Witch Crag (19 page)

The rest of the day passed uneasily. Arc, Pitch, the headman and the leading footsoldiers were in constant military conference. The sheep people kept to their demanding routines; chores were carried out, food was cooked and served. Kita felt as though suspicious eyes raked her everywhere she went, and she kept to Flay and Lilly's company. No one asked them to work, so they huddled by the lifeless fire pit, and talked.

Lilly told them all about her flight from the horsemen fort – how the two witchmen, the infiltrators, had helped the brides believe that they could do more than just yearn to escape. “They'd find chances to talk with us,” she murmured, “
listen
to us. I felt they were drawing out my courage, my resourcefulness, making me believe in myself. And then they revealed who they were, where they were from. We were terrified! But we still liked them, enormously – witchmen are made of very precious metal, Kita! So we just kind of
leapt
, and agreed to go. And after that it was all surprisingly easy. I stole the horse, one that knew me, and the witchmen unbarred the gates and barred them again once we'd gone. . .”

“It didn't cross the horsemen's minds that anyone would help you escape,” said Kita. “They thought you were spirited away by sorcery.”

“No, no spells, no hexes. But the witches knew to come and meet us. Remember, Flay?”

“I do,” Flay said softly. “You looked like a centaur riding up to us, graceful, and strong.”

“And
you
– we were so frightened when you all materialized out of the mist! Then we were blissed out!”

“I remember you laughing. As though you hadn't laughed for months.”

“I hadn't!” giggled Lilly, and she turned to Kita. “We left our horse to make his way back. Witch Crag is no place for horses. It's the one fault I find with it. But Flay knows that the horseman fort accommodates
witches
very well. . .”

There was a pause. Kita looked from Lilly to Flay, at the way they smiled at each other, and thought:
They're going to be together
.
Maybe he'll move to the fort with her
,
and help free the horse people
. And she felt a stab of envy, and grief for her own loneliness.

“Kita,” said Flay, kindly, as though he'd sensed her thoughts, “Lilly has to see to the horses now, she promised Pitch. And I promised to teach you the art of the blackbow. Do you know somewhere we can go?”

Kita nodded gratefully, and they made their way to the back of the compound, behind the sheep pens, where he gave her an archery lesson.

She was a quick pupil, and shot the mark accurately three times out of five. No one came near them; the sheep people regarded the witch's blackbow as a thing of necromancy. But Kita loved its flexibility and strength. Flay explained that the arrows were lethal only at short range; they were tipped with poison for longer shots. He promised to bring another blackbow to the council, so that she could have one of her own.

Very early the next morning, the messengers set out. Three footsoldiers jogging to the horsemen's fort; three riders to the farmers' lands; and Flay cantering out on his own. Lilly was distraught about this but Flay assured her he'd be fine – he had a bond with his horse now, and was sure the swift beast would keep him from danger. And he was confident the warrior witches would come out to meet him halfway. “They'll know,” he said. “They'll have sensed what is happening. And they'll be ready for this council. Expecting it.”

The impending war hung over the hill fort like a lowering thundercloud. The headman ordered all weapons to be honed and sharpened – the haul of robbers' knives was a good addition to the arsenal. Kita and Lilly requested the return of their witch's daggers and belts and, with Arc's support, the headman granted this.

Arc began to put the footsoldiers through relentless training. The cooks baked hard bread and stockpiled it against a time when there would be no time to cook. The sheep were penned more securely. The footsoldiers' clothes were mended, with extra layers sewn in for protection. The hill fort was getting ready.

Kita kept expecting the headman to call her in for questioning, but the summons didn't come. She spent the two days before the council of war solely in the company of Lilly, and both of them were ostracized. They went into the food hut to eat, but no one came near them. They slept at one end of the girls' sleeping hut, avoided by all. Lilly didn't let it bother her. She spent time grooming the horse that had been left behind; she preened rather than cowered when the sheep people stared at her long chestnut hair and pretty face; she kept her head high and moved freely. But Kita was more subdued. She was on edge, waiting – knowing she had to be at the war council, but not sure what her role was to be. Anxious that the headman would try to stop her, and dreading what was to come. She saw Arc only from a distance, always surrounded and in the thick of things.

The night before the council, Arc came to find her. “The headman sent me,” he said, simply. “You're to come with us tomorrow. We leave at first light.”

Kita took in a long, shaky breath. “Good,” she said. “I need to be there. Is Lilly coming too?”

“Yes. Stick by each other, Kita – protect each other. I'm afraid of what will happen when the horsemen see her.”

“Me too. Arc, why didn't the headman call me? Talk to me himself?”

“He should have done. It's hard for him to let go of the old ways, I guess. He kept insisting women had nothing to do with war.”

“Even though he's accepted the witches as allies?”

“Not deep down he hasn't. I persuaded him that you were the vital link between us and them, and in the end he gave in.”

“You're not going to let
Drell
come to the council, are you?” Kita blurted out.

Arc looked at her steadily; the memory of the young witch dying was vividly between them. “No,” he said. “But he's still one of the best footsoldiers we have, Kita. When he slit Finchy, he was following orders. It was me who was out of line.”

There was a silence, the two of them looking at each other in the dusk. Then she said, “Well, I'm glad you were out of line.”

He sighed, looked down, muttered, “I'm dreading tomorrow. The headman, he—”

“What?”

“I don't know. He took the decision to act on what we'd said, he took control, but now he's . . . withering. Flailing. It's like the ground's collapsing beneath him.”

“Well, in a sense it is.
Reality's
giving way beneath him. And getting the sheep people to accept the witches as allies – that's more daunting than a battle!”

“And I think there's more to it. He ordered witches to be slit, killed them himself. How can he let himself admit now that they're just women, good women?”

“I don't know,” muttered Kita.

A sudden wind wailed over the top of the wooden barricades, and Arc murmured, “Well, tree rat, we'd better get some sleep.” That childish nickname seemed almost affectionate now. The wind wailed; the darkness gathered all about them. He drew a little closer to her; she could hear him breathing. For one wild moment, she thought he was going to reach out and touch her.

“Sleep well,” she said, stepping back.

“You too, Kita,” he said, and disappeared into the night.

Seventeen people left by the great gates of the hill fort at dawn the next day. The headman and five of the older fighters led the way; then came Arc and six of his elite footsoldiers; then Kita, Lilly, the matron of the infants' pens and the head cook.

It was a great surprise to everyone that the headman had ordered the two older women to attend. They were powerful and capable and full of good sense, but they were still women, and therefore usually left within the hill-fort walls.

It was clear they'd more than risen to the challenge, however. They strode forward, keeping pace, as the seventeen walked down the steep slope of the grasslands to set up the council space. An eerie, early-morning mist hovered over the grass, waiting to be dispersed by the rising sun. The headman walked forward into it, half disappearing, then he suddenly halted and held up his hand.

“Shapes!” he hissed. “Lots of them! Moving towards us!”

His words froze his followers. Everyone drew together, peering forward into the spectral whiteness. The shapes looked like an army of ghosts in the mist, coming slowly, steadily, towards them.

The sheep people began to retreat, stumbling backwards in panic. “
Hold!
” ordered the headman. Then he cried, “Arc – advance! Reconnoitre!”

Kita looked anxiously at Arc's face as he began to walk slowly forward. She could see fear there, mastered by determination.

Then she heard him cry, “
Pitch!
What, man? What's
happened
?”

Pitch staggered into view out of the clinging mist, leading his horse with three small hunched figures on it, followed by more of the farmers. Freed from the whiteness, they still looked like ghosts – bloodied, frail and exhausted. There were about fifty of them, men, women and children. The two footsoldiers who'd gone with Pitch came behind, leading their horses burdened with children.

Arc ran forward and seized Pitch's arm, supporting him. “I'm not hurt,” Pitch croaked. “Look to the others.”

The farmers were subsiding on to the grass all around, sobbing and groaning. “We got back too late,” Pitch muttered. “We rode on to the outskirts of our farmlands and were met by this heartbreaking sight – what's left of my people, fleeing. The city had invaded again. Sooner than we feared – and worse than before.” He heaved a shattered sigh. “Many more killed, many taken captive. To work the land as slaves, growing our produce for the city dwellers. They've left creatures with metal whips in charge. I led those who escaped here, to you – I didn't know what else to do.”

“You did right!” said Arc, still gripping his arm. “And we'll get your farmlands back – we'll unite, and invade them!”

“You may not have time to invade,” said Pitch, looking for the first time directly at Arc. “As we fled, we saw something new. They're clearing the great road, the one that leads from the old city, and passes not far from the wasteland beyond. Clearing it of broken wagons and scrub and fallen trees.”

“To make easy passage for their infernal cars,” breathed Arc.

“Yes. I fear it.”

“So it's happening already. They're coming for us, now.” Arc turned back to see the headman's reaction, but the headman was staring at the ground, as if overwhelmed by all that he'd heard.

Seven huge crows materialized out of the mist, circling hungrily. A dog howled in the distance; another answered it.

“It's the blood,” said the matron. “They can smell it from here.”

Startled, the headman looked up at her. “The blood,” he echoed.

“We need to get the wounded back to the hill fort,” she said, firmly, scooping up a young child and sitting him on her hip. “Get these little ones to safety before the crows come.”

“Yes,” said the headman. “Of course. Footsoldiers – move! Help as many as you can, then return as swiftly as you can. The horsemen will be here soon for the council of war.”

“Which is now of even greater urgency,” said Arc, grimly.

“Yes,” said the headman. “Arc, you wait with me. The horsemen must be greeted by their hosts or they may turn back.”

“And I'll wait too,” said Pitch, shakily. “I represent the farmers.”

The matron took complete control. Calmly, efficiently, she divided the wounded among the footsoldiers, gave two sobbing babies each to Kita, Lilly and the head cook, and led the whole cavalcade back up the grassy slope to the great gates, yelling for them to be opened as she went.

The sheep people gathered around the incomers. They were anxious, muttering, demanding to know why so many needy strangers had been brought into the fort.

The matron drew herself up tall. “These people are our allies now,” she announced. “Look at them – they're the same as you and me. Decent people trying to scratch a living in the soil, and they've been reduced to this by the scum from the city.
Now
. We all have work to do. See to the wounded. There's some young men who just need a patch and a stitch, and they'll be fit to attend the council. Food and drink for all. Then I want two of the sleeping huts converted to hospitals. We're going to need them.”

The well-drilled sheep people immediately began to carry out her orders. The footsoldiers who'd helped bring the wounded up to the fort ran back to the council place; Kita, Lilly and the cook gave the babies they'd carried honey-smeared crusts to suck on, and stowed them safely in the infants' pens. Then they too hurried back to the gates.

“We must go!” Kita called out to the matron. “The headman wants us at the council.”