So why waste time? Better to go now, this very minute.
WITHOUT A BACKWARD glance, I left the yard and walked east, back in the direction of the canal. I intended to follow it south, but I wouldn’t be heading towards Pendle. I’d keep going until I was far beyond the County. They said the weather was warmer down south and that it didn’t rain as much. It would be good to get a bit more sun on my face. I hated this damp blustery County climate.
The light was beginning to fail, so the sun must be very close to the horizon. Not that there was much chance of seeing it. Low grey clouds were rushing in from the west. Soon it would rain.
I felt no lifting of my spirits, no happiness at the thought that I was leaving my old life for ever. In my chest, where my heart should have been, was a lump of cold lead that made it difficult to breathe. I kept seeing the hungry skelts and those frightened children in their cages. Seven of them would be sacrificed in order to release the power of the egg; the remainder would be given to those bloodthirsty creatures.
The further I walked, the worse I felt. Even if I were many miles away when they killed those children, I’d still be guilty, wouldn’t I?
I’d kept watch while Lizzie snatched the child and hurt – maybe even killed – the mother. There was more than one type of guilt: you might do something horrible that you later regretted. But you could also feel guilty for something that you’d not done! If I didn’t help the children in some way, that guilt would stay with me for the rest of my life.
Something struck me like lightning. I could go and tell Arkwright, the spook, and lead him to the children. I could take him through the magical cloak, straight to the house.
But that would be very risky. He might assume that I was a witch, and either put me in a pit or kill me on sight! Still, it was a chance. I might be able to persuade him of the danger that faced the children; and I was the only one who could lead him through the magic cloak to save them . . .
Once there, I could slip away while he sorted out the witches and that pig, Salty Betsy. No doubt Lizzie would get away; she was crafty and had more lives than a cat.
Yes, that’s what I would do, I thought. So I pressed on faster towards the canal. Once I reached it, the mill lay only a little way further north.
I couldn’t have been more than five minutes from the canal when it began to rain really hard – the kind of downpour that could soak you to the skin in minutes. Next, forked lightning suddenly split the sky, to be followed moments later by a loud thunderclap almost directly overhead. It reminded me of that bad storm the night Lizzie had snatched me from Agnes’s house.
I’ve always been afraid of being struck by lightning. It scares me almost as much as spiders and flies. The Malkin coven was once caught in a bad storm on Pendle Hill. One of ’em was struck dead on the spot. And when they carried her corpse back to the village, it was all blackened and burned. It happened before I was born, but they say the stink of her charred body hung in the air for weeks afterwards.
Where could I shelter? There were a few isolated trees, but it was dangerous to take refuge beneath them, and the nearby hedgerow wouldn’t keep me dry for long, or safe from the lightning.
It was almost dark, and in the distance I now saw a faint light – it seemed to come from south of the canal. That probably meant a farm. Perhaps I could shelter in one of the out-buildings. No doubt there’d be dogs – they’d get my scent and bark fit to wake the dead – but the farmer wasn’t likely to venture out in such filthy weather after dark.
So I began to walk faster, cutting across two big fields and climbing over a gate, all the while making directly for that light.
Because of the cloud cover, there was neither moon nor stars to light my way, and the rain was driving horizontally into my face now, making it hard to see much. So it wasn’t until I got much closer to the light that I realized my mistake.
Its source wasn’t a farmhouse window, or a lantern hanging from a barn door.
It was a barge moored on the canal.
I halted on the towpath and stared at it. It was big, black and shiny, a far cry from the working craft that usually plied the canal, carrying food, coal and other materials between Caster and Kendal. It had a flat deck and one closed hatch.
Then I looked at the source of the light that had drawn me across the fields like a foolish moth to the flame that would consume it. On the prow stood thirteen large black candles: they burned steadily without even the slightest flicker, despite the gusts of wind that snatched the breath from my open mouth. It was still raining hard, churning up the surface of the canal, but not one drop reached the deck of that mysterious barge.
The candles bothered me. Black ones were used by witches – they made me think of the dark. But the barge was very grand and beautiful, which made me put aside most of my fears.
I was rooted to the spot, unable to tear my gaze from the candles and run away. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a movement. I finally turned and saw that the hatch was slowly sliding open.
I gasped in astonishment at what was revealed. There were steps leading downwards – too many steps. Canals were not deep, so barges were flat-bottomed. These steps went down too far. It was impossible, yet I could see them there in front of me.
Anyone with a shred of common sense would have turned and fled. But I wasn’t thinking straight. I felt compelled to step onto the deck of that black barge and go down into that deep hold. And that’s what I did, as if walking in a dream.
A dream? Looking back, it was a nightmare!
Apart from dozens of candles positioned in clusters, there was just one object in that big hold: a large throne of dark, shiny wood. It was covered in carvings of evil-looking creatures – dragons, snakes, and all sorts of monstrosities. But the throne was unoccupied; there was no one else in the hold – at least, nobody I could see. The hairs on the back of my neck began to stand up, and I felt as if someone was watching me. Nevertheless, I walked forward and stood facing the empty throne.
Who would sit on a throne like that, anyway?
I hadn’t spoken those words aloud, but immediately I got an answer to my question.
‘A good friend of yours would sit on that throne if he could, Alice. I am that friend. One day, with your help, that may be possible.’
I was confused. I didn’t have any good friends. The words had come from some distance behind the throne. It was a young voice; that of a boy.
‘How do you know my name?’ I asked.
‘I know your name as well as your predicament, Alice. I know that you serve Elizabeth of the Bones unwillingly, and you fear what she might soon do to a number of poor innocent children.’
I had never heard her referred to by that name, but I knew he meant Bony Lizzie.
‘Who are you? And how do you know so much about me?’ I asked nervously. I noticed that whereas the candle flames on the deck had burned steadily despite the storm, here in the perfect calm of the hold they flickered wildly, as if in response to some ghostly wind.
‘I am an unseen prince of this world and it is my duty to know all about my subjects. I can help you, Alice. All you need to do is ask.’
‘Where are you now? Could I see you?’
‘I am far away, but you may see my image for a moment. Look just directly above the throne. But don’t blink – it cannot stay here long!’
As bidden, I looked at a point just above that shiny ebony throne. For a moment nothing happened, but then there was a shimmer, and a face, without a body, appeared before me.
It was the face of a boy of about thirteen or fourteen – barely older than me. He wore a broad smile, and his hair was a mass of golden curls which gleamed in the candlelight. He was good to look at: it was clear that he would grow up to become a very handsome young man. Not only that: kindness and friendship beamed out at me. I felt as if he really cared what happened to me; as if he would do anything he could to help me. No one had ever cared much for me – apart from Agnes maybe. My mam
and dad had been cruel to me and I hadn’t seen much of Agnes anyway. So it warmed my heart to see someone looking at me like that. I felt that my life might begin properly if he was my friend.
‘Would you help me, please?’ I found myself saying. All fear and nervousness had left me. I felt happy, and sure that somehow things would turn out for the best. ‘I want to help those children. I was on my way to see Arkwright, the spook, and take him to the house where the children are held captive.’
‘You needn’t waste your time going to get the aid of a spook,’ he replied as his image faded and vanished. ‘Look inside yourself. You have the strength and power to do whatever you wish! You need no one but yourself!’
I thought back to the Testing in Pendle; the time when a young potential witch is tested to see what her strengths are and what type of magic she should use. Mine had been a terrifying experience that had gone badly. But I had learned from it that I might one day become very powerful. Now I was hearing it again. Could I start to believe it?
‘What can I do against all those fierce witches?’ I asked. ‘Lizzie alone would sort me out proper in seconds. She’s forgotten more spells than I’ve managed to learn so far. And what about the sharp teeth and claws of the others? What have I got to match that?’
‘Match it? You can surpass it with ease. As I said, the power is within you. Look for it now! Search within yourself!’ continued the disembodied voice.
‘How can I do that?’ I asked.
‘Begin by closing your eyes . . .’ the voice said softly.
I obeyed, eager to learn. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be powerful and not spend my life being scared? I thought.
I could see the light flickering through the blood within my eyelids.
‘Relax and drift downwards!’ commanded the voice. ‘Go down into the darkness, deep within yourself.’
For a moment I fought that instruction. The thought of going down into darkness was scary. But I was already moving; it was too late. I sank slowly at first, then faster and faster. I left my stomach behind and fell, like a stone kicked into an abyss, anticipating some fearful impact when I reached the bottom. I was terrified. I was lost and about to be destroyed. Why had I listened to this boy?
But there was no blow, no collision. Instead I found myself floating in darkness, utterly at peace. And suddenly I discovered the power that the handsome boy had spoken of. It was inside me, part of me; something I owned. It was something that I had been born with. Until this moment I had not been aware that I possessed such strength. Whereas before I’d felt vulnerable, prone to being pushed and hurt by those around me, now I had no doubt that I had the strength to push back.
‘See – you don’t need spells, Alice, but speak them if they make you comfortable. All you need do is focus your mind and exert your will! Wish for what you want. Say to yourself, “My name is Alice.” Then be Alice. Nothing can then stand against you. Do you believe me?’
‘Yes! Yes I do!’ I cried. It was true. I had absolute faith in what the voice promised. When I’d promised little Emily that I would stop her from being harmed, the words had come out of me without prior thought. And I’d really believed what I said to her. Perhaps that was because, deep down, a part of me already knew that I possessed the power to make it happen?
‘Then go in peace and do what must be done in order to save those poor children. One day we will meet again, and then you will be able to help me.’
One second I was drifting happily in absolute darkness; the next I was standing on the canal towpath in the rain with the thunder rumbling overhead.
The barge had vanished.
Without hesitation, filled with a terrible certainty that I could intervene and rescue those children from the witches, I set off east towards the house of Salty Betsy.
I walked fast – but would I be too late?
I WAS DRIPPING wet by the time I was even halfway there, my hair soaked and my pointy shoes squelching in the soggy grass. And as I walked, the confidence and determination that had come to me on the canal slowly ebbed away.
Now the barge and its strange occupant seemed nothing but a dream. Had it really happened? If so, what I’d believed at the time now seemed foolish. Lizzie was a really strong malevolent witch. I thought of the sprogs that she could summon from the dark to torment me. They usually just scratched and nipped a bit, but the threat of worse was always there. One had once pushed itself into my left nostril. If I hadn’t screamed for mercy to make Lizzie relent, it might have crawled right up into my brain and started to feed. Could I really disobey her? I wondered.
There were no stars visible, so I wasn’t sure of the time, but it had to be approaching midnight. I walked even faster, finally breaking into a run.
Where was the house? It must be close by now. Then I remembered how difficult it had been even for Lizzie to find it. And she had studied the horizon in order to note its position. I had done the same, but it had been daylight then; now it was night, and the low cloud and rain obscured everything. Not only that, the magic cloaking it was very strong.
I became desperate. By now the witches might have already begun to kill the children. Where was the house?
Show yourself! I thought desperately. Show yourself!
And suddenly, lit by a flash of lightning, the house appeared.
It wasn’t as if I had got lucky and blundered through the cloak by chance. Because of the rain and poor visibility, like a small boat battling a storm, I had drifted off course. It was about two hundred strides to my left. I had been about to pass right by it.
Had I somehow broken through that powerful magical cloak with my will? Had I drawn upon the magic deep within me without even muttering a spell, just as the boy on the barge had told me I could?
I turned and began to run towards the house. Perhaps I wasn’t too late, after all . . .? But what would I do when I got there?
With its boarded-up windows, the house appeared to be in darkness, barely an outline against the clouds. But I knew that down in the cellar, flickering candles and torches would be illuminating a scene of horror.
Lightning flashed again almost directly overhead, showing the surface of the pond churning under the force of the rain, which hammered down on the roof and cascaded in sheets from the overburdened gutters.
I reached the front door and tried the handle. It turned, but the door resisted my pressure. They had locked it. I bent forward, preparing to spit into the lock and use the spell of opening. Lizzie had mastered it, but my grasp of it was less sure. I hadn’t used it by myself before. But then I remembered what the boy aboard the barge had said:
You don’t need spells, Alice, but speak them if they make you comfortable. All you need do is focus your mind and exert your will! Wish for what you want. Say to yourself, “My name is Alice.” Then be Alice. Nothing can then stand against you. Do you believe me?
The house had revealed itself in response to my command. So I straightened my back, looked down at the lock and concentrated.
‘Open!’ I commanded.
There was a click, and in obedience to my wish, the lock turned. I liked that. It made me feel in control. It made me believe that perhaps I could rescue those children despite the great odds against me.
I eased open the door and went inside, closing it softly behind me. It was dark within, but I remembered the way to the cellar steps. I waited for a moment before going down, my sense of urgency temporarily overwhelmed by the new wave of fear that washed over me.
But the sounds I heard from below spurred my feet to begin a rapid descent. There were wails of fear; a child screamed as if within an inch of losing its life.
When I reached the foot of the stone steps, I waited for a second or two, taking in the scene before me. It seemed that the water witches had decided to begin by gathering blood from the skelts in order to increase their power. Seven of the children were still in their cages. They must be the ones chosen for the ritual with Jacob Stone’s egg later. Six others wer
e already staked out on the cellar floor; a skelt was being released from its cage even as I watched.
Some of the water witches were gathered around the terrified children. I counted them quickly, noting their positions; there were twelve, making Lizzie the thirteenth member of the temporary coven. She was sitting on a stool clutching the leather egg to her bosom, a self-satisfied smile on her face. Other witches were in the water, clearly enjoying the proceedings. Some surged up like excited seals, only to dive back in with hardly a ripple. Nobody seemed to be looking in my direction.
But where was Salty Betsy? There was no sign of her.
I had taken everything in with little more than a glance. I felt sharp and alert. Now I noticed that the skelt was advancing towards one of the children. It scuttled forward, its multi-jointed legs a blur, bone-tube raised, ready to plunge into the neck of its first screaming victim.
I had to do something quickly . . .
Rage and revulsion fill me.
I concentrate.
Stare hard at the advancing creature.
I will it away from the child. Push it with my mind.
It is thrown backwards, high into the air, as if seized by an invisible giant hand. It halts impossibly close to the ceiling; floats there as if time is freezing; then is hurled violently against the far wall of the cellar.
The skelt splatters against the stones, its head breaking with a loud crack. It slithers down like a squashed bug, leaving a slimy trail of blood and brains, then enters the water with a loud splash and quickly sinks from sight.
There is a moment’s silence.
The children stop crying; the screaming pauses.
All the witches turn to look at me, hatred and anger etched on their faces.
It is Lizzie who attacks first. Clutching the egg in her right hand, she runs towards me, the fingers of her other hand extended as if she means to scratch out my eyes.
I wait calmly, taking in a deep, slow breath.