by Alys West
“I thought you said you couldn’t be sure it was a girl.”
“I did. But if it was a lad, he couldn’t have been more than a teenager.”
“If you’re right, it gives us a bit of a clue because not everyone can park on the pier. You have to have a permit from the harbour authority.”
“I should have clocked the number plate because then we’d really have somewhere to start.”
“We’re not CSI Kirkwall. It’s not like we can run it through the police database and then go break down their door.”
“If only!” He was silent for a moment, staring out of the window. Then he added, “There’s something else. But it doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
“Go on.”
“When I stood at the end of the pier, I could feel the energy dissipating and it felt, and this is the bit I don’t understand, like it was returning to the sky and the sea.”
“Spellworker magic shouldn’t do that. You take energy from the elements but once you’ve used it then it’s gone. Unless…” Jenna’s good hand rose to her mouth. The storm had come out of nowhere but was it really possible?
“What?”
“I always thought it was just folklore but…”
As she trailed off, Winston said, his tone sharper. “What?”
“What if she’s a storm witch?”
He shook his head. “They are just folklore.”
“Not in Orkney. There’s a legend about a girl called Janet Forsyth. She lived on Westray, one of the northern isles. She had a dream that her young man would die at sea and she begged him not to go out fishing. It was a fine day and he must have thought she was crazy. He went but a thick fog came in and he never came back. The folk of Westray blamed Janet and thought she’d used witchcraft to call down the fog. That part has always seemed ridiculous to me. She loved him. She warned him not to go. Why would they think she’d want to hurt him?”
“When was this?”
“Seventeenth century.”
“When witch trials and burnings were a popular form of public entertainment.” Winston’s fingers fastened round his staff on the leather thong at this throat.
“Exactly. Not unsurprisingly, Janet became a bit of a recluse after that but the islanders continued to blame her for anything that went wrong. Storms, crop failures, cattle dying. I’m never sure how long that went on for, it seems to depend on who’s telling the story, but after a few years a ship was seen in trouble off Westray. The islanders thought it was their lucky day and waited for the ship to wreck on the rocks. Janet wanted to rescue the sailors, and when no one would help her, she took out a small boat on her own, reached the ship and guided it safely into harbour.
“The islanders were convinced that a mere woman—” Jenna poured derision into the words “—couldn’t have done that without the help of witchcraft. Janet was hauled off to Kirkwall and put on trial. She was found guilty and sentenced to death. But, and this is where the story gets really unbelievable, when she was sentenced she looked out into the crowd and saw a man in naval uniform and it was her lost sweetheart. He’d not died at sea but had been pressganged into the navy. As they carted her off to Marwick Hole, that was the town’s dungeon handily located inside the Cathedral, she shouted, ‘Save me!’ and when they came to take her for execution the following day, the dungeon was empty. They say she was spirited away by her man. The story goes that they went to Caithness and had bairns and never came back to Orkney.”
“A witch story with a happy ending. You don’t get many of those.”
Jenna swung her feet to the floor. “I don’t know how true any of it is.”
“What do you need?” He stood as he spoke.
“The painkillers. They’re by the kettle in the kitchen. Thanks.”
Watching him take a glass from the cupboard and fill it with water, she was surprised by how at home he seemed. Perhaps it was part of the patented ‘Dr Grant charm’, the kind of moves which made women not only fall for him but fall into bed with him. But if it was, right now, she didn’t have the strength to fight it. It was so nice to have someone take care of her for a change.
The doorbell rang. “Who on earth’s that?” Jenna muttered, gently levering herself up. “I won’t be a minute,” she said, passing Winston on his way out of the kitchen. “I’m not expecting anyone.”
Throwing open the door, she saw a thick, cabled jumper encasing a broad chest. She looked up. Hal was frowning, concern clouding his blue eyes.
***
On the shore of the Loch of Stenness, Rachel sat with her knees bent, hands hugging them to her chest. Her clothes clung to her. The light breeze ruffled her short hair. She hadn’t been able to face going home. As soon as she switched on the television or the radio or her mobile connected to the internet she’d be confronted with what she’d done.
Out here she could almost pretend it hadn’t happened; that the storm she’d created hadn’t dislodged a chunk of the Cathedral’s stonework, hadn’t punched a hole in the west window sending deadly shards of glass down on the wedding beneath.
Unstan Cairn, one of the smaller chambered tombs, was a green mound away to her left. In the folktales she’d been told as a peedie girl, people were lured into places like that by the trows. When they came out so many years had passed that everyone they knew was dead but they hadn’t aged a day. If only that could happen to her. There weren’t many who would miss her.
She could pack up and leave. Move far from these small islands to somewhere no one knew her. You could disappear in cities, become a nameless person amongst an ever-moving crowd. But she couldn’t leave her dad and she’d waste away without the sea.
If only she had someone to talk to, someone who understood about her abilities and how hard it was to control them. But Nina was gone. She knew Nina would have been shocked and disappointed by what she’d done today but she’d have understood. She’d always understood. The internet was great and she’d learned so much from the Crystal Goddess site but it wasn’t the same as talking to Nina.
Her chin dropped to her knees. She’d planned everything exactly as the Crystal Goddess site said on the solstice. It was the most auspicious time of the year to manifest change. All she wanted was to be able to do proper spells. Nothing fancy, just the kind of spells that spellworkers were supposed to be able to do. The website had said she should go to a place of significance and power. She’d thought Maeshowe would be perfect. But perhaps if she’d gone back to Westray everything would have turned out right.
Whatever she’d disturbed on the solstice had been angry. She’d felt that from the moment the candles went out. In the torchlight she’d frantically looked at the pages she’d printed off trying to figure out what to do. When the bowl smashed she had a terrible feeling her bones would be next. Bent low, she’d tried to hurry down the tunnel. Nearing the entrance, drawn by the rectangle of half-light of the simmer dim, she’d cracked her head. On her knees, she’d crawled the last few feet. Slamming the gate behind her, she’d lurched away to lean, heart pounding, against the side of the grassy mound.
A second later, a blast of freezing air blew up the tunnel, lifted the gate from its hinges and tossed it aside. She couldn’t get away fast enough. Running to the car, accelerating so hard the tyres squealed. Even when she’d crawled into bed she hadn’t felt safe. She’d been burning juniper and sleeping with a nightlight beside her ever since.
Rachel shivered. She needed dry clothes and a hot drink. Otherwise she’d probably come down with a cold and, great as it’d be to spend a couple of days in bed with a good book, she couldn’t afford the time off work. Slowly, she stood and returned to her car.
***
Really? Both of them at the same time? What was it about today? Hadn’t she been through enough without having to handle both Winston and Hal seeing her looking, as the druid had so charmingly agreed, ‘like shit’?
Automatically, she answered Hal’s questions, assured him she was alright, even though her arm was h
urting like hell, and invited him in.
Winston turned from looking out of the window when they came in. “This is Winston. He’s the archaeologist I was telling you about,” she said. “This is Hal. We’re old friends from when I lived in Edinburgh.” Winston put his hand out and shook Hal’s.
“Winston,” Hal said. “That’s an unusual name.”
“It’s a family name. From my Father’s side.” He stepped away as his spoke, his brows contracting, making it pretty clear from his body language that he didn’t want to talk about it. She was suddenly conscious of how little she knew about him. She’d never heard him mention his family, had only guessed from his accent that he’d grown up in Edinburgh. Why hadn’t she asked?
“Mine too.” Hal nodded. “I was named Harold after my grandfather but luckily no one ever calls me it.”
“Oh.” The druid shoved his hands in his jeans pockets, glanced again towards the windows.
“Winston’s working on the Ness of Brodgar dig,” Jenna said to fill the silence which was heading towards awkward. “He’s an expert on the Neolithic period and we’ve been working together on displaying some of the finds at the visitors’ centre at Maeshowe.”
Hal glanced away. “Sure.”
Jenna looked to Winston expecting he’d make an excuse and leave. Instead, he gestured to the coffee table. “I got your painkillers,” he said quietly.
“Thanks.” Jenna slumped onto the sofa, grabbed the pills and slugged two down. She hated relying on medication but the pain in her arm wasn’t going to be soothed by Mum’s feverfew tea. And, right now, she’d welcome the woolly-headed feeling that came with them. Anything that meant she didn’t care how she looked in front of the two men scowling at each other in her living room.
Winston stepped around the coffee table and sat next to her, leaving Hal the chair he’d sat in previously. As Jenna glanced at him, he flashed an innocent smile. She turned to Hal. “How’s Duncan?”
“They’re transferring him to the hospital in Aberdeen. When I left, they were sorting out the air ambulance and a flight for Carole.”
“Is Amy not going?”
“No, they’re keeping her in overnight for observation. They say she’s in shock. Kenny’s staying with her.” Hal scratched his forehead. “I mean, it seems like half of Kirkwall and most of South Ronaldsay were invited to the wedding. Pretty much everyone knew about it. No one can believe what’s happened.”
“You seemed to have come out of it unscathed.” Winston’s grin just managed to take the accusation out of his words.
“I was at the back, near the door. The glass didn’t scatter that far. The worst of it was where Jenna was.”
“What do people think happened?” Winston asked.
Jenna’s eyes narrowed. Why was he asking? They already knew what had happened.
“They’re saying the pinnacle which fell must already have been loose and then got dislodged by the storm. While I was at the hospital, people were starting to talk about suing the Council.”
“Council?” Winston asked.
“They own the Cathedral,” Jenna explained.
“And what about that storm?” Winston said. “I was only up the road by the distillery but it missed me completely.”
“Yeah, it was a weird one,” Hal shrugged. “It’s going to take me a bit of time to get used to the Orkney weather again.”
“You’re going to be living here?” Winston’s arm stretched along the back of the sofa. Jenna’s gaze slid to his hand which was now inches from her ear. What the hell was he doing? Her eyes returned to Hal’s face in time to see him frown and quickly look away.
“Yes, I’m working on the Atlantis wave energy project.”
“It’s grand that he’s going to be back in Orkney.” Jenna squirmed deeper into the corner of the sofa, trying to put some distance between her and the druid.
“Back?” Winston said. “You’re from here? Only with your accent, I didn’t think…?”
Hal laughed, apparently unbothered by Winston’s tone. “No, you’re spot on. My accent’s pure Mancunian. My dad moved around a lot for his job. We settled in Manchester when I was thirteen but before that I spent a lot of time with my grandparents on South Ronaldsay. I lived here for two years while my parents were in Saudi. It’s always been the place that’s felt most like home.”
“And how do you two know each other?” Winston’s gaze darted between them.
“We used to play—” Jenna said, at the same moment Hal said, “We were seeing each other before—”
They both broke off with an embarrassed laugh and it was Winston who filled the pause. “You two were together?”
“Yes,” Hal said. “We were seeing each other for a few months before Jenna moved home when her mum died. I was heartbroken when she left.”
Jenna blinked at him. He’d never said that before. Why was he sharing this now? And in front of Winston of all people? How was she supposed to react, especially after what he’d said earlier? They needed to talk about this but not when there was a hyper-attentive druid watching their every move. She didn’t dare glance at Hal in case her face revealed too much. But the silence was stretching and afraid of what Winston would say next she added, “And we used to play in a band together.”
“A band?” As Winston turned towards her, she saw his eyes were bright with mischief. “You never told me you were in a band.”
“You never asked,” she murmured. Heat stole up her cheeks and it was nothing to do with the potential fever the doctors had warned her of. What was Winston up to? First, with his arm along the sofa as if it belonged there and now implying that he had a right to know about her past? She was painfully aware of Hal’s gaze on her face.
“Yes, a folk band. We were called Parcel of Rogues,” she murmured.
“Cool name,” Winston interjected.
“Thanks.” Hal picked up the conversation as if he’d been speaking all along. “It’s from a song we used to do. The words are by Burns. Do you know it?”
Winston shook his head. “I’m not much of a folk fan.”
“We were getting some good gigs until Jenna left us. We never found a fiddle player good enough to replace her.”
“I’m not surprised. I’ve heard her play. What’s your instrument?”
“Guitar. And I sing a bit.”
“Don’t listen to him. He sings really well.” Jenna tried to smile but it felt wonky as if her face was too exhausted to function properly.
“As do you.” Hal’s smile was working perfectly, kind and affectionate, warming his eyes.
Winston turned towards her. “You sing?”
“I don’t very much anymore.”
“You never said?” Hal leaned forwards. “Why not?”
With both of their gazes on her, Jenna looked down, her fingers fiddling with the fraying cuff of her hoodie. “I guess I haven’t felt much like singing.” It was more than she wanted to reveal to either of them right now but lying was hard work and she was so very tired.
“Then we’ll have to do something about that,” Hal said. “She’s got an amazing voice.”
“I don’t doubt it.” There was a warmth behind Winston’s words that she’d never heard before. She glanced at him and found his dark brown eyes were staring straight at her. They really were something. No wonder women fell for him. You could think you saw your soul in those eyes. “I’d love to hear you sing sometime.” His hand slipped from the back of sofa, landing on the cushions a centimetre from her foot. As if it belonged there. As if it had every right to move the tiny distance and brush her foot.
Jenna’s gaze shot to Hal’s face, saw his brow furrow. He stood up. “Well, I only came to see if you’re okay. I’ll leave you to it.”
“There’s no need,” Jenna said quickly. “Winston was just leaving.”
Rushing to stand, her injured arm knocked against the sofa. Wincing, she cradled it to her chest. Winston was suddenly beside her, his hand resting on the small of
her back.
“You need to take it easy,” he said. “You’ve had a rough day.”
Jenna shook his hand off. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You need to get some rest. Give your body chance to heal.” Winston said. “I’ll ring you tomorrow. Okay?” He waited for her to nod before he picked up her mug and took it through to the kitchen.
“You need anything, anything at all.” Hal stepped around the coffee table and took her good hand. “Then you let me know.”
Attempting to stifle a yawn, she nodded. “I will.”
Hal bent and dropped a quick kiss on her cheek. “I’m sorry about what happened today. I feel like it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t invited you…”
“Then I wouldn’t have got to see you in a kilt.” The smile took all the energy she’d got left.
“I’ll pop in tomorrow,” Hal said, as he crossed to the door. Winston picked his staff up from where he’d left it and Jenna’s eyes widened. How the hell was he going to explain that? But he didn’t, he simply walked through to the hall and Hal followed.
Their voices grew quieter. What on earth did they have to say to each other? The front door closed. She dropped her head back against the cushions and yawned again. Silence enveloped her. Thank God, they’d gone. It was like having two rutting stags in her living room and, in the state she was in, she really wasn’t up to dealing with that much testosterone.
Her arm ached evilly. Prising herself out of the sofa, she walked to the kitchen. Careful not to bang it again, she reached to the back of a cupboard and tugged out a plastic container. Inside were small plastic sachets of dried herbs. They smelled musty as if she’d had them too long, which was quite likely the case, but as she’d nothing else she tipped them up and measured out the ingredients for feverfew tea.
When she’d brewed it, she took the mug through to her bedroom. Tossing the red shoes into the wardrobe, she stood on tiptoe to retrieve a box from the back of the top shelf. Opening the lid, she looked at the array of crystals. Selecting four clear quartz and an amethyst she placed them on the floor around her bed to magnify the healing power of the tea.
