Witch's Rising

C h a p t e r O n e

The bus' engines groaned as it pulled to a stop. The babbling voices didn't stop as the doors hissed open and people streamed out, the chatter relentless. I slowly followed, shouldering my bag on the way out.

Once the teachers were out after us the students quieted down slightly, waiting to be told they could run around like children on the first beach most of us had seen. The teachers quickly summarized the rules and why we were here: “Observe your environment. Take a few notes. Answer these questions (they handed out a sheet with the questions). Don't get wet.” The rules were simple and we'd probably break them all within five minutes.

Most of the teenagers drifted away, a lot towards the edge of the water and soon enough people were rolling up their jeans and taking off shoes, ready to run into what looked like freezing water. I couldn't blame their curiosity. I was slightly eager to do the same, but I didn't. Smelling the salt from the bus' parking spot was enough for me, for the moment.

Mr. Haroldson, the science teacher, was the only teacher attempting to stop the water fights erupting everywhere. The other three teachers were relaxed, resigned to the simple reality of our behaviour. Mr. Haroldson was the only one deluding himself that we were here as an actual educational trip.

“King!” I spun as a voice snapped my last name, almost expecting kind of quip for not filling out my paper but it was only Timothy, a mocking grin on his face as he sauntered over.

“Yes, Jones?” I said, mirroring his tone.

Instantly he lost the grin and spoke in a grim voice.

“Why aren't you playing the fool like your classmates? Do you think it's acceptable for you to be standing there, as if you were sane?” He was using a tone much like Mr. Haroldson's and putting on a thick English accent, much unlike his true Welsh one. I was smiling, genuinely amused.

“I apologize, sir,” I replied “I'll go throw a rock at someone right now.”

“Excellent.” Just at the end his face split into a grin, ruining the facade. “Honestly though, why aren't you running to the water?”

We started walking across the sand as I answered. “I think looking is better.” It wasn't a lie. I had never seen the sea before and I was almost wary. It was unknown, foreign.

Timothy and I sat on the sand, halfway between the water and the bus.

I looked up, observing the weather. It wasn't magnificent. Clouds were rolling over us and every now and then a drop of rain would fall. The green water reflected it, making the place eerie. But it still had a sense of beauty. It didn't match the typical pictures of beaches but I liked it.

“Sarah? Woohoo,” Timothy waved his hand in front of my eyes, snapping me out of my reverie. I smiled in apology. “You weren't listening were you?”

“No. Sorry.” I didn't bother lying to him. Timothy was a good friend and lying to him would be pointless. He knew me well.

He put on a face of insult. “How dare you?” Before I could reply jokingly he went on to the topic he had been on before, but I still didn't pay much attention.

Eventually he left to join his other friends and I sat cross legged in the sand, running my fingers through it. It was a strange feeling, although not much different from how I had imagined it would feel.

I wasn't sure how long I spent like that. It was easy to fall into dreams when you didn't have anyone to pull you out of them. I pictured walking away, into the sea, just deeper and deeper. It was an entrancing thought. Walking away from everyone, everything.

How easy would it be? Not easy enough.

A small voice whispered in my mind that I would be able to start new if I left. No one would know me as Sarah King, the girl who went mad.

I would know I was her, though. You can't escape from yourself.

A gust of wind broke me out of my thoughts when it snatched my paper from my fingers. The paper tumbled through the wind, occasionally slapping onto the ground then jumping up again, eventually reaching the far end of the beach, where a small cliff came around like a hand.

There was no point in running – I couldn't outrun the wind – so I started walking along the beach, instead of asking the teachers if they had a spare paper, which they probably did. I was following my stupid whim.

The sand wasn't fun to walk across. My feet would sink in and sand would find its way into my sock from the smallest of holes. It was frustrating and I was dying to take my shoes off and walk barefoot but I resisted that urge. It was too cold. I was stupid to have left my wellies at home.

When I reached the cliff I looked back, almost shocked at how far I had gone. The distance had looked smaller from where I had been sitting. The group of students were still dispersed like birds, the big bus still there. Hopefully they wouldn't leave without me.

Looking over the rocks I decided I had to climb over one about my height, to get to the other side where I was pretty sure my paper had landed. How I was sure was beyond me. There was hardly any reason behind my decisions then, I was just doing things because I could.

Pulling the sleeves of my jumper over my palms, so they wouldn't get scraped, I found spots where I could place my feet and hands to heave myself up. Once I got over the top holding on got harder; I just dropped down … into a puddle of sea water. Water splashed all over my front and legs, the wool of my jumper soaking it up. I swore, looking for a dry spot, but there wasn't any. This seemed to be the perfected place for a ankle high puddle.

My stomach twisted with anxiety over going back to the teachers, wet as I was. The worry made me feel nauseated, but I held onto my calmness. Despite the disappointment of falling I got excited when I saw my paper crunched against the cliff side, a few steps away. It wasn't all in vain then. I briefly thought about how dull I must have been if a piece of paper excited me.

A storm had broken as I had been walking across the beach and just as I reached for the paper lightning shattered through the sky, blinding me. I wasn't sure how other people felt about being blind, but I didn't like it.

I blinked away the light, aware of something strange around me. There was no wind roaring in my ears, no rain slapping my face, no water around my feet. Instead there were bird chirps, a soft breeze and hard ground. Noting all those things took a split second and it was strange split second.

Shapes slowly blurred into reality. Long dark poles turned into trees. The hard ground turned into dirt with leaves and and various brown things strewn around. One glance showed me my big problem: I was in a forest.

Almost without thinking, I took a few steps forward, nearly falling over. It was real ground. Hard under my feet. I stood on a small stone. The stone was real. I pressed a hand against a tree. The tree was real. This was real. This was awful.

Panic swirled around my head, like a cloud you were aware of but just as a side note. I didn't feel very real at that moment. Panic couldn't affect me. There was nothing to affect. To prove that I kicked the tree my hand was pressed against. Pain struck my toe and I jumped back. That brought me to the conclusion that I was real too. My mind silently came to the conclusion that all in all everything was awful.

If I was real, then I was really stuck in a real forest. This was reality. Another part of my mind made the decision that I should call attention to myself, and make someone understand I was here. So I started screaming.

Why I did that confused me for the entire time I screamed, which was about ten seconds. Ten seconds felt a lot longer when you were giving out a high pitched scream. Just when I ran out of oxygen something responded to my scream, only it wasn't a something I wanted to respond to me, since it was a loud roar.

The roar got louder and closer. I could hear hard stomping, sending vibrations through the ground. The panic I had been aware of before turned very real. Something was heavy about to burst through the trees to my right when another something jumped out from behind me.

Before I could even understand what was happening the heavy thing was leaving and what had jumped out from behind me turned to look at me. Two pairs of eyes were looking at me. One pair from a white horse and the other from the knight sitting on its back.

He was a knight, that much I was sure of from the fact that he was wearing armor and he was on a horse.

“Run.” The voice didn't sound normal but my fear must have been distorting things. “Turn around and run!” I didn't ignore the voice because the knight was raising a bow, taunt with an arrow, pointed at me. Ridiculously, I noticed something dangling on the wrist that was holding the bow, when I should have been paying more attention to the bow.

In a slow second I realised I was being an idiot and shut my eyes, not even worrying about hitting a tree, then ran as hard as I could.

A sound sliced through the air and it was followed by a word. I could hardly hear it over the roaring in my ears, but it ended with “deer”. Did the knight think I was a deer? Don't be stupid, Sarah. I reminded myself, sweetly.

Cold shot up through my ankles then settled around my knees as I collapsed, wrapping my arms around myself. Was this death? My eyes were still screwed shut, the roaring never stopping. Small sticks of cold were falling down my face. Small sticks of cold? Rain. My legs were all wet. I was sitting in the puddle.

It was the beach! There was rock in front of me. The rock I had climbed. I was safe in my puddle. I had never been more thankful to be sitting in a freezing cold pool of water.

An illusion. That's what it was. The lightning affected your eyes. I laughed, yes, that was all it was. A strange reaction to the lightning.

In wooden movements I stood up, about to climb over the rock again, relieved that I was back in the real world. Hard, safe, real world. That was when I saw the arrow in the water at my feet.

–– XX ––

I stumbled down the beach, stunned, with an arrow clutched in my hand. I held it in such a way that the tip was pressed against my forearm, close to cutting my skin – through the rip in my jumper I had made climbing over the rock again – but I showed no sign of it. I wasn't showing signs of much. It was possible that I was in shock. But that wasn't my main concern.

Some shouts spread across the sand to me. They sounded vaguely like people shouting my name. Then again, I wasn't really listening.

The anxiety in my stomach was back. It felt like a nervous snake, coiling around, twisting and turning. I paused in my disjointed steps and bent over to vomit but didn't. Then I went on walking towards the voices. I faced up a bit, to let the rain wash down my face. I shivered with the cold but I was relying on being too numb to feel much.

Two spots of light were flashing around, getting closer to me. The rain clouds were completely blocking the sunlight. I had no idea what time it was but I knew I hadn't spent long by the cliff.

I stopped walking, waiting for the people with the flashlights to get to me. I didn't know what I was expecting but my grip got tighter on the arrow, ready to use it as a weapon. It would have caused more damage had it been shot from a bow but I didn't have a bow at hand.

The lights got closer and I could see the outlines of the people holding the lights, which I gathered were torches. They flashed around until they landed on me and then the people started running towards me. My entire arm was trembling with the force I had on the arrow.

“Sarah King?” A voice shouted my name. Even though they were muffled by the pouring rain I could tell it was a man's voice and as they got closer their features got clearer and I relaxed my arm. They were police officers.

One was taller than the other, he had a meaty face but he looked kind. The other one was younger and with a strong jaw and thick eyebrows, like two small forests were resting on his forehead, almost meeting at the center.

“Are you Sarah King?” The bigger man asked.

“Yes.” I answered, tentatively.

“I'm Officer McGonaghue” the older one said “and this Officer Nicols. We're here to get you home. Please come with us.”

He didn't leave me time to answer and then he and Officer Nicols were standing on either side of me, taking me forward. Nicols pulled out a small umbrella and opened it over me, although I was already drenched, I appreciated the gesture.

I asked questions as they took me forward. Where were they taking me? Why were they looking for me? What was wrong? They answered none. They were nice men, but clearly they weren't meant to answer my questions. Or they just didn't want to.

There was a huddle of lights where the bus had been and when we got closer I saw two police cars and the bus, sitting there. I was quickly thrown into one of the police cars but it was empty. At that point I was worried.

Just when I'd made the choice to jump out of the car and run the door was opened and then a man came in, sitting next to me in the back seat.

He was in what must have been a crisp suit when he wore it in the morning but was now looking soggy from the rain. He looked slightly disheveled but still had a clean attitude about him. He didn't speak as he adjusted his thin rimmed glasses and straightened his thinning hair.

“Miss King,” he pulled out a cream coloured file from his briefcase, “I'm John Renings, I'm with the police. I'd like to ask you some questions.” His voice was soft, with a Welsh accent. I caught the flash of my name printed on the side when he opened the file. At the front there was a page with a picture of me stapled to the corner and details about me. Name: Sarah Catherine King. Date of birth: 26/03/1984. Place of birth... All the minor details one would have in a file, only the picture wasn't any picture. It was the picture that had been taken of me last year, when I'd been admitted to a mental institution. This is going to be fun, I thought dryly.

“Today, at approximately 10:30 you went missing from Valery Beach.”

“What?” that shocked me. Missing. I hadn't gone missing. I'd been gone for half an hour, at maximum. Was that enough for people to think I was missing?

“Are you surprised? You vanish for four hours and some people are going to wonder where you are.” He was as sarcastic as I was. I already hated him.

“Four hours?” My voice reached a high pitch that rubbed against my raw throat.

“Yes. Four hours.” John Renings didn't look like he cared much about what I had to say. He seemed annoyed that he was even talking to me. “Where were you during these four hours?” he didn't look at me when he asked. His eyes were scanning my folder, looking at notes in an untidy scrawl of handwriting, from my therapist.

“I told you, I was gone half an hour.” He stopped reading and looked at me from the corner of his eye.

“Miss King, I would appreciate it if you told us the truth.” His voice was now as crisp as that suit had once been. I hoped it would become as disheveled as the suit was now.

“I am telling you the truth.” I said, through gritted teeth.

“That's unlikely.” He scoffed gently, “were you doing something illegal?”

“No.” I said, vaguely offended.

“Then what were you doing and where?”

“Our teachers gave us a question sheet and mine got blown away. I went looking for it.”

He'd taken out a white pad and scribbled somethings down as I spoke. “Continue,” he said, briefly pausing in his scribbles.

“The wind took it to the side of the beach, where the cliff is.”

I waited and he stopped scribbling after a long minute. “Did you find it?”

“Yes. But it was ruined by the water.”

“That's it?”

“Yes.” He closed the white pad and put it in an inside pocket.

“We're going to have to get your blood tested for drugs.” He put my file back into the briefcase and I was pleased it was gone again. “You may try to lie but your blood can't.”

“You're going to be very sour when my tests come back perfectly normal.” He raised an eyebrow but didn't comment, then stepped out of the car into the pouring rain. Lovely person, I noted dryly.

I looked around the car, seeing if there was anything to do. There was a divider between the front and back seats. Tight wire, woven together. I tried hitting it, but all that did was shake the car. I wondered how many times in my life I would be in this position. I hoped that this would be the only time.

The small clock on the dashboard showed two in the afternoon. It didn't look like it outside. A tiny bit of light was seeping through the clouds but nothing strong enough for me to believe them. The sea was actually very pretty now that it was raining. Like the rain was an echo of the ocean.

A woman came into the car, holding a bag I recognized as a doctor's kit. She said her name but I wasn't listening, and then she pulled out a needle. Things went blurry for a second as she carefully pulled it out of the plastic and applied the needle to the syringe.

“Are you okay Sarah?” She had a kind face. Why on earth was she working for the police?

“I...” I'd pushed myself to the very end of the seat, the window opener pressing into my back, and tried to make sure I didn't faint or anything. “I have a fear of needles.” the words jumped out of my mouth, half formed, as I forced myself to look away.

“It's alright sweetie,” she patted my arm but I was too busy watching the rain, trying to forget she was even there. “Close your eyes.” I did as she instructed and felt her push my ripped sweater out of the way, then a sharp sting. Red danced behind my eyelids, the world spun, then it was gone.

“Was that it?” I asked, half opening my eyes and looking at her. She had tiny hands with short nails. Those hands were carefully putting my blood in a small vial which she put a sticker on with “King” printed on it in a delicate script.

“We don't need much blood.” She was Scottish. She smiled at me, freckles all over her face and brown hair tied up in a tight bun, as she brought out a pen. “Let me see your eyes.” Before waiting for an okay from me she leaned in and clicked the pen, which was a torch, and flashed it into my eyes. Under her breath she muttered “pupils are dilated, reaction time slow...”

“Thank you, sweetie.” She smiled again and got out of the car before I could answer.

Officer McGonaghue got into the front seat a minute later and glanced at me, before turning the engine on.

“Where are we going?” I asked as he drove off the beach and onto the road.

“We've contacted your mother and we're taking you home.”

“My mother?!” I leaned in, linking my fingers in the divider. He looked over his shoulder quickly and turned back to the road, making sure I wasn't about to kill him.

“Yes.”

“Why? She has nothing to do with anything.” I saw him raise an eyebrow in the rear-view mirror.

“She's your legal guardian, isn't she?” I gave a halfhearted grumble in response, “Then we told her. Now put your seat-belt on and be quiet.”

I glared at the back of his head as I clicked on the belt and leaned back, looking out of the window. Forests flashed by and the car bumped up and down on the rough road. McGonaghue had no problem with speed and didn't seem to be bothered by the hopping of the car.

“What's your name, McGonaghue.”

His formidable moustache shuddered, “Officer McGonaghue, please Miss.” I waited. “It's Arthur, but I'd appreciate it if you called me Officer McGonaghue.”

“Why am I being driven home in a police car, Arthur?”

The moustache bristled. I was quickly learning to judge all his emotions based on that moustache. “It's complicated.” and that became the answer to all my questions.

“Do you carry a gun?” It's complicated.

“Have you ever shot the gun?” It's complicated.

“Where are you from?” It's complicated.

After twenty minutes I got bored and Arthur was relieved. I was deadly curious as to why I had been put through this entire mess but I knew I'd get no answers from him, so I lay my head back and fell asleep.

The car stopping woke me and I sat up, groggily, to look around.

"Where's your house?" He asked. I recognised where we were.

"This is Hereford. Kings' Mist is thirty minutes from here."

"Could you direct me?" he looked embarrassed to ask but I smiled. A lot of people had difficulty finding Kings' Mist, since it was in the middle of nowhere.

I gave him brief directions and he followed them simply enough.

"Your last name is King," he mentioned.

"I know, thank you."

He quickly rolled his eyes at my straight faced answer. "No," he went on "your town is called Kings' Mist. Any relation?"

"Oh," I gave a brief laugh "yeah, ancestors founded it."

"That's interesting." he didn't sound like he thought it was.

"Not really." I said, shrugging and he smiled slightly.

"So your parents are rich?"

"What makes you think that?" I wasn't sure whether I should be offended or not.

The car hopped up and down and we passed the garden with the giant rabbit hedge, which meant it would only be ten more minutes till we got to Kings' Mist. When I had been young I called this road "The Bumpy Bunny Road" for obvious reasons.

"I just assumed, since your family is so old."

"That only means they had more time to spend the money." He cracked another smile. "My mother makes enough money to live in London and leave me enough money to survive."

His smile was slowly replaced by a grimace and frown. "She leaves you?"

"Well, there isn't much of a market for architects here..." The sentence was left trailing and I pretended to be very interested in the flashing scenery.

In my head, I named everything flashing by: Tree. Tree. Hedge. Sheep. Horse. Tree. It didn't change but I went on until I was sure McGonaghue wouldn't ask any more questions. I wasn't immensely pleased by my mother's parenting skills but I didn't want things to change just now. I had a tentative balance in my life and I didn't want to throw it off now.

Glancing at the clock told me I had slept for two hours, which meant McGonaghue had felt little worry over going fast. Maybe it was a police thing. Usually it took three and a half hours.

At a crossroads there was a sign which pointed in both directions, the right one said "Abbeydore" the other "Kings' Mist" and McGonaghue turned to the left, following the signs instead of me.

When we entered the small town of King's Mist he had to ask me for directions to my house. The panic I had felt before welled up again as he drove down the long and winding road that lead to my house. There was a small gap in a hedge which I told him beforehand he'd have to turn into. He carefully kept the car between the hedge doorway and when the side mirror brushed the hedge a tiny shriek came from him.

He very slowly drove the car up the gentle slope and pulled the car to a stop next to my mother's old brown Datsun.

The house looked very scary, suddenly, even though I had lived in it for years it didn't feel very comforting as a presence. The old fence around it looked ominous with its chipping black paint and the growing weeds. It must have looked scary to McGonaghue too because he stared at it a little before getting out of the car.

I asked “What are you going to tell my mother?” once he's opened my door. There was a children's lock on it and I couldn't open it myself.

“What she needs to know.” That was what I was worried about.

There was no doorbell, I just pushed the gate and it made its usual creak and I felt vaguely embarrassed by the age of our house. The large black gate felt archaic compared to the shinny police car.

I led him along the cracked stone path, with sprouts of green in the cracks, and then asked for my bag, which he was holding and grudgingly handed to me. By the time I'd pulled out my keys the door had opened and my mother stood behind it, her nostrils flaring furiously, as usual.

This would be fun.

–– XX ––

My ear was pressed against the door to hear what McGonaghue was saying to my mother. I caught a few words here and there. At one point Robert, my mother's boyfriend, scoffed and said “Typical” and I resisted running in to kick him. Robert was an asshole.

When I heard them get up I ran to my bedroom and waited for the front door to click shut. Then, as I expected, my mother walked into my room, arms crossed tightly against her chest and the muscles around her eyes tense.

“Sarah,” she started and I sighed “What's wrong with you?”

“Many things, why?” The twitch in her eye told me she didn't appreciate my sarcasm.

“Why must you cause a fuss? Why couldn't you have gone to that bloody beach and behaved?” I resisted the urge to sneer at her, which was impressive of me. “Do you enjoy causing me distress? You must, if you decided to run away and if I know you – which I do – get high.”

“I'm not a druggie!” I shouted and she didn't even flinch.

“You act like one.”

“Do you even know what a druggie is? Because you're being very stupid to call me one.” She raised her arm as if to slap me and I jumped back onto my bed, but she put it down before she'd landed the blow.

“What were you doing then?” She slowly crossed her arms, as if to resist trying to slap me again. I almost wished she would. Then I would have a reason to scream at her.

“I was getting my paper and... I told the police this a thousand times!” I sighed again “Arthur must have told you.”

“Who's Ar – Never mind. Just tell me what really happened.”

“I was telling you what really happened, Mother.” My teeth were grinding on the word 'Mother' and she noticed. “My paper got blown away by the wind and I went to –”

She scoffed loudly and then added (loudly) “That's bullshit, Sarah. If you won't tell me the truth your blood test will.”

“You know what, Catherine?" She rolled her eyes, "I don't care anymore. You can believe what you want. Anything I do will be turned into something awful by you. Why don't you just go back to your office and forget about me again? Life's easier for you that way.” She rolled her eyes at me again.

“Whatever, Sarah. I'm tired of your behavior. I'm calling Dr Darnill and you're having another meeting with her tomorrow.” She walked out of the room before I could answer.

“Leave it all to the psychologist!” I yelled at her back. “Who cares if you would rather leave me?”

Half an hour later I heard the door shut and my mother and Robert's voices cut off by the thick wood. She'd left me a list of things to do while she was gone for the following week and her credit card sat on the kitchen counter for me to get food.

Shadowfax, my cat, padded into the kitchen, looking at me with his wide green eyes and slowly placed his large bottom on the tiles. His twitching tail told me he was expecting something and I took out his food, sighing.

"You know what's awful, Shadowfax?" He briefly glanced at me before sticking his face in his bowl once I'd poured the dry biscuits in. "I could have had an adventure today. Possibly an exploration of my sanity -- or insanity -- and instead I ran."

He didn't seem to care.

As I wondered what I should have for dinner I heard my phone beep somewhere from my room and I hunted through the room, trying to find it. Once I had (it was in my bag) I unlocked the screen, which glowed green, Nokia bright in the center, and read the recent text message. "Tell me tomorrow." it was from Timothy. I didn't answer back.

Instead, I went through my bag, just in case I had lost something through the entire ordeal, but I didn't get far because by picking up the bag the arrow had tumbled down. It lay on my carpet, looking obnoxiously innocent while I sat still on the floor, frozen from a mix of fear and panic.

During the drive home I had managed to push the memory of that forest out of my head and I'd almost convinced myself (again) that it wasn't real, but the sight of the arrow snapped the images back into my head instantly.

For a few seconds I could believe I was back in the forest. I could smell pine and a cool breeze. I could almost hear birds shrieking, when I shook my head snapping myself out of my daze.

In hasty and jerky movements I picked up the arrow, leaped over to my bed and shoved it under the mattress.

My heart was speeding under my shirt and my breathing getting faster. I didn't want to think about it now. I'd hear enough whispers tomorrow at school, I didn't need to hear them now in my head.

While I sat in the kitchen, slowly eating reheated pasta, I knew that I'd have to go back to that hole and go through again. I had to find answers, even if it meant toppling my life over.

What I was even more certain about was that I would never tell anyone about having gone through there. It almost shocked me to realise I hadn't told Mr Renings, or anyone for that matter, about having gone into there. It hadn't occurred to me to even mention it. Of course, a crazy person learns how to cover their tracks, and I had certainly learned how to over the past year. But this was bigger.

Bigger than sixteen years of imaginary memories? That malicious voice in my head murmured. I muttered “shut up” to myself and Shadowfax's gaze snapped onto me instead of my plate. He tilted his head, the strange dog move he had picked up, and sat very still; even his tail was wrapped around him.

“I'm not mad,” I told him and he didn't answer. Had he answered I would have doubted my previous statement.