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“Right…” Nox wrinkled his nose as he considered. “As I said, this Tuath Dé are millenarians. They want to bring about a radical transformation and believe in an impending cataclysm. In their case, it’s the end of mankind to prevent the destruction of the earth.”
“Are they dying with us or do they plan to run the world once we’re all gone?”
Nox smiled. “They’re not a suicide cult. Yet. They’re still in the ‘message’ phase and trying to draw more of the faithful out of the woodwork.”
“Is that what our victim was?” Nelson asked into his mug.
“In part, I suspect. Like I said, druids will incorporate anything they perceive as a gift from nature or the gods into their practice. Whoever’s running this may have even seen her escape and return as a sign that this was divinely ordained. So, she is a sign to all the Dagda’s followers by way of necessity or practicality in that it would be a waste not to offer her and she is proof that their purpose is blessed by the gods. They have deemed that the time is right and are ready for the Dagda to return.”
“Wonderful. Why the middle of the woods outside of New Castle? Why wouldn’t they choose something more significant or noteworthy if this is connected to druids and witches? Why not Salem or New Orleans? Weren’t there witch trials up in Connecticut?”
“Now, you’re asking scary questions, Agent.” But Nox smiled as he checked the window behind the counter to see if their food was imminent. It was empty and their server was engaged with a magazine. “Mark my words: the coordinates will have significance or there will be a history of witches or druids there. I’m inclined to believe the latter,” he said, watching Nelson closely to see when the acute agent caught onto the historical implications.
“A history of witches or druids in the Appalachians,” Nelson repeated as he flipped open his notebook and scribbled. Nox wondered if Nelson would put it down to eat. He had yet to see that notebook out of Nelson’s left hand except when he was driving.
“You’ll find a lot of stories about ‘granny magick’ because that’s almost culturally universal in the US,” Nox predicted. “But someone around here is gonna remember their uncle or an old neighbor lady telling stories about people with horns in those woods.”
Nelson’s gaze flicked from the little pad to Nox’s face. “Why are you sure it’s relevant if ‘granny magick’ is so common? And most states in the US have deer. People do lots of weird things with antlers.”
“What is ‘granny magick’?” Nox whispered as he sat forward, hugging his coffee. “Much of the pagan’s beliefs and traditions were absorbed by Christianity as it swept through the Western world. And many of their practices became the roots of midwifery and early medicine, despite the Holy Roman Empire’s and the Church of England’s efforts to vilify anything to do with witchcraft or the occult. By the time white European settlers were migrating to the Appalachians, the remnants of witchcraft that were still being practiced by local healers or midwives was colloquially referred to by harmless-sounding, familial nicknames like ‘granny magick,’” he explained. “After the panic of the witch trials had passed, people began to revere and hold an affection for those ‘grannies’ and they were no longer persecuted. They might have been eyed with some wariness or made fun of, but you’ll find mentions of them within families and communities across the country.”
“But this isn’t granny magick,” Nelson verified.
“No!” Nox shook his head. “There may be rumors or some lore of something else among the locals involving rituals in those woods or old, old stories about a clan of witches or druids. But they’re long-forgotten or were carried to the grave for very good reasons. I’ve been searching for an area with lore like that for years—since I first started hearing whispers about a new Tuath Dé—and nothing’s ever panned out. Now, we have a crime scene depicting a ritual sacrifice and dripping in classic Dagda and druid iconography. It’s…an advertisement or an invitation and they didn’t pick that spot by chance, I promise.”
Nelson’s head canted as he searched Nox’s face for clues. “You weren’t searching. You were expecting this. What about this new Tuath Dé stands out from all the other cults on the FBI’s radar? They were obscure before this,” he said, his tone wary and almost accusative. “What were you afraid of?”
“Something much bigger,” Nox said with a wince. He saw a brief tightening of Nelson’s features as he braced himself.
“How much bigger?”
“Ever hear of the ‘witch-cult hypothesis’ or the Murrayite theory?” Nox gave Nelson a moment but he shook his head. “Almost no one outside of academia has because nearly all of those theories have been disproved and debunked.”
“Nearly?” Nelson asked, then nodded when their server arrived with their meals. He had ordered a veggie omelet sans cheese with whole-grain toast. Nelson’s plate was rather uninspiring and Nox eyed his bacon double cheeseburger and fries with even more gluttonous delight as it was set in front of him.
“Anything else I can get you gentlemen?” The weary older woman asked but Nelson and Nox both shook their heads.
“What do you mean by ‘nearly all of those theories’?” Nelson prodded, while prodding his omelet suspiciously with his fork.
“This is the part you’re really going to hate,” Nox warned as he reached for the ketchup. “The witch-cult hypothesis was a theory that the witch trials of the Early Modern period—between the 15th to 18th centuries in Europe and the Holy Roman Empire—were an attempt to wipe out the last vestiges of paganism within the Christian world. Much of that was disproven because researchers couldn’t find any links between the pagans of that period to the ancient Celtic pre-Christian cults. Nor could they find any connection to the ‘witches’ who were swept up in American witch trials.”
“But you think they’re connected?”
“On a basic level, of course,” Nox said. “There are core traditions and practices within granny magick and modern witchcraft that go all the way back to the early druids. That’s like asking if we’re related to primates. Any person who practices any form of Western European witchcraft or Wicca is a descendant of those druids and carries traces of their ancient practices.”
Nelson chewed a bite of toast slowly as he listened, then wiped his lips before speaking. “I guess that makes sense.”
“But we’re talking about things that are wide-ranging and individualized: traditions and rituals,” Nox continued. “A British scholar named Margaret Murray insisted that early Western European witchcraft was in itself an ancient religion. Scholars like Murray believed in the existence of a surviving lineage of druid clerics.”
“A lineage?” Nelson asked pointedly and Nox nodded.
“This is where it gets bad,” he confirmed. “Murray and her peers were discredited, in part, because she was a woman and an early first-wave feminist. Witchcraft is often connected with feminism, for better or for worse. But many Murrayites, as they’re called, believe in a mythical, matriarchal class of clerics who went underground to survive the spread of Christianity.”
“Seems a little ironic that a first-wave feminist would be excited about discovering yet another matriarchal religion,” Nelson said to his coffee. He had given up on his omelet and covered it with a napkin.
“But that particular matriarchal religion has a pantheon of goddesses and unlike most early and current religions, druids allowed women to become priestesses. Druids were also legal authorities and women were seen as social equals. They were allowed to hold positions of authority and own property and divorce was permitted in most druid societies.”
“The new Dagda is going to be a man, though,” Nelson verified and Nox smiled.
