I shook my head. “He is still searching and thinking. He wondered if there was something in that chest that might help.”
Slake smiled, showing her teeth, and tapped the book she was holding. “I have been sorting through the chest with that same object in mind—to finish the Fiend forever. So far I have found nothing. Perhaps while you stay with us, you would care to help?”
I smiled and nodded. The lamias had just offered us refuge. “I will be happy to help,” I said. “But no doubt we’ll soon have enemies at our walls.”
“Let them come and enter my killing ground, below the walls of this tower,” Wynde said. “It will be good sport—the best hunting for many a year!”
Thorne and I ate well that night. Wynde, the winged lamia, snatched another sheep and dropped it onto the battlements for us; she had already drained its blood. I butchered it there and brought the most succulent pieces inside to cook on a spit.
The ventilation in the chamber was poor, and smoke went everywhere. Not that it bothered me: my stinging eyes brought to mind the many happy hours I’d spent here as a child, watching the coven’s servants prepare and cook their meals.
“Who was the very first person you killed?” Thorne asked as we tucked into our late supper.
I smiled. “You already know that, child. I have told you this story before, many times.”
“Then tell me again, please. I never tire of it.”
How could I deny her? Without Thorne’s help I would be lying dead to the west of Pendle. So I began my tale.
“I wanted to hurt the Fiend badly after what he had done to my child, and I knew where and when I’d be most likely to find him. At that time the Deanes were his favorite clan, so at Halloween I shunned the Malkin celebration and set off for Roughlee, the Deane village.
“Arriving at dusk, I settled myself down in a small wood overlooking the site of their sabbath fire. They were excited and distracted by their preparations, and I’d cloaked myself in my strongest magic, so had little fear of being detected. Combining their magic, the Deane witches ignited the bone and wood fire with a loud whoosh. Then the coven of the thirteen strongest formed a tight circle around its perimeter, while their less powerful sisters encircled them.
“Just as the dead-bone stink of the fire reached me, the Deanes began to curse their enemies, calling down maimings, death, and destruction upon those they named. Remember, child, that curses are not as effective as a blade. Someone old and enfeebled might fall victim to them, but mostly they’re a waste of time because all competent witches have defenses against such dark magic.
“Soon there was a change in the fire: The yellow and ocher flames turned brilliant red—the first sign that the Fiend was about to appear. I heard an expectant gasp go up from the gathering, and I brought all my concentration to bear, staring into the fire as he began to materialize.
“Though he was able to make himself large or small, the Fiend now appeared in his fearsome majesty in order to impress his followers. He stood in the fire, the flames reaching up to his knees; he was tall and broad—perhaps three times the size of an average man—with a long, sinuous tail and the curved horns of a ram. His body was covered in thick black hair, and I saw the coven witches reach forward across the flames, eager to touch and stroke their dark lord.”
“How did you feel?” Thorne asked excitedly. “Were you nervous, or even a little afraid? I certainly would have been! You say now that you fear nothing, but you were young then, no more than seventeen, and you were about to attack the Fiend within sight of an enemy clan.”
“I was certainly nervous, child, but also excited and angry. If there was fear within me, it was buried so deeply under those other emotions that I was unaware of it. I knew that the Devil would not stay in the flames for long. I had to strike now! So I left my hiding place among the trees and began to sprint toward the fire. I came out of darkness, a blade in each hand, the third gripped tightly between my teeth. I hated the Fiend and was ready to die, either blasted by his power or torn to pieces by the Deanes.
“So I cast my will before me. Although I had the power to keep him away, I did the opposite now: I willed him to stay. I ran between those on the fringe of the gathering. As the throng became denser, I pushed the witches aside with my elbows and shoulders, surprised and angry faces twisting toward me. At last I reached the coven and threw my first dagger. It struck the Fiend in the chest and buried itself up to the hilt. He shrieked long and loud. I’d done some damage, and his cry of pain was music to my ears. But he twisted away through the flames so that my next two blades did not quite find their intended targets; even so, they pierced his flesh deeply.
“For a moment he looked directly at me, his pupils vertical red slits. I’d nothing with which to defend myself against the power that he could summon. Worse, he would be certain to find me after my death and inflict never-ending torments on my soul. So I willed him away. Would he go? I wondered. Or would he destroy me first? But he simply vanished, taking the flames of the fire with him so that we were plunged into absolute darkness. The rule had held. I had carried his child, so he could not remain in my presence, not unless I wished it.
“There was confusion all around—shrieks of anger and fear, witches running in all directions. I slipped away into the darkness and made my escape. Of course I knew that they would send assassins after me. It meant I’d have to kill or be killed.
“I hurried north, passing beyond Pendle Hill, then curved away west toward the distant sea, still running hard. I knew exactly where I was going, having planned my escape far in advance: I would make my stand on the flatlands east of the River Wyre’s estuary. I had wrapped myself in a cloak of dark magic but knew that it was not strong enough to hide me from all those who followed me. Some witches have a special ability that allows them to see through such a cloak. So I needed to fight in a place that would give me the advantage.
“There is a line of three villages there, aligned roughly north to south and joined by a narrow track that sometimes becomes impassable because of the tide. On all sides they are surrounded by bog and soggy moss. The river is tidal, with extensive salt marshes, and northwest of Staumin, right on the sea margin, stands Arm Hill, a small mound of firm ground that rises above the grassy tussocks and treacherous channels along which the tide races to trap the unwary.
“On one side is the river, on the other the salt marsh, and nobody can cross it without being seen from that vantage point. Any witch who ventures there suffers great pain, but I gritted my teeth and made the crossing and waited for my pursuers, knowing there would be more than one.
“My crime against the Deane clan was terrible. If they caught me, I would die slowly and in agony.
“The first of my enemies came into sight at dusk, picking her way slowly across the marsh grass. As a witch, I have many skills and talents. One of these proved very useful now. It is a gift that we share, Thorne. As an enemy approaches, we instantly know their worth, their strength and ability in combat. The witch crossing the marsh toward me then was competent, but not of the first order. No doubt her abilities as a tracker, which also enabled her to penetrate my dark magical cloak, had brought this one to me first.
“I waited until she was close, then showed myself to her. I was standing on that small hill, clearly outlined against the fading red of the western sky. She ran toward me, clasping blades in each hand. She did not weave from side to side; made no attempt to present a difficult target. It was me or her. One of us would die. So I pulled my favorite throwing knife from my belt and hurled it at her. My aim was good. It took her in the throat. She made a small gurgling noise, dropped to her knees, and fell facedown in the marsh grass.
“Yes, child, she was the first human being I had ever killed, and there was a momentary pang in my chest. But it quickly passed as I concentrated on ensuring my own survival. I hid her body under a shelf of grass tussocks, pushing her down into the mud. I did not take her heart. We had faced each other in combat and she
had lost honorably. One night that witch would return from the dead, crawling across the marsh in search of prey. As she posed no further threat to me, I would not deny her that.”
“If I die before you,” Thorne said, “promise me that you will take my heart. I prefer to go directly into the dark. I don’t want to linger on as a dead witch, shuffling around the dell, waiting for pieces of my body to fall off.”
I nodded. “If that is your wish, I will not deny you. But if I die first, leave my heart intact. Hunting from the dell is better than suffering eternal torment in the dark at the hands of the Fiend. If we do not destroy him, one day he will be waiting for me—and for you too now, Thorne. Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider?”
Thorne shook her head. “We will find a way to destroy him, and then we can go safely into the dark, where we belong. One day I will be reborn into a new body; I will become a witch assassin once more and try to surpass all that I have achieved in this life!”
I smiled. Witches returned not only as dead vampiric creatures; they could sometimes also be reincarnated into a brand-new body and live a second or even third life.
“Now complete your story, please,” urged Thorne. “They sent others after you, didn’t they?”
I nodded. “Yes, I waited almost three days for the next to find me. There were two, and they arrived together. We fought as the sun went down. I remember how it colored the river red; it looked as if it was filled with blood rather than water. I was young, strong, and fast, but they were veterans of such fights and knew tricks that I had never even imagined, never mind encountered. They hurt me badly, and the scars of those wounds mark my body to this day, but I learned much during that fight. The struggle lasted over an hour, and it was very close, but at last victory was mine, and the bodies of two more Deanes went into the marsh.
“It was almost three weeks before I was fit to travel, but in that time they sent no more avengers after me. The trail had gone cold, and it was unlikely that anyone would have recognized me that night when I stabbed the Fiend.”
“Even to this day, the Deanes don’t know that it was you, do they?” Thorne asked.
“That’s true, child—you are the only one I’ve told this tale to. Let’s hope they never find out, or my days as a witch assassin would be over. I would be hunted down by a whole clan. They would never forget.”
CHAPTER VIII
WHAT AILS YOU, AGNES?
A witch assassin of necessity walks alone.
The allies she makes are few in number;
thus they are valued highly,
their loss keenly felt.
SOON Thorne fell asleep by the fire. Of the lamia sisters, there was no sign. They had gone into the underground region of the tower—for what purpose I could not guess. So I climbed the steps up onto the battlements. No moon was visible, and the wind was rising; heavy clouds blew across the sky from the west. So I penetrated the darkness, gazing out across the clearing toward the encircling trees of Crow Wood with my witchy eyes.
I could see the roosting crows and spied a badger rooting around close to his sett, but apart from that nothing moved. I sniffed three times to be sure, but there was no danger.
That was strange. I would have expected to find at least one enemy spy out there.
Satisfied, I crossed the battlements again and descended the steps. Suddenly lights began to flicker in the corners of my eyes. I felt dizzy, and the sack containing the Fiend’s head seemed to grow much heavier. The world spun around me. I almost fell headfirst but managed to drop to my knees. Everything grew dark, and my heart thudded ponderously. I took slow, steady, deep breaths until my vision cleared at last.
As the moment of weakness passed, I came slowly to my feet. Was this the long-term damage that Agnes Sowerbutts had warned might be a result of my poisoning by the kretch? If I suffered such a spasm during a fight with an enemy, I would certainly be killed. It was terrible to be compromised in this way. I had always had a great belief in my skills and my ability to overcome any opponent and dominate each situation. Suddenly my world had changed. I was no longer totally in control.
Shaken, I sat down at the foot of the steps and rested for a while with my head on my knees. I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I remember is sensing the movement of my mirror in its sheath. It was in my hand before I’d opened my eyes.
Agnes’s face came into focus. For a moment I thought she had scryed what I had experienced and was contacting me to offer advice. But then I saw the expression of fear on her face and knew that something was very wrong. She mouthed words at me so quickly that I had to concentrate hard in order to read her lips.
A fierce battle has been fought just south of Roughlee, and the supporters of the Fiend have won. They have invited the kretch and its creators to join them in Pendle, and they will soon combine to destroy you. Even Malkin Tower may not be safe. Flee north while you can!
“But what ails you, Agnes?” I asked softly. “I can see your lips trembling with fear.”
They are coming for me, Grimalkin. For what purpose I cannot scry. When I try, despite all my skill, the mirror grows dark. It is well known that a witch is unable to foresee her own death. I was consumed with grief when my poor husband died, and I will never be as happy as I was when living with him. But I have grown used to my situation—at least I am warm and comfortable. I hoped to have many more years ahead of me. I am not ready to die yet.
“Listen, Agnes, leave your cottage immediately and head toward the tower. It doesn’t matter how slow your progress. I will find you and carry you safely within.”
It’s too late! Too late for me! I hear them banging at my door now. Outside there are many witches. I can hear their yells of anger! I am about to die!
All at once the mirror went dark. Agnes was in the hands of our enemies, and now there was nothing I could do to help. But I would avenge Agnes and repay my enemies thrice over for everything they did to her.
At dawn, up on the battlements, I told the others about Agnes and what I had learned. It was starting to rain, and now I could sniff out enemy witches lurking among the trees.
“Why did they go directly to Agnes’s cottage to seize her?” Thorne asked.
“Despite the fact that she kept herself to herself, no doubt it was already common knowledge among the Deanes that she was not a supporter of the Fiend. But there were others they could have taken first—some more active in their cause. I suspect that they used a scryer to link her to me. Perhaps they know that we visited her cottage and that she helped me. If this is so, they will know about you too.”
Thorne shrugged. “It was only a matter of time before they found out anyway. You could not keep me a secret forever—certainly not from witches. But surely we can do something?” she insisted. “We owe Agnes a lot. Over the last four years she’s been like a grandmother to me—and a true friend. We must help her. I cannot bear the thought of her being alone and afraid, in the cruel hands of merciless enemies! How can we stand by and allow this to happen?”
I shook my head. “There will be too many of them. And she may already be dead. I am sorry about Agnes—she was indeed a good friend to me too—but to keep the Fiend’s head out of their clutches is our main concern.”
“But Agnes is our concern too! We owe her much. I can’t believe that you are prepared to allow her to die! You are Grimalkin! Don’t forget that. Or has the kretch’s poison made you less than you were?”
“Be silent!” I commanded. “Yes, we owe her, but we have another greater priority. Obey me in this, or I will train you no longer!”
“Soon the time will come when you’ll have nought left to teach me!”
I smiled mockingly, showing her my teeth. Sometimes Thorne wound herself up so tightly that she exploded with rage. It was in her nature, but she had to learn discipline and be reminded of her place.
In that moment she attacked.
She sprang to her feet and directed a kick at my left shoulder. I caught her
foot and twisted, and she came down hard. But she was up again and on me in an instant. We rolled together on the wet flags, Thorne fighting like a wildcat, scratching and biting.
I let the battle continue for a few moments so that she could release her anger and tension, then I put an end to the nonsense. I thrust a finger hard into each of her nostrils and dragged her up onto her feet. Still keeping my grip, I slammed her hard against the outer wall of the tower next to the steps, driving the breath from her body. I twisted her head away from me, opened my mouth wide, and prepared to bite her throat. I would not hurt her badly, but a little pain would teach her a lesson.
At the last possible moment, she drummed her left foot three times against the wall. It was the sign of submission, so I released her. She stood there swaying, her face pale. Blood mixed with mucus dribbled from her left nostril. But as usual after such a struggle, her eyes were shining. We stared at each other until, after a few seconds, the corners of her mouth twitched up into a smile.
I nodded to her and went to sit down again. The two lamias were looking at us in astonishment. But it was nothing new. We had fought together many times; it was part of Thorne’s training. From time to time I need to demonstrate to her what her true position was. As well as being reckless, the girl sometimes got above herself.
“I will go and see what is afoot,” Wynde declared. Then she launched herself from the battlements and swooped toward the trees. She circled the tower three times, then gained height before flying south toward Roughlee.
We waited in silence, with water dripping from our hair. When Wynde returned ten minutes later, the news was not good. She landed gracefully, then scuttled down the steps out of the rain and perched on the chest, waiting for us to climb down to her.
“What did you see, sister?” Slake demanded.
“Many witches heading to Crow Wood, all carrying weapons—but they come to their deaths,” Wynde declared, water running off her wings to form a big puddle on the flags. “I have had some sport already.”
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