Witch, page 5
Follow! Follow! We know! We know!
I tried to stand but want had ebbed from my limbs. I reached for the gourd and felt something hard and smooth to my fingertips.
Mother’s scrying stone.
I took it out, turning it upon my palm. Jet as a moonless night. Tiny glints of light. And there a notch, like a thumbnail pressed to its hard skin. I rubbed it, thinking on the words of my Aunt Grey.
You were right to take it, Eveline.
I had snatched it from Dill. But she was waving it so. Hurt that old witch.
Shards of light turning, like stars. There was something she cried, something…
Mother said it should only be given or found, never taken!
Stones were everywhere about me. Though none as fine as the one in my hand.
It rolled smooth on my palm. Tally bled where Dill hit her. Stupid, jealous mite.
It woke at the taste of her.
I watched those black stars turning in my hand.
Blood magick.
I didn’t know no magick. Dill did. Mother did. Had.
Dill’s face. Sobbing.
I have the stone already, little Dill.
My voice outside me, laughing at her.
But Mother was dead, so she couldn’t stop me.
She was only little. Little Dill. Shouldn’t have teased her.
And I was drifting in those stars. I couldn’t help it. Mother was dead.
My eyes so heavy. So tired, so tired, so…
You screamed. I wrestled to be free.
Pain in my sides held tight. I heard bodies moving, murmuring.
‘Is this the one you spoke of, old woman?’
‘This is her, sire. A dark witch taken shape of a child.’
I smelled their horses, pawing the earth.
Felt heat from a fire, shadows of flames.
‘Bind her mouth before she curses our souls!’
‘No, leave me be! Leave me be!’
‘Hold still, devil!’
You shrieked till a blond boy shut your mouth. As a burly man bound you. A thin one slung you to his horse, while a tall one watched on.
‘Spells aplenty she cast, as was bid…’ the old woman croaked. ‘Against your king, who hides weak and beaten…’
‘None shall know of it. We are done here, woman.’
I wriggled so hard, whimpered so loud.
‘Hush, pretty one…’ A young girl, her curls on my face.
‘Aye,’ cracked a crone. ‘Or I will bite your tail.’
Her toothless smile. Her blade to my cheek.
‘Look now!’ laughed the girl. ‘Look at John Barrow the bear. How drunk he is!’
A great man kicked the fire, sprayed sparks to the night. His head was a bear. A mask that bellowed and drank.
You looked to me, bound and mute.
The horses reared. You kicked and kicked.
No. Please.
A hand on my neck, lifted me high.
‘Ah, do you want her?’
Yes. Yes, so much.
‘Then fly!’
And flung me.
Don’t cry, I am coming. Like those birds we love to chase.
I flew into the flames and the heat and the light.
I howled, for you were not there.
So alone, I burned for you.
‘No!’
I scrambled to my feet, looking to beat the flames. My foot twisted and I fell, a rock biting.
I breathed, my knee pulsing pain. There was no fire. No men, no old woman. It was a stupid dream. Such a strange dream. I remembered I had been looking at Mother’s stone…
It was still in my grip. I rubbed the dust from its black face, made those shards shine. Mother would roll it in her palms at a healing as she scryed with it.
A horse whinnied behind me.
Quick I stood, pain up my leg as I moved, shoving the stone to my bag.
A rider was coming down the rocky path.
‘Well met there!’
It was a man’s voice. And he meant no harm, hailing as friend in this warring time, when a stranger would kill another for king or country. For that I trusted no man, no matter what he hailed.
The path below ran down into the shadow of the forest. If this man was a wolf, then I would not be in open sight.
‘Hey! Hey, stop!’
When Mother and I hunted it was always under shelter, staying low, moving quick and silent through the trees.
‘Be not afeared! Well met, I say!’
His horse spurred, stones rolling beneath its hooves. I stepped quicker still. The path became thinner, and the trees reached up from a drop to my side. The air was wet. A river chattered far below.
‘Please stop!’ Closer came the jangle of stirrup and bit.
His horse snorted. I shivered in the shade. I had no weapon.
‘Mistress, I mean no harm!’
From a bend in the steep path, where the green light grew darker, came another horse’s snort. Was this the witch hunters penning me like a lamb for slaughter? Well, I would face these wolves, and show them my own teeth.
The sound of the river trickled through the air. The horse blew close to my ear and I moved to the drop. Behind me, I felt the heat from its great body fill that narrow way.
‘Ah, at last…’
I looked up, the sunlight through the leaves blinding me. His shape against the sun moved to touch his forelock.
‘I have reached you, mistress.’
And there was a strange weight, a warmth on that word mistress. I kept moving, sliding my feet across the skittering stones. One jumped and fell to the drop. If I ran, I could not leave the path on my side, the fall would surely kill me.
‘Mistress,’ he said above the breathing of his horse. ‘I am a messenger seeking the Whitaker estate. Do you know it?’
He was wiry, his thin face lined about. A scar upon his chin, and hair like pitch, doused with sweat. And seeing me also, he smiled. He should not have, for his teeth were broken and brown. I shook my head.
‘Ah, you are lost too,’ his smile widening, ‘aren’t you, fair maid?’
I felt my cheeks grow hot. I had never been called fair. I had not known men much. A boy once. But I did not like this man, smiling so hungry to me.
‘I am… I am not lost.’ I could not stop my voice from shuddering. ‘I do not know this place you seek.’ I looked down. The sun played upon the river, stroking her long back.
The man twisted in his saddle, creaking leather. He leaned to watch me as on I stepped from rock to rock, my feet catching their craggy edges.
‘Then you are not from here?’
I did not look to him. ‘No, I am not,’ rocks kicking, rolling, ‘I’m from nowhere.’ And it sudden pained me to say this aloud. Home was gone and ahead was nothing. He chuckled, pulling the horse over.
‘The girl from nowhere, eh?’
The river laughed beneath the sun’s caress. I smelled wet earth upon her bank, sharp garlic spiced the air. And there again, I heard that other horse from the path below. Yet the rider did not for all his creaking and shifting, and his broken smiling.
‘So, then, where are you going to, my red-haired pretty?’
Again my cheeks burned. But also from anger. I was alone with this man, this well-met stranger, who pressed to my space upon this empty path, who called me fair and pretty.
We were deeper to the woods, and darker it was. ‘I am going to town.’ I looked him straight.
He only nodded, as his eyes wandered unbidden over my chest, my waist, my legs. I drew the bag across me, his gaze sudden making me feel shame. Why, though? It was my body, not his.
‘Town, is it? That’s a long way on foot, my red ruby.’ His tongue flicked his teeth. ‘Why don’t we…’
His horse slipped on a rock, neighing with fright and, as he cursed to draw hard on the reins, I thought who was this man who made me feel so afeared to be a woman?
‘Whoa! Steady now…’
His clothes were rough and muddied. A blade was slung sleeping at his side. A soldier messenger, then? His saddlebag showed clothes. A gourd. A blanket.
‘Does your mother not worry for you?’ He brought the horse to settle. ‘Such a lovely, on this road all alone?’
It was not a blanket. I stepped closer to see. The horse snorted.
‘No, she does not.’ And never would again.
Something about that blanket that was not a blanket.
His thin lips slid over those terrible teeth. ‘Oh, but a mother should worry, my little flame…’ Pulling his horse to stand.
I reached to that cloth I saw there.
‘Ah.’ He watched my searching hands. ‘You like this?’
And he pulled the blanket free, so that it fell open like a pennant for a family crest. And a great ache flooded my body, as I touched the woven braids, those wood beads I had played with so long, the white thread woven to its edge, like the grey line of her hair. Mother’s shawl.
My fingers trembled to feel it, like I smoothed along her still body that had once held me and would no more.
‘I was keeping it for a pretty maid.’ His voice slid around me. The river laughed on. That smell of garlic so strong. The horse’s eye glaring. ‘And, my, how right I was to…’
He stank of sweat. His steed smelled better. My fingers dug to Mother’s shawl.
‘What is your name, sir?’
He smiled to see me tremble.
‘Cooper, mistress.’ He bent closer. ‘James Cooper, at your service.’
Old man Croake’s words came tumbling like those stones. Cooper from across the valley. And the river caught them and cast them high. Cooper! Cooper! she cried.
‘And now… I must know yours, my red fox.’
My fingers gripped upon this piece of Mother hanging from his horse.
‘Eveline.’ My lips twitched, fighting my scream. And he grunted, for he saw his shy maid, tarrying for her kiss.
‘Eveline.’ He growled to the wet air. ‘Ah, Eveline…’
He reached down to my hand, pressed his dirty finger.
‘So, my red-haired Eveline, you like this fine shawl?’
How I wanted to bite off that creeping finger, spit it to the river.
‘I do, James Cooper. I do, so very much.’
‘Really?’ He wooed closer. ‘And how much do you love it, my red rose?’
His eyes stripped me bare. Bile scalded my throat.
‘As much,’ I looked up into his laughing eyes, ‘as I love my mother.’
His finger stroked to my shaking fist.
‘For, you see, James Cooper,’ I whispered so that he leaned close. ‘It is hers. It is my mother’s.’ And my lisp was gentle no more. ‘Who you killed.’
There was a stillness in that green light. His smile fixed as his eyes filled with knowing. Then right clear, beyond the bend in the path, horse hooves clip-clopped, clip-clopped.
Cooper looked up, and I jumped to. Balling my fist, I wrenched the shawl free.
‘You!’
He lunged. I dropped, but his fingers grabbed to my hair.
‘I have you!’
I screamed, pulling back, pain across my head, and I ripped away. Like a lover spurned he bellowed and lunged again. I ducked beneath the horse’s belly, and I ran down the path, my heart pounding with my feet.
‘Stop!’
But I would be wooed by him no more. Mother’s shawl in my grasp, I ran on, my scalp singing.
‘Ha!’
I turned to see him kick his horse, and it screamed to clatter down upon me. I looked about, the drop to the river was too far.
‘I’m coming, my red wench! I’ll get you and…’
The turn in the path was closer. Cooper’s voice filled the trees, the rocks, the air.
‘I’ll get you and when I do…’
I made the bend. And there, towering above me was another horse, and upon it sat a young woman, fine and noble, garbed in a long green cloak. I stopped. The rocks skipped around me. The woman looked down to me, with eyes as bright as the sunlit leaves. She began to smile. Was she even there? Was she a wood spirit come to claim me?
With a snort, Cooper’s horse rounded the bend,
‘I’ll take more than your red fur… You…’
He brought his horse fast to stop and stared like me.
‘You little…’
His words tumbled to the river below, as the woman looked to Cooper in the dust of that rocky path, and to what he held aloft, like his lady’s favour.
A stolen lock of my red hair.
We three strangers looked to each other, Cooper to this fine lady, she to him, and I from one to the other. Silence but for Cooper’s horse that pawed over.
‘Who are you?’
Her voice was soft in that mottled light.
His steed bit to its bridle, eyes wary to its fellow, still as stone.
‘I am Cooper, James Cooper…’ he said under that woman’s steady green gaze. ‘Of the town brigade, my lady.’
And Lady Greeneye then alighted to me, my breath as fast as my beating heart.
‘And why are you chasing this woman, James Cooper of the town brigade?’
She spoke so clear like day cutting night.
‘She stole from me.’ Cooper bared his horrid fangs.
The fine lady looked to my hair in his fist.
‘And you from her, I see…’
Cooper let fall my lock and it drifted, a red flame in the prying sunlight.
‘I could not steal what is not yours to have!’ I blurted, like my voice had come from me unbid. Was it this lady who gave me heart?
‘Shut your hole, witch!’
‘It is not his!’ The beads rattled on the shawl as I shook it. ‘It was my mother’s!’
I pleaded to Greeneye, and she frowned, working our tale between her thoughts. She would know it.
‘He is the thief. He ripped it from her dead body!’
The lady looked to Cooper. What a sight we were. Did she think we played to thieve her?
‘She was a witch, my lady. Like this one,’ and he pointed to me, ‘to be brought to trial.’
Lady Greeneye raised an eyebrow. ‘Yet she died?’
‘She resisted our arrest.’ Cooper thrust his chin, like he faced his captain. ‘Tried to cast a spell upon us and—’
‘That’s a lie!’ I stepped closer to him and his snorting horse. ‘There were four of them. They killed her, like she was a beast to slaughter!’
‘And I will kill you, girl, if you dare to speak again!’ Cooper drew his blade, scraping the air. ‘I arrest you—’
‘Stay that sword!’ Lady Greeneye rose taller upon her horse which stirred and seemed to grow with her.
‘My lady!’ He eyed her, stabbed at me. ‘Witches are decreed traitors against the people’s army! I have my orders!’
‘I am aware of your new laws, James Cooper.’ Her eyes lit. ‘I said stow your blade!’
And that was my moment.
I ran past her silent steed, darting to the path, two, three, four steps away.
‘NO!’ Cooper raged.
‘Stop!’ The lady drove before him.
I could have run on then, left them both to tussle horses and argue, but instead I turned and saw Cooper’s horse rear, saw him raise that glinting blade to charge at me. He made to pass her with eyes only for me, but Lady Greeneye would not let him. And Cooper stared angry upon this strange woman of the wood, who grit her teeth so wilful to stop him. And then as they scuffled, as their horses jostled, they lost their balance, for neither would give, and together they tumbled and fell, shouting, struggling to the ground.
Cooper’s horse reared again, turning tight, the lady’s steed trapped beside it, skidding at stones that fell to the river. And beneath those sliding hooves, Cooper and Lady Greeneye heaved and battled.
I had to help. She had saved me, and now grim-faced fought that swinging blade. I started back, scrambling over the rocks.
‘You cannot,’ Cooper grunted, turning his weight upon her, ‘stop me, my lady. Foolish to try.’
Then I saw it in his sweaty grin. We were alone with him upon this path, empty of any traveller. His word against ours. If he killed this brave woman, no one would believe a witch. He would say I killed her.
‘I will!’ Lady Greeneye’s voice echoed above the cry of the horses.
Cooper’s steed barged, hemmed by the other, rolled its mad eye.
But Cooper was too heavy upon the lady who shook to hold him fast. I jumped to, grabbed his sword arm. Cooper’s other hand gripped mine, and now we three fought to wrestle that sword free.
And his horse slipped, hooves stamping, sliding near.
‘I am powered,’ sweat from Cooper’s brow dripped to her dress, ‘by Lord Whitaker himself.’
And then, spite our pulling, he was stronger, for slow he raised his arm, and I saw what he meant to do. To strike his sword pommel upon that lady.
Yet she looked him straight with a smile.
‘And I am powered to tell you that I am his daughter!’ she hissed, above the cry of his whinnying horse.
‘What?’ Cooper gaped, as a fish for water. ‘His daughter? What?’
I grabbed for the blade. But my hand slipped, and the steel sliced my palm.
‘No!’
Cooper punched my face so fast, and I fell back into Greeneye.
He was crazed, for we were laid before him, and such bloodlust foamed his mind.
His horse smashed down its hooves, sparks flew.
‘You should not have come this way today.’ Cooper raised his blade. ‘This path is too dangerous for fine ladies!’
With that he swung back.
And stuck his blade to his horse’s leg.
He pulled, as a shriek sounded, and I thought it was my own.
But it was Cooper’s horse that lashed out.
Kicked his skull with a loud crack!
Blood bloomed from his hair, through his eyes, to his grin.
And James Cooper of the town brigade fell forward.
Dashed and dead.
A dead man. A dead man. A dead man.
The river laughed low, as bleeding so full of fright, Cooper’s horse bolted down the path, away into the woods.
A dead man. A dead man. A dead man.
Dead he was, there was no doubt. His skull was crushed. His hair clogged with blood, that soaked the stones beneath his body.
