Witch Silver (7 page)

The car accelerated swiftly as they left Edinburgh and headed south.

“There doesn’t seem to be much traffic today, does there?” Neil remarked as his father swung out to overtake a huge trailer. An empty road stretched ahead, winding picturesquely between woods, trees and fields.

“Mmm. If it’s like this all the way, we’ll have an easy journey,” his father replied.

“Perhaps we could stop at Carfrae Mill and have a bite of lunch,” Mrs MacLean suggested. “It’s roughly halfway to Craiglaw and it’ll give you a break from driving, John.”

“Great,” said Neil, who knew it as a familiar landmark.

“The countryside’s changing already, isn’t it?” Clara remarked, noticing that the golden fields of waving wheat had disappeared to be replaced by ploughed fields.

“Winter’s on its way,” her father smiled.

“This is the bit of the journey I like best,” Neil said, leaning forward excitedly as they climbed the steep slope towards Soutra Hill and the stretch of moor that held an enormous wind farm. There was a stiff breeze blowing and the blades were swirling fast.

“
I
think they’re beautiful,” Mrs MacLean said, peering over the moorland at the enormous pylons, “but a lot of people think they spoil the look of the countryside.”

It wasn’t long after they’d crossed Soutra that the car pulled into the car park of Carfrae Mill. Shivering in the chill wind, they hurried into the welcoming warmth of the hotel lounge
and settled by the leaping flames of a log fire. Clara held her hands out to the blaze and when her mother mentioned lentil soup, she nodded her head. It was definitely soup weather!

“It’s a lot colder here than it was in Edinburgh,” Neil complained, kneeling close to the hearth.

“We don’t usually light the fire in the mornings,” the waitress said, overhearing him as she laid out the place settings, “but the weather’s been that cold lately. They’ve had snow on the moors above Greenlaw. In October!” she added, shaking her head at the fickleness of the weather.

“We’ll be going through Greenlaw,” John MacLean looked up from the menu. “The roads are okay, are they?”

“From round about there, are you?” the waitress enquired.

The MacLeans looked at one another. “We’re relatively new to the Borders,” John MacLean admitted. “We’ve just moved into a house outside Coldstream.”

“Aye, well, just be careful as you go,” the waitress cautioned. “There are places where the snow’s been awful bad.” She seemed to be about to say more but glancing at the two
children
, just nodded and went away to get their soup.

“She was going to tell you something else, Dad,” Neil said, watching her cross the lounge towards the kitchens.

“Yes,” Clara agreed. “She didn’t want to say anything in front of us.”

“I’ll have a word with her when I pay the bill,” her father said, looking thoughtful. “There must be something odd going on,” he lowered his voice, “probably the witches again. The locals in the pub in at Norham were just the same. Looking over their shoulders and whispering in corners.”

“And remember that old shepherd we met near Swinton …” Mrs MacLean added. “He believed in witches all right.”

“They’re close to the earth, the shepherds,” her husband
nodded seriously, “and they know when nature’s out of kilter.”

“Well, Dad,” Neil asked as the car swung out onto the main road again, “what did she say?”

“Nothing specific,” his father answered. “Apparently there’s been a lot of snow and the farmers have had to bring their sheep in from the fields.”

“There isn’t much up there on the moors,” Mrs MacLean frowned, “apart from a few odd farms. Muriel took me to visit some friends of hers who live up there. What were their names again?” she frowned, trying to remember. “Nice people. We had tea with them.”

The road started to climb through the fields and as they passed farm after farm, the weather became positively icy. “Look, the snow’s starting,” Clara said as white flakes swirled around the car.

“Have you got the heater on full, John?” Mrs MacLean asked and as he nodded she shivered and drew her coat tighter. “It certainly doesn’t feel like it!” she grumbled.

“Let me concentrate on the driving, Janet,” he said irritably, peering forward through the windscreen as huge snowflakes slid down the glass. “The snow’s getting worse.”

“Thank goodness we’ve got a 4x4,” Neil said thankfully. “They can take pretty much anything.”

There was silence in the car as the snow grew heavier. They were now on the long road that ran across the moors and as the snow thickened to a blizzard, John MacLean reduced his speed to a crawl. A line of pine trees stretched in a straight line to their right and further on, to their left, a glint of light shone from a farmhouse window. Bent forward over the wheel, he concentrated on a road that had, by this time, almost disappeared altogether. As long as he didn’t land in a ditch, that was
the main thing, he reckoned.

“There’s a farm coming up, John,” his wife said, rubbing her breath from the car window so that she could see through. “Aren’t you going to stop?”

“I can see people outside in the snow,” Clara said excitedly. “They’re all dressed in white.” She frowned. “That’s a bit odd, isn’t it?”

Her father looked undecided for a moment. “Maybe I
should
stop and pull into the farm,” he said, braking carefully and
putting
the car into reverse. “I’m sure the farmer would look after us until the storm passes. Blast! I can’t even see the turning.”

“Do you want me to get out, Dad?” Neil asked.

“No, stay where you are just now, Neil,” his father said,
opening
the car door and climbing out. “I just want to see if we’ve passed the farm road.”

“Can you see any witches?” Mrs MacLean peered through the open door.

“Not one,” he said, scanning the sky through the swirling flakes. “Maybe this
is
just freak weather. Everyone’s talking about climate change these days …”

Mrs MacLean turned white all of a sudden and pointed dramatically at the sky behind him. Seeing her look of fear, her husband swung round and stared at the ragged tops of the massive stand of pine trees that lined the road. “Witches! They’re there, John! Hiding among the trees! Look!”

“Mum’s right, Dad,” Clara yelled, winding her window down to get a clearer view. She pointed as the blizzard eased momentarily. “They’re there! Over to your … right …” She gulped and her voice faded as the Queen of the Snow Witches swooped out of the trees towards the car, her witches outlined behind her against a leaden sky.

Samantha recognized Clara immediately. Surely this was
the child she’d kidnapped in Argyle a few years back at the request of Prince Kalman. The child who’d somehow managed to escape her clutches! She boiled with rage at the thought, for the prince had been really most unpleasant when he heard she’d been rescued. Samantha smiled malevolently. This was her chance to punish her! She’d bury her under six feet of snow if she had to! “Get them,” she shrieked as she wheeled towards the staring occupants of the car.

“Get in quick, John,” Mrs MacLean said urgently.

“Put your window up, Clara,” John MacLean said, slipping into the driver’s seat and turning the key in the ignition as the witches dive-bombed the 4x4 with inches to spare.

The car started but the engine was rough and, at first, it lurched forward in a series of jerks before moving more smoothly. John peered through the swishing windscreen
wipers
trying to gauge where the edge of the road was.

“There’s a car ahead of us,” Mrs MacLean said suddenly, peering through a sudden break in the storm. “It’s miles ahead but I’m sure I saw its rear lights through the snow!”

“Dad!” Clara yelled. Her father slammed on the brakes and they all fell forwards against their seat belts.

“What is it?” her father asked, twisting round in his seat.

Clara pointed through the window. “The men on the farm,” she gasped, “they’re not people at all. Look at them! Can’t you see their faces? They’re snowmen!” she whispered. “Look! Look, over there! They’re heading for the road!”

Neil gasped. Clara was right. Running towards the car with lumbering steps were several white, bulky figures. Snowmen! Snowmen with carrot noses and black stone eyes! “Come on, Dad! Put your foot down,” Neil yelled, “they’re catching up with us.” As the car pulled away, the snowmen halted but they hadn’t finished. Bending down they lifted handfuls of snow and Clara
cringed as the first volley of snowballs crashed against the rear window.

“For goodness sake, keep going, John,” Mrs MacLean urged. “We’ve got to catch up with that car in front.”

The witches, however, were determined to stop them. The snow became heavier and as more and more snowmen rose from the side of the road, John sent it skating and slithering in as straight a line as he could manage. Although the snowballs did no real damage, the melting snowflakes, sliding down the windscreen, reduced visibility to little more than a few feet. It was really scary, Clara admitted afterwards, for the other windows were so snowed up on the outside that they didn’t know whether the snowmen were running alongside them or not.

It was when one of them threw itself in front of the 4x4 that John MacLean gunned the engine and bounced the car over it with a bump that would have sent them all through the
windscreen
had they not had their seat belts on.

“There it is, John,” Mrs MacLean said in triumph as two red lights shone in front of them, “I told you there was a car in front of us.”

“He’s seen our lights,” Neil said. “Look, he’s blinking his hazard lights at us.”

John MacLean breathed a sigh of relief. “He’s waiting for us to catch up with him.”

This didn’t stop the snowmen, however, and both cars came under fire from volleys of snowballs that hit the cars with dull, heavy thumps. It was only when they reached the first houses in Greenlaw that the snowmen faded from the scene and by the time they drew up in front of the general store they were weak with relief.

The driver of the other car pulled up in front of them and came over; a pleasant, dark-haired chap with blue eyes. John
MacLean smiled at him. “Thank goodness you were on the road! If we hadn’t had you to follow we might never have made it through!”

“It was quite an experience, wasn’t it? And the hailstones! I’ve never see anything like the size of them in my life!” He looked up the road. “They need to get the snowplough up there, pronto,” he continued without waiting for an answer. “I’ve not seen weather as bad as this in a long time!”

Neil and Clara looked at one another with raised eyebrows. He probably never would again, Neil thought. But hailstones! How
could
he think that! They’d been thumping great snowballs!

Kitor fluttered his wings anxiously as the car turned into the driveway of Craiglaw House.

“Hi, Kitor,” Neil said with a smile as the crow landed on his shoulder as he got out of the car. “You found your way alright, then!”

“We got here ages ago!” Kitor said, digging his claws into Neil’s jacket to keep his balance “We thought you’d … got lost or something.”

“What kept you?” Cassia asked anxiously, perching on Clara’s arm. “We were just going out to look for you.”

“We almost
did
have an accident,” Mrs MacLean said grimly, pulling a carrier bag out of the car and heading for the front door. “The Snow Witches were out in force on the road near Greenlaw.”

“They did their best to stop us,” Neil added, “but we
managed
to keep going.”

Kitor squawked. “What happened?”

“The Queen of the Snow Witches recognized me, Kitor,” Clara said. “It was really scary. They were using snowmen to search the farm buildings and they attacked us.”

Kitor paled at the mention of the Snow Witches. He knew they hadn’t forgiven him for rescuing Clara.

“Actually, we didn’t cross the moors,” Cassia confessed.

Clara, now in safe surroundings, forgot her fear of the Snow Witches and grinned. “I know,” she said, looking at Neil in amusement, “you came as the crow flies.”

Seeing Kitor’s puzzled look, Neil explained. “It’s a saying we have in English. It means you didn’t follow the roads, you flew in a straight line.”

Cassia tilted her head to one side. “It’s the only way to fly,” she pointed out reasonably. “Why should we follow the roads?”

“Forget it!” Neil said dryly, “or we’ll be here all night!”

“No you won’t,” his mother said, overhearing their
conversation.
“Go and get your stuff together and put it in the car. We’ve to get you back to school this evening, remember?”

“Oh no,” Neil groaned, “and I haven’t even
looked
at my German grammar! Von Grozny’s given us a string of verbs to learn!”

“What about the broomsticks?” John MacLean asked. “You’re going to look a bit odd going into school with a couple of broomsticks, aren’t you?”

“Oh, that’s all right,” Clara said airily, “I’ll say they’re for the school play. It’s about witches. Nobody’ll think anything of it.”

“Get yourselves organized then,” their mother said briskly, “while I make the supper and defrost some chicken livers for Kitor and Cassia. If they’re going on a witch hunt, they’ll need all the energy they can get.”

As it happened, it didn’t take Kitor and Cassia long to suss out the witches.

The following morning, the two crows had swooped from Clara’s window not only to take stock of their new
surroundings
but to search the Border roads for their breakfast. Kitor’s eyes had glistened happily, for the good news was that fast food in the shape of squashed rabbit and hedgehog had proved unexpectedly plentiful — and pheasant an unexpected treat. The bad news, however, was that there were witches absolutely everywhere.

Later that evening, Neil looked at his watch and opened his window. It was eight o’clock, the time they’d agreed upon to get together. He shivered in the sudden blast of cold air that whistled through the window and sighed with relief as Kitor and Cassia flew in followed by an invisible Clara who swished past him on her broomstick. Closing the window quickly, he drew the curtains again and turned on the light as Clara switched her ring to her other hand and appeared. Kitor and Cassia perched on the back of a chair, settling their wings as she propped her broomstick against Neil’s wardrobe door.

“Hi, Neil,” she smiled, “no visitors this evening?”

“Not with all the German verbs I’ve to swot up,” her brother admitted. He turned to the crow. “Well, Kitor?” he queried. “How did you get on today? Find anything out?”

“There are witches everywhere,” Kitor announced
importantly
, fluttering over to Neil’s desk and pacing its length in stiff, strutting steps. He looked at them through black,
sparkling
eyes. “It’s a massive operation they’ve mounted. Every field, every wood, every farm … they’re going over them all.”

“We know all about that,” nodded Clara, warming herself against a radiator. “They haven’t half given the locals the heeby-jeebies!”

“We spotted your witch on her way back to the school as well,” Cassia croaked. “She came from a place called Witches’ Wood.”

Neil looked up interestedly. He’d heard the name before and then remembered that it had been on the night he’d seen the crop circles being made.

“Witches’ Wood is well named,” Kitor said. “It covers the top of a steep hill quite near here. That’s where the Earth Witches have their castle — inside the hill.”

“A castle,” Neil’s eyebrows shot up, “inside a hill? Then …
that means their castle must be on Blackriggs Farm!” Clara looked blank. “You know … Jimmy MacFarlane’s farm … where the crop circles keep appearing!” He turned to Kitor. “How on earth did you find it?”

“It wasn’t hard to spot,” Kitor said dryly. “Busy as a wasps’ nest, it was; witches flying in and out all the time. We couldn’t go in, of course, for they had witches guarding the entrance.”

“But we got close enough to see what it looks like,” Cassia added. “There are long, stone passages that go deep inside the hill.”

“We hung around for a while and listened to the witches talking,” Kitor continued. “They mentioned the talisman so our ears pricked up, as you can imagine. They’re over the moon about it.”

“About what?” queried Clara, anxiously. “They haven’t found it, have they?”

Kitor shook his head. “No, but the Queen of the Earth Witches discovered an ancient book in their library. They called it
The Book of Spells.
From the way they were talking, I reckon it must have been lost for centuries.”

“And?” demanded Neil.

“And it’s bad news,” croaked Cassia. “There’s a spell in it that will draw the talisman to her …”

“… from wherever it is!” finished Kitor.

Clara looked every bit as appalled as Neil. A magic spell that would find the talisman! The witches had to be stopped!