12.2 The Shetland Witch, or, Atropos Wants Her Shears Back
It's the shears, isn't it? That's what it's all about.
Hazel thought she would jump in at this point. ‘Since the subject has been raised, I’ve been wondering about something related,’ she said. ‘When I was wee, folk once saw me working magic, and they pointed, and stared and screamed, brought all their friends to shout at me. I had to change school. Because folk remember. And later they might have spotted me and followed me and talked, and other folk – my colleagues, my employers – that I’m a witch. I’m wary of it. Even if Fintan and Theresa thought it was just malicious gossip, they’d still wonder. Fintan would make stupid jokes about me lifting stones on my own. I’d become visible, but not in a good way.
‘Folk might refuse to serve me in a shop. I might not find anywhere to stay. Folk wouldn’t see me as a person anymore, but as a source of power. And then whose power would it be? We break society’s compact,’ she said, aware of a rising feeling of unhappiness. ‘We offend against other folk’s ideas of what is right and possible because we aren’t within their compass. But this is what I am. I haven’t chosen it; it is who I am.’
She spoke directly to Alison. ‘You’re saying that witches might be cast out because we choose to be different. But why should we be cast out? We’re just as much part of society as folk who weren’t born with our powers. There is also nowhere else for us to go. If we can’t live here, in our own world and time, where can we go? We can’t change. All we could do is hide. That’s no way to live, when we could be giving so much.’
Hazel finished in a rush, not sure how she had ended where she had, but she’d said it now.
Alison regarded Hazel with a thoughtful expression, and nodded non-committally. ‘Aye.’
She turned to Maggie and Ishabel. ‘You are our neighbours, our friends, our babysitters. You,’ – she gestured widely – ‘were in our class at school and came to our weddings. You’re not the Folk, you’re like us. But you’re different. So when we see these things happen, do we mention it? Who could we tell? To what purpose? What are others going to do with this knowledge, apart from think we’re mad? Do we hold our knowledge against you? Or keep it secret to be used as leverage, one day, if we think there’s need? Or just know it, and accept it, and mind our own business, and hope not to be drawn into anything unnatural?’
‘Or, you could help us,’ Ishabel said.
Alison did not show that she had heard, continuing, ‘We don’t have witch-hunters now, thank goodness. Not many folk care what the ministers or the missionaries might say.’ Mrs Simbister stirred, but Alison continued to speak. ‘If trows are abroad, it’s useful to have a witch keep an eye on them. We know you maintain a web of protection against whatever might be fleein’ by, and this is a community good that we have thanked you for, often.’
Ishabel nodded gravely.
‘But the web hasna worked so well lately, has it? Can you give a reason why this –‘ Alison nodded at Atropos, ‘– this lady has arrived, bringing alien powers following after her?’
‘We’re no blind or deaf,’ Mrs Simbister interjected, glowering. She jerked her head towards Atropos. ‘We felt you arrive, an uncanny creature of the air! Noo it’s obvious to those that keen that there’s a massive power up there, raging to get whit it wants. And you brought it!’
Her malevolence towards Atropos was like a snarl. Hazel took a step backwards, coming up short against the kitchen counter.
‘What in the world is up with you, Grizel?’ Ishabel wondered.
Alison cut back in. ‘Why have we got this storm plaguing us, and showing no sign of going away until whatever is perpetrating it gets what it wants? What does it want, Ishabel?’
Ishabel looked sideways at Atropos. Atropos brought out the shears from the bag that was always at her side and laid them quietly on the table.
Mrs Simbister leaned forward quickly, her eyes fixed on the twisted blades and her mouth opened in an involuntary gasp. She didn’t meet Atropos’s eyes.
Alison paused to glance at the shears, but the sight of the silver and ivory and the strange glistening blades did not deflect her attention.
‘Boannie things,’ she remarked, ‘I’ve no doot they’re worth a fortune. And no doot the ins and outs of your dilemma is your ain business. If that is the answer to my question, I will tell the community that there is a thing here now that is disputed by different powers. And that the dispute will be resolved. That’s all they need to know.’ She paused. Mrs Simbister was restless beside her, her wrinkled red hands clutching her black bag on her lap.
Alison continued. ‘It’s got to stop. We’ve had enough of being trapped on our islands by hurricane weather for weeks on end. You,’ and here her voice became resentful for the first time, ‘can travel where you want. Witches can grip the road with their vehicles. But we canna. This storm destroys whatever is in its path, and murders the birds and aa the animals it can find. At least one Unst man has died. Hooses have been drooned oot in Mainland. We’re used to bad weather, in its proper place. But this is unseasonal, and it’s no natural. I’ve been asked by the community – at least,’ she corrected herself, ‘that part of the community that kens what’s what – to require you and your sisters to invoke your airts to quell this storm and allow the rightful habits and customs of our land to resume in the normal way.’
Maggie sat bolt upright, and Alison smiled. ‘That’s our formal request. I hope you’ll consider it.’
Hazel was startled. She couldn’t feel any magic emanating from Alison, but her declamatory voice had filled the kitchen with a decisive force.
‘She’s doing something magical with her voice,’ Hazel thought.
Episode 12.3 will follow.
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