I nodded. I had thought Alice was insane, but what she said made perfect sense. It would be the natural reaction of somebody who thought that the world wasn’t real, that it was an illusion created by the dark to torment her.
“But how did you know it was me this time?” I asked. “Even though they tied me to the tree and were about to kill me, it could still have been a trick.”
“When I was trapped in the dark, the devil that pretended to be you had his arms covered. But here, as soon as they ripped your sleeves off, I saw my brand on your arm, Tom. That mark is very special to me and you—it couldn’t be faked even by the Fiend himself!”
The scars she’d left on my arm had never faded. It was her special brand that marked me as belonging to her and no other witch.
I nodded, but then thought of something else. “But what about the chicken coop, Alice? What about that? Why did you do that?”
Alice shivered, so I leaned forward and put my arm around her shoulder. It was a long time before she answered.
“I’d only thought to escape and was heading for the wall. But then I smelled the warm blood pumping through their veins, and I couldn’t help myself. It was a terrible urge to drink blood. Being in the dark has changed me, Tom. Ain’t the same, am I? I think I belong to the dark now. What if I can’t cross running water anymore? Old Gregory will know what I am instantly!”
This was really worrying. If my master had firm proof that Alice was a dark witch, he’d bind her in a pit for the rest of her life; no matter how good a friend she’d proved, he would do what he thought was his duty as a spook.
I thought back to the words Mam had once spoken about Alice:
She was born with the heart of a witch, and she’s little choice but to follow that path.
But then Mam had gone on to say that there was more than one type of witch: Alice might turn out to be benign rather than malevolent. The third possibility was that she would end up somewhere between good and evil.
That girl could become the bane of your life, a blight, a poison on everything you do, she had told me. Or she might just turn out to be the best and strongest friend you’ll ever have.
In my mind there was no doubt that the latter was true. But was it possible that Alice could become a malevolent witch and still be my ally? Wasn’t that true of Grimalkin?
But I had one more question: “Alice—where did you get all that power from? Is it because you were in the dark for so long?”
Alice nodded, but she looked doubtful. For a moment I thought she was trying to hide something, but then she spoke slowly. “I think I’ve brought power back from the dark”—she paused and looked at me—“but I’ve always had more power than I’ve shown to you, Tom. I was warned by someone not to use it, to bury it deep inside me and try to forget it was there. Do you know why, Tom?”
I shook my head.
“Because each time you use such dark power, it changes you. Bit by bit you get closer to the dark, until eventually you are part of it. Then you’ve lost yourself and can never get back to what you once were.”
I understood. This was why the Spook feared so much for us both. I remembered something Mam had once said to me when I told her how lonely my life as a spook was proving.
How can you be lonely? You’ve got yourself, haven’t you? If you ever lose yourself, then you’ll really be lonely.
I hadn’t fully understood her words then, but now I did. She meant the integrity, the spark of goodness within you that makes you who you really are. Once that was extinguished, you were lost and truly alone, with only the dark for company.
ONCE again, I’ve written most of this from memory, just using my notebook when necessary.
Tomorrow we begin our journey back to the County. The first stage is to cross Ireland. But many streams and rivers lie in our path. Will Alice be able to cross them? Only time will tell.
The Spook knows nothing of this, and he seems fitter, stronger, and more cheerful than at any time during the past two years. We still have the majority of the money that we earned dealing with the jibbers in Dublin. My master says he is going to use it to start rebuilding his house, starting with the roof, kitchen, and library.
As for Grimalkin, so far we have heard nothing more from her. We can only hope that she managed to elude or slay her pursuers and that the Fiend’s head is still safely in her possession.
In addition to my staff and silver chain, I now have a third weapon—the sword given to me by Cuchulain, the Destiny Blade. I will need its sharp edges to defend myself against the denizens of the dark, who will pursue me in revenge for binding the Fiend.
The time is fast approaching when I will no longer be an apprentice; I will be a spook, and I am determined to be every bit as good as my master. In addition to that, I am my mother’s son, with the special gifts that she has passed down to me. The dark may pursue me, but the time will come when what my mother foretold will come to pass. And as Mam and Grimalkin both prophesied, I shall become the hunter, and they will run from me. My time is coming, and that day is not very far away.
War will have changed the County forever, but there’ll still be the dark to fight. I just hope that my family has survived.
Despite all that’s happened, I’m still the Spook’s apprentice, and we’re on our way back to Chipenden. We are going home at last.
THOMAS J. WARD
Credits
COVER ART © 2011 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: Rage of the Fallen. Copyright © 2011 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 2011 in Great Britain by The Bodley Head, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, under the title The Spook’s Destiny.
First published in 2011 in the United States by Greenwillow Books.
Illustrations copyright © 2011 by Patrick Arrasmith
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Delaney, Joseph, (date).
[Spook’s destiny]
Rage of the fallen / by Joseph Delaney; illustrations by Patrick Arrasmith.
p. cm.—(The last apprentice; [8])
“Greenwillow Books.”
ISBN 978-0-06-202756-6 (trade bdg.)
[1. Apprentices—Fiction. 2. Supernatural—Fiction. 3. Witches—Fiction.]
I. Arrasmith, Patrick, ill. II. Title.
PZ7.D373183Rag 2011 [Fic]—dc22 2010034179
FIRST EDITION
EPub Edition © MARCH 2011 ISBN 9780062373168
11 12 13 14 15
DEDICATION
FOR MARIE
CONTENTS
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter I - A Large Green Bitter Apple
Chapter II - An Unknown Threat
Chapter III - You Are Bleeding
Chapter IV - Kill That Bear!
Chapter V - Malkin Tower
Chapter VI - The Lamia Gibbet
Chapter VII - Promise Me
Chapter VIII - What Ails You, Agnes?
Chapter IX - Is She a Coward Too?
Chapter X - Her Spirit Lives On
Chapter XI -
A Gift From Hell!
Chapter XII - It Will Come True for Me
Chapter XIII - In the Company of Witches
Chapter XIV - Attack
Chapter XV - A Fight to the Death
Chapter XVI - Must We Run Forever?
Chapter XVII - It Brings Great Dishonor
Chapter XVIII - You’Re Just a Girl
Chapter XIX - Witch Dell
Chapter XX - Grimalkin Does Not Cry
Chapter XXI - My Only Remaining Ally
Chapter XXII - A Malevolent Witch
Chapter XXIII - Oh, Mr. Wolf!
Chapter XXIV - The Hunt
Chapter XXV - A Sorry Sight Indeed
Credits
Copyright
PROLOGUE
IMAGINE a world in which there are no cars, trains, planes, or roads—just narrow paths meandering through the hills and forests. Most importantly, there is no electricity, and at night, it is extremely dark and dangerous. In the County, the world of the Last Apprentice, you would not walk to the edge of your village at midnight . . . because beyond its boundaries lurk ghosts, ghasts, boggarts, witches, and all manner of creatures that go bump in the night.
Sometimes these beasts encroach upon your village. They can kill, terrify, or drive you insane. You have only one option. You must send for the Spook, John Gregory, and his apprentice, Thomas Ward. They are good at their craft and will rid you of any supernatural infestation. But the world of the County is growing darker and more dangerous. In order to survive, Tom and the Spook must form an alliance with Grimalkin, the deadly witch assassin of the most powerful of the Pendle clans.
Feared throughout the County, Grimalkin wears all black, with leather straps crisscrossing her body; these hold sheath blades she has forged herself. Her trade is death and torture. As a warning not to cross her or enter her territory, she carves the symbol of scissors on trees—or any other surface she may find. Such sharp scissors she keeps strapped to her body, along with the knives, and she uses them to snip away the thumb bones of her enemies. These she wears on a necklace around her neck as trophies of those she has slain, with dark magic stored within them. Only the most foolish get in her way or attempt to thwart her purpose.
Here is Grimalkin, and this is a piece of her story.
She is out for revenge, and nothing will stop her.
GRIMALKIN THE WITCH ASSASSIN
CHAPTER I
A LARGE GREEN BITTER APPLE
Look closely at the enemy before you.
Do you see his bulging eyes and berserker fury?
Do you see his hairy chest? Can you smell his unwashed body?
Keep calm. Why be afraid? You can win.
After all, he is just a man. Learn to believe me.
I am Grimalkin.
ONCE I reached the center of the wood, I swung the heavy leather sack down from my shoulder and placed it on the ground before me. Then I knelt and undid the cord that sealed it—to be met by the rank stink of what lay within. I grimaced and drew forth what it contained, holding it up before me by its hair, which was greasy and matted with dirt.
It was very dark beneath the trees, and the moon would not rise for another hour. But my witchy eyes could see clearly despite the gloom, and I gazed upon the severed head of the Fiend, the Devil himself.
It was a terrible sight to behold. I had stitched the eyelids shut so that he could see nothing; I had stuffed his mouth with a large green bitter apple, wrapped in a tangle of rose thorns, so that he could not speak. My enemy had been well looked after; dealt with exactly as he deserved. Notwithstanding the stench, neither the head nor the apple had rotted; the first was due to his power, the second a result of my magic.
I spread the sack out on the ground and lowered the head onto it. Then I sat cross-legged opposite it, scrutinizing my enemy carefully.
Somehow it looked smaller now than it had appeared when freshly severed, but it was still almost twice the size of the average human head. Was it shrinking as a result of being separated from its body? I wondered. The horns that protruded from its forehead were coiled and curved like those of a ram; the nose resembled an eagle’s beak. It was a cruel face and deserved the cruelty that I had inflicted upon it in turn.
All about my body, a series of leather straps bore scabbards that held my weapons and tools. From the smallest of these I withdrew a thin, sharp hook with a long handle. I thrust it into the Fiend’s open mouth, pushed it deep into the green apple, and twisted and tugged. For a second there was resistance, but then I pulled the fruit out, bringing with it the tangle of rose thorns.
Relieved of the obstruction, the mouth slowly closed. I could see the broken teeth within: I had smashed them with my hammer as the Spook, Tom Ward, and I had bound the Fiend. The memory of it was vivid, and I watched it again in my mind’s eye.
Long had I waited for the opportunity to bind or destroy the Fiend, my greatest enemy. Even as a child I’d disliked him intensely. I observed the subtle ways in which he increasingly controlled my clan; saw how the coven fawned over him. They spent most of each year looking forward to the Halloween sabbath, the time when he was most likely to visit. Sometimes he appeared right in the center of their fire, and they reached forward, desperate to touch his hairy hide, oblivious to the flames that seared their bare arms.
My growing revulsion was something instinctive in me—a natural-born hatred—and I knew that unless I acted, he would become a blight upon my life, a dark shadow over everything I did. He was clever, subtle, and devious, often achieving his aims slowly. Above all I feared that one day, like many other witches who had once opposed him, I would finally become in thrall to him. That I could not bear, and I needed to do something to make it impossible.
And I knew exactly what I had to do: There is one certain way in which a witch can ensure that he keeps his distance. It is very extreme, but it means that she can be free of him forevermore. She needs to sleep with him just once, then bear his child. Thereafter—having inspected his offspring—he may not approach her again. Not unless she wishes it.
Most of the Fiend’s children prove to be abhumans, misshapen creatures of the dark with terrible strength. Others are powerful witches. But a few, a very few, are born perfect human children, untainted by evil. I knew I risked giving birth to a dark entity, but it seemed worth it to be rid of the Fiend.
I was fortunate indeed. Mine was a beautiful, fragile baby boy, perfect in every way.
I had never felt such intense love for another creature. To have his soft warmth against my body, so trusting, so very dependent, was wonderful—blissful beyond anything I had dreamed of, something I had never imagined or anticipated. That little child loved me, and I loved him in return. He depended upon me for life, and for the first time I was truly happy. But in this world, such happiness rarely lasts.
I remember well the night mine ended. The sun had just set and it was a warm summer’s evening, so I walked out into the walled garden at the rear of my cottage, cradling my child, humming to him softly to lull him to sleep. Suddenly lightning flashed overhead and I felt the ground shift beneath my feet; the air became sharp with cold. Although I had anticipated a visit from the Fiend for some time, I suddenly realized that his arrival was now imminent, and my heart lurched with fear. At the same time, I was glad because once he’d seen his son, I knew that he would leave and never be able to visit me again. I would be rid of him for the rest of my life.
Previously, the Fiend had always appeared to me as a handsome young man with dark curly hair, blue eyes, and a mouth that often turned up at the corners with a warm, welcoming smile. But he can take on many shapes, and this time he appeared in the form that the Pendle witches refer to as “his fearsome majesty.” It is a shape that is used to intimidate and terrify.
He materialized very near where I was standing, and his fetid breath was so close to my face that I struggled not to retch. He was large, three times my height, with the curved horns of a ram and a huge naked body covered in matted
black hair. No sooner had he appeared than, with a roar of rage, he snatched my innocent baby boy and lifted him high, ready to dash him to the ground.
“Please!” I begged. “Don’t hurt him. I’ll do anything, but please let him live. Take my life instead!”
The Fiend never even glanced at me. He was filled with wrath and cruelty. He smashed my child’s fragile head against a rock. Then he vanished.
For a long time I was insane with grief. And then, as the long days and sleepless nights slowly passed, thoughts of revenge began to swirl within my head. Was it possible? I asked myself. Could I destroy the Fiend?
Impossible or not, that became my goal and my only reason for living.
I achieved part of that goal just one month ago. The Fiend is not destroyed, but at least he is temporarily bound. That binding was accomplished with the help of the old Spook, John Gregory, and his young apprentice, Thomas Ward. We fixed the Fiend with silver spears, then nailed his hands and feet to the bedrock of the deep pit at Kenmare, in the southwest of Ireland, where his body is now buried.
I still delight in remembering the moment of our victory. The Fiend was standing on all fours, tossing his head about like an enraged bull and roaring with pain. I stabbed the first nail into his left hand, then struck the broad head three times with the hammer, driving it right through the flesh to pin his huge hairy paw fast to the rock. However, in my eagerness to bind him, I became careless, and that was the moment when I almost died.
He twisted his head, opened his mouth wide, and lunged toward me as if to bite my head from my body. But I avoided those deadly jaws, then swung the hammer back hard into his face, smashing his front teeth into fragments and leaving only broken, bloody stumps. Few things have given me greater satisfaction!
The Last Apprentice: Complete Collection Page 173