Witch Crag (12 page)

When Kita woke in the early light she was trembling with the power of her dream. She sat up and immediately set about rationalizing it. Bathing in the hot spring had been so sensual, and she'd been sure Quainy and Raff would make love . . .
and I thought of Arc because he's the only boy who's ever kissed me, if you can call that mauling a kiss
.

She was silent as they all got themselves ready for the day, eating a few mouthfuls of grain cake and nuts, and filling the plastic bottles from the waterfall.

“So,” said Raff, “I guess we just – head into that pine wood and then start climbing? And see what happens?”

“And see who comes to meet us, yes,” said Kita.

“I'm scared,” muttered Quainy. “What if we find skeletons? Or corpses hanging upside down?”

“Oh for
goodness
' sake!” Kita erupted.

“Don't yell at me like that! The city was everything the sheepmen said it was and worse – what if they're right about Witch Crag too?”

“That's the risk we agreed to take,” said Kita, grimly, and she stalked on.

Raff put his arm round Quainy, and followed Kita into the pine forest, following a little rough track that ran from the pool. It was silent and calm in the forest: no birds, hardly any wind. The pine needles on the ground gave off a fresh, astringent smell as they crushed them underfoot.

After an hour's steady uphill walking, Quainy left Raff's side and caught up with Kita. “Are you excited?” she murmured. “To meet the witches?”

Kita didn't answer.

“Do you know what you'll say to them?” Quainy persisted.

“No idea,” Kita snapped.

“Oh, dearling, please don't be cold with me,” Quainy burst out. “I can't bear it. It just –
happened
, me and Raff. Because of nearly dying. Because of getting out of the city. And because we've
really liked
each other for ages. It just seemed so
right
.”

“Well, that's all right then, isn't it?” retorted Kita.

“I know you feel left out. But you mustn't. We're still your friends. We're—”

Kita wanted to scream at her to shut up, but instead she gritted out, “Quainy, it's
all right
. I just don't want to talk about it. Not now. Let's just keep focused on getting up on the crag, shall we? On doing what we set out to do.”

And she marched on, and Quainy fell back to join Raff again.

After a while, the pine forest began to thin, and the ground got stonier. Then the uphill slope got steeper. Here and there, huge boulders jutted out; in the stark terrain, there was something comforting about them – you could take shelter there. Kita with her skill in climbing led the way. She was just considering a group of three great rocks, thinking it would be a good place to rest for a while, when something red flashed between two of them. She quickened her pace, heading for the rocks, but when she reached them, there was nothing there.

“Do you think there are foxes here?” she asked. Although the red hadn't been fox-fur red. It was berry red – blood red.

“Dunno,” said Raff. “Could be. There are rabbit holes enough. Keep your eyes peeled – we could nab a couple and roast them for supper.”

“Won't the witches see our smoke?” Quainy blurted out.

“So what?” snapped Kita. “We want them to find us, remember?”

“I suppose. It's just – I hate that feeling they could come upon us at any minute. I'm so on edge with it.”

“Let's stop for a bit,” said Raff, soothingly. “This is a good spot.”

*

After resting, they climbed on, into the evening. “How far do you think we've come?” asked Quainy. “Are we halfway up yet?”

“Hard to tell, but I doubt it,” said Kita – and then she saw another flash of red, behind some stunted thorn bushes clinging to the rocky slope ahead of them. “I think someone's following us,” she whispered. “Well – not following. More like going ahead of us.”

“Oh, lord,” groaned Quainy.

“I think I've seen it too,” said Raff. “Just a glimpse of something red, disappearing. . . I've been wondering if we should call out—”

“No,” said Kita, firmly. “If it's a witch, we must wait till she comes to us.”

They trudged on for another hour, but the steepness of the crag made it very slow going. As darkness fell, they found a huge boulder that gave shelter, and Raff made a fire with the dry brushwood that was all around. He tried to catch a rabbit, but they were too canny for him, and Quainy wouldn't let him go far from the fire. So they settled down for the night, but no one could sleep. They were hungry and full of apprehension. Kita had gone completely into herself; she seemed to the others to be coiled up like rope.
Or a snake
, Quainy muttered to Raff sadly, when she thought, wrongly, that Kita wasn't listening.

*

The next morning, a grey, foggy dew covered everything. The three got to their feet with barely a word to each other and started again on the slow, dreary scramble upwards. Rocks and sparse thorns loomed spectral and eerie in the mist, and the damp clung to them; they licked their hands to ease their thirst. Kita's thoughts gnawed at her; she was sure now that the other two were deeply regretting agreeing to her plan, believing that the witches would leave them to starve in this desolate place. But she told herself she didn't care about that; she was resolved to climb on to the top of the crag, and demand an audience.

“Do we have any food left at all?” asked Quainy, faintly, after a while.

“A bit,” Kita croaked.

“I think – I'm sorry, but if I'm to go on – I need some food.”

Kita stopped, sullenly, and pulled the woollen bag off her shoulder. Then stared. The three rocks ahead of her, shrouded in mist, had moved, had disintegrated, two of them splitting in half. . . She peered harder, heart thudding. Something red was drifting into the fog, swirling closer. And something green.

Kita waited, barely breathing. Then through the fog materialized five women, coming down towards them.

Quainy let out a low moan of fear; Raff seized her hand. Kita waited.

The women moved with animal ease as they sped down towards them, footsure, jumping or sidestepping rocks. Two had red cloaks, three green, wrapped round them against the damp. Their faces were vivid – super alive, somehow naked. Kita made herself meet their gaze. Each of them had a slender blackbow held in front of her, arrows aimed at the friends.

They came to a stop a short distance away. A broad-shouldered woman with long, wild black hair tied loosely at the nape of her neck took a step forward and said, “Kita.”

“Yes,” gasped Kita.

“My name is Wekka.”

“Yes,” said Kita again.

“It's taken you a long time, to get here.”

“Yes,” said Kita, once more. “We got trapped in the old city.”

A hissing sound went from witch to witch; they raised their black bows menacingly. Something yellow-green oozed from the arrowheads. “You were
inside
the city?” demanded Wekka.

“Yes. For some days. Then we escaped.”

“How interesting. Who are your friends?”

Kita shrugged. “Friends,” she said.

“We've been watching you. Since the hot pool. We wanted to see how determined you were. We let you get most of the way up here before we showed ourselves.”

“And now what?” demanded Raff – then wished he hadn't. As one, the five witches all turned towards him, eyes hard, appraising. Arrows aimed.

“And now – come with us, please,” said Wekka. And she set off up the crag, her red cloak flowing. The four remaining witches motioned for the three to follow her, and then they came behind. They still hadn't lowered their blackbows.

They climbed for another hour, with no more conversation. The crag got steeper, barer, harsher, devoid of plant life. Kita passed Quainy the last little piece of honeycomb, to give her energy, and Raff helped her climb. The mist cleared; the sun came out.

Then, at last, they arrived.

Kita's heart sank. The domain of the witches looked disappointingly like the sheepmen's hill fort – a stark wooden barricade surrounded the summit. The gate that led into it was different, though; intricately woven of willow wands, some of them still sprouting, it looked graceful and magical. Wekka led them through it.

And there any similarity to the sheepmen's home ended.

They walked into a vast, craggy, undulating, free-flowing space, full of colour. Colour on the people moving confidently about; colour stretched in great, billowing lengths of cloth on wooden hurdles. Orange, blue, green, red and yellow shone against the black rock. Large russet and gold birds stalked the ground, or soared overhead. The air was full of sound – laughter, chatter and, at a distance, pipe music and singing. And
scents
– Kita inhaled greedily, as her heart pounded with wonder. A sweet warm fragrance rose from the huge bunches of herbs and flowers tied to poles, drying. Rich spiciness came from a great stone dish that a young girl was pounding with a wooden pestle. And the freshest of scents came from the banks of lush green plants, some flowering, that flanked a large part of the outer walls, growing in great wooden trenchers.

All the women, children and men who were near enough to notice the newcomers stopped, and gathered round, gazing at them. The five warrior witches sheathed their arrows, then retreated, melting into the crowd, which parted, to let a woman through. She was wearing a long orange shift; she had a child balanced on her hip; a leggy grey dog padded beside her. Her white hair was piled wildly on top of her head; her bare arms clinked with bangles made from metal and bone. “Ah,” she said, looking straight at Kita. “I congratulate you. You made it here at last.”

Kita bowed her head, unable to speak.

“Food,” the woman said, “urgent food, and a bath, and hot sweet drinks, and fresh clothes. Then we can talk.”

Minutes later the three friends found themselves sitting on a curved bench in a warm, steamy building, whose wall coiled like a snail's shell in on itself. A smiling girl brought in little bowls of a hot, spicy distillation and a dish of delicious pasties. “Rabbit and onion,” she said. “Eat and enjoy. I made them and I know how good they are. The bath is through there – I'll bring you drying cloths and fresh clothes. Take your time. And if you're too tired to talk this afternoon, Vild says to show you where to sleep, and it can wait till tomorrow.”

“Vild,” echoed Kita, wonderingly.

“Yes,” said the girl. “The white-haired lady who greeted you. She was one of
your
people.” Then she smiled, and left.

The three friends silently swallowed the frothy, sweet drinks and devoured three pasties each before they said anything. Then Raff muttered, “I've got so many questions. Millions of them. Like – how did Wekka know your name? Why didn't we ask her any questions?”

“Because we're half starving?” said Kita.

“There are men here – did you see? Not many, but there are. And children. So the witches give birth?”

“It's good here,” said Quainy fervently, wiping her mouth. “Oh, it's good, isn't it? Weren't we right to come?”

“Yes, dearling,” said Raff. “Especially as I haven't been slaughtered on sight! Here, have the last of my drink. Oh sweetheart, your colour has come back. . .”

Kita got to her feet. She felt distanced from her friends, separate, everything in her focused on the witches and what was to come. “Can I bath first?” she said, bluntly.

They looked up, surprised. “Of course,” said Quainy.

She followed the snail-shell wall round into its inner section, which was perfectly circular and filled by a vast, sunken tub that could hold perhaps six people, sitting upright. The water steamed and gave off a delicious lavender scent. She dropped her old woollen tunic on the floor and lowered herself into the bath, gazing up at the curved walls, amazed that a barrier could be so flowing and beautiful. Then she slipped right down under the water, and lost herself to the warm pleasure of it.

Moments later she surfaced out of breath to see a slim brown arm reaching through the door gap and hanging a length of cream-coloured cloth and a purple shift on a peg on the wall. Immediately, she stepped out of the bath, dried herself on the cloth and stepped into the shift. It slinked down to her ankles, fresh, soft and wonderful on the skin. She left her old tunic on the floor – she knew she'd never wear it again. Then she walked out to join her friends. They were cuddled up, close and happy, on the bench. “You were quick!” said Quainy.

“I want to talk to Vild,” Kita answered. “Like you said, there are so many questions.”

“Shouldn't we all talk to her together?” asked Raff.

Kita raked out her wet hair with her fingers. “I don't see why,” she said. “Enjoy the bath, it's wonderful.” Then she left.

She felt curiously confident as she crossed the compound. She'd used great ingenuity and courage to get here. She'd suffered and endured. At some deep level she knew she was entitled.

As she walked, she looked around. The black uneven rock that the witches had made their home had been adapted with graceful ingenuity. Here, a slab had been hacked out to form a group of benches, where people sat and chatted. There, a huge jagged spike had been carved into a tracery of shapes – leaves, faces, strange creatures with wings and webbed feet. And here, a natural pit had been filled with earth to grow a lush swathe of plants with bright, nodding flowers.

People smiled at her, but no one stopped her or questioned her. They moved with confidence, and ease. There seemed to be no rigid order to the place, not like the sheep hill fort, where there were regimented spaces and times for eating and working. But the flow worked, here on the black rock. Children ran free or played on the ground, and the singing in the distance grew louder, and the bright birds hopped and soared.

Kita stood still, suddenly overwhelmed. The colour and the beauty and the grace – it was too much, too powerful.
It's bewitched me
, she thought, gulping back tears – then she laughed. Was this what the sheep people meant when they talked about the seductive sorcery of the crag?

Then, from a distance, by the masses of plants flourishing in the wide wooden trenchers, she spotted an untidy white bun of hair, and hurried over.

Vild turned to her, smiling. “Just doing a bit of weeding,” she said. “You wouldn't think weed seeds would make their way up to the top of this mountain, but they do.”

“These plants look so beautiful,” said Kita.

“Aren't they? It's restoring just to be near them. And they're so useful! For food, medicine, sweet scents, and cloth dyeing.”

“How do they grow so well?”

“Ah,” said Vild. “It's all part of our clever, simple system. Come and see.”

Kita followed her along a path between the plant trenchers, and up a short flight of steps to a wide platform, where a variety of short, sturdy trees grew in huge tubs. Perched in the trees and strutting about the ground were more of the large, boldly coloured birds. “Pheasants,” said Vild, with satisfaction. “Or a kind of hybrid pheasant, anyway. We managed to breed them after the Great Havoc. There's where they lay their eggs.” She indicated a long, low, straw-lined hut, with many entrances. “A very good addition to our diet. As are the poor pheasants, occasionally. Their bones make tasty soup stock.”

“Don't they ever get attacked, by the crows?” Kita asked. “And your children – they run about unprotected. . .”

“Oh, they're protected,” said Vild, firmly. “The crows don't dare land here. Now – see that channel? We sweep the pheasant droppings into that, and it all gets washed down to the plants. It's the best compost going. The water is dirty bath water, drained from the bathhouse where you had your soak. Nothing is wasted.”

“The bath was wonderful. How do you heat it?”

“We don't. We managed to divert water from a tiny hot spring near the summit of the crag. That took some cunning, trust me! When we first settled on the crag, we discovered a fissure with steam coming out of it . . . with a lot of clever drilling and redirecting and blocking to build up the pressure, we got the water to follow. In a very thin stream, but piping hot. We cool it and drink it too, but not out of the bath, of course.”

“Ingenious!”

“As are so many of the sheep people's methods,” said Vild. “We copied their ways of using our dung to grow corn for bread. On the gentle slopes on the south side – I'll show you later. Now. You look better, Kita. Refreshed. And purple suits you, with your lovely dark hair! Shall we go somewhere quiet, to talk?”

So once again Kita followed Vild as she climbed higher, crossing an open space filled with people spinning and weaving, calling out greetings as she passed. The leggy grey dog trotted over, and Vild patted him and said his name was Moss. Then she slipped behind a tall bank of rock to where several boulders made natural seats. “Here,” she said. “We won't be disturbed.” She subsided down on to one of the boulders, indicating to Kita to take the one facing her. Moss curled at her feet, sighing peacefully.

“So,” Vild said. “You must have a hundred questions. And I have too. We'll take it in turns. What's your first?”

Kita scuffed at the black rock with her foot. “Is all this – for real?” she asked. “The harmony and happiness and everything, what I feel all about me – is it real?”

Vild laughed. “You think we might be putting on a show just to fool you? What a mad waste of energy that would be. You're just afraid to trust it, Kita. Yet.”

“But the
fear
, the terrible stories about you–
–
”

“Are just that. Stories. Back in the time of the Great Havoc, men fighting for control wanted to crush the free-thinking women among them – they were afraid of their power. So those women fled to this crag. And decided – everyone thinks we're evil, fine, we'll continue that myth. And stay safe.”

“Aaaah,” breathed Kita.

“Soon, other women joined them. Then some men. Breaking through the fear that surrounded the place,
trusting
. Just as you did, Kita. And now you're here, I hope you understand why we go to such grisly lengths with our wheels of skeletons and dangling corpses to protect how we live? We feel it's acceptable propaganda. Don't you?”

“Yes. Yes, of course I do. Witch Crag is – so
much
more
than I hoped. I felt mad, hoping even my little thoughts. It felt like an insane leap in the dark, hoping them. The horsemen, the sheep people – they're all convinced you're hugely dangerous.”

“Good. Our propaganda works. And of course we
are
dangerous. To their way of living.”

“The only other person who saw beyond it all, beyond all the fear, was. . .” She broke off. Arc had no place here. Just the thought of him sent the strongest sensation through her – it got in the way. “But it's not entirely propaganda, is it?” she went on, hurriedly. “Those arrows aimed at us – what dripped from them?”

Vild laughed. “Poison. Oh, we defend ourselves, and what we've made. And we kill, when we have to. Too many people in this new world hate us. Now, Kita, a question for you. What made you so desperate to escape the hill fort and come here?”

Kita was silent. She thought of the witch Drell had slit, her long intense stare before she'd died. She was the real reason Kita had come here. But she couldn't bring herself to talk about it. She felt the guilt of the death on herself. “You lived there,” she mumbled. “You must know.”

“Mmm. Sheep life is rather pared down to the bone, isn't it? Nothing that isn't part of survival allowed to survive. Love, pleasure, friendship, laughter, chatter – all frowned on. Beauty is a distraction; hair is shorn; even the wild flowers are hacked down.”

“Yes.
Miserable
.”

“And unnecessary.” Vild raised her hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and her bangles clinked. “The sheep people don't need to be so joyless. They're efficient; they grow food and collect water. They rear sheep, and children, and keep them all safe. They weave cloth, like us. They could let themselves feel pleasure in it all. They could live far richer lives than just those of survival.”

“That's what I want to do,” said Kita, fervently. “Live a richer life.”

“Of course you do. And you shall.”

“
Here
,” Kita blurted out. “I want to live here! It's – I feel as if I was cramped in a bucket, all shrivelled and starving, and now I'm here I'm. . .”