“See that, boy?” he said, pointing to his right.
In the distance, lit by the moon, was some sort of fortification. I could see a tower surrounded by castellated walls, with a mountain beyond it.
“That’s Greeba Keep,” he continued. “You might just live to see it again!”
The other yeomen laughed. “But once in there you’ll wish you’d died! It’s the lucky ones who are pulled out dead!” said one.
I didn’t bother to ask him what he meant and remained silent until the cart finally came to a halt. We seemed to have reached a village. It was surrounded by trees, and hills rose up on either side. We were pulled down from the cart and taken past a large, curious mound of earth. It was shaped like a barrow but had four tiers. I’d never seen anything quite like it. Beyond stood another stone tower—this one much smaller than the first. I wondered if it was for holding prisoners, and was soon proved correct.
We were dragged up some steps to a door about halfway up the tower, and after our hands had been untied we were thrust inside. The door clanged behind us, a key turned in the lock, and the guards went back down the stairs, their footsteps echoing off the stones.
I looked about me. A single candle stood in a recess in the wall, flickering in the draft from a narrow window far above. The cell was circular, with no furniture and only dirty straw covering the damp flags of the floor.
“Don’t like this place much,” said Alice, her voice hardly more than a whisper.
“You may not like it, girl,” said a voice from the shadows to our right, “but you’d better make the best of it. It’s the most comfortable you’ll ever be again. This is the Tynwald witch tower—after you leave here, there’s only pain and death to look forward to.”
Someone stepped out of the shadows to confront us. It was a tall girl of about eighteen or nineteen, with dark glossy hair that reached down to her shoulders. She wore a pretty blue dress, and her skin was clean and shining with health. She didn’t look much like a prisoner.
“Came across the water from the County, did you?” she asked.
I nodded. “My name’s Tom Ward and this is my friend, Alice.”
She glanced at Alice, then gave me a warm smile. “My name’s Adriana Lonan,” she said. “I was born and bred on Mona, and they’ve left me alone until now. But everything’s gone crazy, and they’re testing even their own folk to see if they’re witches.”
“Are you a witch?” I asked.
Adriana nodded. “I’m a bird witch,” she said.
“You mean you have a bird for a familiar,” Alice corrected her.
The girl tossed her hair and frowned. “I don’t have a familiar. Don’t give my blood to anything. Not dark stuff like that. I’m a bird witch. Birds are my friends. We help each other. What about you, Alice? Are you a witch?”
Alice shook her head. “I come from a clan of Pendle witches, and I was taught the dark craft for two years. But no, I’m not a witch. Ain’t right that we’ve been brought here, especially Tom. He’s a spook’s apprentice and fights for the light. They say he’s a warlock, but that ain’t true.”
Adriana stared at me, her face very serious. “Did Horn sniff you out?”
“The abhuman? Yes,” I told her. “He said Alice had darkness inside her and that I had a sliver of dark too.”
“Then maybe you do,” Adriana murmured. “None of us are perfect. But whatever we are won’t count for much when we’re tested tomorrow.”
“What’ll they do?” asked Alice. “Will they swim us? Ain’t going to use the press, are they?”
Swimming was the most popular way of testing to see if someone was a witch or not. Your hands were tied to your feet and you were thrown into a pond. Sometimes your right thumb was bound to your left big toe, left thumb to right toe. It was a funny name for the test—how could you swim like that? If you sank and probably drowned, you were innocent. If you somehow managed to float, then you were considered guilty, taken away, and burned at a stake.
Pressing was even worse. You were chained to a table, and over a period of time heavy stones were placed on your body, often as many as thirteen. After a while you could hardly breathe. If you confessed because of the pain, they burned you. If you didn’t, you were slowly crushed to death. And if you managed to stay alive for more than an hour, it was assumed that the Fiend had saved you and you were burned anyway.
“No, we islanders have our own way of doing things,” Adriana replied. “Someone suspected of witchcraft is taken to the summit of Slieau Whallian, a large hill to the south, and sealed inside a barrel—one with sharp iron spikes inside. Then she’s rolled down the hill. If she’s still alive at the bottom, they think she’s been protected by the dark and she’s taken away and . . .” Her voice faded away before she’d finished the sentence, and I saw that her eyes were filled with fear.
“Do many survive?” I asked.
“The guard told me that two survived—and one of them was badly spiked—out of the seven who were rolled yesterday. I tried to tell them what to do. There is a way to get to the bottom without being cut too badly. Not all the barrels are the same, so you’d need a bit of luck, but if you can find space between the spikes, you can use your arms and legs to brace yourself against the inside. As the barrel spins, centrifugal force presses you into the spikes, so you have to hold yourself clear. Then, providing the barrel doesn’t hit a big bump on the way down, you don’t bounce around inside and get jolted onto the spikes.”
“How do you know it works?”
“I know a man at the brewery who makes some of the special barrels to order. When a new apprentice cooper starts, they have a ritual. They put him in a spiked barrel and roll him slowly from one side of the workshop to the other while all the other craftsmen bang their hammers on the bench tops and cheer. But first he’s shown how to wedge himself in. At the worst he might suffer a few cuts, that’s all. But I’ve never managed to talk to anyone who’s survived to the bottom of Slieau Whallian. If they’re still alive, they’re taken away immediately.”
“Big difference between being rolled slowly and bounced about,” said Alice. “If you told them what to do, why didn’t more survive yesterday?”
“Some were probably too scared and upset to listen to what I told them,” Adriana explained. “Maybe they wanted to die in the barrel.”
“Why would they want that?” I asked.
“Because of what happens to you if you do survive. That’s even worse than being rolled. They feed you to the buggane.”
CHAPTER VI
Another Dead One!
“THERE are several bugganes on Mona,” Adriana continued, “but they feed you to the most dangerous one of all. It haunts the ruined chapel near Greeba Keep.”
“And it eats you?” asked Alice, her eyes wide with fear.
Adriana nodded. “They lock the victims in the dungeons in the south wing of the keep, which is right on the edge of the buggane’s domain. It slowly draws the spirit from each body and stores it somewhere under the chapel. After that, the body still walks and breathes, but it’s empty. That’s until the buggane, walking on two legs, looking like a big hairy man, comes to drink its blood and eat its flesh. It even eats some of the bones, crunching them with its big teeth—that’s why we call it the Cruncher. Afterward what’s left is buried in a lime pit in the yard.”
We fell silent, thinking of the grim fate that awaited us, but then something began to puzzle me. Adriana had said she’d tried to tell the other prisoners how to survive being rolled in the spiked barrel—but why hadn’t she been rolled too?
“Adriana, why didn’t they test you yesterday with the others?”
“Because Lord Barrule—he’s the lord of Greeba Keep, and head of the ruling council of the island—gave me one last chance to change my mind. If I do as he asks, he’ll save me. Otherwise he’ll let me be tested. . . .” Adriana’s bottom lip began to quiver, and tears sprang to her eyes.
“Change your mind about what?”
I asked.
“I want to marry Simon Sulby, a cooper—the one who told me about the barrels—but Lord Barrule wants me for his wife. He’s lived alone for ten years, since his first wife died. He’s never looked at another woman, but it seems that I look very like his dead wife—the spitting image, he says. That’s why he wants me. He’s very powerful, and he’s used to getting his way. I refused and kept refusing—until finally he lost his temper and denounced me as a witch.
“He could still save me if he really wanted—he’s a powerful man. One word from him, and they’d let me go. But he’s very proud and can’t bear being denied anything. He’d rather I was dead than belonged to another. Soon it’ll be too late. They started off doing the testing in the evening, but it attracted large crowds and they became unruly. They’ll roll us down the hill when it’s quiet, just before dawn.”
Following those words, neither Alice nor I spoke for a long time. Things looked really bleak.
I wondered what the Spook would be doing now. He’d be worried about me and wondering why I hadn’t returned. No doubt he’d have realized that Alice had followed me. I just hoped he wouldn’t venture down into the town. He was sure to be captured.
The long silence was suddenly ended by the harsh metallic grate of a key turning in the lock. Had they come for us already? I wondered. It was still several hours until dawn.
The cell door opened slowly, and just one figure stepped inside. It wasn’t a yeoman or a guard. It was Horn, the abhuman. The chains were gone from his ears and he was stripped to the waist, wearing only a pair of breeches and heavy boots. His chest was matted with dark hair, and muscles bunched on his broad shoulders and long arms. He looked strong and dangerous, capable of killing with his bare hands.
As he lumbered into the room, we stood up and retreated until our backs were against the wall farthest from the door. What did he want? I didn’t like the expression on his face. Even without the horns, it would have been a face with more than a hint of the beast.
He advanced directly toward Alice. When I tried to get between them to protect her, he took a swing at my shoulder. It was like being struck with a table leg, and I was knocked clean off my feet. I fell, but scrambled back up as quickly as I could and moved toward Alice again. The abhuman twisted around to face me, his feral eyes gleaming dangerously; he lowered his head so that his horns were pointing at me. I continued to approach him more warily, but Alice held out her hand to ward me away.
“No, Tom! Stay back!” she cried. “He’ll kill you. Let me deal with him.”
I obeyed but readied myself to attack the creature at the first sign of danger to Alice—though without my staff and chain, there was very little I could do. I had the gift of being able to slow time, inherited from my mam, but it was extremely difficult to use, and I decided to attempt it only if Alice seemed in real danger.
The abhuman turned back toward her. Less than the length of his arms separated them.
“Sister?” he said, his voice a low rumble.
“I ain’t your sister!” Alice said, shaking her head angrily.
The abhuman put his head on one side and sniffed three times. “We have the same father. You must be my half-sister. Do not deny it. I wasn’t sure back in the town, but I am now. There’s no doubt about it.”
It was true. Both had different human mothers, but the Fiend was father to them both.
Alice suddenly gave him a little smile. “Well, if we be brother and sister, you’ll want to help me, won’t you? Won’t want me to die, will you? Big and strong, you are. Can’t you get us out of here?”
“I can’t do that. Commander Stanton would punish me. He’d have me whipped.”
“We could run away, escape together,” Alice suggested.
“I can’t leave my master, Lord Barrule. He’s been good to me.”
“Good to you?” I asked. “What about having you dragged through the town with chains strung from your ears? That’s not good.”
The abhuman growled in displeasure. “Commander Stanton does that because he’s afraid of me, but Lord Barrule never hurts me. No, not him. He could have had me killed, but instead he allowed me to serve him. He’s a good master.”
“So what’s your business?” demanded Alice. “You must want something, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“Just wanted to see you, that’s all,” he replied. “I just wanted to see my little sister.”
With those words he turned and began to head back toward the door.
“Hope it makes you happy seeing me, ’cause I’ll be dead soon,” Alice shouted. “Fine brother you are. Brothers and sisters should stick together!”
But he closed the door behind him, and we heard the key turning in the lock once more.
“Well, it was worth a try,” said Alice. “Wonder how many abhumans there are. Wonder if all the rest are like him and Tusk.”
Tusk, the son of Old Mother Malkin, was an abhuman with big teeth—too many to fit into his mouth, hence his name. The Spook had killed him with his staff, stabbing him through the forehead.
Just how many abhumans had the Fiend fathered? That was an interesting question. Tusk was evil. He’d helped Mother Malkin kill mothers and their babies—that was how the witch had gotten her name. She’d run a home for destitute mothers. But lots of them had gone missing, and when the locals had finally summoned the courage to investigate, they’d found a field full of bones. Most of the women had been crushed to death, their ribs cracked and broken—that had been the work of Tusk. Abhumans were incredibly strong, and Horn looked very dangerous.
“No use denying it,” Alice went on. “I shared the same father as Tusk, too, but I never considered him my half-brother for a moment.”
“Horn doesn’t seem anywhere near as bad as Tusk. I think he’s had a hard time,” I said.
“That’s certainly true,” said Adriana. “Stanton is cruel to him, but I don’t understand why he remains so loyal to Lord Barrule. Can’t he see that his master permits Stanton to do that? Some people say Horn’s loyal because Barrule lets him be the buggane’s keeper.”
“His keeper?” I asked.
“Horn works with the buggane, they say. He helps it choose its victims.”
The night passed quickly, and before dawn there were three other prisoners sharing the cell with us. Two were refugees from the County, young girls still in their teens; the other was an older local woman.
Adriana wasted no time in explaining how you could wedge yourself in the barrel. The two girls from the County listened to her with interest, but the local woman just started to cry. She’d heard too many tales about what she faced. The idea of being fed to the buggane terrified her so much that she almost preferred the prospect of being spiked.
Just before dawn the guards—a couple of dozen of them—came for us and dragged us back down the tower steps and across the village, heading south. Adriana accompanied us—evidently Barrule had run out of patience with her. Then they forced us up a big hill, which must have been Slieau Whallian. It was a long, steep climb. Were they going to roll us down this? If so, we surely had little chance of survival.
To the east, the sky was beginning to redden, while low on the horizon, a single bright star was visible. There was no wind and the air was chilly, and we stood there shivering next to a row of big barrels. A line of torches on poles went down the hill, marking the course that the barrels would take, but they weren’t needed. There was already plenty of light to see by. Most of the guards waited with us on the summit. At the bottom, near the edge of a big wood, we could see only six men; one had a sword at his belt, and I guessed it was probably Stanton, the commander of the yeomen who’d arrested us.
“She’s first!” cried one of the guards, pointing at the older woman. As they seized her, she began to sob hysterically, her whole body shaking and trembling.
“Cowards!” Adriana exclaimed angrily, shaking her fist at the men. “How can you do that to a woman—and one of our own islanders, too?”
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“Keep your mouth shut or we’ll gag you!” the largest of the yeomen shouted back. Another seized her by the shoulder, but she shook him off.
The barrel was now in position, ready to be rolled; when they lifted off the lid I saw the sharp spikes within. Immediately I felt that Adriana had been optimistic about our chances of survival. How could you wedge yourself safely into that?
They forced the woman to her knees in front of the barrel. “Right! In you get!”
She stared at the spikes, her face twisted in horror, certain that she was looking at her own death.
“It’ll be all the worse for you if we have to push you in!” the guard threatened, his voice harsh.
The woman responded by crawling in, crying out as the sharp spikes pierced her flesh. Once she was inside, they put the lid back on and fixed it in place with just two nails.
Rap! Tap!
One push, and the barrel set off, rolling down the hill. The yeomen had worked really fast, I reflected, worried now. You’d have only a few seconds to wedge yourself into position.
Three terrible shrieks issued from the barrel before it reached the bottom and came to rest hard against a tree trunk. Two men approached it, one carrying a crowbar. There was a grating, crunching sound as he pried off the lid.
We were too far away to see clearly, but when they pulled the woman out of the barrel, she didn’t seem to be moving. They threw her body aside like a sack of potatoes.
“This one’s dead! Send down the next!” Commander Stanton called up the hill.
The two County girls were weeping and trembling; they’d been holding hands, but now, as the guards approached, they clung tightly to each other and had to be dragged apart.
I watched, horrified, as the first of them received the same treatment, the poor girl shrieking and struggling as she was thrust inside. This time the barrel hit a rock on the way down and left the ground briefly, coming down again with a crash. When it came to a stop, the guards pulled the girl’s body out and threw it down next to the other one.