The Ragwitch (15 page)

Since Paul was obviously incapable of explaining what had happened since they parted, Quigin lay face-to-face with the dolphin, and seemed to have a lengthy and interesting conversation—obviously Quigin had learned dolphin-talk very quickly.

Sevaun stood silently, watching the fins of the sharks circle out beyond the surf. When they left, and headed for the open water, she helped Quigin push the dolphin into deeper water, and drag Paul farther up the beach.

“I seem to do a lot of this,” said Quigin amiably. “I mean, dragging you out of the water.”

“Thanks,” mumbled Paul. “You won’t have to any more. I’m never going for another swim in my life.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Sevaun. “Of course you will.”

“And I’ll drag you out if you need it,” added Quigin. “By the way, did you see anything interesting down that crevasse?”

“Um, yes,” replied Paul, rather surprised to think of it like that. “I suppose I did.”

“Let’s hear about it then,” said Quigin impatiently. “What sort of things live down there?”

“Can’t I have a rest first?” asked Paul. “And shouldn’t we find Deamus and the others?”

“Father’s at the castle, with…with most of the others,” said Sevaun, in a rather trembly voice. “We only came back to look for you a little while ago—and then the dolphin said you were on the way.”

“The castle?” asked Paul. His brain felt as
sodden with water as the rest of him, and he was having trouble working out just what was going on, and where it was going on at.

“Caer Follyn,” answered Quigin, pointing inland. “And a very good castle it is too. The towers are full of owls, and there’re dune mice in the kitchens.”

“Oh good,” said Paul faintly, though he didn’t quite see how the presence of owls and dune mice improved a castle. “Can we go there—and get something to eat?”

“Of course,” said Quigin, helping him up. “You can tell us what happened on the way.”

“And you can tell me what happened to Deamus and Sir Rellen and…” Paul began to say, when he noticed Sevaun was crying, and Quigin rubbing at his nose.

“Ah,” said Quigin, for once rather somber and quiet. “Sir Rellen…Sir Rellen…”

“The Gwarulch killed him,” whispered Sevaun. “Sir Rellen, Tannas and Fayle, Sedreth and Horvarth…”

She stopped talking, and sniffed back the tears, as Quigin added, “Sir Rellen stayed behind to help the wounded get away.”

All three were silent after that, and Paul thought of Sir Rellen when he’d first seen him, calmly handling a lobster—and those other names, of people he’d never known, but had probably seen, all laughing and smiling at the Sea Festival of Donbreye. Now he could never see them again.

Paul slid his hand into his pouch, and felt the feather of the Breath and the teardrop of the Blood, and swore fiercely to himself that he’d find out how to use them, and stop the Ragwitch and all her creatures—to rescue Julia, and to help all the people whose lives the Ragwitch would take or ruin.

“Come on,” he said firmly. “Let’s go up to the castle.”

J
ULIA FELT STRANGELY
calm as they approached the top of the midden. Having made the decision to go on, she felt a sort of acceptance of her fate—whatever it was to be.

There’d been another memory change about fifty meters from the top of the midden—but only a small one. The sun had suddenly blinked into night, and it had become very cold and windy. But within a minute, it was dawn, and warm again. And the land hadn’t changed at all.

Perhaps, thought Julia, there could only be very small memory shifts this close to the midden. After all, it had to be one of Her most powerful memories.

Ahead of Julia, Mirran suddenly stopped and stared ahead. Julia moved up the last few meters, and stood level with him—and looked out onto the
shell-strewn top of the midden, gleaming white in the morning sunshine.

In the very center, a ring of blue flames danced and flickered slowly, too slowly to be real flames. They were cold, too: Julia felt their chill, despite the warming sun.

In the middle of the ring, she could just see a woman lying among the shells, her long red hair trailing out to one side. She wore a plain black dress, stark against the whiteness of the shells, and the silver star upon her breast sparkled with the blue light of the flames.

“That is Anhyvar,” said Mirran quietly.

“What do we do now?” asked Julia, as she tried to get a really good look through the circling flames. As she spoke, she shivered from the cold of the flames. The fire seemed to drain all the heat out of the air, and her breath came out like fog on a frosty night.

“We must wake her,” replied Mirran. He hadn’t taken his eyes from Anhyvar, and now he stepped forward towards the icy flames, arms outstretched.

“Don’t!” cried Julia, grabbing at his arm. “You’ll freeze!”

“What?” he asked, gently prising her grip loose. “Freeze? Why should I freeze?”

“The flames…they’re ice-cold…can’t you feel it?”

“No…” replied Mirran thoughtfully. “What do
you
see…and feel?”

Julia hesitated for a second, then looked hard at the flames, and felt the cold beating against her face.

“I can see Anhyvar sleeping,” she answered, “in a ring of cold fire. The blue flames are sort of slow—and they’re very, very cold.”

Mirran shook his head slowly, and narrowed his eyes, as if to concentrate his sight. Then he said, “I see Anhyvar sleeping, but no ring of fire. She sleeps inside a crystal coffin…”

“What?” asked Julia, unexpectedly giggling. “A what?”

“A crystal coffin…” replied Mirran, with a smile starting on his face as well. “Yes…that does seem unlikely. My mother used to tell me a story about a princess in a crystal coffin…”

“Things aren’t always what they seem here,” said Julia, remembering Lyssa’s warning. “The wand shows me things as they really are.”

“Yes…” murmured Mirran. Gingerly, he walked towards Anhyvar, one hand stretched out in front, as if he were playing blind man’s bluff.

He was saying, “I still can’t feel anything,” when the very tip of his finger touched the ice-fire. It sparked out a cascade of icicles that jetted across his hands, and Mirran jumped back, cursing.

“My thanks again, Julia,” he said as he retreated from the ring of flames, cradling his frozen fingers under his arms to try to recover some warmth.

They stood in silence for a few moments, with
Mirran looking at Anhyvar, and Julia staring at the flames, trying to make a decision. She thought of calling Lyssa, but somehow she knew that pointing to Anhyvar inside a ring of cold fire was not what Lyssa had meant when she’d said “when you have found Anhyvar.”

“I’ll try,” she said, finally. “The wand should protect me…”

The flames were like dancing icicles up close, radiating a bitter, biting cold. Julia shivered with both cold and fear, and reached out with one hand, into the outermost flame—and snatched it back, as the flames bit into her like some sort of needle-toothed beast, cold chilling deep into her bones. But the wand sent answering surges of warmth to help her; and within the ring, Anhyvar stirred and muttered, as if rising up from the deepest dream.

For a second or two, Julia stood next to the flames, shaking and half sobbing, hands held tightly around the warmth of the golden wand. Fleetingly, she thought of turning back, but there was nothing to turn back to—except the Ragwitch, and becoming part of Her.

“Haaaah!” Julia screamed, and leapt forward, throwing her entire body into, and through, the freezing flames. She fell onto the sharp shells on the inside of the ring, but couldn’t even feel the cuts in her cold-numbed hands. There was no sunlight here—only the cold blueness, dancing to the crackle of the icy fire.

White and shivering, Julia went straight to Anhyvar, grasped her by the shoulders and yelled, “Wake up! Wake up! I’m so cold…please…”

But Anhyvar only stirred slightly, and muttered into the pillow of her hair. Julia sobbed, and shook her again.

“Wake up! Please wake up! I’m so cold…please…”

Julia shook her again and again, and then began to cry, her tears falling and freezing as they dropped. Tears of ice fell like hail upon Anhyvar, and glistened against the black of her dress like diamonds. One tear fell on her face, and unlike the others, began to melt. Julia watched it turn back to water, and trickle down the side of Anhyvar’s face, and then into the corner of her mouth.

And as the tear disappeared, Anhyvar’s eyes flashed open. Unfocused for a moment, she seemed hardly alive. Then she shook her head, her eyes cleared, and she looked straight at Julia, who was still shaking her and crying. Without saying a word, the red-haired Witch sat up, and brought Julia close into a warming embrace. Only her silver star was cold, where it pressed against Julia’s cheek.

Anhyvar slowly stroked Julia’s hair, and she felt the cold ebb from her limbs to be replaced by a warm, glowing feeling. But still Anhyvar said nothing, so Julia looked up at her face.

She was staring out at the flames, and Julia saw that she was looking at Mirran, and somehow
beyond him as well, and there was a great sadness in her face. Out over Julia’s head, she whispered, “So much pain…”

Then, after a long, sighing breath, she said, “I have slept overlong it seems. And much has been done while I slept that should never have been done.”

“Then you know,” whispered Julia. “You know that you’re not…well…not really…”

“Alive?” replied Anhyvar. “Since that day at Sleye I have been a prisoner within myself, and my body has become, in turn, both North-Queen and Ragwitch, while my true self slept. I would rather have truly died than these things should happen. But you have woken me at last, Julia…”

“You know my name?” asked Julia, surprised. It felt rather good to hear her name from this woman who’d taken away the deathly cold.

“Now I am awake,” said Anhyvar, “I know all the Ragwitch knows—for I am Her, and She is me.”

Julia stiffened at her words, and broke free from Anhyvar’s embrace. But Anhyvar said quickly, “Oh, I mean we are like two different parts of the same person. I am the good part, and she is wholly evil, and far more powerful—even now that I am no longer sleeping. But let us quell these flames…and…let us go to Mirran.”

Despite his good intentions, Paul had collapsed from shock and exhaustion before he’d made it to Caer Follyn. The uncomplaining Quigin had
hoisted Paul up across his shoulders and carried him the last few hundred meters, up the hill, through the bailey of the castle (now the camping ground for the fisherfolk of Donbreye) and round and round a circling stair to a soft feather bed in one of the towers, just below the friendly owls.

There, eight hours later, Paul woke up with the unpleasant feeling of not knowing where he was. It was dark, too, but as the sleep cleared from his eyes, he saw there was a lit candle by the door. In the dim pool of golden candlelight, he saw the glint of armor, and heard the soft thk-thk of a sword being burnished.

As his eyes totally cleared, he followed the burnisher’s arm from the light up to a face in the shadows—and a familiar voice said, “Can you say Awgaer yet, Paul?”

“Aleyne!” cried Paul happily, sitting up in his bed like a jack-in-the-box. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” replied Aleyne drily. “What else would I be doing?”

“Were you really looking for me?” asked Paul. He thought that would be unlikely—he didn’t feel important enough to have someone like Aleyne looking for him. Then he remembered the Breath and the Blood. They were important…but then, Aleyne couldn’t have known about them…

“Yes,” replied Aleyne, breaking into Paul’s rather sleepy train of thought. “I was looking for you. When I spoke to Maghaul at Rhysamarn, she…”

“Maghaul? Not Tanboule?” interrupted Paul.

“The Wise are many, and Rhysamarn is a big mountain,” replied Aleyne. “Though I’ve heard tell that they are all different parts of just the one. Anyway, I spoke to Maghaul, and was told to warn the King, and then to find you—and to look on the eastern coast. So I rode like a dervish to Yendre, raising the hue and cry as I went. Yet when I arrived at the Citadel, the news had gone before me. Messenger birds had flown from Caer Calbore, telling of a great murder at Bevallan, and a battle at the Namyr Gorge, where a company of borderers and some sort of Wizard tried to hold Her at the Steps. So the King had already called the folk to war, and the muster tokens had gone forth.”

“The Storm Boy…” muttered Paul, thinking back to the fish-stinking hut, and Deamus’s explanations.

“Yes. The Storm Boy is such a token. In fact, I was bringing that one myself. I have carried such tokens to several of the coast villages over the last two days. It seemed sensible, since I had to come this way in search of you. Then, this morning as my company and I rode north, we had the good fortune to rescue the folk of Donbreye from a band of Gwarulch.”

“But not everyone, and not Sir Rellen,” said Paul sadly.

“No,” answered Aleyne, looking down to the sword he burnished, and blowing gently, his breath fogging the steel. “He fell earlier, trying to hold the
Gwarulch in the village—he helped many of the fisherfolk to escape. He was a famous Knight, and friend of the present King’s father. He fought on the borders for many years to keep such folk as those of Donbreye safe—whatever he was facing, be it fire, flood or foes. I hope that I will look after the people of the Awgaer as well as Sir Rellen, who watched the coast.”

He again looked up from his sword, and said, “Now you must rest again, Paul. There will be many things to do, come the morning.”

“Yes,” answered Paul, quietly. “I’m glad you found me.”

“I’m glad too,” said Aleyne. “Though you do seem to attract a great deal of trouble.”

“I don’t mean to,” replied Paul. Somewhere above his head, an owl let out a melancholy hoot, and he added sleepily, “Have you met my friends Quigin and Sevaun?”

“Yes,” laughed Aleyne. “In fact, I think that was Quigin hooting. And I’ve met Deamus and Oel as well. Everyone has told me a great deal about what you’ve been doing.”

“I’ll tell you again, tomorrow,” mumbled Paul. “Most of it was horrible…and tiring…”

“Goodnight,” said Aleyne. He reached over to snuff out the candle, but saw that Paul was already asleep, so he picked up his scouring cloth again and turned his attention to the blade across his knees. There had been Meepers above the tower
earlier in the night, watching for any lone sentry that might fall asleep, or perhaps a chance to get at Paul—for Aleyne was certain they were after the boy. And the Gwarulch hadn’t retreated far, and were bound to be slinking back under the cover of darkness.

The morning seemed to dawn immediately after his conversation with Aleyne, and Paul awoke with the expectation that it had all been a dream. But there was Aleyne, half asleep on the stool by the door, his sword by his side. He raised his head as Paul got out of bed, and said, “Good morning! Are you ready for a hard day’s travelling?”

“Travelling?” asked Paul, half-heartedly. He felt like curling up in front of a fire all day, steaming the water out of his bones. After all, he had been underwater for almost a whole day!

He was just about to voice these protests, when Aleyne smiled, and said, “Because if you do feel like travelling, forget it! The muster won’t be complete for a day at least. Then we travel.”

“Where to?” asked Paul. “I have to find the Earth Lady or the Fire Queen.”

“They may be found upon our path, I hope,” said Aleyne. “At least as well as anywhere else. And it is certainly no longer safe for you to be travelling alone, or in a small group. It is too much of a coincidence that the Gwarulch attacked Donbreye so soon after your arrival—for there are many villages farther north that are still untouched.”

“You mean She sent them to get me?” asked Paul. “They know where I am?”

“Perhaps,” answered Aleyne, then, seeing Paul’s dismay, added, “but you are quite safe here. I have a company of Borderors with me—they’ve often fought Gwarulch on the northern border. And there are a lot of villagers—as well as the hardy fighters of Donbreye.”

“Oh well,” said Paul, nervously checking his pouch to make sure the Breath and the Blood were safe. “I don’t know what else I could do. And the Wise did tell you to look for me, so it must be the best thing to do. Where are we going?”

“Why, to join the King’s army, of course,” replied Aleyne. “I thought I told you…the King is marching north to relieve the siege of Caer Calbore, which has been holding out against the Ragwitch and Her horde of North-Creatures.”

“Are you sure that’s the best thing to do?” asked Paul, thinking that a horde of North-Creatures sounded worse than anything—and to actually go towards Her and a horde…

“I am sure it will be…” replied Aleyne. But secretly, he wondered. He’d read a little about the North-Queen while he’d been in Yendre. She had defeated all the Kingdom once—a Kingdom that was far more warlike and prepared than at present. Now that She had come again in the form of the Ragwitch, marching to do battle with Her might be the most dangerous thing anyone could
do. But the Wise had told the King to give battle…and to find Paul. Aleyne hoped this wasn’t one of the rare times that the Wise were hopelessly wrong.