The Kuthun Read online

  ‘Is this a Schwinn?’ I ask him surprised.

  ‘Yep,’ he says with a smirk of pride.

  ‘But…how did you know I was looking at these?’ I ask.

  The Schwinn bike is the one Audrey Hepburn was riding when she made the movie Sabrina. Ever since I saw that movie two years ago I’ve been wanting one, but the cost of an original was way past my allowance amount for the entire year.

  ‘You can thank Phoebe for that.’ He winks.

  I touch the brown handle bars and squeeze, running my hand along its painted body in appreciation of something this old.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, feeling slightly embarrassed at the generous gift.

  He clears his throat. ‘You’re welcome. Not a lot of these bikes around but your aunt wouldn’t give up until she found it. Apparently she’s a bit of an eBay whizz.’ He looks off to where Aunt Lily is standing near Old Olsen. She waves.

  I wave back. ‘Thank you, Aunt Lily!’ I yell. She blows me a kiss and heads inside.

  ‘So do you want me to drop you off to school or what?’ he asks.

  I smile at him. ‘Not today. I’m going to ride Billie here.’

  ‘Billie?’ He looks at the bike and nods in approval. ‘I like it. Well she’s all ready to go. New tyres, oiled chain, and I installed a new bell for you as I knew you would like its quirky appeal.’ He smiles at me, showing off his laugh lines.

  ‘I love it!’ I grin, taking my bag off my back and placing it into the basket. Magi is sniffing around, tail wagging at my excitement. ‘Sorry, Mags, you can’t come. I’ll see you later this afternoon,’ I tell her as I scratch her on the head. Her ears fold down in disappointment.

  I place myself into the seat and its over-sized springs cushion my weight. Kicking the stand of the bike with my foot I ring the bell once to signify my first venture out.

  Uncle Jo laughs. ‘Be careful and I’ll see you later today.’

  I smile and push off, heading down the gravel driveway towards the gate. I make a left turn down the laneway, heading towards Phoebe’s house, the wind lightly tickling my face and the vibrant colours of the surrounding hills rushing past me as I pick up speed.

  I pull into Phoebe’s driveway a short while later, ringing the bell as I do, and I look up to see her peering out from her upstairs bedroom window. She mouths the words—holy crap balls—which is her usual sentiment to anything exciting and then she disappears from view. The next thing I know she is hurtling out her front door with all the grace of a full-speed penguin with curls.

  ‘Whoa! Is this what I think it is?’ she asks excitedly, her gap-toothed grin beaming at me.

  ‘Thanks to you,’ I say.

  She gives me a big hug and whispers happy birthday in my ear. I gently pull her off me. ‘Thanks, Phoebs. Now get on and we’ll ride to school today.’

  She cocks one eyebrow sassily. ‘Are you serious? I could die on that. And where would I sit?’ she asks, a little confused as to how we could accomplish such a task.

  ‘Come on, you can ride on the pannier rack side saddle. It’ll be old school romantic.’ I swoon at her, fluttering my eyelids.

  She pokes her tongue at me and takes a moment to think about the idea. ‘Why the hell not.’ She shrugs, as she positions herself on the back. ‘Actually, this is pretty cool. I mean who else would have an old vintage bike like this?’ she says, a hint of arrogance to her tone. ‘Although, your uncle could have done us both a favour and bought you a car instead. But hey…whatever, this old girl will do for now.’

  I laugh, trying to get my balance even with her extra weight on the back. She grabs me around the waist and we slowly edge our way down the driveway.

  ‘Bye, Mum!’ Phoebe calls out as we glide on past. Phoebe’s mum is standing on the front porch watching us with amusement.

  Phoebe talks the whole way to school. Without taking a breath she humours me with the events in her life of the last twenty-four hours. From how her little brother Tom tried to wash her cat by flushing him down the toilet, turning it into a rescue mission of which a plunger and tongs were needed to pull him out. To then helping her mum bake choc-coated bananas on a stick for the local community fete, where due to a decorating error “on her mother’s part” they apparently turned out looking like small male appendages. With sore cheeks from laughing we finally reach the school.

  I lock the bike up at the racks and we walk through the gates of Kingston High where the bitumen path leads up to the main building and its central tower entrance bay. Phoebe says it reminds her of a castle where knights defended helpless maidens and where the city was overthrown to an evil warlord. For me, I just love how old the school is. It’s a school built on character and history, and within its walls it holds stories of those who walked here before us.

  While sitting in art I start to tell Phoebe about my morning so far, making sure to leave out the obvious witchy information of which she knows nothing about. This isn’t because I don’t trust her, because I do, it’s about protecting her.

  As we’re chatting away Mr. Tyler enters the classroom and begins his lesson on clay art—a complete waste of time for me as I’m pretty hopeless at art, but Phoebe loves it and she wouldn’t let me lower myself to do music, so art class it was.

  Even though I follow Mr. Tyler’s step by step instruction plan in profile creation my so called profile model of myself turns out to look more like Shrek. Phoebe’s on the other hand looks amazing. She sucks!

  Before we know it class is over. In fact the whole day passes in a blur. Lunch is almost uneventful, apart from the fact that Phoebe made a point of telling anyone who was within earshot that I got a Schwinn for my birthday. Apparently, as she was subtly yelling this information across the eating area, Milly Fanning, aka Fanny Face—Phoebe’s name for her arch nemesis since elementary school—gave her a wicked look. Phoebe had her crazy eyes on after that and I couldn’t wipe the smile off her face for the rest of the day.

  I can’t help but love that girl.

  School finishes up and we begin the ride home. Our last class was Cooking Skills 101 with Miss Hamlin, which suits us just fine as we made chocolate muffins. This means that our ride home consists of us eating all our hard work, with Phoebe feeding me from the back of the bike.

  As we’re riding along my mind wanders off.

  ‘Hey, are you okay?’ Phoebe asks, sensing my change in energy. She touches my back gently.

  ‘Yeah I’m fine, just thinking that’s all,’ I distractedly reply as I pedal along, the event this morning running through my head on a continuous loop.

  ‘Is it about your mum?’ she asks me as she swivels her head around to look at my face. ‘She would be thinking of you today, I just know it.’

  I try and keep Billie from wobbling. ‘Thanks, Phoebs. I know she would.’

  Phoebe knows Mum passed away three years ago. I told her it was due to her being sick, which was better than telling her the truth. I mean how do you explain to your best friend that your witch of a mother was murdered by a centuries old enemy?

  As we pull into her driveway she says, ‘You wanna come up for a bit?’

  ‘I can’t tonight, Phoebs, thanks anyway. Aunt Lily and Uncle Jo are making a birthday dinner for me.’ I feel bad for lying but I am intrigued to find out more about the charm. I have to understand what it all means.

  ‘Fine, but before you go I have something for you,’ she says as she runs inside. I hop off Billie and lean her against the apple tree in Phoebe’s front garden. A few minutes later Phoebe comes back out holding a gift-wrapped box. She passes it to me.

  ‘We said no presents remember?’ I take the box from her hand.

  ‘Yes but I lied. Just open it, E.’ Phoebe is the only one allowed to call me E. I tried to call her P once but that didn’t go down so well.

  I carefully unwrap the present and inside the box is a gold necklace with a locket on it.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ I gush. Opening the locket I find a picture of me and Phoebe
in one side and a picture of Mum in the other, the features of her face reflected in my own. ‘How did you do this?’ I ask her, my voice wavering with emotion.

  She shrugs. ‘Your aunt helped me find an early photo of your mum from among your uncle’s old boxes and I had it made smaller. Here, turn around,’ she says as she helps me to put it on.

  ‘Thank you,’ I whisper, blinking back tears. I touch the locket at my chest with tenderness.

  She gives me a hug. ‘She’d be proud of you, E.’

  ‘Thanks, Phoebs,’ I whisper.

  ‘Okay get out of here, I’ll ring you later.’

  We say our goodbyes and I turn for home. I could probably write the events of today off as being different, not extraordinary, but I can’t shake the feeling that something big is happening.

  As I’m riding home my mind is deep in thought as to what is occurring. Mum wouldn’t have given me the charm today unless it was for an important reason. Did she know its power? The questions that I need answered are racing through my mind at an alarming speed. Something inside me is stirring, I can feel it. ‘You have to find the answers, Elena.’ I hear her voice in my head. ‘You must find the light.’

  Suddenly my senses heighten and I stop the bike, turning towards the prickly sensation that I feel emanating from the opposite side of the road. The willow tree stirs its branches, swaying with the light breeze, giving off an eerie, ghostly whisper. I stay very still, waiting to see who will emerge, my skin crawling with warning.

  ‘Maley ramere,’ I whisper, releasing a projection spell that directs my magic towards the dense thickets of bush that encompass the roadside.

  I feel the magic leave my body and wind its way across the road and into the brush in a snakelike motion. It lies low to the ground—weaving; winding; feeling its way through the undergrowth—and then all of a sudden it hits something and bounces off. I jump with a start, hoping I wasn’t going to feel anything, but somehow it felt like my magic had hit a brick wall. Like someone, or something, was blocking me.

  I quickly pull the magic back and turn to find Magi standing right next to me, looking in the same direction and growling low, with hackles raised.

  ‘You feel it to girl?’ I place my shaky hand on her head, my eyes never leaving the spot where I felt the wall. ‘Let’s get out of here, Mags,’ I say with uncertainty.

  I ride the rest of way home, pedalling faster than before, with Magi running close beside me. It takes all my courage not to look back. I will not be afraid.

  When we reach the farm I jump off Billie and with trembling hands I unlock the front door. In my rush to get inside I almost trip over the threshold and without realising it the Cole magic expands around me in a protective shell. I lock the door quickly and lean against it heavily. Magi looks up at me, whimpering nervously, concern shining through her amber eyes.

  ‘We’re safe here, Mags,’ I exhale, not feeling safe at all.

  I try to shake off the unsettling feeling that is overwhelming me. Who or what was watching me? I haven’t felt a presence like that before. It had a very old, powerful feel to it. My instincts are telling me to be careful. But from what?

  Something is compelling me to want to touch the charm again. Ever since I made contact with it I have felt different somehow—sharper, more alert, stronger, and at the same time more vulnerable. I have to know what it all means. Maybe Ama can help?

  I head upstairs and enter my room, the charm still sitting where I left it this morning. I grab the white candle that sits on my dresser and place my hand over the wick. ‘Ranekta.’ The candle flame ignites.

  Holding the candle in both hands I face the room and say, ‘Ama, can you hear me? We need to talk.’ I wait a few minutes but the air around me remains still. I sigh. Maybe I need to wait longer. The candle flame flickers…

  Ama appears in front of me. ‘Elena, are you alright?’ she asks with concern. ‘You haven’t called me in a while like that. What is going on?’

  I place the candle down and turn back to face her. ‘Have you seen this charm before?’ I ask her, pointing to where it sits on my dresser.

  She follows my finger. ‘Where did you get this?’ she asks wide-eyed, taking a tentative step towards it.

  ‘I think Mum left it for me.’

  She stares at it, deep in thought.

  ‘Amaris Cole, I know that look. What is going on?’ I demand, hands automatically going to my hips.

  She looks at me, one finger pressed to her chin. ‘How much do you know about our family?’

  ‘What?! You know what I know. What sort of question is that?’ I ask surprised.

  ‘I know what you have been told, Shem, but with your dreams and the building of your power what have you learnt?’ she asks with curiosity.

  ‘How did you know about that?’ I quietly ask her, thinking that the recent changes within me weren’t that obvious to anyone else.

  ‘Elena, I can feel your power growing, even more so recently. It is emanating off you. You can’t tell me you don’t feel it. And I know your dreams have been happening more often and are getting stronger, as the colours of your aura have shifted.’

  Ama was a strong witch when she was alive. Of course she would pick up on these changes.

  I bring my hand up to my neck and rub the locket that Phoebe gave me. ‘I know some of our family history,’ I say with uncertainty, trying to recall everything my mother told me about our family. I should remember, as it was drilled into me from a very young age, countless times.

  Chapter 3

  My eighth Great Grandmother, Isabella Cole, was a local healer in Salem Village at the time of the Salem Witch Trials—an historical event that saw hundreds of women persecuted, convicted, or killed by the church in the belief that they were evil witches practising the dark arts.

  These women were not evil. They were mothers, daughters and healers who mixed herbs to aid the sick, who turned babies in the womb to ensure a safe delivery, who prayed to the Goddess of the Moon to return them a healthy crop in time for winter. These women were innocent and unfairly judged and punished for crimes they never committed.

  Isabella was one of these women, a witch who had dedicated her life to helping others, and she was tending to a sick man by the name of Robert Williams—the assistant pastor of the local Puritan church at the time.

  The weeks she spent healing him were enough to spark a love affair between them. It would have been a romantic tale of young love from very different worlds, had he not been married at the time. Williams heard about the upcoming court trials, and caring for her deeply he helped her to escape before she was convicted of witchcraft.

  She fled Salem, unknowingly pregnant with his illegitimate child. She headed from Massachusetts into Connecticut, where she was found in the mountains by the American Indian Pequoan tribe a few days later. Cold, sick and near death, after surviving the freezing temperatures and harsh terrain, they carried her back to their camp where she was healed by the Pequoan tribe medicine man after many days and nights. It is said that during the smoking of her spirit he saw many things of importance through Isabella’s spiritual body. What these were we cannot know for sure.

  Thereafter he insured her safety and took her into his family as his adopted daughter. After regaining her strength Isabella continued to live with the Pequoan people, learning their ways and living as one amongst them.

  Seven months later she gave birth to a daughter, Alaya Red Fire Cole. The medicine man named her Red Fire after he saw the power of her blood, or so my mother told me.

  But back in Salem, Williams’ wife Sally uncovered the truth about the affair, and his betrayal would fuel a centuries-long curse upon my family, for Sally was a descendant of the bloodline of the Roman emperor Augustus, going back to the time of Ancient Rome in 43BC.

  Augustus, who was adopted by his Great Uncle Julius Caesar, became the first Roman emperor. He viewed paganism, or the worship of foreign deities, to be a sin. In turn he banned all religions other
than the traditional Roman beliefs of worshipping the old Gods.

  Augustus started the order of the Puritans within his family. This meant that all people who were married into the family must be of pure Roman blood and faith. How he could actually prove this is beyond me, but nevertheless he wanted to ensure that the bloodline of Augustus would continue on throughout history as being one that exuded power and demanded reverence. This act has continued for many generations and holds great value to those of the Augustus bloodline.

  So when Sally found out about the affair her husband had with a so called “witch”, she accused her husband of adultery and he was sentenced to jail, where he later died.

  Bent on revenge at the embarrassment that his infidelity caused her and her family, she raised their six-year old son as a Venator—or hunter—with the idea that to preserve the Puritan bloodline, the abomination of the mixed blood that Isabelle was carrying had to be exterminated.

  Ever since that time the Cole bloodline of witches has been threatened by these Venators, with their beliefs and skills being passed down from generation to generation, resulting in the murder of all of my female ancestors before me.

  I am the last.

  My body breaks out into a shiver at the thought of what my family has suffered so far. I feel my anger bubbling beneath the surface. This curse must end and I am the only one left who can do it.

  I take a deep breath, looking at Ama for a nod of approval at what I have just said. Instead she folds her arms and looks off into the distance while I wait for her response.

  After what seems like a painful eternity, where my anger is churning away within me, she beckons me to sit with her by our usual spot near the bay window. She takes her time. The silence is killing me.