by Anne Forbes
There was a horrified scream of despair from the witches as, pulling back the sleeve of her jacket, Clara held her arm high above her head so that everyone could see the shining band of silver round her arm.
Ignoring the witches, the old man stepped forward from the shadow of the trees and, arm outstretched, sent the hex flying across the river in a desperate attempt to take the talisman for himself. Indeed, had Clara been holding it in her hand, he might well have succeeded but as it was, the hex struck her arm with vicious force, sparked off the talisman in a blaze of light and knocked her into the river.
Neil swung round just in time to see a decrepit-looking old man standing by the water’s edge, before he vanished from sight. A magician! But who could it possibly be? The witches, too, had seen him and, drawing back warily, eyed their queen. Wanda was grinding her teeth in rage as she saw her plan to take the talisman fall apart but nevertheless knew better than to interfere in the affairs of magicians. Her face was a mask of fury as, lifting her arm, she gave the signal to withdraw and Neil watched in amazement as the grey-clad witches shivered, dimmed and faded away.
“The witches have gone, Dad,” he said excitedly, pulling at his arm, and then fell silent as he followed his father’s gaze. A gasp of amazement had risen from the crowd. It was unbelievable. The river had stopped running.
Clara, herself, couldn’t understand what had happened. Why wasn’t she in the river? She half-scrambled to her feet and looked around. All of a sudden, there was no water. Admittedly, the ground around her was stony and wet. Boulders and a myriad of rounded pebbles gleamed in the dim light of the solitary lamp post on the bank but the river had gone. It was only when she turned that she realized what had happened. The river had stopped flowing and she was facing a huge wave of water that loomed over her, growing higher with every second that passed.
“Clara!” Her father scrunched across the boulder-strewn bed of the river towards her and grabbed her by the arm. “Come on,” he said urgently, shaking her out of her daze. “It must be the talisman that’s holding the water back! Come on, run for it!” And together they ran back to the safety of the bank.
It wasn’t far and everyone cheered. It was a cheer that tailed off and petered out, however, as all eyes then turned back to the enormous wave that had built up. It was an amazing sight and several seconds were to pass before it finally reared high in the air and then crashed down with a violence that sent a huge surge of brown water tumbling crazily down the river.
“The witches have gone, Bert,” Christine said, looking round in relief, half-wondering if she’d imagined them.
“Good riddance,” her husband muttered as, like everyone else, they turned to walk with the MacLeans, back up the slope towards the Black Bull. “I’m sorry about your witches, though, love,” he added quietly, remembering the look of devastation on his wife’s face when she’d seen the ragged remains of her collection. “You’ll just have to start all over again and build up another lot, eh!”
Christine looked at him fondly. She knew he’d never liked her witches but, give him his due, he’d never said a word against them. “You’re a good man, Bert,” she said, with a grin, “but, you know, I seem to have gone off witches completely! In fact, it wouldn’t worry me if I were never to see another witch again in my whole life.”
20. Cross Words
Neil and Clara cringed at the tone of his voice and even their parents looked uncomfortable. There was no doubt about it: the MacArthur was furious with them. His face was grim and his voice was icy. “Kitor and Cassia,” he nodded towards the two crows who perched on the arm of Hamish’s chair, “told me how you went on your own inside the witches’ castle and stole The Book of Spells.” He took a deep breath. “Quite frankly, I almost had heart failure at the very thought.”
Hamish and Jaikie nodded in agreement. They’d been fairly gobsmacked themselves when Kitor had told them what Neil and Clara had been up to. Thank goodness they’d come out of it in one piece! Even Arthur breathed a disapproving cloud of smoke down his long nose.
“Why did you do it, Neil?” The MacArthur threw a worried glance at their parents who were sitting to the right of his chair. “What on earth got into you to undertake such a dangerous task on your own? Your father tells me that you didn’t even tell him what you were going to do.” He threw up his hands disbelievingly. “Didn’t you realize the danger you were in? Maritza, the Queen of the Earth Witches, is a nasty bit of work! How many times do I have to tell you! The witches are evil! We warned you, didn’t we?”
Maritza! Clara gulped and looked apprehensively at Neil. It had been bad enough finding out that their drama teacher was a witch but to learn that she was actually Queen of the Earth Witches was totally mind-boggling! A warning glance and a slight shake of the head from Neil, however, kept her quiet. What their parents didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.
“Well, yes,” Neil admitted, “I know. You did tell us that they were evil but, you see, you’d put a spell on our firestones and we had our magic rings on so we thought we’d be … all right.” He tailed off at the frowning look of despair the MacArthur gave him.
“All right!” the MacArthur repeated, looking round the assembled gathering. “You thought you’d be all right, did you?” he continued, holding up the black leather book with its design of mystical symbols on the cover. He laid it once more on his lap and shook his head in despair. “Don’t you realize what you’ve done?”
Neil looked sideways at Clara and shook his head.
“You,” the MacArthur snapped, glaring at them, “out of total, complete, utterly abyssmal ignorance, have just pulled off the biggest robbery there will ever be in the world of magic! Absolutely the biggest!” he said, breathing deeply. He shook his head. “How the witches came to have it in their library, I’ll never know,” he continued, “for it’s been lost for centuries and the spells it contains are ancient. My theory is that someone, in ages past, deliberately hid it very well. And rightly so, for as well as being the oldest book in the world, it’s also the most dangerous.” He gazed down at it and as his finger traced the pentagram that decorated the cover, he looked up and added in a more reasonable tone. “The only good thing to come out of all this is that at least you had the sense to bring it here.” He handed the heavy volume to Jaikie who laid it reverently on a side table. “To bring it here eventually, I should say,” he glowered, for the thought of The Book of Spells lying unprotected on the top of Clara’s wardrobe at school was enough to give anyone nightmares! “And as if that weren’t enough,” he continued, his voice rising, “what does Clara do but waltz in here on her magic carpet, pull up her sleeve and show us Lady Merial’s talisman!! Now do tell me!” he demanded, “when on earth did this happen? How did you manage to find the talisman?” A sudden thought struck him and he turned his head to stare suspiciously at Kitor and Cassia.
The two crows, totally stunned at the MacArthur’s irate tirade, shook their heads.
“Kitor and Cassia knew nothing about it,” Clara assured him, following his glance. “You see, one of Neil’s teachers solved the riddle and we thought …”
“You didn’t think!” the MacArthur interrupted crossly, “you haven’t thought at all throughout this whole affair! That’s the trouble!”
Hamish, Jaikie and Archie looked at one another sideways and decided to keep their heads down and their mouths shut. Even Arthur rolled his wonderful eyes and made do with a painfully discreet cloud of smoke.
John MacLean took a deep breath and told the MacArthur the whole story of their trip to the Black Bull. “I’m really sorry,” he apologised. “I should have told you the minute Neil found the answer to the riddle. After what happened, we all realize that we should have asked your advice.”
“We thought it’d be easy, you see,” Neil chipped in. “I’d no idea that the Wind Witches were listening to what Mrs Weston was saying.”
Clara nodded agreement. “Don’t be so cross with us, MacArthur,” she pleaded
. “We thought …” her voice quavered for a second, “we thought it’d be a piece of cake. We’d use our rings, become invisible, find the talisman and nobody in the Black Bull would be any the wiser …”
“Instead of which,” another voice interrupted, sounding distinctly amused, “you seem to have set the world of magic in a spin! What have the pair of you been up to? Father sounded most mysterious!”
“Lady Ellan,” Clara shrieked, running towards the pretty fair-haired young woman who had just stepped from the huge magic mirror that stood to the left of her father’s great chair.
“Lord Rothlan!” John MacLean breathed a sigh of relief as a slim, kilted figure clutching a long, fur-lined robe round him, also emerged from the mirror. The huge eagle, perched on his shoulders, spread his wings as they entered the cavern and swooped to land beside Clara.
“Amgarad!” she said happily. “Oh, Amgarad, it’s great to see you again.”
Hamish, Jaikie and Archie rose to their feet and a delighted Arthur, blowing streams of fire into the air, managed to contain himself long enough to bow to Lady Ellan and her husband. As far as he was concerned, there couldn’t have been more welcome visitors and he wasn’t alone in hoping that the sight of his daughter and son-in-law might put the MacArthur in a better temper.
By the time greetings were exchanged, the MacArthur had thawed noticeably but his manner was still cool and, despite Lady Ellan’s teasing, he refused to let the matter of the witches, rest.
“You must always,” he said brusquely to Neil and Clara, “let me know when you plan anything dangerous so that I can take steps to protect you. The witches are … are …” he threw his hands out, lost for words.
“They’re a nasty lot,” Jaikie said, risking a comment. “If they’d hexed you …”
“They did hex me,” Clara admitted, “but I was wearing the talisman by then and it saved me.”
Neil looked at his sister in surprise. “No, they didn’t,” he corrected her.
“Come off it, Neil,” she looked at him questioningly, “you were there! You know they did!” She turned to her father. “Didn’t they, Dad?”
“But you’re wrong, Clara,” Neil insisted. “It wasn’t the witches that hexed you. Honestly!”
Everyone, including his father and mother, looked at him in surprise. “Not the witches?” Clara echoed, looking slightly stunned. “Then who was it?”
“Yes, who?” his father asked, puzzled. “There was no one else there to hex her.”
“Yes, there was,” Neil declared. “I only caught a glimpse of him,” he admitted, looking round the little group, “but I saw him quite clearly. It was an old man with straggly, grey hair.”
So puzzled were they at Neil’s words that the MacLeans didn’t notice the look of surprised understanding that flashed between Lord Rothlan and the MacArthur, but Jaikie picked up on it and looked thoughtful.
“Oh, him!” Clara said, oblivious to the sensation she was causing. “He was standing beside the river when I ran down the slope. “He …” she paused and looked thoughtful. “Right enough,” she said slowly, “he knew who I was.” She looked at the MacArthur. “He called me Clara and he knew I had the talisman. He … he asked me for it.”
“Asked you for it!” Neil expostulated. “That was a bit of a cheek, wasn’t it?”
Clara frowned. “He said he needed it …”
“Well, he was the one who hexed you,” Neil rejoined, “and, d’you know, I can’t help thinking that I’ve seen him somewhere before … but I can’t remember where.”
The MacArthur, watching his face crease in puzzlement, made no comment and quickly decided that this was an excellent time to reveal The Book of Spells. Knowing just how much of a sensation it was going to cause, it would not only serve to divert attention from the identity of the old man but would also give Lord Rothlan the surprise of his life. He smiled slightly and, hiding his excitement, whispered to Jaikie.
Lord Rothlan stiffened slightly at the sight of the book in Jaikie’s arms but it was only when he put it down carefully in front of him that he realized what he was looking at.
The MacArthur beamed. The result was everything that he’d hoped for. Lord Rothlan looked dumbfounded and Lady Ellan stared in complete astonishment. They both knew immediately what it was, for the book was a thing of legend and famous throughout the world of magic.
“The Book of Spells!” Lord Rothlan breathed in amazement, his fingers tracing the gold pentagram that decorated the black leather cover. “Where on earth did you get this?” he demanded, his eyes bright with excitement as he opened the book carefully and, turning over some of the pages, looked in awe at the pictures of trolls, daemons and other magical creatures that covered them. “Yes,” he said in a voice tinged with wonder, “this is definitely it! The Book of Spells!”
“Who wrote it?” Clara whispered.
“A wizard wrote it” he breathed, “a great wizard wrote it!” He glanced quickly at the MacArthur as he turned back to the first page. The parchment, yellow with age, was adorned with twining leaves in shades of green and gold but the inscription in the middle, shone clearly in a flowing red script: Written by Astar Imeral. “Legend always had it that the book was written by an ancient wizard called Imeral,” Rothlan said, “and now we know that the legend was correct.”
“Imeral,” Lady Ellan explained, “lived somewhere in the middle of Europe. Over the years, he recorded all the spells he had learned in his lifetime so that they’d never be forgotten. He was always afraid, though, that the book might be stolen by other magicians so he kept it in the topmost tower of his castle. Powerful spells guarded the stairway and for many years he managed to keep it safe. But word got around and …”
“… it was stolen by a huge bird,” the MacArthur finished matter-of-factly. “It flew in through the window of the tower and carried it away in its claws. And from then on,” he added, “it disappeared and hasn’t been seen since … until now, that is.”
“Over the years, some of the spells filtered out, mind you,” Rothlan pointed out. “Everyone knew where they came from because of the language they were written in — but no one ever admitted to stealing the book!”
Lady Ellan turned and looked at her father. “Well,” she said expectantly, “aren’t you going to tell us where you found it?”
The MacArthur nodded towards Neil and Clara. “Ask the pair of them,” he advised, and he smiled wryly as he said it.
There was a sudden silence as Lord Rothlan and Lady Ellan looked at them in amazement. “You!” Lord Rothlan said, looking at them blankly. “You found the book?”
“They didn’t find it,” the MacArthur snapped. “They stole it from the Earth Witches’ castle!”
“Stole it!” Lady Ellan’s eyes widened in disbelief and her voice rose by a couple of octaves. “From the witches! You … you didn’t!” Her eyes flew from Neil to Clara and back again.
It was then that Neil realized the enormity of what they’d done and the terrible risks they’d taken to get hold of the book. He looked at Clara, suddenly frightened. Had the witches caught them, he thought, they’d probably have hexed them to bits!
“Why even I, with all my magic …” Lady Ellan’s voice petered out as her husband nudged her gently.
“Why don’t we all sit down and you can tell us exactly what happened,” Lord Rothlan said calmly. And it was only once they were comfortably settled that Neil then told the story of their escapade inside the witches’ castle and while everyone listened, fascinated, Clara looked down at The Book of Spells. Lord Rothlan had opened it to reveal a page covered in ornate red script that glowed like fresh blood on the yellowish parchment. No one noticed her face change; they were all too busy listening to Neil. Before, when she’d read the book in her room at school, she hadn’t understood the strange language but now, with the talisman on her arm, she realized that she understood every word. The knowedge that she now had the power to call up daemons, spectres, efrites and a host o
f other strange creatures whose names she had never heard of before, made her shiver. She had seen their pictures in the book and knew what they looked like and where they lurked. Some of them were the stuff of nightmares.
She looked up and met Arthur’s wonderful eyes. A look of understanding passed between them and she suddenly realized that things had changed. She was no longer on the fringe of the world of magic like Neil and her parents.
She was now part of it.
21. Pumpkin Pie
Neil looked appreciatively round the auditorium of the school’s little theatre. It was buzzing with excited chatter as by this time most of the classes had filed in and everyone was more or less seated. Mrs Weston slipped into her seat at the end of the row and the other teachers, too, he noticed, had started to take their places, a sure sign that the play was due to start soon. His eyes sharpened as he noticed that Herr von Grozny, sitting with his form class, was in the row in front of him. A sudden flutter of worry made Neil frown. Nothing, surely, could go wrong with Pumpkin Pie?
If the truth be told, he’d felt uneasy ever since they’d got back from Edinburgh. Odd things bothered him. Clara, for a start; for despite the MacArthur’s assurances that the protective hex he’d put round the talisman would mean that no one would sense its magic, she’d been worried at wearing it in school, pushing the clasp halfway up her arm so that her sweater would hide it. Neil sighed, knowing that the last couple of rehearsals had been a bit nerve-racking for her. However, Miss Markham didn’t seem to have noticed anything and she wouldn’t see von Grozny any time soon as her next German lesson wasn’t until the following week.
