How I edit my own work - Plus a story to read too - 8

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Katherine drifted up to consciousness. As she neared the light-sparkled surface, she realised the urgency and propelled herself upwards, called by the gentle insistence of her name repeated over and over. Refreshed, invigorated and rested, she had not realised her body was weary before. She recognised her mother’s voice and wondered if she had been dreaming that she had lost her.

“Katherine wake up now, my darling. Your time is here, yet it is not. You have work to do before you may travel with me. Waken, Katherine!”

Morgana stood over her, shadows dappling her features so they were indistinct, never quite in focus.

Immediately, Katherine woke fully, eluding the drowsy, just-woken state. She was dressed, yet did not feel the weight of any clothing.

She knew something was missing and realised the constant pain she had lived with for years was gone, as well as the bone-deep tiredness that she had lived with for longer even than that.

She looked at her hand, expecting it to be whole and perfect but it was not there. She held the stump of her arm out towards Morgana as a child would, expecting her mother to make everything right again. Morgana shook her head in dismay; tears sprang to her eyes.

“I cannot make you whole. You have to do that,” Morgana said.

“Morgana what has happened to me?” Katherine asked.

“Your treacherous husband planned this. He knew of your visions and bribed your father to send you away. He knows the mystical value of a Witch’s burned right hand. But when you went from your father you were not yet a Witch, nor were you likely to be, a mentor had not sought you, nor had you hunted one for yourself. Your destiny was likely to be a woman who had visions and nothing more than that.”

Katherine looked at the stump at the end of her arm and covered it with her left hand, as though ashamed.

Morgana took hold of her left hand and pulled it away, shaking her head in gentle reassurance.

“The accident that burned your hand was a mere coincidence, but believe me, he would have burned you at some point during your apprenticeship if you had not already done so before you met him.”

“Why didn’t Dominic seek me out to mentor me before I went into service? I am sure my father would have allowed that. For all his treachery, the life I led with Dominic was far better than the one I had with Father.”

“That man was not your father. He owed me a debt and promised to take care of you when I died.” Morgana said.

Katherine could tell by her tone that she regretted the favour.

“A female cannot be apprenticed to a Warlock and a Witch cannot mentor a male. You were taught the ways of his craft, not ours. His error and his treachery enabled the veil to be breached, which is why you saw me in my three parts.”

Katherine sat down, cross-legged on the ground and looked up at her mother, listening like she used to when she was a toddler.

“You saw me washing in the stream. That is a portent of death – your own. You saw the cow and the raven during and after your marriage ceremony. These animals portray the Hag - who conducted the ceremony. You saw yourself on the ground as your body died. The Hag, the Mother and the Maiden; all are my different facets.”

“Have you come to me as my Mother’s spirit or as the Goddess I worshipped as my religion?”

“That is an excellent question, daughter. I am here as three entities, I am here as your mother and as the Goddess and I also represent the vengeful protector of womankind. It is because of your husband’s errors that I am allowed to intervene. His errors are magnified in his omissions.”

Morgana sat beside her daughter and stoked her hair. Katherine closed her eyes and listened to her mother’s words, the feeling of safety she had been missing for such a long time enveloping her, salving her heart.

“He should have deflowered you before he beheaded you and stole your hand. You died as a virgin, and therefore you come under my protection entirely, more than ever I could have given just as your mother.”

Morgana’s voice strengthened in intensity, the hand stroking Katherine’s hair never changed in the rhythm or tenderness.

“He has not buried your body in consecrated ground as he could have done according to his religion. He has been deceitful under my religion, which he purported to follow, and because of this, he breaks laws that he knows nothing of. Laws that are buried deep in legend and times gone from human memory. Laws which nonetheless cry for justice and vengeance!”

“What must I do Mother? How can I leave this place? How can I restore my body?” Katherine opened her eyes and glanced at her mother. Morgana’s clothing had changed. Gone were the wispy, calming colours and fabrics, replaced by dark colours and hard fabric to reflect her angry.

“All three questions are one and the same. You must find your dismembered hand. To do that, you may ask assistance from all of womankind. You must defeat him in Hag, Mother and Maiden form and restore your hand to the place where has buried you.”

Morgana stood and beckoned Katherine to stand too.

“I will escort you when I can, but just because you do not see me, does not mean I am not there. I cannot, however, intervene. I cannot help you when you make mistakes and he defeats you. For you will make mistakes and he will defeat you.”

“Above all, I am Goddess of Death, of War and of Passionate Love. Defeat him with these, my powers, and your rest will be eternal and peaceful.”