“That they are, Tom, and they can turn on those who summon them,” Judd replied. “Some welcome the chance to destroy those who dabble in the dark. But unfortunately for us, Siscoi is different. He loves being worshipped and looks kindly upon those who bring him through a portal into this world. Romanian witches are able to summon him at midnight, but he can stay here only until dawn. That’s the good news. The bad news is that even from his domain in the dark, he can temporarily send out his spirit to reanimate the dead or possess the living. So you might think you’re dealing with a strigoi, and then, too late, you realize that the silver blade on the end of your staff is having no effect because it’s Siscoi. And that’s the end of you. There’s nothing to be done.”
“What about this?” I asked, drawing the Destiny Blade.
Judd whistled through his teeth, and his face lit up in admiration. “Can I examine it?” he asked.
I nodded and handed him the weapon.
“So this is the sword you used to kill two strigoi hosts,” he said, studying the hilt closely. “The skelt has been skillfully wrought, and those rubies that form its eyes are priceless. How did such a weapon come into your possession?”
“It was given to me in the Hollow Hills by Cuchulain, one of the ancient heroes of Ireland. It was forged by the Old God Hephaestus. He made only three swords, and this is supposed to be the best of them.”
“Well, Tom, you certainly mix in exalted circles. Made by one of the Old Gods, you say! I wonder if it has the power to slay one of their number?” Judd asked.
“I used it against the Morrigan. It didn’t destroy her, but it slowed her down and gave me a chance to escape,” I explained.
“You fought the Morrigan?”
“It was in the Hollow Hills, just after Cuchulain gave me the blade.”
“You’ve had an eventful apprenticeship. I never ventured out of the County. No wonder I got the urge to travel and ended up in this mess,” Judd said, handing me the blade. “But even if it could damage Siscoi, you’d never get near him. Vampiric entities can be fast, but nothing compared to him. You’d be dead before you knew it.”
My ability to slow time would give me a fighting chance of wounding Siscoi with the sword, but it didn’t mean I could put an end to him. The Old Gods had great powers of regeneration. Using the blade against the Morrigan had just bought me sufficient time to make my escape. However, I didn’t bother to correct Judd—it wasn’t wise to tell him too much. I didn’t tell him about Bone Cutter either. If the demons put pressure on him in the future, he might tell them what he knew about me. So instead I asked him a question.
“What was that light shining out of the ground? How do the witches raise Siscoi?”
“They create an offal pit,” Judd replied. “First they search for a deep fissure in the ground. It has to be in a special location where dark magic is particularly potent. Over a period of weeks, they drop blood and offal down into it, mainly slices of raw liver. When combined with rituals and dark spells, this generates tremendous power within the pit—the beam is just a fraction of this escaping into the air. Siscoi grows himself a body by feeding on the offal and blood. When he is ready, the witches come at midnight to complete the final ritual. Then he climbs out of the pit within his flesh host, existing in the same manner as the Fiend. From what you’ve described, it seems that the witches’ rituals have reached the point where he is almost ready to emerge. It could happen at any time—maybe even at midnight tonight.”
“What could be their purpose for summoning him right now?” I asked.
“They might just want to worship him. In return, he’ll give them power. But they’ve already tried to pressure you into bringing Grimalkin here. They want the Fiend’s head badly. Siscoi is fast and once in the flesh can cover great distances rapidly. He might go after Grimalkin himself. After that, you might be second on his list.”
CHAPTER XVI
THE OFFAL PIT
“SO we need to find a way to stop Siscoi,” I said.
Judd gave me a humorless grin. “There’s nothing I’d like better. At this time of year, it’s about four and a half hours from midnight to dawn. He could do a lot of damage in that time. But all my training in Romania doesn’t give me the slightest inkling of how it could be done. And even if we had the means, the witches would be there within seconds.”
“Not if we do it during daylight hours. They’ll be sleeping then. If warned, could they still project their souls from their bodies when the sun is shining?”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing—though it might be possible. I assume you’re thinking of attacking Siscoi while he’s still forming in the pit. What have you in mind, Tom?”
“I’d like to try one of the oldest tricks in a spook’s repertoire—salt and iron,” I said.
Judd shook his head. “We’d most likely be wasting our time. Salt and iron don’t work against Romanian witches, elementals, or demons.”
“They don’t usually work against the Old Gods either. But that’s when they are fully awake and ready to rend the flesh from your bones. Siscoi is still growing his body from the blood and offal in the pit. I’m sure salt could burn that vulnerable half-formed body, and iron might bleed away its strength. They might not stop him, but they could slow him down and give us a chance to search for my master. What do you say? Isn’t it worth a try? Let’s do it now while the sun’s still shining! We can tip salt and iron into the offal pit and then deal with the sleeping witches one by one.”
“But there’s another danger to consider, Tom,” Judd warned me. “The strigoica will be awake now, guarding their partners. Even if the witch orbs don’t threaten us, they certainly will. And they are as fast and dangerous as the strigoi.”
“I have speed too. And I have the sword,” I pointed out.
Judd frowned. “If I’m to be any help at all, I need a weapon of my own.”
Tucked into my belt beneath my cloak hung Bone Cutter, the dagger I’d been given by Slake. But I wasn’t going to lend it to Judd—it was one of the three sacred objects, and I couldn’t risk losing it. So I kept quiet about it. I wasn’t sure if we’d find a blacksmith to help in Todmorden. Judging from what we’d experienced so far, I didn’t expect much cooperation. Then I remembered the village. I glanced up at the sun. “We’ve about seven hours of daylight left,” I told him. “Remember the village we passed through on our way here? It had a blacksmith and a grocer and it’s less than an hour away. We could get large bags of salt from the shop—we’ll need more than just pocketfuls—and all the iron filings we need from the smith. Maybe even a weapon of some sort for you.”
Judd got to his feet. “Very well. Let’s get moving.”
We walked fast through the empty streets. Why was the town so quiet? I wondered. I noticed that a few curtains twitched as we passed by, but no one was abroad.
We climbed up the hill onto the western moors and reached the smithy within three-quarters of an hour. A large bag of iron filings proved no problem, but acquiring a weapon for Judd was more difficult. The blacksmith’s routine tasks consisted of shoeing horses, mending plows, and forging domestic ironmongery. He had never crafted a blade in his life. But he did have a number of axes used by farmers to clear their land of trees and scrub. They weren’t the double-bladed war axes used in battle, nor did they have silver-alloy blades, but they could do considerable damage if wielded correctly.
Judd tried a few of these but did not choose the largest. Of course we didn’t discuss our requirements in front of the smith, but I noticed that he selected one that was light and sharp and easy to wield.
Next we visited the village grocer and bought up most of his supply of salt. Soon, carrying our sacks of salt and iron, with Judd resting the ax across his left shoulder, we were retracing our steps toward Todmorden. As we crossed the river, I felt the bridge shudder and glanced down at it in alarm. It looked more dilapidated than ever and ready to fall into the river. I hoped we wouldn’t have to cross it too many
more times.
The sun was still shining from a clear sky, and I estimated that we still had just over five hours of daylight remaining—ample time to deal with Siscoi and kill as many witches as possible, I told myself, trying to bolster my confidence.
I didn’t dwell on the details of what was involved. What we were attempting was extremely risky. Our enemies cooperated and worked together, and an attack on one would constitute an attack on them all. If they gathered together quickly, we would be hopelessly outnumbered. But I put that thought out of my head, driven by my sense of duty to the County and the hope of somehow freeing my master’s spirit.
We climbed up onto the edge of the eastern moor and once again crouched down in the scrub.
“Look, over there,” I told Judd. “That’s where I saw the beam of light shining through the trees.”
He nodded. “Which are the witches’ houses?”
I got out the map again and pointed to the four houses I had marked.
“Think they’re the right ones?” he asked. “We need to be sure.”
“Yes, I definitely saw the orbs leave them. There are other possible witch houses, but I’ve only marked those I’m certain of.”
“Once we’ve done our best with these,” Judd said, pointing to the sacks at our feet, “we’ll deal with those four witches, then hurry back across the river and try to survive the night.”
I nodded in agreement, and we picked up the sacks and made our way down the slope, heading for the clump of trees that shrouded the offal pit. No sooner had I moved into the gloom of the forest than it hit me—the cold feeling that warns a seventh son of a seventh son that some evil entity from the dark is close.
Judd glanced at me sideways. “I feel it too,” he remarked. “But what is it—Siscoi growing himself a body? Or is something else on guard, lying in wait for intruders?”
“We’ll soon find out,” I said, moving forward.
I found out even sooner than I expected. There was no warning growl. The attack came so quickly that, taken by surprise, I only had time to drop my sack and reach for my sword. A large bear was coming directly toward us on all fours, its teeth bared. It rose up before us, immense on its hind legs, all muscle, fur, and furious eyes, ready to rip us apart. Before I could get my blade clear of its scabbard, Judd pushed past me and swung the ax in a fast arc.
There was a sickening, crunching thud as it made contact. The first blow landed high up on the bear’s shoulder. The wounded creature gave a roar of anger and pain. When the second swing drove the ax into its neck, it screamed—a shrill sound that could have come from a human throat. Judd got in three more blows before the bear fell sideways like a huge tree toppled by a woodsman’s ax.
Judd stepped back from his kill. “Fast?” he said, glancing at my half-drawn sword with a grin. “I was faster! You’ll need to do better than that when the first strigoica comes after you!”
“Don’t worry, I will,” I said, sheathing my sword again. “A moroi, wasn’t it?” I gestured down at the dead bear. “It was guarding the approach to the Fresque house last time I saw it.”
“Maybe it was, but there’ll likely be more than one, Tom,” Judd told me. “This one was set to patrol and guard the area around the pit. It’s gloomy and sheltered, but they don’t usually come out in daylight, so powerful magic has been used to bring it here.
“I’ve been thinking, and I realize that there’s a much easier way to deal with moroii. They are creatures governed by compulsions. If you cast nuts, seeds, berries, twigs, or even blades of grass in front of them, they immediately drop down on all fours as if in a trance. They are compelled to count and retrieve every last one, and until that’s accomplished they can do nothing else. And one count is never enough. They have to repeat the procedure to check that the total is the same. They can spend hours counting and re-counting. This means that we could either escape or deal it a killing blow!”
I nodded and smiled. That was worth knowing for future reference. It made me realize how much I still had to learn. Now that my master was gone, my apprenticeship had come to a premature end. I had to learn whenever the opportunity presented itself—even from Judd. I couldn’t afford to let my feelings get in the way of that need. I had to update the Bestiary whenever I could, and even write books of my own. My master’s work had to continue.
Judd and I moved forward cautiously, searching for the entrance to the offal pit. Our noses found it well before our eyes. The stench was overpowering: the stink of offal and rotting meat and the sharp, metallic odor of blood. Close to the root of a large oak was a large, irregular-shaped flattish stone. There was an oval hole near its center, and its edges were still wet with blood. We stepped forward together and peered down into the darkness. I shuddered with fear and took a deep breath to calm myself. But I had good reason to be afraid. Unless we found a permanent way to stop him soon, the Old God Siscoi would climb up and emerge from the pit.
“I can’t see a thing,” I told Judd, stating the obvious.
“Trust me, Tom, neither of us wants to see what’s forming down there—but listen carefully and we might hear it.”
We listened. From deep within the fissure came faint, sinister noises. I held my breath so as to hear them better. Then I almost wished I hadn’t. Far below, mercifully hidden by darkness, something was breathing. The rhythm was slow and steady, and suggested a very large entity.
“The host is down there, all right,” Judd said. “But don’t you worry. There’s no way he’ll be able to climb up until Siscoi takes possession of his flesh. It can only happen at midnight, with the help of witches performing spells and rituals.”
“How many witches do we have to deal with to stop that?” I asked.
“Hard to say. Even three survivors might constitute a coven. But one thing’s certain. The fewer there are, the harder they’ll find it.”
Without further debate, we carefully tipped out the bags of salt and iron to form mounds beside the opening. Then, working quickly, we mixed the two substances together with our hands.
“Ready?” Judd asked.
I nodded, ready to push the mixture into the darkness.
“Well, we’re about to find out if you were right,” he said. “On the count of three, we do it! One, two, three!”
Working together, we sent the salt and iron cascading into the pit. For a moment nothing happened, then suddenly there was a scream of agony from below, followed by low groans.
Judd grinned at me. “Well done, Tom! Sometimes the tried and trusted methods do work best. Siscoi will be none too pleased when he finds his host damaged. Now for the witches—but first I’d better tell you a bit more about them,” he said, rising to his feet. “They collect the life force of humans to achieve certain ends, one of which is to accumulate wealth. They like to live in big houses and lord it over the local humans.”
“So that’s why the people here avoid spooks and seem so uncooperative. They’re scared. They know what they are dealing with,” I realized.
“That’s right, Tom. No doubt the whole town is terrified,” Judd replied.
“I know about the orbs and their use of animism magic, but what about when their souls are back in their bodies? Are they similar to Pendle witches or lamias?” I asked.
“Like many witches, they try to scry the future in order to destroy their enemies. But the summoning of their vampire god Siscoi is the icing on the cake. He gives them power and makes them even more formidable.
“They do have one thing in common with lamias: they are shape-shifters. But while lamia witches change from the domestic to the feral form over a period of weeks or months, Romanian witches do it in the blink of an eye. One moment you’re looking at a woman dressed in her finery. The next it’s in tatters on her back and she’s all claws and teeth. And here’s where John Gregory’s Bestiary needs updating: it’s true that they don’t use blood magic, but that doesn’t stop them from eating flesh and taking blood. Most victims have fallen to the ground b
efore they can even react to the danger. Moments later they’re ripped to pieces.”
I frowned, my mind reeling with all the information I’d just been given.
“Let’s go and deal with the first one,” Judd suggested. We left the trees and headed across a sunny meadow toward the nearest of the big houses I’d seen an orb emerge from. As far as I could tell, apart from a buzzard hovering to the west, there was nothing moving on the hillside, but I could hear the distant sounds of human activity from the County side of the river.
We climbed over a stile and continued downward. Each large house was surrounded by its own protective clump of trees and, as we approached our target, the sunlight was blocked out again. Judd signaled a halt, put a finger to his lips, and leaned close, whispering into my ear.
“There should be no illusions to bother us here—witch houses don’t shift their shape—but there could be traps set to warn her. As soon as we enter the premises, she’ll wake up. So it’s no good creeping in—stealth won’t work. We go in fast. I’ll take the lead, you cover my back. All right, Tom?”
I nodded. “You’re the expert here,” I conceded in a low voice. I had to be pragmatic and force myself to trust Judd. We had to work together.
The house was big and there would be lots of rooms to search. Judd wasted no time. He went straight up to the front door and kicked it open. I drew my sword and followed him inside. We found ourselves in a small entrance hall with three doors leading off it. He chose the central one. Despite the fact that there was no obvious lock, he used his left boot again and went in fast. We found ourselves in a large drawing room. I looked around, surprised. County witches usually lived in hovels, with unwashed pots and dishes, cobwebbed ceilings and filthy floors, a pile of bones—some of them human—lying in a corner. But this room had been meticulously cleaned and was expensively furnished. I saw paintings of strange landscapes, possibly in Romania. One showed a castle on a high hill rising above green forests. There were two comfortable chairs and a settee placed close to a fire, where the ashes still glowed in the grate. On the mantelpiece above stood three candlesticks; the candles were of best-quality beeswax rather than the black ones favored by the Pendle witches, who used the blood of their victims mixed with cheap tallow from animal fat.
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