A Witch In Winter

by Ruth Warburton

  Above towered the blackereping and y mass of the castle ruins. They were empty now, but for a great black crow, wheeling and crying above the scattered stones and shattered bodies.

  It seemed to be half mad with fury and loss, diving to the waves and then back up to the ruined towers, and screaming its agony and loss to the heavens in a voice that echoed across the bay.

  At last it flapped its inky wings and then swung round towards us, skimming low over the turf. Closer and closer it came, and I wanted to duck, but pride held me steady. It was only a bird.

  Pride was a mistake. The cruel grey claws extended like talons and it dived, dropping like a hawk, right above my head. Scaly claws tangled in my hair, the curved black beak gouged and pecked at my face, stabbing for my eyes. I screamed, battering the bird with my hands and feeling the blood come as its beak sliced into my flesh.

  ‘Get off her!’ Emmaline yelled, and she flung a ball of fire at the creature, but I ducked, instinctively, and it missed us both. The creature turned its malevolent black head towards her, opened its beak, and screamed. A pulse of power ripped through the air and Emmaline flew back, her body smashing into a tree trunk. For a moment she hung, held there by the rough bark. Then she slipped to the ground, her head lolling, terrifyingly limp.

  The bird struck again, its reeking breath hot in my face. I remembered my power, but I was tired, too tired – it felt like there was nothing left. It was all I could do to shield myself from its spells, let alone drive it off.

  Through a dim whirl of claws and feathers I saw Abe flinging hopeless spells, Sienna with her arms outstretched – but the creature clung closer, gripping my hair and scalp with vicious strength. The stench of its breath was foul in my face – it smelled of carrion, of death, and I heard its harsh, gasping croak against my cheek.

  Your mother died a traitor and a fool – and so will you.

  Shock pulsed through me, breaking my concentration, breaking my shield, and suddenly my body ripped with pain as the creature’s spell engulfed me. The crow’s claws sank deep into the flesh of my shoulder and I felt my feet lift from the ground.

  At that moment the air was blasted with a searing red light. Something red hot, burning with a fierce red flame, shot past me, just inches from my ear. It hit the crow square in the breast and the creature gave a scream of pain, a sound more human than corvid. I dropped from its claws and it flung itself into the air with desperate strength. A burning red-white light blazed in the centre of its chest.

  It flapped its huge wings, wrenching itself skyward, and within moments there was nothing left but the smell of burning feathers.

  I turned, to see Seth and Bran standing on the track that led up from the beach. Bran was leaning heavily on his crutch and Seth was holding something in his hand. It was a flare gun, the kind that fired a distress flare for ships in troublhiptife. As I watched, his hand shook, the gun fell to the floor, and he ran across the short turf, into my arms.

  ‘Anna.’ His words were sobbing gasps, hot against my forehead. ‘Anna, oh Anna!’

  ‘You saved me!’ was all I could think to say. ‘Seth, you saved me.’

  Words welled up inside me – words of love and thanks and unquenchable joy that he was here, back, in my arms. But before I could say any of them, we heard a dreadful cry from behind us. We all turned, to see Maya, crouched on the grass beside Emmaline’s body.

  ‘She’s not breathing! Oh God! Someone please – please …’

  Sienna crouched beside her, feeling for Emmaline’s pulse. Her face when she looked up was grey with horror.

  ‘Oh Ma, oh Simon – what can we do? What can we do?’

  I remembered Abe’s words – they seemed like a hundred years ago: If there’s one thing witchcraft can’t do, it’s make you immortal. Or raise the dead. So it’s all pretty bloody useless at the end of the day.

  So many of us, so many witches, so much power – and all so useless.

  ‘Get away.’ Bran spoke roughly. He hobbled across the turf, his crutch under his arm, and shoved Sienna out of the way. His knees creaked as he knelt in front of Emmaline, and he put his hand under her nose, then listened to her heart. Then, pulling open her shirt, he put both hands on her chest and began CPR.

  For what felt like hours, Bran thumped Emmaline’s heart, then pinched her nose, breathing into her mouth. Nothing … nothing … I began to feel desperate.

  Above the roar of the surf I could hear Bran monotonously counting to thirty under his breath, then breathing into Emmaline’s mouth. Every few cycles he stopped and felt for a pulse. And nothing. Still nothing.

  Stop it! I wanted to shout. It’s not working! But I didn’t. I just stood, with the tears running down my face, while Bran pumped Emmaline’s heart and counted to thirty. Please live, I told her in my head, willing her, urging her heart to start again. Please, please live.

  Again Bran stopped and put his fingers to Em’s neck. But this time, for the first time, he paused. His fingers rested there and his lips moved almost … almost as if … A thread-like moan floated on the still air.

  ‘Emmaline!’ Maya sobbed.

  Emmaline gave a kind of retching, coughing choke.

  ‘Oh, Em!’ Sienna fell to her knees and grabbed Emmaline’s hand, pressing it to her mouth. ‘Em, darling Em.’

  ‘Get off my sodding arm, Sienna …’ Emmaline moaned weakly. ‘I think it’s broken. Ahh! Oh Ma … make it stop hurting …’

  ‘Oh darling … shh …’ Maya stroked her forehead and her hands glowed with a white light. ‘Sleep, sweetie …’ Emmaline’s muscles slowly went slack and her sobbing breaths became even and deep. The whole company of witches exhaled a tremulous sigh of relief.

  ‘Thank you.’ Maya stretched out her free hand towards Bran. ‘Bran Fisher, thank you, I—’

  I don’t know what more she would have said, for he cut her off with a hawk of spit at her feet.

  ‘Fagh, witch. Don’t give me your thanks. I want nothing from you. You and your kind have done enough harm tonight. Get away, get back to your holes to lick your wounds.’

  ‘Bran Fisher, please.’ She spoke softly, still holding out her hand in supplication. ‘You’ve saved my daughter’s life. Won’t you let me repay that debt?’

  But Bran said nothing. He turned and hitched his crutch under his arm, preparing to begin the walk back to Winter.

  ‘Please,’ Maya said. ‘We have no quarrel with you. Is there nothing we can do to win your trust, show our thanks? Your leg …’ She indicated his stick and his limp.

  ‘Bring the dead men of Winter back to life,’ he said bitterly. Maya shook her head. I could see there were tears in her eyes.

  ‘You know that is the one thing beyond all our power. If I could …’ She stopped, brokenly, and gestured towards Bill.

  ‘Get away,’ Bran repeated disgustedly. ‘I want nothing from you.’

  He turned his back on her and hobbled painfully down the path towards Winter. Seth looked from his grandfather to me, then back again, and I saw the anguish in his eyes.

  ‘Seth,’ the old man called, without looking over his shoulder, and then louder, ‘Seth!’

  ‘Grandad,’ his voice was pleading, ‘please, don’t make me choose …’

  Bran turned at that, his face full of contempt.

  ‘Stay then, stay with your witch. But she’ll never be yours. Our kinds are oil and water.’

  ‘Don’t be like this,’ Seth cried.

  But Bran only turned and limped away.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  We made our slow and painful way back to town, the bikers carrying Bill’s body on a piece of driftwood and the unconscious Emmaline slung across Abe’s back, her poor arm supported by Maya’s scarf.

  The sight that met our eyes was devastation beyond anything I had expected. The water was receding, but in its wake was a trail of filth and destruction. Sand, silt and seaweed covered everything – roads, trees, flowerbeds, cars. Even the children’s playground down by the libra
ry was ruined. The sandpit had been transformed into a miniature lagoon, full of crabs, eels and hag-fish marooned by the ebbing waters, all thrashing about in their death agony. Seaweed hung festooned from the swings like Spanish moss.

  We stumbled through the streets, our feet slipping in the muddy filth. As we passed the fishermen’s cottages I shut my eyes, feeling sick at the sight of their smashed windows and pulverised doors. There was no sign of inhabitants. I could only hope that Caroline had taken Seth’s advice and got to safety. Then we turned into the high street and I saw Prue, hopelessly sweeping drifts of soaked books and cushions out of her front door. Her chubby face was white and streaked with black mud.

  Maya’s shop was knee-deep in mud, a tidemark around the counter and cupboards, the floorboards dark with damp and filth. But the flat had been spared. We staggered wearily up the flights of stairs and through the door, then crashed on to any soft surface, desperate for rest, any kind of rest.

  I was too tired and stupefied to find myself a bed. I staggered to a quiet corner in Maya’s study where I sat, then slumped to the floor, resting my head on the bare boards. My last memory was of Seth gently tucking a pillow under my cheek and curling beside me, his coat over us both.

  I was woken from a deep, deep sleep by a shrill buzzing close beside my hip. I swatted at it and it stopped, only to begin again. Unwillingly I raised my head, trying to focus sleep-dulled eyes. Of course, it was my phone. I squinted at the screen. Dad mobile. Oh crap.

  I picked up the call.

  ‘Hi, Dad …’ My voice was slurred with sleep, but I had barely time to draw breath before Dad interrupted, his words tumbling over themselves.

  ‘Anna! Oh thank heavens – I’ve been through hell. Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m fine. Is the house OK?’

  ‘I knew Maya would take care of you but your phonelines were all down and I kept thinking, what if the shop flooded or you got anxious and tried to get home and got caught somewhere in town … ?’ He slowed and gave a laugh. ‘Oh dear, it’s a miracle I escaped a heart attack. Sorry my dear, it’s parental anxiety I’m afraid. You’ll understand if you ever have kids. So you really are OK?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I repeated dully. ‘Sorry you were worried, Dad. How’re you? How’s the houswiv>

  ‘Oh fine, it was a pretty near thing – the river burst its banks, but the water stopped just before it reached us. The beech blew over though, I’m afraid.’

  ‘The beach?’ I echoed.

  ‘The beech. You know, the tree where the rookery was. The birds have just disappeared – I’ve no idea where they all went. It’s rather quiet without their incessant cawing, actually. But that was the only real casualty here. How’s Maya’s?’

  ‘Wet … a bit. Only the shop. I’m glad you’re safe …’ I wanted to be more effusive, but my brain simply couldn’t process the words. ‘I don’t know what time I can get back … There’s lots of clearing up …’

  ‘Of course, of course. No hurry. I expect they could use a hand, and now I know you’re safe I won’t worry. Do you need a lift?’

  ‘M-maybe later …’ I was so tired I could barely speak. ‘Goodnight, Dad – I mean, goodbye.’

  ‘Are you OK, sweetie?’

  ‘Fine, just late night …’

  ‘Oh, OK. Well I’ll let you get back to sleep. See you later …’

  ‘Bye, Dad. Love you.’

  ‘Love you too, sweetie.’

  I hung up and slept again.

  When I woke again it was late and I could tell by the soreness in my bones that I’d slept for a long time, perhaps hours. I was stiff and my mouth was dry, but there was a delicious smell coming from somewhere. I opened my eyes. Seth was crouching beside me with a plate of pasta and pesto, peering into my face.

  ‘Oh! You’re awake anyway.’ He smiled, that wide, enchanting smile that always tugged at my heart. ‘I was just wondering whether to wake you.’

  ‘Hello.’ I smiled back, then struggled upright and looked at the plate. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Breakfast. Lunch. Whatever you want to call it. It’s three p.m. so afternoon tea might be nearest the mark.’

  ‘Three!’ I was shocked. I pushed back the hair from my face and tried to get my senses back together. ‘How long do you think we slept?’

  ‘I’ve been up for a couple of hours. You slept from six a.m. until now.’ Then memory came back, and with it a dull feeling of dread.

  ‘Where’s Emmaline? Is she OK?’

  ‘She’s all right. Maya and Simon took her off to A&E. She was swearing like a trooper when they put her in the car, so I think she’ll live. They seemed to think her arm was broken, but that she’d be OK.’

  ‘Thank God.’ I felt weak with relief, and suddenly starving. ‘What’s that? I could eat a horse.’

  ‘Well, I can only offer penne.’ He gave me the plate and a spoon, then sat back, watching with a smile as I shovelled the hot pasta into my mouth. It burned my tongue but I barely noticed, I was so hungry. At last I sat back with a contented sigh and Seth laughed.

  ‘You looked like you needed that.’

  ‘I did. Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ He sat beside me on our makeshift bed and ran his hand tenderly through my tangled, sticky hair. ‘Anyway, it’s me that should be thanking you.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘I spoke to Abe. It sounds like you saved us all, Wonder Woman.’

  ‘Please don’t joke about it,’ I said uncomfortably. I suddenly felt wretched, fraudulent. ‘Anyway I didn’t. If anything it was all my fault. The Ealdwitan were after me, don’t forget.’

  ‘You’re not responsible for what those – those people … did, Anna.’

  ‘But that horrible crow!’ I cried, shuddering again at the memory of it. ‘You saved my life with that flare gun. And Emmaline – Bran was amazing. If anyone saved our skins it was you and Bran.’

  ‘Let’s just say, we saved each other. Thank God it’s over, and we’re both safe.’ His arm tightened around me.

  Was it over? I wished I could be so sure. But Seth was probably right; the Ealdwitan had staked everything on this throw of the dice – exposure, defeat, destruction. Well, we hadn’t destroyed them. But we’d shown them that the Winter witches were a force to be reckoned with – and I didn’t think they’d be returning for a long time, perhaps never. So why did I feel so sad?

  Perhaps because although last night had been terrifying, it had also been wonderful. With death looming over us, I’d been freed from the responsibility of tomorrow, free to love Seth. And now …

  I sat, watching him, as he looked out of the window. Maya’s study faced down the hill, towards the harbour, and Winter was spread out beneath us, the houses tumbling to the sea, and the sea stretching out to meet the horizon, both so perfectly blue that you could hardly tell where water ended and air began. It was completely tranquil; I found it almost impossible to connect it with the strength and fury of last night.

  I could have sat all dhavtighteay, watching Seth’s face, as he in turn gazed at the shifting loveliness of the waves. But perhaps I moved, for he turned and his eyes met mine, and his face was full of a naked, fearless love that almost broke my heart.

  I knew he loved me. I knew it, with every bone in my body, every nerve, every cell. I just didn’t know why. And no matter what I did, no matter how many charms and countercharms and enchantments and remedies I tried, I’d probably never know why, not for sure. I’d never know whether he’d have found me in the first place without that ill-fated spell, or if we might have walked on separate paths for the rest of our lives. I remembered his voice, sobbing, urgent: You can’t change someone’s soul with a spell, Anna – you can’t make them love, not real love, not like this.

  ‘Seth,’ I said hesitantly, and I drew a breath.

  There was a sudden knock at the door and I jumped, biting my tongue painfully.

  ‘What? Who is it?’ I snapped.

  Sienna’s head came rou
nd the door, her expression apologetic.

  ‘I’m sorry it’s just – they’re taking Bill. And I thought …’

  ‘Of course.’ We both stood up. I straightened my clothes, and we followed Sienna out into the hall where two ambulance officials stood, their heads formally bowed over Bill’s covered body on the stretcher. As they lifted him I felt the tears well up unstoppably. It could have been me or Seth on that stretcher. We had started this – I had started it with that stupid, stupid spell. And yes, I’d finished it too. But Bill had paid the price, while I was safe.

  Bill had given me that. He’d given me my life and Seth’s. Now it was up to me what I did with them.

  Abe, Carl and Sienna followed the crew down the stairs to the ambulance. As the door closed behind them the noise of their feet on the stairs faded, until it was so hushed I could hear my heart beating.

  I turned and found Seth looking at me, his grey eyes wide, full of quiet waiting. And suddenly I knew what to do. I owed it to Bill not to waste a second longer.

  Two weeks later and the sombre memorials had been held for the lost townsfolk, Bill and Mr Brereton numbered among them. It broke my heart to hear the short reference to Bill, ‘A stranger among us for only one night, an innocent bystander like so many others, caught up in the violence of the storm,’ compared to the long, sickly eulogy to Mr Brereton: ‘A remarkable man, a steadfast friend, a devoted teacher who guided so many of the townsfolk, old and young through their education, growth and development …’ intoned the officiant. I had to clench my hands to stop myself from standing up and shrieking out the dreadful accusations that would put the record straight, expose Bill’s true heroism, giving his life for a town full of strangers, and Mr Brereton’s dreadful betrayal. Beside me I could see Emmaline was having the same dark thoughts. Her eyes were He00000 closed, the hand not in plaster was clenched until the knuckles were white, and she was muttering something under her breath.