“It’s really dark magic, and it could cost me too much,” she said, and now it was her turn to shiver. “I could end up being a fully malevolent witch. That’s why Old Gregory don’t trust me. He’s always believed that’s the way I’ll turn out.”
I shrugged. “Being a malevolent witch isn’t that bad, Alice. It’s what I am. You’d be no worse than me. You can’t fight your own nature. Maybe it’s what you were always born to be.”
“There are worse witches than you, Grimalkin. You’ve a code of honor. You don’t kill for fun, but slay those who deserve to die. You love hunting strong enemies who put up a good fight, but you don’t trample on the weak. There are some witches who do, some witches who glory in power and in hurting others. I don’t want to end up like them. I’m afraid that in using the power I’ve been given, that’s exactly how I will end up. Best not forget who I am—the daughter of the Fiend!”
“You’ll always be what you were destined to be, Alice. Like Tom Ward, you have a path to follow, and you must take the necessary steps or always be less than you could be. Now heal me and give me some of your power. Please do it—otherwise the Fiend will walk the earth once more. He will come for you and then for Tom.”
Alice shivered, but then she nodded. “I’ve no choice, have I? Kneel facing the north,” she commanded, “and I’ll do what I can.”
I obeyed, falling to my knees and facing north, the direction that was most conducive to both the healing and the transfer of power.
Alice placed her hands on my forehead. “First I’ll try to heal you,” she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper.
I don’t know what I expected to happen. With a healer like Agnes Sowerbutts, the use of herbs and plant extracts was as important as the words and ritual. I knew that Alice administered such medicines herself and carried them in a leather pouch, but now she was using nothing more than her hands on my head. She didn’t even chant a spell.
“It’s really difficult,” she said after a while. “The poison lies deep within. It’s oozed into every part of your body. In places the damage is subtle; in others obvious and severe. I’m going to have to use more magic, but I’m scared of hurting you. There’s even a risk that the process could kill you,” she warned.
“Don’t let that concern you,” I answered. “I would rather be dead than less than what I was.”
“That’s your choice. But if you’re dead, who’ll retrieve the Fiend’s head?”
“I cannot retrieve it in my present state, so what’s the difference?” I said. “If I die, go and get Thomas Ward. Work together. Only you two will stand any chance against our enemies.”
I felt a slight tremor in Alice’s fingers, and then she pressed them into my skull and the world spun about me. My breathing gradually became faster, as did my heartbeat. I began to tremble all over. There were sharp pains in my stomach and chest, as if some invisible being were plunging a needle into my flesh over and over again.
Quickly the process reached a crisis. My heart was now beating so fast that the individual pulses of blood merged and it seemed to be vibrating continuously. I felt as if I were dying, but then a surge of warmth flowed out of Alice’s fingertips and I fell forward onto my face and momentarily lost consciousness.
I felt myself being pulled back up into a kneeling position, and opened my eyes.
“How do you feel?” Alice asked.
“Weak,” I said, aware that my heart was now beating slowly and steadily again. “Did you succeed?”
“Yes, I’m certain of it.” Alice gave a proud smile. “The last traces of the poison and its effects upon your body are gone.”
What she had done was more than impressive—it was astounding. Where Agnes, with all her skill and knowledge, had failed to find me a permanent cure, Alice had succeeded. She was still a girl, but how formidable would she be as a woman and a fully fledged witch? What better ally could I have on my side?
“I thank you for that, Alice. Now lend me the magical power I need—the power to retrieve the Fiend’s head and deal with our enemies.”
Once more Alice laid her hand upon me. For a moment she hesitated, and I sensed her reluctance: I glared at her angrily. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, she began to chant the spell of transference; within seconds, a tingle started at my head and moved down my neck toward my heart and then to my extremities. She was giving me some of her magic—a lot of it. It was going straight into my body. I wouldn’t need to draw it from my necklace; it would be available the moment I willed it. The process went on for a long time. And it felt right.
I was filled with new hope. Finally I believed that I would succeed.
At first light we picked up the trail of our enemies again; it was now apparent that they were not making for Liverpool after all. Their route led more directly westward. They were heading straight for the sea, many miles north of that town.
“Don’t want to draw unwelcome attention to themselves, do they?” Alice said. “That many witches and a kretch—they’re best kept out of sight. Liverpool’s a seaport that does lots of trade. Got their own militia, they have, to look after the interests of all those rich merchants. Those part-time soldier boys wouldn’t take kindly to a bunch of witches strolling into town. So they’ll be looking for somewhere quieter. One of the villages farther north, maybe. Then they’ll send a couple of witches into Liverpool to terrorize a captain and crew.”
“What if they just send those couple of witches straight back to Ireland with the head? In that case they’d only need a small fishing boat,” I said.
“Would you follow ’em?” asked Alice.
“I would if I had to,” I replied. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
As it turned out, we were both proved wrong. We were moving across mossy, flat land now and, despite Alice’s cloaking magic, we could still be seen against the skyline, so we had dropped back another mile or so.
But then, in the distance, we saw the ship lying at anchor. She was large, with three masts, and her sails were already unfurled.
The tide would be changing to ebb, and she was ready for her voyage. Our enemies had prepared everything in advance. They had chartered a ship and must have sent word by mirror to other witches already waiting on board.
We began to run, but when we reached the shore, we could see the kretch and a couple of witches some distance away on the sands, staring at the ship—which was already beginning to turn away, the wind filling her sails. The majority of our enemies were on board, and they had the Fiend’s head in their possession. We had arrived too late.
“I have to follow. We need a boat of our own.” I pointed toward a village in the distance. “That’s Formby. There will be fishermen there.”
Alice shook her head. “She’s a big ship, that, with lots of sails. She would reach Ireland long before any fishing boat. They’ll have prepared everything, they will. Coaches with fast teams of horses will be ready to take them to the southwest. It’ll be over long before you can reach Kenmare.”
In my mind’s eye I saw the village of Kenmare once more: The circle of standing stones and, at its center, the huge boulder and the earth hiding the flat stone beneath which the Fiend’s body was impaled upon silver spears. I saw my enemies digging it up, freeing it, and then reuniting it with the head. I saw the fury in that monster’s bestial face and his lust for revenge. I had borne his child, so he couldn’t come for me unless I allowed it. But Alice and Tom would be his first victims, and with Tom’s death my last chance of destroying him for good would be gone. Eventually I too would die, and even a dead witch cannot exist within the dell forever. Inevitably I would go to the dark, and the Fiend would be waiting for me—time was nothing to an immortal.
“You’ve got to use your magic, Alice. We can’t just let them escape or it’s over for all of us—you, me, Tom, and John Gregory. Surely you can do something?”
“There is a way, but it’ll cost me again!” Alice said, her voice full of bitterness. “Wh
at choice do I have now? Everything’s against me. It’s as if all this was meant to happen long in advance. I ain’t got no choice but to go along with it!”
She raised her arms and pointed up into the sky; then she began to chant. At first it was hardly more than a singsong under her breath, but as she began to spin, her voice grew steadily louder.
There had been a wind blowing from the southeast, filling the ship’s sails, but now that stopped very suddenly. I watched the sails become limp.
Was that what Alice Deane was trying to accomplish? To use her magic to becalm the ship and prevent it from sailing for Ireland? If so, how long could she hope to maintain such a situation?
“What are you trying to do, Alice?” I demanded. There had to be a better way of dealing with our enemies.
But Alice did not reply; she looked rapt, deep in a magical trance, gathering her power.
I need not have concerned myself because, within seconds, everything changed dramatically. The wind sprang up again, but this time from a different direction—from the west, from the sea, driving straight into our faces. It lifted clouds of sand up off the beach and drove spray toward me, stinging my face, which I covered with my hands, peering through my fingers.
I saw the witches and the kretch turn away and cower down on the sands with their backs to the waves; they were much closer to the sea, and the salt spray would be burning them. Salt water is deadly to witches, and those on board the ship would be wearing protective hoods and gloves—maybe knitted face masks too—and cowering down in the hold. Despite the frantic efforts of the crew, the ship was now turning in the water. Faster and faster she came about, and the surging waves began to move her toward the shore.
Alice was still chanting and spinning, her voice almost lost in the shrill shrieks of the wind. Dark clouds raced in from the sea, and the gale drove the ship before it relentlessly. There was no way the crew could turn her round. Soon she would run aground.
But for the witches, there was even worse to come.
Forked lighting ripped the sky apart to the west, and within less than a second there came an answering deep rumble of thunder, like the growl of a huge vengeful beast. The second flash of lightning came at the same time as the thunderclap. The third lit the whole sky and struck the central mast of the ship, which instantly ignited. Suddenly the whole sail was on fire, and then, moments later, the second and third sails were alight. We could hear the screams and shouts of those on board, carried to us by the wind.
Which would be first? Would the boat run aground, or would it burn? Whatever happened, it was no place for witches. Either they would burn or they would be immersed in salt water.
Then I saw figures climbing down the rope ladder to the two small boats lashed to the ship’s stern. One witch shrieked as she fell into the waves. Thrashing about desperately, she sank within seconds. But others were managing to clamber into the boats. Some of them might survive.
I glanced at Alice and saw the exultation in her face. She was enjoying this, relishing her power. And why shouldn’t she? This was a formidable display of magic. Even after weeks of preparation, the whole Malkin coven would be hard-pressed to match this spontaneous display of raw magical power.
Now was the best time to attack. I should cut them down as they walked up the beach—the kretch too if it got in my way. But then Alice stopped spinning and fell to the ground. I quickly ran forward and knelt beside her.
For one terrible moment I thought that her spirit had fled her body. It is possible for a witch to overextend herself, using so much of her power that her body can no longer function. Although Alice was hardly breathing and had exhausted herself to the point of death, she was somehow clinging to life. I let out a sigh of relief.
The immediate crisis was over. For now our enemies were going nowhere far. So I picked up Alice, threw her over my shoulder, and retreated from the shore.
I took refuge in an abandoned farmhouse. There were only three walls standing, but it provided shelter from the chill westerly wind. The roof would provide no protection from the rain; all that remained of it was the wooden supports, a rib cage above which a gibbous moon glinted through the patchwork of fast-moving clouds.
If our enemies still had the Fiend’s head, I would take it from them later. Perhaps it had sunk to the bottom of the sea. At least that would put it beyond the reach of witches. But no doubt in time they would get someone to dive and retrieve it for them. However, the immediate danger was over; I could deal with my enemies at my leisure, slaying them one by one. I shivered with pleasure. I had waited a long time for this, and I intended to savor each succulent moment of my revenge.
I had decided to attend to Alice and seek them out later, after dark. She opened her eyes and looked up at me, then tried to sit up. The effort was too much for her, and I rested my hand on her shoulder in reassurance. Her eyes closed.
“Sleep,” I commanded her softly. “You are exhausted.”
She resisted and tried in vain to open her eyes again. After a few moments the rhythm of her breathing told me that she had fallen into a deep sleep. It was true that using such powerful magic had exhausted her, but I had also given her something to ensure that she would sleep until dawn at least. I had used an infusion of two herbs. She had taken three sips, that was all, but it was enough for my purposes.
I looked at her hair and smiled. It was dark at the roots. Soon it would grow out as black as it was before. But would her mind heal as quickly? I doubted it. Few had suffered as much as Alice at the hands of the Fiend.
The survivors of the shipwreck had gathered in a wood about three miles to the south of us. I had been close to them already without being detected and had sniffed out their situation. Now I carried out one final reconnaissance, this time using powerful magic to cloak myself. I moved in. In all, about thirty remained; but, to my delight, I saw that eight of the witches were suffering from the effects of saltwater, two so badly contaminated that they were sure to die. I sniffed repeatedly to learn as much as possible about their situation. It was wonderful to sense the general feeling of gloom and desperation. Most of them were clearly terrified; after all, they had let down their lord, the Fiend. They feared his wrath.
Using their magic, they had already discovered the means by which their ship had been destroyed and were afraid of Alice and the power she had wielded. But they feared me too.
Only the mage and the kretch were still confident of their ability to defeat me. But, most important of all, I learned that the Fiend’s head was still in their possession. The mage, Bowker, was carrying it. This was my priority.
I had drugged Alice because I wanted to protect her; if she was with me, there was a danger that she might get hurt. But I also wanted to be the one to wreak revenge on my enemies. Besides, I prefer to work alone.
CHAPTER XXIII
OH, MR. WOLF!
Are you my enemy? Are you strong, with speed
and agility and the training of a warrior?
It matters naught to me. Run now! Run fast into the forest!
I’ll give you a few moments’ start—an hour, if you wish.
But you will never be fast enough.
I’ll catch and kill you before long.
BEFORE I leave the sleeping Alice, I think of poor Thorne again, and grief knots my stomach. But I counter that by going over the happy times we shared and remember the way she grew in strength and skill, becoming more than I had ever hoped for her. Finally, before I put my memories of Thorne aside, my mind returns to a question she once asked me:
“Have you ever taken the thumb bones of your enemies while they were still alive?”
I refused to give her an answer. Whether I have done so or not is my business and not the concern of others. But it suits me if my enemies think that I do. This is why I carve the image of my scissors on trees, to warn them off.
Now I am ready—ready to kill. Ready to kill them all. I have become the mother of death. She trots at my heels, hanging on t
o my skirt, giggling with glee, leaving wet footprints of red blood on the green grass. Can you hear her laughter? Listen for it in the cries of the carrion crows who will feast on the flesh of my victims.
I stand at the edge of the wood. As a result of the healing and the magic that Alice gave me, I am strong; perhaps stronger than ever before. I am so well cloaked that my enemies are totally unaware of my presence. The prospect of combat excites me, and I am more than ready to fight and kill. They expect an attack but know not the precise moment when it will strike or from which direction. Thus I retain some element of surprise.
My blades are ready in their scabbards; so are my scissors. Once I have slain my enemies, I will take their thumb bones. Thus I will increase my store of magic even further. I must retrieve the Fiend’s head and keep it safe from those who covet it. So I need all the magic I can get. I must also return to Alice that which she gave me. No doubt one day she will have need of it.
I attack. I am fast, so very fast. Never have I been faster!
One runs at me from the left. I draw and flick the blade, all in one fluid movement. It catches the witch in the throat, and she falls heavily—the first of my enemies to die.
Where is the kretch?
I sniff, and immediately know that it is far below me, to the left. There are many enemies between us. No matter. I will kill them first. My long blade is in my left hand now. I cut and kill a witch who runs straight at me. But now they have all sniffed me out. They are converging, anticipating my progress down through the trees. So I begin to slow down, changing direction slightly to draw them after me.
At last I come to a halt in a small clearing and await their attack. They encircle me and close in rapidly, moving toward me through the trees. They are eager to reach me. Tighter and tighter the circle becomes, and I hear feet drumming on the ground, getting louder and louder. Within seconds the first of them will burst out of the cover of the trees, and into the circular clearing where I stand.
The Last Apprentice: Grimalkin the Witch Assassin Page 18
