Into the Storm: Into the Storm Trilogy Book One

by Serene Conneeley

  “Some of my friends barely see their kids, because they’re off living their own life, off with their friends instead of their family. I know you’re missing out on a lot of those things because I’m sick – school events, social things, friendships – but I am so grateful that we’ve had all this time together, and I hope you don’t feel like you’re sacrificing too much because of it.”

  Tears blinded Rhiannon as she shook her head, and try as she might, she couldn’t control the sobs that shuddered through her body. But Beth hadn’t finished.

  “I don’t want you to be sad – I want you to be happy,” her mother entreated her. “I want you to celebrate all that we’ve had, all that we still have. I want the rest of our time to be joyous, and to create happy memories. And afterwards, when I’m gone, I want you to be happy too. Happy that we chose each other, and happy that we made the most of our time together.

  “Remember the good times – the festive gatherings, the birthday celebrations, the holidays, and all the beautifully ordinary days in between. Remember the way we made every moment precious, whether it was travelling overseas or just staying in, cooking together, like today, or watching a movie. Sitting around the kitchen table just talking, and catching up on our days – all the tiny golden moments that make up a life,” Beth said, her voice trembling with emotion.

  “It’s those ordinary moments that have meant the most to me, and I want you to remember them – I need you to remember them – and to honour me by continuing to value those things with your dad and your brother, making new memories together, living your lives. Because I will always be with you my darling, as long as you keep me in your heart. So please don’t be sad for my loss, just be happy that we loved each other, and loved so well – and know that I will carry a piece of each of you with me for the rest of my journey.”

  Rhiannon’s tears increased, and she tried to get her mum to stop, because each word she said broke her heart a little more. But Beth just patted her hand and continued.

  “You have to be brave my darling. Promise me you will. I know how much of a burden this has been for you, and I’m so sorry for that. Brodie is too young to understand, so it will be easier for him, easier to let go, to move on, to move forward. And your dad is stronger than you think – he will be okay. It’s you that I fear most for, and you that I feel the worst about leaving.”

  “Then don’t go Mum,” she cried.

  “Oh my sweet Rhiannon, I need you to accept this. I need you to let me go. And swear to me, that when your dad finds love again, you will support him, encourage him even.”

  “Mum!”

  “I mean it. Too many grieving people are made to suffer, to feel they must be alone for the rest of their life just to prove how much they cared. But you will all honour me by continuing to open your hearts, not by closing them off. Be strong my darling, and be kind, to yourself as well as everyone else.”

  * * * * *

  Rhiannon had pretended to accept it that day, but she’d crossed her fingers as she promised she would do as her mother pleaded with her to do. And it had been in that moment that she had decided to go ahead with her own spell, in the woods late one night with Evan. Of course her mother had soon convinced her, convinced them all, that she was getting better – helped by the glamour spell she’d been casting, which Rhiannon discovered too late.

  Now, as she felt the wet grass soak through her jeans and chill her legs, she stood up and screamed again at the heavens. Her mum had overestimated her. She wasn’t strong, she wasn’t kind – she was bitter and she was angry. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to regret that, since it was only the anger that was keeping her upright, keeping her here.

  The thought of her grandmother’s cold face flashed into her mind, and she felt hatred coursing through her. Her palms got suddenly hot, and when she glanced down, she saw sparks crackling from her fingertips, right as a crash of thunder rumbled overhead and lightning pierced the grey sky.

  Terrified, she ran down the hill and back along the laneway, heart thumping and breath coming in ragged gasps. Her hands were still sparking, and she wondered if it was the electric power of the storm fuelling it – or was she causing the storm?

  Fear thrummed through her veins. Once she made it inside the house, she raced up the stairs to her room and staggered over to the window to draw the heavy drapes closed, trying to keep the storm away from her. But as she reached her hand to the glass, a spark fell from her finger onto her teddy bear, the one her mum had given her when she was a kid.

  Horrified, she tried to smother the tiny flame, then wrapped the bear up in a towel and threw it across the room, away from her, before crawling into bed and burying herself under the covers, mortified by what she’d wrought and desperate to disappear.

  What the hell had just happened? Surely she hadn’t created that storm – it had been heading their way anyway. Right?

  She didn’t have magical powers, no one did, and she couldn’t influence the weather or call a storm into being – that was crazy! And she couldn’t be the cause of the flame either. That was insane, to think that she was shooting sparks from her fingertips, that she’d started a fire.

  But what if somehow she had? What if it just kept getting worse? What if next time she hurt a person, not a plush toy? What if she harmed her little brother? Scared and shaking, she waited anxiously for the blackness of sleep to claim her…

  Chapter 14

  The Twist Inside

  Rhiannon…

  A sense of impending doom clutched at Rhiannon’s heart the moment she woke up, and fear coursed through her veins. She’d thought she was crazy in the church when she’d imagined that she was calling the storms, creating havoc overhead as her emotions burned through her. Yet this morning up on the tor the storm had broken above her as soon as she’d become angry, and sparks had flickered from her fingertips in time with the lightning splitting the sky.

  Horror slammed through her as she remembered running home, trying to close her bedroom window to keep the pouring rain and crashing thunder out – then seeing the sparks fall from her fingers and ignite into a tiny flame as they dropped onto her teddy bear. Dear god, she couldn’t handle this.

  She took deep breaths, trying to reorientate herself in her body and figure out what time it was. The clock said 1pm, which explained her hunger, so she dragged herself out of bed, eyes averted from the bear in the corner. Keeping the still-damp jeans she’d fallen asleep in on, she pulled on a dry jumper then headed downstairs to see if there was any food.

  She didn’t know anyone else was home until she opened the kitchen door, and Brodie called out an excited greeting. Exasperation slammed into her, and she sighed. She wasn’t ready to face anyone, let alone her little brother, but she couldn’t run back upstairs to hide in her room now. It made her angry, but with a great effort she managed to push the emotion down and keep a lid on it, so the whole world didn’t turn black again, or lightning bolts fall from the sky.

  Pasting on a bright smile, she tried to keep her tone pleasant, non-committal, but it was tough. Especially when she saw the pain in Brodie’s face, and the hurt in his eyes when he asked when they could spend some time together, and the disbelief when she muttered “soon”.

  Every day she seemed to be letting him down in some way, but she couldn’t help it. She felt so sorry for him – until that sympathy inevitably turned to anger, like all her emotions did at the moment, when she felt the pressure weighing so heavily on her. She knew she should be trying harder to help her brother through this loss, one he couldn’t even really comprehend, yet part of her was furious that she had to be there for him, that she had to be the mature one. Where was the person who was supposed to help her through this?

  The boiling anger began to rise inside her again – she felt it searching for a way to get out of her and find expression, seeking a target to unload upon. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath to try to calm and centre herself, then smiled at her little brother. It was time t
o get over herself and be present for him, to work out a way to somehow help him – and who knows, maybe she’d get something out of it too, perhaps find something to help them both pick up the pieces, or at least a few of them.

  For a while they sat at the table together and chatted, munching on sugary cereal because their dad wasn’t there to stop them, and skirting around their pain. Then she helped him with one of his homework projects, a rare gift of her time it seemed, judging by how overwhelmingly grateful he was that she was there. And she had to admit, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world to be with him, to stop obsessing over her own fears for a while, and the obvious joy it made him feel warmed her stony heart a little.

  It was all going so well, until her brother nervously asked her when she would start walking him to school again.

  Later she couldn’t understand why his innocent question had made her snap, yet it had. For a moment her gaze had flickered strangely, and she saw through hazy, blurry eyes. Then her anger clarified, and congealed, and she felt her hands getting hot. Panic raced through her veins, but before she could turn away, or channel this strange sensation elsewhere, she was standing up, facing her brother across the table, hands outstretched like some kind of demented superhero, with none of their healing powers.

  This was her, raw and uncensored, not able to rein in her fury – or stop the sparks shooting towards Brodie. Mortified, she stood frozen as everything ground down into slow motion, and watched in shock and disbelief as his exercise book caught fire, then a few sparks landed on his jumper – and then he clutched his face and howled in fear.

  She knew she should stay with him, knew she should do something – check he was okay, make sure the flames were out – but instead she turned around and ran out the back door, fleeing the scene of her crime, trying to flee herself. But no matter how fast she ran or how far she got, she could never outrun the sheer horror of that moment.

  * * * * *

  Her heart pounded with exertion and her breath caught in her throat and burned her as she raced back up the steep slope of the tor, careless about where her feet were landing. There were rabbit burrows dotting the slopes, but she deserved a broken ankle, at the very least. Her greatest fear about these strange – powers? – had been that she might hurt her brother, and now she had.

  Now she really had become the monster she’d suspected was inside her, and a twisted part of her was relieved. She’d been right. Now maybe her dad would believe her, and make sure she could never do it again. Send her away perhaps. That’s what she deserved. That’s what was necessary.

  But what was wrong with her? She wasn’t a character in a movie, with special effects at her disposal. People didn’t just start shooting sparks from their fingertips. Her life, already a total nightmare, had somehow become even worse than she’d dared imagine. Wasn’t it enough that her mother had been torn away from her? That she’d been such a let down to her father and brother? That she felt so alienated from her friends?

  She felt as though she’d slipped through into another dimension, a horrifying place of towering flames and scorching pain. Was it hell? Had she somehow entered the devil’s domain, to do penance for her sins?

  Her muscles ached and her legs were burning as she continued to climb, but a restless wind forced her up the hill, while a stinging rain pelted down on her, battering her heart, battering her soul, battering her sight. She sensed the summit before she could see it, and as lightning flashed across the suddenly black sky, she fell to her knees, arms raised in supplication as she screamed her fury to the universe.

  Words flashed around her brain, searing deep into her heart, into her very being.

  An accusation: “Storm Caller.”

  A denunciation: “Storm Witch.”

  A truth: “Destroyer.”

  What did it all mean? What had she done? It felt like she’d harnessed the power of the storm to bring destruction to those around her, those she loved, but how? How could she and the storm be one? How could it feed off her? Or was she feeding off it? Was their tempestuous melding somehow evolving, growing, making them both stronger, making them both worse? Making her dangerous?

  As she crawled the last few steps to the top of the tor, she collapsed onto the wet ground, and let the drenching rain pummel her body into the earth. She felt feverish, and delirious, and the voices were close, darting around her head like minions of the devil, taunting her.

  Storm Caller.

  Storm Witch.

  Destroyer.

  Storm Caller? That was crazy. She didn’t call the storms, or control them. Did she?

  Storm Witch? Could she be a witch? But that was silly – they weren’t real. People said Rose was one, said her mother had been one too, but they were both sweet and kind, not cruel. They didn’t harm people, like she did.

  Destroyer? That felt right. The word echoed in her mind, becoming louder and louder, so loud that she didn’t hear anyone approaching her – she just all of a sudden became aware that there was a presence looming over her.

  “You are no destroyer,” said a voice from above her, and she stared upwards in alarm. A woman stood there, pale faced, with vivid red lips and eyes that looked black to match her hair. A red cloak swamped her body, and it moved around her like flames, swirling then settling then swirling again, insubstantial as air, and yet Rhiannon could feel heat emanating from her, even in this rain.

  A shiver of fear snaked up her spine, yet she felt excitement too. This woman looked dangerous, looked destructive, looked like everything she wanted to be – or already was.

  “You are not dangerous, or destructive,” the being insisted, then sank down onto the wet ground next to her.

  Stroking Rhiannon’s dripping hair back from her forehead, the stranger crooned at her, a kind of unintelligible yet soothing sound that wrapped around her like a warm and comforting hug. She resisted it though, no matter how much she longed for it her mind was fractured, her heart shredded, and she felt as though anyone who saw her would know of the damage she caused and steer clear of her. So why was this woman staying at her side?

  “Oh Rhiannon, you are not evil. You are not dangerous.”

  The words cut at her, disappointing her. She was both of those things, and if this woman didn’t see it, she could provide no comfort to her. Not that she deserved any. Dismayed, her tears renewed, and she was grateful to the icy rain for washing them away, and for being so cold that her body had become numb. Perhaps she could just dissolve into the earth and disappear forever. Surely that would be best for everyone.

  “No beloved,” the stranger said, voice insistent. “You are loved, and you are needed. Your father needs you, and so does your brother.” Her voice was so sweet, so calm, and she wanted to believe her. But she couldn’t.

  “No! I hurt my brother! I have to stay away,” she cried, on the edge of hysteria. “It was one thing to cause a storm that got people wet, or even burn the side of a teddy bear, but I hurt Brodie. I heard his scream, smelled the burning on his face! There’s no way to come back from that!” she screamed.

  “How can I face him, face Dad? I’m supposed to be looking after them, soothing their hurt, not damaging them even more. Dad will have to send me away now, to keep Brodie safe.”

  Her voice rose, and she almost choked on the violence of her hiccups. She wanted to let the warm dry hand on her forehead soothe her heart, but she couldn’t. She didn’t deserve comfort or reassurance, didn’t deserve to feel okay.

  Yet the woman didn’t leave her, no matter how much she raged at her to go, and eventually she cried herself out of tears, out of anger, out of any emotion at all. She was totally numb – body, mind, soul and spirit.

  A low-pitched sound – a spell? – swelled around her. She couldn’t hear the words, but she felt their soothing power, and in her exhausted state, she could no longer resist them. They danced over her body, and knitted themselves into her mind, into her bones, while her eyelids grew heavy, until they closed altogether in defe
at, and she felt her consciousness slipping away.

  Fervently she hoped that it was permanent, that she would never wake up, yet still she felt the stranger’s warm hand on her forehead, heard her hypnotising voice. Until finally she was no longer aware of a single thing.

  * * * * *

  When Rhiannon opened her eyes, she felt confused, discombobulated. Somehow she was in her own bed, and her clothes were dry, although she could feel the knots in her damp hair, and her hand closed on a leaf when she tried to detangle the mess with her fingers. Its touch brought back all the horror of hurting her brother, and running out on him, and she screamed in fear.

  Dear god, she’d hurt Brodie, hurt him badly. There was no coming back from that.

  Her dad burst into the room, alerted by her scream, and she flinched and drew back, scrunching her body as far away from him, and as far into the corner, as she could.

  “Are you okay darling?” he asked desperately, his face white as he stared at her. “It’s getting late to still be in bed, even for you, and I didn’t want to barge in on you or invade your privacy, but I heard you scream, and…”

  “Get away from me Dad, I’m dangerous!” she choked out, eyes wide with fear and shame.

  “Darling, what’s wrong? You’re not dangerous,” he said, voice soothing, but puzzled. “Have you had a nightmare?”

  “I wish! But seriously, get out before I hurt you too.”

  Mike smiled. “Sweetheart, you wouldn’t hurt a fly,” he began, but Rhiannon became more and more agitated.

  “Get out! Get out! Get out!” she screamed, voice rising, eyes widening in distress.

  Her dad tried to comfort her, tried to put his arms around her, but she just got more and more worked up, and finally he nodded, defeated, and backed out of the room...

  Chapter 15

  I’ll Be Your Magic

  Beth... Twenty years ago...

  As the bell over the door tinkled cheerfully to announce her arrival, Beth had second thoughts. Or was it third? Violet had invited her to a workshop at her mum’s healing centre – it had a fancy name, something about spirituality, divination and self-development, but all Beth remembered was that it had sounded like some kind of Witchcraft 101 class.