by Sam Short
The crackle of burning wood grew louder as we approached the doorway, and I jumped in fear as torchlight picked out the haunted eyes of an old man in a portrait which hung on the wall next to me. Barney came to a stop a few feet from the doorway and looked over his shoulder, his eyes serious and his brow furrowed. “Boris,” he whispered. “We’re the only men here. We should go in first.”
“Of course,” said Boris, pushing past me and taking his place next to Barney, like a strange breed of horned guard dog.
“Sexist,” murmured Granny.
“Really, Granny?” I said. “Now?”
“Nerves,” said Granny, squeezing my shoulder. “And I can’t help calling it out wherever I see it. It’s innate.”
Boris nudged Barney’s leg with a horn. “After you, copper,” he said.
Barney gave me one last smile, and with Boris at his heels, stepped into the room. He was silent for a few moments, and then appeared again, his face less concerned. “It’s empty,” he said. “Come on.”
The room smelt of burning logs, damp furniture, and soil. The large fireplace roared with a bright fire, and a pile of fresh logs stood next to the hearth. A chair and a table, both wiped clean, had been dragged in front of the fireplace — the only sign that somebody had benefited from the fire’s warmth. The other furniture was as decrepit as the rest of the underground world. Dust covered everything, and wood had rotted while metal had rusted. Pictures still hung on the walls, their subjects lost beneath grime, some of them hanging at odd angles — ready to crash to the bare floorboards at any moment.
“He’s been here,” said Granny, gazing around. “Derek’s been here, with my sister, and those other poor witches. I can sense him. I can sense evil.”
Willow stood before a canvas on the wall, wiping the dirt from the oil paint with her fingers. “I thought so,” she said, rubbing at some stubborn grime with a thumb. “I could make out a little of the painting under the dirt, look, its a boat. A red boat.”
The paint was badly faded beneath the dirt. A large circular window sat high in the wall opposite the picture, and I suspected it had once allowed streaming sunlight into the room which had ruined the painting, instead of the roots which now searched and poked for a route through the broken glass and rotting frame.
“Who is it with the boat?” I said, leaning closer to the canvas, my nose almost brushing the old artwork. “Derek?”
The shape of a person next to the boat was hard to make out, and the paint had cracked where the face should have been. It was a man though, I was sure. Or maybe a woman.
“I don’t know,” said Willow, “but it’s definitely the same red boat that Barney’s just been on. I can tell by the shape.”
“This place is really old,” said Barney. “That painting is really old. How can it possibly be the same boat? It would have rotted by now.”
“Magic,” said Granny. “Come on, Barney, use that noggin of yours.”
“I see something shiny,” said Boris, peering beneath an old chair in a dark corner. “In the dust.” He reached beneath the chair, using a hoof to drag the object towards him, dust rising into the air in billowing clouds which made him cough and splutter. “It’s a piece of cloth,” he said. “With little jewels on it.”
The oval piece of cloth almost crumbled as I picked it up from the dust at Boris’s feet, and two tiny jewels fell from their mountings. It took a few seconds to realise what it was I was holding, the two holes through which string or elastic could be threaded finally making it apparent. “It’s an eye-patch,” I said. “Covered in tiny jewels.”
Footsteps thudded at the doorway, and Mum gave a frightened gasp as a figure shrouded by shadows walked into the room. “I wondered where that had got to! I lost it almost five hundred years ago, and to think it was under that chair all the time! Oh well, it matters not. I think the one I wear now is much nicer!”
“Hilda?” said Granny. “Is that you?”
The figure stepped into the light cast by the fire, and the bejewelled eye-patch she wore glinted in the orange light. Granny was right, it was Hilda. “Hello, Gladys,” she said. “How nice of you to bring your family for a visit. I think we’ll have a wonderful night together. I’ve been looking forward to today for a long time, a very long time indeed.”
“What’s going on?” said Granny. “Is Eva here?” And Derek?”
Hilda smiled. “Yes, Gladys, they’re both here. I’m sure they’d love to see you. They’re waiting patiently for you in my new room — the room that those dumb trolls built for me. I like to call it my burn room, but you might like to call it the death room, or the room of agonising pain, because that’s what you’re going to experience in there.”
Mum lifted her hand, but no sparks danced at her fingertips. “What are you talking about, Hilda? What’s happening here?” she said.
Hilda laughed, her whole body shaking. She looked at Willow, a smile on her lips. “You’ve cleaned my painting for me,” she said. “How kind. That’s me with A Vision of Beauty. A lovely name for a seer’s boat, don’t you think?”
Barney lifted the piece of wood in his hand, and I closed my grip on the length of metal I carried.
“You’re not thinking of attacking a helpless old lady, are you?” said Hilda, her face twisting with anger. “I’ve got no time for fighting with you people. I think it’s about time I took you all to my burn room, it’s dark outside and tonight the jewel on my spire is going to glow brighter than it’s ever glowed before.”
Granny took a step towards Hilda, but one step was all she manged. Hilda lifted both hands and magic crackled at her fingertips. Sparks of red and blue danced in the air weaving between us, brushing my skin with a cold evil which made me shudder. Granny sank to her knees as if being pushed to the floor by a heavy weight, and Barney’s spine arched as he was flung against a wall, his torch dropping to his feet where the flame was extinguished by a shower of Hilda’s sparks, and the length of wood he’d armed himself with turning to dust.
“Impossible,” groaned Granny. “How do you have magic and we don’t?”
Hilda laughed again, her magic disarming and immobilising us all, the flames in the hearth growing brighter, lighting the room and warming the air. “I’ll tell you everything when I get you all into my burn room,” she said. “And I won’t leave a thing out. My plan has taken centuries to bring to fruition and I’m dying to tell you all about it. I’ve had to bite my tongue for so many years, but tonight I can finally tell my tale! Tonight, I can shine as bright as the jewel on top of my spire!”
Torches fell from people’s hands, and the metal rod I carried dropped to the floor, clunking as it hit the wooden boards. I tried to move, but invisible tethers of magic held me still, icy cold against my flesh, becoming tighter each time I struggled against them.
“This is such fun!” laughed Hilda. She waved her hand, green sparks flowing from her fingertips, swirling through the room and searching for targets. Willow gasped as sparks flooded her nostrils, and Boris grunted as his ears were invaded. A stream of green approached my face, the dancing lights forcing their way into my mouth, warming my throat and making me gag.
“A spell of total control,” said Hilda. “You’re all under my command. Now follow me, all of you, in silence. Eva and Derek are waiting for you, and Maeve will be along soon. It’s going to be a good night!”
Hilda walked from the room and like obedient servants we followed her, taking one forced step after another, helpless against the powerful magic which controlled us, and unable to speak.
“This way,” said Hilda, walking ahead of us in the darkness, only her voice leading the way. “My burn room is where the ball-room once was; right beneath my spire. You’re going to love it, I’m sure!”
Chapter Seventeen
Hilda led us through the darkness, magic fizzing around us in brightly coloured sparks which occasionally lit up a sculpture or painting as we were led along corridors. Finally, Hilda ordered us to stop. A ta
ll wooden door loomed before us, its brass knobs dusty and faded with time. “I had some memorable times in here,” said Hilda, pushing open the door which groaned in protest, “but tonight’s going to the best of them all.”
Bright light burst from the open doorway, and my eyes stung as they adjusted to their new surroundings. We followed Hilda into a huge room, the walls, ceiling, and floors lined with sheets of dull silver metal. Lead. Lots of it, covering every surface, creating a room that was void of character, but full of dread. In the centre of the room, hanging from the metal sheet ceiling on a length of copper coloured wire, was the source of the bright light which flooded the room. A glass ball, the size of a melon, emitted a white light and tiny sparks of blue electric, which cut through the air like lighting, making a sizzling sound as they arced from the ball.
Below the sphere was a large round stone plinth on which was stacked a layered pile of wood, with a tall wooden stake protruding from the centre, the top of which stopped a few inches shy of the glowing ball. It was built in an identical manner to the pyre in the painting in Maeve’s library, and icy tendrils of dread gripped my heart as I imagined what Hilda intended to do.
Next to the pyre stood Derek and Eva, both immobilised by the same magic that Hilda had used on us, only their eyes free to move.
“Join Derek and Eva,” Hilda commanded. “Make a semi-circle around the pyre. I need you all to be able to see. The burning will begin when everyone’s in place and the guest of honour arrives.”
Unable to prevent my feet from moving, I shuffled into position, taking my place next to the pyre, with Boris on my left and Barney on my right. I used every available grain of inner strength I possessed, reaching inside myself for something that would help me break the magic which controlled me. Spells from Granny’s book flashed before me, but I could do nothing to make one work, it was as if my body wasn’t mine, as if I was peering out of the eyes of another person, unable to do anything to control my fate or the fates of the people I loved.
Panic surged through me in a powerful wave that made me nauseous, and I made eye contact with my sister, desperate to connect with somebody, desperate for somebody to tell me it was all going to work out fine, but Willow’s eyes reflected my own fear, her pupils large and tears welling. I couldn’t swivel my eyes far enough to the right to see Barney, but his rapid breathing told me he was scared too, and why wouldn’t he have been? It was obvious that Hilda meant somebody great harm, and it was as equally obvious that she intended to make the rest of us watch the horror. Boris was a blur of white in my peripheral vision, but I managed to roll my eyes far enough to the left to tell he was staring at Granny, whose eyes were calm as she attempted to convey the same emotion to anybody who looked at her — trying her best to keep her family soothed.
Hilda stood to the side of the pyre, her bony hands held before her thin body and her eyes dancing with excitement. “I think it’s time for the guest of honour to make an appearance,” she said. Her hand moved across her body as she cast a spell, and the air next to her shimmered and hissed as Maeve slowly took form, her face lined with anxiety and her hands bound with a silvery thread. “What magic is this?” she said. “Hilda, what are you doing?”
Hilda looked at Maeve. “Am I to take your voice too, like I have the voices of everyone else present at this ceremony? Or will you remain calm? Listening to what I have to tell you?”
“I will remain calm,” said Maeve, her eyes searching the room, trying to make sense of what was happening, looking for a way to escape. “Why are we here, Hilda? How am I here, and why do I have no magic, yet you so obviously do?”
It filled me with revulsion, and hatred for Hilda — knowing that we were going to be forced to watch Maeve burn. She’d been named the guest of honour, and I doubted that the moniker had been bestowed upon her for any less heinous reason. It seemed that for the second time in her long life, Maeve was to be burned alive, and we were to be the witnesses. Bile rose in my throat, and the acrid flavour of guilt filled my mouth, as I found myself hoping that should Maeve not be the only victim of Hilda’s madness, I wished death upon Derek and not somebody I loved.
Hilda gave Maeve a long drawn out smile, the corners of her mouth curling with hatred as she prepared to speak. “You have no magic, Maeve, because I choose it to be that way. Anything that happens in this room is of my making. I control you, all of you, and soon I will control your haven. In fact, my power is spreading as we speak, for the last six nights I’ve been feeding the jewel on top of my spire with magic, and as the jewel fed on its prey, my power has been spreading throughout this land, weakening you, and making it easy to transport you here against your will. Soon I will be the ruler of this dimension, and I fear I shall not rule it with such a …” Maeve made a growl of revulsion as Hilda took her hand and ran a finger over the soft skin. “… fair hand as you have,” she finished.
Maeve’s eyes dimmed, and her jaw muscles rolled as she clenched her teeth. “Six nights… six missing witches,” she said. “What have you done, Hilda? What have you done to those poor women?”
Hilda’s laugh echoed around the room, bouncing off the walls and ceiling, the lead dulling the high-pitched mirth. “They burned well,” she said. “Their magic left them just as I predicted it would, deflected by the lead walls and targeted at my orb, feeding my jewel and spreading my power across the land. You see, you’re not the only witch who releases a burst of magic when she slowly burns to death. It would appear that the pain causes all witches to do so. Call those six deaths practice runs if you will, I’m appreciative that they gave their lives — although they didn’t go easily — but tonight is the main event, tonight is the night that I recreate the day you burned, Maeve — all those years ago, and recreate the stream of power which created this land. The power will be harnessed to me through my jewel, and then I shall finally enter the castle which you thought you had hidden so well. The castle that belongs to the one true ruler of The Haven. The castle which belongs to me.”
“You would burn six witches so you could rule The Haven?” said Maeve. “If it must be that I am the seventh as it seems is to be my fate, then I will go without a struggle, but you must promise not to harm any of these other people. If you do not promise me that, then I shall fight my death with every ounce of power I have within me. I will do everything to make my magic work against you as I burn, everything in my power to foil your plan.”
“How very brave,” said Hilda, her voice low. “How very, very brave of you, Maeve, but I’m afraid that tonight is not your night. You shan’t be tethered to my stake with flames melting the flesh from your bones, screaming as the heat boils your blood, and choking as the hot clogging smoke fills your lungs. No, that won’t be you, Maeve, you are just here to watch — to know you are beaten, after all these centuries.” She lifted a hand and extended a finger. She pointed at us, one by one, turning in a slow spin, her eyes glinting as they met mine, but passing me quickly, moving on to the next person. “No, tonight, I will be burning …” She stopped spinning and jabbed her finger at the intended victim. “Gladys Weaver!”
Granny’s eyes dropped briefly, but quickly lifted in defiance and met Hilda’s. As Granny winked at the woman who was to murder her, my gut twisted and my heart struggled to beat. Only the dark magic which held me in place prevented me from collapsing.
Hilda waved a hand in Granny’s face, showering her with red sparks of magic. “You have your voice back, Gladys, and soon you will have your magic back, but not for long.”
“You vile old bitch,” said Granny. “I’ve never trusted you.”
“Why are you doing this, Hilda?” said Maeve. “I thought we were your friends.”
“The time has come,” said Hilda, scraping a long fingernail over Maeve’s cheek. “Finally. The moment I’ve been waiting for. The moment I’ve ran through my mind over and over again. I’ve often fantasised about how you were going to react when you realised who I really was, when you realised that you never
escaped me, when you realised that you were beaten.” Maeve shuddered as Hilda licked her face, her tongue sliding over Maeve’s chin and across her lips. She drew her tongue back into her mouth and gave a satisfied sigh. “And now that moment is here, it tastes so much better than I ever thought it would. I taste fear on your flesh, I taste uncertainty, and I taste curiosity. You want to know why sweet little Hilda the seer has burned six witches and is about to burn another.”
Maeve nodded, her eyes searching Hilda’s face for answers. “I do.”
Hilda took her eye-patch between two ragged fingernails and lifted it slowly, moving her face closer to Maeve’s, her tongue flicking like a snake’s, and her breathing ragged and excited. “Do you recognise me, Maeve? Do you remember my eyes? Do they scare you? One of green and one of brown — a gift from god, a gift given to me so I could search out your type and burn them where I found them!”
“It can’t be,” said Maeve. “You can’t be!”
“But it is, and I am,” said Hilda. “I am the Witch-finder General, although that title is redundant in this land of yours — finding witches is not hard, and I no longer wish to burn all of your type — ruling them would give me far more satisfaction, and if the truth be known, I’ve become quite fond of The Haven and some of its inhabitants. I’m hoping Gladys Weaver will be the last witch I am forced to burn, because to be quite honest, the smell of burning flesh is very hard to get out of the nostrils.”
