It was a dark and stormy night. The chilly, late fall wind was howling violently outside the mouth of the small, secluded cave. The shrieks of the storm outside sounded like screams of the dead coming back to seek vengeance. The sound was eerie for even those who had long been hardened to unnatural noises and creepy things that go bump in the night. Second witch shivered under her thin shawl. The sharp, stinging cold of a draft snuck its way into the cave and struck the exposed flesh of her cheek like thousands of razor sharp needles. The night was bitterly cold and the meager soup of her supper provided little warmth or comfort. She brought the chipped, clay bowl to her lips and fervently downed the last few drops of the now only lukewarm liquid. Slowly setting down the bowl onto the earth beside her, she looked up and glanced at her fellow members of the Scottish witch clan.
They were all sitting in their usual seats around the fire. Third witch was to her left sitting directly on the ground. She was muttering something under her breath, but none of the others took any notice. That was the way it generally was with her. Third witch was the lowest ranking witch in the clan and consequentially, no one took her seriously.
To second witch's right was first witch. She was sitting regally on a small stool. She had influence in the clan and she knew it. Her position as second in line to the Mistress was very secure. She could even challenge her authority without reprimand. Second witch would never even think about challenging Mistress Hecate. In her mind, she was but a humble follower and Hecate's word was law.
On the other side of first witch, sitting on a large stone seat with a high back, was the Mistress herself. At a first glance, she appeared very casual, leaning against the back of the throne and lazily bringing spoonfuls of soup to her lips. But upon closer inspection, there was a hardness behind her dark grey eyes, and when she was not eating, her lips were pursed together tightly with dissatisfaction.
The tense silence of the cave was interrupted by a deafening crack of thunder. Second witch flinched involuntarily, and even third witch stopped her muttering and looked over at the other faces around the fire.
All three witches turned to Hecate. She sighed. "Save those scared faces for something that actually deserves it." She rolled her eyes and the other three witches went back to their soup.
Less than a minute later, there was another crack of thunder and a simultaneous flash of lightning. Second witch restrained herself from flinching this time, but when she looked over at the mouth of the cave and saw a dark hooded figure, her eyes couldn't help but widen with bewilderment.
Hecate, on the other hand, was not surprised at all. "Enter, will you? There's some soup if you'd like," she said nonchalantly as she gestured for the dripping wet figure to take a seat by the fire.
Before the words had hardly left Hecate's mouth, the figure stormed into the cave.
"Why did you do this! Why! I have done everything you asked! Everything! And it only led to his death! Why did my husband have to die!"
The figure pulled the hood of her cloak back from her face. Second witch recognized her immediately as the beautiful Lady Macbeth.
Hecate stood up. Although she said nothing, her hard, cruel eyes glared at Lady Macbeth, conveying her message of disproval.
Finally she spoke. "You have no right to question me. What has been done cannot be undone. Macbeth's life cannot be saved. Be thankful we were there to save yours."
Lady Macbeth lowered her head with shame. In her fit of anger, she had failed to remember that she owed her life to Hecate, and was therefore bound to a life of servitude for the clan.
Hecate let her stand there wallowing in her shame for a couple moments before deciding that the incident had reached its conclusion and was now taking time away from the meeting.
"Now sit. We have important matters to discuss."
Lady Macbeth obediently took her spot on the ground on the other side of third witch.
Still standing, Hecate started her speech.
"As we all know, Europe is at the brink of war. England, having now claimed Scotland, has put a power shift into motion. There are rumours that France and Spain have allied themselves together to prevent this from occurring. The Scottish have always accepted our clan; the French and Spanish might not. Our clan's only chance for survival is if the new United Kingdom can win the war. Therefore it is our duty to support Malcolm. We will journey to Dunsinane to provide Malcolm with prophecies which will aid him in planning the battle. Malcolm is our only hope for the future. Are you with me? First witch?"
"I am not with you but with the clan," first witch replied boldly.
"Second witch?"
"I am forever your loyal servant, oh Mistress Hecate, ruler of the witches, guardian of darkness and evil. I but humbly serve. Anything you request shall be done," replied second witch earnestly.
Hecate sighed. "And third witch? Or should I even bother asking?"
Third witch paused a little before answering. "I like pie," she said as she gave a crooked-tooth smile.
Hecate sighed again and paused dramatically. "Well then to Dunsinane we go," she said finally. "We leave tomorrow at sunset."
The next evening the five set off on horseback into the forest towards Dunsinane. They started off in single file in the order of the clan hierarchy; from Hecate leading the group on a magnificent black stallion to Lady Macbeth in last, riding on an old, lame horse that struggled to keep pace with the others.
They rode the first hour in complete silence; the only sound the soft thuds of the horses' hooves on the hard, packed earth. Eventually Lady Macbeth grew bored from the lack of conversation, and moved up to join third witch.
"How much longer do you think the journey will take?" whispered Lady Macbeth, not wanting to disturb the others.
"I think I'll make an apple pie," third witch said in response. "I like apple pie. It's my favourite kind." She gave her crooked-tooth smile again.
Lady Macbeth just looked at her and nodded slowly, at a loss of things to say. She smiled at third witch and moved up so that she was beside second witch.
"So, what do you really think about showing Malcolm prophecies?" Lady Macbeth whispered in a very hushed voice.
"It is the wish of Mistress Hecate, ruler of the witches, guardian of darkness and evil. Therefore I will do it. She has the supreme power."
Lady Macbeth just stared at second witch disbelievingly. "So you don't think it's at all unfair that Hecate brought down my husband when he was king, but that she is supporting Malcolm?" she said, the resentment clear from her tone of voice.
"It is the wish of Mistress Hecate, ruler of the witches, guardian of darkness and evil," second witch repeated. "I will do it."
The group finally reached Dunsinane just before midnight. They tied their horses in the forest outside the castle, then walked to the castle gates. There was a guard standing at the entrance, but first witch quickly charmed him into sleep. They hurried into the castle and up to Malcolm's chambers. There was another guard outside his door, but first witch charmed him as she had the other guard. They opened the door and slipped in.
Inside, Malcolm was sitting on the edge of his bed staring out the window. His chin was resting on his palm and he appeared to be deep in thought.
It was Hecate who finally broke the silence. "Hello, Malcolm," she said in a low voice.
Malcolm spun around. "Who are you women? What are you doing here? How did you get past the guard? What do you want with me? Why-"
Hecate cut him off. "Who we are is of no concern to you. We have come to help you with the forthcoming battle. We bring prophecies." She turned to second witch. "Go prepare the potion."
Second witch scurried off into a nearby room. She conjured up her cauldron and ingredients. She added the ingredients and let the mixture simmer. A few minutes later, Lady Macbeth slipped in.
"Plans have changed," she informed second witch. "Hecate has noticed your loyalty to her and has decided to let you try a more complex potion. She says to keep it secret though, as she does not want the others to know that she favours you."
"Mistress Hecate, ruler of the witches, guardian of darkness and evil, wants me to try a new potion?" The witch gave Lady Macbeth a hopeful smile.
"She does," said Lady Macbeth in an almost too charming voice. "She sent me to ask you to put in two extra toads and a stinkbug."
Second witch nodded vigorously and added the extra ingredients right away. Lady Macbeth almost felt sorry using her like this. Almost.
When second witch returned into Malcolm's chamber, everyone was waiting expectantly. She handed a flask of the potion to Malcolm.
He took a cautious sip, and quickly downed the rest.
There was a flash of bright light and then there was a scene of a battle. Standing on a hill in the center of it all was a faceless figure. There was a flash of lightning right over top of the figure and it struck a tree beside him. The tree caught fire and then the picture faded to black.
"Malcolm, Malcolm, Malcolm," said a deep voice.
"When fire and light
combine their might
he is to be the victor of this fight
will be standing in plain sight."
There was another flash of bright light but this time the scene was of two men shaking hands. From the angle it was difficult to make out their faces, but then one looked up and it appeared to be MacDuff.
"Malcolm, Malcolm, Malcolm," the deep voice said again.
"Beware of foe that appear to be friends,
for when thou misplace thy trust, the battle ends."
When this vision ended, however, there was no other flash of light. All six stood there expectantly, but no third prophecy came.
Finally Hecate spoke. "I suppose this is all then. Use these visions well. They will guide you through this war."
She stood up and left, and the others followed suit. The made their way back out of the castle gates and over to where they had left their horses. They rode off into the night and made their way back to the cave.
Malcolm woke up the next morning to MacDuff shaking him.
"Get up! We must be off! The French are already at our gates and the Spanish not far behind! Up!"
Malcolm sat up quickly and practically jumped out of bed. "Where is my armour? My sword. Where did I put it? I need to-"
MacDuff cut him off. "It's all over there. Get ready quickly. We don't have much time."
Ten minutes later Malcolm mounted his horse and rode over to meet MacDuff who was waiting in front of the troops lined up in their regiments.
"What happened to surprising the enemy? I thought we had agreed to have the men ambush from the forest?" Malcolm asked, confused.
"The French are expecting that. Our chances of victory are higher if we attack them directly from the front."
Malcolm remembered the prophecy. "No! We do it my way or you're out!"
"Come on. We're friends. How come you don't trust my judgement?" MacDuff said in a half joking voice as if he was expecting that at any moment Malcolm would burst out into laughter and say he was just kidding.
Malcolm glared at him. "You're out then. You can go join the French army, you traitor!"
When MacDuff realized he was serious, he sighed and shook his head, but rode off.
As soon as MacDuff was out of sight, Malcolm went back to the matter at hand. He led his soldiers into the forest and waited for a couple minutes for the right moment to attack. However, before Malcolm had given the word. He heard the clanging of swords. He turned around and saw that the Spanish were attacking his men from behind. MacDuff had been right when he said that they would've had a better chance attacking directly from the front. In the forest they were surrounded. There were the Spanish attacking from one side and the French on the other, preventing a retreat.
Two hours into the battle, the main conflict had shifted from the forest into the open field. The sky was overcast and the clouds threatened rain. As the first drops began to fall, Malcolm hurried over to the hill in the middle of the battlefield and stood by the tree. Finally the crack of lightning from the prophecy came. As it set the tree on fire Malcolm silently cheered. He was going to win the battle! He raised his sword to the sky but just as he did it there was another loud crack…
Three months later, Lady Macbeth stood in the jeering crowd as she watched her three companions struggle against the ropes that bound them to a large wooden stake. As the town minister set the fire, the crowd roared with approval. The witches screamed as they flames consumed them, but Lady Macbeth could only stand there and watch in horror as tears leaked from her eyes.
Meanwhile, third witch was at her cottage in the middle of the woods. She sauntered into the kitchen and checked the oven. It was done. She pulled the dish out of the oven and put it out on the windowsill to let it cool. She finished cleaning up the kitchen, the cut herself a slice. She loved pumpkin pie. It was her second favourite. As she bit into it she realized that there was somewhere she was supposed to be today. She thought about it for a moment, but couldn't quite recall, so she let the thought pass and scooped up another forkful of pie.