‘It’s alright,’ he said, pushing her head back against his shoulder.
Suddenly, an arrow shot out from the trees and landed at his feet. He abandoned his path and branched left. More and more arrows came at him as he ran. And, with a stab of blinding pain, one found its target. The arrow sank deep into his thigh and he came crashing down to the ground, dropping Enola. He cried out and smashed his fist against the earth again and again in anger. He tried to stand but his leg buckled and he fell back to his knees, jarring the arrowhead, and roared in agony. There was no time to waste. If they caught him, he would die and so would Enola. Steeling himself and clenching his teeth, he snapped the arrow shaft and threw it aside. As he stood, white pain rushed up his spine and his eyes welled with fresh tears, but he took Enola’s hand and limped on into the Dark Forest.
The noise of battle died away as they moved deeper into the shadows. Enola’s eyes were wide, glinting in the pinpricks of light that funnelled down from above. Alexander was drenched in cold sweat and, for an instant, everything around him turned black. When his vision returned, he led Enola to a tree and leant against it, disorientated, trying to catch his breath. Then, he stumbled onwards. Enola followed as he knocked into trees and tripped over their roots. He was exhausted, spent, but he would not fall until he got her there. To Agatha.
*
Vrax shoved two men out of his path when he spotted a gap in the trees.
‘Cover me,’ he shouted, darting for the border.
He crossed over into the Grassland and closed his eyes, thinking of his mother’s blue stone. Nothing happened. He opened his eyes again to find himself standing on the border still. He tried again and again, until he heard a flurry of footsteps behind him. He turned just in time to defend himself against the sword that swung at him. The man holding it was tall and stocky. Vrax deflected the blade with the flick of his hand. The man, realising his mistake, had no time to return to the safety of the forest. Vrax crumpled his hand into a fist and there was a loud crunch as every bone in the man’s body shattered. As he flopped to the ground, Vrax closed his eyes again and tried to transport himself one last time. When it did not work, he kicked the dead man in frustration. It was over. He had failed. He swallowed his fear and walked back into the forest, a doomed man.
*
As evening fell, there was a weak knock at the door. Agatha rushed to opened it and, when she had, she gasped. ‘Good grief!’ she said, taking Enola from a dishevelled Alexander. ‘Come in. Close the door. Sit here, by the fire. William! William, fetch a damp rag.’
William was nine now, a handsome boy with kind eyes. He had come partway down the stairs and paused when he saw another child in Agatha’s arms. Enola opened her eyes and stared at him stonily over Agatha’s shoulder. Suddenly, he felt cold and lightheaded. He held onto the stair rail as a deep dread passed through him.
‘William!’ Agatha snapped.
William came to his senses and went back up the stairs for a rag.
As he rushed down to the living room, Enola’s eyes followed him. He could feel her watching him, but he didn’t look at her again.
Agatha placed Enola on a chair by the fire and then helped Alexander hobble to the armchair opposite.
‘Where are you hurt?’ she said, leaning over him. Alexander motioned his right leg. The arrowhead was embedded deep in his thigh. Agatha snatched the rag from William and wiped away the blood. Then she rooted around in a wooden box in her cabinet and returned with a vial of yellow liquid and a pair of pliers. ‘This will sting,’ she said. Alexander looked at the implement in her hand and gripped the arms of his chair.
When it was over, Agatha bandaged up his leg tightly.
‘The dressing needs to be changed three times a day.’ She turned to Enola then, as if noticing her for the first time. ‘Who is this?’
Alexander stared at Enola for a moment. ‘She’s Iris’s. And mine.’
‘And where is Iris?’ said Agatha. Alexander looked down at his feet and didn’t answer. ‘What have you done, boy?’
Alexander dropped his face into his hands and started to cry. Agatha wrapped her arms around him.
‘It’s alright, boy. It’s alright.’ She looked to William, who was watching with unease. ‘Lock the door. Douse the lamps,’ she said.
Agatha cradled Alexander long after his tears had dried. ‘What will you do with the girl?’ she asked.
William saw Enola’s hand twitch from where he sat at the foot of the stairs. He bit his nails anxiously in the silence that followed.
Alexander sat forward and looked from his daughter to Agatha. ‘Will you look after her?’
William couldn’t stop himself. He got up and emerged from the shadows, to remind Agatha that he was there, that she already had someone to care for. Agatha put a warm hand on his shoulder and squeezed softly, deliberating. William tried to make his objection obvious to her without Alexander noticing, but his pleading stare was overlooked.
‘Alright. She can stay,’ Agatha said finally. William felt as if the rug had been ripped from beneath his feet. He clung to Agatha unsteadily. ‘Careful!’ she said, stabilising him. ‘He’s tired. I think that’s enough excitement for one day. To bed!’
Defeated, William walked to the stairs and began to climb them slowly. As he reached the top, he heard Alexander talking in a hushed tone.
‘If anyone comes looking for her…’
‘I won’t let anything happen to her,’ said Agatha.
‘But if—’
‘If anyone comes looking, I’ll take her to The Passage.’
‘That must be the last resort. Only if there’s no other way.’
‘There is no other way, boy. You know that. You know what she is. Without her mother to protect her, she has no future in The Light. And she won’t fare any better in the Dark Lands. With me, she’s safe. But if they come here, there won’t be anywhere else to turn. I’ll take her to The Passage. But I can’t go with her.’
‘What about William?’
There was a long pause.
‘Mmm,’ Agatha mumbled.
William backed away from the stair rail. He didn’t know who ‘they’ were or why they might come for the girl. He didn’t know what The Passage was or where it led. But he knew he did not want to be sent there with Enola.
‘Perhaps,’ Agatha continued. ‘I should warn you, though, boy. Be under no illusions here.’ She spoke in a low voice, as she did when she was delivering grave news. ‘If the time comes and they must go, they can never return.’
PART II
Twelve years later
17. THE CURSED ONE
Enola entered Agatha’s house quietly, holding a sprig of Rash Ivy behind her back. She had plucked it from a hedge using an old rag to protect her fingers. The leaves on the sprig were as black as a raven’s wing and, in the centre of each, ran a thin, green vein, through which its poison travelled.
William was sitting at the table hunched over a book, his back to her, broad and tight with muscle from years of hunting. Agatha called him the Prince of the Forest; she was always making a fuss when he returned with deer or wild rabbits strung over his shoulder, remarking on the succulence of the boar he killed as if he was responsible for its tenderness. But she never thanked her when she caught anything. Agatha ignored William’s bouts of sulking, but when she sulked, the old hag couldn’t scold her fast enough. She humoured William when he spoke of his desire to leave the Dark Forest, but when she expressed her wish to venture beyond the shadows, Agatha would snap at her like a dog. Enola loathed her for it. As she loathed William.
She approached him silently and brandished the Rash Ivy. In one swift stroke, she reached over the back of his chair and rubbed the dry, prickly plant on his neck. William shrieked and jumped up from the chair, clamping a hand over his neck as it began to erupt in angry red blotches.
‘You evil—!’ he cried, picking the book up off the floor and hurling it at her. Enola ducked out of the way and ran for
the door. William went after her.
*
Agatha was awoken from her nap by the commotion. She got to her feet with the help of her stick and shuffled towards the door, grumbling.
Outside, shrinking into the distance down the forest path, was Enola, followed closely by William. Agatha sighed. Enola was always tormenting him. In all her life, she had never seen so many tears. It saddened her. Before Enola came, William was a contented little boy. And, ever since, he couldn’t wait to get away. He dreamed of leaving home, leaving her. But she couldn’t blame him. Enola was a wretched little thing, hair as black as death, eyes as cold as ice. It unsettled Agatha to even look at the girl for too long; she was unnatural, cursed. There was darkness in every word she spoke, every breath she breathed, every smile she smiled.
She remembered the time she had marched her out into the forest to punish her. Enola had been no older than six; she had bitten William and drawn blood. Without a word, Agatha had taken her by the wrist, led her to a tree and tied her to it. ‘A feast for the wolves,’ she had said to her. Then she went back inside and waited. William was distraught; he pleaded with her to let Enola go - the bite hadn’t hurt that much. ‘I’m not really going to let the wolves eat her,’ she told him. ‘I’m teaching her an important lesson. She’s safe. But we don’t want her to think she’s safe.’ And she recalled how a cold feeling had crept up the back of her neck when she heard it. A deep growl. She went to the window and looked out as a grey wolf emerged from the shadows and began to circle the tree. Its amber eyes glowed in the moonlight. She stood, transfixed, waiting to see what it would do. ‘Agatha!’ William squeaked, his eyes filling with tears. She snapped out of her trance and reached for the door handle. But, before she had a chance to grasp it, she heard a sharp whining sound. She looked out of the window again. The wolf had sunk low to the ground, whimpering like a pup. She flung the door open. Enola looked at her, eyes as wild as the beast’s, and the wolf bolted.
Agatha never used that method of punishment again.
*
William caught Enola by the wrist and dragged her down to the ground. He prized the Rash Ivy from her fingers and stood over her, wielding it like a knife. Enola rolled onto her back, her white dress blackened with mud. Her eyes darted from side to side, searching for an escape. He stood there, poised to strike, hands shaking with anger. And then he threw down the plant. Enola pushed herself to her feet. He stared at her for a moment before he turned and walked back along the path towards Agatha.
‘I won’t do it anymore!’ he said.
Agatha inspected the rash on his neck and tutted. ‘I have an ointment for that. Let’s go inside. Leave that nasty girl to think about what she’s done.’
‘She won’t, though, Agatha. You know she won’t,’ he said, pulling away from her as she tried to lead him towards the house. ‘I’m leaving.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said. Enola began to laugh. ‘Quiet!’ Agatha hissed.
William stormed back into the house and up the stairs. He pulled his hunting bag out from under the bed and began tossing his things into it. He took the dagger Alexander had helped him make from the wooden cabinet next to the bed; an axe; a thick, black winter cloak; a woollen tunic; breeches; and, lastly, Tales of Merlin the Terrible. Agatha had given it to him on his ninth birthday. It was a large volume, heavy. He hesitated before he put it into the bag. Then, he fastened the straps and swung it over his shoulder. The leather brushed his neck and it stung like fire. He winced, and wished he had rubbed the ivy in Enola’s face.
He came down the stairs and took an empty flask from the shelf above the fireplace, sliding it under his belt. Agatha was standing by the table, watching him.
‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled as he walked past her. He couldn’t look at her. He left through the open door and closed it behind him.
As he stepped onto the path, he breathed in the forest air and exhaled heavily. Then he began to walk.
‘Goodbye, Enola Reverof!’ he called. He had no doubt she was watching.
‘I have a question,’ came a voice from behind. William circled around. His back stiffened as he found himself nose to nose with her. Her eyes danced as she looked at him, like a cat fixated on a mouse. ‘How many days without food would it take for an old woman to finally give up and die?’
‘She will have food…You’ll provide food,’ he said with mounting unease.
‘Perhaps,’ she said. And then she smiled. ‘Perhaps I’ll leave her to the wolves.’
Agatha started as William kicked the door open and stomped back into the house. Enola followed him inside.
‘What’s going on?’ Agatha cried, placing a hand on her heart as he passed her and went up the stairs. ‘No, don’t you go up there, girl. You leave him be! What’s happened?’ she said, blocking Enola’s way with her arm.
‘William changed his mind. He’s a fickle boy with a weak will.’
William turned and came hurtling back down the stairs, stopped only by Agatha’s outstretched arm.
‘You are a manipulative little bitch!’ he shouted, his face turning scarlet.
‘I don’t have the patience for this. William, sit down so I can take a look at that rash. And you,’ Agatha said, turning to Enola, ‘out of my sight!’
*
Enola ate supper in her room on her bed. When she finished, she dusted the crumbs onto the floor to attract the mice. Agatha hated mice. Then, she lay back and pulled the fur throw all the way up to her chin. It had been an exhilarating day. She was tired, but she didn’t dare close her eyes.
The strange man had appeared again in her dreams. For three nights now he had stood, watching her, on the edge of the forest path. A storm raged around him but he remained rooted to the spot, steadily holding her gaze, a single tear streaking down his cheek. She had a feeling she knew what the dream meant, though she couldn’t explain how. Danger was coming.
The next evening, Enola sat with Agatha slicing vegetables and throwing them into the pot above the fire. It was a tedious task. Bored, she threw a whole carrot into the boiling water.
Agatha shrieked and jumped up. ‘Ouch!’ she said, wiping her hand angrily. ‘Do it properly or go and fetch William.’
Enola took her chopping knife and went outside, slamming the door as Agatha began to speak.
‘Bring a lantern,’ she heard her call, ‘it’s getting dark!’
But Enola didn’t need a lantern; she could see well enough. She ambled along the path, barefoot. The ground was ice-cold beneath her feet. She ran a hand across the bark of a tree as she walked. But, as she moved her hand away, the bark she had touched crumbled to the ground like dust. She stopped and picked up a handful of the powder. It was grey. In fact, the entire tree looked grey, almost…dead. She placed a hand on the trunk again. The same thing happened. Walking to another tree, she reached out to touch it and see if its bark, too, would crumble, when she heard voices. Soft, girlish giggling and a man’s laugh.
She left the path and crept through the undergrowth, following the sound. And then she saw him.
‘I’ll find a way, I promise! I want to be with you,’ said William, sitting back against a tree, running his hands through the fair curls of a pretty girl and staring longingly into her eyes. Enola crouched low, watching. The girl was kneeling in front of him in a dark green dress, smiling playfully. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.
Enola stood and emerged boldly from the undergrowth. William’s eyes widened when he saw her and he pushed the girl’s hands away, scrambling to his feet.
‘Who is she?’ asked the girl, startled, as she, too, got to her feet.
‘Enola Reverof,’ said Enola, watching William as his face became tight and still. ‘Now she knows who I am, William.’
The girl looked between them in confusion. ‘Who?’ she said.
‘If you don’t do it, I will,’ said Enola, raising her knife. She had spent the morning sharpening it on the stone outside by the Silver T
ree.
‘No!’ William shouted.
The girl began to scream. Enola lunged for her but William threw himself between them, seized her arm and twisted it. Enola cried out and dropped the knife.
‘William! You have to!’ she spat as the girl fled, growing smaller and smaller in the distance until the darkness swallowed her completely.
‘No,’ said William, letting go of her. He swiped the knife off the ground before she could snatch it and pointed it at her. ‘No,’ he said again.
‘Then I’ll tell my father and he’ll do it,’ she said, turning and running back towards the house, laughing all the way.
‘No! Enola!’ William shouted, chasing after her.
She burst into the living room. Agatha jumped with fright and the contents of her cup spilled into her lap.
‘I have been seen,’ Enola announced. ‘We must tell my father. I can describe the girl. We should send a bird to him at once!’
Agatha sighed. ‘Yes, yes, very well.’
William charged into the house, breathless, his eyes burning with hatred. Enola turned and stepped back when she saw his white knuckles curled over the handle of the knife.
‘I hope they find you!’ he shouted.
‘William!’ Agatha said, a warning in her voice.
‘I hope they take you!’ he said, advancing. ‘I hope they kill you!’ He pressed the tip of the blade to her throat.
‘Boy!’ Agatha said, rising from her chair.
‘I hope they burn you like your mother! I hope they kill every Mortenstone, every last one of them. I hope the streets run red with their blood and yours!’ he cried, his voice cracking as tears began to stream down his face. He threw the knife across the room and walked away to the foot of the stairs, where he slumped down and sobbed into his hands.
The White Witch (The Serpent and The Sorcerer Trilogy Book 1) Page 17