Witch Crag (23 page)

Just as the gates were rumbling shut, a great shout went up from outside. The horsemen, thirty or more of them, were galloping towards the hill fort, with many riderless horses racing alongside, half crazy with fear from the dogs and the crows. Kita nodded to the girls, and they reversed their direction and ran out in an arc again, opening the gates as wide as they could.

The horsemen thundered through, as the exhausted and the wounded scattered to get out of their way. Onga the witchman dismounted first. Arc came forward and grasped his hand, and everyone drew close to hear as the gates ground shut again.

“Terrible losses,” Onga croaked.

“Us too,” said Arc.

“Gath led us heroically. He paid for it with his life.”

“I saw our headman die, but while he fought he was a beacon for us all.”

“There were so many of them,” grieved Onga. Jayke had dismounted now, and stood beside him, his sleeve dripping blood from a wound on his shoulder. “We wheeled in on them when the fires went up, and at first we had the upper hand, slaughtering the slaves who pulled the wagons. But then the fighters leapt from inside the wagons – savage, all of them. Berserkers. Death wishers. And then more running fighters came from behind – a second flank. They took us on, and some of the berserkers got back in their cars, and started to advance on to your field. And we thought it was all over. And then. . .”

“Yes,” said Arc. “
What?
”

“Witch rage like I've never felt before. Reality fractured, torn out of joint. And then the hordes came flooding back across the bridge – and the dogs. The blessed dogs.”

“They left you alone?”

“Completely. They avoided the horses. We simply pulled back and watched the killing. They fought in packs, fluid, fast – the weapons missed them, but they got their marks.”

“Like here,” said Arc. “Five hounds on to one.”

“Those who could, started running, of course, back to the city – and the dogs followed. As soon as the bridge was clear, we rode over to you. The dogs saved us. Where did they come from? Wekka, was it you?”

Wekka smiled. “We felt the witch rage too. It charged our power. We'd sensed the dogs gathering behind us, waiting for the battle to be over – and we walked among them, drawing them along with us on to the field. I've never been able to call dogs like that before – none of us has.”

“And the crows?”

“The crows came on their own. They felt the rage too.” She paused, then raised her hand in a salute to Kita. “It was her,” she said. “It was Kita's power that tore things apart. None of us has anything to teach her, now.”

For that night, no one went anywhere. For that night, it was just resting, and settling the horses, and recovering, and drinking bone broth from the great cauldrons in the kitchen, and trying to understand what had happened to them all.

Nearly half of the allies had been slaughtered. The horsemen, the farmers, the sheepmen and the witches gathered in their own groups, apart from each other, and talked in low voices, numbering and honouring their dead. The witches and sheep women who were skilled with healing moved among them, stitching and bandaging wounds and applying poultices, while from outside the gates came the dreadful ceaseless sound of the dogs and crows feasting on the dead.

Arc sat with his men as they mumbled out their grief and relived the battle, silently supporting them. Everyone was exhausted; shattered.

They had victory, but no one could celebrate it yet.

As the thin moon rose to her zenith, some of the witches started up a low, keening song, full of sadness and acceptance and gratitude. The other tribes fell silent as they listened; some of the men curled up on the ground, to sleep where they were.

Kita, though, was wide awake. She sat apart from the rest. No one seemed to know what to say to her; and she had nothing to say. She was dazed – burdened. She wondered if she'd ever come to terms with what had happened that day. With the rage that had coursed through her; with what had created the rage.

Anguish that they were losing the battle had fed it – but Arc had sparked it into life. Seeing him about to die had sparked it into life. She looked over at him as he sat with his men, and couldn't imagine speaking with him face to face again.

“All on your own?”

Kita spun round at the sound of the low, soft voice, to see Vild, her white hair streaked with blood and dirt, smiling at her. “Vild! I didn't know you were here! Were you—”

“Fighting? Oh yes. I'm a sure hand with the blackbow. The only ones who stayed behind on the crag were the very young and the very old.”

“Nada stayed?”

“Of course. The babies needed her, with all their parents gone. And now she'll be singing them to sleep with a song of victory. . .”

“She'll know. . .”

“Of course she'll know. She'll have sensed it hours ago.” There was a pause, and Kita became aware of two shapes, standing so close they were really one shape, drawing nearer to her in the dusk. “Everyone of an age came and fought, Kita,” Vild murmured.

With a long, low wail of emotion, Kita was on her feet and rushing at the shape, throwing herself on them, crying out “Quainy!
Quainy!
Raff!”

“They fought well,” said Vild. “True citizens of the crag.”

The three were hugging and sobbing and kissing each other, and Vild drew them down to sit on the ground together. Quainy had her arm around Kita's shoulders; Kita nestled into her neck, comforted and warm. “I didn't
see
you,” Kita said, for about the third time. “I can't believe I didn't see you on the field.”

“Oh come on, were you looking for us?” said Raff. “You had enough else to do.”

“We saw you, dearling,” said Quainy, warmly. “Brave and bold, up on your ledge with your archers. . .”

“You're not hurt, are you, either of you?” said Kita. “It's so good you're not hurt.”

“Archers don't tend to get hurt,” Vild said, softly. “Especially if they know when to melt back into the trees. That's why we chose it, way back, as our method of fighting. Kita, only two of the witches were killed. Two. I do hope this doesn't cause trouble with our allies.”

“It won't,” said Kita fervently. “You were the reason we won that war.”

“No,” said Vild, firmly. “You were.”

Another silence, Kita subsiding lower on the ground. She couldn't look at her friends. She thought:
They'll be more wary of me now than ever before
. But they were being so kind, and it was so good to be with them again. . .

“Is Lilly OK?” asked Quainy, anxiously. “I didn't see her – did she fight?”

“No. She's safe,” said Kita. “She went back to the horseman fort. To tell the women the truth about the witches.”

“Ah, I thought she would,” mused Vild. “Little of the witch about her, but enough human warmth to make up for it. She's where she can do most good.”

“So many have been killed,” mourned Quainy.

“Arc was an absolute hero,” Raff said, abruptly. “He fought like a wolf with a lion's heart. I will never, ever take the piss out of him again. Well, not for a while, anyway.”

“He
was
a hero,” Kita agreed, solemnly. “The way he came forward to lead when the headman was overwhelmed. . .”

“Yes,” said Quainy. “Those qualities that made him so obnoxious in the old days – they found their place, didn't they? And they mellowed, and matured. I suppose he'll be headman now.”

“He is already,” murmured Kita. “Oh, Vild, there's so much ahead of us. What's going to happen? How will all this be resolved? How will it move on?”

“What's going to happen is we all sleep, tonight,” said Vild, firmly. “Sleep and let our bodies start on their road to recovery. In the morning, Arc will call a council. This work isn't finished yet. But it will be soon.”

“And then we can go home,” said Quainy, hugging Kita, carefully settling her down so she could sleep.

Gratefully, Kita let herself be settled, while she thought,
where's home?

It was hard for Kita to wake on the hard ground with the sun barely warm and a sprinkling of spring frost on her body. But it told her she was alive. She stood up, and stretched, and looked around at everyone else getting to their feet, too. Groaning and stamping and shuffling, but like her, smiling. Glad to be alive.

It seemed completely natural to Kita, then, to run over with Quainy and Raff to the kitchens, and offer her help with theirs. Her old friends acted like a shield against the stares she was getting; they were warm and relaxed with her, whatever wariness they felt inside.

The cooks had been up for an hour or more, preparing vast cauldrons of nourishing mutton porridge. Vild had charmed her way in among them, and persuaded them to add the mushrooms and some of the healing herbs that the witches had brought to the hill fort. “We all need healing, this morning!” she cried, gaily. Then she winked at the three friends, muttering, “And it will help
immeasurably
with the taste.”

The three helped carry the cauldrons outside, along with every wooden trough and bowl that the kitchen possessed, and began distributing the steaming porridge, and ladles of water from the great stone well. Everyone came together, the four tribes merging again, and hunched on the ground, eating hungrily.

When the troughs and bowls were empty and being gathered in again, Arc stood up. One of the witches had stitched up the gash under his cheekbone; it showed red against his pale, exhausted face.

“People!” he cried. “We had a victory yesterday.”

A half-hearted cheer went up; someone called out, “You mean the dogs did!”

He smiled. “Yes. Maybe we'll call it the Battle of the Dogs. But it's not the time yet to celebrate, or rest. We've still got work to do. We must go with the farmers to reclaim their lands, although I imagine they've already been deserted by the hordes. Then we must invade what's left of the city – gather up the children and anyone who is prepared to change their ways and move on into the future. Then we must burn the place to the ground so that this never happens again.”

Pitch stood up. He was limping, wounded, but determined. “I'm ready to go when you are, footsoldier,” he said. “And our horses are too. I checked on them at first light.”

Jayke got to his feet, but with only Onga beside him – the other witchman had died in the fight. “The horsemen must decline this new task,” Jayke said. “We lost over half our men in the battle. We must return to our fort, and break the news, and shore up our defences. Our fear is that roving robbers will hear of this devastation and seize their chance to break in on us.”

There was a rumbling among the older horsemen, who began to help each other up. They stood together in a pugnacious group. “Have we voted you to speak for us, Jayke?” one demanded.

“I understand your need to return,” broke in Arc, hastily. “And we can manage without you. But the horsemen must be represented in this alliance. Perhaps –” he raised his voice a little – “perhaps some of the senior men might come with us. To add weight – to share their wisdom.”

“Indeed!” cried a grizzled, stocky horseman, with a bandage about his neck. “Now Gath is slain, I am the most
senior
warrior here. I'll come – and some of my brothers-in-arms, too, yes?”

“We will!” cried the older men, one adding, “I've slaughtered more boar than you, you old pretender!”

Arc bowed modestly – almost submissively – and said, “Thank you, all of you. You honour us with your presence.”

Kita, watching intently, saw him glance at Jayke and Onga, and nod.
Oh
,
clever
,
clever
,
clever
, she thought. When did this communication happen? When did Arc start . . .
flowing
like this, like the witches flowed? It was clear to her that revolution would happen at the horseman fort over the next few days. Jayke, Onga and the other young men would return and, with Lilly leading the women, they would institute change that would be all in place and irreversible by the time the old warriors got back. . .

Change, change for the horsemen. But who would help the sheep people change?

Wekka stood up. “All we witches will come with you,” she said. “We can help with the children. We can help smoke out the ruins of the city.”

“And you can help with the final fire, too,” said Arc. “Thank you. But don't some of you need to return to the crag, to assure your people that it's over?”

Wekka bowed. “They know,” she said.

It was all bustle and hurry, as packs of food and water were prepared, weapons cleaned and sharpened, and the horses got ready. Pitch and Skipper and the other farmers, yearning to see their homelands again, were standing ready at the gates with their mounts. Everyone who had fought in the war and was still fit to fight was expected to come; Kita organized her archers two to a horse. Even with all the deaths and the young horsemen dropping out, there were nearly a hundred of them. They were wounded, exhausted, but still a potent army.

The matron was to be in charge again once they had all gone. Kita found herself wondering about this formidable woman's status when they returned. Surely Arc couldn't expect to be a headman as all-powerful as his predecessor had been? Surely he couldn't want that? These musings kept her from thinking about her own future. The witch rage that had possessed her – that had caused reality to be wrenched out of joint – it haunted and burdened her. She felt even the witches saw her as a freak, and were afraid of her.

“We're ready to go!” Arc shouted, as he mounted his horse. “It will be grim work, riding across the grasslands, with the half-eaten corpses of our people, but we must keep our minds on the living!
Open the gates!
”

Soon, they were picking their way across the grisly plain, some riding, some jogging alongside, and on to the wastelands beyond.

They arrived at the outskirts of the farmlands well before dusk set in. The whole area had a dismal, abandoned air. It seemed that the city men had gone, swept back with their defeated army. Arc sent Pitch and the others to ride on ahead, their faces set and anxious.

“Anybody there?” yelled Pitch. “The battle's over. You're safe now. Come out, show yourselves!”

There was a long, bleak pause, then stooped, ragged figures began to emerge silently from their hiding places and gather wearily round the newcomers. Too much had been lost, too many of them killed, for them to feel much joy at Pitch's return. But they raised their faces when Pitch greeted them; and they answered his careful questions.

It didn't take long for the story to be told. They'd been working in the hell that their fields had become, planting, digging, starved and thirsty, while the metal whips screamed around their heads. Then, suddenly, there'd been a shift. A great noise, growing louder – screaming, howling, snarling – terrifying. Their tormentors had gathered together, arguing loudly about its cause. One man, wailing that the city army had been set upon by demons, was knocked to the ground by the gang master, who then sent a group out to reconnoitre. When the group didn't return, panic spread – and soon all the slavers were dropping their whips and sidling out one by one.

“To head back to the city,” said Pitch. “Let's hope the dogs intercepted them.”

“But before you tell our tale of the battle,” said Vild, firmly, “let's start a cheering fire and cook some food, and let us witches do our healing work.”

“You're right, Vild,” said Arc. “We'll camp here tonight. This place needs our energy and support, I think. We can make an early start on the city tomorrow.”

An hour later, Kita was helping shred cabbage for a great pot that was bubbling on a large log fire. Several of the witches had gone hunting for rabbits; since the time of the Great Havoc, large rabbits overran any land with fresh green shoots on it, and they especially loved the farmlands where they were trapped, but inefficiently. Some of the farmers, impressed by the witches' haul, asked about the blackbow and were promised as many as they wanted. So the future – even if it meant just a plentiful supply of rabbit stew – was already looking more promising.

Newly orphaned children were grouped together with the children who'd been snatched from the city in earlier times – and those “slave” children would get kinder care in the future because of this. The farmlands had been devastated, most of their produce stolen, but the earth was still fertile, it would be replanted, and there was enough around the edges to keep everyone going until the new produce grew. The horror of the past days would be acknowledged, then put to rest. The dead would be grieved over, but the living came first.

As the night came in, a night of no moon, everyone gathered about the fire, and ate.