The Ragwitch (17 page)

Mirran gave a slight bow, and said, “I was neither sane nor even human for much of the time. I have Julia and your golden wand to thank for a return…from the shape and thoughts of a beast. And I thank you for that, Lady, and for all you have done for the Kingdom.”

Lyssa smiled, and turned to Anhyvar, taking her by the hand, “I see you know what the evil you summoned has done, both in your body as North-Queen, and now, as Ragwitch. It has been a long time since we stood together on Alnwere, before the Pool. A very long time, and full of horrors. Do you remember the vision we saw there, and none of us understood it? Or how it would come to pass?”

“Yes,” replied Anhyvar. “I remember, and now I understand. I only hope it was not a false seeing, and that I come to it soon.”

“What vision was this?” asked Mirran gravely, and Julia added, “Did it show what’s going to happen?”

But Anhyvar shook her head, and said, “I cannot speak of it, or it may be altered. Now, my Lady Lyssa, would you care for some refreshment?”

“Water would be nice,” said Lyssa. “It is such a strain keeping myself from the tree that is so firmly fixed in your memory.”

“Oh—of course,” said Anhyvar, rather surprised. “But I only met you in human form once, and as a Rowan, many times.”

“Never mind,” laughed Lyssa, taking a goblet of water from Anhyvar. “Normally I prefer to be a Rowan. But to the business at hand—we must plan what we can do against the Ragwitch. Perhaps you have had time to gauge your strength against Her, Anhyvar. After all, She is still part of you—or you of Her.”

“The evil and pride, augmented and nourished by the Nameless Realm,” said Anhyvar, rather remotely, as if she didn’t want to talk about it. “And I have little power within, or over Her. I may move around the memory a little—perhaps even take control of the body…such as it is…for a brief while. But then She would find me and crush me forever—not just put me back to sleep. And to do anything, I would have to move out of this memory to Her main consciousness.”

“Or perhaps a part of Her main consciousness She has Herself walled off as a prison for those She absorbs,” said Lyssa. “I found it reasonably easy to exist there, though I did not have the power to watch through Her eyes, or to catch Her thoughts.”

“You mean the place of the white globe?” asked Julia. Mirran nodded too, to show his familiarity with that prison.

“Yes,” said Anhyvar, tracing a pattern in the sand, her forehead creased in thought. “It would
be easier to wrest control from there, and harder for Her to fight me. But I will need everyone’s strength to help, and even then I fear we could only take control of Her body briefly, and prevent her casting spells.”

“That may be enough,” said Mirran. “If we can make Her cast Herself into the sea or something…” He paused as both Lyssa and Anhyvar shook their heads, red and silver hair flying.

“No, of course,” he said wearily. “She has the body of a rag doll—She can’t drown…but perhaps a fire…”

“She’s not stuffed with real straw,” said Julia. “When She went down into the Namyr Gorge…a man threw a flaming torch at Her, and the flames just burnt around Her, and didn’t do anything!”

Mirran sighed at this, and massaged the back of his left hand, thinking. Lyssa and Anhyvar were silent, both staring out across the water.

“We have to do something!” burst out Julia, who was thinking of Paul. “Couldn’t we make Her fall down a pit or something? Anything!”

“Perhaps,” said Lyssa. “Whatever we do, I think we should soon return to the place of the white globe. From that hiding place, we may see our opportunity. Also, the twig-maid fails—and if She realizes that it is not the real Julia, all may be lost.”

“Yes,” said Anhyvar. “We shall go to the white globe.”

She stood, drew the silver star from her dress,
and held it up. “Join hands, everyone, and I will take us there.”

As she spoke, the star grew until it was a shining doorway against the blue of the sky. They all linked hands, and Anhyvar stepped through, followed by Mirran and Julia, with Lyssa last of all.

P
AUL LOOKED BACK ON
Caer Follyn with some regret, as the column of Borderors and fisherfolk wound through the gate and onto the inland road. Behind him, Paul knew, lay comfortable beds in warm rooms, and meals on plates, which were eaten sitting at tables. Ahead lay discomfort and danger.

But the prospect of danger seemed lessened by the presence of Aleyne’s force, which to Paul’s eyes was at least a small army. There were several hundred heavily armed fisherfolk in the column, and at least a hundred Borderors, with many more Borderors spread out ahead and to the flanks, where they watched for marauding Gwarulch.

Quigin was up ahead too, being asked questions by Cagael, who was also supervising the dogs, who loped well in advance of everyone, to sniff out any
hidden North-Creatures.

At the front of the column, resplendent in steel back and breastplates over a bright buff coat, Aleyne walked beside his horse. A few of the other Borderors had horses too, and one had offered Paul a ride—but he hadn’t liked it, finding it almost as much of an effort as walking, and more uncomfortable.

Strangely enough, the prospect of a long day’s walk didn’t trouble him, even with the pack Aleyne had made up for him, which Aleyne joked was twice the weight of the one he’d left for the Gwarulch in Ornware’s Wood. He had a sword now too, or as Aleyne called it, a poniard—a thin, sharply-pointed stabbing weapon. It was strapped to his pack. He’d tried wearing it at his belt, but he kept tripping over it, and it was generally awkward. Paul still hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.

He looked back at the castle again, and waved to Sevaun, who was watching from the gatehouse wall. Deamus and Oel were marching with the column, but they’d made Sevaun stay behind with the other children, the wounded and the older folk, along with a very few able-bodied villagers, to keep Caer Follyn safe from roving bands of North-Creatures.

Paul wished that he didn’t have to go, but he had an opposite feeling too, a determination to do something about the Ragwitch, a feeling that almost rivalled his desire to stay safe and warm
and fed. And he could always think of Julia, and what she must be suffering, if he needed anything to spur him on.

It was a beautiful day for the march, so it was easier to be cheerful about the prospects ahead. Some of the Borderors were whistling; the fisherfolk talked among their ranks, of fish and the sea; and always there was the steady tramp, tramp, tramp of boots on the gravelled road. Above, Rip and Tear circled, sole specks of color in the deep blue sky. It seemed a day when everything could only be happy.

Paul waved at the castle one last time, and ran to get his place back at the front of the column, where Deamus and Oel marched at the head of the Donbreye villagers, their pikes all slanted over their shoulders at the same angle, steel pike-heads and helmets glinting in the sun. Paul took up his place at the corner, and fell into step with them, picking up the rhythm of their talk, and thinking no more of featherbeds, leak-proof rooms, or lazing by the fire.

After four days of hard marching, they reached the top of Sanhow Hill—the easternmost of a chain of hills that ran towards Caer Calbore from the settled lowlands, and, therefore, a natural place to stop any south-bound enemy. Aleyne had expected to find the King’s army there, but there were only a pair of grizzled old farmers camped atop the hill, their rusty armor and muddy tent fine camouflage—though not
against Cagael’s eagles, or the dogs, who sniffed them out immediately.

They told Aleyne that the rest of the army had marched on that morning—only a few hours ago. The remnants of their camp were visible in the valley below—faintly smoking fires, a broken wagon wheel, and heaps of raw earth from the digging of fire-pits and latrines.

“Where are they marching to?” asked Aleyne, shading his face against the harsh midday sun, and looking out along the row of hills.

“Reddow Cairn,” replied one of the farmers. “The King’s Friend of Beasts has swifts…”

“Oh, that’s Neric,” interrupted Quigin. He started to ask a question, but Aleyne gestured for silence, and the farmer continued.

“Aye—Neric. His swifts brought news…She is marching with a great host, following the Yanel south. They’re bound to cross the hills at Reddow Cairn.”

“A long, low ridge—between two hills…” said Aleyne, as if he was trying to remember it.

“Yes,” said Cagael, taking it as a question. “There was a battle there many centuries ago between the North-Queen and King Mirran. It was Her first major victory. The cairn that gives the ridge its name was raised in memory of those that fell in the battle.”

“How…how far away is it?” asked Paul, nervously. He’d felt quite safe until all this talk of Her
winning battles as the North-Queen. Now, on this stark hill, he looked down at the lines of soldiers resting down the hillside, weapons close at hand, and the sun bouncing off them and lighting up faces and helmet-tousled hair. They looked like very ordinary men and women, and what Paul had thought was a huge force seemed insignificant among the open hills and the empty camp below.

“Not far,” said the farmer, pointing. “Reddow Cairn lies between the next two hills. The ridge itself begins on the far side of that hill, and runs northwest to the next one, so you won’t see it till you get real close.”

Paul shaded his eyes and peered in the direction the farmer pointed. All he could see was a large steep hill, covered in the usual grey-green grass and small trees.

Then Quigin yelped and pointed. “Look—there, on the side of the hill. That must be the King’s army!”

Sure enough, on the southwestern side of the hill, they could see a dark column moving around the slope, the sun twinkling on helmets and pike-heads. It was a very long column, twisting and turning as it rose up out of a valley and around the hill. Paul held his breath as he watched, and then let it out with a whoosh of excitement, as there was a sudden, splendid flash of gold amongst the column, and Aleyne said, “That was the Royal Standard. The King is there.”

They watched in silence for a few minutes after that, and Paul felt his courage return with the sight of that imposing column of soldiers. It still hadn’t passed, and he was trying to estimate its length, and how many people must be in it, when his thoughts were broken by a harsh whistle, and the sound of beating wings above.

Instinctively, he ducked and felt for his poniard, then relaxed as Tear plummeted down onto Ethric’s back. Cagael hurried over, and calmed the madly flapping eagle, before staring into his eyes to find out what he had seen. Seconds later, he turned back toward Reddow Cairn, and said, “Look at the sky! Can you see…”

His voice broke off as everyone clearly
could
see—thin black clouds were billowing in from the north towards the hill that the King’s army was slowly climbing. Everyone stared, knowing these were no normal clouds, nor really clouds at all. But it was Aleyne who said it.

“Meepers. More Meepers than I have ever seen…” He looked for another second, then snapped into activity, shouting down the hill, “To arms! To arms! The Ragwitch attacks! We must be at Reddow Cairn in time for battle!”

Paul shivered as Aleyne shouted, and half-guiltily looked around, to see if anyone else looked as afraid as he was. But Aleyne was leaping onto his horse, Quigin was talking to Tear, and Cagael to Ethric. Only Leasel returned his gaze, and he was
relieved to see her ears quivering, as if in fright.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered to the hare, as he picked up his helmet from the ground. “I’ll find the other two Elementals…and…we’ll beat Her for sure…”

Leasel’s ears stopped quivering, and Paul felt braver as he buckled on his helmet. Tightening the chin-strap, he repeated his words over to himself, and thought of Julia waiting for him to rescue her. I absolutely have to be brave, he told himself. No matter what happens.

The ring of turf and holly was dry and curling at the edges, and looked almost black in the harsh light of the white globe. Yet as Julia, Lyssa, Mirran and Anhyvar swam toward it, and onto it, both turf and holly regained some of their old life.

Then Lyssa took the golden wand from Julia, planted it in the center of the ring, and sang: a song of lilting, liquid notes, that spoke of summer and cleansing rain without the need of words. As Lyssa sang, Julia felt her skin tingle all along her spine, and golden sparks drifted up the wand, and there was the scent of new green trees. At the end of the song, Lyssa suddenly clapped her hands, and the wand answered with a crack! In an instant, the wand was gone, and in its place, a gold-yellow flame flickered gently, and the turf was once again a pleasant green.

“There,” said Lyssa. “We are safe again, at least
for a time. Now I shall try to call the twig-maid back from the Ragwitch’s senses…”

“No need,” said Anhyvar, pointing at the white globe. “She is already here.”

“Don’t look, Julia,” said Lyssa, firmly. Julia opened her mouth to ask why, then shut both her mouth and her eyes—for she had caught a glimpse of the twig-maid, feebly swimming back towards the ring of braided holly. A glimpse of herself, somehow twisted and fading, colorless and see-through as an old shirt—the result of being continuously tied to the Ragwitch’s evil mind and senses.

Anhyvar took Julia’s hand as she felt Mirran shift nervously at her side. Even he, a veteran of many atrocious sights in war, was shocked by what he saw.

Julia felt, rather than saw, the twig-maid arrive and collapse at Lyssa’s feet. Then she heard Lyssa sing a brief, sad song, and there was the sound of a harp lamenting. When Julia opened her eyes, there was no sign of her temporary double—only a slight smell of smoke, and the faintest touch of ash upon the turf.

“She served her purpose well,” said Lyssa, seeing Julia’s stricken face looking at the last spray of smoke wafting up above the yellow flame. “And she was never truly alive.”

“I know,” whispered Julia, “it’s just that—it could have been me…”

“But it wasn’t,” said Lyssa cheerily. “And it won’t be. We’ll get Her yet—didn’t I say so, when there was just the two of us? Look at what you’ve already done!”

Julia nodded and smiled, grateful that Anhyvar hadn’t let go of her hand. Everything certainly did seem more hopeful than in past days—particularly those times when she had been alone, and forced to watch everything through the eyes of the Ragwitch.

That thought reminded her of Paul, and she turned to Anhyvar, and said, “Can you tell what’s happening outside? Is Paul all right? She hasn’t got him…?”

“No!” said Anhyvar. “Neither She nor Her creatures have your brother. And I think I can do better than tell you what is happening…I can show you, through Her eyes. If you wish it.”

“I would like to see the Kingdom, and what occurs,” said Mirran. “But are you sure it will not draw Her attention to us?”

Anhyvar nodded, and said, “Her thoughts are taken up with the ordering of Her army.”

“There is to be a battle?” asked Mirran. He clenched his hands as he spoke, and clicked his nails against each other, obviously agitated, then added, “Who comes against Her?”

“The present King, and all the force he can muster,” replied Anhyvar, her eyes looking past Mirran, and out through the blackness beyond. “Her
Meepers watch as their army marches from the south—many columns from all over the Kingdom, marching to join the King. They are all coming to a long, low hill…the Meepers speak of many banners shining as the sun lowers in the sky…the hill is called…Reddow Cairn.”

“I knew a Reddow Hill,” said Mirran quietly, almost to himself. “But in my time, there was no cairn. We fought the North-Queen along the ridge between two hills—it was a fierce and savage battle, the first of many that She won. My brother Asaran fell there, borne down by many Gwarulch. It is a place She knows well…an evil omen for the battle to come.”

Anhyvar blinked, released Julia’s hand, and unpinned her star once again. Holding it to her forehead, she whispered a few words, too soft and strange for Julia to catch, and said, “Close your eyes everyone, be silent—and we shall see what She sees.”

Julia obediently shut her eyes, rather too tightly at first, so she saw a sort of tense red light everywhere. Then she relaxed a little, and the red slowly cleared, to be replaced with sunlight. Sound started to filter in, too; the rush of the wind, the snorts and whining of Gwarulch, and the crushing noise of Angarling lumbering nearby. Above all was the voice of the Ragwitch, as Julia had often heard it—through Her own cloth-dulled ears.

It was late afternoon, and the sunlight was harsh
and bright, casting long shadows along the ground. The Ragwitch was moving inside a ring of Angarling, the great stones moving faster than Julia had seen before, their irregular, rocking glide finding a new, faster rhythm. They were climbing a wide flat-topped hill of grey-green grass and few trees.

To either side of the Ragwitch, and as far as Julia could see out of the corners of Her eyes, Gwarulch loped along in bands of thirty or forty, each with its chieftain at the head—always a Gwarulch of unusual size and savagery.

There were many Glazed-Folk too, half running in an erratic weave, their red-stained eyes fixed on the ground ahead, tongues hanging out like panting beasts. They carried weapons of all kinds, and howled like the Gwarulch.

Above, dark clouds of Meepers swept the sky, their shadows flitting across the sunlit hill. Every few minutes, a lone Meeper would fly in from ahead, or from one side, and harshly croak its message out to Oroch. He stopped to listen, then ran to catch up with Her again like a spider in a stop-start dash across a kitchen floor.

Julia ran her gaze along this whole vast army, and felt the speed and strength of it, and the terrible sense of purpose and anticipation they all seemed to have. At first she couldn’t understand it—then she saw sunlight glint on steel along the ridge above, and the vast roar that could only come from human
throats, and suddenly, the top of the hill was lined with human soldiers.

Right in the center of the ridge, a knot of horsemen rode under several great banners, and Julia knew this must be where the King was. She wondered if he was like Mirran, and felt that he must be, to bring his army to fight Her, instead of fleeing or hiding.