We, my parents, my older brother Nathaniel and I, were eating our supper. I gingerly approached a subject that we hadn’t talked about, and I wasn’t sure we would ever talk about - the visit to the neighbor. “Nathaniel, what did you think of the Stones?”

“It certainly was not what I expected.”

“The Stones?”

“Oh, the Stones I expected. The voice inside my head, not so much.”

My father snorted, “You could say that again.”

I looked at my father, “What did it say to you?”

He rested his chin in his hands and looked thoughtful. “It introduced itself and somehow we ended up talking about textures of cloth and when it was good to match textures and when it was good to contrast textures. I had never really thought of different textures before.”

My mother said, “We talked about colors of thread and what made one color attractive to one customer, but not attractive to another customer.”

I responded, “We talked about different flowers and how to look for differences in where to plant them.”

We all looked at Nathaniel. He shrugged his shoulders. “We talked about thistles.”

“What?”

“Yes. Thistles. How they all have different kinds of hooks to catch on things and how and why they release.”

“Huh.”

I looked around the table. “Do you think it’s a demon?”

My father shook his head. “No. I think Dericote is right. If it was a demon, the Vicar would have been able to exorcise it. I don’t know what it is, but it’s real. The whole village didn’t dream it.”

My mother said, “I don’t understand how it could have different conversations with everyone at once.”

My brother laughed, “I don’t understand how it exists at all. Or why I would ever think a conversation about thistles would be interesting. But it was and it is.”

I looked down, then up at him, “Would you be willing to take me up there again?”

My father glanced at me sharply. “Does this have to do with your argument with Mathilda Potter today?” We could hear you in here.

“I want to ask it why things die. And how to make a fever recipe.”

“You think it can tell you?”

I sighed, “Probably not. But prayers to God aren’t working. At least Anthracyda answers questions.”

Nathaniel and I started the next morning. Now that we knew what to expect - and were not following a line of the entire village - the walk went faster. Still we were tired and glad to get to the top and sit down in the meadow.

Nathaniel said, “I guess this is Anthracyda’s front door. But I don’t know what to knock on.”

“No need. I know when someone comes. Good morning.”

“Good morning Anthracyda.” We both chorused.

I decided to be direct. “Why do things die?”

“Someone died and you want to know why?”

“An old woman came to the village. She had a fever and a stomachache. I tried giving her some willow bark and elderberry tea. It helped her pain, but the fever got worse. I put a wet cloth on her forehead, but that didn’t help. All I could do was hold her hand as she died.”

“I certainly can’t tell you why SHE died. Living creatures die for lots of reasons - disease, injury, drowning or just getting old and worn out.”

“They don’t die because God wants to take them to heaven?”

“I haven’t talked to or even met your god, so I don’t know. Is that what people are saying?”

“I think they say it just to make me feel better that I couldn’t save her.”

“Maybe. And maybe they believe it because they want everything to have a purpose, instead of just a reason.”

“What is the difference between having a purpose or a reason?”

“Pick up the stone next to your foot. One side is rougher than the other. If you rub the rough side of the stone against cloth, the cloth will tear. If you rub the smooth side against cloth, it won’t. Yes?”

“Yes.” We both said, and I realized Nathaniel was included in the conversation.

“Purpose has intent. If you decide you want a cloth with torn holes, you rub with the rough side of the rock. Tearing the cloth has a purpose because you intend it torn. The reason it is torn is that it is rubbed with the rough side of the stone.”

Nathaniel offered, “So people want to believe that God, who knows all things and can do anything, wanted the woman dead, or in heaven or in hell, and caused her to have a disease to accomplish his purpose?”

“Yes. And the alternative is that there was no intent. Something may have caused her death, but no being intended that she die. It just happens. Which causes more fear?”

I said, “Not knowing why.”

“Sometimes things happen for reasons, but there is no intent behind what caused them. If you stop thinking about holding the stone, it falls because you let go of it. You did not intend for it to fall. You weren’t thinking about the stone at all.”

“So sometimes things happen, I can’t stop them and God doesn’t care?”

“That is my belief, but that doesn’t make it true.”

“God knows when a sparrow falls.”

“’Knows’ is not the same as ’causing’ or ’allowing’.”

“I see.”

“Do you know how disease happens?”

“Miasma in the air poisons the person.”

“Why don’t you bathe frequently?”

“Because toxins in the dirty water will get into your body through your pores.”

“You could use clean water.”

“Yes, but that requires more work.”

“Why do you think miasma is only in the air? The air touches everything.”

“But the miasma only gets into your body by breathing.”

“Oh? Why is it different than toxins in dirty water? Or it lands on your hands, then when you eat, it goes from your hands into your mouth. Same as breathing it.”

“So what do we do?”

“Wash your hands with clean water to get the toxins and miasma off your skin. Particularly if you are touching another diseased person. And definitely if you are touching anything that is bleeding. The blood can carry miasma from inside their body to you. Then you touch someone else and the miasma comes off your skin and tries to get inside them.”

“What do I do about fever?”

“Fire purifies things, does it not?”

“Yes.”

“A fever is your body trying to make a fire within itself, to purify itself.”

“But fevers do not get hot enough to purify anything.” Nathaniel objected.

“No, but it can make the body uncomfortable enough that the miasma leaves.”

“Are you saying that I shouldn’t try to reduce the fever?” I responded.

“The body doesn’t always know when to stop trying to make a fire, or it makes the fire too hot for the rest of the body, not just the miasma. But it is difficult to reduce a fever. Keep giving them water to drink and wet cloths to cool their brain, just like you did.”

“So there’s no good recipe for reducing a fever?”

“Wintergreen has some things in it that might help reduce pain and fever. Or you might discover one yourself by observing very carefully.”

Nathaniel decided to ask his own questions. “Anthracyda, what are you? What is a hillside spirit?”

“Mathilda Potter asked me the same thing. I asked her what a human is. We can describe ourselves but does that really say what we are? You cannot see me although I’m alive and have lived a long time. You and I can speak, but I can only speak in your mind. I can manipulate things but you don’t know how.”

Here it lifted the stone into the air that I had dropped on the ground without thinking, and then dropped it.

“I can watch you think. But I don’t pretend to know everything or be all-powerful or whatever you think your god can do. I can’t travel to your village. I cannot leave these hills. I am myself and content with that. I don’t consider myself subject to your god or your religion. That works as a description and you will have to be happy with that.”

“Do you have your own God?”

“Not like you have yours. You think of your god as a person. The EverChangingIs creates without intent.”

“Are there more of you?”

“There are a few more like me, but they are very far away, scattered amidst the stars you see in the sky. We can talk, but we cannot visit.”

“Because you cannot leave these hills?”

“Yes. There are a few, less like me, that can visit.”

“How old are you?”

There was a mental chuckle. “Older than you can imagine.”

I decided to go back to my own questions. “How can I know what my God wants?”

“If it exists and doesn’t talk to you, then you can’t know what it wants. If someone tells you they know what it wants, they are telling lies they want to be true, not what is true.”

“Sussana, you can only know what you want and decide what you think is the right thing to do. Then see if you can make it happen. If you can, good. If you can’t, then accept it. Not being able to do the impossible is not failure. You try to help others and that, I think, is a good thing.”

“Now, you might want to consider heading home if you want to get to your village while it is still light. Goodbye until later.”

Nathaniel and I said our own goodbyes, then began the slow walk back home.

Nathaniel looked at me and asked “Well little sister. Do you feel better or worse?”

“Better because I shouldn’t punish myself for not accomplishing the impossible. Worse because it makes me think differently. Thinking differently is not accepted very well. And being accused of witchcraft once was enough.”

“Unfortunately true,” he said ruefully. “We need to keep this conversation to ourselves.”

Next - Mathilda and Elspet (September 8, 1643)

Return to Index