by R N Merle
‘’Tis old women’s gossip, there’s no witch here.’ a rough voice growled out.
‘It is possible,’ said the Colonel. ‘I have seen the devilry of a witch at work before. If it is a witch,’ he said slowly, ‘I could rid you of her.’
The room was silent.
‘How, sir?’ Fred ventured.
‘I have made it my business to hunt and destroy them.’
‘Kill many witches in the King’s service, did you?’ asked Ben.
‘No, I did not.’
‘Then, pray tell, how did you become such an expert?’
The Colonel’s brow contracted. ‘My reasons are my own. My knowledge is sound. If you want rid of a witch, I am your man.’
‘If you rid us of our curse, sir, you may name your reward.’ said Fred.
No one seemed to doubt the Colonel was capable of such a task.
‘My reward,’ he announced, ‘is purely victory over evil. I do not require money for my services.’
‘So tell me this,’ said Ben, leaning forward in his seat, ‘what makes it clear to you that all this misfortune, these strange events, are the supernatural work of a witch, and not gossip and sabotage?’
‘My own judgement, sir. I look for evidence. True occurrences of witchcraft are very rare. When I hear of instances of witchcraft, one in a hundred times, I find people’s fears are unjustified. Usually it does come down to misfortune or gossip, or wild imaginings. But in this case, I am positive witchcraft is to blame, and I am sure I shall soon find visible evidence of her presence in the village.’
‘Indeed? Where, sir?’ asked Fred eagerly.
‘If you look closely, a witch leaves evidence of her curses. Marks and symbols. They are hidden, hard to see, but she will always leave them behind.’
‘But how will you discover who it is? Line ‘em all up for questioning?’
‘It is not likely to be a woman from the village. She will live alone, in some solitary place. Those woods for instance. Fallen Woods are they called? They are so vast, it would be nigh on impossible to find anyone there who wants to stay hidden.’
‘You think she resides there?’
‘It is possible. But remember she is cunning, a master of covering her tracks and staying hidden. There would be little point to us searching there.’
‘Then what is to be done?’
‘First I will listen to what the people have to tell me, to see if there is a pattern to her work, if there are victims she preys upon more than others; when the curses occur, who has seen what. The best chance we have is to anticipate her, let her come to us.’
‘You will need to prove you have good reason to accuse someone. We will not have a repeat of what happened to Annie.’ Ben demanded.
‘Aye!’ a few men agreed.
‘How will we know you have the right one?’
‘Nothing so easy to prove.’ replied the Colonel. ‘Open up her ribs,’ he said. ‘A witch’s heart is black.’
5
The Light
Darklin lay on her back, staring into the blackness surrounding her. She closed her eyes. A turbulent energy pulsed through her bloodstream, agitating each nerve in her body, opposing her every attempt at rest. How many hours until Gressyl would summon her? She could not bear to be still any longer.
As she tossed and turned, it occurred to her to ask for some more sleeping potion, or to make some for herself. She got to her feet and tiptoed towards the door. Before she realised what she was doing, Darklin’s fingers were lifting the cold, iron latch.
Opening the door a fraction, she peered out into the dingy room. Gressyl sat perfectly still on her chair, staring at the floor without blinking. Darklin was surprised; she had expected Gressyl’s head to turn in her direction, seething anger blackening her expression. Darklin had already braced herself for the oncoming consternation, but Gressyl did not move an inch.
Darklin stood watching her for some time, taking advantage of being unnoticed. She had never really studied Gressyl before, she had always been afraid of catching her eye. Even now Gressyl’s face frightened her; the unsettling glint of her eyes retreated within their cavernous sockets, the inexorable line of her mouth, the curving nostrils that quivered an instant before her temper exploded into icy fury. Darklin observed the deep furrows of her brow. She must be absorbed in thought, Darklin surmised. Perhaps preparing a new spell that required unbroken concentration. It troubled her to think that Gressyl could somehow sleep with her eyes open.
Darklin quickly changed her mind about the sleeping draught. She just hoped she could return to her bed before Gressyl realised she was out of it. As she was about to close her door, something in the room caught Darklin’s eye. She noticed a faint change in the quality of darkness at the window; a strange greyish hue to the normal blackness. The change was subtle, barely noticeable, but it was enough to kindle Darklin’s curiosity. What became of the world during the day?
In the week that followed, as she went about her chores and practised spells, in the time between her fitful bouts of sleeping, treacherous yearnings began to take root in her mind. She had been well warned against the dangers of daylight, the words in Vardyn’s rules were imprinted strongly on her mind; “The third rule of Vardyn: Never go out in the day. You must embrace the world of night, when our power is at its strongest. The allurement of light will tempt you from the shadows; its beauty will stupefy your mind and make you an easy target for capture.”
And yet she questioned if she should see it for herself, so that she could understand the force of what they, as witches, opposed.
She did not think it would betray her promise to take just a quick glimpse of daylight. Not that she ever would, of course; attempting to stray out of doors in broad daylight, that would be foolish and dangerous, and she would almost certainly be caught out by Gressyl. But still, thoughts of daylight persisted.
Everyday now, she woke early, and waited for hours in the darkness for Gressyl’s knock. As she lay, with nothing to fill her time, she laboured to imagine the world bathed in sunlight, but could get no further than a brighter version of the greyish tint that she had seen at the window.
She would remind herself that the light was calling to her, to trick her out of the shadows, just as the rules had warned her. She resolved to be true to the darkness that was their protector, and that she would think of day no longer. But moments later, a dim patch of light would appear in her thoughts, and her craving to see daylight would regain full power over her mind.
A week after seeing the light, for the first time, Darklin became fully aware of experiencing a dream. She woke gasping for air, while her mind flooded with images. She recalled that she was in a garden, where colours blazed brighter than she could ever imagine, as if everywhere she looked shone with the light of a thousand candles. In front of a wall of piled stone, a pretty woman dressed in yellow was smiling, her nut-brown eyes narrowed in the light of the sun. Darklin watched her pulling carrots from the earth, holding them by their lush green shoots, and shaking off the rich brown soil, then placing them in a shallow basket.
In her dream, Darklin remembered looking up at the sky and finding it placidly blue. Then without warning, indigo clouds rolled in with haunting speed. The sky turned black, the wind howled. She was filled with a sense of foreboding. Her skin turned cold. Darklin tried to find the woman in yellow, but she found herself jolted back to Fallenoak crossroads. It was just as it had been the night she had discovered Annie Sparrow, but instead of looking up at the dead girl, it was she who was hanging. Annie stood before her. Set free from the noose, her neck angled awkwardly, only her eyes were directed upwards.
When Darklin blinked, the girl had moved away from her, though she still stared at Darklin. She blinked again, and Annie Sparrow retreated further, disappearing in stages into the distance, until Darklin could only make out a spec that was her white face, far away amongst the fading trees and hills. Darklin struggled, wanting to follow her, but she could not free
herself. She kicked wildly, and pulled at the thick rope constricting her throat. She could not force any air into her lungs. The horror of approaching death possessed her. Then she woke.
She lay back on her bed and waited for her breathing to calm. She tried to understand what the vision meant. As she thought through the dream, over and over again, one question persisted; why if darkness was her protector had it been so terrifying? In her dream, it was not the darkness where she felt safe, but in the sun filled garden with the unknown woman. She had been warm there, and unafraid. She wanted to be there again.
She knew that she was weak, and that the light was tempting her into a trap, but she could not fight it any longer. She would take one look at the world of daylight and be done with it. She did not believe she would get far before Gressyl would call her back, but she couldn’t help but try. If she could just see the brightness for a moment, it would surely extinguish the curiosity that raged inside her.
When she woke the following afternoon, she tried to calculate how much time she had before Gressyl would summon her, but there was no way of knowing. She shivered at the thought of what Gressyl would do to her if she was discovered, but still she put on her boots and got to her feet. She pressed her head against the wooden door, feeling its damp roughness against her ear; there was no sign of life. Her hand trembled as she slowly pulled the door open and peered into the dark room. Gressyl sat in her chair the same as she had the first day Darklin had looked in at her. She called out to Gressyl to see if she was really asleep or just waiting to catch her out.
‘I am awake,’ she said, at first in a low voice and then a little louder. ‘I have woken, and it is not yet night.’
Gressyl did not respond.
Darklin stepped gingerly into the room and approached Gressyl. Gressyl stared down unblinkingly. Darklin stood in front of her for some time, moving her arms and speaking in a quiet voice to see if this would stir her. But the witch neither moved, nor spoke.
Darklin scanned the rafters for the crow, wondering whether it would rouse Gressyl the moment she went out the door. The crow blinked at her twice disinterestedly, and turned away. She looked across at the window, again the dim glow conjured a fascination, overpowering and complete, and Darklin knew what she must do.
She moved silently to the outside door, and carefully drew it open enough to squeeze through. Giving Gressyl one last look, Darklin bolted out of the door, and ran from the stone house as fast as she could.
Darklin covered the ground at a frantic pace, her energy boosted by both excitement and fear, though a large part of her remained stunned by her own recklessness. As she ran, the branches of the dead trees snatched at her clothes and whipped across her face and body, as if they were trying to claw her back into the darkness.
Suddenly she felt her cloak tighten around her neck and she was forced to a dead stop. The material dug into her throat creating a bruising line of pain, making her gasp for air. Her excitement quickly dissolved into liquid panic. She craned her head around, trying to see what was stopping her, whether it was another tree or something else, someone else…
She twisted and turned, and discovered to her relief that her hood was snagged on an outstretched branch. She took a step backward and heard the sound of ripping fabric as she freed herself. Looking behind, she noticed a long strip of black material dangling from a twig that curled upward as if it was beckoning to her, stiff and gnarled like a dead man’s finger. Darklin turned away and hurried onwards with a determination she had never felt before. She concentrated on making progress, slipping through the foliage by making herself small and sinuous, and quickly broke out of the dead wood.
Unconsciously following the route most familiar to her, Darklin headed toward the water pool. The strength of darkness faded around her, giving way to brightening verdure. Needles of light began to penetrate through the thatch of trees above, diffusing into long narrow spears of gold and white rain. Darklin slowed, looking all around her, turning circles as she went. For once she could see the intricacies of the woodland, the entanglement of branches, the shapes of the emerging leaves, the texture of the mossy tree bark, the glowing tent of the sunlit canopy.
She was aware of birds scuttling through the branches, and was surprised how their feathers transformed under the influence of the sun. As they moved, flashes of vivid colour darted above her, and when they were still, Darklin noticed the subtle iridescent sheen of their wings. Quietly the song of a blackbird rose from somewhere beyond her. She moved toward the sound, as if in a trance. The music of its voice conjured a tune that rose and fell between notes of sweetness and sorrow. The sound made Darklin still. It entered her like the cold magic, but it’s energy was different; a gentle and sweet pain. She could feel it active and alive inside her, awakening her sense of wonder as it pierced her heart through. The song paused, and then rushed into another quavering refrain. Darklin trembled, unsure and afraid of what was happening to her, she quickly put her hands over her ears and hurried on.
The pool loomed in the distance, Darklin did not recognise it. She staggered to the edge, mesmerised by the water. A looking glass of sparkling light, patterned with reflections, spilled into the water like brightly coloured ink; deep, ivy greens and periwinkle blues. Shielding her eyes with her hands, Darklin looked up into the sky to find the source of the colour mirrored in the pool. Above her, between a gap in the trees, far purer than in her dream; she saw a triangle of the brightest, most unimaginable blue. Too quickly, the strong light seared her eyes, and she had to look away.
Turning as she blinked, Darklin saw a patch of unfiltered sunlight, illuminating a stretch of fresh long grass, growing beneath a line of willow trees. She crossed over the muddy ground to get to it, intent on standing in the sun, but as she reached the edge of the shadows she stopped, suddenly timid. Now that she was one of the coven of Vardyn, she worried that the sun might hurt her, or weaken her magic. She paused, trying to think what she should do, fear and curiosity warring inside her.
Timidly, she reached her hand out into the sunlight, testing it to see if it was safe. She watched the tone of her skin brighten, shine white enough to hurt her eyes. She could feel the warmth though, a softer heat than the flames of the fire. She closed her eyes tightly and stepped forward, offering her whole body to the sun. The rays washed over her, and saturated her skin and clothes. Darklin shivered as she absorbed the heat and light.
She didn’t know how long she stood there; she couldn’t bring herself to move away from the warmth. It was soothing, Darklin felt; like being enveloped, held, by something glorious and kind. Gradually the sun melted the tension from her body. Her shoulders, rounded from the long winter, slowly unfurled and her whole body stretched toward the sun, like a daisy at noon.
When a crow squawked high in the branches, Darklin jumped, abruptly reminded of the witch’s house. She knew she should return, that the longer she stayed out, the more likely it was she would be caught. She sighed, looking for an excuse to linger, but she had already accomplished what she had set out to do. She had glimpsed the day, now she must go back. As she turned toward the shadows, her heart was unexpectedly heavy. She couldn’t explain the feeling that she was losing something important. She tried to commit what she had felt and seen to memory, creating a picture book of sunlit colours that she would read again and again, but only in her mind. Her heels dragged as she made her way back to the witch’s house.
As she nudged the door open, she felt weak with relief when she saw that Gressyl had not yet moved. She crept into her room, lay down in the darkness and exhaled. She had seen daylight, and she had not been found out. From now on, she thought, her mind would be at ease, and she could concentrate on becoming a competent witch. She curled up on her side, for once feeling like she could rest, but when she closed her eyes, the bright blue triangle blazed behind her eyelids.
It wasn’t enough; the end of her curiosity was only the beginning of a fascination. As the sun arced higher in the spring s
ky, Darklin felt its enticing force and found she could not resist. To her shame, time and again she found herself stealing past Gressyl out into the sunlight, every time venturing farther through the wood, and staying for longer and longer on each occasion.
During the time she spent in the daylit wood, Darklin never felt afraid of Gressyl or Vardyn, or what might happen if her betrayal was discovered. It was as if the fear couldn’t find her in the light. But in the dark hours, Darklin was ashamed of being beguiled by the splendour of light. She was a witch of Vardyn, she should not want to go out in the day. Was there something wrong with her? Darklin couldn’t help but feel she was failing at being a witch before she had even begun.
All through the long nights, as she practiced her craft, at the back of her mind, the inevitable consequences for breaking her promise to Vardyn, crouched like a creature waiting to attack, along with the dread of what Gressyl would do if she found out. Just the thought of her anger made Darklin quake in fear. She berated herself, and promised that the next day, she would not step outside until night had fallen. But when daylight came, and Darklin tried to stay inside, an odd feeling of anger gripped her. As the terrors of the night receded, she resented being kept away from the brightness. She wanted to feel the warmth of the sun on her face, and breathe in the clean daylight air, so different from the dank vapours of the dark hours. She lay on her bed, the resentful energy brewing in her blood until she couldn’t bear to be contained inside her room any longer. She ran from the house, and kept running until she could see blue sky above her.
On the first day of April, Darklin wandered far into the living woods. Stumbling through untrodden ways, she slipped between a breach in the trees out into a place that felt familiar to her, but she didn’t know why. She looked around the blossoming grove. It was not quite like the rest of Fallen Woods, there were even gaps between the trees, which she realised were mostly fruit; cherry, apple and pear. She found a ring of ancient apple trees, five of them distinctively growing in a circle, their twisted branches almost entwining, as if they were reaching out to reassure themselves of each other’s existence.