The Witch of Glenaster

by Jonathan Mills

  Suddenly there was a gasp, near at hand, and climbing back to the rear of the waggon I saw, behind the imperial carriage, a group of black-covered heads, bobbing silently in motion, the elation of the crowd evaporating like steam: mothers pulling their children closer, men averting their gaze, a sorrowful hush rippling out across the people gathered there, as they recognized who it was.

  The Shadowfighters.

  They were clad in cloaks of black and grey, swept over their shoulders and held in place by bronze clasps. Their faces were nearly all covered by short hoods, beneath which they wore scarves about their noses and mouths, so that only their eyes could be seen; and these were dark with menace. Even from where I sat, I could see the air around them shift and change, filling with an invisible charge, a familiar challenge, and I knew it for what it was.

  Fear.

  It was all around now, men and animals swallowed by it, the houses and squares about us hollowed out by it. Some said the emperor’s Shadowfighters were drooj; others that they were ghosts, phantoms conjured by the imperial magi. Braver folk insisted they were only men, and that their fearsome reputation was undeserved. But still, no one dared say any of these things to their faces.

  They trooped past without a word, as if we were not there, and children cried with relief when they had gone. Bringing up the rear of the column were more of them on horseback, and the beasts they rode snorted their contempt. Gradually they moved out of sight, till they were only a rumour, following the rest of the long procession across the Barrow Bridge, and through the northern outskirts of the city.

  I heard Thomas speaking to Griffin.

  “They’ll be going to the Storm House.”

  “The emperor will be holding court there for the rest of the month, then. They say there have been riots in some of the outer districts: people refusing to pay their taxes.”

  “Is it any wonder, when the taxes are so harsh? And so much of the money is wasted?”

  Griffin nodded.

  “They would be less harsh if the rich men who set them actually paid their share. Anyway, they say he is a desperate man now. No heir, and no prospect of one. And he fears the Witch.”

  “In that he is not alone. But his greatest enemies probably lie closer to home.”

  “The Shadowfighters…?”

  “And others…”

  “You know he has promised his throne to whoever kills the Witch?” said Griffin. My skin prickled when I heard this; I remembered the talk of the men in my village. “Messengers have been sent to every corner of the realm.”

  Thomas did not reply at first, but then said, quietly:

  “I do not care for the emperor’s good favour. I want only justice.”

  There was a pause, and then Griffin laughed.

  “For a moment there, I almost believed you…!” And Thomas laughed also; but there was a hollow ring to it.

  With the emperor and his train departed, the noise and clamour of the embankment gradually returned, and, after a short while, I felt the waggon begin to move, and Magnus and I settled back down near the front.

  We crossed over the Barrow Bridge, the Fern swimming lazily beneath us; and our progress was slow, as the bridge in those days was full of houses and shops, and the road between them was narrow. Eventually, though, we arrived on the other side, and were picking our way through the streets north of the river, the cobbles and dirt grumbling beneath the wheels of the waggon, and Samuel whistling a half-remembered tune as we drove along. The guards at the North Gate were nervous and unfriendly, and they peered into the waggon with lazy curiosity; but they had more important things to worry about, and waved us through without further incident. We made our way through Jericho, the Town Outside the Wall, and, after another mile, the streets became villages, and the villages hamlets, and the hamlets fields, and the city disappeared. We struck off northward, along a quiet lane, leaving the aimless busyness of men behind.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  “Ah! Bliss…”

  Samuel Hollis splashed water on his face like an eager dog, showering the rest of us with icy droplets, which made Magnus and I laugh, which only encouraged him. His brother did not see the funny side.

  “I’m trying to write, brother,” said Joseph, scratching at a small, close-bound notebook with a stub of pencil, and raising his eyes for a moment at Samuel, who abruptly stopped his splashing, though he gave us a wink as he did so. The pond shimmered quietly in the late sun of evening, half its surface imprisoned under a thin layer of ice, on which a flock of geese croaked and fought, back and forth, swinging their wings like fists. Around us, small copses and scattered woodland punctuated a wide, open valley of grassland and bog, drifting away to the horizon, the trees singing in the still autumn air.

  We had been travelling for many days, and were nearly three weeks north of Ampar; its great towers and narrow streets seemed another life away. We had passed through Fernshire, the hills of Thyme threading shadows upon us as we rolled by. The first night we had stopped at an inn on the outskirts of Leigh, a little village of stone houses, clustered about a small river. It reminded me greatly of home, and I hugged my brother when I saw it.

  From there we followed the sweep of the Lennox, that tumbles down from the Crying Mountains to the west, and when we crossed it at Hatcher’s Post we joined the Salt Road, that once had thronged with traffic back and forth between the North and the Capital, but now was hardly more than a narrow track, potholed and overgrown. Fear, fear of the Witch, had driven many people south, and there were plenty of abandoned cottages in which to shelter. And so our nights were cold but dry, and the stars wheeled brightly above our heads, and God must have kept a keen watch on us in those early days, for we encountered no threat. And soon the fields of Fernshire gave way to the tree-gifted land of Fairburn, with its rich oaks and bowing beeches marking our route, many now stripped of their leaves, and some whose leaves would never return: twisted ghosts of trees, whose limbs writhed against the indifferent sky.

  Yellowhammers roosted in them at each day’s end, and we were glad to see them, for we knew there were no such birds where the Witch lived, and she would never hear their song. And for the first time, despite everything, despite all the horror and death she had visited upon us, I found I pitied the Witch of Glenaster.

  Samuel dried himself off after his wash, and Fyn made a fire, as we settled in for the night. A little way up the hill, Lukas Broad kept the watch, still as a stone against the fading sun. We were in a low dip of land, tucked away from the road at the corner of the valley; but still we had no walls to defend us, for we had not seen any buildings for several miles, and the evening was fast coming on. So for the first time since leaving the city, we had to spend the night out of doors.

  Lukas lit a cigar, and the glow cast a low shadow across his face, with its thick grey beard, and hair swept untidily over his collar. He coughed occasionally, but apart from the regular movement of his arm, as he lifted the cigar to his lips, he might be a statue. Of all Thomas’s companions, he seemed to me the strangest: slightly older than the rest, but quite hale – he had beaten Samuel in an arm-wrestling contest early in our journey, and seemed to have a way of slapping the other men on the back that almost sent them flying – he was always watchful, his narrow eyes occasionally alighting on Magnus or myself, and then moving on without a word. He spent long hours in close counsel with Thomas and Griffin, and hardly spoke to the rest of us. Nevertheless, his presence reassured, rather than frightened, me, for I sensed he was a man who would strike fear into many, but only, I reckoned, with good cause.

  The others varied, in temperament and character, though all were more or less friendly towards my brother and I: Samuel and Joseph most of all, of course, and though Joseph seemed quieter than his brother, he was no less warm, and their cheerfulness did not seem to relent, even in the darkest moments; Griffin was straightforward, somewhat bluff, and did not waste words where none were wanted; and then there was Fyn, who, like the Hollis brother
s, was younger, and quicker to smile than the older men: he taught me some fighting skills, showing me how to anticipate an opponent, how to use a dagger, how to use a man’s weight against him. Thomas frowned at this, but he did not try to prevent it. It was a little knowledge, but it was to prove its usefulness.

  All of them had served with Colonel Marcus Strange out of High Meadow, many miles to the west, and all had seen action of one sort or another, in faraway wars which sounded both romantic and terrifying. It was difficult to determine their exact relationship, for they treated each other more or less as equals, yet all, subtly but noticeably, seemed to defer to Thomas, and frequently to call him Captain, and I wondered at his quiet authority, and how it had come about. Something told me it had been hard-earned, and was not simply the result of given rank.

  They managed to keep their exact purpose hidden, though it seemed increasingly likely to me that it involved the Witch in some way; all the more so as great treasure, and perhaps the throne itself, had been promised to those who killed her. I knew, though, that the emperor had other enemies in the wild lands of the north, and they did not look like men preparing to go to their deaths. Still, I watched and listened, and tried to glean from them what clues I could.

  When Samuel had finished washing, he walked over to join Fyn, who was stood with his back to a tree, gazing ahead, to the north. Behind him, half-hidden in the woods, were the waggon and horses, tethered, and munching noisily on grain that Griffin had laid down for them.

  Samuel followed Fyn’s gaze.

  “Salem Forest,” he said.

  Fyn nodded. A long line of dull green could just be discerned, on higher ground, at the edge of the horizon.

  “We should be there by noon tomorrow; early afternoon at the latest,” said Fyn, and he spat some tobacco on to the ground. I saw Magnus make a face, and laughed. Fyn gave me a look.

  “Are we expecting trouble?” asked Samuel, quietly, and his tone suggested the question was rhetorical. Fyn chewed his tobacco.

  “We might be lucky. If the Watchers are all gathered near Fierce, as everyone seems to think, then they may have abandoned the Forest.” And he paused, sighing slightly. “But I do not think we will be lucky.”

  And he turned aside, and picked up his bag, and went to help Griffin with the horses.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  That night was undisturbed and quiet, until about the third hour after midnight, when I was awoken by a gentle shaking, and looked up to see Magnus, staring eagerly into my face.

  “Listen,” he said.

  I pushed myself up on my elbow. After a supper of sweet, warm trout – caught by Samuel earlier in the day, and baked in a pit by his brother – we had gone to bed, ranged around the fire, Lukas and Fyn taking first watch, and Thomas, as he always did, sleeping nearest to Magnus and I. Now, with the night deep and slow, and the fire died to embers, I could understand what my brother wanted me to listen to.

  I could see four of the men, one of whom looked like Thomas, standing on the edge of the hollow, looking out. Turning, I saw Samuel and Fyn, the one crouched near my head, his hand on his sword, the other a little farther off, standing behind a fir tree and watching the men on the ridge intently.

  What they were listening to – what we were all listening to – was the sound of people dying.

  They were definitely people, of that I was sure: though the words were too distant to make out, we could not fail to recognize the sound of men and women in distress and pain. And, though it was impossible to be sure, it sounded like they were begging for their lives.

  Then I heard their murderers.

  It was a faint shiver at first, as the wind carried the sound back and forth; but soon it became clearer: an empty, soulless echo, that had thought, and cunning, but no mercy.

  I could not help but be reminded of that night in the Moonland, when we had hidden in Cornelius’s house, high up on the mountain, and heard that laughter, that voice I had fervently wished never to hear again. And here it was once more, though far away this time; and I held Magnus tight, and saw that Fyn and Samuel were uneasy, their faces, even in the darkness, bearing the mark of men who fear more than anything a foe they do not know how to kill.

  Eventually the sounds drifted away, and I suppose I must have fallen back to sleep; but in the morning I noticed the others had fatigue etched into the lines below their eyes, and I supposed they had slept but little. And as I washed and dressed, and ate what breakfast I could, for I had small hunger that morning, I saw that everyone was there: Griffin with the horses; Thomas and Lukas poring over a map they had laid against the side of the waggon; Fyn gathering up the blankets and putting out the fire; Joseph reading a book to Magnus. But someone was missing. Where was Samuel?

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  We found him, after only a short search, lying in a clearing a few yards away, face down, as a man dead. And Joseph admonished himself for neglecting his brother, and could not understand how he could have just wandered off without telling anyone, when Lukas put a hand to Samuel’s shoulder, and said:

  “He’s still alive.”

  Indeed, he seemed little more than stunned; and when he came around apparently had no memory of why or how he had got there.

  “I was standing by Magnus and Esther, guarding them, as Thomas had asked,” he said, between gulps of water, his eyes bulging slightly. “And then I was… here, with Lukas standing over me.” And he looked up at us, and blinked.

  “A sorry sight for anyone early in the morning,” joked Fyn, and Griffin cheerfully scolded Samuel for getting drunk and falling over in the woods. Only Thomas did not share in the laughter, and when I looked at him his face was grave.

  We left our camp under the sharp November sunlight - Thomas and the others making sure everything was left as we had found it - and then we headed out again, across the valley floor, and on towards Salem Forest, which rumbled gradually nearer under the waggon’s wheels.

  Samuel seemed, at first, none the worse for blacking out in the wood; and we all supposed he had just fallen over in the dark. At least, that is what we told each other: in truth, I think we all harboured doubts, and these were only increased by a slight, but noticeable, change in his behaviour - normally so placid, he became increasingly restless, and would occasionally grab at his face, an involuntary spasm which would be accompanied by hurried, softly spoken words, that seemed to form out of nowhere, and make no sense. And when we stopped he would often gaze out into space; and when we moved on again his head would settle always in one direction: away to the north-west, beyond the Crying Mountains and the Lessening Lands, beyond where any living man had ever gone. To the Unknown Regions: to Glenaster.

  We reached the edge of the Forest just after noon, as Fyn had promised, and ate a brief meal before continuing. We even had a little cider, saved from Griffin’s stores in Ampar, to toast the miracle that we had made it this far.

  “In three days, my friends, we will cross the Meer, and enter the Green Cities,” said Thomas, raising his cup, “and Richard of the Towers will give us a heroes’ welcome!” Some laughter, and cheering. “Until then, we walk a wild path, and trust only in God, and each other.” And he took a long draught, and the others did the same; and they poured some for me, who liked it more than I should, and also for Magnus, who did not.

  And so we entered the Forest of Salem, where the shadows are long, and the day is no more than a memory for the unwary traveller.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  The dark conifers grew thick on either side of us, denying the light to the ground below, and making the track beneath our feet – here hardly more than a broad path – a spongy carpet of needles. Nothing lived in the forest. No bird. No animal. Just the occasional whisper of wind against the high branches, and the low, insistent promise of the dark.

  “The emperor has threatened to chop it down,” said Joseph, as we trundled slowly along, in virtual silence except for the creak of the waggon’s wheels and the stuttering w
hinny of the horses. “But they say there is a curse on this forest, and any hand that raises an axe to it is damned thereafter. Many years ago, a gang of foresters from out of Berryland, far to the east, came here to cut the trees, looking for timber they could sell, and perhaps a thank you from the emperor. But only one of them ever returned, and he was soon sick with the fever, and died that winter. People asked him what he had seen, but he was struck dumb, and only pointed to his forehead…” He made a sign against his brow.

  “The Third Eye…!” said Magnus, open-mouthed.

  “Yes,” said Joseph, “the Witch’s mark. But you are too young to know of such things, Master Lanark, and, in truth, I do not know if I wish to speak more of them here.” And so we continued on silently for a while.

  We stopped after a few hours, in a small clearing, Griffin, Lukas and Thomas consulting their maps, Joseph entertaining us with tales of the battles he had fought (“Men the size of giants! Marching like boulders across the earth. Never been so terrified. But I did not run…”), and Fyn watching behind, the way we had come. As for Samuel, he would smile and nod at his brother’s stories, but seemed more and more aloof, and I could see the others were troubled by his behaviour. At least once I saw them whisper to each other, watching him from a distance, and later that day, after we had moved further into the forest, and stopped for the night beside the road, I saw Joseph arguing with Griffin and Thomas, a little way off; and though their voices were unclear, I heard Joseph say, “But he’s my brother!”, and saw him storm angrily away, and disappear for a while into the trees. None of us slept easy that night, and I noticed they did not let Samuel keep the watch alone after that.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR