Memories of Torture

Cairistiona marvelled at the swirling colours before her. It seemed as though the world itself was being swallowed by a water whirl until finally the comforting blackness of unconsciousness engulfed her. She welcomed it, grabbed hold of it and held it tight, but her antagonists splashed cold water on her to rouse her. Pain raced through her entire body. Through swollen eyes she could make out the blurry shape of someone in front of her. Struggling to focus her eyes, she could see her antagonist, the priest, approaching. 1

"Are you ready now to tell of us the others?" He slowly walked towards her. "Are you ready now to renounce your ways and come to the glory of God?" After a moment of silence he stepped closer and whispered to her. "There is no need. We have already discovered the others of your ....coven." The last word he said with an air of distaste. "You need only ask for the glory of God and this will end." He reached up slowly and grabbed the wheel. Though he turned it every so slightly, the effect was great. The ropes that bound Cairistiona at the wrists and ankles tightened. The muscles in her shoulder and thighs tore and the pain sent her again into the calm waters of unconsciousness.2

She found herself standing before a mirror. All around her the darkness beckoned, but she stayed, transfixed by the gaze of the stranger that looked back at her. Her hair had been pulled out and except for the few golden strands that remained, all that adorned her head now were scabs and dried trails of blood. Her naked body was riddled with blisters and open sores from the hot coals and irons they used at the start of her interrogation. She raised her hand to her swollen face but could not feel anything with her crushed fingers.3

"How could this happen?" She asked herself.4

The scene before her changed to the events of the previous week. She could see herself happily planning the Samhain celebration with her companions. This was to be a special celebration. The harvest was good and Beatris had come of age, her cycles had begun, life was now possible within her. The men of the village were gathering the wood for the vigil bonfire, the children were carving the gourds, and the older women were sewing costumes. Her son William, who was to turn four the day after Samhain, was running about trying to be a help to all. At the sight of him, she said a quiet thank you to the Goddess. The scene changed again. Now she could see herself, four years earlier, laying in a bed surrounded by the crones of the village. Labour had started and they were concerned that the baby would be born while the veil between the living and the dead was at it's weakest. With the help of the herbs and tinctures they were able to stay the delivery until after the dawn had broken. No one was sure what would happen to a child born when the veil was thin, but they had heard such horror stories that none were willing to take the chance. 5

Again the visions changed and she could now see Beatris's father, Athadara, presenting her with a new broom he had fashioned with a hickory handle and willow bristles. It was she who was to cleanse the area of the vigil, and the new broom would serve the purpose wonderfully. Then the inquisitors arrived.6

They were offered food and lodging, welcomed to join in the upcoming celebration. They returned only the horror, pain and death of their beliefs. Cairistiona could see them rounding up the men at the point of their swords. They spoke of their God, and of the Devil we worshipped. They told us we needed redemption and to be cleansed of our evil ways. 7

They started with the crones who were easily broken. Through torture, they forced them to name collaborators who, in turn, would name others. It was not long before Cairistiona was asked to do the same. 8

The world swirled again and Cairistiona awoke. She was no longer tied to the rack but was now tied naked to a stake in the common grounds. As her eyes focused she could see the people all around her. They were her neighbours and friends. She knew right away what was about to happen and she welcomed it with a sigh. To her left, she could see Beatrice was also to be burned at the stake. Beatrice was unconscious and Cairistiona said another quiet thank you to the Goddess for the small grace she had given her friend. Looking ahead again, she could see her son and husband approaching the pyre, each holding a flaming torch. The tears in their eyes told her that what they were about to do, they did only to assure the survival of her son. 9

"Do what you must. I know I am loved." She managed to croak to them as they approached.10

Her husband directed William to throw his torch and he did the same. The tinder caught quickly and in a short time the flames reached the level of her legs. 11


Cairistiona marvelled at the swirling colours before her. It was as though the world itself was being swallowed by a water whirl. The colours swirled around until finally the comforting blackness of unconsciousness engulfed her. She welcomed it, grabbed hold of it, and held it tight. This time, she was able to hold on to it. 12

The pain and horror were gone. Replaced, instead, with a wonderful sence of calm and understanding. An understanding that the evils she and her loved ones endured, were born of ignorance. Ignorance and the fear that it bred. She would return during Samhain, while the veil was weak. She would see how her son and husband had faired and what their world had become.13

She will be saddened by what she sees.14