The Spooks battle wc-4

by Joseph Delaney

  He was a farm laborer, gnarled and grumpy, rubbing sleep out of his bleary eyes with the prospect of a long, hard day's work ahead. Even before we spoke, I could tell that he'd give us short shrift."There's a meeting at dusk in the church," I told him. "All the menfolk of the village are invited. It's to plan how we can deal with the threat from the witches. We've got to sort them tonight." Alice's pointy shoes didn't help. The man's eyes flicked suspiciously from them to my cloak and staff. I could tell that he didn't like the look of either of us."And who's calling this meeting?" he demanded.I thought quickly. I could use James's name. Most of them would know him by now, but they'd also rejected his recent plea. The man seemed nervous enough already, and if I mentioned the Spook, I'd probably scare him off altogether. The lie slipped from my lips even before I could think."Father Stocks."The man nodded when he heard the name. "I'll do my best to be there. Can't promise, though -I've a busy day ahead." With that he slammed the door shut, turned on his heels, and set off up the hill.

  I turned to Alice and shook my head."I feel bad about lying," I told her."Ain't no use thinking that way," she told me. "Did the right thing for sure. If the priest were still alive, he would be calling the meeting. What's the difference? We're just calling it for him, that's all." I nodded uncertainly, but from that moment the pattern was set and on each subsequent occasion I used Father Stocks's name. It was difficult to judge how many were likely to attend the meeting, but I wasn't optimistic. The truth was, some didn't even bother to answer their doors, others muttered their excuses, while one old man went into a rage:"What's your sort doing in our village? That's what I want to know," he said, spitting toward Alice's shoes. "We've been hag-ridden enough in the past, but it'll happen no more! Get ye gone from my sight, little witch!"Alice took it calmly, and we simply turned and went on our way. The Spook and James had had little more success than us. My brother said that it all depended on the blacksmith. He'd seemed in two minds, but if he did decide in favor of action, then many of the others would follow his lead. When I told the Spook about my lie, he made no comment, simply nodding in acknowledgment.The remainder of the day was spent in anxious waiting. Time was running short. Would the villagers turn up in sufficient numbers to give us a chance? If they did, would we be able to persuade them to act? Then again, would we have enough time to race to Pendle Hill and disrupt the Lammas rituals?

  While these thoughts were whirling through my head, I suddenly remembered something else: August 3, two days after Lammas, was my birthday.I remembered the celebrations we used to have back at the farm. When one of our family had a birthday, Mam would always bake a special cake. I'd traveled a long way from such happy times. How could I even think beyond the danger we would face when dark fell? It seemed useless to hope for too much from this life. Such happiness belonged to my brief time as a child, and now that was over.As the sun went down, we waited patiently in the narrow church with its single aisle. We'd helped ourselves to candles from the tiny sacristy and placed these on the altar and in the metal candlesticks on either side of the doorway. Long before the first villager came nervously into the church and took a seat near the back, the sky had darkened to the hue of Horshaw coal. This first visitor was an oldish man who walked with a limp -one better suited to resting his weary bones by the fireside than venturing up onto Pendle Hill to fight a battle that was fraught with peril. Others followed, either singly or in pairs, but even after almost half an hour had passed there were no more than a dozen. Each man removed his cap on entering. Two of the boldest nodded toward James, but without exception all kept their eyes averted from the Spook.

  I could sense their extreme nervousness. The men had frightened faces, some visibly shivering despite the mildness of the air, and looked ready to flee rather than fight. It seemed to me that at the first sign of a witch they'd scatter and run.But then, when all seemed lost, there was a murmur of voices from outside in the darkness and a big man dressed in a leather jerkin walked into the church at the head of at least another two dozen villagers. I guessed that this was Matt Finley, the blacksmith. Out of respect for the sanctity of the church, he removed his hat, and as he took his place in the front pew, he nodded to James and the Spook in turn. We'd been standing to the left of the small altar, close to the wall, but when the newcomers had all taken their seats, the Spook signaled to my brother, who stepped forward and positioned himself facing the aisle."We really appreciate that you've all taken the time and trouble to listen to us tonight," James began. "The last thing we want is for you to place yourselves in danger, but we do desperately need your help and wouldn't ask if it were possible to do what's required by ourselves. A terrible evil threatens us all. Before midnight there'll be witches up on Pendle Hill. Witches who plan to loose a great mischief into the world. We need to stop them."If I'm not mistaken, there are witches up on yonder hill already," said the blacksmith. "They've just lit a beacon that can be seen for miles!"At these words, concern tightened the Spook's face; he shook his head and stepped forward to stand beside James.

  "There's serious work to do tonight, lads," he said. "Time is short. That beacon up yonder signals that they've already begun their foul work. It gives notice of the threat to you, your families, and all that you hold dear. The witches think they own the whole land now. No longer content to cower in remote dells, they flaunt their evil from the very top of Pendle Hill! If we don't stop them, darkness will fall upon this land. None of us will be safe -neither the strong nor the weak, neither adult nor child. No more will we sleep easy in our beds. The whole world will become a place of danger, plague, and famine, and the Fiend himself will walk the lanes and byways of the County, while witches rule the earth and prey upon your children. We must make this land safe!" "Our village is safe now!" snapped the blacksmith. "And we've fought hard to make it that way. Not only that. If needs be, we'd fight again to keep it this way. But why should we risk our lives to do the work that's the duty of others? Where are the men of Roughlee, Bareleigh, and Goldshaw Booth? Why don't they drive out the canker that's in their midst? Why is it up to us?"Because the good men left in those villages are too few," replied the Spook. "The dark has bitten too deep there, and the resulting wounds have festered. Those who hate the dark might once have fought and won. Now the witch clans rule, and good folk have mostly gone elsewhere-or died in the dungeons beneath Malkin Tower. So this is your chance now -maybe the last you'll ever have-to fight the dark."The Spook paused, and a silence fell. I could see that many gathered there were thinking carefully about what he'd just said.

  It was then that a voice growled angrily from the back. "Where's Father Stocks? I thought he'd called the meeting. That's the only reason I came!"It was the farm laborer from that first cottage I'd called at with Alice. The first man I'd lied to. There was a muttering from the back of the church. It seemed that others felt the same way."We weren't going to tell you this, lest it drained away the last dregs of your courage," said the Spook. "But now it has to be said. A good friend of this village has died at the hands of the witch who is the chief instigator of all this trouble. A friend who has done more than anyone to keep you and your families safe. I speak of Father Stocks, your parish priest. And now I speak in his name, asking for your help."At the mention of Father Stocks, all the candles in the church flickered together and almost went out. The door closed, yet there was no wind; no earthly explanation for it. Gasps were heard from the congregation, and Finley, the blacksmith, put his head in his hands as if in prayer. I shivered, but the moment passed and the candles burned steadily once more.

  The Spook waited a few seconds to allow the shocking news to sink in before continuing."So I'm begging you now. If you won't do it for yourselves, do it for Father Stocks. Repay the debt that you owe a man who gave his life fighting the dark. The witch, who slew him in cold blood when he lay helpless, is called Wurmalde. This witch covets even the bones of your beloved dead. This witch, given half a chance, would drink the blood of your children. So fight for them and for your chil
dren's children. Do it now! Fight while you still can. Before it's too late. Either that, or end up like the poor folk in the villages to the south."Matt Finley, the blacksmith, looked up and stared hard at the Spook. "What do you want us to do?" he asked."Witches can sniff out approaching danger, and they'll know we're coming," replied the Spook, locking eyes with the blacksmith, "so there's no need for stealth. Once we move in, make as much noise as you like. In fact the more the better! You see, they're not always that precise when it comes to numbers. There are enough of you to make the threat serious, but we need to make it appear even larger than it is. They won't know how many of us there are, and we can work that to our advantage. As well as weapons, we'll need torches."

  "What will we face up there? How many?" demanded Finley. "Most men here have families to support. We need to know what our chances are of getting back in one piece." "As for numbers, I can't be sure," admitted the Spook. "There'll be at least two or three for every one of us, but that's not a worry because there's a good chance most of you won't even need to strike a blow. My intention is to disrupt what they're attempting and drive them off the hill to the west. In the confusion, I'll deal with Wurmalde and their evil schemes will come to nothing."I suggest you split yourselves into five groups of six or so, each group to take up a different position on the eastern slope. James here will climb a little higher up and light his torch. That'll be the signal for you to light yours. That done, move up the hill steadily and swing round toward the beacon. One more thing -don't bunch. Each group should spread out some way. For all they know, there might be others without torches walking among you. As I said, they'll just sense the threat, not the details of what they face."So that's the plan. If you've anything to say, say it now. Don't be afraid to ask." Someone spoke up immediately from the back of the group. It was the old man who'd been the first to enter the church. "Mr. Gregory, will we be in danger of attack from…" he asked nervously. He didn't complete his sentence, and when the Spook looked directly at him, the man simply gestured upward and uttered one further word: "Broomsticks?"

  The Spook didn't smile, although I knew that in other circumstances he might easily have started roaring with laughter. "No," he said. "I've been following my trade for more years than I care to remember, but in all that time I can honestly say that I've never seen a witch fly on a broomstick. It's a very common superstition, but it simply isn't true."Now it's my duty to inform you of the dangers if the worst should happen. Beware of their blades. They'd cut out your heart as soon as look at you, and most have great strength-much more than your average man. So beware of that. Don't let them get close. If necessary, use your clubs and sticks in defense. "Oh, and one more thing. Don't look into their eyes. A witch can get you in her power with a glance; don't listen to a word she says, either. And remember, there might well be some male clan members to face. If so, be equally on your guard. They learn a lot from the women they associate with. They won't fight fair and can get up to all sorts of tricks. But as I said, most likely it won't even come to a pitched battle. Anything else?"Nobody spoke, but Matt Finley shook his head for all of them. He looked as grim-faced and resigned as the rest. They didn't -want to face the witches but accepted that for the sake of their families they had no real alternative."Well," said the Spook, "we've little time to waste. They're up on yonder hill earlier than I expected. But whatever's done is done, so now let's make sure they don't do anything worse. God be with you all."In response, some of the villagers crossed themselves; others bowed their heads. The Spook had never really made it clear whether or not he believed in God. If he did, it wasn't the God prescribed by Church doctrine. Nevertheless, it was exactly the right thing to say, and within moments the groups were leaving the church to go and collect their makeshift weapons and torches.

  Chapter XXII

  The Battle Of Pendle Hill

  OUTSIDE the church it smelled like rain again, and in the distance I heard a faint rumble of thunder. AWe raced south into the lee of the hill. Time was short, and the minutes were ticking away to midnight. I kept glancing up uneasily toward the summit, where the beacon lit the night sky over the hill, the glow reflecting back from the low clouds.All who'd assembled in the church were with us, but not all were equally fit. By the time we'd crossed the stream to reach Fell Hollow, the place the Spook had appointed for our final gathering prior to the attack on the hill, our party was strung out over more than half a mile, and more precious time was lost. But even the less fit were valuable. They could carry torches and help to swell the size of the army visible to the witches.Although I was frustrated by the delay, as our band gathered in the hollow, I suddenly felt more optimistic. There were thirty or more men prepared to do battle with the witches on the hill. My brother James and Matt Finley carried huge hammers; others were armed with clubs; a few had staffs; and all were carrying unlit torches. It was a better response than the Spook had expected.At last it was time to attack, and as agreed, the villagers spread out in groups along the eastern slope of Pendle, ready for the ascent.

  When this was finally accomplished, the Spook turned to face my brother."Well, James, you know what you have to do. As you climb, keep your distance from us three. They won't be able to sniff us out -for, as you know, Tom and I are both seventh sons of seventh sons and long-sniffing doesn't work on us, and Alice has witch blood from both sides of her family, so that should serve her just as well. They won't get a hint until we're in really close, and by then it'll be too late. We'll move to the southeast of the hill and climb up from there directly toward the fire. With a bit of luck, and making the best use of the confusion, I'll bind Wurmalde and bring her back down while the rest flee."James nodded. "Whatever you say, Mr. Gregory. Anyways, I'll be off. So good luck to the three of you. And take care, Tom. I'll be thinking of you…"With that, he gave us a wave and set off at a brisk pace up the hill, moving away from us diagonally, his big hammer across his shoulder. I felt nervous, and not only for myself.

  This was a very dangerous situation. The Spook had told the villagers that the witches 'would probably flee from the hill as soon as they attacked-he had to do that. If he gave them the full range of possibilities, they'd probably be too scared to help. It was his duty to use all possible means to stop the Lammas sabbath before something from the dark was released into the County.But things could go badly. The witches might well stand and fight. We weren't just facing covens of thirteen; the clans were also there, to witness what was about to happen. There might be more than a hundred people on the hill; if it came to a pitched battle, we'd be greatly outnumbered. I was worried about the Spook and Alice. James, too. I already had one brother -who was seriously hurt. I didn't want something bad happening to James as well."Well then," said the Spook, "let's get ourselves as close as possible to that fire. We want to be ready when the attack starts. And while I want the others to draw attention to themselves, we must be as quiet as church mice. We need the element of surprise." So saying, he led the way south before gradually beginning a direct ascent toward the beacon. I followed close behind him, glad of my staff, Alice at my own heels. The climb was steep and the grass coarse, with big tussocks and treacherous, uneven ground.

  It was dark now, and it would be easy to twist an ankle. The Spook had told me that the plateau atop the hill was just as bad. A lot of rain fell on Pendle, and there were bogs aplenty. But there was also one thing to our advantage -heather.It grew in profusion as we neared the summit and gave us some cover. The Spook put his hand on my shoulder and pressed, signaling that I should drop to my knees. I continued to follow him upward, now crawling through the heather, the wet ground soon soaking the knees of my breeches, while ahead of me the sky grew red, until I could actually see the sparks from the huge fire rising up to soar over us, blasted by the prevailing westerly wind.At last the Spook came to a halt and waved me forward. I crawled until I was kneeling alongside him, Alice taking up a position on my right. We were facing the fire, and what I saw dashed such hopes as I'd had: I no longer had an
y illusions that we were going to destroy the power of the Pendle covens. Despite the Spook's avowed intention in coming here, I knew now that it just wasn't possible. There were too many of them, and the threat they posed was too great. To our right, there had to be two hundred or more people in an arc facing the fire, all of them either witches or part of the clans. And they were armed to the teeth. The women had knives at their belts, some brandishing them -wildly so that the blades reflected the firelight; the men had long sticks with knives or barbarous hooks lashed to the end.There, beyond the fire, facing the gathering, and -with four other witches at her side -one of them Mab Mouldheel-was the tall, threatening figure of Wurmalde. She -was addressing the clans, moving her arms dramatically to emphasize what she was saying. I could just about hear her voice, carried by the wind, but was too far away to make out the actual -words.There seemed to be little happening in the way of rituals. To one side of the main gathering, sheep were roasting on spits and I could even see casks of ale. It looked like they were planning some sort of celebration.

  "I can see Mab, but who are the three others with Wurmalde?" I asked, keeping my voice low-though there was little chance that I could be heard. The wind was blowing toward us and the witches were crying out in response to Wurmalde, some shrieking loud enough to wake the longtime dead.It was Alice who answered. "One on the right is Anne Malkin, coven leader. Next to her is Old Florence, who governs the Deanes. Getting on in years, she is, and little threat to us tonight. They must have carried her up the hill. The third is Grimalkin, the assassin."At the name Grimalkin, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck move. She was the cruel killer whom Wurmalde had threatened to use against Jack and his family, the one who marked the boundaries of Pendle with her warning sign.Suddenly Wurmalde stopped speaking, and after a few moments' silence the witches surged toward the casks of ale and spits of roasting sheep. If the celebrations were beginning, then did it mean the ritual had already been completed?