I staggered and almost fell – the water was up to my knees now. Just when I felt unable to take another step, the ground beneath my feet sloped upwards and the water level fell to my ankles again. We were almost there! We collapsed in a heap on the bank; I was trembling with exhaustion, and Lizzie was shaking with the pain and trauma of the crossing. She started cursing me fit to burst, but I knew that for once she didn’t mean it. She’d been really scared. Few things terrify a witch like running water. Lizzie had been brave to risk being carried across that wide river.
We rested for an hour and then continued west. By early evening we were climbing a big hill that Lizzie told me was Parlick Pike. At one point she halted and gazed out across the valley with narrowed eyes, as if searching for something. In the distance I could see Pendle. Nearby was another hill of a similar shape, which she said was called the Long Ridge. Nothing moved in the valley but sheep and cattle. Then Lizzie pointed to a large wood to the west. Beside it was a cluster of houses; smoke from the chimneys drifted eastwards with the breeze.
‘That’s Chipenden,’ she told me. ‘And on the edge of that wood lives a very dangerous spook. In his garden he has a relative of mine, Mother Malkin, still alive but trapped in a pit. She is one of the most powerful and dangerous witches Pendle has ever known. One day we’ll come back here to rescue her and put an end to him, but it’ll be much more difficult than it was dealing with Jacob Stone. It’s that John Gregory I told you about – he’s the most powerful spook who’s ever walked the lanes of the County.’
It sounded risky to me. I just hoped that Lizzie would forget all about it. Going up against a dangerous spook like that was madness.
We didn’t tarry near Chipenden but pressed on north through the night, crossing more soggy fell-tops before descending to skirt what Lizzie told me was the city of Caster. It was a place where they didn’t take to kindly to witches, choosing to hang rather than burn them.
At least the body of a hanged witch could be collected by her family and taken to join the other dead witches in the dell east of Pendle, I thought. Burning sent you straight to the dark, with no hope of return. But either way, Lizzie wasn’t keen to join her sisters in Witch Dell, and was very nervous of the city with its big ancient castle.
At last we reached a canal. I was tired, but Lizzie insisted on continuing through the darkness; she kept up an alarming pace along the slippery bank. Just before dawn she halted, her back to the water, and pointed across the fields.
‘Over there, hidden behind those trees, is a watermill where another troublesome spook lives. His name is William Arkright. He hunts our slimy sisters. One day I’ll put an end to him too – just see if I don’t!’
I decided it was time to ask: ‘Slimy sisters? Who are they?’
‘They’re witches, girl, like ourselves in some ways but different in others. They live in water and slime. One could be down in that murky canal water, just biding her time. Any second now she could surge up, get her claws into you, and you’d be as good as dead. She’d pull you down into the water but drain every drop of blood from you before you can drown. Lots of water witches in these parts, there are.’
I looked down at the canal nervously. Suddenly dogs started barking; it sounded as if they were in the trees that obscured the house of the spook called Arkwright, and for a moment I saw the fear in Lizzie’s eyes. But then her mouth twitched at the corners, her eyes filled with determination, and she set off northwards again at a furious pace. Soon we left the canal, veering slightly west.
We spent the daylight hours sleeping under a hedge, and then, at dusk, we were off again. There was a moon, and in the distance I could see the sea. We were climbing now, and the higher we went, the more choppy water I could see stretching as far as the horizon. I did wonder then if I’d ever voyage to other lands. I knew it wasn’t very likely if I did become a witch. The sea was full of salt, and witches usually kept as far away from it as possible. And that’s what I seemed destined to become.
A malevolent witch.
I didn’t want that, though, did I? Such witches kill even little children just so they can gain power. That power drives them on, until all human feelings eventually leave them. They end up cold inside and capable of anything. No, I didn’t want that.
Anyway, it was after midnight when we passed through a small village with a big church. Then we were climbing again, up onto the grassy fells. It was hard work, and soon Lizzie was cursing under her breath. I knew better than to ask where we were going – she was in a really foul temper.
But at last, when we were crossing a rocky bank and I could smell smoke, Lizzie came to a halt and dragged me close, her nails digging into my arm.
‘Below here, in a stinky hovel, lives a holy fool, a hermit!’ she hissed. ‘He’s going to tell us what we need to know about that egg!’
‘How will he know, Lizzie?’ I asked.
She didn’t reply, so I followed her in silence down some stone steps until we came to the mouth of a small cave. She walked in as if the place belonged to her. Before us was a figure with a tangled mop of hair that came down to his shoulders and a long grey beard, sitting in front of a fire. Lizzie stared down at him for a long time, but he didn’t so much as glance up; just stared into the embers.
‘Look up at me! Look up at me now!’ she commanded.
The face slowly turned upwards and he met Lizzie’s gaze. Whoever he was, the man seemed calm and unafraid. I hoped she’d have more luck here than she’d had with Jacob Stone – otherwise she’d be in a bad mood for a month and I knew I’d suffer.
‘You’re a dowser, old man. The best in the County, they say. I want you to do something for me.’
‘I’ll find nobody for you, witch!’ the man retorted. ‘Get back from whence ye came and leave me be. Your kind aren’t welcome in these parts.’
He was a brave man to speak to Lizzie in that manner. Didn’t he know what she was capable of? Perhaps that was why she’d called him a ‘holy fool’?
‘Listen to me, Judd Atkins, and listen well. Do what I ask and I’ll leave you alone to rot in your stinky hole. Cross me, and I’ll cut off your thumb-bones and boil ’em up in my cauldron. Do you understand?’
Judd Atkins stared back at her calmly, without a trace of fear in his expression. A moment later all that changed.
Lizzie simply muttered a few words under her breath. It was a piece of dark magic that she’d already taught me. It didn’t work against other witches, but was very effective against someone like the hermit. It was the spell called Dread.
Within seconds I knew that, in his eyes, she would begin to change into something terrifying and monstrous; her hair becoming a tangle of writhing black snakes, eyes turning into two fiery coals brighter than the glowing embers of his fire.
Judd Atkins came to his feet in a rush, his face filled with frantic terror. He screamed like a stuck pig and began to back away from Lizzie. Then he fell to his knees, covering his eyes with the palms of his hands. His whole body was shaking, and he was moaning in terror of what Lizzie had seemingly transformed herself into. Dread didn’t involve a real physical change; it was an illusion combined with a strong pulse of fear directed at the victim. But, of course, the old hermit didn’t know that.
Lizzie slowly reverted to her normal appearance, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer and reassuring. It was almost as if she were speaking to a small child or a frightened animal.
‘Listen, old man,’ she said. ‘No need for things to turn ugly. Just do what I ask and we’ll be on our way. What do you say?’
Judd Atkins made no reply, but a low moan escaped his lips.
‘Take your hands from your face and look at me!’ Lizzie commanded, her voice developing an edge to it.
The hermit did as she ordered, with an open mouth and terror-filled eyes. ‘I’ll do what I can, but please don’t hurt me,’ he begged. ‘Who do you want me to find?’
‘Nobody!’
‘Is it something you?
??ve lost, then? Or are you looking for hidden gold? I’m good at finding treasure.’ He fumbled in his breeches pocket and pulled out a short length of string, attached to which was a piece of clear, colourless crystal. ‘With the right map I can find almost anything. Have you brought a map with you?’
Lizzie shook her head, and by way of reply reached into the small bag she carried across her shoulder and pulled out the strange leather egg. ‘I want to know what this is. I want to know what it can do,’ she demanded.
‘That will be hard. That’s the most difficult type of dowsing.’ He stared at the egg, a dubious expression on his face. ‘All we can do is ask questions. And the answers will only be yes or no, in each case. It could take a long time; a very long time indeed.’
‘Sooner we get started, the better, then.’
IN THE CORNER of the hovel there was a small oblong piece of wood that the hermit used as a table. It had no legs, but rested on four stones. Lizzie knelt before it, swept the plates and cups off with the back of her hand, then wiped the surface carefully with the hem of her skirt. Next, slowly and reverentially, she placed the leather egg on the wooden surface.
I couldn’t bear to look at it. I’d a really bad feeling that Lizzie was dabbling in something really dangerous. But it was a waste of time telling her that – before I knew it I’d have sprogs clawing their way up my nose and into my ears. So I kept quiet and backed away a little.
She beckoned the hermit across and, with some difficulty, he knelt down opposite her, with the table between them. I heard his knees creak and his face twisted in pain. He positioned his hand directly above the egg so that the crystal at the end of the piece of string was suspended just a couple of inches above it.
‘I’m ready,’ he said. ‘Ask your first question. The crystal will spin clockwise for a yes and against the clock for a no.’
‘Does this egg belong to the dark?’ Lizzie asked, wasting no time.
The crystal jerked into motion and began to spin clockwise. No surprise to me, that.
‘That’s a yes,’ said the hermit.
‘Ain’t blind, am I?’ snapped Lizzie. ‘Shut your gob, old man, and let me do the talking. Now for my second question: Can this egg bestow magical power on its owner?’
Once again the crystal spun clockwise, and for the first time in days Lizzie smiled.
‘How can the owner get this power?’ she asked, forgetting herself for the first time. Of course, it was a question that couldn’t be answered by a simple yes or no, so the crystal didn’t move.
Her mouth began to twitch at the corners, and her eyes rolled up into her head – which was a sign that she was concentrating, working out what to do next. It made her look uglier than ever, and twice as daft as any village idiot. I would have laughed if I hadn’t been so frightened of that egg.
Suddenly Lizzie opened her eyes wide, muttered a spell under her breath and spat into the old hermit’s face. His jaw dropped in astonishment, but he gave no other reaction.
‘I’ve wasted too much time on this foolish yes-and-no business.’ She stared into his face: by now his eyes appeared glassy, as if he were no longer seeing anything. ‘Now you are the egg . . . Be it! Become it now! Just tell me what I need to know!’
This was something new. I’d never seen Lizzie do anything like this before. Sometimes her power surprised me.
‘What’s this spell called?’ I asked.
‘Quiet, girl!’ she snarled at me. ‘Can’t you see that I’m trying to concentrate!’
Then she continued speaking, looking at the egg rather than at the hermit.
‘I want your power. What do you need in exchange?’ she demanded. ‘Do you need blood?’
The crystal began to spin in a clockwise direction for a yes.
‘How much blood?’
The string didn’t even twitch. Instead the hermit opened his mouth and spoke, but his voice was different now. It sounded like the growl of an animal, though the words were clear enough: they sent a chill down my spine.
‘Give me the heart’s blood of seven human children on the night of a full moon. Give me thirteen witches united in that deed, and I will give the one who holds the egg her heart’s desire! More power than she has ever dreamed of. Once my need is met, let her think only upon what she wishes, and it will be done within seven days.’
My heart sank and my throat tightened against a feeling of nausea. Lizzie wouldn’t hesitate to do what was required. Seven children were going to be snatched from their parents and slain so that she could get her way.
‘That can be done easily enough,’ Lizzie said with a smirk. ‘Now tell me exactly what you are!’
‘What I am is not for you to know,’ the voice growled from the throat of the hermit. ‘And remember that you cannot do this alone. It is the work of a full coven of thirteen combining its strength!’
I saw the anger in Lizzie’s face. She didn’t want to share power with her coven. But it seemed that she had no choice.
We left right away, and set off down the hill. Lizzie seemed determined to cover as much ground as possible before dawn. Surprisingly she left the hermit alive. I guessed she thought he might be of use again one day.
As dawn approached we were heading east, the sea visible on our right-hand side. We found a refuge in a small wood, and Lizzie sent me out to hunt for rabbits. When I came back, she had a small fire going, and I cleaned and gutted the rabbits and cooked them on a spit while she sat cross-legged before the flames, her eyes closed.
We ate in silence, but every so often Lizzie would shudder, her eyes rolling up into her head to leave only the whites staring blindly at the fire. When she finally spoke, she seemed to be just thinking aloud.
‘Ain’t going back to the Malkin coven with this,’ she muttered, lifting the leather egg out of her bag and clutching it to her bosom. ‘Not going to share this with anyone. The power’s all going to be mine.
‘But only two of us, there are, just me and a girl who’s too young to count. So I needs twelve other witches to form a new coven. Witches who ain’t too bright and won’t expect anything but blood. They’re dangerous to work with, our slimy sisters are, but it could be done . . . It might just work!’
Lizzie never bothered to explain her plan to me. She didn’t sleep that day, and we set off well before dusk. We were quite close to the sea, but the tide was a long way out, and at first all I could see was mile upon mile of flat sands. Then I saw a group of people in the distance, heading towards the shore. There seemed to be a coach and horses down there as well.
‘It’s a dangerous short cut across the sand,’ Lizzie told me. ‘Though there’s a guide who leads parties across, including coaches. We witches have to go round the bay the long way, because at times you have to wade through salt water. Best move on, girl, before they reach the shore and see us!’
However, just as we set off again, there was the sound of barking from the party crossing the sands, and Lizzie pulled me down into a clump of bushes.
‘Could it be? Could it be . . .?’ she whispered. ‘Might just be farm dogs . . . but could I be that lucky? Could I really? Sometimes things are just meant to be, and this could be one of ’em!’
I wondered what Lizzie was ranting on about. Great teacher, she was – always went to great pains to explain what was going on.
There was a tall man with a shaven head walking behind the coach, a big dog on either side of him. I crossed my fingers they didn’t sniff us out, for they looked like huge wolfhounds.
‘It’s William Arkwright, the spook I told you about,’ Lizzie said excitedly. ‘He’ll be off hunting our slimy sisters further north. Could be away for days. He’ll certainly need the tide to be right before he can cross the bay again. His place will be deserted – couldn’t be better!’
Lizzie didn’t bother to explain anything, but once the party had moved on, reaching the shore at least half a mile further south, she led us forward again.
‘Are we going to the mill where h
e lives?’ I asked.
‘We are that, girl. There’s a marsh behind the mill that he keeps free of our slimy sisters. But it’s a place that’s sacred to them. While the cat’s away, the mice will play, I’m sure of it. Every water witch for miles around will head for that marsh. And we’ll be there to meet ’em!’
We journeyed on through the night until we came to the canal again, and turned south along its western bank. Before dawn we left the towpath lest we encounter bargemen or anyone else who might identify Lizzie as a witch. But we didn’t rest; if anything, Lizzie drove us on at an even more furious pace. By now the sky was overcast and a light drizzle was wafting into our faces.
At last, about an hour before dusk, we reached the mill that was home to the spook. It was hidden by trees and surrounded by tall iron palings; a ditch marked the boundary of the garden.
I didn’t like the look of that ditch. Lizzie was dragging me into danger again. I wished we could go home. ‘It’s like the moat that encircles Malkin Tower!’ I exclaimed.
‘Aye, girl, that’s exactly what it is, but it’s a very special kind of moat. Arkwright dissolves tubs of salt in it to keep the water witches out.’ I wondered how we’d make it, but Lizzie didn’t seem too bothered. ‘That won’t stop us. Not as difficult a crossing as that big river. You could easily carry me across. Love to explore that old mill, I would. Old Jacob Stone had that leather egg. No doubt Arkwright’s got something hidden too. That’s what spooks do. If they find something useful to the dark, they either destroy it or hide it away from us!’
Lizzie led the way round to the gate and stared at that broken-down old mill for a long time. I kept thinking she’d ask me to carry her across the moat, but finally she shook her head. I breathed a sigh of relief.
‘I’m tempted, but I’ve decided it’s not worth the risk, girl. Do you know what the biggest danger is?’