“How do you know this, pigboy?”
“Didn’t I follow the sheriff back to the chandler’s cottage so I could hear him break the bad news to the chandler? Oh, and I could hear both men well enough through the window.”
The sky was growing a deeper purple, and there was the smell of roses and lavender in the air. But my skin was cold. I wrapped my arms about my chest and leaned against the tree.
Could this be Demetra’s scroll on which my secret curse was writ? If this were true, why would Demetra kill Tess and steal it back? There was a roll of vellum burning in Mother’s hearth. Fear rose up my throat but I swallowed it back down. It couldn’t have been the same scroll. Mother fell from her horse on her way home. She had the bruises and scratches to prove it.
“The villagers will be after Demetra now,” said Bram, chewing on a blade of grass. “Death by hanging,” he mused. “Or by cleansing fire, if they’ve a mind to.”
“No,” I said to calm Kit, “they’ll let the sheriff chain up Demetra and bring her into town for trial.”
The pigboy rolled back his head and laughed. “Oh, aye, they’ll stand aside like docile lambs whilst the sheriff sees justice is done.”
“Get away from me, pigbrat,” I shouted. He left, but not in the direction of the castle. Bram was running fast to meet the villagers gathering on the road.
I stepped away from the tree and took Kit’s hand. We watched the crowd marching up the road leading to the mountain path.
Kit’s grip tightened and her eyes sparked. Her mother was in Demetra’s cave, and who was to say Ali wouldn’t be seen as just another witch to hang or burn as the people liked?
Down the hill we flew through the foreyard to the castle stable. I tossed a coin to silence the stable boy, and we led the horses across the drawbridge. We took the road that crossed Morgesh Valley and galloped to the base of the mountain.
“Don’t worry, Kit!” I called. “We’ll save your mother sure!” But my voice did not sound as sure as I wished, and I hoped Kit could not hear the fear behind it.
We galloped in the wind, riding up the steep path, leaping over fallen branches. I was thankful then that I’d taught Kit to straddle her horse snugly as a man does, to duck her head, and to center her weight on the saddle just before a jump.
Partway up the trail I pulled Rollo to a halt and looked over my shoulder. Not far below us the villagers’ torches flickered like star spit. Our mounts were speedy but those on foot were already swarming up the trail.
“Faster,” I called. “They’re heading for Demetra’s cave.”
I booted poor Rollo, praying all the while to Saint Hippolytus for protection from a sudden fall. We happened on the cave. I say this because I was lost by the time we reached it. Dismounting secretly, we hid our horses in the copse to the right of the trail and sneaked inside.
We crept through the stony maze in search of Ali. I prayed Demetra was deep in a cavern bent over an absorbing spell, or better still, gone altogether. This close to the hag, I could taste the fear in my mouth. I set my jaw and prayed I wouldn’t meet her moonstruck eye.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Hag
STUMBLING INTO A SMALL ROOM, I bumped against a broken eggshell the size of Cook’s great caldron, spilling bones and dried herbs onto the floor. It could not be an egg by all rights. No bird was that big, but I had no time to wonder at it with the townsfolk on their way. Racing down the hall, I found Kit leaning over her mother. She wept soundlessly as she kissed her cheeks.
“Child,” said Ali.
“Hush,” I whispered. “You must come with us now!” I pulled her up. Ali, obedient to my harsh whisper, grabbed her cloak and shadowed us out of the cave. Hearing the crowd close by, I took her hand and tugged her into the shelter of the copse where our horses hid.
We crouched behind some thick gooseberry bushes and waited. I rubbed my sore knee and eyed my gloves. Both were filthy and the right one was torn. Mother would be angry.
“Who comes?” whispered Ali.
“Villagers. Their blood burns for Demetra.”
The crowd wended up the trail and surrounded the cave, their torches and rushlights crowning the stone entrance in pale gold.
“Out, witch!” called Brock the tanner.
In the gap between Brock and Kate the miller’s wife, I saw the entrance of the cave and the low fire within. No sign of Demetra. The villagers shuffled their feet, their shadows dancing on the stony walls.
“Out, I say!” Brock shouted.
Four men strode into the cave. Then there was a clattering noise and a scream, and out they came with Demetra, with her hands bound behind her back.
“You have spelled your last spell,” shouted Brock.
“Why have you bound me?” cried Demetra. “I’ve done nothing untoward. I’ve been away at herbing these three days.”
“Gathering hex potions!” shouted Kate. “Wilde Island will not abide a witch!”
“Where have you hidden the knife you used to murder Tess?”
Demetra narrowed her moonstruck eye. “Tess murdered? This is the first I’ve heard of it. I say I’ve been up-mountain.”
“It’s true,” whispered Ali. “She’s been gone three days.”
“Aye, gone,” I said, “but who is to say where?”
“Unbind me!” snarled Demetra. Just then I saw her gray cat in the cave behind her. It jumped from the table where it had been nibbling on sheep bones. Skirting the fire, it scurried outside.
“See her kith-beast!” called Jossie. “Same as the one we saw trancing the dogs at the fair!”
“Kill it!” shouted Keith.
Kit fairly leaped out to aid the cat, but I grabbed her by the cloak and held her back. Arrows flew as the cat darted into the woods on the other side of the path and disappeared.
“Never you mind,” said Keith. “The kith-beast will die when the witch does.”
“I have to help Demetra,” whispered Ali.
“Stay,” I hissed, tugging her behind the bushes. “They’ll call you a witch as well, and your neck will be in the noose!”
Kit pulled her mother closer.
I wished to be away but could not move. Any sound we made above a whisper would give our hiding place away. Tim the chandler ran into the cave, returning with a handful of stones, and Demetra’s knife.
“I could not find the scroll. My wife never let me see, but I thought to myself that there might be witchcraft written on it. Ah, I warned Tess about that, but she wouldn’t listen. She . . .” His face contorted in the torchlight. “But here are coins I found in the cave and five magic stones like my own dear wife’s!” cried Tim. “And I found the knife she used to do her butchery!”
The crowd roared at the sight of the knife.
“The coins and stones are mine,” called Demetra. “And the knife for cutting meat like any of your tables down in town! You’ll not find a scroll here. I didn’t do the deed. Your princess is cursed!” she cried. “Ask the queen who killed Tess!” Demetra’s cries were covered by the crowd shouting, “Burn her! Burn the witch!”
Fast the rope went round Demetra. She screamed louder still as the men drove her into the cave. They tied her to the table, and the people tossed their torches in.
“Oh, come,” I moaned. “I cannot bear to stay.”
The villagers howled as flames engulfed the inner cave. Smoke filled the air. With all the shouting and Demetra’s screaming none heard us mount our horses. We rode for a secluded trail, putting bushes, boulders, and rowan trees and oak between us and the burning.
The horses followed Kaydon River down the mountain. Leaning close to Rollo’s mane, I tried to shut out Demetra’s screams and clear the smell of death smoke from my nose. My head was still low an hour later, and I was close to finding sleep when I heard a low strangled sound. I tensed, sat up, and looked about. The growling increased, wild and menacing as a mountain lion’s. What beast hunted us here so close to home?
The growl chan
ged to a moan, more human now than animal, and it came from just ahead. Ali turned to me, cheeks pale, eyes wide. “Something is wrong with Katinka!”
We dismounted in the high orchard. At the base of an apple tree Ali held Kit on her lap as she convulsed.
I gasped. “What is wrong with her?”
Ali rocked her. Soon the noise increased. With a garbled cry a shadow emerged, birthing black from Kit’s mouth. My skin burned even as it went cold. I wanted to run, but love for Kit held me there.
“God!” called Ali. “Help us!”
I put my arm about Ali’s neck as we watched in muted terror the birthing of the shadow wraith.
How slow and with what pain this howling wraith escaped my poor friend’s mouth. There seemed no end to this writhing form that came feet first from her lips. I would have pulled it from her throat, but there was no touching it. The thing wasn’t made of flesh.
At last it ripped itself from Kit’s mouth, spilled onto the earth, and sank, leaving a black pit that stank of burning bone.
“Oh, my Katinka!” cried Ali. Kit looked so small on her mother’s lap. I closed her mouth and wiped the drop of blood from her lip.
“I did not know.” Ali wept. “Demetra must have hexed her.”
Ali gripped my cloak. “Katinka had a voice when she was small. She cooed and cried as any babe. Demetra couldn’t abide the babe’s cry. Then one night when her wee mouth opened, no sound came from my daughter’s throat.” She stroked Katinka’s hair. “But I swear, I didn’t know Demetra hexed her.”
In case the wraith should think to come again, I said Marn’s binding charm over Kit. “Three times winding. Four times binding. I bind all evil spirits now and cast them from this girl.” Tying the invisible knots, I kissed my friend’s damp forehead, whispering, “There now,” and “You’ll feel better soon,” with the kindness of a mother, the way Marn always had with me.
In that dark hour as we held Kit, still as death and gray, though breathing softly, I thought of Demetra, a woman cruel enough to stuff a shadow wraith into an infant’s throat. The hag was dead now, a witch’s burial set for her bones. She would be thrice scattered and thrice buried so the villagers could be assured the witch would never rise. I was glad of it. Let them dig and scatter the hag’s bones. Ah, let them cast her into unending darkness.
The chill air wrapped about us, and we thought to move. It would be hard to get back inside the castle unseen at this late hour. Yet before we left the orchard I learned how close joy can follow on the heels of sorrow, for in the moonlight Kit stirred in her mother’s lap.
“Muth . . . ,” she said hoarsely, then frowned, forming her lips again to strain out the word. “Mutheer.”
“Sweet Katinka.” Ali bent and kissed her brow.
Kit took my arm. “Roosie,” she whispered, her lips forming like a rose as she said my name.
My heart swelled. “Aye, Kit,” I said, embracing her. “I am your Rosie. I will always be your Rosie.” A quiet jubilation filled me as I held her close. My dearest friend and companion was released.
I could still feel the stiffness of my claw beneath my glove. I was not healed with Demetra’s death. But Kit’s releasing gave me hope that someday I might be unbound and touch the world like other women.
An owl hooted from above. I wondered as I stood to untie Rollo what other curses died this eve. How many hellish spells had gone down with Demetra?
Ali looked at me. “You must return home. The queen will worry.”
“We left in view of no one.”
“Getting back inside the castle may be a different matter.”
“You’re coming with us,” I said hopefully.
“I cannot. The villagers know I served Demetra. They’ll burn me for a witch.”
I would have argued, but it was true.
“Mother?” Kit gazed up at her. She’d only just gotten her back after their year apart.
“Where will you go?” I asked.
“To Saint Brigid’s Abbey. I went to school there as a girl. The nuns will shelter me.” She looked to the south and worked to hold her face steady, the night wind blowing back her hair.
My heart pounded. “You’re . . . Aliss,” I whispered.
Ali gave a sad smile. “My full name is Alissandra.”
“You were my mother’s dearest friend. She saved you from the frozen marsh.” My eyes were brimming.
“That was long ago.”
Kit took her mother’s hand. I had the power to order Kit to return to the castle with me, but there was cruelty in that. Kit had missed her mother this past year. I was fifteen now and strong. I should bless my friend and let her go.
None spoke. I stared at the castle on the far hill.
“We are free now,” said Aliss. “The shadow of Demetra is gone.”
“Aye.” Kit pulled off her hood.
I could not tell Kit to go. Could not demand she stay. Torn between kith and kin, Kit fingered Marigold’s mane and faced the road stretching down the hill.
Aliss touched her daughter’s cheek where a smear of dirt rested from her ordeal. “You know my love for you?”
“Aye.”
“And you know of Rosalind’s love?”
Kit nodded.
“We both long to have you with us, but . . . your place is with Rosalind now.” Alissandra embraced her girl.
“I can’t,” said Kit, her eyes wet with tears.
“The princess needs you, and I’ll be safe enough.” Aliss brought her forehead close to Kit’s. “I was born near Brigidshire, and the nuns will be kind to me.” She wiped the damp hair away from Kit’s brow.
“Take Marigold,” I said, suddenly generous. “Kit will ride with me.”
We mounted our horses. As we passed the orchard, a flock of startled birds flew helter-skelter into the dawning sky.
“Wait,” called Aliss. Turning Marigold about, she took a silver brooch from her cloak and gave it to Kit.
“It says ‘Omnia vincit amor,’” said Aliss.
I knew the Latin well to mean, Love conquers all.
Alissandra turned and rode southward.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Punishment
ON OUR RIDE DOWN the path I warned Kit not to speak to any in the castle. We might tell of her cure in time, but I sensed Mother would find Kit’s voice good reason to dismiss her. The queen liked it well that my lady’s maid was mute.
We dismounted in the graveyard. “We’ll take the secret way inside.” I felt along the wall for the tinderbox that the sexton kept hidden there. Candle lit, we entered the Pendragon tomb and passed Queen Evaine’s carved effigy atop her stone casket. In a deeper chamber down more stairs I found the jagged crack and gave it a push. With a squealing sound of stone on stone the wall moved back.
“This is our way of escape if the castle is ever under siege,” I whispered. “Father showed it me last year, but you must never say you’ve seen it.”
“Aye,” whispered Kit hoarsely. And whom could she tell, being mute to all but me?
We looked down the dark passage. The tunnel seemed a living thing, a long serpent wending beneath the earth. The dank air that wafted from the opening smelled like rotting meat. I stepped inside but Kit held the small doorway. “I feel a chill, Rosie.”
“A wet passage,” I said, shouldering my misgivings. Together we closed the door and walked the muddy floor in the flickering rushlight.
Down the dark tunnel I heard a soft scuttling noise across the walls. Rats. I wanted to run but this was our only way in. Side by side we stepped along, following the passage that ended in the wine cellar, and as we pushed against the door, I spied the casks all lined against the wall.
The door creaked when we pressed it shut behind us and we held our breaths, but no one came to check the noise.
We might have made it to our beds. And sometime before dawn, I might have mended the tear in my glove to leave off all suspicion. But Marn was far too motherly. Awakened by the cold, she discover
ed Kit and I were missing. Anon she caught us creeping down the hall. Marn drew us both into her chamber and shut the door.
“Now, where have ye been!” she cried. “I’m of a mind to thrash you both!” She squinted at our soiled gowns, the bit of blood still on Kit’s mouth, though I thought I’d wiped it clean.
“Who’s harmed you?” she cried.
“She took a fall from her horse,” I said, thinking of no better lie.
“A fall? Ah, my precious girl! Are ye hurt?” She held Kit close and wept into her hair. “Wicked girls,” she scolded through her tears. “How could you think to go riding at night without so much as a sprig of wolf’s bane to protect ye? Ah, I’m such a fool to let you slip out so!” She cried as she undressed Kit and searched her for blood wounds.
“God be praised,” she said, dabbing her eyes with her shawl. “The fall did you little harm, poppet.” She wrapped Kit in her nightdress, tucked her in her bed, and turned to me. “Come, Rosie,” she said. “I’ll be putting you to bed now. Wild girls, the both of you! On the morrow you’ll have your punishment for this!”
I followed Marn down the hall like a dog its master. Any punishment awaiting us could not touch my joy now that Kit could speak. Marn shut the window tight. Then pulling me to my chair, she set me down and lit the rushlight.
“Ah, dearest,” she said, brushing out my tangled hair. “I love ye like a daughter. To think you rode out without a guard and Kit fell off her horse, and I wasn’t in the knowing of it. A better nurse would have felt the trouble in her bones, but I’ve grown old and useless.” And she began to cry again.
“No,” I said, “you’re the dearest old Marn and I—”
“There’s no telling what the queen will do when she hears of this!” said Marn flinging down the brush. “There’s punishment on the morrow for us all, mark me!”
I sat on the corner of my bed. “Ah, Rosie,” said Marn. “Never steal away again. Promise your old Marn. There’s a deal of evil in the world you have no knowing of, and I would not have you touched by it.”