by Dan Davis
The thought sunk in and then the brutes all strode back towards the device, faces set hard again.
Oh no you don’t. Writer thought. Her will flowed from her and down into the water of the pond. She pulled four columns of water out, twisting and pouring around themselves and growing longer, twice as tall as a person, and longer and longer still and she smashed each column of water into Stearne and his three brutes. The force of the water and the weight of it in motion was enough to knock all of them down in a trice. The men scrambled to their feet, coughing and spluttering and they ran back away from her, falling over themselves and each other, slipping in the slimy clay and staggering towards the fields beyond.
‘Do not flee, you craven fools,’ Hopkins called after them. Writer pulled out another column of water, lifted it high over Hopkins who backed away in terror with his arms over his face. She crashed it down over him, driving him into the mud. She laughed as he, too, crawled to his feet and ran after them, water streaming from his clothes. Hopkins’ other followers, the Magistrate Thurloe, the witch pricker women Barb and Malice and a couple of other helpers, ran after him. They ran away from Morningtree to the south across the fields towards the far hills and trees of the Moon Forest.
There were running and so Writer felt the danger passing. And with that Writer could feel her control of the water beneath her weakening so she lowered it until the beam and chair swung down into the sodden earth. All the tension and fear drained away until there was nothing but exhaustion.
Her mother and father were there undoing the iron bands at her wrists and ankles. ‘Oh my dear sweet baby,’ her mother was saying over and over again. Her father looked angrier than she had ever seen him, grinding his teeth while he yanked the pins from her bonds.
That man Cedd was there with them, smiling at her as her parents helped her up from the chair. She stood, blinking around her. Her limbs were weak and wobbly and her mind confused, as though she were asleep.
The crowd of townsfolk had largely gone and most of those that remained were pushing and shoving to get away. But a few stood here and there around the pond and by the buildings on the town side. They were staring at her, talking to each other in groups, glancing at her and whispering.
With a shock, she realised that Archer was there. And Weaver was beside him.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked Archer.
‘We came to rescue you,’ Archer said.
Writer did not know what to say. She just shook her head.
Weaver punched Archer on the arm. ‘Wasted our time, didn’t we,’ she said.
‘Let’s get you home, sweetheart,’ her mother said. ‘You look fit to drop.’
‘We shall have you safe and sound in no time,’ added her father.
Cedd cleared his throat. ‘You good people know me not,’ he said. ‘But I hope you will trust me when I say that Hopkins and Stearne will most certainly return to the Vale, just as soon as they find their courage and a lot more soldiers.’
‘Writer will just smash them down again,’ Weaver said, grinning like a wolf.
‘There are already a number of soldiers roaming the Vale and I believe Hopkins will be able to bring many more,’ Cedd said.
‘He’s right,’ Archer said to Writer. ‘We met some of them on the way here.’
Cedd looked at her friends, surprised. ‘And yet here you stand and they do not. You must be two young people of considerable power, like your friend Maerwynn, here.’ He nodded. ‘I am most impressed, I must say.’
‘Who cares what you must say,’ said Weaver, sneering. ‘Who even are you, anyway?’
‘My name is Cedd,’ he said, performing a short bow. ‘And I am an alchemist.’
Cedd’s Full of Hot Air
‘We should get you home,’ Archer said to Writer, looking around at the people watching them. ‘The townsfolk were afraid of what they saw you do and they’re still scared.’
‘Yes,’ Writer’s mother said. ‘Let us go home, dear Maerwynn.’ Archer was embarrassed to see the old woman had tears in her eyes.
‘Don’t worry, Archer,’ Writer’s father said to him. ‘Morningtree folk may be judgemental but they’re not violent. No one here shall hurt our daughter.’
‘No,’ Weaver said. ‘They’ll just stand around watching outsiders hurt her instead.’ She spat on the mud.
‘Your uncouth friend is right,’ the old man named Cedd said. ‘We should leave the area before Hopkins and his men regain their courage and return to complete their task.’
‘Killing Writer,’ Archer said, warily. The short but powerful looking man admitted he was an alchemist. Archer did not know what to do. Cedd did not appear to be afraid for himself; he was just standing there with a small smile on his weather-beaten face. He wore a coat and a wide hat with a twig of rosemary shoved into it.
‘Yes,’ Cedd said. ‘Although, I would imagine that next time they shall take her away to Coalschester or even London.’
Writer seemed to be confused, dazed, tired. Not herself at all. ‘I’d like to go home now,’ she said, to everyone and no one.
Her parents led her away from the chair and wooden device, one parent on each side of her. The folk by the pond stood aside to let them pass, muttering and whispering and staring at them. Archer stood there for a moment watching her being led through the townsfolk.
‘Do not fret, young man,’ Cedd said. ‘She is merely tired from her ordeal. She shall recover her strength in no time.’
‘So, you’re an alchemist then,’ Archer said to him. It was so strange to say that. He knew that Bede had not been the only alchemist but Bede was the only one Archer or anyone else in the Vale had ever known. This Cedd seemed to be the very opposite of the man that Bede had been. He was quite short where Bede had been very tall. Cedd looked brawny and powerfully built where Bede had been thin as a bean pole. Cedd appeared calm and restrained but in Archer’s one meeting with Bede, the alchemist had been wild and almost mad. And yet the way they spoke seemed to be very similar. Bede and Cedd both spoke with a strange accent; their manner of speech had a throaty, thick tinge to it that he had heard in no other person.
‘Indeed I am an alchemist. Amongst other things,’ Cedd said, that little smile still on his face, as if he was making a joke that only he himself understood.
‘If you’re an alchemist,’ Weaver said. ‘How come you didn’t bother to save her?’
‘Not all alchemists have the kind of powers your friend Bede had,’ Cedd said. ‘And none have his particular brilliance. I used my own meagre abilities as best I could to persuade Hopkins and that useless idiot Thurloe to let her go during Maerwynn’s trial.’
‘You’re not very good, then,’ Weaver said.
Cedd laughed. ‘You are not mistaken. I am a poor excuse for an alchemist.’
‘Come on,’ Archer said to them, seeing Writer and her parents turn a corner to head down the main street and disappeared from sight. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
Cedd walked with them through the throngs of townsfolk, nodding and smiling at people to either side of them, wishing people a good day. Most of the people, even though they were gossiping furiously, smiled and wished him a good day back.
‘For an outsider, you seem have a lot of friends here,’ Archer said to the alchemist. ‘For an outsider.’
‘I know nobody here in the Vale.’ Cedd said, brightly. ‘It is simply a matter of my upright bearing, the projection of total confidence and my obvious great age,’ Cedd said. ‘You see, respect comes from -’
‘Stop right there, criminal scum!’
Archer spun towards the shout.
The soldiers.
Ralf and Radish. They’d left them in the alley when Weaver had done them in and clearly they weren’t dead after all. They were filthy and bleeding and Ralf was leaning on Radish in the middle of the street. Both were angry. The people in the street ran out of the way to the side of the street and melted away into the shop fronts and under the eaves.
> The soldiers hobbled towards them down the street. They had no weapons in their hands but they looked angry and ready for violence. Archer reached over his shoulder for his bow but froze when he remembered it had been broken back in the alley. From the corner of his eye he saw Weaver pull her knife from her belt. Archer went onto the balls of his feet, ready to move quickly. He felt the white wind start to build inside him but he fought it back down again. The street was packed full of Morningtree folk who would be hurt as well as the soldiers if he used wind. So instead he pulled two arrows from his quiver and held both behind the points. He would have to use them like small knives. The thought made his heart race.
‘Hold.’ Cedd stepped forward past Archer and Weaver and held up one hand to the soldiers, who both stopped, looking surprised. ‘You poor men are wounded,’ he said, in a strong, loud voice, full of concern and authority.
‘That’s right,’ Ralf said, warily. ‘What’s it to you, old man?’
‘You must return to your company, boys, and get your strength back,’ Cedd said.
The soldiers hesitated. ‘Aye, we will,’ said Ralf, slowly. Then he raised a shaking finger to point past Cedd at Archer and Weaver. ‘But first we got business with them there witches.’
‘Witches?’ Cedd said, as if he was surprised. ‘What on earth can you mean? These here are not witches, oh dear me, no. These here are my dear grandchildren. You are mistaken.’
The soldiers looked confused. ‘They’re the ones what did this to us,’ Ralf spluttered.
‘And they’re going to pay,’ Radish said and started coughing from the effort of speaking. He had blood coming out of his big nose and his ears.
‘Boys, I assure you,’ Cedd said, his voice growing loud and powerful. ‘These are not the children you’re looking for.’
The soldiers looked blankly bank, hesitating. ‘No,’ said Ralf, his eyes glazing over. ‘These aren’t the children we’re looking for.’
‘You saw them run away to the north, did you not?’ Cedd said, his voice sooth and round and resonating between the houses. The townsfolk around were warily keeping their distance.
‘Yes, they ran off northwards,’ Ralf said, his face blank and staring off into the middle distance.
‘And now you shall return to your fellows and bind up your wounds,’ Cedd said. ‘And forget all about this.’
‘We’re going to get back to the Tower and have our wounds bound up,’ Ralf said. ‘Come on, Radish.’
They shuffled past them, holding each other up. Ralf gave Cedd a nod as they drew level. Neither soldier looked at Archer or Weaver. Now they knew there was to be no trouble, townsfolk came back out onto the street and went about their business again.
‘How did you do that?’ Archer asked, unable to hold his tongue.
‘I knew you knew magic,’ Weaver said.
‘It is not magic,’ Cedd said. ‘It is a skill.’
‘So anyone can learn it?’ Archer asked, eagerly.
‘Ah, you are a seeker of power, are you?’ Cedd said, amused. ‘How interesting. And no, it most certainly cannot be learned by anyone. It takes a certain type of person, someone who can cultivate a great moral authority, someone with an ear attuned to the subtlest changes in pitch and tone, someone able to see into the heart of another in mere moments and it takes them decades or centuries of practice to master.’
‘Oh,’ said Archer, disappointed.
‘There are a very rare few who have a natural, innate ability to influence others. It is crude, of course but these people can be very powerful at influencing others. That awful Hopkins is one of those very people. He was certainly able to resist my suggestions during that absurd trial and that is rare.’
Archer didn’t know what Cedd was talking about but he wanted to catch up with Writer. Questions could wait.
‘But if you can tell anyone what to do,’ Weaver said, suddenly. ‘Why didn’t you tell those stupid soldiers to go drown in the lake or fight each other to death or something?’
‘People are much more likely to carry out reasonable requests that do not go against any core beliefs or natural instincts,’ said Cedd, glaring at her. ‘Often, you see, people have to do things that would rather not do. Such as fighting. Even soldiers, in fact especially soldiers, would do anything to avoid a fight and so all you need to do is give them a way out. If you were to instead suggest someone do themself harm, most of the time they would be able overcome your influence. Anyway, I shall always seek to avoid doing violence wherever possible, even to my enemies. And you should not look to violence as your first solution, young lady. That way leads to darkness.’
Weaver looked down but Archer heard her mutter something about not being a lady.
‘Come on, let’s hurry and catch up with Writer before that Hopkins comes back,’ Archer said.
‘Yes, indeed,’ Cedd said, his eyes shining. ‘We have much to do.’
Throwing Cold Water on the Plan
Home. She was home and she had not dared to hope.
Archer and Weaver and Cedd had helped to clean up the house where Stearne and his brutes had so vandalised it. They got the fire burning in the hearth and her father cooked a big cauldron of his delicious winter vegetable stew.
They all sat around the table enthusiastically spooning in the stew. For a long while the only noises were those of slurping and clunking spoons. Her father cleaned up the dishes and everyone else sat back and sipped on their hot mulled cider. Writer felt incalculably better with good food filling her belly. Her mother put her hand on hers and squeezed it. It was good to be home.
‘Thank you so much for the exceptional food,’ Cedd said to her mother and father. ‘There really is nothing so nourishing as a good vegetable stew, you know. Even after so very many years of enjoying such fare it still reminds me of my youth.’
‘You are most welcome,’ her mother said. I must thank you again for speaking up for our Maerwynn at the trial. But why did you help her?’
‘He’s an alchemist,’ Weaver said, grinning.
‘Yes,’ Writer’s mother said, sighing. ‘Thank you, Weaver, we all know that. But you must forgive me, Cedd, we have only ever known one alchemist before and we did not find him to be exactly friendly.’
‘Bede,’ Cedd said, nodding.
‘Did you know Bede?’ Archer said, leaning forward with an intense look in his strange grey eyes.
‘Every alchemist in England knows of Bede,’ Cedd said. ‘Every alchemist in the world, perhaps.’
‘Is that so?’ her mother asked, clearly impressed. ‘Our Bede?’ She looked at Writer with her eyebrows raised. Writer assumed her mother was very impressed by Bede’s fame even though Bede had kidnapped her daughter and kept her prisoner for forty years. But that was what her mother could be like.
‘Oh yes,’ Cedd said. ‘In fact, your Vale itself is very well known throughout England and even farther afield, so I am told. You have been a mystery to the outside world for a very long time.’
‘We know that already,’ Archer said, looking unimpressed. ‘We met a soldier called Pym in the Moon Forest after we escaped from Bede’s Tower. He told us all about how people were always trying to get into the Vale but could never get in because of some kind of magic spells.’
‘Yes,’ Writer cut in. ‘Can you tell me about the protection spells? How they work? Why they have failed?’
Cedd smiled at her. ‘I wish I could, my dear,’ he said. ‘I know very little of magic of any kind, least of all protection spells.’
‘Not much of an alchemist, are you,’ Weaver muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. Cedd merely smiled. Writer found herself warming to the man even more.
‘Oh,’ Writer said. ‘Never mind, it was just a hope.’ She was extremely disappointed. She had been hoping Cedd would be able to help her unlock the secrets of the spells in Bede’s Codex, the Wicungboc.
‘So, tell me,’ Cedd asked her. ‘What did happen to the Alchemist Bede himself? You say you escaped to the Mo
on Forest, and I know that you used a kind of flying device to do so. I must say I should dearly love to hear the tale.’
Writer saw Archer stiffen. ‘He is gone,’ Archer said. ‘That’s all that matters.’
‘Quite right,’ Cedd said, brightly. ‘Quite right. He’s dead, then?’
‘Not exactly,’ Weaver said. ‘He’s more like... a basket.’
‘Oh?’ Cedd asked, taking a sip of cider.
Archer seemed reluctant to say any more.
‘I used a spell on him,’ Writer admitted. ‘One of his own transmutation spells. It turned him into a rather enormous wicker basket. It was one chosen almost at random, I must say and yet we found it to be incredibly useful as our means of escape. We used the basket as the cradle for carrying us from the top of the tower. We inadvertently travelled deep into the Moon Forest and we were very lucky to make it home.’
Cedd froze and for a long moment he seemed stunned. ‘You? You managed to defeat one of the most powerful magical alchemists the world has ever known? An untrained young woman? And with one of his own spells, no less?’ Cedd swallowed and eventually chuckled. Writer found herself smiling, too, and her mother looked immensely proud. Even Weaver was grinning. Archer, for some reason, was scowling.
‘So,’ her father said, coming back to join them. ‘What’s all this about?’
‘Your daughter has performed a rare feat, sir,’ Cedd said to her father. ‘A rare feat, indeed.’ Her parents swelled with pride at his praise.
‘What happens now?’ Writer asked Cedd. She heard Archer tutting but she ignored him. He could be quite infuriating, sometimes.
‘Now we get back to normality, my dear,’ her mother said, smiling.
Writer knew that wasn’t true. She saw that Archer, Weaver and Cedd knew it too. ‘Hopkins and Stearne will be back, mother,’ she said. ‘I am correct, am I not?’ she asked Cedd.
‘Yes,’ Cedd replied. ‘As far as those foul men are concerned they have unfinished business with Maerwynn. And I am certain they also want our friends here.’ Cedd indicated Archer and Weaver.
