I nodded and smiled. That was worth knowing for future reference. It made me realize how much I still had to learn. Now that my master was gone, my apprenticeship had come to a premature end: I had to learn whenever the opportunity presented itself – even from Judd. I couldn’t afford to let my feelings get in the way of that need. I had to update the Bestiary whenever I could, and even write books of my own. My master’s work had to continue.
Judd and I moved forward cautiously, searching for the entrance to the offal pit. Our noses found it well before our eyes. The stench was overpowering: the stink of offal, rotting meat and the sharp metallic odour of blood. Close to the root of a large oak was a large, irregular-shaped flattish stone. There was an oval hole near its centre, and its edges were still wet with blood. We stepped forward together and peered down into the darkness. I shuddered with fear and took a deep breath to calm myself. But I had good reason to be afraid. Unless we found a permanent way to stop him, soon the Old God, Siscoi, would climb up and emerge from the pit.
‘I can’t see a thing,’ I told Judd, stating the obvious.
‘Trust me, Tom, neither of us wants to see what’s forming down there – but listen carefully and we might hear it.’
We listened. From deep within the fissure came faint, sinister noises. I held my breath so as to hear them better. Then I almost wished I hadn’t. Far below, mercifully hidden by darkness, something was breathing. The rhythm was slow and steady, and suggested a very large entity.
‘The host is down there, all right,’ Judd said. ‘But don’t you worry. There’s no way he’ll be able to climb up until Siscoi takes possession of his flesh. It can only happen at midnight, with the help of witches performing spells and rituals.’
‘How many witches do we have to deal with to stop that?’ I asked.
‘Hard to say – even three survivors might constitute a coven. But one thing’s certain. The fewer there are, the harder they’ll find it.’
Without further debate we carefully tipped out the bags of salt and iron to form mounds beside the opening. Then, working quickly, we mixed the two substances together with our hands.
‘Ready?’ Judd asked.
I nodded, ready to push the mixture down into the darkness.
‘Well, we’re about to find out if you were right,’ he said. ‘On the count of three, we do it! One, two, three!’
Working together, we sent the salt and iron cascading down into the pit. For a moment nothing happened, then suddenly there was a scream of agony from below, followed by low groans.
Judd grinned at me. ‘Well done, Tom! Sometimes the tried and trusted methods do work best. Siscoi will be none too pleased when he finds his host damaged. Now for the first of the witches – but first I’d better tell you a bit more about them,’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘They collect the life force of humans to achieve certain ends, one of which is to accumulate wealth. They like to live in big houses and lord it over the local humans.’
‘So that’s why the people here avoid spooks and seem so uncooperative. They’re scared. They know what they are dealing with,’ I realized.
‘That’s right, Tom. No doubt the whole town is terrified,’ Judd replied.
‘I know about the orbs and their use of animism magic, but what about when their souls are back in their bodies? Are they similar to Pendle witches or lamias?’ I asked.
‘Like many witches, they try to scry the future in order to destroy their enemies. But the summoning of their vampire god Siscoi is the icing on the cake – he gives them power and makes them even more formidable.
‘They do have one thing in common with lamias – they are shape-shifters. But whereas lamia witches change from the domestic to the feral form over a period of weeks or months, Romanian witches do it in the blinking of an eye. One moment you’re looking at a woman dressed in her finery. The next it’s in tatters on her back and she’s all claws and teeth. And here’s where John Gregory’s Bestiary needs updating: it’s true that they don’t use blood magic, but that doesn’t stop them eating flesh and taking blood. Most victims have fallen to the ground before they can even react to the danger. Moments later they’re ripped to pieces.’
I frowned, my mind reeling with all the information I’d just been given.
‘Let’s go and deal with the first one . . . ’ Judd suggested.
We left the trees and headed across a sunny meadow towards the nearest of the big houses I’d seen an orb emerge from. As far as I could tell, apart from a buzzard hovering to the west, there was nothing moving on the hillside, but I could hear the distant sounds of human activity from the County side of the river.
We climbed over a stile and continued downwards. Each large house was surrounded by its own protective clump of trees and, as we approached our target, the sunlight was blocked out again. Judd signalled a halt, put a finger to his lips and leaned close, whispering into my ear.
‘There should be no illusions to bother us here – witch houses don’t shift their shape – but there could be traps set to warn her. As soon as we enter the premises she’ll wake up. So it’s no good creeping in – stealth won’t work. We go in fast. I’ll take the lead; you cover my back – all right, Tom?’
I nodded. ‘You’re the expert here,’ I conceded in a low voice. I had to be pragmatic and force myself to trust Judd. We had to work together.
The house was big and there would be lots of rooms to search. Judd wasted no time. He went straight up to the front door and kicked it open. I drew my sword and followed him inside. We found ourselves in a small entrance hall with three doors leading off it. He chose the central one. Despite the fact that there was no obvious lock, he used his left boot again and went in fast. We found ourselves in a large drawing room. I looked around, surprised: County witches usually lived in hovels, with unwashed pots and dishes, cobwebbed ceilings and filthy floors, a pile of bones – some of them human – lying in a corner. But this room had been meticulously cleaned and was expensively furnished. I saw paintings of strange landscapes – possibly in Romania: one showed a castle on a high hill rising above green forests. There were two comfortable chairs and a settee placed close to a fire, where the ashes still glowed in the grate. On the mantelpiece above stood three candlesticks; the candles were of best quality beeswax rather than the black ones favoured by the Pendle witches (who used the blood of their victims mixed with cheap tallow from animal fat).