I unbuttoned my shirt and peeled it off. Grimalkin began expertly draping the garment around my chest. As she did so, she paused, noting the mark on my arm where Alice had once dug her nails into my flesh. ‘This is Alice’s mark, isn’t it?’ she asked me. I nodded, my heart heavy at the thought that I was never going to see my friend again.
I turned my attention to the garment that Grimalkin was fitting. It was some sort of shirt but seemed to be padded at the shoulders. There was another padded section that ran diagonally from my right shoulder down towards my left hip. The witch buttoned the shirt quickly with nimble fingers, and then, from a scabbard on one of the leather straps that crisscrossed her own body, she withdrew a pair of scissors.
I flinched and stepped backwards. These were the scissors she used to snip away the thumb-bones of her enemies. Some said that she did so while they still breathed.
But it wasn’t my bones that she wanted. Quickly she cut away some material, trimming the bottom of the shirt and then the sleeves, so that they now finished above the elbow.
‘This is a padded undershirt,’ she explained. ‘You’ll wear it to stop the straps and scabbard chafing against your skin.’
She now held a length of leather in her hand; attached to it was a scabbard similar to the ones that she wore. She set to work fitting it. After first trimming its length with her scissors, using a needle and thread she tacked it to the undershirt with just a couple of deft stitches.
Once she’d finished, Grimalkin picked up the sword and handed it to me. ‘Sheath it!’ she commanded.
‘Am I to use it right-handed?’ I asked.
‘You’ll use either hand, but since your primary weapon is your staff, which you wield with your left hand, you should draw the sword with the other.’
I sheathed the sword.
‘Now draw it as quickly as you can!’
I obeyed.
‘Sheath and draw it again …’
When I’d done as she asked, Grimalkin repositioned the leather strap, and this time used several stitches to attach it firmly to the undershirt.
‘Now,’ she said with a grim smile, ‘it’s time to go down to the cellar …’
The cellar was situated far below the living quarters of the house. I obediently followed Grimalkin down the long spiral of stone steps. Inside, the flagged floor was empty save for a table pushed back against the near wall. About a dozen torches in wall brackets lit the area. It looked like it had recently been swept.
Grimalkin closed the heavy wooden door behind us, and then turned the key in the lock before removing it and tossing it onto the table.
‘Why have we come down here?’ I asked, my mouth suddenly dry.
‘For one thing we have plenty of space,’ she replied. ‘But not only that – down in this cellar, nobody will hear you scream.’
I took a step backwards. Grimalkin took one towards me. ‘There’s nowhere to run, Thomas Ward,’ she said, her voice quiet and filled with malice. ‘You impaled me once with your staff. I owe you for that – and I always pay my debts. Nothing less than your life will suffice, so draw the sword and defend yourself – if you can!’
It was true that I had once driven my staff through her shoulder, pinning her to a tree. Then, I had been acting in self-defence – she had been hunting me down, ready to take my life. But since then we had fought together side by side; I’d thought that we were now allies, and that Grimalkin had come to Kenmare in order to help us bind the Fiend. Had it all been a lie? I wondered. Was her need for vengeance so great? Had she rescued me from the fort just so that she could put an end to me in this cellar herself?
I was scared and my knees trembled. I barely managed to get the sword clear of its scabbard before she attacked. Drawing two blades at once, Grimalkin ran directly towards me. I raised the Destiny Blade and managed to deflect the one in her left hand, twisting away so that the other blade missed my left ear by less than an inch.
Before I’d recovered my balance properly, she whirled towards me again. In a panic, I chopped down at her head, but she parried and smiled grimly before stabbing towards my left shoulder. I wasn’t fast enough, and I felt a sharp pain as the blade cut into my flesh. How badly was I hurt? I glanced at the wound and saw blood dribbling down towards my elbow.
To check the severity of my wound was a foolish mistake – one that almost cost me my life. The moment I glanced down, Grimalkin took advantage of my lapse and launched an all-out attack. I stumbled under her onslaught, but somehow her blades missed me.
I rolled away and jumped to my feet. She approached me again, her eyes glittering, her mouth open wide, as if she was going to take a bite out of my flesh. Those teeth, which she had filed to deadly points, were one of the scariest things about the witch assassin.
I was beginning to despair now. What chance did I have against Grimalkin? How could I hope to beat the most deadly assassin the Malkin clan had ever produced? I realized that I had just one faint hope. Somehow, in the heat of battle, I had to concentrate my mind and try to slow down time itself. That gift, inherited from Mam, had saved my life on more than one occasion. I had to attempt it now.
Before I could carry out my plan, Grimalkin charged. A sudden anger surged through me. What was she doing? I didn’t deserve to die in this cellar. And if she killed me now, the Fiend would be waiting to torment my soul. With a surge of new-found confidence, I stepped forward and swung my sword at her with all my strength, forcing her to lean back quickly, then step to the side. I attacked again, and this time switched the sword from my right to my left hand. It was a trick taught to me by the Spook when we practised with our staffs. That’s how I had wounded her last time.
It almost caught her out again, but she dodged away to safety and then came forward once more. I took a deep breath and started to focus, drawing on the power that lay deep within me.
Concentrate! Squeeze time. Slow it. Make it halt!
Grimalkin was moving towards me, her approach almost taking the form of a dance. She was balancing on her toes and flexing her knees, skipping away to the left, raising her arm to deliver a fatal blow to my heart. But her movements were slowing, and I was faster. My blade intercepted hers and dashed it from her hand.
Gleaming in the torchlight, the assassin’s dagger spun over and over again, slow as a feather, falling gently towards the flags. But then it halted. It was immobile, frozen in space, hovering above the floor. I had actually halted time!
I reversed the movement of my blade, slashing it back towards the witch’s neck. Grimalkin was helpless; I had won.
I watched my sword slice towards her unprotected throat. But then I noticed something else. Grimalkin was frozen in time, helpless, but she was also looking me in the eye – and smiling! She was smiling at me while my blade was inches from her throat!
At the last moment I pulled the blade upwards so that it missed her. Then I stepped away and went into a crouch. Why hadn’t I killed her while I had the chance? What was wrong with me? On the island of Mona I’d been unable to kill Bony Lizzie when I’d had the opportunity. I had held back then because she was Alice’s mother. But what was happening here? I asked myself.
And suddenly I knew. I relaxed and allowed time to move on once more. Grimalkin quickly sheathed her other blade and moved towards me. She was still smiling.
I realized then that it had been some sort of trial. She’d been testing me. Then she spoke.
‘I once consulted Martha Ribstalk, then the foremost scryer in Pendle,’ Grimalkin said, ‘and she told me that a child had just been born who represented a force that might somehow counter that of the Fiend. Powerful though Martha was, someone was hiding him from her sight. I now believe that this protector was your mother; you are that child – and my ally in this struggle against my sworn enemy. Together we will succeed. It is meant to be. It is our destiny to destroy the Fiend.’
My hands started to shake a little. Now that it was over I felt a rush of relief.
‘I wa
nted to strike fear into you. I needed to put you under pressure so that you would fight as if for your life. I have now had the opportunity to study your use of the sword, and know what needs to be done to improve it. I’ve spoken with John Gregory and told him that I need at least a week to train you. He has agreed. Once you reach the required standard, we will attempt to bind the Fiend. It’s our best hope.’
‘I’m going to fight the Fiend with this sword?’
Grimalkin smiled again. ‘Not exactly – but what I teach you will be vital, because denizens of the dark, the Fiend’s servants, will seek you out. They will try to hunt you down, so you will need skill to wield that sword. It could mean the difference between life and death. As I told you, the sword has another name – the Destiny Blade – and despite what your master says, each of its keepers fulfils his destiny – that which he was meant to achieve in this life – while he bears it.’
‘That sounds too much like fate,’ I said; ‘the idea that the future is fixed. I’m with the Spook on that. I believe that each of us has some free will, some freedom of choice.’
‘Child, maybe that is true, but I do believe you have a destiny – you were born to destroy the Fiend. And you are the hunter of the dark. Now that you have that blade, it will truly begin to fear you! Do you remember how you sliced off the head of the Morrigan?’
Suddenly I knew what Grimalkin expected of me. ‘You want me to do that to the Fiend?’
‘We impale and then behead. I will then bury the head elsewhere. It will give you time to work out a permanent solution so that he can be destroyed for all time.’
‘I almost killed you just then,’ I told her. ‘The test went too far …’
Grimalkin shook her head. ‘I know when I will die. Martha Ribstalk told me that too. I am not meant to die here at your hands.’
I nodded. I knew the Spook would have thought Grimalkin’s faith in that prophecy foolish indeed.
BILL ARKWRIGHT HAD once spent six months training me, with an emphasis on the physical aspects of the spook’s trade, particularly combat – fighting with staffs. He had been a hard taskmaster, at times verging on cruelty, and I had ended up covered in bruises. It had been a painful and exhausting experience.
That, however, was nothing compared to what I went through in the week I spent under Grimalkin’s tutelage. Much of my suffering was caused by the sheer terror I felt, fighting head to head with the witch assassin. Her appearance was daunting enough, but in addition, her eyes blazed with an intimidating ferocity, and I never knew which blade she would draw from the many sheaths around her body.
She also possessed a physical strength that I could not hope to match yet. I had to keep out of range. Once she got a hand on me I invariably ended up on my back, with the breath driven from my body and a blade at my throat.
She cut me too, more than once – it would have been good to have Alice at hand with her healing herbs and poultices. The pain of losing my best friend was still undiminished – the sharp edges of Grimalkin’s blades were nothing compared to that.
I soon became skilled with the sword – which now felt like an extension of myself – but the witch assassin was quick to tell me that this was barely the beginning of what I would need to know. She said that I would improve each time I fought for my life against an opponent who wanted to kill me – always assuming that I survived the encounter.
One of the skills I was made to practise over and over again was stopping time while in combat. As the week progressed, my control steadily improved. As I’d already shown, by using it I could match an opponent as deadly as Grimalkin.
All too soon that week of intense training came to a close, and we were ready to face our greatest challenge yet.
As the sun set, we left Shey’s house and approached the pit. There were just the three of us: the Spook, Grimalkin and me. I was wearing my cloak, but beneath it lay the Destiny Blade in its scabbard. The blood jar lay in the pocket of my breeches. During my training with the witch, the Spook had been adding to his Bestiary, updating it where possible and writing a new section on our preparations for binding the Fiend.
In my years with the Spook, I had always expected Alice to take part in this task – but it was not to be. She was gone for ever now, and I had to learn to accept it.
The rigger and his mate were waiting beside the huge wooden frame they had erected above the pit. They both looked scared, but so far they had done a good job: suspended from the block and tackle, hanging horizontally, was the huge flat stone that would seal the pit. To one side lay the heavy rock that would finally be placed on top. It had a ring embedded in it make lifting it easier.
Heaped close to the pit was the mound of soil that I had worked so hard to excavate. Mixed into it was a large amount of salt and iron. They were not likely to have much power against the Fiend, but the Spook thought that if it weakened him even slightly, it was worth a try. If we succeeded in binding him, that mixture would fill the pit.
If we failed … the Fiend would be quick to take his revenge for what I had done; he’d first deal with me, then kill the Spook and Grimalkin. After that our souls would face an eternity of torment.
I noticed that Grimalkin was carrying two sacks: one contained the spears and nails; the other was made of leather and appeared to be empty. It looked quite new – had she stitched it herself? I wondered. She placed both sacks on the ground and, already wearing her leather gloves, carefully unwrapped the four long spears. Beside them were a number of long broad-headed silver-alloy nails, and two short-handled lump-hammers for driving them into the Fiend’s flesh. One of these she handed to the Spook.
It had already been agreed that the Spook and I would take up positions in the pit, ready to attack the Fiend from below, while, from above, Grimalkin would attempt to drive her spear through his heart. Then, if we succeeded thus far, we would nail him to the rock.
By now the sun had gone down and the light was beginning to fail, but the pit was lit by seven lanterns; three were suspended from the wooden gantry, the others placed on the ground close to its four corners.
The Spook climbed down into the pit and I followed. Despite the solid rock base that had halted my excavations, it was very deep, the Spook’s head barely level with its rim. The witch assassin handed each of us a spear. They were slender and flexible, and had sharp points. The Spook and I took up positions at opposite corners of the pit. Above, Grimalkin held the third spear with both hands – the fourth lay on the ground beside her – and gazed down intently.
The Spook cleared his throat. ‘This is the moment we’ve all been waiting for,’ he said solemnly. ‘One or more of us may lose our lives. It will be well worth it if the Fiend is successfully bound. We share the same purpose, and I thank you both for standing by my side!’
It was an astonishing declaration by my master. He had actually thanked a witch for working with him! Grimalkin gave the faintest of smiles and nodded towards him in acknowledgement.
‘It’s time,’ said the Spook, turning his gaze towards me. ‘Give me the blood jar!’
My mouth was dry and my hands shook, but I was determined to do what was necessary. I focused on controlling my breathing and calming myself. Nervously I took the jar out of my pocket, walked across the pit and handed it to him. How strange it was to think that Alice I had spent so much time worrying that the cracked jar might lose its power and enable the Fiend to snatch us away; and now the Spook was about to destroy it.
I quickly returned to my place. For a moment the Spook stared at the small earthen jar with an expression of distaste, then held it high.
‘The crack in the jar has enabled the Fiend to come close to you many times,’ he said. ‘I suspect he is always nearby, waiting to come and take his revenge. So I expect him to appear the very moment the jar is broken. Be ready!’
With a sudden convulsive movement the Spook hurled it up out of the pit and against one of the stout wooden props that supported the gantry. With a sharp crack, it shat
tered, and my knees nearly gave way.
It was done. The Fiend would arrive within seconds. Alice had always believed that if the jar broke, his response would be immediate.
However, the seconds became minutes … and nothing happened. I became uneasy. Maybe it would be days before he arrived. If that were the case, it would be difficult to remain vigilant. This was not what we’d expected.
And then that I felt a strong tremor under my feet. The ground was shifting. Suddenly the lanterns flickered ominously and their light began to wane. They died right down to a faint glimmer, and one of riggers gave a loud cry of fear. Directly overhead, there was a sound like a peal of thunder, and we were momentarily plunged into total darkness.
The Fiend was approaching …
I began to concentrate, summoning my strength. Stop time too early, and the Fiend would be unable to enter the pit; do it too late, and he would seize control – and I would be his prisoner, stuck like a fly trapped in amber while he did his worst.
The lanterns shone brightly once more, and with a terrifying bellow that seemed to make the whole world shake, the Fiend appeared in the pit between me and the Spook. He radiated a lurid red light of his own. Despite my terror I was filled with hope. He had come. It could be done.
Concentrate! Squeeze time! Make it stop!
The Fiend was three times the size of the Spook, with a broad chest, a long tail, cloven feet and the curved horns of a ram, and was covered in thick black hair. His pupils were two vertical slits, and he gave off a strong animal stench that made my stomach heave. But amidst the terror I felt, I noted with relief that the pit would be big enough after all.
The Fiend wasn’t moving – controlling time had become almost second nature to me now – but neither were the Spook or Grimalkin. All was immobile and silent. My heart was still beating. I was still breathing. I had stopped time. Now I had to impale him …
I moved to stab towards him, but my spear moved very slowly. Even worse, my heart seemed to be slowing, each laboured beat taking longer to arrive than its predecessor. The Fiend was fighting back; trying to freeze me in time and release himself.
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