by Cait Dee
‘Forgive me,’ says Cal softly. ‘I shouldn’t have teased you.’ There follows a long pause, full of unspoken understanding.
‘And you? What can you do? Why does the witch finder want you?’ he asks.
What can you do? I twist a curl of auburn hair around my finger. ‘Me? Well, I was apprenticed to Grizel. She said I’d be a powerful healer some day. Looks like she was wrong. Nothing I do ever seems to work.’
Cal shakes his head. ‘That’s not so. Look what you did at the Black Castle. And here.’ He tilts the crown of his head towards me. I part his hair with my fingertips. The scalp wound from the blackthorn staff has completely closed over.
Frowning, I shake my head. ‘That must be you. Druids must heal faster than other folk.’
‘Never happened before, and I’ve cut myself plenty of times.’
I take off my boot and pull down my stocking. The ragged cut on my ankle is just the same, healing at the normal pace. If I suddenly had special healing powers, then why wouldn’t they work on me?
‘Wish I’d been apprenticed to someone,’ Cal says.
‘But you were: to Rabbie. It’s the same thing.’
‘It’s not the same. He’s a monster!’ His words hang in the air like a foul odour.
‘Forgive me,’ he says after a while. ‘You just . . . you don’t know what he’s like. He’d find someone and befriend them and then take them out hunting on a full moon. Two would leave on the hunt but only Rabbie would return.’
I shudder. ‘So that’s what he had planned for me.’
‘Nae, you were different. You were supposed to be my first.’
A sour taste floods my mouth. ‘Your first what?’
Cal’s cheeks flush. ‘He said if I were to come into my full power, I needed to taste human blood. I was supposed to attack you, to kill you, the other night. He said it would be the making of me. He put mandrake in the wine to make you drowsy. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I don’t remember much about what happened. I’ve always hated being a wolf. It’s not me. It’s not who I am.’
There follows a long silence as I let Cal’s words sink in. There is such pain in his voice that I don’t doubt for a moment the truth of what he’s telling me.
‘So, to Dunshee,’ I say after a while.
‘Aye. My mother was well loved and so was my grandsire. I was just a young lad when we fled. Mayhap they won’t blame me for my father’s misdeeds . . .’ His voice trails off uncertainly.
‘And what if they do? Blame you?’
‘If we need to leave town in a hurry, there’s a tunnel — an old siege mine — that goes under the town walls and into the woods. Rabbie always said it’s important to have more than one way out of any situation. He was right about that, at least.’ Cal gives a grudging smile.
‘A wise policy,’ I agree. But then I remember Grizel’s warning. ‘I’m supposed to stay away from towns. Finster — the witch finder, he may have spies in Dunshee.’
Cal scratches his head. ‘Well, what would you suggest, Witch? We’ll not survive the night out here without our cloaks.’
‘Like I told you, I’m headed to Edinburgh. Why don’t we just keep going?’
‘We don’t have enough provisions for such a long journey. We need food and warmer clothing. We must stop at Dunshee. It’s the only way.’
He’s right, and for once I don’t argue. Besides, I owe Cal. In the last two days he’s lost his home, his family and nearly his life, and all because of me. It’s only right that we try to find his remaining family in Dunshee.
* * *
The eventide star is rising in the west when Dunshee appears as a smoke coloured haze in the distance. Cal tells me it’s a fair-sized town of around a thousand souls.
When we arrive at the gates a short time later, we find that they’re locked for the night.
‘That’s strange,’ I say. ‘It’s still early. Why would the gates be locked?’
Cal pounds on them with his fist. ‘Anybody there?’
Moments later the peephole slides open and an old man’s voice rasps out a curt greeting. ‘What business have you?’
‘Good e’en to you! We’re travellers in search of an inn,’ Cal says smoothly. ‘Pray, would you admit us?’
The peephole slams shut. We wait for the man to open the gate but there follows only silence. Cal and I exchange bewildered glances. He pounds on the door again.
The voice calls back. ‘Be gone from this place. Fools! Did you not see the rag?’
Cal and I look up. My heart sinks at the sight of a white rag hanging over the ramparts. It’s a warning that some dangerous sickness is rife in the town. In our haste to find shelter, neither of us saw it.
‘Let’s keep going,’ I say. ‘There’s time yet to find a cave or shepherd’s hut before it gets dark.’
Cal says nothing at first, then gives me a look. ‘We could get in through the siege tunnel,’ he whispers.
‘Have you lost your senses? What about that?’ I jab a finger at the rag.
‘We take our chances with that, or we freeze to death out here. Those are our choices, Witch.’ He flicks a lock of hair from his eyes, defiant.
I bristle, scowling at him.
‘I didn’t take you for a feartie, but you needn’t come,’ he continues. ‘Do what you please. I’ll find it myself.’ He starts to walk in the direction of the woods that flank the south side of the town walls.
Of course I’m afraid. Who knows what sort of disease is raging through Dunshee? We could end up dying horrible, painful deaths.
‘Wait for me!’ I call after him.
Cal leads the way to the town walls. Then he heads into the woods, a gathering of ancient, twisted trees that create sinister shapes in the dying light.
* * *
By the time the moon is high, we’ve not found the hidden entrance to the tunnel. I pretend to help Cal search, but secretly I’m relieved. We’ll have to abandon this stupid endeavour and continue on our way.
But just as I’m about to say this aloud, Cal lets out a cry. ‘It’s here!’
He points to a large, flat rock lying on the ground and asks me to help him move it.
Once we shift the rock, he feels about until he finds an iron ring. Then he clears away the dirt and leaves until the edge of a trapdoor appears.
Cal struggles to lift the trapdoor, which appears to have swollen shut. Eventually he prises it open and a loamy smell rushes up to greet us. Narrow stone stairs hewn from the bedrock lead down to a shadowy tunnel.
We’ve nothing to light our way. Cal heads down the steps without a second thought, feeling his way in the dark. I follow a few steps behind him.
He stops suddenly, his hand running over something. ‘What’s this? Oh, that’s right. There’s a gate.’ Unlike the town gates, this one isn’t locked and swings open when Cal tugs at it.
‘It’s just a bit further,’ he says. ‘Stay close to me.’
I can’t see a thing and let my hand brush along the wall, until Cal trips on something and falls heavily. ‘Stairs just in front here. Mind how you go.’
We walk up the narrow stair that leads to an alleyway at the side of a row of houses. Nearly every dwelling has a white rag hanging above the door. Coming to Dunshee was a fool’s errand.
Something nudges my foot and I look down. ‘Ugh, a rat!’ With alarm, I realise the alleyway is teeming with them. I put one foot on top of the other, looking for the nearest way out of here.
Grizel always said we can learn something from every creature. She said rats were blessed with the gifts of abundance, adaptability and cunning. She admired their quick movements and fast little minds, and how they always knew just the right time to leave a bad situation. But I can’t abide them, not since one ate through my cradle when I was a wean. Grizel said I couldn’t possibly remember, but I do. Gregor knew I hated rats. When I was biding at the farmhouse, he once made his deerhound bring in a dead rat and drop it on me while I was sleeping. I screamed and s
creamed until Ishbel picked it up with a cloth and threw it outside. It was the only time I ever saw Gregor laugh.
‘Let’s go back,’ I plead with Cal. ‘Nobody can help us here.’
‘Let me find the part of town where my mother’s people lived.’ He peers about, trying to get his bearings.
He must see the pained look on my face, for he says, ‘Wait for me in the square. Keep walking that way, turn right and you’ll find it. I’ll meet you there in a little while.’ Then he bounds off in the opposite direction.
I hesitate for a moment, uncertain of what to do. As much as I hate being separated from Cal, I’m desperate to get away from these infested tenements. I head back up the laneway, following Cal’s directions until I reach the square. There’s a kirk just off to one side, so I sit on the stone steps to wait.
The waxing moon bathes the square in silver. The townsfolk have hidden away indoors for the night. Other than smoke wafting from the chimneys and the glow of rushlights flickering through shuttered windows, there are no signs of life. It gives the town an eerie, deserted feeling that I find unsettling.
From the corner of my eye I see a dark shape move, but when I turn my head towards it, it disappears. Uneasy, I stand up to have a proper look around. There! Something’s moving in the shadows beside the kirk. In a blink, it’s gone.
‘Cal?’ I call softly. There’s no answer, other than the drumming of my own heart.
Grizel always said we must face our fears, lest we be ruled by them. I step into the shadows.
Something grabs me from behind. I swing around, only to see a face from my nightmares. Horribly misshapen, with a long beak for a nose and two small slits for eyes.
I let out a piercing scream.
The creature puts its hand over my mouth and pulls me inside the kirk. I lash out wildly, kicking and scratching. One of my blows makes contact and the monster howls in pain.
‘Ow! Iona!’
I freeze. How does it know my name?
It releases its grip. In the candlelight of the kirk I see that the grotesque face is nothing more than a leather mask.
I grab it by the beak and tear off the mask.
Dalziel stares back at me.
I scream again, as loud as I can.
‘Please, Iona,’ he says wearily. ‘Nobody’s coming to save you.’
‘You’re wrong — I have a friend,’ I start to say, backing away from Dalziel, but he just gives a tired laugh.
‘You mean that skinny lad? I should think you’d have better luck fighting me yourself.’
‘Don’t worry, I will.’ While keeping Dalziel in my line of sight, I cast my gaze about the inside of the kirk, looking for the witch finder.
‘Finster isn’t here,’ he says, as if reading my thoughts. ‘We arrived the day after you ran away at the ford. He guessed you’d turn up here eventually. But then he was called away and he told me to wait for you. Who’s the boy?’
‘None of your business,’ I snarl at him.
‘Iona?’ Cal is in the square, calling for me.
‘I suppose we’ll find out.’ Dalziel walks to the kirk door and opens it. ‘She’s in here,’ he says.
In moments Cal appears at the doorway. He’s carrying a dark red woollen cloak, and throws it to me. ‘What’s going on? Who’s this?’
I take a deep breath.
‘Cal, meet Dalziel Rennie. My oldest friend from Heatherbrae. Last time I saw him, he tried to hand me over to a witch hunter.’
Cal nocks an arrow and draws back the bowstring. ‘You want me to kill him?’
At first I laugh, but then stop myself. ‘Aye,’ I say. In truth, it would give me no small amount of pleasure to see Dalziel beg for his life.
Dalziel dives behind a wooden bench as the arrow bounces off it, missing him by a fair margin. Immediately I feel ashamed, but before I can say anything, Cal nocks another arrow and draws, taking aim. Now Dalziel is on his feet, running at Cal. He tackles him. The bow clatters onto the floor. In moments the two of them are wrestling on the ground, exchanging blows. Dalziel, being larger, soon gets the better of Cal and pins him to the floor.
I pull him off Cal. ‘It’s not a fair fight and you know it!’
‘Neither is shooting an unarmed opponent.’ He glowers at me.
‘Just wanted to give you a scare.’ Cal picks up his broken arrow. Then he stands with legs apart and shoulders squared, trying to look bigger. The two of them stare each other down until Dalziel looks away.
‘Would you let me explain?’ he says to me.
I’m unable to hide my fury any longer. He’s acting as though nothing of any consequence happened between us. ‘Very well, explain yourself,’ I say. ‘Tell me whatever it was that possessed you to betray your oldest friend!’
Dalziel brushes the dust off his coat and leans against the wall, his arms crossed. He takes a deep breath. ‘Finster promised me he wasn’t going to hurt you. He said he just wanted to ask you some questions, to help clear your name.’
I laugh bitterly. ‘And you believed him? After they killed Grizel and my sister?’
‘How do you know about Ishbel?’ he asks, looking puzzled.
‘How do I know about Ishbel?’ I repeat. ‘How do I —’ My knees buckle and my legs give way. Cal helps me to a nearby wooden bench and I sink onto it, my head in my hands. ‘So, it’s true,’ I whisper.
Before, I could tell myself that it might not be so, that I didn’t know for certain. But now my heart feels as though it’s been rent in two. My beautiful sister is dead. She’s truly dead.
‘You told me Gregor would protect Ishbel. That’s the only reason I went with you to the ford,’ I say to Dalziel, my voice a low growl.
‘Would that I were not the bearer of ill news,’ says Dalziel quickly. ‘It’s awful and I’m sorry, truly I am. But she did not die by Finster’s hand.’
‘Liar!’ Rage surges through me and I want nothing more than to take Cal’s bow and shoot Dalziel right in the heart.
‘I promise you!’ he cries, looking wildly from me to Cal. ‘There was an accident. They were transporting Ishbel to the Tolbooth, but something spooked the horses and they bolted. The cart hit a tree and overturned. Ishbel, the driver and a guard were all killed. Gregor found her. He said her back was broken. It’s tragic and I’m very sorry for it. But the meister had nothing to do with it. You have to believe me.’
‘Believe you?’ I begin to laugh, at first softly then louder. Before long I can’t stop myself from laughing. I laugh until my stomach hurts and tears stream down my face.
‘Iona,’ Cal says softly, kneeling beside me. He puts his hand lightly on my arm. And then my laughter becomes hiccupping sobs and I’m soaking the linen of Cal’s sark.
Dalziel shuffles his feet, like he wishes he were anywhere but here. He’s known Ishbel all his life but it’s clear he’s not wasted a moment grieving her.
I’m silent for a long time, mulling over his words, trying to work out the truth. Perhaps he wasn’t there when it happened, but my sister’s blood is on Finster’s hands. Why else would they be taking her to the Tolbooth, unless those men were there that night to arrest her? They were following the orders of the witch hunter.
After a time, the tears stop and I wipe my face with my sleeve.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says again.
‘Just look what you’ve become,’ I reply.
‘You can hate me if it makes you feel better, but I’ve done nothing I’m ashamed of.’ His jaw juts with defiance.
‘Tell yourself that if you want to. And I suppose you’ll run to Finster now. Let him know I’m here.’
He shakes his head. ‘Nobody’s allowed to enter or leave Dunshee. A dozen people have died of the sickness since I arrived. How is it you got in? There’s always somebody on guard at the gates.’
Cal and I exchange a look.
‘What sort of sickness?’ I ask, ignoring his question.
‘Nobody knows,’ Dalziel says. ‘First, there’s the
fever, then a few hours later they cough up blood. Then delirium. Swelling around the neck. It’s horrible. Most are dead within a few days.’
‘What about the physician? Can he not do something?’
‘He tried. Leeches and purgatives. Died a week ago.’
‘How many have recovered?’
‘None, so far.’
I look at Cal, who opens his mouth to say something, but I’m not finished with Dalziel. ‘Then why are you still here?’
‘As I said, Finster told me to wait for you.’
‘And to send word.’
‘I can’t send word. Everybody with a horse left town already.’
‘So you’ll just bide here until Finster comes back for you? And pray you don’t get the sickness?’ It’s hard to believe Dalziel would stay in a disease-ridden town just to remain in the witch finder’s good favour.
He holds up the mask. ‘I have this. I’ll be safe as long as I wear it. This part here —’ he points to the beak ‘— is filled with herbs that protect me from the contagion.’ It’s the mask that Creelman described.
‘Mayhap you can help, Iona,’ says Cal, who’s been silent up until now. ‘I found my mother’s cousin. He lost his wife a few days ago and his bairn woke with the sickness this morning. I told him you’re a healer, that you know herb lore, and he said he’ll help us if you can do something for his lassie. That’s his wife’s cloak I gave you —’
‘You told him what?’
‘I didn’t promise anything. I just said you’d be happy to try . . .’ His voice trails off when he sees the look on my face.
‘I don’t know how to heal people. No disrespect to your mother’s cousin, but the only thing to be done is to leave this place. To stay here is madness!’
‘I can’t leave them without trying to help. They’re my kin. But if you’re not willing to help, you should continue on to Edinburgh.’ Looking stricken at the realisation that he’s just revealed my destination to Dalziel, he finishes lamely, ‘Or wherever it is you were going.’
