The Last Apprentice: Complete Collection

by Joseph Delaney

  How could Mam have been so wrong? Or perhaps she wasn’t wrong at all. One of the Fiend’s names was “the Father of Lies.” So most likely he was lying now!

  “You’re lying!” I shouted at last, all my fear of him fleeing, to be replaced by outrage and anger.

  The Fiend shook his head slowly. “Even the Pendle clans don’t know it, but it’s the truth nonetheless. Alice’s real mother is bound in a pit in John Gregory’s garden at Chipenden. I speak of Bony Lizzie. When her child was born, it was immediately given into the safekeeping of a childless couple—the father a Deane, the mother a Malkin. But when Alice was older and ripe for training in the dark arts, their usefulness was over. On the night they died, Lizzie came to claim her daughter. That training would have continued but for the intervention of you and your master.”

  Bony Lizzie—Alice’s mother! Could it be possible? I remembered the first time I’d seen Lizzie. She was supposed to be Alice’s aunt and I’d immediately noted the strong family resemblance. They had the same features, very dark hair and brown eyes, and although older, Lizzie had been as pretty as Alice. But she was quite different in many other ways. Her mouth twisted and sneered as she talked, and she hardly ever looked you in the eye.

  “It’s not true. It can’t be—”

  “Oh, but it is, Tom. Your master’s instincts have proved correct as usual. He’s always doubted Alice, and this time, but for your feelings and the intervention of Arkwright, would have bound her in a pit next to her mother. But nothing I do is without careful thought and calculation. That is why I agreed to your request to free Amelia’s soul. How grateful William Arkwright was! How useful he proved. How eloquent! And now Alice is free at last, beyond the influence and watchful eye of John Gregory, able to return to Pendle, where she will eventually assume her rightful place as leader and unite the clans once and for all.”

  For a long time I didn’t speak and a feeling of nausea came upon me, the sense of falling intensifying. But then a thought suddenly came into my head to lift my spirits. “If she’s your daughter,” I said, “then how is it that she’s fought so hard against the dark? How is it that she struggled against the witch-clans in Pendle, risking her life to stop them bringing you through the portal into this world?”

  “That’s easy, Tom. She did it all for you. You were all that mattered to her, so she became what you wanted and put aside most of her training in witchcraft. Of course, she can never really let it go. It’s in her blood, isn’t it? Families make you what you are. They give you flesh and bone then mold your soul into their beliefs. Surely you’ve been told that before? But things are different now. Her hopes are over. You see, until the night before John Gregory sent her away, Alice didn’t know who she really was. We kept it from her until the moment was right.

  “That night she tried to contact Grimalkin. Tried to thank her for what she’d done in saving you. She used a pool of water at midnight. But mine was the face that stared back at her. And then I appeared right beside her and named her as my daughter. She didn’t take it well, to say the least. Terror, despair, then resignation—that was the sequence of responses. I’ve seen it all before. Being who she is, Alice now has no hope of continuing as your friend. Her life at Chipenden is over and she knows it. She can no longer be at your side. That is, unless I choose to intervene and make it possible. Everything changes eventually, but sometimes things move in a spiral and we may return to the same point but on a different level.”

  I looked at him and locked my gaze with his. Then I answered, the words coming without thought. “The same point but a different level? For you that could only be downward. Down toward the dark.”

  “Would that be so bad? I am the lord of this world. It belongs to me. You could work alongside me to make it better for everyone. And Alice could be with us. The three of us together.”

  “No,” I said, struggling to my feet and turning toward the steps. “I serve the light.”

  “Stay!” he commanded, his voice full of authority and anger. “We haven’t finished yet!”

  But although my legs felt as heavy as lead and the sense of falling made it hard to keep my balance, I managed to take one step and then another. As I began to climb, I felt unseen forces tugging me down but I continued to fight my way upward. When my eyes were able to see beyond the edge of the barge, I was terrified. For rather than the canal bank, beyond the barge there was nothing. I was gazing into absolute blackness, into nothingness. But I took another step, and then another, until the world as I knew it suddenly shimmered into view and I jumped down onto the towpath.

  I picked up my bag and staff and continued in the same direction as before. I didn’t look back but sensed that the black barge was no longer there. The mist had gone and above my head the sky was bright with stars. I walked and walked mindlessly, too numb for thought.

  CHAPTER XXXI

  Whose Blood?

  EARLY morning and I was climbing above Caster, heading south toward Chipenden. I reached the Spook’s house late in the evening. I found him sitting on the bench in the western garden, deep in thought, staring toward the distant fells.

  I sat down beside him without a word, unable to meet his eyes. He placed a hand on my shoulder and patted it twice before standing up.

  “It’s good to see you back,” he said in a kindly voice. “But I can see that something has affected you badly. Now look at me and spit it out. Whatever it is, you’ll feel better if you get it off your chest, lad. Just start at the beginning and go on. . . .”

  So I told him everything: the sudden appearance of the sinister black barge; what the Fiend had said about Alice being his own daughter; my struggle to escape. I even told him how Alice had been prepared to use the dark to protect me using a blood jar. How she’d got Morwena’s blood and had intended to mix mine with it to keep the Fiend away. That Mam had used a mirror, telling Alice to use anything to keep me safe.

  Finally I explained how I felt. That I hoped with all my heart that the Fiend had lied and that Alice wasn’t his daughter.

  As I finished, my master sighed deeply; it was a long time before he spoke.

  “My head’s spinning with what you’ve just told me, lad. I find it particularly hard to believe what you said about your mam: Whatever she was in the past, in my judgment she’s now a powerful servant of the light. Maybe the girl lied about that? Alice would do anything for you, and no doubt she wanted to save you at any cost. She knew you wouldn’t like her methods so maybe she said that about your mam just so you’d accept it. Does that make sense?”

  I shrugged. “It’s possible,” I admitted.

  “So let’s take it one more step. I’m asking you now: How can you be sure, lad? How can you be certain that Alice isn’t exactly who the Fiend says she is?”

  “I’m sure,” I said, trying to fill my voice with conviction. “It can’t be true. . . .”

  “Look into your heart, lad. Are there no doubts there at all? Nothing that worries you in the slightest way?”

  There was something that had been bothering me, and I’d been thinking about it all day as I walked back to Chipenden. The Spook was staring at me hard, so I took a deep breath and told him.

  “There’s something I never told you before,” I said. “When Alice frightened those soldiers away and rescued me, she used something she called Dread. But her head was covered with snakes and I felt cold when she approached. She looked like the most frightening witch I’d ever seen. Did I see the truth of things by the moonlight that night? Did I see her as she really is?”

  The Spook didn’t answer.

  “And there’s another thing,” I continued. “The way Alice behaved when you sent her away. She didn’t say a single word in her defense. That’s not like her. The Fiend claimed to have told her the night before and he said she was resigned. And that’s what she looked like to me. As if she’d given up and all the fight had gone out of her. She knew who she was and there was nothing she could do about it.”

  �
�You could well be right,” said the Spook. “But the Fiend would certainly lie to suit his own purposes. There’s actually one other thing that worries me, lad. You say Alice got some of Morwena’s blood. That would be difficult. When did she get it?”

  “After Morwena was dead. When she washed my chain—”

  “I saw her wash your chain, lad, but she didn’t put any blood into a jar. I could be mistaken, though she was just a few feet away when she did it. But she believed in the jar, and I’ve had an unpleasant thought. Maybe she used her own blood! She was desperate to keep you safe, and if she knew she was the Fiend’s daughter, then she’d be confident that her own blood would work just as well. . . .”

  I buried my face in my hands, but the Spook put his hand on my shoulder. “Look at me, lad.”

  I looked into his eyes and saw sadness. “None of that is proof. I could be wrong. Maybe she did save blood from the chain. So I’ll tell you this: I’m undecided myself. There’s one other person who knows the truth and that’s Bony Lizzie—but witches lie, too. If Bill Arkwright were here in my shoes, he’d drag Lizzie from that pit and make her talk. But I don’t hold with that. Besides, people will say anything to avoid being hurt.

  “No, we’ll just have to be patient. Time will deliver the truth into our hands, but in the meantime you must promise me to have no contact at all with the girl. If she is the Fiend’s daughter, I’ve made the biggest mistake of my whole life. Not only did I spare her the pit because you pleaded for her, I’ve given her a home and let her share our lives for far too long. She’s had all that time to corrupt you. Too many opportunities to undermine everything I’ve tried to teach you. What’s more, whether or not she’s the Fiend’s daughter, I still think she’s a dangerous influence. She may well try to reach you either in person or using a mirror. You must resist that, lad. You must have no contact with her at all. Will you do that for me? Do you promise?”

  I nodded. “It’ll be difficult,” I said, “but I’ll do it.”

  “Good lad! I know it will be hard because you two had become very close. Too close for my liking. But the biggest danger is that the Fiend will try to compromise you and draw you toward the dark. It could happen gradually, bit by bit so you hardly notice. And he’d most likely use the girl to achieve it.

  “Now, then, things aren’t all bad. I do have some good news. A letter arrived for you just two days ago.”

  “A letter? Who from? Is it from Jack?”

  “Why don’t you come back to the house and find out?” the Spook said mysteriously.

  It was good to be back. I realized just how much I’d been missing my life at Chipenden. The Spook told me to sit myself down at the kitchen table. Then he went upstairs and came down carrying an envelope, which he handed to me with a smile. One glance and my smile became even broader than his.

  To my youngest son, Thomas J. Ward

  It was from Mam! News of her at last! Eagerly I tore it open and began to read.

  Dear Tom,

  The struggle against the dark in my own land has been long and hard and is approaching a crisis. However, we two have much to discuss and I do have further things to reveal and a request to make. I need something from you. That and your help. Were there any way at all to avoid this, I would not ask it of you. But these are words that must be said face to face, not in a letter, and so I intend to return home for a short visit on the eve of midsummer.

  I have written to Jack to inform him of my arrival so I look forward to seeing you at the farm at the appointed time. Work hard at your lessons, son, and be optimistic, no matter how dark the future seems. Your strength is greater than you realize.

  Love,

  Mam

  “Mam’s coming back to visit at midsummer,” I told the Spook, handing him the letter excitedly. It was now the tenth of April. In just over two months I’d see her again. I wondered what she wanted to tell me.

  The Spook read the letter, then looked up at me, his face very serious, and began to scratch at his beard, deep in thought.

  “She says she wants my help. And something from me. What do you think she means?” I asked, my mind still whirling.

  “We’ll just have to wait and see, lad. It could be anything; it’s a bridge that can be crossed only when we come to it. But when you go to the farm, I’ll go, too. There are things I need to say to your mam, and no doubt she’ll have words of her own for me. But until then we have work to do. How long have you been my apprentice now, lad?”

  I thought for a moment. “About two years . . .”

  “Aye, two years, give or take a week or so. In the first I taught you about boggarts. In the second we’ve studied witches, including six months’ sound training from Bill Arkwright concerning the ones that lurk in stagnant water. So now we’ve arrived at your third year of study and we’re about to begin a new topic, which is ‘The History of the Dark.’

  “You see, lad, those who fail to learn the lessons of history are doomed to make the same mistakes as others before them. We’re going to examine the different ways the dark has manifested itself to people during the centuries leading up to our own. And we’re not just going to confine ourselves to County history. We’ll be broadening our horizons and looking to accounts from other lands. You’ll also begin your study of the Old Tongue, the language of the first men who came to the County. It’s a lot harder than Latin and Greek, so you’ll have your work cut out!”

  It all sounded interesting. I couldn’t believe that in six months I’d be halfway through my apprenticeship. A lot had happened: good things, bad things, scary things, and sad things. And with or without Alice, my training would go on.

  After that we had our supper—one of the best the boggart had ever cooked. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day. The first of many to come.

  ONCE again, I’ve written most of this from memory, using my notebook when necessary.

  It’s three weeks since I arrived back at Chipenden, and the weather’s starting to get much warmer; the mists and cold weather up at Arkwright’s mill are now just a memory.

  Yesterday I had a letter from my brother Jack. He’s as excited as me at the news of Mam’s visit. All’s well at the farm and my other brother James is doing really well as a blacksmith and getting lots of business.

  I should be happy, but I keep thinking about Alice, wondering how she’s doing and whether or not the Fiend told the truth about her. So far she’s tried to contact me twice, using the mirror in my bedroom. Each time, just as I’ve been about to climb into bed, I’ve noticed the glass begin to lighten and caught a glimpse of Alice’s face.

  It’s been hard. I’ve really wanted to breathe on the glass and write to say I’m worried about her and ask if she’s safe. Instead, I’ve thrown myself into bed, turned my face to the wall, and kept my promise.

  He’s the Spook and I’m only the apprentice. He’s still my master and everything he does is for the best. But I’ll be glad when Mam gets back. I’m really looking forward to seeing her again. I’m intrigued by what she wants to ask me and I also want to find out what she thinks about Alice. I want to know the truth.

  THOMAS J. WARD

  Credits

  COVER ART © 2008 BY PATRICK ARRASMITH

  COVER DESIGN BY CHAD W. BECKERMAN AND PAUL ZAKRIS

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used to advance the fictional narrative. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  The Last Apprentice: Wrath of the Bloodeye. Copyright © 2008 by Joseph Delaney. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered
, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  First published in 2008 in Great Britain by The Bodley Head, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, under the title The Spook’s Mistake.

  First published in 2008 in the United States by Greenwillow Books.

  The right of Joseph Delaney to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act, 1988.

  Illustrations copyright © 2008 by Patrick Arrasmith

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Delaney, Joseph, (date).

  Wrath of the Bloodeye / by Joseph Delaney ;

  illustrations by Patrick Arrasmith.

  p. cm. — (The last apprentice ; bk. 5)

  “Greenwillow Books.”

  Summary: The continuing adventures of Tom, the seventh son of a seventh son and apprentice to the local Spook, who faces danger and death daily in his job protecting the region from evil.

  ISBN 978-0-06-134459-6 (trade bdg.) — ISBN 978-0-06-134460-2 (lib. bdg.)

  [1. Apprentices—Fiction. 2. Supernatural—Fiction. 3. Witches—Fiction.]

  I. Arrasmith, Patrick, ill. II. Title.

  PZ7.D373183Wr 2008 [Fic]—dc22 2008017920

  09 10 11 12 13 LP/RRDH FIRST EDITION 10 9 8 7 6 5 4

  EPub Edition © NOVEMBER 2011 ISBN 9780062120984

  Version 02212014

  Dedication

  FOR MARIE

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter I - The Maenad Assassin

  Chapter II - The Spook’s Bestiary