The Aftermath

The late afternoon sky had been gradually darkening as he had progressed on his journey. A brooding metallic greyness had been building in the west over the ocean, the clouds had in the end made landfall, and as he pulled off the motorway the westerly breeze had blown them far enough in - land, and by early evening the first gentle rain of autumn began to fall on his windscreen. The summer had been slow in coming, and slow in her leaving, and this was late for the first rain. The remains of long dead and long decayed organisms which had lain buried deeply within the earths' mantle had found their way to the surface again, and had leaked from petrol tanks and engine sumps, and now spread in rainbow colours across the newly wet road; extra care would be needed on the oily surface. His heart skipped a beat or two as the wall of the ancient town came into view only a few minutes later, and his breathing became laboured for a moment before he regained control, and his logical and rational thoughts brought his emotions to heel. He berated himself as he searched for the side lights and windscreen wiper controls of his hired automobile; he did not need to be here, after all; this had been his deliberation, and his decision, and even now he could turn back. But he would not turn back, and instead he took a cigarette from the pack on the dashboard and lit it, without breaking stride in his motor vehicle; now, having waited and meditated upon the matter for so long, there could be no turning back, but at this moment he needed a cigarette. He would not park within the town walls; he knew from experience that this would be all but impossible, and in any case he must avoid the town, but the road skirted close to the old stone wall for a moment, and the wall cast a shadow over his vehicle, and over his soul. There was no sound or sensible rationale behind this, really, but now he had an address, and a desire to know that which had underlain his life for too long, and now he went of his own free will into the beginning of something of which he had no idea of the end. And here we will leave him for now, at the moment when, just for a moment, the wave of something like panic swept through him, for we should first learn how this moment had come to be. The summer was gone, and we should learn how this summer had been for the people who live around the village Green, and for this man no less than any of the others, for this was Percival, and the town into which he would soon now be entering was a place where he had been before. Here a well – spring had given cause for the first people who had happened this way to stop and make camp, and then in time to build their simple stone and thatch dwellings, which after long course of time had become a fortress town due it's high elevation and panoramic views over the surrounding forests and grass – covered plains. Here these still ancient people could defend those things which were precious to them against those who may wish to take them; their liberty, their possessions and their established and trusted way of life. Here could they raise their crops, and their livestock, and their children, and there would always be water, which is the basis of all things. And in time, though nobody could now know when this had been, the settlement of people had been given a name, and that name had been Headwater.

* * *

This part of our tale, however, begins some months earlier, on the evening of the day after the black witch Eve had died on the steps of the Manor House. Meadow had prevented her entry into the Manor, as perhaps only Meadow could have done, and so had Victoria's child, Henry, been made safe. Keith and Meadow had walked home in the early morning, and then perhaps inevitably had come the aftershock.

'Keith; will you stay with me today.'

'What, you mean at the deli?'

'Yes.'

'Sure; I mean I'll look after the shop today if you want; why don't you take the day off; get some sleep?'

'I'll be fine; I just ... just stay with me, okay?'

She had taken his arm, and later Keith had 'phoned in and taken the day off from his usual labours, and they had served together at the delicatessen, as they had not done for a long time, and by the close of business in the afternoon Meadow had felt better. Amongst their customers that day had been Percival, and they could not but tell him briefly of the events of the previous night, and he had invited them for pasta at the cottage that evening, because brief conversation was not enough. And so we find them; Percival had served good food and wine, of which even Meadow had partaken, and now came the time for further conversation regarding that which had occurred, and perhaps reconciliation, as far as this was possible.

'So tell me again; what the hell happened last night?'

* * *

Victoria had made herself coffee, showered and gone to her bed after Keith and Meadow had departed on the so fateful early morning. She had taken little Henry with her, as she still would not be parted from him. She had fed her infant and then had lain down with him by her side and stared at the ceiling of her bedroom. She was tired, but knew she would not sleep; still she needed the comfort of her bed in the huge, empty house. She understood now why Rebecca had been uneasy during the previous evening; Rebecca had known that the witch Eve would come, that much was certain, but had she foreseen how the horrible events would occur thereafter; that was the question which Victoria now asked herself, or at least, it was one of the questions. Rebecca had asked Meadow for help, and Meadow had come, and Rebecca had kept Henry safe, and so all had been well in the end; the witch was dead, and that for now at least was the end of the matter. But how much of that particular scenario could Rebecca have with any confidence predicted, and in how many different ways could events have occurred? Meadow had not intended to kill the witch, or rather perhaps better say that she had not intended to cause her death; that had been accident rather than any design, and so supposing she had lived, or supposing that the absolute faith which Rebecca had placed in Meadow had been ill – placed, and Meadow had been overcome; what then? Would Rebecca have been able to win a battle of wills with Eve, if it had come to that pass? She remembered well enough how Rebecca had been after her first encounter with Eve; she had been frightened in a way that Victoria had never known before, and so, what would have happened had they met in ultimate confrontation? Henry was sleeping now, and was none the worse for the terrible things which quite unbeknownst to him had happened during the night; indeed he had not once complained at having been so unusually treated, which spoke a great deal for his gentle and tolerant disposition. How much of a persons' character is inherited and how much is learned even at such a young an age was something of which much was written but still little was known for sure, and Victoria wondered and would continue to wonder how much of his father was in Henry. She knew well enough that she was not the most gentle or tolerant person ever to draw breath, so perhaps her childs' father had been these things; she would never know, of course, since whoever his father was she had only known him for a very short time, but still she would wonder sometimes. In any case she held little Henry close to her as he slept, perhaps more for her own benefit than for his; she still craved reassurance that all was indeed as it was, and that her beloved and beautiful child was quite safe. But the doubt must remain, and Rebecca had gone now, and all that she knew of Rebecca told her that she would not yet return. But of course, return she would; that which they were to each other would see to it that they would not be parted again; not forever, and perhaps not for very long. She had told Rebecca to leave, and never to come back, but this was not the first time that they had so spoken to one another; sometimes when they had been young and in love they had fought like demons, and had hated one another until they were both quite sure that it was over between them. But always they had found each other again, and Rebecca would return, or Victoria would return, and so in time she could confront her with her doubts, and ask her why in God's name she had not spoken openly to her when she could have done so, and before Eve had knocked on the door of the Manor House. For this question amongst so many others came to the fore of Victoria Tillington's thoughts as she lay in the quiet of the morning.

But still, there was for now no point, really, in deliberating further on the matter, and she must put all dark thoughts of what could have happened aside in the interest of the continuation of a normal life. Abi, little Henry's nanny, was returning today, and she also expected that her mother and father would return home, and perhaps Michael and Rose, and she could yet tell none of them of anything which had occurred in the darkness of the night. If her dear father had even a hint or suspicion of any of it then he would never allow Rebecca to come to the Manor again, and who knew, perhaps he would be right not to do so. He had warned her, in a way, that Rebecca was dangerous; what had he called her; a 'loose cannon, although he could not have known in what way his words would prove to be true. But he would not allow her presence again, and so their relationship would become as it had once been when they had been so much younger; secretive and covert, and exciting, in a way, but Victoria did not wish to go back to those days. She might perhaps tell Michael, but that was something upon which she must deliberate further, when she was less tired and was thinking more clearly.

So then, setting aside the question of how the night had gone, and could have gone, there was the deeper question; why had the black witch come at all? Victoria remembered the words of the witch as she had stood at the foot of the steps; they were burned into her soul, and she could not forget them, but what had been their meaning? The witch had apparently intended no harm to Victoria herself; had she wished to Eve could easily have enthralled and overcome her, or taken her by surprise, and little Henry was far too young to have offered any offence, but his death had been her intent, and so why had that been? 'Blood must be paid for with blood'; her sons' blood, but why ...? Since her evil purpose had not apparently been subjective, then it must have been objective, the object being the discontinuation of the Tillington bloodline; the death of the one and only person to now bear that name beyond herself and her dear brother, Michael. And someone, or some others, had removed the body of the witch Eve soon after her death, and so that person or those people must have been close by, and perhaps had watched the short drama unfold, so who would they have been? Other witches, perhaps? But if this were so then why had they not come to the witches' aid, or assisted her in her terrible intent? There were still so many questions, and so few answers. She closed her eyes for a moment and thought about the mark at the base of the great door. Of course she knew the mark; she had known it since she had been a young child, and had often wondered how it had been there. Well, she knew now, or at least had come closer to knowing, and to knowing something of its' significance, although there was still so much that she did not know or understand. But now she had closed her eyes for a moment with these questions still burning in her brain, and she did not awake until the early afternoon.

* * *

'Rebecca woke us up in the early hours of the morning; she said that the black witch was coming that night, which was last night, and that she needed our help.'

'Coming where; to the Manor House, you mean ...'

'Exactly ...'

'So how was she?'

'She was agitated to say the least; terrified, really.'

'But I don't really understand how she knew that she was coming.'

'She had met her, or rather the witch had found her. She was to wait at the Manor House, and well, we've told you what was to happen then.'

'Sure ...'

'So we had a prearranged signal; we would wait for the witch and then would intervene.'

'That was a hell of an intervention.'

'You mean that you would intervene,' said Keith 'I was always going to be a spectator; there in case she bought some muscle to back her up, like at the farmhouse.'

'But she came alone.'

'Yes,' said Meadow 'thank goodness; at least, we saw nobody else.'

'She was obviously expecting an easier ride.' said Percival 'She must have known that Victoria would be alone with the kid apart from Rebecca, and she would have assumed that she had Rebecca on her side; she was no doubt expecting a triumphant entry into the big house; no resistance, really. Henry should have been dead before she so much as crossed the threshold; it was a good plan.'

'Yes, I suppose so, but she hadn't reckoned on Charlotte.' Said Meadow 'Charlotte had done her work well; she told Rebecca to come and find us, and then, well, she must have told Rebecca not to kill little Henry. It was really Charlotte who saved the day, or rather the night.'

'Don't underestimate yourself.' said Keith 'Man, you should have seen her; she was magnificent; the big black witch was totally overwhelmed.'

'I wouldn't say so;' said Meadow 'I could resist her powers but I had no idea how to counter them. Anyway without Charlotte neither of us would have been there; that's the point.'

'So Charlotte; she's some kind of white witch, yes?'

'She's the head of her order.'

'And she came to see you independantly, and told you to expect this to happen?'

'Yes, in way. I mean yes, she came to see me.'

'So you confronted this Eve woman at the Manor House steps, she tried her hypnosis or whatever, and you pushed her.'

'Yes; that's all I did; it seemed like the obvious thing to do. I had the advantage of being at the head of the steps, and I really don't know how else I could have stopped her.'

'Sometimes the simplest solutions are the best. She can't be used to being pushed around ... and she broke her head in the fall.'

'Yes.'

'Which was fortuitous'

'I suppose you might call it that; I never meant her to die, Percival.'

'No ... no of course not, but it rather brought the matter to a swift conclusion.'

'Yeah, and saved me the bother;' said Keith 'I've never hit a woman but for her I might have made an exception; she'd have tried any of that Voodoo crap on me I'd have knocked her out cold. What I'd have done with her after that I still don't really know.'

'I suppose it would hardly have been a police matter.'

'I don't think they would have believed us, do you?' Said Keith 'I can imagine the conversation;' 'Look, we've bought you a witch.' 'Oh nice one; this will be the third one tonight; evil witch is she?' 'Tried to kill the firstborn' 'Oh that old trick; they never learn do they; leave her with us sir, and thanks for bringing her in ..." Just doing my public duty officer ...'

'Yes well, she's dead anyway.' Said Percival

'Dead and gone.' Said Keith

'Gone where; that's another thing.'

'Indeed,' said Meadow 'and taken there by whom?'

'Let's hope we never find out.' Said Keith 'I mean the whole thing's so out to lunch; seems like there's good witches, of which what's her face; Charlotte, is the big cheese, and they operate out of the coven in the west – country, and Sophia is of that school.'

'As is your daughter.' said Meadow

'Yeah, there's that ... I mean that side of things seems to be entirely positive; I've never seen Rosie with so much energy or confidence; she even talks to us these days, so all power to them, you know?'

'But then there's the other side to it.' Said Percival

'Yeah ... Eve the evil and her cronies, assuming she had any. I guess she wasn't operating alone, although the question remains as to where the rest of them were ... 'You go and kill the infant, we'll just kind of hang out here ...' It was a hell of a short straw; doesn't make any sense really.'

'None of it makes much sense; that's the trouble.' Said Percival 'We need to talk to some witches; I mean witches who might understand things better. Sophia would seem like a good place to start, although she seems otherwise preoccupied these days and probably doesn't know any more than we do. Someone needs to talk to Charlotte.'

'I have an invitation;' Said Meadow 'Charlotte said I could come to the coven anytime.'

'Well that might not be a bad thing to do; tea and biscuits with the big white witch might throw some light into the darkness.'

'I'll think about it.'

'Yes, I understand your reluctance.'

'Let sleeping witches lie.' Said Keith 'And dead witches come to that.'

'Precisely ...' Said Meadow 'Right now I'd just like to forget the whole thing, which of course I won't, but I don't feel like discussing it with someone that I hardly know, be she witch or no.'

'And now Rebecca has gone off the radar.' Said Percival

'Yeah ...' Said Keith 'She who used to be a bad witch but now seems to have made the jump to the good side. I mean nearly getting Tillington the younger murdered doesn't exactly go in her favour, but maybe she had no choice; maybe this was the only way that this could have played out. She seems to have a knack of doing all the wrong things for the right reasons.'