12.1 The Shetland Witch, or, Atropos Wants Her Shears Back

In which the community presents the witches with a request.

Aug 20, 2024

‘I’ll just hae a glass of water.’ Alison looked at the witches with a smile which had a touch of glee about it. When she looked at Atropos she rested her glance on her for a long moment.

Atropos regarded her calmly and nodded.

‘Does she speak English?’ Mrs Simbister asked loudly.

Atropos looked at Mrs Simbister tranquilly, and Mrs Simbister glared back. She was a dour woman with a mouth set in a permanent scowl. Now Hazel remembered. This was Avril’s mother. She couldn’t see much resemblance.

Mrs Simbister sat down abruptly in the big carved chair and refused a glass of wine.

Both visitors wore black coats, like two crows at a feast. Alison’s was fashionably modern; Mrs Simbister’s looked redoubtable and solid.

‘Ishabel Inkster,’ Mrs Simbister said, again too loudly, ‘You have let this storm go on too long.’

Hazel decided that Mrs Simbister must be hard of hearing.

‘It’s gone on so long because the god creating it is stronger than us,’ Ishabel said kindly, as if pointing out an obvious truth. ‘So far.’

‘Hang on,’ Hazel thought in a panic, ‘is Alison a witch too?’

Mrs Simbister ignored this. ‘I’ve come here,’ she continued, ‘with our community representative, to see that you bring this disruption tae an end. It’s your territory. It’s plain fra the weather reports that this storm system is stuck here over Unst. It’s holding on to oor islands with a grip of malignant power, and we want rid o’ it.

‘Well, Grizel,’ Ishabel said, ‘It’s strange for you to come and tell us our work, when your place as the Fetlar witch has been empty for many, many years. We need you now.’

Mrs Simbister’s face went red but she said nothing and clasped her hands more tightly around her bag.

‘Alison, you are always welcome here, of course,’ Ishabel said courteously. ‘What does the community of Unst have to say to us through you?’

Alison glanced around at the others in the room, then looked back at Ishabel. Hazel noticed that while Mrs Simbister sat on her chair like a lowering black cloud, not meeting anyone’s eyes, Alison’s gaze was clear and direct.

‘The community has had enough,’ Alison said in a conversational tone, ‘I’ve been asked to let you know a few things about how the community regards you and the creatures you consort with, and to bring back news of what you intend to do about this storm.’

Ishabel nodded, but Maggie looked combative.

‘First, a bit of background. Imagine this. You’re walking up the road to the school to collect the bairns, and a fairy, or an elf, something thin and green-skinned, steps out of the hedge gap ahead of you. It crosses the road and is into the opposite hedge before you can blink. You think you’re dreaming, or that your glasses have got a smudge on the lens, or maybe there’s an insect in your eye. There’s nothing there. But when you’re still wiping your glasses you see two more of thae things moving onto the road, one in a vast red frock like a theatre curtain, and they look at you.

‘What do you do? Naturally, you worry. These are uncanny creatures; they do not look friendly. Are they going to hurt you, steal your bairns, turn the milk, ill-wish you?

‘You do nothing, except walk on by. You don’t ignore them because that isn’t neighbourly. You have to speak. So you say what a fine afternoon it is, or something pleasant. And you tell no-one. The bairns and the dog aren’t with you so they don’t notice anything. But you do, because on your way back from the school, with a bairn on each hand, both chattering on at you like steam engines, you see the Folk again. Four of them now. They’re looking at the view from a field, pointing out objects of interest. You get past them in a hurry, get indoors quick and break all the rules about nae TV before homework, just to keep the bairns indoors.

‘You don’t tell anyone.

‘Until one Saturday night when you’re on a night out with the lasses. You have a drink or two, and then it comes out that you saw four of the Folk near the primary school last month and you’re worried sick.

‘So you all have a talk about it, and it turns out that some of the other lasses there have seen funny things too. Like a woman they know well by sight changing into a swaabie in broad daylight, down a side street where anyone can see.’

Maggie looked vexed.

‘Like the rain not falling in Skaw until Professor Inkster has got her washing in.’

Ishabel nodded, looking rueful.

‘None of that is harmful, or hurtful to anyone,’ Alison continued, ‘There’s nae reason why you shouldn’t carry on doing that. Because you do do a lot of good. Even Hazel here; she may be a newcomer, but she’s discreet, and tells a good plausible story. I know full well she stopped my cousin Martin falling off a cliff by her magic. And we’re grateful for that.

Hazel felt herself blushing but said nothing.

‘I hanna seen the Folk since, to be honest,’ Alison continued, ‘They maybe didn’t like it here after all. The trow is around, though he keeps himself very private, as he always has done. Magical creatures are one thing. They have their own laws. But witches are too close to normal folk. Witches are human like us. You just aspire to traffic with magical things.’

‘I think you’re a bit off there,’ Maggie remarked, ‘We don’t aspire: we can’t help it.’

Alison regarded her steadily. ‘I’d submit that you have the benefit of choice, and that you, but maybe not some others,’ and here she glanced sideways at Mrs Simbister, who was glowering at the floor, ‘choose to practice your magic.’

She paused for a sip of water.

The Shetland Witch

12.1 The Shetland Witch, or, Atropos Wants Her Shears Back

In which the community presents the witches with a request.

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