‘So this is a time of great danger for us. We must assume that next month, unless we can stop them, they will summon Pan and acquire even more deadly power.’
‘I’ve pledged my help – but how would you normally try and stop them?’ asked the Spook.
‘We’ve waged this war against the mages for centuries: our usual method is to use force of arms – though we’ve had limited success. They have an invulnerable refuge in the ring fort at Staigue, but the majority must venture out for the ceremony in Killorglin. So we often harry them on the way or attack them in the town itself. In the past, such attempts have only delayed the mages, but when their magic fails, we’ve then managed to kill a good many of them before they can return to the fort.’
‘Do you know why they go to Killorglin?’ my master wondered. ‘Why there? Why don’t they just perform the ceremony in the safety of their fort?’
Shey shrugged. ‘We think that the site of the market in Killorglin is important: it’s a place where natural dark power emerges from the earth. As far as we know they have never attempted the ritual elsewhere …’
That made sense. There were indeed special places on earth where the practice of dark magic was made easier: the whole County was a haven for boggarts. Within its boundaries there were sites of great potency, especially around Pendle Hill. Despite the flowing streams, which they could not easily cross, Pendle had attracted several large clans of witches.
‘Can’t the mages be driven from their refuge once and for all?’ asked my master.
‘That’s impossible,’ Shey replied. ‘The Staigue fort is a formidable place, built by an ancient people who inhabited this island over two thousand years ago or more. To attempt to storm it would cost us too dearly. In practical terms it’s invulnerable.’
‘What about the Celtic witches?’ I asked. ‘Do you have any problems with them, Mr Shey?’
I was thinking of the eyes in the cloud and the witch who had threatened us after we’d dealt with the jibber. Celtic witches were supposed to be allies of the mages.
‘They sometimes act as spies for the mages but do not form clans. We’re dealing only with the odd isolated witch – they’re an occasional nuisance rather than the serious threat posed by the mages,’ explained Shey.
‘Tom might just be in special danger from the witches,’ Alice told him. ‘Helped to kill a Celtic witch back home, he did. Before she died, the witch threatened that the Morrigan would kill him if he ever dared to set foot on this island.’
‘Probably just an empty threat,’ said Shey. ‘Most of the time the Morrigan sleeps – she only awakens and enters our world when summoned by a witch. This happens only rarely, for she is a difficult goddess to deal with and often vents her wrath on her own servants. So don’t concern yourself unduly about it, boy. It’s the mages who pose the greatest threat to us. And tomorrow, as we press on into Kerry, that threat will increase.’
Shey brought a map across to the table, unfolded it and spread it out. ‘That’s where we’re bound for,’ he said, jabbing his finger at the heart of the map. ‘That’s my home. I call it God’s Country!’
It was a good name for a place you liked – but it was full of evil mages who practised dark magic and, no doubt, more than one Celtic witch. I studied the map and committed as much of it to memory as I could. In the work of a spook, you never know when knowledge of the terrain might come in useful.
THAT NIGHT I had another lucid dream, reliving a scary incident from my past – the final encounter with the Celtic witch that Bill Arkwright and I had faced back home in the County.
I could see the witch just ahead of me now, running through the trees in the dappled moonlight. I was chasing her, closing fast, readying my silver chain, feeling confident that I could bind her. But I was about to cast it when she swerved away so that a tree stood between me and my target. Suddenly the burly figure of Bill Arkwright rose up to confront her and they collided. He fell, yet she only staggered for a second, then continued faster than ever.
We were now in the open, beyond the trees, sprinting towards a grassy burial mound. But just as I was about to throw my silver chain, a brilliant light blazed straight into my face, temporarily blinding me. Briefly the witch’s silhouette stood out against a round yellow doorway. Then, suddenly, there was darkness and silence.
I came to a sharp halt, gasping for breath, taking stock of my surroundings. The air was warmer now, and absolutely still. Inside, beyond the doorway, lights flared on the rocky walls – black witch-candles. I could also see a small table and two wooden chairs.
To my dismay, I realized that I was now inside the burial mound! I’d followed the witch through the magical door she’d opened – and there she was, standing before me, an expression of wrath on her face. I took a few deep breaths to calm myself and slow my pounding heart.
‘What a fool you be to follow me!’ she cried.
‘Do you always talk in rhyme?’ I asked, trying to throw her off her guard.
It worked, and the witch didn’t get a chance to reply because as I spoke I cast my silver chain; it brought her to her knees, the links stretched tight across her mouth to silence her. It was a perfect shot. I’d bound the witch, but now I had a real problem. I could no longer see a door. How was I going to get out of the mound?
Perhaps I’d be trapped inside it for ever. Never being able to wake up … It was a terrifying thought.
I searched the inside of the chamber carefully, running my fingers over the place where I seemed to have entered. But the rock was seamless. I was in a cave with no entrance. Arkwright was still on the outside; I really was trapped inside. Had I bound the witch or had she bound me?
I knelt close to her, staring into her eyes, which seemed to crinkle with amusement. Beneath the chain, her mouth was pulled away from her teeth; half a smile, half a grimace.
I urgently needed to find out how to leave the place. I needed to remove the chain from the witch’s mouth so that she could speak.
But I didn’t want to do it because I suddenly remembered what happened next.
The conscious part of me – the bit that knew I was having a dream – desperately fought for control. Somehow I knew I shouldn’t be doing this. But I couldn’t help myself. I was a prisoner of the dream, forced to follow that same risky course of action. So I eased the chain from her mouth. Now I had to face the consequences.