Curse of the Dream Witch

Title Page
Dedication
1: The Great Dread
2 : Into the Woods
3 : And Then There Was One
4 : An Unwelcome Surprise
5 : In The Witch’s Lair
6: The Dream Visitor
7: Back in the Bottle
8: The Toad Prince
9: The Farewell Feast
10: The Moment Of Truth
11: Trapped
12: The Tale of a Tail
13: To the Dungeon
Flight into Danger
15: Down the Chute
16: Reunion
17: Meanwhile, in the Dungeon
18: The Ways of the Witch
19: A Matter of Honour
20: Into the Woods
21: Hunter and Hunted
22: The Dream Marsh
23: An Unexpected Encounter
24: Prey
25: Down the Burrow
26: The Mole’s Larder
27: A Parting of the Ways
28: Hair, Nail, and Grindings
29: Happy Ending?
30: The Secret in the Armoire
31: The Smell of Witchcraft
32: In the Dream Witch’s Lair
33: Betrayal
34: Treasure Forever
35: The Final Nightmare
36: Dawn
About the Author
By the Same Author
Inserted Copyright

For everyone who has nightmares

It was the twelfth year of the Great Dread.

Once, the kingdom of Bellumen had been happy and safe. Feast days were celebrated late into the night in village squares, and children could fall asleep under the stars. No more. Now, youngsters who ventured outdoors after sunset were never seen again, and those who searched for firewood in the forest beyond the cornfields disappeared without a trace.

King Augustine, felled by a stroke, lay shrivelled in his sickbed. His wife, Queen Sophia, ruled in his stead. She claimed that strangers and wild beasts were snatching the children and had her troops patrol the streets and countryside.

It didn’t matter. There was only one person the people blamed for the kingdom’s misery: Princess Olivia. The Great Dread would only be lifted once the girl was gone.

The seeds of the Great Dread had been sewn on a cold, bitter midnight, thirteen years earlier, when King Augustine and Queen Sophia had slipped out of their castle in disguise. The king wore the woollen coat and cap of a peasant, and steered a small cart pulled by two billy goats. The queen lay at the bottom of the cart bundled in blankets and covered in straw. For years, the couple had prayed for a child without success. That night, they’d decided to seek the help of the Dream Witch who lived in the forest beyond the cornfields.

The countryside was fast asleep; the air still, except for the chattering of the king’s teeth, the creak of the wooden cart wheels, and the clopping of the goats’ hooves. All around, miles of cornstalks, shrouded in frost, shimmered in the moonlight.

They reached the bend where the road turned away from the forest. King Augustine helped his wife from the cart. ‘Have we made a mistake? Should we go home?’

‘Not if we want a child,’ the queen said.

It was true. The enchantress was their last hope. Even the court wizard, Ephemia, hadn’t been able to help. Older than old, she’d lost her spell books years ago; while she still recalled some magic words, she couldn’t remember the order. It was too dangerous to experiment.

Queen Sophia nodded at the forest beyond the cornfield. ‘Quickly. The witching hour will soon be past. Remember, whatever you do, don’t stare at her nose.’

The couple held each other tight and edged forward. Dried stalks towered above them; husks rustled all around. A strange fog, smelling of rot, rose from the ground. Two red coals, like eyes, glowed through the mist.

The king and queen froze.

‘What brings you here?’ came a voice from the haze. ‘What are your dreams?’

‘Dream Witch . . .’ King Augustine swallowed hard. ‘We want a child.’

The sorceress chuckled. ‘Your own or someone else’s?’ Her voice had a grating sound, like metal dragged across stone.

‘Our own,’ the queen said. ‘Please.’

‘Dreams can become nightmares.’

‘Not our dream of a child.’

‘You’d be surprised.’

The Dream Witch stepped forward; a great owl perched on her shoulder. She wore a cloak of woven bulrushes and a dirty, long-sleeved dress. Red-coal eyes burned on either side of her head. Under their glow, the king and queen saw her withered frame and long, curled fingernails. But what they mostly saw was her nose. Longer than an elephant’s trunk, and twice as wrinkled, its base spanned the width of her forehead, descending between her eyes to her waist, where it coiled around her body and looped itself into a belt.

She eyed them coldly. ‘What are you staring at?’

‘Nothing,’ the king lied.

‘Is it my nose?’

‘No,’ the queen insisted.

‘It’s rather big.’

‘We hadn’t noticed.’

‘Why not?’

The king and queen hemmed and hawed and stared at their feet.

The Dream Witch enjoyed their discomfort. ‘And you’re sure of your dream?’ she said at last. ‘Your wish for a child?’

‘Yes,’ King Augustine replied, his voice as dry as a desert.

The witch scraped the kernels off a dried corn husk with her fingernails. She spat on them, muttered a few strange words, and gave them to the queen. ‘Grind these into a porridge and eat it on the next full moon.’

‘Thank you,’ Queen Sophia’s eyes filled with tears of gratitude. ‘And what would you like for your reward? We’ll give you anything for this kindness. We promise.’

The sorceress smiled. ‘I shall let you know in good time.’

‘Please, tell us now,’ the king begged. ‘We are a small kingdom without power or wealth. We’d hate to disappoint you.’

 The Dream Witch waved a bony wrist. ‘Fear not, your Majesty. I am a simple soul who lives in a humble cottage in the woods. My needs are few. A little keepsake – so small it will fit in my hand – is all I shall require. Now go.’

The king and queen did as they were told, and in due time the queen delivered a baby girl. They named her Olivia.

Olivia was a happy child. All day, she’d lie in her crib and gurgle. So much so that her parents feared she was simple.

The old court wizard, Ephemia, reassured them. ‘All babies are like that,’ she said. ‘Wait till she’s two.’

On the day of Olivia’s christening, the royal family rode to the cathedral in an open carriage pulled by six white horses. The king’s wig had rolls of plaited hair that spilled to his waist; his wife’s was shaped like a swan. Baby Olivia was no less elegant in a white christening gown with purple piping and lace trim.

The ribbons in her parents’ wigs caused the baby to point with delight. It was the first time her parents had seen her do anything besides burping. They prayed it was a sign of things to come.

At the cathedral, Olivia was nestled on a goose down pillow in a gilt pram. Everyone filed past to give her their gifts before the ceremony: Blankets from the weavers, bells from the blacksmiths, slippers from the shoemakers, and a very special present from Ephemia.

Although the good woman’s spells could not be trusted, she still made the best
pysanka
in the kingdom. These hens’ eggs, coated in colourful wax with bright squiggles, crosses, circles and lines, were said to provide protection against spirits. Yet only Ephemia’s pysanka had the power to confound the Evil Eye.

The wizard placed a dozen of her talismans in a circle around Olivia’s body. ‘Precious child,’ she said, ‘may these protect you. Twelve
pysanka
for the twelve apostles, the twelve tribes, the twelve successors, and the twelve months of the year that roll us to infinity.’

She placed a finger in the baby’s hand. Olivia gripped it tightly. ‘See how fiercely she holds it?’ Ephemia continued, the wrinkles in her smile more numerous than her years. ‘She’s a fighter. She’ll go far.’

Suddenly, a bitter wind whipped black clouds across the sky. Thunder rolled – and the Dream Witch flew down on a giant meat cleaver, her hair as wild as a sea of snakes, her face as grim as a tombstone. Everyone dived for cover as the cleaver landed hard in the cathedral courtyard and sliced through the cobblestones before grinding to a stop near Olivia.

The king and queen stood between the sorceress and their child. Peasants cowered. Little ones hid their faces in their mothers’ skirts.

A great owl landed on the witch’s shoulder. ‘I trust we’re not too late?’

The bishop held up his silver staff. ‘It is always too late for you, Dream Witch. Step not on hallowed ground.’

The sorceress ignored him. ‘I’m here to claim my reward from the king and queen.’

‘No! Depart, Impious One! Begone to your lair in the forest.’

The witch pinned him with a glance. ‘You of all people should know my power, Bishop, you who came to me on the last new moon.’ She waved her monstrous nose at the crowd. ‘All of you, you come to the cornfield by my woods to make your dreams come true. You seek a spell to wither a neighbour’s crops, or to speak to your dead, or to bring forth a child from a barren womb. Yet you who seek me out by night – you would deny me in the day?’

King Augustine stepped forward. ‘No, we’re true to our word. We promised you a keepsake, so small it would fit in your hand. What is it you want?’

The witch smiled. ‘The heart of your little girl.’

The crowd gasped.

‘Monster!’ the queen exclaimed. ‘Take anything else.’

‘I
want
nothing else,’ the witch said. ‘The heart of a princess is all that I lack to cast the most powerful magic of all.’

‘Seize her,’ the king cried.

Guards leapt at the witch. She reared her trunk and trumpeted a mighty blast. The guards flew into the air. Another blast, and a powerful force bound the peasants to the ground and froze the king and queen like statues.

‘Now to take my reward,’ the sorceress said. She flashed her fingernails, sharp as steak knives. The crowd screamed. But when the witch drew near the baby, her hair scorched and her skin sizzled. ‘Pysanka!’ she screeched, and staggered backwards.

‘Yes, Servant of Hell!’ Ephemia declared. ‘This precious babe is protected by my talismans.’

The Dream Witch peered down her trunk. ‘Ah, if it isn’t my old friend Ephemia,’ she sneered. ‘Are you still living? The centuries have not been kind. I remember when last we met; the night you dared enter my lair in search of spell books.’

‘
My
spell books. Which you stole.’

‘Which I
found
after you misplaced them. You were nothing without them then, and nothing without them now.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong. For I have one remembered spell, and with it I send you to the Devil Himself!’ Ephemia raised her wand. ‘
Prixus Amnibia Pentius Pendor!
’ The wand splintered into a thousand pieces and Ephemia vanished in a puff of smoke.

The Dream Witch laughed. ‘So much for meddlers.’ She arranged her nose around her waist and turned to the crowd. ‘Hear my curse: By the morning of the princess’ thirteenth birthday, these twelve pysanka will be destroyed and I will have her heart. Until it beats in my hand, none of your children will be safe. You shall live in terror, bound in a nightmare without joy, without happiness, without hope. I am the sum of your fears. Know me and despair.’

With that, she flew off on her cleaver. And the Great Dread fell upon the kingdom.