Page 71 of I Will Always Find You
When he returned to the Château Frontenac, the Romani witch tracked down every participant of the séance, all of whom were traumatized, and wiped their memories of the night.
Whatever had occurred in the old French woman’s home on Saint-Jean Street, now a pile of ash and burnt brick, the Romaniwitch would take the burden of this knowledge to his grave, alone.
What began that late August day in 1952, between Marshall Collingsworth and the Romani witch, starting with a simple gift of a cocktail, was the beginning of a love story that would last for decades until their deaths.
And then the cycle would begin again.
ITALIA 1st Century CE
POMPEII
Atense stillness hung in the air between the witch-goddess, Hecate, and the Romani witch, as they stood beneath the looming shadow of an angry Mount Vesuvius.
“What are you saying?!” the Romani witch exclaimed, stepping back from the witch-goddess and the absurd claim she had just made about him and Aeneas’ destiny.
“Aeneas’ soul is destined to experience countless mortal lives—yours is not,” Hecate replied coolly. “Upon your demise, you shall travel to the Elysian Fields, the Celestial Realm, Nirvana, or the Kingdom of Heaven, for there are many names for that place beyond death. Your soul, witch-boy, shall never be reborn to mortality. As far as my divine vision can see, that is your fate, your reward for a life lived with honour and goodness.
“Though The Fates no longer have any reason to interfere with your threads, it seems that enigmatic force, the Wheel of Destiny, ultimately has different paths planned for the souls of the two young lovers named Aeneas and—”
“No!” the Romani witch shouted, cutting the witch-goddess off, an action that did not sit well with her. “Never!”
“I present you with this gift of foresight, meant to serve as a cautionary beacon for your future path, and you dare to take such a tone with me, mortal!”
The Romani witch, fueled by the energy that Hecate had granted him to rejuvenate his tired body, had not intended to express such aggression in his outrage and disbelief. However, he felt deeply wounded by this unexpected and unwelcome news.
“I meant no challenge to you, witch-goddess. Forgive me, for I allowed my renewed constitution to fuel my shock and disbelief. I have relented to The Fates, but I shall not submit to the Wheel of Destiny any more than I would submit to a broken wheel on a farmer’s cart.
“How do I rectify this, great Hecate? To never see my beloved again, to be eternally without him, his touch, his love, is an unthinkable damnation. Worse than an eternity in the underworld with the memory of what I have lost. No, I would rather be forever unmade by the gods and returned to clay, my soul sent back to the fire of creation and burnt to ash. Less, to nothingness.”
The witch-goddess gazed deeply into the Romani witch’s dark, expressive eyes—and then peered further, seeing past the windows of mortality on through to his very spirit. There, she discovered the answer to the question she had posed earlier. His cause was just; his love for Aeneas, transcendent and incorruptible.
Theirs was not a love fated to be by the gods or the enigmatic Wheel of Destiny, but the purest love between two beings, mortal or immortal, that Hecate had seen in centuries. Atrue love. The majestic power of love, in all its grandeur and intensity, transformed their bond into somethingtruly extraordinary, elevating their connection to a level not dissimilar from one fated. It was a rare occurrence.
It was a passion, a devotion, a bond that deserved her aid to remain safe and thriving.
Hecate understood there would be a significant cost to the young Romani witch for rebelling against the Wheel of Destiny. Powerful sorcery would be required to achieve such a grand miracle as this, something far trickier than merely assisting a volatile mountain in its inevitable eruption, one destined to occur even without the aid of a grieving witch-boy’s ultimately ineffectual spellcraft.
Yes, the toll taken would be exceptionally high, a price the mortal witch would have to pay alone
“You called out for assistance with one task and chose wisely to abandon it. However, I believe you are correct and that your cause is just, not driven solely by self-serving revenge. It is for the survival of a love so beautiful that it deserves to transcend death. As you know, there will be a cost. Attend my words closely, witch-boy.
“The actions we cultivate throughout our lives, our choices, sow the seeds of our future experiences. Every thought, word, and deed contributes to the tapestry of our existence. This intricate weave is what a faraway culture, where I am called Dhumavati, has namedkarma. It is magic but also beyond magic; it forms from the heart of the Well of Souls!
“This power defies The Fates and their threads because it takes away their control to manipulate lives, to weave and to cut. Mortals, even the gods, may ultimately shape the future or futures of their reality themselves through theKarmic Cycle. It is more than reincarnation, for it is genuine rebirth based on past choices, the actions of your hands, your thoughts, and most importantly, your heart. It is true individualism.
“This spiritual power is not cultivated in these lands due to the interference of the Olympians, who do not understand it and fear its greatness and potential influence over their followers.
“Now, the price for you, my young witch-boy, to join with your karma, as my third eye of my third face sees, is one of chance.”
“Chance? I do not understand, witch-goddess. Can you not make it so I may be reborn alongside Aeneas? Moving from one karmic life, as you say, to the next with him?”
The Romani witch stood stiffly, a weighty despair washing over him like a cold, relentless tide. The growing misery pierced his heart, a reminder of his mortal limitations, witchborn or not, as he grappled with the daunting realization that he lacked the power to challenge the inexorable forces of Fate and Destiny directly. He felt as though invisible chains constrained him, restricting his every move.
In that moment of desolation, he clung to the slender thread of hope that remained available to him: Hecate, the enigmatic goddess of witchcraft. Her dark wisdom and arcane strength were his only salvation.
“Yes, I can do that,” the witch-goddess stated emphatically, “but the price is that your beloved Aeneas shall never remember his past lives. In the spirit realm, you shall both remember everything, indulge in all memories, in every sensation attached to them, but these moments will be fleeting, before you begin a new life. And when he reincarnates, he shall be born anew, with only his soul never changing.
“But you, witch-boy, upon your sixteenth year of mortal life, will come to remember everything that happened before, in all your lives.”
