Nature of the Witch

by Helen T. Norwood

  A strange thing happened as Jack worked that day; he actually enjoyed it. The roof was a priority but there wasn't much he could do about it whilst it was raining. The whole house needed damp proofing but there were plenty of other jobs he could get on with in the meantime.

  The best find of the day was when he stepped into the kitchen and found the front door. Someone had placed it against the wall behind the cooker. It wasn't in a great state but one thing Jack knew well was wood.

  He figured that Kitto must be freezing with the wind whistling through day and night. And aside from the cold there was the security aspect, someone could just wonder in and take what they wanted…well, they could if there was anything worth taking…and Kitto could be murdered in his bed…well, murdered in his blanket anyway. The point was that everyone should have a door.

  At first glance it seemed like an impossible job. The door frame was damp and the door was chipped, it took Jack most of the day but he managed it. Granted it was a temporary fix and Kitto needed a new door but he felt incredibly pleased as he closed the door in place.

  He also found a bucket, filled it from the outside tap (which was painstakingly slow) and scrubbed away the rude word scrawled along the hallway. In fact he barely stopped working all day, even to eat. This was partly because there wasn't much food in the house although he did manage to make a sandwich at lunchtime.

  Early evening fell and the winter darkness closed in. Jack shut the tool box, stretched himself upright and then collapsed on to Kitto's blanket. He was shattered and was just debating whether to leave and find a hotel when Kitto returned. He strode in and frowned, “Have you been sat there all day?”

  Jack's eyes almost popped out of his head, “You cheeky…”

  “Sorry I was a little longer than I planned. I had to see the council and the meeting took longer than expected,” Kitto interrupted, “but I'm here now so we can begin the next part of your training.”

  Jack shook his head, “I've had a busy day. And unless you've brought back food I'm going to find a fast food place (and by fast I mean lightening) and a hotel. I'll come back in the morning.”

  “A last bit of training and then dinner,” Kitto said firmly.

  Jack pulled himself up and groaned, “Fine but quick. I'm hungry and tired, what would you like me to do? Clean out your toilet? A spot of dusting perhaps? I am the hired help after all.”

  Jack noticed that Kitto was carrying something under his arm. It was long and wrapped in black cloth. Kitto unwrapped it and pulled out two pieces of wood. They were long, perhaps about five foot, coming to just above Jack's waist. Kitto threw one to him which he managed to catch just as it was about to crack into his head.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” Jack asked.

  “Learn to fight with it,” Kitto informed him.

  “Fight with a stick?” he asked in a mocking tone.

  “It's a staff,” Kitto corrected, “and not just any old staff. It's made from the wood of a tree that hasn't grown in England for centuries. There are very few of these weapons left and you must take good care of it.”

  Jack regarded Kitto sceptically before taking a closer look. He had to admit that the wood wasn't one he could instantly recognise, which was unusual. It was very dark, similar to mahogany except the grain was too small and intricate and the texture was different, it felt almost flexible beneath his fingers, as though the wood was moulding to his grip.

  “Like every member of the Gwithiaz before you, you will learn to fight with a staff. It is the only weapon that can kill a Kasadow. And it is much more than just a weapon; it will become part of you. Now follow me,” Kitto led Jack outside.

  It was pitch black and the wind howled around the house and through the trees and hills surrounding them. It began to rain gently.

  “You've got to be kidding!” Jack exclaimed when Kitto turned and raised his staff. “You want me to fight you out here, in the dark and cold, with a pencil?”

  “Staff!” Kitto corrected again loudly before lunging at Jack suddenly. Jack only just managed to deflect it with his own staff, thank god for good reflexes.

  “At least let me get a coat,” Jack protested but before he could go anywhere Kitto had swung at him again. This time Jack only just managed to knock him away and worryingly if he hadn't Kitto would have probably knocked out one of his knee caps. Enough was enough and he turned away with his arms in the air.

  “You're insane, I'm going inside.”

  He was almost at the door when a blow caught him in his right-hand side sending a dull pain across his stomach and making him double over. He felt his breathing quicken and he clenched his teeth against a sudden rage that erupted in his chest. What was wrong with this guy? He spent all day working on his stupid house and then with no word of thanks he attacked him with a stick.

  He spun back around and crashed his staff into Kitto's stomach which at least knocked him back a step. He instantly felt guilty until Kitto reared up and tried to deliver a blow to his head which he only just avoided.

  OK, that's it. It's on.

  The strange thing was that Jack realised he was actually pretty good at it. The staff seemed to become like an extension of his own arms, he was able to spin it effortlessly and, considering it was only a piece of wood, he could feel the power behind his movements.

  It was hard to see anything in the darkness, just shadows moving and flowing around him, he couldn't tell what was arms or legs or staff unless Kitto moved forward to attack, then suddenly he would emerge, usually staff first, and Jack would swipe him away. The cold and the rain didn't bother him, if anything he felt it awakened his joints. He had been sleepy but now he was alert and ready and angry. He dealt Kitto a couple of heavy blows and felt relaxed and confident until he heard Kitto laugh, which he found disconcerting. He'd rather hoped that the old guy was wishing he'd never started this but that was when the shadows stopped moving. They didn't flow around him anymore and there was no sign of Kitto; it was as though he'd vanished. He let the staff drop to his side and looked all around but there was nothing until something collided with his ribs and his chest exploded with pain.

  “Don't move against the darkness, in combat it's your friend so you move with it, you use it,” he heard Kitto say. He tried to straighten himself and swung at where Kitto's voice came from but he was gone and then another blow struck him from the other side. He dropped to his knees gasping.

  “Always move quickly, silently and never be predictable,” Kitto's voice continued calmly. There was a pause and he was vaguely aware that Kitto was now standing in front of him, not that he had the strength to do anything about it.

  “If you gain the upper hand use it, never show mercy. Mercy is a luxury you can't afford because when you're fighting for your life it's you or them,” there was another pause and then he added softly, “or even more importantly it's either them or her and you must protect the witch at all costs.”

  He looked up just in time to see Kitto's fist before it connected with his eye. He toppled backwards into a large muddy puddle. The cold water instantly started to seep through his clothes to his skin and his whole body seemed to throb with pain but he couldn't communicate to his body to move. In fact he couldn't even open his eyes and briefly wondered if he was actually conscious, a bit like one of those weird dreams where you know you're dreaming but can't get yourself to wake up.

  That's one hell of a punch for an old, crazy guy, he thought grimly.

  He felt an arm circle his waist and someone was pulling him upright. He tried once more to open his eyes but his head was spinning. Then he was being dragged back to the house.

  “Oh, you put a front door on,” he heard Kitto comment as they entered, “it looks nice thank you.”

  Now he notices.

  Jack was dropped on to the blanket and managed to open his eyes. His vision was blurred but he could make out Kitto's face smiling down at him.

  “Not bad,” Kitto said looking pleased, “no tra
ining and yet you really aren't bad.”

  Jack stared up at him. This man is actually certifiably crazy. He must have a screw loose, he could've killed me. I have to tell him that I am out of here, I have a life to get back to and one that doesn't involve fixing up his dump of a house and getting randomly beaten up.

  But he opened his mouth to speak and, to his own amazement, found himself smiling back. And he knew that the sensible part of him must have been knocked out in the fight when he said, “You gotta teach me to fight like that.”

  Chapter Seven

  The next day passed in much the same fashion. Jack was awoken early by the smell of bacon. After first noticing how stiff and sore he felt, he then realised how hungry he was. He had skipped dinner the previous night, opting instead to recover and sleep but now that decision was causing his stomach to grumble angrily.

  Surprisingly a night inside the house hadn't been too unpleasant. He had slept pretty well, despite the cold and the fact he had no bed. He wondered fleetingly where Kitto had slept as it seemed he had stolen his spot and his blankets.

  Although his make-shift bed had been reasonably comfortable, getting up from it wasn't. He groaned to his feet and gingerly touched his eye which was swollen. Then he lifted his top and looked at his ribs. He whistled at the bruising as Kitto entered with a bacon sandwich.

  “They could be broken,” Jack complained.

  “They'll heal,” Kitto told him unsympathetically and after that his injuries weren't mentioned again. Jack got on with the day and worked through the pain. After all, his childhood hadn't been sunshine and picnics so it wasn't his first beating (just the first one from an old man with a staff).

  After breakfast they continued working on the house. This time Kitto helped and they made a good team. By the end of the day the oven was clean and working, and the inside taps were flowing (although there was still no hot water but Jack couldn't be expected to work miracles). He had also put some shelves in the kitchen cupboards so that Kitto could use them properly.

  There wasn't much conversation but there were no awkward silences. They discussed the house and the work they were doing but other than that neither of them felt the need for pointless chatter and Jack was glad. Kitto was so unlike anyone Jack had ever met and he pondered on how strange the whole situation was. He knew this had to be his last day but found that whenever he thought of leaving he felt disappointed and more than that, he felt slightly sad. How odd that his empty but comfortable flat should suddenly seem less appealing than Kitto's ramshackle, barely habitable house.

  Before evening fell Jack drove them into Truro where they stocked up the cupboards and also bought a couple of sleeping bags (extra thick) and two fold-up chairs. Truro had a range of shops, from high street staples to other rather quaint offerings. Jack loved Truro as he had loved any part of Cornwall he'd visited. The people seemed friendly (which in Jack's experience was unusual in a city) and the whole place oozed character. It wasn't simply full of buildings and people, it felt like a community in a place bursting with lives and stories and history.

  “Are you from around here originally?” Jack asked, not quite sure whether he'd regret the question since Kitto seemed to believe he'd risen from the dead but Kitto simply nodded and said, “Yes, although it was very different then.”

  They were driving home at this point and Kitto looked at the landscape laid out around them, the fields and farms and beyond them, just hidden from view, the open sea and added, “When you're Cornish born and bred it's hard to leave.”

  Jack smiled, “I'm rather falling in love with it myself.”

  Darkness had dropped quickly on the drive home and as soon as they entered the house Kitto handed Jack his staff. The only god-send Jack could see, as he followed Kitto outside, was that at least it wasn't raining.

  “Ready?” Kitto called out politely.

  Jack gripped his weapon and grinned mischievously, “I'm wise to you, old man, you won't get the better of me this time.”

  Well, at least I'm conscious, Jack thought as he limped back towards the house.

  Kitto cooked a pasta dish on the newly working oven and Jack gently lowered himself into one of the new chairs. After such a busy day they tucked in heartily. Kitto produced a rather dusty looking bottle of red wine and poured them both a glass.

  “On the bright side both your eyes match now,” Kitto commented as they ate.

  Jack pulled a face, “Yes and who needs a full set of ribs anyway?”

  They both laughed and then Jack sat back in his chair and said awkwardly, “I'm afraid I have to go home tomorrow. I have a business to run…but I thought I'd come back when I can…at a weekend and carry on helping with the house.”

  Kitto didn't make a fuss as Jack had feared.

  “Of course. All I ask is that you visit somewhere with me in the morning then you can head off at lunchtime?”

  “Visit where?” Jack asked suspiciously.

  “Oh it's just a place that's great for sightseeing. It seems a shame for you to visit Cornwall and miss it.”

  “OK,” Jack agreed, “but I'll have to leave afterwards.”

  “I won't try and stop you,” Kitto promised.

  After they'd eaten they sat back and drank their wine listening to the sounds outside; the wind was howling in a frenzy around the house, it shook the boards on the windows and rattled at the new front door as though angered by the sudden obstruction to its previously uninterrupted pathway through the house.

  “The big jobs are the heating and the damp,” Jack turned to Kitto in concern, “you really do need to get that sorted. It's far too cold and you'll be here on your own.”

  “Don't worry about me,” Kitto assured him with a laugh, “I've lived in worst places.” He noticed the worry on Jack's face and added, “But I will get it sorted.”

  Jack let Kitto have his usual spot in the corner and he placed his sleeping bag in the opposite corner. It felt almost luxurious snuggling down into a warm sleeping bag that night and, as he drifted off to sleep, his last thought was that he'd definitely keep an eye on Kitto and visit when he could. Kitto might be eccentric but he had a good heart, and besides, seeing as Jack had just spent the last two evenings willingly getting his butt kicked with a big stick he didn't think he was best placed to judge another's sanity. And it seemed that Kitto didn't have any family who could look out for him, which was something they both had in common.

  Jack was awoken the next morning at the usual ungodly hour of five o'clock.

  “Don't you ever sleep in?” He grumbled.

  “Never,” Kitto confirmed before pausing to think for a moment, “one Christmas I did sleep until about six.”

  Jack rubbed his eyes whilst Kitto dressed, “The first thing I'm going to do when I get home is shower, and it'll be nice and warm and clean.”

  “For years I washed in rivers and let me tell you that an English river in the middle of winter isn't much fun to bathe in”, Kitto said in a 'you-don't-know-how-lucky-you-are' tone. Then he added a little wistfully, “But despite that there is something to be said for life outdoors. The main problem was that it was full of fish, especially in summer. So you can imagine that there was always the worry one might come along and have a nibble at your…”

  “I get the picture,” Jack pulled himself from his sleeping bag and shivered, “I'll stick with showers I think.” He paused and then feeling both reluctant and curious he asked, “So when was this. When were you born?”

  “Oh quite a few years ago now,” Kitto laughed. For a moment he didn't expand his answer but when he noticed Jack waiting he said, “I've certainly seen many things and I thought my time had passed but now I'm back and I'm back for you. This time it's not my job to protect them, it's yours and it's my job to make sure you're ready.”

  Jack decided to change the subject and said hopefully, “I don't smell any bacon cooking yet.”

  “Bacon was a treat whilst you settled in, it's not the food of a warrior,” Kitto
said sternly, “I'll make breakfast and then we're heading out.”

  As it turned out the food of a warrior was porridge. Jack didn't think it looked as appealing as a bacon sandwich as he watched Kitto dollop it into a bowl. However, he was pleasantly surprised by the first mouthful, it tasted of cinnamon and comfort as it warmed him up from the inside.

  After breakfast they climbed into Jack's car and Kitto directed him to Chapel Porth beach. The road leading down to the beach was steep and narrow. At the bottom they parked the car and watched in silence as the sun rose over the water. Kitto had brought a flask and two mugs and they drank tea and absorbed the view.

  “Spectacular,” Jack said quietly as the darkness slowly dissolved into warm colours. Colours which gradually faded and a pale wintery light spread itself across the waves. In the dim light they could now see the ferocity of the waves as they raced towards the shore, driven by strong winds, they crashed and broke in tall cascades upon the rocks. It was a small beach, sheltered by towering cliffs, with tops that looked distant and lonely set against the cloudy morning sky.

  “Have you heard of the giant that lived here?” Kitto asked.

  Jack shook his head and Kitto continued, “The story is still celebrated with a festival at St. Agnes every year. Legend has it that the giant Bolster terrorised the area, eating children and generally being a nuisance as you'd expect from a giant. The giant fought and defeated any who challenged him, including knights. But he fell in love with a local woman, Agnes, and it was actually Agnes who defeated him in the end. She asked him to prove his love for her by filling a hole in the cliff top with his blood. Bolster, confident and eager to win her heart, did as she said but he didn't realise it was a trick and there was a crack in the hole which led out to the sea and so he bled to death. Part of the cliff is still stained red from his blood. Perhaps we can walk up there sometime and I'll show you. And there is a lesson to be learned in this story.”