Witch Crag (11 page)

There were eleven of them, nine men and two women, all ages, all sizes, but they had in common a muscly, brute strength and grins like hungry dogs sensing sport before they gorged. The three friends huddled close, back to back, faces out, faint with fear, full of grief that their escape had been stopped.

Kita had been aware of a dark, terrifying surge to her left for only a split second before they'd been surrounded. They hadn't stood a chance.

“Come to play?” a ferocious-looking woman sneered. “Where's the rest of you?”

“They're not fighters,” a man growled. “Too pretty.”

“Pretty, pretty, pretty,” repeated the woman, and she picked up a lock of Quainy's hair, and sniffed it.

“What you got in that bag?” said another, reaching out to Kita – but he got no further. There was a sudden, raw shout from far over to the right. The gang's focus shifted entirely; they faced the right and stiffened, like dogs on the attack.

The shout was repeated. “
Who you got there, Bluejack?
”

A man with blue paint zigzagging his bare, muscled chest marched defiantly towards the centre of the concrete field, flanked by three others.

In response, five lean, broad-shouldered shapes stepped out from behind the crumbling walls on the far side, and took several menacing steps towards them.

“No one here to concern you!” yelled Bluejack. “They're strays, not fighters. We'll get our gang ready for next big moon. Like we pledged.”

“And then we'll spray the walls with your guts!” his adversary shrieked.

“
Your guts first, Reddog!
”

Tension, adrenaline, rage – it sucked out all the air in the great space. A horrible, sub-animal growling and snarling mounted louder on both sides. The men and women shifted nearer each other, footsteps like blows.

“This is a battlefield,” breathed Raff. “A space just for fighting.”

“Between those two gangs,” muttered Kita. “The left and the right.”

“And the poor sods they drag into it. Like us.”

“What you going to do with those?” yelled a woman on the right. “Strays belong to both sides!”

“Strays belong to whoever gets them,” roared Bluejack. “And they is ours.”

“But this one's all for
me
,” shouted the ferocious woman, and she made a grab for Quainy's arm.

Quainy desperately wrenched free and whirled away under the force of it, losing her balance, regaining it again, and went on spinning into the battlefield, right past Bluejack and his men, into the middle of the great, fearful space.

“Quainy!” wailed Raff, in anguish, but Kita gripped his arm, stopping him from following her.

“Watch her!” she breathed. “Wait!”

“Girl!” snarled Bluejack. “Get back here or I'll throw my dagger, stick you like a rat!”

“You throw, and you're dead, Bluejack,” yelled Reddog.

“
She's ours!
”

“No, you come to me, corn-head, blondie,” leered Reddog. “We'll keep you nice.”

Both sides surged, shifted, wanting to seize Quainy, but neither dared move closer.

There was a pause, violent with waiting. Then Quainy raised her hands above her head and started to move, to dance. Swaying, dipping – she didn't need music, it was as if she made her own, as if the battleground was filled with it. Both sides watched, entranced, greedy, wanting her. Raff exhaled – then he stepped forward and started clapping his hands, steady, suggestive, and the tension increased, and Quainy moved to that beat now. Tossing her hair, swaying her hips, hands swooning above her head, a parody of the women she'd seen dancing at the horseman fort.

Reddog could bear his desire no longer. With a roar, he rushed at her – to be met full on by Bluejack and the woman, knives out, metal crunching on bones—

Quainy's face was splattered with blood. She turned and ran, Kita and Raff right behind her, racing through the fight, ducking the blows, on across the great space, no one seeing them go because battle lust had taken hold and that was all that mattered to the two gangs now.

They reached the far wall, ran beyond it, down alleys, and as she ran, Kita realized that it was still all open to the sky, and a light rain was falling like bliss on her face. Then the ground changed, it became earth, soft earth, and soon, ahead of them, there were trees.

They raced into them. Then Quainy stopped, seized hold of a low branch, leant forward, and vomited up a thin stream of half-digested Chunky Chicken.

They walked on into the woods. It was getting darker all the time. “I think we should stop,” Raff said. “Get some sleep. In the morning, we can work out where we are.” Before long they'd found a low group of trees that felt safe, and provided good shelter.

Kita squatted down, drew out one of the water bottles from her bag, and handed it to Quainy. “It's a shame we had to leave the sheepskins,” muttered Quainy, drinking gratefully. “But you were so clever to hang on to that bag.”

Kita smiled, while she thought,
What about the way I jumped up on to the Manager? Or is that too scary to talk about?

“
And
you
were clever, Quainy,” said Raff, lovingly. “You were inspired!”

“I. . . I didn't plan it,” Quainy mumbled. “I saw a fight over a dancer, at the horsemen fort. It came into my head when I saw the look on that . . .
Reddog'
s face.”

Raff shuddered. “If he'd got his hands on you . . . if I'd still had my knife. . .”

“Shhhh,” sighed Quainy, and she stroked his arm. “If he hadn't rushed me, I was going to cross over to him. To make Bluejack attack.”

“Thank the lord you didn't have to,” Raff croaked. “Quainy, you were so brave . . . unbelievably brave. And beautiful, the way you danced. No wonder they were set to kill each other over you.”

“I don't understand why the city just . . . petered out like that,” said Kita, louder than she'd intended. “No walls, no nothing.”

“No need for walls,” said Raff. “That concrete killing field would stop anyone going in or out, wouldn't it?”

“I suppose.”

“Word would get round. People would avoid it like the plague – or get used as fight fodder.”

“D'you think they're still fighting?” said Quainy. “How come they don't just wipe each other out?”

“Maybe they have rules for the battles,” said Raff. “Maybe they use slaves. I don't know, I don't care. I'm just glad to be out of that place.”

“But aren't you sad to leave your horse unfinished?” Quainy murmured. Their faces were only inches apart. “It was brilliant. It was true art. And it saved us.”

“Like you saved us, back then,” breathed Raff. “With
your
art.”

Kita wrapped her arms round her body and made herself as comfortable as she could on the ground.
I s'pose all I've
done is hang on to the stupid food bag
, she thought, bitterly.

Hours and hours later, a shaft of sun woke Kita, warming her eyelids. She'd slept well – she felt a little stiff, but good. It was morning, and they were free again, and alive, and they must all make a new start. She resolved to talk openly to her friends about the changes that were happening to her, the
vision
– they'd listen, she thought, and lose their fear as they began to understand, they'd support her, encourage her. . . She sat up, squinting at the sunlight as it filtered its way deliciously through the trees. Now she knew which way Witch Crag lay – over there, to the west. They could start out as soon as they'd had breakfast.

She twisted round, looking for Raff and Quainy, resolved on behaving better to them. They were nowhere to be seen. Her heart started shuddering – her mouth dried. What had happened – had someone from the city seized them in the night, had some wild animal dragged them off? But why only them and not her, and surely she'd have woken?

“Quainy?” she called softly. “
Raff
– where are you?”

No answer. She scrambled to her feet, circled the group of trees they'd camped by – and saw them, at the back of it. In the shelter of a drooping hazel tree, curled up together on the ground, twined round each other, sleeping like babies.

Sleeping like lovers.

A moment's relief as she saw them – then a horrible stew of feelings invaded her. Grief, resentment, anger . . . jealousy.
Jealousy
. She'd never felt it as savagely, as cruelly, as this before. Just those dark squirmings when Raff looked at Quainy too long, touched her too readily. . .

And that other time. When she'd seen them holding hands the day after she'd scared the wild dogs away with the power of her mind. When she'd felt revengeful, like a witch.

Disturbed, she turned, and stomped back to where she'd slept, where the sun was shafting through.
Stop it
, she told herself
. You knew this was happening. You've seen the way they look at each other, and cuddle up close to each other
.
You'd have to be an idiot to miss it
.
Just – let it go
.
Cut them out
.
All that matters is to get to Witch Crag
.

She heard rustling behind her, and turned round to see Raff and Quainy coming towards her. They had their arms round each other, but they let go when they saw Kita.

“Morning!” Kita called, hoarsely.
Don't let them see how you're feeling
, she thought.
Keep that hidden, keep that down.

“Morning, dearling!” called Quainy, dancing towards her. She looked more beautiful than ever. Happiness was pouring out of her like liquid honey from a jar. Raff was shining with it, too. And Kita couldn't be glad for them, she couldn't, it just made her feel more bitter and alone. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes. Let's eat, quickly, and get going, shall we?” Kita had her head down, as she pulled the last of the mutton out of her bag. “I've no idea which side of the city we came out of, but if we keep the sun behind us we'll be going the right way.”

She knew Raff and Quainy would be exchanging glances over her brusqueness, but it was too bad. It was how it was going to be from now on.

Soon, they were trudging through the woodland. They'd been too disoriented last night to be sure now which direction the city was in, but the woodland was dense, the trees comfortingly old, and they hoped they were heading away from it.

Kita led the way, and the other two followed her. They didn't speak to her, but sometimes she could hear them whispering to each other, and it made her heart harder. They walked on into the evening, then stopped and camped for the night. Raff made a fire but there was nothing to cook on it; they ate the food Kita had stolen from the city, and rationed the water from the two plastic bottles.

When Kita woke she couldn't remember her dreams, but she felt them darkly cling to her. She shinned up a tree to see if she could see anything; but all she saw was more trees. So they started off again with the sun at their backs, trudging along silently as before. Then, in the late afternoon, the trees thinned, just as they had done on the outskirts to the city.

“Oh, no,” muttered Quainy. “Are we going to come across another great road?”

“If we do, we'll turn right round again,” said Raff.

“No, I think this is different,” said Kita. “Look down, it's weird.” Their feet had begun to sink a little with every step. The ground was increasingly marshy, boggy; streaks of virulent green-yellow algae were threaded through it, pooling occasionally in strange shapes.

“It's sinister,” said Quainy.

“And getting warmer,” added Raff.

“But let's keep going,” said Kita, sharply.

They hurried on in silence. The trees continued to dwindle; large-leafed, fleshy plants had colonized the land here, and plump cushions of moss. The ground began to slope upwards; they waded on through lush greenery.

Then they reached the top of the slope, and Kita pulled up short, and pointed.

Ahead of them, on the close horizon, ringed by dark pines at its base, loured the stark, black shape of Witch Crag.

“Oh, lord,” muttered Quainy. “Now we're so close I'm. . .”

“Not so sure?” snapped Kita.

“Just – all those stories. The bones in patterns, the corpses—”

“Are made to scare the fainthearts away. If that's you, Quainy – well, don't come.”

Quainy didn't snap back. Raff didn't tell her off for her mean words. Their silence was somehow worse, set her further apart from them. They walked on towards the pine trees.

The landscape changed yet again. The earth underneath them was clayey and moist, and few plants had taken root in it. It gave off a strange heat as they walked. Then a ring of rocks barred their way; they scrambled over them, heading for the base of the crag. The light was fading fast; they'd been walking all day.

“Maybe we should rest here for the night,” said Raff, “in among the rocks. Start the ascent fresh the next morning.”

“We're running out of water,” said Kita, shortly.

“I know. But we won't find any in the dark.”

“Shhh,” said Quainy. “Can you hear that?”

It was a faint sucking, bubbling sound, like soup in a great cauldron. “It's coming from over there, behind that clump of ferns,” muttered Raff. The ferns were lush, tall and unexpected, among the dark rocks. Raff walked guardedly towards them. The girls followed.

All three of them stood in silence, staring. In among the rocks lay a perfect oval-shaped pool, quite large, about the size of one of the old sleeping huts at the hill fort. It was fed by a little waterfall that gushed down from the rocks behind it. The water swirled invitingly, and steamed in the cool evening air. Around the edges of the pool was clay-coloured mud – mud that moved, and steamed, and gurgled. Ferns flourished where the mud turned to earth again.

The air was moist, and smelt mineral-sharp and wonderful. Kita felt better just breathing it in. She longed to climb into the pool, subside into its depths, sit under the waterfall and let it pound on her head and wash all the sweat and suffering of the last few days away. . .

“I've never seen mud or water behave like that before,” said Raff. “It's . . . hot.”

“It might be poisonous!” blurted out Quainy.

“How could it be?” said Kita. “With those ferns there.”

“Maybe they like poison.”

“Nada used to tell stories about hot springs. How wonderful they were. Maybe it's a hot spring.”

“Well, I'm not going to risk it,” said Quainy, but all three of them continued to stare longingly at the water. A giant crow clattered down and landed on a rock at the edge of the pool. It glared at them, head cocked, out of one eye; then it flapped on to a flat rock that was lower in the pool and had water flowing over it.

It took a deep drink, head tipped back to swallow. Then it started to bathe. It flipped water up in the air with its wings in great sparkling sprays, throwing them over itself, a great joyous flurry of black feathers and diamond waterdrops. They laughed just to see it.

“That proves it,” said Kita, and she pulled her old woollen tunic over her head and dropped it on the rocks.

“Kita –
don't
!” begged Quainy. “S'pose it's a witch's trick, s'pose the crow's just part of the spell, s'pose—”

“Quainy, if you think that scary tale crap from the infants' pens is true, what the hell are you doing here?” Kita retorted; then she stepped, defiant and naked, over the rocks and lowered herself into the pool.

And forgot Quainy, forgot everything. The warm, silky, mineral-rich water flowed over her tired dirty body, covered every inch of her. She sighed out in absolute, animal bliss, spreading her toes and fingers, feeling the water cleanse every atom of her. She scooped up water with her hands and drank it; it was warm, but alive, and it slaked her thirst perfectly. Then, crouching, she waded over to the waterfall and, closing her eyes, sat right underneath it. The rushing water, colder than the pool, pounded on her head, massaging her neck and shoulders, then her back as she leaned forward. Her muscles felt deliciously sore as they tightened and relaxed. Sweat and grime streamed from her hair as she was washed clean of all the foulness of the ruined city.

When she'd had enough, she moved away from the waterfall and opened her eyes, and saw that Raff and Quainy had joined her in the pool. They grinned at her through the steam, and Raff called out, “OK, mad one – you were right! This is
heaven
!”

She smiled back but didn't say anything; she gathered up handfuls of the hot bubbling mud and rubbed it on to her arms and feet, even her face, using it to scour her skin cleaner still. Then she pulled her tunic into the pool with her and washed it, too. She didn't care about putting it back on wet; it was warm by the pool and she couldn't bear to put a stale, filthy garment back on her shiny new body.

The evening meal was a mostly silent affair. All three of them relaxed on the rocks as the steam drowsed over them, eating grain cake and honey with two-thirds of an apple each. There was nothing to discuss; they could make no plans; they had no idea what lay ahead of them.

But anxiety about what the morning would bring was beginning to lap at Kita's mind. And she wanted to be away on her own, away from Raff and Quainy – she felt horribly in the way.
Anyone would want to make love,
she thought
, after they'd bathed in that pool
.

“I'm turning in,” she announced. “There's a nice little hollow there, all sheltered, and I'm marking it for me – just room for one.”

They said goodnight to her in soft, almost pleading voices – but they didn't ask her to stay.

That night, wrapped up in four huge fern leaves, she dreamt about her old nurse Nada again. They were sitting together by the pool, the waterfall splashing deliciously behind them, and Nada was smiling and feeding her sweet brown fruit she'd never tasted before, telling her well done, well
done
to have escaped the rotting city. Kita felt soused in happiness, completely content. Then Nada told her she should bathe, and enjoy the water once more, so she pulled off her tunic and slipped naked into the water.

She waved to Nada from the pool, but her old nurse stood up and, laughing, started to walk away. “Where are you going?” Kita called out, but Nada didn't answer.

Kita turned round. There was a statue under the waterfall. A man, a warrior by his looks, water cascading all around him, beautiful, elemental.

She moved closer. The statue came to life, blinked, looked at her.

It was Arc.

Kita gasped and stepped back; Arc threw himself forward into the water, and in seconds he'd surfaced right in front of her. The vividness of his face shocked her; then shock changed to absolute desire.

“I've found you, tree rat,” he said. “I've found you at last.”