5. ITALIA/RUTHENIA 15th Century #4
The symbolism of it did not escape the Romani witch; it filled him with a seething rage. He wanted revenge.
The Romani witch had accumulated many powerful new spells in his magical arsenal over the centuries.
Additionally, he had concealed several enchanted weapons imbued with potent magic throughout the land, ready to be retrieved and used against his enemies, particularly the blood-drinker.
To discover that none of these had been enough to best this sorceress, immortal or not, tormented him.
What more could he do? What more could he learn?
How much darker must his witchcraft become?
“You wish to aid me, Abriana, the great witch of the Tuscan hills, to help my love survive this beast’s attack.
But is it only about what is right, what is good?
Light triumphing over darkness? Or was it seeing the body of your beloved Pietro savaged and consumed by that monster that stirred you to action? ”
“Can it not be all of those things?” Abriana asked sincerely.
The Romani witch proffered the older woman a friendly smile, his dark eyes in the glow of the candlelight reflecting a deep understanding of the woman’s struggles and hopes, all that intertwined with the selfless gift of her witchcraft—the culmination of a lifetime’s magic. “Yes, it can.”
Something close to warmth flickered across Abriana’s weathered face as she returned the Romani witch’s smile. Although it appeared to lack the strength of conviction, her offering of thoughtful emotion was genuine nonetheless.
“Abriana, please know I do not take this gift or your family’s sacrifice lightly or without empathy—your pain especially.
I appreciate that you bear no hatred toward me due to my fate, my resurrection, and Pietro’s role in it.
Understand that I hold no power over the choice of consciousness of the individual with whom I briefly share a soul—my soul.
“And that you show no cruel judgment toward my heart’s desire, my love for Aeneas, well, you cannot know what this means to me, especially in these hateful modern times, ruled more and more by religious zealots.”
Abriana waved her hand in the air as if dismissing nonsense.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of. Nor did my Pietro.
Love, like magic, is all around us, varied in appearance, understanding, and application.
Like our witchcraft, it is tied to our very being, as I told Pietro not too long ago when I saw that his heart was in torment from solitariness and suppression despite his words to the contrary.
“We hugged so tightly that day, do you recall? Oh, the freedom he found, not just in knowing my understanding and acceptance but his own , seeing at last that he was perfect just as he is—was.”
Choking up, Abriana felt the sting of her fateful word choices like a dagger to her heart. More tears streamed down her cheek. She could no longer maintain her composure or hold back her heartache.
Before the Romani witch could offer solace with gentle words or a comforting embrace, Abriana pressed on, her voice trembling but with unwavering strength and conviction.
“He would have loved one like your Aeneas as you do, Romani. Through you, your life, your love, I shall experience Pietro’s passion, his affection, his tenderness—the romance that age, opportunity, and The Fates denied him. That is why you must survive this coming darkness.
“Do you see, Romani? Through you, I will remain connected to my Pietro until my time on this plane ends, even if I never glimpse your face again. I will know. I will feel him . Even when departed, we are all connected in The Craft. Blessed Hecate, praise her.”
Suddenly, the Romani witch felt a certain comfort, a warm glow expanding within his heart. It was an emotion not tied to Pietro’s memories of his great-grandmother but rather one of his own, newly formed for a stranger who had become something more.
The Romani witch walked briskly towards Abriana, knelt before her, and embraced her. He was gentle, careful not to harm the old woman’s fragile form; though her vim and vigour often masked it, her advanced age was undeniable.
In a low voice, with a most serious tone, he made a solemn pledge to Abriana and, by association, the entire Bianchi family that they would all meet again one day.
Furrowing her brow in incredulity, Abriana pushed the Romani witch off her in a remarkable feat of strength and scoffed.
“Do not lie to me, boy. I am old, not gullible. Although I have made peace with this situation, as anything else would drown me in despair, I neither need your pity nor require false promises.”
The Romani witch stepped back, allowing the older woman her space; there was no anger in his heart toward her abrupt dismissal or stony disbelief.
He possessed only clarity of mind, a quiet compassion for what she was going through.
He understood the weight of Abriana’s skepticism, the deep-rooted grievances etched into her features, the shadows of doubt that infused her broken heart.
“Please hear me, dear lady, for I speak true.
If you desire this reunion, even choose to allow it if it does not seem blasphemous to you and would bring you a modicum of peace, I will return.
If it shall spare your loved ones from the pain of tragedy, loss, and death, I will come back, not forever, but to show that Pietro lives and is well.
I never make promises lightly, and I always keep them.
“This is a unique situation for me, Abriana.
This emotional connection to you is something that I did not expect or, to be blunt, desired, but it exists nonetheless.
I have never done anything like this with any family in any of my lifetimes.
Come back to see them, relive any part of a life that was never mine?
No. Never. Now, however, it feels right for me to return here to this life whenever possible once I have overcome this great evil and reunited with Aeneas.
“And while it may be a performance, I will be your Pietro, holding onto his memories to connect with you and your family to the best of my ability. I shall keep him alive in whatever way I can for those who love him and for those Pietro loved with all his being. I do not need an emotional connection to those memories swimming in my head to understand that truth.”
As the Romani witch stood silently, Abriana took a moment to reflect on his heartfelt words. She looked again into Pietro’s dark, expressive eyes, knowing that no matter how hard she wanted it to be him looking back at her, it was not.
But then suddenly, like a pin prick upon her fingertip, she felt something profound: a sliver of Pietro’s essence within the spirit remained, unknown even to the Romani witch.
If she just dug down with all her forces, the grace of Hecate with her, Abriana could hear him, ever so faintly, her beloved Pietro.
“ I am here. ”
Abriana nearly toppled from her chair, her heart pounding with overwhelming emotion, feelings of love and hope; she could hardly contain it all. She did not wish to.
Despite the layers of flesh, blood, and bone that now belonged to another, a spark of Pietro’s true self remained beneath the surface, refusing to leave, flowing with her magic, tied to it, existing within the very lifeblood of the body.
Abriana wondered if this was the reason for the Romani witch’s emotional attachment, which he claimed he had never felt before. The magic of her witchcraft connected all of them now, keeping a piece of Pietro alive, their own unique coven of three.
This essence was more than an echo but much less than full alertness. Still considering it could be— should be— nothing, it was enough for her. And she would keep this revelation close to her heart, a secret only for herself.
“I—I accept your gift, Romani,” Abriana said, her feelings of renewed hope exciting her, causing her words to stumble as tears of joy fell from her eyes.
“Abriana? Are—”
The Tuscan witch gently but firmly pressed her finger to the Romani witch’s lips, requesting silence.
“I accept your gift,” she continued, her heart full to bursting, “on behalf of my family, who will never know the truth and thus be spared the pain of Pietro’s death.
Your abrupt departure will be difficult for them, but I will craft a believable story and make them understand their oldest child’s need for freedom and adventure.
And if I must cast a little harmless spell to make them more pliable, so be it.
They will miss Pietro, but they will manage the weight of this separation and the subsequent intermittent relationship.
“I accept it also for myself, who will keep your secret and play my part. And please, for my sake, do not think of this as just a performance, forced and hollow, only for the joy of others. Allow yourself to experience my Pietro. See his memories as a gift and an opportunity to view life through the eyes of another. I want you to experience the love of family that I suspect is a stranger to you, Romani, a man with only room in his life for romantic love, for your Aeneas. Be brave enough to want more.”
As the Romani witch slung his satchel over his shoulder and prepared to depart, he thanked Abriana for her understanding, compassion, and trust. He expressed his anticipation for the time they would meet again so he could share his adventures with her and have her meet his beloved.
“And as I travel the lands in search of Aeneas, I will think upon your words,” he voiced with sincerity.
As he had done with others in past lives, the Romani witch quickly explained why Aeneas would not be going by that name. He also revealed other secrets that needed to be kept concerning their extraordinary circumstances, all for Aeneas’ safety.
And then, with one last spoken farewell, he moved toward the door.