Witch Crag (20 page)

She was half expecting to be ignored, as she had been ever since her return to the hill fort. But the matron hurried over, took hold of her hand, and said earnestly, “Thank you for your help, Kita. Not just in this – in everything.”

“Of . . . of course,” stammered Kita, taken aback.

“Say your piece in the council. Make sure you do. And when the witches come, send some of their best healers up to us, h'n?”

Kita's mouth dropped open. “You
trust
them?” she breathed.

“I have to trust them,” said the matron. “We all do, now.” Then she headed over quickly to a young boy who'd started wailing in pain.

Kita, Lilly and the cook got back to the council place just as eight horsemen thundered towards them across the plains.

“The witchmen!” breathed Lilly, pointing to two riders on the left flank of the group. “They've come! Oh, this is good for us. This means change!”

Kita wouldn't have known they were witchmen. They were a little slenderer than the other horsemen, perhaps, more elegant in the saddle, but essentially the same.

Now Lilly was pointing to the lead horseman, who had a great scar across his cheek and grey hair flying out behind him. “He was my intended,” she said, grimacing. “Well, he'd just better not start, that's all.”

“Welcome!” shouted the headman, as the horsemen wheeled in and dismounted.

“Well met,” said the lead horseman. His eyes scanned over everyone gathered there – and settled on Lilly.

“Hello, Gath,” she said, coolly.

He glared at her, then spat on the ground.

Here we go
, thought Kita, nervously.

*

The preliminary discussions lasted without a break while the sun climbed high in the sky. Flay had been asked to delay the witches' arrival until midday, when they hoped to have reached a basic agreement; Kita, seated between Lilly and the head cook, thought sundown might have been more realistic.

First, the headman gave a dour description of the threat of invasion from the city. Then Arc spoke of it passionately; then Pitch, desperately. But Gath the lead horseman dominated the proceedings, endlessly challenging and questioning and growling his dissent, unconvinced by what he called “hearsay” and “panic mongering”.

By late morning, he and his supporters not only flatly refused to accept the witches as allies, they refused to accept that there would be a war – or one that would involve the horsemen, anyway.

Then one of the witchmen stood up to be heard. “Horsemen,” he said, “we're trying to tell ourselves that this war won't come to our homelands. But all the evidence suggests that it will. The farmers were invaded and enslaved. Now the road is being cleared. Do we wait until the hordes from the city have eaten our allies the sheepmen, and are on their way to eat us, before we fight back?”

There was a faint rumble of agreement from the younger horsemen. Gath got slowly to his feet. “Causing trouble again, Onga?” he demanded. “You like to do that, don't you? Getting the young bloods on your side, stirring them up with your sneaky talk of change, of
freedom
– and now of war. A war to protect the sheepmen. I say it's always been an unequal alliance with the sheepmen. Far better for them than for us. We horsemen can stand alone in the world.”

“They're our allies, sir!” cried Onga.

“We can break that alliance! And refuse to join their sickening union with the hags! I'll never be convinced of the rightness of that.” He glared round at everyone, and roared, “You've been bewitched, all of you – sheepmen, farmers – all of you! Infected by the hags!”

“There's no bewitchment!” Arc roared back.

“Oh, I say there is!” Gath yelled. Then he jerked his chin up, and cried, “Horsemen, we're going! I've heard enough!”

“You haven't heard me yet,” said a cool, fluting voice. Lilly stood up. She took three slow, steady steps towards Gath, and stopped, just out of arm's reach, while the men of the council watched her, amazed.

“Look at me, Gath,” she said. “Look at me and know me. How do I seem?”

He glared at her. “Don't talk to me, you treacherous bitch.”

“Treacherous? So I wasn't bewitched? I went of my own free will?”

“Don't twist my words,
bitch
.”

“Gath –
how do I seem?
”

Gath turned away from her, face thunderous. She followed him, saying, “I seem happy, don't I? More alive. If I'm infected, it's a good infection. Even with this war hanging over us, since I went to the witches I
seem
to have richer blood in my veins than the sour, thin stuff that barely pulsed when I was going to marry you.”

Gath spun back to her, violently, fist raised. A young horseman sprang to his feet and got between them. “Gath,
sir –
this must come to a vote!” he gasped. “We eight were chosen to represent our tribe. You lead us, but you're not the only voice here. I've heard enough to know I –
I support the sheepmen!
We can't live in isolation in this world. Or break our word when we've sworn to support them, sir!”

“You
puppy
,” snarled Gath. “We let you youngsters attend this fear-birthed council and this is how you repay us.” He lowered his fist, but looked as though he might erupt into rage at any minute. “Very well,” he gritted out finally, through clenched teeth. “All who agree with Jayke – stand beside him.”

Onga and the other witchman went over to Jayke. Then another young horseman scrambled bravely up, and joined them.

“Four against four. That's the trouble with voting,” sneered Gath. “It often decides nothing.”

There was a tense pause, then a thickset man heaved himself to his feet, trudged over to Gath, and clapped his hand on his shoulder. “Gath, man,” he said, “I've fought alongside you for years, I've stood up for you, you know that.”

“I do. I rely on your support,” said Gath. “And reward you for it.”

“I know you do. But I have to say what I think. And for a while now, I've been thinking you're wrong.”

Gath shrugged the man's hand off violently. “You think I'm
wrong
?”

“Yes. Onga speaks a lot of sense – why don't you ever listen to him? Change is inevitable. Change must come if the young will it. We need to open out a bit.”

“Well, you're a fool,” snapped Gath. “And what's that got to do with this council of supposed war?”

“Because I stand with the young 'uns on that, too. This war is coming. We need allies. So it's five to three. And decided, all right?”

There was an electric silence, everyone staring at Gath, waiting for his anger to blast them. Kita felt the skin on the back of her neck prickle; she put her hand on her witch dagger, nervously. Then she turned and stared out towards the woodland that flanked the open plain.

“Yes, it's decided,” Gath grated out, at last. “I can't go against the vote.”

There was a muted rumble of relief, but no one dared make eye contact with Gath. He crackled with hostility. “So where are the hags, our
allies
?” he spat. “The sun's as high as it can go. Looks like they've let you down, headman.”

“They won't do that,” said the headman. “They're as much at risk as the rest of us. As much in need of allies.”

“Unless they've made new allies,” said Gath. “With the city.”

The headman didn't answer.

Kita was still staring at the woodland. “No,” she said. “They're here.”

Among the shadows in the trees was a strange, dark shifting. It was as though the shadows were growing blacker, denser, and beginning to move into the light of the plain.

“It's dogs!” said Gath, drawing his long knife. “A pack of 'em – get ready!”

Three great hounds erupted from the woods and loped out into the open. Then seven women and two men, all cloaked in dark red and green, materialized on the plain's edge, and began to walk slowly forward with the dogs.

Anyone who had still been sitting now got to his feet and faced the witches. It was a powerful, eerie sight, the great dogs keeping pace with the walkers, dark cloaks billowing around them.

“Sheathe your knife, Gath!” Arc rapped out.

“
No
,” snarled Gath. “I don't trust 'em.”

“They've got bows, and arrows,” one of the young footsoldiers yelped. “They can shoot us.”

“If the dogs don't get us first!” cried another. Panic was spreading among the men, and anger fed by the panic – they bunched together, muttering, threatening, and more of them drew their knives.

And all the time the dogs and the witches continued to walk towards the council, steadily, silently. They were close enough now for Kita to recognize Flay, and Wekka. She darted over to Arc. “This is going up in flames!” she hissed.

“He needs to
take control
!” Arc said, flinging a desperate glance at the headman. “Look at him, mouth open, hands slack—”

“He's scared. He thought he knew his world, and now – Arc, we need to
bridge
this somehow.
Come with me!
” And she started walking purposefully forward. Immediately, Arc was at her side, walking in step with her, then Lilly ran over to join them, then the two witchmen, all of them advancing steadily to welcome the witches.

The great dogs circled the two groups as they conjoined. “Well done, tree rat,” breathed Arc. “Let's hope this will sheathe the knives.”

Everyone swiftly exchanged greetings, Flay seizing Lilly's hand briefly, then Wekka asked, “Are the horsemen with us?”

“The young ones,” said Onga, “but not Gath and his cronies. He's suspicious, very hostile. And he has strong support back at the fort.”

“And the sheepmen have a problem too,” said Arc. “Since our headman agreed to this council, it's as if he's – dazed. Broken.”

“Then you must take over, Arc,” said Wekka, gravely. “You must lead. And now – we must join the council.”

Nobody at the council sat down again; everyone fanned out to form a large ring. The witches were flanked by the sheepmen and the farmers, and faced the horsemen, who had sheathed their knives, but still kept their hands on the hilts. The dogs, on the insistence of the horsemen, had been sent back to the woods.

Everyone waited for the headman to speak, but he stared at the witches as if struck dumb. Wekka turned to Arc and nodded, then she stepped into the centre space. Arc, scowling with determination, followed and stood beside her.

Kita, watching him, knew the risk he was taking, aligning with Wekka, and taking charge like this – the courage it cost him. She focused on his face, sending him energy, and saw that the witches were doing the same.

Arc bowed to the headman, then to Gath, and said, “Sirs, this is Wekka, the lady who captured me. Who, with her sisters, opened my eyes to the truth of the witches. And who then let me go so we could form this alliance to defeat our common enemy.”

Wekka bowed solemnly to the headman and to Gath; neither gave a response. Then she turned to Pitch, bowed, and said, “It is a great grief to the witches that the farmers were attacked again.”

“And enslaved,” said Pitch, bitterly. “This council has come too late for us.”

“No,” said Arc. “Not too late. We will rout the city and win your lands and people back.”

Gath folded his arms across his chest and snorted, loudly.

“Tell me,” said Wekka, “who was there when the city invaded? Who saw them arrive?”

There was a silence, a scuffle, Pitch muttering to the lad standing next to him, pushing him forward into the ring. Kita recognized the shock-headed boy who'd brought the horses to the base of Witch Crag for the five of them to ride. He'd had his head shaved as a warrior now, though, and the three dark slashes cut into his scalp.

“This is Skipper,” said Pitch. “He was leading the farmers from the carnage when I met up with them. He's a sound lad.”

Skipper had a gash on his cheek, and his arm in a rough woollen sling. “I didn't want to leave,” he muttered. “Abandon our people, and our lands. But the fight was lost.”

Wekka took a step towards him. “You did the right thing, Skipper,” she said, gently. Kita noticed that the witches were all now focused on him; she gazed at him too, trying to send him strength and warmth. “If you'd stayed, you'd be dead – all of you. Now, please tell us what you saw.”

Skipper took in a long shaky breath, and began. “At the front, murderous warriors. Running in time, ranks of them, two hundred maybe. Great metal weapons with jagged ends. Then behind – the wagons. Lines and lines of them. Each drawn by four slaves. A sight to chill your soul.”

A shiver went round the ring, as though everyone's worst fears had been realized.

“Did you see what occupied the wagons?” asked Wekka.

“No. Whatever was in there had no need to get out to fight. Their warriors outnumbered our riders almost four to one. They slaughtered us with their pikes, and grabbed the horses. While they were harnessing the poor beasts to the wagons, the rest of us ran for it. They sent a posse after us – some of us were cut down as we ran. Some turned to face them and died in the attempt.” He paused, hung his head. “Sacrificing their lives to let the rest of us escape.”

“Lift your head, Skipper,” said Wekka, passionately. “You were as brave as the rest of them. You led your people to safety, and now you contribute to this council of war. You've given us a picture of our enemy.”

“Yes, a pretty one,” said Garth. “How many wagons, boy?”

“Fifty, maybe.”

“So there's another two hundred men, drawing the wagons. Who can also fight. And perhaps four more men in each wagon? The numbers stack up. They're stacked against us.”

“Numbers aren't everything,” said Arc.

“No, but they certainly help. Especially if you fight as a unit. We don't even do that.”

“No, but that could be our strength,” said Arc, fervently. “In our differences – lie our
strengths
.”

Gath turned to the headman. “This boy speaks for you, does he, sheepman?”

The headman shook his head, eyes lowered, and didn't answer.

“Our strengths,” jeered Gath. “Let's look at that. What can you witches do? Apart from shoot arrows and heal with herbs? You brought dogs with you – can you call up huge packs of 'em to rout your enemies?”

“Those dogs you saw were trained,” retorted Wekka, “domesticated. The wild dogs in these woods are just that – wild. We could scare them off, perhaps, but not call them to do our work.”

Gath turned from her, rejecting her, and confronted Arc. “So,” he said. “Together, we have fewer than half the fighting men the city has. And we can't know for sure that they sent everyone against the farmers. Tell me, laddie, where
are
our strengths exactly?”

But Arc was silent, staring fixedly at the ground. Kita glared at Gath, loathing him, loathing his arrogance and undermining comments. As if he felt her look, he glanced up at her, and bared his teeth.

“You said you wanted to trap the city hordes,” said Pitch, despairingly. “Wait until they made their second attack on our farmlands – then surround them, meet them in open battle, cut off their retreat to the city. It's too late for that now.”

“No,” said Arc. At last, he lifted his head, and looked round at everyone, intently. “No, the plan's still good. It's just changed its place. Headman – can I lay it out?” The headman nodded, bleakly, and Arc continued. “For years now, we've hacked down the growth at the edge of the wasteland and the forest, where it encroaches on these plains. We did it again a few weeks back. There's a ditch full of brush and dead wood all around the edge. Wekka – can you witches ignite it? All at once?”

“Nothing easier,” said Wekka. “Fellfurze is a plant that explodes into fire when it's lit. We'd strew it all along the ditch, in among the waste wood. Then, when the time comes, shoot flaming arrows simultaneously. You'd have an almost instant ring of fire.”

“Excellent,” said Arc, keenly. “The trees are more sparse on the wasteland at the far end of the plain. We hack down more of them, clear a route through them. Then we construct a wide, lightweight wooden bridge at the end of it, across the ditch. We cover it with earth and fellfurze and flattened brush, to hide it.”

“Oh, brilliant,” sneered Gath. “A secret bridge. If that's all you've got—”

“Oh
, LISTEN!
” broke in Kita, so loudly and fiercely that everyone looked at her, at the hot haze of witch rage surrounding her. “You don't
know
what he's got, you won't hear him!”

Arc stared at Kita, eyes wide, and she looked back at him, unblinking.

“We horsemen
are
listening,” said Jayke, bravely. “Arc, please go on.”

“We know the city creatures are clearing the old road to here,” Arc continued, “preparing to invade us. We watch the road. When the hordes set out on it, we make our move. Thirty or forty sheepmen and farmers advance to meet them. Challenge them, confront them – then take flight. The hordes think they've routed us, and they follow. Swilling the taste of victory in their mouths. We race on, leading them off the road, across the wastelands, along the route we've cleared and over the makeshift bridge. On to these grasslands. They see our hill fort ahead of them – see us, running to it – they surge on, triumphant. But the witches and the rest of the footsoldiers are hidden in these trees.”

“
Yes!
” breathed Jayke. “Go on!”

“When the city warriors are all across the bridge, the witches shoot their flaming arrows. And suddenly they're cut off from half their army and all their wagons – surrounded by a gigantic ring of fire. They're trapped, terrified, disoriented. That's when the advance guard stop running. We turn back to face them. The witches rain down arrows on them and the rest of the fighters run out from the trees.
And we bury them.
”

There was a rumble of assent from the footsoldiers – men turned to each other, excitedly discussing the plan. “And we horsemen ride in on the wagons,” said Gath, drawn in despite himself.

“Yes,” said Arc, earnestly. “You deal with the army on the other side of the fire. You ride in and slay the creatures who pull the wagons. Then you despatch whatever lurks inside.”

“Yes,” said Jayke. “We bury them.”

The plan was set. No one could better it. Even Gath stonily agreed to it.

The witches offered to be the ones to watch the road. “We won't be seen,” Wekka said. “We can melt into a landscape.” Then she drew an arrow and shot it into the sky; a flare of vivid red streaked upwards, trailing bright silver. “That will be the sign that the city is on the move,” she said. “We'll shoot three. They can be seen for miles, even at night, even from the horseman's fort. Keep careful watch for them.”

“Well, if there's no more to discuss,” said Gath, gruffly, “the horsemen must return. Prepare our weapons, ready our army. We have close on eighty horses, and other fighters can be carried pillion.”

“Good,” said Arc. “We need all the fighters we can get.”

“And we'll go back to Witch Crag,” said Wekka, “to do the same. We'll travel all night and be back by dawn. We'll start watch on the road immediately; we'll gather fellfurze and spread it along your ditch. And with your permission, headman, we'll bring healing herbs and ointments to your hill fort, to help the wounded.”

The headman wouldn't look up from the ground.

“The matron will welcome you,” said Kita, loudly. “She's converting two of the sleeping huts into hospitals. She asked for your help.”

“We'll give it gladly,” said Wekka.

“My task is to hack back the wasteland scrub. Then get all our fighters licked into shape,” Arc said. He looked exhausted, thought Kita – but triumphant. As though he'd run a long hard race, and won.

“How many fighters do you have?” demanded Gath.

“Seventy – more maybe,” said Arc. “We can match you.”

The headman cleared his throat and said, flatly, “I declare this council over. We've reached a good decision. Now we must prepare, and wait. No one knows when this invasion will happen. But I sense it may be soon.”

Onga, Flay and Lilly had been talking quietly to each other. Now Lilly sidled over to Kita, and murmured, “I'm going to go back with my people, Kita. Even if there's only a few days till we're called to war, I can do a lot of good in that time. Getting ready for the revolution. Talking to the women, telling them the truth about the witches. Showing them I dance when I choose to now, not because I'm told to by men.”

Kita smiled. “Just the sight of you will convince them. You look so happy and rich and free. But will you be safe? What if Gath—”

“I don't think he'd want me now even if I crawled back naked with a flower between my teeth.”

“
Lilly!
”

“And if he wants revenge I know the witchmen and Jayke and the others will protect me. I'll be fine, Kita. We're going to win this war. Whatever it costs us. And then we must be ready to fight for real change. And I want to play my part in that.” She pulled Kita's face down to hers, and kissed her. “Till we see each other again,” she whispered.

She walked, head high, over to Gath, with the infiltrator witchmen beside her, and Kita watched as Gath cursed when he heard what Lilly proposed. But like before, he was outvoted; he mounted his horse, and rode off. Lilly and Flay held each other silently for a few moments, then Onga pulled Lilly up behind him on his horse, and he and the other horsemen followed Gath back to their hill fort.

“Well,” said Wekka. “A troubled exit, h'n? But I sense even Gath is convinced, now. They'll answer the flares when they go up. They'll come back.”

“They'd bloody better,” grunted Arc. “Come on. We should get back. And the farmers, obviously, will come with us. We'll make room.”

“What about you, Kita?” asked Wekka. Her berry-red cloak swirled round her as she spoke. “Will you come home with us, to Witch Crag?”

Kita sighed, thinking of the colour and the herb scents, the laughter and the songs.

“Here,” said Flay. “I bought you the blackbow I promised you.” Kita took hold of it gratefully, feeling its smooth, whippy strength in her hands.

“Look at her,” said Wekka. “She holds it like one of us.”

“You can fight alongside us, Kita,” said Flay.

“Are you coming?” urged Wekka, softly. “See – our escorts are here.” The three huge hounds had crept out of the forest again, and were waiting for the witches. Kita looked at them with longing. Looked at the dark, mysterious shades of the forest with yearning.

At her side, she sensed Arc waiting for her answer, as if everything hung on it, and she was filled once more with a strange, strong sense of purpose.