Chapter 8 - A Tale of Identity

“Long ago, nestled within the heart of a verdant tropical forest in West Africa, lay the secluded village of Marugbo. This unique enclave, the sole region in Africa graced by the majestic Iroko trees, was home to the serene and enigmatic tribe known as the Mahines. Despite their apparent primitiveness, the Mahines possessed a rich tapestry of traditions and rituals, a near-civilized culture that had flourished in isolation for over a millennium.

According to legend, an extraordinary event shattered their tranquil existence. The youngest daughter of the village chief, a mere eighteen years old, inexplicably found herself with child, despite having never engaged in any carnal relations. Her story was both baffling and haunting: while in the depths of the ancient woods, she dreamt of a mysterious man who emerged from one of the venerable Iroko trees and made love to her. This enigmatic encounter left the village in a state of stunned bewilderment, as they grappled with the profound mystery that now entwined their fates with the ancient spirits of the forest. But nobody believed her. In fact, they claimed she was evil and cast her out of the village into the woods.”

“But I thought her father was their chief,” Demika cuts in. “Couldn’t he had done something to save his own daughter?”

“Yea, he was but couldn’t do anything… It seemed a unanimous verdict to cast her out, and once she vanished into the shadowy depths of the forest, no one heard from her again. Eighteen years later, calamity struck the village of Marugbo. A virulent plague swept through, claiming the lives of villagers and animals alike. Desperation filled the air as hope dwindled.

Then, from the very heart of the mysterious woods, she emerged—a figure shrouded in legend and mystique. She was the eighteen-year-old Wicca, the first of her kind. Born from the enigmatic pregnancy of the village chief’s youngest daughter, she had been forsaken and left to the forest's mercy. Yet, she returned not as a mere woman, but as a being imbued with extraordinary powers.

Her magic was profound—capable of healing, creating, and protecting, interwoven with the essence of the ancient Iroko trees. She mended the afflicted land, restoring life and hope, and in doing so, ascended as their first queen. Thus, the Order of Wicca was born, its influence rippling through Africa and eventually carried across the seas to America, Europe, and beyond through the tides of the slave trade.

However, there is a crucial truth to understand: not all who join the Wiccan Order are born with innate magic. Many are initiated practitioners, known as witches and wizards. True Wiccans, the original ones, are direct descendants of Queen Wicca, and only they are born with inherent magical abilities. Unlike witches and wizards who can wield black magic to harm, a Wiccan's power is pure and bound by goodwill. If a Wiccan were ever to use her magic to harm an innocent soul, her powers would dissipate, for their magic exists solely to heal, protect, and create a better world for those who suffer.”

“Sorry Ganny, but you just said her.”

“Yea, only female are born with the magic… no male from the bloodline can exhibit the magic; they only carry it as a recessive gene to pass across to the next female carrier. I don’t know why that is, but it as always been so.”

“So do you have the magic?”

“No, I don’t… but your mom did.”

“Why? Why would you give birth to mom who had the magical powers of Wicca but you don’t”

“Because I married your father… he was the one from the Wicca bloodline, not me.”

“Wow, this is pretty much to take in all at once.”

“Don’t worry my little Meenu, one step at a time… perhaps you should start Selena.”

“How d’you mean Granny?”

“Try confirming your vision of her and the Alpha to see if you’d seen correctly.”

“Oh, okay?”

“And if you wish to know the truth, don’t ask; just tell her and watch her response.”

Grandma Minama stood to leave and suddenly turned back when she got to the door, “One more thing Meenu.”

“Yea.”

“Pick your battles wisely, and limit your use of magic when it fully manifests.”

“Why?”

“Magic drains your lifespan… the more you use it, the less amount of years you’re likely to live.

There she sits, agape, flummox, and replaying everything she has just heard over and again in her head. A part of her knows what she has just heard is the whole truth, but her 18-year-old mind is still struggling to accept it hookline and sinker.