CONTENT WARNING: NSFW- sexual intercourse (One image is blurred completely, the other is shot from the shoulders up so you don't see anything), traumatic memories, one small drug reference
[Excerpt from Katlego's diary]
Today marks the maiden voyage of ( INSERT AMAZING BOAT NAME WHEN I COME UP WITH IT!!), a ditched pirate vessel which I have decided to give new life as my own. For the first time in my life, I am venturing far from my home village, to wherever the seas and the winds take me. If I am become a successful businesswoman, I have to expand my horizons! Sorcerers and sorceresses across the oceans will get a taste of only the finest in arcane goods!
Of course, I am not making this journey alone- with me is my trusted companion Nia, and she's as raring to go as I am... I think. As joyous as home comforts are, I have always wanted to travel to other lands; sometimes, I feel I have the kind of curiosity that can't be sated, but I suppose that isn't a bad thing. Besides, I'll be back in a few months, once I've stopped off in a few different places.
Mother always used to tell me that there is an enormous world outside of our window, and that it would be a shame to waste never seeing any of it, though she and my father never ventured outside of our homeland- too busy with their work. When I come back, I'll have plenty of stories to share with them both.
Here's to a safe journey for the two of us. NOTE: THINK OF A GOOD BOAT NAME!!!
[What looks to be an owl's ink footprint is stamped on the other side of the page.]
Áine
Morning is just upon us, and the small town of Withernham is quiet as ever, save for the beautiful choir in the Peteran monastery. I wondered what the songs were out; I know nothing of Old Simlish, but there's a grandeur to it which nothing in the modern day could compare to. The early summer sun casts a golden glow on the stonework.
Annabeth and I are tending to the farm animals, though she doesn't seem to be enjoying it much, complaining of the stench and the mess.
"Prior Morgan talks about you a lot, you know, Onion."
"Áine. Awn-ye."
"That's what I said!" she chirps, scattering feed amongst the chickens, who lunge for it as if they haven't been fed for weeks. They're almost like feathered cats in that sense.
"I hear it all the time, he's always talking about you! And I notice you two aren't around often at night when the rest of us are sleeping. You want to know what I think?"
I feel a lump in my throat. "Well-"
"I think he likes you."
Well, it was cleaner than I expected, but...
"Of course like each other. We're friends. We have been for many months now."
"Noooo," she says, with a wavering voice, "I mean, likes you."
Little children and their fairytale ways of thinking! I almost envy her for her innocence, but I'm glad she still has it. A witch child who hasn't had their innocence taken away from them is something I thought I would never see.
"I don't think that's necessarily the case, Annabeth."
Why am I letting the whimsical, wishful thoughts of a child make me second-guess the way of the world? Maybe they really do know the world better than we do; their minds are mostly yet to be marred by adulthood. It has me thinking about the line between friendship and love, however messy or clear that line may be. What was the difference between the two, really? Where did one start and the other end?
...and where did my closest friend stand on this line?
"Anyhow, shouldn't you be keeping these things to yourself instead of gossiping?"
"Oh, I see," she replies, sulking. "I thought you would have wanted to know!"
"Ah, but some things ought to be kept secret, Annabeth."
"Well, fine! Next time I find out something really really interesting I'm not going to tell you! And I'm going to tell every single other woman in the refuge except for you!"
"That's fine by me!"
She rages to herself for a moment, stomping off towards the monastery. Ah, the delights and carelessnesses of childhood...
Reynold
"I always talk about how we should be doing everything we can for other people, but something I realise Peterans have historically neglected...is that we do very little for ourselves."
"Isn't that the point, though?" Susana asks. "We're supposed to devote our lives to helping other people, so long as we have enough to live on."
"No, you misunderstand what I'm saying, Sister Susana- I'm not talking about material belongings, money or anything of the sort."
"I'm talking about the fact that people devote themselves to Peterism so much that they forget to make friends along the way, or maybe they don't let themselves grow close to someone because they think it will be a distraction from the faith- and it isn't. Being Peteran isn't shaving off every bit of personal happiness for the good of the Watcher. The Watcher wants you to be happy as much as anyone else."
I notice a little grin creep up on everyone's face, and a tear or two to Mother Joyce's eyes, but of course Susana has something else to say.
"Okay, Brother Reynold- who is it?"
The chittering of laughter echoes off the stone walls.
* * *
So long as they are careful, I let the adults from the refuge into the library to read any of the books that aren't mine or Mother Joyce's writings with the Watcher. However, now the children are doing the same, making a mess all over the floor. Mother Joyce is right when she says it is a test of my patience, but I do not raise my voice at them- they've been through enough. You can clean a mess off the floor easily, but you cannot wipe the horrific experiences of these children from their lives.
The children like to play with Whisper, and she tends to sleep in the refuge on top of their blankets, as if she's keeping them safe. On top of that, she seems to be trying to tell me something. She won't let me write anything without jumping onto the desk, making herself the centre of attention...as if she isn't always the centre of attention around here.
As the months passed, I was still thinking about Áine and our friendship. I don't know where I want to take it- at least, not in words, and that's the problem. I don't know what to say to her, and writing with the Watcher is giving me little in the way of ideas. Neither is prayer in front of the statue; it seems as if the Watcher wants me to figure this out for myself.
I decide to ask the opinion of someone else who would not give me a biased answer to my question. Was now too early to say anything to her? Do I wait, or do I quit beating around the bush about it? Whisper gives me two little meows, placing a paw in my palm- but before I can figure out whether that meant to do the former or the latter, Mother Joyce enters.
"You did good out there today," she says, with a hand on my shoulder. I'm still struggling to get used to her not being so strict. It almost feels like I'm about to get reprimanded for leaving a sliver of dust on the pulpit.
"However, it is not all entirely good news- I've received a letter from the Jacoban cathedral up in Finchwick. It seems the High Shepherd wishes to meet with you sometime...The gall of it!"
Mother Joyce and the High Shepherd, Julian, had apparently butted heads numerous times over the years. They occasionally held meetings with each other; Mother Joyce had tried to forge an alliance with the Jacobans and gave up, and Shepherd Julian was seemingly trying to turn her to his side of the Watcher's gaze. Mother Joyce, stubborn as she is, never refused a single meeting with him.
On top of that, having to go to the Finchwick cathedral would likely mean having to deal with my sister again. She still doesn't respond to any of my letters, even after all this time, but I won't give up on her- no matter how much she may want to give up on me. I can't do that to her, though I fear for the sorts of ideas Shepherd Julian may have put into her head.
The revelation has me remembering what Mother Joyce said about enjoying myself whilst I still have time to do so, and not missing out on things I may regret later on. I know what the Jacobans are like about people like myself, and people like the refugees. Mother Joyce fought hard against Shepherd Julian's magic-fearing fervor, and without raising a finger- but the metaphorical fight against the witch-hunts is much more personal to me. Once I truly take Mother Joyce's position, I don't know what else I'll have time for.
Áine
Out on our usual early-morning adventures, we come across an unmistakable spiral in the ground. Mother always told me not to step into the centre of any natural circles or spirals, or else the aos sí would invite me into a dance that only ended when you died from the sheer exhaustion.
Part of me wonders if Reynold and I are both unusually apprehensive about the same thing- what Annabeth said. She was just a child, of course, and she could have easily misread something that was said- but her potential misreading of the situation was what made me realise...am I misreading my own feelings? Is it just the witches' sense that is giving me a false sense of heightened closeness to him? Is it as simple as comfort in the presence of someone who shares your fears, or is it something more?
The trees in this forest dwarf us, and amongst them, I realise how small we truly are. The trees and the aos sí will be here far longer than Reynold or I or anyone else will.
"I apologise if I've been quiet, Áine. There's a lot on my mind lately, what with the monastery and all."
"I understand. You know you can tell me anything."
Reynold
You can tell her anything.
The soft sounds of the waterfall interrupt my thoughts for a moment. When Elias told me I was the most simultaneously charismatic and awkward man he'd ever met, he wasn't wrong about that at all.
"I've been re-reading the Book of Peter- again- and one line struck me in particular about not letting good things pass you by. When the Watcher guides you towards something that will give you joy, then don't ignore it."
I feel a sensation of nausea in my throat.
"We've all been much better off in the months since you arrived in Withernham, Áine. Everyone is glad that you came to us, and we all value your presence- myself, especially-"
Too forward?
I don't know. She doesn't seem shocked or anything. I can't tell if it's politeness, or if I am far too easy to read, or if she's speechless but not in the good way.
"No, no, I'm being far too-"
Áine
"You're not being too anything, Reynold. Carry on."
When Mother would go on her sometimes-long tirades about the nature of men, she said to me that a gentle and loving soul was near-impossible to find. That said, here I was, stood in front of a prime example of both of those qualities. Nothing like what Mother had warned me about in my youth.
"I don't have the exact words for how I feel about you, Áine, but the succinct way that I can put it is that there is something soothing about your presence. I'm not just talking about the witches' sense, either," he says, whispering the word, and slowly becoming more red in the face as he goes on. "I wanted to ask if you'd consider us getting to know each other a little better."
He'd asked me that three times in the time that I'd known him, and each time it appeared to mean something a little different. I notice the sun slowly making its way up as we speak. Have we been outside for that long? All of these natural reminders of the brevity of life dawn upon me all at once. Not only that, but we're witches. Our lives may be much more brief than everyone else's.
I don't realise what I've done until I look down and find Reynold's clammy and calloused palms in my own. I flinch, about to let go and apologise to him, but his expression hasn't changed. Still the kind smile he's always given me.
"I've been wondering the same about you, Reynold, I think," I reply, desperately trying not to avert my gaze. "The Book of Peter is right. Our lives are far too short to let good things slip out of our grasp. If you'd like, we could get to know each other a little better- if you have the time, anyhow."
"Oh, I'll have time- at least until I'm officially in charge," he replies, with a nervous laugh. "Even then, I'd always find a way to make some time for you, Áine."
The first flash of sunlight appears from behind the horizon, catching us by surprise. "I think you've already made enough time for me for one day. We've been out here all morning."
Reynold turns his gaze towards the sunrise, chuckling in his throat. "So we have...We ought to get back."
As we start to make our way back to Withernham from the forests, I slide my hand along onto his shoulder. Even after I had accepted his offer, he still seems off somehow.
"You weren't surprised by any of that, were you? Did I really make it so obvious?"
"Actually, it was Annabeth that picked up on it. I thought she'd misunderstood something, so I thought little of it at the time, though it did force me to reflect upon my own thoughts a little."
Reynold sighs to himself. "Of course it was. Children are too smart for their own good- especially little Annabeth. I'm glad it wasn't just me, I suppose. Makes things less awkward when both parties feel the same way- and a little flattering, actually."
We'd discussed arranging an outing in celebration of our decision. We
both noted that Beltane was only a month or so away, and according to
Reynold, so was the Henford Fire Festival. Over the years, the Fire
Festival had distanced itself from its original meaning and from the
occult, becoming more of an excuse to get drunk and start fires than
anything. Plenty of witches still attended, only they kept their
abilities to themselves. After years of spending time making peace with
the flames, I took interest in the idea. When I was a child, Mother and I
would have our own celebrations, and she'd make bannocks over the fire
for us both. It would be nice to revisit my childhood in a positive way.
* * *
As we slowly made our way out of Spring and into Summer, whatever existed between Reynold and I had blossomed greatly.
I feel there is a kindness in him that I would find in no other man or woman. Even the animals seem to love him. In a world that has been more or less overtaken by constant strife, Reynold was a welcome break from it all- and it isn't just me who thinks this.
He seems completely oblivious to the effect that he has on the world around him. The other regular church-goers I'd met once or twice, between the jokes they'd all make about him, would say he might be the best thing to happen to the Withernham monastery in the long run. The townspeople talk about him often, saying that his counsel changed their lives. I'd told him everything I'd heard, but he just seems to brush it off out of modesty.
I still remember our first kiss- out in the warm summer rain, surrounded by the flowers. Some years ago, I would have laughed at these stories of young love, and yet now I was living the same life of the stories I would have turned my nose up at as a teenager.
Of course, I am taking it day by day. Should our friendship change as time goes on, then so it shall be. There is no time to dwell on the future when our futures may be cut short anytime- it is the here and now, and we can be happy and carefree for just a moment, we must take those moments where we can get them.
Today, Beltane is finally upon us, and I feel a chill in the air, as if the spirits of the dead are stepping through the veil. I do not know much about life and death in the spiritual sense, but I take some time to myself to wish Mother and Father well. The festivities are lively. Reynold and I have eaten enough fire-baked bannocks to feed Withernham, and few strangers managed to jump the fire without going up in flames...and we are back to the flames.
I keep thinking I have fully overcome them, but staring into what is supposed to be a comfortable fire is reminding me of awful memories. The likely fate of my mother and father, and the woman at the stake...Why? That was so many years ago. I was just a child, and yet I can recall the image as if it had happened five minutes ago.
I don't realise until it's too late that I've said this all to Reynold, and that I'm holding on to his arm, shaking.
"Oh, Watcher...No, no, this is all my fault. I should have thought critically before asking you to come here with-"
"No, don't apologise, Reynold," I reply. "I wanted to come here. The Beltane fire is a symbol of life and of comfort. I want fire to be comforting again."
He puts an arm around my shoulder, guiding me towards the warmth of the flames, when a familiar-ish voice calls his name. I see the absolute horror in his eyes, and he stands perfectly still.
Reynold
"Susana?! What in the Watcher's name are you doing at the Fire Festival?"
She can't stop laughing, as usual. I'm not sure what she's been burning in that fire, but whatever it is, I don't think it's something that's recommended in the Book of Peter...
"Oh, Brother Reynold, you needn't be so shy! Why, we're all very glad for you. Besides, I'm here for the same reason most people are."
"Oh? Are you here with a partner?"
"What? No," she replies, still in a fit of giggles. "I'm here for free food and an excuse for a quick-"
"That's quite enough, Susana. I don't think myself nor the Watcher needs to hear the rest of what's inevitably about to come out of your mouth."
Of all places for one of the other Peterans to turn up, it has to be at the Fire Festival! Of all nights, why tonight? Well, it's no use trying to hide anything now. Every person of faith indulges in a few taboos now and then. I'm not the first eventual Peteran leader to have fallen in love, and I won't be the last- but history is changing faster than anyone can keep up with it anyway. What difference will this make?
I bid Susana a good night, and lead Áine over to the beautifully-decorated maypole for my attempt at a dance. The others are too busy focusing on each other to worry about my missteps anyhow.
"What sort of magic do you normally practice, Reynold?" she whispers to me, her head on my shoulder.
The combination of atmospheres is overwhelming, in a way I've never properly felt before. The time of year, the festival, the fire and likely the moon were all emphasising one another.
"Oh, all sorts of things, I suppose, where I can get away with it anyhow. I'd like to learn more wild magic, but there's something a little unnerving about it. What about you?"
"Practical. Some Wild magic as well. I need to learn how to use Fulguris, but it's such a strange and unpredictable kind of energy- even for a Wild magic spell."
"Potentially an innovative one as well. A witch made a recent discovery involving accidentally charging some scrap metal with the Fulguris spell. She thinks it could be used to provide power and energy to all sorts of objects in the future- and not just in a magical way, but a scientific one." Witches had plenty of tools for advancement, and if the witch-hunts continued, humanity as a whole would suffer as a result of the loss of us.
Even the whispering small talk cannot distract me from my feelings. I lightly move her head from my shoulder. I peep back towards the fire, and thankfully Susana is too busy distracted by whatever she's burning in there to see what I'm doing. I don't say anything, taking a moment to formulate what's about to come out of my mouth before I embarrass myself. I'm trying to think of a way to ask that sounds like I am asking her to join me in a ritual of unity and of passion, as opposed to coming across as some kind of manipulative cad.
"Áine, do you wish to head back to the forest with me- in private?"
I'm already mentally smacking myself in the face for how awkward that likely sounded.
Áine
During these festivals, witches would often head into secluded forests in the night with their loved ones, and celebrate their union together amongst the comforts of Nature. It is during this time that the Sun and the Moon themselves are united, and so men and women would do the same to honour them. I didn't expect him to ask at all, though I believe he's mistaken my silence as fear.
"Reynold, please, I'm just surprised, is all. You see...I've never done anything of the sort before. Have you?"
"I haven't, no, but if not, then we can always go back to Withernham and sleep if you'd like. It's getting rather late, and we've been celebrating all night-"
As much as I squirmed when Mother gave me the relevant run-down of all it all in my late teenage years, if I were going to share my first time with anyone, I'd want it to be someone who I would fondly remember, someone who would make it a pressure-less experience. No matter how carefully he words something, Reynold always seems to think he's manipulating other people when he's nothing of the sort.
"I would love to," I say to him, holding his palms in mine. Almost without warning, he brings me forward into a kiss. It isn't the kind of controlled, romantic one we shared in the woods in the rain. No, it is much more of a raw, almost lustful one.
* * *
The cool breeze of the early summer night runs right through me at
first, but there is a certain beauty in being unclothed in the outdoors,
away from everyone. The pressures and trivialities of modern human life
mean nothing here. We stand here with nothing but what we were gifted
with when we were born, and it is incredibly freeing.
For a moment, we do nothing but sit in the grass together, patiently, gazing up into the stars. I realise that he's waiting for me, making sure I am ready before we take it any further. Beltane was always such a beautiful night, but it is much more beautiful as an adult, wiser to the world. It was a night where, for once, masculine and feminine would unite with each other, entirely on equal standing.
Reynold
Growing up, my father had always taught me that your first time doing anything was naturally going to be full of little mistakes. The context of this conversation had changed over the years, but the point was always the same.
The beginning of any new stage in your life would always be trial-and-error in some way, but the beauty of it was having someone to share the trial-and-error with. To say tonight is one of the best days I've had in a while is not an understatement- free of the confines of the monastery, and returning to my true roots in witchcraft. To be truly one with Nature is something I've denied myself since learning of the horrors committed against people like myself, against my friends and family... and here we are, rebelling against the witch-hunts in our own little way. Henford legend has it that the unity of man and woman on the night of Beltane gives fertility to the Earth and guarantees good fortune for the summer. I silence Áine's pleasured moans with a kiss, before someone hears us.
Tonight, I am glad to pave a new way for the future of the Peteran monastery. No longer will people feel the need to set aside the wonders of friendship and love in favour of faith- at least, that is what I hope people will come to realise. It is what the Watcher would want; it is what They want for every living being- to live their lives as best as they can with what they have.
Áine's beauty is amplified by the soft light of the half-moon above us. Part of me doesn't want this moment to end at all. For a long time, this will likely be the last time I can be in touch with my true self before retreating to the monastery.
That said, there is no time to dwell on the future; the joy of your first time with someone special to you is living entirely in the moment. After we're done, Áine and I remain within each other's embrace for a while, sharing our warmth in the midnight chill.