remember a story, about a Key, and crown and a Book.

The crown was in the form of a ring, which could change its shape magically to fit the bearer's head. The key was bronze, overlain with brass and very worn and tarnished. They were possessed by a young witch,, who thought them pretty with perhaps some subtle power, nothing more. She wore them as talismans. How she came by these things is another story.

What the witch did not know was that there were three objects in all. The third was the book, the Infinite Grimoir, written in Aramaic, and more ancient than even the Hebrew scrolls. The book was in the hands of another.

Soon the witch was drawn into a tangle of lies and deceit, pulled by forces she understood little. Only she held the power to unlock the arcane magic within the pages of the book, but had she the strength?

By chance, the young witch met a man. But the gods, both ancient and new, leave nothing to chance. Neither to those who crave power.

The man was handsome and tall, and courted the witch most ardently. The witch was quite taken with this man, and they saw much of each other. In time, he told her of his interest in the occult. He was himself an alchemist, and said he recognized her talismans for what they were. He told her of the book, and said it was hers by right. Intrigued, the witch agreed to accompany him to a place he knew of, a place where sorcerers gathered.

On a cold night at the dark of the moon, they spied on the sorcerer's secret rite and were captured. The Lord Sorcerer, pale and frightening of countenance, questioned them separately. The young witch spoke truly that she did not know the power of her talismans, which had been taken from her. But her companion knew what he was about and spoke falsely. The Sorcerer's Council condemned him to death.

The young witch was taken to the place of execution, and watched in horror as her lover was chained to a flat stone. The Lord Sorcerer held a long knife over him as he read words from a book held by an acolyte. The witch, her eyes blurred with tears stumbled as the knife wavered, and fell into the acolyte. The book flew from his hands and came open into hers as though self willed. The witch stared at the strange characters, and suddenly was filled with understanding. In a great voice she read the words long and loud, speaking in a language long dead. The Lord Sorcerer shrank from her, and was enveloped in a misty light. As her words rang out the light grew, devouring all in its path. When she had finished there was no one left save the witch and her beloved, his chains disintegrated into dust.

The witch went numb, the book locked in her trembling grasp. Her lover held her close as she wept inconsolably over what she had done. He lead her to his home and gave her a potion to make her sleep. While she slept, he pried the book from her grip and sent it with an accomplice across the sea.

When the witch awoke, and found the book gone, she knew that she had been betrayed by her beloved. She was heartbroken and railed at him, beating her fists against his chest as he tried to calm her. She had taken life to save his and he had betrayed her! He reached out his hand and held up the key and the crown, which he had retrieved. The witch stopped and stared, fearing another trick. But he wiped her tears with a gentle touch, and placed the talismans into her hand. She wept again as he told her of his love and of his fear for her. He said was afraid that the book would consume her, and for that reason had sent it far away. He explained that the sorcerers had not perished at her word, but that their power was for the moment broken. In her relief, the witch did not question how he came by this knowledge, but accepted his words because she wanted to. She loved him with all her heart.

The young witch went with her story to her mistress, a wizened crone who lived in the forest. The crone warned her to have nothing to do with the alchemist, that no good could come of it. But the young witch was entranced, in love, and no amount of talk would sway her heart. Exasperated, the crone sent her away, and told her to come back when her heart was again hers, and not before, for as everyone knows, alchemists are deceivers and not to be trusted. The young witch left, feeling in her heart that her beloved was true and the old woman was wrong. After all what does an old woman know of young love?

or a time the witch and the alchemist lived and were happy. He delighted her by producing small gemstones that would dissolve in a cup of beer. She amused him by changing her hair colour and making twigs crackle into small blue flames in the air. They wanted nothing, and played like children loving and laughing together as if the outside world couldn't touch them. But the world cannot be put off forever.

One autumn morning the witch opened the door to find a note stuck in the jamb. It was addressed to her lover. She took it and handed it over to him, singing that she would be back in an hour as she went off to pick apples in the orchard beyond her cottage. He smiled watching her move away, so lightly did she walk, that even the grass beneath her feet seemed undisturbed. He opened the note and read.

The witch came back, her basket full of ripe fruit to find her beloved pale and trembling. The sorcerers' power was restored and they knew who to blame for their defeat, and the theft of the book. The witch and the alchemist were in deadly peril. The witch questioned him not, but took him at his word.

With what little they could carry, the two fled across the sea to the land where the alchemist's people dwelt, and where the book was hidden. For the alchemist knew that the witch could stand up to the Lord Sorcerer, but only if she had the book. And yet he feared that her strength would not be enough for she had an innocent soul. While he was loath to sacrifice that innocence, in truth he did love her, it was what he had been sent to do. He hadn't meant to love her, no. He was an alchemist, and had meant merely to use her as his Key in his search for knowledge. But there it was, he loved her more than life itself and would do what he must to keep her safe. Little did he realise how difficult a task that was to be..

The alchemist left his beloved witch in a safe place and went to see his master, a great tub of a man, the head of the alchemist guild. He begged help for them, though he knew help would be dearly priced. The Alchemist Master refused his plea to permit the book to be removed from the vaults. The master stripped the man of his title and his cloak and sent him away is despair. He and his beloved were now adrift with powerful enemies and not a single friend to aid them.

He returned to the place where he had left her, and found instead a shambles. The witch had fought hard, but had been no match for her captors in the end. What were twigs of bright blue flame against the sorcerer's might? There was a slip of parchment left behind, which instructed him to bring the book to the standing stones if he wanted to see his beloved in life again. His fingers shook and he dropped the note as bitter tears coursed down his face. He had no book to bring to ransom the witch, his master had denied him. He had no family, no friends, he was lost and so was his beloved.

Thinking to beseech once more, he returned to his master's house. He found him in his chamber, the book upon the massive desk. He thought of his beloved witch and with no more thought than that crowned his master with a heavy candlestick and stole the book from him!

He made his way to the place appointed and found himself alone at the centre of the stone circle. He held the book aloft and cried out all his pain. From the stones came robed figures - the sorcerers. The witch, bound tightly, was held at sword point. She smiled bravely as she saw him, but spoke no word. He tried to wink at her, so she would know all would be well, but he knew it would not. The Lord Sorcerer stepped from purpled shadow and held out his arms. The alchemist no more, gave up the book, and was seized by strong arms and bound.

The Lord Sorcerer caressed the book, sighing in satisfaction. He took the key from his robes and put it to the lock. It wouldn't fit! He took the tiny ring from his finger and shouted arcane words, holding it aloft! Nothing happened. Neither the key nor the ring would work for the Lord Sorcerer. The alchemist no more, laughed hoarsely. The Book had chosen, and not the sorcerer, his beloved witch was the only one who could rule it's magic! The Lord Sorcerer strode to where his captives were held and hit the alchemist squarely. His lip split open and gushed bright blood as he slumped to the ground. But through the blood he smiled grimly at the irony. The Key, the Crown and the Book were useless in the hands of the sorcerer.

he alchemist and the witch were taken to the Lord Sorcerer's castle on the moor and secured in the deepest dungeon. Here was a conundrum. Only the witch could use the book and the witch was his prisoner. But if he permitted her to use the book she would destroy him and usurp his power. If he killed her would the power revert to him? He dared not test that theory. He had to find a way to control the wretched girl and the alchemist must be the key.

The Lord Sorcerer had the witch moved from the dungeon. When she had been fed, washed and clothed in suitable garments, she was brought to him. He courted her favour as a suitor, telling her of the wonders they would accomplish together with the magic of the book, but she would have none of it. She wept and moaned for her beloved alchemist, and would not return the gaze of the Lord Sorcerer at all.

He smiled, satisfied that his plan would work. The Lord Sorcerer took the witch's arm and compelled her to accompany him to the dungeon where the alchemist was held. He forced her to watch as her beloved was flogged within an inch of his life. He held her hands so she couldn't put them over he ears to block out the terrible sounds of anguish. Then the alchemist winked at her in the midst of his pain and the witch fainted dead away. When she awoke, she was in the Lord Sorcerer's chamber, attended by his personal servants.

The Lord Sorcerer explained that her beloved would be looked after, cared for and kept well, so long as she did as she was bidden. She tearfully agreed to do anything to spare her lover more pain. The Lord Sorcerer smiled. He took her and led her to the book held on a stand in an alcove of his chamber. The witch took the key in trembling fingers and set it to the lock. With a tiny click the lock released. The sorcerer handed her the ring and as it touched her white hand is grew. She settled it upon her brow and it felt as if it had always been there. As she stared at the pages of the book a world opened before her eyes. It was a terrible world, a wondrous world, a world in which she was the stern queen the laughing princess, the sovereign of all that was. At that moment the Lord Sorcerer realised he had made a fatal mistake. In one breathtaking instant, the witch knew all there was, and knew also what would be. With the merest thought her will sent out a tendril to touch the Lord Sorcerer. He was reduced to a small pile of grey ash. All those within the palace felt the power, and all felt fear many for the first time in their lives. The alchemist felt it too, from where he was chained, bleeding and broken, for the Lord Sorcerer had never planned to keep his word. A shiver of fear ran through him and one last tear found its way from his eye and rolled languidly down his blooded cheek. All was lost.

The Witch-Queen took the book from its place and strode through the gates of the palace, heading towards the ring of stones. From there her power would be penultimate, the world hers alone! Before her scurried the minions of the Lord Sorcerer, trying to escape without her notice, but she smote them without even a glance. She made her way to the stones and vaulted to the top of the centremost menhir, book held aloft, it's pages catching the wind and turning frenetically. She laughed as she heard the human swell of voices, humming like bees. She would rule them now, she would rule all that lived! All would pay homage to her alone, and she would let them live their wretched little lives in her service.

In the dungeon, the alchemist felt her power. His despair was more than he could bear, and from his ravaged throat came a cry so anguished it was carried far on the wind. From her perch on the stone, the witch heard that cry singled out over all the others, and remembered love. Wrenching her attention from the book she cried out in return to her beloved and her energy went soaring to find him where he was. For a moment he felt massive heat, then it faded to gentle warmth. His chains fell from him and he was caressed by a strong but gentle touch. His wounds closed and his broken limbs straightened, and he knew who had sent this healing touch to him. In defiance of the Book, his beloved witch had saved him. He felt a moment of panic as he realised what that meant.

He climbed from the dungeon and ran as if he had wings to the stone circle. It was as he had feared... the witch's crumpled body lay all in a heap at the bottom on the centre standing stone, the book turning to ash as he watched. The Crown lay near her hand, a small ring, and the Key lay next to it, just a key. The alchemist wept bitter tears as he cradled the lifeless body, her life force spent for love of him. The world was safe now, but at a terrible cost.

e stayed that way for an age it seemed, until a dark shadow fell over him. He looked up, blinking into the faces of his master and a wizened crone he did not know. He opened his mouth, he tried to speak, to tell them what had happened, but no words would come. His shoulders shook as the Master Alchemist brought him to his feet. The wizened crone knelt for a moment over the body of the witch, then rose saying nothing. The Master lifted the broken body gently, and placed in into the arms of her beloved alchemist. A word came to his mind unbidden, "water", and he knew that there was yet hope. The crone smiled at him and his master nodded, as if they too had heard the word.

They began to walk. It was a long way to the Sacred Spring, but he would have walked around the world if he'd had to. They walked all the day and into twilight. Finally they reached the gates of the garden, and the Master and the crone would go no further with him. His back ached with his effort and his arms had long ago gone numb with his burden, but he walked on. He was beginning to stumble, his eyes filled once more with tears. It had been too long, he thought, even the sacred water could not save her. He fell, and the witch's body rolled from his grasp. He began to sob, knowing he had not the strength to go further. With the last of his flagging energy he stretched out his arm to touch her cold hand.

The witch's other hand had fallen into a small spill of water, which bubbled up merrily from the ground. As her beloved fingers touched hers warmth crept in and her chest began to rise slowly, erratically. He blinked not trusting his senses, knowing that she was dead... but knowing also that she lived. For a long moment he held his breath as the rise and fall of her breast became stable and strong. And then her eyes opened. She saw him there, crying and laughing and concern flooded her expression. But he found his legs at last and swept her into his arms and kissed her gently in a long slow kiss.

As they walked hand in hand from the garden, the witch's eyes grew large as they fell upon her mistress dozing in the early morning sun. She remembered nothing of the book, and knew only that she was saved and her beloved was at her side. It was enough for her innocent soul. The crone handed her the key and the ring and the Master arranged the alchemist's cloak around his protégé's shoulders. To the witch's unspoken question the crone replied, "I have come to see you wed dear".

And so they were wed, and such a feast it was that they speak of it still in the land across the sea.

Did they live happily forever after you ask?

Well, not exactly, but, is not life made up of happy nows?

An alchemist's thirst for knowledge leads him to wandering, and a witch's hearth is her own in the end. And so they lived happily together until then. ;<)

©2000 by Trish Reynolds