The Return of the Witch (11 page)

“William has my best interests at heart. He did not press me on details of how I come to be here, only listened to my purpose.”

Displaying a measure of irritation, Erasmus threw the iron spanner he was holding into the open tool box beside him. A harsh clatter reverberated around the mill house. The sudden noise caused Aloysius to jump from my arm and scurry beneath a grain bin. Erasmus's temper showed through the practiced restraint of his voice. “I take it his influence and standing were not sufficient to save you when you were sentenced to death in this very town? Has his position altered so significantly that he can help you now?”

“He will do what he can. I trust him.”

“Choose who you trust with the utmost care, madam. Choose unwisely and you will have us both strung up for witches.”

“Fear not, no one would take you for anything other than a miller,” I assured him, gesturing at his disheveled state.

“It is my being a miller, however ineptly, that allows us to be here at all.”

“Then I shall leave you to your work, sir!” I told him, turning on my heel and heading back out into the heat of the day.

“Where do you go now, mistress?” he called after me.

“Home,” I called back as I strode away. “I am going home.”

I had not planned to do so before that precise moment, but all at once I felt a deep desire, a need, to revisit the place where I had been happy as a child. The place I had grown to womanhood, learning my mother's healing practices. The place where I had known what it meant to be part of a loving family. The last place I had known such belonging.

 

8

When I opened my eyes it was to see two faces peering down at me. Two identical faces. I struggled to get up, but I was on a low sofa surrounded by feathery cushions, and my arms and legs wouldn't work properly. It was as if I was waking up from a really deep sleep, but in the middle of a weird dream, so that my head was fuzzy, too.

“Where am I?” I wanted to know but, even to me, my words sounded slurred and my voice hoarse.

The young women pushed me back down onto the sofa.

“Hush now,” said one of them. “Do not disturb yourself.”

“You must rest,” said the other one. “You will be weary after your long journey.”

I didn't know what journey she was talking about. I tried to remember what had happened, how I had got to this strange old room with these people I didn't know. I could remember taking my boots off in the hall at Willow Cottage. I had heard a noise in the sitting room and went to see what it was. And then … it was all a blank. Nothing. One minute I was there, the next I was somewhere I'd never been before. I couldn't join up the two places.

“How…” I tried to speak again, “how did I get here?”

“You must not concern yourself with that,” said the first twin.

They had to be twins. Either that or my head was seriously messed up, because they were identical right down to the curls in their dark, waist-length hair. And they were dressed up for amateur dramatics, all long lacy dresses with tight waists and high necks. I took in the room. There was wood paneling on two of the walls and a huge Turkish rug on the wide floorboards. The furniture was dark wood antique with pewter plates and tankards on the mantelpiece, and candles everywhere. There was an enormous fireplace but it wasn't lit, and yet the room was warm. Which didn't make any sense; I had been stamping the snow off my boots outside Willow Cottage. Now it felt like, well, summer. I sat up, shrugging off the women's flapping hands as they tried to stop me. My head started to spin. I felt like I'd got the grandaddy of all hangovers, but I was pretty sure I hadn't been drinking.

“Look, just tell me where I am, and how I got here, OK?” I tried to sound stronger than I felt, but by the look on their faces it wasn't working. One twin took my hand and gently patted it. The feel of her skin against mine was creeping me out. At last my witch senses began to wake up, and what they were telling me was that these two might look lovely, but there was something rotten inside them.

“Poor thing,” said the second twin. “You do look pale.”

“And confused, sister, do you not think she looks confused?” the other one asked. They spoke in a girly, whispery way that set my teeth on edge.

“Who are you?” I asked, hoping to turn their attention away from me. After all, what young woman doesn't like talking about herself? “Won't you tell me your names?”

“Lurcrecia,” smiled the first one.

“Florencia,” said the other. They dipped simultaneous curtseys.

“And I'm Tegan. But I expect you know that already.”

“Oh yes,” said Lurcrecia, “we know all about you.”

“We do.” Her sister nodded. “You are our very special guest…”

“… and we are to look after you as well as ever we can.”

“Would you like something to drink…?”

“… or a bite to eat, perhaps?”

“Are you too warm? The day is very close, don't you think? Shall I prepare you some lemonade? I make the very best lemonade.”

“Oh she does,” Lucrecia agreed. “Special lemonade. It will make you feel better.”

“Calmer.”

“Happier.”

They had an irritating way of swaying from side to side a little as they were speaking. It was like watching a comedy duo. A very weird comedy duo. No way was I drinking anything these two made, that much was certain. Bits of the blankness were starting to fill in. Elizabeth had been with me at the cottage, but where was she now? We'd been out, I remembered, to the shop. The noise in the sitting room, what had made it? Oh my God! Gideon. Now it all came rushing back. Finding him standing there, looking exactly the same as he had five years before. That hard face, with that little smile, as if he was laughing at me. Whatever he did, whatever he made happen, it happened so fast I don't remember having the chance to do anything to stop him.

If he had brought me there, I had to get away. The twins were watching me like snakes, waiting for me to make a move. Well, they could take a running jump. I wasn't hanging around for Gideon to show up again. I stood up and pushed past them. I've got to go,” I said as I strode toward the door. “Places to be, people to see, you know how it is.”

They trotted after me, all hurt expressions and simpering voices.

“Oh, but you can't go!”

“No, no, you can't leave!”

“That wouldn't be what he wants at all.”

“No,” Florencia shook her head, looking frightened, “not at all.”

They darted in front of me, blocking my path to the door. As they moved, their flowing hair rippled and swooshed, like it had a life of its own. Lucrecia reached out and took my right hand in hers, while her sister took my left. Their grip was light, but somehow at the same time it felt heavy. They turned, wheeling me about, trying to lead me back to the sofa, whispering soft words in my ear, promising me a lovely sleep if I drank their lemonade. I was about to snatch my hands free, to shake them off and make a run for the door, when it opened and suddenly, horribly, inevitably, Gideon was there. I felt such a surge of rage at the sight of him that I lunged toward him. I don't know what I thought I was going to do—it wasn't a rational move. My head was still not clear. If it had been I would have been staying calm, giving myself time to summon some magic, using my skills, trusting the craft. But I was still muddled and still angry, and I just reacted, flinging myself at him.

But the twins had hold of me. I gasped, shocked at how tightly they gripped my wrists. I turned to look at them and to try and free myself, and that's when I saw what was really holding me back. They weren't holding me with their delicate white hands anymore. It was their thick, dark hair that had me, long, silky lengths of it curling around my wrists, wriggling and tightening like the tentacles of some alien creature. The twins stood quite calmly, as if it were no effort for them at all, and I found I was stuck fast. However much I struggled, I could not get free. And the hair wasn't just strong, it was toxic. I could feel its own vile poison leaching into my skin, and it instantly began to make me drowsy and weak. I fought against it, reaching deep inside my mind, searching for my magic. I felt a connection made, a spark ignited, and felt myself growing stronger.

“Stop her!” I heard Gideon command, as he sensed what I was doing.

I used my own ethereal force to resist whatever was seeping into me from the twins' tendrils. I started to float upward, higher and higher, so that the slack was soon taken up and I was pulling the girls by their hair. They cried out but were not to be so easily shaken off, as they sent up further locks to twist around my waist, my ankles, even my neck. I fought to summon more magic as I felt myself beginning to choke. I pulled the black fire of the Sacred Sun to my fingertips and grasped the tightening, pulsating rope at my throat. The room filled with the smell of singeing hair, and one of the twins shrieked. The coil unwound, dropping away, so that I could breathe properly again. I was on the point of finally breaking away from the rest of my slithering bonds when I felt the crushing weight of dark magic which could only have come from Gideon. It pressed me down hard and fast, so that I crashed to the floor so quickly I was winded. I lay there, aware that my own energy was ebbing away. A shadow fell over me and there he stood, looking down at me.

“Good morning, Tegan,” he said. I could hear him talking to me, but my eyelids were suddenly too heavy to hold open. I could sense him working his spell further, even as he spoke, even as he continued to peer at me, his face impassive. It was such dark, heavy magic! Was this where he was going to kill me? I struggled to try and make sense of what was happening, but my thoughts were quickly becoming jumbled and clouded by the swirl of his spell. It was as if all my own will, all my own magic, was being subdued, beaten down, held helpless and useless under the suffocating weight of his hex. I saw visions of Willow Cottage, and of Elizabeth, except that she was grotesque and terrifying. I tried to cling to what I knew to be true and real, but the spell was beyond anything I would have thought Gideon capable of, and it was overwhelming me with unbelievable speed.

“I'm glad to see the twins are taking such good care of you,” he was saying, but his words sounded distant and echoey. “Welcome, Tegan. Welcome to your new home.” His voice became too distorted to make any sense at all, so that all I could hear was the thudding of my own heartbeat loud in my ears as I sank into blackness and nothingness.

*   *   *

I departed the mill at such speed that Aloysius was left behind. I experienced a flash of anxiety that he might fall prey to the resident cats, but I reasoned that, given his great age, he had more experience than most rodents at avoiding predators. I walked briskly across the meadows, skirting the edge of the forest, eager to shake off the irritation I felt at Erasmus's response to my actions, and equally keen to see the cottage again. He had no right to censure my activities. True, I was indebted to him for his help, and I needed his cooperation at the very least in order to stay at the mill. At the same time, he was not my master. I would do whatever I deemed necessary, whatever was advantageous, so that I might find Tegan. Whom I accepted help from, and where I chose to go, well, these were my decisions to make, not his. Let him occupy himself with his blessed milling.

By the time I reached the stretch of land that led to my childhood home, the sky was dark with the promise of an imminent summer storm. The pace of my walking speeded my pulse and deepened my breathing, and yet it seemed there was scarcely sufficient air to be found, so humid was the atmosphere. All around me a tension grew, quietening small birds and sending tiny meadow animals into the shelter of the hedgerows. The sun dimmed in a thickening, bruising sky. I pressed on, hoping to reach the little house before the rain began. I crested the hill above the homestead breathlessly in my haste, only to have my remaining breath knocked from me by the sight that greeted me. The cottage stood in ruins! The thatch of the roof was gone entirely, and the walls were mostly crumbled to so much rubble. The barn and yard had fared no better. Oh, it was a desolate picture! I stumbled down the slope toward what was left of my home, of my memory. What had I imagined I would find? I had not seriously considered. There might have been a new family living happily there, perhaps, though given the years of war this seemed unlikely. Or some hardworking farmer might have made good the business, breeding cattle, perhaps, or pigs, maybe. But, no. When I reached the place where the front door would have stood it was plain to see that the house had been deliberately set ablaze, and that this ruination had taken place many years earlier. When, exactly? I wondered. And who would have done such a wasteful and heartless thing? As I formed the question I almost laughed aloud at my own naivety. Gideon. Of course, it had to have been him. When I had chosen to run from, not toward, him, when I had shunned his help, spurned him, turned from the dark magic he would lead me deeper and deeper into, what did I think he might have done directly afterward? He must have thrashed about in his rage, looking for a way to hurt me, to show his anger, to wound anything I held dear. What better place to start than with the destruction of my beloved home?

I gasped as a dreadful thought entered my head. The graves! I turned to the accompaniment of a great rumble of thunder, very loud and near. Its echo was still chasing across the sky when I reached the small patch of ground behind the garden where I had lain my family to rest. If the condition of the cottage had shocked me, it was as nothing compared to what had been done to the graves. Where there should have been grassy mounds with the remnants of wooden markers, and even the broad, flat stones the villagers had insisted on putting on top of my mother's burial site, instead was a mess of mud and churned earth and deep chasms gouged into the ground. Deep and empty. A flash of lightning blanched the scene a supernatural white for an instant, revealing the full horror of the desecrated graves. Nothing remained of them, save the holes. The bodies of my loved ones had, each and every one of them, been torn from the earth. And taken where? For what purpose? My mind began to chase all manner of feverish imaginings. There was no limit to Gideon's depravity; nothing to which he would not stoop in his rage.