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

In which no-one is badly hurt.

When the lightning bolt hit the mound, Hazel had almost reached the far side of the excavation site. She was thrown forwards, and landed heavily on her shoulder on the grass. The air was fizzing and she could smell burning plastic. When she rolled over, wincing at the wet ice under her back and legs, she had the most peculiar feeling that the open oven door had had a vast wet cloth thrown across it. The air temperature was stabilising to something like normal and she felt a soothing dampness in the air. Her cold fingers ached as they began to warm up, and her face was stinging. Looking down, Hazel saw that the back of her hand was bleeding, and the right leg of her jeans was soaked in a mixture of blood and icy water.

Maggie was standing between Hazel and the mound, staring out to sea, where a pulsating grey cloud was being wrestled in an internal turmoil of roiling movement. The cloud expanded and shrank as if it were a video on fast forward, all the time shrinking until it fizzled out into shreds. It dropped a feeble splatter of rain over the sea. There was a very distant roll of thunder.

Atropos appeared, looking ruffled and wet, but grinning. Then Ishabel was standing beside Hazel, breathing hard but also smiling. Her white curls were spangled in raindrops like a crown of diamonds and water dripped down her face.

The dig site was covered in wind-blown crusts of ice, as if hailstones had been blown horizontally across the top of the hill for hours. Now the sky was as blue as if it were already summer.

‘Let’s have a look at those ice cuts,’ Ishabel said beside her.

But with a sinking feeling in her stomach, Hazel had remembered the lightning that had come with the massive crack of thunder. She stumbled back to the mound and leaned across it to look. There was a large hole burnt through a sheet of tarpaulin that had been thrown over the stone, about a foot in diameter, crisped white around its edges. Underneath, the shining stone surface was unbroken, but dulled.

‘He was trying to move the stone, but because we were harrying him all he could do was blast it,’ Maggie said, standing behind her. ‘Which is interesting. We’ve got a fair chance of stopping him from getting those things underneath.’

Hazel was looking in bewilderment at the surface of the stone. ‘It is utterly unnatural. It’s already been changed by whatever’s been leaking from those things underneath it. Petrographic analysis is going to show molecular anomalies that science is not going to be able to explain.’

Not for the first time, she faced the chasm between the science of her training and the powers of the witches – and now this visiting god. How was she going to work with both realities?

Then she remembered who she was working with, and looked around wildly. Where were the others? Had Zeus’s attack driven them away? Were they safe?

She peered against the brightness of the sun, looking on the wet grass for crumpled bodies, for Theresa’s red headscarf.

She could just see that Martin’s motorbike was in the car parking area. It was on its side, to be sure, but only as if it had been blown over. There was the van. Where – oh, there they were.

Much nearer than the van, Fintan’s head was looking out of a squat square concrete and brick box, still with a roof but without any doors; military issue, circa 1940.

‘Away with you now,’ Hazel said to the witches. ‘I’ll sort out my cuts myself, I promise.’

Ishabel smiled at her, and flew away, following the black-backed gull. Atropos stalked back to the cliff and dropped over the edge with a jump that made Hazel’s stomach plummet. She turned around resolutely, and waved at Theresa, who was jogging up the hill towards her.

‘We got into that old sentry box just before the hail hit us, but it was facing the wrong way for us to see what was going on. Fintan was panicking all the time about the stone, and the equipment. Did you find anywhere to shelter? Oh, look at your poor hand!’

An hour later Hazel had gone back to Norwick to forage for her forgotten lunch.

Her landlady Alison was loading the tumble dryer when she arrived, and Hazel waited for her to finish, sitting at the table.

‘After that storm this morning, I dinna trust the weather just now. This’ll finish off in the airing cupboard. Liam’ll be back later from the school with I don’t know how many sets of sports kit to wash. And jeans. Now, I’ve just got five minutes before I have to head off for the ferry.’ Alison had kicked off her slippers and was putting on her town shoes. ‘I’ve got a meeting in Lerwick this afternoon. Is there anything you need from the town?’

‘No, I went in at the weekend, so I’m fine, thanks.’

‘That’s good. You were back late last night, weren’t you? Was it the coven’s night out?’

Hazel gaped. ‘What?’

‘Och, that’s just our name for Ishabel Inkster and Maggie Forbister. Lovely women, right enough, but they do hang around together a lot.’ Alison’s eyes were bright and inquisitive, and her nose piercing glittered in the sunshine as she looked up from checking her bag. ‘You’re a pal of theirs now, aren’t you?’

Hazel stuttered. ‘Well, yes. They’re interested in the dig, and they’re great company. It’s not always easy.’ Now she felt she was getting into her stride, ‘When you move around from job to job, keeping your friends is hard, and we just seem to hit it off. So, yes, I enjoy hanging out with them.’

‘Aye, right enough,’ Alison beamed at Hazel as she zipped up her jacket. ‘It must be lonely, as you say, wandering around the country without a place of your own. But I’m sure you’ll settle in time. See you later!’

Alison closed the door neatly behind her and a few minutes later Hazel saw her bright blue car speed away past the kitchen window.

She felt winded, as if she had been running a race. She told herself not to be ridiculous and concentrated on making sandwiches with the last of the smoked mackerel and a sliced tomato. She put them in a bag, tidied the counter and set the dishwasher going. She filled her water bottle, took her sandwiches, an apple and a couple of biscuits from the tin and drove back to work. But she would drop in at Ishabel’s on the way. At the coven. To see her friends.

Episode 8.1 will follow.

The Shetland Witch © Kate Macdonald 2024.

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