“Let me go!” snarled Crow, tugging free of her grip.
“Stop that, Crow!” Mup laid her hand on the wool. Undo, she urged.
The wool shivered, as if longing to obey, but uncertain that it should.
Behind her, Mam said, “I mean it. Come away from my daughter.”
One of the witches said, “Who are you, to command officers of the queen?”
Magic crackled in the air. Leaves began to swirl up from the ground. Someone – not Mam – gasped in surprise and fear.
Crow clutched Mup’s arm. “What is your mother doing?” he said. “She’s standing against them. She’s using magic! Is she mad?”
Abruptly, he turned his face to the treetops, and cawed. It was a startling sound coming from a boy, but Mup forced herself to ignore it and whatever Mam was up to. She concentrated instead on the wool cutting cruelly into Crow’s leg. Undo! she commanded again. I don’t care what Aunty wants, I won’t have part of my favourite dress biting someone’s foot off! The wool relaxed beneath her hand, and with an apologetic sigh coiled in scarlet loops on the ground.
Mup spun at last, to face the witches. Leaves were whipping about her like a golden cyclone. Mup swatted them from her face, trying to see.
Crow, still cawing at the sky, lurched to his knees. As if in response to his desperate calling, a black shape shot from the trees above. It was a raven. Huge and strong, it knocked Mup aside as it swooped past. Just before the raven hit the ground it shook off its bird-shape and became a man. Tall and running, his long grey hair flying out behind him, the man stooped to snatch Crow into his arms. Without pause, he dashed away with him into the storm of leaves.
Across the fleeing man’s shoulder, Crow kept cawing and cawing.
Harsh voices answered from the treetops, and the air darkened as more ravens swooped down. One of the raggedy witches turned from Mam, and with a loathsome shudder became a cat. Teeth bared, she leapt at one of the ravens and brought it to the ground in a rage of claws and feathers. Screaming, the raven barely managed to struggle free. With an agonized cry, it flapped for the treetops, drops of scarlet falling from its wounded side.
Mup briefly saw her mother, striding through the frantic whirl of leaves. Her hands were outstretched, lightning flashing as she blasted a witch from her path. “Run, Mup!” she yelled. “Follow your aunty! I’ll try and hold these creatures back.”
Aunty’s light bobbed into sight through the swirl of leaves. “This way!”
Mup tried to run to her, but a raggedy witch staggered into her. It was the man-witch who had treated Crow so cruelly. A raven was pecking at his eyes. The raggedy witch flung up his arm. His dark cloak billowed, and suddenly he too was a raven. The two enormous birds fluttered right in front of Mup’s face, cawing and scratching. Their sharp claws scored scarlet trenches into each other’s feathers.
Mam shot lightning at them, blasting them away from her daughter. “RUN!” she commanded.
Mup did as she was told. Looking back, she saw the lightning-charred ravens tumble apart. One of them launched itself desperately for the treetops, the other rolled, gasping, onto his side, a raggedy witch once more. Smoke poured from his cloak and hair.
“Come on!” cried Aunty from somewhere ahead in the maelstrom. “This way!”
“Where’s Tipper?” cried Mup.
Tipper had rushed into the fray. Now he rolled into view, snapping in wild-eyed frenzy, thin lines of blood streaked across his muzzle. Mup grabbed the scruff of his neck. “This way, Tipper! This way! Follow Aunty!” She had to drag him for a moment before he realized who she was, then he followed of his own accord.
Aunty led them in the direction the man had carried Crow. Mup thought she could still hear Crow faintly calling, but it was hard to know for sure over the sound of the cats howling and ravens cawing behind her.
“What about Mam?” she cried. She couldn’t see her mother at all through the storm of leaves. When Mup tried to turn back for her, Aunty zapped her sharply with lightning. “Ow!” cried Mup. “Ow! OK! I’m moving.”
Still herding Mup and Tipper forward, Aunty looked anxiously back. “Come on, Stella,” she muttered. “Come on. Just run!”
They ran and ran, until Aunty suddenly stopped, and then they all stood, panting and listening. Mup went to ask about Mam again, but Aunty held up a transparent hand to shush her.
The forest was still, and breathlessly silent. The sound of fighting was gone. They were at the edge of a small, sunlit clearing. Just ahead of them, the grey-haired man had also come to a panting halt, Crow in his arms. The man was staring at Aunty in disbelief.
“Duchess?” he said.
Aunty squinted at the man’s face as if unsure of who he was, then her expression opened in recognition. “Sealgaire,” she whispered. “By grace. Is it really you?”
Before he could answer, there was a sound above them. Everyone flinched as dark shadows loomed overhead. The man snatched Crow to him, ready to run again. Mup grabbed Tipper.
“Is it witches?” Tipper barked. “Don’t worry, Mup! I will bite them like I did the other witch. I will snap and crunch and…” He growled a fierce little puppy-growl.
Mup kept a hold of him, poised warily as huge ravens spiralled down from the sunlit treetops. Across the clearing, the man called Sealgaire relaxed, and Mup saw that these ravens were his friends. “It’s OK, Tipper,” she said, as Sealgaire lowered Crow to the ground. “See? Crow isn’t afraid of these people.”
Indeed, Crow was staring up at the new arrivals with a kind of awe. They landed at Sealgaire’s side, then rose to their feet as men.
“You came for me,” Crow said in obvious disbelief. “You came to save me.”
Sealgaire hushed him gently, his eyes once again fixed on Aunty. He seemed about to speak when his attention switched to the trees behind Mup. He shrank back, and Mup spun to see what it was that had frightened him. It was only Mam, striding, frowning, through the trees, Badger at her heels. She came stalking past Mup and Tipper and Aunty and put herself between her children and the strangers.
“Mammy!” barked Tipper. “A bad cat scratched me, but I bited it! Then I ranned with Aunty and Mup to here!”
“Good boy,” muttered Mam. “Mind the children, Badger,” she said, and Badger – all hackles and teeth – took up guard at Mup and Tipper’s side.
Mam’s attention was focused on the men. There were five of them, not counting Sealgaire. All were dressed in the same old-fashioned manner as Crow, equally threadbare and faded, all with the same dark hair and large, dark, wary eyes. Some of them were very badly wounded indeed, and blood ran in shocking quantities from gashes and cuts. One man’s eye was swollen completely shut. Another man leaned on a tree as if unable to put weight on his leg.
Mam, apparently surprised at their condition, straightened from her defensive crouch. She lowered her sparking hands. “Oh,” she said. “I was angry that you didn’t stay and help me protect my children … but I now see you did your best.”
The men exchanged glances. One of them gestured for Sealgaire to speak.
Sealgaire bowed, seemed to think a moment, then carefully rhymed:
“Madam, you were brave and good,
To aid our boy-child in this wood.”
Crow, suddenly furious, exclaimed. “Aid me? Sealgaire, she put me in a bag!”
As one, the men glared at him, and Crow flushed. His face screwed up in concentration. Speaking slowly, and with much thought between words, he managed:
“She … she went and put me in a bag,
She’s a rotten, nasty hag!”
Sealgaire tutted:
“Try and have some manners, Crow,
You’ve caused more trouble than you know.”
“Who are you?” Mam asked him.
Sealgaire regarded her with a strange mixture of fear and bright-eyed hope.
“Madam, if I may be so bold to ask,
Are you the heir returned at last?”
One of the
other men hissed and gripped Sealgaire’s arm to silence him. But Sealgaire continued to address Mam in growing excitement.
“Has the duchess brought you home,
To take your place upon the throne?”
He seemed about to go on, but a trio of cats ran from the trees and he turned to them instead, delighted and relieved at their arrival.
One of the cats, sleek and noble with pale grey fur, furiously outran the others in her hurry to cross the clearing. Aunty straightened at the sight of her. “Fírinne!” she whispered.
“Do you know that cat, Aunty?” asked Mup, but Aunty didn’t reply. She just continued regarding the angry feline with what Mup could only interpret as longing and sorrow.
The grey cat yowled as she and her companions reached the men. “Look at you! You’re bleeding! You’re hurt! Oh, I’m sorry it took so long to get to you. I can’t believe you went after him! Oh, that boy!” She prowled around Sealgaire to get to Crow, who drew back, scowling. “What is wrong with you?” hissed the cat. “Will you never learn?”
“Fírinne.” Sealgaire smiled. Holding out a placating hand, he said:
“We snatched the boy and quickly fled,
The enforcers shan’t find where we’ve hid.
More than that, Oh, so much more,
Look who has walked back through our door.”
He gestured to Aunty.
The cat’s eyes widened in momentary shock. “Duchess,” she said. “You have returned.”
“Fírinne,” said Aunty. “Oh, my friend. It is so good to see you.”
The cat did not seem to agree. “Returned but in a very reduced state, I see. I had not thought you would be one of those who refuse to cross the fragile veil. Troubled by an uneasy conscience?” The cat smiled, but there was no warmth to it.
Aunty flushed slightly and looked down at her transparent body.
To Mup, it seemed that Aunty’s discomfort pleased the cat. She arched and rose and, in one sinuous movement, transformed into a graceful woman of sixty or so, with long silver hair and beautiful, though faded, clothes. The rest of the cats also transformed into women. They went to support the wounded men. All of them gathered in a watchful group at the silver-haired woman’s back, and Mup guessed that she was their leader.
“We need to run, Fírinne,” said one of the women. “It’s not possible they could have evaded the queen’s enforcers this easily.”
“Mam hid us,” said Mup. She paused as over half a dozen strangers switched their gaze to her. “She … she stormed up all the leaves and confused the raggedy witches.”
“Raggedy witches?” said Fírinne.
“It’s what she calls my sister’s creatures,” said Aunty.
“They can’t follow us because Mam hid us as we ran,” explained Mup. “Isn’t that right, Mam?”
Mam nodded. She and Fírinne regarded each other with suspicious curiosity.
“We’re safe,” said Mup. “Aren’t we, Mam?”
“I don’t know,” said Mam. “I don’t know how things work here. No one ever explained any of this to me – except to say I need to be quiet and do as I’m told.”
“We are not safe,” said Fírinne. “Whomever the queen wants, her enforcers find. It only takes one unlawful word or deed for them to sniff you out.”
Mup stepped closer, entranced by Fírinne’s fierce expression. Her eyes were just as piercing as a raggedy witch’s, just as unsettling, though sparking and vibrant – not crushing and cold as theirs had been.
Fírinne dragged her attention from Mam and looked down at Mup. Something about her seemed to startle Fírinne – as though she were seeing Mup properly for the first time. Gently, she touched Mup’s red coat and sparkly dress. “Oh, child,” she whispered. “Aren’t you brave to shine so bright in this disapproving world?”
“Are you and your friends witches?” asked Mup.
Fírinne’s eyebrow quirked, as if Mup had just asked the most amusing question. “Of course we are,” she said. “Aren’t you?”
Witches! thought Mup in astonishment. “But … you’re not like those others.”
This hardened the woman’s face a little. “I should hope not,” she said.
“Fírinne is an old friend of mine,” Aunty told Mup. “These are her tribe, Clann’n Cheoil – the music people.”
“What’s left of Clann’n Cheoil. After your sister’s doings.”
Again, Aunty looked uncomfortable. “My sister’s doings were never any of my business, Fírinne. And even if they were” – she gestured to her body – “you can see I’m little more than a memory now.”
The woman huffed. “You’ve been nothing but a memory for decades.”
Sealgaire came to Fírinne’s elbow and murmured:
“The duchess has returned the heir,
The queen will soon find out she’s here.
If we don’t wish to end in jail,
We should consider setting sail.”
Fírinne eyed Mam again. “Are you here to start a war? It’s what your mother always feared – that you’d be back after years of preparation to wrest her from the throne.”
Mam chuckled bitterly. “Preparation,” she huffed. “The only thing I’ve been preparing all this time are dinners and bottles and beds.”
Fírinne frowned in confusion. “Well, whatever your purpose, I don’t want you dragging my people into it. They’ve suffered enough.” She glanced at Crow. “As for you, child, you’re getting to be more trouble than you’re worth. Next time we should just leave you to the mercy of the queen’s creatures … regardless of what Sealgaire has to say.”
Crow went to retort and the woman flung up her hand. “Stop! No one has any patience for finishing your rhymes today, and we can all do without your unlawful speech drawing more of the queen’s enforcers down on us.”
Crow jutted his chin in defiance.
“Look at him!” cried one of the clann. “He’s not even sorry!” She rounded on Crow. “You’re the reason these men are injured. Thanks to you we’ll probably have to move on again. Why can’t you stay where we put you instead of wandering off all the time?”
Crow began to shake, his fists and face screwed up in rage.
Sealgaire stepped between him and the others.
“Crow,” he said gently.
“Best hold your tongue.
There’ll be time to talk when day is done.”
Fírinne made a noise of disgust. “Enough of this.We must flee.” She stalked away into the trees, and her people followed her.
After a moment’s hesitation, Mam strode after them. Tipper and Badger ran to her heels, and with a sigh, Aunty followed.
“Aren’t you coming, Crow?” asked Mup.
He regarded her from the centre of the clearing, his skinny chest rising and falling with unspoken anger. She waited as the others got further and further away.
Eventually, she said, “Please don’t stay here on your own, Crow. Please come with us.”
And finally, as if losing a great battle with himself, Crow joined her, and they followed the adults through the woods.
Mup and Crow ran to catch up.
The music people kept their human forms as they marched through the woods. They did nothing to deter Mup’s family from following them. Mam and Aunty held a muttered conversation as they stalked on their tail.
“Clann’n Cheoil are good people,” said Aunty, as if to reassure herself. “At least, they used to be good people.”
“Don’t care who they are,” said Mam. “As long as I get the information I need to rescue Daniel.”
“I’m sure they’ll help all they can, seeing how we saved their boy.”
Mam grimaced. “I’m not sure they’re all that happy to have him back.”
Mup glanced at Crow. He was limping badly and there was blood on his stocking where the wool had cut his flesh. She thought it was odd that no one – not even her mother – had thought to check his leg or ask if he was all right. Admittedly, h
e was scowling in that off-putting manner and his hands were clenched up into fists, but Mup had never known an adult let something like that stop them from fussing – especially not if a kid had blood on them.
“Are Clann’n Cheoil your family, Crow?” she asked.
Crow’s mouth squirmed about, his brow creasing as he searched for words. He must not have managed to find any because he just shook his head.
Mup thought a while. Then she said, “If you’re having a hard time, I could help you with the rhyme.”
Crow slammed to a halt, his whole body suffused with mortified rage.
“I’ll find my own words!” he cried.
“I don’t need you to… I don’t need anyone to…”
He made a frustrated sound again, his face growing red as he searched for a rhyme to end his sentence with. Mup said nothing, and Crow spun abruptly away from her. He went back to limping through the leaves. Mup walked with him.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. And she was too. Not because she had tried to help – why should she be sorry for that? – but because of all the words she could see bottled up inside him with no way of getting out, and because of how upset that seemed to make him. Tentatively, she asked, “Will … will the raggedy witches come back now? Because you didn’t rhyme?”
Crow clumped on, and Mup thought he maybe wouldn’t answer her, but after a while he said, “If my … if my meanings stay…” He grunted in frustration, and then thumped his chest as if to illustrate his point.
“Inside?” asked Mup.
He nodded.
“If my meanings stay” – he thumped his chest –
“Her people keep away.”
Mup stopped walking. “Crow, are you saying that if people can’t understand you properly, the witches will leave you alone? Is that what the rule is for? To stop people understanding each other? To make it harder for people to talk?”
Crow huffed. “Some people. Rebel people.”
“That’s terrible, Crow. That’s a terrible thing to do to anyone.”
Crow’s expression softened as if in surprise at Mup’s attitude. He nodded.
Begone the Raggedy Witches Page 6
