The Witch of Glenaster Page 16

The howling came sudden and unexpected as we rose the next morning, and was over almost as soon as it began; but I think it sent a chill through all of us, and especially Samuel, whose face was grey, like an invalid’s, and whose eyes seemed to dance in their sockets, like a frightened animal’s.

  Fyn dismounted, and ran a little way back into the forest, while Griffin and Lukas tried to calm the horses, who were pawing at the ground with their feet.

  “Fyn! What do you see?” cried Thomas, but the younger man had rounded a bend, and was out of sight.

  I felt my heart lurching inside my ribs, and a sick rushing of blood in my ears, as I sat there, and we waited for Fyn to return. He seemed to be gone a good while; and I pushed my face against the canvas at the back of the waggon, peeping my head through the gap, a mist of early morning rain breezing coolly on my skin.

  Then he reappeared, breathing hard, running back towards us, the others looking at him expectantly, scanning his face for trouble. He shook his head.

  “Couldn’t see anything,” he gasped, and Griffin handed him his canteen, and he took a deep draught. “But there are some strange tracks, a little way off into the trees. Could just be an animal…” He shrugged, drank some more.

  “Will would’ve known what they were,” muttered Joseph, and I saw his hand stray to his dagger, and rest there a good while. Thomas looked at Fyn, and said nothing. Lukas stood by the horses, also silent. And Samuel continued to stare, his fingers working at the air, before he realized what he was doing, and fished them into his pockets.

  At last Thomas gave the order for us to move on. But as we advanced through the forest, we heard more strange sounds - whispering and rustling and humming - and I saw everyone keep a close eye on Samuel, especially Joseph. They fear him, I thought.

  The relentless darkness began to sap at our will, so that even Magnus and I wearied of talk, and spent most of the day drifting in and out of sleep. By the day’s end, we were all exhausted.

  Soon after dusk we had come across an old cabin, about half a mile from the road, with a track leading up to it. And so we decided to make our camp there for the night, with two people at a time on watch, and a perimeter marked around the house by torches, driven roughly into the ground by Lukas and Griffin. The cabin was rudely furnished inside, and looked as if it had been abandoned on a sudden, for there were plates and cutlery set out as if for a meal, and the place did not look long deserted. Thomas found a room with beds, and brought the rugs from the waggon, and settled my brother and I into them.

  “You’ll be safe here tonight,” he said, and then pulled the door to.

  Not completely, however. It had been left open a sliver, and I was able, after a few moments, with my brother soon fast asleep, to pad over to the door, and listen to what the men were saying, just across the hallway in the living room.

  They were discussing Samuel.

  “Where is he?”

  “Outside, with Lukas and his brother. They’re watching him.”

  A creak, as someone sat down.

  “It’s a bad business, Tom.”

  “Nevertheless, it may be necessary.”

  “I cannot think Joseph will forgive us…”

  “If it is to happen, he will have to be the one to do it.”

  The wind sighed. I thought I heard the howling again, somewhere far off.

  “Will he?”

  “He may have to. We will have to spend at least one more night in the forest. We cannot turn back: we know the Watchers are after us now. And Samuel may be under their spell. Our only hope is to reach the Meer the day after tomorrow. If we can get to the Green Cities, we will be safe there for the time being.”

  Another pause, and someone lit a pipe. The smoke swam hazily out through the door, along the hallway, and into my nostrils, thick and dark. It made me want to retch.

  “And what about the girl, Thomas? And her brother? You insisted on bringing them along, against my better judgement. I have never questioned your orders before, but I cannot help but feel she is a bad curse on us. Her home lies to the south. That is where she belongs. We only have her word on who she is, or where she’s come from.”

  I leaned against the frame of the door, tried to quiet my breathing. But it sounded like a knell in my head.

  “No one was forced to come on this journey, Griff. In the end, it is my duty alone. I only asked the rest of you to join me.”

  “And we did so, gladly; for you have saved each of our lives times beyond count. But this girl…”

  “Is under my protection. There’s an end to it. Besides - I think it was more than chance that brought her and her brother across my path that day…”

  Griffin sighed, and Thomas laughed a little.

  “I know, I know - you have no patience with old wives’ tales, and neither do I, except… People said the Witch was a myth, didn’t they, before she awoke? And the fire-drakes, too. And who would question their existence now?”

  “But you are speaking of a prophecy so old no one even knows who made it. And it says the Witch fears no one: no man, or woman…”

  “Yet it also says that one born of woman will destroy her. That can only mean a child, Griff - a child will destroy the Witch…”

  There was a pause, and silence reigned in the room for a while. Then Griffin said:

  “And you think this child - she is the one to do it…?”

  “I don’t know. It sounds like madness. I only thought, or hoped… Whatever I hoped, we will leave her and her brother in the Cities, where they’ll be safe. They would die in Glenaster.”

  “First we have to make it to the Cities alive. Better pray God is on our side, like it always says He is, in the Histories…”

  Both men laughed quietly, and were silent after that.

  I crept back to bed then, and pondered what had been said; and when Magnus awoke, and badgered me with sleepy questions, I shushed him back to sleep. And there I fell myself, soon after, my eyelids curling over my sight, and into oblivion.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  I dreamt of stars.

  They floated like birds across the canvas of the night, now swooping, now blinking, some sparkling, some plain, but all beautiful to my eye, as it searched the heavens for a light I recognized, a light that could lead me home.

  And then the stars became like great eyes - unwinking, sorrowful - and I was drawn deeper into their gaze, the still heartbeat of the dark murmuring in my ear, and soothing away my fears.

  And then the eyes seemed to change, forming themselves into larger shapes - eyes in a face, a face of blackness staring down at me - and I felt suddenly afraid, and cold, and wanted to stop looking; but I couldn’t, and they bore into me, relentless, and I saw that there were two – no, three – three eyes, two in the middle of the face, whose features I could not discern, and the third above them, set crudely in the forehead…

  The Third Eye.

  I must have cried out, for Thomas was immediately in the room, sword drawn, and Magnus was staring dumbly at me, shook from sleep. But there was no one else there; though when I told them my dream, the men searched the room and around the cabin, but found nothing.

  The night had been a quiet one, except for the howling and other sounds in the forest, which I suppose we had got used to, insofar as we could. Even Samuel had slept, watched closely by Fyn, who I heard later describing the strange words he had uttered before he awoke. And all of us were somewhat shaken as we emerged into the light – such as it was in that dreary place – and, after breakfasting on dry bread, set off again, back to the road.

  Though the horses had rested, they seemed almost as weary as us, and we found it heavy going as the morning wilted towards noon, and our progress was slow. I could see Thomas’s face, pale and tired; he seemed to have aged many years since that night in Ampar, when the fire-slaves had attacked, and left his friend, Will Bowyer, for dead, and maybe Stefano too. My eyes stung when I thought of the old man.

  I thought also of what had passed
between Thomas and Griffin the night before. So there could be no doubt anymore. They were going to kill the Witch. Did they seek revenge, like me, I wondered? Since we had met, I had thought, in my childlike way, that Thomas Taper was too noble, too decent a creature to be driven by such a desire. I laugh now when I think of my naivety. I knew nothing, and, worse, I cared little for my ignorance.

  It was early in the afternoon when we came upon the village.

  Lukas saw it first, coming to a dead halt, away ahead, his mount as still as he was, the pair of them sniffing drily at the wind. Then he rode on a little way, around a shallow bend, and when we caught up with him we saw what had caught his attention; for before us, set in a slight dip in a clearing to one side of the road, lay the parched remains of a small settlement – a few houses at most – now razed to the ground by a flame so all-consuming and sudden it seemed the inhabitants had hardly had time to raise the alarm.

  Thomas and Griffin dismounted from their horses, and led them gingerly towards Lukas, who hadn’t moved. Joseph had brought the waggon to a stop, and behind us, Fyn came riding up, looking now ahead, now back, always watchful. Samuel could hardly contain his anxiety; his twitching and muttering had now grown even worse, and he hardly even tried to disguise them now. His brother stared straight ahead, his face unreadable.

  Magnus and I peeped out through the front of the waggon, and what we saw reminded us so much of our own home that it was hard to bear. For the sight of the village, as it once had been, was a fearful one.

  It was not the buildings themselves, burned and twisted though they were, that was truly horrifying; nor was it the carpet of ash that skipped and danced in the wind; nor, even, was it the dreadful sight of the people – some like withering statues, scorched as they ran, most others burned where they were, clutching their loved ones hopelessly; nor, finally, was it the stench, of cooked meat and charcoal, which filled the air. Worse than all of this - and the realization that this atrocity had been visited upon these people only recently, perhaps only days ago - was the terrible, keening, faint but clear singing that rose above the scene, and made us all shiver in the grey half-light of the forest. I thought again of the guardsman who had appeared at our door, seven years, and a lifetime, ago, and how he had described the Watchers he had seen on the White Mountain: their terrible appearance, and the awful, mocking singing of their voices, murmuring in his head and driving him half-mad. It seemed we had come to the very edge of reason itself.

  We gawped dumbly for a while, but then Lukas turned his horse, and trotted back along the muddy track to Thomas, and the two of them, and Griffin, spoke together. Then Griffin signalled to Joseph, and to Fyn, and we were on our way again, the waggon sliding through the moss and mud past the village, where I saw one of the dead standing with his arm outstretched, as if entreating us from beyond the grave. We ignored him, and carried on.

  The singing, though, continued, and Samuel’s condition deteriorated to such an extent that more than once we had to stop to calm him down, and on one occasion he vomited copiously by the side of the road, and had to be helped up by his brother.

  “What’s wrong with him?” whispered Magnus to me. “Is he dying?”

  “I don’t know, little one,” I said, pulling gently at the hair that now grew long and unkempt over his eyes. “Thomas says we’ll be able to get help for him soon.” But I felt the emptiness of these words even as I uttered them. I knew – we all knew – that Samuel was beyond human aid.

  The singing drifted with us through the air as we travelled along, and there was a subtle change in pitch with the passing of the hours which suggested it was growing nearer. Certainly everything else pointed that way: Samuel’s behaviour, of course, but also the increasing unrest of the horses, and the sense that the forest, dark enough even at the height of day, was getting darker still as we passed through it.

  Thomas had assured us we were over halfway through by now, and would be crossing the River Meer by late morning of the following day; but I feared something terrible would befall us before then, and Magnus and I huddled closer together in the back of the waggon. There was still another night to get through.

  As evening came, we made camp a little way from the road, screened from it by thick fir trees, but able to see if anyone was passing along it. Thomas and Griffin took first watch, sometimes talking, but mostly silent; and the singing feasted on our ears and worried at our minds.

  Joseph was always watching his brother, and when he fell asleep Fyn took over, and while he watched he whittled anxiously at a stick, till it was shaved to nothing. I waltzed in and out of sleep, my brother beside me, gathering what warmth we could from the blankets in the waggon, and the remains of the fire.

  It was well past midnight and into the early hours, when a cry came from outside, not far from where we lay. I had struggled to the front of the waggon before I was even fully awake, and as my eyes regained their focus I caught a glimpse of something - a figure - running past the fire, which blinked as his shape fell across it. I wriggled into my boots and trousers, my toes still numb with cold as I clambered, hardly thinking, from the waggon, and out into the clearing.

  My first sight was of Fyn, stood in profile, the fire casting a dancing shadow over his face, and in his hand a sword. He did not notice me at first, but seemed to be listening; and when he did turn and see me, did not order me back into the waggon as I had expected but simply stared at me a moment, saying quietly:

  “Esther, it’s you. I think I have killed Samuel.”

  And he turned his face back towards the road.

  After a moment, Lukas and Griffin came striding towards us, and Lukas put a hand on Fyn’s shoulder when he saw him.

  “Esther,” said Griffin, surprised. “What are you doing out of bed?” I shifted in my unlaced shoes.

  “I heard a noise,” I said. “At first I thought it was in my dream, but…”

  “It was not in your dream,” said another voice, and I realized it belonged to Thomas, who had now appeared close behind the other men. He turned to Lukas, and asked, nodding to Fyn: “Is he all right?”

  Lukas looked hard at the younger man, nodded, yes; and I saw Thomas relax a little.

  “Give him some whisky,” he said. Lukas nodded again, sat Fyn down, gave him the drink. Griffin rubbed his face absently.

  “Did you see him?” he asked Thomas, who was saddling up his horse.

  “He won’t get far,” Thomas replied. “He was bleeding heavily.”

  He climbed on to his horse, moved out towards the road.

  “Are you sure that’s wise?” asked Lukas, without looking up from tending to Fyn.

  “I have to be sure,” replied Thomas. “For Joseph’s sake.” And he ducked beneath the branches, and was soon lost in the darkness.

  “Where is Joseph?” I asked, after a few moments. Fyn turned his sad eyes on me.

  “The Watchers took him,” he said. And then he started to weep, and I turned my face away, lest he felt humiliated to have a young girl witness his grief. And we stood together for long minutes, silent, the fierce moon decorating the branches above our heads. And suddenly I noticed what was missing.

  The singing had stopped.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  I learned the next morning what had occurred.

  Fyn had been keeping the watch with Thomas, so Samuel was never allowed out of sight; and though his behaviour was odd and distressing, especially for his brother, it didn’t seem to promise any harm.

  But as the night had worn on, he had turned his face increasingly towards the road, and the sound of singing, whose sudden softness, after growing steadily louder for so long, alerted the men to imminent danger.

  Thomas had moved out of the clearing, to see if there was anyone on the road; and it had been then, while Fyn was left briefly alone, and with everyone else asleep except for Samuel, that the Watchers had struck.

  I remember Thomas had said that they could move remarkably fast when they were sure o
f their prey, for all their blindness, and Fyn had found himself suddenly surrounded, though not so quickly he was unable to rise and draw his sword. This had given the Watchers pause at least – three of them, Fyn thought, and more just out of sight – as they strode towards him, their cloaks the colour of darkness, and their faces pale and sightless, the hungry mouths hanging open like black pits in their faces, and the cruel mark of the Third Eye set deep into their foreheads.

  But in his surprise, Fyn had forgotten about Samuel, until he felt a sharp pain at the back of his head, as the man he was guarding struck at him with a rock, and wrestled him to the ground. He had given a cry, which had wakened Griffin and Lukas, and brought Thomas running, and the three of them had then set about the Watchers with sword and dagger, and drawn blood from two of them.

  But when they had beaten them back, they saw that both Samuel and Joseph were gone, Lukas’s horse was missing, and there was blood on Fyn’s sword. Human blood. And he feared he had unwittingly struck Samuel a mortal blow.

  Thomas told us he had ridden several miles back through the wood, but had not encountered anyone else, and had eventually abandoned the search, and returned just before dawn.

  “They retreated too quickly,” he said, stamping out the fire with his foot as we prepared to leave. “I fear a trap.” The others nodded grimly, and continued breaking camp. But what made the blood run a little colder in my veins was not so much the loss of Samuel and Joseph – though Magnus wept for them till his eyes ached – but what Griffin told me had happened just before he and the other men had beaten off the Watchers.

  One of them had been moving towards the waggon. And he had been carrying a knife.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  We left as soon as the first light crept into the forest, and kept a fast pace once we were back on the road, or as fast as the speed of the waggon would allow. Lukas was now driving, and the wind felt cold on our faces as we bounced along in the back, and the sound of the horses’ hooves on the ground was a steady drumbeat as we approached Salem’s northern edge, and the Nailinch Crossing over the Meer.