Shadowsmith

by Ross Mackenzie

  With this off her chest, the witch-girl smiled, and at once began to glow silver like the moon. Whispers of curling smoke drifted up from her feet, which were fading away. The fading crept upwards, like someone was pulling a loose thread, unravelling her piece by piece. When only her head and shoulders remained, floating in the air, something occurred to Kirby.

  “Wait! Please wait! I have a question.”

  The witch-girl’s head did not look amused by the interruption. “Make it quick, boy.”

  Kirby felt the question on his lips, burning. “What’s it like,” he said, “to die?” Amelia gave him a pitying look, and he blinked the wetness from his eyes. “Does it hurt?”

  “Well, I was burned in a bonfire…” said the witch-girl, “so what do you think? I remember a flash of pain, but after that… darkness wrapped around me like a blanket and lifted me away and I slept deeply, and I was happy.”

  “But…” Kirby was grasping around, trying to find the words, “can you still see what’s going on in our world? Can you see living people? Can you hear us?”

  The witch-girl opened her mouth to answer, but before she could speak the last of her unravelled, and she was nothing but smoke, drifting forever.

  Kirby felt Amelia’s hand in his, gripping tightly. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get you home.”

  ***

  The walk back was quiet. Neither of them spoke, and the only sounds were their footsteps on the winding streets and the whisper of the rain. Amelia was walking slower than usual. Kirby knew she was tired, knew she needed to sleep, and by the time they reached his front door on Harbour Street she was pale as the witch-girl’s ghost.

  “You best go in,” she said. “Your dad won’t have a clue you’ve been gone this time. I’ve made sure of it.”

  “When will you come back?”

  “When I’m ready. Go see your mum. Take her hand. Feel how warm it is. Alive. It’ll help.”

  Kirby nodded. “When we were in the haunted house,” he said, “the spider came back.”

  “What? Are you alright? Did it hurt you?”

  “I’m fine, honestly. I used the hazel wand. I think I killed it.”

  “You think?”

  “Well, there wasn’t much time, was there? The place was falling apart. Last I saw the spider was on its back sizzling. Looked pretty dead to me.”

  Amelia drummed the tips of her fingers together. “Right. Good. Just be careful. Keep your hazel with you.” She stopped and looked up. Then she pulled out her wand, pointed it upwards, and something fell from the gutter above, landing at their feet on the pavement with a slap. The thing was the size of Kirby’s forearm, with loads of legs and a fat, pulsating body. One end of it rose up towards Kirby and opened up, forming a circular hole filled with sharp teeth. It hissed.

  Amelia brought her foot down hard on the thing, and it exploded under her Wellington, leaving a puddle of dark pus and twitching legs on the ground.

  “What a lovely way to end the night,” said Kirby, fighting the urge to be sick. He opened the front door and stepped inside. The warmth of his house, and the smell of it, reminded him of Mum. “See you soon?”

  Amelia nodded. “Get some rest.” She flicked her hand and the door swung shut.

  Inside, Kirby stood on his toes and stared through the peephole.

  The street was empty. He turned, leaned against the door and looked around the hallway. It was good to be home.

  A Dark Dream

  Brothers Swan and Swift stood over Kirby’s bed, watching his chest rise and fall as he slept. They were taller than tall, their clothes darker than the darkest shadow.

  “What do we do with him?” Brother Swan picked his large crooked nose and flicked black snot onto Kirby’s bedroom floor. “We could give him a dose of the plague. Or drive him mad with nightmares?”

  Brother Swift held up a hand, his eyes darting around. “Or,” he said, “we could make him useful.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I mean, we could use him to our advantage. The thing about Little Miss High-and-Mighty these days is, she has a weakness. She cares about these people. Cares about him. So we use him to get at her.”

  Brother Swan swept a hand across his bald head. He smiled, showing a row of pointed teeth. “I like it. Mother will be so proud.”

  Brother Swift gave a nod. He raised a long, white finger, leaned over the bed, and reached out, touching his fingertip to Kirby’s forehead. He pressed gently, keeping contact for a few seconds, and then he let go and straightened up.

  In the bed, the boy wriggled under his covers and kicked out a leg restlessly.

  “There,” said Brother Swift, “the seed’s been planted. Now we let it grow.”

  And with that, Brothers Swan and Swift vanished into the early-morning gloom.

  ***

  Kirby dreamed of Ruby Island, just off the coast. He was in a boat, the same rowing boat Amelia had used to reach the sea cave when they went to fight the spiders. But this time he was alone, rowing against the tide, being tossed around by the swell of huge waves.

  He rowed and rowed, not knowing why, only knowing that he had to reach the island, that it was a matter of great importance.

  Craghaven grew more distant, and the island loomed. When he was almost there, his arms throbbing and his shoulders ready to drop off, he looked at the water and saw that it had turned red. Turned to blood.

  Fear stuck in his throat, choked him, but he rowed on – his little boat leaving a wake in the sea of blood – until he felt sand under him, and he came to a stop on a small beach among the rocks. He hopped out of the boat and ran up the beach to a staircase cut into the cliff. The steps zigzagged this way and that, up the cliff face, and when he reached the top his breath burned in his lungs.

  The lighthouse was up ahead, and beyond that the flat expanse of the little island, sloping down in a wedge shape towards the sea at the far end. Halfway across he could see the standing stones jutting up out of the ground, and people standing around them. One was wearing a yellow raincoat.

  As he ran forward, a flash of light engulfed the stones and he was knocked backwards by the force of it. When he landed, Kirby sat up, panting, sweating. He was on his bedroom floor, a tangle of covers wrapped around him.

  Picking himself up, he moved to his window, opened the curtains, slid up the sash, and breathed in the still sea air. Something caught his eye through the mist. Out beyond the harbour there was a faint light in the water. He strained to see and thought, for a moment, that he glimpsed a rowing boat heading out to the open water – to Ruby Island. He blinked, and when he looked for the boat again, the mist had swirled around it and it was gone.

  FOUR

  The Island

  Fishing

  When Kirby opened his curtains the next morning, he was amazed to see clear blue sky and sunshine. He threw the window wide, breathing warm summer air, and dressed in a hurry. Dad was already up, frying bacon and eggs. “Breakfast?”

  “Please. I’m starving!”

  The bacon was delicious; if there was one thing Dad could cook well, it was a fry-up.

  “Seeing as the weather’s taken a turn for the better, how about I take you out on a wee fishing trip?”

  Kirby gulped down a mouthful of bacon. “Today?”

  “Aye,” said Dad. “Why not? Pete’s done the lobster fishing for the day. Sea’s calm. We’ll take the fishing rods and a wee picnic. Come on.” His eyes were pleading, and Kirby realised that he was asking for help, asking for an escape for a few hours.

  “Sounds good,” he said.

  ***

  Kirby had fished before – living by the sea you couldn’t really avoid it – but it had always been harbour fishing, casting off from Craghaven shore. Sometimes he’d drop a crab-line in near the edge with mussels and whelks as bait, and when he’d pull the line up there might be a crab or two on the end.

  Fishing from a boat was quite different. For a start, Kirby was about as comfort
able on the open water as a lobster on a bicycle. Even though the sea was calm, the boat still moved up and down with the soft waves, and it was hard to keep his balance. The first spot they tried they didn’t catch a thing, so Dad moved them further out, and Kirby watched Craghaven grow smaller and smaller as the boat moved into the deep blue.

  When they passed Ruby Island a sense of unease crept over Kirby. Flashes of his dream came back to him: the sea turning to blood, the figures by the standing stones. He stared up at the cliffs, at the thousands and thousands of seabirds, and he wondered if the dream meant anything. He remembered a time before he met Amelia when dreams were just dreams and didn’t need thinking about twice.

  Dad stopped the boat and they cast their lines in again, letting the weight take the bait down deep. Then he opened the cool box and brought out big, chunky sandwiches made with crusty bread, thickly spread butter and roast beef.

  “So,” he said, sitting back, the boat rocking gently, “I’ve been speaking to Frankie in the café. Says he’s seen you with a girl.” He smiled, and Kirby felt his face grow red. “What’s her name?”

  “Amelia.”

  A pause.

  “Well?” Dad prodded. “Tell me more! Where’s she from? What age is she?”

  Kirby thought very carefully about his answer.

  “She looks around my age,” he said. “She’s not from round here.”

  “On holiday with her family?”

  “Something like that, yeah.”

  Another pause. The sea lapped against the side of the boat. It sounded playful, like it was chuckling.

  “She’s not my girlfriend, you know.”

  “Whatever you say, pal.”

  “But she’s really not!”

  “Fish,” said Dad.

  “What?” said Kirby.

  “Look at your line. You’ve a fish on!”

  Kirby stared at his fishing rod; it was quivering so gently he almost missed it, and there was the slightest bend near the tip. He leapt up, grabbed the rod.

  “I’ve got a fish! I’ve got a fish! What do I do?”

  “That’s it,” said Dad. “Pull the rod up for a few seconds, then point the tip back down at the water and reel. Good. Again.”

  After five minutes, Dad leaned over the side and grabbed the line, pulling it in, and Kirby finally saw what he’d caught. It was a large flatfish, dark brown in colour with a white underside.

  “Well done, son!” said Dad. “Here, you hold it. I want a picture of this…”

  The fish was heavier than it looked, slippery and cold. It didn’t struggle as Kirby held it. He was as gentle as he could be while Dad took photos on his phone. Kirby hadn’t seen him this happy since before Mum’s accident, and all because Kirby had agreed to come out on the boat. It seemed like such a small thing, but to Dad it was obviously a big deal, and Kirby was glad to have made him happy. In some ways, Dad was just as much of a kid as Kirby.

  “Why so many pictures?” Kirby asked.

  “Are you kidding? Mum will be so gutted to have missed this. I’m covering every angle so she can see properly when she wakes up.” He took a few more pictures. “Come on,” he said with a huge grin, “let’s put him back.”

  Life or Death

  “I do find these places infuriating,” said Brother Swift.

  “What? Hospitals?” said Brother Swan. “I don’t think they’re infuriating. Moreish? Yes. Morbid? Absolutely, in the best way. Infuriating? Never. There’s too much lovely suffering to enjoy. Relax brother, and soak up the pain and misery.”

  “But it’s these little people, isn’t it?” said Brother Swift. “They think they know about the world. Think their medicine and their science has cracked it. Pah! They don’t know anything. They never will.”

  The brothers were standing in a private room. Kirby’s mum was lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to a ventilator and many other machines. Kirby sat at one side, reading aloud from a book. His dad sat at the other, holding his wife’s hand. They were not aware of the brothers’ presence.

  “Oh, let’s just kill her and be done with it.” The bright lights of the hospital gleamed on Brother Swan’s bald head.

  “If we do that,” said a thoughtful Brother Swift, “the boy might give up altogether. We need him to be useful if the plan is going to work. We’re nearly there. The third witch is waiting, and my word isn’t she a treat. We just need to spur the child into action.”

  Brother Swan huffed. “On the other hand, if the boy’s mother dies,” he reasoned, “he’ll be angry. Probably hell-bent on revenge. Careless. He might be more useful that way, hmm?”

  Brother Swift wrapped a greasy strand of black hair around his finger, as he always did when he was deep in thought. “We’ll flip a coin,” he said. “Heads, the boy’s mother dies. Tails, we just give him a good fright. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  Brother Swan reached into his coat and pulled out a coin that had been ancient even when the Vikings were raiding towns along the coast. He flipped it into the air and caught it, his bony fist closing over it. Slowly he opened his hand, and the brothers gazed down at the winning side of the coin.

  “Well then,” said Brother Swan, “that decides it.”

  ***

  Kirby was halfway through a chapter when the alarm sounded on one of the machines in Mum’s room. It was a harsh, buzzing sound, and it made him jump. Dad leapt to his feet, and in what seemed to Kirby like one second the room was filled with people.

  There were nurses and doctors crowding around, their hands busy, checking screens, shining torches into Mum’s eyes. And among the sea of bodies, Kirby and Dad were being shepherded out into the corridor.

  “What’s happening?” Dad was yelling. “What’s happening to her?”

  The hospital people could only be heard saying, again and again, “We’re finding that out now, Mr Simpson. It’s best if you and your son step back and let us do our job…”

  And then Kirby and Dad were in the corridor, the curtains in Mum’s room were drawn, and they were hugging each other, crying, feeling lost and helpless and confused.

  ***

  Knock, knock.

  Kirby was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

  Knock, knock.

  “It’s me,” Dad called from out in the hall. “You awake? Can I come in?”

  “Aye.”

  The door creaked open, and Dad came in and sat on the edge of the bed. He stared at his hands for a moment, as if he was trying to find the right words. At last he said, “I’m just off the phone with the hospital. They said there was some sort of malfunction with one of the machines. Said they’ve never seen it before. She’s still stable. She was lucky.”

  Kirby scoffed. “She didn’t look lucky.”

  “She’s still here,” said Dad. “You OK?”

  “Yeah. Just got a fright.”

  “Me too.” He leaned over and ruffled Kirby’s hair. “Try to get some sleep, eh?”

  Kirby nodded, watched his dad leave the room. Then he got up and went to the window, sliding it open, letting the night air stream in. The mist was rolling in again, thick and damp, and the wind was picking up.

  Out in the bay, the lighthouse on Ruby Island was flashing, its light cutting through the mist every few seconds like a blade.

  Everything changes so quickly, Kirby thought.

  In just a single flash of the lighthouse beam, he could have lost Mum. But she was still clinging on. Still fighting. Life these past few weeks had been like that – changing in a flash, bringing the unexpected; bringing storms and witches and Amelia Pigeon.

  And it wasn’t done yet.

  The Second Storm

  “Kirby! Wake up!”

  “Hmm?”

  “Wake up! C’mon!”

  “Amelia?”

  “No, it’s not Amelia. It’s Dad. Wake up!”

  The world was a fuzzy tangle of confusion. Kirby sat up, rubbed his eyes. “Dad? What’s that noise?”
<
br />   “It’s the wind.” Dad was at the window, opening the curtains. Rain battered against the glass. The wind howled and moaned through the narrow street.

  Kirby was awake now, his mind clearer. Dad was in his waterproofs.

  “Why are you wearing that?”

  “Because there’s been a distress signal from a ship somewhere out near the bay. We’re the nearest lifeboat station.”

  “You’re going out? In that?”

  “That’s the idea.”

  Kirby stared out at the hammering wind and rain. Down the street Kirby could see the spray from massive waves crashing over the harbour wall.

  “Mrs Coppershot next door will look after you while I’m gone,” Dad said.

  “But…” Kirby’s body was flooding with panic, “you can’t go!”

  “I have to.”

  “No you don’t! You’re a volunteer! You can say no!”

  “And why would I do that? People are in trouble.”

  “Because I don’t want you to leave me! Everyone is leaving me!”

  The words hung in the air, almost visible. Dad tilted his head a bit, staring at Kirby, his mouth open. He pulled him into a huge hug, his hands in Kirby’s hair.

  “You listen to me,” he said. “Nobody is leaving you. Mum hasn’t left you. She’s fighting as hard as she can to come back to us. And it’ll take more than a wee storm to separate me from my boy. I promise.”

  They sat on the edge of the bed. Kirby wiped his eyes.

  “I have to help, son. Imagine it was me out there, stuck, in danger. You’d want someone to help me, wouldn’t you? These people have families. Maybe even children that go to your school.”

  Kirby closed his eyes for a moment.

  “I know. You have to go.” He hated saying the words, but he knew they were right. He also knew this was no ordinary storm. The last witch was making a move, he was certain of it. “Just be careful,” he said. “Please Dad. There’s something weird about this storm, I can feel it.”