A Witch In Winter (30 page)

‘That’s right – run, you damn cowards!’ yelled Abe, fierce with exultation.

He turned to me and crushed me in a grip of iron, his hug so fierce I could hardly breathe.

‘Anna, you genius!’ He gripped my face between his hands. ‘God, with a woman like you beside me I could—’ he stopped and laughed exultantly, and then out of nowhere he kissed me with a hunger and fury that took my breath away. For a moment I was too stunned to do anything. Then I struggled out of his grasp, but before I could demand what the hell he thought he was doing, Emmaline was on me, leaping and yelling and kissing me.

‘We’ve done it!’ she shrieked. ‘
You
did it, Anna!’

The air was full of the exultant shouts of the others, dazed and dazzled with our success. All around people were slapping backs, crushing each other in rib-cracking hugs, laughing and shouting with the joy of being alive.

‘I’m proud of you, Anna.’

I turned. Maya stood quietly behind me with a smile of utmost weariness and pleasure. ‘I am so proud.’

I smiled back, my heart almost too full to speak. I was searching for the words to try to express the gratitude I felt, for protecting me, helping me, believing in me – when the harsh scream of a crow cut through the air, impossibly loud, and we all turned to look.

Dawn was rising, a sliver of red over the water, and the sea was strewn with storm-ripped debris and pale creatures of the deep flung up by the tempest’s violence. At the foot of the cliffs lay the smashed corpses of the Ealdwitan, their blood seeping into the dawn-red water.

Above towered the blackereping and y mass of the castle ruins. They were empty now, but for a great black crow, wheeling and crying above the scattered stones and shattered bodies.

It seemed to be half mad with fury and loss, diving to the waves and then back up to the ruined towers, and screaming its agony and loss to the heavens in a voice that echoed across the bay.

At last it flapped its inky wings and then swung round towards us, skimming low over the turf. Closer and closer it came, and I wanted to duck, but pride held me steady. It was only a bird.

Pride was a mistake. The cruel grey claws extended like talons and it dived, dropping like a hawk, right above my head. Scaly claws tangled in my hair, the curved black beak gouged and pecked at my face, stabbing for my eyes. I screamed, battering the bird with my hands and feeling the blood come as its beak sliced into my flesh.

‘Get off her!’ Emmaline yelled, and she flung a ball of fire at the creature, but I ducked, instinctively, and it missed us both. The creature turned its malevolent black head towards her, opened its beak, and screamed. A pulse of power ripped through the air and Emmaline flew back, her body smashing into a tree trunk. For a moment she hung, held there by the rough bark. Then she slipped to the ground, her head lolling, terrifyingly limp.

The bird struck again, its reeking breath hot in my face. I remembered my power, but I was tired, too tired – it felt like there was nothing left. It was all I could do to shield myself from its spells, let alone drive it off.

Through a dim whirl of claws and feathers I saw Abe flinging hopeless spells, Sienna with her arms outstretched – but the creature clung closer, gripping my hair and scalp with vicious strength. The stench of its breath was foul in my face – it smelled of carrion, of death, and I heard its harsh, gasping croak against my cheek.

Your mother died a traitor and a fool – and so will you
.

Shock pulsed through me, breaking my concentration, breaking my shield, and suddenly my body ripped with pain as the creature’s spell engulfed me. The crow’s claws sank deep into the flesh of my shoulder and I felt my feet lift from the ground.

At that moment the air was blasted with a searing red light. Something red hot, burning with a fierce red flame, shot past me, just inches from my ear. It hit the crow square in the breast and the creature gave a scream of pain, a sound more human than corvid. I dropped from its claws and it flung itself into the air with desperate strength. A burning red-white light blazed in the centre of its chest.

It flapped its huge wings, wrenching itself skyward, and within moments there was nothing left but the smell of burning feathers.

I turned, to see Seth and Bran standing on the track that led up from the beach. Bran was leaning heavily on his crutch and Seth was holding something in his hand. It was a flare gun, the kind that fired a distress flare for ships in troublhiptife. As I watched, his hand shook, the gun fell to the floor, and he ran across the short turf, into my arms.

‘Anna.’ His words were sobbing gasps, hot against my forehead. ‘Anna, oh Anna!’

‘You saved me!’ was all I could think to say. ‘Seth, you saved me.’

Words welled up inside me – words of love and thanks and unquenchable joy that he was here, back, in my arms. But before I could say any of them, we heard a dreadful cry from behind us. We all turned, to see Maya, crouched on the grass beside Emmaline’s body.

‘She’s not breathing! Oh God! Someone please – please …’

Sienna crouched beside her, feeling for Emmaline’s pulse. Her face when she looked up was grey with horror.

‘Oh Ma, oh Simon – what can we do? What can we do?’

I remembered Abe’s words – they seemed like a hundred years ago:
If there’s one thing witchcraft can’t do, it’s make you immortal. Or raise the dead. So it’s all pretty bloody useless at the end of the day
.

So many of us, so many witches, so much power – and all so useless.

‘Get away.’ Bran spoke roughly. He hobbled across the turf, his crutch under his arm, and shoved Sienna out of the way. His knees creaked as he knelt in front of Emmaline, and he put his hand under her nose, then listened to her heart. Then, pulling open her shirt, he put both hands on her chest and began CPR.

For what felt like hours, Bran thumped Emmaline’s heart, then pinched her nose, breathing into her mouth. Nothing … nothing … I began to feel desperate.

Above the roar of the surf I could hear Bran monotonously counting to thirty under his breath, then breathing into Emmaline’s mouth. Every few cycles he stopped and felt for a pulse. And nothing. Still nothing.

Stop it!
I wanted to shout.
It’s not working!
But I didn’t. I just stood, with the tears running down my face, while Bran pumped Emmaline’s heart and counted to thirty.
Please live
, I told her in my head, willing her, urging her heart to start again.
Please, please live
.

Again Bran stopped and put his fingers to Em’s neck. But this time, for the first time, he paused. His fingers rested there and his lips moved almost … almost as if … A thread-like moan floated on the still air.

‘Emmaline!’ Maya sobbed.

Emmaline gave a kind of retching, coughing choke.

‘Oh, Em!’ Sienna fell to her knees and grabbed Emmaline’s hand, pressing it to her mouth. ‘Em, darling Em.’

‘Get off my sodding arm, Sienna …’ Emmaline moaned weakly. ‘I think it’s broken. Ahh! Oh Ma … make it stop hurting …’

‘Oh darling … shh …’ Maya stroked her forehead and her hands glowed with a white light. ‘Sleep, sweetie …’ Emmaline’s muscles slowly went slack and her sobbing breaths became even and deep. The whole company of witches exhaled a tremulous sigh of relief.

‘Thank you.’ Maya stretched out her free hand towards Bran. ‘Bran Fisher, thank you, I—’

I don’t know what more she would have said, for he cut her off with a hawk of spit at her feet.

‘Fagh, witch. Don’t give me your thanks. I want nothing from you. You and your kind have done enough harm tonight. Get away, get back to your holes to lick your wounds.’

‘Bran Fisher, please.’ She spoke softly, still holding out her hand in supplication. ‘You’ve saved my daughter’s life. Won’t you let me repay that debt?’

But Bran said nothing. He turned and hitched his crutch under his arm, preparing to begin the walk back to Winter.

‘Please,’ Maya said. ‘We have no quarrel with you. Is there nothing we can do to win your trust, show our thanks? Your leg …’ She indicated his stick and his limp.

‘Bring the dead men of Winter back to life,’ he said bitterly. Maya shook her head. I could see there were tears in her eyes.

‘You know that is the one thing beyond all our power. If I could …’ She stopped, brokenly, and gestured towards Bill.

‘Get away,’ Bran repeated disgustedly. ‘I want nothing from you.’

He turned his back on her and hobbled painfully down the path towards Winter. Seth looked from his grandfather to me, then back again, and I saw the anguish in his eyes.

‘Seth,’ the old man called, without looking over his shoulder, and then louder, ‘Seth!’

‘Grandad,’ his voice was pleading, ‘please, don’t make me choose …’

Bran turned at that, his face full of contempt.

‘Stay then, stay with your witch. But she’ll never be yours. Our kinds are oil and water.’

‘Don’t be like this,’ Seth cried.

But Bran only turned and limped away.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

W
e made our slow and painful way back to town, the bikers carrying Bill’s body on a piece of driftwood and the unconscious Emmaline slung across Abe’s back, her poor arm supported by Maya’s scarf.

The sight that met our eyes was devastation beyond anything I had expected. The water was receding, but in its wake was a trail of filth and destruction. Sand, silt and seaweed covered everything – roads, trees, flowerbeds, cars. Even the children’s playground down by the library was ruined. The sandpit had been transformed into a miniature lagoon, full of crabs, eels and hag-fish marooned by the ebbing waters, all thrashing about in their death agony. Seaweed hung festooned from the swings like Spanish moss.

We stumbled through the streets, our feet slipping in the muddy filth. As we passed the fishermen’s cottages I shut my eyes, feeling sick at the sight of their smashed windows and pulverised doors. There was no sign of inhabitants. I could only hope that Caroline had taken Seth’s advice and got to safety. Then we turned into the high street and I saw Prue, hopelessly sweeping drifts of soaked books and cushions out of her front door. Her chubby face was white and streaked with black mud.

Maya’s shop was knee-deep in mud, a tidemark around the counter and cupboards, the floorboards dark with damp and filth. But the flat had been spared. We staggered wearily up the flights of stairs and through the door, then crashed on to any soft surface, desperate for rest, any kind of rest.

I was too tired and stupefied to find myself a bed. I staggered to a quiet corner in Maya’s study where I sat, then slumped to the floor, resting my head on the bare boards. My last memory was of Seth gently tucking a pillow under my cheek and curling beside me, his coat over us both.

I was woken from a deep, deep sleep by a shrill buzzing close beside my hip. I swatted at it and it stopped, only to begin again. Unwillingly I raised my head, trying to focus sleep-dulled eyes. Of course, it was my phone. I squinted at the screen.
Dad mobile
. Oh crap.

I picked up the call.

‘Hi, Dad …’ My voice was slurred with sleep, but I had barely time to draw breath before Dad interrupted, his words tumbling over themselves.

‘Anna! Oh thank heavens – I’ve been through hell. Are you OK?’

‘I’m fine. Is the house OK?’

‘I knew Maya would take care of you but your phonelines were all down and I kept thinking, what if the shop flooded or you got anxious and tried to get home and got caught somewhere in town … ?’ He slowed and gave a laugh. ‘Oh dear, it’s a miracle I escaped a heart attack. Sorry my dear, it’s parental anxiety I’m afraid. You’ll understand if you ever have kids. So you really are OK?’

‘I’m fine,’ I repeated dully. ‘Sorry you were worried, Dad. How’re you? How’s the houswiv>

‘Oh fine, it was a pretty near thing – the river burst its banks, but the water stopped just before it reached us. The beech blew over though, I’m afraid.’

‘The beach?’ I echoed.

‘The beech. You know, the tree where the rookery was. The birds have just disappeared – I’ve no idea where they all went. It’s rather quiet without their incessant cawing, actually. But that was the only real casualty here. How’s Maya’s?’

‘Wet … a bit. Only the shop. I’m glad you’re safe …’ I wanted to be more effusive, but my brain simply couldn’t process the words. ‘I don’t know what time I can get back … There’s lots of clearing up …’

‘Of course, of course. No hurry. I expect they could use a hand, and now I know you’re safe I won’t worry. Do you need a lift?’

‘M-maybe later …’ I was so tired I could barely speak. ‘Goodnight, Dad – I mean, goodbye.’

‘Are you OK, sweetie?’

‘Fine, just late night …’

‘Oh, OK. Well I’ll let you get back to sleep. See you later …’

‘Bye, Dad. Love you.’

‘Love you too, sweetie.’

I hung up and slept again.