Waywood

by Sarah Goodwin

  “Piss off,” I say, as Nara thumps him on the arm, “just because I’m not-”

  “What? Interesting?”

  I glare at him, and without quite meaning to I reach deep for my power, intent on tossing him across the room. Cray grabs my hand.

  “We don’t cast on each other,” he says quietly, his fingers gentle on my wrist. He looks over at Ilex, “say you’re sorry.”

  “Sorry,” Ilex huffs unapologetically, “not that you would have managed to get me anyway. But, if it’s fine for Chronicle to screw almost everyone male fresher every year, then I suppose it’s fine for you to be all innocent.”

  I snort. “You think I’m innocent because I haven’t had sex?”

  His sulky expression splits into a grin, and I feel my face flame. I hadn’t meant to make myself look even worse in front of Cray. I didn’t want him thinking about me doing...that. Or maybe I did, and that made me feel all weird inside, my stomach alive with twisting snakes.

  Footsteps clump down the steps – it’s Sophia, trailing a black fringed kimono and carrying a wooden box. I can actually feel the light heartedness slip out of the room – time for serious witch business.

  “Everyone ready?” she asks, her eyebrow raised in a challenge, her gothic mask of make-up thickly plastered on.

  We all nod.

  “Outside then – the witching hour is approaching.”

  I want to giggle at that, but I don’t dare.

  Outside we go, into the garden, where Campion and Chronicle have prepared a circle of large white stones, one of the battered old coffee tables from inside the house sits in the centre, and Sophia puts the box on top of it.

  It starts much like my initiation. Cray, Ilex, Nara and Chronicle call the elements; earth, air, fire and water. Sophie goes last, invoking the firth element, spirit and finishing the protective magic circle around us. This time I can feel its energy, like a live wire surrounding us, woven above and below. In the darkness the white stones seem to glow.

  We join hands, apart from Sophia who goes into the centre of the circle and opens the wooden box. From it she takes three black stones and two green crystals, which she arranges in a circle around the box, green nearest her, the black ones on the side facing me, Cray, Campion and Nara. Ilex and Chronicle are on either side of Sofia.

  The energy in the circle is cold and heavy on me, like the weight of the entire ocean on my shoulders. Despite the fairly mild autumn weather my breath is making a cloud in front of my face. I look around at the others, but their breath is invisible. What’s going on?

  Sophia takes two things from the box, a metal bowl and a pair of manicure scissors, she closes the lid and sets the bowl to one side. From within the folds of her kimono she withdraws a piece of paper and begins to chant the words on it. They’re not English, or any of the languages I’ve heard in my life – which admittedly doesn’t narrow it down much. My spine tingles and my skin feels tight with goosebumps. Sophia continues to chant, lifting a lighter in one hand and igniting the piece of paper, which she drops into the bowl.

  A shudder runs through the other witches in the circle, only I remain still. Glancing at them, I have to blink and look again, because they all look somehow paler – surrounded by auras of white light. Nara’s face is a like a moon in the dark swatch of her head scarf, and Campion’s skin seems to glow.

  I look back at Sophia, who raises the scissors to her hair and cuts off a piece, throwing it into the bowl where it smoulders and stinks. She passes the scissors to Ilex, who cuts a piece of his own hair, steps forwards, and lays it on the box lid. I’d thought he was going to burn it, but the silvery lock of hair just lies there on the gleaming wood. The scissors are passed around, but when they reach Cray, he passes them around me to Nara, who pulls a lock free from her scarf and snips it off. I watch Cray step forwards and lay his hair on box, between Ilex’s and Campion’s.

  As Chronicle lays her long red hair on the box, Sophia’s chanting reaches a fever pitch. She reaches for her throat and pull the silver chain there, dredging up a heavy silver locket from the neckline of her dress. Opening it, she shakes a ghostly tumbleweed of dry hair into the fire in the bowl. The smell of burning hair intensifies. She steps forwards, taking the locks of hair from the lid one by one, winding them around her finger and placing them into the locket, before snapping it shut.

  With one last incomprehensible cry, she raises her arms and the cold, clinging energy feels for a moment as though it might suffocate me, then it’s gone. The fire snuffs itself out and the mild night air streams in, warming my frozen skin.

  Once the elements have been thanked and the circle opened, we walk back to the house. Sophia goes up to her room without another word and the rest of us are left in the lounge, standing awkwardly. No one says anything. All of them look grey and tired.

  “Looks like time for bed then,” I say, wincing at how much of a nerd I sound. No one seems to notice. Cray manages a nod but the others seem lost in their thoughts.

  My mouth feels suddenly dry and I go into the kitchen and grab a bottle of water, when I come back Chronicle and Ilex are sitting on the sofa, the others having gone upstairs.

  “Night then,” I say, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth.

  “Night,” they say, at the same time. They sound like robots.

  As I hurry past them to the stairs I tell myself not to be stupid, that they’re just having me on, playing a trick on the newbie. I’ve seen a lot of magic in the past few days, none of it scary, none of it dark. The ritual was just some stupid chanting, something Sophia had probably invented to give everyone something to do once a month, to make them feel like a family.

  As much as I tell myself that, I still can’t sleep. The smell of burning hair follows me into my dreams.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Wakey wakey newbie!”

  I flinch out of sleep, rolling onto my back and throwing up an arm to protect myself.

  “Someone’s grumpy in the mornings.”

  It’s Campion standing over me, looking as full of energy as ever. I can almost convince myself that I didn’t see her get completely zombified only last night.

  “Big day today, you’ve got two lessons from me, lots to get through.”

  I feel sick at the thought of going anywhere near magic after last night. “I don’t feel well,” I say, truthfully.

  “Fresh air’ll do you good then.”

  There is clearly no way to get out of the lesson, or away from Campion. I sit up and push the covers off, crawling awkwardly out of my bed and looking around for my clothes before I realise that I’m wearing them. The glamour has worn off, leaving me in my market stall goth ensemble. I grab my hairbrush from my bag and swipe it through my hair. Glamouring myself doesn’t bear thinking about.

  “Keep those shoes sensible,” Campion says, nodding at my trainers, “we’re going on a fieldtrip.”

  “Is this going to end with me running from more students?”

  “No student goes where we’re going,” she says.

  Not exactly comforting.

  There’s no one downstairs and I can’t help looking around for Cray, anxious that he’s not there.

  “They went out,” Campion says helpfully, “Nara and Cray went into town to do some shopping. Well, nicking. Ilex and Chronicle are probably up with Sophia.”

  “Whatever,” I say, “shall we get this over with?”

  “OK, what’s up?” Campion demands, “yesterday you’re Little Miss Witch and today you’re acting like a spoiled brat.”

  I glare at her, feeling stung. “That...whatever that was last night was weird. After it you were all pale and acting really odd.”

  “We were tired,” Campion shrugs, “it takes a lot out of you, doing a big ritual like that.”

  “What was it for?” I asked.

  “Just, you know, protecting the coven.”

  “Ilex said it was for saying goodbye to people going to Bristol.”

  “Ile
x was probably having you on. There’s been no one gone to Bristol since...well, it was a few months ago. White Hart? Can’t really remember. Anyway, what does it matter?”

  “I just think if you’re going to zonk yourself out for a ritual, you should know what it’s for.”

  “Protection, I told you.”

  I’m still not convinced. Campion sighs.

  “Look, it’s a secret. You’ve done your first degree initiation, right? But once you’ve learnt all the tricks and spells we have to teach you, once you’ve passed the tests, you get your second degree – then you find out all the stuff about the rituals we do.”

  It sounds believable. Sophia seems to enjoy her role as Queen Witch, I wouldn’t put it past her to have dreamt up all these tests and stages of initiation to create some mystery. Still, the ritual still bothers me, I want to know what we were doing out there in the dark, what all that scary energy was going towards.

  “We’ve got to get going,” Campion says, “it’s a long walk to the other side of the wood.”

  “The wood?”

  “Yeah, we’re going gathering,” she smiles, “this morning is all about finding and using magical ingredients.”

  I look at the window, where rain is running down the glass in chilly snail-trails. “Yay.”

  *

  “Well,” I say, wiping my tree mould covered hands on my jeans, “this fucking sucks.”

  We’d walked from the house down to the lake on campus and from there around to the end of the footpath, where a big sign with the university logo said ‘No Access Beyond This Point’. Campion went straight past it and up into the trees. Beyond that first hill was another hill, even steeper and covered in pines. There are big spaces of raw, red, earth showing here and there where the land has given way. My thighs are already sore from walking and in the last scrabble down to a sort of valley between hills I grabbed the wrong branch and fell, getting covered in bits of leaf and gross green mould.

  “You’ve been complaining for the last twenty minutes,” Campion says.

  “I’ve been tired and pissed off for the last hour, so be grateful I held it in that long.”

  Campion has a canvas shoulder bag across her body and is frowning up at the branches over us.

  “How well can you climb?”

  “Can I just catch my breath?”

  She turns around and slips the bag from her shoulder. “That’s mistletoe, old druidic magic.”

  “I know what mistletoe is,” I say.

  “We need it. And clover, holly, blackberry...lots of gathering. We’re also going to find you a wand.”

  “OK,” I sigh, “so, how are we getting the mistletoe?”

  She reaches into her bag and pulls out a large kitchen knife. “We have to climb up there, one of us to cut it, the other one has to hold it,” she looks at me seriously and I feel my stomach go cold – when she’d pulled the knife out I’d thought she was going to point it at me. “If it touches the ground, it loses its magic.”

  “Right,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  “Stuff the sarc madam – do you know what we’re going to do with the mistletoe?”

  “Magic?” I say, raising an eyebrow.

  “We’re going to see the future,” Campion says proudly, “now, get your arse in gear and get up that tree.”

  It’s a thick oak and the lowest branches are just over our heads, Campion has to duck down and give me a boost before she jumps and grabs a branch, scraping her boots up the trunk until she gets high enough to put her foot on a limb.

  I’ve never been a tree climber. When I was a kid I was more interested in digging holes and mashing up plants in water to make ‘soup’. Skinny, cute girls in butterfly hair clips and jeans climbed trees, I belonged on the ground in my jogging bottoms and market t-shirts, wellies covered in mud and grass.

  We make slow progress, and Campion has to stop to wait for me a few times. My knees lock tight at every breath of wind, the few leaves left on the tree shiver and my hands slip a few times on the wet bark, making my heart jump in my chest.

  “Just a few more feet,” Campion calls down from above me.

  I clamber up the last few branches, bile stinging my throat as a gust of wind makes the tree creak.

  “It’s OK. God, you look like you’re going to throw up.”

  “I might.”

  “Not on a sacred oak, please,” Campion says, “here, sit down there and grip the branch with your legs, put your hands up for the mistletoe.”

  “Sit down?” I look down at the branch I’m standing on, instantly regretting it when I see how far away the ground is. “How will I stand back up?”

  “Fine, stand then, but don’t lean too far out,” Camion warns.

  I think I might actually be paralysed. I can only move my eyes, and I can’t imagine moving even my hands, let alone climbing down all that way.

  “Stone, keep it together,” Campion says, “reach up.”

  Inch by inch I put my hands up, following my shaky fingers with my eyes until they land on the ornate chandelier that is the round mistletoe plant. Campion raises her knife and starts to cut, making the tree tremble. My legs feel like they’re made of stone, it’s only the grip of my shoes on the branch keeping me from falling and smacking into the ground so far below.

  “Done,” Campion announces, taking the plant from my numb fingers and stowing it in her bag. “Let’s get down before you faint.”

  I can’t even make a joke, my mouth is too dry.

  It turns out that climbing up was easy compared to getting back down. Creeping down the tree backwards, feeling my way with my feet on the crumbling bark and the slick moss is almost impossible. My heart is clenched in my mouth the entire time, each slip and wobble of my feet makes me cling tighter to the branches above me.

  “Not far now,” Campion promises from below me.

  I reach my foot down for the next branch, feel it solid under my shoe, and put my weight on it as I step down with my other foot.

  The branch sways away under my weight, then I’m dangling from my hands, feet wind-milling in mid-air.

  “Stone!”

  My hands slip and I feel myself go backwards, a scream ripping out of my mouth as I plunge through the air. The earth meets by back with a smack, knocking all the air out of my lungs and making my skull rattle. The branches swim above me, Campion’s face appears under the whirling sky.

  “Stone! Can you move your legs?”

  “Ugh,” I manage, shuffling my legs around on the ground.

  “Oh thank God,” Campion grabs my hands and pulls me up into a sitting position. “You’re not bleeding either. Lucky.” She plucks a stick from my hand, one I must have grabbed at on my way down.

  “Keep a hold of that,” she advises, pressing it back into my palm.

  “Ow,” I say, stupidly, looking up at the tree, trying to see where I fell from, “how high was I?”

  “Up there,” Campion points at a snapped branch ten or so feet up from us, “not that high.”

  I sniff, and to my horror I feel my eyes start to well up. It’s stupid, but I want to go running to my mum. Campion crouches next to me and gives me a firm, tight hug, which makes my back ache a little more than it already did. It’s nice though, and it makes me feel better.

  “Sorry I made you climb all the way up there, but it’ll be worth it, I promise.”

  “Let’s just get the rest of this stuff and get home,” I get to my feet and rub my bruised bum, “I’m really going to feel that later.”

  “Agreed. Come on then, and keep your wand with you,” Campion gets up and walks deeper into the wood, eying up the trees and the plants that grow amongst the drifts of leaves.

  I look at the stick in my hand, a foot long piece of oak, knobbled and dark, as thick as my index finger. My wand.

  “Wait for me!” I call, jogging after her.

  That afternoon, in the wet woods we gather enough random greenery to keep an underworld florist busy for years. Th
ere’s the mistletoe, clover, blackberry leaf, ferns, apple tree bark, holly, nettles, deadly nightshade, hemlock, a toadstool that oozes black blood when Campion cuts it, rowan berries, yew, and about fifty other things that Campion names as she directs me to cut leaves and take bark flakes from various plants.

  As we troop back towards the campus Campion takes us around the farthest edge of the lake and motions for me to crouch behind a dripping hedge. We watch from between its leaves as a group of middle aged hikers tramp past, oblivious to us.

  “They’ve no idea,” Campion says, a note of smug wonder in her voice, “they come to look at the scenery and walk about talking to each other about land prices and the weather and they have no idea what’s living right here, in the centre of it all.” She turns to grin at me in the shadow of the hedge, “witches, real witches, who take those pretty shrubs and flowers and use them to make things happen.”

  Campion, usually the most level headed in the group after Cray, is scaring me a little. She’s never spoken like this to me before, so serious about magic, so contemptuous of ‘normal’ people.

  “Stone, you’re one of us. Don’t waste that power because one ritual gave you goosebumps,” she says, more gently, “you were meant to be a witch, that’s why you came to us. You were always meant to come here.”

  She squeezes my shoulder and I feel a little better, still nervous but less about Campion, more about what’s to come. The bag of herbs and plants is heavy in my hand, and I know there’s a lot of potential in that bag, the potential for great magic.

  I remember my plans to use magic to get my parents to take me back. How had I forgotten my goal so quickly? Admittedly I’d been busy with Cray and learning magic and...well, Cray, again, but to forget my parents...

  “Best get back,” Campion says, “this potion we’re making, it’s better when the ingredients are fresh.”

  I set thoughts of my parents aside, after all, they’re most likely not thinking about me. Do I even really want them back? I ask myself as we walk back to Waywood, loaded down with magical ingredients. Do I really need them? The feeling of falling out of the tree comes back to me, my sudden sharp longing for my mum, for her kind face and the cup of tea she’d make me if she knew I’d been hurt.