Page 24 of The Women of Wild Hill
Sibyl had to fight the urge to embrace the woman. “Do you know me?” she asked instead.
“Oh yes,” said the woman, who, upon closer inspection, didn’t seem to be entirely there. “I’ve been waiting a very long time for you to arrive. So has your family.” She gestured to five granite boulders that lined the crest of the hill.
“This is where my family comes from.” It wasn’t a question. Sibyl realized she knew the place. She’d dreamed about it for as long as she could remember.
“Yes. Go. Have a look.”
Sibyl walked over, with the woman following behind her. Each of the rocks bore a familiar name. Sadie. Rose. Ivy. Lilith. Flora. “I know these women.”
“Of course you do. They’re your ancestors. It’s their blood inside you.”
Pieces of a puzzle were coming together in her head. Sibyl glanced back at the woman. “Are you one of them?”
“No. My name is Bessie. I arrived here on Wild Hill in 1624.” She pointed out across the water at a thin strip of land. “I was hanged by the neck there on Culling Pointe.”
“Then you must be—”
The woman laughed. “Dead? Yes. Though the rules of death are a bit laxer for women like us. We can linger as long as we like.”
“What do you mean?” Sibyl asked. “Women like us?”
“What did your mother tell you?”
“Nothing. She never spoke about her family.”
Bessie’s smile dimmed. “That’s a pity. Still, you must have known you were different. Surely you never thought your mother was ordinary.”
It did seem ridiculous when Bessie put it that way. There was nothing even remotely ordinary about Phoebe. “What are we?”
“We are priestesses of the Old One. Defenders of the ancient ways. Guardians of the earth, air, and water. Protectors of all living things. Summoners of storms. Huggers of trees. Avengers of the innocent. Punishers of the guilty. Or, if you prefer to keep things simple, you might call us witches.”
Sibyl absorbed the information with a long inhale. “And my mother knows about all of this?” she asked on the exhale.
“Certainly.”
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
Bessie knew the answer. Sibyl could see it on her face. But the witch wasn’t going to say. “Phoebe was rebelling, and for a time, the Old One let her have her way.” She paused for a moment and seemed to study Sibyl. “But you are The Third. It is your gift that is needed to turn the tide.”
Sibyl couldn’t help but giggle at the thought. Sure, she had a few little tricks up her sleeve, but nothing that might be mistaken for real power. “I can make a great omelet, but that’s about all I can offer.”
“You must get that from your aunt Ivy. She was a marvelous chef. Never underestimate the power of food. But today, we’ll be giving you the most important gift of all.”
“We?”
Bessie pointed down at Sadie’s grave. “Lie down, child, and close your eyes. Your ancestors have a great deal to share with you.”
The Ancestors
We Are the Daughters
We are taught that every witch has a million mothers, each one formed in the Old One’s image. Like the goddess who gave birth to the universe, our ancestors saw life spring from their wombs. As children, we learn to revel in nature and never take her gifts for granted. Everything she brings to life will one day end in death and decay.
We are told light and dark always come as a pair. The Old One’s disciples may be called to create or destroy. Our foremothers were midwives who guided their neighbors through childbirth, but they were also murderers whose shears trimmed life’s strings. They were mothers who breastfed their babies—and crones who made bread from their enemy’s bones. They were healers whose elixirs restored the body—and reapers who always knew which weeds would kill.
Milk is our gift to the world and poison our weapon. We will always be worshipped, reviled, and feared. Our power is one that men cannot understand, and one kings will never conquer.
History has been the battle to harness our power, but like moonlight it won’t be controlled or contained. We topple tyrants, right wrongs, and restore the earth. We are the oracles who tell the future. We are the temptresses who taste the apple. We are the women who balance the scales.
