As I have written a few chapters of The Sixth Witch, I thought I would stick them all together to make it easier to read in one blog post. I’m having great fun writing it. Normally a book in this raw state wouldn’t be read by anyone else. I would finish the book and it would then be subjected to many edits before I let anyone read it. But…
Freya came into my mind many years ago when i was walking through a cemetery on my way to work and as I wanted some writing practice, I decided to bring this story to life. Also, it means the characters stop nagging me and I can focus on my thriller stories. If you read my regular blogs you will know that I’m starting the process of publishing my thriller series, which will hold my attention for the next few years.
This story is just a bit of fun and writing practice for me. As I’ve mentioned it hasn’t been edited so if mistakes and story plot holes send shivers down your spine, then don’t read it. I am literally making it up as I go along…
Chapter One – Freya
Freya pulled the metal hatch shut checking the lock was secure. Her mothers voice always in her head ‘double check and then triple check’. Her mother had a ‘thing’ about security. She unzipped the bright yellow cratch cover which kept her boat stern dry. She glanced along the canal and smiled as the autumnal leaves floated daintily from the trees, the kaleidoscope of colours striking against the bright blue sky.
She stepped carefully off the boat, her wellies sinking into the already muddy towpath as she pondered on the juxtaposition of wearing a coat, thick jeans, a brightly coloured jumper her cousin had knitted and her Audrey Hepburn sunglasses slotted firmly in place, on some would say, her longer than it needed to be, nose. The glasses would soon be put into hibernation as the clocks changed that weekend and Summertime officially ended.
The chimney smoke twirled into the sky and promised a cosy afternoon under her blanket with a hot chocolate, as she caught up on some life admin. Even Tarot readers needed to answer emails and she had a few days before she saw her next client. She wondered if the Tarot readers of the past would be shocked that she delivered her readings mostly over zoom.
‘Hi.’
Freya turned away from the Robin which had landed on the bird feeder on her narrowboat roof, to see a couple walking their dogs, ‘Hi. Lovely morning.” she called, as she turned, wanting to enjoy the walk without distractions. It was nice people always wanted to stop and chat but she felt an overwhelming urge to go and visit the church she’d spotted on the canal map along the Oxford canal. One of the joys of her lifestyle was having the opportunity to visit new places and photographing churches were one of her passions.
‘Do you live on the boat?’
Freya secured her camera strap over her head and put her keys and phone in her rucksack, which already contained some water and a cloth.
‘Yes, just over a year now.’
As she spoke to the couple, Freya was transported back to the day she had joined her friend who was having a midlife crisis and had decided to buy a boat, only to realise she didn’t like the idea of emptying the toilet. Freya, however, had fallen in love with it and on a whim put down a deposit and bought the boat, much to her parents’ dismay of her constant rebellion to live an alternative life. Having not long escaped a terrible relationship and the money from the house sale in the bank, it was just the change Freya was looking for and she’d thrived, even on the days she’d faced one challenge after another.
Finishing the conversation quickly Freya said goodbye and started her journey to the church, her hand firmly secured on her precious camera. It had been the one thing she’d taken when she’d split up with Stuart. It had been her sister’s camera and only the fact that she’d lost her sister only a year ago stopped Stuart from arguing about her taking it. She would have let him have everything, she’d wanted a clean slate but her solicitor had made sure she walked away with the money she was owed.
Freya gasped and her hand flew to her heart as a duck flew so close she felt it’s wing glance her tussled main of auburn hair which she’d tried and failed to tame over the years. The duck called out its displeasure as if she’d been the one to get in its way.
‘Rude.’ Freya called after the departing duck as she walked past the swing bridge on the Oxford Canal and made her way along the gravelled tow path towards the bridge. Holding the camera close, she navigated the wooden stile and jumped down into the field which had been bone dry the other day but after the last few days of rain, promised to challenge the top of her wellies.
Freya was surprised she had the fields to herself as normally there were dog walkers or ramblers a plenty in this area but there wasn’t a soul about. In the distance she could see the next part of the promised weather front incoming and felt her stove fire calling to her.
‘Not yet.’ She mumbled under her breath.
She followed the muddy path carefully over a troll bridge and spun three times, something her friend, Ali always apologised for if they were together and anyone saw them. She would mouth, ‘it’s the tablets.’
At twenty five, Freya still firmly believed that despite it being the daytime and the obvious reason that everyone knew trolls didn’t come out in the daytime, but if you turned three times then it would confuse the trolls and they wouldn’t be able to find you.
Safe from the trolls she was out of breath as she reached the top of the hill and took a moment to appreciate the enchanting forest as far as the eye could see and the large blue sky which, judging by the dark clouds in the distance and the met office weather app was going to change very soon. Autumn was her favourite time of year, maybe because her birthday was smack in the middle of the month and made her very firmly in the Libra star sign. This month was always associated with parties and good times despite the impending lack of daylight hours.
Her camera swung painfully against her chest as she spun around, as the force of the sudden blast of wind pushed her backwards. ‘What the hell.’ She called, her words lost in the maelstrom surrounding her. Freya screamed and held her camera tight, grabbing her spiralling scarf with her other hand to stop it whipping her face. She crouched on the floor, making herself as small as she could. The noise deafening.
Freya nearly fell on her backside as suddenly, all was calm and she could hear the birds foraging for their winter food. Some part of herself laughed as she imagined herself falling backwards onto the muddy patch. Wouldn’t that make a humorous YouTube short.
Standing up, she looked around but the sky hadn’t changed, no more darkness than before, the autumnal leaves were settled on the ground as they were before, as if they hadn’t been touched. Odd, but it wasn’t as if odd things didn’t happen to her all the time. She was a magnet for the unusual which was why she lived this life. Although this experience was up there in the ‘very odd’ category.
Setting her clothes and dignity back in order, she placed her wellies carefully between the uneven cobbles as she walked towards the church gate on high alert for any more sudden weather fronts. She removed her sunglasses and tucked them into her bag, just in case. Lifting her camera, she trained her eye to catch the perfect picture of the sunlight glinting through the unusual wrought iron gate. She moved the camera away from her eye as caught a flicker of movement through the gate, squinting to find the source of the flash of orange. She frowned, not seeing anything and crouched back down to take a few more shots of the gate.
She took off her gloves and ran her hand over the cold iron gate, tracing the unusual and rather macabre shape of what looked like a bird pecking the eyes of another animal. It had worn through in places and rusty around the edges but it struck Freya as a strange choice for a church gate. Then again she mussed, look at the architecture on some of the churches, gargoyles and such like. Feeling the cold, she gratefully placed her hands back in the thermal lined gloves and opened the gate. She half expected it to creak and chuckled to herself. Her schoolteachers had always said she would have done better at school if she wasn’t such a daydreamer.
Stepping into the graveyard she sighed with pleasure, she loved walking through graveyards; her friends said she was weird, but to her, life ended in death – she had experienced enough to not fear it. It wasn’t something to mourn while you were here, life was here to enjoy, explore, and experience. She believed that when people died, their essence went back into the earth, and the cycle began again. Their essence made up the world, so people never really died; therefore, there was no reason to sink into despair no, matter the desire. This theory had been tested when she lost her sister and closest friend to cancer, but if she listened, she was there, waiting to be heard.
Shaking herself, she focused on job in hand. She ducked under the overhanging branches which were blocking out most of the natural sunlight so only thin shafts of light penetrated though. The perfect light, she would be able to capture some amazing pictures. A few more leaves dropped to the ground as the wind picked up again. She braced herself but it was just the wind, nothing to worry about.
The flash of orange caught her eye again and she lifted her camera instinctively. Her breath caught as she zoomed in, finding a gap in the trees and settled on stunning, burnt orange fox sitting on a grave, his bushy tail wrapped around its feet. She clicked a few pictures, worried it would run away but she was luckier than most, as animals and birds seemed to not mind her presence.
Satisfied with her pictures, she pushed her luck and moved through the trees. The fox tracked her movement but didn’t seem to be in a rush to run away. Two squirrels ran across the top of the tree above the fox and joined two already sitting on the branch, still and watchful. Freya frowned.
She shivered as she made her way closer. There was a stillness in the air, she didn’t feel scared exactly. Churches and graveyards were normally her calm place but this felt unsettling. Her boot crunched on some gathered leaves on a grave where the names had long worn off. Countless times she made up stories based on any part of the name she could read. Some of them invoked times of Dickens; Mr Clutterbuck died or here lies Fanny Blatherwick.
Freya was a foot away from the fox, it tilted its head ever so slightly towards the gravestone. With difficulty, she dragged her gaze away and her heart stopped…
Freya Longton
Born 13.10.1990 Died 13.10.2030
Beloved daughter, wife and friend.
Taken too soon.
Chapter Two – Penelope
Penelope ground the herbs, mushrooms and a few secret ingredients in the marble bowl which had been passed down from her grandmother. Penelope breathed deeply, enjoying the sharp, pungent smell and memories it evoked. Her mind calmed as she prepared the spell for the gathering. Normal humans wouldn’t be allowed to see what was about to happen in their sleepy village park. It was a simple spell of suggestion, mixed with a sprinkle of invisibility, made complex because it covered an area and not just a person. Anyone who walked near the area would simply decide that they didn’t want to walk down that path, in their minds eye, they would know that people were there, but it would be of no concern to them and therefore they couldn’t recall any details if asked about it later.
Drakon was the first to arrive, as always. The tap of his cane announced his arrival. Looking impeccably sophisticated in his suit and tailored jacket. His beard trimmed to perfection. The ruby glass cane top dazzled. Penelope stared into his eyes and he gave a slight tilt of his head. She smiled, she’d seen too many people fall for the mesmerising glare of the ruby. Stare into it for too long and it felt as if you were sinking into another dimension and Drakon was apt to strike without warning.
His white earpiece was, as usual, sticking out of his ear, Penelope didn’t see the use for such things. They were witches – they could communicate through their minds. Drakon was handsome, it couldn’t be denied. Many centuries ago, she had once thought she loved him, but their wild, passionate affair had soon fizzled out – now they were family, who didn’t quite trust each other if they were forced to drink the potion of truth.
“My darling Pen, not a day older I see. But even more beautiful, if that is possible.” Drakon’s deep and smooth Italian accent conjured up images of fine bourbon, sipped in front of a roaring fire.
Penelope shook herself. Drakon and his memorising voice, still, after all the centuries he nearly had her. The wide smile showed off his gleaming perfect teeth.
“You should have been born a vampire and not a witch, Drakon. You still have the gift even after all this time and I know what to expect. God help the humans.”
He chuckled under his breath, “I don’t know what you mean, Pen. I’m just pleased to see your beautiful face. The Gods could only covet such beauty.”
“Well, one tries not to show off ones looks,” she winked at him.
He clutched his hand to his heart and covered his eyes, seemingly blinded by her beauty.
Moments later they laughed as they embraced.
“So, where are the others? Late, as usual?” Drakon enquired, leaning casually against a tree, as though it hadn’t been two hundred years since they’d last called the gathering.
“It won’t be long now.” As Penelope spoke, Kasha and Dominque appeared together. Kasha’s wolf, Aland stood between them. It bared its teeth and growled at Drakon for good measure.
“Ah, nice of you two to join us? Not like you to be late.” Drakon said, with a touch of mischief, ignoring Aland.
“I see you’re still alone dear Drakon, no surprise. It would be difficult to find a mate that is as self-centred as you,” Kasha said, stoking Aland’s head but making no move to quiet him.
“Ouch, insults already. It’s been two hundred years. I would have thought you would be over the rejection by now Kasha.” Drakon look wounded.
“Ignore my sweet brother, wife. He’s only trying to wind you up again. You know what he’s like. You shouldn’t bite.” Dominque said, as he strode over to embrace his brother.
“Aland is very sensitive of my feelings, maybe he could show you if I’m over it?” Kasha enquired, arching her brow, as she finally stroked Aland’s large head and he stopped growling.
“Maybe another time. Come here and give your brother-in-law a hug.”
They embraced, their normal mischievous quarrel forgotten. It had been too long since they had all been together and today was such an important day.
“Well, shall we begin?” Penelope placed the bowl down on the top of her car bonnet and clapped her hands together.
The park disappeared and the pentagram table dominated the space in front of them. Built of solid oak with ornate carved chairs at each point. They took up their places, the two spaces had been vacant for over two hundred years, ever since the last attempt. They took a moment to remember the fallen; their family, it was always a difficult place to return to. A stone fire hearth blazed at the side which brought much needed warmth to the chilly autumn air. Aland left them and curled up in front of the fire.
Heads bowed, they waited, lost in their own thoughts. Would this time be any different. The sign had come, and they had to be ready. Just like the other witches would be. A full coven had been the challenge of every coven since the trials had weakened their people and broken their strength. The history books were full of the perils of being a witch. In times past they had found others but they had been too weak and had died trying or they unwilling to join them or believe in witches and then there were the ones who they found first.
‘Let us begin.’
Chapter Three – Freya
Freya’s senses were overwhelmed as if she was inside the whirlwind again. Her thoughts rushed to make sense of the chaos around her. What had she seen on the gravestone? She breathed deeply and coughed, her smell sensitive but it wasn’t the autumnal, damp leaves she could smell, it was the dry grass from the hot summer, the pollen in the air, the faint hint of burning. She couldn’t hear anything above the rush of blood in the ears. She could taste something metallic, like blood. Her eyes blurred, she raised her hands, heedless of the wet mud covering them and rubbed at her eyes, wincing she pulled her fingers away as something stung her eyes.
Freya took another deep breath trying to slow her breathing. She felt herself coming back. Could feel a painful stone underneath her knee and a dampness seeping through her trousers. Her eyes hurt but she opened them cautiously and stared at the headstone once more. It hadn’t changed. Her senses took her once again and she screamed, scrabbling backwards, trying to get away from whatever this was. Somewhere her brain reasoned it could be someone else’s gravestone. It couldn’t be hers, how could it be. She wasn’t dead, if the pains in her body were anything to go by. She stumbled and nearly tripped over another raised gravestone as fear took hold. She started to run down the narrow bark strewn pathway. She had to get away. Freya knew she had to get out of this place. Something was coming for her, she couldn’t explain it. Something dark. Something malevolent. She could see the end, the light waiting to embrace her, to make the darkness go away. To save her.
Gasping, she kicked open the gate she fell against a giant cherry tree, her hands gripped the bark trying to ground herself in reality, hoping for this madness to end.
“You alright there love? What’s happened? Shall I call a doctor?” An elderly voice enquired. Freya screamed, before clasping a hand over her mouth and turning, she saw a grey haired old man in gardening attire leaning on a spade with a frown on his face. Where had he come from?
“Sorry. No… it’s okay, I erm… just got a bit scared back there. Daft really, don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Freya replied, starting to feel silly. What must she look like? She wrapped her scarf around her and rubbed mud and leaves from her clothes, as cold seeped into her bones. A menacing mist rolled down the side of the hill and she shivered. She couldn’t shake the feeling of something coming. Something coming for her.
Freya started to straighten her clothes to make herself look presentable and the man reached over and dusted some leaves off her coat.
“Thank you,’ she smiled gratefully at him and looked back but all she could see was the tree lined pathway, the normal sunlight glinting off the stone path. No wind rustled the leaves. Everything was still again. No fox. No squirrels. She winced as she tried to wipe the dirt off her jeans and was shocked to see blood on her hand.
“Looks like you’ve hurt yourself. Let’s have a look.’ The elderly man knelt in front of her, pushing his tartan flat cap back on his head as it slipped forward and inspected a jagged hole in her jeans, just below her knee.
‘That looks nasty young lady, I think we better get someone to look at that. Wait a minute. I think there is something sticking in your leg. Brace yourself.’
Freya gasped as she felt something cold and sharp being pulled from her flesh.
‘Well would you look at that.’ He stood up and showed her the mud encrusted object he’d pulled from her leg, ’You’re going to need a trip to the hospital just in case that gets infected.’
Freya took it from him and wiped away the dirt and blood wincing at the pain in her leg.
The man peered into her hand, ‘looks like one of them old fashioned hat pins. I wonder how that got in the church grounds?’
A gnarled hand reached out and settled under her elbow, Freya pulled her gaze away. She felt otherworldly, as if she wasn’t really here in this moment and someone else was in her body.
The old man looked worried, ‘Listen love, my truck is just in the grounds over there. It’s only a short walk. Let me take you to the hospital to get that cleaned up.’
His grip felt solid and reassuring and she was grateful for his presence. He felt grounded to the earth. She couldn’t let herself be torn away. How odd she thought. Why would she think that. They walked the short distance over the field to a gate in the old stone wall which Freya hadn’t noticed before. Relief washed over her the further they moved away from the church. So strange, she’d never once felt threatened in a church yard. The kindly old man helped Freya into the battered old seat of the Land Rover and whistled.
Moments later, a scraggy and very dirty small dog bounded up to the truck and jumped into the footwell and instantly curled around Freya’s wellies.
‘Well, you are honoured. Our Eris don’t like many people. A bit like my wife.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Freya said, leaning down to stroke Eris’s head, ‘I was just going to say Eris is an unusual name for a dog and then I realised I don’t know your name and you’ve been so helpful. I’m Freya by the way.’ Grateful she was noticing her surroundings once again and remembering her manners.
The man groaned as he slammed the door and turned to her as he settled his long coat.
‘I’m just plain old Bob. Eris here was named by my wife. Tells me that means Eris is the name of Goddess of discord or strife. Which is just about the best damn name I ever heard for a dog. Fits her to a T.’
He chucked as Eris barked her agreement.
Bob fired up the truck and they were soon at the local walk in centre.
Later, Bob described the day to his wife, as Eris was curled up in front of the fire in their cottage down the hill from the church.
‘Beautiful young girl that Freya, beautiful name.” He would remark how her hair was wild about her face, her wide eyes in shock, but she had an air about her – a mystery, something he couldn’t explain. Something supernatural. His wife would laugh at him and tell him the autumnal sun had gone to his head again. Working in that graveyard had made him superstitious. But later that night after Bob had gone to bed and Eris was asleep at the foot of the bed as usual, his wife returned downstairs.
To the side of the fireplace, she felt for the lever hidden inside and flicked it down. She reached inside and took out the candle, paper and ornate glass ink bottle. At her desk she carefully removed the small piece of parchment. It had to be the right type of paper for the spell to work. She dipped the quill into the blood ink and wrote one name, Freya.
Chapter Four – Mary
Mary glared at the church as if was a naughty child and tutted, such was her feeling about it. It wasn’t as if she would ever have children. A light flickered in the library window. How could that be, she mentally scolded herself. She was certain she’d blown out the candles. She took her responsibilities very seriously since the vicar had given her permission to archive the Church’s forgotten Library. She coveted the keys and doubted the vicar had noticed his new key to the library had disappeared. If it wasn’t bringing money into the parish, he wasn’t interested.
They hadn’t been able to find the keys to the large chain on the rusty iron door. The blacksmith had broken it and fitted a new lock. The vicar had been displeased, which was his default attitude as there had been much more pressing work required but he’d been curious as to why the room had been locked up and Mary had offered to pay the blacksmith, which had satisfied him.
The room had been remarkable and unremarkable. Maybe they’d expected to find hidden treasures to pay for some of the pews and the roof which needed replacing. But sadly, it was full of dusty books and a large table; presumably used to study the books. He had quickly lost interest until Mary had expressed a quiet interest in looking after the library. The wide staring eyes and open mouths that this strange, mousy, quiet child had spoken meant there wasn’t a question that she wouldn’t be given the responsibility for the library. The unsettling girl was hidden away and that was fine by them. She almost saw a flicker of a smile pass between the vicar and her mother, they were pleased to hide her away, forgotten.
The first time she’d seen the library she’d been in awe, too overwhelmed to speak. Not that speaking was expected. Quiet Mary: the girl who rarely spoke. Speaking involved being confident and having a purpose to your speech, which would be processed and picked apart by the listener. Mary had learnt at an early age to keep her mouth shut. Talking got people in trouble. She’d seen it in the village, smelt the burning bodies strung high for all to see. No, she was happy to be Quiet Mary.
When she stepped into the room, she knew she was home. These were objects she could speak to without judgement. She’d been so afraid the vicar would change his mind but he’d welcomed her free labour sorting out the library which had been left untouched for years. The previous vicar had locked it away and its existence had been forgotten by the parish until they’d stumbled across it. She had always felt a pull towards the church but she knew it wasn’t God. How these people believed in an invisible being was beyond her, but of course, she valued her life so kept quiet. In the library she felt love, acceptance and finally, she belonged.
After three years of careful cleaning and cataloguing she’d discovered but never mentioned the artifacts hidden in the walls.
Thus, Mary frowned at the light still flickering in the window. She had to go back in, unlock the heavy gate at the bottom of the stone staircase, climb the tight, spiral, uneven staircase to the second iron gate guarding the library. She decided not to light all the candles on the way, many tripped on the uneven steps but not her, she could walk the path blindfolded.
She sighed, she would be late home now and wouldn’t be able to cut through the graveyard to her home as she normally did. Her mum would be mad, again. Mary sighed at the inevitable, and removing the key, she opened the main door, groaning and using all her strength to push it open. She smiled, it always gave her a thrill to enter this place and not for the same reason as many.
Her mother was a most pious woman and if Mary was allowed to give her opinion on her, vicious, mean and bitter. Mary knew that she had been responsible for Gerta’s trial. Mary shuddered as she closed the door behind her. Gerta had been a healer and nothing more but these were hard, suspicious times and no-one was safe, not even kind Greta who had healed many in the village. Not one person had stood up in her defence the day the Witchfinder arrived.
The charges were lame. Of course, Gerta was seen out in the early hours and at dusk, everyone knew plants and herbs needed to be harvested at certain times to produce an effective poultice. But no-one spoke as they dragged her from her home, tied her to a post and after a long sermon by the witchfinder, set her on fire. Mary couldn’t look and instead stared at her mother. A smirk had formed underneath her homespun scarf, used to stifle the smell of burning flesh. Mary had said nothing. The villagers had turned and closed their doors behind them as the Witchfinder rode out of their village. They had said nothing.
Slipping the library key from the chain around her neck she opened the door. She frowned as she saw no light shining from the room, puzzled she held her candle high. Maybe it had gone out as she’d come to investigate but there was no residue smell. The fire in the hearth was out. She shivered slightly as she moved into the room. Without thought as to why, she blew out her candle and waited.
Mary turned, there was nothing for her to worry about, nothing here, no intruders. She listened for a few more moments but she had to get home, her mother’s temper would be bad enough at her delay. As she reached for the door, a light flickered under the ornate dark wooden bookcase which covered all sides of the room but this one was special.
Her heart raced as she moved over to the panel and moved the carefully cleaned and catalogued books and pulled the lever hidden from view. She’d would have never found it if she hadn’t been so diligent in her work. She pulled the shelf forward, books and all, to reveal the secret place.
Inside was a strange array of items as well as books. She’d known what they were. Known they needed to be protected and they had chosen her. The bright light was emanating from the pages of the book. Mary carefully reached in and lifted out the heavy, leather bound book and laid it carefully on the table, squinting.
“Careful now,” she whispered, “we don’t want anyone to know do we?” Mary nearly fainted as the book seemed to heed her words and the yellow glow diminished and the light didn’t penetrate the rest of the room.
She’d coveted this book so many times over the years and wondered why a plain bound empty book had been hidden away.
Mary closed her eyes as she laid her hands on the book. She wasn’t just in a library full of dusty old books as the vicar had said. She had found more than books. She had found her purpose.
Chapter Five
Freya settled her injured leg on the cushion Ali had placed on the solid oak coffee table and leaned back, draining the last of her red wine and sighing with relief. She’d waited ages in A&E for the doctor to not very confidently tell her that she was unlikely to get an infection. He had given her a tetanus shot anyway, which hurt like hell she was happy to tell anyone who would listen. They’d cleaned and bandaged the wound and her sprained foot and sent her on her way.
Ali appeared from the kitchen in her disarrayed state when cooking. Her naked man apron fastened about her neck and waist with most of the ingredients in her blonde hair, which was tied up as usual. Freya smiled as Ali topped up her wine and then returned to the kitchen. The wine was doing more for her than the painkillers, she could barely feel the injection site or her previously throbbing ankle and not to mention her pierced knee.
Freya closed her eyes and enjoyed listening to the sounds around her. The soft snoring of the cat curled up in front of the log fire, the trickle of music coming from the kitchen and the consistent rumble of freight trains working through the night.
“Dinner will be ready in a minute Frey. How’s the foot and knee feeling, and your backside?” Ali shouted, not trying to hide the hint of laughter to her voice, which Freya didn’t find amusing at all. She took another sip of wine before answering, thinking she really should stop soon.
“A few more of these and I won’t feel a thing,” she replied, trying not to sound grumpy. It had been kind of Ali to come and pick her up and let her stay overnight in her flat. Ali had also visited her boat, The Queen of Wands. So named as it was the first Tarot card Freya had turned over when she was trying to think of a new name for her narrowboat. Ali had put out the fire, switched off the water and locked it up. It would be freezing tomorrow when she returned but that was boat life. At this time of year, she normally kept the fire burning until spring.
Ali walked over to the sofa Freya was reclining on and passed her a shot glass of tequila.
“There you go, another shot of medicine,” she said, ‘Doctor’s orders.’ Ali loomed over her, accepting no refusal. It was easier just to have it. If the doctor asked what her usual consumption of alcohol was, she always removed their drinking sessions from the calculation.
“I know what you’re referring to, and I am not amused?”
“What do you mean Frey? I’m just going to shoot into the kitchen and check on the rump steaks.”
Freya threw a cushion at her friend’s departing figure. Ali had arrived just in time to see her white backside stuck in the air as she leant over the hospital bed, with a rather hunky looking doctor sticking a needle into it. Ali would never let her live this down. Never! She sighed again, what a day. She reached to the coffee table and picked up the pin which had turned out to be a thin brooch, once Ali had cleaned all the mud off.
It was beautiful. Ali thought it was worth a fortune, definitely gold. It had red garnets encrusted along the middle of twisted gold stem. She could see why Eric had thought it was a hat pin because of how thin it was but it was much more. Ali was right, as Freya had it up to the light, it caught the startling red gems and as Ali had pointed out, it was her birthstone. She hadn’t told Ali what had happened, how she had seen the headstone with her name and date of death on it. It seemed silly now that she was back in civilisation. The world was calm and a million miles away from this morning.
Her stomach rumbled as Ali opened the kitchen door and called her in after first checking if she wanted it on a tray but Freya wasn’t one to have anyone fuss over her, she’d had enough already today. Ali was a brilliant cook, unlike her, who could burn toast. Freya wasn’t allowed in Ali’s kitchen other than to make a drink. She was a chef at the local restaurant, which meant they always had good food on the menu. Ali was saving to open her own restaurant, hence all the extra hours she’d been working. Freya felt a little guilty for taking up her time when she knew they had so much to do.
After a delicious dinner they slumped back on the sofa, another glass of wine in hand. Freya could feel her eyelids drooping as the good food, alcohol, fire and friendship comforted her.
‘Earth the Freya. You okay?’
Freya reluctantly opened her heavy eyelids and smiled at Ali.
‘Yes, just tired. Think I will go to bed soon if that’s okay. It’s been a day.’
Ali put her half-drunk glass of wine on the table and stood up, ‘I shouldn’t have kept you talking. Let me go and check Alex’s room is ready for you. You know what he’s like!’
‘Are you sure your brother doesn’t mind me stealing his bed? I honestly don’t mind sleeping on the sofa?’
‘As if my brother doesn’t get all hot under his architect’s collar about you sleeping in his bed, he’s just disappointed he’s not in there with you.’ Ali skipped away into the hallway laughing.
Freya cheeks flamed and it wasn’t just the wine. There had been an immediate attraction between her and Alex but it was one of those relationships where it was never the right moment for them. Freya realised that this was the first time they were both single.
She shook herself, she didn’t want to think about the fact she was going to be curled up in his bed very soon. She closed her eyes as she unconsciously stroked the brooch in her hand, thinking about what she had seen earlier and trying to take her mind firmly off Alex.
***
‘We’ve got her.’ Drakon’s eager voice broke through. After hours of searching, they had found her. It had to be her.
‘Are you sure?’ Dominique touched his brother’s arm, the desperation clear. Two hundred years was a long time to wait. They had to be sure. He shivered thinking of the last time they had thought they had found the right witch. It still haunted his waking thoughts.
He hadn’t wanted to come today. He’d been the one to discover the last witch, to bring her in and convince her to join them but they had to be strong again.
‘You’re right.’ Pen broke through his thoughts, ‘I can feel it. So strong. It’s her but…’
‘What?’ Dominique barked more sharply than he intended.
‘Something. Wait. Quiet.’ Pen held up her hand to silence the group.
The sound of cars and people walking past them, glancing, but not seeing them but all their eyes were focused on Pen. Deep worry lines scored her forehead as she tried to find the witch. Their witch. Finding them wasn’t the end of the journey, the group had more to do but if only…
Kasha put her hand on Aland as he whimpered. Drakon’s knuckles were white as he gripped his cane. Dominique pressed his pendant deeper into his chest. Hours passed before Pen spoke again.
‘I have her. We must go.’
***
Mary opened her eyes, the gold letters on the page casting a strange light. She didn’t think anyone could see it from outside but she had to be careful. The light had drawn her in but she knew it was to bring her back here. She felt protected. Everyone was on edge after Gerta had died. Suspicious. She would not fare well being caught here after dark, and her mother was waiting and she knew what she was capable of.
Mary caressed the top of the book, she hadn’t noticed before but there were letters embossed into the leather. How had she not noticed before? She didn’t know the language, the letters didn’t make sense. She was one of the few people in the village who could read, something she was worried about being known but her father had been a merchant and he had insisted she learnt so she could take over the ledgers and letters when he was too tired to write. He never trusted anyone else to keep his books.
She frowned, wondering who could help her? Maybe she could look through the other books in the library and see if there was something similar. She would figure it out. She undid the metal clasps and turned over the heavy cover. She cried out. The page was full of names written in glowing gold leaf. The expense to create such a book. Who could have created it and why? What were the list of names for and why were they glowing? How were they glowing?
Flinching, she looked around as the sound of the scratching of quill on paper. Who was in here? Her heart raced but she pulled herself together. There was no-one else here. The noise was coming from the book. She looked back to the page to see a name appearing before her eyes.
She gasped. She knew what this was. Heard the whisperings. Heard the witchfinders ask about it.
Mary froze as someone shouted from outside the church.
Chapter Six
Freya woke with a start at a knock on the door. It took her a moment to remember she’d stayed over at Ali’s house.
‘Frey, are you awake? I’ve made you some breakfast and a cuppa.’ Ali’s gentle voice came through the door.
‘Yes,’ Freya cleared her croaky voice, ‘thanks Ali. I will be out in a minute. You’re a legend.’
‘No worries. Just to warn you Alex is outside so don’t go parading around in just your pants like you normally do.’ Ali couldn’t hold back a giggle.
Freya smiled and blushed, when she heard the distinctly male voice of Alex say not very quietly ‘that he didn’t mind.’
Oh God. She honestly thought she was done with men after finally leaving Stuart. He had not taken it well and she had vowed to stay clear of the male of the species for at least 20 years, until she felt ready to trust someone again. She threw off the covers and gently swung her legs over the side of the bed and checked how her injuries were doing. Her backside was fine, her ankle felt better but she knew she would have to be careful, especially getting on and off the boat which was treacherous on the best of days. She pulled off the plaster where the pin had pierced her and could barely see the mark. She’d always been a fast healer though.
She took a moment to glance around Alex’s room, envious of the floor to ceiling bookshelves. Alex had always been a bookworm and had received some stick for it at school but Alex was just one of those people who would just shrug it off, even the hardened bullies at school used to leave him alone. He had that air about him. Focused on going to university and pursuing his career as an architect which was evident by his selection of reading matter.
‘It’s ready,’ Ali called, ‘and Alex needs to get in his bedroom because he needs his to get one of his reference books, I think it’s one of the porn ones under…’ Ali didn’t finish and Freya smiled as she heard the laughter and clearly Alex now had his hand over his sister’s mouth. This was one of the reasons for not getting involved with Alex, they were her family and since her sister died she couldn’t stand the thought of that changing.
She pulled on her faded jeans, baggy blue jumper and chunky socks and stuffed her Pjs into her rucksack. As she walked to the door she tied up her bed hair and made a pit stop in the bathroom, before joining them in the kitchen.
‘Frey,’ Alex welcomed her with a hug which she could have happily stayed nestled in forever, ‘how you doing? I’ve told you before about hanging about with dead people.’ He winked as he let her go and reached for another piece of toast which was covered in a thick layer of blackcurrant jam.
Freya shook herself as she wished he had held her longer and willed herself not to blush. This was Alex, her very good friend.
‘Well, you know dead people are a lot more interesting than living people. They don’t talk back for one.’
Alex laughed, as he perched on a stool at the breakfast bar and Freya slipped onto the seat next to him, just as her stomach rumbled loudly.
‘Jesus, sis. Have you not fed our guest?’
‘Oh my God, was that my stomach?’ Freya exclaimed, mortified.
Ali piled steaming pancakes drizzled with maple syrup onto a plate in the middle of the breakfast bar and poured a cup of coffee for Freya.
‘Listen bro, you leave my guest alone. It’s not surprising she’s not herself after baring her arse for all to see in the hospital yesterday.’
Ali just managed to get out of Freya’s reach as she picked up her cup menacingly.
‘Damn. I wish I’d offered to pick you up now.’ Alex said, reaching over and rolling a pancake up and cramming it in his mouth. He turned and smiled at Ali, the pancake bulging between his teeth.
‘You,’ Ali said, pointing a spatula at him before flipped another pancake, ‘are disgusting and you wonder why you’re single?’
Freya put down her coffee and reached for a pancake letting the siblings do their usual ‘face off’. Picking her cup back up again she went to take sip but dropped the cup as she tried to hold onto the breakfast bar, her whole body shaking.
‘Oh shit,’ Alex cried, grabbing her arm to keep her steady and Ali, used to kitchen disasters and her friend, grabbed the kitchen towel.
‘Sorry, Ali. I’m so sorry.’ Freya said, trying to grab the towel to help clean up, as her body stopped feeling as if it was on a rollercoaster.
‘Don’t worry. It’s not a problem. Alex will still eat the pancakes. What happened?’
‘I don’t know,’ Freya said, feeling a bit shaken, ‘it was like someone walked over my grave. Scrap that, like they danced on my grave.’
‘I told you hanging around dead people was wrong,’ Alex said, as he chucked a soiled piece of towel into the bin but he sounded worried.
‘I’m just going to go and wipe my jumper.’ Freya stood up and tried not to rush to the bathroom and make them more worried than they already were. She closed the door and splashed water on her face. She hadn’t been truthful with them. She knew what had happened. She’d had another vision.
***
‘Did you feel that?’ Kasha said, swerving the car but managing not to crash into anything. Aland whined from the back seat in between Penelope and Dominique. Drakon refused to sit in the back due to Aland looking him as if he was a tasty three course dinner.
‘Yes,’ Penelope hesitated, ‘it was like nothing I’ve ever felt before. The connection was so strong I almost felt as if I was in their body.’
‘Same,’ Dominique replied, leaning forward, ‘what about you Drakon. Did you feel it?’
Drakon remained quiet.
‘Drakon?’ Kasha turned to look at him, ‘you okay?’
Drakon opened his eyes his hand rubbing the top of his cane which was rested on his knee, ‘I did. We have to be even more careful.’
Kasha snorted. Penelope was usually the most cautious witch on the planet and instilled it in them all the time. It wasn’t surprising she’d been lucky to survive the trials, she wasn’t going to risk anything but time was running out. They all felt it.
‘The Witchfinders somehow know we are getting closer to tracking them down and creating a full coven. Once we do we hold the upper hand again. They are going to do their best to stop us.’ Dominique sighed. Their coven needed this, how much longer could they try but were the strongest coven they knew. The rest had been decimated during the trials and couldn’t come back, not without help. Not without a full coven. It was up to them and they were tired. They all knew this was their last chance.
‘State the obvious,’ Drakon snapped and Aland growled, ‘oh shut up mutt before I turn you into a burger and eat you.’ Drakon turned and barred his teeth.
Penelope made herself ready but Kasha laughed, ‘Oh Drakon. Aland would snap your neck in a heartbeat just for fun. The only reason he won’t is because he knows you will taste nasty.’
Laughter came from the back seat and Drakon reclined into his seat, smiling.
‘One big happy family, that’s what I like to hear,’ Penelope said but there was genuine worry. If they were not one hundred percent together, then how the hell could they pull it off?
They all sat up straight as Kasha indicated to turn left onto the lane, ‘Well, we are here. Let the games begin.’
***
Mary listened but there were no further sounds from outside. Maybe just one of the children messing about or a relative visiting a loved one. She often heard cries of despair when she was working in the library. She listened, hands shaking as she placed one to her chest to calm her heart.
There were no other noises, she hadn’t been discovered but she would have to leave soon. A beating would be waiting for her of that there was no doubt, so she better make it worth it.
Mary clasped her hands together to try and quell the terror. If anyone saw her, she knew what her fate would be. A vile taste rose in her mouth. The day Gerta died, the visceral smell of her screaming, burning body, like nothing else she had ever witnessed. She would have given anything to turn away but they were watching and they would know and their punishment would be swift. So, she had watched, as she watched the page now.
Her eyes widened, transfixed as the name magically appeared, the handwriting beautiful and flowing on the page. She imagined even the King’s Scribes would be jealous of such penmanship.
Penelope
Mary’s brow furrowed. She didn’t know anyone called Penelope, but the name had a Greek Origin meaning Weaver. Mary didn’t know how she knew this. Had she read it in one of the books her father had brought back from his travels? It didn’t matter.
What did this mean? A thought struck her like lightning bolt through her brain and she turned a few pages and hovered her finger above the names as she searched through the list of names. On the fifth page her heart stopped.
Gerta
Gerta had a dark line through it. Gerta was dead. It could be another Gerta she told herself vainly but so many names were crossed out on this page. So many, she had heard some of their names.
She knew she was now the guardian of the witches’ names. That this book contained the names of all witches who had ever lived, died and who would be. A tear tracked down her pale face as she read the numerous crossed out names. Dead witches. Many no doubt killed by the witchfinders.
As her head cleared, she noticed a pattern. The names were grouped together. She turned the pages carefully, mindful not to damage the old parchment. She counted them but there was a clear space and each group included six names. Unless they were crossed out but then only ever a maximum of six in a group. Why six names. From the little she knew as it was dangerous to engage in gossip surrounding witches, pentagrams are five pointed stars so why were there six names? She couldn’t think about it now. She had to go.
Quickly she turned back to the page with the name Penelope and read the names:
Drakon
Caitlyn
William
Penelope
She wondered why only four names, could this be the start of… her mind knew what the word was but she was hesitant to let the word form in her mind. Quickly, she closed the book and returned it to its hiding place and carefully put everything back in place checking it was safe. Mary locked up and swiftly left the church, making her way home for the inevitable punishment but nothing could dampen her spirit.
She knew it in her heart that she was the Guardian. It was her job to protect the book. Cursing herself, she should have paid more attention to the names in Gerta’s list – maybe she would recognise one of them and she could find out more. As the rain started, she quickened her step. It would be dangerous to talk to anyone but she had to know what was expected of her. Why had she been given this task. She pushed away the thoughts that she was just trying to make herself important, because she was a nobody but what else could the book be. She had seen the words appear before her eyes and she wasn’t a fanciful daydreamer.
Reaching her home, she took a deep breath and reached to open the door. Her scream was silenced as a hand closed over her mouth.
Chapter Seven
Freya splashed water on her face. She’d had visions before but nothing like this and she’d always put them down to a memory being mixed up in her creative brain, rather than a prediction. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to fix the vision in her mind but it was fading. She could see the outline of a group of people but couldn’t see who they were but she knew they were in danger and something was coming. Something bad was going to happen and she didn’t know if she could help them.
‘Freya, you okay?’ Alex called, tapping gently on the door.
Freya dried her face, checked her reflection and opened the door, smiling at the frown on his face, ‘Yes thanks. Sorry for being so dramatic I suppose it’s been an eventful few days.’
Alex crossed his muscly arms and looked down at her, ‘well you are one of those travelling boat people who gives Tarot readings. I mean what else should we expect. You’re weird. You play your character well.’ He couldn’t hide the twitch at the corner of his mouth.
‘Be careful, Alex,’ Freya mirrored him, stood up straight and crossed her arms, staring up at him, grateful he was making light of it, ‘one day I will read your cards so you better stay on my good side.’
Alex smirked, ‘Oh no. I’ve told you before. I’m keeping my feet firmly on solid ground. No incorporating rituals or pentagrams into my building’s young lady.’
‘Once you’ve stopped flirting children, I have to go. We have a delivery and I don’t trust anyone else with my fresh mussels. Frey, I can drop you home now or you’re welcome to hang about here? I’m a bit worried about you being on your own.’ Ali called over her shoulder, as she finished putting everything in the dishwasher.
‘No, it’s okay,’ Freya realised her foot wasn’t hurting at all now, ‘I feel fine.’ As Ali came over to inspect her, clearly not taking her word for it.
‘Maybe it wasn’t as sprained as they thought, maybe that doctor just wanted to get his hands on your as…’
Alex pushed his sister laughing, ‘stop picking on her you thug.’
Ali laughed, ‘okay but be careful. No moving the boat today, just chill. If you don’t promise I’m going to lock you in the cellar.’
‘Well, firstly Ali you don’t have a cellar and I need to upload the photos, so once I’m settled I promise to be a good girl and rest.’
Freya thought she heard Alex mutter, ‘that’s a shame,’ under his breath but he’d turned and walked to his bedroom, as he turned the handle, he called over his shoulder, ’Listen sis we both know she will totally ignore us and will lug coal and all sorts. Probably have to de-ice the windows and whatever else these boat people do.’ He raised his hands to air quote ‘boat people’.
Seeing Freya’s glare he carried on, ‘I was planning on working from home so I will grab my laptop and extra warm clothes and I will take charge of our ward. Sort the boat out and make sure she rests.’
Freya was about to protest, even though a day spent with Alex wasn’t the worst plan, when Ali walked past and high fived her brother, ‘sold.’
‘Erm, don’t I get a say in it?’ Freya called as they both disappeared into their rooms, ‘NO.’ was the collective reply.
***
‘Wow it really is beautiful on the canal. I should come here more often,’ Alex said, as they walked over the bridge after managing to secure a parking spot in the village.
‘I love it. I will have to move on soon though.’
‘Oh yeah, I forgot you have to move every few days otherwise the canal police come and harass you.’
Freya laughed as she stepped onto The Queen of Wands and unlocked the padlock, ‘well it’s not quite like that. There isn’t much they can do if you don’t move on but most of us follow the rules.’
‘They should walk the plank from their own boat in punishment.’ Alex said, as he pretended to fall in as he stepped into the boat.
‘Right, get what you need and then I insist you recline on the sofa. I have instructions from the boss and I don’t how she would know if you disobeyed her, but she would.’
Freya opened her mouth but Alex was having none of it and made her do exactly as she was told. She enjoyed watching him clean out and set the fire whilst she was covered in blankets as the boat was, as predicted, freezing. She couldn’t deny she very much enjoyed watching him flex his muscles which she was sure he was doing on purpose.
Hours later she received permission to make them food and put some pasta on the stove to warm up. She was never short of meals as Ali was always giving her leftovers. Freya went about putting the boat to bed as darkness fell. She gasped as she closed the curtains.
Quickly at her side, it didn’t take long to cross the space of a 50ft boat, ‘What is it Frey?’
‘I don’t know, I saw something go past the window. It was nothing, probably just a deer or something.’
‘Oh yeah, just a deer, us normal home dwelling humans have deer wandering past our windows all the time.’
Freya elbowed him, ‘Ha ha.’ She turned away to finish heating up the pasta meal but shivered. Something felt wrong but she didn’t want to worry her friends. Whatever it was, it didn’t feel malicious as it had in the church yard but something was coming.
Alex left after dinner, as she promised she was okay and could manage on her own. Fifteen minutes later she was shuffling her tarot cards when there was a knock on her window.
‘What have you forgotten?’ Freya called as she opened the hatch.
She screamed.
***
‘I told you not to go sneaking past,’ hissed Penelope.
‘Nonsense. We needed to know what was happening. We cannot hang around all night.’ Drakon said in his usual haughty manner.
‘We don’t want to frighten her to death. Finding out what she is will be enough.’
‘You’re quiet, have you not anything to add?’ Drakon looked to Kasha, who just shrugged.
Drakon raised his eyebrows at Dominique, as Aland whined.
‘Right. He’s left. I’m going to speak to her. I will let you know when it’s safe.’
‘Well don’t take all night,’ grumbled Drakon, ‘hanging around here is not something I’m prepared to do for long.’
Penelope’s raised hand hovered as she prepared to knock on door or whatever a boat door was called. So much relied on this. They had waited so long. Could this woman be the one of the people they have been waiting for and what would this mean for all the witches.
Feeling the impatience of Drakon she tried to close her mind to the others. After all these years she had to work hard not to feel them with her, their hopes, dreams and anxiety. She didn’t think they could survive another. Maybe it was their time to end. Maybe witches were supposed to die out.
She shook herself, no. No this was not their fate. They had suffered so much but they had helped so many over the generations. How much worse would life be for others if they had not played their part from the shadows.
She knocked harder than she intended and waited to see what destiny had in store.
***
The hand over Mary’s mouth stifled the scream as she was dragged behind her homestead. She felt as if her heart had stopped. She could smell the pig pen, the horse manure, wet hay and other smells assailed her senses now she couldn’t see. The rough hood which had been pulled over her head scratched at her face but her hands were bound tightly and the hiss of warning her to keep her silence.
Despite the fear and not knowing the danger she was in, Mary felt exhilarated as she was guided through the back streets. She knew where she was of course, she knew every area of the village. She could and was, walking it blind. Behind the old cooper’s yard they stopped and she heard a creaking noise.
Mary jumped as someone whispered into her ear, ‘Go down the stairs.’ Maybe she was wrong because she didn’t think the cooper’s shop had a cellar.
The hessian sack was pulled from her head and she carefully stepped down the wooden steps into the dark, dank smelling earth, the light of a single candle guiding her way.
There were three hooded women waiting for her as the door closed above her and the candle flickered. She didn’t recognise the stature of anyone or their shoes. When you were a shy person you spent a long time looking at people’s feet. How could that be that she didn’t know them. She knew everyone in the area.
Mary stared at them, waiting, her stomach clenching. She had only just discovered the book, who would care for it if she was killed. A fresh wave of fear washed over her as she realised the danger she was in. The witchfinders didn’t do things in secret. They wanted everyone to know what they were doing, who they were accusing and they relished the spectacle and fear.
The quiet voice startled her, ‘Be still child, you are not in danger from us.’
The three remained hooded as they told her of unbelievable stories which in her heart she knew to be true. The witches, their covens, their magic. All true, just as the Witchfinders had told them. But not dangerous, not evil, not out to hurt the world but to help it as they could. To heal and to nurture.
‘Are not any witches you have seen persecuted and killed good people? Healers?’
Mary nodded, not trusting herself to speak but despite her fears she had to know, ‘Am I a witch?’
Mary didn’t feel like a witch but what would that feel like? She had no special powers. Had never been able to speak up for herself or avoid the beatings. She had always been told she was nothing but now…
‘No.’ came the reply and her heart sank, despite her thoughts she had hoped to be something, ‘you are something even more special. You know what you are, Mary.’
Mary inhaled, was what she had thought in the library true? Was she the guardian of the witches but what could she do to help. She was powerless. Always powerless. She didn’t know anything.
The woman who had spoken this time walked forward and reached out to raise Mary’s head with her head still bowed, ‘I cannot let you see me. These are dangerous times. You have been chosen as the guardian of the book and you must protect it with your life. You must be brave, Mary. Do you think you can do that?’
Mary nodded, she had to do this. Each name crossed through the list was a dagger in her heart. If she’d been lucky enough to have children and they had been killed she knew it couldn’t have hurt more. It was unthinkable she would not be brave for them.
‘I want to help,’ Mary cleared her throat. Be brave Mary she told herself, ‘But what can I do? I cannot even protect myself.’
‘None of us are strong alone Mary. Strength comes in being together. Drawing on each other’s abilities. You are the Guardian of the book and therefore it is our job to protect you.’
‘But I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with the book. How am I to protect them? How do I keep them safe?’ the words came in a desperate rush. She wanted to believe them but doubt filled her heart.
‘Spoken like a true Guardian. We have much to tell you, but not here. We are all in danger. Tomorrow night you will meet, Tobias. This is very important Mary. You must bring the book but tell no-one where you are going. You will never return here.’
Mary felt the thrill like the day she was allowed to step into the library and make it her own. The future she thought she would have would be no more. It was dangerous but she was alive.
‘But people will be suspicious in these times. Questions will be asked even if someone such as myself goes missing.’
The silence stretched out before the woman finally answered, ‘Child you are so much more than you know.’ She sighed, ‘we have no time for this. As far as your family is concerned you will have become lost in the woods and ravished by the wolves. It has happened many times before.’
Mary shuddered, she’d seen the bodies of the people who had suffered such a fate.
‘You must return home now.’ The woman lifted the hessian sack back on her head and whispered, ‘remember child. Tomorrow night. Your life is about to change forever.’ The woman kissed her forehead and then turned her around, back towards the steps.
Chapter Eight
Freya screamed as a large, grey, hairy wolf nose thrust through the gap as she opened the hatch door.
‘Aland,’ a woman’s voice hissed, ‘get back out. Kasha.’ The name was called with a sigh of annoyance.
‘Sorry. You know he has a mind of his own.’ Someone answered with an unapologetic edge to their voice.
Freya was still holding onto the door as the sniffing wolf was dragged backwards. The boat tipped to the side as the weight of another person climbed onto the boat.
‘Shit, you know I get bloody seasick.’ The other woman’s voice again, as the boat rocked back and forth, as Freya presumed the wolf was being reluctantly pulled off the boat.
A woman who looked remarkably like Demi Moore when she was in the iconic film, Ghost. It was Ali’s favourite film and consequently, she’d had to watch it a million times. Freya wished she could pull off a hairstyle like that. She shook herself. Now was not the time to daydream.
‘Hi,’ the woman said, her smile broad and welcoming, Freya felt herself unconsciously smiling back.
‘Sorry about all that. That dog never does anything it’s told. We didn’t mean to barge in on you like this.’ The woman chuckled, ‘sorry didn’t mean to make a joke. I know this is a narrowboat and not a barge.’
Freya relaxed, despite not knowing what was going on, she felt easy in this woman’s company.
‘Won’t you come in.’ Freya asked, opening the door but not quite sure why she was letting a stranger into her home at night, ‘Mind your head as you come down and it’s easier if you step down backwards.’ Freya moved back into the open space where she had her desk and deck of cards ready.
‘Thanks,’ the woman said. She climbed into the boat and turned around, ’Hi, I’m Penelope.’ She said as she clasped her cold hands together trying to warm them. ‘You’re probably wondering why a stranger has turned up in the middle of the night and why you have let me in?’ she smirked at the last.
Freya frowned, wondering if she could read her mind. ‘It might have crossed my mind.’ She said tentatively.
Penelope smiled, ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t really be using my powers on you. Not fair or ethical when I’m hoping you’re going to join our coven.’
Freya’s mouth dropped open, which she was sure made her look very attractive.
Penelope knew she was taking a gamble but they didn’t have the luxury of time. Ever since she’d found her they had been in danger. It would have triggered something and the witchfinders would do everything they could to stop them. She wanted to test how much the person they had found could handle. There was no doubt the witch they had tracked was the right person. With her slightly long nose, wild auburn hair and dark brown, almost black eyes she could be a poster girl for ‘here is how to come dressed as a witch’. She just needed to swap her jeans, jumper and fluffy pink slippers for something more appropriate.
The silence lingered and Penelope heard a shout from outside, ‘What’s happening in there?’ It was Drakon’s snooty voice penetrating through. He would not be happy standing outside on a muddy towpath, waiting. Impatience was his virtue according to him. It got things done.
Freya glanced towards the path, ‘How many of you are here?’
Good, Penelope thought. She doesn’t seem too bothered that she’d mentioned that she wanted her to join their coven. She spotted the tarot cards on the table and thought maybe this was going to be easier than she anticipated but there was still the ceremony. She shuddered.
Freya stretched her hand out, ‘Are you okay? Sorry it’s a bit cold up this end of the boat. Do you want to come closer to the fire and erm,’ she hesitated thinking this might well be one of the weirdest days of her life, ‘would the others like to come in. Although, as you can see, it’s not a large space.’
Penelope turned and wondered how they were actually going to fit in. Dominique and Kasha topped six foot tall and the thought of Drakon standing in the boat made her stifle a giggle. She knew it was nerves.
‘It’s okay. I think I’m going to have to convince you to come with us,’ Penelope paused, looking at the fearful look on the woman’s face, ‘sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out like that. It’s just we have a lot to tell you and if I’m being completely honest, which I know must sound completely mad to you, our presence here means danger for you.’
Freya started to interrupt, but Penelope continued, ‘Listen, sorry I haven’t even asked your name.’
‘It’s Freya,’ she stumbled wondering what the hell was going on. Maybe she needed to go back to the hospital. Ever since she’d had that weird experience at the church her life had taken a distinct turn but surprisingly, she realised that she didn’t feel scared. It was strange, yes. But there was something so familiar and comforting about this Penelope. Could there really be a coven or was it more a cult.
‘Freya,’ Penelope murmured, ‘The goddess associated with love, beauty, war and death. Well, if I had any doubts about you, that has confirmed it.’ Penelope stepped forward and held out her hands and Freya instinctively took them, pulling back quickly, as an electric shock surprised them both.
‘Shit.’ They both said in unison and laughed nervously.
‘Come on Penelope. I’m not standing out here all day,’ Drakon shouted.
‘Freya. I know it’s weird but do you feel as if something strange is happening. You should be scared of me, of us,’ Penelope gestured outside, ‘but you’re not scared are you? You feel as if you have found your people. As if a long lost relative has arrived and you have an instant bond.’
Penelope stared at Freya, seeing confusion but also an acceptance flick across her face. It seemed like forever before she replied.
‘Yes. I don’t know what the hell is going on but yes I do trust you and yes I will come with you.’ Freya answered, hearing Ali’s voice in her head asking her what the hell she thought she was doing. She doubted she would be able to explain how right it felt. She hadn’t felt a connection like this since her sister.
Penelope let out her breath, smiled and took hold of Freya’s hands again, ‘Thank you Freya. Thank you. You cannot know what this means to us and I promise I’m not using any of my witchy powers on you.’
Freya was about to comment but Penelope interrupted, ‘I promise we will tell you everything but your safety is paramount. Can you pack some things and I will just let the others know what’s happening?’
Freya collected her rucksack from the coat hanger and started to pack with Ali’s voice in her head demanding, again, to know what the hell she was doing going with these strangers in the middle of the night. It was crazy even for her. She smiled despite the situation.
The boat rocked again and she heard angry whispers outside and then people moving away. Penelope was climbing back into the boat as she finished packing and checking the fire would be safe to just burn out.
‘Ready?’ Penelope asked, with what Freya thought was a little fear.
‘I think so. Let me just turn the lights and water pump off and then we are good to go.’ Freya said as she made sure the boat would be okay for a few days. She could always ask Alex to come and check on it as they had a key. She would have to swear him to secrecy else Ali would be checking the find her phone app to track her down.
Freya followed Penelope off the boat and zipped up the covers.
‘Where is everyone?’ Freya asked, as she switched on her torch. It was pitch black on the towpath.
‘They’ve gone back to the car. It’s just up here. I didn’t want you to get overwhelmed and I wanted to tell you about them before you met them. They can be a lot and we will be squeezed into a car together for a few hours.’
As they walked along the towpath, Penelope told Freya about Drakon, Dominique who was Drakon’s brother. Kasha who was Dominique’s partner. Aland who was the wolf trying to sneak onto her boat.
‘And you are all witches and part of a coven?’ Freya asked, hoping her direct questioning would reveal what she really wanted to know.
Penelope hesitated but then simply replied, ‘Yes.’
‘Care to expand on that?’ Freya said, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice.
‘I will and I know it’s a lot but do you mind if we wait. I don’t want to scare you but I want to be careful. Keeping you safe is our priority.’ An owl called into the night startling Penelope, ‘Shit.’
Freya laughed, ‘I don’t think you need to worry about protection.’
‘I think you might be right,’ Penelope said, a distinct note of mystery to her voice, ‘The Kings of the night are looking out for you, Freya.’
***
The flat palm of her mother’s hand connected with the side of her cheek the moment she set foot in the house. It stung but she wasn’t shocked. She’d expected it, like so many times before.
‘Where have you been?’ Her mother hissed, anger always on her lips. Her body quivering with indignation. As long as Mary could remember, her mother had been this unloving demon ready to strike. Mary had long ago learned to keep quiet and hide in the shadows.
‘Sorry, Mother.’ Mary stammered, dropping in her head, ‘I was leaving the church but I thought I saw a light in the window and had to go back and check because I wouldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to the church.’
Mary waited, hoping it would be enough. She knew her mother took great pride in the fact that her daughter was trusted to look after the church library, even though her mother couldn’t read, it gave them a certain standing in the village and her mother coveted anything which raised her above others.
No more slaps were forthcoming. Her mother didn’t say another word and Mary left quietly and went to her room. She didn’t ask for supper as she knew the answer. Her room was sparse. Hay and a blanket served as her bed and her spare cloak and garments hung on rusty nails on the wall. The small window was covered by rotten shutters, which barely kept out the weather.
As she lay down she heard the rats scurrying, looking for food. She drew her legs up tight to her body and tucked in the threadbare blanket. She’s been nipped many times during the night when they realised she was the only food.
She was cold and her stomach rumbled protesting the lack of food but she didn’t care. This was the last time she would stay here. Tomorrow night she would leave forever. She wasn’t scared. It didn’t matter what happened, she would be free. The only thing she would miss would be her books. She would hide any books she couldn’t take with her tomorrow.
Mary laid still, thinking until the early hours. The rats watched for a while but didn’t approach, they sniffed the dank air. It smelled different tonight. As one, they turned and left.
Chapter Nine
Freya woke to the gentle shaking and stretched. She sat up straight panicking when she realised she was in a car and ahead of her was a cabin which was surrounded by woods. Was she about to be sacrificed? She could hear Ali telling her she told her so.
She turned to a soft chuckle, ‘I told you we are not a cult and I promise we are not going to harm you.’
Penelope smiled, she looked tired.
Freya realised she must have slept all night. All she remembered was texting Alex and Ali to say she was going to have an early night, getting in the car and saying hello and now waking up.
‘Sorry. It was awful of us to make you sleep but you did look ever so tired and we’ve had a long drive to get here. Can you forgive us Freya?’
Freya looked around the clearing. The cabin did look very welcoming with its wooden porch where she could see the wolfdog, Aland was settled on a swing seat. Smoke was twisting into the pale morning sky. It looked very inviting. She realised that she felt more refreshed than she had for years.
She stretched and yawned, ‘Sorry!’
‘Oh, don’t worry Freya. You will soon know all our little powers and until the end of time you will never stare into Drakon’s cane again. He’s the one who helped you nod off.’
‘Listen, come on. I know you met the others briefly last night but let’s get inside and have something to eat and we can tell you anything you need to know and I promise if you don’t want to stay I will take you straight back home.’
‘No bludgeoning me to death or sacrificing me to the Gods then?’ Freya asked, arching her eyebrow.
Penelope’s smile widened, ‘You are just the tonic we need and I cross my heart and hope not to die,’ Penelope made a sign in the air but it wasn’t a cross, ‘that we will not sacrifice you to any Gods and you will leave here in one piece. Will that do?’
Freya detected a serious question despite the levity of the answer. These strange new friends had secrets a plenty and they just might cause her untold grief and pain. Freya opened the door and climbed out. Turning she said, ‘Let’s go.’
***
Mary felt as if a lifetime had passed by the time night fell and the time came for her to leave her village, her home for the last time. She’d worried all day that it wasn’t true. That in desperation of a new life she had made up the encounter and everything that was happening to her. How could she be the guardian of anything? Only her father had thought anything of her and he had been missing for years.
She still held onto the hope that he was still alive. The ship he had been on had never made it to port but they’d all heard the stories of people surviving. She dreamed of him shipwrecked on an island, fighting to stay alive and waiting for another ship to bring him home. She would ask to go with him next time, would follow him and sneak onto his ship.
Mary tied her bag together trying to ignore his pain when he returned home and found her dead as the village would come to believe. Maybe one day she could get word to him. maybe not. Her bag didn’t contain much, she’d never had much, just one change of garments. The book was wrapped carefully in a homespun shawl she’d found left behind by one of the parishioners. She agonised about taking it but she knew it was the right thing to do. The rest of the items she’d buried in the churchyard. She didn’t know why, only that they didn’t seem safe left in their hiding place without the book.
She knew all the graves and who attended them and had chosen one hidden away. A fox had watched from the shadows and she’d smiled. The items would be protected.
Mary turned the key in the lock after checking for the thousandth time that everything was safe. Not that it mattered. Whatever protection had been in that room was now with her. She’d done everything she could. As she carefully made her way down the spiral steps she felt sadness at leaving this sanctuary but an overwhelming excitement bubbled inside her. No matter what happened she felt as if her life was starting and she was ready.
She left the church, the hooting of an owl signalled everything was okay. She was safe. The soft call of her name from the shadows didn’t startle her. She moved towards the large oak tree as a person stepped from behind.
‘Mary?’ A strange accent which she didn’t recognise spoke softly, her name lost on the breeze.
‘Yes. Are you…?
‘Tobias, yes. Come. We will talk soon.’
Mary followed Tobias through the graveyard. Over the wall and into the dense forest. She didn’t look back.
Chapter Ten
Penelope opened the door and Freya stepped over the threshold and into the cosy cabin. She felt suddenly shy as everyone at the table looked at her.
‘Okay, didn’t anyone tell you it’s rude to stare.’ Penelope snarled as she put her hand gently on Freya’s back and urged her to a chair at the head of the table. She went to sit next to the one called Drakon. The one who had sent her to sleep. She would have to keep an eye on him.
Freya wiped her hand over her face and ruffled her hair. She probably looked a right state. She settled into the chair marvelling at the food on offer.
‘I didn’t know what you liked.’ Dominique gestured at the food.
‘So, he literally made you everything.’ Kasha said and moved quickly as Dominique tried to elbow her in the side.
‘It looks amazing. My friend Ali would be jealous of your skills, Dominique.’
‘Oh my God, Brother you are blushing, should our Kasha be worried?’
‘Drakon,’ Penelope said with an edge, which said play nicely we have a guest.
‘Okay, Okay.’ Drakon said, picking up a chicken thigh and ripping off a piece as Aland wined from the floor.
‘Thank you Freya. It’s nice to know someone has manners. Dominique has kept us alive with his skills when food has been scarce,’ Kasha said pointedly, looking at Drakon. Freya wondered what exactly had happened to this group who appeared to be around her age but talked as if they had a long past.
‘Now, now children.’ Penelope said, clapping her hands together, ‘Freya is our guest and we have a lot to tell her and if we are going to convince her to join our coven then maybe we should at least pretend that we all get on.’
Drakon choked on a piece of chicken and others started to laugh which turned into hysterics and Aland made a noise which showed he approved.
Freya wiped her tears away and reached for a warm piece of baguette which she lathered in butter and jam. Closing her eyes she savoured the taste. If Dominique’s cooking was anything to go by then they could count her in. She opened her eyes to see them all smiling.
‘Can you all hear my thoughts?’ Freya asked, deciding it was time to lay their cards on the table.
They all looked a little guilty but it was Kasha who spoke, ‘We all have different abilities shall we say but a coven is like a hive mind. With practice you can block us from listening and we apologise as we shouldn’t be taking advantage of your lack of knowledge by prying in your mind until you give us permission but you looked so happy.’
‘I do love food. I cannot deny it.’ Freya replied giving them the benefit of the doubt, ‘so, where do we even begin? I think maybe with the part where Penelope said I was in danger. I would like to know more about what’s happening.’
Penelope nodded as Kasha got up and poured everyone a cup of coffee, ‘I think we are going to need this.’
‘Well, I think you know we are witches. You didn’t seem too surprised when I told you this and judging by your alternative life and the tarot cards, you are not closed off to a different world as many are. You can believe and you know you’re different from others.’
Freya nodded, as she spooned some sugar into her coffee and reached for a croissant. She felt everyone’s eyes on her. She had always let her feelings govern her life decisions and this was no different. It was true what Penelope had said. These strangers, as weird as it was and clearly they were a dysfunctional family were something to her. They were connected. How else could she explain them turning up and letting them bring her somewhere, wherever the hell she was. It didn’t make sense. She was a free spirit but she liked to think she was street wise.
‘I’m open and I want to hear what you have to say. I want you to tell me everything. Who you are. What’s going on? Who and what this danger is we are in? Who are they? What can I do? Who am I? What I can do to help?’ she took a deep breath, ‘tell me.’
They did.
***
Mary followed Tobias for hours, her legs ached and she felt weary and cold to her very bones. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so tired but she followed because what else could she do. There was nowhere else she wanted to be.
Finally, they stopped and at first she thought they were just going to rest and all she could make out were trees and more trees. Earlier she’d been petrified when she heard a wolf cry into the night but Tobias had turned and gently taken her arm and told it was okay. They were protected. She didn’t know why but she had felt reassured. It would certainly help with her disappearance if the village heard the wolves hunting throughout the night.
‘In here.’ Tobias called.
Mary stepped forward and realised he’d pulled up a hidden trapdoor which was behind a tree. She could smell the damp earth below but she didn’t hesitate to climb down into the depths of the earth. She was the new Mary. The new Mary would do brave things and not be scared, although the beating pace of her heart belied a little trepidation.
Tobias followed her in and pulled the trapdoor back over encasing them in a darkness she had never experienced before but the new Mary didn’t make a sound. She heard rustling above as if someone or something was covering it with leaves. She squinted as Tobias lit a candle and she looked around, her mouth dropped as she saw a doorway.
Tobias smiled as he looked at his new ward. She would be his perfect replacement. He had a lot to teach her and such a short time to do so.
‘Mary?’ Tobias said quietly, as he opened the door to a room Mary had only heard her father talk about when on the odd occasion he had visited a rich merchant’s house. Opulent. The word her father had used was opulent. She had stored that one away as she did all the words he had shared with her over the years. He never came back with gifts, he knew they would be sold the moment he left. His gift was words, the visions and stories of places Mary thought she would never see with her own eyes.
‘Welcome home. We have a lot of work to do.’ Tobias took a moment to enjoy delight and wonder on Mary’s face. She had not had an easy life and it was unlikely she ever would, but he let her have this. He could let her have this.
Chapter Eleven
Freya’s carved wooden chair creaked as she eased back, her mind reeling from everything she’d heard. She was a witch. She’d known she was different and it had been mentioned once or twice throughout her life in jest but who really believes in such things. It’s a story in a novel or a series to binge watch. How could she, they, all these people sitting around this table be witches? She felt an overwhelming urge to consult her tarot cards.
‘Do you think she’s okay?’ Dominique leaned over and whispered to Penelope.
Penelope observed Freya, eyes closed, her hands in motion as if she were turning cards.
Freya jumped and eyes wide she stared at Drakon who had slammed his cane sharply on the table, the ruby gem shimmered.
‘Drakon.’ A warning note from Penelope.
‘It’s alright, Penelope,’ Drakon sounded almost bored, ‘It’s not going to work that well if she really is a witch and part of our coven.’ He paused, ‘I mean I know I’m irresistible…’
Kasha groaned and Dominique stifled a laugh.
‘… but she can resist me, can you not, Freya.’ Drakon arched his eyebrow.
Freya detected the challenge and smiled. Despite everything, she felt the connection with these strangers and felt part of something, a group she didn’t realise she needed. The gaping hole left by her sister would never be filled but this was something.
‘You are my leader and I will follow your every command.’ Freya delivered her reply, her voice monotone.
Freya saw the briefest of a flicker of worry cover Drakon’s face before the mask of indifference fell once again. She smirked and everyone apart from Drakon laughed, even the dog barked which sounded as if it knew Drakon had nearly been fooled.
‘Oh, you are definitely staying,’ Kasha stated, lifting her glass, ‘cheers everyone. Here’s to our newest witch.’
They all chinked glasses, even Drakon. He tilted his head ever so slightly to Freya and she raised her glass slightly to acknowledge him.
‘I have questions,’ Freya stated, putting down her glass.
‘I expect nothing less.’ Penelope replied, ‘ask us anything.’
‘I am not quite sure where to start but you said we all have different powers so to speak but how do you know what our powers are? I don’t feel as if I have anything like your powers.’
Freya looked at Penelope, ‘You say that you can conceal and hide your environment so that others cannot see them. How do I know that you’re not doing that to me right now?’
‘A good question and learning what it is to be a witch cannot be told or learnt in an afternoon but before we move onto you joining our coven, we will all try to convince you we are your friends.’ Penelope replied, ‘Weaving spells as we would call them,’ Penelope continued, a wry smile at the word, ‘it takes a lot of energy and connection to the earth. I cannot just conjure an illusion without a lot of preparation. There are certain herbs which take more years than a usual human span to learn.’
Freya interrupted, ‘wait, sorry. ‘How old are you all?’
Freya could almost hear the unsaid words between them. How much to tell her so she didn’t jump up and run away.
Kasha spoke up, there wasn’t much point in her being known for her blunt manner and then not seizing the opportunity to say something. If Freya was going to take part in the ceremony they needed to get a move on, ‘I’m 72.’ She answered.
Freya thought she might end up with a repetitive strain injury if her jaw kept this up, ‘but you look about 30,’ she exclaimed.
Drakon rolled his eyes, ‘I’m the oldest. Somewhere around 250 years old but one doesn’t bother to keep count. My sweet younger brother is a couple of years younger. I must point out that we only share a father and I, of course, have the looks and brains of the family.’
Somewhere in the back of Freya’s mind, which wasn’t thinking ‘what the actual hell’, she had wondered why the brothers looked so different.
‘Our Penelope is the big hitter though,’ Drakon continued, ‘she tops the scales at somewhere around 300 hundred.’ He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, ‘although it’s not polite to mention a woman’s age.’
Freya broke the silence knowing she should say something, ‘but how do you all look so young?’
‘I’m afraid we don’t know everything about life as a witch, despite the fact we are witches. Some witches do live just a normal human lifespan. It is one of the many questions which is still unknown.’ Penelope informed her.
‘So, I won’t know if I have the same ability?’ Freya asked, wondering if that was the right word and what she thought about living so long. Outliving her parents, her friends Ali and Alex. Alex, her heart fluttered. What if something did happen and then she stopped aging? How would she explain that? Freya looked around at this unlikely group and realised what a bond they must share and what toll it must take on them.
‘No, I’m afraid not. There have been others…’ Penelope started as Kasha took over.
‘We have lost witches over the years. Some have died naturally and some have been murdered by the witchfinders.’
‘As in the witch trials? I know a little bit about the horrific trials from Pendle?’ Freya asked not quite able to take it all in, but she could see them all visibly flinch.
‘The trials haven’t stopped Freya,’ Penelope said, with so much sadness in her voice, ‘this is why you are here. We need to stop them once and for all but to do that, we need a full coven.’
‘But I thought you said you needed six people? Unless you’re including Aland and if I passed this test, ceremony thing, it would still only make five of us.’
Dominique quiet so far leant forward, ‘We need all five to find the High Priestess, the sixth witch. Despite Pen’s powers, this isn’t something she can do alone. She found you but it required the connection of us all and it’s dangerous.’
Kasha huffed, ‘Don’t put her off completely. We are trying to talk her into this, remember,’ Kasha reached over and squeezed Dominique’s leg and smiled, to ensure he knew she was only partly joking.
‘Listen,’ Penelope said, standing up. ‘Let’s have a break. This has been a lot to take in and…’ she held her hand up to Kasha, ‘I know time is of the essence but remember how you felt when you joined the group?’
‘I’ve still got the scars.’ Dominique said and grunted when Kasha punched him in the arm.
‘It’s up to you Freya. Would a break be useful or do you want to carry on?’
Freya’s brain was telling her to get up and run but another part of her was excited and wanted to know everything. What was this danger they were talking about and this ceremony they kept mentioning?
‘It’s okay. I want to know as much as you can tell me. You keep saying we have limited time and I already feel I don’t want us to be in danger. What is this ceremony and why is it dangerous?’
‘You have a fifty-fifty chance you will die.’ Drakon said, his gaze direct and challenging.
***
Mary had never slept so long in her life. Despite the lack of sunlight her limbs told her they’d been curled up for a long time. She stretched and groaned as her limbs popped but it felt good.
The night before she had barely managed to eat the food Tobias had insisted he serve her, along with what she thought was stronger than the usual thin, watered down mead. She’d had a split second when she wondered if had drugged her but dismissed it. She could trust him and what was the alternative? Go back to the life she already felt had been lived by someone else. Not find out who she could be. Not make her father proud.
‘Breakfast is ready, Mary.’ Tobias called.
Mary could smell the glorious bacon and fresh bread as she gathered her shawl around her and pulled back the tapestry which covered the bed. There must be some ventilation to allow the smoke out from the fire. She’d not really thought about it yesterday. She wondered why the home was underground and how the smoke was concealed so someone couldn’t find them above. Her stomach flipped at the thought of being caught.
She looked up to see Tobias smiling, ‘Don’t worry. We are safe.’
Mary blushed, ‘Can you read my mind?’
He laughed softly, ‘No. If only. I know how I would feel if my life had changed in such short a time. Come, have some food and then we will start.’
Mary wanted to skip the food but her stomach growled and she perched on the chair. No one had ever made her food before and here she was, being served twice in as many days. How jealous her mother would be. She picked up a warm slice of bread and smeared it in butter. Would they have realised she’d disappeared by now. Had her body been found? Had the villagers believed their story. She would ask Tobias but not now.
Breakfast finished, Tobias refused her help as he cleared the table and made some fresh peppermint tea he said he’d gathered that morning. Mary had never tasted anything like it.
‘Are you ready to find out who you are, Mary?’
‘Yes,’ Mary answered firmly with no trace of anxiousness.
‘Where to begin, ‘Tobias said and set down his cup.
‘You are the Guardian of the witches,’ he glanced at the book she had smuggled from the library, ‘that book has the names of all the witches.’
‘But how do they get there and how are they crossed out? I know that means they are dead. Greta..’ Mary hesitated. She trusted Tobias but how much to share and how much did he know.
Tobias sighed, ‘Poor Greta did not deserve that fate. We tried to do something but the Witchfinders arrived too quickly and we couldn’t be seen to interfere. The covens are getting weaker and it’s dangerous to show ourselves.’
‘You’re a witch?’ Mary exclaimed, thinking how stupid she was to think only women were witches.
‘Yes,’ Tobias confirmed, ‘Greta was…’ he stopped choking with emotion.
‘Oh goodness, Tobias. I didn’t think to look at all the other names.’ Mary reached over and gripped his hand, ‘I’m so sorry, Tobias. Gerta was a friend. A good healer.’
He smiled, as tears tracked down his face. Mary wiped them away with her fingers. Feeling overwhelmed at his grief.
He nodded and sighed, ‘She was special but this is why it’s so important we try and stop them.’
‘Do you mean these witchfinders? Who are they?”
‘I need to tell you about the book first,’ Tobias frowned, ‘Put simply there are witches called scribes and when they meet a witch or find out about a witch they perform a ritual. This can be from anywhere in the world. They use blood,’ Tobias held up his hand, ‘I promise to fill in the details but this is the very short version.’
He took another sip of tea before continuing, ‘They scribe the name and it’s either entered or crossed out in your book.’
Mary felt a thrill of excitement. Her book. She held back her questions and allowed Tobias to talk.
‘This used to be the only book in existence but then someone made a copy and the witchfinders have one.’
Mary gasped, ‘So they already know many of the names?’
‘Yes. No-one ever thought another witch would do such a thing.’
‘A witch made a copy and is killing their own kind,’ Mary was aghast at such evil, ‘why would they do such a thing Tobias?’
‘Again, I have much to tell you but I wanted you to know how important the book is and why it needs protecting. We are hoping that you have the power to stop them.’
Chapter Twelve
Freya hoped she had misheard as Penelope glared at Drakon. He shrugged, ‘She has to know the dangers. No point telling her all the good stuff, such as spending decades in our glorious company. If she wants to join us…’
Freya held her hand up and Drakon stopped, ‘Drakon is right,’ she saw a triumphant smile directed towards Penelope, ‘I do want to know everything but I know time is of the essence. We have only just met but I can assure you I have a very open mind. I would rather you just tell me about this ritual so I can walk into it with my eyes wide open. I am not afraid.’
Dominique sniggered and then blushed. He coughed, ‘Sorry, Freya. It’s just that you make it sound like one of those midnight ‘walking over the coals to find yourself’ type of situations.’
Kasha elbowed him but Freya thought she saw a hint of a smile.
‘Okay. Here it is then,’ Penelope said, putting down her drink, ‘It will take us a few days to prepare for your ceremony. During this time, you will need to cut yourself off from everyone. We need to clear your mind so we find what your power is and if you have a familiar or an object. It’s important we know this and know how far you can be pushed.’
‘Like Drakon’s cane?’ Freya asked and Penelope nodded, ‘that’s right. Kasha has Aland and she’s able to suggest… Kasha?’ Penelope turned to Kasha and gestured for her to continue.
Kasha leaned forward, her gaze direct and slightly unsettling, ‘When I was preparing for my ceremony I’d known I had an affinity with animals. During my preparation time, which is like a deep meditation state, I was visited by many animals. Over the years I’ve found I can suggest things to animals and if they want to do it, then they will. It’s not full control of their minds as I cannot make them do anything they don’t want to.’
‘Now that is a cool power,’ Freya exclaimed, thinking of the fox and the squirrel in the churchyard and how she’d always had an affinity with nature. Maybe she had the same power.
Kasha smiled. It suited her, Freya thought. Better than her resting frown of discontent but then again, what had they all been through to arrive at this point in their lives. Already she knew she would be devastated if anything happened to any of them, even Drakon and she had known them probably less than twenty four hours she realised.
‘I have something similar in that I can influence people’s moods.’ Dominique said, ‘I can suggest they are sad, angry, you get the picture but as with Kasha, I cannot make them do this against their nature. Believe me, I’ve tried with Kasha for decades.’
Dominique’s body was a blur as he dodged Kasha’s fist, toppled back in his seat and Aland, ever ready, fell on Dominique. Freya couldn’t separate the human and the wolf as they grappled on the floor.
Drakon sighed, ‘Still a child after all these years.’ He turned and whispered, ‘Dominique. Stop what you are doing.’
Dominique froze. Drakon’s words were quiet and calm but Freya could feel her mind asking her to stop her movements. She shook her head, as Aland barked.
‘Nice try,’ came the muffled sound, as Aland had placed his huge paws on Dominique’s head.
Drakon turned back to the table, looking smug, ‘As you see, as well as using my cane, I can ‘suggest’ since that seems the word of the hour, that people do as I command. The results vary on how strong willed they are and if they are expecting it.’
‘Interesting that a lot of the powers are about influencing people or animals. A powerful tool for a witch I would imagine but why would this not work on the witchfinders? Surely they are not all witches. Why couldn’t you just suggest they go jump off a cliff.’ Freya asked.
‘I like her.’ Drakon said and barked a laugh, ‘Oh would that we could and do not think I have not suggested this many times. We are not governed by a higher power but there are consequences to using our powers. As Penelope has said, we don’t know everything, despite having our own powers and the years we have walked this earth.’
‘Tell her about the time you used yours on that merchant,’ Dominique called, as his fight continued. Freya glanced over and decided that so far, Aland was the clear favourite.
Drakon sighed.
‘Go on,’ Penelope encouraged, signalling to Dominique to stop messing about, ‘it will be good for Freya to know our powers are limited.’
‘So be it. Dominique and I were sailing to the America’s.’
Freya wanted to ask a million questions but held her tongue.
‘I fancied the captain’s cabin as the ship’s hold wasn’t fit for a rat. I suggested to him that he would like me to have the cabin.’ Drakon continued rolling his cane gently on the table.
Dominique grinned as he straightened his clothes and returned to the table.
‘The captain was a strong minded man as you might imagine and I tried a little too hard to convince him.’
‘He spent most of the voyage puking over the side of the ship and didn’t even make it to the rat infested hull, never mind the cabin.’ Dominique’s laughter joined the others. It was clearly a story which had been told many times.
Drakon rubbed his temples, ‘I can still feel the pain in my head.’
‘A good example of what happens when we underestimate our powers and the person.’ Penelope grimaced. She’d clearly suffered her own tests of her powers.
‘I see, and it’s likely that using your powers on another witch could possibly have more serious consequences?’ Freya asked.
Penelope nodded but no-one answered.
Freya started to ask another question but was interrupted by Kasha, that steely gaze appraising her,’ What do you think your power will be ‘Goddess of love, beauty, war and death,’ Freya. Is there anything you’ve ever questioned about yourself? During your time before the ceremony, you will discover what your power is as it will help you when you face the challenge to become your true self.’
Freya felt as if someone had blown gently on the back of her neck and she shivered.
‘People have said to me before that I’m intuitive. I often see things before they happen if that makes sense?’
Kasha nodded and leaned forward, waiting for more.
‘I’ve had visions all my life but they’ve become stronger lately. That’s why I always thought I was good with tarot cards. I can read people, not a power, some people are more in tune with body language and feelings. So rather than it being a power, it’s more about being perceptive and interpreting what people are not telling you.’
‘Did you know which cards they were going to turn?’ Kasha asked sharply.
Freya paused, she always had known. Always. She’d never said anything because what would that make her? A witch? Kasha’s mouth twitched.
‘You all heard that didn’t you?’ Freya looked around and could see the answer.
‘Anything else?’ Kasha asked as she stroked Aland’s huge head who had settled next to her again. His large, wet tongue hanging out in appreciation.
Freya told them about the church yard and placed the broach she had found there on the table.
Freya jumped as all three chairs fell to the floor.
***
A wave of unnatural tiredness washed over Mary and she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Hours later she woke in the chair, a blanket tucked around her and Tobias was placing a cup of steaming herbal tea next to her.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Mary declared, as she sat up and yawned widely, clasping her hand over her mouth.
‘Do not worry, Mary. It is natural to be tired. We covered a lot of ground and sometimes the brain needs to rest, even if the body doesn’t. Your sleep will have revitalised you for the days ahead.’
Mary realised he was right. She never remembered feeling this good. At home she was up before dawn to do the house chores before going to the church. Returning home after dark there was always more to do. She usually went to bed exhausted and woke up the same.
‘Thank you, Tobias but I feel as if I am not doing the duty which was asked of me. Sleeping all afternoon is not going to help us to right this wrong.’
‘Which goes to prove that we have the right person.’ Tobias smiled and sat back into the chair opposite her, taking a long sip of his drink.
‘What can I do to help? How do we stop the witchfinders?’
Tobais’s brow furrowed, ‘We have been discussing this for many years. We must lay a trap for the witchfinder. Find out which coven they are part of, or possibly, some believe they might just associate themselves with a coven, so they can remain hidden. Many witches and especially a coven, can communicate in a basic way through their minds. The witchfinder would have to be very strong to not only hide their thoughts but also to mask them so no-one was suspicious.’
‘I want to help but I’m still unsure what I can do. I know so little.’ Mary felt crushed by the weight of responsibility. What could she do?
Tobias leaned forward, ‘We are together, Mary. You should not question yourself. You’ve had a lot to take in but your lack of knowledge is something which we hope might bring strength to our plans. We need a fresh view. Someone who doesn’t yet know our history and limitations. You would not have been revealed to us if it weren’t meant to be.’
Tobias looked at her, his soft eyes, kind, ‘We have a long road ahead of us and we will learn how to find them and defeat them. I know we will.’
Mary took a deep breath, whoever had chosen Tobias to teach her had chosen well. His voice was calming and she felt her anxiety wane.
‘We will now spend some time thinking about our problem. We need to find out who the witchfinders are? How many are there? How do we change the future for witches? How do we make them safe? Why have you come to us now? What are your skills?’
Tobias got up and moved to the table as Mary’s mind whirled, trying to find answers, trying desperately to help. Tobias placed the book in her lap and gently placed her hands on top.
Instantly, she felt as if a part of herself she didn’t know was missing had been returned. The feel of the leather bound book made her fingers tingle.
‘You feel it don’t you?’
Mary nodded.
‘I want you to close your eyes and let your mind rest. Be at one with the book. It doesn’t matter if nothing happens or no answers appear. You and the book will become one and the answers will come. This is how we practice. Do not become frustrated. It will take time.’
As Tobias busied himself darning his cloak which had become caught on a rusty nail the night he’d found the guardian, he watched Mary closely in between each stitch. She looked as if she was asleep but her eyelids moved as she communicated with the book.
He had so much to tell her. The book had all the witches who had been, were and would be. The book was a path to many lives and times. He just had to teach Mary how to use it. Hours later as he threw another log onto the fire causing embers to spit out, he turned sharply as Mary spoke.
‘I think I know a way.’
Chapter thirteen coming soon…
I was once asked how many coffees it takes me to write a novel… the answer is 1 coffee per chapter so if you want to help me along then feel free to Buy me a coffee
thanks for reading.
Clair x
right, better write the next chapter… Chapter 13 on Friday 13th!!!!!!
C.L. Peache 