Witch, page 15
He motioned to Grey, Mabel, Tally, Tom Barrow. Such pedlars of lies.
‘And… for this court there cannot be any doubt to the foul crimes committed. By the power vested in me, in the eyes of God…’
The churchman muttered his barren prayer.
‘By the will of the people…’
The people cheered to be so called.
‘The will of this town, I must pass the sentence of guilty.’
‘Guilty!’ echoed the crowd. That word so good to hear.
‘Upon you all and hereby sentence the accused… to the punishment of hanging by the neck until dead.’
‘Hang them! Hang them! Hang them!’
At Tall One’s bark, his guards pulled down the nooses, and guided their open mouths over shaking heads, till they settled on soft necks, like snakes slid to their nest.
Those poor women. Some looked down. Some cried to the sky. Some closed their eyes to it all. For surely soon, this madness would end, and merciful death would free them.
And Dill. She looked only to Bob and soothed him with whispers against the lust of the crowd, the heavy rope that scratched his cheeks.
It was nearly time.
With the one hand, I felt to my wound, and I lifted the binding.
I pressed. Hard. White light in my sight. My wound sang with pain.
The guards made sure of ties to hands. The bench swayed, keen to be kicked.
It was as if it happened in silence, though all about me cheered and cried.
Lord Whitaker lifted his shaking hand.
‘It is with regret that I have passed this sentence. But it is the law of the land, and you have been found guilty of witchcraft.’
Silence then, only the lost moans of Old Jessy and Old Alice.
It was nearly time.
I felt for what waited.
‘But before your punishment is enacted,’ the old lord’s voice scratched the walls of that silent square, ‘it is the just will of this court that you may beg forgiveness for your sins and pray for salvation. Do any of you wish to—’
‘I would speak now.’
All eyes turned to a white-faced girl with a black nest for hair. She looked out to us from that groaning bench of the guilty, a noose so thick about her thin neck.
And as my fingers closed upon the stone, Dill began to speak.
‘I am Dill.’
Her face was pale above that noose waiting to bite.
‘These are my friends.’
Her voice clear, like a bell that chimed to call us in.
Tall One lunged.
‘No, Jacobs!’ Lord Whitaker cried and Sir Robert stayed him. ‘It is her right. And my ruling. You wish to save souls, do you not?’
Tall One glared but stayed he did.
‘Go on, young…’ But the old lord could find no words for the girl who watched him. ‘You may speak.’
It was time to finish what I had started.
‘Thank you, sir.’
Dill smiled slight to him, and in that silent, falling light, she turned.
‘This is Lizzie, there is Beth, that is Mary.’
Their tears shone as they looked to her.
‘That is Old Jessy, there is Old Alice. This is my friend, Bob. He is not a dog.’
‘But I do love dogs, Dilly!’ The boy’s laugh echoed about.
‘Yes, you do.’ Dill looked to Grey. ‘And I love them too.’
Harder I pressed, deeper I breathed, wringing my pain.
And as I gripped the stone, I thought of eyes, so many eyes, blinking black.
I thought of feathers unfolding, rustling to rise.
Dill looked to the crowd.
‘These things that were said. All that you heard today. Do not fret or be afeared…’
I thought of talons tearing air, beaks opening, cawing for me.
‘They are only stories. Told to frighten you.’
She looked beautiful. Like Mother.
‘Do not be frightened.’
Then up, up beyond the walls, to the sky I reached.
And called them to me.
‘My mother and my sister, and me, we ever looked to help people. Many people.’
Dill smiled, and it was like fish darting silver in the river. Like snowdrops pushing the dark earth. She smiled and I wanted to cry out to her, for she was my sister, and I would never leave her again. Not never.
‘We helped some of you here, most likes.’
Some heads dropped or looked away. Wretched, wretched town.
Tall One moved, but Grey was quicker, like the snake she was, to stand before Dill, swaying above her crooked head.
‘Little Dill,’ she said, turning her knife upon that hated name. ‘I knew your mother, little Dill.’
Dill looked to her aunt, so wily, so wicked.
‘You told that man Jacobs, that Mother hurt people…’
‘Why, yes, child, I did—’
‘You told him we were dark witches…’
Grey nodded.
All was still.
And they were legion, gorging the light.
‘You led him to our home that day. With his men.’
‘Yes, child. I did. It is the law.’
A pall of blackness, a wave of wings.
‘And you watched. You watched Mother die.’
Grey smiled her crooked smile.
So I lifted my palms, and marked my cheeks with blood, the blood I gave to a crow.
‘Yes, little Dill. I did.’
His brothers smelled me, sought me.
‘But now my question, little Dill. Is it true? Tell us… are you? Are you a witch?’
All watched. All waited.
And such joy filled us.
For the birds and I were one.
My sister looked out to that great sea of faces.
‘I am. I am a true witch. Like my sister. Like my mother, who you killed.’
The crowd gasped, reeled back, fear stuck in its throat.
Then a scream sliced the air.
Heads turned at the clatter of hooves on stone.
And, my, we were hungry, so very hungry.
I saw them. Fast down that path from the jail. Two horses charged into the square.
There rode Anne upon Coal, Jane’s scarlet cloak like the wings of a dragon. High she held a sword, its blade a smile in the light, her face daubed fresh. My Greeneye. And upon Shadow another galloped, whirling a fiery beacon. It was the Red Goat, and he glared through that billowing smoke, through the screams of people who fell and fled.
‘Stop, whoever you are!’ Tall One shouted. ‘Stop, I say! Men!’
But the good witch did not stop. She split that crowd asunder.
The Red Goat grinned and swung his flame above his red head.
‘DILL!’
I loosed my hidden blade, felt it sing with glee, as people jumped away.
Grey looked to me. Tall One pointed to me. Blood dripped to my smile.
‘I am a true witch! Like my sister. Like my mother. And I am come!’
I turned my blade to mark them both.
‘For you.’
Then I laughed for what I felt fast in me, for what I had done, for what was coming, as around me whirled and swooped and screamed, with all their black hearts, a great and beautiful murder of crows.
‘The birds! God save us, the birds!’
They were upon them.
Men swung by their feet.
Soldiers firing blind.
Women hung by their hair.
Children swept up, swallowed.
The air was choked with wings. Beaks pecked. Claws ripped. Blood ran.
Caw! Caw! Caw!
Everywhere people fled. All senses plucked.
Caw! Caw! Caw!
How the crows laughed, and how the crowd wailed, as a creature cornered. But not that way, where a good witch reared, and a Red Goat breathed flame. And never that way, where a bad witch cried,
‘Is this not a great show?’
They wept. I screamed at them.
‘Is this not a wondrous sight?’
They turned their bleeding faces from mine, hid their sorry heads.
But for one, who stood upon the gallows stage, with a look of longing for me. The girl he had missed that day, come to claim him at last.
‘Kill her!’ He swiped at that shrieking cloud. ‘Kill that… thing!’
Soldiers dived into the sea of screams. One drowned, and his musket sank fast from sight. Another saw me, till his eyes were snatched. A third rushed the swarm of birds and raised his ready gun.
‘Evey!’
Coal’s hoof struck his jaw, his musket vomiting.
‘Come on!’ Anne cried, as the crows spun and swooped.
Through that chaos I ran. And I felt so alive, my wound beating, stone and blade in my fists. I grinned for the pain, and for the joy, as the crowd fell away, as they all howled for me. The stage was mine at last.
And there upon that bench. Dill. Her mouth shaped to shout. Evey.
I jumped the gallows steps where people wriggled like worms beneath a rain of beaks. They crashed against the stage as Anne leaped from her steed.
Tom Barrow said his prayers, but the puritan man forgot his, and vaulted into the crowd, his book flapping with the crows.
‘The witches are here, sweet players!’ I cried. ‘Your final act is begun!’
‘STOP!’
Lord Whitaker cried shrill and stared to the good witch before him.
‘Anne?’ He stumbled upon the shuddering stage. ‘Anne, it is you, isn’t it?’
She looked to her trembling father.
‘No, Father. I am Jane Greeneye.’
She strode forward, so tall and powerful.
‘I am a true witch. Like my friend. Like my sister.’
Her blade turned to Sir Robert who sneered as the Red Goat whirled.
‘Killed by him.’
‘Killed?’ he whispered, then he saw the murder in Sir Robert’s eyes, that terrible truth.
‘My Jane?’ He looked for her amid the smoke, the wheeling birds. But his daughters were gone long ago.
Sir Robert leaped for Anne. But I grabbed him good, reeled him away.
‘Evey!’
I turned to see Tall One lay his blade to Dill’s neck.
‘Take your hands from—’
‘Good Eveline!’ Grey sprang, a knife in her claw. ‘I told you the stone would make you strong!’
I looked to it, her words cried by those crows.
A powerful weapon, Evey.
Was that a lie too?
‘There is so much anger in you, Evey!’
So be it. I ran at her. She danced away, her knife stroked my arm, carving red pain.
‘And look at your birds!’ she cried to the clamour above. ‘What a witch you are!’
Anne smashed the knife from her grip. Grey howled.
Mabel and Tally flew, talons out.
‘Hold!’ swung the Red Goat.
Heat hummed, his beacon burst fire about those wicked witches. Tally shrieked, shrouded in flames. Mabel, poor Mabel, her curls caught, she rolled away, a wail of smoke. Pretty no more.
‘Witch! Watch your sisters hang!’
I spun to see Tall One kick the bench.
And the crows were more and more. Screeching, seething, tumbling.
And the crowd thronged, and the stage shook, started to split.
Again Tall One kicked. Again the bench shifted.
‘Stop him!’ cried Beth.
‘Got you!’
Sir Robert grabbed Jane’s cloak.
‘Evey!’
Quick I balled my shawl, smeared it across my bloody face, hearing their cries above.
‘Did you pull same at Lady Jane that day she died?’
He smiled at that. ‘She was a lying wench! Like her witch mother!’
Anne twisted to be free.
And I hurled the shawl, Mother’s shawl, upon this man, this liar who brought woe to women, who must pay for his crimes. This was my court, my sentence. I gripped the stone.
Sir Robert ripped the shawl away, and my blood wafted to the air.
And I reached for them, my feathered army.
‘You fight like the girl you are!’
He pulled but stopped when he saw what came for him.
A great shape unfurling, diving, twisting. A crow made of crows.
They struck him. Over and over.
In his last, he saw Jane, who pulled her scarlet cloak from his grasp.
Before they took his throat. His scream.
I tasted his blood on my black tongue, such sweet revenge.
Their shape grew, bigger, blacker. Scrabbling for more.
Bird upon bird upon bird struck the groaning gallows.
‘Stop!’ I shouted, but they would not stop.
The world broke beneath my feet.
And in that terrible splitting I heard Mother.
Run, Evey. Now!
I started towards Tall One, the bench that he kicked and kicked.
‘Dill!’
The broken stage lifted.
‘Evey!’
My heart leaped as I leaped up that rising gallows.
Tall One tumbled.
And the crows were a teeming fury.
‘Evey!’ Dill cried out, her eyes huge with fright.
As the crows burst the guts of those gallows.
‘No!’
Splinters flew, Tall One fell between the shattered wood.
Lord Whitaker tumbled, an old stick tossed to a stream.
‘Hurry!’ Beth screamed.
‘The bench!’ Mary cried. ‘It’s falling!’
‘Dill! I’m coming!’
‘EVEY!’
‘Ev—’
They all stopped as one.
Legs kicked, hands wriggled, mouths gaped to breathe.
The nooses had them.
Now, Evey.
I ran.
And I jumped, high, high through the trees with Mother.
Bent through the falling air, pushing, willing my body to soar.
Stretched my fingers…
I seized rope.
It was Bob’s noose, his face close, struggling to smile.
Dill swung beside him. Crows wheeled and spun and cried.
‘Dill! I can…!’
I hacked my blade, such burning as I clung.
‘Evey!’ Her wrists wriggled free. She raised her arms, pulling from the noose. And smiled down to me, bright with life.
An arm curled about my waist, and my toes found the solid back of a horse.
‘Evey, I’ve got you!’
‘Anne!’ I gasped. ‘Dill, to me!’
She dropped from the rope and I clasped her body. She shook in my arms. I had her. But I could not stop.
‘Anne, the others!’
Together we rose, the bad witch and the good, and together we cut those women free, Lizzie, Beth, Mary, Old Alice, Old Jessy, dropped them to gasp upon the splintered ground. Bob rolled to the earth.
‘Dilly come?’ he called above the din.
But his friend shook her head and smiled. He waved, as his sister pulled them into the fleeing crowd.
‘Evey. I… I am sorry. I was so angry…’
‘No, Dill, no, don’t be sorry.’
And I began to laugh and sob so happy to hold her. I never held her like that, never felt like that, and it was good.
‘Quickly! We must fly!’
Through a mist of tears, I saw the Red Goat point across the square, where people bent and bawled beneath that plague of crows who tore and bit and wrenched.
Caw! Caw! Caw!
Full of frenzy. Glutted with glee. Because of me.
‘Ha, Coal!’
Anne clutched me close, and I to Dill, and her steed jumped through birds and the broken body of the gallows.
All that was done passed beneath us.
Lord Whitaker, a crow upon his still head.
Tom Barrow, his paunch split, life lifted.
Sir Robert, eyeless to the sky, his throat picked clean.
Tally lay in ash, Mabel in soot. But Grey, I could not see.
‘Out of the way! Begone!’ The goat flung his beacon at birds and bodies.
We charged across that shocked square, set fast for the far street.
‘Greeneye! There!’
‘I see it, Evey!’
CRACK!
A stall shattered to smoke. I turned back. Tall One reared upon a horse, threw his musket down.
‘Another!’ And snatched a gun from fumbling hands. ‘Give me sight!’
‘Quick!’
‘Witch!’ Across that carrion cloud he aimed. ‘I see you!’
‘Evey! Get down!’
I threw myself hard to Dill.
CRACK!
Death whistled above us. Dust and daub burst from a wall.
‘Dill!’
I smelled smoke in her hair, as I felt her all about.
‘I am all right, Evey.’ I thought that musket had found her. ‘I’m all right.’
‘We’re nearly there!’ Anne cried. ‘Out of the way!’
I looked to him, swearing to me. I have her now, Tall One. But mark me, I will have you before this day is done.
And I as thought on him, I breathed deep and turned the stone under my fingers.
‘Hurry, fools!’ He grabbed another gun.
Reaching for them, my bloody brood.
As he placed me in his sights.
Caw! Caw! Caw!
‘Damn birds! Get away! Get away!’
He swung with his musket. But they swarmed and wrenched it to the air.
‘They’re getting away!’ he shouted to no one, for his men were covered in crows.
‘Through here!’ The Red Goat cried.
We drove on, thundering by buildings and stalls and people.
At last we left that square, that terrible place.
The walls loomed as we rode. The Red Goat turned Shadow this way and that.
‘How will we pass the gates, cousin?’ Anne wiped paint from her face.
The goat ripped away his red head.
‘Peter Merchantman!’ I cried to see that gentle face, those clever eyes. ‘I said you were a good man! And now a finer goat I have never seen!’
Peter smiled to me, then to Anne. ‘I will go ahead, warn them there is a riot, that my stock is fleeing this way. I pass the gates often, they know me. Hold here, I will return…’
Anne slowed as Peter galloped and turned a corner.
