Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-One

Rideten, Five Years Before

Rideten, like Havermouth, was a historic town, and many of the original houses remained along the tree-lined streets. The house, which Bianca led Aislen to, held shadows of the same architecture as the river house in the ramshackle roofline with dormer windows peeking out, the wrap around veranda with intricate and ornate ironwork-like lace edging, and sandstone brickwork.

It was set behind a hedge that had to be as old as the house from its height and density. The garden was framed by roses, within which was arranged what seemed, from a distance, to be a vegetable garden, however, close up, Aislen realized that the plants were not vegetables, but rather herbs and weeds that were planted with deliberation and careful labelling.

“I know it looks weird to people, but you have to understand that many weeds aren’t actually weeds,” Bianca told her. “We are taught here that as the role of women in the home and community changed, women’s knowledge and magic was stripped from them, and one of the many, many ways this happened was by removing from home gardens the plants that women had been using for centuries to care for their families and community by renaming those plants weeds. The wise woman became a witch, and her wisdom became witchcraft, something to fear and punish, not revere, and respect.”

“Well done, Bianca,” a woman said from the porch. “It is always wonderful to hear that our younger members have absorbed what we teach, and to hear them, in turn, share their knowledge with others. That is part of the process of reclaiming the powers stripped from us over thousands of years of war against women.”

“Stella,” Bianca turned with a smile and started up the stairs to the house. “This is Aislen. Aislen, this is Stella, the owner of this home, and one of the High Priestesses of this circle of women.”

“You are very welcome here, Aislen,” Stella met them as they stepped onto the porch. She was a comfortably round, generously breasted woman who wore her greying brunette hair in a long braid that fell over her shoulder to her knees. Her face was bare of makeup, but she did not need it. Her complexion was beautiful. “You have a good guide in Bianca. She is an adept student and comes from a long family history of strong and wise women.”

“I know we’re early,” Bianca said apologetically. “I wanted to give Aislen a chance to settle in before the formalities began.”

“Very wise,” The bracelets at Stella’s wrist jangled in echo of the bell that hung over the front door as she opened it. “And all are welcome here whatever time their needs bring them to this house. As you know, my doors are never locked.”

The interior of the house carried the scent of dragon’s blood incense mixed with drying herbs. The rooms were decorated in an eclectic mix of traditional furniture and décor, and the artifacts of Stella’s craft. Crystals were arranged on tables and desks alongside candles of every colour and style, and little pouches and vials. In some rooms, coloured glass chimes spilled jewel-toned reflections across the floors and walls, and in others, dream catchers hung at the windows. Wicker baskets held arrangements of dried herbs and flowers, and there was an abundance of potted plants.

Stella led them into a large kitchen dominated by a solid, farmhouse style wooden table, the surface of which showed the scars of heavy use. Strings of garlic hung by the door, and an open buffet held rows of neatly labelled jars filled with all sorts of interesting things.

Stella immediately began to make tea, loose leaf, in a pretty china pot, and set out mismatched dainty teacups.

“In ancient times, women and men were much more equal than you are taught in school,” Stella said as she carefully placed delicately iced cookies onto fragile looking plates. “Historians and archaeologists of the past were mostly male. They interpreted their findings and texts with a male bias, and in doing so, framed the roles of women and men in past societies according to their own agendas. This erasure of the truth was just another step in the war against women that started in antiquity and continues to this day.

“In truth, women were hunters and leaders alongside ancient man. They were also often the Priestesses overseeing religious rites, the keepers of oral history, the educators and the educated. Women used their knowledge of plant life to keep their families and communities safe from disease and evil spirits. But men feared their knowledge, and oral history shows a slow seep of that fear and its effect on women’s lives.

“Wise women and priestesses were relabelled witches and accused of acts of evil and wantonness. The use of plants and herbs to heal and protect was relabelled witchcraft, a magic that these women undertook against their families and community, causing everything from boils to crop failure. Using these words, men forced women out of roles of authority in the community and within the home, enslaving them with fear.

“It has not ended there,” she met Aislen’s eyes. “Though the words they use now have changed. Instead of the word witch, they now call powerful women sluts and whores,” she poured the tea as she enunciated the venomous words. “The purpose remains the same however, to make us smaller, to strip us of our power, to make us obedient, to make us behave.”

Aislen felt a shiver cross her skin. How many times, in how many ways had the Triquetra told her to “just behave”?

“Women have always gathered,” Stella gestured for them to take a seat and distributed the teacups. The tea was served without milk, sugar, or lemon. “We know instinctively that our greatest strength lies within the support of other women. And men have always feared our gatherings, because they know that the greatest power of women lies in our oral history, in the way that we share our knowledge. They call it gossip to make it seem less powerful than it is, and yet if you have ever seen the hideous invention called the Gossip’s Bridle, you’d see the extent that men fear our tongues and our minds, and to what extents they’ll go to silence us.”

Stella sipped her tea. “Women’s circles such as the one you will participate in tonight, therefore, are part of women’s ancient history and tradition, and your participation contributes to keeping that history and tradition alive.”

“Drink all but the last mouthful of tea,” Bianca told Aislen. “And Stella will read the leaves for you.”

Aislen looked at the little leaves that drifted through the liquid in her cup and then met Stella’s eyes. “Do you believe in magic?” She asked her.

Stella smiled. “Do you believe in magic, Aislen?”

Aislen swallowed hard. “Maybe,” she replied evasively and offered the nearly empty tea to Stella.

“Hmm,” Stella inverted the cup onto a saucer and waited. “One thing above all else unifies humans in every culture of every country across this world, Aislen, and that is the belief that there exists amongst them creatures of magic and power. I do not know how anyone can doubt the existence of magic in the face of so much evidence that it is.”

She lifted the teacup and looked within. “Dear child,” she murmured softly, her expression falling. “What has been happening in your life to bring such sorrow and woe? Hearts, clouds, and question marks. A tangled twisted love and warning to caution. But there are birds now, freedom, so that is positive at least, and a door – an opening or a closing, or both, it is hard to tell.” She set the teacup down and reached for Aislen’s hand. “If I may see your palm?”

Aislen was intrigued to see what the touch might reveal about Stella, and so she stretched her arm across the table and placed her hand into Stella’s. Stella turned it palm up and traced her fingers lightly over the lines. (I know that you are one of us.) Stella’s thought was clear, and her eyes met Aislen’s. (Welcome sister.)