by Anne Forbes
“There’s a car ahead of us,” Mrs MacLean said suddenly, peering through a sudden break in the storm. “It’s miles ahead but I’m sure I saw its rear lights through the snow!”
“Dad!” Clara yelled. Her father slammed on the brakes and they all fell forwards against their seat belts.
“What is it?” her father asked, twisting round in his seat.
Clara pointed through the window. “The men on the farm,” she gasped, “they’re not people at all. Look at them! Can’t you see their faces? They’re snowmen!” she whispered. “Look! Look, over there! They’re heading for the road!”
Neil gasped. Clara was right. Running towards the car with lumbering steps were several white, bulky figures. Snowmen! Snowmen with carrot noses and black stone eyes! “Come on, Dad! Put your foot down,” Neil yelled, “they’re catching up with us.” As the car pulled away, the snowmen halted but they hadn’t finished. Bending down they lifted handfuls of snow and Clara cringed as the first volley of snowballs crashed against the rear window.
“For goodness sake, keep going, John,” Mrs MacLean urged. “We’ve got to catch up with that car in front.”
The witches, however, were determined to stop them. The snow became heavier and as more and more snowmen rose from the side of the road, John sent it skating and slithering in as straight a line as he could manage. Although the snowballs did no real damage, the melting snowflakes, sliding down the windscreen, reduced visibility to little more than a few feet. It was really scary, Clara admitted afterwards, for the other windows were so snowed up on the outside that they didn’t know whether the snowmen were running alongside them or not.
It was when one of them threw itself in front of the 4x4 that John MacLean gunned the engine and bounced the car over it with a bump that would have sent them all through the windscreen had they not had their seat belts on.
“There it is, John,” Mrs MacLean said in triumph as two red lights shone in front of them, “I told you there was a car in front of us.”
“He’s seen our lights,” Neil said. “Look, he’s blinking his hazard lights at us.”
John MacLean breathed a sigh of relief. “He’s waiting for us to catch up with him.”
This didn’t stop the snowmen, however, and both cars came under fire from volleys of snowballs that hit the cars with dull, heavy thumps. It was only when they reached the first houses in Greenlaw that the snowmen faded from the scene and by the time they drew up in front of the general store they were weak with relief.
The driver of the other car pulled up in front of them and came over; a pleasant, dark-haired chap with blue eyes. John MacLean smiled at him. “Thank goodness you were on the road! If we hadn’t had you to follow we might never have made it through!”
“It was quite an experience, wasn’t it? And the hailstones! I’ve never see anything like the size of them in my life!” He looked up the road. “They need to get the snowplough up there, pronto,” he continued without waiting for an answer. “I’ve not seen weather as bad as this in a long time!”
Neil and Clara looked at one another with raised eyebrows. He probably never would again, Neil thought. But hailstones! How could he think that! They’d been thumping great snowballs!
13. Bad News
Kitor fluttered his wings anxiously as the car turned into the driveway of Craiglaw House.
“Hi, Kitor,” Neil said with a smile as the crow landed on his shoulder as he got out of the car. “You found your way alright, then!”
“We got here ages ago!” Kitor said, digging his claws into Neil’s jacket to keep his balance “We thought you’d … got lost or something.”
“What kept you?” Cassia asked anxiously, perching on Clara’s arm. “We were just going out to look for you.”
“We almost did have an accident,” Mrs MacLean said grimly, pulling a carrier bag out of the car and heading for the front door. “The Snow Witches were out in force on the road near Greenlaw.”
“They did their best to stop us,” Neil added, “but we managed to keep going.”
Kitor squawked. “What happened?”
“The Queen of the Snow Witches recognized me, Kitor,” Clara said. “It was really scary. They were using snowmen to search the farm buildings and they attacked us.”
Kitor paled at the mention of the Snow Witches. He knew they hadn’t forgiven him for rescuing Clara.
“Actually, we didn’t cross the moors,” Cassia confessed.
Clara, now in safe surroundings, forgot her fear of the Snow Witches and grinned. “I know,” she said, looking at Neil in amusement, “you came as the crow flies.”
Seeing Kitor’s puzzled look, Neil explained. “It’s a saying we have in English. It means you didn’t follow the roads, you flew in a straight line.”
Cassia tilted her head to one side. “It’s the only way to fly,” she pointed out reasonably. “Why should we follow the roads?”
“Forget it!” Neil said dryly, “or we’ll be here all night!”
“No you won’t,” his mother said, overhearing their conversation. “Go and get your stuff together and put it in the car. We’ve to get you back to school this evening, remember?”
“Oh no,” Neil groaned, “and I haven’t even looked at my German grammar! Von Grozny’s given us a string of verbs to learn!”
“What about the broomsticks?” John MacLean asked. “You’re going to look a bit odd going into school with a couple of broomsticks, aren’t you?”
“Oh, that’s all right,” Clara said airily, “I’ll say they’re for the school play. It’s about witches. Nobody’ll think anything of it.”
“Get yourselves organized then,” their mother said briskly, “while I make the supper and defrost some chicken livers for Kitor and Cassia. If they’re going on a witch hunt, they’ll need all the energy they can get.”
As it happened, it didn’t take Kitor and Cassia long to suss out the witches.
The following morning, the two crows had swooped from Clara’s window not only to take stock of their new surroundings but to search the Border roads for their breakfast. Kitor’s eyes had glistened happily, for the good news was that fast food in the shape of squashed rabbit and hedgehog had proved unexpectedly plentiful — and pheasant an unexpected treat. The bad news, however, was that there were witches absolutely everywhere.
Later that evening, Neil looked at his watch and opened his window. It was eight o’clock, the time they’d agreed upon to get together. He shivered in the sudden blast of cold air that whistled through the window and sighed with relief as Kitor and Cassia flew in followed by an invisible Clara who swished past him on her broomstick. Closing the window quickly, he drew the curtains again and turned on the light as Clara switched her ring to her other hand and appeared. Kitor and Cassia perched on the back of a chair, settling their wings as she propped her broomstick against Neil’s wardrobe door.
“Hi, Neil,” she smiled, “no visitors this evening?”
“Not with all the German verbs I’ve to swot up,” her brother admitted. He turned to the crow. “Well, Kitor?” he queried. “How did you get on today? Find anything out?”
“There are witches everywhere,” Kitor announced importantly, fluttering over to Neil’s desk and pacing its length in stiff, strutting steps. He looked at them through black, sparkling eyes. “It’s a massive operation they’ve mounted. Every field, every wood, every farm … they’re going over them all.”
“We know all about that,” nodded Clara, warming herself against a radiator. “They haven’t half given the locals the heeby-jeebies!”
“We spotted your witch on her way back to the school as well,” Cassia croaked. “She came from a place called Witches’ Wood.”
Neil looked up interestedly. He’d heard the name before and then remembered that it had been on the night he’d seen the crop circles being made.
“Witches’ Wood is well named,” Kitor said. “It covers the top of a steep hill quite near here. That’
s where the Earth Witches have their castle — inside the hill.”
“A castle,” Neil’s eyebrows shot up, “inside a hill? Then … that means their castle must be on Blackriggs Farm!” Clara looked blank. “You know … Jimmy MacFarlane’s farm … where the crop circles keep appearing!” He turned to Kitor. “How on earth did you find it?”
“It wasn’t hard to spot,” Kitor said dryly. “Busy as a wasps’ nest, it was; witches flying in and out all the time. We couldn’t go in, of course, for they had witches guarding the entrance.”
“But we got close enough to see what it looks like,” Cassia added. “There are long, stone passages that go deep inside the hill.”
“We hung around for a while and listened to the witches talking,” Kitor continued. “They mentioned the talisman so our ears pricked up, as you can imagine. They’re over the moon about it.”
“About what?” queried Clara, anxiously. “They haven’t found it, have they?”
Kitor shook his head. “No, but the Queen of the Earth Witches discovered an ancient book in their library. They called it The Book of Spells. From the way they were talking, I reckon it must have been lost for centuries.”
“And?” demanded Neil.
“And it’s bad news,” croaked Cassia. “There’s a spell in it that will draw the talisman to her …”
“… from wherever it is!” finished Kitor.
Clara looked every bit as appalled as Neil. A magic spell that would find the talisman! The witches had to be stopped!
14. Witches’ Wood
A few days later, Clara sat on the edge of Neil’s bed, catching her hair in a twist on top of her head so that it wouldn’t blow all over her face while she was flying on her broomstick.
“Are you both ready?” Kitor asked, fluttering from the back of a chair onto the window sill. “Cassia’s keeping watch outside, just in case.”
Neil and Clara had never quite managed to understand how they heard Kitor speak. He wasn’t, of course, speaking English as such but they could hear his voice inside their heads; although, as Clara remarked, the sound didn’t seem to come through their ears.
Neil picked up his broomstick and nodded. “You go first, Clara,” he said, disappearing from view as he switched his ring to the other hand.
Kitor soared out over the window sill into space and, grasping her broomstick tightly, Clara followed. She’d always hated heights but flying from the tower window was a piece of cake compared to some of the mountains she’d flown over in the past. Once they reached the level of the trees, however, she felt a lot more comfortable and started to take an interest in her surroundings. Cassia, she noticed, had flown up to join Kitor and the two broomsticks settled in behind them as they headed over the school grounds for Witches’ Wood.
“Leave your broomsticks here,” Kitor whispered as they dismounted at the edge of a newly-ploughed field. “Cassia and I will look after them for you.”
“Is that the hill, over there?” Neil hissed, looking at the grassy, rounded hill topped by a stand of trees that rose steeply from the swirling pattern of furrows that surrounded it.
Kitor nodded. “You’ll see the entrance on the right,” he whispered. “It’s quite wide; so that the broomsticks can get in and out, I suppose. Just be careful you don’t bump into anybody. They mightn’t be able to see you but if they touch you, they’ll know you’re there.”
Neil nodded. “We’ll be careful,” he whispered as they made to leave, “don’t worry!”
He and Clara picked their invisible way carefully over the newly-turned furrows towards the entrance to the witches’ lair. Without her firestone, Clara thought, she’d probably have seen a normal, peaceful country scene but wearing it changed everything. There were witches everywhere. Some were soaring over distant woods and fields but it was quite obvious where the entrance to the castle lay, for witches were coming and going all the time. It was breath-taking to watch as, crouched low over the handles of their broomsticks, they flew past them in the moonlight, their cloaks fluttering and flapping behind them as they swooped through the night sky.
Neil gulped at the sight of their evil, intent faces, suddenly aware of the dangers they were facing. Just as well, he thought, that their parents didn’t know what they were up to! “Keep hold of my hand, Clara,” he whispered, trying to sound reassuring, “and remember what I said; if you lose me, get out at once and go back to Kitor and Cassia, okay?”
“Okay,” Clara said, her voice trembling with fear and excitement.
Neil’s hand tightened its grip as they reached the damp stonework of the entrance. The flat, grey slabs of stone that sloped steeply downwards were running with moisture and here and there bushes and clumps of creeping fern straggled in swathes over their cracked, uneven sides. Crouching down to avoid the broomsticks that were flying in and out over their heads, they paused and eyed the witches on guard apprehensively. Perched like ragged crows atop thin, spindly rocks round the entrance, they were screeching and cackling to one another but gave no sign of alarm as, choosing a moment when no broomsticks were in sight, they slipped silently down the passage into the hill.
The interior of the Earth Witches’ castle was astounding. Built from huge blocks of pale grey stone it was a vast construction. Carved arches revealed long, eerie passageways decorated here and there with statues of wizards, witches and other magical creatures that looked so ghastly that Clara hoped fervently that she’d never have to meet them.
Neither was it as dark as they had expected, but full of a ghostly white light that threw deep shadows.
Choosing the broadest of the three corridors that confronted them so that there was less likelihood of bumping into anyone, they walked silently along, hugging the wall. At first, all went well. Several witches flew past them on broomsticks but as they paid them no attention whatsoever Clara relaxed and had almost persuaded herself that everything was going to be okay when a chattering group of young witches approached. Cloaks flapping, they took up the whole width of the corridor so that they both had to press themselves flat against the wall. Clara felt her heart thump alarmingly as the witches brushed past, their strong, hook-nosed faces so close that she could have reached out and touched them. She was shaking violently as she felt for Neil’s hand and gripped it hard.
After that, they passed several groups of witches, many of them talking and laughing in the same high-pitched cackle of sound they’d heard from the witches on guard at the entrance. These witches, however, were easily avoided as they kept to the centre of the corridor and, glad that there was no repeat of the first nerve-racking incident, they walked on with steadily increasing confidence until they came to a flight of stairs that led deeper into the earth. Clara wasn’t all that keen on going down but Neil pulled on her hand and she had to follow.
They moved further and further through the maze of corridors, peering into all the rooms, until they came at last to a door of obvious importance. A heavy, black, iron-studded door, which swung open as they approached.
Clara stopped dead in her tracks. She couldn’t believe her eyes and almost fell over at the shock of it, for there, as large as life, walking in the middle of a group of witches, was her Drama teacher. It must have been Miss Markham she’d seen at school that night!
How had she not realized that she was a witch? All the signs were there: the hooked nose, the strong features, the black hair and piercing eyes. How on earth hadn’t she noticed?
It was then that Neil jerked her to one side as the witches passed in a swirl of black robes. Miss Markham was frowning and talking sharply to a thin, seedy-looking witch whose robes shed lumps of earth as she walked.
“It’ll come to me eventually,” she was saying. “I said the spell several times and each time I felt it trying to obey.”
Clara barely heard her words. She was still in shock! Miss Markham was a witch! Neil pulled her hastily forward and caught the door before it closed. He’d glimpsed what lay beyond it as the witches had swung
through and his heart had leapt. This was what they were looking for; the witches’ library.
The heavy door clicked shut behind them and left them standing in a totally silent room that almost literally took their breath away. It smelled incredibly ancient and they knew instinctively that the room and its contents were thousands of years old.
And what books! Thick, heavy volumes with ragged, irregular pages made from parchment, not paper — the room was crammed with them. They lay on shelves, on tables and in scattered piles all over the floor. Books of all shapes and sizes, thousands of them, bound in old, rubbed leather that looked as though a touch would crumble them to dust.
Creeping quietly round tiers of shelving, they found, to their horror, that the library wasn’t empty as they had first thought. Two witches were sitting at a corner table, reading from an enormous tome and making copious notes while another browsed through smaller volumes in a bookcase nearby.
What caught their eyes immediately, however, was a huge table, set to one side in a position of importance. It held only one book, a large volume that lay open on a carved book rest and it was interest, more than anything else that drew Neil towards it. They both froze, however, as they saw the detailed drawing that decorated the top of the right-hand page. An arm clasp, the MacArthur had said. A silver arm clasp. Clara knew immediately that it was the talisman. Neil squeezed her hand to tell her that he, too, recognized the description. This must be the book that contained the talisman spell — the book that Miss Markham had found.
The words on the page were meaningless, written in an unknown language, but as Clara’s eyes read them avidly, they printed themselves on her brain and she knew, beyond a shadow of doubt, that this was the book they’d come for. Impulsively, she reached out her hands and drew the heavy covers closed to take it. It was a very old book, however, and didn’t close easily. Its ancient covers creaked alarmingly and the pages made a rough whisper of sound as she stuffed it under her coat.