The Return of the Witch (12 page)

At last, the storm broke. Rain pelted from the tumultuous heavens, washing over me, coursing down my face, mixing with my bitter tears. The wet ground released its pungent scent, letting loose the musty, potent aromas of summer trapped within it, filling the air with an overpowering smell of dung and rotten vegetation and loamy soil. It rained so fiercely that the noise of it was fearsome, and yet above it all I could swear I heard a voice. A voice I knew. A young man, saying my name, over and over.

Bess! Bess!
he called.

My brother! I whipped around, searching through the downpour. “Thomas?” I cried. “Thomas?” Of course he was not there. They had all gone; in every possible way, they had been taken from me. But still I saw a shape, a figure, surely, moving toward me through the relentless fall of water. I reached out toward him, and as I did so I heard a child crying. Unmistakably, these were the sobs of a young girl. I turned again, scouring the blurred garden, unable to make sense of the distorted shapes even though the place was so dear and familiar to me. The storm and a dizziness in my own head, the shock and despair at what I had found all conspired to affect my vision and muddle my senses. What was I seeing? What was I hearing? The crying continued.

“Margaret? Dear Margaret, is that you? Where are you?” A second shadowy shape joined the first, and though they moved slowly toward me, they seemed to get no closer. I stretched out my arms to my brother and sister, longing to be reunited with them, to comfort them. I felt myself sinking and looked down at my feet. The torrential rain had turned the dusty earth to sucking mud in a matter of moments. I attempted to step from its grip, but my boots were so heavy with the sodden soil that I could not lift them. The more I struggled, the deeper I sank. Another crack of lightning rent the sky. Thomas and Margaret cried out for me. I twisted and struggled but was soon up to my knees. I fell forward, pulling at my legs, trying to free myself, the mud all the time sucking, dragging, drawing me down, so that I started to slide back. Back toward one of the open graves.

This was no mere storm. There was magic at work here. I steadied myself, shutting the pitiful cries from my mind. I must not simply react. I must think beyond the obvious. I listened behind the heartbreaking voices that I had known so well trying to hear the spell, the wicked murmurings that had conjured them. It was impossible to focus on what I could not see or hear when all the time I was slithering through the mire and had now reached the lip of the grave. I could see into the dark wound in the earth, and where I had at first thought it empty I now saw it contained a body, raggedly clothed and sullied with mud and decay, but a body nonetheless and recognizable as that of my beloved father! I knew it made no sense. I knew what I was seeing was not real. In truth, my father's remains would be but bones and dust by now. This could not be his corpse, so freshly put into the earth. And yet, as I stared in horror, the body moved. My father opened his sightless eyes and sat up, moving silently toward me, beckoning me to join him in his grave.

“No! This is not real!” I screamed, clutching and clawing at the unnaturally soupy ground. As I could not see clearly, and that which I could see was all trickery and illusion, I shut my eyes. I began to chant a prayer to the Goddess, a plea for strength and protection. As I did so the voices and cries around me grew louder, and the rain fell with such force it filled my mouth as I recited the sacred words. I did not stop. Even though I was now sliding into the grave itself, I kept my eyes closed. I summoned my witch's strength, the power of my own magic aiding my flailing limbs, so that at last I made some progress upward. The effort required to work against Gideon's spell and to fight against the turmoil he had created was quickly draining me, but I knew I must not allow myself to be pulled down into the grave, which was rapidly filling with water. Was this what he had planned for me all along? To lure me here and then drown me with the memory of my family, knowing with every passing second that he had won, he had finished me, and I had left Tegan to his nonexistent mercy?

“No!” I screamed again, hauling myself up the collapsing side of the pit. At last I succeeded in dragging my upper body out. As I did so I saw three figures standing at the graveside, looming above me. I peered up, spitting out water and mud, trying to bring their faces into focus. It would have been better had I not done so. All at once I saw Margaret, not happy and rosy cheeked as I liked to remember her, but pale as death, the joy gone from her, tears making tracks through the grime of ages on her sunken cheeks. And Thomas, my dear, brave brother, was revealed to me as he had been at the height of his futile struggle against the plague, his skin bloated and covered with buboes, one eye swollen and bloody, the other shut and oozing. And next to them my mother, who had sacrificed herself to save me. She stood quiet and straight-backed as ever, save for the unnatural angle of her head where the hangman's rope had broken her neck. I screamed then, a long, bellow of pain for what I had lost, for what we had all suffered, followed by a cry of rage that Gideon should so disport and defile my loved ones in order to torment me.

I redoubled my efforts and hauled myself from the grave, yet still I could not stand. The ground beneath me was a bog now, and would not support my weight. I closed my eyes to the phantoms that surrounded me. I had not time to work the complex manner of spell needed to lift me from the earth, but I could summon a burst of energy, a pulse of magic that might, just might, be sufficient to free me from the sucking mud and allow me to flee from this terrible phantasmagoria. I brought to mind my hatred of Gideon. I made myself think of all the damage he had done, all the pain he had inflicted on me and on those dear to me. I drew a deep breath, breathing in the power of the storm. Let it work for me, this elemental energy. Let me turn it against him! With the next burning crack of lightning I flung myself upward. I felt the fire from the sky sear into me as my body was hurled out of the swamp, directly through the specters of my family, and sent skidding across the waterlogged ground. I landed heavily upon the heaped stones of the barn wall. I was winded, stunned, and in pain. I tried to stand up, but I was too breathless. As I lay in this helpless state another figure emerged from the gloom. This one, taller, heavier, stronger than those insubstantial others, strode toward me with great splashing footfalls. I cried out, rubbing mud from my eyes, attempting to see who it was, to get up and defend myself. I got as far as kneeling before two strong hands gripped my shoulders.

“Let me go!” I cried out. “Let me alone!” I hit out blindly.

“Do not be afraid. I am here to help you.”

“No! Do not touch me!”

“Mistress Carmichael, I mean you no harm. Elizabeth!”

I ceased struggling and looked more closely at the man who held me.

“Erasmus?”

“Come,” he said, “let us have you back on your feet.”

He stooped and slipped his arms around me and pulled me up. The rain continued to descend in overwhelming quantities. We were both soaked, our hair and clothes plastered to us, mine smeared with layers of ancient mud and muck. I stared wildly about me.

“Oh!” I said, a sob catching in my throat. “They are gone.”

“Who? Who is gone? I found you alone.”

“I thought … I saw my family … they came…” I shook my head. “No matter. You are right in what you say. I was alone.”

“There is nothing left for you here, I think,” he said gently. “I know what this place was, what it meant to you, but that was a very long time ago. There is nothing here but ghosts now.”

“You are wrong about that,” I told him, glancing at the watery shadows. “There is something here. Something evil.” As I spoke I heard another sound. It was distant at first, but quickly grew louder. The voice became clear and there was no room for confusion. It was Tegan!

Elizabeth! Elizabeth where are you? I need you.

“Tegan!”

“What is it?” Erasmus still had hold of my arm and turned me to face him. “Do you see something … someone more?”

“I can hear Tegan.”

Elizabeth, please! Why don't you find me? Why won't you help me?

“Can't you hear her?” I asked him, but he remained bewildered. “Tegan is calling me. She must be here somewhere. He has hidden her in this awful place.” I pulled myself free of Erasmus's hold and ran into the ruins of the house.

He caught me up. “There is no one here. You must come away now.”

“But she needs me. She is calling me.”

“I hear nothing.” He took hold of my shoulders again. “Elizabeth, there is no one here. You are being tricked. Tormented.”

“But…”

“If she is really here, then why cannot I hear her?” He waited while I considered this. “You must come away now,” he repeated. “You are not safe here.”

With a heavy heart I realized that he was right. Gideon knew all too well how to wound me, and this was just another illusion, another cruel taunt. The rain fell less frantically now, no longer driven by an unseen magic. The storm had passed. There was nothing to be gained by lingering at the wreck of the cottage. Gideon had claimed the place. He had lain in wait and set traps to torture me. I would not come here again. Wearily, I let Erasmus lead me back across the meadows to the warmth and safety of the windmill.

 

9

By the time darkness fell the storm had moved away, the rain ceased, and the evening was mercifully fresh after the oppressive heat of the previous days. Erasmus had encouraged me to eat a little pottage, though I had no appetite. We ate in silence, and I was grateful he did not seek to press me on what I had experienced at the cottage. He must have seen many strange and inexplicable things in his unorthodox life, and magic was a part of his very being. It was a change for me to be in the company of another who trod the earth differently to others. I realized that time, for Erasmus, as for me, had a meaning few people could comprehend. He was the closest I had come to a kindred spirit in a very long time. I was thankful, too, for his sensitivity toward my situation. I would not have to endure curious speculation from him as to whether I had encountered the spirits of my departed loved ones or ghouls conjured by Gideon. It was enough that I was safe. Once he had satisfied himself that I was recovered he retired, leaving me to my thoughts, and promising that we would search for Tegan together first thing in the morning.

Although fatigued, my mind was too disturbed for sleep, so I stepped outside and paced slowly around the windmill. It stood like a slumbering giant, silent and peaceful yet solid and, with such potential power, able to harness the wind itself. Faint lamplight fell through the unshuttered window of my room, casting a pale glimmer onto the grassy earth around me. The warmth of the day had heated its brick walls, which had then been damped by the rain, so that they now released the soft smell of summer into the stillness of the night. I breathed deeply. I could not allow the events of the day to deter me. I had always known Gideon would not give up Tegan easily. I had to be prepared to withstand whatever horrors he chose to put in my way. I had to remain strong for her sake. A sudden chill assailed me. I shivered and glanced about me, for the witch in me knew at once that this was no ordinary drop in temperature. With startling clarity I became aware that Gideon was near. Dangerously near. I stood still, watching the dark beyond the lamplight. I waited. A moment later the blackness at the far edge of my vision seemed to darken further, to become opaque. Solid. Alive. A figure moved from these deepening shadows, walking in smooth unhurried steps toward me. At last he stepped into the reach of the lamplight and revealed himself.

“Hello, Elizabeth.” His voice was treacle sweet. He made a shallow bow, briefly removing his black, broad-brimmed hat. When he straightened again he replaced it and regarded me with a small smile, his head tilted, as if the sight of me amused him.

I kept my own expression as blank as I knew how. Even after all that had happened, after all he had done, I still suffered an unsettling mixture of emotions now that I stood before him again. The strongest of these was loathing, followed by a healthy dose of fear, but beneath it all I could not deny the ability he still had to stir me. Perhaps it was my surroundings, our proximity to Batchcombe woods, and to the time when he had first schooled me in magic, but I experienced a fleeting but powerful memory of the time he had kept me in his cabin, working his influence over me, awakening me to the true force of magic. Awakening me to his own overwhelming power.

“Well, here is a curious thing,” I said. “You have me go to no small trouble to chase you through the endless labyrinth of time and now you simply step up in front of me. You still enjoy playing games, don't you Gideon? Or do you call yourself something different now?”

“Alas, my name is not held in high esteem in these parts,” he said. “On this occasion I have represented myself to Batchcombe as Noa Grimsteeds. A little clumsy, I grant you, but it serves.”

“And what of your face? No doubt there are those who would not be pleased to see it again.”

He gave a shrug. “A simple matter to remedy: light disguise by way of a small spell. One too flimsy to trick you, dear Bess, of course.”

“You must have known I would pursue you once you left the Summerlands. There was no need to involve Tegan.”

“I have my reasons. Beyond what you like to call ‘games.'”

“Your quarrel is surely with me, not with her.”

“I seem to recall you were both in Batchcombe Woods five years ago. Tegan played a minor part in my imprisonment, but a significant one nonetheless.”

“So you wish to punish her? You truly believe you have a grievance against a girl whom you deceived, whom you would have used merely to get at me…?”

“Bess, you flatter yourself. Not everything is about you, you know.”