It is the foreleg of a skelt. One must have been lurking in the water. The limb moves towards the leather egg.
I step forward to seize it. It should be kept safe, far from Lizzie’s clutches.
But then I halt and relax.
Let the skelt take it. It will be safer beyond Lizzie’s reach.
However, I consider the water witches who might still be able to locate and retrieve it . . .
I have hesitated too long.
The limb grips the leather egg and draws it down beneath the surface with hardly more than a ripple. It is a strange thing for the skelt to do. Why does it want the egg? I push it from my mind. The children must be returned to their homes.
As I led the way out of the house, I realized it was still raining. But the children didn’t seem to care. When I looked back at them, I saw that most were chatting excitedly, just glad to be away from the witches and scary skelts.
Some would be going home to their families; others to the orphanage. I wondered if they were happy there.
Then I noticed Emily, the girl whose mother Lizzie had attacked. She was not talking to anyone. I made up my mind to go back, take her by the hand and ask her to walk alongside me. But suddenly I was distracted.
As we passed the pond, a figure stepped out of the shadows and ran towards me. The children scattered, but I stood my ground.
It was Betsy Gammon.
‘You’ve spoiled things for me, girl!’ she said, spitting her words out in a fury, her piggy eyes almost popping from her head. ‘I can’t use magic, but that was my one chance to have that kind of power. My girls would have given it to me gladly! You’ve taken it from me!’
She had a long curved blade in her right hand, and I had no doubt that she intended to kill me. She was almost within striking range. Death was in her eyes, so I defended myself instinctively. Using magic, I pushed her away from me.
She flew back, up into the air, head over heels, and dropped into the pond with a loud splash.
Moments later she came to the surface, spluttering and gasping. She began to flail her arms and her face was filled with panic.
I realized that she couldn’t swim.
It was strange to think that she was a keeper of water witches and that their natural environment could be her death. I felt torn. I could use my magic again to save her. But what would I be saving her for? So that she could organize her witches again? So that other children would die?
In anguish, pulled between actions and inaction, I did nothing. We watched in silence from the bank while she struggled and finally sank from sight.
AFTER BETSY GAMMON drowned I led the children home.
As we approached the first hamlet, I saw men walking down the main street carrying torches. Some were armed with clubs; one, probably an ex-soldier, had a sword in his belt. No doubt they were a search party.
I didn’t want to get too close. My pointy shoes would identify me as a witch, and they might think I’d been party to the abductions – which, with a twinge of guilt, I acknowledged was true.
‘That’s my dad and my uncle!’ one little boy exclaimed, a smile widening on his face.
‘Go to them!’ I commanded the other children. ‘They’ll take you home.’
Some ran towards the distant figures eagerly, while others walked behind with far less enthusiasm. I put my hand on Emily’s shoulder.
‘You come with me,’ I said softly. ‘I’ll take you home myself.’
She came with me happily. I took hold of her hand, and we stepped off the path and skirted the hamlet before heading towards the village where Lizzie had seized her.
As we approached her house, I noted that it was in darkness. That wasn’t promising. Of course, her mam might have gone to join another search party, or she could be staying with friends or family.
But then it got worse. I saw that the front door was still unlocked.
I eased it open and slowly climbed the stairs, Emily at my heels. Neither of us said anything, but she began to cry softly. We both feared the worst.
When we reached the darkness of the bedroom, I heard someone breathing. The sounds were harsh, suggesting we were listening to a struggle to draw air into lungs that desperately needed it. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the stub of candle I always carried. I muttered a spell out of habit, realizing as I did so that the words were unnecessary. The candle flared into life.
Emily’s mother was on all fours, staring towards us. There was nothing in her eyes that told me she recognized her own daughter. She tried to speak, but only gibberish came out.
Then she tried to stand, but immediately collapsed onto her hands and knees again. Emily crouched beside her and wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck.
‘Oh Mam! Mam!’ she cried. ‘Don’t you know me? It’s me, your daughter, Emily. Can’t you speak?’
The poor woman only groaned and rolled her eyes. It might well be that she was dying. Some witches believe that a bad blow to the head can make the brain swell up until it becomes too big for the skull and oozes out of the ears and nose. There was certainly a spell to bring this about.
It was also possible that, despite the damage to her brain, the poor woman would live on, unable to speak or recognize her own daughter.
Could I help her? I wondered. Was my magic strong enough to heal her? I was not sure that I could do anything. Dark magic is useful for fighting enemies and forcing obedience upon others. It can kill, maim and terrify, but its use in healing is uncertain. Some believe that healers use a more gentle, benign magic.
My magic was probably the wrong kind, but I had to try.
‘Stand back, Emily,’ I said softly. ‘Let me see if I can do anything to help your mam.’
The girl did as I asked and I knelt down beside her mother, placing my right hand on her head. She just stared at me, her eyes wide, looking utterly bewildered.
I willed the woman to get better. With all my strength I pushed that wish towards her. For a few seconds nothing happened. Then I felt intense warmth spreading down my arm and into my hand.
The expression in the woman’s eyes changed. She looked up at me angrily, and then pushed my hands away. She got to her feet and stared at her daughter. ‘Emily!’ she cried. ‘I thought I’d never see you again!’
She went to pick up her daughter and started to cry. Soon both of them were weeping; they seemed to have forgotten all about me. I slipped out of the room, went down the stairs and left the house.
As I headed back towards Pendle, I thought back over what I’d just done. I’d healed Emily’s mam. So my magic could do good as well as the other . . . Maybe there was hope for me?