A Witch Alone

by James Nicol

  ‘Oh my goodness. Estar, what happened to you? Where had you been?’ she asked, then looked at Salle. ‘Is he OK?’

  Estar’s slender blue hand wrapped around Arianwyn’s cool trembling one. ‘I am quite well, my dear friends. All the better for being back here in Lull with you both.’

  Arianwyn quickly brushed at her tears and looked at Estar properly. He was thin, his skin still bruised here and there. But his eyes sparkled just as she remembered. Perhaps things will be OK now at last?

  ‘Estar, I’m sorry but you have to tell us now. Where is the book?’

  He looked at Arianwyn and then at Salle. Finally, he looked at the floor. ‘That is a long and strange story, my dear friend.’

  Chapter 36

  ESTAR’S STORY

  star climbed into the armchair, pulling a flowery blanket around himself like a robe. He gave a deep weary sigh and looked off past Salle and Arianwyn, as though he was looking back through time, back into the Great Wood and Erraldur.

  ‘When I returned to my home, all was not well. The magic of the Great Wood has always been strange and far more powerful than anything in the human lands. But the darkness had crept there as well. There were night ghasts at large in the woods that surrounded our home and we were powerless against them. We made the decision to abandon Erraldur and to flee to other feyling outposts throughout the Great Wood.’

  ‘We met some,’ said Arianwyn, ‘led by a feyling called . . . Virean – she mentioned that you’d stayed behind. They were going to a place called Edda.’ Arianwyn thought back to the kindness the feylings had shown them when they were lost in the wood, her fingers seeking out the little stone charm under her jumper.

  ‘She survived?’ Estar asked. He smiled at Arianwyn. ‘That’s good. I stayed to help as many feylings as I could, but it grew more and more dangerous and in the end we all had to leave. Those of us that protected the demon library were forced to burn it to the ground, for fear it might fall into the wrong hands.’

  Arianwyn felt cold wash across her back. The room seemed to spin for a moment. ‘But the book. Tas gave me the page you sent,’ Arianwyn continued slowly. ‘But, Estar, the rest . . .’

  Estar smiled. ‘Tas did well,’ he said. ‘But that was mostly just a message so you would know I was coming – that it came from me. I didn’t . . .’ An expression of sadness and confusion clouded Estar’s face. ‘It all went so wrong so quickly. There was little we could do. Erraldur, and our beloved library . . .’ He looked away, sad again.

  ‘What happened to it?’ Arianwyn’s voice was flat and frightened. The Book of Quiet Glyphs was their only hope against the hex and the night ghasts and skalks and who knew what else. It couldn’t possibly be . . . She shook her head, unable to finish the thought.

  Estar glanced away, his eyes fluttering, and then pitched forward a little, nearly falling out of the seat. Salle reached forwards to hold him steady. ‘He’s tired, Wyn. We should let him rest.’

  ‘But the book . . .’

  ‘It’s of little consequence now, Arianwyn,’ Estar said calmly.

  ‘What do you mean, Estar? Do you have it?’ Arianwyn looked at the meagre possessions on the floor beside the armchair.

  ‘Pass me the pouch please, Salle,’ Estar asked.

  Salle handed him the small leather bag. Estar opened the mouth of the pouch and then turned it inside out. Finally, he pulled the drawstring tight before opening it once again.

  The air in the apartment fizzed with magic. A magic compartment! Arianwyn realized, hope fluttering in her chest.

  Estar reached inside the pouch and slowly pulled out a small object. It may once have been a book. But now it was blackened, ruined and barely intact. A flaking ebony fragment of paper fluttered to the floor.

  Arianwyn gasped.

  Estar relinquished the burnt remains and handed them to Arianwyn. ‘I tried to get it, but I was too late,’ he said, slumping against the arm of the chair, his eyelids fluttering.

  ‘We really need to let him rest, Wyn,’ Salle said firmly, getting to her feet.

  ‘But Salle, the High Elder has just arrived with some of the council . . .’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Salle asked.

  ‘She’s going to want the book.’

  Salle looked at the blackened mess in Arianwyn’s hand. ‘Well, there it is,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m sorry – I know it was important to you.’

  ‘Important? Oh, Salle, this was . . . everything!’ Arianwyn groaned. ‘And not just to me. To everyone.’ Her mind couldn’t work its way around just what this all meant. Everything suddenly seemed pointless.

  Estar coughed rather theatrically and smiled up at Arianwyn and Salle. ‘But what I’ve been trying to tell you is that the book isn’t what contains the glyphs!’

  ‘What does that mean? Is it some sort of riddle?’ Salle asked, looking at Arianwyn.

  ‘Estar, I’m not in the mood for games.’

  ‘The book was indeed magical,’ Estar said calmly. ‘But just not in the way I thought it was. Magic isn’t words and shapes: we feylings have always known this to be true. Magic is part of the natural world, like air, like laughter – not something that one can capture and pin to a page.’ His slender blue hands fluttered around him as he explained, his luminous eyes glowing brighter. ‘The book contains magic certainly, but it acts like a mirror,’ Estar went on, ‘showing whoever holds it the magic that resides within them, if only they look hard enough for it.’ He sat back in his chair and looked directly at Arianwyn.

  ‘What does that mean, inside them? Are you saying that the glyphs are—’ She stuttered to a halt as her mind whirled with possibilities. ‘Inside of me?’

  A broad smile spread across Estar’s face, his eyebrows raised high. He nodded. ‘Yes. And when you looked at the pages from the book, you saw the magic inside yourself, Arianwyn Gribble. The glyphs reside within you. You are the book.’

  ‘Oh, blimey!’ Salle said after a long silence. She turned to Arianwyn, her mouth hanging open in shock.

  Arianwyn reached out to steady herself against the kitchen table, her legs suddenly feeling as though they were made of jelly.

  ‘I think I’d better make us some hot chocolate,’ Salle said quickly as she crossed to the stove. ‘And you’d better sit down before you fall over.’

  Estar’s revelation still hadn’t sunk in. Even after two mugs of hot chocolate and a slice and a half of Aunt Grace’s fruit loaf, Arianwyn still felt wobbly. Estar had fallen asleep as Salle and Arianwyn had chatted over the drinks and cake.

  ‘It’s quite huge to take in, though, isn’t it?’ Salle asked as she pulled on her coat by the Spellorium door, the frosty night air rushing inside.

  Arianwyn nodded. ‘Please don’t tell anyone, Salle. Not until we can figure it all out. The High Elder arriving just makes this all the more complicated. I wish Grandma was here.’ She looked across Kettle Lane to the dark houses and shops opposite. She heard the church bells sound midnight; she really should get to bed.

  ‘You’re not alone though, Wyn. I’m here. I’ll help you.’ Salle took her hand and squeezed. ‘Come and see me tomorrow as soon as you’ve seen the High Elder. What will you say to her?’

  ‘I have no idea.’ Arianwyn shook her head. ‘I guess I’ll think of something, though.’

  Salle waved as she dashed off along Kettle Lane, swallowed up by the night. Arianwyn shivered against the chill as she pulled the door closed, locking it and pulling down the blind.

  She yawned as she crossed to the stairs, finally heading for bed, though her mind whirled so much she didn’t think she would ever sleep. She should feel different, Arianwyn thought; instead she felt just the same as she had before – but even more confused. The glyphs were somehow inside her, but what did that mean? Had they always been there? Or had something happened to make this come about? Did her mother or grandmother know? And why couldn’t she just summon the quiet glyphs as needed?

  She was halfway up the stairs when
something caught her eye, a movement in the darkness of the Spellorium. She stopped and peered downstairs – nothing. Maybe she’d imagined it.

  She was about to continue when she saw a shadow move quickly across the Spellorium floor. Arianwyn gasped, quickly clamping her hand over her mouth. The shadow had been quite distinct: a person wrapped in a long coat with a heavy hood pulled over their face.

  The intruder stopped and started to pull at a small collection of books on the shelf behind the counter, clearly unaware they were not alone. Were they looking for the book?

  Arianwyn’s heart started to pump, fear fuelling its rhythm. She rushed downstairs and stood in the centre of the Spellorium floor. ‘Get out!’ she shouted, a small stunning orb already crackling between the fingers of her right hand.

  The intruder paused, but didn’t turn around. ‘Where is it?’ The voice was muffled and dry, like autumn leaves rustling across the street, it sounded familiar and strange at the same time. Then the figure turned and moved towards her – a fluid movement, like a scarf sliding to the floor, or water pouring silently into a glass. The intruder’s steps made no sound against the floorboards, and their face was still hidden by the shadows under the hood.

  ‘You have no right to be in here. Get out,’ Arianwyn said calmly, though she could feel herself trembling. ‘Or I’ll stun you and summon the constable.’

  ‘Give. Me. The. Book!’ said the intruder.

  The voice rose in volume with every word, the last spat out like cannon fire. Arianwyn felt as though she had been punched.

  Magic?

  Then the doors and windows in the Spellorium began to shake, as if they were being blown in a gale. The next thing Arianwyn knew, she was propelled back against the hard iron staircase, her stunning orb flying uselessly to one side and fizzing to nothing. She fell hard on the floor. Pain ran across her back and she struggled to sit upright, her breath knocked from her. She saw that her feyling charm stone now lay on the floor beside the counter – it must have snapped off when she fell.

  So the intruder was a witch! Strange – she hadn’t seen her sketch any glyphs . . .

  ‘What’s going on here?’

  Arianwyn glanced up to see Estar wobbling halfway down the stairs, his yellow eyes bleary and blinking.

  ‘YOU! You have the book!’ The witch pointed a dark-gloved hand at Estar and surged forwards, long dark coat billowing, hands reaching out towards Estar. Arianwyn struggled to her feet . . . but she was too slow, and Estar was too weak to fight back. The intruder grabbed the feyling, pulling him from the stairs and pinning him against the boards of the Spellorium floor.

  ‘Unhand me at once!’ Estar demanded. ‘I am Estar Sha-Vam—’

  ‘Shut up!’ the intruder rasped.

  ‘Let him go!’ Arianwyn shouted.

  There was a bright flash of white light and something slammed into the stranger’s side.

  Bob!

  The moon hare snarled and swiped with its long white legs, throwing the intruder off-balance, and Arianwyn leapt up and kicked the witch away from Estar.

  ‘Erṯe!’ Arianwyn shouted instinctively. She felt the surge of power as the glyph and a nearby seam of magic connected. She glanced about the Spellorium for something to use and focused the energy on a small spindly pot plant near the counter. Before the intruder could regain her balance, two thick vine-like tendrils shot out across the Spellorium and gripped her by the arms. Estar rose slowly to his feet and limped across to Arianwyn.

  But no sooner had the vines snaked about the intruder’s arms than they turned brown, and then grey and finally fell to the floor in a dusty, ashy pile.

  Arianwyn went cold. What kind of magic was this?

  The intruder stood straighter, brushing the grey dust from her coat. Bob moved forwards again, like a brilliant beam of light flashing across the dark Spellorium. But the intruder was ready and a swift foot flew out of the coat, hitting Bob squarely in the side. The moon hare skittered towards Arianwyn, whimpering in shock and pain.

  ‘Bob!’ Arianwyn crouched and gathered the moon hare in her arms. It buried its face against her cardigan, shaking.

  ‘Where is the book?’ the intruder demanded again, her voice rasping. ‘Next time I won’t be so gentle with that wretched moon rat!’

  Arianwyn had her back against the end wall of the Spellorium now, Estar behind her, Bob in her arms.

  They were trapped.

  Except . . . the small storeroom door was to her left. But that was just another dead end full of snotlings.

  Snotlings!

  She still hadn’t dealt with the wretched nest. They might just provide the perfect distraction. She took two small steps towards the storeroom door, shuffling slowly, her back against the wall as the intruder moved forwards again.

  ‘If you don’t give me the book, you’ll be sorry!’ the voice snapped.

  The door handle was just a few centimetres out of Arianwyn’s reach.

  ‘Ready, Bob?’ she whispered. The moon hare’s eyes flashed brilliant blue and it was suddenly arcing through the air once more, beyond the intruder this time, causing the perfect distraction. Arianwyn wrenched the door of the storeroom open and without another thought summoned Årdra and hurled a crackling fiery spell orb into the storeroom straight at the snotling nest.

  Which appeared to have got a little bigger.

  Excellent!

  The spell orb exploded into sparks and smoke just before it hit the nest, splitting it apart. A gaggle of incredibly agitated snotlings scrambled out of the nest and into the small storeroom, shrouded by a haze of smoke.

  Arianwyn pushed herself and Estar back against the wall as the intruder surged angrily towards the storeroom door.

  ‘Where are you?’ the intruder demanded, coughing. ‘Enough of these stupid distractions – just give me the book!’

  The snotlings, assuming they’d found the person responsible for their smashed, smoking nest, leapt straight at the hooded figure.

  ‘Argh!’

  The small green creatures were soon crawling all over the intruder, dangling from the long coat and hood, biting with needle-sharp teeth. ‘Ow!’ the intruder yelped, jumping into the air. Two of the snotlings scrambled inside the hood. ‘Get off me!’ they screeched, thrashing about to try and throw the snotlings off.

  Suddenly the hood was the thrown back and long pale hair cascaded over the dark coat. A bleached face snapped round, locking eyes with Arianwyn as the smoke cleared.

  ‘Gimma?’ Arianwyn gasped, dodging to one side just as a snotling flew into the wall beside her, bursting with a squelching splat on impact.

  Chapter 37

  TWO MAGICS

  imma glared at Arianwyn as she fell to her knees, weighed down by a dozen snotlings. ‘Get these wretched things off me!’ she moaned, tears glistening around her eyes and running down her pale cheeks. She collapsed to the floor in a heap of dark coat and pale hair.

  A few minutes and several stunning spells later, Arianwyn was kneeling on the floor of the Spellorium as she summoned up the banishing spell. The chill of the void whispered around her as the snotlings’ bodies faded and vanished. Gimma glanced away, wincing, as Arianwyn completed the spell, closing the void.

  Arianwyn swallowed hard. ‘So, are you going to tell me what’s going on?’ She dusted her hands on her skirt and stood up. Bob had taken up a position on the stairs and kept eyeing Gimma with great caution, tufts of white hair in a thick ridge along its back. Estar was sitting in the seat besides the empty stove, clearly exhausted.

  Arianwyn studied Gimma carefully. She had changed so dramatically in the last few months that Arianwyn couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed it before: her hair, always light and golden, was lifeless grey. Her skin was powdery and ashen, though her eyes still flamed brightly.

  She was sitting on the floor, and now pulled the long coat tightly about herself, glowering at Arianwyn. ‘Don’t look at me like that.’

  ‘Gimma?’ Arianwyn said. Not know
ing what else to do, she reached out towards Gimma. ‘Let me help.’

  ‘Help?’ Gimma’s eyes flickered, a blackness clouding across them briefly, like ink in water. ‘I’m beyond help now, Arianwyn. Can’t you see that?’

  Arianwyn took a deep breath and edged closer. ‘What’s happening?’ she asked, trying to help Gimma stand.

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ she snapped.

  She scuttled away from Arianwyn on all fours, backing herself up against the wall like a wounded animal and pulling the long coat around herself as though it were a shield. They watched each other in silence for a long moment, tears falling down Gimma’s face. Whatever she had done, whatever she was trying to do now, this didn’t seem to Arianwyn to be Gimma at all.

  Arianwyn glanced uncertainly at Estar, who looked as bemused as Arianwyn felt. Then slowly, carefully, Arianwyn stepped across the Spellorium, as if negotiating a perilous footpath, to Gimma. Her face was illuminated by the street light outside in Kettle Lane. Her eyes were wide in fear, her breathing quick and shallow.

  ‘Come and sit by the stove,’ Arianwyn said calmly. She reached out to Gimma again, whose shaking gloved hands slowly clasped her own. She let herself be led closer to the empty stove as Arianwyn laid a few logs, and conjured the fire glyph. The stove burst into life, warm light and heat slowly filling the quiet Spellorium. ‘Why don’t you take your coat off?’ Arianwyn asked, helping Gimma out of the long black coat.

  As it slipped from her shoulders, Arianwyn gave a small gasp of shock. Gimma’s bare arms under the coat were traced with black marks that swirled and swept across her skin in fine feathery, ferny patterns. Beautiful, somehow, and yet . . . at the same time there was something very dangerous and dark in the markings. Arianwyn felt a wave of nausea hit her.

  Dark magic danced through those markings.

  ‘What is that? Who’s done this to you?’ Arianwyn asked. She glanced at Estar, who raised one bushy black eyebrow.

  Gimma pulled away a pink suede glove on her right hand, revealing a thick, angry patch of hex that seemed to be growing around and into her flesh in heavy ridges. The sight was horrifying and yet Arianwyn couldn’t tear her eyes away from it. It was so strange and so familiar, as though she’d seen the shapes before . . . in a dream, perhaps?