6.1 The Shetland Witch, or, Atropos Wants Her Shears Back
In which Atropos learns how to use a fork.
It was Thursday morning. Hazel had been having bad dreams. Her shoulders were tight and there was an ache in her side as if she had been clutching something to herself all night or lying on hard ground. When she awoke her head was full of the emotions she had been feeling in the dream, running from a terrible cloud that hovered over a rocky landscape. No matter how far or how fast she ran, the cloud was always there. And then she was running over sharp stones, and ancient wheel ruts. And then she was a falcon, flying high over parched earth in a burning blue sky. And then she was crouching on a hillside under a bush while an eagle screamed down at her. The sound of running water drowned out the eagle’s anger. She woke up, sweating, knowing that she needed to find her sisters.
‘But I don’t have any sisters,’ she said aloud, some minutes later in the shower.
Then she remembered the shining black stone, and the hot water washed the dream away. She rushed to get dressed, her shirt sticking to her damp arms. She tugged her socks and trousers on, and then she crept downstairs, her rucksack over her shoulders, moving softly so as not to disturb Alison. When she had collected her working boots and jacket she closed the front door. She got her boots on quietly, and unlocked the van. She started the engine and drove up the hill to the north to Skaw. The sun was spreading pink and gold over the sea towards her.
She was at Ishabel’s house at seven in the morning, fretting herself into waking nightmares over what would happen when those blinding objects under the stone were released.
‘Make yourself some tea,’ Ishabel said, when she opened the front door, ‘I’ll get dressed.’
‘It’s going to be a disaster,’ Hazel said in the kitchen. ‘I can’t think of anything to stop Fintan uncovering the stone, or exposing those things underneath. He’s probably already ordered a crane to lift it, and we’ll have to record it all properly. It’ll maybe be a day, maximum, till the stone is lifted. And then what? Radiation burns all round.’
She stopped. ‘Hang on.’
‘We thought of that,’ Ishabel said. ‘Maggie has a neighbour who teaches science at Baltasound School, and they have a Geiger counter.’
‘Thank god. We’re saved. And we have dosimeters too. Does it work?’
‘Nae idea. But you could persuade Fintan that the stone needs more tests before anything more is done to it. And why no-one else should be allowed on the Hill till you can make it safe. That will give us a couple of days. Have you had breakfast at all?’
‘No. I couldn’t eat. I had such bad dreams.’
There was a movement in the kitchen doorway.
Hazel looked up to see a gaunt figure standing there, wrapped in a fluffy white dressing-gown that was too short. Atropos had warm socks on her feet, and was wearing a flowered cotton nightdress, also too short. Her brown legs were lean, scarred with faint white lines from ancient scrapes, shaped by the muscles of a long-distance runner. She stood in the doorway looking into the kitchen. She was fiddling with the door handle as if she was working out its mechanism, then she walked across to the window. She touched the glass uncertainly and glanced up at the lights in the ceiling.
‘Good morning!’ Ishabel said cheerfully and gestured to a chair. Atropos nodded and sat. She was not smiling, but she was looking better than she had last night.
<Are you hungry?> Ishabel asked and repeated it aloud. Atropos nodded again, and now she smiled.
<Yes!> Hazel answered for her and repeated it aloud.
‘Yes.’ Atropos said. She looked amused, but patient.
‘Excellent. What do you suggest, Hazel, for a pre-Homeric breakfast?’
‘Eggs, bread and honey, fried bacon. Have you got any grapes?’
Hazel poured tea from the pot into her own mug, and then poured a mug for Atropos, and pushed it across the table to her, meeting her piercing black eyes. She took a sip, and poured some milk in. Atropos did the same from her mug but didn’t take the milk. She sniffed at the steam rising from the mug and wrinkled her nose. Ishabel passed her a glass and told her to take some milk from the jug.
Hazel was not thinking now of the absurdity of having breakfast with the equivalent of a goddess: she was thinking of the practicalities.
<We need to teach you our language> she said carefully in her head. <Would you like that?>
‘Yes. I begin.’ Her accent was strong, but Atropos’ words were clear.
‘Ah! Clever,’ Ishabel crowed from the stove.
‘But how –?’ Hazel was surprised. ‘How did you learn so fast?’
‘If she can read our minds, she can absorb the language. I did it myself, in Mombasa as a bairn. Kenya has a lot of languages. Some of my relations on my mum’s side were witches too, so my mum was not surprised how fast I learned. Even if I grew up learning how tae spik like ma faither.’ Ishabel dropped into broad Shetland dialect while she was shovelling food onto the plates. She grinned at Hazel, ‘Get the cutlery, could you?’
When they were eating, and Atropos was mastering the fork, there was the slam of a car door, and then Maggie arrived, lugging a carrier bag. Atropos greeted her in English, smiling at Maggie’s surprise.
‘Well, that’s a good start. Have you done the introductions yet?’
‘No,’ Ishabel apologised. ‘Of course, you’re right.’
‘Hang on,’ Hazel thought. ‘Isn’t giving your name to strangers dangerous?’ But Maggie blinked at her reassuringly. <It doesna work like that. Not with us.>
Episode 6.2 will follow.
The Shetland Witch © Kate Macdonald 2024.
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