The Witch’s Daughter

by Paula Brackston

  I worked my way through the list of patients who needed dressings changed. Each soldier seemed to present a more ghastly set of injuries than the last; some sightless and terrified, some burned beyond recognition, others limbless and helpless. And each bore his suffering with a calm fortitude that humbled me. At first, I wondered if they were so quiet because they were too weak to complain or because they had simply given up the struggle and were waiting to die. But I quickly came to see this was not the case, at least not for most of them. Each man was locked in his own personal torment, and the heavens only knew what terrors they relived in the darkest moments of the night, but still they were able to find the strength to fight on. Was that what it meant to be a true soldier, I wondered. Not only to be able to fight on the battlefield, but to be able to conquer one’s own personal demons, again and again, over and over, in any way that was asked of them? There were very few in the resuscitation tent who wished to die, and those who did could hardly be blamed for it.

  At the end of my first shift, some twelve hours after I had unraveled the first bandage, pausing only for a half-hour lunch of watery soup, I returned once again to Corporal Davies. He was sleeping fitfully, his breathing shallow and ragged. All at once, a fierce bout of coughing woke him. He struggled to raise himself and I hurried to help him. He leaned forward, hawking up blood, fighting to drag air back into his failing lungs. When at last he slumped backward onto his pillow, a hideous gurgling noise accompanied each feeble breath. He gazed up at me, his eyes full of panic, and clutched at my hand.

  ‘Don’t…!’ he spluttered.

  ‘Shh, no need to try and talk.’

  ‘Don’t…’ He tried again, each word wrenched from his body with Herculean effort. ‘Don’t leave me to drown!’

  I let him cling to me and forced myself to hold his gaze. He knew what lay ahead. Hours, perhaps days, of battling for every breath, of choking and retching and suffocating and ultimately drowning on his own blood. I slowly placed his hand on his chest and drew the covers tight around him. I searched for some words of comfort, of hope, of reassurance that I might offer him, but none came. For there was no hope. And he and I both knew it.

  I left his bedside and flung myself through the door of the tent. It was already dark outside and the air felt blissfully clean and cool. I walked, head down, not knowing where I was going, wanting only to put some distance between myself and the suffering in the resuscitation tent. I rounded a corner and walked straight into Strap.

  ‘I say!’ She caught me as I reeled sideways. ‘Steady on, old girl. Can’t have you joining the casualties now, can we?’ She examined me more closely. ‘You look all in. Come along, time for a sit down and a couple of gaspers.’ She steered me behind the nurses’ hut and onto the step of the seldom-used back door. We sat down, not caring that the wet wood and mud would soil our uniforms, not caring about anything except the need to stop. She pulled a packet of cigarettes from her pocket and offered me one. Seeing me hesitate, she said, ‘You might as well. It’s the one thing we can all do out here.’ She struck a match and I leaned forward. We sat and smoked in silence for a while. I rubbed my temples, wondering how she managed to stay so cheerful in the face of what challenges she must rise to day after day. My weariness had not gone unnoticed.

  ‘No need to ask what you thought of resuss,’ she said. ‘Miserable post. Was in there myself for a couple of months. Blessed relief to be given pre-op, don’t mind telling you.’

  ‘Some of them are so very young.’

  ‘Babes. Mere babes.’

  ‘And we can do so little.’

  ‘Better at blowing people to pieces than sticking them back together, that’s the sad truth of it, I’m afraid.’ She leaned back against the doorframe. ‘’Twas ever thus, I suppose.’

  ‘At least in pre-op they have a chance,’ I said, feeling slightly sick after my third lungful of cigarette smoke. ‘In resuss, well, most of them won’t even make it to the operating theater. Some of them would be better off…’

  ‘Don’t say it!’ Strap was suddenly furious. ‘Say anything else you must, but never, ever, ever say what you were about to say. We are here to heal, to help these men recover.’

  ‘And you really believe that’s best for all of them? That we patch them up and send them home no matter what state they’re in, no matter how terrible their … existences would be?’

  ‘Of course I do. I have to. Otherwise, what’s the point?’ Her voice dropped again. ‘What the bloody hell’s the point?’

  I looked at her strong, open features and wondered at her clarity of thought. At her sense of purpose. At her resolution. I thought of the burned shadow of the boy in the corner bed, and of the pointless suffering of Corporal Davies, and I couldn’t agree with her. Life at any cost? I wished I shared her passion, but I did not. Was it because I considered some suffering to be intolerable, or was it because I had, at times, come to see life as a curse? I, who had shuffled about on this planet for centuries observing the ceaseless fighting and battling and struggling that people endured. Could death be such a terrible thing? Were there not times when it was the right thing? Or did I wonder that because it had been denied me? I could not be certain.

  Strap stood up, grinding out her cigarette stub with her heel.

  ‘Come on,’ she said brightly. ‘Better get some supper down our necks. Brace yourself—the horrors of resuss are as nothing when compared to what’s served up as stew around here.’

  As we entered the refectory, the smell of the food hit us. It was so vile I wondered how anyone could sit in the room, let alone actually eat the glutinous mess of rancid meat and salty gravy that slopped about in our bowls.

  ‘I’d like to tell you one gets used to it,’ Strap said, pushing up her sleeves, ‘but it would be cruel to give you false hope. Just pray for a speedy delivery of parcels from home and for pity’s sake write to anyone you’ve ever met who might be talked into sending us Bovril and biscuits.’

  An hour later, my stomach struggling to hold onto the revolting supper I had inflicted upon it, I washed quickly in cold water, took off my uniform, and crawled into bed in my underwear. I hadn’t the energy to dig out my pajamas and had no wish to waste what precious time for sleep there might be. This proved to be a wise decision. My eyes could not have been shut for more than an hour when I was roughly shaken awake by Kitty.

  ‘Wake up, Elise! Sister says everyone’s to be on duty in five minutes. Get a move on, do!’

  ‘What’s happening?’ I asked blearily. Strap finished lacing her boots and stood up.

  ‘Failed attack. There’s a convoy of ambulances heading our way. It’s all hands on deck, I’m afraid.’

  I flung on my uniform and raced after her. Sister Radcliffe was outside the nurses’ hut issuing orders.

  ‘Nurse Strappington, Nurse Hawksmith, reception marquee. Quickly please.’

  Strap glanced at me. ‘Oh Lord,’ she muttered, ‘you really are getting thrown in at the deep end, aren’t you, old girl? Never mind. Hold your nerve and don’t expect to work miracles. You’ll need these.’ She shoved a packet of cigarettes into my hand.

  ‘Surely there won’t be time to take a break…?’

  ‘They’re not for you, you goose, they’re for the men. Half the time it’s all they want. Most of the time it’s all you can do for them anyway.’

  I was about to follow her when I sensed I was being watched. Of course I have spent my life glancing over my shoulder, listening for unfamiliar footsteps, and generally staying alert to the possibility that I have been found. It is no more than any other creature that has become prey would do. But by the time I found myself in Flanders, it had been many years since I had felt his presence. Gideon’s presence. I had put this down largely to the fact that I had taken to moving even more frequently. And to my not having used my magic. Whatever the reasons, I believed I had not come close to being in his company for decades. And even now, at the moment when I halted in my stride because of the overwhe
lming feeling of someone’s eyes being focused on me, I was certain that still this was not him. This spirit was powerful but utterly benign. I moved my head minutely and scanned the bustle of people pressing about me. I soon found him. He was a tall, broad-shouldered young soldier. An officer, his uniform suggested. He wore his mustache fuller than most, and his eyes were gentle. He leaned on a stick but looked otherwise fit and strong. He stood quite still, looking directly at me. In the midst of all that chaos and fear, he was a small point of calm. Of peace. I stared at him and experienced an unexpected and confusing longing for my childhood home in Wessex. Puzzled, I continued to watch him, that is, to watch myself being watched by him. In the darkness and at a distance of twenty yards or so it was hard to see his face clearly. Indeed, I did not feel that I saw him at all, rather that I connected with him. We both stood motionless, locked in this strange meeting, until I heard Sister shout my name and was galvanized into movement. I stumbled through the crowd of scurrying orderlies and nurses toward reception. When I looked back, the soldier was gone.

  2

  I slept so badly that by five o’clock the next morning I had given up trying. I slipped out of the dormitory and exited the clearing station, heading away from the sound of the artillery. The darkness was just lifting into its pre-dawn pallor so that I was able to find my way quite well. I was very soon clear of the village and picked my way through fallow fields as yet undisturbed by war, except for their state of neglect. It was bliss to be free of the madness of the tents and their tragic occupants. Here I could convince myself normal life, whatever that was, continued. And would continue, beyond the chaos that raged only a few miles away. I found a moss-covered gate and sat on it to watch the sun rise. The light began to alter, lending an amber tinge to the flat landscape that stretched out before me. The first birds of the day started to sing out. There were larks, rooks, and finches. In the grass, poppies and marigold vied for attention, so clean and bright and unashamedly pretty. How I needed to remind my weary heart that life would go on. That there were still good things to be discovered, even in this fearsome place. I found myself weeping. For the men whose eyes had been permanently closed and would never witness such loveliness again. For the mothers back home who had lost their boys and would never see joy in anything again. For the pointlessness of it all. For my own uselessness. At last I could ignore that small voice in my head no longer. The ancient voice, the voice that I had silenced and refused to listen to after what had happened at the Fitzroy. I had promised myself I would turn my back on my magic. I would never again draw Gideon to me by using it or subject other innocent people to his evil power. And so I had lived a half-life, a lie—a tense, benumbed existence, denying what I truly was. I knew, as I sat there on that gate surrounded by beauty and goodness, I knew that I could pretend no longer. The bravery of the wounded men humbled me. What sort of coward would I be to put my own safety above theirs? What sort of woman would I be not to give help and care where it was so sorely needed? What sort of witch would I be not to use everything in my gift to heal? I stopped crying and lifted my face to the sun. I let its warm rays bathe my features. I took in its energy. I breathed in the sweet country air.

  ‘So be it,’ I said aloud. ‘So be it.’

  By the time I arrived back at the CCS, it was too late for breakfast, so I went directly to the resuscitation tent. As I approached, strange sounds reached my ears: strangled, unearthly cries that made my skin crawl. Corporal Davies was locked in a nightmare of delirium.

  I glanced around the ward. None of the other patients would meet my eye. All were clearly greatly affected by their comrade’s suffering. In the bed behind me, another soldier hissed between clenched teeth. ‘Shut him up, Nurse,’ he begged. ‘For Christ’s sake, shut him up!’

  I passed my shift in a blur of confusion and anxiety. I knew what I had to do, but I was aware of the risks and of what the consequences might be if I was found out. I bided my time. At six o’clock that evening the doctor finished his rounds, and I watched Sister Radcliffe head across the campus to her office. I was left with one other nurse, a nervous young girl from the Home Counties.

  ‘You go and get some supper,’ I told her. ‘I can finish off here.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘It’s very quiet tonight. I can manage. Go on. If you’re quick, you might even get some fresh bread with your meal.’

  She needed no further persuading and disappeared with something approaching a spring in her step. I checked that the patients were comfortable and settled and then quietly positioned screens around the bed of Corporal Davies. I picked up his notes and read his first name. Danny. Not Daniel but Danny. To somebody he was a son, a husband, a father, perhaps. Danny Davies from a far, far away place with mountains and viridian grass and speeding clouds in the sky. I looked at the wheezing, trembling figure on the bed and thought how cruel it was that he must suffer so very much and so very far from home. I moved to kneel beside him. I reached out and took his hand in mine. He stirred and looked at me. He had not been asleep, merely closing his eyes against the ghastliness of his painful waking world.

  I met his gaze and leaned closer. ‘I cannot heal you, Danny. I am sorry, but I do not have it in my power to undo what has been done to your poor body. I cannot return you to the fine young man you once were, at least, not here. But I can help you; I can put an end to your suffering. Danny, I can send you to a wonderful place, a place free of pain, a place of happiness and love, a place where you can be whole again. Do you understand?’

  He peered at me through flickering lids. For a moment he made no response, then, almost imperceptibly but quite distinctly, he nodded.

  ‘Is that truly what you want, Danny? Tell me. I must know that this is what you wish.’

  His breathing grew quicker. His mouth moved painfully. At last, in a rasp of exhaled air, seemingly from his very heart came a single, vehement word.

  ‘Yessss!’

  I nodded and straightened up. I closed my eyes but kept my hand softly on his the whole time. Slowly I focused my mind; I directed my soul. I looked inward, deep into my own essence, searching, searching. Searching for the long-buried treasure. Gradually it began to stir. Haltingly at first, and then with increasing strength and speed, I felt the magic within me welling up, filling my being once more. It coursed through my veins; it charged through my nervous system; it pumped through my heart. It engulfed me. I could feel myself glowing with the power and the wonder of it. It felt so good to be complete again, after such a long time asleep and alone. I opened my eyes. Danny was watching me closely, but I saw no fear in his expression. I let my head fall back and began to whisper a chant. Softly at first, then as loud as I dared without disturbing the sleeping men on the other side of the screen. Over and over I repeated the incantation, putting all the longing of those dry, barren years into each word. In no time at all my calls were answered. They had joined us. The swirling green mist grew thicker and brighter, so that very soon I could make out the faces and shifting shapes of many of my sisters within it. Danny moved his head, trying to follow the whirling progress of the beautiful figures as they danced around and above him. I squeezed his hand, confident that he would feel no pain. The air was filled with an almost overpowering scent of roses. He looked at me again now, wonder in his eyes.

  ‘Do not be afraid, Danny. The Summerlands is a glorious place. Go now. Be free. Be strong and happy again.’

  My sisters spun about him faster and faster until in one pulsating maelstrom they moved upward. There, in the midst of them, I saw Danny’s spirit rise up too. This was not the wretched, ruined, husk of a man like the one who lay in front of me. This was Danny whole and vibrant and youthful once more. He looked down at me and smiled, a smile of such joy it moved me to tears. I knew in that instant I had done the right thing. Whatever was to come, whatever the consequences, this was what I had to do. There was no other path to be taken. Suddenly, in a heartbeat, they were gone. The small space was still and sile
nt once more. Danny’s body was empty. I let go his lifeless hand and hurried out of the tent.

  In the nurses’ quarters I found everyone else asleep. I sat on my bed, my heart still pounding, my mind fizzing, and my body tingling. For the first time in a very long while, I felt properly alive. I sat for almost an hour, unable to proceed with the mundane business of undressing and getting into bed. Knowing, in any event, that I would not be able to sleep. I was lost in rekindled memories, in rediscovered bonds and friendships, in the bliss of magic filling my being once more. I was so distracted I did not notice Sister Radcliffe enter the hut until she was standing in front of me. Startled, I sprang to my feet, convinced my altered state could not go unnoticed. She regarded me severely for a moment, her mouth set and tense.