by Jo Spurrier
A pale shape glided through the night and startled me out of my thoughts. It was a barn owl, flying on silent wings. Night-time stole colour from the world at the best of times, and this night was so black I felt as though I’d been struck blind, but I was sure the owl was carrying something small and round in its talons. Something that looked like an apple.
I rubbed my eyes. An owl with an apple? Seemed about as likely as me eating a mouse. Must just be my eyes playing tricks on me. And besides, it was there and gone so fast . . .
I was settling back into my dark thoughts when that pale shape appeared again, gliding down towards me.
It came so fast that I didn’t have time to do anything more than clutch my blanket tighter before the owl landed on the other end of the doorstep. It hopped a few times like some ridiculous, overgrown sparrow and seemed to study me, turning its head this way and that. Then, with another hop, it turned away, spread its wings, and was gone.
I stared after it, still unmoving, my mind utterly blank. I didn’t know what to think.
Then, a few moments later, I heard a sound that made me sit bolt upright. Inside the cottage someone, or something, was moving about.
I tried to pull myself up, but I’d been sitting in the cold for so long that I felt as stiff as a board. On the far side of the door I heard a bolt being thrown and then the door swung open, sending me sprawling over the threshold.
I found myself at the feet of a tall, dark figure holding a lantern in one hand. The flame was only small but, after sitting in the dark for so long, it was enough to make my eyes water. I scrambled back on my hands and knees, feeling my cheeks flush, and torn between wanting to sob with relief and demanding to know why they hadn’t opened the door when I’d been pounding on it earlier.
At first I couldn’t see a thing, blinded by the glare of the lantern. Squinting, I made out a young matron of twenty-five or so — old enough to have a cluster of children already, back home. She would have been handsome, if it weren’t for her hair being tangled like a bird’s nest and her tanned skin turned an ashen, sallow shade, with marks under her eyes as dark as bruises. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and was barely keeping herself upright; she clung to the door with her free hand as I struggled to my feet.
The woman’s eyes were cold and imperious as she looked me over. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded. ‘What are you doing on my doorstep?’
‘I . . .’ I ducked my head. ‘My name is Elodie Forster, ma’am. I’m here for the job?’
‘What job?’
Oh no. The hard, sour knot in my belly was back. ‘Y-you advertised for a hired girl?’
The woman shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t. Who are you, really? Who sent you?’ She looked past me, eyes darting around to peer into the darkness. ‘If you’ve come looking for Gyssha I can tell you she’s long gone. If you knew that already and figured the place for easy pickings, think again.’
If I hadn’t been so tired, cold and hungry I think the tears would have started up again, but all I could do was stare at her, feeling hollow inside. Lord and Lady, what was this? Some awful prank of Lem’s? ‘Honestly, miss, I’m here for work. I have a letter . . .’ I fumbled inside the carry-basket. The woman watched me suspiciously, a hand disappearing inside a fold of the blanket until I pulled out the creased, crumpled paper and offered it to her. ‘Th-this is Black Oak Cottage, isn’t it, ma’am? Only I was told this was where to come. A man called Attwater showed me the way. I’m sorry if there’s been some misunderstanding, ma’am, but I’m cold, and hungry, and tired.’
She fixed me with a gaze like that of a hunting cat, and I felt trapped, entranced. I couldn’t look away.
‘Tell me your name,’ she said.
I’d already told her, but I found myself speaking before I could complete the thought. ‘Elodie Forster.’
‘Who sent you?’
‘No one.’
She pursed her lips, frowning. ‘How old are you?’
‘Sixteen.’
She took hold of my chin in one hand and turned my face this way and that, peering into my eyes. ‘Hmm. Who wrote that letter?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know their name? Or you don’t know who put pen to paper?’
‘Either,’ I found myself saying. ‘I don’t know either.’
My eyes were watering and my head was starting to pound when she seemed to break whatever hold it was she had on me and looked away. She took the letter from my hand and I groped for the doorframe for support, head swimming as she shook the folded paper open and held it up to the light.
It seemed to take her quite some time to study it, and then her eyes cut back to me. She considered me for a long moment, then she glanced at the darkness behind me and shuffled back a few steps. ‘I see. I suppose you’d better come in.’
CHAPTER 3
‘Watch your step,’ the woman said as she swung the door wider to let me through. ‘There’s a bit of a mess.’
Past the arc of the door the floor was strewn with rubble. It was hard to make it out at first in the shifting light of the lantern, but I realised that the floor was covered with books, broken pots, wooden boards and chunks of stone. My host moved through the mess in a lurch. I followed behind, picking up my skirts with cold, stiff fingers to place my feet with care. ‘Uh, ma’am, are you unwell?’
She cast me a dark glance and waved me through into the kitchen without replying.
In the kitchen, I couldn’t keep my jaw from dropping. It was a large room, with grey flagstones for a floor and low, dark rafters overhead; but if the hall was a mess, the kitchen was a disaster. Where presumably there had once been a table and stools, little remained but splinters. Shelves had been torn down, with crockery and jars smashed, their contents strewn across the floor. It looked as though there’d been a brawl — or worse. Scorch-marks streaked the flagstones, as well as the plaster between the roof beams. The only thing not broken was the window, and that was doubly strange — the window was huge, set with panes of real glass that looked out into the darkness, with one side propped open a foot or so. I don’t think our whole farm at home had as much glass as that one window, and I couldn’t imagine how it had survived the destruction that had been wreaked on the rest of the room. I tried not to stare but she must have noticed my wide eyes.
The only piece of furniture that was largely intact was a box bed, a huge cabinet that housed a bed and could be closed in by sliding wooden doors. I say largely, because several of the panels were cracked and splintered as though something heavy had struck it with force, but it still seemed functional. It was to this that my host tottered on unsteady legs, and when she reached it she sat down hard as though she’d used the last of her strength.
I stood in the middle of the wreckage of the kitchen, my fingers laced together and my lip caught between my teeth. Something in the corner caught my eye — a metal cage, large enough to hold a person, so long as you didn’t care if they could sit fully upright or stretch out their arms and legs. It was as battered as everything else in the room, dented and warped, and the door hung from one hinge as though it had been wrenched open. When I realised I was staring at it I pulled my gaze away and looked down at the floor. What in the Lord and Lady’s name had I got myself into?
The silence stretched on an uncomfortably long time, and when I summoned the courage to glance up at the woman I found her still studying me with a furrowed brow.
‘Well,’ she said at last. ‘You’re not here to try and kill me, or you wouldn’t have been waiting on my doorstep like an abandoned babe.’
I clasped my icy hands together ‘Sorry, miss.’
‘Sorry for what?’
‘For causing trouble. And for waking you. Ma’am, may I ask a question?’
She gave a single nod, and I went on.
‘If you didn’t send for me, then who did? Someone else lived here, didn’t they? Attwater mentioned her, and you said—’
‘Gyssha,�
� she interrupted. ‘She’s dead.’
‘I, I’m sorry to hear that.’
The woman snorted. ‘You wouldn’t say that if you knew her.’
I blinked at that. ‘If you say so, Miss. But could she have sent for a new hire?’
‘I doubt it. This isn’t her style,’ she said, waving the letter. ‘You’re a country girl, aren’t you?’
I nodded.
‘Thought so. Gyssha always preferred city rats to country mice.’
I lifted my head. ‘Which are you, then?’ I said. The words spilled out before I could stop myself.
The woman gave me a quick, fierce smile, showing lots of teeth. ‘City rat, obviously. But if Gyssha didn’t send for you, who brought you here? This wretched letter is about as illuminating as a candle at the bottom of the gods-damned ocean, isn’t it?’
‘I, I’m afraid I don’t know, miss. I can’t read it. I never went to school.’
She gave me a hard stare. I looked down, afraid I’d start crying again, and after a moment I heard her sigh. ‘To hells with it,’ she said. ‘I’m too tired for games. You believe you’re telling the truth, I’ll grant you that. If there’s anything more in there, well, it’s damn well hidden and the state I’m in, anyone that skilled will get in anyway. So you might as well stay. For the night, at least. Come morning I expect you’ll want to be on your way.’
There was a cold, hard lump under my heart. ‘On my way where?’
‘Wherever the hells you want, kid. I don’t care.’
‘But . . .’ I looked around at the wreckage and ruin. ‘Please, I don’t want to go home.’ It was true. I was bewildered, unsettled — scared, I’ll admit it — but I’d never get another chance to leave the farm, to have my own life. I knew it, down in my bones. ‘Ma’am, maybe you weren’t seeking a hired girl, but you sure could use one, it looks like. I mean, you’re ill, and here you’ve got no fire laid, no water, no food to eat . . .’
She fixed piercing eyes on me again. ‘You want to stay here? With me? You know I’m a witch, right?’
I nodded. ‘You ensorcelled me back there, didn’t you?’ I gestured towards the door.
‘Yep.’
‘Well, if you were going to harm me you’d have done it already. Wouldn’t you?’
Her dark eyes turned sad. ‘Sweet child, you know nothing about witches, do you? All right then, what’s so bad about home that you’d rather stay here with a Blackbone? Aside from the fact that they apparently couldn’t be bothered educating you?’
I felt my mouth open but I couldn’t find the words to explain. ‘I just . . . I can’t go back.’
She heaved a sigh. ‘All right. Fine. But I don’t know that I can keep you for long. Or that you’ll even want to stay. I’d meant to leave Black Oak as soon as my business was done, but, well, I’ll see if I can find you another position when I leave, if going home is so very bad.’
I shivered with relief, releasing a tension I hadn’t realised I held. ‘Thank you, ma’am! I’ll start right now if you wish — would you like a fire lit? I’ll fetch water if you tell me where to find it, and if you show me to the larder I’ll see if I can fix you something to eat.’
She flapped a weary hand at me. ‘Just settle in for the night. If you find anything worth eating, go ahead. I don’t mind if you rattle around to cook, the gods-damned roof could come down and I wouldn’t care. The larder’s through that door,’ she gestured to the far end of the kitchen, ‘and that door leads out back. There’s a well out there and a woodshed near the stables. Best stay out of the orchard. Really. Whatever you see out there, just don’t.’ She pulled herself back into the darkness of the box bed then, and as she moved I glimpsed a small, round object beside her. It took me a moment to realise it was an apple. I remembered the ghostly shape of the owl gliding past with something round clutched in its claws. ‘Uh, ma’am?’ I said. ‘One more thing, if I may? What may I call you?’
She hesitated, one hand on the box bed’s sliding door. ‘Aleida,’ she said. ‘My name’s Aleida. Goodnight, Elodie.’
‘Goodnight, miss,’ I said.
Even with a lantern, I didn’t much like venturing out into the darkness, or even moving about the kitchen with so much rubbish over the floor. Every step carried the clink and crunch of broken pottery or the risk of tripping over splintered wood.
I wasted no time in drawing a bucket of water and hauling in a small armful of wood. I thought I could see the deep shadows of trees that might be the orchard, but I wouldn’t have dared venture so far in the dark, even without the witch’s warning to stay away.
In the kitchen the fireplace was cavernous — I fancied you could fit a whole ox in there if you wanted to. There was even a little bench inside of it where you could sit against the warm walls, and I hated to think how bitter the winters must be to make someone decide they needed a little seat there.
Once I had a fire lit I felt a little better, though my belly still growled with hunger. I took the lantern into the larder, and as I poked through the jars and sacks every noise seemed to ring out like the bells on temple day. From the dust that lay over every surface, I was afraid I’d find the flour full of weevils, but it was quite clean. There just wasn’t much of it, or of anything, really. No eggs, milk or butter, not even any smoked sausages. But I knew how to make do. I found myself remembering the long-ago days before Ma married Lem, when it was just her and me living in the old cowshed at the back of Mrs Meecham’s place. Back then we’d never had eggs or milk, and we only had treacle or molasses if someone took pity on Ma and gave her a spoonful for the sake of her little daughter. Now, hunting a bit further in the kitchen, I found a pot of lard, as well as some soda, a crock of vinegar and, best of all, a jar of honey. Good enough. I found a skillet and set it heating over the flames while I mixed up a simple batter with flour, water and lard, and a little dollop of honey, with soda and vinegar for leavening. It probably tasted pretty awful to be honest, but I ate it too quickly to notice, and my belly was happy just to have something hot inside it.
Then, exhausted and overwhelmed, I swept a patch of flagstones clear of shards and splinters, wrapped myself in my blanket and went to sleep right there on the floor.
I didn’t remember falling asleep, and I didn’t remember waking. It seemed that I just blinked, and suddenly the kitchen was full of light and moaning wind. It wasn’t sunlight or firelight — it was a cold, frosty light, somewhere between white and blue, and the wind that stirred my hair and blanket was frigid, like a gust from the heart of winter. There were voices above the moan of the wind, too — angry voices.
I pulled my blanket tighter and rubbed my eyes, for a moment unable to remember why I was lying on cold stones instead of in my bed with little Jeb or Maisie snuggled up against me. The wind stirred the ashes of a fire, blowing smoke and grit into my face.
By the time I blinked them clear I could see the source of the light. A young man stood in the centre of the room; all white, glowing like moonlight on frost. He was tall and handsome, with thick hair and a short, curling beard, and he was angry — fists clenched, shoulders hunched, feet stepped wide. ‘Help me, Ally! Why won’t you help me? They need me! I can hear them crying for me, they’re lost out there!’
Aleida was sitting on the edge of the bed, blanket once again around her shoulders and the heel of her hand pressed to her forehead. ‘Bennett, Bennett, listen to me. They’re not lost. They’re dead. They’ve gone through the veil. They’re safe there, they’re waiting for you. You need to go and join them.’
‘No! No! You’re wrong! They’re here, and they need me, but I can’t do it alone. You have to help me, Ally, you have to find them. You promised me! You promised you’d help!’
‘Bennett—’
‘I’m not dead! I’m not! I’m not! I’m not!’ The words echoed around the small chamber, a deafening noise, and I huddled down lower, wishing I could sink into the floor, wishing my blanket were thicker — a coat of armour, perhaps, or a house. Yes, a
whole house between me and the apparition would be welcome right now.
Aleida’s eyes flickered my way, and she made a small gesture with her hand, sweeping her fingers across the rumpled bed beneath her. Stay down, I took it to mean.
‘Bennett,’ she snapped in a voice of command. The sound made me shiver. ‘Listen. I will help you. I will. But I need to get some strength back. You have to let me rest, Ben. I can’t do it now, I’m too weak. Your little ones are safe, I promise you, nothing can hurt them now. When I’m stronger I’ll take you to find them. Gyssha’s dead, she can’t do anything more to you.’
‘No,’ the apparition shook his head. ‘No. No! NO! They’re here, somewhere. I can hear them! The sound cuts me like a knife. Ally, you have to help me. You have to help me find them! Help me, Ally! HELP ME! HELP ME!’
The noise was deafening. It made my head ring like a bell but I didn’t dare move my hands to cover my ears. The wind rose, the moan becoming a roar, and the wreckage of the kitchen floor began to drift across the stones. Here and there, pieces of it began to glow; splinters of wood, shards of pot, they all began to ripple with light and float off the floor, swirling around the room like a storm wrought small.
On the other side of the tempest, Aleida reached behind herself into the darkness and pulled out a club. At least, that’s what I took it for — it was a stick of wood, peeled and polished and wrapped with leather. Bound to its tip was a pointed crystal; a short, squat, ugly thing, about the size of my fist. Aleida raised it and sketched something in the air, a design that hung there in floating lines of light, giving off wisps of something like smoke in violet and blue. She spoke as she drew the lines, something in a low voice, hard to make out over the moaning wind and the apparition’s voice, still shouting for help. Then, with the last line, the last word, everything fell dark and silent, as sudden as a candle doused with water.
In the darkness, Aleida sighed. ‘You all right, Elodie?’
I felt as cold as ice and my eyes were watering, full of grit and ash thrown up by the wind. ‘Y-yes, miss,’ I managed to say with a trembling voice. ‘W-was that a demon?’
