A Curse of Ash and Embers

by Jo Spurrier

  ‘No, just a ghost. I’ve banished him for now but he’ll be back. He keeps forgetting he’s dead, poor soul, and I can’t make him understand that I can’t help him yet. But I don’t suppose that time means much to the dead.’

  Next to me, the remains of the fire crackled, the coals glowing again now that the ash had been blown away and they’d been fanned by the wind. They gave just enough light for me to see Aleida’s shape withdraw into the box bed once again. ‘If you stick around, you’ll get used to it soon enough. He comes by here a lot. But we’ll have a few hours peace before he finds his way back. Try to get some more sleep.’

  I stayed awake for a long time, feeding splinters of broken wood into the flames one at a time to eke out the light. But eventually I must have fallen asleep, for the next time I opened my eyes it was daylight outside. Unfortunately the light only exposed what a ruinous state the place was in, with dented pots, shattered earthenware and cracked wooden bowls and trenchers all heaped up in drifts against the walls.

  As I built up the fire and fetched more water, I tried to convince myself that the ghost and the storm of icy wind were only a dream, but as I put some water on to boil I looked around the chamber and shook my head. ‘Don’t be stupid,’ I said softly to myself. ‘You know what you saw. And this is a witch’s cottage, after all.’

  While the fire caught and the flames rose, I went outside for a proper look around.

  The cottage was built of rough grey stone with a roof of slate, and the whole thing seemed to nestle down into the earth, as though the weight of all that stone made it sink down like a cat on a feather bed. The large windows seemed strange and out of place — I say windows, for there was one on the opposite side of the back door to match the one in the kitchen, though the shutters on that side were closed. It gave the effect of wide, staring eyes, while the slate roof overhead made a heavy, glowering brow. It wasn’t a big house, but a bit of mental arithmetic quickly told me that I’d yet to see half of it.

  Beyond the cottage was a field, with an orchard to the left, all of it smothered under thick mist that hid everything beyond a few hundred yards in a dull grey haze. From what I could see of the trees they were ancient, twisted and gnarled.

  Nearer to the house was a pair of gardens — one fenced with wicker hurdles, though from the weeds and the chewed-over leaves it was rather neglected. The other garden was surrounded by a stone wall, set with a wrought-iron gate, chained shut. I peered through the bars, wondering why it merited such protection, but aside from a few rosebushes I didn’t recognise any of the plants.

  Back inside, and with the benefit of daylight, I went in search of something better for breakfast than the awful hot cakes I’d made the night before.

  There wasn’t much that I’d missed in the pantry. I did find a mostly empty sack of beans, which made me think of Brian the wizard, and I wondered how he was faring. Any thought of him quickly left my mind, however, when I looked behind the door to the outside, to see if anything was hidden behind there.

  The first thing I found was a chunk of stone, so big that I could barely wrap my arms around it. It was filthy with dust and cobwebs, and completely covered with crystals — the largest of them was as thick as my wrist, and as long as my arm. Even the smaller ones were the size of my thumb, all clustered over the upper side of the rock in a beautiful, glittering forest of stone. Or it would be, without all that dust and grime.

  I marvelled at it for a few minutes before I realised it stood in front of another door — a door that led into the half of the house I hadn’t yet seen.

  Gingerly, I tried the handle. It wasn’t locked. I hesitated then, with my hand on the knob, dithering about whether to go inside. This pantry was pitifully small — what kind of household didn’t have jars upon jars of preserved fruit and produce? Where was the cheese? The strings of onions and garlic? The barrels of apples? The sausages and bacon?

  Lord and Lady, I was hungry.

  The door swung open smoothly, without a creak or groan. On the other side it was so dark that I went back into the kitchen for the lantern, and lit it with a splint from the fire.

  The room was half the size of the kitchen and had a matching window, glass and all. But the shutters were firmly closed, and didn’t let through so much as a gleam of light.

  I held the lantern high. Light gleamed off jars packed tight on shelves around the walls and I felt myself smile — this was more like it. There was a fireplace in the corner, and beside it a cabinet that held a jumble of strange and convoluted glassware. Clustered around the fireplace in a haphazard jumble were cauldrons, tripods, braziers and other odd pieces of ironwork.

  There were dozens of jars on the shelves, hundreds maybe. Most were pottery, a few were glass, some were even of metal. I turned to the nearest shelf where one glass jar stood level with my face. It was three-quarters full of some pale, roundish things floating in a dark liquid. Pickled eggs? They weren’t my favourite but I’d still take a few of those over the awful hot cakes. I reached for it, but as I moved closer my eyes picked out the true shape of the roundish things floating in the pickling juice. Not eggs. That dark brown stain that covered half the orbs was not herbs to flavour the pickle. Not eggs at all.

  In the gleam of the lantern, ox eyes stared into the darkness around me. I jerked my hand back with a gasp. With a shaking hand I raised the lantern high. More glass jars huddled on the shelf further down, the shapes contained within made all the more ominous and grotesque by the warped and rippling effects of the glass. I wasn’t sure I wanted to investigate any closer. Well, I told myself. What did you expect to find in a witch’s storeroom?

  I picked up my skirts with my free hand and carefully retreated. When I was back in the pantry I closed the door firmly, and returned to the kitchen. The cage caught my eye again and I turned my back to it, looking out of the window instead. ‘All right,’ I muttered to myself. ‘Hot cakes it is.’

  I mixed another batch of batter, and while I waited for the water and skillet to heat I started to clean up the ruin of the kitchen. I knew how to work quietly — back at home Lem raised hell if I made the slightest bit of noise when I got up to deal with the little ones.

  The first thing to do was to haul out the wrecked furniture, or at least the bits of it that were small enough to move quietly. I hunted around for something heavy enough to prop the doors open and remembered the crystal slab.

  I hauled it out, rolling it over the flagstones like a wheel, and propped it against the open door. But in the early morning light it looked sad under its filthy coat.

  Well, I reasoned, I was here to look after the cottage. I fetched another bucket of water and a soft brush, and set to work. Getting the stone completely clean would take longer than I could spend right now, but just a few minutes made a vast difference. The crystals shone as clear as pure water, and the slab beneath them was as white as fresh snow. Still wet, it gleamed and sparkled in the sun, without a doubt one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen.

  I could have stayed there all morning, just staring at it, letting it chase away the image of the ox eyes and the other grotesqueries in the dark room, but I had work to do. I had to content myself with gazing at it at every trip I made, hauling the broken furniture outside, and glancing at it as I sorted out the bits that might be remade into something useful and piled the rest up for firewood.

  I’d barely scratched the surface of the mess by the time the pan was hot and the water simmering, but I could hear my mistress stirring within the box bed. When the first dollop of batter hit the oil in the pan and started sizzling, she slid the box bed door open and peered out at me.

  ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘You’re still here. I’d wondered if you were going to think better of this whole mess and head home while you had the chance.’

  Aleida didn’t look any better by the light of day, with her skin sallow and her cheeks sunken, and her hair tangled and dull. She sat with her legs tucked beneath her and a blanket pulled around he
r shoulders like a cloak, leaning against the door of the bed as though she hadn’t the strength to sit unsupported.

  I bristled a little at her words. I was too used to Lem always assuming the worst of me, I supposed. ‘I’m not one to leave without giving fair notice,’ I said. The words came out sharper than I intended and I winced to hear them. Ma always said I was my own worst enemy. ‘And I wouldn’t leave an ill person to fend for themselves. Do you wish me to go to Lilsfield and ask for a doctor, ma’am?’

  ‘There’s nothing a doctor can do for me,’ Aleida said.

  When the first batch of hot cakes was ready I laid them onto a wooden cutting board for want of a plate, but when I set it down for her she beckoned me to come back and pushed half of them towards me. ‘Is that teapot still in one piece?’ she said, nodding to a tin kettle I’d set on the shelf.

  ‘It’ll be all right if I don’t fill it all the way,’ I said. ‘But the tea leaves are long gone.’

  ‘There’s mint growing around the well back there. Go fetch us some?’

  ‘Let me get the next batch on, and I will.’ Once the last of the hot cakes were sizzling in the pan I hurried out and brought back a handful of sprigs. She beckoned me over so she could inspect them, and with a scowl she plucked one out and threw it into the fire. ‘Those are fine. Good grief, Gyssha let this place go wild. I’m afraid to look at the orchard. Best stay out of it for now, Elodie.’

  ‘You can call me Dee if you like, Miss. Miss?’

  ‘Yes, Dee?’

  ‘Who was he? The ghost, last night?’

  She pressed her lips together in a thin line. ‘A friend of mine. My only friend, really.’

  ‘Did the old witch kill him?’

  ‘No. He did that himself.’ Her voice was flat, her gaze drifting off to some impossible distance. I wanted to know more, to ask about what had happened here, the scorch-marks and the wreckage. From the way she held herself, she must be injured, but she’d been quite firm in saying there was no call for a doctor. But as much as I wanted to know, I decided against asking further questions; and besides, I could put the main points of it together myself. There’d been a fight; my mistress was injured, and the old witch was dead. ‘What about the cage?’ I said.

  Aleida cast a glance at it. ‘Gyssha had her fingers in all sorts of pies,’ she said. ‘None very savoury. But don’t worry yourself over it, I let her out.’

  The tea was brewed now, and I’d found two cups that were only cracked, not shattered. ‘Well, miss,’ I said as I started to pour, ‘I’m afraid there’s not much to eat around here. There’s probably a bit of food in the garden, but there’s only a little flour left, and with no eggs, no milk—’

  ‘Can you milk a goat?’ Aleida asked.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Good.’ She leaned back into the box bed, vanishing into the darkness. After a moment, she reappeared with a little purse, bright red, which she tossed to me. ‘Here’s a bit of coin. I want you to go to the nearest farm — the Sanford place — take the road back towards Lilsfield, and after about a mile and a half you’ll see a track branching off to the north. It’ll take you right there. Ask them if they’ll give us hire of a nanny-goat in milk, and a couple of hens. I don’t want to buy them, I don’t know how long we’ll be here, but we’ll need something to eat. Actually, take your basket and see what they’ll sell us. Eggs, cheese, butter, that sort of thing. Or, if you want, just take the money and run.’ She shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t blame you.’

  I fumbled the catch and scowled at her. ‘I told you, miss—’

  ‘I heard. I’m just giving you the chance to get out while you can — it’s more than I ever got. And it won’t be the last time I make the offer.’

  I stooped to retrieve the purse. It was knitted, and made from the shiniest thread I’d ever seen. Was this silk? I’d never seen such a vivid colour outside of roses in the garden. ‘Shall I leave right away? For the farm, I mean.’

  ‘Drink your tea first,’ she said. ‘And, Elodie? If they won’t deal with you, don’t argue. Just come back here and I’ll think of something else.’

  The world seemed a much more cheerful place with the sun shining and my hunger sated, but it was still not enough to unwind the knots in my belly. What on earth am I doing here? Yesterday’s heavy clouds had broken up into puffy white pillows that scudded quickly overhead, and I wondered if the sky looked the same back at Burswood Farm. Everyone would be up by now. I’d be washing faces after breakfast, checking the little ones’ napkins and getting their shoes on.

  For a moment I thought my heart would break for missing them. But remembering them was easier than thinking about what I’d seen in the night: the ghost of a furious, frightened man and the storm he’d summoned in the ruined kitchen. And Aleida had all but promised that it would happen again. And that was only the start of it — what about these beasts Attwater had spoken of? With everything else since I’d arrived at the cottage, it had slipped my mind to ask my mistress about them.

  In the pocket of my apron, the purse bumped against my thigh with every step, and I couldn’t help but wonder how much money she’d carelessly tossed my way. I’d meant what I’d said about not running out on my duties, but part of me wondered if I was making the right decision. Everything here was so different from home: the steep slopes, the dense trees, the moisture in the air and the earth; the quiet of it all, without my brothers and sisters yelling and thundering around, Lem’s voice always complaining about something, Ma singing as she worked. I’d never imagined how strongly I’d miss Jeb’s little arms around my neck and Maisie’s tuneless singing while she played near my feet.

  I plodded along, trying to ignore the ache in my legs and shoulders after yesterday’s long hike, when a rustle in the bushes made me stop in my tracks.

  As quick as a flash, a deer ran out in front of me. She looked at me once with soft brown eyes and then dashed away, crossing the road and vanishing again into the woods, leaping as light as a feather, as fast as a thought.

  I gaped after her, my mouth hanging open like a fool, one hand pressed to my chest where I could feel my heart pounding under my stays. There were monsters in this forest, I reminded myself sharply, things that had even a woodsman like Attwater shaken. And something had spooked that deer.

  And then, before I had time to think on it any further, I heard a voice softly cursing and the sound of someone pushing through the brush. I gripped my walking stick with both hands, for all the good it would do me, as a young man emerged from the scrub beside the road, following the doe’s tracks only to step back in surprise when he saw me there.

  He was tall and slender in a way that reminded me of a half-grown colt. He had thick auburn hair, brown eyes and a scatter of freckles across his nose, and in his hands was a bow with an arrow nocked to the string. ‘Oh,’ he said when he saw me. He lowered the bow so the arrow was pointing at the ground. ‘Sorry, miss, I didn’t mean to startle you.’

  I hastily lowered the stick. ‘It was the deer that startled me, not you,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry for scaring it off.’ Privately, I wasn’t all that sorry — the fleeting sight of her dashing across the road would have been rather spoiled if she’d had an arrow in her side. But I was a farm girl; I knew where meat came from and I did feel bad for scaring away his meal. From the looks of him he needed it, and not just for the pot — his woollen jacket was riddled with holes and patches, and the sweater beneath it was laddered and unravelling.

  ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘That’s what I get for hunting near the road. And I’m glad I didn’t chance a shot anyway, given there was someone walking by.’ He tilted his head to study my face. ‘I haven’t seen you before, have I?’

  ‘I’m Elodie,’ I said. ‘The new hired girl at Black Oak Cottage.’

  He recoiled at that, stepping back. ‘Black Oak Cottage? You . . . you’re working for the Blackbone witch?’

  His reaction made me falter. ‘I . . . yes. I . . .’ I pulled myself in; I didn’t wan
t to tell the same blasted story all over again. Instead, I lifted my chin. ‘It’s honest work, and I need the job.’

  ‘Oh.’ He dropped his gaze. ‘I didn’t mean . . . of course it’s honest work — for a servant, I mean. It’s not a word I’d use for the witch herself. But a body’s got to eat, I understand that.’

  I thought about what Aleida had said as I left — she’d been afraid the Sanfords wouldn’t have any dealing with me. I was beginning to understand what she meant, and a little twist of worry tightened inside of me. What if she was right? We couldn’t live on mint tea and hot cakes for ever. ‘I didn’t know she was a witch when I took the job,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, I get it,’ he said. ‘I do. I didn’t mean to jump on you, I’d just worry about anyone in that place. Hey, I’m Kian. Elodie, you said?’

  I nodded. ‘Are you from the Sanford farm? I was told it was down this way.’

  ‘It is. The turn-off is just a little farther along, but I’m not from there. I don’t like to show my face around there much. They call me a poacher.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, my eyes tracking to his bow again. He had a quiver hanging from his belt with just a scant handful of arrows in it, and an empty knapsack slung across his chest. He was a hunter and trapper then, like Attwater. ‘Well, I won’t tell them I saw you.’

  ‘I’d take it as a kindness, Miss Elodie.’

  I could have walked away, then; I had an errand to run, after all, but after the comfortless night in the cottage and the strangeness of my new mistress it was nice to linger in the sunshine. With a shock I realised that this was the longest I’d spoken to a lad my own age in years — ever since that day at the fair two years ago. Ever since then Ma and Lem had decided I wasn’t fit to speak with anyone outside of the household, even when it was just the neighbours’ lads come by on some errand.

  I planted my feet and gave Kian a smile. There was no one now to send me away. ‘I’ve only been here a day,’ I said. ‘And no one will tell me what’s going on here, what these monsters are or what my mistress is supposed to have done.’