At last we began to climb out of the marsh. Ahead was a small rounded hill with the ruin of a small abbey at its summit. It was Monks’ Hill. Three stunted sycamores grew among the rubble. In places hardly a stone stood upon a stone, but Grimalkin led us to a low wall and we settled down with our backs to it so that we could gaze upon the swamplands. Above us the moon shone from a cloudless sky, lighting the ruins and the hillside to a silver.
We were above the mist, which now lay undulating below, obscuring the marsh and the path. We were sitting upon an island rising from a calm sea composed of white cloud. For a long time we didn’t speak. After my exertions I was happy just to allow my breathing to return to normal, and it was the witch assassin who spoke first.
“It is to Alice Deane that you should give thanks that you don’t face your enemy here alone.”
I turned toward Grimalkin in astonishment. “Alice?” I asked.
“Yes, your friend Alice. Afraid that the Fiend and his daughter were about to slay you, she summoned me north to come to your aid. We’ve been in contact many times during the past month. Mostly by mirror.”
“Alice used a mirror to contact you?”
“Of course, child. How else do witches communicate over long distances? I was surprised at first but she persisted and slowly won me round. How could I refuse one whose mother was a Malkin? Especially when our cause is now the same.”
“So did you come looking for me on the island?”
“You or the Fiend’s daughter. But I was never on that island until we spoke. I watched you from the mainland shore, saw the witches preparing to enter the water, and warned you. I’d been watching you for days. John Gregory wouldn’t welcome my presence so I kept my distance.”
“The Fiend expects me to face her alone. Will he know that you’re here?”
Grimalkin shrugged. “He might. He can’t see everything, but when his daughter sees me, then he will know.”
“So won’t he intervene? He could appear right here, up on this hill.”
“That’s something you needn’t fear. He’ll keep his distance. Where I am you won’t see him.”
“You’re able to make him keep away?”
“Yes—because of what I did years ago.”
“What was that? Alice has been trying to find the means to keep him away. How’s it done? Did you use a blood jar? Or have you hobbled him in some way?”
“There may well be more than one way but I chose the most usual method for a witch. I bore him a child—”
“You had a child by the Fiend?” I asked in astonishment.
“Why not? That’s what some witches do—if they have the nerve for it. And if they’re desperate enough to be free of his power. Give him a child, and later, after his first visit to see his offspring, he must leave you alone. Most children of the Fiend and a witch are either monsters or other witches. The mother of the one we face was the witch Grismalde. They say she was very beautiful but dwelt in mud caverns and roamed the darkest bowels of the earth and so stank accordingly. But the Devil’s tastes are sometimes strange.
“Yet by some chance my own body managed to cheat him. My child was neither monster nor witch. He was perfectly human, a beautiful baby boy. But when the Fiend saw him, he was beside himself with anger. He picked up my child, his son, and dashed out his brains against a rock. The blood of that innocent bought my freedom but it was a high price to pay.
“After his death I was a little mad with grief. But the trade that I then chose saved me. Through the cruelty demanded of a witch assassin, I found myself again. Time has passed and memories fade but what the Fiend did can never be forgotten. There are two reasons why I fight by your side tonight. The first is because of my need for revenge. The second is because Alice Deane asked me to protect you against Morwena. Tonight we’ll begin by slaying the Fiend’s daughter.”
For a few moments I turned over in my mind what Grimalkin had just told me. But suddenly she placed her finger against her lips to indicate the need for silence and stood up.
Almost immediately the eerie cry of the corpsefowl echoed over the marsh. Seconds later the plaintive cry came again, much louder and nearer. I heard the beating of wings as a large bird flew straight up out of the mist, gaining height as it approached. It had seen us; now the Fiend’s daughter would know exactly where we were.
Grimalkin reached into a leather sheath and drew forth a knife with a short blade. In one smooth, powerful movement she hurled it at the bird. End over end it spun. The creature twisted away too late. The blade buried itself deep in its breast, and with a loud wailing screech the corpsefowl fell into the sea of mist, to be lost from view.
“I rarely miss,” Grimalkin said with a grim smile, settling herself down on my left again. “But I missed when I hurled my long knife at you. Or rather, it was on target but then you plucked it from the air. The Fiend tampers with time, slowing, stopping, or speeding it up to meet his needs. But I think that night you did it, too. Just a little but enough to make a difference.”
She was referring to our meeting in the summer, when she’d hunted and caught me on the edge of Hangman’s Wood as I was fleeing to the refuge of my mam’s room. After pinning her shoulder to a tree with the Spook’s staff, I’d turned to run but she’d thrown her knife at the back of my head. I’d turned to watch it spin end over end as it sped toward me through the air, then reached up and caught it, saving my own life. Time had indeed seemed to slow, but never for one moment had I thought that I might be responsible.
“Stand up now,” Grimalkin commanded, her voice sharp. “It’s almost time. The moment of danger is close. Very soon our enemies will be here.”
“Enemies?” I asked. “Is there more than one?”
“Of course, child. The Fiend’s daughter will not be alone. She has called others to her aid. Water witches from far and wide are converging upon this hillock. They have been approaching since dark. The struggle is imminent.”
It was time to face the witches. Soon, one way or the other, it would be over.
CHAPTER XXVIII
The Fight on the Marsh
WE stood up and went a little way down the slope. “That night, you also missed,” Grimalkin said. “You missed me with your chain. Will you miss your target again tonight?”
Back in the summer I’d hurled my chain at her but cast wide. It had been a difficult shot and I’d been terrified and exhausted. Would I be more successful tonight against the Fiend’s daughter?
“I’ll do my best,” I told her.
“Then let’s hope your best is good enough. Now listen well while I explain what’s about to happen. Water witches will attack, surging up from the marsh below. So use your staff—but keep your chain in reserve. It may make all the difference. We must face the blood-filled eye of Morwena, but it can be used against only one enemy at a time. If she comes at me, then use your chain against her. Until then hold it in reserve. Fight the others with your staff. Understand?”
I nodded.
“Good. The second thing to our advantage is that Morwena will be reluctant to venture onto this hill, where the ground is relatively dry and firm underfoot. So hopefully she’ll hang back.”
Once again I nodded, nerves now beginning to overtake me. I could feel a trembling in my knees and hands and butter-flies in my stomach. I took a deep breath and fought to con-trol myself. I needed a steady left hand to cast the silver chain.
The first attack took me completely by surprise. But for the slap of clawed, webbed feet on the grass, it was silent and terrifyingly fast. A water witch ran straight out of the mist toward Grimalkin, claws at the ready, dank hair streaming behind her, face contorted into a mask of hatred.
But Grimalkin was even quicker. She pulled a knife from her belt and hurled it straight at her attacker. I heard a soft thud as it buried itself in the witch’s chest. She fell back with a groan and slid down the slope to be enveloped by the mist.
Now they attacked in force. I would have been hard pressed
to deal with just one, such was their speed and ferocity. Up out of the mist they surged—six or seven of them in all—shrieking as they came, talons outstretched, faces twisted in fury, some wielding short blades. Only when the nearest were no more than five paces away did I remember the retractable blade in my rowan staff. I found the recess and pressed, hearing a satisfying click as the blade emerged and locked into position.
I thrust, parried, and turned again and again, spinning on my heels to keep them at bay, sweat running down my face and into my eyes as I used all the skills that Arkwright had taught me. But despite my best efforts, I would quickly have been overwhelmed but for Grimalkin. Now I saw why the witch assassin was, in combat, the most feared of all the Pendle witches.
Each deadly economical movement of her body was a killing stroke. Each blade slipped from a leather sheath found a new resting place in the flesh of an enemy. Talon against talon, blade against blade, she was matchless. She spun and slew, a wheel of death, cutting down those who opposed us until seven dead bodies lay on the slope beside us.
Then she sucked in a deep breath and remained absolutely still, as if listening, before placing her left hand lightly upon my shoulder and leaning toward me.
“There are more emerging from the marsh now,” she whispered, her mouth very close to my ear. “And the Fiend’s daughter is with them. Remember what I said. Use your chain against her. Everything depends on that. Miss and we’re both finished!”
A lone witch attacked from the mist. Twice Grimalkin hurled blades and found a target before the two collided in a fury of tangled limbs, gouging fingers, and sharp teeth. Neither witch uttered a sound as they rolled away from me in the silent fury of combat, down the hill, and into the mist.
Suddenly I was alone on the hillside, listening to the hammering of my own heart. Should I go down and help Grimalkin? What if other witches had now set upon her? But before I could make a decision, it was my own turn to come under attack. Another water witch stepped out of the mist. She didn’t race toward me at speed like the others but padded softly up the hill, step by careful step. Her mouth gaped wide to reveal four immense yellow-green fangs. In appearance she was very similar to Morwena: The triangular bone that served as a nose made me feel as if I were facing something more dead than alive. But despite her slow, careful advance, I was still mindful of the speed she was capable of. I knew she would attempt to hook one of her talons into my flesh, and above all I feared the upward sweep that would attempt to pierce my upper throat and wrap her fingers around my teeth, a grip from which it would be impossible to break free.
The witch attacked suddenly; she was fast but I matched her, bringing my staff across in a short arc that missed her left cheek by less than an inch. She snarled and a low growl of anger rose in her throat. But I jabbed at her again and she took a step backward. Now I was on the offensive and each careful, calculated jab drove her down the hillside, closer to the edge of the thick mist.
Then, too late, I guessed what she intended: to drag me into the mist and marsh, where she’d have the advantage.
The attack was sudden. She’d just been playing with me. With her right hand she struck out like a snake. Two fingers hooked up toward my throat, the talons extended. I tried to twist away but felt a glancing blow and then I was being tugged forward. I lost my balance and rolled down the slope, my staff flying out of my hands. The witch rolled with me but then we broke apart and I felt no pain in my throat or jaw. She’d missed and hooked her talon into the collar of my sheepskin jacket, and now the fall had torn it free.
I rose onto my knees and glanced about me. I hadn’t reached the bottom of the slope but the witch had rolled much farther. The mist was thinner now and I could make out my staff. It was out of reach, but four paces would see me armed again. Then I glanced to my right and saw something that made my blood run cold. Grimalkin was standing over the body of a witch she’d slain but she was rooted to the spot, completely immobile, staring at Morwena, who was moving up the slope toward her, talons extended. I stood and reached into my pocket for my chain, easing it around my left wrist.
It was clear that Grimalkin was in thrall to that blood-filled eye. Within moments she would be dead. If I missed, then Morwena would kill Grimalkin and turn her attention to me.
This was the moment of truth. Would all those months of training in the Spook’s garden pay off? This was far more difficult than casting toward the practice post. Nerves and fear played a significant part. I’d sometimes used the chain successfully against witches, but I’d often failed, too. The enormity of what depended upon this darkened my mind with doubts. If I missed, it was over. And I would get only one chance!
The first step was to believe I could do it. Think positively! The Spook had told me that the key to controlling the body was first to control the mind. So I did just that. I raised my left arm, sucked in a deep breath and held it.
I concentrated, staring hard at my target, Morwena, who was almost within arm’s length of Grimalkin now. Time seemed to slow. Everything became utterly silent. Morwena was no longer moving. I wasn’t breathing. Even my own heart seemed to have stopped.
I cracked the silver chain and cast it toward the witch. It formed a perfect spiral in the air, shimmering in the moonlight; it seemed to be the only thing moving. It fell over her, tightening itself against her teeth and arms so that she toppled to her knees. Sound rushed back into my ears. I breathed out and heard Grimalkin let out her own great sigh of relief before easing a long blade from her belt and advancing purposefully toward her enemy.
Concentrating on casting the silver chain at Morwena, I’d neglected the threat to myself. Suddenly a water witch was beside me, her taloned finger hooking up toward my jaw. Faster than I could ever have believed, my left arm parried the blow, but we locked together and fell hard before rolling farther down the hill.
I was immediately fighting for my life again. Witches are physically strong, and in close combat even a grown man would be in serious trouble. I fought, punched, and struggled, but she gripped me tightly and began to drag me toward the water. I’d kept my promise to Grimalkin and used my chain against Morwena. But in doing so, I’d lost the chance to retrieve my staff, the only thing that gave me a fighting chance against a witch such as this. The only other weapons at my disposal were salt and iron but my arms were pinned to my sides.
The next moment we rolled into the water. I just had time to close my mouth and hold my breath and then my head went under. I struggled even harder, and we spun round again and my face emerged for a second or so, allowing me to take one more breath. Then the water closed over me again, and I felt myself being drawn down. My new swimming skills were useless. The water witch had me in her grip and it was too strong. Down and down I sank, into the depths. I fought to hold my breath but my lungs were bursting and there was a darkness over my eyes.
How long I fought to be free I don’t know, but my struggles grew weaker and at last the water rushed into my mouth and up my nose and I began to drown. The final thing I remember is a feeling of resignation. I’d done my best but it was all over now and I was finally dying. Then it grew dark and I stopped struggling.
But my battle in this world wasn’t over. I awoke to find myself on the hillside again, coughing and choking while somebody pressed and pounded my back. I thought I was being sick but it was water, not vomit, that was gushing from my nose and mouth.
It seemed to go on for a long time, until gradually the pounding stopped and I found myself breathing without choking, although my heart was beating so fast I thought it might burst. Then someone rolled me onto my back and I was looking up into the face of Grimalkin.
“You’ll live, child,” she said, pulling me up into a sitting position. “But it was a close thing. I only just reached you before the witch dragged you into the really deep water.”
I realized that I owed my life to a malevolent witch. Whatever the Spook thought, we were on the same side. So I thanked her. It was what my dad would
have expected.
Then I saw that the line of dead bodies lying on the edge of the marsh included the Fiend’s daughter. She was still bound by my silver chain.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t more help,” I said. I just got the words out before a coughing fit took me.
Grimalkin waited patiently until it finished before speaking again. “You did enough, child. When you cast your chain at Morwena, you ensured our victory. So now come and reclaim it. I can’t touch silver.”
Grimalkin helped me to my feet. I felt weak and began to shiver violently. My clothes were saturated, my body chilled to the bone. As I walked toward the line of supine bodies, I saw what Grimalkin had done and was almost sick. She had cut the heart from each dead witch and placed it near the head. She saw the appalled look on my face and rested her hand on my shoulder.
“It had to be done, child, to ensure that none of them is able to return. Hasn’t your master taught you that?”
I nodded. Strong witches such as these could be reborn again or might be powerful enough to walk the earth while dead and do untold harm. To prevent this you had to cut out the heart; it then had to be eaten.
Grimalkin lifted the body of the Fiend’s daughter by the hair while I removed my chain. It was covered in blood. There was a faint noise in the distance and Grimalkin looked up. It was repeated: the bark of a hunting dog. Claw was on her way. If the Fiend had kept his word, the normal progress of time would now be restored to the mill.
“I no longer have the stomach for such things, so make sure the dog eats the hearts—all of them,” Grimalkin said. “I’ll go now before the others come. But one last thing: How old are you, child?”
“Fourteen. I’ll be fifteen next August. On the third of that month.”
Grimalkin smiled. “Life is hard on Pendle, and consequently children must grow up quickly. On the Walpurgis Night sabbath following his fourteenth birthday, the boy child of a witch-clan is considered to have become a man. Go to Pendle soon after that feast and seek me out. I guarantee your safety and I will give you a gift. It will be well worth having.”