Here Be Witches

by Sarah Mussi

  Oswald swoops nearer, draws back his monstrous head, set to freeze George to the rock face.

  Henry, where are you? We need you now!

  The sacrifice?

  I look at the fallen body of Davey. There have been too many sacrifices already.

  Not George too.

  Perhaps this pass is cursed.

  I step forward. Raise my hands. Scream. And even as I am rushing towards Oswald, hoping, praying that I can distract him, the penny drops.

  There has been a sacrifice …

  The hero is playing his part …

  This is St Cuthbert’s Day …

  What we we need is the blood of a traitor.

  Rhiannon hasn’t got one tiny cut on her …

  And even as I realise this, the hammering of the Knockers on every stone of the mountain resounds in my ears, fills the air. The air quivers. A reverberation starts. The mountain seems to shake. The hammering grows louder. They are hammering up an avalanche! I look up.

  ‘GEORGE!’ I scream.

  George looks up. Just as Oswald swoops in.

  Tonnes of ice. A white fearful mass. A cracking and tearing.

  The sky darkens. Snow swirls.

  Over and over.

  Thick and fast.

  The avalanche speeds towards him.

  ‘NO! NO! NO!’

  FORTY-SIX

  I watch.

  The avalanche hits.

  Covers George.

  Bowls the ponies over.

  Even knocks Oswald flying.

  Buries one flank of the wolves.

  The mass of snow heaves to the left, misses us and rumbles away past the fallen body of the Knocker Queen. Past Davey, lying stretched out on the ground, past the stone I’m pressed against. Rumbles on and away. The hammering stops.

  ‘Rhiannon!’ shout the Knockers.

  ‘RHIANNON! RHIANNON! RHIANNON!’

  They pound the ground. I’m terrified they’ll start hammering again. Start another avalanche.

  Sheila turns towards the Knockers.

  ‘Fair is foul – foul is fair –

  Let those who challenge us, beware – ’

  Rhiannon shouts, ‘No!’ She steps forward, confronts Sheila.

  George. He may still be alive. Must get to him.

  ‘Leave them alone!’ Rhi yells. ‘They’re only little. It’s mean to keep hurting them. They’ve lost their queen. I won’t let you hurt the Knockers.’

  Sheila laughs. ‘You stupid, spoiled little rich twit. What makes you think I’d take any notice of you? The only reason I let you join my witches’ coven was so that you could lure Ellie out. Ha! You wanted to make George fall in love with you!’ Sheila scoffs. ‘You’re pathetic! What a joke.’

  ‘I HATE YOU!’ cries Rhiannon.

  ‘And you fell for it! I think I would have enjoyed it more, if you’d been the sacrifice.’

  ‘You’re horrible,’ weeps Rhiannon.

  For answer, Sheila laughs louder, a maniacal look in her eye, unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.

  Something snaps.

  Rhiannon’s face goes beetroot red. Her eyes light up. She seems to be almost growling. For your information, Rhiannon does not get furious. She is much more of a moaner, much more of a wanting-other-people-to-do-it, rather than a getting-up-and-doing-it-yourself person. But right in front of my nose, she leaps forward, snatches a dagger off one of the witches and jumps towards Sheila.

  ‘You … you … you!’ yells Rhiannon.

  With one easy motion, Sheila twists the knife, rips it from Rhiannon’s grasp, slashing it across Rhiannon’s hand as she drags it free.

  For a moment I’m unsure whether to rush and try to help Rhi, or throw myself into the snow and dig and dig and dig for George.

  Rhiannon goes to grab the heart. The blood from Rhi’s hand drips down.

  Her blood baptises the heart.

  I leap to help George.

  The heart grows huge. It pulses with a sudden energy. Sheila screams, can’t hold it any more.

  She lets go.

  Then suddenly it happens. The heart seems to shoot straight up, like a comet, leaving a trail of silver behind. The sun rises above the horizon. DAZZLING. But it’s not the sun. It’s so bright, I can’t look. VIBRANT. I close my eyes. BRILLIANT. The image on my closed eyelids burns, incandescent.

  Dragon shaped.

  Fiery.

  Resplendent.

  A wave of heat. And such radiance.

  The heart and the sun meet in an explosion – so intense the whole mountain seems to be on fire.

  And there, refulgent in the air, is the dragon: the Red Dragon of Wales.

  Like a new star.

  So bright.

  I cover my eyes. My heart explodes.

  Henry is back.

  It’s done.

  The mission is complete! If anything else happens, here on this mountainside, I know that Henry is back.

  ‘Yes!’ Henry roars. ‘I’m back!’ And as he roars, he sends a tunnel of flame out across the mountainside. The snow sizzles, steams, melts.

  And there is George, gasping and flailing. The snowmelt drips off him.

  George! I breathe.

  Tears well up in my eyes.

  For one glorious second Henry hovers, immense, an inferno in the sky. For one instant there is a sunrise across the valley, more glorious than a midsummer afternoon. And then Oswald strikes.

  The mountain falls into shadow. Beams of light suddenly snap out, a dark icy cloud shoots across the pass.

  The side of Snowdon glitters in ice crystals. But at the same instant Henry roars again. Flames singe turf and grass. Solid rocks literally crumble into embers.

  Henry seizes the advantage. He strikes. His blow would have killed a thousand men. The mountain shakes, the earth actually buckles under my feet. If I hadn’t been within arm’s reach of the Menhir of Mawr, I’d have fallen over.

  ‘Oh no!’ screams George. ‘The hillside’s gonna split open!’

  And he’s right. Huge chunks of rock crack loose and crash down with a screeching that deafens. My heart races. I watch spellbound, horrified …

  George is on his feet. Unsteady but strong. He ducks and races, steps over fallen bodies of fur and tail, bounds over tumbling rocks. He shoves Sheila, grabs Rhiannon, drags her from under Sheila’s wielded knife and throws her to the ground, shielding her with his body.

  Oh my God.

  The full blast of the Red Dragon hits Oswald in the face and chest. But the White Dragon doesn’t fall. His skin doesn’t even smoulder or tear. It wrinkles and clinks like chain mail, but it does not give. He twists in the air. His bony carcass ripples beneath him, and his huge wingspan shudders. He sways, rights himself, realigns his whole body, and draws his head up ready to strike back.

  And this time Henry receives the blow head on.

  George stays low, hauling Rhi with him, makes it back to the stone beside me.

  Henry doesn’t speak, and yet I hear him in the depths of me, crying: ‘NO! You will not have her, nor George, nor will you have the better of me!’

  But I can see he is dazed. And though he shakes his spiny head and sends back a blow in retaliation, The White Dragon of Wessex shakes it off, like a dog shaking off raindrops.

  ‘No,’ sounds out Henry, ‘you will not defeat me.’

  But the White Dragon is unstoppable, even the blows Henry delivers – across face, shoulders, flank and back – make little impact. Oswald dips one wing, wheels, dodges in the air and shakes Henry off.

  Ice particles blast everywhere. Moss and lichen, turf and grass freeze, the whole place glitters and crackles.

  The wolves and Gwyn gather closer to the stone.

  And the witches set up their wailing chant again.

  ‘Fair is foul – foul is fair –

  Let those who challenge us, beware – ’

  Rhi and I huddle against the stone unable to defend ourselves.

  George lifts his axe.<
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  FORTY-SEVEN

  ‘Isn’t there anything we can do?’ yells Rhiannon. She clutches George. She does not want to let him go, although her grip is hampering his axe hand.

  ‘Prepare yourselves,’ says George.

  Desperately I search my mind for help. What about the mirror? Can’t we use it?

  Davey said the mirror was powerful. Once again I hear his voice: you must get to know its powers. Work out how to use it.

  But I didn’t.

  And now there’s no time.

  The witches chant. The wolves howl and circle around the stone. I can see they are only waiting for Gwyn to step through their ranks and smash our brains out with his club.

  Something is still nagging in my mind: the Lady of the Lake. What was it she said?

  ‘Where sleepers sleep, and mirrors crack.’

  The mirror is holding the magic in place.

  That’s it.

  I know what to do.

  ‘George!’ I yell. ‘Help me!’

  George peels Rhiannon’s arms off him. I turn to face him. ‘When I say so, use your axe to strike the mirror,’ I holler at George.

  ‘OK,’ he says.

  It’s the only thing I can think of.

  Oh Henry. There will be no more glorious afternoons lying on the springy turf of the mountainside, with the warm sun on our faces. No more holding hands on summits, no more gentle kisses, no more summer breezes stirring the heather around us …

  I raise the mirror way above my head. No more magical moments in that in-between place … And as if I’m taking a gigantic selfie, I turn my back on Gwyn and the wolves, turn my back on the witches. I catch them all in the reflection of the mirror. Sheila with her evil chanting, the Nine Witches of Gloucester, the two of Betws-y-Coed, Gwyn ap Nudd. They’re so near, all of them.

  I wait until they are framed perfectly in the mirror’s glass. I wait until Gwyn is one step away, his club raised.

  ‘NOW!’ I shout.

  George swings his axe across.

  Shards of glass fly wild.

  The mirror smashes.

  This is for you Angharad, as I watch the witches splinter.

  This is for you Widow-maker, as I watch the wolves scatter.

  This is for you, Nan, Knocker Queen, as Gwyn ap Nudd shatters into tiny pieces.

  I bite my lip. This is for you Davey. I see Sheela Na Gig shrink and twist in a distorted image, become a sudden rush of something leaving the body of Sheila.

  The magic is undone.

  Like smoke, the energy of Sheela Na Gig vanishes into the morning.

  All gone.

  The Hordes of Sheela diminish, shadows fly across the heath, back through the Pass of Arrows, over the slopes of Snowdon, shadows that thin and fade.

  Sheila, now just plain old Sheila Griffiths, seems to shake herself, as if she has come out of a trance. She looks wildly about her. Her fellow witches – those ghostly apparitions – shiver and blink into oblivion. Only one witch from her coven remains. Sheila grabs the other girl’s arm. The two turn and take to their heels like the Devil himself is after them.

  A wave of clean air seems to sweep through the pass and the bloody body of Davey, the broken form of the Knocker Queen, the dead and the fallen, all are swept away.

  The magic is undone.

  Only the limp bodies of Graine and Keincaled remain.

  Oswald howls a terrible, gristly sound. He twists in the sky.

  The magic is undone.

  The Olde Deepe Magicke that he was sucking his power from is smashed, broken, gone.

  With one baleful look, Oswald hisses. ‘BEWARE THE WRATH OF DRAGONS.’ He beats his pale wings, roars out the timeless words of the dragon’s curse:

  ‘If ye treat a dragon,

  By foul means or force,

  On thy own head will fall,

  The full dragon’s curse.’

  And he too disappears over the horizon.

  Henry sweeps down.

  The liquid glow of the sunrise pools around him.

  ‘Well met my faithful friends,’ he booms. ‘Well met my one true love.’

  He’s so bright, I cover my eyes.

  My heart soars.

  Henry is back.

  ‘Today we have rid Wales of a terrible threat, AND DRAGONS NEVER FORGET.’

  ‘OMG!’ squeals Rhiannon.

  ‘Take courage and do not be afraid,’ he thunders.

  ‘I’m BACK!’

  FORTY-EIGHT

  ELLIE’S PHONE 20 March 08.30

  Status: IN LOVE Unavailable Foreva

  Recent updates:

  Rhiannon

  Guess you guys need some space. LOL (dragons are like SOOOO BIG). G an me gonna stroll.

  George

  Elles, don’t forget I love you.

  Rhiannon

  We’ll just hang out in a nice little cave until you’ve caught up with H.

  George

  And you promised to snog me, if I was dying.

  Rhiannon

  George is going to have a look at my poorly hand, and take care of me because I. Am. In. Shock. Obvs.

  George

  I WAS dying.

  Rhiannon

  Take as long as you like. I think G needs some healing-the-shock therapy toooooo (u get me!!!!!!!!!!).

  George

  I AM dying.

  Rhiannon

  George is soooooo lush.

  George

  So you owe me a snog.

  I mean a KISS.

  A BIG one.

  Rhiannon

  Take as long as you like.

  George

  And you’ve got a court hearing this afternoon.

  Rhiannon

  I’m gonna get G to help me plan that Easter party – more chance for games of FIND and EEK. !!!!!!!!! (U know what I’m thinking!)

  George

  So I’ll drive you there.

  I turn my phone off.

  ‘So what happens now?’ I say, as I look into Henry’s eyes.

  ‘Let us only glory in today,’ he says, ‘because today you have saved my heart; you have stopped my journey towards the constellation of Draco, you have vanquished the Hordes of Sheela and put a stop to the Olde Deepe Magicke. And I am, once again, home in my beautiful Snowdonia.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. I stop myself from thinking of all the tomorrows that might be filled with emptiness – of all the yesterdays, when I was lonely. I am here now with Henry.

  I am here now with Henry!

  ‘But you must know one thing,’ he says, his voice breaking. He pauses, draws in a great breath. ‘I can never become human again.’

  A freezing wind blows off the mountain. I shiver. Suddenly I can’t control it. I’m so cold.

  I can’t stop shivering.

  Henry lifts up his head, seems to focus on the horizon far, far away.

  I want to say something. To shout. To raise up my fists and smash them down. To break the rocks of the mountain. To scream. NOOOOO!

  ‘I tried to tell you, when we were in the in-between place … ’ His voice trails off.

  He’s right. He did. I remember his words: ‘We also need to talk about us … sooner rather than later … ’ I didn’t want to listen. This is what he meant.

  Henry sighs. Little sparks of fire surround us. His voice is strained. He makes the point very clearly. ‘The enchantment of Merlin has been broken, my crystal has been shattered, there is no magick, high or old, that can transform me into a human again. The days of magicians like Merlin have passed. My heart is restored to me as a dragon. I am now the Red Dragon of Wales, forever and forever.’

  ‘Forever?’ I repeat

  He laughs sadly. ‘Maybe, forever is too long a time – perhaps someone will work a different spell.’

  Never become my Henry again?

  I just sit there.

  I can’t take it in.

  ‘But for now, with the Olde Deepe Magicke banished and Merlin’s stronghold over Snowdoni
a damaged, I will remain a dragon. But thanks to you and all your courage and bravery and the loyalty of your friends, I have my heart back.’

  He is making the point extremely apparent.

  He is determined that I must understand.

  I must understand.

  Must!

  ‘But,’ I say.

  ‘I know.’ he says. ‘I release you, Ellie. I release you from any promise that you made to me. I can never be yours. For as a dragon, we cannot meet as equals, and neither can I give you what it is that you need in your life. You already have the love of the most loyal and trustworthy person I have ever met, and for his sake too, I release you.’

  I think of George and his steadfast love, and how he’s always been there. How I felt when I thought he was dying …

  ‘No,’ I say, ‘I won’t accept that. I’ll find a way.’

  ‘Here,’ he says, ‘we should treasure this meeting. Climb on my back, and let us sit and watch the first morning of spring together from the summit of the mountain.’

  I look at his flank and spiny back, how the heck am I going to climb up there?

  ‘Step on my foot,’ he says.

  Heart pounding, I step up on to his outstretched leg. I balance there, he curls a huge wing down towards me and I am scooped up, rushed through the air and set down in the hollow of his back.

  ‘Hold on,’ he says.

  ‘To what?’

  He laughs, a deep roaring laugh.

  I clutch at the spiny horns that stick out of his neck.

  He beats the air with his huge wings and there’s a rushing. I hang on for dear life. Heart pounding, I grip his back with my knees. I squeal. Icy air rips my voice from me. I’m hurtling upwards.

  Up and up. I feel the dizzying rush of blood. My knees tremble with the effort of hanging on, my stomach feels weak; my arms ache with holding him so tight.