With a roar, Matthew confronted the faeries. ‘Incorporeal beings, as black as the pit from whence you came,’ he cried. ‘You will serve me, and mine!’
They struggled - their sinuous bodies curling in on themselves, as a force like icy-white smoke settled over their charcoal forms, drawing them tight. Desperately they battled, their long hands contorting as they fought to escape from the intensity of Matthew’s will. But it was hopeless. The noose closed, and with a final defiant cry, the faeries vitality dimmed and shadow claimed them. They vanished.
Matthew kicked open the door.
In the centre of the room, a figure knelt, cloaked in darkness. Long, greying hair hung loose down her back.
Matthew couldn’t move, his senses assaulted, overwhelmed by a powerful, familiar scent spiralling from a burning brazier. He stared, transfixed by the bitter memory of his mother pounding spices in the morning air. But, Matthew shook himself, no, the scent was not the same, and it wasn’t strong enough to mask the fetid reek of decay. The room stank from every surface littered with rubbish, hoarded from the forest.
‘Tey!’
The cry hit him like a slap, and Matthew flinched. An ancient woman reached for him. Her face, still burnished bronzed, was parched, wrinkled, her arms were skeletally thin, and her hands shook in the shadowed light.
No...
‘Tey.’ she struggled to her feet.
Matthew couldn’t turn away. She was old ... old.
Dear Lord, he prayed silently. What is Your will?
As if in answer, the old woman’s eyes flared bright and golden, and as piercingly intense as he remembered. Harpy.
Matthew clenched his fist.
His mother may appear frail and harmless, and as weak as a sparrow. She may emulate the cries of heartbreak. But no matter what decay befell her cursed form, he wasn't fooled. This witch sucked on the teat of Satan and she had survived for thousands of years - she remained strong, and as wedded to the dark as always.
Matthew snapped a command.
The forest faeries writhed in agony, their hands flailing towards her, their dark eyes desperate, begging to be set free.
‘What are you doing?’ Ba Set rose to her feet. ‘They love you, Tey, why do you command them in such hatred?’
‘Do not call me that!’ Advancing towards her, he thrust the faeries out in front like a shield. ‘I am Matthew,’ he cried, ‘the faithful servant of the one true God. I am not your son!’
With a shocked murmur, Ba Set reached out for the tree spirits. Matthew could feel her concern. It sang to the air, filling his being, flooding his heart with fury.
‘Leave my mind, witch!’ He raised his fist. ‘Or I will kill you, and you will burn in hell and damnation for all eternity.’
‘Foolish boy.’ Ba Set shook her head. ‘Our kind does not perish so easily.’
‘I have found a way to kill our kind, Mother.’ Matthew laughed bitterly. ‘We burn, witches like us burn. That is how we die. How do you think I spent my many years away from you? You were wrong. I too live a long, cursed life! And I have found the way, if we wish to end the blight of our existence, we must burn in pain and horror.’
‘Tey, you are talking madness.’
‘Oh no, Mother,’ he spat the word out. ‘I am talking truth. When witches burn, the flames burn bright and hot, and the fat of our skin sizzles, just like the others. That has been my calling these past hundreds of years. Seek out the witches, like you, and destroy them. I am the Witchfinder!’
Ba Set turned from him in horror. Roughly, Matthew grabbed her arm, and as he did so a wind whipped in through the cracks in the door, hot and stinking of fire.
Ba Set gasped. ‘Tey, you must go.’
He ignored her. Through the picture window, Matthew saw a wave of flame cutting through the night. Orange and red, it convulsed with heat. In darker areas of the forest, away from the firefront itself, brightness erupted as single trees burst into flame. Matthew froze, as a low, urgent moan shook the cottage and a hail of burning debris scattered against the glass.
Rosalind ... his sweet Rosalind was out, in that...
Twisting, Ba Set fought to free herself. ‘You must go, it’s not safe -’ She cried again.
But as she struggled, Matthew beheld a figure lying prone on the sofa beside her. Its face was young and pale, and surrounded by a mass of red-gold hair.
Ellie. Here.
Abruptly all thoughts of the fire vanished.
He stopped as a fresh wave of loathing rose, like bile in his throat. ‘You treacherous, manipulative liar. You are using one of my flock to destroy me!’
‘No, you don't understand,’ Ba Set shook her head. ‘You must go!’
‘Mother,’ he bit out the word and stood over Ellie, his form huge in the tiny room. The candle flared, throwing his shadow streaming against the wall. ‘I understand well enough. I am no longer a frightened, ignorant child. In your desperation, in your aloneness, you are training her in the evil arts, because she is a girl, a young woman?’ His eyes flashed with hatred. ‘You sicken me. You are revealing the ancient ways. Something you never did for me.’
He stepped towards her, pain and fury twisting his face. ‘You never came for me! I was a crying child, and I waited for you for years.’
‘Please Tey forgive me.’ Ba Set reached for him. ‘I was out of my mind with grief. By the time I came to my senses, I returned and tracked the abbot’s progress through the forest and every day, every night I stood outside the dead walls of that dead building, and called for you, over and over.’ She closed her eyes, ‘but I was too late.’
‘Liar,’ he hissed. ‘You left me. You flew in your monstrous form and left me to rot! Heartless, unnatural devil, the abbot was right. But, that is not all. You were right in one thing. I did not inherit your gift of flight. I do not fly. But yet I carry the blood-curse - the abomination of the ancients flow in my veins.
'You did not prepare me for this horror. You did not share any of your precious secrets with me. I am as long-lived as the rest of our kind, Mother. And for eight hundred years, I have watched as all those I loved have died.’ Matthew’s heart ached so painfully, it felt his chest would surely burst.
‘You abandoned me to this wretched life!’
He shoved Ba Set to the wall. She hit it hard and as she did so, a stone dropped from the sofa, landing with a sharp crack onto the floor.
Moaning, Ba Set twisted, reaching for it, but Matthew kicked her away.
Colours flashed from its centre, searing across his vision.
What devilment was this? Matthew grabbed the stone, and at once, a stabbing heat seared into his hand. Yet he didn't let it go, this thing was strangely alluring. A low sound jolted up from its centre, like a rasp of song, it lifted, hovering, and stopped at Matthew’s eye height.
His grip trembled. The colours were flaring hotter now, brighter, dazzling his eyes. But still he held it and the sound became louder, increasing in intensity as a bolt of light shot towards the heavens.
The tree spirits crooned in response; they lifted from the floor, and streamed high over the stone, whirling, their forms splitting into multifaceted beings.
Matthew fought for control. The stone was writhing, increasing with power as the sound burst through the room. Desperate now, he fought to release his hand from the thing’s grip; his body shook, burning with heat, his blood felt on fire.
Ba Set’s face wavered beneath him, her eyes wide, piercing gold. She was mouthing something, but Matthew couldn't hear. A rising wave of power and song was coursing up through his being, inhabiting him, possessing him. Trembling, he clamped his jaws shut, but the song rose higher into his throat, building in strength, intent on forcing them apart.
Not this! Panicked he searched for the door. He was suffocating. Through the candlelight Ba Set reached for him, her shadow immense.
‘No!’ Matthew found his voice at last and, raising his fist, he smashed her away and reached for Ellie.
At that moment, the
door burst open and heated air roiled into the room, carrying the stink of the forest and a rain of blazing embers.
‘Dad!’ cried Rose.
She was too late, as Matthew’s hand connected with Ellie, the hag stone rippled, pulsed, and exploded with an incandescent burst of light.
THIRTY-THREE
New Forest, England, 1944
Matthew woke to silence. A vast dark silence. Darkness saturated his senses. He closed his eyes, but that didn’t help. Darkness remained.
Had he died? In a burst of terror, Matthew lashed out with his arms and feet, but hit nothing. Matthew shook his body hard, like a dog, shaking from his crown right down to his toes. But nothing. He was suspended in a void of darkness.
Later, he didn't know how long, he became aware of an eerie, rhythmic sound that had begun softly and was now, gradually, increasing in volume.
A line of light was traversing the night in a single file. Moving, without hurrying, the line split in the centre and formed the shape of a circle. When it joined, power crackled like a charge of electricity, splitting a radiant blue-white light into the blackness.
Matthew shook himself. Away in the distance, lightning forked and an icy wind sliced over his skin. He shivered; the thin shirt he wore was no protection from this cold. He slapped his face hard, seeking the assault of pain. Wake up!
The sound rose in intensity.
People. He realised after awhile; they were people, figures in dark cloaks holding lanterns aloft. Those at the rear were beating on circular hand-held drums. It was strange, looking down from the height he was, as though he were looking through the eyes of God.
The full moon peeked over the edge of darkness.
His fear ebbed, and Matthew, more fascinated now than frightened, watched as loops of energy, like tendrils of bright coloured smoke, rose up from the ground beneath the figures. As they walked, it eased up and over their feet, spreading out over the land like roots made from insubstantial but powerful matter.
As this was happening, four figures had separated from the circle and were positioning themselves on the outer edges. With elaborate flowing gestures, they thrust long wooden staffs into the ground in turn and lit them. At the quadrant of the circle, each flaming torch marked the quarters.
At the centre, a hooded figure cried out a warbling, eerie note. The air seemed to thrill in response. Matthew stiffened as a great yearning of emotion rose up from the surrounding darkness and coalesced into a stream of white, crystalline shards. Piercing straight towards the circle, their brightness split the blackness like a knife.
It was so unexpected, Matthew gasped out loud. What demonic creatures were these?
White feathered beings with black faces. Black feathered beings with white faces. Amongst them were enormous, angular entities wrought of wind, cold and frost. En masse, the creatures whirled high above the circle, shrieking with a laughter that held the sound of cutting glass.
The central figure spoke a word and the creatures fell, carelessly collapsing into a single torrent of freezing air that whipped around the circle.
The central figure changed. Firmly pulling her fluttering cloak around her stout form, this new one turned to a different direction and uttered a long, scorching tone; it strengthened and soared, red hot, up into the freezing darkness.
Out of the sky, a twisting heat appeared. Undulating like a mammoth serpent, it spiralled above the upturned faces and then, molten hot, it poured into the centre of the circle, layering the chilling wind with a bright, searing flame.
What power is this? Matthew stared in disbelief. This was no dream. He took in a deep breath and stopped, as warmed air bathed his senses.
Stunned, Matthew could only watch as another figure called to the sky and a stream of rain coiled over the waiting gathering.
A fourth cried out with a high commanding gesture, layering the circle in a blanket of calm and silence.
Stillness held, and in the quiet the black clad figures lifted their heads back. A shot of sound streamed up past Matthew, into the midst of the storm cloud massing high above.
Matthew felt a jolt, like an electric current. It had been a long time since he felt such power. But it was here. These were not meddling women and men, dabbling with forces they didn’t understand. No. They were individuals who understood the true balance of power and nature. Knew the balance, and knew how to play each one ... like an orchestra.
Witches.
Matthew hissed as hatred rose like a poison. His eyes were glued to the circle below and he could not turn his gaze. These truly were witches and he yearned to howl his abhorrence to the heavens.
Another figure moved into the centre, smaller in stature than the others. She raised her hands, as layers of cold and heat, rain and calm soared around the circle. In the increasing tumult, her hood fell back to reveal a pale face surrounded by a tangle of swirling, red-gold hair.
Matthew choked, it can’t be, what was she doing here? Ellie tipped her head back and her voice rang out. In response, the woven current of wind, heat and rain swirled faster, tugging on fabric. Hoods billowed and they whipped off to reveal a circle of women and men - some old, some young, all standing firm singing out a rich layer of harmonies.
Neatly coiling, the vortex dropped lower and Ellie redoubled her song, sending it high up into the cloud. At once the spirits responded. Their luminous forms resolved into a flash of images that pulsed through the night, of flowing streams, moisture-soaked leaves, and spreading forest.
Watching, Matthew understood at last.
Ellie’s hand held a tiny dot of brightness, growing wider with each moment. At the outer edge of the circle, the witches joined hands and held firm, as the brightness began to open. Above them all, a massive column of rain spun in a tight whirlwind above the circle.
No.
Molten with rage, Matthew raised both his arms and opened his mouth. A sound choked out - a smouldering, ferocious hiss of fury, of power denied. His face contorted as he took in another ragged breath, deeper this time, and cried out a dark mass of sound into the night.
No!
Matthew clenched his fist.
He was the spirit master; he could not fly like an eagle, or bow low to the earth, but the spirits must obey him.
Come to me!
With her feet locked to the ground and her knees bent, Ellie stood balanced, ready for the moment when the hag stone opened. Her heart was bursting with pride and hope as she watched the faces of the witches linked with her in this circle - Billy, his eyes wide with wonder; his twin brother, Raymond next to him singing out in the rain; and Miss Gladys, her cold exterior gone and her face shining as she sang out a strong clear stream of power.
Miss Dorothy caught her eye and, smiling, sent another tone, her cloak buffeting in the rising wind.
Ellie raised her hand. Her hag stone jolted and a crushing, thunderous roar erupted from the heavens.
The earth shook as a bolt of lightning smashed into the hill behind, sending the acrid stench of ozone bursting over the circle.
The massive storm cloud roiled, its dark belly convulsing.
Clutching the hag stone, Ellie fought to realign the harmony. It was no use. Mouthing a great scream, the wind beings were sucked from the circle, their forms flashing black and white, their feathered wings torn against the sky.
✽✽✽
Blue Mountains, Australia, present day
‘What have you done to him?’ Rose ran to her father. He lay collapsed on the floor, his body contorted, his hands raised in front of his face.
There was no answer. Ba Set was lying unconscious, and blood seeped from a cut in the side of her face. Outside the cottage, came a ferocious howl as a glow of orange heat pulsed up from the valley.
Rose clasped her hands, her body shaking in terror.
A sharp crack hit the window, and another. The wind, fuelled by the heat of the fire, was gathering pace, hurling rocks and stray flaming embers with machine gun ferocity.
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br /> ‘We’ve got to get out of here!’ shouted Ben, pulling at her arm.
‘What about them?’ Rose was panicked. Her father having some sort of fit, and Ellie... She stared at the sofa in disbelief. Ellie was lying ramrod straight, her face twisted in anguish, her hands gripping the side of the sofa.
‘Ben, what do we do?’
‘We have to pray.’ Your father is right, we have to have faith-’
‘No! We’re going to die, Ben. Oh my God,’ she spun to the window as with a demonic roar a ball of fire erupted into the surrounding trees.
Rose sank to the floor. ‘We’re going to die!’
‘Get up!’ Ben battled to drag her to her feet.
Rose tore at him, her hands were like claws, and as she fought to free herself of his grasp, her necklace broke and the obsidian stone clattered to the floor.
‘Help us,’ she cried, sobbing. ‘Please God, anyone, help us!’
At once, a spray of debris lashed against the side of the cottage, and through the broken door came a lethal, searing heat. The candles flared, and a vision of twisted, contorted faces streamed against the ceiling. They coiled down the walls, their features blurring and melting into the other. Crying in terror, Rose shrank back as a desperate agony swept into the room.
Delicate bones smashed to the floor. Stones and fragments burst from the shelves. The tempest twisted, knocking books flying. On the middle shelf a carved statue of wood, quivered, and moved abruptly as though it had been shoved. At once, the pressure in the room seemed to drop and the wind paused. And then a carved statue shot straight up off the shelf.
It was only a split second.
Without thinking, Rose dived and pushed Ellie clear as the carved wood smashed into the sofa, just inches from her friend’s face. As Rose’s hand connected with Ellie, the hag stone flared and Rose fell to the floor.
THIRTY-FOUR
New Forest, England, 1944
The thunderhead convulsed, spewing rain and murderous flashes of fire. Gladys screamed as water whipped through the circle, driven by a chaotic, biting wind. Beside her, Billy lay on the ground, his body jerking, his eyes staring in horror to the sky.
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