Spook’s: I Am Grimalkin (23 page)

WHAT ALTERNATIVE DID
we have but to run east? Already, even above the howling of the wind, I could hear the crackle of burning wood, and dark smoke gathered overhead, blocking out the light of the moon.

‘We will advance just ahead of the flames, then leave the dell and cut down those in our path,’ I told Thorne.

The words were easy to say, but to stay just ahead of the conflagration was far from easy. For one thing the smoke began to make our eyes water, forcing us into fits of coughing.
Secondly
the fire was advancing very rapidly, leaping from tree to tree and from branch to branch with a crackling roar; it threatened to overtake us at any moment, and our slow jog soon became a fast sprint.

There were animals fleeing with us: a couple of hares and dozens of squealing rats, some of them with singed fur, some burning as they ran. I thought of poor Agnes. If the fire took her, at least her agony would be brief and that miserable existence in the dell as a weak, dead witch would be over. But I knew that some inhabitants of the dell would survive by using their sharp talons to burrow into the leafy loam and down into the soft wet soil beneath. They had the means and the expertise gained by long years of survival here. It was not something that we could hope to do; we didn’t have time.

The trees were thinning but we could see little through the smoke. Suddenly I sensed something approaching us from behind, and whirled to meet the new threat. It was a dead witch – the other strong one, clothes and hair aflame as she ran past, oblivious to us. She was screaming as she ran: the flames were consuming her and she realized that her time in the dell was over. Soon her soul would fall into the dark.

Where was the kretch? I wondered. No doubt it would be waiting somewhere ahead. As we left the trees, a witch attacked us from the left; this time a live one, from the vanguard of our enemies. Thorne cut her down without faltering, and we accelerated away from the danger.

Even above the whine of wind and roar of the fire I heard the eerie wail of the kretch somewhere behind us. Then it began to
bay
for our blood, a powerful rhythmical cry, as if a score of howling wolfhounds were on our trail.

‘
You are mine!
’ it called out, its voice booming through the night. ‘
You cannot escape! I will drink your blood and tear your flesh into strips! I will eat your hearts and gnaw the marrow from your shattered bones!
’

We were curving away south now; our path would take us east of Crow Wood. I thought of the lamia still in the tower. If only she’d had time to shape-shift to her winged form, she might have seen us and flown to our aid. But it was too soon for that. There was no hope of help from that source.

Then, as I ran, the warning lights once again flickered in the corners of my eyes. Would I have time enough to lead Thorne to safety? But too soon the weakness was upon me again; I felt a fluttering in my chest and my breathing became shallow and ragged. I began to slow, and Thorne looked back at me in concern. I halted, hands on hips, aware of the irregular beating of my heart and the trembling in my legs. Now my whole body was shaking.

‘No! No! Not now!’ I shouted, forcing my body onwards, drawing upon my last reserves and every final shred of willpower. But it was useless. I managed to take only a dozen faltering steps before coming to a halt. Thorne paused and came back to stand by my side.

‘You go on!’ I cried. ‘You can outrun them; I can’t. It’s the damage done by the poison.’

Thorne shook her head. ‘I won’t go without you!’

I lifted the sack off my shoulder and held it out to her. ‘This
is
what matters. Take it and run. Keep it out of their hands at all costs.’

‘I can’t leave you to die.’

‘You can and must,’ I said, pushing the sack into her hands. ‘Now go!’

I was resigned to dying here. I could do no more. I was spent.

Thorne swung the sack up onto her shoulder – but it was already too late.

There was a howl close behind us and the kretch padded into view.

The beast had changed again since the last time we’d faced it. There was something different about its eyes. They had regenerated since Thorne and I had pierced them with our blades, but not quite in the same way. There was a thin ridge of white bone above each one.

Moreover it was even larger. Its forearms seemed more muscular, the talons sharper and longer. There were more flecks of grey in its black fur too. Was it ageing already? Kretches did usually have a short lifespan. Tibb, the last kretch the Malkins had created, had lived for only a few months.

In one fluid motion, Thorne drew a blade from a shoulder sheath and hurled it straight at the right eye of the beast. It was a good shot, exactly on target. But before the dagger struck, the ridge of bone moved. It flicked downwards, covering and protecting the eye so that the blade was deflected harmlessly away.

With the power inherited from its daemon father, the beast learned and improved itself all the time. Exploit a weakness, and the next time you encountered the creature, that weakness
would
be no more. Protected by armoured lids, its eyes were no longer easy targets for our blades.

I took a deep breath, tried to steady my trembling body and threw a blade at its throat, targeting a spot just below its left ear. The kretch seemed faster than ever: it brought up its left hand and swatted my blade aside. Again I staggered, and spots flashed within my eyes, bile rose in my throat. Then I saw what Thorne was attempting and cried out, ‘No!’

To no avail. She was brave, but sometimes reckless too, and that latter quality was a dangerous fault that now became her undoing. She was the ten-year-old running at the bear again, a blade in her left hand. And it was that same blade, her first one; the one I had given her as we sat eating bear meat by the fire.

She was faster and far more deadly than the child who had stabbed the bear in the hind leg. However, the kretch was stronger and more dangerous than any bear which had ever walked this earth. And I was unable to repeat the throw that slew the beast before it killed her. I was on my knees, the world spinning, my mind falling into darkness.

The last thing I saw was the kretch opening its jaws wide and biting savagely into Thorne’s left shoulder. She fought back, drawing another blade from a sheath with her right hand, stabbing it repeatedly into the beast’s shoulder and head.

Then I knew no more.

How long I’ve lain here I know not, but I surmise that it is no more than an hour. I come to my knees slowly and am
immediately
sick, vomiting again and again, until only bile trickles from my mouth.

The kretch has gone. What has happened? Why didn’t it kill me while I lay there, helpless? I stand groggily and begin to search for tracks. There is no evidence that witches have been here – just a muddy circle where the beast and Thorne fought, and then the prints of the kretch setting off northwards.

Has it carried Thorne off in its jaws …?

I begin to follow the tracks. I am still unsteady on my feet but my strength is gradually returning and my breathing begins to slow to a more normal rhythm. I follow the trail of the kretch almost back to the edge of Witch Dell. The trees are still burning, but the magic is no more and the wind has changed direction. It is evident now that perhaps over half of Witch Dell will remain untouched by fire. But it has been cut in two by a broad black belt of burned trees.

Then I see something lying on the ground close to a blazing tree stump. It is a human body.

Is it that of the dead witch who fled the dell? I begin to move towards it, slowing with every step. I do not really want to reach it because, deep down, I already know whose corpse it is. The ground is churned to mud. Many witches have gathered here.

Moments later my worst fears are confirmed.

It is the body of Thorne.

There can be no doubt. No more room for hope.

She is lying on her back, stone dead. Her eyes are wide-open and staring, an expression of horror and pain etched upon her
face
. The grass is wet with blood. Her hands have been mutilated. They have taken her thumb-bones, cut them from her body while she was still alive.

I kneel beside her and weep.

Grimalkin does not cry.

But I am crying now.

Time passes. How much I do not know.

I crouch before a fire, cooking meat on a spit. I turn it slowly so that it is well-done. Then I break it into two with my fingers and begin to eat it slowly.

There are two ways to make sure that a witch does not return from the dead. The first is to burn her; the second is to eat her heart.

So I have made doubly sure that Thorne’s wishes are carried out. I have already burned her body. Now I am eating her heart. And still I am weeping.

When I have finished, I begin to speak aloud, my voice caught by the wind, spinning it away through the trees to the four corners of the earth.

‘You were brave in life; be brave in death. Heed not the cackle of foolish witches. Your thumb-bones matter nought. They have taken them but cannot take away your courage; cannot negate what you were. For had you lived, you would have become the greatest witch assassin of the Malkin clan. You would have taken my place; surpassed my deeds; filled our enemies with dread.

‘If reputation concerns you, then worry not. Who will be able to say,
We took her bones?
There will be nobody left to say it
because
none will live. I will kill them all. I will kill every last one.

‘So rest in peace, Thorne, for what I say I will do.

‘It will all come to pass.

‘I am Grimalkin.’

AT DAWN I
took stock of the situation and put aside my grief and anger. I needed to be cold and rational. I needed to think and plan.

Why had the kretch not killed me?

Maybe even as she died, Thorne had fought so fiercely, damaged it so badly, that it could not deal with us both? I said that to myself but knew that it was not true. I had been
unconscious
. It could have killed her, then dispatched me at its leisure.

No – the answer was clear. Even more important than my death was the retrieval of the sack containing the Fiend’s head. That was its prime objective. It was created to kill me, but only as a means to an end – the reclaiming of the head and the resurrection of the Fiend. Thorne had been carrying it over her shoulder. Once the kretch had her in its jaws, it had the sack as well.

So it had taken the Fiend’s head straight back to its creators. They had quickly cut away Thorne’s thumb-bones and left her to die. Now they would be heading for the coast. They needed to return to Ireland to reunite head and body.

So what could I do? I had to follow. I had to try and stop them. But as I sat in the cold grey morning light, with my wrath set aside, I knew that I had little chance of success. My magic was used up, the resource gone. It would not be easy to restore it. My health was uncertain. I could suffer another bout of weakness at any time. And I was alone. Alone against so many.

I needed help, but who could I turn to now? The answer came immediately:

Alice Deane.

She was the only remaining ally I could rely on. Recently all who had tried to help me had died. I had sought out Agnes and Thorne, and both had died as a result. So many had died, including Wynde, the lamia, and the knight whom I had manipulated to serve my cause. Could I do it again, thus
placing
Alice in danger? Was I right to ask another friend to risk her life?

Grimalkin should not ask such questions. To think like that was to show weakness. I must act and not think too much about the possible consequences.

But I would not seek the help of Thomas Ward or John Gregory. The apprentice was too valuable to risk. He might be the means of finally destroying the Fiend. No, I could not take a chance with his life. Once the head was retrieved and the kretch dead, I would escort him to Malkin Tower. The sooner the better.

As for the Spook, he was past his prime, and in any case had too many scruples. He would not have the stomach for what I must do. So I would simply ask Alice. Two witches together – that would be best. She might be willing to lend me some of her strength.

I pulled my mirror from its sheath and prepared to make contact with her. Three times I tried, but I could not reach her. Even that small magic was beyond me. I was drained and needed replenishing.

I would have to go to her. I would travel to Chipenden, where the Spook was starting to rebuild his house.

I followed the tracks of my enemies, passing north of Pendle and heading towards the Ribble Valley. The tracks went west then, but did not cross the ford; they kept south of the river. That meant they were not heading for Sunderland Point. They would go to Liverpool and seize a boat there.