Fury of the Seventh Son

by Joseph Delaney

  “I’m not allowed to take other people with me when I go to deal with boggarts,” I told her. “Most don’t talk, but if this one does, I’ll remember every word and repeat it back to you. Will that do?”

  Mary smiled and nodded.

  I smiled back, then glanced quickly at my brother and his wife. They were a happy family. I’d almost forgotten how pleasant it was to spend time in their company. Then a wave of sadness washed over me. I might die in the coming battle. I might never see them again.

  James came back just in time for supper, just as Jack had predicted, and he shook my hand warmly. He looked strong and fit—his job no doubt kept him that way. He was as tall as Jack, but much more muscular. His nose had been broken at one time and not properly reset, so that it was squashed against his face. But despite that, he was still handsome in a roguish way, and smiles came to his face very easily.

  I did as Jack asked and didn’t mention the real reason for my visit, even when James asked me outright.

  “What brings you home, Tom? Anything special, or are you just passing through?”

  I swallowed a mouthful of hotpot to give me time to think. “I hear you’ve been having some local problems with the dark,” I told him. “Tomorrow I’m going to try and sort out that boggart the other side of Topley.”

  Jack gave me a grateful smile.

  “Tom’s going to talk to it!” Mary announced.

  “Of course he is, love,” Ellie told her warmly. “Most things in this world can be solved by talking. It just takes a little patience, that’s all—something that most men lack.”

  I smiled at Ellie, wishing that were really true. Could we talk the servants of the Fiend out of supporting their master come Halloween? It would be easier to hold back the tide.

  CHAPTER XXVI

  NOBODY WILL BE SAFE

  WHEN Jack and Ellie went upstairs, James rose from the table. “Come and look at the forge, Tom,” he suggested. “It’s changed a bit since the last time you saw it.”

  It gave me the perfect excuse to talk to him alone. He lit a lantern and led me across the yard, then proudly showed off his new equipment: two big new vises, an anvil, and rows and rows of specialized tools hanging from hooks on the wall.

  “I love this job,” he told me. “There’s a lot of satisfaction to be had in doing a job well and providing a service at a reasonable price. People appreciate that. The other local smith has retired now, and I’ve almost more work than I can handle.”

  I nodded. “You’ve done well, James. But I didn’t give you the whole story because Jack doesn’t want to upset Ellie. I’m here to ask you a favor. Remember when you led the charge against the witches on Pendle Hill? Well, something similar is afoot, and we need your help again.”

  I explained what had been going on and how there would be a violent struggle at Halloween between us and the forces of the dark. Jack’s face became grim as he listened. Twice he shook his head.

  “It sounds bad, Tom, but I’m not sure that I can help. I did it last time because my family was in danger, but this is different. The crops haven’t been too good these last few years—the yield’s been low—and some of the cattle had to be put down recently because of foot rot. Things are tough. Jack and Ellie need me to keep the wolf from the door. Can’t you get the military involved?”

  I shook my head. “Soldiers don’t think much of spooks,” I told him. “I don’t think they’d help, and they certainly wouldn’t be prepared to fight alongside our witch allies. They would probably consider both sides to be their enemies. Early this year a large patrol of soldiers was killed by servants of the Fiend near Todmorden. Soldiers aren’t suited to that sort of battle.” I had already discussed this idea with the Spook, and we had decided it wouldn’t help to get the military involved. “Whether you help us or not is up to you, James.”

  “I’m just not sure, Tom. . . .”

  “There is one thing you should consider. Those thugs who kidnapped you—they weren’t just robbers. They were under orders from the dark, no doubt from the Fiend himself. The intention was to hurt you to put pressure on me. I’m sorry, James,” I added guiltily, “but that could happen again. Not just to you, but to Jack, Ellie, and little Mary. If we do not prevail at Halloween, nobody will be safe. I promised my master that I’d ask you, and now I have. I must confess that at first I was reluctant to drag you into this; I didn’t want to put you in danger again. But it’s desperate times. . . . Anyway, as I said, it’s your decision, James, and I will respect that.”

  “When are you going back?”

  “Tomorrow morning. I’m off to deal with that boggart now—it’s a thing more easily done in the dark.”

  Despite the coming battle, routine spook’s business still had to go on. The boggart would eventually kill somebody if I didn’t sort it out. It was my duty to do so.

  “Right, Tom,” James said with a sigh. “Let me think it over. I’ll give you my decision tomorrow.”

  The boggart proved uncooperative.

  Talking it through didn’t seem to work. You can sometimes persuade such a creature to leave the area, but this one was stubborn.

  Like most other types of boggart, stone chuckers spend most of their time invisible—just as well, because they are very ugly, and have six arms. In the first year of my apprenticeship, my master was almost killed by one that had taken up residence in a farmhouse near Adlington.

  I could have tried to intimidate it by laying lines of salt and iron around the farm. But that doesn’t always work, and anyway I had no time to spare. So although it was risky, I went up against it head to head. It was armed with rocks, while I had salt in my left hand and iron filings in my right.

  My aim was good. The two clouds of salt and iron came together perfectly to slay the boggart. All that was left of it was a stinky puddle of slime on the floor. I came away with a lump the size of an egg on my forehead, but I’d gotten the better of it and was still alive.

  I was settled on the couch back at the farm soon after midnight. And, despite a thumping headache, I eventually got sleep.

  I was woken early by Jack setting off to do his chores and Ellie cooking breakfast. I sat down to a big plateful of toast and scrambled eggs. Mary was already at the table, spooning porridge into her mouth.

  “What did the bog say?” she asked.

  “Not a word.” I smiled at her. “We fought, and I won. The bog’s gone.”

  “Uncle Tom won!” Mary cried to her mother.

  “Of course he did, love. I never doubted that he would. That’s his job and he’s good at it.”

  Ellie was smiling, but as James came in, the smile slipped from her face. One glance told us both what his decision was. In one hand he had his big blacksmith’s hammer; in the other was a traveling bag.

  “I’m coming with you, Tom,” he said, confirming what we’d already guessed.

  Within the hour James and I were saying our farewells. Jack shook my hand and patted me on the shoulder. “Take care, Tom. Take care. Come back safely, you two.”

  Ellie gave James a big hug, and when they broke apart, tears were streaming down her face.

  As we set off, leaving the farm behind, I wondered if I’d ever see it again.

  And I wondered if I was taking my brother to his death.

  Two days before Halloween, we met at dusk in the kitchen of the Spook’s house. I had escorted the members of our small gathering through the garden so that they would not be ripped to shreds by the boggart.

  I suspect that even in his wildest dreams my master had not foreseen a situation where such a mixed company would be seated around his table, their eyes shining in the candlelight.

  The Spook and I had grown used to Grimalkin’s presence, and Judd and James were no problem. It was Mab, the young leader of the Mouldheels, and a sullen witch with dirty fingernails called Fancy who probably taxed my master the most.

  “The first thing to decide is where we should gather our forces,” he said.

>   “Need we gather at all?” asked Fancy. “Best to attack at once from many directions!”

  I could smell her foul breath all the way across the big table, and I began to suspect that it was dried blood rather than dirt under her long fingernails. But she was the leader of a large group from the Deane witch clan, and she had to be tolerated. We needed every ally we could get.

  “No!” said Grimalkin emphatically. “We need to combine our strength and focus it. We should be like a spear point. We need to penetrate to wherever our enemies are holding the body of the Fiend. John Gregory and Tom Ward have put forward an idea that seems sound to me. We will cut the Fiend into as many pieces as possible, and scatter, each of us taking one. We can hide them or, even better, do as I have done—keep each part with us and defend it to the death. If this does not put an end to him, at least it will delay any attempt to restore him to the power he once was. Have you attempted to scry the outcome?” She had turned her gaze upon Mab Mouldheel, who was seated on her left.

  Mab delighted in being the best scryer in the whole of Pendle, and her pretty face broke into a smile at that tacit acknowledgment of her status by Grimalkin, who had good scrying abilities of her own. One downside of having Mab with us, though, was the stink of her unwashed bare feet, which was even worse than Fancy’s foul breath.

  “I have.” She beamed. “But things are unclear. I know that there will be many deaths on both sides. It is highly likely that at least one of us will be slain. Would you like to know the names so you can prepare yourselves?”

  “Keep your dark thoughts to yourself,” growled the Spook angrily. “Speak not of such things while you’re under my roof.”

  Mab smiled at him sweetly. “As you wish, John Gregory, but I would add this. The decisions we make around this table will further shape the outcome of the battle. Once those decisions have been made, I will scry again. I will then reveal to all the likely outcome of the battle. If anyone sitting here wishes to know if they will or will not be numbered among the dead, let them come to me privately and I will tell them.”

  “So it’s agreed,” my master went on. “We assemble in one place, concentrate our forces, and strike at our enemy’s flank like a sharp spear driving toward its heart, which is the Fiend.”

  For a moment Fancy opened her mouth as if to protest, but Grimalkin gave her such a savage glare that she immediately closed it again. Everyone around the table, including Fancy, then nodded in agreement.

  “Where’s the best place to assemble?” I asked. It seemed to me that wherever we chose, our enemies would either spy us with ease or use dark magic to find us.

  “Just south of Clough Pike?” suggested the Spook.

  “It’s as good a place as any,” replied Grimalkin. “Wherever we meet, you can be sure that our enemies will discover it and set ambushes for us. So I will take a small party of Malkins with me to clear the way.”

  “I’d like to say something about the timing.” James spoke for the first time, his deep voice rumbling across the table. “Before, on Pendle Hill, we failed to stop the summoning of the Fiend into the world because we arrived too late. It had already been done. We must get the timing right.”

  It was a very good point. With the help of Mam’s sisters, the flying lamia witches, we had eventually won the battle and disrupted the gathering of the witch clans on Pendle. But we had certainly arrived too late.

  “I’ll attempt to scry it,” Mab muttered.

  “You sound doubtful,” Grimalkin said, raising her eyebrows.

  “If Alice and Lukrasta try to cloak the information, it may prove difficult,” she replied.

  “You’re the only one who can do it. I believe you will be successful!”

  Mab almost glowed at more praise from the witch assassin. I realized that Grimalkin had achieved her purpose—given something for Mab to live up to. The witch would now push herself to the limits to get that vital information.

  Soon after that, the witches took their leave. I escorted them to the edge of the garden while Grimalkin headed for her usual place near the boggart stones.

  “Take great care in the battle, Tom,” Mab warned. “For you, life and death are in the balance. And if you manage to survive, even greater risks await you soon afterward. There are three times when you are likely to die: during the battle, immediately following it, and finally, facing a powerful adversary.”

  “Thanks for those cheery thoughts, Mab,” I told her sarcastically. None of that filled me with confidence, so I quickly banished her words from my mind.

  “No offense, Tom. You know I like you. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, would I? I wouldn’t rely too much on that rusty sword that Grimalkin gave you, either.”

  I stood watching the two witches as they headed away from Chipenden. I was seething with anger. I knew that Grimalkin wouldn’t have told Mab about the sword—she had scryed it for herself. Could nothing be kept from her?

  However, she had already admitted that Alice and Lukrasta could deny her. This might pose a problem. We needed to know the time of the ritual.

  As for her warnings about my death, I knew that the enemy outnumbered us many times over. There was no guarantee that we would win, so it was no use worrying about it.

  What would be would be. . . .

  When I got back to the kitchen, my master, James, and Judd were still sitting around the table. I could sense an atmosphere.

  “Sit down, lad!” the Spook snapped, an edge of irritation in his voice.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “It goes against the grain to ally myself with witches. Grimalkin I have respect for, despite what she is, but the other two—especially that sly woman with blood under her fingernails and the stink of it on her breath—well, I never thought it would come to this!”

  “We have no choice,” I said, trying to calm him. “If we’re to have any chance, we need them and those they lead.”

  “Yes, lead! That’s another thing that rankles.” He raised his voice in anger now. “James spoke up, but you were quiet, lad—and you didn’t utter a single word, Judd. They’ll make all the decisions if we let them.”

  “I’m sorry, John,” Judd replied. “I’m not good at speaking out in company. I’ve only just arrived, still learning about the situation. I thought it best to just sit and listen.”

  The Spook looked at him and nodded wearily.

  “I know you’re not going to like this,” I told my master, looking him right in the eye, “but it has to be said. We face a big battle. This is not one or two of us against some single threatening entity from the dark. So we need a leader who is strong in combat skills, someone who can unite us. It can’t be James—he’s mostly unknown to our allies. It can’t be a spook or an apprentice, because witches barely trust us at best. It has to be Grimalkin. They’ll all follow her, either through fear or respect. She knows what she’s doing in this situation. So we have to accept that and live with it.”

  “Live with it or die with it!” snapped the Spook. “If we deal with the Fiend, it’ll be worth it, I suppose—at last we’ll have paid him back for all the suffering he’s inflicted. Well, I’m off to bed now. We’ll be traveling tomorrow, and sleeping on hard ground. So take your last bit of comfort while you can.”

  I nodded and smiled, but his words struck home. It might be the last time either of us ever slept in a bed again.

  CHAPTER XXVII

  THE CLASH OF WITCH ASSASSINS

  MAB returned at noon the following day with the results of her latest scrying, beaming at her success. She had learned that the ritual would take place at sunset, rather than just before midnight, which had seemed most likely.

  Soon after that, Grimalkin took her leave. “We will meet just south of Clough Pike, as agreed,” she said. “I will go to clear the way. Then it will be time for the battle that will decide everything.”

  She was taking a few hand-picked witches with her to search for and kill those who might lie in wait for us.<
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  “Aye.” The Spook nodded. “That time is fast approaching.”

  Grimalkin walked away from us without even a trace of a limp. No doubt she still felt pain from the silver pin, but she was disguising it well. Suddenly she turned and looked back.

  “Remember to carry both swords with you,” she told me.

  Within the hour, we had set off for the appointed place. The Spook, James, Judd, and I traveled together, along with the three dogs, Claw, Blood, and Bone. The bands of witches went separately; they would meet us at midday tomorrow. We spoke little on the journey, even when we made camp far to the west of the Wardstone. We sat around the fire, deep in thought, staring into the embers.

  Later, James regaled me with stories about life on the farm during the past year. Little Mary had evidently gotten up to all sorts of mischief. But I had little to say in reply. Most of my news concerned struggles against the dark, which disturbed most people. I didn’t mention Alice, either—I couldn’t bear to talk about her anymore.

  Halloween began with rain. We ate a late breakfast of cold chicken, miserable and uncomfortable in the partial shelter of a wood, with big drops dripping from the branches.

  We were the last to arrive at Clough Pike, and my heart sank to my boots as I gazed around. How few we had managed to gather to our cause, in the end: the Spook, my brother James, Judd Brinscall with the three wolfhounds, Grimalkin, and perhaps a hundred and fifty Pendle witches, the majority of them from the Mouldheel clan, led by Mab and her two sisters. There were also about a dozen witches Grimalkin had summoned from the far north; they had crossed the sea to fight alongside us. We were silent, driven to inner reflection by the task that faced us, in the course of which many of us would surely lose our lives.

  The wind whistled across the fell tops, and somewhere in the distance I heard the call of a lapwing, but the dogs were as silent as we were. Animals are sensitive—perhaps they had an inkling of what lay ahead.

  Then, as we prepared to head toward the Wardstone, there was a surprise addition to our group. The sky had cleared, and now, as the sun dipped toward the horizon, I glimpsed something dark flit across it. Moments later, a winged figure was falling toward us.