Using their magic, they had already discovered the means by which their ship had been destroyed and were afraid of Alice and the power she had wielded. But they feared me too.
Only the mage and the kretch were still confident of their ability to defeat me. But, most important of all, I learned that the Fiend’s head was still in their possession. The mage, Bowker, was carrying it. This was my priority.
I had drugged Alice because I wanted to protect her; if she was with me there was a danger that she might get hurt. But I also wanted to be the one to wreak revenge on my enemies. Besides, I prefer to work alone.
Are you my enemy? Are you strong, with speed and agility and the training of a warrior? It matters nought to me. Run now! Run fast into the forest! I’ll give you a few moments’ start – an hour if you wish. But you will never be fast enough. I’ll catch and kill you before long.
BEFORE I LEAVE the sleeping Alice, I think of poor Thorne again, and grief knots my stomach. But I counter that by going over the happy times we shared and remember the way she grew in strength and skill, becoming more than I had ever hoped for her. Finally, before I put my memories of Thorne aside, my mind returns to a question she once asked me:
Have you ever taken the thumb-bones of your enemies while they were still alive?
I had refused to give her an answer. Whether I have done so or not is my business and not the concern of others. But it suits me if my enemies think that I do. This is why I carve the image of my scissors on trees to warn them off.
Now I am ready – ready to kill; ready to kill them all. I have become the mother of death. She trots at my heels, hanging onto my skirt, giggling with glee, leaving wet footprints of red blood on the green grass. Can you hear her laughter? Listen for it in the cries of the carrion crows who will feast on the flesh of my victims.
I stand at the edge of the wood. As a result of the healing and the magic that Alice gave me I am strong; perhaps stronger than ever before. I am so well cloaked that my enemies are totally unaware of my presence. The prospect of combat excites me and I am more than ready to fight and kill. They expect an attack but know not the precise moment when it will strike, or from which direction. I retain some element of surprise.
My blades are ready in their scabbards; so are my scissors. Once I have slain my enemies, I will take their thumb-bones. Thus I will increase my store of magic even further. I must retrieve the Fiend’s head and keep it safe from those who covet it. So I need all the magic I can get. I must also return to Alice that which she gave me. No doubt one day she will have need of it.
I attack. I am fast, so very fast. Never have I been faster!
One runs at me from the left. I draw and flick the blade, all in one fluid movement. It catches the witch in the throat and she falls heavily – the first of my enemies to die.
Where is the kretch?
I sniff, and immediately know that it is far below me, to the left. There are many enemies between us. No matter. I will kill them first. My long blade is in my left hand now. I cut and kill a witch who runs straight at me. But now they have all sniffed me out. They are converging, anticipating my progress down through the trees. So I begin to slow, changing direction slightly to draw them after me.
At last I come to a halt in a small clearing and await their attack. They encircle me and close in rapidly, moving towards me through the trees. They are eager to reach me. Tighter and tighter the circle becomes, and I hear feet drumming on the ground, getting louder and louder. Within seconds the first of them will burst out of the cover of the trees, and into the circular clearing where I stand.
I am ready.
This is the killing ground.
And far beyond the circle of blades, the kretch is still waiting, the mage at its side.
Oh, Mr Wolf! Soon it will be your turn!
The bravest witches come in hard and fast. They die first. I whirl and cut and spin, slicing and stabbing until the air is filled with the shrieks, curses and screams of my enemies; until the grass is slick with their blood.
Others press in behind them: Lisa Dugdale, Jenny Croston and Maggie Lunt. These are the three from Pendle who have lashed blades to long sticks. They seek to jab and stab from a distance – with less risk to themselves. These are the ones who cut and slew Wynde, the lamia, when she lay helpless with a broken wing in the jaws of the kretch; these are the cowards who tried to pierce the armour of the knight when he was down and at their mercy. So I find it satisfying to pay them back in kind.
So these I maim rather than kill outright. They limp away, hoping to reach safety. I will hunt them down afterwards. It will be something to savour.
My enemies fall back and begin to flee. Now there is only the mage and the kretch to deal with. Bowker steps forward, the leather sack on his shoulder, and points the small rodent skull at my head. He chants, and something invisible but deadly surges towards me; I hear a ringing in my ears.
I stagger and almost fall, and suddenly I am weak and defenceless. Bowker laughs and comes towards me, the weapon still pointing at my head, a blade readied in his other hand.
‘It was I who took the bones of the girl, Grimalkin! And now I will take yours!’ he cries.
He is less than ten steps away when I rally, drawing upon the magic that Alice has given me. It is stronger than the weapon he has used against me; stronger than anything he has at his disposal. I show my teeth, draw a dagger from its sheath and hurl it towards him. It buries itself in his leg and he drops to one knee. Seeing death in my eyes, he turns and flees, limping towards the trees, leaving a trail of blood on the grass. He still has the Fiend’s head but will not get far. Soon he will be mine.
‘Mr Wolf!’ I cry. ‘Now it is your turn! I am here! I am Grimalkin! Now we fight to the death!’
The kretch bounds towards me, forelimbs outstretched, eager to rend the flesh from my bones. It rears up, towering over me, and slashes at me with its talons.
I whirl and spin, avoiding their sharp poisonous tips, and the hilt of my blade smashes hard into its mouth, making of it a bloody ruin. It reminds me of what I did to the Fiend, and I smile.
Oh, Mr Wolf! What big teeth you had!
I laugh as it shakes its head and the shattered teeth fall from its mouth. Some of them are red with blood, and it is enraged as I spring away; now it is snarling and spinning like a mad dog trying to catch its elusive tail. But it is slow, so very slow, and I am lithe and nimble. We dance together; the dance of death that it promised me.
Oh, Mr Wolf! What big eyes you had!