Grandma nodded. “It is true. I have said and done some harsh things to you. But that was before I knew your true mettle, child. Before I realized what a worthy heir you would make.”
The witches all snapped their eyes to Mup.
Mup frowned in surprise. Heir?
The queen leaned forward. “Your mother is an excellent weapon, dear. But she’s not like us. She’s not clever and tricksy and wise. She is blunt force and brutality. She knocks down walls. You and me, though?” The queen leaned closer. “You and me? We build empires. We gather followers. We rule. Together, who knows what marvellous things we could achieve.”
“Like end this drought?” asked Mup.
The queen sat back, pretending to frown. “Well,” she sighed. “That might be difficult. I’ve never been terribly skilled at weather magic. But together –” she spread her hands, looked slyly under her lashes – “we might perform miracles.”
You must think I’m some kind of eejit, Grandma, thought Mup. I know you’re causing this drought. Just like you caused the snow that came before it. And I know that you know that I know it!
But maybe that was how queens worked. Maybe they were always causing trouble, then offering to fix it – for a small fee, of course. Maybe it didn’t matter to them that you knew what game they were playing, as long as you played along, as long as they got what they wanted in the end.
Once again, Mup was very glad that her mother never wanted to be Queen.
All business now, her grandmother straightened. She frowned with theatrical concern. “Your mother,” she said, “might be a problem. Like I said, she doesn’t seem to think as clearly as you. She allows emotions to cloud her better judgement. She may not be too happy to welcome me to her side.”
“That’s true, Your Majesty. But just between you and me, I think Mam could use your help.”
The queen’s eyebrow lifted. “Could she?”
“She’s having a hard time coping with all these changes in the weather.”
“Is she?”
“And the people are really starting to annoy her. The way they won’t do what they’re told.”
“Are they?”
“Yes. Also, Mam does stupid things. She keeps saying she doesn’t want to be Queen, for example.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“And she wastes a lot of time playing and eating and doing stupid stuff like that.”
“I’ve heard that too.”
“I think she could do with some tips on how to rule properly. Perhaps we could sneak you into the palace while Mam’s away. Fix things before she returns. Explain to her that you rescued me from Magda. She might be so pleased that she’d stop fighting with you. Or something like that.”
The queen’s smile grew snakelike. “Or something like that indeed,” she said. She raised an eyebrow at her witches. It was obvious she couldn’t believe her luck. Mup could guess what was on the queen’s mind. Safe passage through the kingdom with the heir’s child hostage in the midst of her witches? Safe passage all the way into the sparsely guarded palace? Who knew what could be done with this opportunity. Who knew what havoc could be wreaked before Mam’s return.
Mup’s stomach tightened with disgust at the oily satisfaction on her grandmother’s face. “You know what, Grandma?” she said. “I think you make a great queen.”
“My dear child! What a lovely thing to say.”
“I knew you’d think so.”
The queen climbed down from her throne, spun Mup on her heel and began herding her down the path. “Shall we head back right now, dear? By the time we get to the castle, I bet you and I will have already figured out how to fix the drought.”
She was suddenly moving very fast for such an old lady. Mup could hardly keep her feet as the dry, hard hand propelled her forward. She glanced quickly back. Crow was limping scowlingly along beside his creature, hemmed in by expressionless witches. Emberly and Naomi were fleeting glimmers among the black.
Mup’s mind was churning.
What if Mam can’t handle the queen?
What if the queen can’t handle the weather?
What if Crow can’t handle his temper?
These thoughts were what was distracting Mup as her grandmother swept a hand to disperse the magic barrier. The little vardo glowed like a jewel in the dull grey landscape. Mup kept her eyes on it, a hard frown hurting her forehead, her plans swinging this way and that. The witches were a dark tide flowing around her. Grandma’s hand was firm between her shoulder blades.
Mup imagined herself and her friends inside the bright little wagon, flying over the scarred land. Would Grandma travel inside with them? Would her witches cloud the sky outside – their black cloaks darkening the air, their shadows passing over field and town?
How frightened people would be to see them again.
The queen was moving like a young woman now. No longer stiff, she strode intently forward, her thoughts fixed on some complicated future. She was so strong. She was so confident. It was easy to understand how everyone had done her bidding for so long. With a little flare of panic, Mup thought, Maybe she’s not beaten at all.
She cast another anxious glance back at Crow. His glare was anger-black.
Maybe Crow should sing, she thought. Just one note would end it all. The witches would be gone. Grandma would be gone. Everyone would be safe.
Mup shook her head. No! she told herself. Don’t take the easy way out.
Yes, Crow could destroy the queen if he wanted.
Yes, he could sing the flesh from her bones.
It would be a brave act. The act of a hero.
Except … the people of Witches Borough didn’t need a hero. They were already their own heroes: all those small voices, all those little strengths that had joined together and stood up to the witches. They deserved the chance to tell the queen to her face that she had lost. They deserved the chance to tell those gathered around her that they would never again be tolerated. They deserved to always look back at this time in history and know that they’d done this. Together. Not in service of a brutal tyrant, but in order to protect each other, and their hopes for a lovely world where everyone could laugh and play, and live side by side in one glorious, jumbled, caring community of difference and respect.
Be patient, Crow, thought Mup. Be patient.
She tried to pour this into her expression. Tried to make Crow understand how important this was: for him, for other people, for the future. Crow’s frown softened. Whatever he saw in Mup’s face, he nodded slowly in reply.
All right, Mup. All right. I can wait.
Mup smiled and he smiled grimly back.
Then Magda spoke.
She had been standing off to one side as the river of witches passed by, and had been ignored by everyone until that moment. She didn’t shout, she didn’t even sound angry, but her words cut above the scuff of feet and the flutter of cloth like a thin blade. “I loved you,” she told the queen.
Silence descended as the raggedy witches turned to regard Magda.
The queen gave her a cruel, dismissive, horribly amused look. Her witches folded their hands. Sly pleasure filling their polished faces. They were looking forward to whatever the queen had in store for their former leader.
Somewhere in their ranks, Crow sighed impatiently.
Magda advanced, her eyes fixed in love and hatred on the queen. Her former brothers and sisters parted ranks to allow her through. Mup was mesmerized by the tragic look on Magda’s face. By the smooth, confident way she approached her beloved queen. By the graceful billow of her black cloak as she opened her arms in a gesture both heartbroken and defiant.
Only Naomi guessed. Only she recognized the danger. Mup would be forever grateful to her for that … and for so much more. Mup and Emberly and Crow would have just stood there, watching, until it was too late. Except that Naomi turned to them and screamed.
“RUN!”
Emberly realized then. He spun and, in one loping movement,
passed through four witches in his haste to get to Mup. The witches shrieked and toppled at the ghost’s chilly passage through their bodies. Mup’s vision went milky as he scooped her into his arms. She had only time to yell, “What’s happening?” before Emberly was throwing her into the vardo.
Naomi snatched Crow and flew with him.
The creature seemed too stunned to run. He just stood, gaping, as his wife, her face painted with tragedy and triumph, closed her arms around the queen.
“I loved you,” whispered Magda into the queen’s ear. “I gave you everything.”
It took the queen so long to understand.
She’d been so sure of herself. Striding back into the life she’d temporarily lost, striding back to the palace and power and control. What could go wrong? Everyone needed her, including the heir who had stolen her throne. Soon everyone would bow to her again. Soon she would once again be queen of the world.
And so, when her outcast daughter came pleading through her merciless ranks of minions, why would the queen have worried? Why would she do anything except sneer, and wait with a half-pitying smile to deliver the final blow?
It was only as Magda’s arms closed around her that realization widened the queen’s blue eyes.
“I loved you,” said Magda again, holding tight. “I loved you.”
By the time the queen thought to struggle, she’d already started to dissolve.
She roared. Lightning ripped from her hands.
Magda held on, her arms clamped tight, as the queen’s fire shook and scorched her.
They rose together into the air. The queen screamed and fought. Magda, eyes tightly closed, just held on. Ash and flame spiralled out. The raggedy witches stood like entranced children, their faces turned upwards as the two women spun faster and faster, blurring the air above them.
Mup gripped the porch rail, yelling “Run! Run!” to Naomi and Crow, who raced for the vardo.
“Dad!” yelled Crow. “Come on!”
The creature, finally hearing them, turned from his awed contemplation of the spinning queen. Realizing his friends were leaving, he shoved the gaping witches aside and lumbered for the vardo.
He reached the porch as something burst within the frenzy overhead. There was no noise, just a silent shock, which slammed Mup’s ear drums and made her duck and gasp. The creature pushed past her, dived into the driver’s seat, slapped the reins and sent the vardo jerking into the sky.
Mup peered back through tears of pain at where the queen and Magda used to be. Ash blasted out as if from an explosion. The last things she saw, before ash filled the world, were the raggedy witches, their faces tilted upwards, their mouths open with amazement. The ash hit them. The witches had time to scream just once, before they were shredded to particles by the blinding storm.
“DRIVE!” screamed Mup.
The ash cloud blew outwards at tremendous speed. Ripping up rocks, scouring the mountainside, it filled Mup’s vision with excoriating grey.
She was scooped into ghostly arms, and flung inside.
The door slammed just as the cloud hit the vardo.
Everything Dies
“DAD!” yelled Crow, elbowing out from Naomi’s grip. “Dad, no!”
He and Mup ran to the door, but Emberly barred it with his luminous body.
“Doctor!” cried Mup. “Crow’s dad is out there!”
For a moment Crow looked as though he would destroy the ghost where he stood. But then darkness filled the windows. The vardo came alive with a hissing, shivery sound as a million harsh particles of ash scoured its wooden exterior.
Emberly moved aside. He knew they would not be foolish enough to go outside now. Crow and Mup crept to the windows and pressed their noses to the blue and yellow panes. There was nothing to be seen. Nothing but shifting, gritty darkness rasping the cheerful glass.
“Dad,” whispered Crow.
“He must be still out there,” said Mup. “Otherwise who’s driving the vardo?”
With a bleak look, Naomi passed through the wooden door and out onto the porch.
She was briefly visible outside, then her light was swallowed by the crawling dark.
“Oh, my dear lady!” cried Emberly.
Crouching quickly, he pressed his hands to Mup’s shoulders, looked hard into Crow’s eyes. His gentle face was stretched tight with desperation. “Please,” he said. “Please, my dear children. With all my remaining soul, I’m begging you. Whatever becomes of Naomi, the creature and I, do not come outside.” Before they could answer, or even squeeze his hand, Emberly pushed through the door and out into the black.
Once again, Mup and Crow pressed their faces to the window. The hissing noise was all around them: the ash cloud rushing past. “I can’t see anything,” whispered Crow. “Not even a glimmer of light.”
Mup spread her hands on the colourful panes. She could feel the movement of the ash beyond the glass – a harsh, sandpaper feeling against her palms. She urged her will out into it, pushing the darkness back.
“It’s getting lighter!” cried Crow. He thought deeply for a moment, seeking something – some rightness of sound, maybe – then he sang.
Oh, such a gentle note, it was: a lullaby-note, soft, soft, out onto the scouring air. Mup saw the darkness brighten from pitch black to a gritty fog. In the fog, two person-shaped pillars of light wavered. “I can see them!” she cried.
Naomi and Emberly leaned side by side on the porch, their arms around each other’s waists, their free hands clenched on the shoulders of Crow’s creature.
Frowning and determined, the creature hunched over the reins, urging the horses on. The magnificent animals seemed not at all bothered by the ash. Why would they be? They were made of storm and cloud, nothing could hurt them. But they were not happy. Mup could tell by the lightning that flashed from their nostrils and sparked from their galloping hooves. It briefly illuminated their angry faces and frothy manes, before they were once again lost in gritty swirls of black.
The horses may not have been affected by the ash, but the creature certainly was. Despite the glowing protection of the ghosts, he was slowly dissolving. Clouds of grit rose from his shoulders and his hair to be snatched away on the raging wind. The storm was scouring him from the air.
Mup directed all her energy towards the creature. Crow sang his song directly to him. The bubble of brightness they had pushed out into the dark tightened around the creature’s struggling form. Soon, all they could see was him, hunched valiantly over the reins, the ghosts’ dim light flanking him in the ever-encroaching dark.
The storm howled on.
Rushing past. Scraping past. Bumping, hissing, seething.
Robbing the world of light and air.
It’s never going to end, thought Mup in despair. It’s never, ever going to end.
She and Crow began to sag with tiredness.
Still Mup pushed out and out. Still Crow sang.
They sent their strength out into the world. Out to their friends struggling in the dark.
Out and out and out.
And then…
Mup opened her weary eyes. OH, NO! Had she fallen asleep?
She was slumped against the windowsill. Her hands were cramped against the glass. Beside her, Crow leaned on the door frame. His eyes were closed. His head bowed. He was still singing, but only the faintest scratch of his voice remained.
Grey light painted the tumbled interior and Mup realized the dark had lifted.
She shook Crow’s shoulder. “Crow,” she whispered. “Look.”
Outside, the air was misty and grey. Ash drifted downwards. The horses pulled the vardo sedately through it like picture-book horses through snow.
Mup and Crow stepped out into a wilderness of quiet. There was not a patch of colour left on the vardo. The storm had sanded every surface smooth of paint.
Emberly’s sunken cheeks were luminous with tears as he scanned the veiled horizon. At his side, Naomi gazed bleakly ahead, her hand a glimmer on th
e creature’s ash-coated shoulder.
Crow went to the creature. It did not lift its head in answer to his softly whispered, “Dad?”
Mup sank to her knees on the bare wooden floorboards. An endless vista of ash lay below her, nothing but grey fields and the dark skeletons of bushes as far as the eye could see.
“Everything is dead,” she whispered. “They’ve killed it all.”
An unfamiliar voice broke the eerie quiet.
Masculine, musical, kind, the voice said, “It’s time for me to go.”
It was the creature who had spoken. They all gazed sadly at it. It was still dissolving. Every gentle sway of the vardo, every soft gust of breeze, sent more of it drifting away into the foggy air.
“I know you’re not really my dad,” Crow said. “You’re not really anything, I suppose. Just a collection of memories that somehow got bundled together and walked around for a bit. But…”
He reached his hand and very gently touched the creature. It had been gazing dully out across the landscape, the reins held loose in its lumpish paw, but at Crow’s touch it straightened. Something like awareness creased its brow. The creature turned its head, and looked Crow in the eye. To Mup’s astonishment, its diminishing substance drew together for one brief flare of clarity – and there was Crow’s dad.
Toraí Drummaker, handsome and hawkish, clever and fierce, curved a tender smile at his son. He held out the reins. “You need to take these now, Crow.”
Crow bit his bottom lip. Brightness shivered in his eyes. He took the reins from his father’s hand, and Toraí was gone.
Crow gathered himself, sat into the driver’s seat, and drove on.
They travelled onwards and onwards. The smothered grasslands gave way to forest, and they found themselves staring down into a bleak landscape of blackened, leafless trees.
“I hear ravens,” whispered Mup.
It wasn’t long before shapes appeared through the drifting veils of ash. Still a long way off, but growing rapidly closer, a great fluid cloud of ravens sped urgently across the treetops.
The Promise Witch Page 12