Chapter Four The Convening of Witches
Chapter Four
The Convening of Witches
Jack had grown broad enough to fill the doorframe.
‘She wants tod’s tails.’ In fact, he was now taller than Kensa.
By four inches at least. ‘I’ll go with you, though I don’t know what to look for.
’ Worse, he made no effort to hide it. Standing there, back straight and bulky arms folded. ‘Are you listening?’
Kensa sucked her teeth. ‘Isolde wants me to fetch her plants in this downpour?’
A wet gale pressed through the windows and slid beneath every door.
‘She says a storm’s good weather for it.’
Jack seemed restless. His brown eyes were unable to meet her hazel, while he shifted his weight from his toes to his heels and scrubbed a hand at his rich dark hair. Well, it was not as though she wanted to spend time with him either.
Kensa sighed. ‘I’ll get my cloak.’
On the hill overlooking the village, where the oak trees clustered in a wooden spine which ran as far as Fowey, the wind was fiercest. It sought entry into Kensa’s mouth and puffed out her cheeks when given the chance.
She would have roped Elowen into their task, had she not been helping Miss Latham at the small charity school in Gerrans.
Sir Trevanion paid for its costs. Kensa had not been grateful for her own meagre education.
Once she’d learned her letters, she’d left.
Yet her sister had stayed and now taught the youngest children.
At least, when she was able to. Elowen had sickened again.
Strange fits, weak episodes, a general malaise which kept her abed for weeks.
And her nightmares were worse. Mutterings in the cold and the dark, even when Kensa sacrificed her own blankets (and coat and shawl) to drape atop her.
There was nothing to be done. Or that’s what Isolde said, when Kensa asked.
Claimed it was nought for their divining, and a sea-damp cloth to the forehead was the only help to be given.
Yet if ever there was the slightest sign that Elowen might be nearing another episode, Kensa watched her avidly.
More than that, she bullied her sister into finishing her dinner, snatched away the books Miss Latham lent her if ever she read overlong, rarely let her go out alone, if at all, and then criticised her clothes when they were unsuitable for the season. And Elowen wasn’t even grateful!
The plant which Kensa was bid to find was essential in treating gout. It had thick, long stalks and a mossy quality which fought against her grip. ‘Are you going to help or not?’
Jack cleared his throat. ‘I’ve got snares to check.’
Gulls wheeled overhead, waiting out the worst gusts.
Not even a seabird would put their trust in the Bucka’s generosity today.
As such, no sailor did either. Small boats crowded the harbour, straining against their moorings.
It had been several months since Kensa’s meeting with the Father of Storms. Isolde had been furious when she’d found out.
Forbade her from ever speaking with him again.
‘If he finds someone desperate enough, he can pluck their worst thoughts from their mind and use them in a bargain,’ she’d explained. ‘Let’s be thankful you’re made of stronger stuff, eh?’
Kensa had only swallowed in reply. She was suddenly pleased to have Jack with her.
Only because it was a little better than being alone.
Besides, he was strong and could lend a hand when it came to carrying the new supplies homeward.
Kensa had seen him lift sizeable sacks filled with smoked mackerel when asked.
Studied him, intently. In fact, she’d watched him for a whole hour.
He didn’t seem to strain at the task, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
Or, on one occasion, with no shirt at all …
‘Did you hear me?’
Kensa cleared her throat. ‘What?’
‘There’s a rabbit caught on the rise,’ said Jack, inclining his head in a request for her to accompany him.
‘But the tod’s tails are this way,’ she replied.
Thus far, he had led her on a roundabout walk that had taken the whole morning. Kensa’s legs were already tired and her basket near-empty. He grabbed its twisted willow handle, fixing her in place.
‘You’re coming with me,’ said Jack.
‘I’ve got work to do – and I’m damned well going to do it.’
This was the longest conversation the pair had ever had and now Kensa understood why. Because he was a bully with no manners and even less patience.
‘If I have to carry you across the heath, I will,’ he warned. ‘I will check the snares while the rain’s eased and you shall follow.’
‘Huh.’ Kensa’s mouth went dry. Carry? There was rain beaded on his skin.
‘I can walk,’ she said, and charged ahead lest he see her face, cheeks burning.
She would not think on why. Only that it was his fault and she was disposed to hate him for it.
No one would make her think thoughts she had not planned on thinking.
Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to accompany him.
Yes, she decided she would go with him. He clearly needed her help.
There was a grim protest from the captured rabbit, prior to a quick click as Jack broke its neck. He worked efficiently, rarely speaking. Even when the rain poured anew, he did not comment. A bright green canopy sheltered them somewhat, though the new leaves struggled against the onslaught.
‘Let’s wait it out,’ said Jack at last.
It wasn’t like him to shy away from wet weather. In fact, quite the opposite. Nothing could keep him down or hold him back. And that is when she understood.
‘You’re keeping me here,’ said Kensa accusingly, raising her voice against the weather – and him.
Slowly, Jack rose from his crouch. He glanced to the glassy-eyed rabbit, as though it would offer help. ‘Yes,’ he admitted after a while.
Kensa’s exhale whistled through her teeth. She cuffed her nose with her sleeve and readied herself to begin a tirade, until she thought to ask, ‘Why?’
A noise had them both tense: a crack louder than a rabbit’s neck.
Elowen burst through the undergrowth, snapping twigs beneath her shoes. ‘Kensa! I came to fetch you,’ she rasped, her finest clothes soaked through. ‘There’s wise women in the orchard – there’s a whole gathering.’
‘What?’
Elowen repeated herself and Kensa cursed loudly.
‘It’s not my fault no one told you,’ said Elowen hurriedly. ‘I saw them on my walk home and ran halfway round the village in search of you; Ma didn’t know anything about it either.’
‘Show me,’ demanded Kensa.
‘Wait,’ said Jack, snatching at Kensa’s sleeve.
She pulled her arm free – and failed. When she tried again, he released her, reluctantly. ‘You knew about this?’ A slow and frustrating truth found her. ‘Isolde doesn’t need any tod’s tails, does she?’
‘She wants you to—’
‘I don’t care what she wants, this is about what I want,’ said Kensa.
Jack pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, as though to stop from speaking – then spoke anyway. ‘Isn’t everything?’
‘That’s not fair,’ said Elowen firmly, as though she was still in Miss Latham’s classroom, chiding a child. Kensa clenched her teeth. She did not need anyone sticking up for her, least of all her little sister.
Jack persisted. ‘Don’t you think Isolde has a reason for keeping this from you?’
‘Everyone thinks I am not ready,’ Kensa spat. ‘I am ready and I will prove it.’
Elowen led the way through horizontal rain.
It grew in strength with every step towards the orchard, forming a nipping barrier.
Kensa would not be deterred. The wind smarted any exposed flesh, wrenching at her hair and skirts.
Elowen fared worse, with only Jack’s palm on her back keeping her upright.
She shouldn’t be out here. Not in a storm such as this.
It wouldn’t do her any good and Kensa would be the one stuck looking after her.
Gradually, the three pressed on towards the apple trees above the church, where an old priory had once stood in a forgotten time when early saints were men and no one told stories about them.
Suddenly, the wind died. Past a certain point in the path, the day was calm.
‘Listen,’ whispered Jack, as he swept the sisters into the bracken using the force of his own mass.
There were ill-tempered shouts. Uproar, even, from eight figures talking over one another, clamouring to be heard. Among the calls was Isolde’s. It was her furious words which cut through the din: ‘Trust I am fully capable of defending what’s mine, Eadain.’
A tall, hawkish woman raised her hand. Silence, anticipation.
‘Our concerns are for the Pact.’ Her voice had a ringing quality.
By her manner and the command she held over the other wise women present, she was clearly the leader.
She had long black hair and wore a long black cloak, appearing as a turgid smudge among the blossoming trees.
‘You must understand our worry, Isolde, especially with what happened the last time a wise woman waited too long to pass their skills to another.’
‘This isn’t good,’ said Elowen.
Jack huffed. ‘We need to go – now.’
‘Shush,’ said the sisters in unison.
It was rare to see new faces in Portscatho. It was not a place travellers frequented, for it led to nothing and nowhere. Falmouth was the main draw in these parts – well, for the sailors and militia, mostly. And the smugglers, naturally. How far had these people travelled?
Cornwall had its own customs around healers. Although unwelcome in larger towns where men had taken up the practice of medicine, often with brutal results, the poorer folk in smaller communities needed their wise women.
‘Only seventy years ago, our kind was hanged by the neck for witchcraft,’ continued Eadain. ‘If we are to ensure our own survival, we cannot take risks and must be beyond reproach.’
Isolde sneered. ‘I am not a risk.’