by Jon Jacks
A second half-track takes a shell full on its front. It skews wildly off to one side, ablaze.
The English witch is still safe. She had originally been in the half-track that had spun up into the air.
In that instant, she had changed vehicles.
We continue on our way.
We don’t stop for anything.
Especially not for the mass of wolves, who vanish with a crunch beneath our tracks, or dissolve into clouds of blood within the rain of bullets.
*
Chapter 29
Planting a Rose Within Your Mind: Part 2
Take in the rose’s every detail, until you can clearly picture it within your mind, even when you look away from the rose itself.
Now you have the seed to bring that rose to a more fulsome life.
A Guide for Young Wytches
She wouldn’t let go of my hand.
The more I tried to wrench free of her grip, the more of her that came free of the tank; as if she were using me to break out from her sealed confinement.
She grinned maliciously, her teeth bared, her eyes wide with hate and anger.
I swung out at the side of her head with my other hand, the one in which I’d been holding my only source of light – the sparkling wassail ball.
The ball smashed against the demonic girl’s head.
And I was abruptly plunged into a sheer, impenetrable darkness.
*
I fell back, back towards the cold, hard ground.
I’d broken free of the grasping hand.
But I was enveloped in a complete blackness.
Was the girl here with me, freed from her imprisonment within the machine?
Had she rushed off, leaving me here?
I could hear the whispering, the whispering coming from the tank, once more.
The slow, sullen breathing was back too.
I needed to get out of here as soon as I could. Yet, without any light to guide me, the only exit that I knew for sure existed was the very staircase I’d come down on.
Thinking carefully about where I must have fallen, where I must be in relation to the tank and the base of the staircase, I cautiously rose to my feet, making sure I wasn’t risking confusing my sense of direction.
Even so, it took a few minutes of scrabbling around in the darkness, reaching out as far as I could with my hands, before I gratefully grasped the freezing metal of the spiral steps.
With a sigh of relief, I began to hurriedly re-climb the steps.
I was heading back up towards the garden. Back towards the castle, and Richard, and Lisa.
And the English witch.
But I couldn’t see what other option I had.
*
Chapter 30
Some of the people you mistakenly call friends are actually vexations to the soul. Recognise them for what they are. Don’t dismiss them; simply avoid them as much as possible, until they at last thankfully vanish from your life.
A Guide for Young Wytches
What was the English witch doing here, in this castle?
Why had the Germans sacrificed some of their own children, a convoy of their soldiers, to ensure she arrived here?
And why had they left unused all those tanks and armoured vehicles that could have helped them hold back the Russian attack?
Of course, even all those tanks and half-tracks couldn’t have held back the Russians for ever. They could only ever hope to simply delay the inevitable.
Unless – unless they were crewed by demons.
Demons like those poor children, who had been forced to crew those tanks.
Just two tanks had caused mayhem amongst the besieging Russians.
A whole squadron of them: well, they might well have been invincible. Certainly, they would have been capable of relieving those under siege in the bunker.
The English witch had been sent here to release the demons kept imprisoned here. Or, maybe, not just to release them; but to ensure she could control them.
Otherwise, what was to stop the new demonic army turning on the Germans?
But if they could create demonic crews from children, then why didn’t they simply – no, that would be unthinkable, wouldn’t it?
Perhaps such a crew, anyway, was equally hard to ultimately control. Or maybe it was simply too hard to replicate the spell that had brought them into that terrifyingly new, dark life.
Besides, Richard’s demons were the real thing: ones who had fought long ago, being virtually unstoppable until a spell weakened then entrapped them.
I climbed the winding staircase as swiftly as I could, wanting to leave that dark cavern behind me as soon as possible. When I finally crashed with relief through the door leading into the garden, I sucked in great lungfuls of air.
The magpie was still there; like he’d been expecting me to return.
Like he was grinning at my foolishness.
Yet there was something even odder about him, something I should have noticed earlier.
He wasn’t really a magpie.
His colours were wrong; they were reversed. Black was where white should be, white where he should be black.
Like an all-black raven, who’s splashed his feathers in white paint; or covered them in snow.
*
‘Back already?’
This time, the English witch spoke with a cheery tone.
She didn’t, as last time, appear once the magpie had faded: she appeared from behind one of the taller bushes, as if out for an afternoon stroll.
She smiled, as one would if they’d unexpectedly come across someone they knew on just such a stroll.
‘You mean you seriously weren’t expecting me?’ I snapped in reply.
‘Oh, I’m sorry; obviously you’re angry with me.’
She pouted girlishly, as if I were being unfair on her.
‘You knew what was really down there: did you hope those demonic children would finish me off?’
‘If you really think that, I must congratulate you on how bravely – or maybe stupidly – you’re just standing there, talking to me without a care in the world.’
I frowned, puzzled. She had a point; why was I being so calm about all this?
‘Ah, I see, I see!’ she breathed excitedly. ‘You haven’t figured that point out yet, have you?’
‘Point? It depends which point you mean. If you mean have I figured out that you were going to help the Germans raise a demonic army, then yes: I have worked that one out. What I don’t know is why.’
The magpie eyed me curiously once more. I sensed he wasn’t impressed, perhaps even a little disappointed.
The witch pouted disappointedly.
‘No, no! That wasn’t the point I’d meant! Obviously, I’d worked out that you’d worked out what the tanks below were for. As for the why: well, the German’s promised a whole new dawn of paganism, didn’t they? Wouldn’t it be natural for me to be helping them?’
‘So what went wrong? Why is Richard still imprisoned here?’
‘Because I was the one who made sure he wouldn’t be released.’
‘You couldn’t control him?’
She shook her head.
‘If Richard had been released, no one would have been able to control him. That’s why I had to stop the Germans from carrying out their plan; why I had to win their trust, persuade them that I was the best – the only – person who could accomplish what they asked.’
‘Hah! You seriously expect me to believe that you were – what? Some kind of spy, working for the Allies?’
‘You saw the tanks: all complet
ely unused. Well, apart from the one containing the poor Goebbels children, of course. We lost the other tank, the one containing their sisters and brother, on the way here. And yes, if the Germans had raised a whole armoured corps like that, they wouldn’t have lost the war; believe me!’
‘Is that why you’re still here? To make sure he doesn’t escape?’
‘Hmn, so you’re beginning to believe me, yes?’
She smiled.
‘Beginning to…yes,’ I replied doubtfully. ‘But not completely!’
She smiled again. With a wave of a hand, she indicated the darkness around us, the darkness spreading into other areas of the garden.
‘You have to believe me, Danny: because if you don’t, then Richard is going to be free once more.’
*
Chapter 31
Place Pine needles in a loose-woven bag and run bath water over it for a cleansing and stimulating bath.
A Guide for Young Wytches
‘The darkness is spreading – and Richard’s power is increasing?’
As I asked the question, I studied the strange way the dark cubes of the garden abutted the snow covered areas with a bizarre preciseness, an unusual sharpness.
The English witch nodded in agreement.
‘He’s still weak, of course; but for how much longer, I can’t be sure.’
‘But if you’re still here, why aren’t you stopping him? Why aren’t you stopping the spreading of the darkness?’
She smiled wanly.
‘Because I’m also now part of the darkness; imprisoned here, just as much as Richard is imprisoned – for the moment, at least – within the castle. He caught me unawares; I made the mistake of allowing him to charm me, to put me off my guard. He is charming, isn’t he?’
She observed me knowingly. I blushed.
‘But the snow, the spell that created the snow; can’t you add to it in some way, increase its power?’
‘I can have hardly any effect on what used to be my world. Besides, the spell that originally weakened Richard all those hundreds of years ago would be beyond my capabilities anyway; I’m so glad you’ve returned to strengthen your charm.’
‘Return?’ I frowned in puzzlement. ‘What do you mean; I’ve returned?’
She grinned, chuckled: stared in wide eyed amazement at me when I still appeared bewildered by her laughter.
‘But don’t you realise yet, Daniella? You’re the witch; the witch who imprisoned Richard here!’
*
‘A witch? I’m not a witch!’
‘Daniella: you saw for yourself how you took the snow back with you! It really was the most brilliant spell I’ve ever seen! A circular spell, working across the centuries: that’s what makes it all so incredibly powerful. It has no beginning – and therefore, it also should have no end!’
‘This is madness! I’m no witch! I was there, yes; somehow, I really went back hundreds of years. But there must have been another witch there, helping the knights. They were moving so fast. And the snow was already there!’
‘No, no: the snow didn’t appear until you did, Daniella! Yes, other witches were helping the knights – but none was so powerful that she could have conjured us the snow!’
‘I have no powers! I don’t know anything about witchcraft!’
‘Yet here you are! Returned, from all those years ago when you first lived!’
‘That’s just not possible!’
‘For a witch – a powerful witch – few things are impossible. You leave a memory of your presence within an object – the angel, I suspect, for it’s far, far older than you imagine. Then whenever a certain situation repeats itself, that memory is recalled into being: much as when a recorded song is played.’
‘And what of my memory? Why can’t I recall that what you’re saying is true?’
‘Perhaps because there are still elements of that certain situation I mentioned that have yet to be played out?’
‘Which elements?’
She shrugged, as if unsure.
‘Haven’t you read the book?’ she asked.
I shook my head.
‘Of course not!’
I realised I sounded horrified by the suggestion.
‘Then there is your answer!’ she replied. ‘How can you expect to remember when you haven’t read the book?’
*
Chapter 32
To seek help from fairies, string hazelnuts on a cord and hang it up within your home.
A Guide for Young Wytches
As soon as I was back in my room, I rushed towards the clothes drawer.
I snatched the ancient book from out beneath the tangled shirts I’d left in there.
Could there really be any answers to my problem, to my bewilderment and confusion, within these pages?
I’d expected the title of the book to have changed once more; but no, it was still the same as it had been when I’d last seen it – A Guide for A Wytch
As the English witch had instructed me, I closed my mind to everything going on around me – then opened the book.
The pages that fell open before me detailed the casting of a spell; a spell to send a person into the darkness.
It wasn’t a difficult spell.
In fact, it was a surprisingly easy spell.
There was nothing about it that struck me as being ridiculous.
As being impossible to accomplish.
It was all remarkably obvious.
The darkness had always been with us. It was a source of power; of spiritual power, magical power.
The realm of ravens, of demons. All of which could be used to our own ends, provided we knew what we were doing, what we were truly capable of.
All this, this new knowledge, wasn’t something I was actually reading within the book
It was all coming through the book: knowledge coming through from that very dark side.
A witch draws her powers from that dark side. No matter how good, how innocent, she presumes herself to be, it is only through that dark side of her that she gains her powers, her capabilities.
And there is, indeed, a dark side of her. For with every creation of a new witch within our world, a new witch is born within the darkrealm.
Her sister image.
Her darker image.
And as the powers of the witch grows, her darker sister naturally grows in power with her. And that darker witch, envying the life of her sister, seeks to use that growing power to take over her sibling; to enter this world, where her powers will become greater still.
To remain a good witch, a white witch, therefore, the witch in this world has to be permanently on guard; lest her own growing powers become her own downfall.
This book introduces you to that dark side, to that power.
It has instructed the training, the creation, of many witches.
For it is itself a creation of the darkrealm, of the dark witches.
Within their world, they were at war with each other.
Vying for power over each other. None willing to give way.
Until, it was agreed, they could only unify under a king.
Someone who was already a king in the other world.
But what king needed to be a witch?
Which king, who already held so much power, would risk opening himself up to the dangers of the darkrealm?
And then, at last, they found him.
A powerful, warlike king who was desperate for help.
*
Chapter 33
What a strange book!
He laughs as he picks me out from
amongst the books. Books his captor has graciously provided him with.
Imprisonment for a king is a world away from imprisonment for those of a lesser breed.
Not for him a dungeon, set deep beneath damp, cold, airless ground.
No, for him it’s a high tower.
It’s imprisonment, nonetheless. Yet not one that doesn’t come with certain luxuries, certain items expected of a civilised, well-educated man.
He opens me up out of nothing but curiosity.
He chuckles again; How ridiculous!
He stops laughing when a rose appears before him, one he can pluck out of the air.
Such a simple spell, anyone can learn it.
And already, his darker brother is forming.
*
The darker brother grows in power as the king produces for himself a cup of sparkling spring water.
He quenches his thirst: his thirst for power; his thirst for freedom.
My title, my contents, change quickly; the king’s eagerness to learn is impressive. It has to be rewarded.
The still hovering rose branch sprouts roots, roots that snake through the air.
They reach out towards the mortar running between the stones comprising his cell.
Finding sustenance there, they spread all the quicker; running throughout the castle, thickening in size, drawing out moisture so that the mortar dries and breaks.
The roses are beautiful, spreading thickly, richly. The castle, of course, is paying the price for such a glorious spread of colour and perfume.
Similarly, the empty cup is filled once more, a spring of water spouting from the floor.
The spring runs back towards a source that is a stream, the stream towards its own beginning as a river.
It all flows through the castle, weakening foundations, drenching and swiftly rotting supportive timbers.
Soon the tower around the king begins to crumble. To rapidly fall into disrepair as if neglected for centuries.
In my world, it has indeed been left to the detrimental effects of centuries of inclement weather, to the wearing away of wind, water, and a complete lack of care.
Naturally, when he walks away from the now totally bare peak of the mountain, the king takes me with him.
Back to England.
Back to the court of King Richard.
*
Chapter 34
Utilise the same skills you learned for making a wand to create your own Talisman.
Let the natural shape of the wood suggest and inspire your carving, adding symbols relevant to its use.
It may be worn as a brooch, around the neck, or carried within a pouch.
A Guide for Young Wytches
Like his name sake – his original brother in this world – Richard has been placed by Lisa within a high tower.
Unlike the Lionheart, however, this demonic Richard has been placed within the high tower for his own safety.
