Back in Pendle, I customarily trained Thorne several times a week and occasionally took her with me when I set off on long journeys, seeking out those marked for death by my clan.
I had watched her develop from a young eager girl into a potential witch assassin who would one day take my place. Because of the war and my journey to Ireland, it was several months since I had last seen her, but I knew she would be ready to answer my call.
I stared into the mirror now and chanted the incantation. Within moments Thorne’s face came into focus. Gone was the child who had charged at the bear. She had gentle eyes, each iris a vivid sapphire-blue, but her lean face was that of a warrior, with a wide mouth and sharp nose. Her dark hair was cropped short and she had a small tattoo on her left cheek: the effigy of a bear. She’d had it done to remind her of the day I had agreed to train her.
You’re hurt! she mouthed, showing her teeth. What happened?
I had forbidden her to file her teeth to points until her training was fully completed, so her rare smiles were not yet terrifying to others.
I told her about the kretch and the poison, but it was the severed head of the Fiend that concerned me most, and I explained what I had in the leather sack. That was the real reason why I was reluctantly summoning Thorne into such great danger.
‘Whatever happens, it must not be allowed to fall into the hands of the Fiend’s servants,’ I continued. ‘If I die, you must take over that burden.’
Of course, but you’re not going to die. Where are you?
‘Southwest of Pendle, about five miles from the base of the hill.’
Then hold on – I’ll be with you very soon. How far behind you is the kretch?
‘It’s impossible to be sure,’ I told her, ‘but probably only a few hours at the most.’
Then try to keep moving. Remember what you once said to me – ‘You have only just begun to fight.’
With that, the mirror darkened and Thorne was gone. Fighting against the pain, I struggled to my feet and began to stagger eastwards once more, my breathing hoarse and ragged. My progress was very slow and I started to imagine that I could hear the kretch padding through the trees behind me, getting closer and closer, ready to spring.
At one point I whirled round to meet it, but there was nothing there. The next thing I remember is lying on my back with rain falling straight into my face. I opened my eyes in a panic.
Where was the leather sack? I reached out for it but found nothing.
‘It’s safe – I have it beside me,’ said a voice I knew.
Thorne was kneeling beside me looking concerned. I tried to sit up but she gently pushed me back down again.
‘Rest,’ she said firmly. ‘Give the potion time to take effect. I called in to see Agnes on my way here. What she sent is not a cure but it should buy you some time. After you spat out the first mouthful I managed to pour most of it down your throat.’
‘The kretch – is it close?’ I asked.
Thorne shook her head. ‘I can’t sniff its approach.’
‘If we can reach Pendle we’ll be safe for a while. The witches who made the creature are from the southwest of the County. They will not dare venture into our territory.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ said Thorne. ‘But the clans are divided. Some may allow them entry. Now, try to stand.’
She helped me to my feet, but I was unsteady and she had to support me. Although only fifteen and not yet fully grown, she was now almost as tall as me and looked every inch a witch assassin. She was dressed in a similar fashion to me – leather straps crisscrossed her body, the sheaths holding blades.
I smiled at her. ‘I’m still not strong enough to travel. Leave me and take the sack. That’s what is really important.’
‘We’ll travel together,’ Thorne said firmly. ‘Remember how you once carried me?’
‘When we hunted the bear? Yes, I remember it well. I was thinking about that earlier.’
‘Well, now I’ll carry you.’
With that, Thorne hoisted me up onto her shoulder and, holding the leather sack in her left hand, began to jog eastwards. We were heading towards Agnes Sowerbutts’s cottage on the outskirts of the Deane village of Roughlee.
It was strange to be carried in this way. I was at war with myself: one part of me felt anger at my weakness, and resentment towards Thorne for treating me thus; the other felt gratitude for her help and was well aware that the skill of Agnes Sowerbutts would give me the best possible chance of surviving.
After a while the stabbing pain in my lungs started to return as the effects of the potion began to wear off. The agony slowly intensified until I could hardly breathe and I felt myself losing consciousness again.
The next thing I remember is what sounded like the eerie cry of a corpse-fowl very close by. Then there was a sudden stillness and a change of temperature. I was no longer being carried; I was inside, out of the rain. I lay on a bed and someone was bending over me; the concerned face of Agnes Sowerbutts swam into view.
I felt my head being lifted, and suddenly my mouth was full of a vile-tasting liquid. I swallowed a little and almost vomited. I wanted to spit the rest out but fought to control my urge. Agnes was trying to help me. She was my only hope of survival. So I forced myself to swallow again and again. After a while a strange warmth spread slowly from my stomach to my extremities. I felt comfortable. I think I slept for a while.
But then I was awake again, my body racked with pain. There were sharp twinges in my chest, and each breath was like a dagger stabbing into my heart. My limbs throbbed and felt as heavy as lead. Whatever potion Agnes had given me, it hadn’t worked for long. I opened my eyes but could see nothing. Everything was dark. Had the poison taken away my sight?
Then I heard Agnes’s voice: ‘The poison is too virulent. She’s dying. I’m sorry but there’s nothing more that I can do.’
Blood, bone and familiar magic work for most witches, but the old ways are not the only path to power. There is nothing wrong with tradition, but I am open-minded and flexible. I am Grimalkin.
‘PLEASE, PLEASE, TRY again,’ I heard Thorne beg. ‘She’s still fighting, still strong. Grimalkin deserves another chance.’
I fought to stay awake, but eventually I lost consciousness again, falling slowly into a darker, deeper sleep than I had ever known before.
Was this death? If so, Thorne was alone. How long would she be able to keep the Fiend’s head out of the hands of his supporters? I had told her a little of my alliance with Alice Deane, Tom Ward and John Gregory. Would she understand that she needed to approach them directly and seek their help?