Fury of the Seventh Son (Book 13) (16 page)

Halloween was now less than two weeks away. I realized that we couldn't just drift into the situation and react, always a step behind. We needed a plan of action. I would have to work something out with the Spook.

I could see no threat to the house, but in the far distance, on the lower slopes, I spotted a small group of women heading north. They were dressed in black and walked in single file—almost certainly witches. Were they heading for the Wardstone, ready for Halloween? It seemed likely. I wondered how many more had taken or would take that same route.

My master had told me that I was the first of his apprentices ever to be taken to the Wardstone, so it was something of a secret. Mab Mouldheel and her sisters had known about it, but that was because she was the most powerful scryer in Pendle. However, it seemed that half the denizens of the dark now knew of the Wardstone and were traveling toward it. Perhaps they had been summoned there by the Fiend. . . . Even though his head was detached from his body and his spirit bound within it, he could still sometimes communicate with his servants.

An hour after sunset, dreading the task that faced me, I set off for the southern garden. Once again it was a bright moonlit night.

The witch assassin was already waiting for me. She was lying on her right side, her leg stretched across a flat slab of rock that had been positioned over a pit to bind a boggart. I now understood why Grimalkin had chosen this place: The stone would provide a firm base for her leg when the pin was driven into it. The flesh had been peeled back and tacked with stitches to keep it in place. The bone beneath shone in the moonlight. There was little blood in evidence—no doubt she had kept it at bay using magic— and I could see the hole that she had already drilled in the bone. The silver pin lay on the stone beside her leg, and next to it was a small, light hammer.

As I stared at her leg, my mouth went dry and I shuddered. This was going to be hard, but I couldn't afford to be squeamish. If Grimalkin could tolerate this, I must force myself to help her.

“The silver pin is slightly tapered,” Grimalkin explained. “Insert the narrow end and then drive it home with the hammer. Three light taps should do it. After that, leave me, and I will do the rest.”

I noted that the bulging, dripping burlap sack was still close by. Even now, facing terrible pain, she had to remain vigilant.

I picked up the pin with my right hand, the hammer with my left. Then I turned, approached Grimalkin, and knelt down. After checking the taper, I held the pin above the dark hole in the bone. Glancing at her, I noticed a film of sweat on her brow and upper lip.

She had already suffered much pain to reach this point; now it would suddenly become far worse—and it would never go away.

“Don't waver! Do it now!” she commanded. “The anticipation is worse than the act.”

Wasting no more time, I positioned the pin very carefully and gave it a light tap. Then a second. It was almost fully home, but I felt a little resistance. It was tightening, binding the shattered bones together.

Then I gave a harder third tap, and the pin went in, flush with the surface of the bone.

I had never seen Grimalkin react to pain, beyond the sweat that had stood out on her brow. I had certainly never heard her cry out.

But now, as the pin went home, she screamed in agony; her whole body shivered and went into convulsions.

Then she stopped breathing.

CHAPTER XX

T
ENDRILS OF
G
REEN MIST

W
AS she dead? I wondered in horror. Had the shock of the silver pin killed her?

After all, what could be worse for a witch than to have a piece of silver, that most deadly of metals, inside her own body?

Grimalkin lay perfectly still; it was as if her soul had fled. I touched her forehead and found it ice cold. But there was nothing I could do. She was beyond the help of doctors.

What if I were to remove the pin? First I would have to turn her onto her other side. There were surely various tools in Grimalkin's forge. Maybe among them I could find a pointed piece of metal and strike the pin out from the opposite side?

But as I came to my feet, I shook my head. It was not that it could not be done—it
should
not be done! Even if Grimalkin started breathing again and eventually recovered her strength, that leg would never heal properly without the silver pin. She would never again be the deadly witch assassin of old. She would never be able to perform the dance of death. I felt certain that she would rather die.

I started to walk away, intending to tell the Spook what had happened. But at that moment, Grimalkin sucked in a huge breath. When I turned round, I saw that her eyes were open, her face twisted with pain.

“Leave me now!” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper. “I will do the rest alone.” Then she reached for the sack and clutched it to her.

So I went back into the house and climbed the stairs to my room. It took me a long time to fall asleep. I kept thinking of what I'd just done and the agony that Grimalkin must be enduring. She was prepared to suffer in order to continue her work as a witch assassin.

The following day was bright and mild for October. During breakfast, I told the Spook what I had done to help Grimalkin. “She must truly be in agony,” he said, shaking his head sadly. Then he fell silent, apparently deep in thought.

After breakfast I headed for the southern garden to see how Grimalkin was doing. She was lying on her back on one of the boggart stones, her eyes closed again. With her left hand, she still grasped the neck of the sack. I thought she was asleep.

I was wrong.

She spoke to me without opening her eyes. “Leave me! Go away! Leave me alone!” she hissed.

I turned on my heel without a word and did as she commanded. Would she learn to live with the pain? I wondered. Would she ever regain her former strength?

Later my master sent me down to collect the week's provisions from the village.

At the grocer's, I got a surprise. A letter from my eldest brother, Jack, was waiting for me. I went back out into the street and leaned back against the wall to read it.

Dear Tom,

I have some good news at last. Our brother James has turned up safely after all. He was attacked by robbers, beaten, and then held captive for many weeks—no doubt with ransom in mind. He managed to escape after killing two of his captors with his bare hands.

I hope you are strong and healthy. If you are ever close to the farm, by all means call in—we would love to see you again. But please don't visit after dark, because I have my wife and child to think about.

Ellie and little Mary send their love.

My best regards,

Jack

It was good to know that James had survived—though I did not believe that he had simply been captured by opportunistic thugs. On our final journey to Todmorden, Grimalkin had told me that the Fiend wished to speak to me. She had opened the sack and allowed me to talk to him. He had used the opportunity to tell me that my brother was to be killed. I already knew that James's captors were servants of the dark and that his life was in danger. I was very glad to hear that he was safely back at the farm.

I had suspected that he would be used to put pressure on me. Or perhaps, knowing how the Fiend operated, my brother's head would have been delivered to me in a sack. Mercifully, all that had been averted by James's strength and determination—a blacksmith can prove a dangerous foe.

But while the Fiend still existed, the threat to all my family remained. He had predicted that I would be the last of my mam's sons, that they would all die violent deaths before me.

I was a little saddened by the final lines of Jack's letter. They didn't want me to stay at the farm overnight because they were scared that something from the dark might be following. Ellie was scared for their daughter, Mary. I could hardly blame her. After all, years earlier, the powerful malevolent witch Mother Malkin had indeed pursued me back to the farm and threatened them.

I understood now why it was impossible for a spook to marry. I must keep my distance from any family still living. How had I ever imagined that Alice and I could be together? My job would have placed her in permanent danger.

Then I laughed grimly at my foolish thoughts. Alice was powerful in her own right, well able to take care of herself, and now she had found another to share her life with.

I collected the rest of the provisions and carried them back to the Spook's house. I found him in the library and showed him Jack's letter.

He was pleased to hear that James was safe and well. “Once this is over, you should visit your family. You've not seen them for a while.”

“I'd better make sure I go while the sun's shining then,” I said, pulling a face. “My home is not to be visited after dark!”

“I'm sorry, lad, but you can't blame folks for being afraid of what we deal with. All my life I've made people nervous, sometimes scaring them half out of their skins. It's just something that goes with the job. We have to accept it.”

I slept badly that night, drifting in and out of sleep. Then, in the early hours of the morning, I had a sense that something was wrong. Something bad had happened.

I felt dizzy and sluggish, hardly able to think coherently. I dragged myself out of bed, my heart thudding with the effort, and struggled to raise the sash window. Previously I had lifted it with ease, but now it seemed stiff and my arms felt heavy. At last I was able to look down at the garden. Once again the sky was clear, and by the light of the moon I saw a mist drifting out of the trees to cover the lawn.

There were two strange things about that mist.

First of all, it moved in an unnatural way, stretching out tendrils like long, slender fingers feeling their way toward the house. Moonlight neutralizes or changes colors, but I realized that this mist, rather than being white or gray, had a weird green tinge to it. I felt certain that dark magic was being used.

The Spook's back had been better lately, so instead of sleeping in a chair in the kitchen, he'd come up to bed. I dressed quickly, went to his bedroom, and rapped hard on the door. There was no response, so I knocked again. Finally I eased open the door and went inside. I needed to alert the Spook to the fact that we were under some sort of magical attack. He was lying on his back, mouth slightly open, and appeared to be in a deep sleep. Then, in the sliver of moonlight that came through the window, I saw a tendril of green mist on the floor. It completely encircled his bed.

I shook his shoulder gently. He groaned; that was all. I called his name and shook him again, more roughly, but I still couldn't get him to wake up.

There could be witches in the garden!
I suddenly realized. I ran back into my bedroom, snatched my silver chain from my bag, and thrust it into my breeches pocket. Then I went down the stairs, three at a time, grabbed my staff from where it leaned beside the back door, and sprinted out into the garden. Here, the mist was now much more than serpentine tendrils. It came up almost to my waist, rising like a tide as if intent on drowning the house and trees.

So far I had simply felt befuddled, as if moving in a dream, but alarm bells suddenly went off inside my head. I was alert to the danger.

Grimalkin!

The Fiend's head!

I ran toward the southern garden and reached the boggart slab where I had last seen the witch assassin. She was still there, sleeping deeply, surrounded by the green mist, which writhed and coiled like a living snake about to crush its prey.

But the sack was gone.

Someone had entered the garden, using magic to make sure that we were all in a deep sleep. Even the boggart had succumbed.

I had awoken in spite of the dark magic. Somehow I had been able to resist it. And now one of the other gifts I had inherited from Mam came to my aid once more.

There was that flash of light inside my head, and the pain in my forehead. And instantly I knew the precise location of the Fiend's head.

It was being carried toward the western garden.

I didn't bother trying to awaken the witch assassin; she was probably still in no fit condition to help anyway. I released the blade of my staff and ran off through the trees in pursuit of whoever had seized the sack.

Not a moment too soon! Ahead of me I saw a figure carrying it. It was a woman, and she was wearing pointy shoes. I lifted my staff like a spear. There was no room for mercy here. . . . Soon this witch, whoever she was, would have crossed the boundary, where others would be waiting to assist her. I had to strike now. I ran at her full pelt, aiming to drive the blade straight into her back and through her heart. But at the last moment she whirled around to face me.

It was Alice.

CHAPTER XXI

A S
CRAWNY
B
OY