The closer we got to the mountains, the more formidable and inaccessible they appeared; soon they’d become too steep to climb. But then Thorne pointed to our left.
‘There’s a gap . . . a valley – let’s head for that.’
It proved to be a narrow ravine, no more than a hundred paces across; two sheer walls of rock confined us on either side. It was very gloomy, and the sky was just a narrow zigzag, far above our heads.
Soon we emerged onto a plateau, and I saw what I needed. So thirsty, I was! We had reached an almost circular area surrounded on all sides by walls of sheer rock. At its centre was a lake . . . But after one glance at the water, my elation turned to disappointment. There was no way I could even approach it, let alone drink it. The surface bubbled and churned, and steam rose up to form a cloud above our heads. The water was boiling.
‘Ain’t no chance of drinking that!’ I complained, suddenly aware that the ground was hot beneath my feet too. I could feel it through my pointy shoes.
‘The water must come from somewhere to fill that lake, Alice,’ Thorne pointed out. ‘Most likely from the mountain peaks. There must be streams flowing down the slopes and across the ground towards it. They might be cooler.’
So we began to follow the curve of the rock walls that bounded the plateau, moving to our left, widdershins. Soon we met a narrow stream, but it too was sizzling across the stones and hissing steam as it wound its way towards the hot lake.
‘We should keep going,’ I told Thorne. ‘There might be something better further along.’
We jumped across the stream and continued in the same direction. Suddenly we got lucky. Water ran down the vertical rock and fell like heavy rain five or six paces beyond it.
‘Ain’t steaming,’ I said. ‘Don’t look hot at all. Maybe it’s falling from much higher up?’
I walked towards the waterfall and cautiously stretched my fingers out into it. It was just mildly warm. Moments later, Thorne and I were both dancing around, getting soaked to the skin, laughing and shouting with happiness. I lifted my head, opened my mouth wide and wet my cracked lips and dry tongue. Next I moved closer to the rock face, cupped my hands under the water, and drank until I’d had my fill.
It was then that I noticed something strange. Although Thorne was happy to let the water soak her and was busy washing her face and arms and hair, she wasn’t drinking anything at all.
Didn’t the dead need water and food?
But that thought was immediately driven from my head. I heard a sequence of clicks, like dry twigs being snapped underfoot. I looked about for the source of the sound. It seemed to be coming from the rock face about four or five paces beyond the waterfall.
There was a narrow crack in the rock and I could hear something inside it. Was it a rat? I wondered.
I was curious, but also very wary; I prepared to use my magic if I had to. Then something gleamed in the darkness. There was a loud, angry hiss and two menacing eyes stared into mine. I backed away from the crevice. The eyes had been large – far too big for a rat. What could be hiding in a narrow crack like that? What manner of creature was down there?
I WATCHED, SCARED silly, as a twig-like thing poked out, making a curious circling movement, as if testing the air. It was grey, multi-jointed and very long indeed. It looked like the leg of a giant insect. As it lowered itself to make contact with the floor, a second limb followed, making the same spiral jerky movement. When the head emerged, I knew immediately what the creature was. Its thin head and long snout were familiar to me. I knew them only too well.
‘Thorne!’ I shouted, for she was still under the water. ‘A skelt!’ I didn’t take my eyes off it as the rest of the spindly creature extricated itself from the crack.
The two segments of body were ridged and hard, as tough as armour. It was a cross between a lobster and a giant insect, but with eight rather than six legs. As it stared at me, I felt the strength slowly starting to leave my body. There was power in those eyes; the ability to freeze its prey to the spot while it approached them.
Skelts were very dangerous. I’d witnessed them in action killing victims as part of a ritual practised by water witches; they’d also attacked Tom Ward at the watermill north of Caster – Bill Arkwright had killed that one.
The long snout was a bone-tube which it would stick into the throat or chest of its victims in order to suck out their blood. The creature was a vicious killer – bigger than I was, and a lot stronger, and very fast.
I knew I could fight it off with my magic, but that had to be a last resort. There were lots of reasons why I needed to keep my use of magic to a minimum; I had realized very quickly that I might need all my reserves to do what I had to do and escape from the dark.
The skelt was moving slowly towards me now, its joints clicking and creaking as it stepped delicately over the warm rocks. I could feel its power as it attempted to control my mind and freeze me to the spot as a stoat does a rabbit. I struggled and began to resist, but my strength was still draining away. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Thorne running towards me. She held a dagger in each hand, and her face was twisted with pain.
Before she reached the creature, it sensed her and turned, ready to meet her attack. I was suddenly free of its influence.
This was my chance. I picked up a rock – a heavy one that I could only lift with two hands. Then I did what Bill Arkwright had done when he saved Tom Ward. As the skelt lifted its two front legs, ready to fend off Thorne’s attack, I brought the rock down on the back of its head with all my strength. There was a crack, then a crunching, squelching sound as the skelt’s head split open. Its legs collapsed under it and began to twitch and shake. It was dead or dying.
To my shock and astonishment, Thorne said nothing. She replaced her blades in their scabbards, knelt down beside the skelt and began to lap the warm blood and fluid from its shattered skull.
I stepped back, horrified.
Thorne looked up and saw the expression on my face. Her lips were covered in blood. It began to trickle down from the corner of her mouth and drip off her chin. ‘What are you looking at me like that for?!’ she shouted. ‘It’s what we need to keep up our strength. It’s what the dead have to do in the dark. How else could we survive?’
She continued to drink the blood in greedy, desperate gulps, ignoring me.
Sickened, I couldn’t watch; I turned my back on her and walked slowly away from the rock face, heading back towards the boiling lake. As I walked, I gradually began to calm down. Lots of Pendle witches used blood magic, but usually it was only small amounts. The rest of the time they ate normal food, like mutton, bacon and bread. It was true that Lizzie had had a good appetite for rats’ blood, but the only witches who gorged themselves on blood as Thorne was doing now were dead ones, bound to their bones, like those in the dell east of Pendle.