Witch Crag (4 page)

“
Get back to work!
” the headman bellowed. Arc rapped out a command, and the footsoldiers turned on their heels to go back to clearing the perimeters.

The witch's body was left on the ground to be cleared by dogs and crows.

Kita scrambled down from her ledge, shaking. She was awash with horror, but she made herself focus on the here and now – collecting her fleece and returning to the spinning shack before anyone realized she was missing.

She worked at the mindless spinning until the day's end in a fog of fear and confusion. She thought endlessly of the slight body on the ground, the red of the blood and the flowers and the gown, as questions hurtled through her mind. The witch had seemed powerless. Until she'd looked straight at Kita, penetrating the brambles hiding her, when she'd seemed to have a power beyond anything Kita had come across before.

At the end-of-day meal, everyone was talking about what had happened in front of the fort walls. Talk rose so far above its usual dull murmur that the head cook came out from the kitchen and insisted on silence.

Kita sat with Quainy, as usual, but said nothing to her of what she'd seen. It was too horrific, too overwhelming, to talk about yet.

They left the food hut together. It was a bright, clear evening, stars beginning to prickle the sky. “Bed?” asked Quainy, shivering.

“In a minute,” said Kita. “I want some night air. Clear my head.”

“I'll save your place,” said Quainy, and she hurried off.

Kita looked up at the black, silent sky for a long moment, then she wandered towards the great gates. If anyone was out too late, a guard would shout at them to get to bed, but during the half-hour after eating it was all right to walk in the compound. Few chose to, of course, because everyone was so tired after their day's work.

As Kita rounded the corner, she heard voices. Someone other than her was still up. She crept nearer.

Arc, with Drell and a few other footsoldiers, were gathered by one of the massive gate posts, talking intently. Suddenly, Arc rounded on Drell, who stumbled backwards. “I'd slit twenty witches,” he snarled, “if it was right to do it!”

“But you were
ordered—
”

“It takes no courage just to follow
orders
!”

The boy next to Arc put a hand on his arm, but he shrugged it off violently. Then there was more fierce talking, but lower, so Kita couldn't hear.

Kita looked at Arc hungrily. She was desperate to question him, as if that might salve the trauma she felt. He'd taken the witch, and she wanted to know all about it, all about
her
. She wasn't sure why she felt this way, but she felt it strongly. Arc had some kind of key and he must be made – somehow – to pass it on to her.

But just the thought of approaching him, of walking over and asking to talk to him, made her feel sick with fear. He'd mock her, he'd laugh; she couldn't do it, couldn't expose herself like that.

And yet he had the key, and she needed it.

The group of footsoldiers was dispersing. Drell's head was low. Arc had reasserted his authority.

Kita breathed in, and stepped out of the shadows. “Another witch!” Arc crowed. “Slit her, Drell!”

The footsoldiers laughed; Drell grinned, sheepishly.

“Arc, can I speak to you?” Kita blurted out.

She wasn't prepared for the jeering laughter that followed her question. All of them, all the footsoldiers, laughing at her and mocking Arc, who grinned and swore. She waited, heart hammering, desperate to run, making herself hold her ground. Then Arc said, “Get on, you morons, I'll be along later,” and with more laughter the group walked away.

And Arc leant back against the huge gate post, arms folded, and all she had to do was cross the space of ground between them.

Somehow, she made it. She came to a halt a short distance away from him, and said, “It's about what happened today.”

“Come closer,” he said. “I don't want to shout.”

She edged a little closer. Arc was scary, close up. An even face, handsome, like a mask, strong teeth like a dog. She couldn't meet his eyes.

“Did you get into trouble?” she asked. “For defying the headman?”

“What's it to you,
tree rat
?”

“I'm curious.”

Arc grinned. “Yes, I did. He clouted me, warned me never to talk to him like that again. Said I talk too much altogether. But he's got me marked as his successor. He's all but told me so. He knows I need balls for that job. So. . .” He grinned again.

“Why weren't you more afraid of the witch?”

“If she'd been able to hex us, she'd've done it as soon as we flushed her out. She was the one who was terrified – I could smell it on her. Drell overreacted. He laid her out – if he hadn't, I'd've made her talk.”

“Did she say
anything
?”

“Not a word. She didn't even beg for her life.”

Kita's throat seized, but she made herself flatter him, made herself say, “I'd've been terrified. Weren't you scared at
all
?” She knew he was looking straight at her, and she made herself look back, meet his eyes. They were grey and oddly beautiful. “Everyone knows the witches do terrible things,” she went on. “If you go too near Witch Crag – you're done for. They hang you from the pines to die in agony or boil you and gobble you up—”

“Stories,” scoffed Arc. “Scary tale crap from the infants' pens.”

“But what about those footsoldiers, after the battle, stripped and covered in ivy and strung up by their feet. . .”

“They were
dead
when they were strung up. And killed by marauders, not witches. And the bones the horseman spoke of . . . who knows how they got killed. Maybe two gangs slugged it out and slaughtered each other.” He paused, still staring at her steadily. “Maybe the witches just tinker about with corpses.”

Something shifted in Kita's mind when she heard that, something she knew she didn't understand the importance of yet; she tucked it away to examine later. “Everyone was talking tonight,” she went on. “Everyone was saying what a risk you took.”

“I was ready to take it,” he said. Then he unfolded his arms, and stopped leaning against the wooden post, which made Kita want to take a step back, away from him, but she stopped herself.

“Why?” she asked.

“Instinct. Like when a dog knows to attack. Maybe she did have power, but I knew it wasn't dangerous to me, right there and then.
Or
to the tribe. The headman bottled it. He threw away our chance to find out more.”

“How d'you think they bewitched the horsemen brides?”

Arc laughed. “Maybe they didn't. Maybe the brides just didn't want to be married to old men.”

“Are you
serious
?”

“Maybe. What about you, Kita? Where does your taste lie?”

She stared at him, stunned, and he said, “Spring's nearly here. I can fight and you can climb like a tree rat – we'd make a good baby. And I don't think the
real
reason you came to talk to me was because you wanted to hear about a dead witch.”

Then, fast, sure of himself, he was right in front of her, his arms around her. His mouth went down on hers. She jerked her head backwards, wriggled furiously, and ducked down out of his grip.

His laughter followed her as she raced for the sleeping huts.

“Nice walk?” mumbled Quainy, sleepily, holding out the sheepskin cover for Kita to get under.

“No,” wailed Kita, heart still pounding. “I saw Arc and asked about the witch, and now he thinks I want to breed with him.”

“Oh,
Kita
. Of course he does if you went to talk to him.”

“
What?
Oh, lord – I didn't think of that.”

“Oh, Kita – you know what the footsoldiers are like. They all think they're prizes for the girls to fight over. And Arc likes you – I've seen him watching you.”

“That's insane!”

“It's
true
. I'd've told you before but I knew you'd react like this. Why shouldn't he like you? You've got more life in you than most of the girls here put together.”

“I'm going to be sick.”

“No, you're not. You're flattered. I can see it in your face.” For answer, Kita pulled the sheepskin right over her head, making Quainy laugh. “He's young and strong,” Quainy teased, “and good looking. Even if he is a thug – and let's face it, footsoldiers are trained to be thugs.”

“Mmmmph,” groaned Kita.

“Lots of girls would jump at the chance of sleeping with him this spring. I'd say yes if I were you.”

There was a long pause. Then Kita reappeared solemnly from under the sheepskin and said, “Quainy, don't say that. Don't be like the others. I don't want to just –
get pregnant
. I don't want to be a sheep, making babies. I want more than that.”

“Sorry,” murmured Quainy. “It's just – Arc, for all his arrogance, he's . . . he's a better choice than what I've got to go to.”

“I know, dearling,” said Kita, sorrowfully, snuggling closer. “Oh, lord, Quainy, there has to be a better way than the sheepmen or the horsemen. There has to be something more. Something with order, respect . . .
and
dancing.”

“There isn't,” muttered Quainy. “Go to sleep.”

But Kita lay awake for a long time that night, staring at the low black ceiling of the sleeping hut. First, she admitted to herself that Quainy was sort of right. Part of her was flattered, stirred, that Arc seemed to like her. She hadn't been as appalled as she should have been when he'd grabbed hold of her. His kiss hadn't been . . . it hadn't been vile.

But that was irrelevant. There, she'd admitted what she felt about it, now it could be set aside.

The horror of the witch, spinning and dying, looking straight at her, took over her thoughts. Things – confusing, challenging, terrifying things – were clicking into place in her mind.

That night she dreamt she was chasing after Nada through the forest. She was scared that Nada was a ghost but she still ran after her. She went faster and faster as skinny winter branches caught at her face and tripped her. But the old nurse wouldn't let herself be caught.

Two more days passed. The moon was no longer like a nail-paring in the sky, but bulbous, ominous. And as the moon waxed, and her departure as trade bride drew nearer, Quainy's stoicism waned. She was anxious, tearful. That night, she cried herself to sleep with Kita failing to comfort her.

An hour or so before dawn, the clanging of iron against iron woke most of the girls in the hut to the sound of heavy rain drumming on its roof. Rain collection was vital in the spring; the well had to be full for the long dry summer, and that morning the clanging was even more urgent than usual.

“Come on,” Quainy groaned, shaking Kita, who was still asleep. “We've got to get in line. Kita, come
on
!”

Kita sat up and rubbed her face with her hands. “I was deep in the most amazing dream,” she murmured, “about Nada again, but this time I caught up with her. We were in the middle of a wood, she told me to be strong, she told me to trust what I knew even if I didn't have a name for it. . .”

“Later, Kita,” snapped Quainy, pulling her to her feet. The two of them scurried out into the downpour.

The rain was so heavy that the eight great sheepskin sheets filled in record time, and the bucket handlers had to work murderously fast. Kita's muscles and sinews screamed as she seized handle after handle and passed the heavy brimming buckets on to Quainy. She didn't dare to look further down the line to see how Raff was faring, but she heard the headman shout, “Keep up, boy, keep the rhythm, the girls shame you!” and she knew he'd been shouting at Raff.

Then, as dramatically as it had started, the rain stopped, and the headman gave his welcome cry of “End! Fire! Soup!”

Raff caught Kita and Quainy up as they hurried over to the fire pit. “My arms are out of their sockets,” he groaned. “How do you two do it?”

“That was harsh,” agreed Quainy. “That was faster than I've ever known it.”

“At least I didn't fall over,” he muttered.

They reached the crowd by the fire. Its glow illuminated the footsoldiers standing at the front; cocky, self-assured, they waited for the soup that would be passed to them first. Kita could see Arc's strong profile against the firelight – he shook his dark wet hair over Bray, and laughed; she saw his teeth glint.

Usually, everyone tried to huddle as close behind the footsoldiers as they could, to get warm, but Kita took hold of her friends' arms and said, “Wait. Let's stay back here.”

Something in her voice made them stop, although it was risky for Raff to be seen in the company of the girls; he risked the young footsoldiers turning on him. But the moon was behind thick grey clouds still, and no one could see them so far from the fire.

“What is it, Kita?” asked Quainy, as they sat down on the wet ground and huddled together.

Kita knew she had to talk fast, because an opportunity like this might not come again before Quainy was sent to the horsemen. She didn't know what she was going to say, beyond the first few shocking words; all she had were fragments that formed a vague and terrifying shape in her mind. She took in a deep breath, and began.

“We have to get out of here. All three of us. Quainy can't become some old man's slave; Raff can't be bullied any more; I can't bear to be here any more. It's like death and I'd rather be actually dead. We have to go.
Don't
say anything. I know you think I'm mad. I know how we can do it. My high place – it's a ledge, on the rock by the great gates.”

“I thought it was,” said Quainy. “Though I've never seen you climb up there.”

“I hope
no
one has. There's a way down from my ledge to the outside – where the wooden barricade joins the rock. I. . . I've done it.”

“You've been
out
?” said Raff, stunned.

“No. Last summer, I climbed down as far as I could, then saw the drop, and bottled it. Actually, I didn't really mean to escape, not on my own. But we can do it. Climb halfway down, at night, then drop.”

“Right,” said Quainy, sarcastically. “Drop right on top of a night guard.”

“We'd be between the guards at the gates and the one at the dung gate – they won't see us. Not if we go
soon –
before the moon's too big.”

“They'll hear us when we scream because we've smashed ourselves on the rocks.”

“Quainy, I've been down, I've seen it – we can do it. Where we have to drop, the rock face slopes inward, we wouldn't touch it. We'd land on brambles but we could throw sheepskins down first, to break our fall.”

There was a long pause. “Brave Kita,” Raff said, at last. “Brave plan. So we escape. Then what? We're living alone in the wilds. Fodder for dogs and crows. Or cannibals. Or worse.”

Another silence, then Kita blurted out, “Not if we get to Witch Crag fast enough.”

“You're mad,” breathed Quainy. “Go to the
witches
? They'd destroy us, grimly enchant us – gobble us up. What are you
saying
?”

“I don't know,” whispered Kita. “I don't know how to explain.”

Raff nudged her in warning as three bowls of hot soup were passed to them by a frowning cook, who'd heard their animated talking and didn't approve of it. They took the soup, sipped, and waited for the cook to move out of earshot.

“Listen – I've had this . . .
doubt
. . . for a while now,” muttered Kita. “Like fog in my brain, like something you can't pin down or put a name to. And then when Arc dragged in that witch, it all seemed to . . . it started to take shape. And then I talked to him and it took a stronger shape.”

“And what was it?” asked Quainy. “This shape?”

“Just – I don't think the witches are as dangerous as everyone makes out. If they were – why wouldn't they do more harm to us?”

“Other than stealing girls, you mean?”

“Suppose they don't steal them. Suppose the girls want to go.”

“Oh, right,” said Raff. “Go to women who boil the meat off men's bones?”

“Arc said this thing, about the witches. He said – maybe they just tinker with corpses. And I thought – maybe they do it to scare people away. To keep themselves safe.”

There was a pause. They drank their soup in the silence. Then Quainy said, softly, “The horsemen . . . at their gates . . . they had a row of poles. With the heads of marauders spitted on them. And boar heads, interspersed. Rotting, flyblown, disgusting. Done to put the fear into people, to show how terrifying they are. . .”

“Yes,” said Kita, “
yes
. Suppose the witches are like that. Suppose all their displays, footsoldiers hanging, skeletons in rings . . . suppose it's the same thing.”

“But that means they're like the horsemen,” said Raff, dully. “Barbarous. Cruel.”

“Not necessarily. Think.
Think
. The horsemen are warriors, hunters, fighters. They ride out to defend and attack. Those heads on poles show what they
do
. What is the one thing, the only thing we have proof of, that keeps the witches safe?”

There was a pause, then Quainy said, “The stories. Our fear of them.”

“Yes. Exactly. Suppose they've
created
this fear to keep themselves safe? They've said to themselves – people hate us, they think we're evil, they'll hunt us down – all right then, we'll play it their way, we'll put on a display of necromancy so twisted and dark it will create terrifying stories that will swell and spread and they'll be afraid to come after us. The weird lights, the grotesque corpses – it could just be their protection. The making of their reputation. What man dare venture up the crag if he thinks his bones will be boiled and made into a daisy chain?”

Raff shook his head. “So there's no sorcery,” he said, slowly. “The girls who go to them – they work this out like you've done?”

“I don't know. Maybe there's some kind of magic, some kind of contact. Something to tip the balance. For me it was. . .” She paused. Then she said, “I saw the witch that Arc dragged up to the gates.”

“
What?
” said Quainy. “How?”

“I was up on my ledge. I watched her get slit. It was horrible. She was beautiful, and scared, and she didn't hex anyone. And she looked straight at me, as though she was trying to tell me something. I was hidden, in among the brambles, but it was as if she knew I was there. And I've been having these dreams. . .”

Quainy and Raff, speechless, stared at Kita.

“It's an almighty gamble,” croaked Raff, at last. “Based on a look and some dreams.”

They'd finished their soup. Any minute now the headman would set them to work. By the fire, the young footsoldiers were getting restless, and looking around. If the three were spotted together, there'd be trouble.

“Are you sure you want to go, Kita?” asked Quainy, urgently. “Arc has singled you out. You'll have privileges if you carry his child.”

“Yes,” said Kita. “I'm sure.”

“Then I'll come too,” said Quainy. Her eyes were huge. “I trust you, Kita. I trust your instinct.”

Kita took hold of her hand, squeezed it tight, no need for words.

Raff exhaled shakily. “You've made your mind up fast,” he muttered.

“Because there's no time to waste,” said Quainy. “And anyway, if it's death we're going to, death by dogs or cannibals or the witches, bring it on. Sooner that than what's waiting for me with the horsemen.”

“OK,” groaned Raff, “but you're both girls. The witches might accept you but they'd
slaughter
me—”

“Maybe not,” said Kita. “You're clearly not a threat – not a warrior.”

“Thanks.”

“
Raff
, you're an artist! And maybe they love beauty, and they're enlightened, freethinking. . .”

“That's just your hope, Kita. Your longing.”

“Well, maybe it should be your hope, too. Maybe you should trust like Quainy.”

“Let me think,” he muttered. “I can't
think
so fast.”

The quiet was shattered by the headman's roar. “
Put out the fire! Get to work!
”

“Raff – meet me tomorrow in the dung passage,” whispered Kita, as they scrambled to their feet. “Soon as you can after the midday meal. You have till then to decide.”

Kita spent that day in the infants' pens. Because the day had started so early, dawn only just turning the sky a dull grey, the infants were all still asleep when the matron let her through the cage door. They lay in rows in the shed, snuffling and whimpering under their lamb fleeces. “Sort the washing till it's time for them to wake,” the matron ordered. “Then you can dish out their porridge.”

After a while Kita paused in the queasy task of piling soiled napkins and shifts into separate leather buckets, and stared down at the rows of little ones.
Do they realize the drudgery waiting for them?
she wondered.
Do they dream of more?
She was gripped, suddenly, by a fierce desire to rescue them, set them free – create a happier life for them.

“Hurry up!” the matron barked. “No dawdling! It's just you and me today, I can't have dawdling!”

The huge crows circled above the bars as Kita washed clothes in the morning, ate her midday meal with the babies, and spent the afternoon leading cheerless obedience drills. She wasn't let free until all the infants had eaten their last mush and been settled for the night. Then she ran to the food hut, hoping Quainy would be there. She was, but she was already seated, on the adults' benches, and eating, flanked on either side by a drab looking woman. The three of them were talking quietly together. Kita felt her heart sink. What did it mean? She and Quainy always tried to eat together, they'd hang back until the other one arrived. . .

Then, with a sick thump to her heart, it hit her, what it meant. Quainy had changed her mind. She'd rejected Kita and her mad plan; regretted her own wild, determined words of last night. She was going to be a good, stoical sheep girl and do what she was told and go to the horsemen to be married.

For all Kita knew, the two women were discussing her wedding clothes.

Rage and jealousy and disappointment and hurt boiled up in her – a toxic brew. She stood there, glaring, willing Quainy to look up, but she didn't. She was on the verge of storming over, shoving one of the sheep-faced women to the floor, slamming down beside Quainy,
accusing
her, when her neck started to prickle, and she looked round.

And there was Arc, staring at her. He was sitting at one of the footsoldiers' tables, with a dozen of his mates. Three of the prettier hill fort girls were sat there too, in among them, flamboyant with excitement. This mixing was allowed, now that spring was near – it was the start of couples pairing off.