Farmer Weir took another sip of coffee, completely unaware that two very tall, very thin figures had appeared beside his tractor.
Brother Swift stared into the tractor cabin. He ran a hand through his thin greasy hair. “He has a gun, Brother Swan!” he said in mock fear. “Whatever shall we do?”
Brother Swan twitched his large nose. “Why, I expect we should turn back right away and never bother him again.” Irony dripped from every word.
Although the brothers Swan and Swift were no more than one metre away from Farmer Weir, he did not see them or hear them. He sipped at his coffee and let out a long, loud burp.
“Pardon,” said Brother Swan. Then he reached into the cabin and touched Farmer Weir on the back of the head. At once his chin dropped to his chest and he began to snore. “Oh dear. He’s only gone and fallen asleep. Who shall ensure the safety of his poor flock now?”
“Let’s pay them a visit,” said Brother Swift.
They walked out into the field among the sheep, which began to baa nervously.
“Why can’t we just use human blood?” Brother Swan’s bald head glistened in the light of the moon. “It’s much more fun to obtain. Sheep’s bleating is so dull compared to the vibrant screams of the little people.”
“Because if dead bodies began piling up all over a small seaside town such as this, I daresay it might attract attention. We must carry out our work quietly. There’ll be time aplenty for human misery once our mission has been accomplished. One thing at a time, eh?”
“I suppose so.” Brother Swan placed his long spindly hands together as if he was praying. “Oh, how wonderful it’ll be to have Mother back and be strong again.”
“One step at a time, Brother Swan. One step at a time.”
In perfect synchronisation, the brothers turned, and smiled, and walked towards the sheep.
The First Witch
As they walked slowly through the twisting maze of trees, Kirby looked up beyond the thick tangle of branches to fragments of clear night sky, which reminded him that the world was still out there, waiting for him to come back.
The air in the woods was sweet and heavy and warm. The only sounds were the snap of fallen branches underfoot and the occasional rustle of an animal in the dark. Kirby didn’t speak to Amelia as they went; he could feel the air around her crackle in the same strange way it had when they’d gone after the spiders, and he knew she was somewhere else in her head, somewhere he was glad not to be.
It was difficult to judge how much time passed as they walked in the darkness, but after a while things began to change around them. Kirby’s eyes had grown accustomed to the lack of light, and he noticed that the trees had become warped, their branches sharp and jagged.
A sudden flash of pain in his arm made him twist away. Had something stung him or bitten him?
“Let me see. Does it hurt?”
“Stings a bit.”
Amelia rolled back his sleeve, examining his arm as best she could. Even in the gloom it was easy to see the long cut running down the inside of Kirby’s forearm towards his wrist. She stared at the trees all around. “She’s stronger than I thought.”
“Who?”
“The witch. She’s twisting this place around, using the woods as protection.”
“Are you telling me,” said Kirby in a panicked whisper, “that the trees are against us?”
“Yes,” said Amelia. “I mean – you know – if we’re lucky it’ll just be the trees.”
Something coiled around Kirby’s ankle, pulled him to the damp woodland floor. Roots squirmed over him like snakes, wrapping around his arms and neck. He was overcome with panic. He tried to scream out, but there was no air in his lungs. As he kicked and fought, Kirby was distantly aware of Amelia standing over him, muttering in that strange language. The roots squeezed his neck, and he gasped and struggled. Amelia raised her voice and suddenly they loosened their grip. Cold, wonderful air rushed into Kirby’s body. He clutched at his throat as Amelia pulled him to his feet with surprising strength.
She didn’t speak. She only stared into his eyes. He understood at once, and nodded.
They began to run.
It was as if the woods had been sleeping, and had suddenly wakened. The trees were alive with movement, swaying and lashing like they were caught in the wind, and as Kirby and Amelia ran, branches whipped towards them. They ducked and dodged and spun, never letting go of each other.
Kirby didn’t know where they were running to; he only knew that he had to keep moving, no matter how tired he became, no matter how his legs ached, or the trees would wrap around him and rip him apart.
They took a hard right turn, ducking under the swing of an incoming branch, jumping over the grasping tendrils of roots and weeds, and then everything fell silent and still.
They were standing in a circular clearing of sorts, with only a scattering of trees and a floor carpeted in thick moss. Above, the sky was open and endless. The night had been warm and pleasant, but now Kirby felt the air growing cold. The hair on his arms stood up, and the steam of his breath curled around him.
Amelia was still holding his hand. She gripped it tighter. “Stay close,” she said. “She’s here.”
Kirby could see nothing but tree and shadow and sky. The place was so silent it made his ears ache. “Whereabouts?”
Amelia peered into the dark. “I’m working on that.” She took a hesitant step forward, pulling Kirby with her. He kept thinking about the dead sheep in the field.
“When we find her, use the wand like you did against the spiders.” And then Amelia froze.
Kirby followed her gaze to a spot just ahead where something was standing in their path. It looked, at first, like a ragged shadow. But it was darker than a shadow, just as the spiders had been. There was something vaguely human about it – arms and legs and a head – but the form was constantly changing, and the frayed edges of the silhouette fluttered like a flag in the wind. Kirby could make out no features, no face or eyes.
“You shouldn’t have come here.” Amelia’s voice was loud and strong. “You know what has to happen now. I can’t let you stay.”
The shadow flickered and warped.
When the witch spoke, her voice tore the silence. “What do you care, little miss?” she said to Amelia. “Compared to the little people you’re a god. You could have anything. Be anything. And yet you choose to defend ’em.”
“I do.” Amelia shifted her weight as if she was getting ready to make a move. “I’ve been to the graveyard where you slept. Someone brought you back. Who?”
The shadow flickered again. “You’ll find out soon enough, girl.”
Amelia took a half-step forward. “You’re angry,” she said, “with the world. I feel it.”
“You’d be angry too if you were hunted and stoned to death. And all I ever tried to do was help ’em. I delivered their babies and washed their dead and treated their animals for disease. No more.”
“The world has changed since then. Come with me. Let me take you back to the graveyard.”
“I ent going back,” said the witch. “I want to be free. They said for that to happen I have to take care of you, Shadowsmith.”
Amelia tilted her head, frowned. “How do you know that word?”
The witch did not answer. A cold breeze filled the clearing, brushing Kirby’s cheek, and the witch grew and changed shape, becoming an enormous black bear with glowing red eyes, still ragged at the edges.
Kirby’s skin was covered in goosebumps, his scalp tingled. His heart beat hard and fast, and every muscle in his body seemed to quiver and shake.
“Kirby?” Amelia squeezed his hand, and he felt the warmth of her touch spreading up his arm, into his chest. He managed to turn his head away from the nightmarish bear and looked into her eyes, which were bright, almost sparkling. “Use the hazel,” she said. And then she let go of his hand, and turned and walked towards the bear.
Kirby did as she asked. He found a spot be
side a tree and drew a wide circle around himself.
Amelia strolled towards the witch, stopping only a few metres away. As a bear it towered over her, even on all fours. She looked like a doll next to it.
She looked up, directly into the witch’s eyes. “I’ll ask you one more time. Who brought you back?”
The bear growled, and the growl sounded like a laugh.
“I’m sorry,” said Amelia, “but you brought this on yourself.”
The great bear threw its head back and roared, shaking the branches of the trees. Then it leapt forward and crashed into Amelia, sending her flying backwards and landing with a heavy thud on the woodland floor.
The witch stood over her, standing on its hind legs, staring down with blood-red eyes.
Kirby cried out to Amelia. He thought she was dead.
But Amelia Pigeon was not dead. She got up, dusted herself off and said, “That wasn’t very nice.”
The bear-witch made to swipe at her with a huge black paw, but Amelia raised her hazel wand and began to speak. The bear’s paw froze in the air.
From the safety of his circle, Kirby listened and Amelia’s words wrapped around him, warmed him, filled his head and his heart.
The bear was struggling against Amelia, the rough edge of its body strobing in the shadow. It roared and backed away, pacing in a circle.
“If you’d stop trying to kill me this would be over much quicker.” Amelia’s yellow raincoat shone in the moonlight.
Just like that, the bear flickered and became human-shaped again, wrapped in rags of darkest black. The witch began to speak.
Whenever Amelia spoke her magical language, it felt shining and wondrous. When the witch spoke the same language, her words cut the air like rusted blades. Where Amelia’s voice brought hope, the hag’s brought fear. Kirby covered his ears, but the sound was still there, in his head. He began to shake, felt like the world was closing in around him.
Amelia stumbled back, shaking cobwebs from her mind.
The witch advanced, still chanting her awful words, and Amelia backed away until she was pressed against a tree. The witch was close to her now, and with every step her voice grew louder and the darkness grew deeper.
Amelia dropped to her knees.
“Amelia!” yelled Kirby.
But Amelia was not done. Still on her knees, looking at the ground with her hair hanging over her face, she burst upward. For a moment the darkness lit up, alive with fiery golden light, and then it descended again.
Amelia was back on her knees, panting, but her burst of magic had thrown the witch across the clearing, where she was picking herself slowly off the woodland floor. Then the witch was the great black bear again, charging across the clearing towards Amelia, who was still looking at the ground, seemingly oblivious.
Kirby moved without thinking, more on instinct than anything else, outside of his safe circle, holding the hazel wand high. “Oi!” he said.
The bear stopped in its tracks and turned to face him, and in that moment Kirby wondered what on earth he was doing.
The bear charged at him, and before he’d even thought about drawing another circle of protection, a great paw had knocked the hazel from his hand, sending him tumbling to the ground. He rolled away, avoiding the hulking body as it tried to crush him. Then he was on his feet, running, scrambling, climbing the nearest tree.
Below, the bear crashed against the trunk, uprooting it, tipping it over with Kirby holding tight among the leaves. He clung on as well as he could, but the assault was relentless. The bear thrashed at the tree, breaking thick branches like they were twigs, teeth flashing, coming closer and closer…
Then it reared back, its eyes rolling, and it moaned in pain.
Kirby saw Amelia standing behind the bear, fury burning in her eyes. It became the witch again, but her shape was loose and sketchy, and as Amelia spoke the witch grabbed at the branches and swiped at the air.
Kirby saw that the fallen tree itself was moving about him, the branches twining around the witch, wrapping and squeezing. She changed shape in desperation, to a bear once more, but she was too weak to resist Amelia’s magic. The bark began to grow over the bear-witch, encasing her – first her legs, then her arms and body, until only her head remained. Her eyes were wide in horror as it crept slowly up her neck, over the back of her head, her face and eyes and snout, until, at last, the great black bear was gone and Kirby could hear nothing but silence and the sound of his breathing.
Amelia came over, grabbed his hand, and pulled him from the tangled grasp of the branches to standing. “You OK?”
Kirby could not speak; he was too stunned. He nodded.
“Good,” said Amelia. Then she punched him on the arm.
“Ow! What’s that for?”
“For being thick!” she yelled and punched him again.
“Ow! Will you stop doing that!”
“I told you to stay put!”
“She was going to kill you!”
“I had it under control!”
“Didn’t look that way to me!”
“Oh,” said Amelia, “I’m sorry! I keep forgetting you’re a master at hunting the forces of darkness! If you’d been killed…” She stopped then, and Kirby thought for a moment that she was going to punch him again. He braced himself. But Amelia didn’t punch him. She hugged him. “Don’t do that again,” she said. “Next time, do as I say.”
Kirby smiled. “So I get to come along next time?”
Amelia didn’t answer. She shook her head, and huffed, and stormed off through the woods.
Kirby had one last look at the tree, touching the part that had been the bear. Then he ran after her, back towards the farm, and the world he knew.
Grounded
The woods had returned to normal. There were no angry, thrashing branches or grabbing, snaking roots. The trees were just trees.
As they headed back towards the farmhouse, Amelia slowed and started to sway, and by the time they had reached the border of the woodland and the farm, Kirby was helping her to walk.
“I’m fine,” she insisted, though her voice was weak. “I’m just tired. It’s not an easy business, getting rid of a witch. I need to sleep, that’s all.”
“That witch called you something… Shadowsmith. What’s that?”
“An old word,” said Amelia. “She shouldn’t have known it.”
Kirby helped her into the farmhouse ruin, and was amazed again at how cosy and comfortable it was inside, with a fire burning in the fireplace.
Amelia lay down on the couch and yawned. “You should go home.”
“OK, I’ll check in on you tomorrow. Y’ know, just to make sure.”
Her eyes were closed, but she smiled. “I’ll be sleeping for a little longer than that.”
“Oh. How long?”
“Don’t know.” Her voice was far away now, at the edge of sleep. “I’ll come for you when I wake.” Her head lolled to one side, and she breathed deeply and rhythmically.
Kirby took a blanket from an old rocking chair in the corner and covered Amelia. Then, with nothing else to do, he left the farmhouse, closing the door gently, although he was sure that even if he’d slammed it as hard as he could it would not have woken her. He began to walk away, but something stopped him – a curious feeling, a hunch.
Kirby returned to the door, reached for the handle and opened it.
This time there were no lights inside, no cosy kitchen, no fire warming the room. No Amelia. Everything was bare and cold and black, as dead on the inside as it looked from the outside.
***
On the walk home Kirby listened to the sound of the sea, watched feathers of cloud pass across the moon, and thought of the witch in the forest, trapped forever in a tree – thanks, in very small part, to him.
It seemed that the world was a little safer.
Most importantly, now that the first witch was gone, Kirby could hope Mum was a little closer to waking up.
When he reached his
house, he opened the front door, tiptoed through to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of milk. He was thirsty.
“Where have you been?”
Dad was sitting at the kitchen table in his dressing gown in the dark. When Kirby heard his voice, he was so shocked he blew milk out of his nose. The light from the fridge painted half of Dad’s face. He did not look happy.
“Sit. Down.”
Kirby sat. The milk was swirling around in his belly and his hands were clammy.
“Well? Where were you?”
“Just out,” said Kirby meekly.
“Out where?”
“Just for a walk.”
“A walk?” Kirby could tell Dad was trying not to lose the plot. “In the middle of the night? Are you insane?”
“I’m sorry.” Kirby’s mind was racing. It seemed like Amelia had put Dad under a spell earlier, so that she and Kirby could sneak out. He reckoned the spell must have worn off when Amelia went to sleep back at the farmhouse.
“Sorry?” yelled Dad. “That’s it?”
“I didn’t mean any harm.”
“You’re twelve years old! You don’t go out for a walk in the dead of night! Do you not think I’ve got enough on my plate right now without you adding to my troubles?”
Kirby looked up from the table, anger prickling the back of his neck. “Oh, so that’s all I am, is it? A bother? A nuisance?”
Dad shook his head. “Don’t twist my words, pal. You know what I meant.”
“Yeah,” said Kirby, “I do know. You wish you didn’t have to worry about me. Maybe I should have just kept on walking and never come back.”
Dad banged his fist on the table, making Kirby jump. “You think that would help? Eh? You think I want to lose you as well as your mum? Get up to your room. I don’t even want to look at you right now.”
Kirby opened his mouth, but he didn’t know what to say. He knew he’d gone too far. He wished he could tell Dad the truth: that the only reason he’d snuck out was because he wanted to help Mum. But he knew how ridiculous it would sound if he started going on about witches and magic. It would only make things worse. He got up from the table and moved towards the door.
Shadowsmith Page 5
