The eyes of the lamia closed for a moment as if she were deep in thought. Then she nodded slowly and pointed a taloned fore finger up towards the hole in the ceiling. ‘We sensed the binding of the Fiend and his pain. All who serve the dark felt that the very moment it was accomplished. I would see this head, and so would my sister. Follow me up into the tower.’
With those words she leaped into the air and soared aloft. Moments later she had flown out of sight through the hole.
‘It might be a trick,’ Thorne said. ‘Once we’re in the open she could well attack.’
I nodded. ‘But it’s a chance we’ll have to take,’ I said and, picking up the sack and holding the candle aloft, I passed between the nearest two pillars and began to climb the spiral staircase.
Scrambling through the jagged hole in the ceiling, we emerged into the huge underground cylindrical base of the tower. Of the lamia there was no sign. Water dripped from above, no doubt seeping into the stones from the moat. Cautiously, we continued up the narrow spiral steps, which were slippery and treacherous. On our left was the stairwell, and to fall would result in certain death; on our right was the curve of the wall, and set into it at intervals were doors, each a dank dark cell to hold prisoners. I peered into them all but they were empty even of bones.
At last we reached what had once been the upper of the two trap doors; this had also become a jagged hole in the stone to make passage for the lamias easier. We emerged into the storeroom, with its sacks of rotting potatoes and a stinking, slimy mound of what had once been turnips. When I had visited this place in my spirit form I had been spared the stench, but it was now overpowering; even worse than when the tower was occupied by the Malkin coven. Torchlight flickered beyond the doorway, which led to the large living area.
Holding up our candles, we walked through. The winged lamia was now perched on the closed trunk, and on a stool nearby sat her sister, holding a book in her left hand. A torch set in the nearest wall-bracket lit the left sides of the two witches, casting their shadows almost as far as the wall. Most of the huge room lay in darkness.
‘Here are our guests, sister,’ the winged lamia rasped. ‘The young one is called Thorne. The taller one, with death in her eyes and cruelty in her mouth, is Grimalkin, the witch assassin.’
The witch on the stool attempted to smile at us but only managed to twist her face into a grimace. Her teeth were slightly too big to fit into her mouth and she breathed noisily.
However, when she spoke, her voice was soft, with no hint of harshness. ‘My name is Slake,’ she said. ‘My sister is named Wynde, after our mother. I believe you have something to show us?’
I placed the leather sack on the floor and untied it. Then I slowly drew forth the Fiend’s head and held it up by the horns so that it was facing towards the lamias. They both smiled grotesquely at the sight.
‘The green apple is a clever way to ensure silence,’ said Slake approvingly.
‘I like the way it is wrapped in thorns,’ added Wynde.
‘But why don’t you simply destroy the head?’ Slake asked. ‘We could boil it up in a cauldron and eat it.’
‘Better to eat it raw,’ Wynde rasped, fluttering her wings, her bestial face suddenly showing excitement. ‘I’ll have the tongue, sister. You can have the eyes!’
‘I have already considered destroying it but I dare not!’ I interrupted. ‘Who can know the consequences of such an act? This is not simply a witch, to be returned to the dark for ever by the simple expedient of eating her flesh. We are dealing with the dark personified, the Devil himself. To eat the head might liberate him. He can change shape, make himself small or large at will. Once free, he has terrible powers – some perhaps still unknown. I have pierced his body with silver spears; thus is he bound and his power taken away. It is safer to keep the head intact yet separate, so that his servants cannot remove the spears and reanimate him.’
‘You are right,’ Slake said. ‘It would be foolish to take a chance when so much is at stake. We loved our dead sister dearly and have promised to protect her son, the Thomas Ward of whom you spoke. But tell me – is he any nearer to finding a sure way to destroy the Fiend?’
I shook my head. ‘He is still searching and thinking. He wondered if there was something in that chest that might help.’
Slake smiled, showing her teeth, and tapped the book she was holding. ‘I have been sorting through the chest with that same object in mind – to finish the Fiend for ever. So far I have found nothing. Perhaps while you stay with us you would care to help?’
I smiled and nodded. The lamias had just offered us refuge. ‘I will be happy to help,’ I said. ‘But no doubt we’ll soon have enemies at our walls.’
‘Let them come and enter my killing ground below the walls of this tower,’ Wynde said. ‘It will be good sport – the best hunting for many a year!’
* * *
Thorne and I ate well that night. Wynde, the winged lamia, snatched another sheep and dropped it onto the battlements for us; she had already drained its blood. I butchered it there and brought the most succulent pieces inside to cook on a spit.
The ventilation in the chamber was poor and smoke went everywhere. Not that it bothered me: my stinging eyes brought to mind the many happy hours I’d spent here as a child, watching the coven’s servants prepare and cook their meals.
‘Who was the very first person you killed?’ Thorne asked as we tucked into our late supper.
I smiled. ‘You already know that, child. I have told you this story before – many times.’
‘Then tell me again, please. I never tire of it.’
How could I deny her? Without Thorne’s help I would be lying dead to the west of Pendle. So I began my tale.
‘I wanted to hurt the Fiend badly after what he had done to my child, and I knew where and when I’d be most likely to find him. At that time the Deanes were his favourite clan, so at Halloween I shunned the Malkin celebration and set off for Roughlee, the Deane village.
‘Arriving at dusk, I settled myself down in a small wood overlooking the site of their sabbath fire. They were excited and distracted by their preparations, and I’d cloaked myself in my strongest magic so had little fear of being detected. Combining their power, the Deane witches ignited the bone and wood fire with a loud whoosh. Then the coven of the thirteen strongest formed a tight circle around its perimeter while their less powerful sisters encircled them.