Witch Crag (13 page)

“Free,” said Vild, smiling. “And nourished.”

“You'll let me
stay
, won't you?”

“Yes. You can stay. But there's a lot more at stake than just your happiness. That's why we helped you to come to us.”

Kita shook her head, bewildered. “Helped me?”

Vild looked at her intently. There was a long silence. Moss got to his feet and growled softly, in warning – then wagged his tail.

“I think we have a visitor,” said Vild.

Kita looked up. To see Nada walking towards her, round the black bank of rock.

The colour drained from Kita's face. She scrambled to her feet and backed away. “This is wrong, this is
weird
!” she gasped, rounding on Vild. “How have you done this? Is this necromancy? Have you called up her
ghost
?”

“Calm down, dearling,” said Nada, smiling. “Here, take my hand. Feel its warmth.
Oh
, it's good to see you.”

But Kita wouldn't take Nada's hand. She backed further away, trembling. “You're
dead
,” she muttered. “I saw your funeral.”

“Oh, Kita, come,” said Vild, briskly. “Do you really think they're always dead, those bodies the sheepmen carry out beyond the gates to be left for the dogs and the crows?
Completely
dead?”

“No,” croaked Kita. “I'm sure they're not. But they are as soon as the dogs come—”

“Unless the witches get there first,” said Vild.

Kita stared. She was remembering the day of Nada's funeral, when the crows had wheeled up into the sky again, and the yelping dogs had streamed back to the forest. . .“You scared them off?” she breathed.

“We did. We have some power over dogs and crows. We came to get Nada. She wasn't dead. Just tired, worn out – it was time for her to come to us.”

Kita looked at Nada, at her dear face. She looked younger, plumper. “Why not come for her earlier,” she murmured, “why on earth leave her in that dreary fort for so
long
?”

Nada smiled. “Because I had work to do. With several of the young ones, and with you, dearling, above all. And how well my work paid off. Look at you. I'm so proud of you.”

Kita's eyes filled with tears. She felt dazed, bewildered – she didn't understand a thing. But at last she came forward and reached out to Nada, and took her hand, and then Nada pulled her in and enfolded her in a warm hug.

“I dreamt about you,” Kita whispered.

“I know you did, sweetheart. I meant you to. I focused on you – I tried to send you energy. I could sense when you were scared, when you needed my help.”

“Witchcraft?”

Nada laughed. “If you want to call it that. Or just the flow of my mind, linked in to . . . well. I don't like to name it, but I think of it as the greater good. I knew the night you'd escaped – I felt the shift. And then I knew something happened that needed all
your
strength. . . I tried to send you energy then.”

Kita flinched. “Quainy,” she breathed. “That was when Quainy froze, climbing up to my ledge, and I suddenly knew I could calm her, by focusing on her – sending her mind strength.”

“That's how it works, dearling. And then you were thirsty – oh, I felt how thirsty you were! I tried to send you knowledge of the dew lilies, they grew near the hill fort. . . I just kept visualizing them, focusing on them. . .”

“I dreamt about them! And about you. . . I sleepwalked, and picked some – then the next day, I found the place again. . .”

“And then there was another time,” Nada went on, frowning as she remembered. “Real immediate danger. It was at night – the shock of it woke me up. But I knew you could deal with it, your mind had grown so much stronger—”

“The dogs,” gasped Kita. “I stopped them – dominated them. I sent them back into the forest.”

“Ah, excellent,” laughed Vild. “Communication with beasts and birds. So you're really one of us.”

“You mean I'm a witch?”

“If you want to call it that,” Nada said.

They talked on and on, and Kita's narrow experience from the world she'd come from began to crack all along its edges and let new understandings in.

“I was struggling in the dark,” Nada explained, “just like you, dearling. As a girl I longed for something richer and happier than life on the hill fort. I couldn't accept that that was all life could be. And then one day, out on the grasslands guarding the sheep in the summer, a voice called to me from the forest. It was a sweet, light voice – you couldn't be scared. I drew closer, intrigued, and there was a girl, a little older than me. She wore a green cloak that blended in with the leaves. She beckoned me to follow her and I kept losing her in the foliage, she was so well camouflaged. She took me where some herbs were growing, and told me they were good for pain relief. Then one of the sheepmen yelled my name. I ran back, said I'd had to pee, and got a belt round the ear for being prim and prudish. “Squat on the grass next time,” he said. But I didn't care. I'd grabbed a handful of those herbs before I ran back. I smuggled them back with me up my sleeve. I dried them – I sniffed them and crushed them. I longed to see if they worked – I knew I had to try them on myself before I used them on anyone else.”

“Weren't you afraid the witch had tricked you?” Kita demanded. “Weren't you afraid you'd be poisoned?”

“Yes, all that. Although it was only when I'd got back to the fort that it dawned on me that the girl had come down from Witch Crag. And therefore according to the sheepman's creed, was evil. I wrestled with it all for days, Kita! Why would that lovely young woman kill me just for the sake of it? I couldn't believe that the way of things could be that . . . perverted. But I was too scared to test it out. Too scared to try the herbs. Until one day, I hurt my arm, badly. I wrenched it shifting sheep fodder. I was in agony, and very low. I couldn't sleep for the pain. I felt like I didn't care if I lived or died. So I chewed a few of the leaves.”

“
And?
”

“
And the pain subsided. I relaxed. I felt wonderful. So peaceful. I slept. The next day, my sprained arm was a lot better. So the next time I was out sheep watching again, I slipped into the forest, to look for more of the herbs.”

“You found them?”

“Only with help. I honestly know I had help. I was blundering about, looking, risking a beating for leaving the sheep, and then I just stood still and shut my eyes and waited. I stood still and cleared my mind – and waited. Then I knew which way to go. I found the herbs again. That was the first of many secret gatherings of shadewort, as I now know it's called. I experimented – I crushed it and boiled it and mixed it with other herbs. Raw crushed shadewort is best for bad wounds, applied like a poultice. A tincture for childbirth, sipped slowly. . . I used shadewort in many different ways.”

“And risked getting slit for a witch every time you did,” said Vild, lovingly.

“I suppose so. But it was worth it. Pain degrades. And people knew – they knew I helped them, they protected me.”

“I remember,” said Kita, wonderingly. “I had a fever, my head ached, you gave me something sweet to drink—”

“Shadewort mixes well with milk and honey, it's a good disguise.”

There was a sudden chinking sound; a woman with dark hair in a beautiful long plait came smiling round the steep rock bank, carrying a woven tray with three wooden bowls on it. “Excuse me,” she said, “for interrupting you. But we felt you really needed some refreshment. Such important talk going on.”

“Daria, thank you!” said Vild. “I smell peppermint tea. How kind.”

Daria set the tray down on the boulder beside Vild, and asked, “It's getting dark – would you like fire too? Shall I bring a brazier? Maybe something to eat?”

“Thank you, my lovely, but no. We'll be out soon, to join everyone for dinner.”

Daria nodded, still smiling, and left.

“That,” said Vild, handing Nada and Kita a bowl each, “was a perfect little example of ‘witchcraft' as you call it, in practice. It's not all grand and stunning and spooky, Kita. Sometimes it's just sensing that important talk is going on, and that the talkers may need fuel. Anyway, Nada. Please finish your story.”

“I never met that kind lady again,” said Nada. “Or indeed any of the witches, until the day they came to get me. I just had a growing . . . sense of them. I dreamt of them, dearling, like you did me.”

“Dreams can be powerful,” said Vild. “It's the subconscious at work. Asleep, you can connect with things you're already open to. Nada was open to Witch Crag – so she dreamt of it.”

Kita had a sudden, shocking recollection of her dream of Arc in the hot spring, and pushed the thought down.

“One of my dreams was escaping to the witches,” said Nada. “But I just wasn't bold or brave enough to try – not like you, Kita! So instead – I tried to
live
differently, following the things I dreamt. I helped the children. I whispered them stories, loved and encouraged them. Carefully, always in fear. And some responded strongly, stood out for me – like
you
, dearling, and Raff with his art, and long before that, Vild—”

“Nada was as important to my childhood as she was to yours, Kita,” said Vild. “And when I escaped. . .”

“
Aaaah
,” breathed Kita. She felt it was all dropping into place . . . dropping beautifully into place. “How did you escape?”

“
Aaaah
,” teased Vild. “That's not part of this story. I reached Witch Crag and told them everything they'd already sensed about Nada. The good she was doing, with her herbs and storytelling and freethinking. We all sensed when she'd reached the end of her work with the sheep people – when she was bone tired and ready to die. We sent her very strong energy for her dreams that night.”

“They told me simply to sleep,” continued Nada, “to sleep, to trust and wait and
be still
. So I shut myself down. Why not? I was tired of living. I lay as still as death and hardly breathed. It hurt me, dearling, to send no word to you, but the dream was so powerful and real, I had to follow it. The next day, two men carried me out on a stretcher, and tipped me off. Lord, it hurt when they tipped me off – I thought all my bones had cracked. But I kept still, with my eyes shut. I heard the crows – I felt their wings beating in my face. I smelt the slaver of the wild dogs. And then. . .”

“And then. . .” echoed Vild, tenderly.

Nada was weeping. Kita hesitated, then put her bowl down and threw her arms around the old woman, and hugged her.

“Oh, it was terrifying, when they came to get me,” Nada sobbed, laughed, “far more terrifying than the crows and the dogs! I thought I'd die of shock. And then . . . they smeared something on my lips . . . and I woke up here. And the . . . the
joy
, Kita. To have everything you've hoped is real but never known – the
joy
to simply step out into it. Like a dark curtain being torn aside, and brightness behind it.”

Kita, Vild and Nada sat silently on the boulders in the dusk until a strange, haunting note sounded, three times. “The dinner horn,” said Vild, with satisfaction, getting to her feet, the dog Moss copying. “Come – I'm famished.”

Darkness had enveloped Witch Crag. Jagged shapes loomed through the blackness. But Vild strode forward, sure-footed, and Nada took hold of Kita's hand, and they followed close behind.

They were heading to the far side of the summit, where Kita hadn't been before. They followed Vild through a narrow gap in two great banks of rock, on to a wide, open space with wooden huts of all sizes arranged around the edge. “Where we sleep, and cook, and eat,” Vild explained. “Although we always eat in the open unless the weather is really foul.”

In the centre of the space, a great oval of fire glowed from a deep pit in the rock. Shadowy ranks of the witches, nearly a hundred of them, and a dozen or more large, gentle dogs, were grouped noisily around its edge. “We keep that fire going all day in the cold weather,” Vild explained. “Just ticking over, with chunks of dried peat. So people can warm themselves when they want to.”

“How lovely,” said Kita, wistfully.

“Different to the hill fort, eh?” said Nada. “The headman couldn't wait to douse the flames. When I first got here, I'd spend hours just sitting at the edge, gazing at the glow.”

“Let's sit here,” said Vild. “Here's a space.”

As Kita subsided down she scanned the faces around her for Quainy and Raff, but she couldn't see them. And she couldn't form the words to ask about them, she was so absorbed in watching the life crackling and fizzing all around her. Laughter and tenderness and astonishment and deep conversation – it was all there, all going on. Two women heaved a great metal rack covered in roasted squash and sweetcorn up from the fire pit; another two shifted a rack of loaves that smelt of rosemary. A man emerged from one of the huts with a steaming cauldron of soup. And soon, smoothly and democratically, the food was passed from hand to hand, and everyone began to eat.

“You grow this squash, too?” asked Kita, her mouth full. “It's wonderful.”

Vild looked at her steadily. “We trade for this,” she said.

“
Trade. . .?
”

“Oh, who'd trade with the evil hags on the crag, ay? The farmers, that's who.”

“The
farmers
?”

“You've heard of them? I'm surprised. They don't have much to do with the sheepmen, which is why they're thankfully ignorant of the worst of the tales about us. Oh, they were suspicious when we first approached them – but a few herb remedies put their minds at ease. Especially shadewort, of course. Now we trade healing for vegetables. They're straightforward people, vigorous and pragmatic. We enjoy their company! They're teaching us about the soil and what it can grow. And as they trust us more, we can do better work with them – why are you looking like that, Kita? Did you swallow a seed?”

“I've met them,” she said bluntly. “On the way into the old city. They steal children.”

There was a beat of silence, then Vild said, “Yes. I know. Some things that seem hideous on the surface can be excused, Kita. The farmers are rough, but kindly. Those children do far better as slaves than living in the city.”

“That doesn't make it right.”

“No. Some of the younger children that they've snatched – or the ailing ones – they're up here with us. With Nada. We promise the farmers we'll raise them fit and strong to be better slaves. We get heaps of squash for that, I can tell you.”

“And will you send them back, as slaves?” demanded Kita.

“No. Something's going to happen before that.”

There was a long silence. Kita knew she should ask Vild what she meant, but she couldn't frame the words. And then a girl sitting straight across from her suddenly sprang to her feet, laughing, and threw a shower of dark powder into the fire pit. Tall purple flames shot up, roaring, and everyone clapped, and then a young boy scrambled to his feet and threw in more powder, and the flames turned green, shooting exquisite purple sparks into the air.

“This is what we used to see,” breathed Kita, amazed, “from the hill fort – flames of green and purple. They'd warn us not to look, they said it would bewitch us, make us come to you. . .”

Vild laughed. “It worked then.”

“What's the powder? Sorcery?”

“No. Dried fungi. The inedible kind.”

Music was starting. A man was playing a flute; a girl beside him kept the beat with a little drum, and swelled the notes with her voice. “No storytelling tonight,” said Nada. “Dancing instead, to welcome our guests.”

“Storytelling?” asked Kita. “For the grown-ups, too?”

“Of course,” said Vild. “Without stories, how do we know who we are? How can we imagine who we can be? And storytelling keeps our language rich.”

Kita didn't answer. Her head was spinning. She felt tired, stretched – too full of all the amazing new things she'd been faced with. She wanted to creep away from the fire, fold herself into darkness. Sleep.

Two young women had got to their feet. One slender, one curvaceous, both beautiful, with long, chestnut-coloured hair. Giggling, they raised their hands above their heads and started to dance, as the witches clapped and sang.

“Our horsemen brides,” said Vild, with satisfaction. “They dance for themselves now, and not their masters.”

“We heard about their escape!” said Kita. “How did they – how did you. . .?”

But Vild had nudged her, nodding towards the girls, who were beckoning another girl to join them. She was laughing, waving them away – but the curvy one seized her hand, and pulled her to her feet.

It was Quainy. Her thick, blonde hair, now almost shoulder length, swung and shone in the firelight as she spun around and started to dance.

“They met Quainy when she went as trade,” said Vild. “I saw their reunion earlier. Delicious. They were sharing their pleasure and astonishment at their new freedom. Ah, look – the men are joining in.”

A lanky, leggy boy had jumped to his feet – he cavorted extravagantly between the girls, both teasing and reverential. Then Raff jumped up, and Quainy danced straight into his arms.

Kita felt as if she couldn't bear the beauty of it. It was as if, in this wild, open atmosphere, they could throw off all restraint and become who they really were. Which was in love with each other. They danced on, and the witches clapped and applauded.

Kita scrambled to her feet, mumbled an apology, and slunk off into the shadows.

“Ooof!” complained Vild, plumping herself down beside Kita on the hard ground a short while later. “You didn't make it easy to find you!”

“I didn't want to be found,” muttered Kita.

“Well, too bad, you are,” Vild said, firmly. “Now, what's up? As if I didn't know. It's all too much, isn't it? Overwhelming.”

“Yes, partly. Although that's not the main thing. It's wonderful here, thrilling. And I know you have more to tell me – about what's coming, about why you helped me come here. And I have things to ask you, so many things, but . . . right now I'm just feeling awful. About Raff and Quainy. I know how that sounds. Like I'm mean, small, jealous. Well, I am. I can't bear to see them so happy together. I feel so
shut out
.”

Oh, the relief. The relief to spew out some of the hurt and sourness. She didn't stop to think how Vild might be judging her, might be disappointed in her. She simply rattled on.

“When we left, we were the best of friends. And
I
was central – I was. I never doubted it. Closest to Quainy, closest to Raff. Without me we wouldn't be here. I led the escape. And I
want
to be happy for them, but I just can't be! And I know I've driven a wedge between us by being like this. By acting all bitter. I'm so far away from them now. And I miss how it was. I'm. . . I'm
lonely
for them.”

Vild covered Kita's hand with hers, and said, “You didn't drive a wedge between you and them, Kita – it existed anyway. You're made from different metal altogether. Be glad for what you had for a while – and let them go.”

“Let them go? They're the only friends I ever had. I can't just
let them go
. I – I want to go back to how I was.”

“That's impossible.”

“You don't understand. I'm. . . I'm horrible now. I've been feeling . . . such
rage
, and
hate
. . .”

Vild stood up, put a firm hand under Kita's arm, and hauled her gently to her feet. “Bed,” she said. “You're raving. Come, I'll show you where to sleep.”

A short while later, Kita was cocooned luxuriously in a kind of patchwork sleeping bag, in a warm tent on the far edge of Witch Crag.

“Comfy?” asked Vild, as she stretched out beside her, wrapped in her cloak. Moss's nose appeared through the tent flaps, then he crawled in too and curled up between them. “I prefer this tent to the huts to sleep in. I like my solitude. But tonight, I'll share it with you.”

Kita looked around her, eyes adjusted to the dark now. She felt wide awake, but much calmer. There was something so safe and soothing about the small space, the soft folds of the tent, the low breathing of the dog.

“Kita,” said Vild, quietly. “I know what you've been feeling. And I know how terrifying it is to be overtaken by rage and fury. A lot of us go through it. Witch rage, we call it.”

“So lots of you people feel it?” Kita murmured. That thought, the knowledge, seemed to fill her with hope.

“Yes. The last time I felt it was when I heard about the death of one of us. Our lovely Finchy. Slit by one of your footsoldiers.”

Kita felt herself grow cold. She couldn't speak. The silence grew, intensified. “I'm. . . I'm so sorry,” she croaked, at last.

“You're not culpable, Kita. But my lord, the rage I felt then. I could have frozen the blood of the whole sheepmen army. Turned them to stone.”

Another silence. Kita was afraid; she slid her eyes sideways. Vild's white hair burned like frost in the darkness. Then she mumbled, “I'm ashamed. Feeling what I feel . . . just because I'm jealous. How petty.
Pathetic
.”

“It is as it is,” said Vild. “Don't be so harsh on yourself.”

“It feels . . .
awful
. Really awful. And I'm scared where it will take me – what I'll become.”

“Don't be scared of it, Kita. It's a bit like birth pains – the slow birth of the power that's grown inside you. At first this power is in its crudest, most violent form and you can't just
select
what you feel strongly about. You can't be fierce enough to frighten off the wild dogs, but calm when jealousy invades you. It doesn't work like that. But gradually you learn to channel it. It becomes less about anger and more about a strong desire to make a change.”

Kita lay with her hands behind her head and stared at the folds of the tent above her. “Please, Vild – tell me more.”

“About?”

“About witch rage. About everything.”

“You wanted my story. Are you awake enough to hear it?”

“Oh yes,” said Kita.