The Spook's Battle (28 page)

 This was a very dangerous situation. The Spook had told the villagers that the witches 'would probably flee from the hill as soon as they attacked--he had to do that. If he gave them the full range of possibilities, they'd probably be too scared to help. It was his duty to use all possible means to stop the Lammas sabbath before something from the dark was released into the County.But things could go badly. The witches might well stand and fight. We weren't just facing covens of thirteen; the clans were also there, to witness what was about to happen. There might be more than a hundred people on the hill; if it came to a pitched battle, we'd be greatly outnumbered. I was worried about the Spook and Alice. James, too. I already had one brother -who was seriously hurt. I didn't want something bad happening to James as well."Well then," said the Spook, "let's get ourselves as close as possible to that fire. We want to be ready when the attack starts. And while I want the others to draw attention to themselves, we must be as quiet as church mice. We need the element of surprise." So saying, he led the way south before gradually beginning a direct ascent toward the beacon. I followed close behind him, glad of my staff, Alice at my own heels. The climb was steep and the grass coarse, with big tussocks and treacherous, uneven ground.

 It was dark now, and it would be easy to twist an ankle. The Spook had told me that the plateau atop the hill was just as bad. A lot of rain fell on Pendle, and there were bogs aplenty. But there was also one thing to our advantage --heather.It grew in profusion as we neared the summit and gave us some cover. The Spook put his hand on my shoulder and pressed, signaling that I should drop to my knees. I continued to follow him upward, now crawling through the heather, the wet ground soon soaking the knees of my breeches, while ahead of me the sky grew red, until I could actually see the sparks from the huge fire rising up to soar over us, blasted by the prevailing westerly wind.At last the Spook came to a halt and waved me forward. I crawled until I was kneeling alongside him, Alice taking up a position on my right. We were facing the fire, and what I saw dashed such hopes as I'd had: I no longer had any illusions that we were going to destroy the power of the Pendle covens. Despite the Spook's avowed intention in coming here, I knew now that it just wasn't possible. There were too many of them, and the threat they posed was too great. To our right, there had to be two hundred or more people in an arc facing the fire, all of them either witches or part of the clans. And they were armed to the teeth. The women had knives at their belts, some brandishing them -wildly so that the blades reflected the firelight; the men had long sticks with knives or barbarous hooks lashed to the end.There, beyond the fire, facing the gathering, and -with four other witches at her side --one of them Mab Mouldheel--was the tall, threatening figure of Wurmalde. She -was addressing the clans, moving her arms dramatically to emphasize what she was saying. I could just about hear her voice, carried by the wind, but was too far away to make out the actual -words.There seemed to be little happening in the way of rituals. To one side of the main gathering, sheep were roasting on spits and I could even see casks of ale. It looked like they were planning some sort of celebration.

 "I can see Mab, but who are the three others with Wurmalde?" I asked, keeping my voice low--though there was little chance that I could be heard. The wind was blowing toward us and the witches were crying out in response to Wurmalde, some shrieking loud enough to wake the longtime dead.It was Alice who answered. "One on the right is Anne Malkin, coven leader. Next to her is Old Florence, who governs the Deanes. Getting on in years, she is, and little threat to us tonight. They must have carried her up the hill. The third is Grimalkin, the assassin."At the name Grimalkin, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck move. She was the cruel killer whom Wurmalde had threatened to use against Jack and his family, the one who marked the boundaries of Pendle with her warning sign.Suddenly Wurmalde stopped speaking, and after a few moments' silence the witches surged toward the casks of ale and spits of roasting sheep. If the celebrations were beginning, then did it mean the ritual had already been completed?

 It was as if the Spook had read my mind. "I don't like the look of this at all," he said. "I'm afraid we've arrived too late. ..."Soon the clans were celebrating -with abandon, quaffing ale and wolfing down roasted mutton while I could only watch in dismay, my heart sinking lower and lower. Had the Fiend already come through the portal? If so, he would be gathering strength. Soon he would be coming for me.As I -watched, something happened to silence the celebrations. A lone -witch ran to the fire from the northeast. She must have been placed on the summit to keep -watch. Whatever she said to the gathering, all the witches suddenly became less boisterous; some turned their backs on the fire and faced north or east. Some even seemed to be looking in our direction, and even though everything I'd moving purposefully forward. It looked as if all was lost. I wondered what the Spook would do now. It was hopeless, but I couldn't see him remaining hidden here in the shadows while the villagers were slaughtered. In a moment he'd lead me and Alice to join the fray.By now the villagers had come to a halt, standing in a thin, uncertain line. They looked ready to turn and flee at any moment. But then I heard a man shouting what sounded like orders and, to my astonishment, someone burst from the line and ran directly to the waiting witches. It was a big man brandishing a huge hammer.

 At first I thought it was Matt Finley, the Downham blacksmith, but then I recognized him beyond all doubt. It was James! He was running flat out, water splashing up each time his boots landed on the soggy ground, the spray glistening orange and red in the firelight so that he seemed to be running through fire --either that, or his boots themselves flickered flames into the darkness.Now, rather than remaining in a thin line, the villagers bunched up tightly behind him and followed him, most been taught told me that they couldn't sniff us out from that distance, I became very nervous.When I glanced down and to my right, I could see the torches moving up the hill. The Spook had planned things well. The villagers were spread out in groups, with the groups themselves not too close together, which gave the illusion that an army was climbing Pendle. But would the witches fall for that? By now the clans were definitely alarmed. Sentinels kept running back from their positions on the summit to report to the gathering.After a while the clans began to shrink back behind the fire and a few were even beginning to slip away to the west, as if trying to lose themselves in the darkness beyond the firelight. But then it all went wrong. . . .Once the villagers reached the summit and moved onto the plateau toward the witches, it became increasingly apparent that they were pitifully few in number. You could see their advance becoming slower and slower as they saw the armed horde they faced. Now the witches began to jeer and yell, brandishing their weapons while running at full pelt.

 As if by chance, or maybe some dormant battle instinct, moments before reaching their enemies, they somehow achieved the shape of a wedge, *which drove hard into the massed witches, splitting the group almost into two halves before being brought to a standstill by the sheer weight of their numbers. James was the point of that wedge, and now I could see his hammer rising and falling and hear shrieks and shouts as the 'witches fought back and battle was joined.I feared for James. How long could he survive, pressed hard by so many opponents? But before I could dwell on my fear, the Spook touched my shoulder."Right, lad, follow me. This is our chance. But you stay here, girl," he commanded Alice. "If things go badly, you of all people wouldn't want to fall into their hands!"So saying, the Spook stood up and began to run toward the other side of the fire. I followed close at his heels, and Alice, ignoring his warning, was at my right shoulder. And then we had a stroke of luck. Grimalkin, the assassin, went to join the fray, and now only four witches were standing to the rear of the fire--just Wurmalde, Mab, Old Florence, and Anne Malkin.We were closing on them fast when they finally saw the threat. It was close, so very close. Within moments the Spook would have cast his chain over Wurmalde and carried her off down the hill while I tried to hold off any pursuit. But it was not to be. Wurmalde shrieked out a command, and some witches nearest to the fire turned their backs on the battle and rushed forward, quickly moving between us and our quarry.

 The Spook never paused. Still running at full tilt, he downed the first witch with a sideways swing of his staff. The next opponent was a big bear of a man, wielding an enormous cudgel, but this time the Spook used the point of his staff. The blade flashed, and the man went down. But now the Spook was gradually being brought to a halt as witches and their supporters pressed in on us from every side. I started swinging my own staff desperately, but hope was leaving me fast. There were simply too many of them. Two witches faced me. One gripped the end of my staff and held it tightly, her face grimacing with the pain of holding the rowan wood; the second, her expression filled with cruel intent, raised her knife, and I saw the long serrated blade arcing down toward my chest. I brought up my right arm to try and fend off the blow even though I knew I was already too late.But her blade failed to strike home. I glimpsed a dark shape above me and felt a sudden wind, something passing so close above that it almost touched my head, and the witch with the blade screamed as she was lifted clean off her feet and hurled away from me. She fell onto the edge of the fire, throwing up a shower of sparks.

 I looked up and saw spread wings --another lamia gliding down toward me with death in its ferocious eyes; in that instant the lightning flashed directly above so that those wings became translucent and I could see the network of veins within. Sharp claws slashed and the feet hooked into the second witch, dragging her hand away from my staff. Then the wings were still no more; faster and faster they beat, becoming a blur, as sharp claws lifted and tore before hurling her away.People were running then. Not toward us; they were fleeing, holding their arms high to ward off the terror that fell upon them from out of the darkness. Ahead, I glimpsed the Spook. He was running hard toward the southwestern edge of the plateau. He was chasing Wurmalde. I glanced around, looking for Alice, but could see no sign of her.

 Witches were scattering in every direction, and cries of pain and terror filled the air.So I followed the Spook. After all, Wurmalde was the key to all this, the one who had brought the covens together. He might need my help. I still had my staff and my chain. If anything went wrong, I might still be able to bind the witch.As we ran, the heavens opened and a deluge began, the rain driving in hard from the west. We soon slowed down; the slope was steep and slippery with the rain. I kept losing my balance and falling. Most of the time I struggled downward in darkness, but then, in the far distance, I saw two small specks of light. Even when lightning flashed, there was no sign of Wurmalde; the Spook was getting farther and farther ahead despite all my efforts to keep up. But finally, after what seemed like an endless desperate and difficult descent, the incline became less steep, and in a flash of sheet lightning, I saw the witch some way ahead of the Spook.Far beyond her, waiting on a narrow track, was her black coach. The specks of light I'd seen were the two lanterns, one on either side of the driver, who was twisting round in his seat, staring back up the hill at us.Now that the ground had leveled out somewhat, the speed of the chase increased dramatically.

 The Spook was still way ahead of me, his cloak billowing behind him as he ran. His legs seemed to be flying across the grass, and I was struggling to keep up. With every stride, he was gaining on the witch as she ran desperately toward the coach. Cobden looked back at her briefly but made no attempt to get down and assist her. He was staring up at the low clouds boiling overhead and his whip was raised, ready to drive the horses forward.As she grasped the handle and pulled open the door, Wurmalde almost fell, but a moment later she was inside. The Spook had reached the coach and was actually reaching for the handle and raising his staff when Cobden cracked his whip in the air to send the team of horses plunging ahead. His whip cracked again, its tip making cruel contact with the animals' backs; whinnying with pain and fear, they accelerated away while the Spook came to a halt, baffled."She's gotten away!" he said, shaking his head in frustration as I came to his side. "So near. We almost had her! Now she's free to work her evil again!"But the Spook "was wrong. There was another flash of sheet lightning directly above, and out of that light dropped a dark shape. It swooped low over the coach and seemed to strike Cobden from behind. He thrust up an arm to defend himself but had already lost his balance. He fell forward onto the horses, then slipped between them. The hooves trampled him momentarily before the wheels ran over him. I heard the beginning of a scream, but it was drowned out by the thunder.Driverless, the horses plunged on, carrying Wurmalde's coach faster and faster down the steep track. Illuminated by another brilliant flash of lightning, the dark shape plunged downward again to land heavily on the roof of the coach, and in the succeeding darkness I heard its claws begin to rip into the roof before the sound was drowned by thunder once more. I'd seen that coach by moonlight and knew it was constructed from heavy, strong wood.

 But now, again lit by lightning, it seemed to splinter and collapse like an eggshell. Moments later the lamia took to the air again, but this time its flight was more ponderous. Round and round it spiraled, slowly gaining height as, dragged by the terrified horses, the wreck of the carriage continued down the hill, rocking violently from side to side, as if about to overturn at any moment.I'd been close to the eighteen-pounder--the County cannon that had fired upon Malkin Tower with such a tremendous roar--but that was nothing compared to the way the elements behaved now. Flash after flash filled the heavens while forked lightning rent the sky over the hill. It was as if this were God's cannon, explosion after explosion hurling down wrath upon the witches of Pendle.I looked up and saw the lamia carrying Wurmalde, its insectoid wings whirring desperately as, buffeted by the wind, it strove to gain height. Now it began to move back toward the hill."Gore Rock!" cried the Spook, his voice just audible above the tumult of the elements.