The Return of the Witch

by Paula Brackston

  I kicked for the surface, but it didn’t seem to get any closer. I kicked again, peering down into the gloom at my shadowy legs, willing them to be stronger. And as I watched, my legs swelled and altered, melding together to become a broad, powerful fish’s tail. And my arms moulded to my sides, pale skin changing to dark, shimmering scales. Tiny fish came to swim around me, hundreds of them, swirling about me, the shoal lifting me, spinning me. And I felt that transformation complete itself. I was Balik Kiis! Forever!

  When I pulled myself out of the water and back onto the ice I was human once more, but Ulvi had been right. I was changed. I felt the cold, but it did not hurt me. I stood with bare, wet feet on the frozen surface of the lake, yet my soles did not freeze to it. No frostbite found my wet fingers. As I dressed I did not even shiver.

  Ulvi had watched me closely, smiling. And then she turned and marched back toward the jeep, yelling at me to bring the things from our camp.

  In Batchcombe Woods, in the damp hollow tree, I summoned the memory of that lake, of that cold, reminded myself that I was Balik Kiis, and I felt the last of Gideon’s spell washed from me by the icy waters. I tingled with renewed energy. I had to find Elizabeth. It was my turn to help her, and I would not let her down.

  17

  It was not until the soldiers who had dragged me there had locked the cellar door and their footsteps dwindled into silence that William and I spoke.

  “Bess! How come you here? What has happened?” He took my hands and led me to a wooden chest that served as a seat. There was one high window with a metal grill that let in a little daylight from the garden, and the door at the top of the stone cellar steps was ill-fitting enough to allow some light to seep in around its edges. Aside from this and one smoking tallow candle, however, the cold space was in darkness. Where once there might have stood casks of ale and wine, and stores of fruit, vegetables, hams, and sacks of flour, along with lamp oil and candles, now the cellar was all but empty, save for we two.

  “It seems you are to have my company for a while at least,” I told him.

  “But, you are indispensable to them! What possible cause could they have to throw you in here like this?”

  I gave him a tired smile. “What was I ever guilty of, William?”

  I fell to explaining further. It was easier to talk, to tell him as matter-of-factly as I could, of how I had sought only to alleviate suffering, to heal the wounded, and how that desire had led me to use my uncommon skills and gifts, than it would have been to let him voice the unspoken terror we both held of what would happen next. After saving James Page I had been accused of using witchcraft. The very word had caused such mayhem. The army cook had been the loudest in his accusations and charges, shouting and pointing and near foaming at the mouth in a frenzy of excitement. He proclaimed that he had harbored suspicions about me from the first, and was full of his own cleverness and importance. No sooner was the possibility of my being a witch raised than others began to speak up, saying that they, too, had noticed my strange practices and the curious ways I treated the sick and the wounded. It was ironic that most of what they had witnessed were instances of my using my scientific medical expertise rather than the craft, but then, why would they not think such things magic? They had scant understanding of either, so that both were equally bizarre and ungodly to them.

  William was shaking his head. “Surely they can see, after all you have done, that you seek only to do good, to ease pain, to effect a cure…?”

  “They see it, and they are grateful for it, but they fear it, too. I am a woman alone, without husband or family, unknown to them. My ways, my confidence, my authority, these things are enough to cause mistrust. My skills as a healer always stir curiosity and a little awe. Add jealousy and a mean spirit to the mix and I am half hanged before anyone utters the word witch!”

  “They cannot mean to see you hang!”

  I squeezed his hand. “The position I find myself in is not an unfamiliar one, William. To rage at the injustice of it is not the answer.”

  “Then what is?” William sprang to his feet and began pacing back and forth. “I am unable to help even myself, locked up in here! There must be something we can do.”

  My heart went out to my old friend. He had lost everything—his family, his home, his position, and soon, in all probability, his life. It would be a strange man indeed who could sit and await his fate meekly: It was not unreasonable he should wish to rant and storm.

  “It is my understanding,” I told him, “that you are to be sent to Oxford tomorrow. I should imagine they will have me go with you. They will want to be rid of me. Colonel Gilchrist follows the Puritans. He will not suffer a witch to linger in the encampment.” I gave a light laugh. “Who knows what terrible spells I might work upon his poor, defenseless soldiers?”

  “How can you joke, Bess? When we are so treated, when our fate is so decided by others whom we have done no harm, how can you laugh?”

  “Would you sooner have me weep?”

  “I would have you live!” He ran a hand across his brow and then sat down heavily next to me. “I am sorry, Bess. I have failed you again.”

  I put my hand on his shoulder. “You will do neither of us any good by saying such things,” I told him. He looked so terribly sad. “Let’s remember happier times. Do you remember when I challenged you to ride that colt of your father’s that was not properly broken?”

  The memory did elicit the shadow of a smile from him. “I do. The flighty thing ran away with me. I seem to recall you finding that highly amusing.”

  “I can picture your face even now!” I laughed at the thought of it. It was good to turn our minds away from the bleakness of the present moment and enjoy revisiting such simple shared memories. Whatever lay ahead, we would be better able to face it calmly, I reasoned. And so, for the rest of that day, we reminisced, traveling back in our minds, selecting bright moments from our giddy childhoods before calamity had visited our families.

  Darkness fell without our noticing. The small chinks of light faded into shadow, so that ultimately only the golden pool of light around the candle remained. So it was that I heard rather than saw something drop through the metal grill between the cellar and the garden. Something had landed lightly on the damp stone floor. Unhurt by its long drop, it scampered on tiny feet across the flagstones.

  “Urgh!” William frowned. “This place is fit for nothing but rats now.”

  “No, not rats,” I corrected him, getting up and walking carefully in the direction of the small sounds. “Mice.”

  “Rats, mice, what does it matter which?”

  I stooped down, the hem of my skirts brushing the floor. “It matters a great deal,” I said, and as I spoke I stood up again, and held out my hand toward the candlelight to reveal, sitting in my palm, whiskers twitching, a single, snowy white mouse.

  William failed to recognize anything significant in what he saw. “A freakish thing. You should not touch it, Bess. Such creatures are filth-ridden.”

  “Not this one,” I said, stroking its downy fur. “This one is very special. Aren’t you, Aloysius?”

  In that moment, when I recognized the mouse, and I knew his appearance meant that Tegan was near, I felt such joy! She must be free of Gideon’s spell. She was recovered sufficiently to hear my call and to come to my aid. She had sent Aloysius to let me know she was coming. I turned to William, who was at a loss to comprehend the expression of happiness I wore.

  “All is far from lost,” I told him. “Come, we must be ready,” I said, moving to stand closer to the door.

  “Ready for what?”

  “Hush. Listen now.” I stood with my eyes closed, listening with the sharpness of my witch senses, alert to the smallest sign of Tegan’s presence. At first there was nothing, save for the distant sounds of soldiers going about their duties. Judging by the lack of daylight, the hour was now quite late. Most of those billeted in the house would be abed. As no one was expected to try to free us it was unlike
ly there would be more than one soldier charged with the task of guarding the cellar door. However, she would still have to move unseen through the grounds of the estate, enter the house, find us, and effect our release. I contemplated attempting to use my magic to try to release the lock on the door. I climbed the stone stairs that led up to it and placed my hands upon the handle. It would certainly save time, but it was too risky. Such a large iron mechanism would not be freed without making a telltale noise, which would no doubt echo through the cellar and along the passageway on the other side of the door. It would not do to rouse a possibly slumbering guard. No, all I could do was wait, and trust Tegan’s own abilities. At least I was able to send out a word to her, repeating her name softly beneath my breath, letting her know her messenger had reached us, and that we would be ready when the moment came for us to act.

  At last there were sounds on the floor above us.

  “Where are we in relation to the upstairs rooms, William?”

  “Directly below the pantry that leads off the kitchen.”

  I raised my gaze and began to discern slivers of light breaking through in one part of the ceiling.

  “The trapdoor!” William exclaimed. “’Tis an opening where the boards can be removed to lower barrels and sacks for storage.”

  We hurried over to stand directly beneath it. There were further sounds of movement and then the section of boards lifted up, leaving us blinking upward into the sudden burst of lamplight. When my eyes had adjusted to the brightness I saw Tegan standing there, holding high a lamp, illuminated like an angel against a backdrop of darkness. It seemed to me, in that instant, that it was not merely the burning oil that lit her, but that there emanated from her a glow, an iridescence all her own. And I knew that such a pulsing, pure light could only come from magic. Tegan’s magic. She put a finger to her lips to bid us be silent, and then lowered a ladder down to us. We quickly scrambled out. Once in the pantry I saw through the open door Mary-Anne apparently asleep in a chair by the stove.

  “I have set her dreaming for a little while,” Tegan whispered to me as Aloysius scuttled up to sit on her shoulder. “She will awake wonderfully refreshed. As will the two soldiers who were guarding the door at the back of the house.”

  I noticed the army cook, his head on his arms on the kitchen table, snoring loudly. “And him?”

  “Oh no, he’s just drunk,” she said, smiling.

  It was so marvelous to see her restored to her free self once more, and to see her so alive with magic! Those signs about her I had noticed upon my return from the Summerlands, the power I had glimpsed as I removed Gideon’s enchantment, now they made sense to me. On this point at least Gideon had been correct; Tegan was no longer the apprentice witch of five years ago. She was something altogether different.

  Leaving the lamp behind, the three of us hurried out of the house and crept under the cloak of darkness away from the garden and the soldiers’ encampment. When we were at a safe-enough distance to speak properly, Tegan explained that Erasmus was waiting for us at the edge of the woods. They had been able to obtain only two riding horses, and both of those were thanks to Keanes, who had put himself at no small risk to get them for us. We would have to ride two to a horse, and were to make for the Welsh border. Erasmus had a friend there who could be trusted to take us in.

  It was heartening to see my trusty Time Stepper again. If he had suffered any lasting effects from his struggle with Gideon, they were not visible. He sat upon the horse I recognized as the one Keanes had appeared on only a day before. A single day! So much had happened, so much had changed. He held the reins of a second horse, black and skinny, possibly taken from the army pony lines. The animal itself was reason enough to see Keanes hanged as a horse thief if he were caught, which explained why he was nowhere to be seen. We were out of breath by the time we reached Erasmus.

  “Were you seen? Has the alarm yet been raised?” he asked.

  Tegan shook her head. “We have little time, though.”

  William said, “No one will think to check the cellar until morning.”

  Tegan turned to him, her expression serious. “I am not worried about the soldiers,” she said.

  “Gideon.” I understood. “He will come after us. He will have felt your use of magic.”

  “Hurry,” Erasmus said as he threw the reins of the second horse to William, who quickly mounted it. He then held out his hand to me. I took it, and swung up onto the saddle behind him. William’s horse fidgeted unhelpfully, and before Tegan could get on there was a subtle thickening of the darkness behind us. We all turned toward it, unable to do otherwise, and watched as Gideon emerged from the trees. He was on foot, and walked slowly as if, for all the world, there was not a single thing to worry him, not a single reason to make haste. Once again he had succeeded in moving about without being detected, and was able to know where we would be almost before we arrived. It seemed an impossible task to outrun him.

  I began to dismount, but Tegan signaled for me to stop. She stepped forward, firmly placing herself between Gideon and the rest of us. Having no light save for the young moon above us, it was only then that we saw Gideon was carrying a pistol. Tegan stood unafraid and calm, and I became aware of a high note of magic coming from her, like the sound of a distant tuning fork being struck. Again she seemed to glow of her own accord, and I was astonished to see she was levitating, her feet now several inches above the grassy ground. Gideon had eyes only for her, and no wonder! There was such a power contained within her that it must have been obvious to all present, even William, whose knowledge and experience of such things was next to nought. I had my arm tight around Erasmus’s waist, and I felt his sharp intake of breath as he, too, recognized the magnitude of force that Tegan had become. This was no novice witch. At last, Gideon’s single-minded desire for her, his relentless pursuit of her, became clear to me. She was not, as I had first thought, a way to get to me. Nor was she a pawn in some vindictive game of vengeance. He wanted Tegan for herself, for the astounding witch she had evidently become.

  She pointed at the gun Gideon held. “A pistol, Gideon? Not your usual style.”

  “I like to make use of whatever circumstances send my way.”

  “Are you so unsure of the potency of your own magic now?” she asked him. All the time I could sense her strength growing, building up to something. If I had been Gideon, I believe I would have been afraid of her.

  But Gideon, as always, knew better than to put himself at risk. “Tegan, you must know me well enough to know I suffer no such concerns or doubts about my own abilities. That does not, however, mean I would underestimate yours. You are a formidable spellcaster now, and a worthy opponent.”

  “Flatterer.”

  “Trust me, the compliment was sincerely meant.”

  “A snake like you has forfeited any right to trust,” she told him. “And you don’t have a scrap of sincerity in your entire, rotten soul.”

  “You have such a low opinion of me, Tegan. We will have to change that. But first, I would rather not submit myself to possible assault from Bess’s pet Time Stepper and his nasty little knives. Why should I trouble myself with dealing with him when I have a whole army at my disposal?” He had barely finished his sentence when he raised his gun in the air and pulled the trigger. He had not aimed at any of us, so that our reflex to defend ourselves and deflect his attack was not prompted. Instead, for a moment we were all baffled as to the point of what he had done. It was William who saw the practical application of his action.

  “Cromwell’s men! The soldiers will have heard the gunshot. It will rouse the camp. It will bring them running.”

  He was right, of course. Gideon had known precisely what he was doing.

  “I fear they will not look kindly upon a suspected traitor and his witch who are trying to evade justice, nor upon any who choose to assist them in doing so.”

  What happened next occurred with such speed that I still have no clear recollection of the order of e
vents or, indeed, of what did take place. One minute we were there, the five of us, listening to Gideon’s weasel words, ready for him to make some manner of threatening move toward Tegan. The next, a searing flash of light, a swallowing up, it seemed, of air, of sound, of thought, of everything, and then perfect stillness, the dark returned. Nothing had happened, and yet everything had been affected. Our horses snorted in alarm. Erasmus tightened his hold on the reins. William wheeled his mount about, searching, bewildered. Tegan and Gideon were gone.

  “But…” William shook his head. “… What has happened? What has that devil brought about?”

  Erasmus’s voice was tense with fury. “He has Stepped,” he said.

  “What? No!” I did not want to believe what I was being told. “Surely that is impossible.”

  “It seems not. Not for Mister Grimsteeds or should I say, Masters.”

  “But, you said it would be incredibly dangerous if the person being taken was ill, or not of sound mind, or coerced..”

  “And so it is.”

  “Then surely you are mistaken!”

  “Elizabeth, I know what I saw! For pity’s sake, woman, how could I not?”

  There was no time to agonize further over what had been done, not then, for we could hear shouts and horses coming from the direction of the Hall.

  “They will be upon us!” William compelled his dancing horse to move closer to me. He spoke urgently. “Bess, you must go. Have Erasmus take you to his place of safety. There is still time.”

  “There is not, William. We must stand together.”

  “No. It is dark, those men are like hounds; they will chase the hare that runs beneath their noses and not look for more elusive prey.” He hesitated, and the look he gave me tore at my heart. “I shan’t let you down again, Bess. Not this time.” Without allowing me time to respond, he spun his horse around. “Get her away, Erasmus!” he shouted over his shoulder. “See that she lives!” And with that he urged his mount on, whipping the reins against its neck, sending it plunging forward across the gloom-covered ground, uttering loud cries as he did so.