‘The White Witch requests your—’
William turned to run, but the man was already lunging after him. He grasped his shoulder and William stumbled and fell.
‘No!’ he shouted, thrashing madly as several other men rushed to restrain him. ‘I came back for you, Enola! Tell him! Tell him!’
Enola could only stare, bewildered. Did he think she could stop them? That this was one of her traps? That these men were following her orders? No. They were here at Agatha’s bidding.
A crowd had begun to gather. William was shouting still, as his arms were pulled behind his back. The man in the black cloak was bent over him, speaking urgently. ‘Stop struggling! Listen to me!’ But William paid him no heed; he continued to writhe on the ground, until another two men piled on top of him. They knelt on his back and forced his head against the cobbles. Unable to move, his face turning purple, William gave a final roar of frustration and fell silent.
Suddenly, people in the crowd began to gasp. The men, hearing this, looked over their shoulders and, eyes widening, released William at once.
William pushed himself to his knees, breathing heavily. When he turned and looked up at the old woman standing over him, his mouth fell open.
‘Agatha?’ he said.
Agatha wore a black cloak, like that of the guard, who shuffled backwards now, his head bowed. Her eyes filled with tears as she stared at William.
‘It is you,’ she said. Her mouth twisted unpleasantly with emotion. ‘I thought you were dead.’
‘I thought you were,’ said William.
‘Come with me, boy,’ Agatha said, holding out a trembling hand. William took it and got to his feet.
‘What’s happening, Agatha?’ he said in a low voice. ‘Who are these people?’
‘Come to the castle, boy. We can talk. I will tell you everything.’
William stared at her for a moment and then looked around at the many eyes fixed on him.
‘Come,’ Agatha said again, and she took his hand and led him on.
*
William stopped before they had gone far, remembering Enola. He looked back and saw her peering around the corner of the building at the end of the lane. She was as filthy as a beggar, and as thin.
Agatha followed his gaze. ‘Leave her. Don’t waste your time,’ she said, and she gave his hand a gentle tug.
William continued on without protest. But, as he looked up at the castle and saw the dead children swinging in the wind, he noticed how cold Agatha’s hand felt against his skin.
She held on to him tightly all the way up the lane and through the square, which was filled with people reaching out to touch her, to receive blessings.
The crowds did not pursue them once they had walked through the giant iron gates into a large courtyard. And all the sounds from the square died away.
The courtyard looked exactly like the drawings in one of William’s books, only those images depicted a place teeming with life; tired stable boys preparing horses for mount, flustered servants ferrying pitchers of milk, blacksmiths beating swords into shape, long-eared elves playing instruments on the castle steps under the watchful eyes of castle guards. Now, the courtyard was empty and quiet, save for the ropes, which creaked above them. William couldn’t bring himself to look up at the children again.
A sick feeling brewed in his stomach as he climbed the stone steps behind Agatha, who stopped when she reached the top and turned to look at him. William resisted a shudder as he came to the top step; he was standing directly beneath the bodies. He wanted to keep walking, to get away from them, to pass through the castle doors into the darkened hall within. But Agatha did not move.
‘This is our home now,’ she said, smiling up at him. Above them, the ropes creaked again. Agatha’s eyes drifted upwards and settled on the dead children. ‘My men have been scrubbing their excrement off the steps all morning. Terrible nuisance. But what else can you expect from a Mortenstone?’
William’s skin prickled as she spoke. Everything about Agatha seemed…different, cold.
‘I should have saved one for you,’ Agatha continued. ‘Then you would finally have had your revenge for what Matthew Mortenstone did to your family. A pity.’ She hesitated then, looking out towards Stone Lane, her forehead wrinkling as she raised her eyebrows in consideration. ‘Perhaps there is another…’ She met his eye and it was as if someone had kicked him in the gut. She couldn’t mean it? He choked as he tried to speak, coughing and spluttering. Agatha placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Are you unwell, boy?’ she said, looking concerned.
‘Just tired,’ he said. ‘But… I don’t understand. You told Alexander you’d look after her.’
‘And I did,’ she said. ‘I put a roof over her head, I raised her, I protected her - for twelve years! And do you know how she repaid me?’ William shook his head. Agatha mimicked him, shaking her head with a look of contempt. ‘She told me you were dead – to hurt me, no doubt. The curse is gone and she is still rotten to the core. Alexander should have left her here for Lucian Mortenstone to deal with all those years ago. But no, the kind soul that he was, he rescued her, and he died for her, and she couldn’t give a damn.’ Her rage made her voice tremble and William found himself suddenly fearful for Enola. He knew Agatha had never really cared for her - she pretended, to make Alexander happy. And now there was no one to pretend for anymore.
‘Here’s what we’ll do,’ she said, squeezing his hand between hers. ‘We’ll get you up to bed for some rest. Tomorrow, we’ll fetch the wretched girl and keep her in the dungeon until you’ve decided what you want to do with her. There’s no rush. She’s at your mercy now.’ And, with a dark smile, Agatha stepped through the doorway into Mortenstone Castle.
*
The next morning, Enola awoke to the incessant growling of her own stomach. She had half expected Agatha to send her something for supper. But no food parcel had come. Instead, she devoured the last of Master Hagworth’s bread. It was a pitiful meal, made more pitiful by the fact she had had to fight for what remained of it when a drunkard tried to take it from her.
It was during this meagre supper that a man had emerged from the castle bearing a roll of parchment, which he held at arm’s length to read from.
‘The White Witch,’ he announced in a deep, booming voice that carried all the way down to the end of Stone Lane, ‘today declares that Dark Families may occupy empty homes and the homes of traitors in Lambelee. The Low Lands and Draxvar are free to all for the taking. Any Vandemeres or Doldons still living are to be handed over to The White Witch in the name of justice. Those who attempt to help conceal them will meet the same fate as the traitors.’
It had rained furiously after the man nailed the declaration to a post in the middle of the square. But word spread far and wide regardless. Hordes of people left in the night, driven by the prospect of new homes and land of their own. By morning, the Grassland had emptied by more than half. Enola stared at it now in the bright light of day, and the mountainous ruin that loomed over it. The ones who had stayed were working together to search for bodies in the wreckage. They stood, twenty to a tree, moving their arms up with a concentrated effort. The trees crept forwards marginally, or rolled a fraction to the side, crumbling, covering the people below in a thick coat of ash. It was slow, laborious work. Enola wondered if they would ever recover all of the dead. And how long would it be before they cleared a path through to the Dark Lands, to the families who had been left behind?
‘The White Witch offers you this cloak with compliments,’ said a voice behind her. Enola turned, drawn from her thoughts, to see William, dressed in fine new clothes, accompanied by two men in black. William held the thick cloak out for her. Enola stared at it longingly. She wanted to snatch it from him and wrap herself up warm and sink into a deep sleep. But she couldn’t accept it, not with Agatha’s taint all over it. She shook her head reluctantly.
William’s eyes widened suddenly, as if he was trying to convey a message she did n
ot understand. ‘The White Witch insists,’ he said, stepping forwards. As the men prepared to follow him, he raised a hand and they stopped at once.
William walked to Enola and wrapped the dark cloak around her shoulders. ‘Be ready to leave at midday,’ he whispered.
Enola’s heart began to race. She looked over his shoulder at the guards, who watched them suspiciously.
William fastened the serpent brooch on the front of the cloak and stepped back to look at it. Its emerald green eye gleamed in the light.
‘The White Witch will be pleased to know you are warm. She requests your presence this afternoon at the castle. I will come for you when it is time and accompany you there.’ His eyes flashed again. ‘Is your horse fit and strong?’
Enola nodded, understanding the hidden meaning in his words.
William gave a tight smile. ‘Good. This afternoon, then.’ He bowed his head and then turned and walked away with the guards, both of whom looked back at her as they went.
When they had disappeared from view, Enola grasped Nimowae’s reins and led her to the lone tree on the Grassland. There, she stared at the young filly, preparing herself for what she was about to do. If they were to make their escape that afternoon, she would need to ride her first, to form the special ‘bond’ Robert Swampton had spoken of. Placing her hands on Nimowae’s sleek back, Enola pushed off from the ground hard and swung herself onto the horse. Nimowae jumped nervously, then stopped and became deathly still. Enola sat, waiting for something to happen. For a moment, she wondered if Robert Swampton had been mistaken. What if this was just an ordinary horse? But, suddenly, she felt a wave of airy lightness wash through her, as though her mind and body had been swept clean. She smelled the grass, the smoke in the air, felt the cool wind blowing her hair. And, oddly, she felt afraid, on edge, vulnerable.
Her sense of the activity by the edge of the fallen forest seemed to sharpen. She heard hacking and grunting as men sank their axes into trees. She looked up at them and, for a fleeting instant, the trees were ablaze again, black smoke thick in the air. The men were screaming as swords sliced through their flesh and giant creatures swooped down from above. Enola blinked and the vision faded. She stared, astonished, at the remains of the forest, her heart pounding. These were not her memories. These memories belonged to Nimowae. She leant forward and patted the horse’s neck gently.
‘It’s over now,’ she said. And, almost at once, the tense knot of fear in her stomach ebbed away.
It was the strangest feeling Enola had ever known. They were one now. Bonded forever. Nimowae’s thoughts and fears had become hers, just as hers would become Nimowae’s. She had never shared anything with anyone before. But she was glad to have Nimowae, glad to have a friend.
Enola remembered a day, long ago, when her entire family had ridden off to the Wild Wood for a hunt. They all had Latheerian horses; her mother, her uncles and aunt, her grandfather and grandmother, even Edward Vandemere had been given one. She had watched from a window as they raced out of the castle courtyard atop their steeds, without bridle or saddle, completely in tune with the creatures. It had looked spectacularly majestic. She had envied every single one of them. But now there was no need to feel that way; she had a Latheerian horse of her very own and nobody could take that bond away from her. Even if they became separated, she knew Nimowae would spend the rest of her life trying to get back to her, just as the white stallion had returned home to Robert Swampton.
Enola had never looked after anything before; she killed any animal she came across in the Dark Forest. But this would be different. She would take care of Nimowae. Always.
When William emerged, alone, from the castle gates that afternoon and came down the lane, Enola was watching. She made sure he had seen her before she slid off Nimowae’s back and led her to a cluster of tents, where pots of broth bubbled over small fires and women skinned rabbits, while children sang songs about the great White Witch. Enola pulled Nimowae behind a tent, out of sight from the castle, and waited.
The moment William rounded the corner, she leapt forwards and slapped him across the face. He staggered back in surprise, clamping a hand to his cheek.
‘What was that for?’ he snapped.
‘Never betray me again,’ she said, her fingers stinging. She had been looking forward to doing that ever since their encounter that morning. William glowered at her but nodded all the same and, when Enola climbed back onto the horse, he followed clumsily. The instant he sat down, Nimowae flinched and began to skip around in jittery circles.
‘Woah! Woah!’ he said, wrapping his arms tightly around Enola’s waist. He seemed nervous, perhaps more so than Nimowae.
Eventually, Nimowae adjusted to the weight she was now carrying and calmed. Enola patted her neck soothingly and urged her on without uttering a word. Nimowae started to walk, taking slow, tentative steps. As they emerged from behind the tents, Enola stared up at the castle.
‘Agatha won’t like it - losing you,’ she said.
‘That’s not Agatha,’ said William. ‘Not anymore.’
Nimowae’s ears pricked up and, grunting, she broke into a canter, carrying them away along the edge of the fallen forest. Enola clung to the reins as William clung to her and glanced at the remains of their old life, now an impassable mound of ash and bark and dead magic. It had been a dark and dangerous place. Enola had resented living there, unable to venture beyond its borders, unable to venture anywhere at all, unable to use her powers, or glimpse more than a handful of stars at night. But, now that it was gone, she felt the heaviness of its absence. After all, it was her home. Soon the trees would be gone, chopped up and burned in hearths at night, and it would be as if the Dark Forest had never existed at all.
Suddenly, the castle bells began to ring. Enola turned her head, drawn from her thoughts, and gasped. Eight black horses were charging across the Grassland, ploughing through the women and children in their path. Their riders were cloaked in black, wearing horned masks that concealed their faces.
‘William!’ Enola cried.
William looked around and his eyes grew wide. ‘Go!’ he shouted. ‘Go!’
Nimowae broke into a gallop, but she was not as fast as the white Latheerian had been. The riders were gaining on them, so close Enola could see the foam frothing in the corners of the horses’ mouths. The rider at the front lifted his arm and spread his fingers. In a moment, he would be near enough to cast his spell. Enola stared desperately at a fallen tree, willing it to move. The tree tremored and then, suddenly, lifted from the ground with a loud groan and slammed into all eight riders. The horses shrieked as they fell and were quickly silenced as the tree crashed down on top of them.
People were running now, away from Enola and William, towards the castle. But, amongst the chaos, figures in black began to materialise. One figure, two figures, five, ten, pursuing on foot behind Nimowae.
And then, ahead of them, taking shape as if from smoke, Agatha appeared. Her hair flailed about her head in the wind like snakes. Her eyes were full of fury. Nimowae jerked to a halt and reared up in terror. Enola clung to the reins for dear life and looked back as the black figures moved towards them. When Nimowae’s hooves crashed back down onto the earth, Enola kicked hard. She could feel the horse straining to push through Agatha’s spell. But, no matter how hard Nimowae tried, she could not go one step further.
Enola felt a tightening feeling around her neck then. She looked at Agatha, who smiled as she squeezed her pale hands slowly into fists. Enola choked, clutching at her throat as it began to close up.
‘Agatha, no!’ William shouted, taking the reins from Enola and yanking them violently to one side to steer the horse from the old woman’s path. But Nimowae could not turn, could not escape the spell that entrapped her. William abandoned his efforts as a man in a black mask grabbed his foot and tried to drag him down off the horse. William kicked out and struck him hard in the chest, sending him reeling. Then, with trembling fingers, he drew a silver knife from
his belt. When the man lunged forward again to seize him, he plunged the knife through the mask into his eye.
Enola’s insides were ready to explode. The blood was rushing in her ears, her head, roaring through the veins that bulged in her neck. She was starting to feel dangerously light, weightless. And then she heard the man’s screams behind her as he slipped off William’s blade to the ground, blood spurting from his mangled eye. And those screams seemed to coax her back. Louder and louder they grew, until she could no longer feel the excruciating pain in her skull. Suddenly, a deafening burst of noise filled her ears. The castle bells, loud and shrill, Nimowae’s frightened whinnies, William’s shouts, Agatha’s cold laughter. Enola looked up and stared into the old witch’s eyes as more men arrived to surround Nimowae. And, as she did, she felt a powerful pulsing feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her hands began to shake. A boiling, fiery heat burned through her body, gathering strength, rising from the depths, surging to the surface… Enola’s vision cleared in an instant. The strangling grip around her throat loosened, then disappeared altogether. She gasped as her lungs filled with air. And, all the while, the feeling was rising, rising. With a guttural cry, Enola flung her arms wide and felt the power shoot from her like a bolt of lightning. Agatha was snatched off her feet and thrown backwards through the air, landing with a bone-shattering crack and a scream of pain. Her white hair covered her face in a tangled mess; she pushed it out of the way and looked up at Enola, her mouth hanging open, eyes wide with disbelief, and shook her head again and again. She wasn’t laughing anymore.
Enola looked around at the men, all staring at Agatha in astonishment as she sank her long nails into the soil and dragged her crumpled body across the ground towards them. While they watched her, Enola slowly picked up the reins and squeezed William’s hand. It was the smallest of signals, but she felt his grip around her waist tighten.
‘Go,’ she breathed. Nimowae’s head snapped up. And, suddenly, the ground was rushing beneath them as she barged through the men, knocking them down, and galloped past Agatha, who reached out a feeble hand as they went.
The White Witch (The Serpent and The Sorcerer Trilogy Book 1) Page 26
