Sometimes you have projects that try your confidence; you work and you strive and yet everything comes to nought. Sometimes you have projects and they spark and grow and become something far greater than the sum of their constituent parts. Sometimes you have projects and they are things that should never, ever, have been attempted. They should have been shutdown at the outset and not permitted to grow. They are dark and they are dangerous, and left unchecked they become demons that damage the soul.
A piercing chill filled the early morning air and the thick bank of fog that had descended upon the hilltop overnight showed precious little signs of lifting. A solitary figure could be seen moving silently along the narrow path that snaked its way across the topmost ridge. It was said that on a good day you could stand on the top of the hill and see for miles. This particular morning the world was shrouded in a blanket of grey, and that suited the woman who now made her way over the brow of the hill. She had not come all this way for the view of rolling hills. This was a sort of pilgrimage; a trip she made on the same date each year.
She pushed back the hood of the heavy cloak that sat upon her shoulders and looked down at the valley below. Through the fog she could just make out the ramshackle farm that nestled into the hillside; an untidy collection of buildings that seemed to cling to the steep slope. A faint haze of orange broke the monotony of grey as the curtains at a downstairs window were drawn partially back, and the light from within spilled out into the small cobbled courtyard beyond. The drizzle air settled in her hair and splashed softly upon her face. Her features were imposing… some might even venture to say striking, but the woman cared little for the view of others. She was content to let them think what they wanted and to go about life in the manner that suited her best.
She had begun her journey as soon as the sun had started to set. She preferred the solitude of flying at night. There was less likelihood of a chance encounter with a non-witch, and the inevitable explaining that that entailed.
She had arrived at the farm a little after four in the morning and parked her broom, as was customary, in the small shed that was left unlocked for her, before letting herself into the cottage. Her host always insisted on leaving her something to eat and drink, although she never requested anything and seldom ate a morsel of what was offered
The sheets on the narrow bed were freshly laundered, but she only rested for a couple of hours before rising again and making her way up the hill. There was little by way of a path to follow, and the route was not one best navigated in the dark. Tree roots criss-crossed the earth, ready to trip the unwary, but she had made the climb a number of times and was alert to its hazards.
The long grass tangled around her feet as she left the track and made her way across the open expanse of the field. The hem of her cloak brushing against the sodden earth but remaining resolutely dry.
Her progress was watched by the wildlife that made the hilltop their home. The birds did not sing, but sat high in the branches of the naked trees and watched silently as the witch passed beneath. The foxes and rabbits ceased their own personal fight for survival as they felt the unmistakable tang of magic in the air. Everything was still; the only movement came from the tall witch in the black cloak.
She paused and looked down into the valley beneath her. How many years had she been making the trip? How many years had passed since that night? She pushed the thought away. She didn't want to dwell on what had happened. Memories of it had disturbed her sleep for the past two weeks and it had been almost a relief when the date had finally arrived.
She crouched down and pressed one hand to the sodden earth. She muttered a few words beneath her breath before standing up again, her head still lowered, her eyes closed, her mind forcing her to recall exactly what had passed. She would not ask for forgiveness; would not ask for the burden of guilt to be lifted. What was a witch but the sum total of her experiences?
"Con….Constance…Is that you?"
The voice was quiet, hesitant, but still caused Constance's heart to race. She had thought she was alone; she hadn't imagined that anyone else would be awake at this hour, much less have made the climb to the top of the hill. She spun round to face the newcomer, a growing sense of unease building within her. She hadn't seen the face, but even after all this time, she was certain that she recognised the voice.
"You came…" the voice trailed off, confidence fading. "I wasn't sure that you would." A nervous glance, a check that she wasn't stepping over some unspoken mark. "I wasn't sure if you still did. I mean, I've never…"
"I come every year." Constance broke across the woman's nervous twittering, silently wishing that she would shut up and leave.
Nothing more was said, and after a few moments Constance glanced over, seeing the way that her companion was now twisting her long braided hair between her fingers. The woman had aged. She supposed they all had, it was something she'd not given much thought to. That was a lie. There was one of their number she thought about at this time each year; wondering what she would have looked like, wondering how different things could have been.
"You shouldn't be here," she told her flatly. "You shouldn't be here at the same time as me. We all swore."
A slight smile tugged at the edges of the woman's mouth. "You were never one for following orders Constance. Have you really changed that much?"
Constance stiffened at the mention of the past. It wasn't a place she wanted to revisit. "One of us should leave. If it's not going to be you, then I must." She made to step away but paused as the woman raised a hand to stop her. The hand never closed over Constance's arm, but hung there for a few moments, mere centimetres away, before dropping listlessly back to the woman's side.
"Go if you must. I just thought that maybe…after all this time…perhaps…"
"Perhaps what?" The question escaped from her mouth before she could stop herself.
"A drink. One drink, one hour of your company that's all I'm asking for."
Constance shook her head. "I shouldn't be talking to you like this. We aren't supposed to meet…Any of us…Ever."
"It's been twenty years." There was a slight whine to the woman's tone, a hint of desperation in her voice.
"I don't need reminding of that." Constance snapped back, instantly regretting the action and softening the tone of her voice. "Look, you shouldn't have come. Whilst I am glad that you too remember, we are not supposed to meet."
"Remember! Of course I remember. How could you think that any of us would not!"
Constance was immediately on her guard. "Any of us? Tell me that you haven't spoken to any of the others? Tell me that you haven't done anything so foolhardy as trying to contact any of them?"
"Of course not."
The answer was too quick, too hurried.
"I have to go….now."
"Wait, please." The woman pushed a scrap of paper into Constance's palm and closed her hand around it. "Burn it if you feel you must, but we have to talk."
Constance closed her eyes and concentrated on the small room with its narrow bed. She had to leave the hillside, leave the company of the woman standing next to her. Promises had been made, rules had been imposed; now was not the time to break even one of them.
She opened her eyes again as the sound of a fire crackling in a grate reached her ears. The small whitewashed walls of the bedroom were once again surrounding her on all sides. She glanced across at the fire, knowing that her host must have entered the room to tend to it. Ordinarily she would have stayed for the day, have made polite, if slightly awkward, conversation but today was different. She had to get back to the school as quickly as she could. She had to get away from the place before the witches council got wind of the meeting that had taken place. She may not have instigated it, but she had broken rules by even speaking to the woman. She wished she could stop her hands from shaking as she hastily gathered together the small number of items she had thought to bring with her. She had believed herself free of the past, but it looked very much as though it had just caught up with her.