Fury of the Seventh Son (Book 13) (8 page)

I found no evidence of tracks to the north, so I took a chance and crossed at the next ford, opting for the south bank of the Ribble. Then I pressed on, breaking into a jog. Those I hunted had over twelve hours' start on me. Would they have made camp for the night? That was surely my only real chance of catching them before it was too late.

According to Grimalkin, there were over a dozen of the Fiend's servants, with perhaps more joining them on their journey. But such a large group would draw attention, especially as many of them were witches. So would they split up into smaller units? After all, their main objective would be to get the Fiend's head to the pit where his body was bound—in Kerry, in the southwest of Ireland. One person could do that. They could all converge later.

Soon after dawn, I had my first piece of good luck. Beside the path was a pond. The earth around it had been churned into mud by cattle, and there were a dozen or more fresh tracks . . . the majority clear imprints of pointy shoes.

I could find no trace of a man's boot. I thought Lukrasta might be with the witches, Alice his prisoner, but I knew Alice's tracks well and saw no sign of her either. That made my heart drop into my boots—I'd hoped that in following the witches I would also find Alice.

Half an hour later, I faced my first threat. But it wasn't witches.

As I passed a farm, a big farmer suddenly stepped out from behind a barn into my path. He had broad shoulders and well-muscled arms, but a bulbous belly hung down over his leather belt.

“You a spook?” he demanded belligerently.

I nodded.

“Well, where were you last night when you were needed?”

He was angry and unreasonable, so I tried to placate him.

“On my way here,” I replied calmly.

“Well, you're too late to be any use to me. There were witches here last night—dozens of 'em. Helped themselves to three pigs and most of my hens. What are you going to do about it? You owe me compensation. It's your job to stop things like that from happening.”

Most people are nervous in the company of a spook. They think that we're contaminated by the dark. But very occasionally we get angry reactions such as this. The man's livelihood had suffered, and he wanted to take it out on someone. I looked young and I was smaller than he was, so I would do.

With a snarl, he stepped toward me, hands outstretched, intending to grip my shirtfront. I dodged to the side and ran toward the gate that led to the next field. I could hear his heavy boots pounding across the grass behind me. He was fast for a big man; he would catch me as I clambered over the gate.

I didn't want to hurt him, but I had to do something. I spun quickly and rapped him twice with the base of my staff, one blow to his left shin, the other to his right forearm. He dropped to his knees with a groan, which gave me a chance to climb over the gate. I ran on, and when I glanced back he was still on the other side, shaking his fat fist at me.

Soon it started to rain, a cold wind blustering into my face from the west. If anything, this drove me on faster. I ran all morning, pausing to catch my breath only briefly. Twice I found the tracks of those I pursued. They were still together, and three or four new witches had joined the group.

The third time I found their tracks, it was at a crossroads. They were heading south. Liverpool seemed the most likely port for a boat to Ireland. Would they have already arranged passage? They'd been hunting Grimalkin for many months. It could well be that plans were already in place to return the Fiend's head to Kerry.

By noon I was exhausted and desperately in need of rest, so I sat on the edge of a ditch in the lee of the wind and the rain and nibbled at the cheese my master had given me. I remained there no more than five minutes. After slaking my thirst with the icy-cold water of a nearby stream, I ran on.

All morning, desperate thoughts had been churning around inside my head—mainly fears for Alice. Perhaps I'd been mistaken, and her pointy shoe prints had simply been obscured by those of her captors? That made me run even faster.

I'd also speculated about the Wardstone and what might happen on Halloween. What was it Mab had said about something that would change the world?

Finally, as the late afternoon gave way to evening, I ran on without thought, numb and weary, driving myself on in pursuit of my enemies. I thrust to the back of my mind the fear that when I caught up with them I would achieve nothing. It was all very well for Grimalkin to send me off after them, to say that only I could retrieve the Fiend's head. But the odds against me were too great. How could I defeat so many? How could I hope to rescue Alice as well? I began to wonder if they knew that I was following them. Witches could long-sniff the approach of danger; this didn't work against seventh sons of seventh sons, so I was safe from that, but of course they might have a scryer with them. Someone with even half the ability of Mab Mouldheel would see that I was on their trail. Then again, there were many nonmagical means of protecting themselves against pursuit.

Once the witches knew that they were being followed, they might wait in ambush. A couple of them would peel off to the side and make their way back toward me. It would be impossible to tell that this had happened until it was too late.

That's exactly what they did.

But there were more than two.

Five witches lay in wait for me.

The rain had stopped, and the clouds were in shreds. The sun had dropped below the horizon; soon the light would begin to fail.

I was now moving at a slow jog. Before long I would have to stop and snatch a few hours of sleep. As I moved into a forest, I immediately sensed that something was wrong. It was too quiet. The birds should not have been roosting yet. Seconds earlier, the countryside had been filled with song. Now, in the deeper gloom beneath the branches, all was silent.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw someone running toward me from behind and to my left. Without breaking stride, I swung hard, widdershins, with the base of my staff. There was a dull thud, and the satisfying feel of contact with a skull. My attacker went down, and I ran on.

However, I'd made a mistake, and I knew it. I heard the voice of Grimalkin in my head; a fierce rebuke filled with scorn.
Fool! Fool!
that imaginary voice cried.
That one will get up and attack again. You are greatly outnumbered. Kill or be killed!

That was what she would have said. Now I had one enemy behind me as well as many ahead. So I pressed the button on my staff to release its blade. Next time I would show no mercy.

Suddenly a long-haired witch burst out of a group of saplings close by. She attacked, shrieking like a banshee, scattering dead leaves with her pointy shoes. She wielded a blade strapped to a pole, and I saw that her lips were flecked with foam. She looked demented, insane with hatred and anger. I barely had time to lift my staff, but somehow I parried her blade and then flicked it upward so that it arced away from her.

She ran to retrieve her weapon, but I came round in a circle and attacked quickly, thrusting the blade of my staff under her ribs and into her heart. She screamed and fell, and I ran on. I needed to get out of the trees so as to see other attackers earlier.

When I emerged from the forest, three more witches were waiting. They were Pendle witches; their brown garb, long skirts, and leather jerkins marked them out as Deanes. They waited in a line, their eyes watchful, confidently wielding their long blades. They looked much more formidable than the previous two.

“You're a fool to follow us, boy!” the tallest one jeered.

All three began to cackle.

“I'll drink his blood!” one cried.

“I'll take his thumbs!” shrieked another.

The third one drew her finger across her neck. “I'll cut off his head,” she said softly, her voice hardly more than a whisper. “That will please our master!”

I thrust my staff, blade first, deep into the soft ground, and drew the sword and a dagger—the Bone Cutter. They were more flexible weapons.

The ruby eyes in the skelt hilt of the sword seemed to glow in the gloom under the trees. Then both eyes began to drip blood. The sword was hungry.

A second later the dagger also began to bleed.

I concentrated, waiting for them to make a move.

Let them come to me. . . .

They did. All three attacked at once.

CHAPTER X

T
HE
P
URSUIT

T
HE battle was fast and furious, and I had no time to think. All I could do was react as they pressed home their attack. More by luck than skill, I managed to kill two of them: a slash with my sword against a neck, an upward thrust with the dagger, and it was done.

The third witch ran back into the wood.

I followed. She was fast, and by the time we came out of the trees again, I hadn't managed to close the gap. She had thrown away her weapon in the interest of speed and was heading back in the direction we'd been traveling. Then I saw the witch I'd previously stunned, perhaps two hundred yards ahead, also running away.

They were scared.

I came to a halt and sheathed my sword and dagger, waiting for a minute to regain my breath and composure. Then I turned to head back through the trees and reclaimed my staff. My whole body was trembling, a reaction to the fierce fight and having taken three lives. I felt more and more nauseous, until eventually I came to a halt and was violently sick.

It was getting dark now, so I decided to rest for a few hours. I found a copse on high ground—a little knoll that would give me a good view over the surrounding countryside. After a while, a half-moon rose above the eastern horizon, and I used its pale glow to search for my enemies. Nothing moved. I was exhausted and settled down with my back against the trunk of a tree and my staff across my lap.

Eventually I dozed, then awoke, suddenly terrified that I was under attack. But still there was no threat, and the moon was much higher. Each time I nodded off, my sleep was deeper and longer, until finally I had a strange dream.

It was one of those dreams where you know that you're dreaming. I was back at the farm. Mam was facing me across the hearth, smiling from her rocking chair. She looked exactly as she had the night before I left the farm to begin my job as the Spook's apprentice. Her skin was pale, but her eyes were bright; apart from a few gray streaks in her black hair, she looked far too young to have grown-up married sons.

“I'm proud of you, son,” she said to me. “Whatever happens, I want you to know that.”

“I'm sorry, Mam, if I let you down. But I could never perform that ritual. I couldn't sacrifice Alice.”

“There's no need to apologize, Tom. It was your decision to make, and what's done is done. Maybe the Fiend can be destroyed in other ways. Nothing is certain. At the moment, everything hangs in the balance. You must draw upon your strengths. Some came from your dad, because you're a seventh son of a seventh son; others came from me, for lamia blood courses through your veins. You are already aware of some of those gifts, but more will become apparent as you grow up. There is one you need now . . . one that would not normally have emerged for many years. But I reached out to bless you with it earlier. It is a gift that a hunter needs—the ability to know the location of his prey!”

Mam began to rock back and forth on her chair, smiling at me all the while. So I smiled back, hoping the moment would never end. But the dream began to fade. I could still see her smile, and I wanted to hug her, but then she was gone. . . . I woke up to the sound of a distant cock crowing and the eastern sky pink with the promise of sun. The dream was vivid and real in my mind. My head was whirling with thoughts. Was it
more
than just a dream? I wondered. Could it really have been Mam talking to me?

If it was, she seemed to have forgiven me for not being prepared to carry out the ritual she had decreed. She had also used the word “hunter”—I would receive the gift that a hunter needs. In the first year of my apprenticeship, she had told me that one day I would be the hunter; then it would be the dark that would be afraid.

Mam had been giving me important information. She said she had reached out to unlock the gift. Somehow it all made sense. That was why, lying in my bed in the Spook's house, I'd had the strange feeling that something was wrong. And yes, I'd known exactly which direction to take. My new gift had led me to the cottage where Grimalkin lay gravely injured. It was lovely to think that I might really have been talking to Mam, and for a while I was filled with hope. But as the seconds became minutes, the dream seemed less substantial; soon I felt it was merely wishful thinking. What was I doing fooling myself and wasting time? I sat up and cursed for sleeping right through the night. The witches would be even farther ahead now. Wasting no time, I ate half the remaining cheese and set off west again. This time I didn't run; I would save that for later. My legs felt stiff, and I contented myself with a fast stride to loosen them up.