Storm Witch Read online

  STORM WITCH

  ALYS WEST

  Copyright © 2020 Alys West.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Typesetting and design:.

  Alys West asserts the right to be identified as the author of this book. All the characters and events in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to individuals is purely unintentional.

  Contents

  Glossary of Orcadian words

  PART ONE: LITHA

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  PART TWO: UNION

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  PART THREE: CASTING

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  PART FOUR: ELEMENTS

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  PART FIVE: LAMMAS

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Author Note and Acknowledgements

  Also by Alys West

  The Dirigible King’s Daughter

  To Mum and Dad,

  With love

  Glossary of Orcadian words

  Bigsie: being flashy with your money/success or being arrogant.

  Blackening: the Scottish tradition of covering the groom in treacle, flour and feathers prior to his wedding.

  Bonxie: Great Skua.

  Ferry-louper: a person who is not a native of the Orkney isles.

  Folk: people or persons

  Peedie: Little or small.

  Simmerdim: midsummer nights when it barely gets dark.

  Trows: ugly, mischievous troll-like creatures of Orkney folklore.

  PART ONE

  LITHA

  As the sun reaches the zenith of its power, the energy changes; a transformation is commencing which will connect our inner and outer selves, our past and our future.

  The Spiral Path by Nina Stewart (unpublished)

  Chapter 1

  Jenna Henderson sprinted down the steps at the rear of the Maeshowe Visitors’ Centre. “Do not let anyone go inside,” she said into the walkie-talkie in her hand. “Get the visitors out of the way. I’m heading over now.”

  Her colleague Paul’s response was lost in the snarl of a motorbike throttling back. A man in black leathers swung the machine at a dangerous angle through the entrance and cut the engine. He removed his helmet and black hair fell around his ridiculously good-looking face.

  “You’re late, Dr Grant.” Jenna kept moving as she spoke. “Not that it matters. The meeting’s cancelled.”

  “Why? What’s going on?” His voice was deep with a pronounced Edinburgh accent.

  “Someone’s been in the chamber overnight. I’m heading over there to sort it out.” Jenna glanced back. “I’ll email you to re-arrange.” She thought he’d take that as a dismissal, get back on his bike and go away. Instead he followed her across the car park.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “I don’t need you. Paul’s there.”

  Jenna strode across the road, Winston a couple of paces behind. She shoved through the gate, letting it swing back against his leather-clad chest and kept walking. Ahead of her was the grass-covered mound of Maeshowe burial chamber; one of the Neolithic wonders of Orkney, part of the World Heritage Site and a major tourist attraction. Away to her left, on an isthmus between the lochs of Harray and Stenness were the three standing stones of Stenness and beyond them, on the brow of the hill, the much larger stone circle of the Ring of Brodgar. Between the two was a mound of bright blue tarpaulin weighed down with car tyres, which covered the Ness of Brodgar site before the excavation began again next month.

  “Have you called the police?” Winston said.

  Jenna barely spared him a glance. Only a ferry-louper would suggest that. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’ll have been teenagers messing around. It was the solstice last night. Someone will have thought it’d be a laugh. They go to Skara Brae after hours all the time. Some joker’ll have decided it’d be fun to try here instead.” Any other explanation was too unlikely to contemplate. The islands had one of the lowest crime rates in Scotland. “And we’re fully booked for the whole day. June’s one of our busiest times. I’m not cancelling any tours unless I have to.”

  She turned into the enclosure around the mound. Paul had done as she asked. She could hear him expounding on Orcadian history from the rear of the site. She hurried round to the entrance. The gate lay on the grass, its hinges snapped in two.

  “Probably not just kids then,” Winston muttered.

  Jenna shot him a glance. The idea that all she’d find inside would be half a dozen cans of Special Brew and a whole load of cigarette ends abruptly dissipated. Reaching into the entrance to the tunnel, she flipped the light switch. Nothing happened. Peering inside, she could see the first few feet of the sandstone walls before the daylight lost the battle with the dark and the tunnel became as black as a mine shaft.

  Taking a deep breath, she bent to enter. Something grabbed her fleece and pulled her back. “I’m going first,” Winston said.

  “Like hell you will!” Jenna spun to face him. “I’m duty manager. It’s my job to deal with this.”

  Winston stepped in front of the entrance. “Either let me go first or ring the police.”

  Jenna held his gaze. “I am not going to argue with you. Let me past.”

  Winston folded his arms. “No.”

  She glanced at her watch. Paul’s voice floated over the mound to her. There were twenty visitors who’d paid for a tour on the other side of the tumulus. Twenty more would be arriving in an hour. The thought of complaints, refunds and having to notify Head Office decided her.

  She handed him her torch. “If there’s a serial killer hiding in there I’m not taking responsibility for your death.”

  Winston flicked the torch on. “Who says I won’t kill him first?”

  “Do all archaeologists have the mistaken belief they’re Indiana Jones or is it only you?”

  “We do it at Uni, didn’t you know? Indiana studies. First lesson, how to wear the hat.” Flashing his maddening grin, he ducked into the tunnel.

  She watched him shuffle down the passage. Hastily straightened up when she realised all she was doing was staring at his arse. Turning away, she picked up the gate and laid it against the grassy side of the tumulus. W
hatever had happened she really didn’t need it today.

  She’d enough to worry about as Dad was having another of his bad days. Nicky, his second-in-command at the tearooms, had rung earlier to tell her that Dad hadn’t come into work. Nicky had found him in his chair by the window staring out over the bay. When she rang, Jenna hadn’t been surprised when the landline went to voicemail and his mobile wasn’t switched on. She’d left messages on both telling him she’d pop in after work. He’d spent far too many months sitting in that chair when depression engulfed him after Mum died but, as he retreated to it less and less often over recent months, she’d started to hope he was finally better. She should have known that was a mistake. Hope was a luxury she’d given up a long time ago.

  A dog barked, a short, high-pitched yap. Jenna turned to see a West Highland white terrier determinedly towing a small red-headed boy wearing waterproof and wellies. She stepped away from the entrance as the dog approached her and automatically bent to pat him.

  “What’s his name?” she asked the boy who looked about five or six.

  “Hamish.”

  “Nice name.”

  A shout echoed along the tunnel.

  “What’s that?” The boy looked fascinated rather than scared.

  For a second, she hesitated. Then, telling herself it was her job to make history interesting and accessible, she said, “It’s the ghost of a Viking.”

  “A dead Viking?” There was a pronounced emphasis on the second word.

  With some effort, Jenna kept her face straight. “Definitely dead.”

  “Can I see?”

  She should have seen that coming. “Later. If you’re really quiet. He only comes out when it’s quiet.”

  The shout came again. Longer and louder. This time, it sounded something like her name. She patted the dog. “Nice to meet you Hamish and...” She held her hand out to the boy who stared at it.

  A woman with an identical shade of red hair appeared around the side of the burial mound. “Noah, what have I told you about wandering off?” she called.

  “That’s my mum,” Noah said with a slightly embarrassed shake of his head. Then with a determined yank on the dog’s lead, he headed towards her.

  Carefully ducking down, Jenna stepped inside the tunnel, moving slowly with one hand pressed against the stone wall. Without a steady light at the end to guide her, the ten-metre passage seemed much longer than it did when she brought visitors in for the tour, and she concentrated on putting each foot in front of the other and not banging her head. About half way down the air became colder, the smell of damp earth intensifying.

  Two quick flashes went off in the chamber, bringing the walls of the tunnel into sharp definition. “What is it? What’s going on?” Her voice echoed, the high pitch of fear bouncing back to her.

  “What kept you?” Winston’s hand dropped on the crown of her head, guiding her out into the chamber. As she stood, she found herself too close to him. He slipped his mobile into the back pocket of his jeans as his eyes met hers. In the dim light from the torch, his mocha- coloured skin looked darker. His teeth showed starkly against it as he grinned.

  Hastily she stepped away. “Inquisitive small boy with a dog. I told him you were the ghost of a Viking.”

  His laugh echoed around the space. “And he bought that?”

  “He was five. Maybe six. Of course he bought it.” As her eyes adjusted, she looked around the tomb. It was rectangular, less than five metres across, formed from huge slabs of sandstone. She came here at least twice every working day, running tours over lunchtime so her colleagues could take a break. Usually it was full of tourists listening intently as she told them it was older than the Egyptian pyramids and gasping when she put the lights out so that they could see the mock-up of the alignment of the rising sun on the winter solstice.

  For a moment, as the torchlight moved across the walls, she thought there was nothing amiss. Then the beam focused on the floor. Marked on it in thick white paint was a pentagram. In its centre was a smashed green bowl and around it a puddle of what looked suspiciously like blood. A couple of fat, blue candles stood next to it with another two laid on their sides. Leaves, some tied in bundles, others loose, were strewn across the floor. Sheets of paper, starkly white against the floor, lay in the corners and next to the walls. At each point of the pentagram was a small hole in the earth floor.

  “Bloody hell!” Jenna whispered. This couldn’t be happening. It was the last thing she’d expected, the very last thing she could deal with.

  She took two small steps until she stood on the edge of the pentagram. Who would risk performing magic here? It had to be someone with incredible power. Or did the fact that all of this had been abandoned mean they’d been utterly unprepared for the massive energy Maeshowe could release on the solstice?

  “Do you know that’s the first time I’ve heard you swear?” Winston’s voice came from outside the circle of torchlight.

  “You’ve only known me four weeks.” Squatting, she brushed her fingers across one of the holes in the floor. What was it for? There must be some significance when there was one at each point of the pentagram.

  “Been counting?”

  She didn’t need to see his face to know there’d be a smug grin, a raised eyebrow. To hide her slip, she poured as much disdain as possible into her reply. “Hardly.”

  She didn’t want him guessing she remembered exactly the moment he walked into the office and she’d been stunned into monosyllables by his male model good looks. Of course, that was before he opened his mouth and she discovered what a smug, irritating, arrogant git he was.

  “What do you want to do about this?”

  Picking up the nearest candle, Jenna frowned. Blue for healing and ideals. What had they been trying to do?

  “Jenna?”

  “Sorry.” Scooping up the candles, she stood. “We need to get rid of it.”

  “What about the police? Don’t you want to report it?”

  The police couldn’t help with this. “No. Just get it cleared up.”

  Winston picked up one of the other candles. “Alright.”

  She stepped into the pentagram. There was a slight tingle in the air, a remnant of the power which had been generated by the ritual. She shivered, clasping her arms across her chest. She’d not practised in so long she’d thought it was all gone. Even before Mum died she’d pushed it away. Yet her body remembered as her mind knew what blue candles were for.

  Bending, Jenna gathered the three shattered pieces of the bowl together, handling them carefully to avoid getting blood on her clothes. Snatching up a sheet of paper with her free hand she moved to one of the side chambers where Winston had left the candles. As he came up beside her holding the bunches of herbs, the torchlight fell on the white page.

  Jenna’s eyes widened as the world stopped. “Give me the torch.”

  “What are you going to hold it with? Your teeth?”

  She put the fragments of bowl down and snatched the torch from his hand. Smoothing the paper out, she shone the light on it. Her hand rose to cover her mouth.

  “What’s wrong?”

  The full weight of six years of loss and grief swirled through her veins. She bit down on her lip to press it back, to put the lid on, before the tears flowed.

  “Jenna? Are you alright?”

  “I’m...” The word got stuck in her throat. She made herself take a long, slow breath, tried again. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.” As Winston’s gaze dropped from her face to the piece of paper, she snatched it up, pressing it against her chest.

  “Well, I am.” Her legs felt unsteady. Slowly, she let go of the wall, and stepped away from it.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing.” Carefully folding the page, she put it in the inner zip pocket of her fleece.

  “It’s obviously not nothing. It’s very much something or you wouldn’t have reacted like that.”

  “Nothing that need bothe
r you.” If only he’d damned well go away and give her a moment to think. To figure out why a page from the book on magic that Mum had been writing, which had disappeared on the day she died, had ended up here.

  “Okay.” Winston gave her an assessing glance before he turned towards the other corner.

  “No!” The word popped out of her mouth before she could stop it. But she was too late. He’d already picked up one of the pages. In two steps she was beside him, snatching the paper from his hands.

  “What—?”

  Her eyes darted across the page. She blinked. It was from some website about magic. Turning, she saw Winston held two other pages.

  “Alright, what is it about these that you don’t want me to see?” There was a moment of silence before he said, “They’re from some magic site. The Crystal Goddess. Sounds a bit dodgy to me.”

  Pivoting on her heel, Jenna hurried around the chamber grabbing the pages, pressing them against her chest. Winston moved the other way and when they met by the entrance tunnel he held three sheets.

  “I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours.”

  “It’s not some playground game. This is…” She couldn’t tell him what it was. Even with Mum gone and The Order destroyed the secret was too engrained. “Just give me the damned pages.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I want to know what you’re hiding first.”

  “I’m not hiding anything.”

  “Oh, come on, Jenna! I’m not an idiot. I saw how you reacted when you picked up the first page. What was it?”

  “I’ve told you. Nothing that need bother you. Now give me the pages!”

  He folded his arms. “No.” There was a ghost of a grin around his lips. This was a bit of fun to him.

  “Oh, this is impossible!” Jenna’s hands moved to her hips. “I’m duty manager. What I say here goes. Now, hand them over.”

  “No. The deal stands. You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

  Jenna looked at the pages she held. All from the same magic website; instructions on how to call the elements, how to cast spells, how to raise energy. It was hardly a secret that someone had been practising magic here last night. Letting him see these would reveal only that the person who’d attempted it was dangerously inexperienced and the implications of that wouldn’t mean anything to him.