Nature of the Witch

by Helen T. Norwood

  Kiera smiled gratefully before saying, “So, where shall we go today then?”

  Stacey shrugged and they headed out the door and down to the car, “It's a nice enough day, we could go to the beach unless there's anything you particularly want to do?”

  Kiera went to shake her head but then stopped. There was something she'd seen and felt a strange curiosity about.

  “What's Tintagel?” she asked.

  Chapter Nine

  Kiera stretched out along the rock. She was vaguely aware that Stacey was sitting next to her, but mostly her attention was on the ocean laid out before her. It had been a long time since she'd felt so relaxed. The sun was warm upon her skin, in contrast to the smooth, cool surface of the rock beneath her. She took some deep breaths, letting the salty sea air clear out her lungs. Each intake of breath brought a healing quality; a healing that she was in desperate need of. She let the tension that had built up since the moment she found out her dad was ill melt away, absorbed into the rock. She closed her eyes and felt sure she could've had the best sleep she'd had in a long time, with no bad dreams, but then Stacey spoke, “I suppose it's nice enough - good views - but not much else to do.”

  Kiera frowned, “It's beautiful here.”

  They fell silent again and Kiera was surprised at her reaction to this place. She'd spent a month in Cornwall and thought she was immune to the landscape around her. Yet this place was special. She wasn't sure why or how, all she knew was that lying on a rock with nothing but an endless expanse of rolling water in front of her made her feel close to him. He could almost have been sitting beside her admiring the view.

  She pulled herself to a sitting position and hugged her knees.

  She watched Stacey rise to her feet, “I might go for a wander. Do you want to come?”

  Kiera hugged her knees closer, “I think I'll stay here a little longer then I'll come find you.”

  Nearby a family were attempting to eat a picnic. It was a sunny day but there was a strong sea breeze across the top of the island which was making their picnic difficult. Mum was attempting to keep the blanket down and hand out plates at the same time. Dad was sharing out sandwiches whilst also directing the two children as they laughed and chased after various parts of the picnic.

  Kiera observed them for a moment and then tried to imagine it was her and dad and maybe mum too. She was chasing after the cups and plates and they were all laughing together. But the image was grainy, she couldn't seem to bring it into focus as though her mind knew that the idea was preposterous. It could never happen, they were gone. It was just her.

  She stretched lazily then stood up and began to walk away in the opposite direction to which Stacey had walked. The most interesting thing about the island was that it still remained such a mystery. It seemed that there was morethey didn't know than what they did. Most of the information signs were guesswork and used words such as 'could' and 'may have been used for.' Some of the ruins had only been discovered after a fire in the 1980's. It seemed that one of the only thingsthey could be sure of was that the history of Tintagel was rich and stretched beyond written record. In fact, judging by the King Arthur link, it stretched beyond the history books and into the realm of myth and legend. She found it fascinating.

  She had the urge to be alone and wandered aimlessly trying to find a spot that was free of other tourists. She headed back towards the main castle ruins, then took a side path and followed it down the side of the cliff. Around her the grass was long and green and below her the sea was deep and blue. She walked along the path and was surprised that it was relatively tourist- free compared to the rest of the island.

  The route ended at a section labelled 'Medieval Castle Landing Gate.' It was partly fenced off and partly a romantic-looking granite archway, with a view over a piece of the headland and then out across the sea. A detour veered off from the main track and took Kiera slightly further down to an ancient turreted stone wall, with moss creeping out from between the stones. The wall ended at a little hideaway, mostly sheltered from the main path by a grassy slope. She settled herself in the crevice.

  She closed her eyes but, just as her thoughts began to shift from reality to hazy dreams, a sharp image sprang into her mind. She saw a woman. The woman had long golden hair that flowed down the length of her back. She was stunningly beautiful, her hair shimmering like the sea beneath her and she had piercing blue eyes that stared out sadly from an oval shaped face. Kiera watched as the woman closed her eyes and when she opened them a tear slipped from beneath her eyelid and rolled down her flawless ivory skin.

  She was standing on the clifftops, near to where Kiera had just been lying. Kiera knew that she was seeing something that had happened many years ago. The woman wore a long, old-fashioned nightgown, it was simple and white and hung loosely around her body. Kiera wondered why on earth the woman would be roaming the clifftops in her nightdress.

  Another clue that what she was seeing was in the past, was that there were no tourists. Around her it seemed that the island was deserted and Kiera was struck by the vastness; the woman looked small against the immensity of the ocean before her and the empty cliffs about her.

  Then someone approached but Kiera couldn't see who it was. She could only focus on the woman who was standing on the edge of the cliff staring out to sea. As the person came closer the woman turned to face them. Her long hair whipped across her face, sparkling in the light from a sun that was high in the sky. Her eyes were unblinking, lost and lonely. Then she turned away and spread out her arms.

  Kiera tried to scream but it was stuck in her throat, she wanted to shout “stop” but the word didn't come and she watched in horror as the woman let herself drop forward, arms still outstretched. She fell silently, her hair and nightdress billowing out and then she was gone, swallowed by the rocks and waves below.

  Kiera opened her eyes with a start. She felt breathless and took a moment to calm herself. If that was a dream it was the strangest dream she'd ever had. It had been so real, as though it had happened right in front of her. But how could it be real? It must've been a dream. She had lurched forward but now she let herself sit back again, resting against the stone whilst her breathing steadied and her hands stopped shaking.

  Just a dream, just a very vivid and odd dream.

  She felt lightheaded and thought it best to head back towards Stacey just in case she did faint. She tried to stand but her head spun and she collapsed back to her knees. A feeling of panic rose quickly inside. What was happening? On her hands and knees she pulled herself forward back to the path and felt a sense of relief when she thought she saw someone in front of her, a young woman, but when she looked again the woman was gone. Then to her right another woman, a blurred image but Kiera would've sworn the woman was wearing a brown dress made out of some sort of heavy cloth, tied in the middle with a piece of rope. Kiera gripped her head and tried to shake the images out of it, tried to bring herself back to reality but then all around her were women, wearing varying styles of old fashioned clothes. All of them loomed towards her, in and out of focus, appearing and disappearing and all of them chanted the same thing. They whispered it and it echoed around her head, “Welcome sister.”

  Finally, unable to get to her feet, she lay face down on the ground. She thought she'd closed her eyes but perhaps she hadn't because she could still see the women. They smiled down at her, spinning and swooping, they wouldn't stay still and all they would say was, “Welcome sister.”

  She became aware of the texture of the grass beneath her. It felt cool and soft and slightly springy against her skin. She felt the blades between her fingers and pressed against her cheeks and then it seemed as though the grass were growing. The blades entwined her hands and wrists and reached up her arms, they gently circled her neck and began to encase her back. She wondered if anyone would see her if they came down the path, whether she was still visible beneath it. She heard a noise. It sounded as though it came from the walls around her; it was as if
the rocks were vibrating. The walls which, for centuries, had stood strong against time and the elements were now quivering and shaking. But more worrying was the sound of the sea. The pounding of the waves on the rocks below seemed to move closer until the roar was so loud she was sure the waves were crashing right next to her head.

  She held her breath. She didn't have a clue what was happening but felt certain that in this bizarre manner she was about to meet her death, when she felt a sudden surge course through her body. It was like a burst of energy that started at her feet then swept through the rest of her. It seemed to pulse through her veins making her skin tingle and she suddenly felt power in her fingertips. She lifted her arm and the grass that had imprisoned her snapped away. She dragged herself forwards, breaking free and, as she did so, a burning sensation ripped across her left forearm. She winced and held on to it with her right hand. When she lifted the hand away there was something there, a symbol, like a tattoo, like she had been branded. She gave a small scream of shock and tried to rub at it but it was etched into her skin.

  What's happening to me? She thought desperately.

  She looked around and it was as though the grass, the flowers, even the island itself were all leaning towards her. At that moment the sky darkened and the summer sun was consumed by angry black clouds that appeared from nowhere. A flash of lightening tore the sky in two. It was followed quickly by the deep rumble of thunder and then the heavens opened and cold rain poured down.

  She had to find Stacey and she had to find some shelter from the storm. She stumbled to her feet and took some deep breaths. Once she'd stopped shaking she straightened herself and began to run back towards the ruins. The storm lit up the sky and the thunder whipped and cracked at the air around her as she ran.

  She wondered briefly whether she could've imagined it all. Perhaps she had fainted and everything that had happened afterwards was in her imagination. She turned as she reached the top of the path and glanced back. She couldn't see anything, there were no women and everything was as it should've been. Well, apart from the strange mark that appeared to be burnt into her wrist and apart from the storm which just came out of nowhere.

  As she turned back and carried on running she heard it again, whispered softly in her ear but audible even over the roaring of the thunder, “Welcome sister.”

  She ignored it and was relieved to hear the chatter of people ahead of her. She joined the throngs trying to take cover and quietly took a place amongst them.

  Five miles away an old woman looked up as the storm approached and slowly climbed to her feet from the herb garden she had been tending. She picked up the mat she had been kneeling on and shuffled towards the door of her cottage to take shelter from the storm. By the time she reached her hallway she was drenched but she didn't mind. She flicked on the kettle and pulled a mug from the cupboard, her hands shaking as they always did when she exerted herself, particularly after gardening.

  As the kettle bubbled away next to her she watched the storm from her kitchen window and smiled. The time had come. The witch was here.

  Not far from the old woman's cottage something else had awoken. In a cave it stirred in the darkness and listened to the storm raging outside. The rain hammered at the hillside around him but, apart from a trickle, the cave remained dry.

  Finally, it was time. He had waited and waited. None were as patient as him. He had almost killed the boy but had had to make do with the woman instead, the mother. He was glad now that the boy had escaped, glad that he had waited. He could kill children. He had killed children. Their screams were no different to the adults he killed, but it was all too easy. At least the mother had put up a fight, he preferred it that way.

  It had been too long. He missed the days when the rivers ran red with the blood of the fallen, when the hills were littered with the bodies of Gwithiaz and witch. But now the boy was a man. And now there was a witch. He licked his lips. He was looking forward to ripping them both apart limb from limb.

  Chapter Ten

  When Kiera awoke the next morning she immediately checked her left forearm. The symbol was still there, even more vivid in the dawn light. She thought about going back to sleep and then checking again. Perhaps if she kept doing that eventually she would wake up and the mark would be gone. She sat up in bed and traced the black lines with her right hand. If it didn't scare the hell out of her she could've seen the beauty in it. There was an elegancy in the way the lines flowed gracefully to form the strange, possibly Celtic symbol. One thing was for sure, there were worse things she could have been mysteriously branded with.

  She had spent the evening scouring the internet for answers to what had happened to her. As far as she could see these episodes weren't common. She couldn't find any other stories of women who had hallucinated and then found themselves permanently tattooed with strange symbols, well, none that didn't involve alcohol anyway. She had even picked up the phone to call an emergency doctor but what could she say that wouldn't land her in a mental institute?

  She rose slowly out of bed. She felt fine; her head wasn't spinning and she wasn't having hallucinations so whatever had happened yesterday was hopefully over. To be on the safe side she decided to take it easy for the day. She would call in sick to work. At least Stacey could vouch for her as, in Stacey's own words, Kiera had looked as white as a sheet all the way home.

  She showered (scrubbing particularly hard at her left arm) then put on a fresh pair of pyjamas and dragged her bed sheets through to the living room. Today was going to be a duvet day. One of the benefits of not having a flat mate was that she could basically do as she pleased. Of course, the downside was that she had to fork out for all the rent but she was working and dad had left her some money so she didn't mind. Obviously her first choice was to be with her dad, but if she couldn't have that then her second choice was to be alone.

  She snuggled into the settee contentedly and had just switched on the TV when there was a knock at the door. Surprised she peered through her peephole first before opening the door to an elderly woman. She was stooped over a walking stick and, as soon as the door was open, she smiled and began to shuffle inside.

  “Erm,” Kiera stammered, “I'm sorry, do we know each other?”

  “No,” the old woman confirmed. She had very pale grey hair that tumbled down to her shoulders in wispy waves, and a pair of intelligent, green eyes looked out from her wrinkled features. The old lady gradually made her way through to the living room and lowered herself, groaning into a chair.

  “Don't get old dear,” the woman told her with a twinkle in her green eyes, “it's not much fun.”

  Kiera nodded politely and twiddled her thumbs awkwardly, “Can I help you at all?”

  “Actually, I can help you,” the woman held out a hand and smiled warmly, “my name is Margaret, people call me Mags.”

  Kiera hesitantly shook the woman's hand and was startled when the woman took the opportunity to grab hold of her left arm and twist it over. She examined Kiera's mark, running her fingers along the smooth black lines. When she looked up she had tears in her eyes and she was looking at Kiera with a sense of awe, “We knew you were coming but I began to wonder if I'd see it in my lifetime. Now here you are.”

  Kiera went to speak but the woman interrupted, “Why don't you make us both a cup of tea and then we can have a chat. No milk or sugar for me please.”

  Kiera paused and then disappeared into the kitchen. She put on the kettle and thought about what she should do. There was a sensible part of her that was saying the old lady could be crazy, and she needed to find a way to evict her from her flat so she could continue with her duvet day. But the other part, the non-logical, intuitive part, was saying that there was a chance this woman might actually know what was going on. She knew about the mark. Kiera should hear her out; see if she knew what on earth had happened to her yesterday.

  She returned with two cups of tea and quickly removed her duvet from the settee.

  “I've no
t been very well,” she explained feeling a little embarrassed and then took a seat. She sipped at her tea and waited for Mags to speak. For a moment they were silent and Mags appeared to be studying her.

  “How tall are you?” Mags asked.

  “I think about 5”6,” Kiera replied.

  “Weight?”

  Kiera frowned. Were these questions necessary, “About 8 ½ stone I think.”

  Mags nodded, “Yes, I thought you looked a bit thin.”

  “My dad said I take after my mother,” she bit her lip and added, “also I think I've lost weight recently.”

  Mags nodded again, still studying her, “Do you eat meat?”

  Kiera shook her head, “No, I'm vegetarian.”

  “Vegan?” Mags enquired.

  “No, just vegetarian,” Kiera answered, starting to feel frustrated.

  Mags seemed disappointed, “Vegan is better but we can work on that. You mentioned your father, where is he?”

  “He died,” Kiera told her, averting her eyes to a patch on the ceiling.

  Mags was quiet for a moment, “Recent?”

  “Yes, recent,” Kiera decided to stop beating about the bush, “do you know what this mark on my wrist is?”

  Mags smiled at her reassuringly and leant forward, “Yes and I'm sorry, you must excuse me. It's just that it's been a long wait. To be exact I think it's been about two hundred years, although of course I haven't been around that long,” she chuckled, “sometimes I may feel like I have. But, for me, I grew up with these stories and then the Gwithiaz returned and we knew you were coming…”

  Kiera stared at Mags bewildered, “I have no idea what you're talking about. What have you been waiting for?”

  “For you,” Mags replied softly, “let me start at the beginning.”

  She told Kiera about how, thousands of years ago, Mother Nature had created the witch, how the witches had lost their way and been punished by Mother Nature by the birth of the Kasadow. She told her about the Daughters of the Earth, the coven who remained solid in their devotion to using their powers for good and how Mother Nature had rewarded them with the Gwithiaz, the most fearless of warriors. Then she told her how eventually the last of the witches were killed and how her warrior protector succumbed to mortality, leaving the world bereft of witch, of Gwithiaz and tragically of magic. Until now.