Witch Silver

by Anne Forbes

  The MacLeans arrived in Etal at around six o’clock in the evening. It was Halloween, the night was as black as pitch and the Black Bull, when they reached it, was already quite busy. The parking space at the front was full, with lots more cars parked down the side of the road.

  “They must be having a Halloween party for the children,” Mrs MacLean remarked, for the outside of the Black Bull was strung with white cardboard ghosts and huge pumpkin lanterns glowed from its windows. As his father drove past the line of cars, looking for an empty space, Neil peered out of the window on the other side and found himself looking at the massive ruins of an old castle.

  “Look over there, Clara! That must be the ruin Mrs Weston told me about.”

  “We’ll have to visit it one day,” Mrs MacLean said, craning her neck to peer at it as they drove past.

  The car was now driving slowly down a steep hill and the headlights, on full beam, picked up the glint of water.

  “There’s a river down there, by the looks of things,” Clara said. “Can you park, Dad, so we can have a look?”

  There was a turning place by the river, lit by a lonely lamp. Despite the cold, they got out of the car and stood beside the swiftly flowing water that rushed, tumbled and frothed over boulders and drifts of pebbles.

  “It’s a ford, isn’t it,” Clara said. “The water looks quite shallow.”

  “Yeah, I bet you could walk over, no problem,” Neil said confidently, measuring up the distance to the bank on the other side of the river. “It’s not that far, really.”

  His father looked at him sideways. “Rubbish, Neil,” he said briskly. “Use your eyes. Can’t you see the current? It would sweep you off your feet before you’d taken a few steps.”

  “I suppose,” Neil muttered.

  “Listen to me, Neil!” his father grasped him by the shoulders and turned him round to face him. “Rivers aren’t swimming pools! They can be deceptive and dangerous; especially rivers that are deep and slow moving. They’re the worst, because you can’t see the currents below the surface of the water. You don’t ever swim in them, do you understand? I’m serious, Neil,” he added. “Don’t ever forget what I’ve just told you!”

  “Okay, Dad.” Neil didn’t argue. He knew by the sound of his father’s voice that it was advice to take to heart.

  They stood for a while longer, watching the water tumbling past until Janet shivered and hugged her coat round her. “Can we go up to the Black Bull now?” she pleaded. “It’s more than a bit chilly down here.”

  “Pile in, then,” her husband grinned. “I’ll try and find a parking place further up the road. Now, does everyone know what to do?”

  “Clara and I become invisible and try to find the talisman by the fireplace while you order dinner,” Neil said. “Then Clara and I go out, switch our rings and come back in, whether we’ve found the talisman or not. Perfectly simple!”

  “Actually, I didn’t expect the Black Bull to be so full,” his father said, changing gear. “I totally forgot about Halloween and if there’s a party on … well, it might be better if you came in with us, Neil, and let Clara look for the talisman on her own. If I remember rightly, the fireplace isn’t that big and there are tables quite close to it.”

  “That’s true,” Janet MacLean nodded as the car pulled into an empty space. “There’s more chance of somebody bumping into you if there are two of you. You don’t mind, do you, Neil?”

  “No,” Neil said at once, “I suppose it’ll be safer if she’s on her own.”

  “Ready to switch rings, Clara?” her dad said. “Better do it now. No one’s around to see you.”

  The Black Bull was warm, comfortable and noisy for there was, indeed, a party going on and the place was full of children in Halloween costumes. Fortunately, an elderly couple got up to leave as they entered and John MacLean moved quickly towards the empty table. Pity it wasn’t nearer the fireplace, he thought, for, although invisible, he wanted to keep as much of an eye as he could, on Clara.

  Looking round casually, he saw the horde of plaster witches that decorated the room. Some of them were beautifully made and certainly collectors’ items. Handy decorations to have, he thought idly, when Halloween came round.

  “This is nice,” Janet MacLean said, settling herself into a chair and handing round the menus. “Now, let’s see what they have to offer. What do you fancy, Neil?”

  “Your mother’s talking to you, Neil,” his father said, looking up from his menu. Then he saw Neil’s face, white and staring. “What is it?” he asked. “What’s the matter?”

  “Can’t you feel them?” Neil whispered harshly.

  “Feel what?” John MacLean asked.

  “Witches,” Neil said abruptly. “The place is full of them!”

  “Yes, they’re lovely aren’t they,” his mother agreed, smiling. “They belong to the owner’s wife. She must have added quite a few to her collection since we were last here, don’t you think, John? There are a lot more than I remember.”

  Neil looked at his parents in complete disbelief as realization dawned. “You’re not wearing your firestones, are you?” he said furiously.

  “Well, no,” his mother admitted, glancing at her husband. “We didn’t think we’d need them.”

  “I don’t believe it!” Neil said, sitting back in his seat, totally appalled. “How on earth could you think you wouldn’t need them? Listen,” he whispered, leaning forward across the narrow little table, “this room is full of witches! Real witches! I can sense them. They’re hiding in the plaster models. Don’t look, for goodness sake!” he said as his mother’s eyes strayed to a nearby witch.

  “Calm down, Neil. They won’t be able to see Clara,” his father said, looking casually towards the fireplace at the end of the room. All the tables there were occupied but a waitress was moving backwards and forwards with plates of food and one of the couples had children. The little girl had a cat-suit on but the boy was older and, making the most of a white ghost costume, was prancing round the place making whoooeeee noises.

  “That boy could trip over Clara any minute,” his mother said worriedly, watching his antics.

  Neil pushed his chair back. “There are loads of old pictures on the wall beside the fireplace,” he whispered. “I’ll pretend to be looking at them and try and keep that awful kid clear of Clara.”

  A ripple of excitement swept the witches as Neil got to his feet. Janetta had been quick to pass the word round. This was the boy they were looking for. He’d come to find the talisman! The witches’ eyes followed him as he made his way towards the end of the room where the fire burned brightly. Clara saw him coming and as he stopped to look at an old picture of the inn taken at least a hundred years ago, she whispered in his ear. “This place is full of witches!”

  “I know,” he said, his voice drowned by the din of the party, “and would you believe it, Mum and Dad aren’t wearing their firestones!”

  “Seriously? What were they thinking?”

  “Goodness knows. Have you found anything?”

  “Well, there’s a loose brick down there on the right. I think that might be it but it’s a bit too stiff for me to move,” Clara breathed softly. “It’ll take time but don’t worry, I’ll get it eventually.”

  It was then that Neil remembered Miss Markham’s words as she’d left the library. “It’ll come to me eventually,” she’d said. Maybe that was it, thought Neil. Maybe she’d been using the spell to hex the talisman to her — maybe that was why the brick was loose …

  “Move over a bit,” he hissed, “I’ll have a go …”

  “But what about the witches?” breathed Clara. “They must know it’s hidden in here somewhere!”

  “Yeah, but they don’t know who we are and they certainly don’t know that you’re here,” Neil pointed out. “Look, if I find it, I’ll give it to you right away, okay?”

  “Okay,” Clara agreed.

  Neil bent down over the fireplace and jiggled the brick while C
lara stood guard beside him. Nobody was really interested in what he was doing, she thought, looking round. Most people would think he was just warming his hands by the fire and a couple sitting nearby had given him no more than a casual glance before returning to their conversation.

  The brick came free with a sudden jerk and Neil tumbled backwards as a small, square black box fell out of the hole; a small, square box with a strange silver design on its lid. The talisman! It must be!

  The witches exploded from their hiding places in the plaster witches with a force that shattered them into fragments. The noise was deafening and the green miasma of smoke that hung in the air smelled vaguely of rotten eggs. This, coupled with the witches’ sudden appearance, terrified everyone in the room. Evil radiated from them and children ran screaming to their mothers who clutched at them protectively.

  Christine looked blankly at the real witches. Clad as they were in dingy, grey silk with evil faces, black cloaks and black droopy hats they were nothing like the beautiful models that she’d collected so lovingly over the years. All that was left of them were tangled bundles of torn material for not one of her treasures remained intact. As she gazed at their shattered remains, fury rose inside her and such was her anger that the witches, who were truly terrifying, had no power to frighten her. Simmering with rage, she backed slowly into the kitchen to organize Bert and the chef. She’d show them!

  Most people had, for the first few seconds at least, taken the appearance of the witches as a stunt dreamt up by Christine and Bert and one or two couples even started to clap. The clapping, however, swiftly petered out as the witches took over. Confusion reigned as some old hags, their faces masks of evil, leapt nimbly upwards to crouch threateningly on high shelving and protruding beams. No one dared move with the witches’ eyes constantly watching them and the MacLeans were given special treatment. They were, after all, the parents of the boy, Neil. Even as John MacLean, looking anxiously at his wife, put his napkin on the table and made to get to his feet, a couple of witches slid into the seats beside them. Janet froze but one look at the witches’ faces told them that they could do nothing to help Neil. They eyed one another worriedly. At least Clara was invisible …

  Wanda, Queen of the Wind Witches, seeing that she had everything under control, raised her arms. Silence fell as she stepped forward in a rustle of grey silk to confront Neil who had scrambled to his feet.

  The witch held out her hand, imperiously. “Give me the talisman!” she demanded.

  Neil put his hands behind his back instinctively. He’d seen the box disappear as Clara had grabbed it so it didn’t really matter what happened now. The talisman was safe.

  “Give it to me, Neil!” the queen repeated impatiently. The boy had to have it, she thought. There was nobody near him and she’d seen the box fall into the hearth with her own eyes.

  “Why should I give it to you?” he asked, wondering how on earth she knew his name. And then he remembered the wind that had been blowing over the playing field when Mrs Weston had shown him the answer to the riddle. He hadn’t been wearing his firestone because he’d had his sports kit on but the witches must have been there, flying around unseen. And they were Wind Witches, he knew. Wasn’t it Jaikie who had said they always wore grey?

  “Give it to me — now, at once!” Wanda demanded.

  “I don’t have it,” he parried.

  “I saw it!” Wanda snapped. “Now, hand it over!”

  Neil shook his head.

  “Perhaps,” she said viciously, “you would like me to hex you?”

  Neil paled but he knew he had to give Clara time to get away. The trouble was that with the arrival of the witches, the room was full to overflowing. It would take Clara ages to sneak her way through the crowd to get anywhere near the door.

  Neil drew his hands as slowly as he could from behind his back and then turned up his palms so that she could see that he held nothing.

  The witches hissed in fury. Wanda raised her arm and a deathly silence fell. Neil knew she was going to hex him and taking a deep breath, met her eyes defiantly, hoping fervently that the MacArthur’s spell would protect him.

  “Give – me – the – talisman!” she grated. “Now!”

  “I … I dropped it in the fire,” Neil said quickly. He hadn’t, of course, and she knew he hadn’t.

  It was just as she opened her mouth to hex him that Christine, Bert and the chef went into action. Barging in through side doors with full soda siphons in each hand, they pressed the levers and sent powerful jets of fizzy water straight into the witches’ faces. It didn’t do them any harm but in seconds they reduced the room to a scene of total confusion as, gasping and spluttering, the witches were knocked sideways.

  “Through here! Quick!” Christine yelled, holding the door open and, as Neil shot through, she locked it smartly behind him.

  Clara almost made it to the door … but not quite. It was Bert’s fault although he didn’t mean it. On a complete high, Bert was having the time of his life, aiming the jets of water at all the witches he could see when Clara got in the way. As the jet of water hit her, she remembered Lady Ellan’s words. “You’ll be fine,” she’d said, “as long as you don’t go walking under any waterfalls. The magic shield goes to pieces in anything heavier than rain.” Clara looked round in horror as the magic shield that encircled her, shimmered and faded.

  The witches spotted her immediately. One of them screamed and as they all turned to stare in the direction of her pointing finger, Clara’s heart sank like a stone. She’d been seen! Throwing caution to the winds, she pushed her way through the last of the crowd, made it to the door and darted swiftly through.

  “Get her!” Wanda screeched.

  The witches let out a hungry, howling cry that froze the blood and made a concerted rush for the door. It was to prove their undoing for in their anxiety to catch Clara they all landed in the doorway at more or less the same time and quite successfully jammed the opening. Precious seconds were lost in the violent struggle that ensued and by the time they finally managed to get clear, Clara had a flying start.

  Fear lent her wings as, clutching the box tightly, she raced down the steep hill towards the river with a screaming horde of witches streaming after her.

  19. Race for the River

  As Clara flew down the steep hill towards the river, Auntie Murial’s words echoed through her mind. “Witches can’t cross running water, Clara.” And then there were her father’s words, spoken just a short time ago. “Can’t you see the current, Neil … it would sweep you off your feet before you took a few steps.”

  Panting for breath, she stopped by the water’s edge and knew that if she were going to escape, she had to cross it. Stuffing the talisman securely down the front of her jacket, she zipped it up firmly and, casting a frantic look over her shoulder, saw that the witches were closing in fast.

  Turning again to the swiftly flowing river, she stiffened in fright as an old man appeared suddenly from the shadows. “Don’t be afraid, Clara,” he said, with half an eye on the approaching witches. “Give me the talisman and I’ll take you across the river.”

  His voice sounded vaguely familiar but Clara had no time to think. “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Give me the talisman,” he demanded urgently. “I need it! Please! Give it to me! Quickly, or the witches will catch you!”

  Clara swung round and sure enough, the witches were already more than halfway down the brae. The sight of them was enough! Totally petrified, she ignored the pleas of the old man and heedless of danger, left him standing. Splashing into the sweeping current, she fixed her eyes on the far bank and didn’t see him draw back into the shadows as the witches approached, nor see the despair that lined his face. His powers were fading, there were too many of them to hex — but if Clara didn’t make it across the river then he still had a chance to get the talisman … there had to be a chance, he thought desperately, or his life would soon be over …

  Clara felt the
pull of the current the minute she hit the water. It was much stronger than she’d thought and the river wasn’t nearly as shallow as she’d expected, either. Desperately, she half-waded and half-floundered towards the opposite bank until one of her trainers wedged between a couple of slimy boulders and gave her some welcome, if painful, support. She paused, panting, in what proved to be a small oasis of stillness amid the driving currents. The stones weren’t all that big but, jutting just above the water, were large enough to part the sweeping, cascading flow of the river.

  She reckoned she’d made it about a third of the way across and breathed a sigh of relief. At least the witches couldn’t harm her now. They’d reached the water’s edge and were crowding the river bank, totally frustrated and furious at her escape.

  Again, she looked ahead to the opposite bank. As Neil had said, it wasn’t that far but she knew from the force of the river that she’d never make it. If she tried, she’d be carried away downstream and although she’d stuffed the box with the talisman in it, down the front of her jacket, she knew she might lose it in the river if she were to fall in.

  Desperately, she glanced behind her again, hoping that the witches might have given up on her. No such luck, she thought, they were still there. So, too, she noticed, were the people from the Black Bull, a motley crew in their Halloween outfits for, after the witches’ hurried exit, the MacLeans had not only shot out after them but the whole of the pub had followed suit, anxious not to miss out on the most exciting event that had happened in the village in years.

  Even as she watched, her father appeared among the witches, shoving them aside as he pushed his way to the front of the crowd and, with the water lapping at his feet, cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled across the river. “Put the talisman on, Clara!” he shouted. “Put it on!”

  “How could I have been so stupid?” Clara thought as she waved to show that she’d understood. Quickly, she pulled down the zipper of her jacket and muttered as it stuck halfway down. “Come on, open,” she muttered, furiously. As it refused to budge, she gave up the struggle and stuck her hand inside. Even as she touched the box, the lid opened and she felt the cold metal of a broad bangle. Although she had meant to lift it out of its box, the talisman itself seemed to have other ideas — for the minute her hand touched it, it slipped swiftly over her wrist.