Fire Girl

by Matt Ralphs

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh dear . . . oh dear.’

  ‘What? What?’

  ‘They’re talking about us. Well, you, really. He’s telling Rawhead to hunt you down. He suspects you might be nearby, trying to find Hecate.’

  ‘We need to get into that castle,’ Hazel said, watching the witches and the woodsman disappear down Tower Road; Murrell, Lilith and Spindle were already halfway across the drawbridge.

  ‘So what’s your plan?’

  ‘We follow Murrell and Lilith and hope they don’t see us.’

  There was a clank as the drawbridge chains drew tight.

  ‘Quick,’ Bramley said. ‘They’re raising the bridge.’

  Hazel launched herself across the courtyard, bag banging against her shoulder, arms pumping at her sides. Wood creaked as the drawbridge cleared the ground; the castle keep was closing its jaws. She forced her tired legs to go faster, knowing she only had seconds before it was out of reach.

  ‘Go, go, go!’ Bramley squeaked.

  Her lungs pumped like bellows and it felt as if her feet hardly touched the ground. Twenty paces away, ten paces, five . . .

  Fearing it was already too high, Hazel jumped. The air whooshed from her chest as she collided with the end of the bridge. Legs kicking and too panicked to feel any pain, she clawed at the wood, searching for something to grab hold of. Her fingers fumbled over a crack between the beams and, with a sideways swing, she managed to hook her leg over the end of the bridge and haul herself up. But she wasn’t safe yet.

  The bridge was nearly closed and in a few more seconds she’d be crushed between it and the stone tower. She looked down at the ever-steepening slope to the ground and, with only half a breath’s hesitation, let herself roll. Everything spun, faster and faster, until she came to a bruised and gasping halt in a puddle of rainwater.

  The drawbridge juddered shut with a clank of chains.

  Hazel lay still, as water soaked into her clothes. Everything hurt: her ankle throbbed, her elbows were sore, and her head felt battered and woozy. But through it all she savoured the fierce joy of victory: she was another step closer to her mother. ‘Bramley?’ she croaked.

  He stirred in her hair. ‘I’m not speaking to you.’ ‘Fine,’ Hazel said, crawling behind a pile of barrels. ‘As long as you’re all right.’

  ‘I’m not all right. That’s why I’m not speaking to you.’ ‘Don’t be such a grump. We’re still alive, aren’t we?’ Rubbing her skinned elbows, Hazel waited for the aches and pains to subside and her brain to start working again. As her eyes adjusted she peered through a gap between the barrels and saw she was in a high-vaulted chamber with swords, spear tips and bits of armour lying in jumbled piles. A nearby door opened. Inside were iron cogs, pulleys and coils of chain.

  The drawbridge mechanism, she thought. Murrell and Lilith emerged holding flaming torches, followed by Spindle. They disappeared through a large door on the far side of the chamber. After giving them a head start, Hazel tucked her hair behind her ears, pulled up her hood, and followed them. After peering around the door frame to ensure they were nowhere in sight, she crept into a vaulted banqueting hall.

  A long table lay upended in the middle of the floor. Plates, candelabras, discarded weapons and broken chairs lay strewn everywhere. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. A tapestry hung forlornly over a fireplace, the once striking scene of jousting knights now engulfed in mould.

  ‘This must be where the final battle of the Witch War took place,’ Hazel whispered.

  Lilith’s voice drifted from somewhere above. Floorboards creaked. Following the noise, Hazel headed for a sweeping staircase leading to a balcony overlooking the hall. Keeping her back to the wall, she edged up the steps until she reached the top. A faint light glowed from one of the many doorways, reflecting on stone steps spiralling up into darkness.

  35

  DON’T LOOK DOWN

  ‘Magic and demons are closely connected;

  thus, all witches are tainted with evil.’

  Witch Hunter Captain Daniel Abnett

  Through the door and up the stairs she went, quickly, quietly, not daring to use her magic for fear of giving herself away. Doorways gave out to deserted corridors, home now only to shadows and dust. Wind whistled through narrow windows as she followed the light ever upward, until she thought her legs would give way beneath her.

  After one more twist of the staircase she found herself in a small square room with arrow slits in the walls. A doorway led outside.

  ‘This must be where we saw the light shining from,’ Hazel said, padding over to the door. Outside lay the castle’s windswept battlements. Squat towers rose up from each corner. The door leading inside the opposite tower was closed – and there was a crack of light showing at the bottom.

  There they are, Hazel thought.

  Leaning into the buffeting wind, she skirted the edge of the roof until she reached the tower. Muffled voices came from inside.

  ‘Quick, get out of sight,’ Bramley squeaked from behind her ear. ‘They could come out any minute.’

  ‘Hush, mouse,’ Hazel said, pressing her ear to the door. ‘I’m trying to listen.’ She closed her eyes and concentrated. ‘It’s Murrell’s voice, but I can’t hear what he’s saying.’ She leaned over the battlements. A little way away, light spilt from a window in the tower, and there was a narrow ledge against the outside wall running right underneath it.

  Oh well, Hazel thought, hopping up on to the wall, sitting down and dangling her legs over the edge. Here goes.

  ‘No, no, no!’ Bramley squeaked in horror. ‘Even you wouldn’t be stupid enough . . .’

  Hazel closed her eyes, slid off the wall and let herself drop.

  A feeling of weightlessness, a second of panic, a sickening lurch in her stomach, and then her feet hit the ledge. She felt the solid stone under her feet and pressed her back against the wall as hard as she could. The wind tugged her cloak and whipped her hair. After a few seconds to gather her courage, she took a tentative sidestep towards the window.

  Bramley was so agitated he’d tangled himself up in her hair. ‘Oh, you stupid girl! Go back . . . No! Don’t move. Don’t look down . . . Oh, what have I done to deserve such intolerable treatment?’

  Ignoring his frantic tugs and keeping her back flat to the wall, Hazel sidestepped with her left leg, and after testing the foothold slid her right leg along to meet it. The ledge was solid – but it was slippery too, and years of erosion had worn the edge to a slope.

  Step after step and still the window didn’t seem to get any closer. She risked a glance down at the drop. Dizziness swooped from her head to her stomach and for a heart-stopping moment she felt herself tipping into the void before her.

  She fixed her eyes on the horizon and took a deep, steadying breath. The sky above the edge of the world was turning blue and chasing the scattered stars away. Dawn was about to break. When she thought that her sense of balance had returned, Hazel continued her laborious journey, never once thinking about turning back.

  At last she reached the edge of the window. It was small, barred, and set in a deep, narrowing recess in the wall. As quietly as she could, Hazel dropped to all fours and crawled inside. Through the bars lay a candlelit room – probably once a guard’s chamber – with a bed, a bench running along the wall, and a basin of water in the corner.

  Hecate sat on the end of the bed, straight-backed with her red hair burnished in candlelight. She had one hand resting on a cage, and squeezed inside with his hackles poking through the bars was Ginger Tom. Hazel could barely stop herself from crying out with joy.

  ‘So Rawhead did find him when he went back to the Glade,’ Hazel whispered, glad that Hecate and her familiar were together.

  ‘Much as I dislike that cat, I hope he gave that demon a scratch or two before he was caught,’ Bramley said.

  Hazel followed her mother’s glare and saw Murrell leaning heavily against the door. He looked even worse tha
n he had in the church – the journey up the tower had clearly taken its toll. Lilith was placing their torches in sconces on the wall.

  Tom gave a furious hiss, his baleful eyes turned towards the ceiling. Hazel flinched when she saw Spindle, clinging upside-down in a corner and looking even more grotesquely enormous in the confines of the room. Its fangs mashed the air, shiny with venom.

  ‘I need your help,’ Murrell said, lowering his hood to reveal his ravaged face.

  ‘Demon blight,’ Hecate gasped. ‘You’re riddled with it. Is this why you went to so much trouble to find me? So I could cure you?’

  ‘It was . . . one of the reasons, yes.’

  Hecate shook her head. ‘You were always reckless, Nicolas, but you were never a fool.’

  Lilith took a step forward, her hair frosting with magic. Hecate didn’t even flinch.

  Murrell glanced at Lilith. ‘Leave us. I wish to speak to the healer in peace.’

  Lilith’s face crumpled and her magic faded away. ‘But—’

  ‘Take Spindle and search Rivenpike – that Witch Finder may be sniffing around.’ He cast a wry glance at Hecate. ‘And as for the girl, if she’s as persistent as her mother – fear of death won’t stop her from coming here. If she’s hereabouts, I want her captured.’

  Lilith cast Hecate a venomous glare and stormed out. With a hiss, Spindle squeezed its swollen body through the door and followed its mistress. Murrell smiled ruefully as he closed the door and slumped on to the bench, clasping his cane in gnarled fingers.

  ‘You’ve seen Hazel?’ Hecate said quietly.

  ‘I have.’

  ‘Where was she?’

  ‘Somewhere in Wychwood. She’s looking for you.’ Murrell smiled. ‘You don’t know whether to be proud, angry or frightened for her, do you?’

  ‘I’m her mother. I’m all of those things.’

  ‘She won’t give up until she finds you. Despite Rawhead, despite Spindle . . . despite even me.’

  ‘If you hurt her—’

  Murrell held up a hand. ‘I have no wish to harm your child, Hecate, but she is a powerful Wielder, and stubborn. If she tries to rescue you, or puts any of my followers in danger, I will do what I have to.’

  ‘She’s just a little girl!’

  Not any more, Hazel thought. I’m a Fire Witch. I’ve become what you feared I would, Ma.

  ‘You underestimate her,’ Murrell said with a tremble in his voice. ‘She’s loyal. More loyal than you ever were.’

  ‘The war was lost, Nicolas. You just wouldn’t admit it.’

  ‘You abandoned us!’

  Hecate pressed her hands against her stomach. ‘I was expecting a child. I had to think of her before anything else. Surely you can understand that?’

  Murrell’s anger faded, as if he didn’t have the strength to sustain it.

  ‘You should have told me about her,’ he said. ‘Everyone loved you, Hecate, and if we’d known you were with child we’d have fought all the harder to protect you both. Perhaps hard enough to win.’

  ‘You deceive yourself. I am sorry for it, but I know I made the right choice.’

  Murrell gazed into the fire. ‘We lost all hope when we realized that you had gone. That was the day we lost the Witch War.’

  Hecate leaned forward and took his fragile hands in hers. ‘Let me go. Let me find my daughter and go home. We’ve no part to play in your plans—’

  ‘Yes, you do. Both of you,’ Murrell snapped, pulling away. ‘Hazel’s fire-magic is a powerful weapon that I can use in the coming war, and I am going to find her. In the meantime, I’m offering you a chance to atone.’

  ‘What does “atone” mean?’ Hazel whispered.

  ‘It means “to make amends”,’ Bramley replied.

  ‘You want me to cure you?’ Hecate asked.

  Torchlight fell on Murrell’s face as he leaned back against the wall. His skin looked transparent in the torchlight. ‘That is why I went to so much trouble to find you.’

  ‘The plan you’ve hatched with that demon is evil.’

  ‘It’s our only hope of survival. When I told you about it, I’d hoped you would understand—’

  ‘If I help you, how many innocent people will you sacrifice in that dreadful ritual?’

  ‘Enough to build an army strong enough to defeat Cromwell and all his Witch Hunters. Then we can undo all the lies told about our people and make England a place where magic and non-magic folk can live in peace.’ Murrell ran a shaking hand over his face. ‘But first, sacrifices must be made.’

  Hecate bit her lip. ‘You’re walking in the dark now, Nicolas, and I don’t think you’ll ever find your way out.’

  Murrell’s voice cracked like glass. ‘If you don’t help me, you condemn me.’

  ‘You condemned yourself to this disease when you consorted with a demon. You knew the risks.’ She shook her head. ‘No, I won’t cure you, and I won’t help you carry out your plan.’

  Murrell watched Hecate closely for a moment before painfully hauling himself to his feet. ‘I will find your daughter – have no doubt about that. And when I have her, you will do what I say.’

  The door closed. There was the click of a key turning in the lock and then the tap tap tap of Murrell’s cane fading across the rooftop. Hecate sat on the bed, head bowed, worrying the hem of her dress between her fingers.

  ‘Well?’ Bramley whispered, tugging gently on Hazel’s ear. ‘What are you waiting for?’

  Hazel reached through the bars. ‘Hello, Ma,’ she said.

  36

  DARK DESCENT

  ‘In return for Royal Patronage, all witches do make this solemn

  oath: To help the people; to protect the land; to do no harm.’

  Oath given by Sarah Lilly, First Witch of the Coven,

  to Queen Elizabeth Tudor, 1570

  Hecate looked up and gasped. ‘Hazel? No ... no ... no!’

  She scrambled backwards across the bed and tumbled over the other side, dragging the blankets with her. ‘What are you?’ she cried. ‘Some demon in false form, sent to torment me?’

  ‘Don’t shout,’ Hazel pleaded. ‘It really is me. Look at Tom – he knows who I am.’ Ginger Tom was watching Hazel from his cage, rubbing his flanks against the bars and purring loudly.

  Hecate untangled herself from the blankets. ‘Tom, is that really . . . my daughter?’

  The cat gave a series of miaows and chirrups. Hecate listened, her wide eyes never leaving Hazel.

  Something burst inside Hazel. Her face scrunched up and, without warning, tears began to flow down her cheeks. ‘Ma, it’s me, so please just give me a hug.’

  Hecate bounced across the bed, nearly knocking Tom’s cage to the floor. ‘My dear, sweet daughter ... I’m so sorry.’ Hazel glowed as her mother drew her tight to her chest – it felt as if the bars between them had melted away.

  ‘It’s really you. Nicolas said you were on my trail. He’s out trying to find you . . . and you were here the whole time?’

  Hazel nodded, smiling and laughing and wiping away her tears. ‘I heard everything . . .’

  Hecate’s eyes strayed to the edge of the windowsill, just inches behind Hazel. Her face slackened with horror. ‘You’ve been crawling around out there on the ledge? Don’t you realize how high we are? You could have fallen. You could have been killed.’

  Bramley tugged at Hazel’s ear. ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘I have excellent balance,’ Hazel said. ‘Besides, I just had to know if it was really you in here.’

  ‘Come in here at once, Hazel Hooper, so I can scold you properly.’

  Hazel examined the bars across the windows. ‘I might not be able to get through these, but I can probably deal with the door. And before you say it, yes, I’ll be careful.’

  Hecate gave Hazel a squeeze. ‘Be careful,’ she whispered, and then reluctantly let her go.

  Hazel rolled her eyes and crawled on to the ledge. ‘Ma worries too much,’ she said, inching her way back t
o the rooftop.

  ‘Don’t be churlish,’ Bramley said. ‘Would you rather she didn’t worry about you at all?’

  Hazel mumbled something indistinct.

  ‘Pardon?’ Bramley said. ‘I couldn’t hear you.’

  ‘I said, I suppose not.’

  Hazel carefully edged her way back along the ledge to the rooftop. After checking the coast was clear, she scurried across the flagstone roof and knocked on the stout wooden door. ‘Ma, stand away.’

  She pressed her palms against the door and soon the wood was smouldering and turning black. Smoke and flakes of ash curled away on the breeze. This time she barely had to concentrate to control her magic. It was a bit like moving her limbs – she wanted it to happen, and it just . . . did.

  Wielding isn’t as painful as it was, she thought. It’s starting to feel easier.

  Flames crackled as her hands pushed right through the planks, and then the handle and lock mechanism fell to the floor with a clank. The door flew open and Hazel tumbled into her mother’s waiting arms.

  ‘So, you really are a Fire Witch,’ Hecate whispered, holding Hazel so tightly that she could barely breathe. There was a catch in her voice – half proud, half sad.

  Hazel nodded. ‘I always knew I was just like you. Magic was in me all along, but it took that demon hurting you to spark it in me.’

  ‘Magic and emotions are connected,’ Hecate said, drawing back to look her daughter in the eye. ‘But listen to me. Being a Wielder is dangerous. People will either want to use you . . . or kill you.’

  ‘I know, Ma,’ Hazel said. ‘I’ve seen enough of England to know the truth now. But we won’t let them hurt us, will we?’

  Hecate kissed the top of her head. ‘No, we won’t.’

  ‘First we need to get out of this castle,’ Hazel said, crossing the room to peer out of the window. ‘But the drawbridge is closed and Murrell, and Lilith and that horrible demon of hers are still in the castle somewhere.’

  ‘I know a secret way out,’ Hecate said. ‘It was built during the war, and was known only to the Queen and her closest confidants.’