"Nightshade" an original story by juniper crowfoot

[jcrowfoot]

Erica finds herself on an endless grey undulating plane, like clouds frozen in turbulence. Made mostly of a thick carpet of twining silver leaves, it feels fuzzy, crisp and yet prickly under her bare feet.

A bare crescent edge of the full moon rides low in the sky, shadowed and partially hidden by grey misty clouds that seem to speed across the horizon. Stars are faint sparkles in the low hanging but thin clouds.

The bitter smell of fresh mugwort wafts to her nose, and she blinks.

A pale and hazy figure emerges from the horizon, holding a lantern that winks brighter than the moon. It is because of this that she realizes she is being enveloped in a fog, alternating in uneven ribbons of dense white and luminescent grey, fading into distance and visibility.

She tries to reach out with astral vision, to ‘feel’ with her sixth perception, the nature of the approaching figure. Her only reward is a gust of cool air that billows her white robe and stirs the fog like an invisible hand. “Damn am I glad I didn’t go sky clad.” She thinks.

“Let’s get back to lucid dreaming.” She thinks. “This has symbolism of both ‘The Moon’ and ‘The Hermit’. How odd.”

Her efforts to consolidate the symbolism evade her, and she’s caught in another bank of fog, drowning her perception.

“I’m not waking up yet!” She thinks desperately.

She tries to clear her mind. The fog obligingly thins; leaving her with a view of a dark grey mantle of clouds in the center of the sky, with the moon just barely peeping though silver shimmer on the surface.

The figure now seems to glow with an inner light, and is swathed in white gossamer. Long hair threads out in inky curls, as it swirls in a wind that Erica cannot feel.

The woman’s form is now clear, tall and surprisingly voluptuous. She carries a lantern that twinkles mauve, like the evening star at dusk. For all that, she is veiled in the strange scintillating fabric, her countenance limited to piercing blue eyes and ebony satin skin, masked by the layers of luminescent muslin. She wears long strings of white seed-like shells as if they were the finest pearls.

“You must go down into the Valley.” The woman’s husky voice calls out.

Erica reels at the power and force in the voice, yet puzzles. She resembles no Goddess she could piece out, but certainly has the power of one.

“Go Down!” The voice echoes, and Erica is swallowed into a vale of darkness. It’s cold. It’s very cold. Rough frozen dirt sticks painfully to her toes, her feet and ankles crying out in searing pain. The wind whips through her thin white silk robe. It is seemingly less than useless at defending her skin from the wind. The sky is an endless black pit with floating silver sparkles.

Erica watches, frozen as the full moon high and cold in the center of the sky, starts to shrink and warp, as it speeds through waning gibbous and slows until it is the slightest of waning crescents, the swan moon. Her throat clenches as she tries to slow her breathing, the cold stinging her nostrils and numbing her throat.

She stands on an icy rocky path that leads down. Two sheer cliffs bank the gravely path and it’s rocky edges, hosting no more than shriveled, glazed shrubs and spare frozen tufts of dead grass. The only trace of green is the dimly lit remnants of a wrinkled vine, with purple stems and suckers, green wilted leaves, and red to black berries clinging as they shake in the frigid wind. A single pale purple flower with bright yellow stamens reminds her of a tomato in bloom.

“Deadly Nightshade.” She whispers.

A wind with bits of wet snow ushers her down the path. She hears the pale of wolves, or possibly hounds, baying at… that moon? The bare ends of a fading crescent? The dogs are getting closer.

“Well, it’s uncomfortable, but at least I get the symbolism. Great. I’ve never talked to Hekate before, so this should be interesting.”

The calm cool thoughts belied her intense fear, intensifying with the cold. She tries to pinch herself awake, but her skin is numb and cold. She tries to visualize her warm home, forcing it into her vision, but the outlines of her familiar room fade into darkness.

The path leads into a cave. Erica almost runs towards the shelter, stumbling and slipping in the half frozen damp soil. She squints and heaves at the sheer effort of keeping upright. She has a terror of falling, lest she never stop. She fears stopping, lest she be caught by the jet hounds she knows that are behind her.

“Funny…this was supposed to be a Full Moon sabat.” She thought. “I hope Minda and Kelly aren’t freaking out too bad. Maybe I’m in a hospital. A warm hard hospital bed, with too bright lights…” instead all she sees is darkness. Her frozen feet miraculously seem to stay on the path, though they are so cold they’re burning with each step. All of her energy is being plied to propel herself forward.

Gradually she feels ground’s texture shift into something softer, like warm moss. Her feet are still burning, and she can feel every cut and blister demanding her attention. But her feet find softness and pain erupts as the tips of her toes start to thaw.

Still she strives forward, thankful for the diminishing cold trailing off to a soft breath of cold behind her. The howling of dogs fades. She becomes aware of her sore skin, her tingling and burning heels, and her dry mouth and chapped nose and lips. She rubs her face and feels warm sticky wetness and tastes salt.

“I didn’t know nose bleeds happen on the astral.” She thought. “This is all too…real.”

In the safe feeling warmth of the cave, she collapses with exhaustion and pain.

A soft voice whispers. “Real. Yes, what is real?”

An almost cinematic soft light pervades the nook that she slumped against. She’d collapsed on clusters of strange fungi that look like coral made of soft foam rubber. Its pale glabrous hue and too-sweet rotten earthy scent makes Erica wheel for a moment.

Looking into the light, she sees a young woman, about her age, with bright spring flowers in her hair. She literally smells like spring, green grass, narcissus and wood hyacinth, melting snow and a slight warm wind. Her swarthy skin and bright blonde hair completed the picture, along with a drape of coral, purple, and pale pink peplos.

“I was just picking flowers by the ridge, with some friends, and then, the earth opened up and a man in a chariot emerged. He grabbed me and pulled me underground. At first I cried out, but it was getting exciting. He smelled of the deepest earth, and of excitement. I had to see what was going to happen next. “

“Persephone?” Erica whispered.

“You aren’t going to take me back to my mother, are you?” She asked, almost petulant. “I’m not ready to go yet. I’ve got a wedding to attend.” She smiled almost child-like.

Erica realizes the young woman is staring right through her, her eyes dilated as if stoned. A cold breath she feels behind her.

“Persephone.” A voice echoes directly behind Erica.

A taller woman, who looked to be 18 or so is holding a basket laden with flowers. There are blood red poppies, sheaves of infected wheat, and a tangled purple vine with heart-shaped leaves, black berries and pale purple flowers.

“You’ve got to go back some time. Your mother grieves, and the world has gone cold. That guy you were with ran his horses right over me. Now I can’t go home, but I have to protect you. He dropped his keys.” She seemed amused by this and held them up. They rattle like wind chimes in the cold breath of air.

“Oh, Hekate! You take things so seriously.” Persephone laughed. “How can I go back? I have pretty much died, and so have you.” Her voice was bell like and light. Her stare was still vague.

“Your mother is a Goddess, and you know that Helios saw what happened. “Besides, I just got through talking with her. She won’t let up until she sees you. And if I can go back….” Hekate paused for effect.

After a moment, Persephone started.

“That means you are a Goddess too! How’d that happen?” she said giddily.

“I guess your finance liked me. He said that he thought it charming that I was defending your virtue.” Hekate said steadly.

Persephone laughed. “Very funny. Now how can I stay here without pissing off mom? “She asked languidly.

She lounged on her silken pillow on the sandy bottom of the cave and stretched her legs, studying her feet intently.

“Both of your parents are Gods. Why ask me?” Hekate asked with a touch of bitterness.

She regarded the platters of fruits and food lay out on a table that Erica had just noticed. Hekate studied them thoughtfully, while Persephone pleaded with her friend.

“Because you are smart. You think quickly. I want this more than anything else before in my life.”

A look passed between Persephone and Hekate that caused a warm breath of wind to stir. Hekate tosses a pomegranate to Persephone.

“Don’t eat the whole thing. Make it symbolic so you get the best of both worlds. You know, time with your family down here, and time with your mom.”

Persephone tears into the leathery fruit, pulling out three ruby seeds. She delicately eats them, and then starts in for more.

“Wait…” Hekate says.

A deep red fog winks into existence around Persephone, swirls around her like a crimson dust devil, and then she is gone.

“Well, that’s done.” Hekate says, seemingly to the empty air. “Now what about you?” she says. She turned around and stared straight at Erica.

Erica grimaces as she tries to extricate herself from the mound of mushroom. She tries to scrape off the goop from her chafed arms and hands, but merely spreads it out in streaks down her arms. Her feet are no longer hurting, save in small achy waves. She feels grateful, but alarmed. When the Goddess looks at her, it is as if a thousand people are staring intently into her soul.

“You’re Hekate?” Erica gasps, stunned.

“Yes,” She says firmly, arms akimbo. “Maybe you expect me to look like this?”

Her face was smearing and twisting and forming deep wrinkles and beady crow eyes with stringy black hair. Her white peplos bloomed into a shapeless hanging grey frayed bog dress and calloused bare feet. Her nose was inflating, stretching and hooked. Her form was now old and bent. The temperature drops.

“Yeah, sort of.” Erica says, fighting the creeping fear in her gut.

“Well, I guess they are both right. But I was originally young. Any young woman dead before her time could become Hekate, if the Gods willed it.” Hekate says, almost cheerfully.

The chipper young voice still emerging from aged lips. Then a dark and chill thought crosses Erica’s mind.

“Am I dead?” she gasps at the thought.

“Not really.” Hekate says, as if she was saying something helpful.

“I guess that will have to be re-assuring.” Erica says in spite of herself.

“Well, you are a bit young to be messing around with flying ointment, you know. There aren’t really that many people out there who know how to use them properly. Experts better than you have died from such things.” Hekate says gravely. Her face looked old and young at the same time, which was becoming disconcerting.

“So I’m here to get lectured?” Erica snaps, with false bravado.

“You are at the Crossroads. My Domain. At least they get that right. Do you have any beans for the poor?” she asks in an old, gravely voice.

“Uh…no.” Erica says, feeling faint.

All at once the gravity of her situation sunk in. This was a goddess in front of her, and that one was the only one that could help her right now. This grounds her, and her mind finally clears of the fog she experienced earlier.
The old-young one shakes her head sadly.

“Too bad. I guess we’d be better getting you back, then, shouldn’t we?“ She turns with remarkable speed toward the path that leads up the way she’d come.

Erica realizes she is not physically capable of marching all the way back to the surface. She calls behind the lady firmly but with deference.

“With all due respect Lady, I came here for a reason. I can’t turn my back on that. Besides, I thought those beans in the olden times were offerings for you. I did give you offerings. Please accept them.” Erica says softly but firmly.

“Well, I guess your offering isn’t so bad.” Hekate says, barely hiding a grin.

In her open hand, Hekate examines the wine that Kelly had smuggled in from her brother’s cupboard in its crystal glass. She looks at the pomegranate, whole and pristine. She holds the powder of the hand-made incense that Erica made herself from dried poppy flowers, nightshade, mugwort, sandalwood and myrrh. As Erica watches, it smolders and burns spontaneously in the palm of Her hand. The Goddess inhales the smoke and gets brighter and shows Her young Face again.

“You don’t have to make it that toxic, you know.” The Lady said. Erica felt nettled.

“You read Cunningham too?” Erica asked, and immediately regretted it.

The Goddess smiled. “His words have brought many a pleasant fume to My Presence. Is that not enough to be fond of him?” she asked kindly.

“Oh, man. You’ve probably met him, you know…” Erica felt embarrassed.

“When he passed? Yes. Also before. But he’s not what you came for, so let us be going. Time is short.” she was starting again towards the path.

Suddenly, the path is bending and twisting like an image in a funhouse mirror. She finds herself walking through a square-cut doorway that looked remarkably like a lintel of a house.

Walking is no longer a Herculean effort. Her feet don’t hurt, and her face isn’t bleeding, and she somehow isn’t slimed!

Things seem pretty good on this path. She is walking though something like water, but she could breathe. This causes everything to get a surreal blurry yet jewel studded quality, as if poured over with honey colored liquid light.

Several bright and colorfully abstract things happen to her that she doesn’t quite understand. She feels like she’s in an impressionist painting, where the palate is in jewel tones on black velvet. She is finally warm, and her skin tingles like pins and needles but she is totally relaxed.

Messages pass to her that made her dizzy but she can’t decipher beyond obscure feelings of kinship with abstract beings of pure thought.

She sees light even when she closes her eyes from all the warring sensations that fill her mind with static. After this whirling kaleidoscope of things she could barely remember, she passes through a doorway, and is immediately unconscious.

[jcrowfoot]

Several notes that I probably should have put in a foreword:

A peplos is an ancient greek women's garment, the precursor of the bog dress, both in history and on Hekate.

Second, this is supposed to be a part of a larger story. Erica has other adventures. Also, keep in mind that the last word in the story is "unconcious" not "dead". One of my questions is... does this feel like a story with an end to it? That's something I need to know. Colubra can attest to the fact that it's better than it *was*, but still.

Third, by posting this story, I do not declare that all newbies are like Erica. There are all kinds of people in this world, even in witchcraft.


So, in effect: characters in this story are fictional... except the gods. They aren't fictional but more real than we are and I can only guess how they'd feel about my portrail... and pray that they would tell me nicely if they are offended by my likeness. Sorry about the spelling for this secondary post, but I'm so freaking tired I'll edit it in the morning.

[Sobek]

i only read the first few paragraphs. i will definately the rest of it once i track down my glasses

but i will comment on what ive read so far. the opening of a story is extremely important. a fact im sure your well aware. let me just say you rocked it...powerful opening!

[Zero_TheBenevolent]

i loved it. very great, vivid detail. i'm an imaginer and i could see all of this very vividly in my head. great story. caught my attention from the get go ^_^.

i think it would be a great idea to have a book of short stories like this of Erica's different adventures. and just stop at the end of one of them whenever you get tired of writing. whatever you feel fits best

[jcrowfoot]

Thanks, Z! Sorry I missed this post... sometimes I give up before reading all the posts on this list, and the new but unread posts get lost to my browser between sessions. It's very very annoying but I'm not sure how could fix it, so I'm hesitant to complain.

Anyhow, I like your idea. I have to think about the things that Erica does next.

[quicksilver]

very good parts of it are a little clunky but with work they can be fixed

[Arcane]

Good story! I'll check it later .

[jcrowfoot]

Yeah. I know. The ending sucked. I just couldn't figure out where to end it. I wasn't sure if she *was* in the hospital, or if she'd wake up to find her parents freaked, or whether her friends would just wake up and say, "hey, that was so boring. I don't know about this witchy stuff." There were just so many ways it could go. Also, I had this feeling that Hekate would say something else to her, a real message about her life, but somehow I just never got there. Maybe later I'll take another wack at it and maybe I'll come up with something. If anyone has any suggestions, I'm all ears.

[Zero_TheBenevolent]

btw, i recently posted a chapter here of my book-in-the-making that you read part of and said you'd critique anyway, its there under Memory's Illusion should you or anyone else (*wink-wink-to-everyone*) decide to take the time to read and critique.

Toodles,

Zero

[Makbawehuh]

Wooo... I like. And I actually think the ending should be more obscure, so that you aren't sure if she's dead or simply unconscious. Then again, I'm a sucker for endings that keep you guessing.