There is nothing more dangerous than a woman who dances.
Pablo Agüero and Katell Guillou, Akelarre (screenplay)
On the night of her sixteenth birthday, Garazi was awakened from deep sleep by an apparition, an ill-defined smoky shade with wavering contours that appeared at the foot of her bed. The intruder spoke in a flat voice that lacked warmth or inflection: “Get up, Garazi, for you are no longer a child, and come to celebrate your passage into womanhood!”
Garazi had drunk too much txakoli in the course of her birthday party and had a growing headache. She buried her head under the pillow and attempted to ignore the visitor’s demands. To no avail: with a gesture, the specter tossed aside the blankets that covered the girl’s body and repeated, this time louder: “It is Beltane, the high feast of spring fire and fertility. Our gathering will start soon. You must rise and come with me to join in it!”
Peeved at the intrusion, Garazi demanded angrily: “Go where? And who the hell are you?”
There was a slight wistfulness in the shade’s response: “I once was your grandmother Ainara. We are going to celebrate with our sisters, the witches of Navarre, the Grand Sabbath and dance away the last of winter’s frost.”
That last response was so odd that it shook Garazi instantly awake. “Witches? What do you mean witches? And what does that dancing have to do with me? I’m not a witch!”
“But you are, my dear” came back in a wistful tone. “The spawn of a witch inherits her virtue. It passes down through family bloodlines. I was burned at the stake as a witch when you were just a baby.”
“But mother was not a witch!” protested Garazi.
There was an audible sigh. “After what happened to me, Maite was too scared to face her true self. It was a small mercy that she died shortly after your birth, so she was spared my torment. But enough prattle. It is almost midnight. Let’s go!” the voice was again commanding.
“Where are we going?” repeated Garazi anxiously.
“We will meet at Sorginen Leizea, the witches’ cave. But you will not need to walk. I will fly you.”
“Fly?”
“Yes. Put on some warm clothes and espadrilles. It will be cold outside, but I’ll get you there in no time.”
***
The witches’ cave was located in a steep open area carved by a stream, a short distance from the Basque village of Zugarramurdi. The main cave had the shape of a narrow funnel and was flanked by two tall galleries that ran parallel to it. Following a frightening but quick flight in the darkness of a moonless night, Ainara’s ghost deposited Garazi on the ground of the main cave and rose to join a vast assembly of other spirits gathered in the galleries above. Living women, many of them carrying lit firebrands, were already at the scene and were pacing aimlessly back and forth, apparently waiting for something.
Garazi was too terrified to ask questions and tried to move as close to the back of the cave as she could, but her retreat was interrupted by a commotion: a large black he-goat with flaming eyes had entered the cave from its far side and made his march unhurriedly towards the midpoint of the cavity, where he came to a halt.
The women surrounded the beast and began dancing wildly around it, making beckoning gestures with their raised hands and chanting: “Ave Sathanas!” and “Regie Sathanas!” Then, an older woman wearing a capacious robe that seemed to envelop her like a dark wave advanced towards the beast and shouted in a voice that resonated throughout the cavern: “In Nomine Dei Nostri Sathanas Luciferi Excelsi!!” Immediately, the body of the animal expanded and changed shape until it had transformed into a bearded man dressed in black armor and wearing a golden crown encrusted with rubies that matched the color of his eyes.
Everyone halted in place as the old woman continued her welcoming speech in a Basque dialect that could be translated as: “Supreme Lucifer: We humbly thank you for blessing us with your presence this Beltane as we consecrate the new growth season to your forthcoming reign. As it is proper and timely, we bring before your presence four new candidates to be admitted into your forces. Here they are!”
As these words, from within the crowd emerged three women, who advanced to present themselves in front of Satan. Someone pushed Garazi from behind and propelled her towards the trio. Garazi tried to resist but felt strangely compelled to join the others.
The first candidate, a young woman a few years older than Garazi, advanced further and stood before Satan. The robed woman asked: “Malen, do you renounce Jesus and the God he represents, and the Christian church, and all its saints and apostles and living dignitaries, and all its rites and sacraments?” Malen whispered: “I do.”
The robed woman took a stiletto out of the folds of her cape, gestured to Malen to produce her left hand, and sliced the back of her index finger so that a line of blood formed on its surface. Then the robed woman produced a thick vellum bound book and opened it to a point midway its pages. She commanded: “Sign your name in blood drawn from your finger” and Malen squeezed her finger repeatedly and signed her name in blood into the ledger.
At that point, Satan approached Malen and, with a long index finger that was more of a talon, scratched her neck lightly, leaving an invisible mark that sealed his possession. He then turned the hand over and presented it to Malen. The robed woman directed: “Now kiss his ring to confirm your fealty!” Malen bent over and brushed with her lips on a large signet ring, engraved with an upside-down cross surrounded by flames, that Satan sported in his index finger. As she did so, the ceremony was completed and the entire cave erupted in cheers.
Two other candidates followed Malen, each performing the initiation rite that enlisted them in the ranks of Satan’s followers. Then it was Garazi’s turn. She was paralyzed with dread, but again she was pushed forward until she was directly facing Satan. When she was asked to renounce the Christian faith, she mumbled something inaudible, which the robed woman interpreted as acquiescence, for she proceeded to brandish the now bloody stiletto and approached Garazi, intending to cut her finger so she could sign the book of the damned.
The robed woman brought the weapon forward and grazed the back of Garazi’s hand, but then the young girl reacted by taking hold of the woman’s wrist and twisting it with force, causing the stiletto to fall to the ground with a clunk. Garazi cowered away, a scowl of pain and disgust in her face. Around her, a loud clamor of protest erupted and many fists were waved, threatening to harm her.
Then Satan spoke, for the first and only time, in a voice that was as hollow as the wind in the barrows: “Let her go! You are only of value as part of my forces if you surrender your spirit in the exercise of free will. She is wilful, and I will get her someday, but maybe in another way!”
Garazi did not hear the tumult that followed, for she had fainted and lay in a bundle on the ground.
***
The sun was midway up the sky when Garazi woke up, hounded by a terrible headache. She repeated to herself the last words she had uttered as she fell asleep: “I have to stop drinking! I know I can’t hold my liquor.” Then images crowded in her memory, a half-forgotten recollection of a wild night in a mountain cavern. “And then I get these horrible nightmares.”
She felt a sudden pang of pain and looked down. There was a livid bruise that ran across the back of her left hand. “I must have cut myself slicing potatoes for the stew,” she told herself aloud, and rose reluctantly to do her chores.
Image – A red devil surrounded by flames from Pixabay.com
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