We waited in silence until darkness fell and we could no longer see the edge of the marsh. But the sky was clearing, and soon a moon shone down, bathing the whole area in its silvery light.
All at once I saw a movement below – and this time I wasn’t imagining it: a ripple on the water, the lightest of splashes, and then a dark shape dragged itself up onto dry ground at the foot of the hill. It was the first of the water witches, and she stood with her back to us, water dripping from her tattered clothes, which seemed to be composed of weed and slime rather than cloth.
Suddenly she turned in our direction and sniffed very loudly, as if searching for us. I held my breath, but Lizzie’s cloaking magic proved strong enough. The witch turned back to face the water, but not before I’d glimpsed the long fangs protruding from her open mouth and the sharp talons that sprouted from each finger. And then I noticed that each of her forefingers was exceptionally long.
Soon other water witches joined her on the bank, and they began to talk. I say ‘talk’, but it was hardly speech. I recognized a few words, such as ‘hungry’ and ‘blood’, but mostly it was just a series of grunts and belches.
I had always looked down on most of the Malkins. The stench of their cottages, with the heaps of bones left in the sink or by the door, turned my stomach; but these creatures were far worse. Lizzie was right: these water witches were little better than animals. Did we really want to be teaming up with them? I asked myself.
Soon there were about a dozen witches dripping on the edge of the marsh; a few were dragging something strange onto the bank. It was a tubular wooden cage, about one and a half times the length of a tall man, but considerably narrower than a human torso. Within it, something was moving.
And more was to come. The next three witches to emerge from the water brought prisoners with them: two men and a woman, who looked half drowned. They were choking and sputtering, the whites of their eyes showing, and covered in bog slime from head to toe. They were thrown down into the mud without ceremony, rolled onto their backs, dragged about ten paces away from each other and arranged in a row. Next, short stakes were driven into the ground a little way from their heads and feet. Then, quickly and efficiently, their arms and legs were bound to the stakes with narrow twine. The two men were hardly breathing now, but the woman groaned as the twine was pulled taut, stretching her arms and legs wide.
The witches formed a line on the bank facing the prisoners. This meant that they were now looking towards Lizzie and me too. As they joined hands and began to chant, I wondered whether their combined magical power might allow them to see through the magical cloak that Lizzie had summoned. That made me nervous.
Wasn’t bad at cloaking spells myself, but, as much as I wanted to, I daren’t add mine to hers. Take it as an insult, she would – it would seem like I doubted her.
I needn’t have worried: her magic proved strong enough. Soon the water witches stopped chanting, and one of them left the line. This one did not approach the prisoners, as I had assumed she would. She made directly for the wooden cage. In seconds she had opened a hinged door at the end; then she rejoined her slimy companions.
I stared at the cage, fascinated. For a few moments nothing moved; then something slowly emerged from the open door. It looked like a large insect, and stepped delicately on long thin legs. All at once I saw its elongated head, and I began to tremble with fear. It had a long thin snout – which I knew was called a ‘bone-tube’. I had never seen such a creature in the flesh before, but I had seen drawings in a book from Lizzie’s small library about dark magic.
This creature was a skelt.
For a moment it seemed to be looking right at me. Suddenly it gave a loud hiss and turned to face the three captives. With a shrug, it appeared to grow larger and, on eight multi-jointed legs, scuttled towards the nearer man. It thrust its long snout into his chest, and the victim cried out in pain. Immediately I saw the bone-tube darken. If I had been watching by sunlight rather than moonlight, I knew I would have seen the transparent tube turn a bright red. The creature was sucking up blood from its victim at an alarming rate.
After that first cry of pain, the victim merely gave a series of moans, which gradually became weaker. When the skelt withdrew its bone-tube, the man gave a loud gasp and a sigh. I knew he had taken his final breath.
Now the skelt turned its attention to the next in line. This was the woman; she began to struggle against her bonds and scream at the top of her voice. But in vain: the skelt was upon her in seconds, this time thrusting its sharp snout into her neck. Once more the tube darkened and the woman’s screams became a choking gurgle – until the skelt had drained her of blood and she twitched and lay still.
The third victim did not scream or struggle. He began to pray out loud.
‘Father, forgive them!’ he cried into the night. ‘Let them see the error of their ways and turn away from the darkness. I accept the pain of my death. Use it to lessen the pain of others.’
I wondered if he was a priest. But priest, farmer, innkeeper or bargeman, it made no difference to the predator, which scrambled up onto his body. The man tried to speak again, but instead his body convulsed as the skelt stabbed his neck. Soon he too lay still.
The skelt moved slowly away from his body, and then turned towards the still and silent line of witches, who were staring at it as if waiting for something.
Surely it wasn’t going to attack them? I thought. How much blood did the terrible creature need?
But it was not the skelt that attacked.
It was the witches!
They surged towards us, madness in their eyes.
FOR A HEART-STOPPING moment I thought Lizzie and I were their target. But I was wrong. As if at some silent, invisible signal, they ran towards the skelt, mouths wide, showing their sharp fangs. They stretched their hands out towards it; long talons gleamed in the moonlight.
The creature tried to scuttle through the surging throng to reach the water, but there were too many of them and they were too fast.
Ferociously, they fell upon the skelt and, to my horror, began to tear it to pieces. Arms, legs and head were ripped from the body as blood began to pool on the muddy ground: no doubt its own blood as well as that of the three people it had gorged itself on. Like some insects, its body was divided into two segments, and these were quickly sundered by the taloned hands. Even afterwards, the legs and body segments continued to twitch.
I realized that these water witches were exceptionally strong, and wondered how Lizzie dared to try and enlist them in her cause. What if they turned on us? All her magic would be useless against so many fierce creatures who seemed hardly human at all.