I WAS BEING trained as a witch, wasn’t I, when I first met Tom Ward, the Spook’s apprentice. We should have been enemies, but after a very uncertain start we ended up friends. I helped him and fought the dark by his side, and it was during that time that I learned a terrible truth about myself – I was one of the Fiend’s daughters, and Bony Lizzie was actually my mother.
But I carried on helping Tom and Old Gregory, the Spook. Despite my background I couldn’t let myself go over to the dark. We fought the Fiend together, with the help of Grimalkin, the witch assassin, and eventually we dealt him a terrible blow: we chopped off his head and bound his body with silver spears so that he was trapped within his dead flesh.
Knowing that his servants would pursue us relentlessly, Grimalkin went on the run with the Fiend’s head wrapped in a leather bag, fighting any creature she encountered. It would only be a matter of time before she was caught, I was sure – not even the powerful witch assassin could defeat so many dark entities. Once they killed Grimalkin and retrieved the head, they would take it back to Ireland and reunite it with the rest of the Fiend’s body; then he would be set loose in the world once more and a new age of darkness and terror would begin.
There is just one chance to stop him – just one way to destroy him for ever. My friend Tom Ward has to complete a sacrificial ritual at midnight next Halloween, now less than four months away. It involves the use of three blades known as the hero swords. Tom already has two of these weapons in his possession, but the third is located in the dark, and it is up to me to retrieve it.
The details of the ritual had been communicated to him by his own mother, who was the first and most powerful of all the lamias. She’d died in Greece fighting the Ordeen, one of the Old Gods, but her spirit was still very strong and she had been trying to aid us in our attempt to deal with the Fiend.
But there was something about the ritual that Tom had withheld from me. Something that I’d had to find out for myself . . .
It involved a sacrifice. There had to be a ‘willing sacrificial victim’. Someone had to die.
Tom had to sacrifice the person he loved most of all.
That someone was me.
So I am off to the dark to find the dagger called Dolorous – the blade that will eventually be used to kill me.
Just one thing worse than the dark, ain’t there? And that’s what’s inside it – the things that call it home . . .
Lots of my enemies were in there – supporters of the Fiend. So I cloaked myself using the most powerful magic I had. I wasn’t sure it would be enough. The dark is where magic comes from, and it’s the dwelling place of the Old Gods. And I was alone.
I’d been there once before – snatched away by the Fiend. Each of the Old Gods has a home in the dark – a territory, a personal domain that belongs only to them – and there was one god who’d helped me. Brought me back to the world, he had. Pan, like some of the others, wants to be left alone – completely alone – and doesn’t take kindly to intruders. If I found a way into Pan’s domain, none of my enemies would be waiting for me there. Course, that didn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t destroy me for invading his space.
Pan has two aspects, two different forms. One, which I hoped I would never see, is terrible – most folk would be driven mad just by gazing into his face; the other form was the one I hoped I’d be able to talk to.
To get into Pan’s domain with my powerful magic should be relatively easy. He mostly dwells in the dark, but he’s also the god of nature. His home is never that far from our world.
Anyone who’s been alone in a forest has sensed his presence. There are times when everything becomes still and silent; everything that can breathe seems to be holding its breath. There are no rustles in the undergrowth; no breeze; just a sense of a gigantic unseen presence.
Which means that Pan is close.
So I chose a forested area south-east of Chipenden, not too far from the river Ribble. If I did manage to get back safely with the dagger, I wouldn’t have far to go to find Tom Ward again.
I selected a lonely spot, sat in the long grass and made myself comfortable with my back against a tree. I was scared, my whole body trembling, so I took long, slow, deep breaths to calm myself. Then I waited for the conditions to become right.
It happened very close to dusk.
Everything became still and quiet, just as I knew it would. Pan was nearby. It was as if he were just behind a curtain, so close I could have touched him.
I used my magic and tried to enter his domain. It was much more difficult than I expected – it took me a long time to find a way in. It was like searching for a tiny lock in a big door with my eyes blindfolded. It was difficult to locate, and it resisted my attempts for so long that I thought I was sure to fail. Then, very suddenly, I was in, and a mixture of feelings raced through me: elation at my success; nervousness at entering Pan’s domain; and a touch of fear.
I was standing close to a lake that was gleaming bright green. Above, the sky was dark so I knew it wasn’t reflected light. Everything around me was glowing with that same green – even the tree trunks. Green is the colour of Nature. Green is the colour of Pan.
At the river margin were tall reeds, and beyond them, on the far bank, thin ash saplings, but all was absolutely still. Nothing moved but my chest, which was rising and falling rapidly. I took three deep breaths, trying to slow down my heart.
I had to stay calm.
Just beyond the saplings was the edge of a forest – tall deciduous trees of a type I didn’t recognize. They were covered in blossoms that suggested early spring – but rather than being pink or white, they were green too.
It was as if the forest were alive and listening to my fluttery breaths and the thumpety-bump of my heart. The word ‘panic’ comes from Pan’s name; they say that if he appears in his terrible form, a strong sense of dread is experienced at his approach. Few have lived to tell the tale.
Was he approaching in that aspect now? If so, I wasn’t feeling the dread.
At that moment I heard high, thin musical notes in the distance. Could it be Pan in his more benign form, playing his reed pipes?
I could only hope for the best.
So I circled the green lake, pushed my way through the thicket of saplings and entered the forest. I hurried towards the sound of the music and came to a wide clearing that was thick with ferns. At its centre they had been flattened by many creatures: hares, rabbits, rats, mice, voles, a couple of badgers and a bushy-tailed red fox, while above, the branches were laden with birds. All were silent and still, held in thrall to the source of that exquisite music.