The Story

“BURN THE WITCH!”

“SEND HER BACK TO HER DEVIL MASTER!”

“HELLISH SIREN!”

“CLEANSE HER SOUL!”

Ropes dug mercilessly into her wrists. The spare lumber she’d been pinned to scraped painfully on her raw back. Welts formed across the glistening lines a whip had mapped from her shoulder to her hip. They caused such a swelling ache to rise in her neck, she did not dare look at her feet to see the fire’s progress. Her chin to the air, she was pleased it would look like bravery in the face of death and not that it simply hurt to hold her head any other way.

Her mother would be proud had she not gone to eternal rest many moons ago.

Many moons. It was these sort of phrases instead of ‘yesteryear’ that her neighbors claimed proved her deep unholiness.

But she could not help speaking as her mother did. Don’t all children do the same? No more than she could change the bright streaks that appeared in her hair under the summer sun or the many freckles across her skin that accompanied them.

Constellations, her mother had called the tiny spots. Witch marks, the priest had screamed.

It was not lost on Margaret that such devilish signs of her evil ways had been so graciously ignored by the entire village until she had refused to marry the mayor’s gangly nephew.

Oh, to have her mother here now. Perhaps she could not have saved Margaret, as the older woman had been quite frail with illness in her last years, but she would have cooed softly from the edge of the wood pile. She would have told Margaret her favorite tales passed from her own mother, just as she did when Margaret was a child refusing to sleep. A sadness settled deep in her chest knowing that this time she must go into the dark without her mother’s voice.

She closed her eyes. There was no reason to look upon any of these people for longer. Friends had turned fools and acquaintances turned accusers. Instead she conjured a vision of her mother, when health still glowed in her sun-wrinkled face.

Tell me a story, Mother. I cannot sleep.

Silent words raced through her mind as memory pulled from distance. A dangerous warmth seeped into her ankles but she dove within herself.

“You must not repeat this, dear. Your grandmother told me and now I tell you: A story from the valleys of the old country…

…

Once there was a goddess. There are people who called her Diana or Selene and believed her to be the goddess of the moon. But these were warring men who do not know women. She was Fealuna, goddess of all the stars. The stars worshipped her with their shine and in return she guided lost wanderers and souls through the darkness. She and her bright warriors fought against all the evils that tried to lurk in the shadows. That’s why when you get lost in the woods, you follow the stars out before a bear eats you.

Here, Mother always pinched Margaret’s nose.

Her most dedicated soldier was Solghid, so bright a star and fierce in battle that she set him close to the earth to protect and warm the world.

And here, Margaret always laughed and whispered, “The SUN, Momma?”

“The very same, love. Now shhhhh…”

Fealuna and Solghid rode into battles against the darkness many times, and were held in high esteem by the other deities. But Fealuna was also beautiful, which for a lady can be both a blessing and a curse. Many of the gods wanted to take her for their wife. They argued viciously over who deserved her hand in marriage and they did not even bother to ask Fealuna who she would prefer!

If they had, she would have told them her heart belonged to Solghid. He was but a solider and yet she loved him almost as much as he loved her.

“As much as Father loved you?”

“Almost as much as he loved us.” And here, Mother would touch the cord around her wrist and be quiet a moment before she continued.

The gods’ quarreling turned to fighting and the great Aegreus, god of violent storms and deep seas, won out. Fealuna tried to protest but Aegreus in all his power was one of the god rulers and none dared oppose him. As he pulled her into the depths of his seas, she cried out for Solghid, who heard her and dipped low in the sky trying to reach her. But the other gods held him back so he would not scorch the earth. They chained him to the turning of the sky so he could not visit the night any longer. Fealuna was gone in the darkness.

The earth dimmed, as the other stars refused to leave the night searching for their goddess. Solghid wavered from furious to forlorn, searing the day or hiding behind the clouds to weep. The farmers and fishermen cried out to their own gods- the crops were dying, the animals of land and sea were confused and unruly, soon the people would be lost! The harvest goddess, for whom there are many names-

“Why does she have all the names?”

“Hush.”

-demanded the gods have her sister released back into her rightful place so the world could heal and the people could live. But the gods in their pride refused.

However. Women are clever, as we must be in this world, my love. There is always more than one way to complete a task.

So the harvest goddess whispered to the smaller spirits of the earth, her daughters- to those of the creek reeds and mud puddles, those of first blooms and saplings, of crystal stones and mountain shade. She asked them to save her sister anyway they could.

They knew they could not free Fealuna from the sea depths, but perhaps- they said- they could give her something that would help her survive in the darkness.

They gathered rocks and moss and crevasses, bits of last frost and firebug flight, slicking it together with the evening breeze and drops of morning dew, until they had a shield the size of ten villages! They lifted it into the night sky and called to Solghid. From his chained prison he heard them. A cry of hope for his love, which made him shine brighter than he had ever before. So bright was his light, that it sprang upon the shield and reflected on to all the earth, pulling back the sea so he could glimpse Fealuna in the depths. And Fealuna peered back at him. She saw his light on the great shield, saw her many stars. Overjoyed, she thanked her sister and the many spirits of the earth, bid the stars continue to protect the night, and made the great shield her sigil from there forward.

“Was it the moon, Momma?”

“Yes, it was the moon, smart girl. So each night when it is dark, Solghid’s light pulls back the sea to gaze on his love, and she smiles so tenderly up at him that the stars glitter with rejoicing. When their light is shining, you need not be afraid of the dark.”

And Margaret was not afraid of the dark.

The smoke began to billow and blocked out the sun, casting shifting shadows over her closed eyes. The skin of her thighs sizzled and ripped. She was fading out of day. But she knew in the dark there was light as well. She smiled and gave in, to the night.

The Word

Radiance (noun): Light or heat as emitted or reflected by something.

This is one of those stories that started somewhere, and ended somewhere else. I had wanted to make Margaret a siren, and have her lover save her and blah blah blah. Honestly, could still be cool to dive into siren-lore as spooky season is almost upon us.

But then I got really into the love is love and love is powerful of it all and so instead you get a new myth! Two women thrust into darkness because of choices they didn’t make (sounding too familiar, current world climate?). And our hero doesn’t always win. We don’t always get to escape. But we can survive, in whatever way we mean the word.

And yes yes, those of you who paid attention in History or English or watched any media in the past century know that I butchered some god and goddess names to create my own for what I wanted. But the Romans did it, why can’t I?

Happy reading!