A Witch Alone (The Winter Witch Trilogy #3)

by Ruth Warburton

  ‘I think you’re right. I can definitely see something. Can you manage? Anna, I mean – can you manage the last bit with her?’

  ‘I can manage,’ Seth said shortly. He stood and then heaved me into his arms with a little catch of breath. Abe looked at Emmaline and she nodded and then picked up the heavy jar of magic. Together they began to stumble slowly down the last few hundred yards of track, towards the cliff.

  Snow flakes speckled the black rocks of the clifftop, stark white in the moonlight. At the edge Seth stopped and we looked out to sea.

  The boat was there.

  It was only when I heard Seth’s shuddering sigh of relief that I realized how fragile it was, how easily something might have happened to it – destroyed by a storm while we were in the mines, or holed by the witches and sunk. But it was still there, floating on the dark waves. There was frost glittering on the rigging and it had drifted out a little way from the beach when the tide rose, but the anchor had held firm.

  Seth set me carefully down on the cliff-top and this time I managed to stay sitting upright against a rock, supporting myself on shaking arms.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked. I managed to nod.

  ‘I’m … OK.’ My voice was cracked and hoarse, but it seemed like a miracle to be able to speak at all.

  Seth’s exhausted face broke into a smile.

  ‘You can talk!’ He crouched in front of me on his heels and touched my face. ‘I was so frightened, Anna. I thought … I thought you were going to die.’

  ‘Was it true … ?’ It was hard to speak; the words felt like pebbles in my mouth, each one having to be spat out. ‘W-what … you said … in the cave?’

  ‘That I …’ He stopped, looked away. ‘That I wished …’

  ‘You wished …’ I took a deep breath. ‘I’d die.’

  ‘No.’ His voice shook.

  ‘Please … don’t … l-lie,’ I said painfully. He ran his hands through his hair, his face white and haggard. I knew that feeling: wanting to say the right thing, not wanting to lie.

  ‘OK,’ he said at last. ‘It was true. But not – not like that. I thought about it – when I wanted the pain to stop. I wondered what would happen – if you died. I wondered – if I’d be free …’ His voice broke and he knelt in front of me. ‘But I don’t want to be free – if freedom means being without you. That’s what I realized in the cave … I …’

  I was too tired to speak. We only looked at each other in the moonlight, full of pain and fear for each other’s safety.

  Then, over his shoulder, I saw Abe stumble out of the trees. His face was clay-coloured, his hand pressed to his side. He tripped on a rock and fell to his knees, and then just lay, slumped against a boulder.

  ‘How will we get down to the shore?’ Em said worriedly.

  ‘We climb,’ Seth said curtly. ‘That’s how we got up.’

  Em said nothing. She looked at Abe and then down at the jar of magic in her arms. I knew what she was thinking. But there was no other way.

  ‘How will we do this?’ Em asked at last.

  ‘You take the magic,’ Seth said. ‘I’ll help Abe. Then I’ll come back for Anna.’

  ‘No,’ Abe said, his breathing panting white in the cold night air. ‘I need – need to rest. Just for a minute.’

  Seth looked at him, his face twisted with sympathy and worry. Then he nodded shortly.

  ‘All right. Anna first. Then we’ll come back for you. Ready, Anna?’

  I nodded, steeling myself.

  The descent was a nightmare. A grim, slithering nightmare of stumbling and swearing and scraped limbs. Seth carried me against his chest and he gasped with pain every time our combined weight landed on his bad leg. Once he slipped on a loose boulder and I thought we were going to fall to our deaths on the sharp black rocks below, but he managed to save himself, holding my weight on his arm and scrabbling with his fingertips for a hold while we teetered over the drop.

  Em climbed in silence. Her face was grim and she clutched the jar of magic with cold determination, leaving no hand to save herself when she stumbled.

  At last, after what seemed like hours of sweating agony, we reached the beach and I heard feet scrunching on the black shingle. Seth lowered me slowly to the ground. Then Emmaline slithered down the scree with a last rush and set the jar of magic down on the sand, wiping her face with her sleeve. She looked out towards the boat and her voice came drifting on the sea wind.

  ‘So that’s your boat. How are we going to get out to it?’

  ‘I’ll have to swim out and row it back.’

  ‘Swim!’ Em’s voice was full of a horror that seemed almost comical after all we’d been through. ‘It’s snowing!’

  ‘Well since I can’t yet walk on water, got any other ideas?’ Seth asked. Em looked out at the boat, floating on the black waves, and then she nodded, reluctantly.

  ‘All right. You get the boat, I’ll go back up to Abe.’

  ‘He’s too heavy for you.’

  ‘We’ll take it slowly,’ Em promised. ‘I’ll stop, if I can’t manage him, and wait for you to get back.’

  Seth nodded and he began unlacing his boots.

  ‘Seth,’ Em said awkwardly. She twisted her fingers together. ‘I wanted to say – you’ve been … I mean, I couldn’t have …’ She swallowed and then began again. ‘I know we haven’t always been very welcoming, Abe and me, but if we get out of here safely then it’ll be down to—’

  ‘Let’s wait until we’re out of here before we talk about getting back safely,’ Seth said.

  Em nodded. Then she turned and began clambering slowly back up the cliff.

  Seth was prising off his boots, one after the other, and unbuttoning his shirt. The moonlight shone on his body, showing every scar and sinew in sharp relief, right down to the goosebumps that shivered across his skin as he put his shirt down on the black sand.

  He looked at me for a moment and bent to kiss my forehead. Then he began to walk into the sea.

  I heard his gasp as the icy water bit. But after that one sharp sound he just waded in grim silence into the dark, choppy sea. A few metres out he crouched and then dived into the waves. I watched the surface and saw his sleek, black head surface far out, halfway to the ship already.

  Then a hoarse cry split the night and I looked up.

  A crow was wheeling above the cliff top, huge and black against the moon, its wings spread to an impossible span.

  I’d never seen a bird so huge, not even an eagle, and it flew so strangely, drunkenly almost, dipping and swooping and then recovering itself just before it hit. It swooped down towards the beach, so fast that I felt sure it would fall and smash on the rocks. But it flapped its wings furiously at the last moment, pulling back from its spiralling fall. I felt the wind from its wings ruffle my hair as it swooped across – then it thudded on to the black sand … and turned into Marcus.

  He staggered towards me, naked, covered in blood and feathers, his one good eye still full of the inhuman blankness of the crow. The other was a bloody hole in his head.

  ‘Anna,’ he said. His voice was half human and half a rasping caw.

  ‘Marcus,’ I tried to keep the fear out of my voice – but it still shook. There was something so horrible about him, about his battered body and bloody face, full of hate and madness.

  From far above, I heard Emmaline’s cry of fear.

  ‘Marcus,’ she shouted down the cliff, ‘Marcus, walk away. There’s three of us – you won’t win this.’

  ‘I don’t want to win any longer.’ He spoke to me, rather than Emmaline, as if I’d said the words. He coughed and spat blood. ‘I’ve nothing left. I want revenge. Revenge for destroying me, destroying my plans. Revenge for wasting the greatest gift witchkind ever had.’

  He lashed out suddenly, a spear of fire shooting across the dark rocks towards me – and there was nothing I could do. I had no shield, no spells, no defence.

  ‘No!’ Em shrieked. She flung out a spell fro
m her precarious perch halfway up the cliff and somehow the spear ricocheted off her shield. It glanced away, towards the cliff-edge, smashing into the black rocks and sending a cascade down towards Em.

  She screamed, clinging with her knuckles to a crevice as sharp stones showered down on her.

  ‘Abe!’ Her voice was half strangled with fear. She clung to the rocks with one hand, trying to protect her head with the other. There was the sound of more rocks rattling down and then one struck Emmaline full in the face. She gave a scream and let go, her body thumping horribly as it began to tumble slowly down the cliff, ricocheting off jutting outcrops of rock. Her hands clutched as she fell, desperately scrabbling for a hold, trying to save herself from the final, sheer drop. If she fell to the rocks on the beach, that would be it.

  ‘Em!’ Abe cried. He reached out towards her from the cliff-top – I saw his fingers stretching desperately across the space between them as he threw the last dregs of his magic into stopping her fall – and she did stop, her fingers clutching at the sharp stone, her legs dangling into space. Abe’s magic held her there, the air seeming to shiver with the intensity of his effort. How long could he hold her? Long enough for Emmaline to scramble on to the ledge?

  Marcus wasn’t even watching. Instead he began to walk towards me.

  ‘I’ve nothing left to lose,’ he croaked. He pointed at his face and his heart, where the huge charred wound gaped and oozed. ‘See this? You’ve broken me, Anna. You’ve broken everything.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I gasped. I pressed myself back against the rock, trying to conjure a shield. But there was nothing there. Just the terrifying emptiness. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

  ‘I could have led the Ealdwitan to greatness. I could have fulfilled my father’s dream: one man, a single vision …’

  ‘You killed your father,’ I sobbed.

  ‘No, you killed him,’ Marcus spat. ‘With your questions, and your probing, and your stupidity. You were given a gift we’ve searched for for centuries – and you wasted it.’

  He was very close now, his single eye locked on me, full of hate.

  There was something in his hand. It shone in the moonlight. A knife.

  ‘Marcus, no …’

  ‘You’ve survived drowning, Anna. Having your head bashed in with a rock. Excision. But no witch, not even you, can survive having her heart cut out.’

  He raised the knife, the moon and the black rocks reflecting off the long, hungry blade.

  I pulled together all my strength and managed to move, dragging myself backwards, away from him, across the beach.

  ‘Where are you going to go?’ Marcus asked softly. Feathers shivered across his skin and his panting breath was a white cloud against the moon. ‘There’s no one left. No one to save you. You can’t even save yourself.’

  He raised the knife above his head. It flashed in the moonlight – cold and bright as death. His lips moved, but I could no longer hear what he was saying – I couldn’t hear anything except for a roaring in my head, my blood pounding in my ears as if it had to use up all its beats in these last, dying seconds. My hands shook. I dug my fingers into the sand, hoping that from somewhere I could find the strength to pull myself upright and run.

  But there was nothing.

  Nothing but the silent scream in my head and the blinding whiteness of the blade as it flashed towards my heart.

  Then something cold and wet crashed into me, flinging me sideways so that my head smashed against a stone and the whole night exploded in a blast of light and pain.

  For a minute I was too blinded to see what had happened. I lay on the sand, pain stabbing through my head, my eyes refusing to focus. Everything was a blur, but I could feel hands clutching at me – cold hands – wet, salty hair across my face, and there was the sound of breathing, hard and harsh against my ear and a cry of pain.

  It was Seth – Seth lying across me, salt-wet from the sea, his breath tearing white in the darkness, his body shielding mine from Marcus’ knife.

  He hauled himself to his knees and then turned to Marcus.

  They stood facing each other in the moonlight, Marcus naked, Seth stripped to the waist, both of them bloodied and battered and exhausted. There was a long slash across Seth’s back where he’d taken the blow Marcus meant for me. Blood dripped to the sand, slow and dark.

  ‘Go home,’ Seth said. His voice was cracked with anger and exhaustion.

  Marcus only laughed. He threw back his head and laughed, his throat bared to the moon, the knife slack in his hand. Then he looked at me.

  ‘Things are pretty bleak, Anna, when you have to rely on an outwith for protection.’

  He raised his knife hand high. But before he could take a step towards me, Seth grabbed him, wrestling him to the ground with a thump that shook the rocks around us.

  For a long, horrible while they struggled, skin on skin, fingers tearing at each other, panting breaths and the smack of fist against muscle and bone. The knife flashed between them, catching the moonlight as they struggled.

  Then suddenly Seth gave a gasp and sprawled backwards on to the sand. He pulled himself to his feet, his legs shaking with the effort, and stood, looking down at himself, at his naked chest.

  At the knife that stuck out of his side, pushed hilt-deep beneath his ribs.

  Then he looked at me. I tried to say something – but there were no words. My voice died in my throat as Marcus grabbed Seth’s shoulder and yanked, dragging the knife out, pulling, pulling, inch after inch, until it came free and Marcus staggered back. Seth made a sound like a strangled, gargling gasp and blood began to gush from the wound.

  Marcus held him by the shoulder and he thrust again, this time in the centre of Seth’s belly, in and up and back out, with a squelching, grating suck.

  ‘A—’ Seth managed. His eyes were locked on mine.

  He staggered, just one step, then he fell, twelve stone of muscle and bone and life crashing to the beach.

  He lay, gasping, the blood pooling beneath him, and Marcus shoved the knife in one last time, ripping up through his ribcage, up to his heart.

  Seth’s body gave one, last convulsive heave – and then lay still on the black sand at Marcus’ feet.

  Fury and agony and grief exploded through me. From somewhere I found the strength to stagger forwards and I fell on my knees beside Seth, tears streaming down my face, falling on to his shoulders, into his hair. I kissed his cheeks and his lips and his forehead, the sobs ripping me up inside.

  He reached out his fingers towards me.

  And then his eyes left mine. He raised them, over my head, looking at something I couldn’t see. His lips parted – but no sound came out.

  I raised my head, following his gaze. It was Marcus, standing over us both, a smile on his lips, Seth’s blood on his hands.

  I reached for the knife.

  It was stuck in Seth’s ribs, and I sobbed helplessly as I pulled it out, feeling the bone grate against steel and the blood spew out beneath my hand.

  I knew the action might kill him, if Marcus hadn’t already done that. But I had nothing left to defend him with – no magic, no weapons of my own. It was the only weapon left.

  I staggered to my feet and stood, facing Marcus.

  ‘Leave us alone.’

  ‘You stupid girl,’ he said softly. ‘Any power you ever had is in that jar over there.’ He nodded to the fragile glass flagon glowing on the beach, white as a second moon. ‘You think that knife gives you power? You don’t even know what you’ve lost.’

  A coldness spread into my fingers, up my arms, through my body. It was a chilling, hopeless, horrendous cold. The worst cold ever. Worse than death.

  ‘This is power,’ Marcus whispered. ‘This is the only power that matters.’

  My hands were suddenly locked to the hilt, but numb – so numb I couldn’t feel anything. I wanted to stab Marcus in the heart, watch him die. But instead, slowly – very slowly – the point of the blade turned in, towards me, as M
arcus forced my hands inwards.

  Seth made a sound at my feet, a gargling rattling sound.

  The point bit and a red blossom began to spread across my chest.

  I was shaking. In spite of the cold, there was sweat on my lip and on the palms of my hands. My fingers slipped on the hilt of the knife, as the point dug deeper … deeper … God, it hurt!

  A whimper came out of my lips.

  Marcus smiled.

  I took a breath, feeling my abdomen press agonisingly against the tip of the knife. Every breath, I impaled myself a little more. The point burrowed into my skin while I fought against it, my fingers refusing to obey, but my own muscles driving the knife deeper and deeper into myself – compelled by Marcus’s magic and hate.

  ‘This is the only power that matters.’ Marcus stepped very close, his cheek next to mine, his hand over mine, ready to push the knife home if my hands faltered.

  Was it true? Had I lost it – the only power that mattered in the world? What use was strength and honour and endurance against a power like this, a power that could force you to gut yourself while your friends watched, helpless, waiting for their own deaths.

  While Seth died at my feet …

  ‘Give up, Anna,’ Marcus whispered in my ear, his breath a cold cloud of white, like a halo overhead. ‘Give up.’

  My hands slipped on the knife.

  I closed my eyes.

  It was not true. It was not true. There were other powers that mattered.

  I wrenched the knife-tip out of my stomach, feeling warmth flood through my limbs, and with my other hand I pushed Marcus away with all my strength.

  His face was white, blank with shock. Then he crouched and leapt at me, like a crow crouching to leap into the air. For a moment there was nothing but the sound of his breath in my ear, snapping beak, scratching claws, hands wrestling for the knife, wrestling to turn it back into my gut, his strength against mine, his breath hot on my cheek.

  I fought like I’d never fought before, fighting for my life, for Seth’s, for Emmaline and Abe – hands slippery with blood, face wet with tears and sweat. The knife flashed between us as our fingers slipped and clawed for control, first on the hilt, then the blade, then grabbing for each other’s wrists, trying somehow, anyhow, to get possession of the knife.