“No one wants to admit going to see the witch,” Callam muttered, once the girl was safely out of sight. “I’ve seen dozens of people sneaking up the trail, all pretending that they’re not doing anything of interest.”
I rolled my eyes. “Why?”
“I guess their questions are embarrassing,” Callam said. “But the witch never tells.”
We turned a corner and saw a house, set within the hillside. It was the oddest place I had ever seen, as if someone had taken a cottage and buried half of it in the earth. The door was open invitingly, a faint smell of something nice emanating from deep inside. I could sense a handful of weak, but serviceable wards surrounding the clearing. One of them was designed, I thought, to blur perceptions. Visitors wouldn’t be able to see other visitors, not clearly, unless they already knew they were there. It was a surprisingly neat piece of work.
Callam hesitated, then stepped forward and tapped on the door. “Can we come in?”
“You may,” a strong voice said. “Enter.”
I glanced at Callam, then followed him into the witch’s cottage. It was surprisingly simple, really nothing more than a single large room. A cauldron bubbled over a fireplace, a large pile of blankets lay in one corner, a glowing ball of pearly white light hovered in the air … there was a faint sense of unreality around the cottage that gave the whole experience a subtle, dreamlike air. I took a breath and tasted something on the air. Granny McVeigh clearly knew how to use what little magic - and knowledge - she had.
“The Big Man’s child,” Granny McVeigh said, walking into the light. “And the teacher’s son.”
“I’m not Uncle Ira’s child,” I said, hastily. Uncle Ira was old enough to be my great-grandfather. “He’s just a distant relative.”
“But you may be his child in all, but blood,” Granny McVeigh said. “Is that not true?”
I shook my head firmly as I tried to look through the obscurification charm she’d placed on herself. It was hard, almost impossible, to get an idea of what she really looked like, although I saw flashes of grey hair, steely blue eyes and a strong jaw that suggested she was nothing more or less than a force of nature. Even knowing how the trick was done - and I was sure I could have cast a similar ward myself - I couldn’t help finding it impressive. The locals had to be awed. I doubted Callam could make out even a hint of her face.
“And the teacher’s son,” Granny McVeigh said. “Are you here together, perhaps?”
Callam spluttered. “We came to ask you about the ghosts?”
“The ghosts?” Granny McVeigh didn’t sound as though she believed us. “Is that why you’ve come?”
“I saw one,” I said, quickly. Callam had gone red. “I wanted - we wanted - to ask you about them.”
Granny McVeigh eyed us for a long moment. “Very well,” she said. She waved a hand at the door, which slammed closed. “Sit.”
I sat on the earthen floor, unsure if I should be impressed or amused. Callam knelt beside me, his face still red. Granny McVeigh sat facing me, moving with surprising delicacy for such an old woman. I wondered, absently, just how old she actually was. A strong magician was guaranteed a long life, but I didn’t think she was that strong. She was using her magic with a skill and precision that told of a lifetime spent trying to do more with less.
“Tell me,” Granny McVeigh said. “What did you see?”
“A ghost,” I said. I outlined what I’d seen, briefly. “And no one else believed me.”
“I believed you,” Callam said.
“Quiet,” Granny McVeigh said. She jabbed a finger north. “Do you know what’s up there?”
“Galashiels,” I said. The border lay to the north. “I’ve never been up there.”
“Something else,” Granny McVeigh said. “There’s the remains of a very old city.”
I frowned. “The remains?”
“It was abandoned a long time ago,” Granny McVeigh said. “And the tales told of the city claim that it was abandoned because of the ghosts.”
She went on before I could say a word. “There have always been ghosts here, lots of them,” she said. “They’re quite rare in the towns, young lady, but in the countryside … everyone here knows the ghosts are out there. You won’t see anyone walking out after dark for love or money … even love. And many of the stories say that anyone who sees a ghost will be taken away forever.”
I stared at her. “And is that actually true?”
Granny McVeigh shrugged. “People do vanish sometimes, when they aren’t safe at home after nightfall,” she said. “And sometimes they’re found, a few weeks later, lying dead in a bog. Some people just don’t have the sense to be let out without leashes.”
“I’ve never seen a ghost,” Callam said, quietly.
“Then you’re a very lucky man,” Granny McVeigh told him, curtly. “Perhaps the ghosts are avoiding you.”
“They didn’t avoid me,” I said.
“Many of the sightings were near the Big Man’s hall,” Granny McVeigh said. “And you’re part of the hall now.”
I took a breath, unsure if we’d wasted our time or not. “And what are the ghosts?”
Granny McVeigh snorted. “I couldn’t tell you,” she said, dryly. “I’d like to think that the ghost I saw was my husband, may he rest in peace. But he didn’t look peaceful, if it was truly him. Monee thinks the ghost she saw was the babe she lost in childbirth and who am I to tell her differently? It gives her some comfort on those cold hard nights when she asks herself why she lost a child. And Gavin thinks that the ghost he saw was trying to lure him into the bog. There are stories about all kinds of creatures that amuse themselves by preying on unwary travellers.”
I leaned forward, remembering Uncle Ira’s warnings. “What sort of stories?”
Granny McVeigh met my eyes. “If you happen to be walking out at twilight, and you see a light over the moor, do not follow it. Whatever you do, do not follow it. If you’re lucky, you’ll walk into a bog and drown; if you’re unlucky, you’ll meet the creature holding the light and … and something will come back, wearing your face, but it won’t be you.”
I looked back at her. “Is that true?”
“I’ve seen lights over the moors,” Granny McVeigh said. “I never dared follow them.”
“I see,” I said. Wild magic? Or something more sinister? “If I see a light, I won’t follow it.”
“Good thinking,” Callam said. I had the feeling he thought we’d wasted our time. “Do you have any more stories?”
Granny McVeigh pointed a finger at him. “You should learn to listen more, young man,” she said, severely. “You do not belong here. The very land itself is rejecting you.”
“I don’t want to stay here,” Callam said. “And when I’m old enough, I shall go.”
“Good,” Granny McVeigh said.
“He didn’t come here willingly,” I said, feeling annoyed on his behalf. “And neither did I.”
“But the land welcomes you,” Granny McVeigh said. “It doesn’t welcome him.”
She looked at Callam. “Wait outside,” she ordered. Compulsion flowed through her voice, so powerful that Callam stood without hesitation. “I need to speak to your friend in private.”
I felt a hot flash of anger as Callam left the cottage, closing the door behind him. “How dare you do that to him?”
“When you get to my age, you don’t really worry about the little niceties,” Granny McVeigh told me, curtly. She didn’t seem concerned about my anger. I could have blown the entire cottage into ashes and yet … I didn’t think she cared. “And I accepted a duty when I became the hedge witch.”
I glared. “A duty to treat people like puppets?”
“A duty to give advice and help to those who need it,” Granny McVeigh said. “And you need advice, don’t you?”
“Not from you,” I snapped. I’d gone off trusting adults. “I …”
“Every girl in the town - and most of the nearby towns - has come to me for
advice as they grew into adulthood,” Granny McVeigh said. “Sometimes, I offer them a little magic; sometimes, I merely offer them a friendly ear. My oaths do not allow me to share their secrets and they know it. I can offer that to you too.”
I let out a long breath. I’d never really been able to trust any adult back home, apart from my parents. My tutors and healers wouldn’t have kept something to themselves, not if my parents had demanded answers. And even my parents had sometimes been more concerned with maintaining their position within the family - and society - than my peace of mind. It wasn’t any better at Kirkhaven Hall. Even if I had liked Morag, and I had to admit there were days when she was likeable, I knew she’d tell Uncle Ira anything I told her. Granny McVeigh’s offer was tempting …
… But the last elderly magician I’d trusted had been Stregheria Aguirre.
“I thank you,” I said, finally. “But I can’t talk to anyone.”
Granny McVeigh gave me a warm smile. “If you change your mind, if you want advice that is given without fear or favour, you are welcome to come back.”
“Thank you,” I said, again.
“And there is another point that might interest you,” Granny McVeigh added. “I need an heir.”
I stared at her in disbelief. “You want me to be your successor? Me? We only just met and … and I don’t want to stay here and …”
Granny McVeigh held up a hand. “Not now,” she said. “But in a few years, when you’re old enough to think without having your childish emotions get in the way, you might want to consider it. You have magic, you have a kind heart and … you don’t have any strong connections here. There won’t be anyone trying to press you to break your oaths because the family comes first.”
I flinched. That was practically the family motto. It was the family motto, if one stripped out the florid phrases that hid the underlying meaning. We came first. Always. And woe betide the person who betrayed the family … a person like me.
“A kind heart,” I repeated. Cat would disagree. Akin would probably disagree too. The maids I’d pushed around really would disagree. “I …”
“Think about it,” Granny McVeigh said. She rose. “And my door is open at any time, if you want to come back.”
I shook my head, numbly. It was absurd. Me? A hedge witch? I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry. And yet … I thought I understood. Granny McVeigh had paid a high price for her position. She was as isolated, in her own way, as Callam. Why not recruit a girl with no connections to the village? She’d have less to lose.
The door opened. I walked through, blinking as the bright sunlight struck me. Callam stood outside, looking grim. His fists were clenched, suggesting he wanted to hit something. The door banged closed behind me, before Callam could work up the nerve to do something stupid. He had to be aware that he’d been compelled to leave the cottage.
“That … that …”
“It’s alright,” I said. I wasn’t sure what else to say. I’d learnt to resist compulsions through necessity, but Callam hadn’t had that sort of training. “It does go away.”
“Hah,” Callam muttered. “What if Hound learns that trick? Or Hart?”
I shivered, despite the sunlight, as we started to walk back to the village. Compulsion was a subtle spell, but it didn’t require much magic. Hart and Hound probably could learn how to do it, if they practiced. They probably couldn’t affect me, but Callam? And then … I didn’t know what I could do. I could cast compulsion spells on him myself, time and time again, until he learnt to resist them … but could he resist them? Could Cat? I’d never tried to compel her to do anything.
I could see if there are any protective amulets in the supply cupboards, I thought, grimly. Or I could try to forge one.
“My mum said she’d cook something new for you,” Callam said. “I think you’ll like it.”
I smiled, trying to banish the gloom. “I’m sure I will,” I said, as the town came into sight. I could see a handful of kids of all ages flowing out of the schoolhouse. “Your mother is a great cook.”
“Thank you,” Callam said. “She’s had a lot of experience.”
“And children to please,” I said. Somehow, I doubted Callam and his siblings had been allowed to be fussy. Akin and I had been quite hard to please, when we’d been younger. “I …”
And then I heard someone shouting my name.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I spun around, already knowing who was behind me.
Morag stood there, her hands resting on her hips. Her eyes were so angry that I half-expected lightning to shoot out of them at any second and reduce us both to ashes. My legs refused to budge, even though I wanted to turn and flee. Morag was going to kill me. Or, worse, drag me home and make Uncle Ira kill me. Or …
Panic gibbered helplessly at the back of my mind. I’d been caught. I’d been caught outside the hall and grounds. I’d been caught and … I desperately tried to think of an excuse, all too aware that nothing would do. What could I say, what could I do, that would get me out of a punishment that was going to be worse than anything my parents had ever given me?
Morag stepped forward, her eyes moving from me to Callam and back again. “What are you doing here?”
I tried to think of something, but nothing came to mind. Morag’s eyes bored into mine, holding me still by sheer force of personality. I could have kicked myself. Morag had expended a lot of her supplies in making the dinner … of course she’d need to visit the town to buy more. I hadn’t even thought to check she was staying in the hall. I’d messed up and now Callam was in trouble too …
“I brought her here,” Callam said, carefully. I could hear the fear in his voice. “My Lady, I …”
Morag jabbed a finger at him. Callam shrank with terrifying speed, his body blurring into a brown mass that became a rat. He squeaked in outrage, an instant before Morag stepped forward, snatched him up by the tail and hurled him into the gorse bushes. I heard another desperate squeak as he crashed through the gorse and hit the ground. Morag might just have seriously hurt him. I nearly panicked. If he broke a leg while he was a rat, would he still have a broken leg when he became human again?
I found my voice. “You …”
“Shut up,” Morag ordered. My lips snapped shut, so hard I thought she’d hexed them. I nearly bit my tongue. “Come with me.”
I heard a giggle from further down the path, behind her. Hound and Hart were leaning against one of the cottages, watching us. I knew, with an utter certainty that could not be doubted, that they’d told Morag where to look for us. How dare they? How dare they? Anger surged through my mind. They thought being frogs was bad? I’d turn them into slugs, or force them to eat dirt, or make them scared of their shadows …
Morag took hold of my ear and pulled, hard. I yelped in pain as she yanked me down the path, pulling harder when I didn’t move fast enough to suit her. Hart and Hound were laughing openly now, their snickering echoing through the air. I reached for my magic, intending to hex them openly and take whatever punishment Morag doled out, but the spell had barely started to form when she crushed it. She didn’t want me to curse anyone.
“We’re going back to the hall,” she said, sharply. I was suddenly aware that Hart and Hound weren’t the only ones watching us. The entire town seemed to be staring at us. Morag’s red face and furious grunting suggested she knew we were being watched too. The Great Houses weren’t meant to wash their dirty laundry in public. “Behave yourself!”
I found my voice. “But … what about …?”
“Never mind him,” Morag snapped. “You’re in quite enough trouble, you little brat!”
I dug in my heels, intending to protest. Callam might be stuck as a rat for days, perhaps weeks. Morag was strong enough to make the spell last for quite some time, even if I was right about Callam’s true nature. And if he was injured … I tried to find the right words. A young man who’d been born and raised in Shallot would know how to signal that he was, in fact, a tran
sformed human … but did Callam know? Rose and the other country-born hadn’t known. Morag might just have sentenced Callam to death.
She tugged on my ear, hard. “Walk beside me or I’ll thrash you in front of this gawking rabble,” she hissed. I had no doubt she meant it. “Now!”
I’m sorry, Callam, I thought, as Morag tugged me after her. I’ll find you, somehow.
Morag didn’t say anything as she frogmarched me up the path and out of the village, whereupon she let go of my aching ear and transferred her grip to my upper arm. I winced - I was sure I was going to bruise - but I didn’t dare say anything. She’d caught me outside the grounds and now … and now I was a condemned prisoner marching to my fate. I had no idea what she - and Uncle Ira - would do to me. Father had always grounded me, or assigned me chores that were boring or filthy or both, but Uncle Ira might have different ideas. He was practically from a different era.
“What were you thinking?” Morag’s grip tightened as she spoke. Her hands felt as if they were going to grind my bones to powder. “Why did you leave the grounds?”
I said nothing. There was no answer I could give her. I certainly didn’t want to betray Callam, if he survived … Morag might have killed him. I wanted to scream at her, to tell her that she was a monster, but I didn’t dare. Her anger was almost a physical force. I could feel her magic bubbling around her, as if she was on the verge of lashing out. My magic started to spark in response.
“And you were with a boy,” Morag said, her voice rising. “A boy! Unchaperoned! What were you thinking?”
“My hair is in braids,” I muttered, sullenly.
Morag drew back her free hand, as if she was going to slap me, then dropped it back to her side. “Do you think that will matter, for one moment, if word gets back to Shallot?”
I glared at her, feeling tears prickling at the corner of my eyes. “Do you think anyone will care?”
“Yes,” Morag said, angrily. “Someone will care. Someone who wants to do the family harm will care, perhaps even someone who merely wants to unseat your father or ensure that your brother does not succeed him without a fight. Yes, someone will care. Do you know what they’ll say about you?”
The Family Shame Page 20