The Witch of Glenaster (25 page)

The road into
Glenaster
was quite overgrown, but passable, and clear in
the grey chill of the morning. I was not sorry to leave the Lessening Lands,
with their pinched and bare rocks, a vast, forbidding beach without a sea. The
way into the Witch’s home was fringed with larch and silver birch, and once I
spied a robin, blood-red breast puffed up against the cold, eyeing his domain.
But no song escaped his throat, and he soon sprang off into the branches.

We had roused ourselves, stiff
and weary, early with the dawn, and never before in our journey had I longed so
for my bed – or any bed – to lie down in and sleep, though I had had some hard
nights since leaving my home. We slid and stumbled on the frosty earth, and by
mid-morning my throat was as sore as rough stone, and I felt ill and
frightened. Thomas insisted I rest for a while, and he heated some medicine
over a fire and made me drink it. It was warm and foul, and tasted of boot
polish.

We came into
Glenaster
like mice into a kingdom of cats. Sometimes we
took the road, and sometimes we didn’t. This was the road built in the days
when there was much traffic between
Ampar
and the Old
Kingdoms, and many men made their homes in the high fells and valleys of the
north. No one could say for certain when the Witch first appeared, though most
agreed it was about the time of the wars between the emperor and the warlock
Azi
.
Azi
was a strong and proud
sorcerer, greatest of all magicians during the long reign of the Emperor
Richard, and he would brook no rival. He built a great fortress in
Calmir
, in the far north-east, and set men and wolves to
guard it. At first he professed fealty to the emperor, but soon many had cause
to doubt his words, and suspected him of fomenting treason amongst the peoples
of the north. Livestock started to disappear, and homes were ransacked; chaos
reigned between the Meer and the Soar, and crops were burned day and night;
Cannock of Fallow took his own life after succumbing to madness, and Lucius
One-Eye was murdered by his own brother, and his realm fell into ruin. So it
was that war between
Yna
and the emperor became
inevitable; and a great army was assembled in the Fields of the Sentinel,
twenty thousand men or more, that marched north to lay siege to the Fortress of
Calmir
and demand its surrender.

Seven long weeks the castle
held out, and many men died in that time; but finally the food became foul, the
well poisoned, and the inhabitants were all for surrendering.

But when the victorious troops
of the emperor entered the gates in triumph,
Azi
was
nowhere to be seen. No word was heard from him again. And soon afterward, the
Witch appeared.

Some say she was his daughter;
others, his pupil. But all agreed, as her shadow crept upon the northern lands
- first as a rumour, then as a fear, and finally as a dark power without equal
in the known world – that only an
adept
, someone schooled in the magic
arts, could live for so long, and cause such horror and destruction; for as the
years passed into decades and the decades into centuries, the Witch did not
disappear, but instead grew in strength; and people said she did not age.

And so when she fell into her
long sleep they still avoided
Glenaster
, and would
not cross the Soar, and made the sign to ward off evil whenever they came near
it. But no word, nor whisper, no fire-drake or Watcher; no wolf, assassin, or
warlock was heard of for nearly a thousand years.

Until now. Until my own
lifetime.

 “How are you going to
kill her?” I asked Thomas, as we stood resting for a while, beneath a crippled
fir tree, the wind rifling through our clothes.

He turned to look at me,
surprised for a moment. Then he came to himself, and almost shrugged.

“I think there is a way,” he
said, “but it is probably only a small hope.”

I pushed the hair out of my
eyes.

“You plan to draw her away from
Glenaster
…?”

He frowned, as if unsure how to
reply.

“There are roads that lead into
the frozen north, beyond the Witch’s home, where nothing can live,” he said
quietly. “It is a long journey, but you can find your way back south of the
river eventually, if you know what paths to take.”

“But you would have to make her
follow you…”

He laughed a little then, and
nodded.

“Yes. Yes, you would have to
make her follow you. Otherwise, there are – prophecies of various kinds…”

“Like the one you spoke of in
Salem Forest?”

Thomas cast a sideways glance
at me, his eyes narrowing.

“Yes, prophecies like those.”

“Then you do believe in them…!”

I was almost shouting, and
Thomas gestured for me to keep my voice down.

“Then you do believe in them,”
I repeated, whispering. He looked up at the sky for a moment.

“I believe in chance, and
coincidence perhaps; but one cannot predict the course of future events from a
century or more’s distance, it just isn’t possible. Insofar as there are
stories about the Witch, that say how she might be killed, well they may have
some truth to them, I cannot say. But trusting in such stories is fools’ work,
and I prefer to trust in what I know. If the Witch lives, she can be killed.
That is all the knowledge I need. All else is hearsay.”

And he wrapped his coat tighter
against the cold, and was silent for a while.

“What about the Veil?” I
ventured, and my voice shook. He hesitated a little before replying.

“So you
have
been
listening to the stories, then, Esther… Then you should know that the Veil
disappeared many years ago; and even if it were to be found it would be of no
use, for no one can remember now
how
to use it, and its
spellcraft
is lost forever. It is just an old book, like
any other.” And he did not speak any more about it.

The medicine had made me feel
much stronger, and we walked a good ten miles further, and crossed into
Glenaster
before dark. And it was then we came upon the
madman.

He was sitting with his back to
a tree stump, eyeing the world with his fingers; for over his eyes was tied a
red scarf, and a great crop of beard fell away from his face. His thin hands
reached out at the air like the legs of a dying insect, and his mouth worked
away in a gulping motion, like a fish. He must have heard our approach, for he
turned his head sharply towards us as we rounded a bend in the road, and we
were not making much noise.

We had been following an old
pathway that looped back and forth through thick woodland at the head of the
valley, and were looking for shelter for the night. Once or twice we had had to
hide ourselves when we had caught sight – or thought we had – of Watchers,
travelling in small groups of two or three. Occasionally we saw streaks of
golden light, high in the roof of the heavens, so bright it pierced our eyes;
and we knew there were fire-drakes there, a long way above, soaring like
angels, beautiful and terrible, and that death followed in their wake.

The dark woods and scrubland of
Glenaster
were almost a relief after the hard wastes
of the Lessening Lands, and though I was afraid, the illness and cold I had felt
so keenly seemed to abate, and new energy returned to my limbs. Even so, Thomas
warned me not to step too unwarily, or let my guard down too easily, and so I
followed him carefully and quietly, and like hunters we advanced.

A good two miles into
Glenaster
, we passed the Aching Point, the rock that marks
the beginning of the Last Road, where it departs from the Sundering Way that
runs east to west across the Far North; and it was there we got our first view
of the valley floor, far below, its broad plains snaking to the horizon, its
slopes rich and dense with trees.

“There lies
Glenaster
,
the
vale
of the smallest flower,” said Thomas, and he
wept quietly for a while, and I said nothing, but only held his hand. And so we
walked on, and now, as the path began to wind down to the bottom of the valley,
we came face to face with the only human we had seen since crossing the Soar.
The madman’s mouth fell open, and he spoke.

“I’m not interested in your
wealth, you understand,” he said, addressing us as if we were already midway
through a conversation. “But I did notice your smell” – and here he sniffed –
“and I couldn’t help noticing you smell different from the others. Tell me,
have you come far…?”

I wanted to reply, but Thomas
signalled me not to, and said to the old man:

“We have come far enough,
friend. How long have you been here?”

The madman seemed puzzled by
this question.

“How long? How long? Is it me,
I wonder…? The birds of the air seem to think so, and the fishes of the sea…
But she keeps me alive now only for her sport, and so I have lost count of the
number of years, or weeks, or days. There were fifty of us set out from
Forell
, back before the frost… so long ago I forget… and I
am all that remains, I think… Do you have any crisps, I wonder? It is so long
since I ate crisps. So long since I ate proper food of any kind…” He smacked
his lips, and slowly shook his head, pulling at his beard and muttering. “Tell
me you have crisps…” he said. And he began to weep then, a low, keening moan
that came from the pit of his stomach, and he rocked backwards and forwards,
clutching his head.

I tugged at Thomas’s sleeve,
and was all for moving on, for the old man scared me, and I did not like to
linger in that place. But my companion was clearly troubled by something, and
he did not move.

The madman seemed surprised to
discover we were still there, and when his wailing was over he flinched
slightly, perhaps wondering what our silence meant. Thomas drew down towards
him, crouching near where he sat.

“Have you seen the Witch?” he
asked, quietly, so quietly I almost didn’t catch his words; and at this the old
man reacted as if he had been struck, and nearly keeled over, and I realized he
no longer had the use of his legs, for he seemed about to try and crawl away.
Thomas grabbed him then, with a sudden ferocity that surprised me, and held the
man in a tight grip, almost shaking him. His withered and wiry limbs thrashed
about, but he could not escape, and cried out:

“Mercy! I have nothing to eat
but the insects and the birds! I have not lived like a man for years beyond
count! This is all the life I have! Please do not take it from me. I am so
wretched. Leave me some dignity…”

But Thomas only pulled at the
red scarf over the man’s face, and at this its owner gave a cry so shrill and
terrible it sent the birds reeling into the sky; but it could not stop him
revealing what lay beneath: two sunken pits where his eyes had once been, and
above them, carved crudely but firmly into his forehead, the Third Eye, gazing
blankly out from the damaged skin, pitiless and unblinking.

I stepped back, and the madman
again attempted to scurry away; but Thomas had now drawn his sword, and,
holding him tightly about the throat, quickly brought its weight to bear upon
the man’s chest, through which it burst like a new-born lamb, casting blood and
gristle upon the tree stump, and emerging ugly and stained a thick crimson.

I cried out, but quickly put my
hand to my mouth to stifle it; Thomas shook the dying man off his sword, and
his body slid squeaking to the ground. He then wiped down the blade, and
returned it to its scabbard.

“Come on, Esther,” he said, and
pulled at my arm; but I remained standing, looking at the dead man, and
wondering how he had deserved such a death. But Thomas was insistent, almost
dragging me away, and so we ran on into the forest, as the rain started to drip
down through the trees like a curse.

“Why did you do that? He was
just an old man!”

I protested in vain, for Thomas
and I were stumbling downhill now, the path deep in shadow from the trees
above, and the darkening, leaden sky. He walked in front of me, but had ceased
to pull me along by the arm, sensing the futility of forcing me anywhere.
Besides, he and I both had nowhere to go.

“You murdered him in cold
blood!” I said, slapping my hand against his back. I think I hated him more
than I ever had at that moment. “You could have let him be…”

He stopped, turned and looked
at me, the air now heavy with the scent of rain, the breeze cool and gentle in
its wake.

“I could not have let him be,
Esther,” he said. “He was not just an old man: he was a servant of the Witch.
Do you think she would let a man who had seen her face live freely in these lands,
however old and crippled? She marked him as she has marked countless others –
for death or slavery – as she will mark us if we are not careful; as she will
mark all the peoples of the world if she has her way. That is how it is with
her, Esther, don’t you see? I was releasing him from his torment.”

I laughed in his face then,
above the noise of the storm, and saw the sorrow written there. I knew I was
being cruel, but couldn’t help myself.

“Is that how you justify your
actions, then, Thomas of
Senningport
? You kill a
defenceless old man in the name of ‘releasing him from his torment’…? You cast
yourself as one of the warriors of old, all wisdom and noble sacrifice; but
really you are just a cheap killer…”

He struck me hard across the
cheek, and the slap sounded dully in the evening air, and sent cold droplets of
rain spinning from my face. Tears of shame dug pins into my eyes.

For his part, he seemed about
to cry himself, and he wiped the wet hair from his face, and reached out to do
the same for mine; but I would not let him touch me. Then he sighed, and shook
his head.

“Already the Witch is pitting
us against one another, as I knew she would,” he said. “We will drive each
other mad, or kill ourselves in the attempt. Perhaps you are right, Esther: I
should not have killed that old man. But you must know he was already dead. And
the paths we are about to take will be darker still. Will you shrink from
killing the Witch if she appears as an innocent child, or begs you for mercy,
or promises to return your parents to you, alive and unharmed? What will you do
then? Have you any idea what it means, to kill someone, however evil? They
fight, and they resist, and it is rarely clean. That is what it means to kill
someone. So condemn me if you must, but do not think I ever find it easy to
kill. I do not.” And he slumped against a tree, exhausted. And, after a few
moments, I went up to him, and took his hand, and so we made our peace for a
while, in that dark place.