by Dan Davis
She followed behind him for what seemed like a long time, as wet as she could be. Her hands were shoved into her armpits under her cloak and yet they were still like shards of ice, her fingers as stiff as old bone. She was shivering violently when Cedd stopped again. He grabbed her arm and she could feel the warmth of his hand through her wet clothing.
‘We are now inside the camp,’ he said with his mouth so close to her ear she could feel his breath. It smelled of onions and beer. ‘Can you see the lamp light spilling from inside the tents?’
‘No,’ she started to say but then she saw a faint glow from the corner of her eye. A thin vertical strip of yellow smeared on the night. ‘Yes,’ she said, seeing another, then more once she got her eye in, on all sides. ‘I see them.’ She could also now make out men’s voices from inside many of them. Her heart raced at the thought of being discovered.
‘See ahead?’ Cedd whispered. ‘Many lamps and more light about a single, large tent? That will be where Hopkins sleeps.’
As she looked, the curtain of rain shifted with a gust of wind, allowing her to see where he was indicating. There was a tent larger than the others. It was very well lit and had an area of open space around it. Something else, too, glinting and shiny in the lamplight, shiny like polished metal.
‘Soldiers,’ she said, pointing at them. Standing guard in the rain between her and the large tent.
‘We need to become invisible,’ Cedd said.
‘You can do that?’ she asked, impressed and relieved.
‘No,’ Cedd whispered. ‘But you can.’
‘I cannot,’ she said, confused.
‘Rain this heavy, in this darkness,’ Cedd spoke into her ear. ‘Pull the raindrops around us as we walk, create a cloak of falling rain that no eye can see through.’
Writer shook her head, forgetting Cedd could not see her. ‘I do not have that much control.’
‘And you never will,’ Cedd said. ‘Unless you try. And if you fail we shall be discovered.’
She took a breath and reached out with fluttering heart into the raindrops above and around her. The sensation almost overwhelmed her, there were so many. Somehow she allowed it to flow through her and she pulled them in their hundreds and their thousands into a stream around her and Cedd so that there was a wall of water all around them on all sides.
The tent, Cedd said.
She walked forward, the rain shrouding them.
The soldiers, Cedd said. She could somehow sense the world outside the shroud and so she directed great sheets of water from the sky down onto the guards. She felt them bending double under the weight of water, felt them driven from their feet and felt them stagger away looking for shelter.
Cedd lifted the tent flap and the rain was cut off. She was inside and blinking from the glare of the lamplight, water pouring from her hair and clothes. She was surprised to see desks and chairs inside the tent and papers and maps. It took her a moment to notice there was a man in the centre sitting at a round table. And then a feeling of relief flooded through her as she saw the Wicungboc, open next to the man on the table. He was pouring through it and writing out notes on loose sheets of paper to the side.
He looked up, and Writer saw that it was the magistrate from her trial. Magistrate Thurloe. ‘Cedd?’ he cried, jumping to his feet. ‘That disgusting man they caught said you were nearby. What are you doing here?’ She was thrilled to realise that Thurloe seemed terrified of Cedd. ‘I am sorry. When I saw you at the trial I did not know how to react. I tried to release her but you know Hopkins better than anyone so you know there’s no telling the man anything. Anyway, I knew the main thing you wanted was Bede’s Codex, which I have here.’
‘You are a fool,’ Cedd hissed as he marched over to Thurloe. ‘You are useless. You are weak. You must learn to control your agents or there is no hope for you.’
Thurloe looked outraged. ‘Now you listen to me, I did my best but Hopkins is mad, quite mad. And you know, you accusing me of not being a real magistrate unsettled me and I was unsure as to exactly how you wished me to respond because surely it...’
‘What did you tell Hopkins and Stearne about me?’ Cedd asked.
‘Nothing,’ Thurloe said. ‘Not a thing. They do not even know the full extent of my work for Cromwell and I would never give you away, of course, never.’
‘You know each other,’ Writer said, unable to hold her tongue any longer.
Thurloe turned to look at her properly for the first time. ‘Your master and I go back a long way. In fact, he taught me everything I know about...’ Thurloe stopped, frowning. ‘It cannot be. Cedd... that is the witch. What on earth are you doing with...?’
Thurloe got no further with his confused indignation because Cedd punched him in the side of the head. Punched him very hard indeed and Thurloe crumpled to the ground at Cedd’s feet.
‘Who are you?’ Writer asked as Cedd leapt over the unconscious Thurloe and grabbed the Wicungboc.
‘Let us escape and I shall tell you everything,’ Cedd said as he carefully but swiftly wrapped the book up.
‘Fine,’ Writer said after a moment. ‘Let us go.’ She grabbed his arm, hard, as he hurried to the entrance; stopping him for a moment and making him wince where her fingers dug into his flesh. He was grown man but she was tall and she stared right into his eyes. ‘But when we escape, you and I are having words.’
Escaping meant doing the same as getting in. The shroud of rain that Writer gathered around them hid her and Cedd from casual glance but the rain was easing off and she had to reach out farther and farther to funnel enough to maintain their protection and she could feel that she was creating a wide clear space around the curtain around them. It would look strange indeed and it would surely appear obvious that something magical was happening.
Hurry, Cedd said. Faster!
She walked faster, boots sinking into waterlogged earth. Cedd gripped her elbow and dragged her forward through the camp. The effort of moving the rain continuously was exhausting her. Using her power made her tired. Her perfect centre, her core, the point from where her power came was wavering and she felt the shroud dissipating.
Hold on, she heard Cedd saying. We are almost free.
She stumbled in the mud and the rain shroud fell away. The sky was lighter, the rain fast turning to drizzle. There were tents all around. She heard men yawning and coughing.
Cedd yanked her upright and growled in her ear. ‘Pull yourself together, girl.’
The shroud flowed back into place and she lurched onward but it was too late. A shout behind them and Cedd was yelling at her.
‘Forget the rain,’ he cried. ‘Run!’
The Battle of Bures
‘So this is the Vale,’ Winstanley said, the pale winter sunrise falling on upon his face. After the heavy rain had come a heavy fog, which was often the case in winter in the Vale.
He and Archer stood on the inn’s porch looking out across the marketplace of Bures. They had slept at the inn but Archer had woken before dawn and in spite of his tiredness had been unable to get back to sleep. He’d crept from the room leaving Weaver and Keeper both snoring. On the landing he bumped into Winstanley who was likewise creeping out of his room next door. The sun was on its way up so they stepped out to greet the dawn.
‘Last night the Merchants told us Cromwell’s horsemen were sleeping in the mill down by the river,’ Archer pointed through the gloom down the hill toward the bridge. ‘But soon they will be come up here. They will take everything and force the people of Bures to the Tower. Who knows what will happen to them then.’
‘Already some have gone and more go right now.’ Winstanley said. ‘But most of the townsfolk will be here when the horsemen return. They do not understand the danger. And yet you are considering a different course of action?’
Archer hesitated. ‘We could go down there,’ he said, pausing to clear his throat. ‘Catch them while they are sleeping.’
Winstanley rubbed his face and sighed. ‘I am
a pacifist, you know.’
‘A what?’
‘It is my belief that all violence should be avoided,’ Winstanley said. ‘No matter what the consequences.’
‘I believe that too,’ Archer said.
Winstanley seemed doubtful. ‘And yet you are willing to do harm to those horsemen in order to save these people, save your family?’
‘Of course,’ Archer said. ‘But I don’t want to.’
Winstanley sighed. ‘It is my belief that if a man strikes your face, instead of striking him back you should turn your other cheek so that he may strike you again.’
Archer wasn’t sure if Winstanley was joking. ‘You’re mad.’
Winstanley laughed. ‘Yes, perhaps,’ he said. ‘And yet, it means I can do no harm to those soldiers.’
‘Fine,’ Archer said. ‘I’ll do them harm all by myself.’
Archer had not taken a step when there was a sound like thunder. Only, it was not thunder. It seemed to be coming not from the sky but down by the river. He squinted, trying to peer through the curtain of fog before he remembered he could tear through it quite easily. Calling up the white wind he sent gusts of air as far as he could to pull apart the fog in the direction of the rumbling sound. It was soldiers on horses, galloping up the road into the town.
The soldiers tore through the dawn and galloped into the centre of the town on their powerful horses, hooves drumming on the earth. Encased in metal helmets and breastplates, the men atop the animals looked terrible and powerful. With their faces hidden by the grills on their helmets they looked identical as they charged past and into the marketplace. None of them gave him a second glance. Archer counted ten, then twelve and then they kept coming. There must have been thirty of them, at least.
‘Oh dear,’ Winstanley said.
‘Wake the others,’ Archer said, and Winstanley ducked back inside.
After the last of them had passed into the marketplace he stepped into the churned up road and followed them, keeping to the darkness along the walls of the inn and houses. He stopped against the brick wall of a building at the edge of the marketplace. The soldiers looked almost identical but one seemed to be riding a particularly fine horse and the cloth of his yellow coat was thicker and cleaner and brighter than that of the others. That man pulled a pistol from his belt and fired it into the air.
‘People of the Vale,’ the soldier shouted. ‘It is time.’
Archer wanted to bring the wind down on them but he did not know what good that would do. He could probably throw them from their horses to the ground but then what? Could he keep them there? Would that stop them from firing their muskets at him, at the people of Bures?
‘I shall give you all two minutes to climb from your beds and gather in this market square,’ the lead soldier shouted. ‘In two minutes I shall begin burning this entire town.’ He nodded to two of his men, who lit flaming torches and held them up. Other soldiers walked their horses over to light their own torches.
Archer felt the white wind rising then, gripping his heart. The wind blew away the remnants of fog like a cloth being whipped from a table. He whipped air at the lit torches, blasting some from the soldier’s hands, and blowing the fire from the rest. The soldiers looked up at the sky in shock.
Some townsfolk were stepping hesitantly from doorways around the marketplace and down the road. ‘Get back inside,’ Archer shouted, his voice coming out louder than he planned. ‘Go on, back indoors,’ The unexpected strength of his shout was thrilling. ‘Everyone, stay inside, do not listen to them.’
‘Kill that boy,’ the leader shouted at him men, pointing at Archer. He dived to the ground as muskets banged and musketballs slammed into the wall where he had been standing.
The ground beneath him rumbled and shook and Archer pictured horses galloping toward him so he jumped to his feet, ready to run back toward the inn but instead of horses there was Weaver. Kneeling with her back to him, she had her fingers thrust into the gaps between the cobblestones. It was she who was shaking the ground and the soldiers were not riding their horses but sawing on the reins trying to keep from being thrown. The poor horses were terrified and some were rearing up, others were bucking to get their riders off and then one did run, charging headlong through the marketplace and out onto the road. Other horses followed the first one. Some ran with their soldier clinging desperately to their backs, others had rid themselves of their rider and ran light and free with the rest.
A handful of the soldiers were left sprawled in the market square and they looked terrified as the shaking continued beneath them, the cobblestones set into earth, began to grow soft and liquefied so that the men sank as if into thick mud. Sank up to their boots, then quickly they sunk up to their thighs, their waists and then their chests. Tiles from the houses above slid from the roofs and smashed about them.
‘Please,’ they cried. ‘Please, no.’ They were clawing at the ground, at each other, desperate to avoid being buried alive.
‘That’s enough, Weaver,’ Archer said, with his hand on her shoulder.
She shook off his hand and the shaking grew even worse and the soldiers sunk to their shoulders and some up to their necks.
‘Stop,’ Archer said and yanked Weaver to her feet.
‘Hey!’ Weaver said, spinning about with her muddy fists raised.
‘We won,’ Archer shouted at her. ‘You did it, you beat them already.’ He took a breath. ‘No need to do anything more.’
Weaver sighed, looking back at them. ‘No need,’ she agreed. ‘Shame, really.’
Keeper came running up with Winstanley. ‘Are you two injured?’ Keeper asked, looking worried.
‘We’re fine,’ Archer said. ‘Help us collect those men’s muskets and I suppose we’ll have to dig them out and then tie them up.’ The soldiers were gasping and struggling but they were well and truly stuck.
‘How did you do that, Weaver?’ Winstanley said.
She shrugged. ‘No idea. It just sort of happened.’
The townsfolk were stepping into the streets and marketplace. First one or two and then more and more stepped into the dawn light. Mostly they looked amazed, stunned. Some were relieved and happy. Many were pointing at Archer and Weaver, looking between them and the soldiers who yet cried out for aid.
‘You two have astonished me,’ Winstanley said, his eyes wide. ‘Truly, astonished me.’
‘I thought you hated fighting,’ Archer said to him.
‘You won a battle without killing anyone, so far as I can tell,’ Winstanley said. ‘That is sure to be lauded.’
‘Don’t get too excited,’ Weaver said. ‘It’s early yet.’
‘She’s not wrong,’ Archer said. ‘Most of them legged it and that means they’ll be back. And there are a few hundred more on their way, plus a landship and I don’t think we have a hope against so many, especially now they have warning of what we are capable of.’ His head swam at the thought of it and he reached out a hand for the sturdy shoulder of Keeper. ‘And I am weakened from using my abilities. How are you, Weaver? I’ve never seen you do so much. Could you fight again if you had to, right now?’
She looked green of skin and her eyes glazed and she opened her mouth to reply but instead bent double and vomited onto the cobblestones. Archer and everyone danced back a step. ‘Yeah,’ Weaver said, wiping her mouth. ‘I think I need a lay down.’
The Guardian Wolves
Cedd shoved her forward and she ran through the rain, boots splashing through puddles and mud.
Muskets banged behind them, one, two, then lots of muskets almost all together. She hunched her shoulders and ducked. The space between her shoulders itched where she expected a musketball to hit her but instead she heard them smacking into tree trunks and slapping through the wet branches all around her.
Cedd growled something and slid to a stop and she was sure he had been hit so she stopped to grab the Wicungboc from him. Instead, he pushed her again. ‘Do not stop, I will be right behind you.’ He fac
ed the soldiers, jammed the Wicungboc under one arm and began a chant, a spell, and moved his hands in an intricate pattern.
Through the rain darkness behind them she saw a couple of flashes and muskets banged, whipping shots through the rain either side of her. She did not wait to see what Cedd was doing and ran onward. Her feet slid on wet leaves and she ran with her hands out in front of her face so she did not collide with a tree trunk or poke an eye out on a branch. Still, she slipped over in the mud and cut herself on twigs and brambles as she ran headlong into darkness until her lungs and throat burned from the cold air and her heart ached with strain in her chest and still she ran on. It seemed, after a long time running, that she was out of the woods. She felt as much as saw that the ink-black tree shadow turned into a cloudy, dark sky tinged with colour in the east.
So she lurched to a stop and leaned on her knees. The rain had become a thin drizzle. It was hard to hear over the sound of her breathing and heart thundering in her ears but she could not make out any signs of pursuit behind her. Which made it all the more surprising when Cedd came wheezing out of the trees. There was just enough light now to make out the impression of his face.
‘Cedd?’ She struggled to form words between great sucking breaths. ‘Soldiers?’ It was astonishing that he had managed to keep pace with her. He was shaking even more than she was and the old man appeared incapable of speech. However, he managed to shake his head and weakly shove her forward.
She pushed him back. ‘Have you got the book?’ she asked, heaving in a long breath.
‘Course.’ Cedd wheezed, then coughed.
‘Give it to me,’ she said. Cedd hesitated so she reached under his cloak and yanked it from his hands. It was still wrapped safely in the waxed cloth. She tucked it under her arm inside her cloak.
‘You said you did not know magic,’ she said, breathing deeply.
Cedd nodded, wincing. ‘I lied,’ he said. ‘Talk later.’ He pushed her again, gently this time. ‘Walk.’
She said. ‘Humph.’ But walk she did. Walk through soaking wet grass. She was already soaked from head to toe and was starting to get very cold. It had been a long time since she had been able to feel her fingers but soon her entire body was numb other than the areas that were outright painful. The cold seemed to creep into her bones through her boots, up her legs and making her knees ache. The Wicungboc felt like a burden and she longed to return it to Cedd, only she remembered that he was not to be trusted and she gripped it all the tighter.
