Nature of the Witch

By Helen T. Norwood

Many years ago, magic prevailed in Britain. It was a time when women were chosen by Mother Nature herself; a time of witchcraft, of the brotherhood of the Gwithiaz and of the terrifying Creatures. It has become a piece of forgotten history.

Now, magic has returned and Kiera is the first witch the world has seen in centuries. Jack has been chosen to learn the ways of the Gwithiaz. Together they must master their crafts and overcome their differences if they are to survive the dark enemy lurking in the shadows.

In the rugged Cornish landscape where it all began, with the help of their eccentric mentor, Kitto, they have face the dreaded Kasadow: an ancient evil that has awoken and is thirsty for the taste of witch's blood.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Next Chapter
• Release date: Feb 5, 2022
• ISBN: 4824120403

Book preview

Prologue

In 1022 a 'heretic' was burnt at the stake in France. It was the start of a 'witch' hysteria that would drag on for centuries. The accusations, the trials and the burnings are well known to this day. People might think of these as the bleakest of days for witchcraft, the oldest religion in the world, but actually this era was bleak for everyone as innocent people were falsely accused by their neighbours and burnt alive at the stake.

Those who know the true history of witchcraft know of a deeper and darker danger- a threat which has stalked the witches throughout the centuries, lurking in the shadows, watching and waiting.

This is the real story of the witch.

Thousands of years ago, in a time without doctors and medicine, people turned to nature. Women used the healing power of plants and herbs to cure and protect their families from diseases. Through practice they acquired great skills, learning nature's secrets and passing this knowledge on to their daughters and then down through the generations.

The power of the natural world was harnessed and used for good. Throughout the generations a select few skilled women were set apart from the rest, and it seemed as though Mother Nature herself rewarded their good deeds with gifts beyond normal capabilities.

These chosen women used these gifts and became exceptional healers in their communities. Witchcraft is known as the 'craft of the wise' and these women were turned to not just for cures, but for advice, shelter, comfort and leadership. Their gifts enabled them to glimpse into the future, therefore avoiding mishaps and some could communicate with the dead, connecting people with lost loved ones. They used their powers to protect people, and bring good fortune and happiness. They could be identified by a marking on the wrist; a branding to show they were the servants of the earth.

Every witch believes in karma. For it is a fact that the universe balances everything out in the end. Whilst these chosen women were using their powers for good, all blessings were bestowed upon them. But eventually something went wrong.

Exactly how it happened is cause of some debate. Instead of nature selecting the witch, the witches found a way to use their powers to initiate others. They formed covens, and by uniting, their powers were magnified so that it seemed the women were more powerful than nature itself.

One coven remained true to their calling and respected the natural world in all that they did. They became known as the Daughters of the Earth. It was formed by some of the most gifted of the chosen women and people travelled from afar for their counsel and skills. However, some covens were arrogant and weren't content to use their gifts for the service of others, instead using them for personal and financial gain and to hurt enemies.

And so, nature turned against the witch. Before their numbers grew too many, a new species was born out of the darkness of the Cornish caves; a terrifying beast, devised by Mother Nature, whose only purpose was to hunt and kill the witches, thus keeping their numbers and powers in check. There is no written record of their appearance, as so few who have laid eyes upon them have lived, but the legends talk of bodies ripped apart with an impossible ferocity. They are said to be part human, and so able to pass through the world unnoticed, but in truth they are more animal than human, slinking through the shadows.

However, another legend says that it was a witch who created the first creature. After finding her husband unfaithful, she used her powers to kill the woman he was with, and then punished him by turning him into a being that was less than human. For her abuse of powers Mother Nature twisted the witch's spell, and instead created a violent beast that turned on the witch and tore out her throat. He was the first of an immortal species that was consumed with an insatiable thirst for revenge on the witches who had created them. They became known as the Kasadow, meaning 'full of hate' in Cornish. For that is what they were, their every deed driven by their hatred for the witch. Over time people simply referred to them as the Creatures.

There is no way to be sure which story is true. What is known is that a fierce battle for survival began for the witches, and they were forced into hiding from their relentless hunters.

But Mother Nature didn't forget her loyal subjects. For the Daughters of the Earth, who devoted themselves to her service, she gave them protectors. The first was a man from a local village, who was in love with a member of the coven. He chose to devote his life to her protection. They became known as the Gwithiaz and, because they were born out of love, they were more powerful than the Creatures. For everyone knows that love is stronger than hate. They were ultimate warriors, the only beings able to kill a Kasadow.

Innocent people were harmed in the battles and a Council was established to try and control the situation. The members of the Council deliberated over the dilemma and prayed to various gods for an end to the violence. They sent the witches away, evicting them from their homes and villages in an attempt to protect themselves, but ultimately standing between a Gwithiaz and a Creature was to stand between David and Goliath and they couldn't find an end to the war.

The Daughters of the Earth had protection from the Creatures but other witches didn't. For them, their powers, although great, were able to keep the Creatures at bay for a while, but were no match in the end against such a vicious and bloodthirsty beast. Some fled to the remotest of hiding places, but the Creatures hunted them down and slaughtered them.

Eventually, witches dwindled in number and so did the Kasadow. Battles became less frequent and so less public. The only remaining coven was the Daughters of the Earth and they lived quiet lives alongside their protectors, always looking over their shoulder. Their time was spent learning, healing and helping others. They blended in, always afraid of being hunted by the Creatures and shunned by their neighbours.

Over the years it all began to pass from memory. Decades turned into centuries and the Creatures became a myth, a bedtime story to frighten children to sleep, and then they were forgotten altogether.

The witches became a legend that changed over time. In some stories it seemed they were confused with the Creatures as ugly, evil beings. As for the Daughters of the Earth, their great powers blessed them and the Gwithiaz with everlasting life.

But a life spent in hiding, in fear, being hunted, watching their kin and loved ones die before them took its toll. It's said that in the end it was their spirit that was crushed. The exact date can't be confirmed but at some point in the 1800s, the last of the witches succumbed to the fury of the Creatures. The Gwithiaz fought valiantly until only one man survived. After the witches were gone he devoted his life to hunting down and killing the last of the Creatures. After that, without the witch's powers to protect him from the passage of time, he aged and died a mortal man.

It was the end of an era, the end of 'true' witches. Some women still followed in the old ways and Mother Nature let them harness her powers for good, but she no longer rewarded them with special powers of their own. There was no more Gwithiaz, no more Creatures and no more witches.

Or so the legend says…

Part One: Gwithiaz

Sleep easy,

For I am watching,

The world turns,

And the wind blows,

Birds call,

And the sun shimmers,

Upon Turbulent waters,

And for all that time,

And more,

I will watch over you.

Will you watch over me?

Chapter One

1994 (but only just)

Jack glanced at the clock. 11:45pm. He was tempted to crawl into his bed but decided against it and flicked on the TV. He watched the image of Big Ben on the screen for a moment before disappearing into the kitchen and retrieving another beer. Then he relaxed down onto his settee and took a noisy swig from the bottle.

The music from a New Year's Eve party in the flat below drifted up through his floorboards; except 'drifting' wasn't technically an accurate description. It made his floorboards vibrate and sliced into the otherwise peaceful atmosphere of his home.

He gritted his teeth and resisted an overwhelming urge to march downstairs and confront the noisy culprits. What on earth would he say? 'Why can't you turn off the music and see the New Year in quietly like me?'

Jeez I'm like an old man, Jack muttered with a groan.

Then again he had every right to be a little grumpy. He was entering a new year with yet another failed relationship under his belt. Not that he had anyone to blame but himself. He was the one who had ended it the day before New Year's Eve and he felt a twinge of guilt about that. He hadn't meant to be unkind. It was just that he didn't want to start the New Year pretending that it was going to work out when he knew it wasn't.

He consoled himself with the thought that he was only twenty-one so there was plenty of time for all that. However, he had a sneaky suspicion that some people were destined to be single and he was pretty sure he was one of them. After all, he always entered a relationship with the best of intentions but they all ended the same way.

Whilst others enjoyed busy social lives Jack preferred a more solitary existence and generally tried to keep himself to himself. He had been that way since childhood, even when he was growing up in the children's home. And sometimes it had been hard keeping himself to himself in a place where he was surrounded by other children. He'd had a couple of friends but mostly he'd found that the other kids had even worse issues than he did so it was best to steer clear.

He briefly let his mind wander back to a time before the children's home. Had he liked being on his own then? But he couldn't grip hold of anything concrete; hazy memories slipped by too quickly and he gave up.

He had been five when his parents died in a car accident. He wasn't sure at what point he'd forgotten them. He knew there was a time when he'd thought of them constantly and was miserable, then he'd entered a time when he'd tried his hardest not to think of them and pushed them from his mind so that he wouldn't be sad. And then suddenly he couldn't remember them even when he wanted to. He had no photos of his parents and he would have liked to recall their faces. Occasionally he tried but it was always to no avail.

However, he had long given up worrying about it. He couldn't remember them and that was that. Life had moved on. He hadn't had a happy childhood but then neither did many other children. There was no point dwelling on it.

Now life was good. He didn't have any family but, in the few years since leaving school with pretty poor qualifications, he had quickly built up a blossoming carpentry business and he even owned his own home. Perhaps in the next couple of years, if the business continued to do well, he could look at selling his flat and buying a house, preferably detached so he wasn't bothered by noisy neighbours. With that happy thought in mind he glanced again at the clock, 11:58pm. He only had to stay awake for another couple of minutes. Then he promptly fell asleep and the beer bottle slid silently to the ground causing a small damp patch on his clean carpet.

He was plagued all night by the same dream. It involved a woman and, although he couldn't see her properly, he could tell she was in danger. She always kept her face hidden from his view but he instantly knew that she was fearful for her life. He wanted to help her but all around them was pitch black, and no matter how hard he strained, he couldn't see into the darkness. Whatever the danger was, it was somewhere in the darkness and it was watching them.

And that was how he spent his night, waiting to fight some invisible threat and protect a woman he couldn't see properly. It was no wonder he awoke feeling more tired than when he went to sleep.

Happy New Year Jack, he thought to himself wearily.

He pondered the dream for a moment. It wasn't his first unusual dream; they had started recently and seemed to be occurring with some frequency. In fact, the weird dreams weren't the only change he'd noticed. He'd also been losing his temper a lot. It was true that he'd always had a shorter fuse than most but recently he seemed to have no fuse at all. The slightest incident could make him feel out of control. Many a time at work he'd had to remove himself from a situation and take some deep breaths until he'd calmed down. He wondered if the dreams might be related. Then he shrugged.

It's just a dream.

He woke himself up with a morning run. The air around him felt like needles. The cold bit into his skin which was exactly what he needed. He grinned as he watched the odd die-hard, bleary-eyed party-goer stumbling home.

After breakfast he tackled some business paperwork and mulled over the possibility of hiring a secretary. Then when he needed a break he put on the kettle and settled into some woodcarving. He had taken up woodcarving at the children's home. He was completely self-taught. Of course he wasn't supposed to have a knife at the children's home, but one of the older children had given it to him. At the time he was being bullied by a particularly nasty child who had threatened to do all sorts of horrific things to him whilst he slept. He had kept the knife under his pillow for protection.

In the garden there had been a log pile and one day he picked up a log and started hacking at it. He had instantly found it calming and therapeutic and over time shapes had formed in the wood. Eventually he became skilled and could turn a lump of wood into intricate ornaments.

Strangely he had never done anything with them. He had never sold one, never given one away as a present, never done anything but let them pile up and then, when he had too many, he threw them away. A couple of times he had considered giving them to girlfriends but they just seemed too personal.

It was whilst he was finishing off the wooden sailing ship he'd been making that he heard a noise at his front door. At first he thought he'd imagined it but then there it was again, a faint scraping sound as though someone was trying to get in.

Quietly he picked up his knife and moved closer to the door. The noise came again. This time it was a loud clunk as though someone had grabbed the door handle and then let go again. He frowned. He didn't often have visitors. He looked through his peep-hole but there was no-one there. He waited but the noise seemed to have stopped so he returned to his sailing ship.

He had just settled down again when the noise came back. He felt his temper rising. There was definitely someone at the door. What were they trying to do? Break-in? He rose again from his seat but, just as before, there was no-one to be seen through the peep-hole.

He waited until the noise returned and then he threw open the door and grabbed the person on the other side. They were bending down just out of view from the peep-hole. The person was light because he lifted them off their feet with ease and sent them hurtling down his hallway. Before the mystery person could regain their composure he knelt down across their chest and brought his knife up to their throat. His breathing was heavy as he fought against his temper and, keeping his victim pinned to the floor beneath him, looked down into the eyes of a terrified and vaguely familiar face.

What are you doing? Jack asked the stranger, his voice quiet and the blade of his knife resting menacingly against the man's throat.

I…I…I live here, the man stammered looking confused. He glanced past Jack into the hallway and his speech sounded slurred. I think I do anyway.

Jack stared down at the man for a beat before realisation dawned on him and he hurriedly withdrew his knife.

You live downstairs, Jack told him swinging his legs round so the man could sit up.

I do? The man still looked confused. His eyes were rolling around as he tried to focus on his surroundings.

Must have had a heavy night last night, thought Jack.

Did you…a knife? The man asked, his words tumbling about as he tried to cut through his alcohol fogged brain and process what was happening.

Let me take you back to your flat, Jack managed to smile but his heart was thumping in his chest. He could have seriously hurt the man. If he was honest he'd wanted to seriously hurt him.

Jack accompanied his surprise visitor to the flat below. The door was open and displayed a scene of pure carnage. This was obviously the place where he'd heard the party the previous night.

Happy New Year! He called in after the man as he closed the door. The man muttered something in return and then there was a thud as he collapsed somewhere in the vicinity of the settee. Hopefully he wouldn't remember anything when he awoke.

Jack took a deep breath. Thank goodness he hadn't hurt him. He decided to go for a walk to clear his head. It was still cold out but Jack didn't mind. For no reason at all he walked a different route than normal, reaching the end of his road and turning left instead of right. Left took him towards more flats, and he was just crossing through a car park when he heard a strange sound. He stopped and listened. He heard scuffling and groaning coming from the corner of the car park. It was dark in the corner but he could just make out the silhouette of a group of boys.

Teenagers, he thought.

He was about to carry on and leave them to it when he noticed the shape of someone lying on the floor. The shape moved and looked as though it was trying to crawl away when one of the lads gave it a mighty kick. The shape let out a cry and began to roll about groaning.

Instinctively Jack called out and rushed forward, Hey stop that!

The boys looked up. There were three of them. Two were wearing baseball caps and he would guess they were late teens, not much younger than him. They advanced upon him instantly, like a pack of lions distracted by better prey.

He realised he hadn't really thought it through, but he wasn't too fazed. Three to one might seem unfair but he'd grown up in care and he knew how to defend himself. From a young age he'd come into contact with some pretty disturbed children and had quickly toughened up. He might be outnumbered but they were kids, even without seeing them properly he knew he was bigger and stronger.

As they stepped out of the shadows he braced himself for a fight, but he didn't see a fourth person creep up behind him or the bottle rise above his head. He just felt the blow, an excruciating pain filled his whole head and then he went down.

Chapter Two

There was the sound of voices somewhere above him. He tried to climb to his feet but his head was spinning so much he wasn't sure if he'd landed on his back or his front. He waited to feel more blows; after all, they seemed the type who wouldn't miss an opportunity to kick a man while he was down, but none came. He kept his eyes closed, partly because when he tried to open them it felt like someone was hitting him with a hammer and partly because he was trying to compose himself.

He took some deep breaths but it didn't help. His head was throbbing and he could feel the anger starting to simmer gently inside. His temper was a strange thing. He had been an angry and resentful teenager which had resulted in a few scrapes. But in those days his temper had been like an explosion that came from nowhere. He had spent years learning to control it and now his anger didn't present itself as a mad rage anymore. Now it was more like a mist that fuzzed his thoughts so that he couldn't think straight. He took another deep breath and looked up. It wasn't working. The mist was descending.

The reason they had left him alone after he fell was that they had found fresh prey. In front of him two leant nonchalantly against a car, relaxed, laughing, their faces hidden beneath their baseball caps. One, who was covered in pimples, gripped the arms of a terrified young woman. The fourth lad was tipping the contents of her handbag on the floor.

The woman, who looked to be in her early thirties, implored them feebly, Please leave me alone.

The lads were out of it, possibly drunk but in his opinion they'd taken something. Their eyes were wide and bloodshot, their movements were clumsy and the laughter was slightly manic.

But this didn't excuse their behaviour. He knew their type, had grown up with them in the children's home, and they were just bullies who picked on people they thought were weaker to make themselves feel better about their own miserable lives. They were young and thought they were invincible.

But they had definitely picked on the wrong guy. He rose unsteadily to his feet. One of the lads noticed and prodded his friends until they were all staring at him in a bemused manner.

Man, you're stupid, said pimples, letting go of the woman's arms, you should've stayed down.

Yer, joined in one of the baseball caps, what's your problem? You like pain? You probably get off on weird stuff like that.

The other lads laughed raucously, as though he'd said something hilarious.

My problem, Jack said calmly, is that I live in this neighbourhood, and you're really lowering the tone.

Lowering the tone? Pimples repeated. He stared at Jack, trying to work out whether Jack was serious or whether it was conceivable that someone could be poking fun at him.

Yes, Jack continued , even managing a wry smile, and I can't abide behaviour that might impact my house value.

When no one answered, and they all stared at him as though he'd grown an extra head he added, I might be looking to sell this year you see.

Pimples swaggered over indignantly, What the f…

But he didn't get to finish the sentence because Jack's fist smashed straight into his cheekbone. It opened up instantly, and as he toppled backwards the blood was already pouring down his face. His friends, although startled, jumped straight into action. The two wearing baseball caps charged at him, shouting and swinging. He gave the first one an easy hand-off, batting him away as though he were a pesky fly, and landing him hard on his back-side. The second one he stopped with a punch that snapped his head back violently and toppled him onto his back. He landed on a kerb and it knocked the wind out of him so that he lay there, gasping and squirming.

And that left one. The last lad came at him but, after seeing what had happened to his friends, looked as though he was regretting it. He half-heartedly swung at Jack in a manner that suggested he had decided to back-out a little too late. Jack dodged the punch with ease and brought his knee up until it collided with the guy's chest with a crunch. Then as the lad doubled over Jack brought it up again with another crunch.

He could've walked away at that point. He had obviously won, but his adversaries were down, not out. A couple were even trying to stagger back to their feet and besides, the mist was down. This nasty, cowardly, arrogant bunch of dim-wits needed to learn a lesson, and one they wouldn't forget; one that would make them think twice about picking on other people.

Pimples was the first to his feet. He had started to move away, perhaps hoping