If he had brought me there, I had to get away. The twins were watching me like snakes, waiting for me to make a move. Well, they could take a running jump. I wasn’t hanging around for Gideon to show up again. I stood up and pushed past them. I’ve got to go,” I said as I strode toward the door. “Places to be, people to see, you know how it is.”
They trotted after me, all hurt expressions and simpering voices.
“Oh, but you can’t go!”
“No, no, you can’t leave!”
“That wouldn’t be what he wants at all.”
“No,” Florencia shook her head, looking frightened, “not at all.”
They darted in front of me, blocking my path to the door. As they moved, their flowing hair rippled and swooshed, like it had a life of its own. Lucrecia reached out and took my right hand in hers, while her sister took my left. Their grip was light, but somehow at the same time it felt heavy. They turned, wheeling me about, trying to lead me back to the sofa, whispering soft words in my ear, promising me a lovely sleep if I drank their lemonade. I was about to snatch my hands free, to shake them off and make a run for the door, when it opened and suddenly, horribly, inevitably, Gideon was there. I felt such a surge of rage at the sight of him that I lunged toward him. I don’t know what I thought I was going to do—it wasn’t a rational move. My head was still not clear. If it had been I would have been staying calm, giving myself time to summon some magic, using my skills, trusting the craft. But I was still muddled and still angry, and I just reacted, flinging myself at him.
But the twins had hold of me. I gasped, shocked at how tightly they gripped my wrists. I turned to look at them and to try and free myself, and that’s when I saw what was really holding me back. They weren’t holding me with their delicate white hands anymore. It was their thick, dark hair that had me, long, silky lengths of it curling around my wrists, wriggling and tightening like the tentacles of some alien creature. The twins stood quite calmly, as if it were no effort for them at all, and I found I was stuck fast. However much I struggled, I could not get free. And the hair wasn’t just strong, it was toxic. I could feel its own vile poison leaching into my skin, and it instantly began to make me drowsy and weak. I fought against it, reaching deep inside my mind, searching for my magic. I felt a connection made, a spark ignited, and felt myself growing stronger.
“Stop her!” I heard Gideon command, as he sensed what I was doing.
I used my own ethereal force to resist whatever was seeping into me from the twins’ tendrils. I started to float upward, higher and higher, so that the slack was soon taken up and I was pulling the girls by their hair. They cried out but were not to be so easily shaken off, as they sent up further locks to twist around my waist, my ankles, even my neck. I fought to summon more magic as I felt myself beginning to choke. I pulled the black fire of the Sacred Sun to my fingertips and grasped the tightening, pulsating rope at my throat. The room filled with the smell of singeing hair, and one of the twins shrieked. The coil unwound, dropping away, so that I could breathe properly again. I was on the point of finally breaking away from the rest of my slithering bonds when I felt the crushing weight of dark magic which could only have come from Gideon. It pressed me down hard and fast, so that I crashed to the floor so quickly I was winded. I lay there, aware that my own energy was ebbing away. A shadow fell over me and there he stood, looking down at me.
“Good morning, Tegan,” he said. I could hear him talking to me, but my eyelids were suddenly too heavy to hold open. I could sense him working his spell further, even as he spoke, even as he continued to peer at me, his face impassive. It was such dark, heavy magic! Was this where he was going to kill me? I struggled to try and make sense of what was happening, but my thoughts were quickly becoming jumbled and clouded by the swirl of his spell. It was as if all my own will, all my own magic, was being subdued, beaten down, held helpless and useless under the suffocating weight of his hex. I saw visions of Willow Cottage, and of Elizabeth, except that she was grotesque and terrifying. I tried to cling to what I knew to be true and real, but the spell was beyond anything I would have thought Gideon capable of, and it was overwhelming me with unbelievable speed.
“I’m glad to see the twins are taking such good care of you,” he was saying, but his words sounded distant and echoey. “Welcome, Tegan. Welcome to your new home.” His voice became too distorted to make any sense at all, so that all I could hear was the thudding of my own heartbeat loud in my ears as I sank into blackness and nothingness.
* * *
I departed the mill at such speed that Aloysius was left behind. I experienced a flash of anxiety that he might fall prey to the resident cats, but I reasoned that, given his great age, he had more experience than most rodents at avoiding predators. I walked briskly across the meadows, skirting the edge of the forest, eager to shake off the irritation I felt at Erasmus’s response to my actions, and equally keen to see the cottage again. He had no right to censure my activities. True, I was indebted to him for his help, and I needed his cooperation at the very least in order to stay at the mill. At the same time, he was not my master. I would do whatever I deemed necessary, whatever was advantageous, so that I might find Tegan. Whom I accepted help from, and where I chose to go, well, these were my decisions to make, not his. Let him occupy himself with his blessed milling.
By the time I reached the stretch of land that led to my childhood home, the sky was dark with the promise of an imminent summer storm. The pace of my walking speeded my pulse and deepened my breathing, and yet it seemed there was scarcely sufficient air to be found, so humid was the atmosphere. All around me a tension grew, quietening small birds and sending tiny meadow animals into the shelter of the hedgerows. The sun dimmed in a thickening, bruising sky. I pressed on, hoping to reach the little house before the rain began. I crested the hill above the homestead breathlessly in my haste, only to have my remaining breath knocked from me by the sight that greeted me. The cottage stood in ruins! The thatch of the roof was gone entirely, and the walls were mostly crumbled to so much rubble. The barn and yard had fared no better. Oh, it was a desolate picture! I stumbled down the slope toward what was left of my home, of my memory. What had I imagined I would find? I had not seriously considered. There might have been a new family living happily there, perhaps, though given the years of war this seemed unlikely. Or some hardworking farmer might have made good the business, breeding cattle, perhaps, or pigs, maybe. But, no. When I reached the place where the front door would have stood it was plain to see that the house had been deliberately set ablaze, and that this ruination had taken place many years earlier. When, exactly? I wondered. And who would have done such a wasteful and heartless thing? As I formed the question I almost laughed aloud at my own naivety. Gideon. Of course, it had to have been him. When I had chosen to run from, not toward, him, when I had shunned his help, spurned him, turned from the dark magic he would lead me deeper and deeper into, what did I think he might have done directly afterward? He must have thrashed about in his rage, looking for a way to hurt me, to show his anger, to wound anything I held dear. What better place to start than with the destruction of my beloved home?
I gasped as a dreadful thought entered my head. The graves! I turned to the accompaniment of a great rumble of thunder, very loud and near. Its echo was still chasing across the sky when I reached the small patch of ground behind the garden where I had lain my family to rest. If the condition of the cottage had shocked me, it was as nothing compared to what had been done to the graves. Where there should have been grassy mounds with the remnants of wooden markers, and even the broad, flat stones the villagers had insisted on putting on top of my mother’s burial site, instead was a mess of mud and churned earth and deep chasms gouged into the ground. Deep and empty. A flash of lightning blanched the scene a supernatural white for an instant, revealing the full horror of the desecrated graves. Nothing remained of them, save the holes. The bodies of my loved ones had, each and every one of them, be
en torn from the earth. And taken where? For what purpose? My mind began to chase all manner of feverish imaginings. There was no limit to Gideon’s depravity; nothing to which he would not stoop in his rage.
At last, the storm broke. Rain pelted from the tumultuous heavens, washing over me, coursing down my face, mixing with my bitter tears. The wet ground released its pungent scent, letting loose the musty, potent aromas of summer trapped within it, filling the air with an overpowering smell of dung and rotten vegetation and loamy soil. It rained so fiercely that the noise of it was fearsome, and yet above it all I could swear I heard a voice. A voice I knew. A young man, saying my name, over and over.
Bess! Bess! he called.
My brother! I whipped around, searching through the downpour. “Thomas?” I cried. “Thomas?” Of course he was not there. They had all gone; in every possible way, they had been taken from me. But still I saw a shape, a figure, surely, moving toward me through the relentless fall of water. I reached out toward him, and as I did so I heard a child crying. Unmistakably, these were the sobs of a young girl. I turned again, scouring the blurred garden, unable to make sense of the distorted shapes even though the place was so dear and familiar to me. The storm and a dizziness in my own head, the shock and despair at what I had found all conspired to affect my vision and muddle my senses. What was I seeing? What was I hearing? The crying continued.
“Margaret? Dear Margaret, is that you? Where are you?” A second shadowy shape joined the first, and though they moved slowly toward me, they seemed to get no closer. I stretched out my arms to my brother and sister, longing to be reunited with them, to comfort them. I felt myself sinking and looked down at my feet. The torrential rain had turned the dusty earth to sucking mud in a matter of moments. I attempted to step from its grip, but my boots were so heavy with the sodden soil that I could not lift them. The more I struggled, the deeper I sank. Another crack of lightning rent the sky. Thomas and Margaret cried out for me. I twisted and struggled but was soon up to my knees. I fell forward, pulling at my legs, trying to free myself, the mud all the time sucking, dragging, drawing me down, so that I started to slide back. Back toward one of the open graves.
This was no mere storm. There was magic at work here. I steadied myself, shutting the pitiful cries from my mind. I must not simply react. I must think beyond the obvious. I listened behind the heartbreaking voices that I had known so well trying to hear the spell, the wicked murmurings that had conjured them. It was impossible to focus on what I could not see or hear when all the time I was slithering through the mire and had now reached the lip of the grave. I could see into the dark wound in the earth, and where I had at first thought it empty I now saw it contained a body, raggedly clothed and sullied with mud and decay, but a body nonetheless and recognizable as that of my beloved father! I knew it made no sense. I knew what I was seeing was not real. In truth, my father’s remains would be but bones and dust by now. This could not be his corpse, so freshly put into the earth. And yet, as I stared in horror, the body moved. My father opened his sightless eyes and sat up, moving silently toward me, beckoning me to join him in his grave.
“No! This is not real!” I screamed, clutching and clawing at the unnaturally soupy ground. As I could not see clearly, and that which I could see was all trickery and illusion, I shut my eyes. I began to chant a prayer to the Goddess, a plea for strength and protection. As I did so the voices and cries around me grew louder, and the rain fell with such force it filled my mouth as I recited the sacred words. I did not stop. Even though I was now sliding into the grave itself, I kept my eyes closed. I summoned my witch’s strength, the power of my own magic aiding my flailing limbs, so that at last I made some progress upward. The effort required to work against Gideon’s spell and to fight against the turmoil he had created was quickly draining me, but I knew I must not allow myself to be pulled down into the grave, which was rapidly filling with water. Was this what he had planned for me all along? To lure me here and then drown me with the memory of my family, knowing with every passing second that he had won, he had finished me, and I had left Tegan to his nonexistent mercy?
“No!” I screamed again, hauling myself up the collapsing side of the pit. At last I succeeded in dragging my upper body out. As I did so I saw three figures standing at the graveside, looming above me. I peered up, spitting out water and mud, trying to bring their faces into focus. It would have been better had I not done so. All at once I saw Margaret, not happy and rosy cheeked as I liked to remember her, but pale as death, the joy gone from her, tears making tracks through the grime of ages on her sunken cheeks. And Thomas, my dear, brave brother, was revealed to me as he had been at the height of his futile struggle against the plague, his skin bloated and covered with buboes, one eye swollen and bloody, the other shut and oozing. And next to them my mother, who had sacrificed herself to save me. She stood quiet and straight-backed as ever, save for the unnatural angle of her head where the hangman’s rope had broken her neck. I screamed then, a long, bellow of pain for what I had lost, for what we had all suffered, followed by a cry of rage that Gideon should so disport and defile my loved ones in order to torment me.
I redoubled my efforts and hauled myself from the grave, yet still I could not stand. The ground beneath me was a bog now, and would not support my weight. I closed my eyes to the phantoms that surrounded me. I had not time to work the complex manner of spell needed to lift me from the earth, but I could summon a burst of energy, a pulse of magic that might, just might, be sufficient to free me from the sucking mud and allow me to flee from this terrible phantasmagoria. I brought to mind my hatred of Gideon. I made myself think of all the damage he had done, all the pain he had inflicted on me and on those dear to me. I drew a deep breath, breathing in the power of the storm. Let it work for me, this elemental energy. Let me turn it against him! With the next burning crack of lightning I flung myself upward. I felt the fire from the sky sear into me as my body was hurled out of the swamp, directly through the specters of my family, and sent skidding across the waterlogged ground. I landed heavily upon the heaped stones of the barn wall. I was winded, stunned, and in pain. I tried to stand up, but I was too breathless. As I lay in this helpless state another figure emerged from the gloom. This one, taller, heavier, stronger than those insubstantial others, strode toward me with great splashing footfalls. I cried out, rubbing mud from my eyes, attempting to see who it was, to get up and defend myself. I got as far as kneeling before two strong hands gripped my shoulders.
“Let me go!” I cried out. “Let me alone!” I hit out blindly.
“Do not be afraid. I am here to help you.”
“No! Do not touch me!”
“Mistress Carmichael, I mean you no harm. Elizabeth!”
I ceased struggling and looked more closely at the man who held me.
“Erasmus?”
“Come,” he said, “let us have you back on your feet.”
He stooped and slipped his arms around me and pulled me up. The rain continued to descend in overwhelming quantities. We were both soaked, our hair and clothes plastered to us, mine smeared with layers of ancient mud and muck. I stared wildly about me.
“Oh!” I said, a sob catching in my throat. “They are gone.”
“Who? Who is gone? I found you alone.”
“I thought … I saw my family … they came…” I shook my head. “No matter. You are right in what you say. I was alone.”
“There is nothing left for you here, I think,” he said gently. “I know what this place was, what it meant to you, but that was a very long time ago. There is nothing here but ghosts now.”
“You are wrong about that,” I told him, glancing at the watery shadows. “There is something here. Something evil.” As I spoke I heard another sound. It was distant at first, but quickly grew louder. The voice became clear and there was no room for confusion. It was Tegan!
Elizabeth! Elizabeth where are you? I need you.
“Tegan!”
&n
bsp; “What is it?” Erasmus still had hold of my arm and turned me to face him. “Do you see something … someone more?”
“I can hear Tegan.”
Elizabeth, please! Why don’t you find me? Why won’t you help me?
“Can’t you hear her?” I asked him, but he remained bewildered. “Tegan is calling me. She must be here somewhere. He has hidden her in this awful place.” I pulled myself free of Erasmus’s hold and ran into the ruins of the house.
He caught me up. “There is no one here. You must come away now.”
“But she needs me. She is calling me.”
“I hear nothing.” He took hold of my shoulders again. “Elizabeth, there is no one here. You are being tricked. Tormented.”
“But…”
“If she is really here, then why cannot I hear her?” He waited while I considered this. “You must come away now,” he repeated. “You are not safe here.”
With a heavy heart I realized that he was right. Gideon knew all too well how to wound me, and this was just another illusion, another cruel taunt. The rain fell less frantically now, no longer driven by an unseen magic. The storm had passed. There was nothing to be gained by lingering at the wreck of the cottage. Gideon had claimed the place. He had lain in wait and set traps to torture me. I would not come here again. Wearily, I let Erasmus lead me back across the meadows to the warmth and safety of the windmill.
9
By the time darkness fell the storm had moved away, the rain ceased, and the evening was mercifully fresh after the oppressive heat of the previous days. Erasmus had encouraged me to eat a little pottage, though I had no appetite. We ate in silence, and I was grateful he did not seek to press me on what I had experienced at the cottage. He must have seen many strange and inexplicable things in his unorthodox life, and magic was a part of his very being. It was a change for me to be in the company of another who trod the earth differently to others. I realized that time, for Erasmus, as for me, had a meaning few people could comprehend. He was the closest I had come to a kindred spirit in a very long time. I was thankful, too, for his sensitivity toward my situation. I would not have to endure curious speculation from him as to whether I had encountered the spirits of my departed loved ones or ghouls conjured by Gideon. It was enough that I was safe. Once he had satisfied himself that I was recovered he retired, leaving me to my thoughts, and promising that we would search for Tegan together first thing in the morning.
The Return of the Witch Page 9