A Curse of Ash and Embers

by Jo Spurrier

  Then, after an age, the beast beneath me halted, and stiffly my body struggled down from the perch upon its back, staggering on the ground.

  My mount turned to face me and lowered its great head with a rumble in its throat that sounded like rocks grinding together.

  My hands reached for the crown of its head and dug deep into the mud and earth that was its body, clawing and scraping it away until they found a stone. It wasn’t a crystal like the ones I’d been finding since I arrived in the mountains, but just a plain round river-stone. My filthy hands kept digging and scraping until the bulk of it was exposed.

  Then, I stood on the tips of my toes. My hands cupped around the stone and my body leaned close, as though to kiss it. My body drew a deep breath and then breathed onto the rock, just as my mistress had breathed onto a twig earlier that day to light it aflame.

  A spark of heat blossomed deep within my chest. It rushed up my throat, searingly hot. When I breathed out, my mouth was a furnace, my breath a bellows blast, searing, scorching, full of heat and flame.

  The stone beneath my hands throbbed once, and then blazed, hot as iron fresh from the forge. The damp earth of the beast’s body sizzled against it, the twigs and needles around it shrivelling and smoking with the heat as the beast backed away.

  Then, both of beasts, the one with the red-hot glowing stone and the one with the demon branch embedded in its back, turned away and lumbered off into the darkness. I was alone.

  No, I realised when my feet began to move. Not alone. Definitely not alone.

  I felt like a passenger in my own flesh as Gyssha Blackbone marched me off into the darkness. Once again, I started to shiver, trembling like I’d been struck by a palsy. My feet faltered and I fell to my knees. Then, once again, came that little growl inside my head, and this time when the cold, dead touch tightened around my limbs it felt like wires cutting into my skin, like a huntsman’s snare cutting tighter and tighter as the beast struggled within. I heard my voice cry out with the pain of it before the ghost inside me choked it off.

  She forced me to my feet again and drove me forward like a baulking beast. I could feel tears on my face as I silently wept in confusion and fear. What is she doing? Lord and Lady, I should have let Aleida send me away . . .

  Then, ahead of me, almost lost amid the pounding of my heart and the blood rushing in my ears, I heard the stamp of a hoof, and a rustle of heavy fabric.

  In the blinking of an eye, Gyssha’s grip on me vanished. I fell forward, not realising how hard I’d been fighting her to regain control of my own body. I landed hard, sprawling on my belly in the dirt.

  When I pushed myself up, there were two pairs of feet standing by my head. They were clad in identical black boots, dusted by identical black robes. I was still staring at them in shock when I felt gloved hands cinch around my wrists and haul me to my feet.

  One of them stood behind me, as solid as a brick wall at my back, his hands locked around my arms as hard as iron chains. The other stood in front of me, and behind him were the horses, barely visible in the darkness. I might not have seen them at all if it weren’t for the faint red glow of their eyes.

  The warlock in front of me took hold of my chin and forced my head upwards as he pulled down his hood. He looked . . . rather ordinary, actually. He was of middle years, not young but not old, though his broad face was weathered and his forehead was deeply lined. I saw why as he scowled at me. ‘The Blackbone apprentice,’ he said in a low growl.

  I pulled uselessly against the hands that held me captive. ‘I’m not an apprentice! I’m just a servant!’

  His lips twitched, and he gave me a brief look of puzzlement. He could tell it was the truth, I realised, and he was surprised.

  But then he shrugged. ‘A spy, either way. Why did she send you here, girl? Talk, and maybe I’ll let you live.’

  Even if I wanted to talk, I had no idea what to say. My mistress is back at the cottage, out cold on the flagstones was not a good option. The ghost of Gyssha Blackbone brought me here and dumped me at your feet was hardly any better. I simply had no idea what was happening, and after all that had occurred in the last hour or so I was too overwhelmed to invent a story.

  With a growl of impatience, the warlock wrapped his gloved hand around my throat and squeezed, choking off my breath. Out of instinct, I struggled and tried to pull away, but the one at my back didn’t move an inch, and only held me tighter as he leaned in to whisper in my ear. ‘One way or another, you will talk.’

  Heart and head pounding, my throat burning, I saw a flare of light in the darkness. My eyes tracked to it, even with the hand around my throat and my lungs screaming for air.

  After the flare of light came the noise — crackling flames, and a roar like falling rocks, together with the dull thud of massive feet on the soft earth.

  The warlock’s head snapped around. His hand grew slack, and I gasped a breath, my legs weak and trembling. My eyes, however, were still seeking the source of the sound, my mind trying to work out just what was going on.

  Then, I saw the earthbeast charging towards us, the branch of the demon snakewood hanging over its head like a burning crown, and I understood. I was a decoy, a distraction. Nothing more.

  The warlock in front of me swiftly backed away, pulling his wand from beneath his robe. The one holding me shoved me to the ground, and I’m guessing did the same, though I couldn’t see. I tried to crawl away, but he planted his foot between my shoulders and pinned me face-down in the earth.

  I raised my head as high as I could, to see the flaming beast bearing down upon us. That rumbling sound was coming from the creature itself, I realised — it was screaming.

  The warlocks separated, and raised their wands as one. In perfect synchronicity they barked out a word that burned and crackled in the air, and launched two fireballs at the charging creature.

  They both struck, a bare instant apart, and the creature made of earth and twigs and vines simply disintegrated under the assault. Just like the other beasts when the tree caught and shredded them with its thorny vines, this beast crumbled into chunks and clods of earth — but the main bulk of it kept coming, carried by sheer momentum, bringing the demonic fireball with it.

  Oh no, I thought. No, no, no.

  I pressed my face into the ground, wrapping my arms around my head, and prayed.

  Then, the world tore in two. The shriek of it tore at my ears, making me scream in pain. From above me came a blast of heat, like air from a blacksmith’s forge.

  The sound was so loud that I couldn’t think. It was a wall of chaotic noise, so overwhelming that I just wanted to curl into a ball and play dead until it was done. But then the pressure between my shoulders lifted, and somehow, over the assault of sound, I heard the warlock scream.

  I glanced up to see something out of a nightmare. The calm darkness of the forest was gone. Instead, overhead, a rift in the blackness opened up into a world of red and black, a world of searing heat and scorching ash. Silhouetted against it was a creature with black bat wings, clawing at the air. It held the warlock in its claws; he was dwarfed to doll-size against the massive wings.

  There were other creatures, too — smaller ones that came howling out of the red world to flap away into the cool darkness of ours. A few long, glistening tentacles reached through, groping across the ground and the remains of the shattered and crumbling beast. There were other things, too, things that whooped and hollered and chittered and screeched, and moved too quickly to be anything more than a blur in the darkness.

  I’d seen enough. I’d seen more than enough. Keeping low to the ground, I scrambled away, but my skirts tripped and hindered me. I fumbled them up with one hand and hobbled away on my other hand and my knees. I heard another scream and stole a glance to see the other warlock caught between two creatures that looked vaguely like huge cats, if cats had horns like a steer and rows of spikes down their backs and a horned club at the end of their tail. Two of the horses were fighting the cat-th
ings, but the third had gone down while another creature tore at its flank. While I watched, one of the cat-things released the warlock’s leg to launch at the nearest horse. It tore the horse’s neck open with huge, dagger-like teeth, but instead of blood, the cat-thing was showered in chaff. The rearing horse collapsed, crumpling to the ground like a deflated bladder. Constructs, I thought.

  The remaining warlock was no construct, though. The cat-things had ripped his leg open, and his arm, too. The hand that had held the wand hung at a grotesque angle, not so much broken as nearly wrenched away. He screamed again as the cat-thing released him, only to take a better hold of his shoulder, stabbing him right through with those dagger-like teeth, before it began to drag him towards the rift.

  I started to crawl away again, keeping as low as I could, hoping that the mud that coated me would help hide me from sight. The warlock’s screams were growing fainter, but I didn’t dare look back again.

  Then, suddenly, the red glow from the rift went dim.

  It’s closing, I thought. Thank the Lord and Lady, it’s closing.

  I stole a swift glance back, and my heart faltered.

  It wasn’t closing at all — no, the giant bat-wing creature was squeezing back through the rift, blocking the light. It must have realised its first catch was a dud, made of stale straw and rags, and had come back for a second try.

  I got a better look at it this time, for all I wished I hadn’t. It had landed on the forest floor, balanced on hind legs and clawed wing-tips. Its head was a little like that of a huge bird, with a long beak curved like a scythe blade. It was naked with black, leathery skin, adorned only by a ruff of spikes like porcupine quills around its neck. Above the beak were four tiny eyes that all blinked in unison, gleaming yellow in the light through the rift. Then, clacking its great beak, it started towards me.

  I didn’t scream. I couldn’t. I needed all the breath I had to scramble away. I stood, skirts still clutched in one hand, and ran, while behind me came a shriek and the flap of leathery wings as the creature launched after me.

  I ran unseeing into the darkness, blinded by the flames and the glare of the rift. When something flitted, whistling, over my head, I couldn’t see what it was or where it came from. All I could hear was the creature behind me shriek again, and then again and again as the flitting, whistling things kept coming.

  A pair of strong hands caught me by the shoulders and hauled me upwards, hoisting me like a bale of goods up into the branches of a tree. I found myself face-to-face with a pair of large golden eyes, surrounded by leafy hair that ranged from gold to green to autumn red. I was already sobbing with relief by the time my weary mind put a name to the face. Laurel the dryad. Perched next to her in the tree, expertly wedged between two branches, was Attwater, he of the hound-dog features, with a bow in his hands and a quiver at his hip.

  Laurel held on to me until I was steady on the smooth, curving branch, and then released me to gather up her own bow.

  I flattened myself against the smooth branch, clinging tight and sobbing as they sent arrow after arrow into the winged creature’s bony chest. Grudgingly, the creature fell back.

  ‘The rift’s getting smaller, isn’t it?’ Attwater said. ‘Tell me I’m not imagining it, for the love of life.’

  ‘You’re not imagining it,’ Laurel said. Her voice was calm and dry, and I took refuge in it. Attwater sounded near as tense as I felt, but if one of us was calm, maybe everything would be all right after all.

  The rift was shrinking. The bat-thing glanced back to the red glowing tear, took one look at the three of us, perched on the branch, and then launched itself up with a laboured flap of its wings. The arrows bristling from its torso didn’t seem to bother it as it flapped back to the hole and forced its way through.

  After it vanished, the red gash in the night sealed shut with one last sigh of scorching air, and then everything was quiet. The only sound was the crackling of the fire that still burned around the remains of the earthbeast, illuminating the bodies of the horse-constructs, and the earth torn up by the fight.

  CHAPTER 10

  Between them, Attwater and Laurel somehow got me down from the tree. On the ground I collapsed, trembling so hard I thought I’d shake my bones from their sockets.

  My two saviours talked over my head like I wasn’t there. ‘A fair few of the beasties got through,’ Attwater was saying. ‘I couldn’t count them all.’

  ‘Daylight will kill some of them,’ Laurel said. ‘We’ll hunt down the rest.’

  ‘I’d best warn folk, all the same,’ he said. ‘Of course, they’re already keeping their doors and shutters barred against Blackbone’s beasts. There’s going to be a right old panic if any of these critters turn up too. Any sign of the one who did it?’

  Laurel shook her head. ‘If the witch is here, I can’t smell her.’

  That brought my head up. ‘It wasn’t her,’ I said.

  They both looked down at me. ‘It wasn’t her,’ I said again. ‘Aleida. It wasn’t her.’

  ‘No? Then who?’ Attwater said.

  ‘The old one, Gyssha.’

  ‘She’s dead.’

  I nodded. ‘Dead, but not gone.’ I was still shaking. I didn’t know much about witches and ghosts, but I had the idea that the old witch could move faster than a thought, and my mistress was still back at the cottage, either drugged to a stupor or dying. ‘Aleida’s in danger.’

  ‘Young Blackbone?’ Attwater said. ‘I reckon she can look after herself, lass.’

  ‘No, not now. I . . . I drugged her. I mean, Gyssha did. She made me do it. I need to get back to her! Please help me, please!’ The words my voice had spoken rang in my head. I’ll take care of the warlock, and then I’ll take care of you.

  Attwater and the dryad exchanged a glance.

  ‘I will go,’ Laurel said. ‘I can be fast. You follow with the child.’

  Attwater considered the matter, and then nodded. ‘Be careful.’

  She barely acknowledged his words with a nod before she was off, running as fleet as a deer.

  With a deep, ragged breath, I tried to stand, only for my legs to give way. Attwater settled a hand on my shoulder. ‘Steady, lass. Give yerself a few moments more to catch yer breath.’

  ‘What if we don’t have a few moments?’ I said.

  ‘And what are ye going to do against the ghost of Gyssha Blackbone?’

  He had a point there. And truthfully, I didn’t have enough breath spare to waste it in arguing with him. ‘Thank you,’ I gasped, instead. ‘I didn’t get a chance to say that before.’

  ‘No matter, lass, no matter at all. Ye did well to keep yer hide intact. Laurel and I were tryin’ to figure a way to get ye out but couldn’t see how, and then ye managed to do the better part of the job yerself.’

  I felt utterly drained, without even enough strength to think clearly. I bet this is how Aleida’s felt since she killed the old witch. ‘What happened out there? I mean, I know it was the tree, that demon tree, but—?’

  ‘That tree shouldn’t exist,’ Attwater said with a growl. ‘It can open a portal between realms. Laurel can sense the wretched thing, she knows when it’s stirring an’ getting riled up. Always bad news, that is, so we came out to see what was going on. We thought it was Aleida dealing with that warlock.’

  ‘She was going to,’ I said, thinking of the spider waiting on the mantelpiece. ‘But she didn’t get the chance.’

  I looked down at my hands and forearms. They stung, like they’d been burned. My eyes were adjusting to the darkness again, enough to see that they were filthy with what looked like dirt or soot. I touched the back of my hand to see if it would wipe off, only for my nerves to spark up with a searing pain that made me yelp.

  ‘Leave it be, lass,’ Attwater said. ‘The smoke from that cursed tree burns whatever it touches, and ye copped a brush with it. Don’t worry over it too much, though, doubtless yer mistress has something that’ll help.’

  I drew a deep breath
then, and tried again to stand. This time I managed it, though I felt none too steady. ‘Can we get going, please? Which way is it?’

  He looked me over with the same measuring gaze he’d turned on me in the street in Lilsfield two days ago. ‘All right then,’ he said. ‘This way, lass.’

  He let me set the pace, for which I was grateful. I was so weary I felt like I was slogging through molasses, and I dreaded the thought of what we’d find at the cottage. . . . and then I’ll take care of you. It should have been at least a small relief knowing the warlock was dead, but all I could think about was that dry, desiccated feeling inside my chest, and the icy contempt I’d felt when Aleida lay gasping on the floor. Gyssha had destroyed the warlock with my borrowed body and barely any magic at all. Could Aleida have done that? Despite the loyalty I felt for my mistress, I thought not. If Gyssha had done so much with so little, what else was she capable of? I had the strong sense that she didn’t want Aleida dead — hadn’t Aleida warned me herself that there were plenty of poisons around the house? If Gyssha wanted her dead she wouldn’t have had me reach for that bottle of laudanum. No, the old witch wanted her alive. But why?

  I remembered something Mrs Sanford had said, about old witches stealing young bodies, and swallowed hard, pushing the thought away. ‘Mr Attwater?’ I said, instead. I couldn’t dwell on that idea, couldn’t even consider it. Not yet, anyway. ‘May I ask you something?’

  ‘Go ahead, lass.’

  ‘Are you . . . are you human?’

  He ducked his head at that, chuckling. ‘Oh aye. For the most part.’

  ‘The most part? Then what about the least part?’

  He cast me an amused glance. ‘Tell me, lass, has yer mistress talked about taking ye on, yet? As an apprentice, I mean?’

  ‘Why does everyone think I’m going to be a witch?’ I said. ‘After tonight, I’m not sure I’d want to. I’m really not sure.’