I Am Alice

by Joseph Delaney

  The coven moved in to encircle us. I could feel Lizzie standing close behind me, her eyes boring into the back of my head.

  ‘Who owns these girls? Who will teach them the craft?’ demanded Maggie in a loud voice.

  In response I felt Lizzie’s hand clamp onto my left shoulder. I kept my eyes straight ahead but knew that two other Malkin witches would have done the same to Marsha and Gloria.

  ‘Three girls I see before me!’ cried Maggie. ‘Three scared girls you be, and there ain’t no shame in that. But things are worse than you expect. Ain’t no easy way to tell you this, but one of you will die this very night!’

  At that, all the witches gave a shriek so fierce and loud that the piles of bones in the corners of the room began to vibrate and spread out across the stone flags.

  A tremor of fear ran through me. This was even worse than I’d expected. I’d thought we were about to be tested as a type of witch, not chosen to die. How would they decide which one of us it would be?

  Maggie went on to tell us what I already knew from Lizzie: ‘You’ll each be tested twice – firstly to show us what type of magic would suit you best. The second test will predict your eventual strength as a witch. But then one of you must die so that her strength can be absorbed by the other two. It has always been so . . . Well, is there anything else you wish to know before the rituals begin?’ She glared at each of us in turn.

  I didn’t think there was any point in asking anything because it was going to happen anyway, and it might be better not to know in advance. But, to my surprise, Marsha spoke up.

  ‘I know what works for me!’ she cried. ‘Blood is what I need!’

  I thought that Maggie would be angry and warn the girl to keep quiet; the coven would surely decide what was best for her. Instead she beamed at her, reached across the table and lifted one of the wooden cups.

  ‘It’s pleasing when a young potential witch knows what’s good for her,’ said Maggie, snatching away the cloth and holding out the cup to the eager Marsha.

  I could smell the blood as she lifted it to her lips and began to gulp it down greedily. It was human blood too – I could smell it, and I wondered where they’d got it. Had someone been murdered to provide what they needed? Maybe it was the blood of some prisoner they kept in the dungeons below the tower.

  It disgusted me to watch her slurp it. So eager was Marsha to drain the cup that blood trickled down out of the corners of her mouth and began to drip from the end of her chin. With a satisfied smile she handed the cup back to Maggie, who replaced it on the table, picked up the second cup and handed it to the smaller girl, Gloria.

  I could tell by the look on Gloria’s face that she didn’t fancy even a sip of what that wooden cup contained. She tried, I’ll give her that. First she held her nose with the thumb and forefinger of her right hand. She brought the cup to her lips twice, each time holding it away again at arm’s length, her stomach heaving. Finally she managed to take a sip, but then her stomach convulsed: blood mixed with vomit spurted out of her mouth to splash down on the floor between her and the witch.

  Maggie wasn’t best pleased and she gave the poor girl a furious glare before snatching the cup from her hand. Then she offered the third cup to me, but I folded my arms and shook my head.

  ‘I ain’t a blood witch,’ I told her. ‘I can sniff it from here and it’s not for me.’

  ‘You’ll try it, girl, if you know what’s good for you,’ Maggie warned. ‘If you don’t try it, we’ll force it down your throat.’

  I knew they’d do just that, so reluctantly I took a small sip. It was cold, salty and had a metallic tang. There was no way I was going to swallow that, so I spat it out and shook my head again. For a moment I thought Maggie was going to carry out her threat and force me to drink the whole amount, but she frowned, snatched the cup away and replaced it on the table before opening one of the small boxes and taking something from it.

  ‘Hold out your left hand, girl . . .’ She strode over to face me again. I could see that she was holding a pair of thumb-bones. She placed them in the palm of my left hand.

  ‘Grip ’em tightly and tell me who they belonged to and how their owner died.’

  It was something I’d often practised with Lizzie. I had learned to tell a lot from just touching a bone.

  I did as instructed, and shivered immediately. They were as cold as ice. Instantly the images of a terrible murder flashed into my head. A priest was walking down a narrow woodland track towards a bridge over a fast-flowing stream. It was dark, but a thin crescent moon dappled the ground with shadows of twigs and leaves. He turned to glance back down the track, and I saw his eyes widen with fear. He was being followed by witches.

  The priest began to run. If only he could reach the stream, he’d be safe because witches couldn’t cross running water. But he was too old to run quickly and they caught him easily. There were three witches, and I recognized two of them: one was Maggie, the other Lisa Dugdale – a sour-faced witch who didn’t know what a smile was. They held him down, and he began to scream as they cut his thumbs away while he was still alive. He had a large chalice in his bag, and they used that to collect his blood. Then they threw his body into the river and it was carried away downstream by the torrent. The last thing I saw was his sightless eyes staring up at the moon.

  I suddenly realized that he had been killed only the previous night. Not only was I holding his thumb-bones, from which the flesh had been boiled less than an hour ago; it was his blood that I’d been forced to drink.

  ‘Well, girl, what have you learned?’ demanded Maggie.

  ‘The bones belong to an old farmer,’ I said. ‘He was gored by a bull. While he was dying, a witch came and collected his thumb-bones.’

  I’d lied because there was no way I was ever going to become a bone-witch. They murdered people to get the bones they used in magic rituals; many of those were only children. I would never do that.

  ‘Rubbish!’ Maggie snapped, and took the bones from me and handed them to Gloria, whose eyes rolled up into her head the moment they touched them. Her teeth chattered and she began to shiver and tremble all over.

  ‘They’re the bones of a dead priest! Didn’t like his blood, but love his old bones!’ she cried.

  Maggie grinned. ‘They’re yours, girl. Keep ’em. You’ll become a bone witch, for sure. But what are we going to do with you, Alice Deane?’ she demanded. ‘Only one thing left. Fail that and you can’t be a witch at all. And if you can’t be a witch, you might as well be dead. So that’s what will happen!’

  She went across and lifted another small box from the table. Maggie opened it, then stooped and shook something out onto the floor at my feet. ‘This could be your first familiar, girl. Let’s see if he likes you.’

  I looked down, horrified, at what was twitching on the ground no more than a hand’s breadth from my foot.

  I’d had a fear of creepy-crawlies for just about as long as I could remember. Sometimes as a young child I’d had nightmares in which I was trapped in my bed, staring up at the bedroom ceiling, which was covered in spiders’ webs. I’d be in mortal terror, lying paralysed on my back, waiting for the big spider to appear.

  And this was just about the biggest, hairiest spider I’d ever seen. This type of spider didn’t belong in the County, so it had to be from overseas. Either that or it was specially crafted using dark magic. Looked like it could bite. Might even be poisonous.

  A familiar witch made a pact with a creature. She fed it her blood, and in return it became her eyes and ears and did her bidding. Having a familiar was better than being a blood or a bone-witch, but although I might have coped with a cat or maybe some kind of bird, I feared and hated spiders.

  After Lizzie had told me about the Testing, I’d been worrying about it a lot and had decided that if I had to choose a type of magic, familiar would be best, and the animal I might cope with best would be a cat.

  ‘A spider ain’t my choice of familiar!’ I cried. ‘I
need a cat. That’s what suits me!’

  ‘You’ll do as you’re told, girl!’ Maggie snapped. ‘You need to start off small. You train using a spider ’cos they don’t live long. Maybe later you can have a cat.’

  I stared in horror at the spider. Just the thought of it touching me made me shudder.

  It scuttled towards me.

  What if it ran up my skirt . . .!

  I acted without thought. I just did what I had to do . . .

  I stepped forward and squashed that nasty spider with the toe of my pointy left shoe, smearing it into the floor.

  As I stepped back, the air was filled with cries of outrage. I looked at the angry faces staring at me, and even now I remember that just one was different. Just one face wasn’t contorted with anger.

  Grimalkin was smiling.

  Maggie stepped towards me, then slapped me hard across the face, bringing tears to my eyes. Next she dragged me across to the table by my hair and picked up a knife.

  ‘She has defiled the Testing. Another must replace her. Is this girl fit to be a witch of the Malkin clan?’ she demanded.

  ‘Unfit! Unfit! Unfit!’ the coven chanted in unison, until the piles of bones began to vibrate and rattle.

  ‘Does she deserve to die? Shall I kill her now?’ Maggie cried.

  I looked back at Lizzie. Her face was hard to read and she wasn’t chanting with her sisters, but she had bowed her head slightly, as if in deference to the will of the coven. I could expect no help from her.

  ‘Kill her! Kill! Kill! Kill!’ yelled the coven members, ending their chant with a chorus of shrieks.

  Maggie raised the knife above her head and prepared to stab down into my chest. I closed my eyes, feeling sick to my stomach.

  I was going to die.

  ‘STOP NOW!’ A lone voice cried out in a commanding tone. I opened my eyes and watched Grimalkin step out of the circle and approach Maggie.

  ‘You dare too much!’ Maggie hissed. ‘By her behaviour the girl has forfeited her life.’

  I glanced at Lizzie, whose eyes had widened in astonishment.

  ‘She is just a child and has much to learn,’ said Grimalkin, easing the hilt of a dagger from its sheath so that the sharp metal of the blade gleamed in the firelight. ‘To take her life might waste a rare talent. She has courage and deserves to move on to the second test. Let’s see just how strong she could become.’

  Maggie tightened her grip on my hair. ‘The clan has voted for her death. As leader, I have a mandate to slay her. The Testing has been defiled. We will kill the girl and convene again at the next sabbath for a new Testing.’

  Grimalkin eased her dagger another inch or so from its scabbard and took another step towards Maggie. She was balanced on her toes, coiled like a spring, ready to attack. A deadly, expectant silence fell upon the gathering.

  ‘Clan leaders can be replaced,’ hissed Grimalkin. Then her eyes swept round the circle of witches. ‘So can this coven!’

  I saw the fear in the eyes of the witches. Some stepped backwards; one eyed the door as if calculating her chances of escape. They were all clearly scared of Grimalkin – even Lizzie. I had thought that the assassin was controlled by the coven and did its bidding without question. The balance of power here was not what I’d expected.

  ‘You speak nonsense. Nothing has been defiled. Continue with the Testing. Let Raknid decide,’ continued Grimalkin, her tone more conciliatory. ‘If he marks this girl for death, then I will accept that choice.’

  I wondered who Raknid was. I looked around quickly but could see no men in the room. The coven had male servants too, but none seemed to be present at this meeting.

  Maggie let out a sigh, released my hair and stepped back. ‘Very well. We would be foolish to quarrel about this child. It will soon be settled one way or the other. We will move on to the second test.’

  Grimalkin nodded, sheathed her blade and stepped back to join the circle of witches. I caught Lizzie’s eye and she beckoned to me. I obeyed her and moved back to my original position.

  I was grateful for Grimalkin’s intervention – she’d saved my life. But why had she done it? I had no opportunity to think further about it because it was time for the second part of the test.

  Maggie looked at us each in turn. ‘For now, the three of you still live. But death moves closer with each second that passes. Now I will summon Raknid, the Tester. He will assess your strengths and select the one who will die.’

  ‘Who’s Raknid?’ Marsha asked.

  I thought Maggie would refuse to answer, but Marsha was clearly her favourite.

  ‘There was once a dangerous boggart that folk called the Pendle Ripper. It was used by our clan to attack our enemies. It was formidable, killing more than a hundred of them over less than forty years. Outsiders assume it is dead or dormant, but seventy years ago – by use of powerful dark magic – we elevated that boggart to the level of a daemon. He still does our bidding, but spends most of his time in the dark, only entering our world when summoned. His main task is to assess new witches and decide which of the three should surrender her strength and life to the others.’

  I felt really annoyed at Lizzie. Surely she could have given me a bit of warning about what was to happen tonight? My life was at risk, yet I’d walked into the tower like a lamb to the slaughter.

  Maggie strode towards the big box beside the table and pulled off the black cloth that covered it. As she folded it, placing it carefully on the table, my eyes were drawn to the large object that had been revealed. I had expected some sort of wooden box, but this was crafted from metal. It stood upon four iron legs carved into the shape of scaly feet, each with three sharp-clawed toes. It was a square cabinet, its top made of glass, with a small circular hole right at its centre.

  What was that for? I wondered.

  At a signal from Maggie, the coven began to chant again. I recognized it as a spell of summoning. They were calling the daemon.

  The air grew cold very quickly, and I began to shiver. I thought I heard a distant rumble of thunder, but then realized that the sound was coming from somewhere below. Was it something down in the dungeons?

  Soon the floor started to shake and the tower itself seemed to move. There was a roar, like the warning cry of some fierce animal, and the metal cabinet began to vibrate. Then, suddenly, everything became very still and silent again.

  There was dangerous dark magic being deployed here. I was scared about what might happen next. Were any of us safe from such a powerful entity?

  ‘Raknid is here,’ Maggie announced, ‘and is ready to begin the Testing. You shall be first – come here, child!’

  Maggie was pointing at Gloria, and the girl walked forward to stand beside the clan leader, who put a hand on her shoulder and led her right up to the metal cabinet.

  ‘Put your hand in the cabinet palm upwards, girl, and leave it there. But before you do so, look upon Raknid.’

  Gloria looked down through the glass and I saw her eyes widen. ‘No,’ she murmured. ‘Please . . . I don’t want to do it.’

  ‘You have no choice, girl. Every witch in our clan has endured this. You must put your hand into the cabinet. And don’t try to remove it until I give you permission. Remove it earlier and you’ll be without a hand for the rest of your life. Understand?’

  Gloria nodded and, very slowly and reluctantly, put her hand through the circular hole. Within seconds she was shrieking like a piglet about to have its throat cut.

  Hearing her scream like that made me tremble all over. What was in that cabinet? Soon my hand would be inside it.

  After about thirty seconds Maggie told Gloria to pull her hand out of the hole, and she returned to her place, clasping it against her side. Blood was dripping from it – the daemon had clearly bitten her. Drawing blood was no doubt part of the process of Testing.

  Next it was the turn of Marsha. She came forward with a confident look on her face, but when she peered down through the glass into the cabinet, I saw fear
distort her features too, and her knees began to tremble. What was the form taken by the daemon? It had to be something really scary.

  But whatever it looked like and whatever the pain, Marsha was far braver than Gloria. She cried out just once, and then became silent as the daemon did its work. All too soon it was my turn to be beckoned forward.

  ‘This couldn’t be better, Alice Deane,’ the clan leader told me. ‘There is a certain justice here after what you did before. Look down!’

  I peered down through the glass and immediately began to shiver with fear. The daemon had taken on the shape of a gigantic hairy spider. Its body was the size of a human head, each of its eight legs as long as my forearm.

  It had once been a boggart, before becoming more powerful and transforming into a daemon. Hairy boggarts usually took on the shape of cats, dogs, goats or horses. I had never heard of one looking like a spider. It was rare, and probably very dangerous.

  ‘Put your left hand into the cabinet, girl!’ Maggie commanded. ‘Palm upwards.’

  I began to sweat and shake. Spiders were at the top of the list of the creepy-crawlies I feared. This was a nightmare. How could I do it?

  But Maggie had come close to killing me. If I refused now, I would forfeit my life. Even Grimalkin would be unable to save me.

  It took all my willpower to force my body to obey. Slowly and nervously, with a dry mouth, I put my hand through the hole towards the huge, terrifying spider.

  Despite my fear, I was determined not to let it show. I would not cry out in pain. Why give ’em that satisfaction?

  The spider placed one of its hairy legs across my wrist. I shuddered at its touch. The leg felt very heavy, and I knew it was pinning down my hand so that I couldn’t move it. When the creature opened its mouth, it took all my strength not to scream, for it had the long, curved, poisonous fangs of a snake.

  It bit down quickly into the soft mound of flesh below my thumb. I groaned, but somehow managed not to cry out. The pain was severe. It felt as if two hot needles were pressing deeper and deeper into my flesh. Then the blood began to flow, forming a red pool in the palm of my hand. It seemed to go on for many minutes – much longer than what the other two girls had had to endure – but at last Maggie told me to withdraw my hand.