2_5

Not long there after, some few miles out of the village, another dimmer light flared, this time in the old deserted mill, and invisible from any distance.
Wrapped in layers of black, a single bent figure had entered the mill, and made its way up the creaking wooden stair case to the old gear room, where once the mechanism, powered by the long gone sails, had turned the central column to power the grind stone down below. The door was locked, but the figure produced a long iron key from the tattered and wet mass of clothing, and grumbling turned the key in the lock, mumbling all the while.
Inside, the room was dark, and the tiny storm lantern sent a single shaft of light into the dusty room. Two other figures were already sitting in the dark, waiting.
“You’re late!” one of them hissed.
“T’were not my fault Meg.” The new comer answered. “The man is mad with the fever, and I couldn’t get away for all his ranting and shouting. In the end I had to make him something to quieten him down.”
“Aye well”, answered the third, “Now you’re finally here, perhaps we can get to work!”
The new comer pulled back her hood to reveal herself, as Margaret Hampton. Under the heavy layers of clothing, she appeared to be naked.
Her two companions were like wise clad, the one being a small mouse like woman with steel grey hair called Abigail Fisher, and the original speaker, being a large, heavy, well endowed woman, with greying ginger hair, who was well known through out the island as Old mad Meg, the witch.
They all knelt on the floor, facing inwards, around a small pot and each produced a small bag of herbs and seeds and poured them into the mix.
Meg, shrugging off her gown in the cold air, began to speak...

“Usalige, hvad søger du
så enlig ude under ø?
Ej synger fugli visne rør
langs is grå sø.”

The other two shrugged off their clothes and Abigail Fisher spoke next.

“Hvi vanker du så vild en vej
med furet kind og smerte brændt?
Hvert egern har sin hule fyldt,
høsten er endt.”

Finally, Margaret Hampton, shivering from the cold, spoke;

“Jeg ser en lilje på din bryn,
af febers dugfald kold og grå;
og rosen på din blege kind
vil snart forgå...”

With these last words, she sat back on her ankles and the three women took each others hands. Together they spoke;
“Oh Great Mother, guide us. Oh Great Mother, tell us. Oh Great Mother, show us…”
Old Meg reached over and opened the storm lantern wider shedding the light across their pale naked bodies, her hair falling down to form a golden red halo about her head. Carefully with a small dry wood chip, she plucked for a single flame and then shut the storm lantern.
Then with infinite care, she dropped the flame into the bowl and it erupted into a short column of blue green fire. For a few seconds it burned and all three women stared into it, then quickly the flames turned the normal orange and Abigail Fisher looked to Margaret Hampton with wide eyes, but neither spoke. Old Meg, her eyes still on the flame was the one who shaped the fear into words.“Evil is amongst us” she whispered.