Alice (27 page)

Without a word, Thorne and I began to search the grassy area beneath the throne. Where could the dagger be?

It might be hidden in the grass; this was no longer the fragrant, flower-filled carpet that had led from the door to the throne. It was sodden and stank of rot, so that our shoes squelched with each step, and it was covered with disgusting debris – dead skin shed by the creatures who had fled, along with coarse hair and warty protuberances. I avoided touching it with my hand and just pushed everything aside with my shoes.

We completed our searches at the same time. We’d found nothing.

‘Perhaps it’s buried in the ground?’ Thorne suggested.

Were we going to have to dig up the whole area under the throne? I wondered.

‘The blade could be anywhere,’ I said. ‘What if it’s already been moved? If Morwena knew we were coming here to get it, she could have taken it.’

Then, suddenly, I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. ‘There’s someone else who could have hidden it . . .’ I murmured.

Thorne nodded. ‘You mean Raknid? Yes, I think that’s very likely.’

Together we emerged from beneath that immense throne and gazed upwards. The skelt was no longer visible. Strands of the web were fastened to the walls and various parts of the
floor, each one thicker than my forefinger; there were even a couple attached high on the throne.

I held the candle up as far as I could. It illuminated the lower edge of the central part of the web. It had been constructed on a vast scale, and there were things stuck to it: desiccated, long-dead things – Raknid’s victims.

But they were not the flies you might find in an ordinary spider’s web.

These had arms and legs; heads too.

They were human.

‘If I were Raknid, I’d bind the blade high up in my web so that anyone seeking it would have to climb up to reach it,’ said Thorne.

‘That’s what I have to do . . .’ I realized.

I was afraid, but I hadn’t come all this way and gone through so much to fail now.

Thorne pointed at the nearest strand of web and shook her head. ‘It’s sticky – you’d get bound to it. And the moment you touch it, the web will vibrate, alerting the spider daemon. His feet won’t stick to the web like yours. He’ll scuttle across and inject you with venom. You’ll be paralysed. Then he’ll tug you up into the darkness and start to feed on you. You’ll be conscious all the time, and you’ll be in agony. He won’t just take your blood. He’ll suck the brains from your skull. He’ll drain every bit of fluid from your body until you’re just a dry dead husk. Don’t you see? He
wants
you to climb it. So don’t do it, Alice. There has to be another way.’

Then, as if he had been listening to every word we’d uttered,
Raknid spoke to us from the darkness above, his deep, harsh voice vibrating through my head and setting my teeth on edge.

‘
Yes, climb up to me, little witch! Let’s see how brave you really are. Don’t listen to your cowardly dead friend. What does she know? I have the Dolorous blade that you seek. Are you brave enough to try and take it from me?
’

‘
I’ll
climb up and confront him!’ said Thorne furiously. ‘I will stick to his web, but when he attacks he’ll find me no easy prey. This blade will take out his eyes!’

‘Wait for a moment. Let me speak to him first.’ I held Thorne’s arm to prevent her climbing the nearest strand up into the web.

A slow anger began to build within me. Back in Malkin Tower, this daemon had taken my blood, and then condemned me to death. Now I would not only take the blade; I would pay Raknid back for what he had done.

‘I think you lie!’ I shouted up into the dark. ‘I don’t believe you have the blade.’

‘
Why would I lie? The blade is here with me
.’

‘Then show it to me!
Prove
that you have it. Why should I climb up there for nothing?’

‘
For a little witch you have caused us big trouble. I knew that when I tasted your blood. You are strong for a mere girl, and in your prime might have become peerless; but you will not survive to fulfil your potential. I was right about the danger I sensed within you. You are a grave threat to my master. But I will show you the blade because I know it will bring you to my side! And then I will kill you!
’

Suddenly the huge web trembled. Raknid had probably
been crouching on a ledge far above. Now he had stepped onto the threads, causing it to shake. He was climbing down towards us. Within seconds he was taking up position at the very centre of his web.

He was huge – far larger than he’d been in the metal cabinet in Malkin Tower. The rounded central part of his body, which was covered in long silky red-brown hair, was perhaps the size of a bull, but his eight long, thin black legs tripled his size.

And there at his side was a dagger, stuck to the web.

‘I see a blade!’ I cried. ‘But how do I know it’s Dolorous? Ain’t no way to tell from this distance, is there? Bring it nearer so that I can be sure!’

‘
No, little witch. You must climb up to me!
’

I leaned across to whisper into Thorne’s ear: ‘When he falls, be ready to slay him.’

Her eyes widened in astonishment.

Then I ran forward and held the flame of my candle against the nearest strand of the web. It smouldered a little, but the strand remained intact. It did not catch fire.

The candle flickered and was about to go out.

‘
You fool!
’ Raknid laughed.

But I was no fool; just desperate enough to do what had to be done. I was gathering my power. That was the reason for the delay. I did not speak a word. I didn’t need spells – though I knew there might be a price to pay later.

I remembered the warning that Agnes Sowerbutts had once given me regarding my use of magic:

You can’t use that power for anyone or anything or it will
destroy you. It comes from the very heart of darkness, and if you use it willy-nilly as you’ve just done, it will seize you for its own and take your soul
.

But I had to risk it.

So I simply wished . . . and it was done.

The candle flame grew brighter, caught, then raced up the web-strand directly towards the spider daemon.

For a second Raknid didn’t react. Perhaps he couldn’t believe what was happening . . .

The whole web went up in a
whoosh
of flame, yellow and orange, so bright that it hurt my eyes.

Raknid was burning too. He was burning and shrieking – so shrilly that it was like sharp needles being driven into my ears. His red fur was crisping to black.

Now he was falling. Falling like a meteorite plummeting to earth.

But the dagger was falling faster.

Like a hawk stooping to a falconer’s wrist, the Dolorous blade came straight to my hand.

I caught it by the handle and tossed it towards Thorne.

Over and over it spun, end over end, and she caught it too.

‘Kill him!’ I commanded.

Raknid, still shrieking, hit the ground in a shower of sparks.

Thorne went to work quickly.

He fell silent.

Then we ran.

THE FIRST TIME
we paused to catch our breath, I examined the dagger carefully. It resembled the other one needed for the ritual. The sword and the daggers were of different lengths, but the hilts were identical, with their skelt heads and ruby-red eyes. But this was the Dolorous blade – the one that would be used to take my life.

Then, as I held that dagger, a wave of sadness passed through me. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. It wasn’t simply that it was linked to my own approaching death; it was as if I was suddenly connected to the sadness of millions of souls. I staggered and almost dropped the blade, and Thorne held my arm to steady me.

‘Are you all right? Are you ill?’ she asked anxiously.

I saw no point in telling her what I had experienced, so I just smiled. ‘I’m tired, that’s all. We must move on. I have to leave this place.’

So we set off again. It took a long time to sniff out the gate; hours and hours of searching. All the time I was scared, and very much aware that we were being hunted down by powerful beings.

And our enemies had lots of reasons to try and stop us.

Thorne had hurt Beelzebub and killed Tusk; we had fought the water witches and had been there when Morwena was slain. We had destroyed the daemon, Raknid. And now we were escaping with the Dolorous blade, one of the three hero swords that could be used to destroy the Fiend.

They would do anything to catch us.

But at last we found the gate and passed through it safely; we found ourselves once more on the white path that crossed the black abyss, joining domain to domain.

It was then, just as we were approaching a cave, that the daemon Tanaki found us.

In the blink of an eye, with a sound of thunder, the father of the kretch arrived.

He was a colossus – far too big to fit into the cave – but he materialized between us and our refuge. I had come so close, but now our chance of escape was gone.

Whether Tanaki was floating or standing on something far below the path was impossible to say, but he straddled it, his legs level with our heads, while his head and body
towered above us. He was a fearsome sight and, like his son, the kretch, there was much that was wolf-like about him.

His hairy jaw was elongated, and large, pointed canines jutted upwards and downwards, too big to fit inside. He opened his mouth and roared, his hot rank breath rushing over us like scalding steam, so that I was forced to shield my eyes with my forearm. I could easily fit within that mouth; I was no more than a morsel for such a monster, chewed and swallowed in an instant.

Once again Thorne stepped between me and the threat. She was brave and dangerous, but what chance did she have against such a monster?

She was already sliding a dagger from its sheath. But the daemon was not only huge; he was very fast. He struck downwards at Thorne with a scaly taloned hand. She somersaulted backwards, but Tanaki delivered a glancing blow to her shoulder and spun her onto the stones.

He gripped both sides of the path with his monstrous hands, mouth wide-open, ready to crunch Thorne in his jaws.

I had to do something.

But did I dare use my magic one more time?

Surely I had almost reached the point of no return . . .

EVERY TIME I
used my magical power, the crescent mark on my thigh had grown bigger and bigger; it was now close to becoming a full moon.

The blood jar that I had used to keep the Fiend away from Tom had seemed to make little difference. But in Ireland I had used my power to save him from death. So much magical energy had surged out of me that it had caused a localized earthquake. I had saved our lives, but when I next checked my mark, it had become a half-moon.

Then, soon after Thorne’s death, I had used my magic to help Grimalkin retrieve the Fiend’s head from his supporters. They had been about to set sail for Ireland, where they would
have reunited head and body, returning the Fiend to his former state, loose in the world. I had used my magic to conjure up a storm and burn their ship. With my help, Grimalkin had eventually triumphed, but the cost to me had been terrible. Even before the burning of the spider daemon, Raknid, the mark on my thigh had grown to a gibbous moon. Afterwards, I hadn’t even dared glance at it, fearful of what might be revealed. Further expenditure of magic might make it a full circle. Then I would belong to the dark for ever.

Poor, brave Thorne had died a horrible death on earth, her thumbs cut away by the dark mage Bowker on the edge of Witch Dell. Now she faced a second death in the jaws of the daemon, Tanaki.

How could I allow that after all she had done to help me?

But how could I use my magic again when I knew what the result might be?

My knees were trembling and my heart threatened to pound itself out of my chest. But I forced myself to step forward until I was between Thorne and that monstrous mouthful of savage vengeful teeth.

I wasn’t going to use my magic carelessly, was I? I wasn’t going to use it to keep me dry in a rainstorm or make branches bow away out of my path as I had on my walk back to Pendle to see Agnes. I was going to use it to fight the daemon Tanaki. I was doing it for Thorne.