Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
Enough, or Wouldst Thou Know More?
Why are there so many witches in the Driftless?
Not hard.
Here, long ago, in ages of ages, and yesterday, the Horned, god of witches, fell like a star from Heaven.
Here he fell to Earth.
Bearing the Fire of the Gods, he landed here on the Mountain that stands in the River Mississippi: one of the Nine Sacred Mountains of the Driftless, the mountain-island known as Black Mountain, Rattlesnake Island, and Trempealeau; called by the Dakota, First People, Bluff-in-the-Water.
There, on top, you may see the imprint of his Hoof to this day, deep-scored in the rock.
There we still gather in immemorial sabbat. Here, in our day, was reborn the legendary witches' sabbat, in all its old terror and weird beauty.
Since when is this Inland Island, the Driftless Land, Witch Country forever.
Enough, or wouldst thou know more?
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