The prospect of meeting her filled me with dread. She’d had great strength and speed, and a blood-eye that could freeze you to the spot while she ripped you to pieces and drank your blood. She’d been dangerous in life, and might be even more terrible now that she was dead. My heart began to race with anxiety.
The bird came into sight and swooped low over the rooftops, its plumage lit to fire by the light of the blood-moon. To my surprise, within seconds it had disappeared, and when I heard its cry again, it sounded some distance away. Was it still looking for us, just as it had searched for Tom Ward in the marsh near Bill Arkwright’s watermill? If it had indeed spotted us, its terrifying mistress would soon appear – of this I was certain.
With Tom Ward’s help, Grimalkin had killed both Morwena and her familiar. And I’d certainly played my part in the days that led up to her death – as she would no doubt have learned from others in the dark. I was her enemy and she’d be out for revenge.
There was one thing that worked in my favour, though; something that made the threat from her less immediate. Morwena’s natural environment was water and she could not survive out of a wet or marshy environment for too long. Away from water, she soon weakened. And this city was full of cobbled streets; the only liquid I’d seen so far was blood.
But what if the rules were different here? After all, she was one of the dead. Did she still need a watery environment to protect her?
Then, in the distance, from the direction of the basilica, I heard a bell begin to toll, each powerful chime vibrating through my teeth and jaw; it seemed that even the black cobbles beneath my feet were resonating with that terrible sound.
Thorne took my arm, pulling me off the street and into a narrow alley. She pressed down on my shoulder, indicating that we should crouch.
The toll of the bell stopped at thirteen. Almost immediately I heard a scream from further down the street, and then, much closer, someone began to wail in anguish.
‘What’s happening?’ I asked, keeping my voice low.
Thorne put her lips close to my ear and began to whisper. ‘That bell tolls frequently, but the precise time cannot be predicted so it is never safe to walk these streets. The bell marks what is known as the Choosing: if you are chosen to die again, you are summoned at the final chime – a terrible commanding voice booms out within your mind and you must go directly to the basilica to be drained unto death.’
‘What if the chosen don’t go?’
‘Most cannot resist the voice, but in any case, it is better to obey the summons. Those who do so die their second death with little pain. Those who flee are hunted down without mercy and suffer a long cruel end.’
‘Have you seen that happen?’ I asked.
‘Yes, once – not long after I died and found myself here. I watched a group of witches drag a man to the ground in the market square behind the basilica and slowly rip him to pieces. There were bits of his body strewn across the cobbles but he was still screaming.’
I cringed at the thought, but I sensed that there was something Thorne had not told me. I was right.
‘This is a dangerous time for another reason,’ she admitted. ‘Immediately after the bell there is a brief period when predators have a licence to hunt whoever they like; a single chime follows, signalling that this time is over.’
There were more screams from the street, and close by, deeper into the darkness of the alley, I heard someone moaning – though whether in pain or fear it was impossible to tell. One part of me wanted to investigate the sound and offer some help or consolation; the other was too scared to move. Even if I had forced myself into action, Thorne was still gripping my shoulder very tightly, and it would have been difficult to move.
Twice, something swooped low over our hiding place; first from left to right, and then the other way, as if it had missed us the first time but, sensing that we were there, had come back for a second look. It wasn’t the corpsefowl – I was sure of that; it was far too big.
A moment later the creature returned, letting out a cry like the raucous screech of a giant crow. This time it didn’t swoop over us. It hovered directly above our heads, and I had time to see it properly for the first time. It bore some resemblance to a bat, but it was at least as long as a human is tall, and extremely thin, with long, leathery, bone-tipped wings and glowing red eyes. It also had four spindly limbs, terminating not in feet, but clawed hands.
‘We are its chosen prey!’ cried Thorne, rising to her feet, ready to defend us.
Whatever it was didn’t look too powerful – though appearances could be deceptive. The claws were murderously sharp, and no doubt it had agility and speed.
Reluctantly I prepared to use my magic, but just when I thought the creature was about to dive and attack, a single deep peal of the bell rang out over the rooftops. In response, it gave a shriek, flapped its leathery wings and flew away.
Thorne pointed to the entrance of the alley and we rose to our feet again. ‘We’ll be safe until the next time the bell chimes.’
‘At least the period when predators can hunt is short,’ I commented. Luck seemed to be on our side for now.
‘That’s true, but often a predator spots a likely prey and stalks it, while remaining unseen. You never know where danger will strike.’
‘So, that thing will keep track of us till the next hunting period . . .’ I realized.
Thorne nodded. ‘The entity that hovered directly above us is called a chyke. It’s one of a class of lesser daemons, but is dangerous because it often hunts in flocks. It’s marked us now, and will be able to sniff us out. It might even pass on that information to others of its kind so that they can join in the hunt. The longer we stay here, the greater the threat.’
‘What about Tanaki?’ I asked. ‘Can we be sure he won’t follow us here?’
‘There’s a risk that he might come after us,’ Thorne admitted. ‘But mostly he haunts the path and the area between domains. That’s where we’ll be in most danger from him. That’s where he’ll be waiting for us.’
We stepped back out into the street, and when Thorne bowed her head this time, I immediately did likewise and followed at her heels. Soon she turned left into an even narrower street, which climbed up in steps. Ahead, rising above the houses, I saw the threatening bulk of the basilica tower, bathed in the eerie light of the blood-moon; we seemed to be heading directly towards it.
The dead were still shuffling along before and behind us. Those heading upwards walked on the left side of the street, keeping close to the drain and its trickling blood; those coming towards us kept to the right. All had downcast eyes.
‘Where are all these people going?’ I asked.
‘Some are going to the basilica to worship. Others might be going to feed. There are blood-shops, where victims are trapped and then slowly drained. A measure of blood is the reward for information regarding the whereabouts of someone who’s fled the Choosing. That happens a lot. It’s dog eat dog here.’
‘What’s the point of looking down and avoiding eye-contact if predators can come from the sky?’ I thought back to the chyke.
‘Some of those who hunt are shape-shifters: they may be walking behind us in human guise, waiting for their moment to strike. Many of them have the power to freeze you to the spot with a glance, or plant a thought in your mind that will compel you to wait somewhere, ready for the tolling of the bell. So to look another of the dead in the eye is very risky.’
‘Could we be chosen?’ I asked, filled with terror at the thought of hearing a voice in my head summoning me to the basilica.
‘You’re not dead, Alice, so you’re safe enough – from that, at least. But, yes, I could be chosen. That’s why I got out of this domain so quickly; that’s why it’s such a risk to come back.’
I nodded, appreciating how brave she was being in volunteering to help me. In some ways she was in more danger than I was. I began to wonder if it would be kinder to say thank you, send her on her way and face the dange
r alone from now on.
Despite her warning about keeping my eyes down, I risked a glance upwards at the basilica. There was something about it that made me feel uneasy. I had seen the citadel of the Ordeen in Greece emerge from a vortex of fire; I would never forget its three twisted spires, with their long narrow windows, through which I glimpsed daemons and other entities moving to and fro.
I’d also been brought as a prisoner to trial in Priestown, and had stared up at the fearful gargoyle over the main entrance of its cathedral – the image of the terrible entity called the Bane. I had walked the labyrinth in the tunnels beneath it, and eventually been held in thrall to that daemon . . .
Both were scary places, but this basilica of the dead, lit by the moon to the colour of blood, terrified me in a different way . . . As yet, I knew not why.
The higher we climbed, the narrower the street became. The blood-moon illuminated the rooftops, but the house fronts and cobbles were in darkness, the torches now few and far between.
There were also fewer of the dead around. Thorne had taken the lead, but I noticed that her pace was gradually slowing. Eventually she came to a halt and sniffed loudly three times. Then she turned round, and the look on her face terrified me.
‘It couldn’t be worse,’ she said. ‘The gate is now right inside the basilica.’
‘I suppose it ain’t likely that it’s just drifted there?’ I said. Did one of my enemies know I was looking for it? I wondered.
‘You’re right, Alice. It certainly won’t be here by chance,’ replied Thorne. ‘Powerful servants of the Fiend will have moved it there so that you will be forced to enter. They’ll be waiting for you.’
‘It’s a trap . . .’ I took a deep breath. ‘But I have to go on. Time is running out and I have to get that dagger, whatever the cost. But there’s no need for you to come too, Thorne. I’m grateful for your help – you’ve risked enough already.’
Thorne raised her head and looked me straight in the eye. ‘There’s another way, Alice.’ Her voice was soft. ‘I know a place where friends are waiting to help you – the ones I mentioned earlier.’
‘Friends?’ I asked. ‘Who are they?’
‘Some of them you might know; others are enemies of the Fiend, and that makes them your friends too. I wasn’t going to accept their offer of help. I don’t want to put them in danger. But now that the gate has been moved within the basilica, we have no choice. We need their help; they might know a way to get us inside without being detected.’
‘Do you mean there are secret entrances?’ I asked. I remembered the tunnel that led from the ruined chapel into the dungeons of Malkin Tower.
‘There could be. Some of these people have been here a very long time. They know almost everything about the dark.’
I nodded. ‘Let’s go and meet them,’ I agreed.
Thorne continued in the direction of the basilica until its massive bulk loomed over the rooftops. She led us towards a house that was larger than the others I’d seen. It wasn’t terraced, but set back from the narrow cobbled lane in what appeared to be its own piece of land, which was full of tall weeds and nettles.
As we approached it, our feet squelched across soggy ground. The front door was slightly ajar, and Thorne didn’t knock. She eased it open and led us through an empty room to some stone steps that led downwards.
As our pointy shoes clip-clopped on the stone, signalling our arrival, I became more and more uneasy. I could never have walked down these particular steps before, but they reminded me of something from my past; something scary and terrible.
We emerged into a cellar that spread out over a larger area than the old house above us. About half of it was taken up by a big pit full of murky water. I knew this place now. It was the exact replica of a certain cellar back on earth; a place I remembered all too well.
Against the wall stood a single large chair.
It was occupied.
Facing me was a large, podgy-faced woman with piggy eyes. Her hair was grey and unkempt. She was scowling at me from under her bristly eyebrows, hatred radiating from every pore of her body.
It was Betsy Gammon, an old enemy of mine. Someone who had plenty of cause to do me harm.
This was a trap.
Thorne had betrayed me.
TO EXPLAIN ABOUT Betsy Gammon, I have to go way back to my time with Lizzie.
I was born just east of Pendle in the shadow of that big, brooding hill. My kin were witches, and so there was badness in my blood. It was inevitable that I would be trained as a witch, and I had two years of learning the dark craft from one of the most powerful witches of all – Bony Lizzie. It was a difficult two years. She taught me a lot of dark stuff, and there were things that happened during my time with her – things I’ve never told my friend, Tom Ward; dark, scary things that led me to my first confrontation with Betsy.
One of the worst weeks I ever spent with Lizzie was when she took me with her to try and kill a spook.
I was down in the cellar of her dark, dingy cottage studying. I heard the clip-clip of her pointy shoes coming down the cold stone steps. I was surprised. There was still another hour until midnight and I wasn’t expecting Lizzie until dawn – she had gone off to meet the rest of the Malkin coven.
I looked up from my book just as she moved into the candlelight. Wasn’t a bad-looking woman, Lizzie, with dark hair and big eyes, but she scowled a lot. Muttered under her breath too – spells and curses mostly – and I could tell she was in a foul mood now because the corners of her mouth were twitching.
‘That’s enough reading for now. We’re off to Bury,’ she said.
It was the middle of the night and I wasn’t best pleased by this news. I was tired and looking forward to crawling into bed. ‘Where’s that?’ I asked.
‘It’s a village not far south of Ramsbottom.’
I’d never heard of Ramsbottom either. I’d lived in the Pendle district all my life and didn’t know much of the County beyond that.
‘Got work to do, we have – dark work,’ Lizzie hissed. ‘Coven business. We drew straws, and of the thirteen, mine was the shortest. The witch assassin is busy elsewhere, so it’s down to me now. I’m going to kill a spook. Deserves to die, he does. We cursed him before, but somehow he survived. Messed with us far too long, and now he’s got it coming.’
Lizzie must have seen the reluctance in my face and she scowled at me. ‘Right, girl! You’ve dawdled long enough. On your feet, or you’ll wish you’d never been born!’ She stamped her foot. Immediately, nasty twitchy things with tentacles and sharp teeth began to form in the darkest corners of the room – places where the flickering light from the candle flame couldn’t reach.
They were sprogs from the dark – those newborn entities, still trying to understand who they were and what their place was. Lizzie could summon them to do her bidding, and she was good at that: they could terrify, torment or even kill if there were enough of them. I shuddered. Lizzie loved to use them against me – she knew how scared of them I was. The first time she set sprogs on me, she’d told me the story of a young Malkin girl who’d been killed by them. The witch training her had been old and a bit absent-minded. She’d summoned the sprogs to punish the girl for burning the toast but then forgot all about them. She was deaf too, so she didn’t hear the screams. And when she finally went looking for the girl, it was too late. Her brain had been eaten clean away. Her eyes were empty sockets, and there were bloody holes all over her before the sprogs had eaten their fill and left the body.
That was why I was so terrified. If I didn’t get up right away, the most powerful ones would come closer, and start to nip and scratch. I’d have to close my mouth firmly and pinch my nostrils to stop any getting up my nose. But while I was doing that, they’d be trying to get into my ears . . . I just didn’t have enough hands to fight them off. The pain would get worse and worse, while my panic slowly grew. It was a nasty experience, and I really believed that if I angered Lizzie enough, one day she’d walk
away and leave me to be eaten.
So I closed the grimoire, Lizzie’s oldest book of spells, got up and pushed my stool underneath the table. As the sprogs started to fade away, I blew out the candle and followed her up the stairs.
We were off to kill a spook, and I didn’t like the sound of that one little bit. This was well before I met John Gregory, Tom Ward’s master; at that time I had only heard witches’ tales about them – that they were our enemies and they fought ghosts, ghasts, boggarts and malevolent witches like Lizzie. I believed that to fall into their hands was the worst fate possible. Some would throw you into pits and leave you to rot there for the rest of your miserable life. Or they might cut out your heart and eat it to stop you coming back from the dead.
I did know that some spooks were better at their job than others. If this spook had messed with Lizzie’s coven, which was the most dangerous one in Pendle, he was no doubt brave and knew what he was doing. Maybe sorting out witches was his speciality? In that case, he’d have a silver chain and lots of pits ready to bind his victims.
Didn’t fancy spending the rest of my life in a pit, did I? But I had no choice, so I followed Lizzie out into the night.
Lizzie was in a rush: we set off south at a fair old pace, and I struggled to keep up. But just before dawn, we settled down in a wood to pass the daylight hours. I was tired and was pleased that Lizzie let me sleep right through until dusk, when she sent me out hunting for rabbits. I was good at that – been able to set traps since I was a little girl, I had. I also knew how to charm a rabbit. If you whispered in exactly the right way, they’d come right to your hand.