Fire Girl (16 page)

Bramley crawled out of her hair and perched on her shoulder. ‘I was having such a nice dream. I was back in my nest in the Glade and it was the beginning of summer.’ He sighed.
‘My favourite season.’

‘I always liked autumn best – the colour of the leaves and the smell of woodsmoke.’ Hazel pulled the blanket back over David’s shoulders. ‘Ma used to have
nightmares sometimes. She used to wake up screaming.’

Bramley pressed his warm body against her neck. ‘What were they about?’

‘She’d never tell me, no matter how many times I asked. They were always more frequent during winter when the frosts were bad.’ Hazel clasped her hands in her lap and stared
into the fire. ‘It used to scare me when she woke up crying in the dead of night. But I’d lie next to her and stroke her hair until she went back to sleep, wondering what could have
happened to make her have such terrible dreams.’ She sighed. ‘After what we’ve been through these past few days, I think I’m beginning to understand.’

Bramley nudged her ear with his whiskery nose.

‘Next morning, she’d get up and we’d talk about the harvest and the garden, and the latest mischief old Tom had got into – never about the nightmares.’ A sense of
loss crushed down on her. ‘I just want her back, safe and sound where she belongs. With me.’

‘We’ll find her,’ Bramley said. ‘You’ll see.’

They sat for a while, bathed in the glow of the fire as night cast its cloak over the outside world. Hazel was just dropping into a doze when she heard a hollow moan, seeping out of the forest
and getting closer.

‘It’s come back,’ she whispered. The ivy trailing up the outer wall rustled. ‘It’s trying to climb up.’

‘Why?’ Bramley squeaked. ‘It can’t get in through the bedroom windows – they’re too small.’

Hazel looked up at the ceiling, at the widely spaced beams and the layer of thatch resting on top. ‘It’s going for the roof. That’s its way in.’

Bramley buried his face in his paws. ‘Why us? Why
me
?’

Hazel could tell from the rustling that it was already level with the bedroom and climbing higher. The rustling stopped just below the eaves.

‘Maybe it’s—’

There was a thump and then a fevered scrabbling over their heads. The thatch sagged. It was on the roof.

Hazel shook David roughly by the shoulder and screamed in his face. ‘Wake up! Oh, you stupid boy, wake
up
, will you?’

‘Leave him,’ Bramley said. ‘You can’t help him now. Let’s go before that thing gets in. Who knows what it’ll do to us?’

‘I
won’t
leave him.’ Hazel followed the rustling of straw as the thing crawled away from the edge of the roof. It stopped over the bed. David’s pistol lay on the
windowsill, but she didn’t know how it worked, or even if it was loaded.

‘What are you going to do then? Ask it nicely to leave? Oh
I
see,’ he said as Hazel wrapped her hands in her skirt and unhooked the steaming pan from over the fire.
‘You’re going to feed it to death.’

‘Quiet, mouse.’ Hazel backed into a corner, watching the bulge in the ceiling. Strands of straw drifted down on to the bed. ‘I’m going to fight it.’

‘With soup?’

She glanced at David. If he woke up now they might have a chance to get out of the cabin and escape.
And then what? No
, she said to herself.
I’ve got to end this here.
The
pan was heavy and her arms started to shake. Lumpy stew spilt on to the floor.

The scratching stopped.

Hazel pressed her back against the wall as an arm burst into the room. Bones clicked as it ripped away a handful of thatch, revealing a patch of night sky.

Hazel gripped the pan tightly as the creature’s furious assault on the thatch forced a hole big enough for it to push its head and shoulders into the room. It hung upside down like an
enormous bat, twisting round to face her.

‘How can it see us through the sack?’ Bramley yelped.

The corpse crashed to the foot of the bed in a shower of debris. Clambering jerkily to its feet, it reached out with mould-streaked arms.

Hazel hurled the pan as hard as she could. It flew through the air, spraying brown lumps of stew in every direction and bashing the creature on its head. Knocked off its feet, it collided with
the chair jammed under the door and smashed it to pieces. Drenched in stew, it lay whimpering in the wreckage.

Shaking all over, Hazel picked up the pan and brandished it like a weapon. The firelight glinted on something around the thing’s wrist.
I recognize that bracelet . . .

‘Oh no,’ she cried, dropping the pan. ‘
Mary
.’

The world is full of magic.

It is carried in water, air, fire and earth.

A Study of Magic
by Jeremy Usborne

‘T
his is your friend,
Blind Mary?’
Bramley gasped from his hiding place in her curls. ‘What happened to her?’

‘I don’t know,’ Hazel said, her voice heavy with grief. ‘I should have recognized her earlier.’ She knelt down and helped her old friend sit up against the wall.
‘Mary, it’s me, Hazel. Can you hear me?’

Mary nodded, moaning quietly.

‘Mary, dear,’ Hazel said, reaching out, ‘I’m going to untie your head so I can see you.’ Mary wailed and grabbed the sack with both hands. ‘All right,
we’ll leave that on for now.

Can you stand up? Here, take my hand.’ Mary’s fingers felt as fragile as bird bones. ‘Up you get.’

‘Give her back the poppet,’ Bramley said. ‘Perhaps that’ll make her feel better.’

Hazel held it out. ‘Here you are. Take it if you want.’ Mary drew it to her breast and let out a long sigh. ‘Get away from her,’ shrieked a voice from behind them.

It was David, shivering with fever, drenched in sweat and aiming his pistol straight at Mary.

‘David, no! It’s all right, she’s—’ Hazel began, but before she could move, he pulled the trigger.

The pistol roared, filling the room with smoke. The shot buzzed passed Hazel’s ear, causing her to step back and slip on spilt potage. There was a
whump
and a hole appeared in
Mary’s chest. Shreds of fabric blew out in a powdery cloud. Knocked clean off her feet, the old witch fell backwards through the flimsy wooden door and down the stairs.

Hazel grabbed the bedpost, aware of a high-pitched whine in her left ear. David fumbled as he tried to reload his pistol.

‘Quick, close the door,’ he said, ‘before that . . .
thing
. . . c-comes back.’

‘You stupid boy,’ Hazel gasped. ‘She wasn’t going to hurt us.’

David goggled at her. ‘What are you—? It’s a dead thing, an abomination—’

‘She’s my friend,’ Hazel bristled at him. ‘And I’m going downstairs to help her.’

‘Your friend?’ David’s face hardened. ‘A witch,I suppose – just like you. I’m really at your mercy now, aren’t I?’

Hazel grabbed the pistol from him. ‘Don’t be so soft-brained. No harm’s coming to you. Just trust me.’

‘Never t-trust a witch,’ David said.

Hazel tucked the pistol into her belt, covered David with the blankets and left the room. She found Mary in the kitchen, clutching the poppet to her chest. Smoke drifted from the hole in her
chest but there was no blood.

‘Mary,’ Hazel said. ‘Can you speak?’

Mary shook her head, She shuffled to the dresser and took out a roll of parchment, a bottle of ink and a peacock-feather quill with a silver nib. Beckoning for Hazel to join her at the kitchen
table, she sat down and flattened out the parchment.

Hazel sat opposite, tears prickling behind her eyes. Somewhere under the dirt-caked clothes was Mary, her old friend. A knot of anger hardened inside her.
I know who did this
, she
thought.
And I’ll get him for it, too.

Mary dipped the quill into the ink and began to write.

Dearest Hazel, It shames me for you to see me so rotten and faded.

‘Oh, Mary,’ Hazel said, tears falling freely now. ‘You mustn’t feel ashamed – this isn’t your fault. Can you tell me what happened? What can I do to
help?’

First I must ask – where is your mother?

Hazel looked down at the table and told Mary everything; after she had finished, Mary put her head in her hands and moaned.

‘It’s all right,’ Hazel said. ‘I’m going to find Ma and bring her home. You can come and live with us and we’ll look after you, I promise.’

Mary picked up the quill and started scribbling.

This is all my fault. I told Murrell where you lived, and how to get through the Border Hedge.

‘So it
was
him who did this to you.’

He told me he’d feed me to his demon if I didn’t do what he asked and I was too weak to stand up to him. He wanted your mother and her healing magic, and I gave her up. But I didn’t tell him about you, little Hazel. I kept you a secret, because I knew he’d want you too.

‘Well, he knows all about me now,’ Hazel said with a small smile.

I’m so sorry.

Hazel thought of Mary, all alone, being menaced by Murrell and Rawhead. ‘This isn’t your fault. Can you tell me what happened?’

After I told him where to find Hecate, he said he wanted my help to fight the Witch Hunters. I refused
.
The scratching quill flew across the parchment.
He said I deserved to be punished for betraying the cause, so he

The quill stopped. A blob of ink formed around the nib. Hazel waited, chewing on a strand of hair.

sentenced me to this death state. He trapped my soul in this doll
– she caressed the ugly thing as if it was a beloved child –
then buried my body in the garden to rot. I felt every shovelful of cold earth fall on me. Then darkness, silence.

Mary stopped writing.

‘I found the doll in the outhouse,’ Hazel said with a growing sense of horror. ‘I was going to burn it . . .’

When you removed the poppet from the magic circle it cried out. My body heard, and dug its way out of the grave.
Her head drooped.
Body and soul together, but still apart.

‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

No. My body is crumbling. I’m so tired. I just want to sleep forever.

‘There must be something I can do,’ Hazel said miserably.

You must listen – I have something to tell you.

‘What?’

Your mother – I think I know where she is.

Hazel’s eyes widened. ‘You do?’

Murrell told me he and his followers are planning to gather at Rivenpike. It’s a town not far from here.

‘Then that’s where I must go.’

Be careful. He took your mother because he wants to use her magic, although I don’t know why. Murrell will want you too now that he knows you can wield fire. Don’t get drawn into his war – it’ll be the death of you.

‘I understand. Thank you, Mary.’ She looked up the stairs.
I wonder if David’s been listening.
‘Mary, will you do one more thing for me?’

Anything.

‘The boy I’m travelling with has been poisoned. Can you help him?’

I can try.
Mary put down the pen.

A few hours later Hazel closed the cabin door, dropped the shovel on the kitchen floor and slumped down in the rocking chair. She stared numbly at her muddy, blistered hands.
Mary’s final note lay on the table.

The boy will live, but he’s half blind and will be in pain for a long time – demon wounds never fully heal. I think I drew out most of the poison, but there may be some left and I don’t know how it will affect him.

Her final words were a jagged scrawl:

I am tired of this cold world. Bury me next to Gander. I might find peace there.

Bramley stroked Hazel’s neck with his cheek, absorbing her sorrow until she fell asleep.