The Wives of the Wood are a coven of Verbena in the Highlands of Scotland.
Overview
Villagers living near the Frevater Forest have been telling tales of witches living in the wood. The stories are true. Under the canopy of pine and oak dwells a coven called the Wives of the Wood. It is run by a woman named Eilidh, the Wife of the Dark Tree. Not all the villagers fear the witches. Some go to them for aid in times of sickness. The wives guard a dark secret, something they cherish, yet their efforts to save the Frevater are motivated as much by concern for the locals as for their beloved wood.
To Wed the Wood
-- Floraidh MacDounagh, First Wife
I was 14 when we lived in the bountiful Trossachs, where the thick branches of our World Tree shaded the village of Mairead. Many came to us to learn the arts of healing, the seeds of agriculture, the ways of the beast and flower. But the churches and factories grew ever nearer. We thought our brothers and sisters of the Chorus would protect us from the madness and burning. We were wrung. The agents of Kirk were almost upon us when a strange Hermetic, an old friend of the coven, Michael Scot, stepped from the spirit world and warned us of the approach of flame. Many of our sisters escaped the fires, but the keening death of our World Tree broke them. The torch of one of the priests took my eyes. Our companagh, what some call custos or grogs, saved us. We ran north, into the mountains. Some of the fae brought us food, until weeks later, we came to the Dark Wood, what is now Frevater Forest. There were but three of our order left. Kevin, Pol, and four children were all that remained of our companagh and village.
Kevin, our huntsman, learned that the local villagers feared the wood. So the Goddess had provided a perfect refuge for us. We found that sometimes it pays to listen to the locals. Our huntsmen and the Master, Mairi, went into the wood. Soon after they went in, I felt the fabric of Life being torn, then screams, and nothing more.
Diorbhail, the children and I were all that was left. We slept outside the forest for three days. Then our food ran out. I sent Diorbhail to the nearest village to beg for food, to save the children. I waited until the night birds sang, then I stripped off my clothing and, skyclad, went into the wood. The legends say I was driven by a dream. To tell the truth, I sought death. My eyes were dead, but I stretched out with the Eye of Life and found Him, rooted there, waiting, bathed in the blood of Mairi, Kevin and Pol. A tree, a man, a demon, his roots reached down into the Wyck of Life. I touched his warm bark, and it softened. I gave myself to it and, for a time, we were whole.
And now, 60 years later, I leave.
Scatter my blood on his bark. Nestle me in his rooted hands when I stir no more. Preserve him, use him, love him, give yourself to him, but remember leave Faith to the Chorus, our betrayers. By this I mean never trust the Dark Tree....
References
- MTAs. Isle of the Mighty, p. 108.