The Apprentice Witch
Page 13
‘Shall I have a look?’ Gimma asked, unable to hide the excitement in her voice.
‘Be my guest!’ Arianwyn placed the spirit lantern case on the bank and stretched her aching shoulders. She took a deep breath, stared up at the pale blue sky and thought about the warmer days ahead.
‘Oh my goodness! Arianwyn, look! Come here, quickly!’ Gimma was jumping up and down on the bank and pointing at the patch of river weed.
Curious, Arianwyn clambered on to the pebbles and moved quickly towards the water’s edge.
‘Look, look!’ squealed Gimma, pointing down into the swirling mass of hair-like weed.
Arianwyn leant out over the water and peered down. Tiny fish and insects darted about. Light flashed against the surface. There was no sign of the calvaria spawn.
But then, in the very centre of the patch of weed, Arianwyn saw a shimmer of gold. It was just for a second and then it was gone again.
‘Did you see it?’ Gimma squeaked.
‘Sssh!’ Arianwyn said and she glanced out across the river. The water ran deep and fast at the centre and something was moving against the flow. She caught a glimpse of a long sinuous tail, which quickly disappeared.
Arianwyn crouched down to see better through the fluttering strands of weed.
Unmistakably, now, she saw them. Hundreds of them, perfect but very, very tiny calvaria eggs nestled down safely amongst the river weed. They glistened and shone, golden like tiny suns beneath the water. Arianwyn had never seen anything so beautiful in her life.
There was another large splashing eruption from the river and both girls turned to watch as the calvaria launched clean out of the water. It was twice as long as a bus and covered in fine black scales that glistened with water. Along its back were spines and rainbow-coloured fins that fluttered in the air as it arced gracefully above the river. It gave a loud trumpeting call and a spout of water rose from the top of its head, high into the air. It twisted itself, the sun catching its silky scales, flashing brilliantly in the sun. Then it dived back below.
‘The calvaria!’ Gimma called in excitement.
‘I’ll get the lantern!’ Arianwyn said, and dashed across the bank. She wrestled the spirit lantern free of its case and turned back to the water’s edge. Her heart froze.
Gimma was now standing knee-deep in the river weed, peering down into the water.
‘Gimma, get out of the river. The calvaria! What are you doing?’
There was a sudden movement, closer to the river weed this time. The water bulged as the spirit moved towards the bank and its nest, spines breaking the calm waters.
‘I just wanted to get a better look. Honestly, you are such a worry wart, Arianwyn. You always were, but I think you’ve actually got worse.’ Gimma waved a hand lazily at Arianwyn.
Arianwyn took a deep breath and, for a moment, she considered walking away. But just then the calvaria reared up out of the water. Its long serpentine body swayed hypnotically, icy droplets falling through the air. Its dark scales flashed in the sun as it towered over Gimma, its red mouth open wide, its brilliant rainbow crests fanned out.
Chapter 25
THE RIFT
he calvaria’s cry screamed out across the river and into the woods. Gimma stumbled in her haste to move away and fell backwards, splashing into the cold water and swirl of river weed.
Arianwyn quickly set the spirit lantern down and then she was running, stumbling across the stones and pebbles towards her.
The calvaria reared back again, trumpeting a cry of anger across the river and into the trees beyond. Then it threw its long sinuous body forwards. Gimma screamed and Arianwyn skidded to a halt on the pebbles. The calvaria crashed past Gimma and into the shallow water close to its nest. Then there was a rushing sound and, before she could think, Arianwyn felt the icy embrace of the river as the massive tidal wave engulfed her. She stumbled back under the weight of water, felt stones at her back as she fumbled in the dark to right herself. She had no idea which way was up or down and the water roared in her ears.
Just as she thought she was going to run out of breath the water seemed to be rushing back past her and she felt cold air on her damp face. She opened her eyes and wiped away a straggle of weed, checking carefully for signs of calvaria spawn.
Arianwyn peered through her wet curtain of hair. The wave had thrown her back up on to the stony beach, clear of the river and the angry calvaria that still thrashed and churned just a few metres away. In its rage it had beached itself. Gimma was nowhere to be seen.
‘Gimma!’Arianwyn called, gripped with fear. She forced herself up and ran, her wellingtons sloshing full of water. Shivering with cold and fear,Arianwyn waded into the river. Drowning the mayor’s favourite niece was not something she wanted to explain to anyone. She plunged her arms into the water, searching for an arm, leg or hair – she didn’t mind which.
Suddenly, a desperate hand wrapped tightly around her wrist and Arianwyn pulled hard, the calvaria still thrashing wildly just a few metres away. Gimma broke the water, gasping for air. Weed and a few stray calvaria eggs wrapped through her hair and stuck to her coat. ‘Come on!’ Arianwyn called. ‘We need to get the calvaria back into the deeper water quickly.’
‘What?’ Gimma gasped, half laughing. ‘I’m not going near that thing again. No way!’ she tried to pull away.
‘Yes you are! Come on!’ She dragged Gimma closer to the spirit. It tumbled and turned in the shallow water. Stones rattled beneath it and it snapped its wide mouth at the two witches.
‘It’s OK,’ Arianwyn cooed soothingly. ‘We’re not going to hurt you.’
She turned to Gimma. ‘On three we’re going to push it back into the deeper water. Ready? Watch out for the spines, OK? One, two . . . THREE!’
Together the girls pushed hard against the side of the twisting calvaria and it tumbled over. Despite the cold water, the beast was incredibly warm and the scales, though smooth and wet, were not slimy. They pushed again and it tumbled some more, moving slowly towards the deeper water of the river.
‘Nearly there!’ Arianwyn shouted as she felt the water spill over her boots again. The calvaria seemed to calm itself, as though it knew what was happening, and then, with one last shove, it splashed into deeper water and snaked sharply away and out into the centre of the river, slipping below the water, disappearing in seconds.
‘Well, I’m glad that’s over . . .’ Gimma sighed. But just as they started to turn back to the bank the spirit reared up high above them. Its mouth was bared wide once more and its rainbow fins stood on end, rattling noisily.
‘Oh, what now?’ Gimma wailed, flicking her wet hair back over her shoulder.
‘Oh, boil it, the eggs!’ Arianwyn cried. She quickly started to pick the tiny sun-like eggs from Gimma’s straggly hair and from her coat. ‘Stand still!’ she said angrily, as Gimma fidgeted.
‘But I’m cold!’ Gimma moaned. Arianwyn glared at her through her own tangled wet curls and carried on extracting weed and eggs.
The calvaria watched carefully; its fins continued to rattle a warning. Once or twice it bellowed its displeasure and snapped forwards with its large head, causing Gimma to jump back.
Eventually the last egg was plucked from Gimma’s coat. The girls moved swiftly to the patch of river weed and gently placed the eggs back with the others. Gimma was about to turn back to the shore when Arianwyn hissed, ‘Bow to the water spirit!’ How had she forgotten that? Arianwyn wondered.
Slowly the two witches knelt in the water, lowering their heads in honour of the great water spirit. There was a long moment of silence, followed by a gentle splash as the calvaria sank below the surface once more.
Arianwyn lowered herself down against a large rock and sighed deeply. The river was calm once more, the eggs were safe and the calvaria seemed perfectly able to defend its territory. She glanced at Gimma, who was shivering and looked slightly blue.
‘I’m freezing. Can we light a fire or something?’ Gimma whined.
A few minutes later they were standing in a small clearing on the edge of the Great Wood. Gimma hadn’t spoken once since they left the river. She had let Arianwyn lead her without complaint and now she waited by a tall fir and stared into the distance.
‘I’ll get a fire lit, OK? It’ll just take a second.’ Arianwyn hurriedly cleared a small patch of ground and sketched Årdra, the fire glyph, into the earth. But she was so cold she couldn’t concentrate on the flow of magic nearby and her hands shook as she traced the glyph for a second time.
‘I don’t remember being so cold since we went on that school visit to the pier in Horton and it was snowing . . . do you remember?’ Arianwyn kept her voice bright and cheerful, glancing over at Gimma, who was still motionless by the tree. Was she in shock?
The third attempt of the fire glyph and the ground slowly started to glow with magical warmth. Arianwyn scooped a handful of dry leaves and small twigs on to the glyph and it brightened some more but mostly billowed smoke.
‘Come and sit by the fire,’ Arianwyn called, and she watched as Gimma moved slowly across the clearing as if in a dream. Gimma hunched by the tiny fire, rubbing her hands, then she shrugged off her coat, which fell damply to the ground, wafting up a small cloud of leaves and dusty earth.
‘I didn’t go on that trip,’ Gimma said quietly. ‘But my aunt and uncle have a house there and we used to visit in the summer. This could do with some more wood to really get it going, don’t you think?’ she said, rubbing her arms and inching closer to the magical glow.
Arianwyn stared at her for a moment. ‘I’ll go, shall I?’
‘Oh, you are a love, thanks!’ Gimma half smiled and then gave a loud, theatrical sneeze.
Arianwyn’s boots squelched as she walked slowly from the clearing and along a broad avenue of tall trees. The echoing sound of bird calls rang overhead and pale spring light filtered in through the new leaves. She kept glancing back over her shoulder, down the avenue, to where Gimma sat warming herself by the fire.
‘Keep calm, she can’t help it. She was trying to be helpful,’ Arianwyn muttered to herself quietly. ‘It’ll only be for a few weeks and then she’ll be off to some other swanky assignment and you won’t have to deal with her again. Except for when she comes to visit for a holiday! Oh, jinxing-jiggery!’
Arianwyn stomped her way further along the avenue of trees.
She spotted a collection of twigs and fallen branches at the foot of a grand oak. She checked first for any spirits that might have decided to nest there or close by, but there was no pull of magic. With the branches and twigs cradled in her arms, she walked back the way she had come, seeing occasional drifts of smoke wafting towards her as she drew closer to the clearing. And then she heard an ear-splitting scream that was unmistakably Gimma’s.
‘I suppose she’s found a worm or a woodlouse or something,’ Arianwyn grumbled to herself and continued her slow walk back to the clearing.
But then there came a second scream, louder and more frantic, followed by a shrill blast of Gimma’s witch whistle and two bright flashes. The unmistakable whiff of magic reached Arianwyn.
The branches tumbled to the floor and she broke into as fast a run as her damp heavy clothes would let her.
‘Gimma?’ she called frantically, but the only answer was another anguished scream. She shouldn’t have left her on her own. She burst into the clearing, now filled with thick grey smoke and the very definite tingle of magic.
‘GIMMA!’
‘Here! Arianwyn! I’m here!’ Gimma’s voice trembled. Arianwyn could just see her through the smoke. She was backed up against a tree, a tiny pale spell orb cupped in her shaking hand. Her face was ghoulishly white in the light of the spell. ‘There’s something here!’ she said, her eyes scanning the clouds of billowing smoke.
‘What is it?’ Arianwyn whispered quickly, summoning her own crackling spell. It hovered above her palm, tumbling and turning in the air. It was much larger than Gimma’s and brilliant green.
‘I have no idea, but it was small and vicious. It came right for me! I’m not going to let it get away – I’ve made too many mistakes already!’ Gimma pulled her gaze away from Arianwyn, a blush now spreading across her pale skin.
There was a sudden darting movement through the smoke. Gimma gave a small mewl of fear mixed with anger and shoved herself in front of Arianwyn.
‘Get back!’ she roared into the fog, just as Estar stepped forward.
He wafted smoke from his face, coughing gently into a handkerchief. He looked thoroughly bemused. Arianwyn’s heart stopped. Her breath caught in her throat and for a split second, time seemed to be held in place, suspended on a thread.
Gimma’s spell orb was held high, ready to be thrown.
‘No, Gimma, Stop! It’s all right, not dangerous!’ Arianwyn grabbed Gimma’s wrist, shaking it until her weak spell fizzed to nothing.
‘What are you doing?’ Gimma asked in amazement.
‘You can’t . . . you don’t understand. He’s . . .’ Arianwyn was breathless with fear. She glanced at Estar.
‘He’s my friend!’ she said finally.
Gimma edged back and stared in horror at Arianwyn. The wood was suddenly silent but for the crackle of the little fire buried beneath the expanse of fog-like smoke.
Estar watched them both carefully.
‘But it’s a demon or some other dark spirit creature!’ Gimma said slowly, as though she were telling this to a child or someone simple.
‘He’s not,’ Arianwyn began. ‘Well, not entirely. He’s some sort of hybrid.’
‘Ahem! A feyling, if you don’t mind!’ came Estar’s polite and polished reply. He bowed slowly.
‘Yes, sorry. A feyling.’
Gimma stared at Estar and then looked back at Arianwyn, her mouth hung open slightly.
‘Oh my god!’ she suddenly cried. ‘He’s got you under some sort of spell, hasn’t he? Don’t worry, Arianwyn. I’m going to banish him. Right now! Back to the void with you, you – you . . . fey-thing!’
Estar rolled his eyes.
As fast as lightning, Gimma had wrenched her arm free of Arianwyn’s grip and shoved her backwards into a tangle of bush. Without saying anything else, she reached forwards and in the smoky air sketched the banishing glyph, L’ier. It slid through the smoke, splitting the very fabric of the air in two. Out of the space spooled the darkness and icy cold of the void.
But something was wrong. Almost at once the rift grew to twice the size it should have been. It twisted and turned, straining as it grew larger still.
‘Oh, boil it, what have you done?’ Arianwyn cried, grabbing Gimma again and pulling her away from the rift.
‘I was just trying to help you – what’s wrong with the spell?’ Gimma shrieked and already tears were coursing down her face.
‘I suspect it was the hex over there.’ Estar was now beside them. He glanced at Arianwyn.
‘No wonder the fire spell wouldn’t take properly,’ she said.
As Gimma saw him, she gave another ear-splitting scream.
‘I think you’d better just go,’ Arianwyn hissed at Estar.
‘But I—’
‘Estar, please!’ Arianwyn moaned. He arched an eyebrow and suddenly the smoke enveloped him like a cloak and he vanished from view.
Now, even through the swirling smoke from the feeble fire, Arianwyn could see the patches of thick hex growing all across the trunks of the trees in the clearing.
How had they not seen it before?
The rift pulsed, expanding and contracting again and Arianwyn felt its icy pull on her damp clothes, the tingling chill on her hands and face. ‘Close the rift, quickly,’ she said to Gimma, who simply stared in horror as the rift contracted again and again.
‘Gimma?’ Arianwyn prodded.
‘I can’t
!’ she whimpered.
Arianwyn wanted to help, but it wasn’t easy to undo another witch’s spell. ‘You opened it, you have to close it!’ she said pointing at the rift.
Eventually, Gimma stepped forwards, tracing the glyph backwards in the air, cancelling the spell. But the rift did not vanish as it should. Instead it shuddered briefly and throbbed. Gimma fell to her knees, her voice swallowed in uncontrollable sobbing.
The rift pulsed once more and this time Arianwyn thought she could see shapes moving in the darkness, large and swift. Something lurked beyond.
Arianwyn knew they had to close it now before anything crossed through. ‘Throw as many spells at the rift as you can, straight at it and don’t hit the hex, whatever you do – that’ll just make things worse!’
‘I’m sorry!’ Gimma sniffed and wiped her nose across her sleeve.
‘Let’s just get this sorted, shall we?’ Arianwyn replied, and the next moment the air was lit up as Gimma and Arianwyn hurled their spells across the clearing and at the dark twisting tear.
Bright explosions, smoke and vapour drifted across the clearing, making it even harder to see. There was a shower of smoking, charred wood as a stray spell exploded against a tree.
‘I think we need to get out of here now!’ Arianwyn shouted.
‘But what about the . . . fey-thing?’ Gimma sniffed.
‘Don’t worry, Estar can look after himself quite well!’
They ran for the cover of the trees, Arianwyn glanced back and peered through the smoke. She searched for the rift, but couldn’t get a clear view. She had to hope that the spells they had bombarded it with had done their work.
Her heart stopped. Between the clouds of smoke and magic she thought she saw a large, dark, twisted shape moving quickly, like dark water. It danced through the mist of smoke and magic, a trick of the light, perhaps? Or something else – something worse?
‘Wait, Gimma!’Arianwyn called.
‘What’s wrong?’