The Last Apprentice: Complete Collection

by Joseph Delaney

  I gathered my strength, ready to strike his head from his shoulders. A second, and it would be done. My enemy would be dead.

  But then a voice cried out behind me.

  “Don’t, Tom! Please, Tom! Please don’t kill him!”

  It was Alice.

  I shifted slightly so that I could see both of them. I watched her out of the corner of my eye but kept my attention on Lukrasta.

  “Why beg, Alice? Why don’t you save him? All you have to do is blast me with your magic. That should be easy enough for a witch like you,” I jibed.

  “Don’t mock me, Tom, it doesn’t suit you. I wouldn’t hurt you for anything. You should know that by now. But even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. Ain’t possible, is it? Magic can’t hurt you while you have that sword.”

  “You know about the sword?” I asked in astonishment.

  Alice nodded. “Grimalkin told me she was going to forge you a special blade. She said it couldn’t be broken and could ward off dark magic. I suppose that must be what you’re holding, otherwise you wouldn’t have beaten Lukrasta.”

  “I beat him fair and square, Alice!” I snapped angrily. “The sword gave me no special advantage.”

  “That’s not what I meant. He didn’t want to hurt you, Tom. He didn’t want to fight you. He would have knocked you out with his magic, that’s all, and then sent you back to the County.”

  “That’s not what you told me earlier!” I snapped.

  “I didn’t want either of you hurt. I knew you would quarrel. And it’s exactly as I feared.”

  “You must think me a fool. I would be if I believed that. You didn’t care about me—it was Lukrasta you wanted to protect. Your friend Lukrasta thought me a fool to fight him. Look at him on his knees. Who’s the fool now?”

  Tears started to run down Alice’s cheeks. I felt a pang of jealousy, and in anger raised the sword a little, ready to strike.

  “Please! Please! Listen to me. You’re both on the same side. Don’t do it, I beg you,” she pleaded, coming to the bank and wading in to stand between me and Lukrasta.

  For the first time I looked at her directly, still keeping an eye on Lukrasta. There was something pitiful about the way she was crying; it was obvious that she cared deeply for him.

  Suddenly I was divided. I felt within me a need for vengeance; my urge to kill Lukrasta was strong. No doubt that was the lamia blood coursing through my veins. But as I had told the mage, I was also a seventh son of a seventh son. My father’s blood was also in me. And he had taught me right from wrong.

  Years ago Dad had been involved in a dispute with a neighboring farmer. The man had been grazing his cattle on Dad’s land for at least a decade, ignoring Dad’s protests and claiming the field was his. Finally, fed up with the situation, Dad took his grievance to the local magistrate, and after much deliberation and study of parish records, Dad had won. The magistrate ordered the neighbor to stop grazing his cattle there and to give Dad a dozen animals by way of compensation.

  But Dad had refused the cattle, saying he was content just to have the field officially acknowledged as his own. Later I’d asked him why he’d done it. Didn’t he deserve to have those cows to make up for the grazing he’d lost over the years?

  Dad had smiled. “Listen, son,” he’d said. “Never kick a man when he’s down. In the long term it’ll pay off.”

  That farmer eventually turned into a good neighbor: It was Mr. Wilkinson, who’d helped after the farm had been raided by witches. He’d seen the barn burning and had rushed to help, only to suffer a blow to the head. He had been lucky that the witches hadn’t killed him. Later he’d looked after the livestock and dogs until Jack and Ellie returned. So in the end, Dad had been proved right. The kick that I was about to deliver would be a lot more damaging and permanent than the harm done by a boot. So I listened again to Dad’s voice in my head.

  Then I lowered my sword and stared at my enemy. It was almost dark now, and Lukrasta’s face was in shadow.

  “You’re welcome to each other,” I said, the edge of bitterness still sharp in my voice. “Now I want to go home.”

  Alice nodded and turned on her heel, saying nothing.

  I followed her up onto the muddy bank, leaving Lukrasta still on his knees in the stream. She led me back through the ruins of the village to a wall with a door in it.

  “Go through that,” she said, “and you’ll find yourself on the steps outside the tower. You’ll be back in Cymru, but in our own time. Sorry, but you’ll have to walk to the County.”

  Suddenly a pale moon came out from behind a cloud and cast my shadow onto the wall. It was a giant shadow, an impossible shadow—perhaps three times larger than it should have been. I pointed toward it.

  “Do you remember what you told me soon after we first met?” I asked Alice.

  “Yes. The moon cast your shadow onto a barn wall, and I said that the moon shows the truth of you.”

  “And you’ve never spoken truer words. That’s me, Alice,” I said, pointing to my shadow. “The scrawny boy is only what you think you see. I’m the hunter. The hunter of the dark. So don’t make me hunt you! I never want to see you again. Keep well away from Chipenden,” I warned, pointing the sword at her. “This will protect me from your magic, and I’ll put you in a pit as soon as look at you. You’d better believe me.”

  “There’s lots of things you don’t know, Tom. I won’t waste my time trying to explain now, because you’re bitter and angry. But I will tell you one thing. We’ll meet again, and you won’t put me in a pit. Thanks for sparing Lukrasta’s life. You don’t know how important that was.”

  I didn’t bother to reply. I opened the door and gazed out at the Cymru of our time. Without looking back at Alice, I slammed it shut and began to hurry down the steps. The ice had gone; the sun was back to normal, about to retreat behind a cloud that threatened rain. It was early morning—the morning after the battle—so I needed to make the most of the daylight hours.

  It was a long journey home, and my cheek throbbed with every step that I took.

  CHAPTER XXXIV

  THE LAST LESSON

  IT took me nearly three days to walk back to Chipenden. I arrived at dusk, intending to spend the night there, resting, before returning to the Wardstone to collect my master’s body and bring it back to the house for burial. But when I reached the edge of the garden, I found Grimalkin waiting for me under a tree, her horse grazing on the lush grass beside her.

  I had lots of questions for her. Who had died? Who had survived? I was particularly concerned about James. But what I saw silenced me.

  Beside her, bound within a blanket, lay a body.

  She had brought the Spook home.

  We sat by the hearth in the kitchen, with the Spook’s body laid out on the table. I had stared at his face for a while, thinking of our time together until tears came into my eyes. When I turned away, Grimalkin had tied the blanket about him for the final time.

  “Is James all right?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Yes, he’s gone back to the farm.”

  “And Judd?”

  “He lost a couple of fingers, but what bothered him most was that one of the dogs was killed, the one called Claw. He said he should never have taken them to the battle. There were other deaths—the Deanes suffered badly, and the Mouldheels, too. One of Mab’s sisters was killed, the twin called Jennet. But the lamia, Slake, survived. She intends to return to Greece. Despite their numerical advantage, the enemy suffered far heavier losses than we did. Romanian and Celtic witches fought on their side, and every one of them died. Perhaps less than half the Essex witches escaped the County.”

  I nodded, then described all that had happened to me afterward. Toward the end of my account, I asked her about the sword. “I fought Lukrasta and defeated him. He tried to use his magic against me, but it had no effect. The starblade protected me. So why didn’t it keep the dark magic at bay during the battle?” I asked. “I was paralyzed like everybody else.”
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  “It was a spell that joined the power of all the enemies who faced us,” Grimalkin replied. “Combined with that was the magic of Lukrasta. Alice also probably added hers, too. The starblade has its limits. I did my best, but nothing is perfect.”

  “It must have been Alice!” I exclaimed angrily. “It protected me against Lukrasta when we fought—she didn’t add her magic then.”

  “Such bitterness is bad for you,” Grimalkin said. “It achieves nothing. Put her from your mind.”

  For a while I said nothing. Then, as I gradually calmed down, I went on with my account, ending with my decision not to kill Lukrasta.

  “Alice thanked me for sparing his life,” I told her. “She was crying. I think she loves him very much.”

  “Maybe she does and maybe she doesn’t,” replied the witch assassin. “But for now their fates are bound together. You did the right thing, of that I am certain. We must deal with the Kobalos now, or at least begin the process. Despite her grief at the loss of her sister, Mab scryed for me to see what she could about our new enemies. Their god, Talkus, has been born, but it will take him time to reach his full strength and gain dominion over the other gods, demons, and entities from the dark. The Kobalos are preparing for war, but that will also take time. We must use this interval to ready ourselves. And Lukrasta will be important in helping to deal with their mages. I intend to begin by finding out more about their strengths and weaknesses. Will you join me? I intend to travel north tomorrow.”

  I shook my head. “No, I’ve had enough of killing. I intend to follow in my master’s footsteps and become the Chipenden Spook, protecting folk in the County from the dark. It’s what John Gregory trained me for—it’s what he’d have wanted.”

  “Whether you help me now or later is your decision,” Grimalkin replied. “But eventually you will be forced to do so, because the Kobalos will come here. Then they will kill all the people you seek to protect—but not the women. For the women and girls they will have other uses.”

  “If that happens, I’ll have to help, but it’s a long way to the land of the Kobalos. There are many kingdoms between us and them. If those human kingdoms unite, the Kobalos may lose. They may not venture this far. Here . . .” I said, drawing the starblade and holding it out toward her, hilt first. “Thanks for the loan of this blade, but I won’t be needing it any more. I’ll use the traditional weapons of my trade.”

  Grimalkin shook her head. “It’s a gift, not a loan. It was made for you and nobody else. I won’t take it back.”

  “In that case, I’ll hide it in a place where I won’t be tempted to use it,” I told her. “I’ve seen too much death recently. I’ve killed again and again until it sickens me. Swords are not for me. I’ll go back to using a staff; back to my silver chain, salt, and iron. I’ll fight the dark in traditional ways. I’m sorry, but I’ve thought it over on my way back from Cymru. It’s what I want to do.”

  “It’s your decision,” she told me, “so let’s speak of something else. I could improve your face. I cannot get rid of all the scarring, but the disfigurement would be greatly reduced. Would you like me to try?”

  I nodded.

  “It will hurt,” she warned. “For that kind of magic, there is always a price to be paid. But unlike the pain caused by the silver pin in my leg, it will be of only short duration.”

  “Yes, it would be worth it. I’ve already seen the way people look at it. Being a spook puts people off enough without this scar.”

  After we’d talked, I walked down to the village and bought a coffin from the village carpenter.

  “I’m sorry to hear of your master’s death,” he told me, shaking his head sadly. “He was a good man.”

  The Spook was a tall man, and so I was surprised to find that the carpenter already had a coffin big enough to accommodate his body. Otherwise it would have spent another night unburied.

  “Mr. Gregory ordered and paid for this last month,” the man told me.

  The Spook had sensed the imminence of his own death, I realized.

  Grimalkin helped me to dig the grave. As we prepared to slide my master’s body into the dark hole in the damp earth, I nodded at the sword that I had laid down on the grass to one side.

  “I’m going to put it under the coffin,” I said. “You won’t take it back, and this way there is less chance that anyone else will be able to get their hands on it.”

  “But what if you change your mind? You would have to disturb his grave to retrieve it.”

  “That’s another good reason for placing it here,” I answered. “I would never disturb my master’s grave. May his body rest in peace.”

  Grimalkin said nothing, but she stared at me for a moment, then shook her head. I shivered at the expression in her eyes. She was not only a powerful witch, but also an excellent scryer, and you never knew what she glimpsed in the future. Whatever it was, she didn’t tell me. Even if she had, I would have disregarded it, because the future is not fixed.

  So I put the sword in the grave, and we lowered the coffin on top of it. Then we stood there in silence for a few moments. What Grimalkin thought I do not know, but her eyes were downcast.

  I do not make a habit of praying, but I remembered what I had said at Dad’s grave. Now I repeated the words to myself.

  Please, God, give him peace. It’s what he deserves. He was a good, hardworking man and I loved him.

  For in truth he had been a teacher, a friend, and also a father to me.

  Then, together, without speaking, Grimalkin and I filled in the grave. The only sounds to be heard were the thrust and lift of our spades, and the soil falling upon the wooden casket. The air was very still; even the birds had fallen silent.

  Immediately afterward, Grimalkin attended to the scar on my face. For some reason known only to herself, it had to be done in the dark. I sat in a chair in a storeroom adjacent to the house.

  “Keep still!” she hissed. “However severe the pain, you must not move.”

  I felt her finger touch my face, tracing the line of the scar that began just below my eye. She muttered three words under her breath, and then I felt a strange sensation in my left cheek. At first it felt like ice, then like fire. Whether she cut me with a blade or some other instrument, I don’t know. But the pain was intense, and I felt blood running down my face.

  Although it was extremely difficult, I did not move— though inside I was crying out in pain.

  Later I examined my face in a mirror. She had opened the scar again; in my opinion, it looked worse than ever. But I thanked her anyway. I didn’t care how I looked anymore. I felt flat, my emotions deadened.

  At dawn we said a brief good-bye. Grimalkin gave me a nod and headed over to where her horse was grazing. She told me neither where she was bound nor when she would return. I had refused her request to help with the new threat, so we had probably reached the end of our temporary alliance. She would go back to her business of being a witch assassin.

  I wondered if I would ever see her again.

  That night I dreamed of Alice . . .

  Alice looked terrified. She stared up at me, and I could see her whole body trembling.

  I was shaking, too, sick to my stomach.

  Alice was tied to a large flat stone on a raised platform.

  There was a large mound of stones nearby, but it wasn’t a cairn such as was often found at the peak of a high fell. It was hollowed out, and a fierce fire burned within. It was a furnace created for a terrible purpose.

  It was Halloween, and I was about to begin the ritual that would destroy the Fiend.

  Standing on the other side of Alice, directly opposite me, was Grimalkin. She was balancing Bone Cutter and the Blade of Sorrow in the palm of her hand. The first would be used to slice the thumb bones from Alice’s hands, the other to cut her beating heart from her chest.

  If Alice cried out while I sliced the first bones, the ritual would fail. Her silence and bravery were essential to a successful outcome.


  “I’m ready, Tom,” she said softly.

  “It is time to begin,” added Grimalkin.

  I loved Alice.

  And Alice loved me.

  But now I was about to kill her.

  “Good-bye, Tom,” she said. “You were the best thing that ever happened to me. I have no regrets.”

  I tried to reply, but my throat seemed to swell and I couldn’t get the words out. My eyes brimmed with tears.

  “Do it now! Quickly!” Grimalkin commanded.

  I blinked the tears out of my eyes and, very gently, took Alice’s left hand. Next I held it firmly against the stone. Now I had to position the knife. I took it from Grimalkin and readied myself for what must be done. It was difficult, because my hand was shaking violently, my palms sweating, making it difficult to grip the blade.

  I took a deep breath and forced the blade through the base of Alice’s thumb. I was screaming as I did so, but Alice was brave. Not one cry escaped her lips.

  I awoke suddenly, my heart racing. It had been a nightmare of what might have been. That terrible dream had seemed real, but we had taken a different path, and the future had changed.

  Then I became aware of a weight resting on my legs and heard the sound of purring.

  So the boggart had survived, after all.

  It did not speak to me; it did not demand my blood. Had it done so, I would have given it willingly. John Gregory had begun the process by doing a deal with the boggart to guard the house and garden. My own partnership with the boggart was far closer, and I knew not where it would take me. I knew that I was very unusual, but the dark was changing. The battle would perhaps demand different tactics.

  We keep notebooks so that we may learn from the past, but now I know that a spook must look to the future, and adapt and change. A wise man continues to learn until the day he dies. John Gregory was wise, and he realized that sometimes a compromise with the dark is necessary. That was perhaps the last lesson that he learned.