The Witch of Glenaster (26 page)

We sheltered for the night
beneath a yew, broad and twisted with age, its wide arms keeping us dry as the
storm bellowed on over the heavens; and we slept close in our blankets,
sleeping fitfully, afraid to dream.

The dawn rinsed the last of the
cloud from the sky, and we returned to the pathway when we judged it safe
enough. The ground beneath us was still wet and slippery, and it was unsteady
going until we reached the valley floor; and from there we had a clear view at
last ahead of us, and the way north, to where they said the Witch had her home.

I was glad to be out in the
open, and to feel the odd burst of sunshine on my face, despite the cold. But
Thomas was watchful as always, and now and again he seemed to mutter to
himself, and then would turn and look at me as if I were a stranger, or even an
enemy; but soon this would pass, and he would be himself again. Still, I
thought again of his words, that here in
Glenaster
our minds would not always be our own, and we might do and say things strange
to us. And I felt a sudden shiver.

The day grew quickly dark, even
for winter, and we were still out in the open when the light started to fade
from the sky. And it was then, as we were looking for shelter, that we heard
the singing.

It was a kind of song different
to the ones we had heard before, for it seemed to roll and flicker in and out
of earshot; and though at first it seemed one voice, after a while it sounded
like many more.

Thomas, who was walking a
little way ahead, stopped short when he heard it, and turned to me; and as the
singing continued I could see him become agitated and disturbed, and his fear
only served to increase my own, his growing strangeness making me wonder what I
would do should he turn against me – as he had warned me he might – and how I
would kill the Witch without him.

We stood together in the narrow
light of the sunset, and I was glad to have him there, despite everything, for
what happened next set a chill in my blood.

Gradually, at the fringes of
the valley floor, where it met the treeline, soft shadows began to stir in the
darkness; faint rumours of figures that grew, and took shape, until it was
impossible to blame the apparition on a mere trick of the light, as when one’s
eyes adjust to the growing dark.

They flickered like broken
sunlight, grey and indistinct but undeniably present; and, as we watched, they
began to step out from the trees and move clearly into our field of view. There
were many of them: men, women, children, several hundred people at least, and
all their eyes fixed on us; and the singing seemed to come from their throats,
yet none moved their lips that I could see. And we saw that they were
entreating us, beseeching
us even; and it took me far too long to
realize we were being drawn towards them.

Or rather,
with
them:
for the distance between us and the ghosts did not lessen, but we walked
together, in parallel, along the valley floor. And for a long time we could say
nothing.

Thomas called to me then, as if
in warning; but his words were so faint I could barely catch them, and they
sounded like the distant cry of someone impossibly distant. Instead, I listened
to the song of the dead, as it grew nearer and nearer, till it seemed to be
coming from inside my own head. And then I did hear him: and he was mouthing the
same word over and over, a word that sounded at first strange and unused, but
then with repetition became more clear, until finally it took on a note of
urgency that was the more terrifying because its pitch did not increase.

“Eleanor.”

Eleanor was the name of his
long-dead wife.

I wanted to run up to him then,
and drag him away, and tell him this was false hope, we were deceived; the
Witch was only tricking us, and would bring us to ruin. But then I saw,
translucent and faded, but as clear as the grass beneath my feet, the face of
my mother; and her eyes looked like they had been crying.

Now it was I who was
transfixed, and I wanted to go to her, and feel her warmth against my chest,
and to tell her I had been longing to come home, and how much I missed her. As
we walked, I saw her reach out her arms towards me, and it was more than I
could bear not to be able to fill them, for my feet would not move from their
course, and all we could do was shadow each other, the immoveable gate of death
between us, that no one passes through except once, never to return. But even
as I thought these things, her appearance started to melt away, as mist into
the trees, and my heart was heavy with sorrow.

So absorbed was I in my grief
that I did not notice that I had stopped moving, or that Thomas had appeared at
my side.

“Esther,” he said, softly, and
laid his hand upon my shoulder. But with a shake I threw him off, and realized
my eyes were drunk with hot, angry tears. Wiping them with a sleeve, I noticed
that the ghosts had all disappeared; where there were faces, I saw only leaves
and shadowed moss; where bodies, only dead tree-trunks and silvered branches.
They had never been there at all.

“Esther,” Thomas said again.
“We have to get under cover. There is another storm coming in, from the east.”

We had spent far longer in the
company of those strange, ghostly companions than we had thought, for the night
was deep upon us by the time we found shelter, and the rain was raking the
ground in great sheets that arced along the valley. Our legs felt especially
weary, and when we looked back down the hill we saw why: we had managed to
walk, in our spellbound state, a good league or more, and were now deep into
Glenaster
. The rain brought refreshment to the earth, but
little comfort to us. It was all we could do to keep warm.

We slept huddled beneath a
stiff-backed oak, where the tree canopy was thickest, and shivered in our
blankets. I began to wonder if we were getting ill; we still had plenty of
food, which was edible if little else, and Thomas had filled our canteens with
water from a stream when we had first crossed into
Glenaster
;
but, physical strength notwithstanding, I did not know anymore if I had the
will, let alone the stamina, to destroy the Witch. I felt I had aged a hundred
years, wandering the northerly places of the world, and I did not suppose I
would see my home again.

The morning sank into the
ground as the night retreated, but the rain at least had stopped, and continued
holding off long enough for us to dry our clothes, and get warm by climbing
further up the valley’s steepening sides. After a couple of hours I had worked
up a sweat; but there was a deep rattling in my chest.

By late in the morning we had
crested the side of the valley, and turned north along it, by stony pathways,
and through close-packed conifers, our feet springing against the needle-bedded
earth. It felt good to be up high, and making good progress, though more and
more I had to wonder: towards what? Or whom? Would we even recognize the Witch
if she appeared? And what if she didn’t? Might we simply walk through
Glenaster
, and emerge on the other side? For none of these
questions did my companion provide an answer, for Thomas was increasingly silent,
as he had been for several days now. I did not know why: perhaps his shame at
deceiving me; perhaps a spell of the Witch’s that put a seal on his lips.
Whatever the reason, I found I grew increasingly distrustful, even afraid, of
him.

We had reached a point in the
path where it started to slope downward a little, along the ridge, our feet
running away with us, when the first arrow screamed so close it made my ears
ring. I was already throwing myself to the ground when I saw Thomas shout
“Down!”, though the word itself was lost to my hearing, and I just had time to
see him draw his sword, and swing it neatly through the air, before I fell
unconscious.

It was only for a few seconds,
but when I raised my face from the rocky ground I realized it was cut, and
there was blood in my mouth. The sight in my right eye seemed a little blurry,
too, but this soon passed, and I was more concerned by what I could see out of
my left: for Thomas was fighting off at least five men, and they were coming at
him with stones, and knives, and axes.

I sat up quickly, too quickly,
for the blood sang in my head; but it was fortunate I did not stand up just
then, for had I done so, I would no doubt have been pierced to the quick by the
arrows which streaked above. Instead, I merely gazed stupidly at the air where
they had been, and then forward, at Thomas, as he fought his attackers.

He was about thirty yards away,
and he and they were moving very quickly. The men, if men they were, were
dressed roughly, but in warm jerkins and tunics, to guard against the cold. I
supposed, also, that they might be less weary than Thomas: on a good day, I
knew, he could take on many men and survive; but this was not a good day, and I
feared for him, and for me.

Nevertheless, one of the men
seemed to have fallen already, and another had stepped away from the others,
clutching his side. The sounds of the battle seemed incongruous in that
peaceful place, as if it were all a dream; but my heart sounded its alarm in my
chest, and shook my ribs.

Another man fell, with a cry,
and I began to hope that Thomas could win through, and we would survive this
day at least, when two more men came running through the trees. They ignored
Thomas, and the others. They were heading straight for me.

I pushed myself up, but fell
back several times, scrabbling on the ground like a cripple, desperate to
stand. The men came on, shortening the distance between us with great, powerful
strides. I saw now that Thomas had noticed them, for he turned; but as he did
so, one of his attackers caught him a fierce blow across the face, and he fell
back.

I ran.

I ran in a wide arc, weaving
through the trees, away from the path, and back towards Thomas; I did not know
why, but I felt it would be folly to run away. If only I could get close to
him, then he could protect himself and me.

I was quick, adrenaline-drunk,
and, though weary, skipped nimbly over the earth; the ground barely anchored my
feet. I could see Thomas getting closer, glimpsing him and the other men as I
ran, hearing them shout and scream at each other. Another man fell; there was a
sickening crunch, and I saw his head was at an unnatural angle to his body, and
I knew he was dead. I kept going. Forty yards, thirty. I had made a mistake,
straying off the path; I’d thought I would lose my pursuers, but there were two
of them, and they were strong and fast. They cut me off, scooping me up when I
was almost within touching distance of Thomas’s coat. I writhed like a snake,
and bit like one too.

I got a smart slap for that,
and saw that one of the men was carrying me under his arm, like so much
baggage. I wanted to scream, but my lungs were out of fuel. My ribs hurt. I
watched, like the vole, who, caught by the kestrel, knows that the struggle is
now in vain, and is mesmerized by his own death. So I watched, as Thomas Taper
took his sword to the belly of a man whose entrails slid from his body like
snakes; I watched, as he pulled a knife from his belt, and sent it slicing
through the air, to pin one of the men who had caught me to a tree - by his
throat; I watched as he pulled it free, and the man crumpled to the ground, his
blood, and his life, shooting out in all directions; and I watched as the man
who was carrying me, who seemed hardly smaller than a horse, turned briefly to
hurl a stone the size of a baby at Thomas, which hit the guardsman a wallop to
the temple that span him round, and made him collapse and roll down the hill,
till his body hit a rock, and he moved no more. I saw all this. And then I saw
nothing.

“Whisper it. Whisper my name.”

The cold. The earth beneath my
back. The cold.

“Whisper it. Go on. It’s all
you have to do. I’ll help you.
Wh
…”

My eyelids snapped open, then
shut, then open again.

“Whisper it.”

I closed my eyes.

I was falling away from the
world, enjoying the feeling of my body floating in space, weightless, free;
there was a speckled light before my eyes, and a rough hand at my back,
supporting me. The ground lifted away, and let my feet roam free in the wide
sky.

“Whisper it.”

“No.”

“Whisper it!”

“No!”

The voice – it seemed to be a
voice, a human voice – sighed with impatience.

“Whisper it…”

“No.”

Whatever it was I was supposed
to whisper, I knew I mustn’t: somehow I knew I must not utter it. The earth spun.
The sky wobbled and went dull. The speckled light shook in my eyes. And I was
awake.

I was lying on the ground. I
was not at first sure where or who I was, but as my mind collected itself I
felt a surge of quiet joy go through me; I felt clean, covered in fresh linen,
and my hair no longer stank. Someone had washed me, bathed me, put me in new
clothes. I listened to the sound of my chest, rising, falling, with the pattern
of my breath. I rolled my eyes around in my sockets, and stretched the muscles
of my face. I waggled my toes. Then, despite myself, I giggled. I was safe and
dry at least.

“You’re awake.”

Again, the voice, and it made
me start, though I should have been expecting it: it was a light voice, soft,
but rich also, and, though friendly, full of sorrow. I stopped giggling. I
looked up at the - roof, was it? –
above
my head.
There was sunlight bleeding through it. Speckled light. It seemed to be canvas,
or something of the kind. I was in a tent.

“You should eat something,”
said the woman. So it was a woman; a young woman by the sounds of it. I was too
tired to lift my head. A woman. My memory shook like a tin box. What was it
about a woman I had to fear…?

I felt long hair brush against
my cheek, and an arm cradle my head, propping me up.

“Drink this,” said the woman,
and I did, and it tasted good. Then she lay me back down, and disappeared
again; and once more, sleep took me.

When I next awoke, it was
night, and I pushed myself up on my elbow and looked at my surroundings.

I was indeed in a tent, with a
high roof and sides which rippled in the night breeze. I saw the dark outside,
well illumined by a fat, lazy moon. About and beneath me lay a rich, patterned
carpet, though I could still feel the hard earth under my back. I struggled to
sit up.

With some effort, for my limbs
felt lifeless as stone, I climbed out of the bed where I had lain. I felt
around for my clothes, but they were gone. I was dressed in a shift, and my
body shivered in the cold.

I crept towards the opening of
the tent.

Around me lay a broad plain of
grassland, with hills on either side, and a soft rumour of dawn to the east.
The world was still, and bathed in blue, and everything seemed at peace. But
still I couldn’t resist a feeling that tugged at my heart, like an impatient
child, that all was not right. And then I felt the wind come rushing at me,
like an enemy, and a voice very close to my ear say:

“Esther…!”

I woke up again, and it was
day. I had no idea how long I had been asleep, lying there in the tent. I had
forgotten my name, I had forgotten my birthday; I knew only the here and now,
and nothing else mattered.

And then I saw the woman’s
face.

It was very close to mine, her
dark brown hair like spring leaves, and her eyes a full green, old like the
mosses of the forest, and deep as the cellars of the sea. She smiled.

“You’ve been asleep a long
time, Esther Lanark. Welcome to my home. My name is Erith, daughter of Bard and
Leah of the Sweet Mountain, last of the Magi of the Old Kingdoms, friend of the
beasts and the birds that swim in the air. But you are more likely to know me
as the Witch of
Glenaster
.”

And I gave a start, and a tear
shot like a pulse from my eyes.