Authors: Vanessa Black
The man paused for a second before replying. “Yes … you should.”
That had gotten both of our attention. The cave went completely quiet as we waited with bated breaths.
“Well then, first let me introduce myself. My name is Malcolm, and I am the leader of my people. I believe that your late father, Professor Wright, might have mentioned our society.
We
are the Haven.”
Aaron’s small intake of breath was sufficient to convey that he had actually heard the name before.
“Ah, so you
have
heard of us,” Malcolm said calmly. “I hope you have heard nothing but good things about us …,” he continued, “though I seriously doubt it.”
“So you admit that there is nothing good to be said about you?” Aaron challenged.
“No, not at all. You misunderstand me. I mean to say that the outside world has a habit of willfully misinterpreting our motives.”
“How could anyone possibly misinterpret a dead body lying cold and forsaken on the blood-drenched floor?” Aaron enquired, his voice barely contained for all the rage he was undoubtedly feeling.
“I will repeat what I have already told you: The Haven ― as a society ― was not involved in the death of your father. And though I cannot entirely exclude the possibility that the murder of Professor Wright was the doing of a select few of my people who might have gone astray, I will let you know that an act such as this was neither sanctioned by me nor by the majority of my people, and that I will personally look into the matter. Despite what you might have heard about us or what you think you know … we are not a vicious, murderous people.”
Aaron didn’t respond. He was seemingly lost in contemplation, trying to discern whether or not Malcolm seemed trustworthy or was just feeding us bullshit.
“So, what’s your last name?” I asked, solely for the reason of breaking the unpleasant silence that was weighing down on me like a ton of bricks. The fact that this man seemed to know so much about Aaron, and presumably as much about me, was very unsettling.
“My full name is Malcolm McKinley,” he responded, “but my surname, all of our surnames are rather unimportant. What’s important is who we are, not where we came from. Therefore, we only ever use our first names not the surname that linked us to whatever family we belonged to before. This is our family now.”
Wow
, I thought,
sounds like something a sect leader would say. Next he’ll have us take a pill or drink poisoned wine. Not that I’d object to the wine … without the poison, of course.
“How is it that you seem to know so much about us, or at least about Professor Chambers?” I asked, hoping to shed at least a little light on the mystery Malcolm, and by extension the Haven, presented.
“It is a long and complex story. Are you sure you are ready to hear the answer?” the leader asked me, giving me an intense look that nearly made me recoil, and had me wishing I could just shrink back into the next dark corner unseen.
I had a really bad feeling about this. Deep down, I was terrified of the answer. At the same time, I knew that this was the moment of truth ― literally ― and if I chickened out now and backed down, I might never have a chance to understand … myself.
This man seemed to know something about me, about the two of us. Where would I find answers if not here, if not from the man who looked at me as if he knew me better than I knew myself? He probably did, I thought.
What did I really know about myself? Nothing that would even begin to explain all the strange things that had happened since my eighteenth birthday. He might be my only chance to get to the bottom of it.
I took a deep breath and looked straight into Malcolm’s eyes.
“I’m ready,” I said.
“How about you?” Malcolm asked Aaron, giving him the same stare-down he had given me.
“I’ve been ready from the moment you threw my ass in a cell. Honestly, I thought you’d never ask,” Aaron retorted, his usual composed self.
“Well, all right then. Where should I start?” Malcolm asked, deep in thought, as if trying hard to find the right way to break it to us. Whatever the ‘break’ turned out to be, I pondered.
“Do you know who you are?” Malcolm finally asked.
“What do you mean ‘do we know who we are’? Of course we do. What kind of question is that?” I asked outraged and shocked. The fact that this man’s very next question related exactly to what I’d just thought about, was extremely unsettling. I might have already acknowledged to myself that this man probably knew more about me than I knew myself, but to actually have him throw it in my face like that was just too much.
“I apologize. Perhaps I should have been clearer. I’m not talking about your names and who you are in relation to society. You know your names, the lives you have led, the people who have brought you up as well as I do.
Yes, I know everything about you there is to know. I have been watching you both for a very long time. What I meant to ask was: how much do you know about your legacy?”
“What legacy?” Aaron asked, beating me to it by a split second.
“All right,” the leader stated matter-of-factly, “it appears you know nothing.”
“Cut the crap and just tell us already, before I give into the urge of ripping your throat out for the fun you’re evidently having,” Aaron threatened out of sheer frustration, or possibly to make a point, straining against his bonds with so much fervor that they actually seemed to give way slightly.
“There will be no need for such drastic measures,” Malcolm responded calmly, as if nothing Aaron could do would possibly ruffle any of his feathers.
Who is this guy … Superman?
I thought. Why wasn’t he even the least bit concerned? Well, upon deeper contemplation, he probably had powers even Superman didn’t have. I had to admit that this man had his very own ‘Kung Fu’.
And the question whether it was strong or not had already been answered the moment all the air had gone out of the cave and I had felt I would slowly suffocate. Since he had apologized for his ‘demonstration of power’ it seemed that he had somehow caused the incident. Though how he could accomplish something like that, was beyond me.
“Perhaps I should start at the very beginning. It might be easier to grasp your destiny if you come to understand your past. Since none of us are still in kindergarten, I will refrain from using the phrase ‘Once upon a time’.
“Aaah, really?” Aaron voiced in mock disappointment.
Malcolm’s lips twitched slightly in amusement before he began.
“All right. Once upon a time there was a wicked witch …”
“Ooh, I know that one,” Aaron whispered sarcastically in my direction.
Malcolm shot him a cut-the-crap-and-let-me-get-on-with-the-story-look, and waited until he could be absolutely certain there would be no further interruptions.
Then he leapt into the tale I both dreaded and longed to hear. The truth about myself ― or at least what I hoped to be the truth. This guy could tell me anything he wanted. There was no way of knowing if he was being straight with us, no way of verifying his story. I would have to take a lot on faith…
“
O
nce upon a time there was a woman unlike any other.
She lived a long time ago in a little village on the coast of Ireland. Born into dark and desperate times, destined for suffering and loss, the fate of the world had been decided the moment she emerged from her mother’s womb: for she had been blessed ― or cursed ― with the gift of magic.
Today the existence of real magic in this world is known but to a few. Most individuals claiming to be witches or to believe in magic don’t even know what real magic looks like, or feels like. They believe in something that doesn’t exist. True magic is more powerful and terrible than they would ever believe possible.
Although we recognize its existence, we cannot explain where it comes from. We have tried to find out more about its source over the centuries ever since its presence has been known to us, but its heritage remains as much of a mystery as it ever was.
There are those who believe that magic has been around for as long as the earth itself, and others who suppose it is in no way restricted to earth, but that it can be found throughout the universe and is the reason our planet even exists ― the driving force behind creation, so to speak.
Even if this theory were to be believed, even if our entire planet had been constructed through magic, it does not explain why some humans have the ability to wield this unspeakable power while others do not.”
“Excuse me, but I don’t see what any of this has got to do with us,” I couldn’t help but say.
“Yes, well I was getting to that. It’s a rather long story. If you could please just be a little more patient,” Malcolm calmly responded and then continued where he’d left off.
“Both before and after this woman lived
―
I believe she was born in 1328 and died in 1348
―
there were witch trials even in Ireland; which, in comparison with other countries, mostly escaped the tidal wave of witch-hunt.
Each and every one of the people tried of witchcraft was innocent. Of all the witches the Inquisition deemed dangerous and guilty of witchcraft there was none as dangerous and powerful as the one they let slip right through their fingers.
If ever humanity could have been saved by sentencing a witch to death, this would have been its chance. This would have been its most heroic deed, its finest hour.
But humanity never guessed.
In a hundred years, the Inquisition would not have seen her for what she really was. How could it, when its members had, in fact, never seen a true witch.
Real witches, powerful witches, do not get caught. That is the essence of the witch. There is no one to best her. And this woman was, and perhaps forever shall be, the most powerful witch the earth has ever known.
She grew up rather sheltered. An only child, due to a number of miscarriages of her mother, she shared a small cottage with her parents in a very remote area near the shore.
Her father was a fisherman, her mother a seamstress. They had very few animals to take care of and on the whole led a rather ordinary, somewhat lonely life. Apart from her chores which brought her into the village occasionally, she didn’t have much contact outside her home.
She grew up a god-fearing, well-mannered, if somewhat unsophisticated young woman. No one knows if she had already discovered her powers at that time or when and how exactly they had manifested.
At the age of eighteen she went to work as a seamstress in the village, replacing her ill mother, from whom she had learnt the profession. It was there, one day, that she met the man who changed her life.
She fell head over heels for a Gaelic lord who, in turn, seemed quite taken with her. And how could he not be? She was an exceptional beauty with long bright red curls and eyes the shade of emeralds. He took her as his mistress as he couldn’t marry her against the wishes of his family because she was a commoner.
Having been as sheltered as she was, the young woman was too naïve to recognize the extent to which the lord was using her for his own amusement. She undoubtedly was under the impression he would marry her in the near future.
On the night he came to her door to tell her he would not see her again, and that he would be taking a wife his family had chosen for him, her whole world shattered into tiny little pieces. The extent, to which she loved him to the exclusion of everything else in her sorry forsaken little life, made her crash and hit rock bottom.
Bewilderment turned to shock, then to despair … and finally to rage.
And somewhere along the line, perhaps without even realizing it, the young woman, who up until that day had never wronged a single soul, turned to the darkness within and spun a web of magic so black and horrid that it became known throughout history as the Black Death.”
“The Black Death? Are you serious?” Aaron seemingly couldn’t help but comment. “This is ridiculous. The Black Death has nothing to do with magic. It was caused by bacteria and was spread by oriental rat fleas. Are you trying to piss us off with such a ridiculous story?”
“Just because you believe in the truth of what you have been taught about the Black Death, it does not make my story any less true. The truth that we cling to obstinately could well be the lie we refuse to acknowledge.”
“Oh great, sounds like a fortune cookie line,” Aaron muttered.
“The truth as I and the people of this society know it, the legend behind the Black Death that has been handed down from generation to generation within the Haven, is that the Black Death in its entirety is the direct result of the darkest kind of witchcraft.
It may be that the bacteria in question is the actual cause of the illness, but the way in which this bacteria was spread, the speed and ferocity with which it hit and eradicated nearly 60% of Europe’s total population, this was not random. This was the result of a soul torn asunder and aching for revenge.