Witch Silver

by Anne Forbes

  She’ll be fine, he told himself. After all, the witches would hardly try anything on during the play. Not, he reckoned, with the formidable Queen of the Earth Witches in the wings. No, he was letting his imagination run away with him. Anyway, what could possibly happen during a school play with the theatre full of teachers?

  Then he remembered a few of his friends giggling with some of the third year boys. Something was going to happen, he thought suddenly. After putting half of them in detention at the start of the term, Miss Markham wasn’t at all popular with the third year and he’d vaguely gathered that they were up to some sort of mischief. But was it connected with the play? Some of them had sisters in Clara’s year — surely they wouldn’t do anything to sabotage the performance? Looking behind him, however, he immediately had his suspicions confirmed. The third years were sitting quietly enough but there was an air of suppressed excitement about them that told him all he wanted to know … and his heart sank …

  Just then, the lights dimmed and a spotlight blazed, illuminating the sinister, threatening figure of Miss Markham who slid evilly from behind the gold-tasselled, red velvet curtains. She had dressed for the occasion in witch’s clothes and although she’d added a pair of rather daring, red and white striped stockings to her ensemble, her presence sent a frisson of unease round the audience. There was an immediate outbreak of hissing, which was quickly quelled by the staff and by Miss Markham herself as, with a furious glare round the hall, she welcomed them to the dress rehearsal of Pumpkin Pie.

  Neil glanced quickly at the teachers that were within his range of vision and caught them exchanging rather startled glances. He felt sure that none of them had realized just how much the upper school disliked Miss Markham.

  It was then that Neil caught sight of him, standing at the side of the auditorium, quite near Herr von Grozny; a small, elderly man with grey, straggly hair. The janitor, thought Neil, who had saved their skins when von Grozny had nearly caught them in the library. Funny, he hadn’t seen him around since then. He looked at him again and almost choked as realization dawned. He had seen him again — at the river when he’d tried to hex Clara! The same old man! He must be a magician of some sort! But who was he?

  Neil slumped back in his seat, quite oblivious to the gasps of wonder that ran round the auditorium as the curtains parted to reveal the witches’ fantastic castle. It was huge and looked frighteningly creepy. Black paper bats flapped spookily round its grim battlements and an owl hooted eerily. The seniors sat up expectantly and even the teachers looked interested. Maybe the play was going to be worth watching after all.

  Neil’s mind, meanwhile, was racing frantically. Who on earth, he wondered worriedly, was the old man? He groaned. There was just so much he didn’t know! As it happened, the old man was to prove the least of his problems. Although Miss Markham had no reason to suspect Clara, the Wind Witches knew what she looked like and putting two and two together, had gathered that the children went to Netherfield, Lady Merial’s old school. So, even as Neil sat in the audience, worrying his socks off, they were there already, perched high above the stage in the flies, waiting for a chance to grab the talisman.

  The fly floor, in any theatre, soars at least thirty feet above the heads of the actors and is little more than a ten-foot platform jutting out round three sides of the stage. The Wind Witches, therefore, got the shock of their lives when the Snow Witches materialized on the opposite platform. Wanda looked distraught. How on earth did Samantha know about the children? She’d have sworn that no Snow Witches had been within spitting distance of Etal that night. Who had let the cat out of the bag? She glared round furiously but as every witch in her coven looked just as appalled as she did, she remained none the wiser.

  What she couldn’t know was that some of the Snow Witches had actually witnessed the incident at the ford and had not only seen Clara but had also passed the news of the event on to their mistress. Samantha had listened carefully and her instructions had been brief, clear and to the point. Since then, she and her coven had secretly followed the Wind Witches wherever they went and, although time-consuming, her tactics had paid off. Indeed, the look of stunned astonishment on Wanda’s face when they’d turned up had been ample reward for their efforts!

  Samantha, looking supremely confident in her shredded, silver gown, smiled sweetly and rejoiced inwardly at Wanda’s hidden fury. Bowing mockingly from her perch on the platform opposite, she knew perfectly well that there wasn’t a lot Wanda could do without revealing their presence to Maritza. Wanda inclined her head graciously in response and, holding her tongue and her temper, crouched in the heights above the stage, waiting for an opportunity — any opportunity — to grab the talisman before Samantha, or any of the other witches, had the chance to get their hands on it!

  The play progressed amid bursts of laughter, gasps of horror and loud cheers from the audience for, as Clara had said, it was a good play. It wasn’t until the second act, however, that Miss Markham unwittingly set the ball rolling.

  The sleeves of Clara’s witch outfit weren’t, unfortunately, all that long and although she’d done her best to push the talisman up her arm, her sleeve fell back accidentally as she dipped a long-handled ladle in the cauldron and lifted out a huge black spider. As the audience went “Aaaarghhh”, the talisman was revealed for all to see; the shining clasp of silver round her arm blazing in the glare of the spotlights. Neil closed his eyes. Now she’d done it!

  Standing in the prompt corner, still totally unaware of the witches crowding the flies above her head, the inevitable happened. Miss Markham spotted the talisman. Her mouth fell open and excitement gripped her like a vice. How or where this child had found the talisman, she didn’t know, but within a very short time — like right now — it was going to be hers!

  Several things then happened in quick succession. She strode onto the stage, pushing the girls roughly to one side in her anxiety to get to Clara. This, of course, wasn’t in the original script but no one thought of protesting. Even the teachers in the audience were frozen to their seats. One look at her face was enough! Surely, this was a real witch! The girls in Clara’s class didn’t hesitate; they scattered, quivering with fear into the wings, leaving Maritza facing Clara in the middle of the stage.

  Clara looked at her interestedly. She didn’t feel the least bit frightened, knowing that the talisman would protect her. It was only when Maritza started to recite the words of a spell that Clara stiffened and took a step backwards. She knew it, Clara thought, suddenly horrified. Of course! How could she have been so stupid! She knew the spell that would draw the talisman to her! She’d memorized it from The Book of Spells before they’d stolen it! Maritza finished reciting the spell and with a triumphant scream of “Eliandor!” threw out her hands. To her horror, Clara felt the talisman loosen its grasp on her arm and fly in a gleaming, shining arc, through the air towards Maritza’s greedy, grasping hand.

  It was then that the Wind Witches dropped like stones from the flies, screeching like banshees. Manoeuvering her broomstick deftly, Wanda caught the talisman in mid-flight and held it aloft for all to see. “The talisman is mine!” she called out in the language of the witches.

  Maritza, however, was having none of it. Nor was she going to give it up that easily. Crouching down, she gathered her strength and, propelling herself violently upwards, leaped all of ten feet into the air as Wanda passed, knocking the astonished witch off her broomstick. With a jarring thud that made the audience wince in sympathy, they hit the stage together in a messy tangle of hats, cloaks and the odd flash of striped stocking. Then, as the rest of the Wind Witches soared and swooped overhead, still screeching loudly, a totally unseemly scuffle ensued.

  Samantha looked on disgustedly and, raising a disparaging eyebrow at such uncouth behaviour, dropped from the heights with her witches behind her, ready to seize any opportunity that came her way.

  And, as it happened, she didn’t have long to wait … for Wanda and Maritza were so de
sperate to get their hands on the talisman that they broke every rule in the book — and when, at one stage, Wanda suddenly let out a blood-curdling yell that made everyone’s blood freeze it was quickly accompanied by another as she promptly bit Maritza back. No one dared intervene as they kicked, jabbed and did their best to pull one another’s hair out. The end, however, was unexpectedly swift. Maritza, gasping for breath, staggered to her feet, drew back her fist and delivered a punishing right to the chin that would have felled an elephant. Wanda, not surprisingly, crumpled at this devastating blow and collapsed in a heap.

  Grasping the talisman, Maritza ran to wings to escape and to her horror, found the Snow Witches waiting for her. Hovering on their broomsticks, she knew at a glance that there was no way she was going to get past them. Without breaking her stride, she swerved like a greyhound, ran back across the stage and, robes flapping wildly, headed for the battlements of the castle.

  She’s going to jump, thought Neil, as Maritza poised dramatically for a second before launching herself into space. However, even as she leapt for the safety of the mats below, the Queen of the Snow Witches, who had swooped across the stage after her, stretched out her hand and grabbed the talisman. The Snow Witches screamed in triumph as Samantha held it aloft and then turned in surprise as another, truly terrible shriek pierced the air; a shriek that held a variety of conflicting emotions — surprise, disbelief, unrelieved fury and much, much, more. It was terrible in its intensity and, indeed, to the discerning ear, had a resonance all of its own …

  Neil burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it. Now he knew what the third form had been up to. They’d replaced the pile of gym mats with the biggest trampoline the gym had to offer! Maritza had, quite literally, got her come-uppance at last!

  It wasn’t only the audience who howled with laughter as Maritza bounced ever higher above the battlements. Samantha, still clutching the talisman, couldn’t believe her eyes at first — but when she saw Maritza’s startled, agonized face popping up again and again, she let out a joyful wail of unrestrained mirth and gleefully threw a hex so that Maritza continued to soar skywards. Indeed, every time Maritza appeared, a furious, gesticulating jumble of black skirts and striped stockings, everyone creased up anew. Tears of laughter spilled down Neil’s face as she bounced up time and time again; sometimes the right way up — often upside down — and always shrieking with rage.

  The Snow Witches, helpless with laughter, were soon staggering round the stage, holding one another up hysterically. The Wind Witches, too, were every bit as bad. Wanda, of course, was still out cold but the rest of them were doubled up, clutching at their broomsticks as they howled with unholy glee.

  Clara, however, didn’t feel the least like laughing. She felt dreadful; she’d lost the talisman and, totally devastated, was set on recovering it. Ignoring the hapless Maritza and the helpless witches, she repeated the words of the spell. If Maritza could use it to take the talisman then she could use it to get it back again! It was as she said “Simaron Eliandor”, the final words of the spell, that the talisman left Samantha’s hand and curved across the stage towards her.

  Samantha, however, felt it leave her hand. Quick as a flash, she followed it on her broomstick and grabbed at it at much the same time as Clara. As they struggled, Clara knew instinctively that she was no match for the powerful witch. She needed help badly but as she looked round desperately, all she could see were witches and more witches.

  Perhaps it was the sight of the black paper bats waving on their strings above the towers and turrets of the castle that spurred her imagination; perhaps the talisman was trying to protect her as it had when she’d fallen into the river or maybe The Book of Spells, itself, had a hand in the affair.

  Whatever it was, the words of a spell flowed like running water from Clara’s lips and as her voice rang out, clear and concise, in the ancient language of old magic, Samantha stepped back; white-faced, frightened and totally appalled.

  22. Daemons

  If Neil looked apprehensive at what was happening, his reaction was nothing to that of those on stage. They all knew from Clara’s words that it was an ancient spell and gazed at her in disbelief.

  Maritza stopped bouncing, the witches stopped laughing and with one accord, each and every one of them swung round to gape at Clara in horror. The old man, standing at the side of the auditorium stiffened in shock and drew in his breath with a gasp. Like the witches, he’d never heard the spell before but had more than a vague idea where it must have come from and paled at the thought.

  Von Grozny, too, had been totally stunned at Clara’s ringing tones and leapt from his seat to look warily at the old man who was swearing viciously under his breath. That they both felt the same was obvious and despite their enmity, an uneasy alliance was born. They both knew this was something the witches couldn’t handle on their own.

  “Come on, Vassili,” the old man snapped, gripping his arm. “We’re in this together. The little fool has no idea what she’s done!”

  Vassili, who had long since guessed the identity of the old man, smiled wryly. “Milord,” he bowed, “I am at your service.”

  And with that, two sets of cold, blue eyes, determined and desperate, gazed at the stage where a moving darkness heralded the arrival of the daemons of the spell.

  Neil’s heart sank as he looked along the row and saw them move purposefully towards the flight of steps that led up onto the stage. Their faces were those of soldiers going into battle against a mighty opponent and he gulped and wondered what on earth it was that Clara had conjured up.

  He didn’t have long to wait.

  Glancing around, he saw that the entire audience was now totally engrossed in the action of what they blissfully thought was the plot and as his eyes moved again to the stage where the witches cowered in terror, a fearful shadow gathered itself in sweeping waves, like the folds of an enormous cloak, round the soaring turret of the castle.

  Then they appeared, slithering from its slit windows in a never-ending stream, sliding softly from its darkness on outspread wings; dreadful creatures, the stuff of nightmares. Daemons! Winged creatures with the sleek heads of cats and the scaly bodies, feet and tails of lizards. Neil drew in his breath and the audience cringed as the fearsome creatures glided down on jagged, leathery wings. Red eyes gleaming and wicked-looking teeth curved menacingly over furry chins, they swooped across the stage with eerie, whistling cries, to attack the witches.

  Clara took a couple of steps backwards, appalled at what she’d done.

  “Daemons!” Samantha ground out as she lifted her arm to throw a hex.

  Many of the witches were caught in the initial attack for, as the bats swooped from the tower, they landed on their backs, and crouching horribly, sank their teeth deep into the back of their necks. Total bedlam then erupted; the witches screeched in agony, hexes crackled through the air and disgusting clouds of black smoke rose from the stage as daemons went pop all over the place. A scene from hell couldn’t look much worse thought Clara, staring in alarm at the devastation,

  The audience looked on, wide-eyed and fearful. Even the staff sat up, looking more than slightly worried. It all looked so … so real … and, indeed, given the bedlam on stage, it could safely be said that any resemblance to a respectable school concert had long since flown out the window.

  Maritza, hexing daemons furiously, yelled across the stage at Samantha. “Make — her — get — rid — of — them!”

  Clara heard her and looked at Samantha blankly, realizing that she hadn’t a clue how to reverse the spell. “I can’t,” she said, looking at Samantha hopelessly. “I … I don’t know how!”

  Samantha, also hexing daemons furiously, glanced at her in disgust. “Say the spell backwards, you fool!” she hissed.

  Clara ran the spell through in her mind. Her thoughts were in turmoil and she had to think carefully to get the words in the right order. What, she thought, was the last word? Her mind raced through the spell and she said i
t aloud. Now the second last …

  It was then that she noticed Herr von Grozny and the old man darting among the witches, throwing crackling hexes at the daemons that leapt and swooped around them. Who was he? The confusion distracted her and, with her mind in free fall, she knew she had to get a grip. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes firmly so that she could concentrate on getting the words of the spell in the right order.

  Heart in his mouth, Neil watched as, with the arrival of the old man and von Grozny, the pitched battle grew in intensity. Their hexes, he noticed, were much more effective than those of the witches and as the startled daemons started to disappear with alarming swiftness, their leader, perched dramatically on the battlements against the backdrop of the night sky, changed his tactics. At their master’s command, the daemons immediately turned from the witches who, more than grateful to be thus ignored, promptly took advantage of this unexpected respite to disappear in a shimmer of light.

  Red-eyed and evil, the cat-faced creatures folded their scaly wings and, crawling together, gathered in hunched, tight-knit bunches to concentrate their attentions on the two magicians.

  As the Wind Witches disappeared, only the Snow Witches were left, staggering around looking totally exhausted. The battle, however, was by no means over and although Samantha hadn’t a clue as to who the magicians were, she knew she couldn’t move out; not until Clara had finished saying the words of the spell. She looked at her in exasperation, knowing that the whole spell had to be repeated backwards for the daemons to disappear. Eyes shut tight and concentrating hard, Clara, however, was oblivious to what was going on around her.

  Samantha’s lips tightened. Telling her to get a move on would only break her concentration and cause more delay but she knew perfectly well that if the child didn’t hurry up, the magicians would soon be dead for both were in deep trouble, fighting desperately for their lives. Indeed, she wouldn’t be surprised if the old man hadn’t lost the battle altogether. She watched as, totally outnumbered, he struggled to fend off the daemons and as his eyes met hers, cried out in agony. “Samantha, get out of here and take Clara with you!”