“June, we have visited all your sisters but one,” I said. “The coven has begun closing.”
June dabbed at the jelly drop on her lips with her lace napkin. “How may I help?”
“Your blood once flowed through the Vikings. Your witch mother, Freya, was their guide to Valhalla.”
“I know the history of the Vikings and the mythology.”
“Yes, most are bedtime stories but Freya was real. She was a powerful white witch of the north. In these dark days to come, we will need a guide to lead us. That is your power.”
“I understand.” She gave a knowing smile.
As Abigail relayed our conversation to Mrs. Twiggs, I could see Mrs. Twiggs nervously fidgeting in her chair. “Abigail, ask Mrs. Twiggs what’s wrong?” I said.
As she did, Mrs. Twiggs turned to me. “Terra, I thought you told us that the ladies were all Wiccans and they had untapped white magic powers that would make an arsenal against the black magic. It seems like their powers are just emotional. Now you’re saying June is going to be our guide. What does that mean?”
“Abigail, tell Mrs. Twiggs that all Wiccans have basic potion and spell casting powers. They have limited abilities to read minds, summon spirits. They can be taught with spell books and potion recipes but there is a much deeper strength within them. All those powers flow from their true light. June’s true light is that to guide whether it is from one world to the next or deciding a path of less resistance it doesn’t matter. The point is we are going to call on her when we question how to move forward.”
Mrs. Twiggs stood and walked around the table. I could tell she was upset. My exact reason for doling out teaspoons of knowledge. Wiccans and humans have no idea of the powers that exist in the worlds and within them themselves.
June reached up and grabbed Mrs. Twiggs’ hand. “Beatrice, sit. This is a lot for all of us to take in. I’m sure Terra has a plan.”
Mrs. Twiggs settled down, reaching for another slice of bread and slathering the preserves. She sighed.
At that moment, it struck me. “Abigail, which way did we drive to arrive here?”
Abigail thought for a moment, “North, I think.”
I ran to the window and gazed out. Mrs. Loblolly’s house was located true north on the coven’s circle of homesites. True north, which is the direction, we travel in times of uncertainty. All the Wiccans would meet here at Mrs. Loblolly’s. They would be drawn to this home.
June reached into her apron pocket and retrieved a brass compass. She placed it on the table. “My grandmother gave this to me. She told me that, in times of trouble, head north.”
Wanda Raintree
It was nearly 9 p.m. when we arrived at Wanda Raintree’s home, an expansive log cabin overlooking the Biltmore Estate. My companions and I were exhausted but the urgency to train the Wiccans drove us forward. Once inside, Mrs. Twiggs fell asleep by the roaring fire. The interior of the massive cabin was decorated with Cherokee family heirlooms. On either side of the floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace were two 10-foot tall windows, adorned with dreamcatchers. Agatha Hollows had made dreamcatchers for the mountain folk. Two versions, one to catch good dreams, the other to repel nightmares. I had noticed that both of Mrs. Raintree’s dreamcatchers were to ward away nightmares. This worried me.
Abigail looked over the collection of knives in a glass display case. “Those belonged to my husband,” Wanda explained. “Much of these heirlooms were from his family. They were from Cherokee. His grandfather was a shaman.”
“How long have you been having nightmares?” I asked.
Abigail sat down in a chair next to Mrs. Twiggs. “How do you know she’s having nightmares?”
Wanda glanced up at the dreamcatchers. “My husband placed those in the windows. There are more over our bed. My doctor says the nightmares are from the Ambien. I have trouble sleeping. I thought the dreamcatchers were silly but he believed in them. The dreams have gotten worse as of late.”
“Tell me about them.” I said, fighting the heaviness taking over my eyes.
Wanda closed her eyes, opened them, and poured herself a cup of coffee. I thought it strange for someone who had trouble sleeping to drink caffeine this late. She heard my thoughts. “As of late, I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to dream.” She settled on the couch next to me unconsciously rubbing her hand along my back. Tracker and Pixel fell asleep by the fire. “It begins the same. I’m walking through the woods. It’s a beautiful spring day. I’m walking down a path. I suddenly realize I’m dressed in a tear dress.”
“What’s a tear dress?” Abigail whispered.
“It’s a Cherokee dress made at the time when the Cherokee were forbidden scissors so they had to tear the material from larger pieces,” Wanda said. “The path leads me into a large field with early spring corn. I reach down and touch a stalk. It grows over my head and fills with corn. As I walk along the rows touching the tops of the stalks, they all grow. I look up at the sun as a dark cloud crosses over. It’s not a cloud, it’s crows, thousands of crows descend onto the corn tearing and ripping. Then they turn to me, tearing my dress, tearing the flesh off my bones, pecking at my eyes. I wake up screaming.” Her coffee cup jingled on the top of the saucer as her hand shook.
Abigail sat down next to her and put her arm around her. “Wanda, your witch mother is the goddess Elihino,” I said.
Wanda looked up. “Yes, I know who she is. She is the earth mother, one of the sisters of the trinity. Her sister Sehu, the goddess of corn, and Igaehinvdo, the goddess of the sun. Eliniho accepts the seeds of corn and blesses the harvest. After my reveal, I realized what my nightmares were about. She was calling to me to protect the harvest from the black magic, to protect my sisters but I don’t know how.”
“Lie down on the couch.”
“Why?”
“Please just lie down.”
Wanda did as I asked. I climbed up on the back of the couch, looking down on her. “I want you to sleep.”
“I can’t sleep. I don’t want to sleep.”
“Trust me, Wanda, your sisters will be there for you.”
As Wanda closed her eyes, I sang to her the song Agatha Hollows sang to the Appalachian children when they had nightmares. “Let your thoughts drift softly on the midnight winds.” As I sang, I saw the tension in her face release, her breathing slow. I called out to Caroline Bowers and then I entered Wanda’s dream. I watched her walking into the cornfield. From the other side of the field Caroline walked toward her. From each corner of the field came a Wiccan. Wanda stopped and stared up at the sky. Not a single crow flew overhead but just one great horned owl circled. Wanda’s eyes popped open, a smile on her face.
“I will teach you what herbs to plant around your sisters’ homes, how to bless them. I will teach you all I’ve learned from Agatha Hollows who knew the Cherokee ways. Their power is great in these mountains. The tears they shed bless the ground we walk on now.”
Wanda took me in her arms and hugged me crying, tears pouring down her face.
The Study
Complete darkness. I can hear voices. I smelled the dusty tomes. Abigail was speaking to the curator inside the Biltmore Estate. Mrs. Twiggs had arranged for her to have access to George Vanderbilt’s personal study where the curators kept the history of the estate, personal items of George Vanderbilt, his memoirs, and artifacts not typically seen by the public. As a volunteer, Mrs. Twiggs knew the staff at the estate and much like the rest of Asheville had, they welcomed her into their community. Abigail thanked the young woman for allowing her into the library. I could hear the click of her sensible shoes on the parquet floor and the door closing behind her. Abigail opened the flap of her backpack. I jumped out onto an oak table.