Spook’s: I Am Grimalkin (6 page)

With hindsight I realize that I should have left immediately afterwards and sped back to Pendle. Instead Thorne and I spent a useful day on the shores of the lake some call Coniston. It was a day of training and I pushed the girl hard. The sun had just gone down behind the trees when we began her knife training. I was trying to teach her to be calm and control her anger. She had the blades; I used my hands.

‘Cut me!’ I shouted, slapping her face and stepping back out of range.

Thorne whirled towards me, wielding two blades, slashing at me, her face full of fury. I stepped inside her guard and slapped her even harder; twice this time, stinging both cheeks and bringing tears to her eyes.

‘Keep calm, girl! It’s only pain!’ I mocked. ‘Think! Concentrate! Cut me!’

She missed again, and I gave her another hard slap. We were close to the water’s edge and by now it was twilight; tendrils of mist snaked towards us over the lake’s surface.

Thorne took a deep breath and I saw her face relax. This time she feinted, and the arc of her first blade came so close that
I
felt its breath whisper over the skin of my shoulder. I smiled in appreciation and took a rapid step backwards to avoid her next thrust. I was inches from the water’s edge and the lake was deep.

The attack came suddenly, taking us both by surprise. I had my back to the water and Thorne saw the creature first. Her eyes widened in shock, and I turned and glanced over my shoulder, seeing the death that was surging towards me.

The beast had arms and long fingers with sharp talons, but it was more fish than man, with a nightmare face and cold cod eyes, a mouthful of sharp teeth and a long, sinuous, eel-like body with a narrow fin.

I tried to twist away, but it surged up out of the water, riding on its tail, seized me by the shoulder and yanked me backwards. As my head went under the cold water, I realized that I had no blade at my disposal. I had been fighting Thorne unarmed and my leather straps, sheaths and knives were spread out on the grass some distance from the water’s edge.

But I wasn’t finished yet, and with the nails of my left hand I gouged out the creature’s right eye; then I bit through its fingers to the bone. However, it was immensely strong and was dragging me further and further into the murky water. I hadn’t had time to snatch a deep breath and realized that I was now in serious trouble.

But then I saw another shape in the water beside me and felt a knife being pressed into my hand. I used it quickly – to good effect. And I wasn’t alone. Thorne was by my side, and together we cut that creature to pieces.

At dawn we assembled its remaining fragments beside the lake. I had never seen anything quite like it before, but it was without doubt an abhuman. They take many strange forms, and this one had been adapted for an aquatic life. The Fiend sometimes uses such creatures to destroy his enemies. He cannot come near me, so he’d sent one of his children instead.

Without doubt Thorne saved my life that day; it had required great courage to join me in the water like that. As a reward I boiled up the creature’s thumb-bones and gave them to her. They were the first bones that she hung on her necklace.

Back in Pendle, I customarily trained Thorne several times a week and occasionally took her with me when I set off on long journeys, seeking out those marked for death by my clan.

I had watched her develop from a young eager girl into a potential witch assassin who would one day take my place. Because of the war and my journey to Ireland, it was several months since I had last seen her, but I knew she would be ready to answer my call.

I stared into the mirror now and chanted the incantation. Within moments Thorne’s face came into focus. Gone was the child who had charged at the bear. She had gentle eyes, each iris a vivid sapphire-blue, but her lean face was that of a warrior, with a wide mouth and sharp nose. Her dark hair was cropped short and she had a small tattoo on her left cheek: the effigy of a bear. She’d had it done to remind her of the day I had agreed to train her.

You’re hurt!
she mouthed, showing her teeth.
What happened?

I had forbidden her to file her teeth to points until her training was fully completed, so her rare smiles were not yet terrifying to others.

I told her about the kretch and the poison, but it was the severed head of the Fiend that concerned me most, and I explained what I had in the leather sack. That was the real reason why I was reluctantly summoning Thorne into such great danger.

‘Whatever happens, it must not be allowed to fall into the hands of the Fiend’s servants,’ I continued. ‘If I die, you must take over that burden.’

Of course, but you’re not going to die. Where are you?

‘Southwest of Pendle, about five miles from the base of the hill.’

Then hold on – I’ll be with you very soon. How far behind you is the kretch?

‘It’s impossible to be sure,’ I told her, ‘but probably only a few hours at the most.’

Then try to keep moving. Remember what you once said to me – ‘You have only just begun to fight.’

With that, the mirror darkened and Thorne was gone. Fighting against the pain, I struggled to my feet and began to stagger eastwards once more, my breathing hoarse and ragged. My progress was very slow and I started to imagine that I could hear the kretch padding through the trees behind me, getting closer and closer, ready to spring.

At one point I whirled round to meet it, but there was nothing there. The next thing I remember is lying on my back
with
rain falling straight into my face. I opened my eyes in a panic.

Where was the leather sack? I reached out for it but found nothing.

‘It’s safe – I have it beside me,’ said a voice I knew.

Thorne was kneeling beside me looking concerned. I tried to sit up but she gently pushed me back down again.

‘Rest,’ she said firmly. ‘Give the potion time to take effect. I called in to see Agnes on my way here. What she sent is not a cure but it should buy you some time. After you spat out the first mouthful I managed to pour most of it down your throat.’

‘The kretch – is it close?’ I asked.

Thorne shook her head. ‘I can’t sniff its approach.’

‘If we can reach Pendle we’ll be safe for a while. The witches who made the creature are from the southwest of the County. They will not dare venture into our territory.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ said Thorne. ‘But the clans are divided. Some may allow them entry. Now, try to stand.’

She helped me to my feet, but I was unsteady and she had to support me. Although only fifteen and not yet fully grown, she was now almost as tall as me and looked every inch a witch assassin. She was dressed in a similar fashion to me – leather straps crisscrossed her body, the sheaths holding blades.

I smiled at her. ‘I’m still not strong enough to travel. Leave me and take the sack. That’s what is really important.’

‘We’ll travel together,’ Thorne said firmly. ‘Remember how you once carried me?’

‘When we hunted the bear? Yes, I remember it well. I was thinking about that earlier.’

‘Well, now I’ll carry you.’

With that, Thorne hoisted me up onto her shoulder and, holding the leather sack in her left hand, began to jog eastwards. We were heading towards Agnes Sowerbutts’s cottage on the outskirts of the Deane village of Roughlee.

It was strange to be carried in this way. I was at war with myself: one part of me felt anger at my weakness, and resentment towards Thorne for treating me thus; the other felt gratitude for her help and was well aware that the skill of Agnes Sowerbutts would give me the best possible chance of surviving.

After a while the stabbing pain in my lungs started to return as the effects of the potion began to wear off. The agony slowly intensified until I could hardly breathe and I felt myself losing consciousness again.

The next thing I remember is what sounded like the eerie cry of a corpse-fowl very close by. Then there was a sudden stillness and a change of temperature. I was no longer being carried; I was inside, out of the rain. I lay on a bed and someone was bending over me; the concerned face of Agnes Sowerbutts swam into view.

I felt my head being lifted, and suddenly my mouth was full of a vile-tasting liquid. I swallowed a little and almost vomited. I wanted to spit the rest out but fought to control my urge. Agnes was trying to help me. She was my only hope of survival. So I forced myself to swallow again and again. After a
while
a strange warmth spread slowly from my stomach to my extremities. I felt comfortable. I think I slept for a while.

But then I was awake again, my body racked with pain. There were sharp twinges in my chest, and each breath was like a dagger stabbing into my heart. My limbs throbbed and felt as heavy as lead. Whatever potion Agnes had given me, it hadn’t worked for long. I opened my eyes but could see nothing. Everything was dark. Had the poison taken away my sight?

Then I heard Agnes’s voice: ‘The poison is too virulent. She’s dying. I’m sorry but there’s nothing more that I can do.’

‘
PLEASE, PLEASE, TRY
again,’ I heard Thorne beg. ‘She’s still fighting, still strong. Grimalkin deserves another chance.’

I fought to stay awake, but eventually I lost consciousness again, falling slowly into a darker, deeper sleep than I had ever known before.

Was this death? If so, Thorne was alone. How long would she
be
able to keep the Fiend’s head out of the hands of his supporters? I had told her a little of my alliance with Alice Deane, Tom Ward and John Gregory. Would she understand that she needed to approach them directly and seek their help?

I tried to call out to Thorne and tell her what must be done, but I was unable to speak. I was trapped deep within my body, forced to endure the pain, which was increasing all the time.

I wasn’t going to remain lying here in agony while my body slowly lost its grip on life. There was a way to escape it. I could float out of my body to meet my death. I had some skill in the arts of shamanistic magic.

Most Pendle witches are deeply conservative in their habits: at an early age they are tested by their clan to determine which type of dark magic – blood or bone or familiar – they have an aptitude for. They would never think to range beyond those options. But I am different. My mind is flexible and open to other alternatives. I am willing and eager to learn new things.

This may be because during my life as a witch assassin I have travelled widely and have encountered other cultures and ways of utilizing the dark. One such encounter was with a Romanian witch who was living in the northeast of the County. It was she who taught me something of shamanism.

Of course, you could spend a lifetime learning its secrets and practising its craft. I had but a few months to devote to it, so I concentrated on just one aspect of its repertoire – the skill of projecting the soul from the body.

Such a procedure is not without risks. One practitioner, a mage, projected his soul into the dark and was devoured by
a
daemon. You may also be unable to find your way back to your body. For that reason I had used it only rarely, and with great caution.

But what did it matter now? I was dying. The mists of Limbo would close about me soon enough, whether I left my body or not. At least I would be able to see again – after a fashion.

The process usually involves a few key words muttered in a particular cadence, but equally important is the
will
to escape.

I had lost control of my body and couldn’t even move my lips to speak the words of the spell. As it was, my will, driven by desperation, proved sufficient. Moments later I was floating just a few feet above the bed upon which my body lay. Thorne was sitting in a chair, her head in her hands, the leather sack within her reach. A candle flickered on the small table beside her.

I looked down at my weary face, mouth open to suck in rapid shallow breaths. I had never thought it would end this way. It didn’t seem right. Grimalkin was never meant to die in a warm bed – she should have met her end in battle, as a warrior. But on reflection I realized that I had. The kretch had killed me. That scratch from its poisoned talon had been the moment of my defeat – the beginning of my death.