by Matt Ralphs
Titus grimaced, and rolled Lilith over with his boot. ‘We can’t take her with us, she’s too dangerous. David?’ David stared white-faced at something far away. ‘David!’ Titus snapped his fingers. ‘Hide this witch in one of these houses and tie her up.’
‘We should kill her,’ David whispered. ‘Let me do it.’ ‘We are not murderers,’ Titus said. ‘We’ll come back for her later when we’re better prepared. Go on now. Here’s some rope.’
David did as he was told while Titus and Hecate carried Samson into the wagon. Hazel climbed into the driver’s bench to wait, all the while listening out for the return of the Chosen.
Bramley stroked his tail against her neck. ‘Little witch?’ ‘I’m all right,’ she said shakily. Her hands still flickered with magic. Taking a deep breath, she watched the light fade.
The little dormouse appeared from her hair and surveyed the courtyard. Spindle’s remains smouldered in the corner.
A bristling leg dangled obscenely from a windowsill. Titus climbed out of the wagon hatch and sat next to Hazel, closing the doors behind him. His movements were stiff. Bruises covered his neck and he sounded even gruffer than normal.
‘Your mother’s seeing to Samson. She says he’ll survive.’ ‘Maybe she could help David by getting the rest of Spindle’s poison out of him, too?’ Hazel said, handing him the reins. ‘It’s the poison that’s making him hate me, I’m sure of it – it’s sort of curdled in him, like milk.’
Titus jerked the reins and the horses clopped down the alley towards Tower Road. The echo of their hoofs and the creak of the wagon seemed terribly loud.
‘It’s not the poison,’ Titus said. ‘He hates you because you’re a witch.’
A weight dropped into Hazel’s stomach. ‘But I can’t help what I am. I’ve not done anything wrong. All I’ve ever done is try to help him.’
‘David hates your kind because he’s been taught to, in every school lesson, every god-damned church sermon, every news pamphlet, since he was a boy . . .’
‘But you didn’t teach him to hate witches?’ Hazel asked.
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘So you . . . you like witches?’
Titus glanced at her sidelong. ‘Only the ones who don’t cause trouble.’
Hazel managed a smile. ‘Since when do I cause trouble?’
Titus grunted and turned the wagon on to Tower Road. ‘I saw the hatred in him from the start, but I was too drunk to care, let alone do anything about it. I failed him. I’ve been a poor master.’
‘It’s not too late,’ Hazel said, remembering the warm feeling she’d had when she first saw David smile. ‘I’d like for us to be friends again.’
‘I think recent events involving witches and their familiars might well have made that impossible.’
They sat in thoughtful silence for a while.
‘Look, the gatehouse is ahead,’ Titus muttered. ‘I hope that godforsaken bridge holds.’
Hazel sat forward, trying to quell the hope rising in her heart. We’re not free yet, she told herself. Not by a long shot.
‘Tell me about Murrell,’ she said. ‘How do you know him?’
‘He used to be one of King Charles’s most trusted chief ministers, back in the days when witchcraft was tolerated.’
‘Before the Witch War.’
‘Indeed. He was fascinated by magic and he coveted the power it promised, but he was not a Wielder. So he spent years studying witchcraft until he was the foremost scholar on the subject. But even those closest to him did not know that he was dabbling in the dark art of demonology.’
‘Which he did hoping he would be able to gain magical powers?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘So did Murrell—?’
‘Quiet now – the bridge is coming up. I’ll tell you more when we’re safely out of here.’
The creaking of the wagon got louder as they passed into the gatehouse. Across the dilapidated bridge lay the forest, its roof capped green by the early morning sun.
There was a scuffle somewhere behind the wagon. The horses tossed their heads and whinnied. Hazel looked round and saw robed figures emerge from the shops and run towards them. A few had animals by their sides – a dog, a floppy-eared hare, a raven.
So they’re Wielders too, Hazel thought.
‘It’s an ambush,’ Titus said. ‘They must have heard the cannon and come back. Damn it to hell!’
Something reared up by the side of the wagon. Hazel caught a glimpse of a horrible face and then the old Witch Finder was gone, dragged from his seat.
The woodsman! Hazel thought, fighting down a wave of panic. And we were so close to escaping . . .
She tried to grab the reins but strong hands dragged her off the wagon. She landed heavily on the ground, winded and shaken but still conscious enough to lash out. The blow connected with something soft and there was a gratifying grunt of pain.
But her fightback was cut short. Someone pinned her arms to her sides and then the world went black as a bag made of rough material was dragged over her head. She sensed people pressing in around her, then a voice grated by her ear.
‘Try any magic, try to escape, make a noise, and you’re all going over the ravine.’
Hazel froze. She heard whispering, then the voice in her ear again. ‘We’re taking you back to Nicolas. He’ll decide what to do with you.’
40
BLIND AND LOST
‘Trust no one.’
The Woodsman
Fingers gripped Hazel’s arms and a vicious prod in the back forced her to walk. Her fearful breathing made the heat inside the bag unbearable. She stumbled a few times, but the iron grip on her arm never loosened or let her fall.
The ground’s sloping up, she thought. We’re going back to the castle.
Bramley crawled restlessly around the nape of her neck. ‘I can’t breathe! You’re taking up all the air.’
‘That’s the least of our problems,’ Hazel whispered.
‘I don’t think Murrell will harm you,’ squeaked the little mouse, pressing his cheek against her skin. ‘At least I hope not. You and your mother are too important.’
Hazel let the idea sink in. ‘But what about Titus and David?’
‘I think it’s fair to say that they are in deep manure.’
‘And what if they find Lilith? Or she gets loose from her bonds? Murrell won’t take kindly to what we did to her, or her demon.’
Bramley didn’t respond so they stumbled on in silence, listening to the footfalls and whispers of the witches. Behind her came the woodsman’s heavy step; to her left, David’s uncertain stumbling, and all around, carried on the breeze, was the tang of blood that she had grown to hate.
A change in the air told her they had entered the market square. Pinpricks of light filtered through the bag.
‘That’s far enough,’ a voice said.
A shove forced her on to the low wall of the fountain. She sensed two others on either side of her. One of them grabbed her hand: Hecate. The other smelt of old tobacco: Titus.
‘Get this filthy bag off my head,’ he said. ‘And where’s my dog? If you so much as—’
Someone must have hit him, because he grunted and collided with Hazel’s shoulder. Over the sound of her panicked breathing, Hazel heard the witches talking nervously to each other.
‘Bram, stay out of sight,’ Hazel whispered. ‘I don’t want them to take you away.’ He gave a frightened squeak and burrowed deeper into her hair.
Eventually the whispers stopped and the bag was whipped from her face. Black-garbed witches and their familiars stood around them in a semi-circle. David crouched on the ground like a beaten dog. Leaning on his stick in front of her, with Rawhead by his side, was Murrell.
‘Together again,’ he said with a thin smile. ‘How nice.’
Titus pushed himself upright and spat on Murrell’s boot. Rawhead lowered his head and growled.
‘Damned dirty demon,’ Titus growled back.
‘Wha
t a strange little family you make,’ Murrell said, flicking the spit away with his walking stick. ‘It would be a shame if anything happened to you.’
Hazel glared at him. ‘We’re not going to help you, so just let us go, will you?’
‘But we’ve only just remade our acquaintance,’ Murrell said with mock surprise.
‘Hazel told me you went down into the Underworld,’ Titus said. ‘It seems you’re paying the price for your folly.’
‘I have demon blight,’ Murrell replied. ‘My flesh is withering, my blood drying up in my veins. I am dying.’
‘I should have killed you myself, all those years ago,’ Titus said. ‘Then the Witch War would never have started.’
‘What does he mean by that?’ Bramley whispered.
Hazel was surprised to see Murrell wince at Titus’s words before turning his black eyes to Hecate.
‘I told you I’d find your daughter,’ he said. ‘And you know what will happen if you refuse to cure me.’
Hecate gathered Tom into her arms and stood up. ‘I’ll do as you ask, but only after you let my daughter and the two Witch Finders go.’
‘Ma, no!’ Hazel cried.
‘You know I can’t do that. If I let Titus go he’ll come back with help.’ Murrell shook his head. ‘And Hazel will never leave your side, not even if you begged her to.’
‘Why don’t you just get on with it?’ David said, his eyes red with angry tears. ‘Kill us and be done.’
‘I have no wish to kill you, tempting as the prospect is. Hecate, if you cure me I promise to hold them prisoner for the time being. No harm will come to them – you have my word.’
Titus snorted in disgust.
‘Don’t do it, Ma,’ Hazel hissed. ‘He can’t be trusted.’
‘I have no choice,’ Hecate said, walking over to Murrell. ‘You’d do the same if you were in my position.’
‘Watch them while I’m gone,’ Murrell said to his followers. ‘And someone find Lilith. I need her.’
Hazel watched as Murrell and Hecate disappeared into the castle with Rawhead behind, sniffing the ground. The sun rose, a golden coin gleaming on a flawless blue cloth. It was going to be a beautiful day.
Half an hour or so later, two figures re-emerged from the castle. Murrell strode towards them, tall and strong, just as he had been when Hazel first saw him; but he wasn’t quite the same – darkness hid behind his smile, as if he was recalling a painful memory.
Hecate followed, looking pale and shaken. She slumped down on to the fountain wall. Hazel put her arms around her, alarmed at how cold she felt.
‘I’m all right, sweet-pea. It was a strain, that’s all. I just need a minute.’
Hazel wanted to lash out at the beaming Murrell, but she knew that would do no good. I need to give us all as good a chance of escape as possible, she thought. But how?
She composed her features into an expression of humble submission and addressed Murrell. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I’ve been thinking about everything you’ve said, about Cromwell . . . and the Witch Hunters. I don’t want to live my life in fear. I want to help you.’
‘Hazel, what are you doing?’ Hecate said, trying to grab her arm.
Murrell leaned on his stick. ‘So, our little Fire Witch has had a change of heart, has she?’
Hazel stood up. ‘I have. I’ve seen what it’s like for witches in England. I realize that it’s my duty to join your fight. Cromwell and his Witch Hunters must be stopped.’
‘I knew she’d betray us,’ David hissed.
‘Shut up, boy,’ Titus said.
‘So you want to join our war?’ Murrell asked. ‘You want to be a warrior, marching into battle cloaked in fire?’
‘Yes,’ Hazel said, drawing herself up. ‘That’s what I want.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t believe you.’ Murrell sighed. ‘You’re just saying what you think I want to hear.’
‘No, really, I—’
Murrell held up his hand. ‘No more lies. I see now what I must do.’
‘Nicolas?’ Hecate’s voice trembled. ‘You promised me . . .’
‘I know, and I’m sorry to break my word,’ Murrell said. ‘But you are all against me, and I can’t leave anything to chance. There is simply too much at stake.’ ‘What are you going to do?’ David breathed. Murrell smiled sadly and turned to his followers. ‘Take them to the church. It’s time Baal tasted some human souls.’
41
DEMON FOOD
Demons crave human souls. Consuming souls gives them
strength and increases their standing among their own kind.
Necronomicon, Vol. II (author unknown)
The church doors crashed open and Murrell marched inside with Rawhead in tow. Hazel struggled between two witches who held her arms tight. Titus fought and shouted, and under the din Hecate pleaded for them to set her daughter free. David seemed to be in shock and didn’t make a sound.
‘To your places,’ Murrell ordered his followers. ‘Begin the containment chant.’ The witches raised their hoods, fanned out and took up their positions around the circle.
A shove sent Hazel pitching forward over the line of salt. Titus and David stumbled after her. Hecate, still clutching Tom, was forced down into a pew.
Titus looked at the ugly marks carved into the stone floor. ‘Nicolas, this is wrong, and you know it.’
‘Right and wrong. It’s all a matter of perspective,’ Murrell said. ‘Witch Hunters kill witches every day. That’s wrong. But –’ he raised a finger into the air – ‘Cromwell would disagree.’
The witches began their dolorous chant. The shimmering barrier rose up from the salt and everything on the other side became wavy and unreal. Cold gripped Hazel, freezing her magic. Her skin tingled with ice.
‘After everything we’ve been through, it’s going to end like this,’ Bramley said, shivering in her hair.
‘At least let these two go,’ Titus said. ‘For God’s sake, Nicolas, they’re only children.’
‘I take no pleasure in this. I do it because I must.’
Titus was red-faced with fury. ‘Whatever happens, I’m coming back to get you,’ he said. ‘And believe me, I will be an especially vengeful ghost.’
Hazel put her hand against the barrier and felt it hum under her fingers. The incessant chant drummed into her brain.
Murrell loomed over her, his eyes burning with intent. ‘You will outshine us all, Hazel,’ he said. ‘A fire warrior with demonic gifts. You will win me my war, but I’m afraid you must say goodbye to your little friend.’
Before she realized his intent, Murrell muttered a spell, reached through the barrier and plucked Bramley from her hair. Hazel threw herself forward, feeling as if her heart had been yanked from its moorings.
‘Give him back,’ she screamed. ‘You’re hurting him.’
‘Do you know what happens to a familiar when their witch dies?’ Murrell asked, dangling the dormouse by his tail. ‘Their heart breaks and they eventually pine away. Such is this little fellow’s fate. Don’t you think it would be more merciful to give him a quick death?’
Hazel’s courage ebbed away, leaving her utterly wretched. She sank to her knees, tears scorching her eyes as she stared at her familiar through the shimmering barrier. ‘Please, let us go home. I just want to go home.’
Murrell looked down on her, his face softening. ‘We’ve all lost things we loved. It’s part of life.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Rawhead!’
The demon sat up like a begging dog. Murrell dangled Bramley over its gaping mouth.
Titus knelt and put his arm around Hazel. ‘Don’t look,’ he whispered.
A black hole of panic opened inside Hazel. She tore herself from Titus’s grasp and threw herself at the barrier, fire sluicing from her fingers. The barrier bent outward as cracks of shimmering light appeared and began to widen.
The witches chanted louder, reinforcing their magic and closing up the cracks. Hazel’s feet slipped. Her magic ebbed, threate
ning to burn out, but still she forced it to flow until despair gripped her and her flames fluttered and died.
Through her tears she saw the little patch of white under her familiar’s chin; the whiskers around his nose; his little, kicking legs.
Murrell opened his fingers. Bramley fell. Rawhead snapped its jaws shut and swallowed.
Hazel sank to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably and unable to even gather the strength to cry out his name.
‘It’s over,’ Murrell said. ‘Soon you will have forgotten all this. Baal will free you of pain, grief and memory. In a few—’
Rawhead choked and a plume of smoke gushed from its mouth. The demon shook its head, looking as surprised as a creature with no eyes could manage.
‘What—’ Murrell said.
The demon retched so hard all the muscles stood out around its neck, and then a squealing fireball shot out of its mouth, sailed through the air and landed by the door leading to the belfry.
‘Bramley!’ Hazel cried.
Before Rawhead could give chase, the little dormouse found his feet and disappeared up the spiral staircase – his glow fading as he rounded the first turn. The demon bounded after him, black tongue lashing the air.
‘Leave it,’ Murrell ordered. ‘I want you here.’ He rolled up his sleeve to reveal the scars on his arm. ‘Brothers, sisters – it is time to call forth our patron.’
Wrapped in a daze, Hazel clambered to her feet and staggered over to Titus and David. The old Witch Finder was looking at the carved marks on the floor, his face pinched with concentration.
‘This is not the peaceful retirement I’d hoped for,’ he said. ‘Who’d have thought it would come to this?’
Murrell’s voice cut through the chant, each word ricocheting around the circle like a musket ball. Eldritch light flickered along the lines of the circle and the air filled with the bitter smell of burned almonds. White mist seeped up from the ground, gathering in a swirling ball in the centre of the circle.
Here it comes, Hazel thought, backing away with Titus and David as the mist separated into three tentacles.
‘Murrell,’ Titus yelled. ‘My dog is in the wagon. Do one thing right in your miserable life and look after him, will you?’ Without stopping his chant, Murrell nodded.