Nature of the Witch Read online

  Nature of the Witch

  Helen Norwood

  Copyright (C) 2017 Helen Norwood

  Layout design and Copyright (C) 2017 by Creativia

  Published 2017 by Creativia

  Cover art by Melody Simmons

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Part One: Gwithiaz Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Part Two: The Witch Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Part Three Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Part Four Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Part Five Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty One

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  In 1022 a 'heretic' was burnt at the stake in France. It was the start of a 'witch' hysteria that would drag on for centuries. The accusations, the trials and the burnings are well known to this day. People might think of these as the bleakest of days for witchcraft, the oldest religion in the world, but actually this era was bleak for everyone as innocent people were falsely accused by their neighbours and burnt alive at the stake.

  Those who know the true history of witchcraft know of a deeper and darker danger- a threat which has stalked the witches throughout the centuries, lurking in the shadows, watching and waiting.

  This is the real story of the witch.

  Thousands of years ago, in a time without doctors and medicine, people turned to nature. Women used the healing power of plants and herbs to cure and protect their families from diseases. Through practice they acquired great skills, learning nature's secrets and passing this knowledge on to their daughters and then down through the generations.

  The power of the natural world was harnessed and used for good. Throughout the generations a select few skilled women were set apart from the rest, and it seemed as though Mother Nature herself rewarded their good deeds with gifts beyond normal capabilities.

  These chosen women used these gifts and became exceptional healers in their communities. Witchcraft is known as the 'craft of the wise' and these women were turned to not just for cures, but for advice, shelter, comfort and leadership. Their gifts enabled them to glimpse into the future, therefore avoiding mishaps and some could communicate with the dead, connecting people with lost loved ones. They used their powers to protect people, and bring good fortune and happiness. They could be identified by a marking on the wrist; a branding to show they were the servants of the earth.

  Every witch believes in karma. For it is a fact that the universe balances everything out in the end. Whilst these chosen women were using their powers for good, all blessings were bestowed upon them. But eventually something went wrong.

  Exactly how it happened is cause of some debate. Instead of nature selecting the witch, the witches found a way to use their powers to initiate others. They formed covens, and by uniting, their powers were magnified so that it seemed the women were more powerful than nature itself.

  One coven remained true to their calling and respected the natural world in all that they did. They became known as the Daughters of the Earth. It was formed by some of the most gifted of the chosen women and people travelled from afar for their counsel and skills. However, some covens were arrogant and weren't content to use their gifts for the service of others, instead using them for personal and financial gain and to hurt enemies.

  And so, nature turned against the witch. Before their numbers grew too many, a new species was born out of the darkness of the Cornish caves; a terrifying beast, devised by Mother Nature, whose only purpose was to hunt and kill the witches, thus keeping their numbers and powers in check. There is no written record of their appearance, as so few who have laid eyes upon them have lived, but the legends talk of bodies ripped apart with an impossible ferocity. They are said to be part human, and so able to pass through the world unnoticed, but in truth they are more animal than human, slinking through the shadows.

  However, another legend says that it was a witch who created the first creature. After finding her husband unfaithful, she used her powers to kill the woman he was with, and then punished him by turning him into a being that was less than human. For her abuse of powers Mother Nature twisted the witches spell, and instead created a violent beast that turned on the witch and tore out her throat. He was the first of an immortal species that was consumed with an insatiable thirst for revenge on the witches who had created them. They became known as the Kasadow, meaning 'full of hate' in Cornish. For that is what they were, their every deed driven by their hatred for the witch. Over time people simply referred to them as the Creatures.

  There is no way to be sure which story is true. What is known is that a fierce battle for survival began for the witches, and they were forced into hiding from their relentless hunters.

  But Mother Nature didn't forget her loyal subjects. For the Daughters of the Earth, who devoted themselves to her service, she gave them protectors. The first was a man from a local village, who was in love with a member of the coven. He chose to devote his life to her protection. They became known as the Gwithiaz and, because they were born out of love, they were more powerful than the Creatures. For everyone knows that love is stronger than hate. They were ultimate warriors, the only beings able to kill a Kasadow.

  Innocent people were harmed in the battles and a council was established to try and control the situation. The members of the council deliberated over the dilemma and prayed to various gods for an end to the violence. They sent the witches away, evicting them from their homes and villages in an attempt to protect themselves, but ultimately standing between a Gwithiaz and a Creature was to stand between David and Goliath and they couldn't find an end to the war.

  The Daughters of the Earth had protection from the Creatures but other witches didn't. For them, their powers, although great, were able to keep the Creatures at bay for a while, but were no match in the end against such a vicious and bloodthirsty beast. Some fled to the remotest of hiding places, but the Creatures hunted them down and slaughtered them.

  Eventually, witches dwindled in number and so did the Kasadow. Battles became less frequent and so less public. The only remaining coven was the Daughters of the Earth and they lived quiet lives alongside their protectors, always looking over their shoulder. Their time was spent learning, healing and helping others. They blended in, always afraid of being hunted by the Creatures and shunned by their neighbour
s.

  Over the years it all began to pass from memory. Decades turned into centuries and the Creatures became a myth, a bedtime story to frighten children to sleep, and then they were forgotten altogether.

  The witches became a legend that changed over time. In some stories it seemed they were confused with the Creatures as ugly, evil beings. As for the Daughters of the Earth, their great powers blessed them and the Gwithiaz with everlasting life.

  But a life spent in hiding, in fear, being hunted, watching their kin and loved ones die before them took its toll. It's said that in the end it was their spirit that was crushed. The exact date can't be confirmed but at some point in the 1800s, the last of the witches succumbed to the fury of the Creatures. The Gwithiaz fought valiantly until only one man survived. After the witches were gone he devoted his life to hunting down and killing the last of the Creatures. After that, without the witch's powers to protect him from the passage of time, he aged and died a mortal man.

  It was the end of an era, the end of 'true' witches. Some women still followed in the old ways and Mother Nature let them harness her powers for good, but she no longer rewarded them with special powers of their own. There was no more Gwithiaz, no more Creatures and no more witches.

  Or so the legend says…

  Part One: Gwithiaz

  Sleep easy,

  For I am watching,

  The world turns,

  And the wind blows,

  Birds call,

  And the sun shimmers,

  Upon Turbulent waters,

  And for all that time,

  And more,

  I will watch over you.

  Will you watch over me?

  Chapter One

  1994 (but only just)

  Jack glanced at the clock. 11:45pm. He was tempted to crawl into his bed but decided against it and flicked on the TV. He watched the image of Big Ben on the screen for a moment before disappearing into the kitchen and retrieving another beer. Then he relaxed down onto his settee and took a noisy swig from the bottle.

  The music from a New Year's Eve party in the flat below drifted up through his floorboards; except 'drifting' wasn't technically an accurate description. It made his floorboards vibrate and sliced into the otherwise peaceful atmosphere of his home.

  He gritted his teeth and resisted an overwhelming urge to march downstairs and confront the noisy culprits. What on earth would he say? 'Why can't you turn off the music and see the New Year in quietly like me?'

  “Jeez I'm like an old man,” Jack muttered with a groan.

  Then again he had every right to be a little grumpy. He was entering a new year with yet another failed relationship under his belt. Not that he had anyone to blame but himself. He was the one who had ended it the day before New Year's Eve and he felt a twinge of guilt about that. He hadn't meant to be unkind. It was just that he didn't want to start the New Year pretending that it was going to work out when he knew it wasn't.

  He consoled himself with the thought that he was only twenty-one so there was plenty of time for all that. However, he had a sneaky suspicion that some people were destined to be single and he was pretty sure he was one of them. After all he always entered a relationship with the best of intentions but they all ended the same way.

  Whilst others enjoyed busy social lives Jack preferred a more solitary existence and generally tried to keep himself to himself. He had been that way since childhood, even when he was growing up in the children's home. And sometimes it had been hard keeping himself to himself in a place where he was surrounded by other children. He'd had a couple of friends but mostly he'd found that the other kids had even worse issues than he did so it was best to steer clear.

  He briefly let his mind wander back to a time before the children's home. Had he liked being on his own then? But he couldn't grip hold of anything concrete; hazy memories slipped by too quickly and he gave up.

  He had been five when his parents died in a car accident. He wasn't sure at what point he'd forgotten them. He knew there was a time when he'd thought of them constantly and was miserable, then he'd entered a time when he'd tried his hardest not to think of them and pushed them from his mind so that he wouldn't be sad. And then suddenly he couldn't remember them even when he wanted to. He had no photos of his parents and he would have liked to recall their faces. Occasionally he tried but it was always to no avail.

  However, he had long given up worrying about it. He couldn't remember them and that was that. Life had moved on. He hadn't had a happy childhood but then neither did many other children. There was no point dwelling on it.

  Now life was good. He didn't have any family but, in the few years since leaving school with pretty poor qualifications, he had quickly built up a blossoming carpentry business and he even owned his own home. Perhaps in the next couple of years, if the business continued to do well, he could look at selling his flat and buying a house, preferably detached so he wasn't bothered by his noisy neighbours. With that happy thought in mind he glanced again at the clock, 11:58pm. He only had to stay awake for another couple of minutes. Then he promptly fell asleep and the beer bottle slid silently to the ground causing a small damp patch on his clean carpet.

  He was plagued all night by the same dream. It involved a woman and, although he couldn't see her properly, he could tell she was in danger. She always kept her face hidden from his view but he instantly knew that she was fearful for her life. He wanted to help her but all around them was pitch black, and no matter how hard he strained, he couldn't see into the darkness. Whatever the danger was, it was somewhere in the darkness and it was watching them.

  And that was how he spent his night, waiting to fight some invisible threat and protect a woman he couldn't see properly. It was no wonder he awoke feeling more tired than when he went to sleep.

  Happy New Year Jack, he thought to himself wearily.

  He pondered the dream for a moment. It wasn't his first unusual dream; they had started recently and seemed to be occurring with some frequency. In fact, the weird dreams weren't the only change he'd noticed. He'd also been losing his temper a lot. It was true that he'd always had a shorter fuse than most but recently he seemed to have no fuse at all. The slightest incident could make him feel out of control. Many a time at work he'd had to remove himself from a situation and take some deep breaths until he'd calmed down. He wondered if the dreams might be related. Then he shrugged.

  It's just a dream.

  He woke himself up with a morning run. The air around him felt like needles. The cold bit into his skin which was exactly what he needed. He grinned as he watched the odd die-hard, bleary-eyed party-goer stumbling home.

  After breakfast he tackled some business paperwork and mulled over the possibility of hiring a secretary. Then when he needed a break he put on the kettle and settled into some woodcarving. He had taken up woodcarving at the children's home. He was completely self-taught. Of course he wasn't supposed to have a knife at the children's home, but one of the older children had given it to him. At the time he was being bullied by a particularly nasty child who had threatened to do all sorts of horrific things to him whilst he slept. He had kept the knife under his pillow for protection.

  In the garden there had been a log pile and one day he picked up a log and started hacking at it. He had instantly found it calming and therapeutic and over time shapes had formed in the wood. Eventually he became skilled and could turn a lump of wood into intricate ornaments.

  Strangely he had never done anything with them. He had never sold one, never given one away as a present, never done anything but let them pile up and then, when he had too many, he threw them away. A couple of times he had considered giving them to girlfriends but they just seemed too personal.

  It was whilst he was finishing off the wooden sailing ship he'd been making that he heard a noise at his front door. At first he thought he'd imagined it but then there it was again, a faint scraping sound as though someone was trying to get in.

&n
bsp; Quietly he picked up his knife and moved closer to the door. The noise came again. This time it was a loud clunk as though someone had grabbed the door handle and then let go again. He frowned. He didn't often have visitors. He looked through his peep-hole but there was no-one there. He waited but the noise seemed to have stopped so he returned to his sailing ship.

  He had just settled down again when the noise came back. He felt his temper rising. There was definitely someone at the door. What were they trying to do? Break-in? He rose again from his seat but, just as before, there was no-one to be seen through the peep-hole.

  He waited until the noise returned and then he threw open the door and grabbed the person on the other side. They were bending down just out of view from the peep-hole. The person was light because he lifted them off their feet with ease and sent them hurtling down his hallway. Before the mystery person could regain their composure he knelt down across their chest and brought his knife up to their throat. His breathing was heavy as he fought against his temper and, keeping his victim pinned to the floor beneath him, looked down into the eyes of a terrified and vaguely familiar face.

  “What are you doing?” Jack asked the stranger, his voice quiet and the blade of his knife resting menacingly against the man's throat.

  “I…I…I live here,” the man stammered looking confused. He glanced past Jack into the hallway and his speech sounded slurred. “I think I do anyway.”

  Jack stared down at the man for a beat before realisation dawned on him and he hurriedly withdrew his knife.

  “You live downstairs,” Jack told him swinging his legs round so the man could sit up.

  “I do?” The man still looked confused. His eyes were rolling around as he tried to focus on his surroundings.

  Must have had a heavy night last night, thought Jack.