Spook’s: I Am Grimalkin (9 page)

Holding up our candles, we walked through. The winged lamia was now perched on the closed trunk, and on a stool nearby sat her sister, holding a book in her left hand. A torch set in the nearest wall-bracket lit the left sides of the two witches,
casting
their shadows almost as far as the wall. Most of the huge room lay in darkness.

‘Here are our guests, sister,’ the winged lamia rasped. ‘The young one is called Thorne. The taller one, with death in her eyes and cruelty in her mouth, is Grimalkin, the witch assassin.’

The witch on the stool attempted to smile at us but only managed to twist her face into a grimace. Her teeth were slightly too big to fit into her mouth and she breathed noisily.

However, when she spoke, her voice was soft, with no hint of harshness. ‘My name is Slake,’ she said. ‘My sister is named Wynde, after our mother. I believe you have something to show us?’

I placed the leather sack on the floor and untied it. Then I slowly drew forth the Fiend’s head and held it up by the horns so that it was facing towards the lamias. They both smiled grotesquely at the sight.

‘The green apple is a clever way to ensure silence,’ said Slake approvingly.

‘I like the way it is wrapped in thorns,’ added Wynde.

‘But why don’t you simply destroy the head?’ Slake asked. ‘We could boil it up in a cauldron and eat it.’

‘Better to eat it raw,’ Wynde rasped, fluttering her wings, her bestial face suddenly showing excitement. ‘I’ll have the tongue, sister. You can have the eyes!’

‘I have already considered destroying it but I dare not!’ I interrupted. ‘Who can know the consequences of such an act?
This
is not simply a witch, to be returned to the dark for ever by the simple expedient of eating her flesh. We are dealing with the dark personified, the Devil himself. To eat the head might liberate him. He can change shape, make himself small or large at will. Once free, he has terrible powers – some perhaps still unknown. I have pierced his body with silver spears; thus is he bound and his power taken away. It is safer to keep the head intact yet separate, so that his servants cannot remove the spears and reanimate him.’

‘You are right,’ Slake said. ‘It would be foolish to take a chance when so much is at stake. We loved our dead sister dearly and have promised to protect her son, the Thomas Ward of whom you spoke. But tell me – is he any nearer to finding a sure way to destroy the Fiend?’

I shook my head. ‘He is still searching and thinking. He wondered if there was something in that chest that might help.’

Slake smiled, showing her teeth, and tapped the book she was holding. ‘I have been sorting through the chest with that same object in mind – to finish the Fiend for ever. So far I have found nothing. Perhaps while you stay with us you would care to help?’

I smiled and nodded. The lamias had just offered us refuge. ‘I will be happy to help,’ I said. ‘But no doubt we’ll soon have enemies at our walls.’

‘Let them come and enter my killing ground below the walls of this tower,’ Wynde said. ‘It will be good sport – the best hunting for many a year!’

Thorne and I ate well that night. Wynde, the winged lamia, snatched another sheep and dropped it onto the battlements for us; she had already drained its blood. I butchered it there and brought the most succulent pieces inside to cook on a spit.

The ventilation in the chamber was poor and smoke went everywhere. Not that it bothered me: my stinging eyes brought to mind the many happy hours I’d spent here as a child, watching the coven’s servants prepare and cook their meals.

‘Who was the very first person you killed?’ Thorne asked as we tucked into our late supper.

I smiled. ‘You already know that, child. I have told you this story before – many times.’

‘Then tell me again, please. I never tire of it.’

How could I deny her? Without Thorne’s help I would be lying dead to the west of Pendle. So I began my tale.

‘I wanted to hurt the Fiend badly after what he had done to my child, and I knew where and when I’d be most likely to find him. At that time the Deanes were his favourite clan, so at Halloween I shunned the Malkin celebration and set off for Roughlee, the Deane village.

‘Arriving at dusk, I settled myself down in a small wood overlooking the site of their sabbath fire. They were excited and distracted by their preparations, and I’d cloaked myself in my strongest magic so had little fear of being detected. Combining their power, the Deane witches ignited the bone and wood fire with a loud
whoosh
. Then the coven of the thirteen strongest formed a tight circle around its perimeter while their less powerful sisters encircled them.

‘Just as the dead-bone stink of the fire reached me, the Deanes began to curse their enemies, calling down maimings, death and destruction upon those they named. Remember, child, that curses are not as effective as a blade. Someone old and enfeebled might fall victim to them, but mostly they’re a waste of time because all competent witches have defences against such dark magic.

‘Soon there was a change in the fire: the yellow and ochre flames turned brilliant red – the first sign that the Fiend was about to appear. I heard an expectant gasp go up from the gathering and I brought all my concentration to bear, staring into the fire as he began to materialize.

‘Though he was able to make himself large or small, the Fiend now appeared in his fearsome majesty in order to impress his followers. He stood in the fire, the flames reaching up to his knees; he was tall and broad – perhaps three times the size of an average man – with a long sinuous tail and the curved horns of a ram. His body was covered in thick black hair, and I saw the coven witches reach forward across the flames, eager to touch and stroke their dark lord.’

‘How did you feel?’ Thorne asked excitedly. ‘Were you nervous, or even a little afraid? I certainly would have been! You say now that you fear nothing, but you were young then – no more than seventeen – and you were about to attack the Fiend within sight of an enemy clan.’

‘I was certainly nervous, child, but also excited and angry. If there was fear within me, it was buried so deeply under those other emotions that I was unaware of it. I knew that the Devil
would
not stay in the flames for long. I had to strike now! So I left my hiding place among the trees and began to sprint towards the fire. I came out of darkness, a blade in each hand, a third gripped tightly between my teeth. I hated the Fiend and was ready to die, either blasted by his power or torn to pieces by the Deanes.

‘So I cast my will before me. Although I had the power to keep him away, I did the opposite now: I willed him to stay. I ran between those on the fringe of the gathering. As the throng became denser, I pushed the witches aside with my elbows and shoulders, surprised and angry faces twisting towards me. At last I reached the coven and threw my first dagger. It struck the Fiend in the chest and buried itself up to the hilt. He shrieked long and loud. I’d done some damage, and his cry of pain was music to my ears. But he twisted away through the flames so that my next two blades did not quite find their intended targets; but, even so, they pierced his flesh deeply.

‘For a moment he looked directly at me, his pupils vertical red slits. I’d nothing with which to defend myself against the power that he could summon. Worse, he would now be certain to find me after my death and inflict never-ending torments on my soul. So I willed him away. Would he go? I wondered. Or would he destroy me first? But he simply vanished, taking the flames of the fire with him so that we were plunged into absolute darkness. The rule had held. I had carried his child so he could not remain in my presence; not unless I wished it.

‘There was confusion all around – shrieks of anger and fear; witches running in all directions. I slipped away into the
darkness
and made my escape. Of course I knew that they would send assassins after me. It meant I’d have to kill or be killed.

‘I hurried north, passing beyond Pendle Hill, then curved away west towards the distant sea, still running hard. I knew exactly where I was going, having planned my escape far in advance: I would make my stand on the flatlands east of the River Wyre’s estuary. I had wrapped myself in a cloak of dark magic but knew that it was not strong enough to hide me from all those who followed me. Some witches have a special ability that allows them to see through such a cloak, so I needed to fight in a place that would give me the advantage.

‘There is a line of three villages there, aligned roughly north to south and joined by a narrow track that sometimes becomes impassable because of the tide. On all sides they are surrounded by bog and soggy moss. The river is tidal, with extensive salt marshes, and northwest of Staumin, right on the sea margin, stands Arm Hill, a small mound of firm ground which rises above the grassy tussocks and treacherous channels along which the tide races to trap the unwary.

‘On one side is the river, on the other, the salt marsh, and nobody can cross it without being seen from that vantage point. Any witch who ventures there suffers great pain, but I gritted my teeth and made the crossing and waited for my pursuers, knowing there would be more than one.

‘My crime against the Deane clan was terrible. If they caught me, I would die slowly and in agony.

‘The first of my enemies came into sight at dusk, picking her way slowly across the marsh grass. As a witch, I have many skills and talents. One of these proved very useful then. It is a gift that we share, Thorne. As an enemy approaches, we instantly know their worth; their strength and ability in combat. The witch crossing the marsh towards me was competent, but not of the first order. No doubt her abilities as a tracker, which also enabled her to penetrate my dark magical cloak, had brought this one to me first.

‘I waited until she was close, then showed myself to her. I was standing on that small hill, clearly outlined against the fading red of the western sky. She ran towards me, clasping blades in each hand. She did not weave from side to side; made no attempt to present a difficult target. It was me or her. One of us would die. So I pulled my favourite throwing knife from my belt and hurled it at her. My aim was good. It took her in the throat. She made a small gurgling noise, dropped to her knees and fell face down in the marsh grass.

‘Yes, child, she was the first human being I had ever killed, and there was a momentary pang in my chest. But it quickly passed as I concentrated on ensuring my own survival. I hid her body under a shelf of grass tussocks, pushing her down into the mud. I did not take her heart. We had faced each other in combat and she had lost honourably. One night that witch would return from the dead, crawling across the marsh in search of prey. As she posed no further threat to me, I would not deny her that.’

‘If I die before you,’ Thorne said, ‘promise me that you
will
take
my
heart. I prefer to go directly into the dark. I don’t want to linger on as a dead witch, shuffling around the dell, waiting for pieces of my body to fall off.’

I nodded. ‘If that is your wish I will not deny you. But if I die first, leave my heart intact. Hunting from the dell is better than suffering eternal torment in the dark at the hands of the Fiend. If we do not destroy him, one day he will be waiting for me – and for you too now, Thorne. Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider?’

Thorne shook her head. ‘We will find a way to destroy him, and then we can go safely into the dark, where we belong. One day I will be reborn into a new body: I will become a witch assassin once more and try to surpass all that I have achieved in this life!’

I smiled. Witches returned not only as dead vampiric creatures; they could sometimes also be reincarnated into a brand-new body and live a second or even third life.

‘Now complete your story, please,’ urged Thorne. ‘They sent others after you, didn’t they?’

I nodded. ‘Yes. I waited almost three days for the next to find me. There were two, and they arrived together. We fought as the sun went down. I remember how it coloured the river red; it looked as if it was filled with blood rather than water. I was young, strong and fast, but they were veterans of such fights and knew tricks that I had not even imagined, never mind en countered. They hurt me badly, and the scars of those wounds mark my body to this day, but I learned much during that fight. The struggle lasted over an hour and it was very
close
, but at last victory was mine and the bodies of two more Deanes went into the marsh.

‘It was almost three weeks before I was fit to travel, but in that time they sent no more avengers after me. The trail had gone cold and it was unlikely that anyone would have recognized me that night when I stabbed the Fiend.’

‘Even to this day, the Deanes don’t know that it was you, do they?’ Thorne asked.

‘That’s true, child – you are the only one I’ve told this tale to. Let’s hope they never find out or my days as a witch assassin would be over. I would be hunted down by a whole clan. They would never forget.’