The Witch of Glenaster

by Jonathan Mills

  The days became bitter and crisp with frost, and one morning I came downstairs to see Thomas stood before a table in his rooms, his belongings spread before him. He seemed surprised to see me, but smiled, and asked me to help him fold a few of the coarse cotton shirts he wore beneath his waistcoat. This I did, and he complimented me on my work, which emboldened me to ask if he was soon going to Glenaster, to confront the Witch. At this he hesitated slightly, but continued to make the neat little piles he was building, of handkerchiefs, and belt-cloths, and weatherworn trousers. He opened his mouth to speak, almost thought better of it, then said:

  “The day after tomorrow, if the weather holds.” Then he turned, his pale eyes looking sadly upon me for a moment, and rested a hand on my shoulder. “Understand, Esther: I am going alone. Griffin has passed into a sleep from which the doctors think he will not awake, and Lukas has agreed to remain here, to help defend the Cities in the event of an attack. He and Richard will be responsible for you and your brother’s protection.” And he went back to his folding. I blurted out:

  “But you can’t leave!” And the suddenness of my words took me by surprise as much as they did him. I realized that, with my parents gone, and all my adult kin, Thomas was the nearest thing I had now to a parent, and to be parted from him would be a bitter loss. I started to weep, and the tears fled from my eyes. “I need you! Magnus needs you! You cannot leave us here…”

  “But you seem so happy – you and your brother – happier than I have ever seen you. And these people can protect you better than I can…”

  “No! I am happy because you are here, you and Lukas. You are our friends. You cannot leave. You heard what Richard said: it is madness to go into the Witch’s lair, alone, with only thought of revenge to accompany you. You will be killed, like all the others.”

  “Yet you wished it, did you not, Esther?” he asked, turning to me once more. “You would have put your own brother in danger to satisfy your desire for her death.”

  I lunged at him then, my fists ready to pummel reason into his chest – my reason, which of course was no reason at all, for there was no reason left in the world. He caught my wrists sharply, too sharply, and I cried out. But he would not let go.

  “It’s your spirit that gives you strength, Esther; it is what has kept you and your brother alive. But where I am going you cannot follow. There is peril enough in the journey, but once we had crossed the Soar I could not protect you like I can here. You would put both our lives in danger. The path through the Lessening Lands is treacherous, and full of things beyond imagination, worse than a fierce enemy with a sharpened blade; and Glenaster itself is a poison to the soul, and the strongest men would quake even to set foot there. Do you think such places would suit a young country girl, however brave? And what about your brother? If you were killed he would have no family left. He has already lost his parents. But at least he has you.”

  “But I have no one!” I screamed, and it sounded like the empty knell of a ship, pinned like a fly on the line between the broad sky and the vast, unknowable deep of the ocean. Never before had my words sounded so pointless to my ears. Thomas seemed uncertain for a moment, and his eyes flickered slightly. But the moment passed, and his face became set once more.

  “There is nothing you can say to make me change my mind, Esther. If I return, I may make you my ward – if you would like. You and your brother. In any case, I would like us to be friends. Can we be friends?” And there seemed a cracking, faint as the wind, in his voice, as he offered me his hand. But I would not take it.

  “You said yourself you needed me!” I protested.

  “When?” he asked.

  “When we were in that cabin, in the forest. I overheard you talking about a, a prophecy! Or have you forgotten?” And I spat out my words. “That a young girl would destroy the Witch…”

  “That is an old wives’ tale, Esther; I was foolish to even mention it…”

  “Were you?” I said, and I was defiant now, my teeth clenched, as his grip on my arms loosened. “What if it’s true? You may need me. Then what will you do?” I shook him away, and glared at him. “I hope the Witch takes you! I hope she curses you, for leaving me here, and makes you wander the wastes, friendless and alone! I hope she keeps you like a pet, and makes you meow like a cat, unmanned and stupid! I hope she learns to hate you like I do!” And I turned smartly on my heel, and ran out of the room, pushing against a startled Lukas in my dash down the stairs; and I broke from the Tower at a gallop, and found a quiet clearing, where I wept for a long time against the belly of an oak, until my eyes were aching and parched of tears.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  The day was weary when I returned. Smoke was rising from the chimney of the Great Hall, with its dark, sloping roof, and heavy doors inlaid with bronze, which adjoined the South Tower; and men were coming and going, their faces full of worry. As I entered the lobby, Magnus sat swinging his legs on the edge of a high window-seat, the sunset making an aureole of his yellow hair, and forcing him to squint at the room like a fierce old man. The sight made me smile.

  He scowled at this, and carried on kicking his legs. I walked past him, and saw Caleb Greysash, one of Richard’s men, leaning against a doorway, and munching on a barley cake, eyeing me cautiously. I knew the doorway led to the Great Hall; it was a side entrance Richard and his men often used. Caleb offered me some of the barley cake, and when I shook my head, and moved nearer the door, said:

  “Can’t go in there now, miss. There’s a folkmoot. All the elders are there, and your friend, Thomas Taper. Been an attack at the south gate. Can’t go in there now.” And he shook his head, for emphasis, his narrow, dirty face half-hidden beneath a curtain of greasy hair, as he gnawed at the cake, for all the world like an overgrown rodent.

  I regarded him a moment, wondering what to do; I wanted to know what was going on behind that door. On an impulse, I quickly ducked beneath his arm, before his wits had time to travel from his brain; he tried to grab me, but I was already through the door, and into the gloom of the passageway beyond, before he was able to stop me. I ran the few yards to the Hall, my daps squeaking softly on the dusty floor, until I gained the entrance, squeezing through a gap where the door had been left slightly ajar; and, once there, I was able to sequester myself into a dark corner, behind a large chair that reeked of sweat and polish, and observe without being seen.

  The Hall was long and broad, with a high roof set with thatch; a vast fireplace filled half of one wall. In the middle of the room there were mead-benches, for Richard’s warriors; and the walls were hung with tapestries of dark embroidery, that swam in and out of focus in the torchlight. Richard, Thomas, Lukas and several others were gathered about a table at the far end, studying piles of maps and charts spread unevenly before them, or otherwise stood apart in quiet counsel. The room felt stifled and uneasy, and from where I was hiding, I could see Caleb Greysash enter, and look about him uncertainly, a heavy squint to his eye, and I realized that it was not only the relative darkness, but also that he must be near-sighted, for he banged against a table, and the scraping it made on the floor alerted some of the men, and he was apologetic and embarrassed when they saw him.

  “Sorry,” he said, “sorry. Thought I’d lost something…”

  And, casting a last look over the room, he bowed awkwardly, and left.

  I was in an uncomfortable crouch, and tried to lean back against the wall, to let it take some of my weight. This didn’t work terribly well; but there wasn’t enough room to sit, and the hard stone floor would have made kneeling a torture. I kept my eyes on the men near the table, stealing glances now and again at the door, to make sure I could not be seen. I was close enough to catch the gist of their conversation, if not every word.

  The renewed attack on the Southern Acres was, it seemed, even more serious than the first: a great host of wolves and men - including, so they said, some from the Moonland, and from far Sorrow - had laid siege with spear and bow, almost forcing a b
reach in the Wall, and requiring the guard to call for reinforcements. The attackers had been beaten back, for now; but Richard said he feared it was only the prelude to a greater onslaught, and he had sent word that his people were to ready themselves to leave their homes, and hide in the woods, where there were many secure and secret places known only to them, should the Cities be overrun.

  Thomas asked how many men were now guarding the Southern Acres, and Richard told him there were a good two hundred of his best warriors at the gate, and a further hundred stationed nearby. And he had increased the forces at the other gates, and readied all men able to bear arms for battle.

  “Still,” he said, “I would count it a failure of my leadership if the Witch’s forces were to gain the Wall and strike in any number into the heart of these lands. No enemy has achieved that since the Lonely Wars, when the fire-drakes came…”

  Thomas sought to reassure him then, and told him he would stay a while longer, perhaps for a few more days, and help defend the Cities, if need be.

  “But I must be gone before the week is out,” he said. “There is no more time to lose. Soon it will be too cold to travel further north, and the Ice Bridge of Sennow will be impassable.”

  Richard nodded, and bit silently at his lip a while. Then he said:

  “I do not understand why they came at us from the south. I always thought any such attack would be from the north, or from the west. But the lands between the Meer and the Wall have always been free of drooj; they have always gone around the river on their way south, and travelled through the Western Borderlands, and the Crying Mountains. A longer way round, but a much safer one, for them. I worry they have found a way to cross running water, or otherwise to break the spells that thread the Nailinch Crossing, and the other bridges on the Meer. If so, it would be a poor outcome for us.”

  “They may be seeking to cut us off,” said Thomas, and he struck a match against the table top, and lit a cigar with it. “If they harry us to the south, it will be harder for us to send word to the lands below Salem, and thus to Ampar. Your isolation, my friend, has always been a weakness as much as it is a strength.”

  Richard nodded.

  “I know it. But still, I feel, we are safer here than many others outside this country. I will not see these lands unpeopled. We have fought too hard to build a home here.”

  Thomas smiled, and coughed out a lungful of smoke.

  “I would not expect you to say anything else, my friend,” said he. “I would wonder where the Richard I have come to know and love was gone.” And at this the other man laughed.

  I did not realize how tired I was, for my eyelids suddenly caught me unawares, and slammed themselves shut over my eyes, and I dozed like that for a while, uncomfortable as I was, so that when I opened them again it was night outside, and the men were now mostly sitting around the table, talking in a nervous and quick rhythm, their speech that of those for whom slow words are a luxury.

  As I was shifting position once more – the cramped confines of my hiding place had made my right leg go numb, and I was in need of food and a pee – I saw Matthew Longfield come into the room, his face flushed with anxiety, and a breathless tremor to his voice.

  “There has been another attack,” he said. “At the – at the south gate. There has been a great fire. The gatekeepers have been struggling to put it out. They say half the wall between the Southern Acres and the Seeing Tower is aflame, and there are enemy troops and beasts of Glenaster pouring through. James of the Houses is leading a company of men down there now. I have given the order to evacuate the villages nearest the southern part of the wall. They are calling for you, my lord, and for Thomas Taper and all the captains of the Cities.”

  By the time he was halfway through his message, the men were already on their feet and arming themselves; by the time he had finished, most of them were out of the door. I watched as they hurried from the room, their footsteps echoing down the passageway behind them, as if they were already ghosts. Then I rose stiffly from where I had been hiding, looked for a moment at the table, with its maps, and candles, and half-eaten plates of food, and sneaked away, like a thief.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  Outside, in the lobby, all was confusion.

  A large man who I had not seen before was barking orders to a group of young soldiers who looked hardly more than children, and there was no sign of Thomas and the others. I headed for the stairs, and as I reached the next level I encountered Matthew Longfield, gazing out of the window at a darkening sky that was already starting to flicker a dull orange.

  He wheeled when he saw me, and seemed not to recognize me at first; but then he said:

  “Ah, Esther. Captain Taper has been looking for you. And your brother. Do you know where he is? I have been sent to help round up the children. It may not be safe here for very much longer. Where is your brother?”

  I looked stupidly at him for a moment, then said:

  “I don’t know. I – I left him. I thought he was all right. He was downstairs.”

  But the young man had already bounded away, saying only, “Wait here,”, as he left me alone on the landing, the dim roar of the approaching battle settling on my ears like the crackle of distant drums.

  It rumbled on like that for a while, while I stood alone in the silence of the lodge; and for a few minutes it seemed almost calming, the steady boom of noise washing against the walls of the tower, and reminding me of a very different night, many years and several lifetimes ago, when I was tucked warmly in my bed, my father stroking my hair and reassuring me that all was well, as they set off fireworks on the hillside to celebrate Midsummer’s Eve. And suddenly I wished him here, now, more fervently than I had wished for anything; to see his sad, heavy face once more, and feel his big hands delicately brushing the hair from my eyes. I wept then, and felt like the loneliest person in the world. The tears stuttered from my eyes and clung to my lashes, and I thought I would be struck dead by my grief, so crushing did it feel. But as I was wiping my face with a handkerchief - my only handkerchief, thin and worn now, the same handkerchief I had had in my pocket when we had started out from home, so many weeks before - I caught something just at the edge of my vision which made me start. There, in the darkness of the stairwell, only ten or so steps above me, and standing out faint but clear in the gloom, was a pair of eyes, dark red in colour, and hovering, apparently disembodied, in the air, about five feet or so from the ground. I shook my head, thinking it must be a trick of the light, or my own muddled mind creating things that were not there. But when I looked again, the floating eyes remained, and were still, unquestionably and quite terrifyingly, staring into my own.

  I tried to pull myself away, but my head seemed fixed as if by a great weight, and I wanted to scream, or vomit, or both. But the eyes went on gazing; and, slowly, inexorably, as if carried by an unseen body, they started to glide down the stairs towards me.

  I tried to scream, but could only manage a whimper so small and pathetic it would hardly have roused a dormouse; and I became aware that I was paralyzed, not only in my upper body but in my legs also, so that I felt suddenly helpless, and betrayed by my own limbs. My mouth slackened, and saliva trickled down the creases of my chin, and I suppose I must have looked a wretched thing, standing on the stairs like that, the air around me now as silent as a threat, and the noises of the battle gone, or disappearing, so muffled as to be meaningless. And still the eyes, reproaching and watchful, came on.

  I do not know quite what I would have done had I not then been stung awake by a sudden jolt to my arm, and turned to see Thomas Taper’s face looking into mine.

  “Esther?” he said, and he sounded afraid. “We have to go.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  We emerged into chaos.

  Great clouds of black smoke were coursing into the air, and thickening it with dust and fume; and I could see, away to the south, less than a league away, orange flame and flashing blizzards of white light, which lit up the sky, a
nd carved great holes in the night.

  Men were guiding those who could not defend themselves – the young, the elderly, the sick – towards shelter, deep in the woods, and I was glad to see some of the women insist on standing and fighting, rather than be ushered to safety, though such behaviour was not entirely appreciated. “What sort of a warrior do you think you’d make?” demanded one soldier, of a tall, wiry woman with a proud sweep of curls hanging down to her shoulders, and I wanted to spit in his face on her behalf.

  “You have to go with them, Esther,” said Thomas, above the noise. “Matthew Longfield is helping the women and children get away. I will take you to him.”

  I found myself shaking my head, and pulling away from him. He pulled me back, angry.

  “This is no time to be wilful! Do as I say!”

  I shook my head again, and fought to free myself once more. Quickly, he grabbed me by the arm, and I was terrified, fearing for a moment he was going to strike me. But he did not; and when he spoke again his tone was more sad than anything, all his anger gone.

  “Esther, listen to me. The people here: they can protect you. This is where our paths divide; you cannot come with me any further. Your brother needs you.”

  “My brother?” I shouted. “My brother does not need me. No one needs me! I am my own keeper. I will do as I will. You are going to Glenaster, I know, to kill the Witch: take me with you! Please. I have no home anymore, I have nothing to return to. My brother will be all right. I have put him in enough danger as it is. Please…” I was crying now, and the shame only increased my anger. “You cannot let me stay here,” I said, and struggled again, but it was a feeble gesture this time; I was defeated. Thomas held me, and I kept my back to him, too stubborn to turn around.

  As we stood there, about to take our leave of one another for the last time, I felt a great gust of warm air against my cheek, and experienced a feeling I had had before, long weeks past, when my brother and I had stood and gazed over the ruins of our home.