst dome was gone when Sharon awoke at dawn’s first light. She had slept well in spite of of the disturbing noises from The Blackwoods. After a good long stretch, she put away her old clothes and donned the garb that Olden Jade provided for her. It was basic attire, consisting of a long-sleeved tunic worn over a dress. It made her look like a European peasant girl from medieval times, but it fit her reasonably well.

As Sharon swept the floor of the cabin, Olden Jade sanctified the ground around her abode to keep dark forces at bay by sprinkling salt and water and waving incense over the soil as she circled the grounds, murmuring prayers and incantations. The old witch said this must be done at least once a week lest the house be detectable and vulnerable to evil forces. Olden Jade certainly wasn’t at all like the stereotype of any witch known to Sharon. Until now, she had always thought of them as mean, cranky old hags with green skin and warts who wore black pointed hats and flew around on broomsticks as they wreaked havoc and mischief. But Olden Jade reminded her more of a grandmother than the typical image of what a witch was supposed to be.

As she swept the cabin floor, Sharon spied a door in the south wall of the living area that she hadn’t noticed before. Curious, Sharon laid the broom aside and opened it. She entered a small room that was clearly meant for a single person. At its center sat a stout wooden trunk. On top of its level surface was a flat, rectangular stone on which several objects rested. Two candles in a pair of wooden candleholders were placed on the stone’s outermost edge, one on each corner. And between the two candleholders, was a bowl filled with kindling. A small plate was placed on the stone’s left side, which held a variety of feathers from many different kinds of birds. On the stone’s right side, was a cup filled with water and upon the stone’s front was a bowl filled with salt. And in the center of it all rested a pentacle, a five-pointed star within a circle.

Sharon was puzzled over this peculiar arrangement when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Sharon yelped and spun around to see Olden Jade standing there with a somber expression on her face. She didn’t even hear the witch enter the room. “So, ye be findin’ Olden Jade’s altar, eh lass?”

Sharon swallowed and nodded, feeling as though she had been caught eavesdropping, or breaking and entering. The old witch moved next to Sharon and gazed deeply into her eyes.

“This be Olden Jade’s sacred space, me place of power, which belongs to the spirits. ‘Tis where Olden Jade be sayin’ me prayers.”

She indicated the plate of feathers upon the stone. “This be in lieu of the Spirit of the East and the element of air, which gives Olden Jade the power of flight and influence over the weather.” Then she pointed to the bowl of kindling. “This be representin’ the Southern Spirit and the element of fire. It also be a part of the black arts, which Olden be usin’ fer naught. The cup of water be in lieu of the Spirit of the West an’ the element of water, the elixir of life. An’ last, be the plate of salt. It be representin’ the North an’ the element of Earth. That be where Olden Jade be gettin’ the magic needed fer potions an’ tonics. That be the most used element of the wiccan arts. They be placed where they be so they be workin’ in accord with all the elements of the realm. North, South, East, an’ West.”

The old witch removed the pentacle from her altar. “An’ this is me pentagram,” she said as she held it for Sharon to see. “All five of the star’s points be embodyin’ each of the five elements: Earth, Air, Fire, Water, an’ Spirit. It be a symbol of protection an’ a mark of the wiccan faith.”

Sharon nodded as she listened closely to the old witch’s words. There certainly seemed to be more to witchcraft than flying on broomsticks and casting spells.

Olden Jade replaced the pentagram, and then gazed firmly into her eyes. “Now that yer curiosity be satisfied with what this room be containin’, ye shall never be enterin’ here again. Ye be understandin’ Olden Jade?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sharon replied, meekly.

As the old witch smiled, her somber expression washed away. “Good, now ye be gettin’ along with yer sweepin’.”

As Sharon left the room, the old witch watched her go with a perplexed look on her face.

                                                                   * * *

The next day, Sharon developed a cold.

“Aye, from wanderin’ around in The Blackwoods when it be rainin’, no doubt, Olden Jade said, placing her hand on Sharon’s forehead and finding it hot. “Well, don’t ye be worryin’, Olden Jade knows how to make a magical potion that will be killin’ yer cold, lickety-split.”

So Sharon huddled in bed while Olden Jade brewed her cure for the common cold. From what she already learned of the witch, Sharon had little reason to doubt her ability to instantly eliminate her cold using whatever strange elixir she produced. So she swallowed the weird tasting medicine, but after two hours, her cold was as fierce as ever.

“That be odd,” Olden Jade said over Sharon’s coughing and sniffling. “It should be gone by now. Well, Olden Jade be fixin’ ye another batch.”

But her fever did not break after the second dose of Olden Jade’s elixir, or the third. The old witch’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion and concern, unaccustomed to having her magic fail her. Having no other course, Olden Jade cared for Sharon’s cold using the conventional methods of bed rest and chicken soup. After three days, Sharon’s fever finally broke.

Over her cold at last, Sharon was up and out of bed, dusting, sweeping, and performing other chores that earned her keep while Olden Jade was away on one of her many errands. The old witch never told her about her excursions, and out of courtesy, Sharon never asked. And for all the days she spent in this strange land, not a minute went by that she didn’t think about the mysterious Gerald.

Late in the afternoon, Sharon was dusting when Olden Jade flew into the cabin through the window upon her broomstick, a sight Sharon had grown accustomed to. “Hello, Jade,” Sharon said cheerfully. “Did you have a good day?”

“That depends on how ye be lookin’ at it,” Olden Jade replied as she looked at Sharon thoughtfully.

Sharon was troubled by the witch’s grave expression. “Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me?”

At this, Olden Jade popped out of her musings. “Oh, no, no, lass. Ye did nothin’ wrong,” said the witch. “Now ye be makin’ a fire, for it be cold tonight. An’ after Olden Jade be makin’ a nice hot brew, we shall talk. We be havin’ much to discuss, ye an’ I.”