Pulling the mirror from its sheath, I said the magical words of contact and waited patiently for Alice to appear.
The mirror brightened and she smiled out at me.
‘I trust all is well?’ I asked.
Alice nodded. We’ve been home for three days, and Old Gregory has already got people working hard to rebuild his house. We’re sleeping under the stars at the moment! How are you? Is the head still safe? she mouthed.
‘Yes, child,’ I told her. ‘There has been danger, but I have survived. The head is still safe in my hands – but I cannot run for ever. Tell Thomas Ward to put his thinking cap on! We need to destroy the Fiend – we must fix him permanently.’
I smiled at Alice and put the mirror away, staring towards the looming mass of Pendle.
I was almost home now. When I reached Malkin Tower, would the lamias let me take refuge there? If not, could I take it from them by force? Two together would be difficult to overcome, but if I entered by the tunnel I might be able to lure one down into the dungeons. In theory they were my allies, but if it proved necessary, I would kill them both.
I felt the mirror move again in its leather sheath. When I pulled it out, Agnes Sowerbutts was already staring at me. She looked concerned.
‘I hamstrung the kretch,’ I told her. ‘That danger is past.’
I only wish that were so, Agnes mouthed back at me. I spied the creature reflected in the surface of a small lake, where it paused to slake its thirst. Now it is following you once more with just the merest of limps. Soon it will be able to run freely again.
I have now managed to scry the name of its father. The kretch was begat of Tanaki, one of the hidden daemons who are invoked rarely and only with great difficulty. Little is known of him, other than he has great perseverance. Once set on a course, he never deviates until his will is accomplished. Not only that: any defeat makes him stronger. Each time he fights he grows more formidable. Such traits will have been passed on to the kretch. It has been given great powers of healing.
I frowned and nodded. The hamstringing should have been permanent. This creature was going to be very difficult to overcome. I could no longer allow myself the respite of a night’s sleep.
There is worse, Agnes said, looking directly at me, her lips moving silently. Your forehead is cut …
I reached a finger up to my brow and, to my dismay, traced the line of a gash. My finger came away faintly smeared with red. It was little more than a scratch, no doubt inflicted by one of the kretch’s talons. In the heat of the fight I hadn’t felt a thing. I remembered that Agnes had scryed that I would suffer ‘a mortal wound’.
‘Surely this small scratch is nothing?’ I said.
The wound is slight. But poison may have entered your bloodstream. Would you like me to scry again and see the outcome?
I felt quite well and hardly thought it was necessary, but to please Agnes I nodded, and the image in the mirror faded. I spent the next hour cooking and eating two plump rabbits while I thought about the kretch. Just how cleverly had my enemies crafted the creature? Maybe the glands at the base of its claws secreted a substance that stopped its victims feeling pain? This was a trick employed by some predators so that their prey failed to seek attention for the poisoned wound … until it was too late. But I was still not overly concerned. Filled with new energy, I ran on through the night towards Pendle. I felt strong. I had no symptoms of poisoning at all.
Not then.
They began just as the brooding shape of Pendle loomed up out of the murky pre-dawn light.
It started with a disturbance to my vision. Tiny flashes of light appeared at the corners of my eyes. I had never experienced anything like it before and at first I paid little heed. But gradually the flashes grew worse: I then became breathless and my heart-rate increased. I tried to ignore these symptoms – along with the sack, which seemed to be growing heavier with every stride. Then my legs started to feel unsteady.
Suddenly I was on my knees as a wave of nausea shook me. I vomited my supper onto the grass and crouched there, retching and gasping for air. After a few minutes my breathing returned to something approaching normal and I struggled to my feet. But when I tried to run, my legs felt like lead and I could only stagger forward a few steps at a time.
Within minutes my condition began to deteriorate further. Each ragged breath that I sucked desperately into my lungs brought a sharp pain. But I couldn’t afford to stop. I imagined the kretch picking up its pace and loping after me. Even if my progress was slow, every painful step would take me nearer to Pendle. Physically I was exceptionally strong and resilient. My self-belief remained strong too: I was sure that I could fight off the effects of the poison.
The mirror moved: I took it out and gazed upon the face of Agnes Sowerbutts once more. Her expression was grim and she shook her head slowly.
The poison is slow-acting but deadly, she mouthed. Without help, you will probably soon be dead. But I cannot tell what will befall you: as I scryed, the mirror went dark.
There was still room for hope, I thought – a darkening mirror merely meant that things were uncertain.
‘Could you help me?’ I asked.
I’m an old woman and can’t travel to meet you. But if you come here I’ll do my very best to help.
Agnes was a powerful healer. If I could only reach her cottage …
I thanked her, then returned the mirror to its sheath. My whole body was shaking now. I tried to deny it but could not escape the truth. I knew I didn’t have the strength to reach the outskirts of the Deane village alone.
I had always been self-sufficient; mostly I had walked alone. Pride now reared its head up before me, a barrier between me and the help that I needed. Who could I ask anyway? Who could I trust? Above all I needed someone to carry the Fiend’s head and keep it out of the hands of the kretch.
I had no true ‘friends’ amongst the clans, but there were those I had helped or formed temporary alliances with – witches such as Alice Deane. Unfortunately Alice was too far away to help. She was back at Chipenden with John Gregory and Tom Ward.
I went through the list of the ones I might be able to trust, but quickly dismissed them in turn. Pendle’s clans had been split into three groups when they had summoned the Fiend to walk the earth: there were those who served him, those who opposed him and, finally, those who watched and waited, perhaps planning to ally themselves with the winners of the conflict.
I had been away from Pendle for many months and there was no way I could be sure of anyone now. I stared towards the grey mass of Pendle Hill, my mind circling like a moth around a candle flame, going anywhere but into that inevitable fire.