For a moment I thought Lizzie intended to cut away my bones there and then, and my arms tensed, ready to envelop her in a cloud of salt and iron. But instead she returned the blade to the sheath on her belt and rose to her feet.
‘I’ll let the buggane take what it wants first,’ the witch said, turning and heading towards the tunnel again.
I relaxed, breathing out slowly. Even with the salt and iron I’d still have been chained; I’d still have been at the mercy of the buggane. The witch would have recovered all too soon.
Lizzie disappeared into the tunnel, but the buggane had unfinished business. I saw its mouth open wide to reveal the sharp triangular teeth within. It bit deep into the throat of Daniel Stanton and drank his blood with relish. When it had drained him, it began to tear at his flesh. I covered my ears to shut out those awful shredding sounds, but then it began to crunch his bones. I thought it would never end but, sated at last, the buggane finally padded away, leaving bloody footprints on the flags. It climbed back into the tunnel and was soon out of sight.
How long would it be before the dream came back for me in spirit form? I wondered, fearful.
I didn’t have long to wait. Within moments, the whispering began inside my head and my heart raced with terror. At first it was almost too faint to hear, but gradually I could make out individual words, such as rot, blood and worms. Then I experienced a sensation that I hadn’t expected – no one had ever described a feeling like this. It was as if a dark cloud had floated down from the ceiling and covered me like a thick cold blanket. The distant sound of dripping water faded and was gone; but even worse than the loss of hearing was the rapid dimming of my sight. I could no longer see the torches; everything grew dark. I was blind.
My heart was thudding in my chest, the beats becoming laboured. I began to shiver with cold as the buggane slowly drew the energy from my body, stealing away my life force. The whispering grew louder. I could still make no sense of the words, but painful images from the past began to form inside my head, as if I was actually present at the scene.
I was on a mountain path. It was evening and the light was beginning to fail. I could hear a woman sobbing and voices raised in anger. I seemed to be gliding rather than walking and had no control over the direction I was taking. Ahead a rock jutted up like a giant rat’s tooth; around it stood a group of people, amongst them one of Mam’s old enemies, the witch, Wurmalde. I heard a series of heavy rhythmical thuds and saw someone with a hammer. At each blow there was a cry of pain.
Anguish squeezed my heart. I knew exactly where I was; what was happening. I was witnessing the moment when Mam’s enemies had nailed her left hand to a rock. Blood was dripping down her arm and onto the grass. Once she was nailed, they bound her naked body with the silver chain, wrapping it around the rock. I saw her flinch with pain, the tears running down her cheeks.
‘In three days we’ll return,’ I heard Wurmalde say, her voice filled with cruelty and malice, ‘and then we’ll cut out your heart.’
They left her waiting alone in the darkness – waiting for the sun to come up over the sea in the east; the sun that would burn and blister her body.
I wanted to stay with Mam. I wanted to comfort her; tell her that it would be all right. That my dad would find her in the morning and shelter her from the sun with his shirt and his shadow, and they’d get married and have seven sons. That she’d be happy …
But I couldn’t move, and I was plunged into absolute darkness once more. Happy? On this world, happiness never lasts long. Neither did Mam’s.
In the blink of an eye Mam’s life was over, and now I was witness to how it all ended. I was back in the Ord, watching her fight with the Ordeen. I’d seen Mam swoop down to attack, her white feathered lamia wings making her more angel than insect. I’d seen her grapple with her salamander-shaped enemy. She’d told me to leave and I’d obeyed, escaping from the Ord with the others – all except Bill Arkwright. I’d seen the destruction of the citadel from a distance, the towers collapsing as it was drawn back through the fiery portal into the darkness waiting beyond, carrying with it poor Mam, and Bill too.
But here I was, at close quarters, watching Mam’s feathers burn, hearing her scream in torment as she held the Ordeen in a death grip.
Fire was all around me now, and I felt physical pain. Flames were singeing my own flesh, but even worse, I could see Mam’s flesh bubbling and burning and hear her long anguished howl as she died in agony.
Once more I fell into darkness.
Suddenly there was light again, and I found myself standing in the kitchen at the farm. There was a row going on upstairs. Next thing I knew I was at the top of the stairs. Three men were holding my brother Jack. One of them was hitting him, spattering his blood over the wall and floorboards. I was now witnessing what had happened when the witches had raided the farm. They had wanted Mam’s trunks, but she had protected the room against the dark and they couldn’t get in. They’d made Jack go and bring the trunks out.
He was crying out in terror and pain but I couldn’t help him. I was just a silent invisible presence, forced to witness his suffering.
So it went on. The buggane forced me to visit all the agonizing memories of the last few years. I looked down at Dad’s grave again, and felt the pain of loss. I’d even missed his funeral. I visited these painful scenes again and again. It was a vortex of suffering: I kept returning to the same points in my life and I could do nothing to change them.
Darkness again; I was numb, and getting colder and colder as my life force was drawn from me. I felt myself moving closer to death.
But then … something new. I heard a voice:
Get harder or you won’t survive. Just doing what Old Gregory says won’t be enough. You’ll die like the others!
It was Alice’s voice. She’d said those words to me when I’d stopped her from burning Old Mother Malkin. Burning her had seemed too horrible. I just hadn’t been able to do it.
You’ve got to match the dark, Tom. Stand up to the buggane. You can do it! You can do what needs to be done!
The moment Alice cried out those words, I had a new vision: another fragment of my life. After the first weeks of my apprenticeship to the Spook, I’d returned to the farm. Mother Malkin had appeared there, undead, soft and pliable. She’d oozed into Snout, the pig butcher, and possessed him, controlling his body, directing his every action. Now he was holding a knife to the throat of Jack and Ellie’s baby daughter, Mary.