by Cliff McNish
Rachel jumped back, clenching her hand. ‘What have you done?’
Dragwena’s four sets of teeth grinned together. ‘I have started the transforming spell. You will soon begin to look like me.’
The Witch glided across the room and lit a long tapered candle. Engraved on the candle was a circle, and inside it a five-pointed star. The flame flickered with a cold green light. The Witch retired to a chair, leaving Rachel standing alone in the middle of the chamber. For a few minutes they simply gazed at one another without speaking, the Witch kissing the head of her snake, while Rachel rubbed her hand, trying to decide what to do. She could hear a few people passing outside the corridor, whispering commands. Behind her the green window of the eye-tower stared down at the Palace buildings, but she knew there was no hope of escape in that direction.
Inexplicably, Rachel found herself relaxing. The wound in her hand no longer hurt. She breathed deeply. The candle gave off a delicious perfume. She sniffed the air, vaguely aware that most of the smoke was drifting towards her nose and mouth. She yawned – and flinched. Why was she tired? She blinked heavily, fighting to stay awake, recognizing the feeling from her last visit to the eye-tower yet unable to fight it, just as she had been unable to fight it before.
Dragwena’s snake uncoiled slowly from her neck and lifted its head. Rachel tried in vain to turn her face away. The snake moved lazily back and forth, tasting her eyelids with its tongue. Finally, Rachel could not prevent her lids from closing. With a huge effort she parted her lips, the sound taking an eternity to emerge.
‘What – is – happening – to – me?’
‘Happening?’ replied Dragwena easily. ‘Nothing is happening. We are simply sitting quietly, you and I together.’
Rachel fought to regain control of her mind. I have to stop breathing the smoke, she knew. I must put the candle out. She urged her frozen muscles to move.
At last she realized she did not want to move. Any thought of resisting the Witch had gone. A pleasant warmth spread up through her neck and shoulders. Her throat and lips tingled. She relaxed completely, forgetting Eric and the Sarren and the Witch. She lay on the floor and drifted into sleep. When she awoke the room was unchanged. Dragwena gazed kindly, the snake once again coiled around her neck.
‘There we are,’ said Dragwena. ‘Do you feel better now?’
Rachel tried to nod her head.
‘You see,’ said Dragwena gently, ‘I am not such a terrible creature after all.’
Terrible creature? Rachel wondered vaguely what she meant.
‘We can talk if you like,’ Dragwena said. ‘We can speak with our minds.’
‘Mm.’
Dragwena’s lips were shut. ‘Can you hear me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you remember your friends?’
The image of some children came into Rachel’s mind. She did not recognize them.
‘Do you remember the Sarren who kidnapped you?’
Sarren? The name meant nothing, though it hardly mattered to Rachel. All that mattered was to listen to the lilting voice of the woman.
‘These Sarren told some lies about me,’ the Witch said. ‘They also tried to kill you. I rescued you when Morpeth tried to kill you. Do you remember? Do you remember when he tried to kill you?’
An image leapt into Rachel’s mind of a dwarf holding a knife against her throat. She saw Dragwena rush over to knock the knife out of his hand.
Rachel smiled inwardly. ‘Thank you.’
‘You are welcome,’ replied Dragwena, pausing, knowing Rachel was already within her power, needing only to be given a new purpose for her remarkable gifts.
‘You are a special child,’ Dragwena explained. ‘I want you to be with me forever. We will rule together, you and I. My kingdom is so large. I will need your help. Look for yourself—’
Suddenly, Rachel saw herself flying through the silence of deep space. A vast sun blazed at her back and crowns of stars clustered around her neck and shoulders. She wore a black dress and when she lifted her neck a snake with ruby-red eyes caressed her chin. Rachel peered down. Below her, a small planet swirled with white clouds and sparkling blue oceans. She flew effortlessly towards it, sensing neither wind nor cold, skimming its seas and streams and soaring with outstretched arms across mountains and plains. And wherever she flew huge armies of children followed, fighting for places to watch her pass and shout her name.
‘Rachel! Rachel!’ they chanted, raising their keen-edged swords.
She felt a soft touch on her hand. Dragwena flew alongside her, fingertip to fingertip.
‘Will you rule with me?’ Dragwena asked.
Rachel realized blissfully there was nothing else she would rather do. She smiled as her own snake embraced Dragwena’s in the formal greeting of Witches . . .
At that moment a scuffle outside the eye-tower distracted Dragwena. Neutrana guards, caught unawares, leapt to protect the chamber. There followed a short fierce struggle, immediately shattered by a cry of Sarren as they threw their bodies at the thick chamber door.
Rachel, still in the bliss-trance of the Witch, paid no attention.
The door reverberated as it was repeatedly hit. At last, even the great hinges of the chamber could no longer bear the onslaught and the frame came shattering down. As it did so a blast of cold air shot into the room, snuffing out the candle.
Rachel awoke gradually from her daze and glanced at the doorway.
Standing there, flanked on either side by his men, was Grimwold.
In one arm he held a huge sword; in the other a knife. Both were covered in blood. Dead Neutrana of the Witch lay outside.
‘I’ve come to kill you, Dragwena,’ he hissed.
Dragwena gazed at their swords in amusement. ‘Do you intend to kill me with those?’ she asked. ‘If you are to kill a High Witch they must be magic swords, blessed by magicians themselves. Did you know that?’
‘I don’t care!’ Grimwold roared. ‘I will kill you or die trying.’
All three Sarren leapt at her. Dragwena casually lifted a finger and a transparent green wall appeared between them. Grimwold charged the wall. As soon as the tip of his sword struck the surface it leapt into the Witch’s palm. He watched in astonishment as Dragwena calmly tossed the blade aside.
‘I think I have seen enough weapons today,’ she said. ‘Let me welcome you brave men in my own way.’
She pursed the thin lips covering her four sets of teeth and blew a gentle kiss towards them. As if in slow motion the kiss-breath left Dragwena’s mouths and moved lazily towards the men. When it hit the transparent wall it quickly spread inside, twisting. The Sarren glanced at each other uncertainly.
Rachel had been desperately trying to find her voice.
‘G-get out,’ she stammered. ‘Get out of the chamber!’
Grimwold stared at Rachel, noticing her for the first time.
‘The child-hope,’ he said, gazing in wonder.
Inside the wall the kiss-breath swirled angrily, preparing its attack.
‘Leave now!’ Rachel screamed. ‘Run!’
‘Too late,’ sighed the Witch, laughing at the Sarren.
Grimwold suddenly understood. He dragged his men towards the open doorway, but as they turned the kiss breath ripped through the transparent wall, slamming them against the stone floor of the corridor.
The Sarren lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, their swords broken.
‘No!’ Rachel wailed.
Dragwena ignored her and went over to inspect the men’s bodies.
Rachel held back her tears, knowing this might be her only chance to escape. She had to alter quickly, while Dragwena was distracted. What should she change into? Something too small to be seen. Her mind raced. A speck of dust! Yes, it could work . . .
As she transformed she quickly placed another Rachel in the room. Dragwena was still examining the Sarren, a smile on her face. Good. She had not noticed. Rachel became a speck of near nothingness, incredibly light
, so light the merest breeze picked her up. She floated, allowing it to carry her towards the open doorway of the chamber.
The Witch lost interest in the Sarren. She stared suspiciously at the fake Rachel.
‘Speak to me!’ Dragwena commanded it.
Rachel tried to make the dummy Rachel talk, but it was too hard to do this and imagine herself as a speck of dust at the same time. She floated slowly out of the doorway. Dragwena’s eyes widened in sudden understanding. She reached inside her dress, pulled out a curved blade, and stabbed the fake Rachel in the heart.
The real Rachel screamed – a human scream, loud and agonized, revealing her position.
Almost fainting from the pain, Rachel gave herself little wings and flapped down the steep winding stairway, searching frantically for a window. There had to be a way out . . .
A whoosh of air sighed above – Dragwena flew towards her. A large tongue emerged from the Witch’s mouth, tasting the air, seeking Rachel’s presence. At the same time an impulse thrust into Rachel’s mind, suggesting she change back into a girl. She felt her dusty body start to alter.
No! Rachel thought furiously, holding her shape.
A window – closed, but there was a crack in the frame through which she could squeeze. For a second she was in darkness, then a wider darkness tinged with stars.
A snowflake struck her like an avalanche. Rachel collapsed inside, shaking with the effort to stop herself transforming back into a girl.
She glanced back. The window was open. Dragwena stood there, extending an arm. Rachel tried to leap away, but a giant claw closed around her. In a moment, Rachel knew, everything Morpeth had done, everything the Sarren had struggled and died for, would be for nothing.
No! No! she thought. I will escape. I will!
She remembered her race with Morpeth to the lake. She saw herself looking into its frozen waters, far from the eye-tower.
Her stomach tugged and when she dared to look it was not the face of Dragwena but the gleam of frost on the shore of Lake Ker which met her gaze. Behind her, a shriek of rage came distantly from the Palace as Dragwena clutched vainly in the air.
Rachel shuddered, snowflakes crushing her head. She had no strength left to bring her body back. The snow continued to fall steadily, burying her in soft, bitterly cold clumps.
I’ll just lie here for a while, she told herself. I’ll think of what to do soon. I’ll . . .
Exhaustion closed her speck-of-dust eyes.
13
Journey in
the Snow
It was a bright, crisp morning in Ithrea and a light wind hardly stirred the feathers of the great white eagle, Ronnocoden. A mile above the eye-tower he soared, wheeling in great circles, closely watching events below.
The giant central gates of the Palace were open. Pouring from them was a vast army of Neutrana sniffer-troops, dressed for a long journey. They headed northwards towards the Ragged Mountains. Many had recently fought with fury against the Sarren in the tunnels of the Palace. The Witch allowed them no rest, nor herself. All night she had worked on the spell she needed: the Neutrana troops spilling from the gates now had the soft, odour-sensitive muzzles of dogs, which they pressed low to the ground. Only one smell had their attention: the scent of magic – Rachel’s magic. They fanned out evenly on a wide track. Every now and then one would eagerly sniff the snow at its feet, excited by some trail or other, before moving restlessly on.
The eagle lifted his head, following the sniffer-troops beyond the range of normal vision, to the far north. There, amongst the mountains and valleys of the Ragged Mountains, he saw even more transformed Neutrana, and also other creatures: wolves. Each was the size of a black bear, with bright yellow eyes. Like giant outlandish dogs they loped around, pushing their muzzles into the snow. And amongst the wolves stood Dragwena, stroking them, encouraging them, guiding them where to look.
Ronnocoden silently dropped lower. His keen stone-grey pupils watched as a figure white-on-white shuffled slowly towards the edge of Lake Ker. Below, the shape paused, adjusted its cowl, and lifted blue eyes in recognition.
Instantly, Ronnocoden tipped a wing to indicate the gardens were safe from prying eyes. Then he flew rapidly southwards, disappearing within seconds into the high clouds.
The creature on the ground reached the brink of the lake. It pressed its face against the snow near a tree stump shaped like a mushroom, muttered two words and stepped back.
A girl shot into the air.
The creature hurriedly wrapped another white cloak around her body.
‘Morpeth!’ Rachel gasped.
‘You are alive!’ He rubbed her freezing cheeks. ‘I feared the worst. I thought – how happy I am to see you!’
‘Oh Morpeth,’ said Rachel, between chattering teeth. ‘I’m freezing. I was in the snow for ages. I couldn’t change back.’ She gazed around anxiously. ‘Where’s Eric?’
Morpeth reached inside the deep pockets of his cloak. He pulled out a small fur jacket, thick gloves, padded trousers and a pair of snowshoes matching those on his own feet. He placed a small knife in one of her pockets.
‘Eric is safe,’ he said. ‘He made his way with Trimak to a cave network several miles south, called Latnap Deep. I’m to bring you there.’
‘I tried to help the Sarren,’ Rachel explained. ‘I just didn’t know what Dragwena planned to do. Then she blew that kiss, and . . .’ She glanced up imploringly. ‘Dragwena used Eric to find me, didn’t she? Morpeth, please don’t blame Eric. It’s not his fault that—’
‘I know,’ Morpeth reassured her. ‘Eric’s his usual self again now.’ He glanced over the Palace gardens. ‘Sooner or later one of Dragwena’s sniffer-troops will pick up your scent. We must be a long way from here when it does.’
‘Mm,’ said Rachel, peering under her cloak. ‘How do we get to these caves? By using magic?’
‘I wish we could! But my magic’s not strong enough to take us. Only you can zip about from place to place like Dragwena. I have to walk about on my stubby old legs.’
‘I’ll carry you with me,’ Rachel said. ‘I’m sure I can do it. We’ll fly to Latnap Deep together.’
‘Try imagining yourself just a few feet away,’ said Morpeth. ‘Keep the cloak around you. We mustn’t be seen.’
‘I’ve lost my magic!’ Rachel whispered, after several tries.
‘No, you’re simply exhausted after using so much energy escaping from Dragwena. A rest will do the trick, but it might take several hours to fully recover. We’ll have to go on foot.’ He helped her put on the snowshoes. ‘The Witch is frightened now. She can’t believe you outwitted her!’
‘She never looks frightened,’ said Rachel, remembering the ease with which Dragwena had greeted Grimwold and his men in her chamber. ‘She can’t really be scared of me.’
‘Oh, she is! The Witch has been searching madly since dawn. Fortunately, she thinks you are in the Ragged Mountains. I have never known her to become personally involved in a search.’ He grinned. ‘She must be extremely worried.’
‘Why does she think I’d be there?’
‘Remember when I left the room and said, “See you at Hoy Point”?’
Rachel nodded.
‘It’s a peak in the mountains. I never expected Dragwena to believe it. I only said it in the hope of misleading her in case you managed to escape.’ Morpeth chuckled. ‘It seems to have worked, at least long enough to delay her for a short while.’
‘How did you know where I was? I thought no one except Dragwena could find me.’
‘I guessed if you were in danger you would return to this spot. It’s the place you flew to on our first morning together. Of course,’ he said, ‘you could have turned up in the Breakfast Room, or your bedroom in the Palace – but I gambled you would never go somewhere Dragwena could easily find you.’
‘I never thought about it,’ Rachel said honestly. ‘I didn’t have time.’
‘Then we must be grateful to Dragwena at least
for that!’
He carefully tucked Rachel’s scarf about her neck and assessed her with a new purposefulness. ‘Let’s go. It is a long journey to Latnap Deep on foot. I had planned for the eagles to carry us there, but the sky is so clear that Dragwena’s spies would certainly spot us. We can’t take that risk.’
‘How can you be sure Dragwena doesn’t know about these caves?’
‘I can’t be certain,’ Morpeth admitted. ‘But Latnap Deep has never been used in my lifetime by the Sarren. We are relying on that.’
Morpeth pointed across Lake Ker to a distant wood shrouded in mist. ‘We’re going that way,’ he said. ‘Walk close to me. The ice is thin in places, and the wolves will not so easily spot our tracks.’
‘Wolves?’
‘I’ll tell you about them as we go,’ said Morpeth.
He gripped her hand, preparing to set off.
‘Ouch!’ Rachel cried. She looked down. In the middle of her palm a black puncture wound throbbed painfully.
‘Dragwena did this to me in the eye-tower,’ she said.
Morpeth examined her hand. ‘It’s nothing. Just a cut.’
‘It’s not just a cut,’ Rachel said firmly. ‘Dragwena said it would transform me into a Witch. She said I’d start to look like her.’
‘How many mouths has Dragwena got?’ asked Morpeth.
‘Four.’
‘And what about her skin? Are there any freckles on her nose?’
Rachel half-smiled. ‘No, of course not.’
‘In that case stop worrying. I see one mouth, and your freckles are as bold as ever. Nothing about you is different. Let’s go.’
He took her other hand and they set off on their snowshoes across the frozen waters of Lake Ker.
Rachel and Morpeth made their way steadily across the ice. As usual the sun shone weakly in the sky, barely piercing the high grey clouds.
‘Tell me about the wolves,’ Rachel said, as she struggled to keep up with him.
‘They are Dragwena’s special pets,’ Morpeth explained. ‘They were ordinary dogs once. Over the years the Witch fashioned them in her own way: made them larger, gave them snouts which can pick up the tiniest scent. Unlike most animals on this world wolves can speak. In the past I have been responsible for their training. They are intelligent and ruthless creatures, and every last one does the bidding of Dragwena.’