11.4 The Shetland Witch
In which Ishabel is given a gift.
The sun came out low in the sky, shining from the south-west where there was no storm. The light slipped under the massed bank of heavy grey clouds, and the room brightened. Suddenly Hazel could read the names in the inscription on the flyleaf of the book.
‘To my dear daughter Ishabel. From her loving mother Margaret Sinclair.’
Hazel thought for a moment, and glanced over at Ishabel, who was sitting back in her chair. Her face was very brown against the white walls.
‘Zeus reminds me,’ Ishabel said, ‘of my grandfather. He was very sure of his own importance, and never left Shetland where his importance was. He never forgave my father when he went to Kenya and stayed there. When my grandfather had to go somewhere he didn’t know, he got frightened, and was too proud to admit it, and raged like a toddler. It may be the same with Zeus. This is a very different world. He doesna understand it. He’s on his own, with no-one to explain things to him. He is unpredictable and scared.’
‘He would not listen,’ Atropos interjected, ‘He never did.’
‘And no-one is here to do his will. He’s got nowhere to go, and the cold weather will be horrible for him. He’s behaving like an angry old man who can’t get what he wants.’ Ishabel’s face was looking strained. ‘It’s very dangerous. We can do nothing to contain him.’
The Haa’s feathered living room was silent, except for the rain, and the wind.
Atropos looked at the witches.
‘You have me,’ she said. ‘I am not weak. I have been growing stronger with everything that I learn with you. You are helping me become human, but I am also becoming more like you. Like a witch.’
Ishabel’s face looked a little less strained. Hazel straightened her shoulders, feeling as if a weight had lifted.
‘You are the strongest thing we’ve ever met, Atropos,’ Ishabel said. ‘If you are with us, then we have hope.’
‘Maggie said so too,’ Hazel said. ‘We can do so much more if you are with us.’
‘Good,’ Atropos said. Her smile made Hazel think of a bird’s claws, outstretched and sharp. ‘I brought him here. I will send him away.’
‘How intelligent is Zeus, Atropos?’ asked Hazel. ‘I mean, could we reason with him? Ask him what he wants?’
Atropos looked at her as if she were mad. ‘No,’ she said flatly. ‘When he wants, he takes. Women. Boys. Power. He wants the shears.’
‘What will happen, if he gets them?’
Atropos’s eyes flickered, and for a moment they had turned black, but then she was herself again. ‘He must never have them.’ Her voice was cold with disdain. ‘He will make humans, and gods and giants – anyone – die for his pleasure. Again, and again.’
Ishabel drew a long breath but did not say anything. Hazel sat frozen on the bench by the window.
The rain smashed against the glass in a squall of shrieking winds and she jumped.
Ishabel stood up, gathering her things together. ‘Hazel, will you drive me home? We have work to do.’
‘Right. Yes, of course. What kind of work?’
‘We need to plan, with Maggie. And I want to talk to Avril.’
‘I am making something to help,’ Atropos said.
Both Ishabel and Hazel were at the door, pulling on their coats, but they stopped and turned to look at her.
‘You are? That’s great. What is it?’
‘It is not yet finished. But soon. I will show you.’ She smiled at them. Hazel saw, with a shiver, that this was not a happy smile. It was more the smile that sees something about to be accomplished, a smile of satisfaction.
‘We will show him what power is. And how to use it.’
Early on Friday evening Hazel drove to Ishabel’s for dinner. The storm was still raging, unabated. She wondered where Tornost went in the wet weather.
When she pushed Ishabel’s front door open, she was embraced by warm air that promised something marvellous in the kitchen. She took her coat and boots off as quickly as she could and went through to the source of the aroma.
The pans in Ishabel’s kitchen were steaming, and the scents of roasting lamb and coconut hung in the air like a spicy incense. Ishabel waved a hand at her in greeting, preoccupied with a sauce. Hazel put two bottles of wine on the counter and looked around for the bottle opener.
A car door slammed, and Maggie shoved the front door open with her shoulder, her arms holding a large bowl covered with a wax wrap. Atropos followed her in, also holding a round bundle in her arms. Hers was wrapped in a carrier bag, as if it contained something fragile that needed to be protected.
‘Salade à la Unst,’ Maggie said with a grin. ‘As requested. But that’s the last of the early spinach from the Baltasound shop. The islands are running out of food.’
She set the bowl on the counter and began shrugging off her coat.
‘Very nice, thank you.’ Ishabel said. ‘What in the world have you got there, Atropos? Is it a nest?’
Atropos was looking serious. She began to address Ishabel formally in melodious words that Hazel did not understand, holding out the bundle in her hands to her and bowing her head slightly. The words filled the kitchen like a formal incantation, rippling and rhythmic. Hazel almost thought she saw the air flicker and swirl around them, but she decided that it must have been the steam from the oven.
‘My word,’ Ishabel was taken aback. ‘What have you just offered me?’
Atropos smiled and set the carrier bag on the kitchen counter. She put both hands inside and brought out a large sphere of woven grass, intricately patterned, with a delicate woven lid covering a small opening at the top.
‘Oh! Thank you, Atropos. Thank you very much.’
Ishabel took the sphere carefully into her hands. Hazel couldn’t see anything unusual on the woven grass walls but she could feel vastness and tightness, a sense of powerful binding inside the frail grass.
Episode 11.5 will follow.
The Shetland Witch © Kate Macdonald 2024.
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