The Witch of Jabal al-Nabi Yunis

The Mountain’s Call

As dusk settled over the village of Al-Taybeh, the glow of the setting sun kissed the stone rooftops, painting the town in hues of amber and crimson. Samira, a spirited young woman of twenty summers, walked briskly along the dirt path leading from her family’s house to the olive grove. Her dark, curly hair spilled over her shoulders as the evening breeze carried the scent of sage and thyme.

“Don’t wander too far, Samira!” her mother called from the doorway, a worried frown creasing her face.

“I won’t,” Samira replied, her voice trailing off. She wasn’t planning on wandering—not far, anyway. But something about the mountain had been calling her, pulling at her curiosity like a thread unraveling a tightly woven tapestry.

That evening, Samira and a small group of friends decided to explore the lower slopes of Jabal al-Nabi Yunis. The mountain loomed in the distance, an ancient sentinel cloaked in mystery. The group chatted and laughed as they walked, their voices filling the cool evening air. But as they climbed higher, the mood shifted.

They stumbled upon a clearing where a circle of ancient stones stood in silent vigil. The stones were weathered and covered in moss, yet their arrangement was unnaturally perfect.

“What is this place?” Samira asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Yusuf, her childhood friend, hesitated. “I’ve heard stories about this circle. They say it’s cursed—something to do with the witch who lived here long ago.”

The group exchanged uneasy glances, their earlier bravado replaced by a creeping sense of dread. Samira, however, felt an inexplicable pull toward the circle. The air grew colder, and a faint hum seemed to emanate from the stones.

“Samira, don’t,” Yusuf warned, grabbing her arm. “We shouldn’t be here.”

But it was too late. As her foot crossed the boundary of the circle, a chill ran down her spine, and she felt as though invisible eyes were watching her.

Whispers of the Past

That night, Samira couldn’t sleep. She lay awake, staring at the ceiling of her room, her mind racing with thoughts of the stone circle. Unable to ignore the gnawing curiosity, she decided to speak to the one person who might have answers: her grandmother.

Her grandmother, Noura, was the village historian, a keeper of tales both ancient and modern. She sat in her favorite chair by the fireplace, her gnarled hands resting on her lap as she gazed into the flames.

“Sit down, child,” Noura said, motioning to the stool beside her. “Tell me what troubles you.”

Samira recounted the evening’s events, describing the stone circle and the unsettling feeling that had gripped her. Noura listened intently, her expression growing more serious with each word.

“You’ve stumbled upon a place of power,” Noura said finally. “The circle you saw was once used by Ghaliya, the Witch of Jabal al-Nabi Yunis. She was a healer, a seer, and some say, a sorceress.”

Samira leaned in, captivated. “What happened to her?”

“Ah,” Noura sighed, her voice heavy with emotion. “Ghaliya was a woman ahead of her time, and that was her undoing. The people of our village feared her because she was different. When the crops failed one year and the rains didn’t come, they blamed her. They drove her into the mountains, accusing her of witchcraft. But it is said that she never left the mountain, and her spirit lingers there still.”

Samira’s heart ached at the injustice of the story. “Do you believe it?”

Noura’s eyes met hers, sharp and unwavering. “Belief is a tricky thing, child. The mountain holds many truths, but not all are meant to be uncovered.”

Into the Mountain’s Heart

The following morning, Samira awoke with a sense of purpose. She packed a small bag with bread, cheese, and a flask of water, determined to uncover the truth about Ghaliya. She told no one of her plans, knowing they would only try to stop her.

The climb was arduous, the narrow paths winding steeply upward. The higher she went, the quieter the world became, until even the sound of her own footsteps seemed muffled by the mountain’s vastness.

At last, she reached the stone circle. This time, she stepped into its center without hesitation. A sudden gust of wind whipped around her, and the air grew charged with energy.

“Why have you come here, child?” a voice echoed, soft yet commanding.

Samira turned sharply, her breath catching in her throat. A figure materialized before her—a woman cloaked in black, her face partially obscured by a veil. Her eyes burned with a mixture of sorrow and power.

“Are you... Ghaliya?” Samira asked, her voice trembling.

The woman nodded. “I am she, though what remains of me is but a shadow. You have disturbed my rest. Why?”

“I want to know the truth,” Samira said, her courage growing. “I want to understand who you were and why your name became a legend.”

Ghaliya studied her for a long moment before speaking. “Truth is a heavy burden, child. If you wish to bear it, you must first prove yourself worthy.”

The Trials Begin

Ghaliya explained that Samira would need to complete three trials to uncover the truth. Each trial would test a different aspect of her character: courage, wisdom, and compassion.

For the first trial, Samira was led to a cave deep within the mountain. Inside, she found herself in a labyrinth of mirrors. Each reflection showed a different version of herself—some kind and gentle, others cruel and unrecognizable.

“Choose the truest version of yourself,” Ghaliya’s voice echoed.

Samira hesitated, overwhelmed by the endless reflections. But then she realized: the truest version was not the one without flaws, but the one that embraced them. She stepped toward the reflection that showed her as she was—scarred, strong, and imperfect.

The second trial tested her wisdom. Ghaliya posed riddles that grew increasingly complex. Samira struggled with the final question, her frustration mounting. But as she took a deep breath and focused, the answer revealed itself, like the first rays of dawn breaking through the darkness.

The third trial was the most daunting. Samira encountered an injured wolf, its leg caught in a trap. Though the creature snarled and snapped at her, she approached it with patience and kindness, freeing it despite her fear. As the wolf limped away, it transformed into a glowing figure, bowing its head in gratitude before disappearing.

The Witch’s Redemption

When Samira returned to the stone circle, Ghaliya was waiting. Her form was brighter now, less shadowed.

“You have done what no one else dared,” Ghaliya said. “You have shown courage, wisdom, and compassion. Now, I will share the truth with you.”

She revealed the events that had led to her banishment: the jealousy of a neighbor, the lies that spread like wildfire, and the villagers’ fear that turned into hatred.

Freed from the weight of her story, Ghaliya’s spirit began to ascend. “Thank you, Samira,” she said. “You have restored my honor. May you carry my story with you, so others may learn from it.”

A Legacy Reclaimed

Samira returned to the village and shared everything she had learned. The villagers, moved by her courage and Ghaliya’s story, built a shrine near the stone circle. They came to see Ghaliya not as a witch, but as a protector wronged by fear and ignorance.

Over the years, Samira became the village’s storyteller, ensuring that Ghaliya’s tale was never forgotten. The mountain, once a place of fear, became a symbol of redemption and resilience.

Epilogue: The Mountain’s Eternal Watch

Even now, Jabal al-Nabi Yunis stands as a silent guardian of untold stories. Travelers speak of the Witch of Jabal al-Nabi Yunis with reverence, and on quiet nights, the wind carries her laughter—a gentle reminder of a spirit finally at peace.