So I did as Agnes advised. I used a bit of my power one more time. Then, the following day, I trudged unhappily back to Lizzie’s cottage.
She seemed bewildered, and for days walked around as if in a dream. Then she went back to normal and started making my life difficult again. But it had worked. She never mentioned that leather egg or the water witches. It was as if it had never happened.
My training as a witch continued, but I always hid from Lizzie what I was really capable of. I knew that Agnes was right. It was the Fiend who had spoken to me that night, awakening my latent power. If I kept using it, eventually I would belong to him. My heart would harden, and I would become an evil entity without human feelings. I wouldn’t let that happen.
Agnes was proved right in another way, too. My time with Lizzie came to an end just when I least expected it. She led us back to Chipenden, intending to rescue Mother Malkin from the pit in the Spook’s garden and then slay him.
But things didn’t work out as she hoped.
It was then that I first met Thomas Ward, Old Gregory’s apprentice, and my life changed forever. My time as the friend of the Spook’s apprentice has been the happiest of my life.
CHAPTER XIX
AN OLD ENEMY
All that had happened years earlier, but now, down here in the dark, as I looked at Betsy Gammon, it seemed like only yesterday.
She smirked at me from her chair, set against the dank cellar wall. The deep, dirty pond was to her right. Water witches were probably waiting beneath the surface.
“Didn’t expect to come face-to-face with me again, did you, girl?”
I turned back toward Thorne, my betrayer, ready with angry words, but she had already disappeared. I could hear the sound of her pointy shoes receding up the steps.
“It’s sad when people let you down, isn’t it?” Betsy said, coming to her feet and taking a step toward me. “But everyone has their price, and Thorne is no exception.”
I stared at her, feeling hurt. I’d thought that Thorne was my friend. How could the girl who’d fought alongside Grimalkin have changed so much? The witch assassin had nothing but praise for her.
“Do you know what her price was?” Betsy asked.
I didn’t answer. I was considering my options. My best chance was to escape up the steps. But no doubt someone or something would be there now, ready to stop me.
“It’s possible for a witch to be born again. Did you know that, girl?”
“Some believe it, but I’ve never met a witch who claimed to be leading a second life,” I replied.
“Oh, it’s very rare,” Betsy continued. “Takes a lot of power, it does. At least two of the Old Gods have to combine their will to achieve it. And it requires special skill to detect the position of a living person who enters the dark. The best at that is Morwena, the most powerful of the water witches. The moment she knew you’d entered the dark, she got to work. So Thorne was promised another chance to live on earth in return for leading you here. She badly wants an opportunity to prove herself the greatest witch assassin of all—even greater than her teacher, Grimalkin. The chance to become that is to be her reward. Morwena put her in your path and told her to wait. You followed her without a second thought. She led you to us like a lamb!”
Again I made no comment. I had meant to ask Thorne how she’d known where to find me, but I’d never gotten around to it. Now I knew. Agnes was right; I was a fool.
“It’s all over for you now, girl. There’s nothing you can do to save yourself. You’ve got powerful magic, but it won’t help this time. You see, dark magic doesn’t work in the basilica and the area around it. It’s a forbidden zone. And there’s lots of us and only one of you!”
Betsy put two fingers in her mouth and gave a long, piercing whistle. Immediately, in response, a dozen witches surged out of the water. Some dragged themselves up onto the muddy floor; others soared out like salmon and landed on their webbed and taloned feet, water cascading off them. They glared at me with hungry eyes.
Water witches normally begin by drowning their prey. They drag it into the water, and while it’s drowning, they begin to suck its blood—so quickly that the heart stops before drowning can take place.
Alternatively they might just rip me to pieces. Either way, I expected it to be quick.
Perhaps Betsy had lied about not being able to use magic? I thought. I didn’t want my life to end here. I had to find the dagger. We had to put an end to the Fiend.
So I exerted my will.
Nothing.
No response.
Magic really didn’t work here.
I had failed to get the dagger that Tom needed. Now the Fiend would triumph and my best friend would die, too. It had all been for nothing. I was filled with anger.
If this was the end of me, at least I would hurt Betsy one more time.
I kicked out hard, and the point of my shoe went deep into her fat belly. The air came out of her with a whoosh, and she doubled over and fell to her knees.
But then many clawed hands seized me and dragged me toward the water. I struggled, but they were extremely strong, and there were too many of them. Fanged teeth appeared inches from my face. Rancid breath filled my nostrils. Then the water closed over my head, and I felt myself being pulled down. It happened so quickly that I hadn’t time to take a breath, and as I sank into the murk, water rushed up my nose and into my open mouth. I was choking, drowning, desperate for air.
I thrashed about but couldn’t tear myself out of the relentless grip of my enemies. After a while all grew dark, and I felt my consciousness fading away. All I could hear was the thump-thump of my heart, slower and slower. Perhaps they were draining my blood. If so, there was no pain other than that in my chest—the frantic need to breathe.
Then there was nothing.
Nothing at all.
The next thing I knew, I was back on the muddy bank on my hands and knees, retching.
“Did you enjoy that, girl?” Betsy gloated, once more seated in her chair. On either side of me, a water witch gripped my shoulder with a taloned hand. “Now you know what it’s like to be drowning. You know how I felt when you did that to me. But it’s not over yet! Soon as you’ve got your breath back, it starts all over again. A very slow and painful death is what I plan for you!”
She was as good as her word. Within a minute, I was dragged back into the water again. By now there were only two water witches present, but I would have been helpless against just one.
This time I managed to suck in a deep breath first. But all that did was delay my agony. Once again the pressure in my lungs was so great that I was forced to breathe out, and soon the water was rushing into my nose and mouth once more.
There was a roaring in my ears; darkness. Then, once again, I found myself on my knees, gasping for air and vomiting water.
I lost count of how many times the process was repeated. On each occasion Betsy taunted and gloated from her chair while I went through the agonizing process of recovery.
But everything must come to an end.
I looked up for the umpteenth time, water pouring from my nose and mouth, trying to draw in a first painful breath, when I realized that it was Betsy who had come to an end.
She was sitting back, slumped in her chair, a knife buried up to its hilt in her throat. Even as I watched, I saw her body start to disintegrate. Her head had fallen off now, and was sliding down between her knees. I vaguely remember wondering if that was what usually happened when you died for the second time.
Moments later, I knew the answer.
There were no taloned hands gripping my shoulders any longer. The two water witches were lying beside me, stretched out on the muddy floor of the cellar. Each had a knife between her shoulder blades. Their bodies were starting to crumble, too.
A hand seized my arm and yanked me to my feet. I came face-to-face with Thorne and angrily tried to pull away. But I was too weak, still fighting for breath.
“Come on! Come on!”
she screamed into my face. “Morwena could arrive at any moment.”
She dragged me toward the steps and pulled me up to the top. I was too feeble to resist.
We crossed the room and went out through the front door. I staggered across the marshy ground with Thorne. Finally we crouched in the shadow of a stone wall, out of the light of the blood moon.
“I’m sorry.” Thorne’s voice was hardly more than a whisper.
I was about to give her a piece of my mind, but my stomach lurched, everything began to spin, and I leaned sideways and vomited into the grass.
At last I got my breath back and blasted her with my anger.
“You’re sorry? Sorry? Sorry for what? For betraying me and sending me to my death? Sorry for stopping me from getting the dagger and destroying the Fiend? And who would he go after first? Ain’t much doubt about it! Grimalkin, I think, because of what she’s done. Fine way to repay someone who trained you! Grimalkin wouldn’t be pleased with what you did. You were brave in life; she hoped you’d be brave in death. That’s what she told me. But you weren’t brave, were you? You were a coward who couldn’t face being in the dark and would do anything for the chance at a second life!”
Thorne said nothing. She just bowed her head and stared down at the ground.
After a while my anger began to ebb away, and I spoke again. “Why did you come back?”
She replied without looking up. “Even before I reached the top of the steps, I regretted what I’d done. It hadn’t seemed real until then. Then I heard what was happening below. You drowned Betsy back on earth, but her death was nothing compared to what you would experience. I couldn’t bear it. So I came down to help you.”
“What now?” I asked.
“I’ll help you to get the dagger.”
“I would be better off on my own,” I retorted. “How can I trust you after that? Did you talk to anybody else when you left the cellar? Did you tell ’em why I’m here—that I have to reach the Fiend’s domain?”
That was important. If they knew what I wanted and where I was going, they’d be there waiting for me.
“No, Alice, I didn’t have time. They still don’t know. . . . So think about it. You’ve more chance with me than on your own; we need each other. After what I just did, they’ll be after me too. No doubt they’ll plan a horrible, slow second death for me. You’re close now to where you want to go. The domains move around, but they say the Fiend’s domain is always near this one with its basilica for worship. There’s a good chance that this gate will take us there. Trust me again, please. Let me help you.”
I thought carefully. There was truth in what she’d just said. And she had come back for me.
“I need to get into the basilica and avoid the trap they’ve set,” I told Thorne. “I must reach that gate. Can you help me to do that?”
“Inside the basilica, we’ll have to trust to luck. I’ve never been in there myself, and the gate could be anywhere—we’ll have to search for it. But I might be able to get us inside unobserved. I know those who might help. But you’ll have to wait here. It’ll be easier and faster if I go alone.”
“How long will you be?”
“As long as it takes. Just wait.”
Then Thorne was gone, and I was alone in the shadow of the wall, shivering in my wet clothes.
CHAPTER XX
JAWS WIDE OPEN
IT was hard to judge the passing of time, and I crouched there, wet and uncomfortable, for what seemed like an hour or more.
I began to wonder if Thorne would ever return. Maybe she’d changed her mind again and sided with my enemies once more. Perhaps she’d been caught.
I could wait only a little while longer. There was no way of knowing how much time had passed back on earth—it could already be close to Halloween. Soon I would have to try and find my own way into the basilica.
But finally Thorne reappeared and, without a word of explanation, crooked her finger in a sign that I should follow her.
Keeping mostly to back alleys, we approached the basilica in a slow widdershins spiral. We arrived at the side of the huge building. Between us and the wall was a large paved area, perhaps a hundred paces across. Whether we faced south, north, east, or west, it was impossible to say in a domain where the blood moon remained fixed in the same position.
Thorne came to a halt, and as we dropped into a crouch, she pointed. “Do you see the third door from the left?” she asked.
I counted quickly. There were five doors of varying sizes. The third, oval in shape, was the smallest of them all. I nodded.
“That’s the best way in. I’ve been told it isn’t usually guarded,” Thorne told me.
“Do you trust the people you spoke to?” I said.
“As much as you can trust anybody who’s been in the dark for some time. The longer you’re here, the more desperate you become. I spoke to a group of people and trust some more than others. But all agreed that was the door to use.”
I wasn’t filled with confidence, but I had to take the risk. I nodded again, and Thorne pointed toward the door and put her finger to her lips before setting off immediately. I followed at her heels.
We were less than fifty strides from the door we’d been directed to when I heard a bell begin to toll—the one that summoned the chosen to be slain in the basilica, and then the random taking of blood. Now we were in immediate danger.
At the thirteenth toll of that dreadful bell, something shrieked out from above. I recognized it immediately—the raucous cry of a chyke. And it wasn’t alone. Others were swooping down toward us, a dozen or more of the batlike creatures, their clawed hands extended to rend our flesh, their eyes glowing red like embers. Last time I had estimated the creature to be of approximately human size, but these appeared even larger.
Thorne had her blades, but I had no weapons at all, and as I’d just learned, to my cost, magic didn’t work near the basilica. I decided to try again anyway. I flicked at the nearest chyke with my mind—a spell of repulsion. It didn’t work. The creature continued to glide toward me, its open jaws dripping saliva.
We began to run toward the shelter of the dark oval doorway.
The chyke attacked, swooping down, and I dived forward into a roll. But not before I felt a sharp pain in my forehead. When I scrambled to my feet, blood was running into my eyes, but Thorne had returned to stand over me and, despite the pain she must be feeling in her hands, was holding two blades and trying to drive away the attacker.
I glanced about me and knew a moment of real terror. Other chykes were coming for us, too many for Thorne to fend off alone. We were about to be ripped to pieces.
I lurched to my feet, holding my arms high to protect my face. I anticipated the tearing of my flesh, but there was no pain. Instead, the claws that had been aiming for my face were gone. I looked up and saw the chykes fleeing from another, larger winged being. One was too late and, screaming in terror, was seized by its pursuer. It was quickly ripped asunder, the bloody pieces falling onto the flags behind us.
My stomach turned over as I saw the killer banking and flying toward us. The rest of the chykes had fled. Were we its new prey? I wondered. But then I recognized the predator.
“It’s Wynde, the lamia who died before the walls of Malkin Tower,” Thorne said. “She was a friend in life and will be so in death.”
Grimalkin had told me that she had watched from the battlements of the tower, unable to help, as Wynde had been slain by the kretch. It had eaten her heart, thus sending her directly to the dark. But the lamia witch had fought bravely, and others had to help the kretch to overcome her, among them the dark mage Bowker and three witches who had speared Wynde with knives on long poles.
Later Grimalkin had slain them all.
Wynde landed close to us. “Why have you, who still live and breathe, entered the dark?” she demanded of me. “Why have you risked so much?”
Her voice was guttural and her words difficult to make out. Sometimes when a lamia was i
n the process of shape-shifting toward the feral, she temporarily lost the use of language altogether. In this final winged form it usually returned, but it was still difficult to understand what she was saying.
“I am here to gain the means to destroy the Fiend. The gate I need to reach his domain is somewhere inside the basilica, and I must use it,” I told her. “There is something vital there that I must retrieve.”
“Enemies wait for you beyond that door,” she rasped.
Thorne scowled. “You’ve been betrayed again, Alice, but it wasn’t of my doing, I swear it. The friends I spoke of were witches who sometimes cared for me after my cruel father beat me. I hoped they could be trusted. I’m sorry. I’ve let you down again.”
“You did your best, Thorne,” I told her.
“There is another entrance, a high one in the roof,” said Wynde. “I will carry you up to it. Who will be first?”
“Go first!” Thorne commanded. “You’ve no weapons.”
There was no time to argue. Wynde flapped her wings and hovered before me, her scaly knees level with my face.
“Grab on to my legs!” she commanded.
I’d barely managed to get a proper hold before she lurched upward; the ground receded at a terrifying speed. Moments later she was flying toward the dark mass of the basilica. I was facing backward, and the first indication I had that we were over it was when we passed the tower, the tip of the lamia’s wing almost brushing the stones. Then she folded her wings close to her body and plummeted down like a stone. I gasped as I left my stomach behind.
The roof rushed up to meet us, but at the last moment Wynde unfurled her wings, and my feet made contact with the tiles. I released my grip on her legs, and she flew up again, returning to collect Thorne.
I looked around. I was standing with my back to a huge buttress that supported the square tower. Ahead of me was a narrow path leading between two sloping roofs to a wall with a narrow door in it. Was that a way into the basilica? We couldn’t now be seen by those on the ground, but some would have noted our journey with the lamia. Now others within the building might be racing to intercept us. We needed to move quickly.
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