“Soon I’ll be as big as you, but I won’t kill you,” the girl said. “You will die one day, and then I’ll be ready to replace you. The clan will need a strong assassin. Train me!”
“Go home, child. Go back and kick your ugly uncle even harder. I will not train you.”
“Then I will come back and kick you again tomorrow!”
With that, she left, and I thought no more about it, but she returned the next day and came to stand before me. I was in my forge, sharpening a new blade.
“Did you kick your ugly uncle again?” I asked, unable to prevent a smile creeping across my face as I rested the completed blade on the anvil.
The child did not reply. She stepped forward and tried to kick me again, but I was ready. I slapped her hard and threw her down into the dirt. I wasn’t angry, but I’d had enough of her foolishness and wanted to show her that I was not to be trifled with. But the girl was stubborn, and yes, she was brave. She attempted another kick. This time I snatched up my blade and pointed it at her throat.
“Before the end of the day, child, this new blade will taste blood! Take care that it isn’t yours!”
Then I threw her over my shoulder and carried her off toward the forest. It was late afternoon when I found the tracks of the bear, dusk when I reached its lair, a cave in a wooded hillside. There were bones outside, scattered across the loam. Some of them were human.
I could hear the animal scuffling about inside its den. It soon caught our scent and moments later emerged on all fours. It was big, brown and fierce; blood was smeared across its snout and paws. It had been eating but still looked hungry. It glared at us for a moment, and I stared back hard and hissed at it to provoke it. It reared up on its hind legs and gave a terrible bellow of anger.
I set the girl down on the ground at my side. “What’s your name?” I demanded.
“Thorne Malkin.”
I handed her the blade I’d forged and sharpened that morning. “Well, Thorne, go and kill that bear for me!” I commanded.
She stared at the bear, which was now lumbering toward us, its mouth open, ready to charge. For the first time I saw fear in her eyes.
“It’s too big,” she said.
“Nothing is too big to be killed by a witch assassin. Slay that bear for me, and I will train you. Then one day you will take my place.”
“What if it kills me?”
I smiled. The bear was now getting very close. “In that case, I will wait until the bear starts to eat you. Once it is distracted, I will kill it.”
Something happened then that was completely unexpected. By now the child was shaking with fear and looked ready to flee at any second. This was exactly what I wanted. My intention was to cure her of the folly of wishing to become a witch assassin.
And she did run, but not in the direction I expected.
Thorne lifted the blade, gave a yell, and ran straight toward the bear.
When I drew and hurled another blade, she was just seconds away from death. I rarely miss, and my aim was perfect, the dagger burying itself up to the hilt in the bear’s left eye. It staggered and started to fall—but Thorne was still sprinting toward it. As she stabbed it in the left hind leg, the dead animal collapsed on top of her.
She was lucky not to have been killed, or at least seriously hurt by such a weight falling on her. When I dragged her out, she was covered in bear blood but otherwise unhurt. I had been impressed by the courage displayed by one so young; she deserved to walk away unscathed.
“I killed it!” she exclaimed triumphantly. “Now you have to train me.”
I lifted the head of the bear and pointed at the dagger embedded in its left eye.
“I killed it,” I told her. “You merely offered it supper. But now we’ll have a supper of our own. This bear has dined on human flesh for quite a while; now we will eat its heart.”
I was as good as my word. While Thorne collected wood, I took what I needed from the bear: its heart and two tender slices from its rump. Soon I had a fire going and was cooking the meat on a spit. Once it was done, I cut the heart in two and handed half to the girl.
“It’s good,” she said. “I’ve never tasted bear meat before.”
“There are very few bears left, but just in case you ever confront another, there are a couple of things you ought to know. Never stab it in the leg—it only makes it angry. And never get in close. Such an animal must be killed from a distance. They are immensely strong. Once a bear has hold of you, you’re as good as dead. They can tear off your limbs or crush your skull with one bite.”
Thorne chewed her meat thoughtfully. “I’ll remember that the next time we go bear hunting,” she said.
I almost laughed out loud at the presumption of that “we,” and I smiled at her. “You were afraid, child, and yet you obeyed me and attacked the bear. So yes, I will begin to train you. I will give you a month to prove yourself.”
I picked up the new blade that Thorne had used to stab the bear. “Here,” I said, handing it to her. “This is yours now. You have earned it. This is your first blade.”
Thus I began to train Thorne, but I did so in secret. There were three reasons for that. First, if any of my enemies knew of it, the girl would become a target. By capturing or hurting Thorne, they might seek to bring pressure to bear upon me.
Second, I was jealous of my reputation and wished to continue to inspire fear for my ruthlessness and independence. It was for this reason that I carved the image of scissors on trees.
Third, the successor to the Malkin witch assassin had traditionally been chosen through combat. I judged it best that after my death the practice should continue once more. Witches would then compete with each other for the title. I did not wish it to look as if I was personally selecting my protégée as my successor. If Thorne became the next assassin, she would have to earn the position in the conventional manner. I had no doubt that she would do so.
The month passed quickly, and all was to my satisfaction. The girl was courageous, and obedient, too—the latter was important. I prefer to work alone, but with a partner I must be in charge and there is no room for wayward behavior.
I remember the first time Thorne showed her true worth, and I realized just how good an assassin she might one day become.
Water witches dwell in the far north of the County. They are no friend to the Pendle covens, and they had recently killed a Malkin witch who had been traveling south through their territory. I had been dispatched by my clan to kill three of their number in retaliation.
Thorne took no part in the slaying of the water witches. She was there to watch and learn. I killed three, as directed. Then, choosing a clearing in the forest, I placed their heads on stakes, carving the sign of my scissors on the surrounding trees. Thus there could be no mistake. It was not just for vengeance; it was a warning.
With hindsight, I realize that I should have left immediately afterward and sped back to Pendle. Instead, Thorne and I spent a useful day on the shores of the lake some call Coniston. It was a day of training, and I pushed the girl hard. The sun had just gone down behind the trees when we began her knife training. I was trying to teach her to be calm and control her anger. She had the blades; I used my hands.
“Cut me!” I shouted, slapping her face and stepping back out of range.
Thorne whirled toward me, wielding two blades, slashing at me, her face full of fury. I stepped inside her guard and slapped her even harder; twice this time, stinging both cheeks and bringing tears to her eyes.
“Keep calm, girl! It’s only pain!” I mocked. “Think! Concentrate! Cut me!”
She missed again, and I gave her another hard slap. We were close to the water’s edge, and by now it was twilight. Tendrils of mist snaked toward us over the lake’s surface.
Thorne took a deep breath, and I saw her face relax. This time she feinted, and the arc of her first blade came so close that I felt its breath whisper over the skin of my shoulder. I smiled in appreciation and took a rapid ste
p backward to avoid her next thrust. I was inches from the water’s edge, and the lake was deep.
The attack came suddenly, taking us both by surprise. I had my back to the water, and Thorne saw the creature first. Her eyes widened in shock, and I turned and glanced back over my shoulder, seeing the death that was surging toward me.
The beast had arms and long fingers with sharp talons, but it was more fish than man, with a nightmare face and cold cod eyes, a mouthful of sharp teeth and a long, sinuous, eel-like body with a narrow fin.
I tried to twist away, but it surged up out of the water, riding on its tail, then seized me by the shoulder and yanked me backward. As my head went under the cold water, I realized that I had no blade at my disposal. I had been fighting Thorne unarmed, and my leather straps, sheaths and knives were spread out on the grass, some distance from the water’s edge.
But I wasn’t finished yet, and with the nails of my left hand I gouged out the creature’s right eye. Then I bit through its fingers to the bone. However, it was immensely strong and was dragging me deeper and deeper into the murky water. I hadn’t had time to snatch a deep breath and realized that I was now in serious trouble.
But then I saw another shape in the water beside me and felt a knife being pressed into my hand. I used it quickly—to good effect. And I wasn’t alone. Thorne was by my side, and together we cut that creature to pieces.
At dawn we assembled its remaining fragments beside the lake. I had never seen anything quite like it before, but it was without doubt an abhuman. They take many strange forms, and this one had been adapted for an aquatic life. The Fiend sometimes uses such creatures to destroy his enemies. He cannot come near me, so he’d sent one of his children instead.
Without doubt Thorne saved my life that day; it had required great courage to join me in the water like that. As a reward, I boiled up the creature’s thumb bones and gave them to her. They were the first bones that she hung on her necklace.
Back in Pendle, I customarily trained Thorne several times a week and occasionally took her with me when I set off on long journeys, seeking out those marked for death by my clan.
I had watched her develop from a young, eager girl into a potential witch assassin who would one day take my place. Because of the war and my journey to Ireland, it was several months since I had last seen her, but I knew she would be ready to answer my call.
I stared into the mirror now and chanted the incantation. Within moments Thorne’s face came into focus. Gone was the child who had charged at the bear. She had gentle eyes, each iris a vivid sapphire blue, but her lean face was that of a warrior, with a wide mouth and sharp nose. Her dark hair was cropped short and she had a small tattoo on her left cheek: the effigy of a bear. She’d had it done to remind her of the day I had agreed to train her.
You’re hurt! she mouthed, showing her teeth. What happened?
I had forbidden her to file her teeth to points until her training was fully completed, so her rare smiles were not yet terrifying to others.
I told her about the kretch and the poison, but it was the severed head of the Fiend that concerned me most, and I explained what I had in the leather sack. That was the real reason why I was reluctantly summoning Thorne into such great danger.
“Whatever happens, it must not be allowed to fall into the hands of the Fiend’s servants,” I continued. “If I die, you must take over that burden.”
Of course, but you’re not going to die. Where are you?
“Southwest of Pendle, about five miles from the base of the hill.”
Then hold on. I’ll be with you very soon. How far behind you is the kretch?
“It’s impossible to be sure,” I told her, “but probably only a few hours at the most.”
Then try to keep moving. Remember what you once said to me—“You have only just begun to fight.”
With that, the mirror darkened and Thorne was gone. Fighting against the pain, I struggled to my feet and staggered eastward once more, my breathing hoarse and ragged. My progress was very slow, and I began to imagine that I could hear the kretch padding through the trees behind me, getting closer and closer, ready to spring.
At one point I whirled round to meet it, but there was nothing there. The next thing I remember is lying on my back with rain falling straight into my face. I opened my eyes in a panic.
Where was the leather sack? I reached out for it but found nothing.
“It’s safe—I have it beside me,” said a voice I knew.
Thorne was kneeling next to me, looking concerned. I tried to sit up, but she gently pushed me back down again.
“Rest,” she said firmly. “Give the potion time to take effect. I called in to see Agnes on my way here. What she sent is not a cure, but it should buy you some time. After you spat out the first mouthful, I managed to pour most of it down your throat.”
“The kretch—is it close?” I asked.
Thorne shook her head. “I can’t sniff its approach.”
“If we can reach Pendle, we’ll be safe for a while. The witches who made the creature are from the southwest of the County. They will not dare venture into our territory.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Thorne. “But the clans are divided. Some may allow them entry. Now, try to stand.”
She helped me to my feet, but I was unsteady and she had to support me. Although only fifteen and not yet fully grown, she was now almost as tall as me and looked every inch a witch assassin. She was dressed in a similar fashion to me—leather straps crisscrossed her body, the sheaths holding blades.
I smiled at her. “I’m still not strong enough to travel. Leave me and take the sack. That’s what is really important.”
“We’ll travel together,” Thorne said firmly. “Remember how you once carried me?”
“When we hunted the bear? Yes, I remember it well. I was thinking about that earlier.”
“Well, now I’ll carry you.”
With that, Thorne hoisted me up onto her shoulder and, carrying the leather sack in her left hand, began to jog eastward. We were heading toward Agnes Sowerbutts’s cottage on the outskirts of the Deane village of Roughlee.
It was strange to be carried in this way. I was at war with myself: One part of me felt anger at my weakness and resentment toward Thorne for treating me thus; the other felt gratitude for her help and was well aware that the skill of Agnes Sowerbutts would give me the best possible chance of surviving.
After a while, the stabbing pain in my lungs started to return as the effects of the potion began to wear off. The agony slowly intensified until I could hardly breathe, and I felt myself losing consciousness again.
The next thing I remember is what sounded like the eerie cry of a corpse fowl very close by. Then there was a sudden stillness and a change of temperature. I was no longer being carried; I was inside, out of the rain. I lay on a bed, and someone was bending over me; the concerned face of Agnes Sowerbutts swam into view.
I felt my head being lifted, and suddenly my mouth was full of a vile-tasting liquid. I swallowed a little and almost vomited. I wanted to spit out the rest but fought to control my urge. Agnes was trying to help me. She was my only hope of survival. So I forced myself to swallow again and again. Eventually, a strange warmth spread slowly from my stomach to my extremities. I felt comfortable. I think I slept for a while.
But then I was awake again, my body racked with pain. There were sharp twinges in my chest, and each breath was like a dagger stabbing into my heart. My limbs throbbed and felt as heavy as lead. Whatever potion Agnes had given me, it hadn’t worked for long. I opened my eyes but could see nothing. Everything was dark. Had the poison taken away my sight?
Then I heard Agnes’s voice. “The poison is too virulent. She’s dying. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing more that I can do.”
CHAPTER V
MALKIN TOWER
Blood, bone, and familiar magic work for most witches,
but the old ways are not the only path to power
.
There is nothing wrong with tradition,
but I am open-minded and flexible.
I am Grimalkin.
“PLEASE, please, try again,” I heard Thorne beg. “She’s still fighting, still strong. Grimalkin deserves another chance.”
I fought to stay awake, but eventually I lost consciousness again, falling slowly into a darker, deeper sleep than I had ever known before.
Was this death? If so, Thorne was alone. How long would she be able to keep the Fiend’s head out of the hands of his supporters? I had told her a little of my alliance with Alice Deane, Tom Ward, and John Gregory. Would she understand that she needed to approach them directly and seek their help?
I tried to call out to Thorne and tell her what must be done, but I was unable to speak. I was trapped deep within my body, forced to endure the pain, which was increasing all the time.
I wasn’t going to remain lying here in agony while my body slowly lost its grip on life. There was a way to escape the pain. I could float out of my body to meet my death. I had some skill in the arts of shamanistic magic.
Most Pendle witches are deeply conservative in their habits. At an early age they are tested by their clan to determine which type of dark magic—blood or bone or familiar—they have an aptitude for. They would never think to range beyond those options. But I am different. My mind is flexible and open to other alternatives. I am willing and eager to learn new things.
This may be because during my life as a witch assassin I have traveled widely and have encountered other cultures and ways of utilizing the dark. One such encounter was with a Romanian witch who was living in the northeast of the County. It was she who taught me something of shamanism.
Of course, you could spend a lifetime learning its secrets and practicing its craft. I had but a few months to devote to it, so I concentrated on just one aspect of its repertoire—the skill of projecting the soul from the body.
Such a procedure is not without risks. One practitioner, a mage, projected his soul into the dark and was devoured by a demon. You may also be unable to find your way back to your body. For that reason I had used it only rarely, and with great caution.