Suddenly I saw Erasmus take his knife from his belt. I gasped. However desperate our situation I could not believe he intended to kill the sisters. They were hampering us in our escape, they were in the employ of Gideon, and there was no doubt they were dangerous, but I believed them to be in their master’s thrall. Were they fully culpable for their deeds? In truth, they were likely acting as much out of fear of Gideon as out of loyalty to him.
Erasmus wrenched the curling bonds from his left arm and shook off the smaller twin who fell to the ground with a cry. He turned and grabbed the taller girl. I saw the blade rise and fall, slicing through the night air. I heard a terrible scream. Erasmus released the girl who stumbled forward, and he quickly grabbed the reins and leapt up onto the cart. It was only then that I saw what he had done. The twin put her hand to the back of her head and screamed again. Her sister stood up, retrieving her twin’s precious hair from its resting place on the stoney street.
“My hair!” shrieked the girl. “Look what he has done! Look what he has done!”
The pair were so horrified, grief stricken almost, that in that brief moment we were able to get away. Erasmus urged the old mare into as fast a trot as she could manage, and soon we had left the town and were making our jolting progress along the dark road.
“Where shall we take her, Elizabeth?” he asked. “If you cannot think of anywhere else it will have to be the mill.”
“No, head for the woods, at the furthest point from the Hall.”
“The woods?”
“We can take the cart most of the way in, if the path has not become overgrown since I last saw it.”
“It might be summer, but we can’t just hide among the trees. We need a place, a house, something.”
“Follow my directions. I know a place.”
13
Indeed I did. My memory of the cabin in the woods, Gideon’s cabin, was something I had buried deep and hoped never to have to revisit. There was nothing remarkable about the little wooden house itself, it was what had happened there—what had happened to me—that made it so significant. For this was where Gideon had schooled me in magic, where he had revealed the depth of his spellcraft, where he had awakened the magic in me.
The journey took nearly an hour, and I began to worry that dawn would begin to break before I had time to work to free Tegan from the spell. It was a relief to reach the woods, as we were less likely to be seen by any soldiers once we were off the roads, but the trees in full leaf obscured the moonlight, so that the horse stumbled and struggled to move forward. In places Erasmus had to get down and lead her, encouraging her gently through the tangle of brambles and low hanging branches.
At last the trees became fewer as we approached the clearing where Gideon used to live and work producing charcoal. Although the place had been abandoned for many years, it was still possible to see the circular patches on the forest floor where the charcoal furnaces had been built, burning away the undergrowth. Once removed the woodland had reclaimed the areas, but slowly, with brambles and ivy and fast growing climbing plants rather than trees. The cabin itself looked unaltered by time, as if nobody had touched it since Gideon left. Perhaps they hadn’t. After all, as far as the local people were concerned, the place was associated with magic, with witchcraft. The only surprise was that someone had not thought to burn it to the ground, but then it was quite possible nobody had been brave enough to do so. Easier to stay away from this dark corner of the dense forest and forget about it as best they could.
Erasmus let the tired horse come to a halt. I left Tegan sleeping fitfully among the hessian and jumped down. There was fierce, ancient magic here! The cabin might have been deserted, but the echo of past magic energy was palpable. A coldness fell about me, bringing with it such a feeling of dread that I had to resist the impulse to turn and run. Erasmus saw how affected I was by my surroundings.
“What is this place?”
“It was Gideon’s home,” I told him, my voice sounding hoarse and strained.
“What?! Why choose here, for pity’s sake?”
“Many reasons,” I said, moving slowly but steadily toward the front door of the cabin. “To begin with, this is the very last place Gideon will expect me to be. That fact might buy us a little time, for he will cast about for a sense of my presence as soon as he is able, and he will use his knowledge of me to work out where I might be hiding Tegan. Trust me, as soon as he is at liberty, he will begin his search, and he will not stop until he finds us. Secondly, we are well away from Batchcombe Hall, from the soldiers, from the townsfolk—they will not disturb us here, for this is not a place anyone of them would venture into unless they were compelled to do so.”
“That I can believe. There is something terrible here, Elizabeth. Something wicked.”
“Which is the third reason I chose to come here. What you are feeling are the remnants of Gideon’s magic. It may not have been stirred up for a very long time, but it is here, nonetheless. Waiting to be awoken.”
“And you plan to do that? You want to wake whatever foul power lurks here?”
“If I am to free Tegan, I will need all the magic I can find.”
“But not … this!” He took in the clearing with a wave of his arm. “Whatever is here is not good, Elizabeth.”
“Magic is magic; how it is used is what determines its goodness or otherwise. If such strength can be harnessed, can be tamed…”
“If! This was Gideon’s magic. Surely that could only work against you and for him?”
“You are attributing the quality of loyalty to an energy source. Magic itself does not have any such characteristics. Surely as a Time Stepper you are aware of that?”
“I am aware of good and evil; of magic and spellcraft being used to heal and help or to do harm.”
“That’s my point, these things are ‘used’ as you put it. I intend to use them for good. Now, if we want to get anywhere before Gideon catches up with us, I suggest we prepare.”
Erasmus shook his head, but I knew I had his trust. “What would you have me do?” he asked.
I lifted the rusted iron latch and pushed open the rough wooden door. It swung into the darkness of the cabin with a sigh rather than a creak.
“Please fetch Tegan from the wagon. Bring her in here.” I dared not hesitate longer. I steadied myself with a breath full of the loamy scents of the forest, and then I stepped inside. The gloom was such that it took my eyes a moment to adjust, but eventually there was just enough moonlight to make sense of the interior. The humble dwelling looked as if it had been untouched since last I stood in it. To one side was a stove, cobwebbed and dusty, a bench with bowl for water beneath a grime smeared window across which ivy now twisted. The table at the center of the room still had a candle stub and wooden plates upon it. I turned to my right. The old iron bed was still there, and I experienced a stab of longing that took me by surprise. For so many years I had successfully blanked from my mind the time when I had longed for Gideon’s touch. I had come so close to giving myself to him here. I had wanted to. The thought of him now made my flesh crawl, but then … was it magic? Had I, too, been bewitched? I wanted to believe so, but in my heart I knew the truth was different. The truth was that I had felt powerfully drawn to Gideon. And it was him, then, who turned away from me. I believe he was waiting, biding his time, preferring to claim me for himself only when I had properly taken that final step toward being a witch. Except that when that time came I had seen him for what he truly was, and I had chosen to turn from him.
I shook such thoughts from my mind. There was work to be done. Aloysius hopped down from my shoulder and set about exploring. I took the dusty covers off the bed, dragged them outside and shook and beat them. Erasmus carried Tegan inside and I followed them in, directing him to sit her on a chair by the fireplace for now. She was still shivering. I draped one of the bedcovers around her and instructed Erasmus to light both fire and candle. He had brought a lamp with him, and set that on the table, too. The c
abin took on an altogether friendlier feel as soon as there was some light and a bit of a fire brightening the hearth. I sent him to the stone wall outside to get water from the spring there. When he returned with a bowl filled to the brim I was grateful to see the supply had not dried up during the hot summer.
I knelt before Tegan and took her hands in mine. It was a relief not to have her recoil from my touch, but I realized this was only because she was drifting into a dreamlike state. She hardly knew what was happening, nor who I was.
“Tegan? My dear, you must try to resist the pull of the darkness. You belong here with us. Listen to my voice. Just keep listening to my voice.” I scooped up her mouse and put him in her lap. Her hands instinctively wrapped around him, gently holding him and stroking him. “That’s right,” I told her. “You are here with friends. You will be well again very soon.” I hoped that I sounded more confident than I felt. I silently cursed Gideon for rendering her so pitifully helpless. It occurred to me that this seemed an unnecessarily heavy spell. I could understand him wanting to turn her against me, and to keep her from running away, but that could have been achieved with a far lighter bit of magic. It was as if he wished to stop her thinking. To stop her being at all conscious of what was going on around her. Such extreme measures puzzled me, for Gideon usually enjoyed an audience for his work. I would have expected him to gain a certain pleasure from having her question and challenge him. Perhaps even having her plead and beg.
Erasmus came to stand beside me. “Is there anything more I can do?”
“Once I begin to try to lift the spell it is crucial we are not disturbed. Any disruption at the moment she passes from the crippling influence of this manner of magic could be harmful.” I looked at him. “Unlike the dangers of Time Stepping, her soul is secure. Her mind, however, is not.”
He nodded, his naturally cheerful face for once solemn. “I will stand watch outside. Whatever comes, whatever you hear, do not be deflected from your course. I will let no one pass.”
As he strode for the door I called after him, “You are a good man, Erasmus. Tegan is fortunate to have your help. As am I.”
He paused, as if about to speak, but then thought better of it and went outside.
I set about my work. My task would have been a great deal easier had I been back at Willow Cottage with my grimoire, my herbary, and all my witch’s accoutrements. I sorely missed my staff, my chalice, my outdoor altar—all these things would have given me strength and helped me to summon deeper and more eclectic magic. But the situation we found ourselves in placed limitations on what was available to me, and I had no choice other than to work with what I had.
I hauled the table to one side, and then persuaded Tegan to stand for a moment while I pushed her rickety wooden chair forward a little so that when she returned to it she was sitting in the center of the available space. I used a rusting poker to coax a piece of burnt wood from the base of the fire. Gripping it in the hem of my skirt I used the nascent charcoal to draw a circle around myself and Tegan. It was a little uneven, but it would serve its purpose. I fetched the candle and dripped a second circle of wax within the line of the first, before setting what remained of it down on the floor next to Tegan. Next I brought over the bowl of spring water and carefully placed it in front of her. I tore a strip of cotton from my petticoat and used it as a washcloth, dipping it in the silky water and using it to gently wash Tegan’s face and hands. It was an indication of how heavily she was spellbound that she barely reacted to what I was doing. Bathing her in this way was the closest I could get to re-creating the natural magic of the pool that I would have used in the garden at Willow Cottage. The act of washing off the dirt of the day also symbolically rinsed away the film of magic that clung to her. As I moved the wet cotton over her hot, dry skin, I muttered a witch’s prayer. The words felt hot in my own mouth, their magic fierce and sharp.
As I finished the final phrases I became aware of noises. These were not sounds of the woodland at night, nor of someone approaching. These were noises of an altogether more supernatural variety, and they were being made by things that were with me inside the cabin. Inevitably, my mind’s eye saw again the terrifying scene I had witnessed when first I had come to this place; the sight of Gideon using black magic, dancing with demons, transformed into something hideous and terrible. I blinked away the vision and steadfastly ignored the growling and slavering sounds that were growing behind me. I saw Aloysius dart deeper under Tegan’s clothing, seeking a safe hiding place, clearly alarmed, yet brave enough not to desert his mistress.
Tegan had begun to whimper, her eyes open now and staring into the deeper shadows in the corners of the room.
“Hush,” I told her, taking her hand in mine. “Listen to my voice, Tegan. Never mind those silly jabberings. They are just tricks sent to confuse you.” I picked up the candle and held it up. “Look here. See the heat of the light? You have a brightness inside you just as pure and fierce, Tegan, and we will use it to drive Gideon’s dark magic out.”
I put the candle down again and stood up. Ignoring the increasing clamor of the imps nearby—no doubt conjured by the enchantment, like feisty guards called upon to keep Tegan locked within the spell—I held my arms high.
“Goddess of the day, Mother Moon, Sister Stars, pluck this girl from her prison. Bring her out of the clutches of the one who wishes her ill. She is not his to keep. She is a witch. Set her free!”
I closed my eyes the better to focus all my energy and attention on Tegan, and on the invisible glamor that had her trapped. Against my eyelids pulsed a green-black vision, racing away and then thundering close, not taking proper shape but growing and shrinking, writhing and throbbing. It was as if I were seeing the very essence of the spell, and with it came a bitter, foul stench, filling my nostrils, choking me. I coughed, spluttered, and managed not to fall to retching. Tegan cried out, and when I looked at her again she was levitating, rising from her chair as if borne up by unseen hands. She screamed, but though her fear was distressing to witness, I could see that she was more awake, more aware of what was going on around her. The grip of the spell was weakening! I continued chanting and imploring the Goddess to help us. A dark green smoke began to trail out of Tegan’s mouth and nose, and her whole body began to shake and convulse. I sprang forward and took her in my arms, holding her tight against me.
“Do not give in, Tegan! You must not give in!” I told her.
We were both rising up now, as conflicting forces acted upon her. Gideon’s spell sought to assert its hold over her, while my own worked to release her, so that she was in the middle of a battle. On the outer edges of the circle the imps squealed and yapped, but they could not enter. At last we reached the low ceiling and began to be pressed against it, so that for a moment I feared we would be crushed. If I ceased spellcasting the levitating would stop, but I would lose any ground gained and Tegan would be snatched back into the grip of the hex. I needed something to help keep her present in reality, something to jolt her from where she was. The pain of being crushed so harshly against the ceiling wasn’t doing it. I shouted her name as loudly as I could but still I could not reach her. Just then, her mouse squeezed from his hiding place, clearly anxious not to be squashed, and amid our struggling he lost his footing and fell. I watched his descent as if the movement were slowed. We were perhaps eight feet above the ground—could the tiny creature survive such a fall? As he hit the unforgiving flagstones of the floor Aloysius gave a heartbreaking squeak. And Tegan heard it. She turned in the direction of the pitiful cry, her eyes properly open now, vision returned to them in an instant. She gasped and flung herself free—free of my embrace, and free of the spell. I fell heavily onto the hearth stones. She landed on the floor nimbly, snatching up the small, lifeless shape, holding it to her heart and looking wildly about her, as if seeing the imps and shifting shapes in the darkness for the first time. She took in a single, furious breath, so deep and strong it caused the flames in the fire to draw toward her. A
nd then she screamed. It was not like her earlier cries of fear or pain. This was a letting loose of rage and fearsome might. It was a witch’s roar, an utterance of magic and ancient power that sent the imps skittering across the ground and then scuttling back to wherever they had come from. The noise rebounded off the walls of the cabin, around and around and around the small space, and it was so fierce and so strong that I had to throw my hands over my ears to protect them.
At last the noise stopped. The room was still and quiet once more, not a natural silence, but a complete absence of sound that sometimes follows such an outburst of magic, as if the air has been used up and cannot carry so much as the chime of a silver bell, or even a child’s whisper, until it has settled and been restored to normality once more.
Tegan turned slowly toward me. Her face was so transformed, so afire with magic, her eyes glowing, her skin luminous, her hair moving as if stirred by stormy winds, that for a moment I feared I had failed and that she was still in the grip of Gideon’s spell. Unhurriedly, she straightened up. She opened her hand and looked at the little white form in her palm. She raised it up to her mouth and tenderly blew upon it, ruffling its fur with her breath. I saw her lips move as she pronounced a silent spell. The mouse sneezed, yawned, and opened its ruby eyes. Tegan smiled, her features relaxing, taking on a more ordinary, indeed a less alarming, appearance once more.
“Tegan?” I spoke softly, uncertain as to how she would regard me now. “Tegan, do you feel quite well?”
She regarded me thoughtfully, as if trying to make up her mind about how she felt, and about me.
The Return of the Witch Page 15