Into the Storm: Into the Storm Trilogy Book One

by Serene Conneeley

  As they sat down on the swings and stared up at the tor, she vowed to spend more time outside in nature.

  “It’s strange how the tor seems to move around, isn’t it?” Rhiannon said to her new friend. “The tower is definitely at the top, but from here you’d swear it was built at that first resting place, just halfway up the slope.”

  Carlie shrugged, her eyes focused on the hill.

  “I’ve been stuck up there a few times when the mists have come in, and it’s so strange, like being in another world,” Rhiannon continued. “And I’ve met people up there who couldn’t really exist...” she whispered, then stopped abruptly, suddenly terrified that the other girl would think she was crazy.

  But Carlie just nodded, and flashed a reassuring smile. “I saw a woman up there too, all dressed in blue,” she admitted shyly. “She sat down right next to me, and hugged me, and spoke to me – but I’m still not sure that she was actually there...” As she trailed off, she grimaced, just as worried as Rhiannon that her companion would think she was mad.

  Voice low, Rhiannon confessed about both of the times she’d encountered the blue-clad woman, and how protected, loved and understood she had felt in the warmth of her embrace. For some reason she couldn’t bring herself to reveal anything about the woman in red though, still too horrified and ashamed of the events that had led to that meeting.

  Carlie listened intently, then nodded again. “I felt really nurtured too, and so much closer to my parents in that moment while she held me up on the tor. I thought I was just dreaming it all though, but maybe I wasn’t?” Then she grinned. “Or perhaps we both had grief-stricken hallucinations.”

  Rhiannon laughed. “Maybe!”

  Yet they both wanted to believe it was possible. That the comfort they’d received was real. And Rhiannon was taking the woman’s vocational advice. Nervously she revealed the instructions she’d received to rethink her career plan, then she laughed at Carlie’s shocked expression.

  “I know, it sounds weird, hey? And I’m still not sure what I want to do anyway – sometimes I think I want to be a journalist, other times a children’s author, another day I want to be a teacher like my mum,” she said, then giggled. “I wish she’d been a bit more specific. Ungrateful of me, I know.”

  Carlie gazed at her, face serious now. “I always wanted to be a lawyer like my mum, ever since I was a little girl, so I know this sounds a bit strange, but after yesterday, spending time with you, and you sharing your experiences and being so compassionate and so empathetic, I’ve been thinking that I want to somehow help people who are grieving, who have lost someone. Everything you said to me has been so helpful, so caring, and I want to be able to help others the same way, to support them and help them heal, without pushing them to go too fast. A social worker, or a grief counsellor, or something... But I don’t know, is that stupid? Is that even a job?”

  Rhiannon stared at her, eyes shining. “It’s perfect. And my god, that’s totally what the woman in blue meant, I’m sure of it. If you don’t mind me doing it too?” she asked.

  “Of course not, you’ll be amazing. I was thinking about it for you before it occurred to me that I could maybe do it too. And it would be nice to have someone to share the journey with, to compare notes with,” she said softly.

  “I just... I want to do something with my life that might make some kind of sense of the loss. Something meaningful, that will help people. And I hope that in studying for it as a career, it might help me heal too. I have no idea what to do or where to go or even which subjects I should take at school this year in preparation, but it feels right somehow, to work towards that.”

  Rhiannon’s face lit up with enthusiasm. “There’s a university that’s only forty-five minutes from here. I’ll check out their courses tonight, and ask them to send us some information.”

  * * * * *

  Rhiannon hadn’t wanted to like Carlie – and she sensed the feeling was mutual – but despite their vulnerabilities and stubbornness, the two quickly became close friends. In Rhiannon, Carlie found someone who had experienced loss too, someone who understood her pain, and who seemed to have come out the other side much stronger. A survivor, someone who was not afraid any more, and who was no longer crippled by her grief.

  And in the young Australian girl, Rhiannon found someone more broken than she was, who made her feel wiser and more mature than the way she usually saw herself. Someone who made her feel less inadequate, less cruel, less self-obsessed.

  It sounded selfish when she put it like that, and she didn’t mean she only liked her because she made her feel better about herself. She genuinely enjoyed spending time with her, enjoyed her humour and her scepticism. Carlie was smart, and sweet underneath her grumpy facade, and despite being from such different backgrounds, different countries even, they had so much to talk about, and so much to share.

  It was odd though. She knew Carlie was really grateful to her for helping her, and listening to her angry outbursts and sympathising with her grief, but Rhiannon was grateful to her too, far more than Carlie knew. Her friends Debbie and Sue struggled to understand her, to seem normal around her, and she’d felt so lonely, so isolated, when she’d tried to hang out with them and act as though nothing had changed. It was such a relief that she didn’t have to pretend with Carlie, didn’t have to hide her bad days or diminish her grief to make the other person feel more comfortable. It was truly a blessing.

  And in a strange way, Carlie made Rhiannon feel stronger too, and more capable. She made her see that she could survive her loss and sadness, and grow – had already grown more than she’d realised – and that she could still thrive, and live a good, fulfilled life, a life not totally bereft of joy.

  Yet the Aussie girl also had a calm that Rhiannon envied, and an inner strength which meant that despite her heartbreak, she was going to survive her loss too. Not that she could see it herself yet, but perhaps no one ever did.

  Carlie had only met Rose a month ago – had only discovered she had a grandmother then – and while she’d imagined her to be a monster at first, due to a tragic misunderstanding, she’d emerged from their storm of trouble with great respect for the priestess. And Rhiannon sometimes thought that Carlie was a lot like her, holding within her some of the same composure, the same calm and confidence the wise woman had.

  There was a depth to Carlie, in the way she looked at the world and saw to the heart of things. Although she considered herself weak, and believed she’d handled her grief badly, Rhiannon saw her strength, saw her heart, saw her soul, and knew she would survive and grow even stronger.

  But it was the epiphany the new girl triggered in Rhiannon that rocked her to the core. As Carlie described her grief, and the way she’d acted to those still left in her life in reaction to it, Rhiannon realised how well she was finally handling her own loss. Carlie treated her as though she held the wisdom of the ages, looking up to her and longing for her self-possession, and it made Rhiannon feel stronger than she’d assumed herself to be, and to view herself in a new, more flattering light.

  Seeing herself through Carlie’s eyes, she was able to glimpse her own strength, her own resilience, her own progress, her own healing. She would always feel her mother’s loss, but she was living with it. She was a survivor. A teacher even. It made her feel a bit better about herself, a little more healed than she’d imagined she was.

  And trying to help Carlie, to lead her towards healing and acceptance, was healing for her too. In acting more maturely, she was realising that she actually kind of was. She was whole, somewhat healed, useful and wise. And now, thanks to her friend, she had a new sense of purpose to explore.

  Her mum would finally be proud of her.

  Chapter 29

  Into the Magic

  Rhiannon…

  As she pulled out her mum’s faery-like gold and orange layered ritual dress from the wardrobe in her dad’s room and slipped it over her head, Rhiannon thought she heard the whispers of old conversa
tions around her. Her dad still hadn’t had the heart to throw out any of Beth’s clothes, or even pack them away, so they all remained here, hanging in jewel-hued rows, her school teacher outfits a little plainer than the outfits she wore to work magic in, but still a good reflection of her tastes and her creativity.

  She could feel ghosts in the room with her, and as she sank down onto the carpeted floor, fingers running over the lush fabrics, she remembered so many moments she’d shared with her mum in this space. Watching her get dressed up for rituals with Rose. Staring at her, transfixed, as she put on make-up for a date with Mike or experimented with new hairstyles to go dancing with friends. Feeling the sensation of her mum’s hands in her hair as she’d plaited it into elaborate braids for a school dance. Laughing, as a kid, when she put on her dresses and bounced around the room, hem held high so she didn’t fall over.

  Her eyes misted as she recalled all the beautiful jewellery her mum had let her try on, and how touched she’d been a few years ago, when Beth had given her the necklace she’d worn to every ritual and celebration she’d been part of, after Mike bought her a new, even more elaborate one for their anniversary.

  It was around her neck now, a string of rose quartz beads with a huge pink heart pendant in the centre, silver filigree delicately holding it in place. She loved feeling the weight of it, and the smooth surface of the beautiful crystals. Her mum had told her she’d received it from a gold-clad woman who’d emerged from the mists one night, then laughed as if it was a great joke. Of course she hadn’t believed her then – it sounded crazy – yet now that she’d experienced something similar, and Carlie had too, she wondered if her mum really had met an Otherworldly being when she was young.

  It definitely intrigued her, but she still couldn’t believe she was actually going to a ritual. She’d been turning Rose’s invitations down for almost a year, because her mum’s touching farewell ceremony had been enough, had been too much. She didn’t have the strength to go without her mum, to go on her own – she would feel like a fraud. She would be a fraud. She wasn’t magical. She wasn’t special.

  Yet Carlie wanted to go, fascinated by the idea of her grandmother Rose as a priestess. She was also trying to learn more about her mother Violet, who had been a strait-laced lawyer all of Carlie’s life, and yet had, long ago, before she’d somehow ended up in Australia, dressed in brightly coloured gowns and danced under the full moon right here in this village, weaving magic and casting spells with Rose and her coven.

  Rhiannon sensed that it frightened her new friend, this unknown side of her mother, and this unknown side of Rose. She didn’t want her grandma to know this of course, scared of offending her, or seeming to criticise her. Yet Carlie wasn’t religious, and hadn’t been exposed to any alternative spirituality either, so she’d confessed to Rhiannon that the idea of spells by moonlight and invocations to a strange goddess seemed a little dark, and very foreign, to her.

  She was curious though, and in search of answers, so despite her fears, she was eager to take part in a ritual to find out more. When she’d asked Rhiannon if she was going, she’d said no, and meant it, not feeling strong enough for the memories that would no doubt assail her there. But when Rose implored her to accompany her granddaughter just this once, so she wouldn’t feel too alone, she’d reluctantly agreed.

  * * * * *

  Rhiannon had still been nervous though, so nervous that her dad had finally offered to go with her. It was a big thing for him to do this, because she knew how confronting it would be for him to return to his wife’s domain, to be there while her old circle worked their magic without her. And now she knew he would also have memories of performing rituals there with Carlie’s mum Violet, before he’d ever met Beth. What a sad and tangled web of love and loss.

  And so she and her dad walked there together, lost in their memories. Not speaking, but comfortable with the silence, with the bond that their grief and love had forged between them. When they arrived at the healing centre they paused together in the doorway, exchanging a glance that was half affection, half fear, and both pondering escape. But when another participant arrived, they each took a deep breath and followed in her wake to the stairs.

  Pain stabbed Rhiannon in the heart as she took the first step, and she was terrified that recollections of her mother’s memorial ceremony would descend on her and crush her. Her dad’s hand on her back steadied her though, physically and emotionally. He hadn’t been here since Beth’s farewell either, and wouldn’t have returned of his own volition, so she was grateful that he’d offered to accompany her. It couldn’t be easy for him to be here either.

  “Thanks Dad,” she whispered, and he nodded sadly, then turned to greet Rose as she welcomed people to the sabbat celebration.

  The priestess’s face lit up when she saw them, and she gathered them into her arms. Rhiannon felt guilty that she’d avoided her and her magic for so long. Her mum’s death had been a huge loss for Rose too, yet she’d been left on her own to cope.

  “Sweet girl,” Rose admonished her, voice gentle yet stern. “The time wasn’t right until now. And I’m so grateful to you for coming tonight for Carlie. She’s still a little distant with me, which I understand – it’s her journey, and right now her anger is keeping her going. But it means the world to me that she can open up to you. Your mum would be so proud of you.”

  Rhiannon felt tears welling, but there was warmth and joy as well. And as the atmosphere in the room began to weave its spell on her, she smiled and allowed her senses to absorb the soft candlelight, the sweet spices of the incense, and the beauty of the flowers on the altar. It surprised her to realise that she’d missed this, and she laughed in delight. It wasn’t just Carlie benefitting from their relationship – the young Australian girl had unknowingly returned her magic to her.

  As Rose slipped away to prepare, Rhiannon’s teacher Laura, dressed in red velvet, hugged her and Mike, then smudged them with burning sage and ushered them into the circle. Rhiannon waved at the women she knew, but stayed by her dad’s side, still feeling intimidated and in awe of it all. Flickering candle flames cast the whole room in a soft golden light, and there was a gentle energy thrumming through the room, so low as to be almost imperceptible.

  Yet she was aware of it. She did feel the power being raised and the web of interconnection between everyone present, and she drew it into her body, into her heart, as desperately as she would oxygen after a breathless climb up the tor. There was the same feeling coursing through her now that she felt when she was atop the sacred hill, and she marvelled again at how tangible it was. She’d doubted that she would feel anything tonight, and yet the ritual hadn’t even started and she was already swept away in the enchantment of the room, of the people, of the night.

  Beside her, she felt her dad inhale sharply, and their attention shifted to the centre of the room as Rose slowly and dramatically stood up from behind the altar. It never ceased to amaze Rhiannon just how different she looked when she transformed into her priestess role – changing from her sweet grandmotherly demeanour into a wild and powerful warrior woman, a representative of the goddess and a being of such strength and mystery she found it hard to wrap her head around. The normal Rose, the familiar Rose, was still there, shimmering around the edges, but within her was a core of steel and determination and sheer will, and a connection to the deities that left Rhiannon in awe.

  “Welcome to our Lughnasadh ritual,” Rose announced, in a voice that was part whisper, part shout, part invocation, and all love. As she spoke of the significance of this sabbat, which marked the beginning of autumn as the seasonal wheel turned from the abundance of summer towards the cold of winter, Rhiannon felt the words and the sentiment pulsing through her brain.

  And as the priestess waxed lyrical about the deeper meaning of this time of feasting, celebration and thanksgiving, of the life-giving properties of the harvest, and of the things in their own lives they should be grateful for, her heart opened wide as she realised
just how much she did have to be grateful for. Yes, she had lost so much – and yet here she was, surrounded still by friends and family, by the rich tapestry of this circle and this community, a community she felt reaching out to her and holding her safe, that loved her not just because she was her mother’s daughter, but because she was herself. Accepted, understood, seen.

  Across the room she saw Carlie, looking around in wonder and trepidation, and she smiled when she caught her eye. Warmth spread through Rhiannon. What she’d been hoping for for almost a year had come true. Her wish for a friend who understood her pain and loss had become reality, dreamed into being and grounded right here in this room.

  And in a blinding flash she became aware that she was still connected to the magic she’d been so afraid she had lost. She’d been scared she would feel nothing, that the enchantment of the rituals she’d been to was just part of being with her mum, and nothing to do with her own innate thread of connection.

  Yet she could feel the energy rising around her, feel the vibration of power as it slowly built, feel the warmth and tingling as it moved up from the earth and into her, coursing through her blood, her heart, her mind, then spilling from her out into the room and to those around her.

  When Rose picked up a crystal-tipped wand from the altar and stepped outside of the circle of people to cast the protective border they would work within, Rhiannon felt the whisper of the priestess’s presence as she passed behind her, and thought she saw a trail of white light being spun by the wand, swirling around them and carving out a space between the worlds. Safe, nurturing, protective.

  Rose’s words wove around her, filling her, expanding her heart, and connecting her to everyone in this room, and on this planet. She hoped that one day she would have the composure and strength of the priestess, and the grace, compassion and capacity for forgiveness too. The wise woman had lost so much herself, had dealt with such tragedy, and yet she was here, full of love and power and empathy, giving everything of herself to whoever needed it.