Nature of the Witch

by Helen T. Norwood

  “Never trust a woman?” Jack asked with a grin.

  “Never fall in love,” Kitto said looking out the window, “it makes you lose focus.”

  They lapsed back into silence and Jack listened to the sound of the sea. He closed his eyes and let his head fill with the pounding and crashing of angry waves and the sound of the spray scattering across the rocks.

  “Nature at its most powerful,” Jack commented at length.

  “Her,” Kitto corrected, “nature at her most powerful.” Then his eyes glazed slightly as he reminisced, “A lot of their spells and rituals were performed on the beaches, right next to the sea. As you say it's hard to find a spot that's closer to her, Mother Nature that is. Standing there and knowing that she could wipe you out with one large wave. I and my brothers, fellow Gwithiaz, would stand guard over them and it was such an honour to watch. I sometimes wondered if that was why they were so powerful and yet also humble.”

  “The Daughters of the Earth?” Jack enquired.

  “If you think of witches huddled around cauldrons, well, this was their cauldron,” he gestured towards the charging waves, “their powers were greater than the other witches. I think it was because they drew it from the raw might of the ocean; yet spending time around nature at its wildest also kept them humble. Of course it would be hard to do all that now, spells on the beach and such, what with all the tourists.”

  After another brief silence Jack sighed contentedly, “You were right, it would have been wrong to visit Cornwall without really seeing the sea. I'm glad we came.”

  “This isn't what I wanted to show you. This is just a pleasant detour.”

  “Where do you want to go then?” Jack frowned. “Are you trying to delay me from going home?”

  “Of course not,” Kitto said indignantly, “I want us to visit Tintagel.”

  “What's in Tintagel?”

  “A castle,” Kitto said quietly and almost reverently. He looked at Jack and feigned innocence, “It's a great sightseeing stop, tourists visit all the time.”

  They drove through Perranporth (where Kitto told him they would stop on the way back for a fantastic Cornish pasty) and then on through Newquay.

  Jack glanced sideways at Kitto, “How far away is this place anyway?”

  “Oh about an hour by car I suppose,” Kitto said casually.

  “An hour!” Jack exclaimed. “Why didn't you tell me it was that far?”

  “Didn't I mention that? Oh well, more chance to take in the scenery.”

  Jack tightened his grip on the steering wheel but took a deep breath and carried on driving; there was no point turning around now and as long as he made sure it was a quick visit he could still get back on the road after lunch.

  As Kitto had predicted it took them just over an hour to reach Tintagel. Jack drove into a bustling little village, bursting with gift shops and B & B's. After spotting several Arthurian references Jack asked curiously, “What's with the King Arthur thing?”

  “He was born here,” Kitto explained, “at Tintagel Castle. One story says that Merlin used magic to disguise Uther so that he could enter the castle and meet Igraine (Arthur's mother). The magic made her believe that he was her husband and that night she conceived Uther's son, Arthur.”

  “I bet her real husband wasn't too pleased,” Jack smirked.

  “I don't suppose he was, but he died shortly after and then Uther and Igraine were married. That's one story anyway; you see it really all depends on which Arthurian legend you subscribe too.”

  They arrived at a car park and then he walked with Kitto to a long driveway with a sign informing them that they were heading towards Tintagel castle. The castle, or more appropriately the castle ruins, stood on Tintagel Island and it was the walk across to the island that Jack found the most exhilarating. Steep steps led him out across the clifftops and, for a moment, he just stood and watched the water rolling and surging below. He had never been afraid of heights so he savoured the cold wind whipping at his dark hair and took deep breaths, tasting the salt as it filled his lungs. He had a profound sense of freedom standing on the narrow steps and looking out at the expanse of sea stretched out before him to the horizon.

  I truly am in the most beautiful place on earth, he thought before continuing. It took him up to a stone archway and on to Tintagel Island. As he stepped through the archway he entered straight into the ruins. There wasn't much castle left to see but the views around it were breath-taking. Jack felt like a child as he explored, roaming the cliff tops and drinking in the atmosphere. He forgot all about being in a hurry to get back on the road.

  Then he and Kitto found a smooth rock to sit on and they quietly took in the sights. It was then that the realisation slowly dawned on him. He wasn't going anywhere. He wasn't leaving Cornwall, he wouldn't see his flat again and he didn't really want to. Deciding this didn't make him feel sad or afraid, he was at peace with the knowledge. In fact he thought there was even a sense of relief that he had made the decision and now he didn't have to leave. There was another feeling too, one that he had never experienced in his whole life, well, not for a very long time anyway. It was the feeling of belonging somewhere. He had always had a sense of being in the wrong place, of not fitting with those around him and now on a rock on an island, in the shadow of some ancient ruins, and with a man he had previously written off as certifiably insane he felt he belonged, he was in the right place and doing the right thing. He was home.

  “It's in your blood,” Kitto said suddenly.

  “What is?”

  Kitto nodded at their surroundings, “You may not have been born here but the Gwithiaz have strong roots in Cornwall. You're Gwithiaz so it's in your blood.”

  Jack took a deep breath, “I'm going to stay.”

  “I know,” Kitto said and they both laughed.

  “Tintagel…” Jack started but then wasn't sure what exactly he wanted to say and so stopped.

  “It's a beacon of magic in Cornwall,” Kitto told him.

  Jack nodded and realised that that was what he'd been trying to say. There was something about the place that made his whole body tingle. He placed his hands on the rock and it was as though the smoothness beneath his fingertips was vibrating, as though the rock itself were trying to communicate with him; which was crazy wasn't it?

  “After your parents died I wanted to…to…I wanted,” Kitto was stammering slightly and Jack was puzzled, he hadn't seen Kitto flustered, “I wanted to bring you in…you know, I would've raised you. I wanted to.”

  Jack looked down for a moment and then back at Kitto's eyes, “Why didn't you?”

  “I couldn't,” Kitto said sadly, “my orders were very clear. I had to wait until you were ready. It seemed like an eternity. At first I thought they'd let me fetch you at sixteen, then I thought maybe eighteen. I began to fear the order would never come but then it did. As soon as I received word that it was time I left to get you straight away.”

  “And got beaten up,” Jack smirked.

  “A tactical beating,” Kitto grinned back. After a short pause he said seriously, “I know there are unanswered questions about what happened to your parents. I'd like us to find the answers together.”

  Jack nodded quickly, “I'd like that.” He cleared his throat, “You said you had to wait for orders, who from?”

  “The council of course,” Kitto said, “that's where I was yesterday.”

  “I thought you meant the local council,” Jack said frowning, “I thought you were trying to change your bin day or something. Are you saying that there is still a magic council? Like in the story you told me?”

  “Yes and they're very eager for your training to be completed. They need you ready for…”

  “For the witch,” Jack finished for him.

  “Yes,” Kitto twisted his hands in his lap in eager anticipation, “after all these years. They're finally coming back.”

  Part Two: The Witch

  The grass beneath my fingertips,


  It talks to me,

  We've shared secrets.

  The pattern of the Autumn leaves,

  A signal meant for me.

  I read nature,

  I am a witch.

  Chapter Eight

  Present day

  Kiera topped up her wine glass and looked at the clock. Ten minutes to go. Perhaps it would seem less depressing if she just went to bed and slept through it, but instead she sipped at her wine and stared at the clock. Her thoughts wandered but she didn't allow them to settle on anything, she just watched the hands and willed them to move faster.

  In ten minutes I'll be twenty one. I'll raise a glass just like I promised and then I'll go to bed.

  Her mind drifted back to a dreary hospital room and hovered over a promise to a dying man but she quickly pushed it aside. She took a deep breath and desperately tried to think of something positive, determined not to see her birthday in in tears, but nothing sprang to mind. She had done that a lot lately, tried to grab hold of happy thoughts and memories. She tried to grab hold and cling to them as though they were a piece of driftwood and she was lost at sea but, however hard she tried, happy thoughts had been elusive of late, and every time she grabbed hold of one it crumbled to dust and slipped through her fingers.

  Be happy, that was what he'd told her. Easier said than done. It wasn't as though happiness was something you could switch on and off; you couldn't just wake up in the morning and decide to be happy. She had tried that and it didn't work. Her and happy didn't get on at the moment. Her and miserable on the other hand were good friends. She felt miserable from the moment she awoke to the moment she fell asleep. She had a sneaky suspicion she was even miserable whilst she slept, plagued by dark and unnerving dreams that she couldn't quite remember in the morning.

  The hands of the clock seemed to be moving painstakingly slow. She thought maybe they'd move faster if she closed her eyes but she was in danger of falling asleep so she opened them again. It took her back to New Year's Eves as a child. Dad had said she could stay up but she had always fallen asleep long before midnight, just as he'd known she would. She'd wake in the morning tucked in her own bed. They had never gone out, not until she was older. They had a tea party, sandwiches and cakes and then toasted the New Year; he with a glass of champagne and she with a glass of sparkling water. Then they'd settle down in front of the TV to wait for midnight and the next thing she knew it was morning.

  Perhaps that was her happy thought. It might not be enough to help her fly but it might be enough for her to see her birthday in in a good mood. Only five minutes to go. But it was just like the others, it was no longer a happy memory, it had been tainted and now it just made her miserable. That was what happened when someone died; the good memories, in a way, became bad. It was probably because of the very meaning of the word memory. He was gone, so that was all she was left with, memories, and, at the moment, that wasn't enough.

  The hands of the clock moved closer and her lip trembled. She placed her wine on the table and let her head fall forward into her hands. What was she doing? Those promises she'd made him, did they really matter now that he was gone? She had moved to a place where she didn't know anyone, she was seeing in her birthday with a drink and she was trying to be happy just like she'd promised. But really, what did it matter now?

  She'd been so excited when he had suggested they move to Cornwall. Dad had just lost his job and Cornwall was meant to be a fresh start in a beautiful place next to the sea, but then he became ill. She wondered why he'd insisted that she still come without him and, even more, why on earth she had agreed. Then again, it's very hard to say no to a man on his deathbed.

  She supposed Cornwall was as good a place as any to feel miserable. She could've sat around wallowing in self-pity back at their flat in Leeds but at least the views were nicer here.

  Dad had told her she would fall in love with Cornwall and she was sure, under different circumstances, she would've done. But now when she looked out at the wild Cornish coastline and the rugged landscape she felt nothing. They were meant to come here together; without him it was just hills and sea.

  Finally the clock struck twelve. She reached out for her wine.

  “Happy Birthday Kiera,” she said aloud to the empty room, “and cheers dad.”

  She held her wine glass up and thought about the promises she'd made. Move to Cornwall (tick), see in your twenty first birthday with a drink in your hand (tick) and toast me because I'll be with you (tick), and most importantly be happy. Then she broke down in tears. Three out of four would have to do. Sorry Dad.

  She was troubled all night by a bad dream, but this time when she woke in the morning she could remember it. Someone was following her, she couldn't see who but she knew they were there, hiding just out of sight, waiting for an opportunity to hurt her. She tried to run away but her legs were like lead, and everywhere she went her invisible stalker was just moments behind, moments away from pouncing. Ahead there was safety, a man she thought, who could protect her, but because her legs weren't working properly she couldn't reach him. When she pondered on this dream the next day she wondered if the man was her father and maybe the stalker was the sadness she was feeling after his death. However, she decided not to dissect it too much, it was just a dream.

  Her birthday breakfast consisted of a bowl of muesli and an apple, eaten in her pyjamas. Traditionally, birthdays had started with pancakes. Dad always said it was a little bit American but a better way to start a birthday than with cereal or toast.

  However, muesli and apple were the better option that day. Making herself some birthday pancakes just seemed sad.

  Whilst eating she wondered how to spend the day. She really should do something on her birthday but couldn't think what, or muster up any enthusiasm for the idea of getting dressed and leaving the house. She hadn't made many friends since moving to Cornwall. It was true that barely leaving the flat wasn't helping her in that department. She'd only been in Cornwall a month but had quickly found a job at a local supermarket and had made friends with a couple of the girls who worked there. Perhaps she should call one of them.

  In particular she got on well with a woman called Stacey. Stacey was slightly older than Kiera with a warm, bubbly personality and the ability to make people laugh, including Kiera which was no mean feat these days.

  She knew Stacey had the day off too and picked up her phone but then thought better of it. She lay back on the settee. Was a birthday spent slobbing in front of the TV really so bad?

  However, fate had other plans and before long there was a knock at the door.

  “Stacey!” Kiera said in surprise. “Hi, what are you doing here?”

  “A little birdie told me it was your birthday,” Stacey replied with a sly grin. When Kiera looked at her questioningly she shrugged, “OK so I had a sneaky peak at your paperwork when you joined. I know you don't really know anyone round here and I thought you might want to do something.”

  Kiera hesitated. She could try to make up an excuse but as she was stood there in her pyjamas nothing seemed very plausible.

  “Sure,” she smiled, “that sounds great. I'll just get dressed.”

  Kiera quickly threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and then stood for a moment and examined her reflection in the mirror.

  I've lost weight.

  Her smooth, olive skin looked paler than normal with circles around her dark eyes that made her face appear rather gaunt. Her long black hair flowed loosely down her back, neither straight nor curly, it tumbled down in natural waves. It was screaming out for a cut or at least some sort of attention, but that was another thing she didn't have the energy for at the moment- vanity. So she was thin and pale and her hair was messy and maybe one time that would've bothered her but she didn't care these days.

  She tried to see him in herself but couldn't. Dad had been fair haired and blue eyed. He'd always said she looked like her mother and Kiera guessed that must be true. She never knew her mother so couldn'
t argue and there were only a couple of photos of her, taken on their wedding day.

  Photos, Kiera frowned, if only she'd listened to dad. He had felt such remorse for not taking more photos of mum when she'd been alive that he had tried to make up for it by taking endless photos of Kiera. Kiera had never thought that she should be the one taking photos of him. After all, dad wasn't going anywhere. He was invincible, he never got ill and surely he'd never leave her. She'd never had a mum but she'd always had dad and the idea that could ever change had not seemed feasible. And then he died and all she had were boxes and boxes of photos of herself and very few of him. Sometimes she was terrified that she might forget him, might forget those features that she had grown up with and knew so well, had taken for granted.

  She'd thrown out all the photos of herself. What did she need those for?

  She made her way back to Stacey, who was waiting patiently in the living room.

  “Ready,” she said picking up her handbag.

  Stacey handed her an envelope, “This is for you. Sorry I didn't get you a present but whatever we do today is my treat.”

  Kiera felt strangely touched as she opened the card and she smiled at her friend, “Thank you.”

  She noticed Stacey looking around at the bare room, “Have you not put your cards up yet?”

  Kiera read the card and placed it on her mantelpiece, “I don't have any other cards.” She saw the look of horror on Stacey's face and quickly reassured her, “I don't mind. I left Leeds straight after the funeral. I haven't been in touch with any of my old friends yet and I don't have any other family. My parents were both only children so it was just me and dad. It never bothered me. I mean, we never needed anyone else…”she paused and bit her lip, adding quietly, “…until now.”

  For a moment they fell into an awkward silence before Stacey said as jovially as she could muster, “Well, you'll make plenty of new friends down here I'm sure.”

  Then she placed a hand on Kiera's arm, “You've already made one.”