by Alan Lawton
Hetty’s appearance had gradually returned to normal, for she regained her normally voluptuous figure and her artificially dyed hair slowly regained its natural red hue whilst growing longer with every passing week.
She was now quite alone, for Jenny Bowyer had returned to her witch-mother’s cottage in the Forest of Dean, once the wisewoman had been able to resume her healing duties at Elfencot. Even so, she was forced to admit that she sometimes missed the young girl’s company, but the witch’s spirits improved as winter slowly gave way to spring and the ewes began giving birth to their lambs as the new grass sprang up green upon the lower slopes of the ‘Devil’s Tor.’
Hetty was planting the last row of potatoes in her garden when a familiar voice addressed her from the other side of the hedge.
“Good day to you lassie, I trust that you be keeping in good health?”
The wisewoman kicked the soil over the last of the tubers and turned to catch sight of Inspector Smith’s head peering over the top of the hawthorn barrier.
She smiled. “Inspector, why has it taken you so long to visit me? I expected you to come to my house before the turn of the year, at the very latest!”
“Aye, well, lassie,” The policeman slowly replied. “I’ve had a muckle ‘O’ work to attend too. Firstly, I had to clear up all the loose ends of yon Oldshaw affair, then a gang of London housebreakers arrived in Manchester and fair ran me ragged until I put the lot behind bars.”
The wisewoman leaned her spade against the wall of the cottage and brushed the soil from her apron.
“Spring’s a busy time for us country folk Inspector, for the land must be cultivated and crops planted, but tomorrow will do for the remainder of the work in my garden so come into my cottage where we may talk in private.”
Hetty made the Inspector comfortable in her sitting room, then excused herself and repaired to the kitchen where she washed herself thoroughly with hot water taken from the kettle on the hob. Afterwards, she visited her bedroom and donned a simple floral patterned dress that she had embroidered to help pass away the long winter evenings.
The wisewoman returned to the kitchen and prepared a tray of light refreshments that she carried to her waiting guest in the sitting room.
“Eat heartily Inspector.” She invited as she filled two cups with strong tea. “For you must be famished after your long journey from Manchester.”
“Aye it’s a good journey, lassie, but I feel sure the information that I’m carrying, will justify the effort. I will start with the least important. Yon Piggins is safely removed from the north of England, for one of my police associates found him a gardening job far away in the County of Cornwall. As for yon pair who ran the Cleopatra brothel, why lassie, I investigated them deeply and found them to be implicated in a crime of blackmail and they’ll be guests of ‘Her Majesty’s Prisons’ for the next six years. Even so, lass, it would be for the best if you don’t show your face in Manchester for quite a while.”
“And my good friend Marsie’?” The wisewoman enquired as she refilled the policeman’s teacup.
Smith uttered one of his rare chuckles.
“Och yes, she fares well and is likely to do much better in the future. For she’s married a young mining engineer, by proxy. Some old school friend of Captain Wilson, I believe and the lassie is now bound for New Zealand and the chance of a far better life.”
“May all the powers of the unknown aid her!” Hetty said, well-wishing the friend that she would never see again and she leaned over to the Inspector and gently brushed his wrist with the tips of her fingers.
“Now my good friend,” she said in little more than a whisper. “I think the time has now arrived for you to complete your portion of the bargain that we struck in this very room. Please give me the exact location of the portal that will allow my children to escape from the Water-Realm and return to the reality of their birth?”
Hetty leaned a little closer, allowing the bodice of her dress to swing open slightly, thus presenting the policeman an excellent view of her ample bosom, but the red bearded man simply gave another of his rare chuckles and lay back in his chair.
“Och lassie, you can keep your lovely melons to yourself, for I’ll tell you all that I can without further encouragement.” He paused. “Well lassie, you may recall that I once told you of my grandmother, ‘Meg One Eye,’ who practiced the art of healing on the Island of Sky that lies close to the western coast of Scotland. I also told you that I learned much occult knowledge from that old woman. Aye, she taught me spells, incantations and the preparation of potions and the like. Yet grandmother was a seer of great power and knowledge and she was far too wise to entrust her deepest occult secrets to a feckless young child. But granny liked a drop of whisky to keep out the winter cold. One evening, when she was well drunk with the strong spirit, she held me in her arms and told me the location of the portal and some of its secrets.”
He paused again and drew a deep breath.
“A little to the west of Sky, there lies a small island, which the fishermen never visit because they believe it to be unlucky. The island has no name, but it’s easily recognized by a circle of tall standing-stones upon its northern promontory. At the base of the cliff, in the shadow of the standing-stones, there lies a cave containing the portal that you so desperately seek!”
“Perhaps this island is merely the product of an old women’s imagination?”
Hetty suggested, but Inspector Smith shook his head.
“I once passed close by yonder island on a trading smack and I viewed the stone circle with my own eyes. Aye and I also noticed a black smudge at the base of the cliff that must be the cave of which my grandmother spoke. Grandmother also told me in her drunkenness, that a distant ancestor of hers once sailed to the island to open up the portal and rescue a powerful witch from ‘The land ‘O’ muckle water.’ Granny was drunk and her speech was difficult to understand, but I ken that she named the seer as ‘Rose Littlewood.’Perhaps yon woman was of the same blood as yourself?”
Hetty grasped the policeman and kissed him full on the mouth in order to show her gratitude.
“Yes Indeed Inspector!” She affirmed. “Rose Littlewood was born in this very cottage and she was the only person ever known to have visited the Water-Realm and lived to return. Now I am quite certain that your island cave holds the portal that I so desperately seek.”
Inspector Smith stood up and drew a small leather pouch from his pocket and handed it to the wisewoman.
“One last thing before I depart. Captain Wilson is grateful for your help in rescuing yon pair of refugees, and he’s charged me with the delivery of one hundred gold sovereigns as payment for your services. You will need every penny of this when you fare north to retrieve your children, for the cost of such a venture will not be cheap!”
The Inspector reached for his overcoat, but Hetty caught his arm.
“The day is almost done, my friend,” she whispered softly, “and only a single hour of daylight remains. Leave the villains of Manchester to others and spend a night in the arms of a loving and grateful woman.”
The policeman laughed
“My duty awaits me in Manchester, but my old granny told me never to spurn a witch’s offer of love. So lead me to your bed, lassie, and without another moment’s delay.”
Moonlight struck through the bedroom window as Hetty lay awake in the arms of her sleeping lover. She was content; for she now had the means of rescuing Darryl and Myra, her beloved children, from perpetual exile in the Water-Realm. Years must elapse before this could be accomplished and now she must exercise patience and let the necessary occult energy build up within her.
“I must rest and allow my powers to grow ever stronger.” She concluded. With that thought in mind, she slipped into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Chapter 10
Myra stood in the tall bows of the big passenger craft and watched with interest as the vessel approached the small river-port of Yam where their expedition
would shortly disembark.
The young witch heaved a sigh of relief, for she was heartily glad the long river voyage was coming to an end, for well over a hundred darkenings had come and gone since the wisewoman and her companions had boarded the river craft at the Holy City of Ptah. During that time the travellers had never once been allowed to visit the shore and feel dust of dry land beneath their feet.
“I am charged with keeping you safe from all danger!” Overseer Camdar, the commander of their military escort had repeated, whenever the newcomers had requested a few hours of exercise ashore at one of the night-stations. “And this is what I intend to do, even if you must suffer confinement aboard this spirit-cursed scow!”
George had often raged at the officer for his inflexibility, but the man’s caution was far from misplaced for the passenger craft suffered a savage attack on only its tenth night out from Ptah.
The vessel had been moored close to the bank for the night when a group of armed men suddenly assaulted the exhausted bow-hauliers who were encamped upon the adjoining towpath. Simultaneously, a number of fast pirate boats darted out from the opposite shore and discharged a wave of fighting men onto the upper deck of the stationary vessel. The travellers were confined below in their quarters and George raged with frustration and fingered his long axe as the sounds of combat reached them from above. However, the noise of battle had quickly faded and Camdar had soon joined them with human blood still running down the blade of his drawn gill
“The pirates are all dead.” He had announced. “Sixteen of my troops have given their lives to protect you, so do not expect me to make their sacrifice worthless by allowing you to be killed during some stupid excursion ashore!”
The travellers had then resigned themselves to viewing the riverside scene from the upper deck of the slow moving passenger craft.
The vessel often passed through long stretches of peaceful countryside, where farmers could be seen toiling amidst fertile acres and where fat meat narr grazed quietly in paddocks of soft crimson moss. Women had frequently come to the towpath and refreshed the sweating bow-hauliers with jars of cool water and sold them hunks of fresh Thoa-bread, which they carried in deep baskets. Indeed, one could almost have believed that peace and security extended throughout the length and breadth of the Water-Realm. Yet the craft had also passed through territory that had been recently devastated by bands of raiders, where farmsteads, villages and small towns lay burnt out and lifeless and where the bleached bones of their former inhabitants lay pitiably scattered down to the waters-edge. The travellers had viewed many such scenes of ruination and they became ever more convinced that the threat of terminal chaos, as described by Councillor Hemm, was close to becoming a stark reality.
Myra knew that George and her brother had been bored almost to tears by their long confinement aboard ship and had spent many hours in practicing combat drills with Camdar’s mercenaries in order to relieve the tedium of the voyage. The young wisewoman seldom joined them and had chosen to remain in her cabin in order to finish translating the grimoire of her witch-ancestor, Rose Littlewood.
One hot afternoon, the young witch heaved a deep sigh of relief and looked down upon the fully completed translation lying upon the desk before her and took stock of its contents. Most of the grimoire, she had long realized, was concerned with the spells, potions and magical incantations that where the stock-in-trade of every practicing witch. Many of the aforementioned spells and potions had their origins in Rose’s home reality of Earth, but a great number had obviously been gleaned from the wise-men of the Temple of Dumteck or learned from the ‘Priests of the Ancient Lore’ in Holy Ptah.
Myra already possessed much of the knowledge, which the grimoire contained, but she resolved to gain as much additional information as possible from the newly translated volume and commit it to memory for possible future use.
The young wisewoman had also carefully translated a small number of brief and often distorted passages, in which her ancestor had attempted to describe some of the many dangers and pleasures that she experienced during her long trek through the Water-Realm. However, these passages were not arranged in any sort of regular chronological order and often made no sense at all to the young wisewoman. Myra even wondered if the strain of making so terrible a journey, had not adversely affected her predecessors powers of reason. Yet she knew the grimoire must inevitably contain information that would help to ensure their survival.
One tattered page had contained a short poem referring directly to the Hix and the young wisewoman had taken great care with its translation for it obviously contained crucial information.
If you seek the Lords of Hix
In Lands where others fear to tread
Then be you Fey or Earth-land’s born
Or join the frightful Bloodless Dead
Myra had pondered long and hard upon these few lines of bad poetry, until she was quite sure that she fully understood the prophetic warning contained in the words of the short verse. “Be you fey.” She concluded, was undoubtedly a reference to herself and her twin-brother who carried the fey blood of the Littlewoods in their veins, and possibly George who was ‘Earth-land’s Born.’She was now convinced that only herself, Darryl and George would be able to cross into the wastelands of the Hix with any hope of survival. The girl Whiteflower and Paris the envoy would have to remain at the Hixian’ border and await their return.
Myra had smiled as she closed the grimoire, for she knew that many dangers lay ahead before they even reached the wastelands of the Hix, where their small party would be forced to divide, and she resolved to tell the others of her discoveries as soon as they docked at Yam. The bow-hauliers where singing loudly as they pulled their floating charge towards its berth at the quayside of Yam and the men where undoubtedly elated by the prospect of receiving their hard earned pay. But Myra had no wish to be entertained by their music; instead she turned and made her way back to her cabin in order to finish packing the last of her belongings. Soon, old Camdar would form up his mercenaries and escort the party ashore and she would again experience the welcoming feel of land beneath her feet.
“I greet you, Port of Yam.” She said with a laugh. “Now let us see what range of pleasures you can offer to a jaded traveller such as myself?”
In terms of pleasure, the riverside town of Yam offered little. Indeed, almost half of its buildings where abandoned or in disrepair and few of its remaining citizens where to be seen on the streets, as the newcomers marched through the settlement protected by the massed ranks of Camdar’s troops.
About an Earth mile from the town and close to the river bank, there stood a deserted fort that was protected by thick walls of timber and sun dried brick. A spring of fresh water bubbled up in one corner of the fort and old Camdar resolved to take up residence there with his mercenaries and use it as a base camp for the traveller’s expedition to the land of the Hix.
The next few days were spent in repairing the defences of the fort and mounting the terrible fire-throwing engines of the overseers on top of its thick walls. The toiling mercenaries also cleaned out its deserted buildings and hauled a year’s supply of food and equipment from the river boat lying moored alongside the quay.
In little more than five days, the fortress was fully supplied and garrisoned and capable of withstanding all but the heaviest of attacks.
Meanwhile, the five principal members of the expedition undertook the difficult task of familiarizing themselves with the dozen locally bred transport narr that were to serve as beasts of burden during their long overland journey. The animals proved to be quite as obstinate as the one’s used for training in the City of Ptah and a good four days of strenuous effort was needed before the bad tempered beasts where prepared to obey the orders of their new masters.
The travellers also undertook a short course of physical exercise, under the direction of the mercenaries master at arms, for it was necessary to re-accustom their limbs to the rigors of hard land travel after th
eir long sojourn aboard ship. Finally, on the evening of the seventh day, Darryl carefully inspected every item of their equipment, in person, and afterwards, he declared the expedition to the land of the Hix, was now ready and would leave the fort at first light on the following morning.
The red glow of the Water-Realm dawn was beginning to stain the sky, when the five travellers and their dozen heavily laden transport narr passed through the gates of the fort. The entire company of the overseer’s mercenaries was drawn up in review order on both sides of the gate, and they roared out a loud cry of acclamation as the little expedition passed through their ranks.
Old Camdar raised his gill in salute.
“May the Gods go with you!” He cried. “And may they bring you back to us with your mission accomplished. So, for the time being, we wish you farewell!”
The little column advanced at a steady pace and the fort, together with its garrison of mercenaries was soon left well behind.
Whiteflower had travelled this old trade route in the past and she had immediately taken the lead in order to act as the expedition’s guide. Darryl followed close behind, holding the bridles of the leading pair of transport narr, whilst Myra and Paris goaded on the main body of the fractious pack animals with long sharpened sticks. George brought up the rear with the shaft of his massive long handled axe resting upon his shoulder as he marched.