Into the Storm: Into the Storm Trilogy Book One

by Serene Conneeley

  A dog. Brodie had asked for a pet the night Beth died, but they’d been distracted by Rose’s phone call, and their own grief, and then by the funeral preparations, and had forgotten all about it. Hastily finishing her sandwich, she wandered over to where her dad was sitting, under a big old oak tree, listlessly feeding his crusts to the pigeons.

  “Dad, remember how much Brodie wanted a dog? Just after mum died?” Pausing, she marvelled that she was able to say that sentence without choking on the words. It was progress of a kind.

  Mike looked up at her, puzzled.

  “That first night, when we got home from the hospital. Just before Rose rang, to say she’d cancelled the restaurant.”

  Pain crossed his face, but he nodded.

  “Well, maybe we should get him one. He’s old enough now, to look after it and take it for walks – to be honest, I’ve been stunned, over the last few weeks, at just how mature he’s become. He’s certainly not the same little kid who couldn’t grasp what it all meant a year ago, when mum didn’t come home. And I’ll help him.”

  For a moment she thought he would refuse, but finally a small smile flashed across his face – and his eyes smiled too – and he nodded again. “Where would you suggest we get one?”

  Funny he should ask. When they’d been in the cafe earlier grabbing lunch, Rhiannon had noticed a flyer for a local rescue shelter on the noticeboard, with a heartfelt plea for good homes for their precious animals. So they made their way back there, Mike ordering coffees while she called the place to find out whether they had a dog suitable for a young boy, and what the adoption would involve.

  Her eyes were shining when she came back to the counter and picked up her cup. “They were just about to close for the day, but they’re happy to wait for us. They said they have the perfect dog for Brodie – he’s a young beagle, well trained, and he’s been the beloved companion of a six-year-old, who only surrendered him because his family is moving overseas.”

  When they drove up to the shelter, a gorgeous little dog was waiting outside the front door with one of the staff, and Rhiannon fell in love the moment their eyes met. The cute canine was very well behaved, sitting down as they approached, but with eyes filled with curiosity, and a hint of mischief.

  She knelt down a short distance from him and slowly offered her hand for him to sniff. He gazed up at the man standing with him, and at his nod he moved closer to Rhiannon and gently licked her palm. A moment later, he put his paws on her legs, then with only the slightest encouragement, fell into her arms, hungry for pats.

  By the time Mike emerged from the shelter, weighed down with a bed, blanket, collar, lead, food and toys, the two had become firm friends, and the cute dog eagerly followed Rhiannon to the car and jumped into the back seat with her.

  * * * * *

  And so, on the night Rhiannon had long been dreading, the house was filled with laughter, the occasional excited bark, and unexpected but most welcome joy. Brodie’s face as he saw the dog leap out of the car when they picked him up from school was a picture of happiness, and his delight when Rhiannon told him that the puppy was his to care for moved her deeply. He squealed even louder with excitement when she said he could choose their new family member’s name.

  When they got home, Brodie proudly attached the lead to the pooch’s collar and took him for a walk around the block with Rhiannon, overwhelmed with joy even though his arm was almost pulled out of its socket several times by the excited pup. Once that was complete, and the little dog had investigated every smell he could find, Brodie led him out into their backyard and played with him as the sun set and the sky dimmed.

  And when Rhiannon tucked her brother into bed later that night, with little Baxter curled up on his feet, just as exhausted as his new carer, she felt so much love for her brother, and a warmth and sense of hope for all of them that she hoped would stay with her.

  Chapter 35

  Eye of the Storm

  Rhiannon…

  The next morning, Rhiannon was woken by a yapping from the room next to hers, and she surprised herself by laughing. As bleak as her world felt, especially after the crushing darkness of yesterday’s anniversary, there was new hope too. It was hard to stay miserable when you shared a house with a sweet, kind-hearted and curious six-year-old brother and his new, equally curious, best friend.

  Dragging herself out of bed, she went to play with Brodie and Baxter, then finally took them downstairs and made them all some breakfast, before settling down with boy and dog in the lounge room. Carlie was coming over soon to study, and she knew she should jump in the shower and get ready, yet this precious time with her brother was one of those rare and perfect golden moments, and she wanted to soak it up and breathe it in for as long as she could. File away the memory to cheer her up on the next not-so-bright day.

  By the time Carlie knocked on the door, Rhiannon had also watched a movie, made lunch, washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen, and was starting to worry. Her friend was flushed and out of breath, and full of apologies for her tardiness, yet she looked radiant and bursting with happiness.

  Intrigued, Rhiannon quickly brewed some tea and grabbed some bikkies, then ushered her upstairs where they could talk in relative privacy, away from the curious ears of her dad and the constant interruptions of Brodie and the puppy.

  Carlie curled up in the window seat and gazed out into the garden, hands wrapped around her mug, eyes shining, and a huge smile lighting up her face.

  “So, spill!” Rhiannon urged, as she sprawled across her bed and sipped her tea. When she did, she was shocked and delighted by her friend’s news. That morning Carlie had woken up way earlier than usual, with a strange urge to climb the tor. Not even sure why she was doing it, she’d crept out of the cottage, stumbling through the darkness as she made her way to the top. When she saw there was already someone sitting on the summit, she’d been disappointed, and had turned to go – until she realised it was Rowan.

  “Rowan Rowan? Rowan from the festival? Tall, dreamy eyes, gorgeous and amazing Rowan?”

  Carlie nodded.

  “And you’ve been with him since before dawn?” Rhiannon shrieked. “What–? Where–? How?”

  Shyly, as though she couldn’t quite believe it herself, her friend filled her in. Rowan said he’d been thinking about her all week, but all he knew was that she lived in Summer Hill, so he’d driven over and climbed the tor, then sent his spirit out to summon her – a call, he said, that her soul had answered.

  They sat together atop the sacred hill in the cool pre-dawn, and watched the sun slowly rise. When others had approached, they’d headed back down the grassy slope, hand in hand, and wandered around town, talking and laughing, and sharing glimpses of their stories, and parts of themselves. Later he took her to his favourite place, in a beautiful meadow on the banks of a stream, and pulled out a picnic basket and rug, and they continued their conversation, and their slow revealing of themselves to each other.

  As Carlie tried to impart every sight, sound, word and glance she could recall, her friend listened, rapt.

  But finally Rhiannon held up her hand. “What aren’t you telling me?” she asked, eyes narrowing with mock suspicion.

  “What do you mean?” Carlie asked, trying – and failing – to look innocent.

  “I know you’re holding something back. Out with it!”

  As her face turned scarlet, Carlie finally conceded. “Um, he kissed me – and it was really lovely. I really did go weak at the knees, as cliched as that sounds.”

  Rhiannon hugged her, thrilled for her friend. “When are you going to see him again?”

  “Tomorrow morning,” she beamed. “But shouldn’t we start our assignment?”

  Rhiannon laughed, and finally agreed to stop pressing her for more details so they could get some work done. But all afternoon she felt really happy, and finally realised it was because she could almost taste the possibility swirling around her. If Carlie’s love spell had worked, and brought an am
azing guy like Rowan into her life, then there was no reason why she wouldn’t meet someone too, now that she was ready.

  That night, as she curled up on the couch with Brodie to watch a video, Baxter sleeping between them with his nose on her lap, she looked up at the photo of her mum on the mantlepiece, and silently thanked her for watching over them.

  * * * * *

  As their first term progressed, Rhiannon was shocked to find herself enjoying school so much more than she could have imagined. She was working extra hard to keep her grades up, now that she had an end goal, and several of her teachers praised her for her continued diligence and her successes. It still mortified her, how close she’d come to throwing it all away in the aftermath of her mum’s death, but she was proud that she’d managed to turn her grades around earlier this year, and determined to stay on top of it all.

  She especially adored her history class, and their goddess project. Their teacher had been right – all the research was helping her feel closer to her mother. Many nights she pored over Beth’s Book of Shadows, and the wisdom and breadth of knowledge within the pages astounded her. She felt sad that she hadn’t known more about her mum’s passion for magic, and her many and varied esoteric interests, while she was alive. She also felt cheated. Her mum had taken her to a few rituals, but said she was too young to be a member of Rose’s circle. Now she was old enough to be part of it, she was angry that her mum was gone, and it was too late for them to do it together. Foolish and pointless as it was, she felt such a longing to be able to share all of this with her.

  At least she had managed to join her for a few ceremonies. Poor Carlie – her mother Violet had inexplicably turned her back on magic and ritual long ago, so it had been a total shock for her friend to discover that her non-religious, non-spiritual, very conventional and conservative lawyer mum had once worn purple velvet and danced under the full moon with other witches.

  She felt sad for Violet too. When she’d first learned that her dad had loved someone else before Beth, she’d been angry and jealous – and she’d resented Carlie for it too. But from the little she and her friend had managed to figure out about Violet’s early life, it seemed she’d had a terrible, soul-destroying relationship with a manipulative shaman, who had convinced her to run away from home. It was a tragedy that led her dad to take his own life, and left Rose a childless widow.

  Eventually, somehow, Violet had managed to escape that situation and find true love, and a new life. And while she’d never returned to magic, or to her hometown, she’d had Carlie, who was healing her grandma Rose’s heart – and helping Rhiannon heal too.

  Her excitement at having a friend to share her magical exploration with was pure and intense, and she was so happy they’d formed their own coven, so they could learn more about the nature-honouring spiritual path their mothers had followed. And all their magic was deeply healing. Even the smaller rituals she did with Carlie, as they nervously, shyly, experimented, made her feel better, made her feel more whole. Not fully whole yet, and maybe she never would be, but she was gathering little pieces of herself with every spell and every sabbat. The rituals were healing her, expanding her, filling in some of the pieces she’d lost.

  There would always be a gaping wound, a gaping hole, within her, but she was coming to accept that, to love it even. It was where her mum could reside, could visit her, could live. It gave her strength, a beautifully fragile strength, to know her mother was there, within her if not with her. That she would always be a part of her soul, a wisdom that flowed through her heart, a presence that was carved into her bones.

  That night, at Rose’s full moon ritual, Rhiannon sensed her mother. Felt her winding her way around her heart, swirling around her shoulders to protect and comfort her, holding her close, then tingling within her, as the priestess invoked the goddess and drew her down into their circle and into her own body.

  Afterwards, Rose asked her if she could help her pack up the altar tools, and she happily joined her. They talked for a while, general stuff, then Rhiannon screwed up her courage and asked what she’d been longing to know. Her voice was soft, tentative, apologetic. “How were you not destroyed by what happened when Violet disappeared all those years ago?”

  It felt strange speaking the name of her daughter aloud, now that she knew her dad had been in love with her – like she was being disloyal to her own mother in acknowledging it. But Rose had been through far more pain than she had, and remained the kindest, most compassionate person she’d ever met. If she could transcend all the tragedies of her life, maybe there was hope for her too.

  “How do you know I wasn’t destroyed?” the priestess asked her, and a vulnerability Rhiannon had never seen in her before bubbled just below the surface of her calm.

  “Oh my god… um, I’m sorry, you’re just, well –”

  Rose forced a smile, which hid the pain again, but Rhiannon knew she wouldn’t be able to unsee the shadows that had haunted the eyes of the woman who had always been like a grandmother to her.

  “Sweet girl, we have a choice, every day. We can let ourselves be destroyed, and in our bitterness destroy the rest of our lives – becoming destructive and hurting others, and ourselves, far more than the original pain did. Or we can pick up the shattered pieces of our broken lives, and try to glue our hearts and our minds back together.” She gazed across the room to where Mike stood talking to Carlie, her eyes wistful.

  “I choose every day to believe that the world is good, and people are redeemable, because I couldn’t function if I saw it any other way. Offering healing where I can, helping others, that helps me too. A wise man once told me there’s no such thing as altruism, that we do good because it makes us feel good, and there is some truth in that. Being able to help others deal with their pain and grief and illness gave meaning to my life after Louis and Violet were taken from me, when I thought all meaning was lost.”

  “So time really does heal all wounds?”

  Another shadow flitted across Rose’s face. “No.” She was emphatic. “Time changes things, but it will never totally heal them, and you wouldn’t want it to. The wound is a badge of honour, a badge of love, a badge of memory. The grief won’t ever leave you completely, but you’re no longer crippled by it, right?”

  Rhiannon nodded, shocked to realise this was true.

  “And it’s a good thing, because you’ll want to remember. You’ll want to hold on to that wound, to the scar deep within. Others will stop seeing it, but it will always be there. It never leaves. It sits below, beneath, within, and it will resurface occasionally, when you least expect it, and you’ll feel the pain all over again. But sweet girl, that wound is also where the light gets in. The scars are where new hope can break through.” A sad smile flickered across Rose’s face.

  “And the pain reflects the depth of the love you shared. It broke my heart to lose Violet and Louis, but I would never wish I hadn’t had them in my life, hadn’t loved them and been loved in turn, just to avoid that. In some ways I think it’s the thing that reminds me to go on living, and so I embrace the pain that I imagine has made me stronger. That I have to believe has made me stronger.” Her voice was a whisper, was a sigh, was a wrenching ache of emotion and yearning.

  “But not everyone can survive it,” she continued. “My Louis couldn’t. His grief when we lost Violet was a huge black storm cloud that sat above him and around him, ominous and threatening. Drowning him, and drowning my words and my love and all hope that I had of getting through to him. He collapsed under the weight of his personal storm, shrivelled up and shrunk down to a husk, until it was as though he was no longer there, so reduced was he by his grief and his pain, by the burden he felt that he alone must carry.”

  Rhiannon watched, horrified, as Rose seemed to fold in on herself, bowed down by the weight of her own suffering. And she saw the faintest glimpse of the scars that the tragedies of her life had inflicted on her, saw the pain that was always there. Usually it was buried deep, but for a mome
nt she saw it rise, ready to bubble back up and suffocate the priestess in the pain of her memories. She couldn’t begin to comprehend how much losing her daughter again, after all these years, was devastating her now.

  But Rose smiled at her. “I’m okay. The sadness is part of me, and I welcome it because it reminds me not just of how much I lost, but also how much I had. How much I loved, and was loved. And it reminds me of the blessings I still have – the blessing of you and your family, the blessing of the women of my circle, the blessing of Carlie, sent here to heal my heart, and to help you too, as much as we will help her.”

  Rhiannon nodded, accepting the truth of that, and realised for the first time how much stronger Rose had become in the months since her granddaughter had arrived. Not that she’d ever been weak, but now there was a new breath of life that animated her, a new fire. And if Carlie could help the wise woman heal, maybe there was hope for her too, that some day she would be able to help people heal from their grief.

  “Everyone has tragedy in their lives, everyone,” Rose said, breaking into her thoughts. “But when we suffer, we can choose to find purpose in our pain and be inspired to help others, or we can choose to remain bitter and broken and inflict our pain on those around us, and on ourselves. It saddens me that some people continue acting out their pain by hurting others, because it doesn’t help. Lashing out doesn’t ease our pain, it just causes more suffering, and perpetuates that vicious circle. And so I choose to radiate healing and peace outwards from myself, in the hope of radiating it inwards as well.”

  Sadness and defeat swelled in every cell of Rhiannon’s body. “I don’t know how to do that,” she complained.

  Rose leaned over the altar and hugged her. “Oh sweet girl, that’s not true! It sounds like you and Carlie have already figured all of this out on your own, in choosing to find a purpose from your loss, in deciding to become grief counsellors so you can help other people going through what you have suffered, and endured, and survived.” She beamed at her.