The Return of the Witch (24 page)

At last, as the sun was dipping nearer the opposite treetops, Ulvi picked up the handsaw and led me out onto the lake. We walked to a hole in the ice that had been cut by one of the fishermen. It was about the size of a dinner plate. Ulvi pointed at the grim pool of water.

“It must be bigger,” she said, handing me the saw. “Cut it bigger.”

I did as I was told, but not without difficulty. The ice was nearly a yard thick. The water was already slushing, the process of re-freezing well under way. At least all that sawing warmed me up, my dragon's breath swirling around my face as I worked, making its own icicles on my eyebrows. I hacked away at the edges until the circle was three times its original size. Ulvi inspected the hole and nodded.

“Yes,” she said, smiling. “Now it is big enough for you to get in.”

“What!?”

“You must get in the water.”

“Ulvi, are you crazy? It's minus thirty out here. That water would kill me.”

“No, it will not. But take your clothes off first.”

“You want me to go skinny-dipping?”

“You can't get in the car afterwards in wet clothes.”

“I'm supposed to jump into a freezing lake in the middle of winter, and you're worried about your jeep's upholstery!”

She ignored this remark, laughing lightly and gesturing impatiently for me to get on with it, as if it was the sanest, simplest thing in the world.

“But, why?” I asked her. “Why do you want me to do this?”

Ulvi looked at me levelly then, her nut-brown eyes giving away a hint of sadness. “Soon, you will leave,” she said. “You will travel many miles, go to your home on the other side of the world, and you will carry with you all that you have learnt. All that I have taught you. But, the journey is long, and knowledge can be a heavy burden. It must not be carried on your shoulders. If it is, every time you stumble, you will lose a little piece of it. It must be held deep inside you. Safe.” She pointed at the water. “The lake will give your spirit a memory of this place that you will not ever lose.”

I hesitated, knowing I was privileged to have her so concerned for me, so determined that I should keep all the treasures she had given me. I wanted to please her. I wanted to take that special gift from the lake, but I truly feared it would kill me.

“It is too cold, Ulvi,” I said gently. “A person couldn't survive in it.”

“A person, no, you are right. A person could not. And yes, you will go in as a human girl, but once the lake has blessed you, you will come out as Balik Kiis.”

Balik Kiis. Fish Girl. Ulvi believed the fish spirits would enter me and, like them, I would be able to bear the cold water. I would not be harmed by it. And I would emerge changed forever.

“You have no reason to be afraid,” she told me. “You have been a good student. This is to make you Shaman.”

“Is this what you did, Ulvi? When you were a girl, did you do this, too?”

She grinned. “Where do you think I am when you knock on my door and I do not answer?”

“You are here? Swimming here, even in winter?”

“Like I said, once you have become Balik Kiis, the lake stays with you always.”

At that point I knew I had to do it. Not to think about it, just do it. I pulled off my clothes as quickly as I could, but there were so many layers! I paused when I reached my underwear, but Ulvi frowned.

“You ever see a fish wearing those?” she demanded.

When I was completely naked she started to sing again, and it seemed to me that I could hear other voices singing with her. As I stepped off the ice and into that inky water it was to a chorus of shamanic song. The sound rang on in my head even as the shock of the cold made my heart jump and it took all my will not to gasp and breathe in the water. If I considered what I was doing I would panic, certain that the low temperature would stop my heart, or send me into shock before I could get out. But I didn't think. I only let the song tether me to the surface and waited for whatever might happen next. I stopped myself from sinking further, moving my limbs to keep me just below the ice, eyes closed. When I opened them, I could see little at first, and then my eyes adjusted, so that I could make out a dull glimmer of light through the ice, and a tiny patch of fractured sun through the hole. After the initial shock I felt a weighty calm take over. I realized this was less about a spiritual event than it was about hypothermia, and that I was in real danger of blacking out.

I kicked for the surface, but it didn't seem to get any closer. I kicked again, peering down into the gloom at my shadowy legs, willing them to be stronger. And as I watched, my legs swelled and altered, melding together to become a broad, powerful fish's tail. And my arms moulded to my sides, pale skin changing to dark, shimmering scales. Tiny fish came to swim around me, hundreds of them, swirling about me, the shoal lifting me, spinning me. And I felt that transformation complete itself. I was Balik Kiis! Forever!

When I pulled myself out of the water and back onto the ice I was human once more, but Ulvi had been right. I was changed. I felt the cold, but it did not hurt me. I stood with bare, wet feet on the frozen surface of the lake, yet my soles did not freeze to it. No frostbite found my wet fingers. As I dressed I did not even shiver.

Ulvi had watched me closely, smiling. And then she turned and marched back toward the jeep, yelling at me to bring the things from our camp.

In Batchcombe Woods, in the damp hollow tree, I summoned the memory of that lake, of that cold, reminded myself that I was Balik Kiis, and I felt the last of Gideon's spell washed from me by the icy waters. I tingled with renewed energy. I had to find Elizabeth. It was my turn to help her, and I would not let her down.

 

17

It was not until the soldiers who had dragged me there had locked the cellar door and their footsteps dwindled into silence that William and I spoke.

“Bess! How come you here? What has happened?” He took my hands and led me to a wooden chest that served as a seat. There was one high window with a metal grill that let in a little daylight from the garden, and the door at the top of the stone cellar steps was ill-fitting enough to allow some light to seep in around its edges. Aside from this and one smoking tallow candle, however, the cold space was in darkness. Where once there might have stood casks of ale and wine, and stores of fruit, vegetables, hams, and sacks of flour, along with lamp oil and candles, now the cellar was all but empty, save for we two.

“It seems you are to have my company for a while at least,” I told him.

“But, you are indispensable to them! What possible cause could they have to throw you in here like this?”

I gave him a tired smile. “What was I ever guilty of, William?”

I fell to explaining further. It was easier to talk, to tell him as matter-of-factly as I could, of how I had sought only to alleviate suffering, to heal the wounded, and how that desire had led me to use my uncommon skills and gifts, than it would have been to let him voice the unspoken terror we both held of what would happen next. After saving James Page I had been accused of using witchcraft. The very word had caused such mayhem. The army cook had been the loudest in his accusations and charges, shouting and pointing and near foaming at the mouth in a frenzy of excitement. He proclaimed that he had harbored suspicions about me from the first, and was full of his own cleverness and importance. No sooner was the possibility of my being a witch raised than others began to speak up, saying that they, too, had noticed my strange practices and the curious ways I treated the sick and the wounded. It was ironic that most of what they had witnessed were instances of my using my scientific medical expertise rather than the craft, but then, why would they not think such things magic? They had scant understanding of either, so that both were equally bizarre and ungodly to them.

William was shaking his head. “Surely they can see, after all you have done, that you seek only to do good, to ease pain, to effect a cure…?”

“They see it, and they are grateful for it, but they fear it, too. I am a woman alone, without husband or family, unknown to them. My ways, my confidence, my authority, these things are enough to cause mistrust. My skills as a healer always stir curiosity and a little awe. Add jealousy and a mean spirit to the mix and I am half hanged before anyone utters the word
witch
!”

“They cannot mean to see you hang!”

I squeezed his hand. “The position I find myself in is not an unfamiliar one, William. To rage at the injustice of it is not the answer.”

“Then what is?” William sprang to his feet and began pacing back and forth. “I am unable to help even myself, locked up in here! There must be something we can do.”

My heart went out to my old friend. He had lost everything—his family, his home, his position, and soon, in all probability, his life. It would be a strange man indeed who could sit and await his fate meekly: It was not unreasonable he should wish to rant and storm.

“It is my understanding,” I told him, “that you are to be sent to Oxford tomorrow. I should imagine they will have me go with you. They will want to be rid of me. Colonel Gilchrist follows the Puritans. He will not suffer a witch to linger in the encampment.” I gave a light laugh. “Who knows what terrible spells I might work upon his poor, defenseless soldiers?”

“How can you joke, Bess? When we are so treated, when our fate is so decided by others whom we have done no harm, how can you laugh?”

“Would you sooner have me weep?”

“I would have you live!” He ran a hand across his brow and then sat down heavily next to me. “I am sorry, Bess. I have failed you again.”

I put my hand on his shoulder. “You will do neither of us any good by saying such things,” I told him. He looked so terribly sad. “Let's remember happier times. Do you remember when I challenged you to ride that colt of your father's that was not properly broken?”

The memory did elicit the shadow of a smile from him. “I do. The flighty thing ran away with me. I seem to recall you finding that highly amusing.”

“I can picture your face even now!” I laughed at the thought of it. It was good to turn our minds away from the bleakness of the present moment and enjoy revisiting such simple shared memories. Whatever lay ahead, we would be better able to face it calmly, I reasoned. And so, for the rest of that day, we reminisced, traveling back in our minds, selecting bright moments from our giddy childhoods before calamity had visited our families.

Darkness fell without our noticing. The small chinks of light faded into shadow, so that ultimately only the golden pool of light around the candle remained. So it was that I heard rather than saw something drop through the metal grill between the cellar and the garden. Something had landed lightly on the damp stone floor. Unhurt by its long drop, it scampered on tiny feet across the flagstones.

“Urgh!” William frowned. “This place is fit for nothing but rats now.”

“No, not rats,” I corrected him, getting up and walking carefully in the direction of the small sounds. “Mice.”

“Rats, mice, what does it matter which?”

I stooped down, the hem of my skirts brushing the floor. “It matters a great deal,” I said, and as I spoke I stood up again, and held out my hand toward the candlelight to reveal, sitting in my palm, whiskers twitching, a single, snowy white mouse.

William failed to recognize anything significant in what he saw. “A freakish thing. You should not touch it, Bess. Such creatures are filth-ridden.”

“Not this one,” I said, stroking its downy fur. “This one is very special. Aren't you, Aloysius?”

In that moment, when I recognized the mouse, and I knew his appearance meant that Tegan was near, I felt such joy! She must be free of Gideon's spell. She was recovered sufficiently to hear my call and to come to my aid. She had sent Aloysius to let me know she was coming. I turned to William, who was at a loss to comprehend the expression of happiness I wore.

“All is far from lost,” I told him. “Come, we must be ready,” I said, moving to stand closer to the door.

“Ready for what?”

“Hush. Listen now.” I stood with my eyes closed, listening with the sharpness of my witch senses, alert to the smallest sign of Tegan's presence. At first there was nothing, save for the distant sounds of soldiers going about their duties. Judging by the lack of daylight, the hour was now quite late. Most of those billeted in the house would be abed. As no one was expected to try to free us it was unlikely there would be more than one soldier charged with the task of guarding the cellar door. However, she would still have to move unseen through the grounds of the estate, enter the house, find us, and effect our release. I contemplated attempting to use my magic to try to release the lock on the door. I climbed the stone stairs that led up to it and placed my hands upon the handle. It would certainly save time, but it was too risky. Such a large iron mechanism would not be freed without making a telltale noise, which would no doubt echo through the cellar and along the passageway on the other side of the door. It would not do to rouse a possibly slumbering guard. No, all I could do was wait, and trust Tegan's own abilities. At least I was able to send out a word to her, repeating her name softly beneath my breath, letting her know her messenger had reached us, and that we would be ready when the moment came for us to act.

At last there were sounds on the floor above us.

“Where are we in relation to the upstairs rooms, William?”

“Directly below the pantry that leads off the kitchen.”

I raised my gaze and began to discern slivers of light breaking through in one part of the ceiling.

“The trapdoor!” William exclaimed. “'Tis an opening where the boards can be removed to lower barrels and sacks for storage.”

We hurried over to stand directly beneath it. There were further sounds of movement and then the section of boards lifted up, leaving us blinking upward into the sudden burst of lamplight. When my eyes had adjusted to the brightness I saw Tegan standing there, holding high a lamp, illuminated like an angel against a backdrop of darkness. It seemed to me, in that instant, that it was not merely the burning oil that lit her, but that there emanated from her a glow, an iridescence all her own. And I knew that such a pulsing, pure light could only come from magic. Tegan's magic. She put a finger to her lips to bid us be silent, and then lowered a ladder down to us. We quickly scrambled out. Once in the pantry I saw through the open door Mary-Anne apparently asleep in a chair by the stove.