Читать книгу The Witch’s Blood - Katharine Corr, Katharine Corr - Страница 10

ERRY WAS STIFF, and she could feel hard ground beneath her. She thought about moving. But she was also pleasantly warm. It was almost like she was snuggled up against someone …

Her eyes shot open. The witch fire she’d conjured last night was still flaming away against the roof of the cave, and the embers of the fire were flickering, but there was something else too: a faint gleam coming from the cave entrance. Daylight. Finn’s arm was draped across her waist, and he was lying right behind her, breathing softly. She turned her head, peering over her shoulder.

‘Finn?’

He muttered something in his sleep.

‘Finn, wake up.’ Merry nudged him with her elbow.

‘Huh? Merry?’ He squinted at her and pulled her closer.

‘Finn – no. It’s morning. We should find Jack.’

‘Jack?’ Finn rolled away from her with a groan. ‘I thought – I thought it was a nightmare. But it’s not, is it?’ He covered his face with his hands. ‘This is real.’

Merry sat up. ‘Depends on your definition of real. I’m not even sure we’re in a real place. Jack was telling me last night about—’

‘Yeah,’ Finn interrupted, ‘I heard. Elves, dragons, mermaids, et cetera.’ He pushed himself up on to his elbows. ‘Maybe he’s making it up. Or he’s insane.’

‘I don’t think so. But my point is, this place is crazy. It’s not normal, even for Anglo-Saxon England. So maybe the crazy is affecting you, and once we get home again you’ll be fine.’

‘Maybe. But that still doesn’t explain why you haven’t lost your power.’ He sat up properly, wincing and rubbing his arm.

‘Well, perhaps I will. My power’s always been a bit weird; perhaps I’m just more resistant than you to whatever’s happening. Or –’ Merry fished a hairband out of her pocket and tied her hair back – ‘maybe your family wasn’t actually magical back in the Dark Ages?’

‘No, it wasn’t. Our family line only dates from 1483, apparently. That’s when Richard Lombard murdered all the other wizards operating in his territory and founded the very first Kin House.’ Finn smiled ruefully. ‘Right bunch of ruthless bastards, the Lombards used to be. Still are, some would say.’

Merry grimaced. ‘Nice. But my point is, if your family weren’t magical back in whatever year we’re supposed to be in, perhaps that’s why you’ve no power here. Right now, in this place, all the Lombards who exist are plebs.’

Finn blew out his breath slowly, considering. ‘I hope you’re right. Cos this is up there with the day my brother fell into a coma for how much fun I’m not having. It’s like some part of me has been cut away.’ He sniffed and glanced sideways at her. ‘What if my magic doesn’t return? What if I have to feel like this every day for the rest of my life?’

Merry pushed away the alarm building in her chest.

‘You won’t. We’re going to find Leo and get out of here. And then you’ll be fine.’ Finn didn’t look convinced.

But he should be. Because that’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to make sure of it.

Merry disentangled her legs from the blanket and stood up. ‘I’ll go and find Jack. Back in a minute.’

After the dim interior of the inner cave, the daylight nearer the entrance made her squint. And then she pushed past the curtain of ivy and had to shield her eyes with her hand. A red sun was rising, making the snow sparkle. Jack was a little distance from the cave; he’d taken Sorrel’s saddle off and was rubbing a cloth over the horse’s back. He turned and watched Merry approach.

‘Did you sleep well enough?’

‘Yes. But you should have woken me. Have you been up all night?’

‘I’ve become used to not sleeping much, over the last few months. Although …’ Jack picked up a comb and began running it through Sorrel’s mane.

‘Although what?’ Merry prompted.

‘I may have slumbered a little while. I think I dreamt of you.’

‘Of me?’

‘It was dark. We were sitting on a blanket next to a lake, and I was wearing …’ Jack’s fingers moved to touch his shoulder, ‘a brooch of some strange design. And you had been weeping, because I could see the traces of tears still on your face. And then –’ he raised his hand as though he were about to brush imaginary tears from Merry’s cheek, before dropping his arm abruptly and turning away. ‘I don’t remember any more.’

Merry froze to the spot. What Jack was describing wasn’t a dream – it was a memory. She remembered the exact evening he was talking about. It was the first evening she’d spent at the Black Lake alone with him. It was the first time she and Jack had kissed. But this man standing in front of her now – this different Jack – hadn’t been caught by Gwydion or possessed by the King of Hearts. He hadn’t been forced to cut out people’s hearts for Gwydion to use in his dark magic. And he’d never held her in his arms as she’d cried about her life falling apart. So how could he be remembering it?

The anxiety was back, twisting her guts. She moved further away from Sorrel; horses made her nervous. ‘So, what’s the plan? Did you think of anyone who might be able to tell us where Ronan is, or who might have seen Leo?’

‘There is – or was – a large settlement a few hours’ ride from here. The local lord is a good warrior and has led ambushes against Ronan’s followers. I will go and see him. I hope he will have some news.’ His eyes narrowed as his gaze slid past Merry’s shoulder.

She turned to see Finn walking towards them.

‘What’s going on?’ He looked from Jack to her.

‘Jack’s going to find the local lord – he might know where Ronan is.’

‘OK. I just need a minute to repack my bag—’

‘No.’ Jack shook his head. ‘I can travel faster alone. Stay and rest; I’ll be back by tomorrow morning.’

Merry could see the muscles in the side of Finn’s jaw twitching. He obviously didn’t trust Jack. And she wasn’t entirely comfortable with just waiting around for Jack to return, either. This Jack seemed like a decent guy, but if there was a chance for him to save the king, his blood father, by turning her and Finn over to Ronan, was she absolutely certain he wouldn’t take it?

Perhaps Jack sensed her doubt. He clapped a hand on her shoulder before mounting his horse. ‘I promise, I will return. I owe you my life, remember? We South Saxons do not dishonour blood-debts.’ He unhooked a bag from the saddle and tossed it to Finn. ‘There is extra food in there. Merry, protect the cave, but do not use your power more than you must. Each spell twists and taints the air, or so I’m told, and I fear there are already watchful eyes drawn towards you.’ With a twitch of the reins Jack urged Sorrel into a trot; a minute later he emerged from the fold of land around the cave on to the higher ground of the surrounding plain, and disappeared from her sight.

Merry frowned up at the sky. There were black dots, high in the clear air. Birds, or something more sinister? She shivered and caught hold of Finn’s hand.

‘Come on. We should probably collect some more firewood before we get inside.’

Protecting the cave was straightforward enough. Merry decided to use the same spell she’d cast before to weave a shimmering, silver net of filaments across the entrance, strong enough to resist magical or physical attacks. She made one amendment, though, waving her hand to make the net transparent, just in case anyone (or anything) was spying on them. More of a problem was what exactly she and Finn should do with themselves for the next twenty-four hours. It was the most amount of time they’d ever spent together. And there were literally no external distractions. Even going for a walk seemed like a bad idea given Jack’s dire warnings. After a few attempts at conversation they slipped into an awkward silence, Merry hunched on the floor near the rebuilt fire, Finn leaning against the wall nearer the mouth of the cave, hands in his pockets, staring at the dreary landscape.

In the dim half-light it was difficult to keep any sense of time. As she listened to the crackling of the fire, Merry’s eyelids began to droop. Despite her efforts to stay awake, she drifted towards sleep, her head nodding.

‘Hey.’ Finn’s voice, loud in the stillness of the cave, made her jump. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. But I think we should get some fresh air.’ He gestured at the pall of woodsmoke; the cave was large and high-ceilinged, but still it hung in the air like a cloudbank.

‘Oh, yeah.’ Merry waved a hand to extinguish the fire, then pushed herself up, coughing a little. They both walked towards the cave mouth. From the very slight shimmer she could tell that the net was still in place. It didn’t seem to be blocking the airflow, and it was pleasant to be able to see the outside world, even if it was just the gully outside the cave. Merry leant as close as she could to the net, peering upwards. ‘Looks like lunchtime.’

‘That’s what I thought.’ Finn had the bag of food and one of the blankets in his hands; spreading the blanket on the floor, he sat down and began rummaging around inside the bag, opening packets and wrinkling his nose at the contents. There were streaks of dirt on his neck and face, stark in contrast with his pale skin, dark circles under his eyes. His words at the Black Lake came back to her: how many people was she willing to risk for Leo’s sake? Finn had chosen to come here with her, but if he’d known what it might cost him …

He glanced up at her. ‘What?’ A smile ghosted across his features. ‘Checking me out again?’

Merry smiled in return. ‘Obviously. And …’ she hesitated, ‘I was thinking that maybe you should go back. That I should try to send you back.’

‘Send me back home?’ Finn sat up straighter, his knuckles tightening round the apple he was holding. ‘Why? Because I’ve lost my power I’m suddenly a – a liability?’

She recoiled from his burst of anger. ‘No, of course not. It’s just—’

‘Or maybe you don’t want me around now you’ve got Jack back again.’ His face hardened. ‘Is that it? You don’t want me getting in the way?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ To her own irritation, Merry felt herself blush. ‘I’m worried about you, that’s all. Clearly, I shouldn’t be.’ She sat down, facing the cave mouth instead of Finn, wrapping her arms round her bent legs and hunching her shoulders. She was just trying to help him, and all he could do was snap and sulk – well, two could play at that game.

Silence.

Then, she heard Finn sigh.

‘Merry?’

‘Shut up. I’m not talking to you.’

‘Um … at the risk of being overly literal, you did just talk to me.’

Merry gritted her teeth, swinging round. ‘You are so bloody irritating sometimes.’

‘I know. But lovably irritating.’ There was an unspoken plea at the back of his grey eyes. ‘Right?’

‘Huh.’

Finn’s shoulders sagged. ‘I’m sorry. Honestly. It’s just …’ He dragged a hand through his hair. ‘I slept badly. And I need something to do. Waiting around like this, I can’t stop thinking about Cillian.’

Merry’s heart contracted in sympathy. Cillian, Finn’s poor, non-magical brother, had died only a few days ago, not long before Finn had followed her through the point of intersection at the Black Lake. But he’d been in a coma for nearly a year before that: either persuaded or compelled by Ronan, he’d swallowed some unidentified magical potion, and had never woken up. At least she still had a chance of getting Leo back.

Finn had picked up a pebble from the floor of the cave and was turning it over and over between his fingers. ‘Do you think this is what it was like for Cillian? This …’ His fingers brushed the centre of his chest. ‘This constant ache of longing for something you can’t have?’

There was fear in Finn’s eyes. She moved to sit next to him, taking his hand in hers. ‘No. Cillian never had any power. It must have been hard for him, growing up in a Kin House family, surrounded by people like us, but I don’t think he would have felt how you do now. His power wasn’t ripped from him. He couldn’t have missed it in the same way.’

‘I hope you’re right.’ Finn’s mouth turned down and he bowed his head, and Merry thought about how badly he must miss his brother, how heavily the guilt and grief must be weighing on him. She slipped one arm round his waist, resting her head on his shoulder. He sighed into her hair, hugging her back tightly. ‘Talk to me,’ he murmured. ‘Tell me everything about you that I don’t already know.’

‘Everything? It’s mostly pretty boring. Apart from the bits where every now and then some magic-wielding nutter is trying to kill me, and you know about that stuff.’

‘I don’t care. I need a distraction.’

So, Merry talked. She described her early childhood with Leo, their dad leaving them, their mum growing more and more distant. She told Finn about Gran testing her at twelve years old to see if she could be a witch, how excited she’d been to start training, and how painfully disappointed she’d felt when Mum had forbidden it. She talked about how Leo had struggled with coming out. About school and netball and fencing and how she used to dream about being an Olympic athlete. She even told him about Alex, the boy at school who had fallen in love with her, and how she’d messed him up by casting spells on him that she had no idea how to reverse.

‘… and when I pulled him out of the river I got the credit for saving him, but I was the reason he was in there in the first place.’ Merry sighed. ‘He’s never forgiven me. Or I don’t think he has: he hasn’t spoken to me for ages. And I don’t blame him. Some things just aren’t forgivable.’

They were lying shoulder to shoulder on the blanket. Merry glanced sideways, wondering how Finn was reacting to what she’d just said. Would he think it was terrible, what she’d done to Alex? Or would he not care, because Alex was just a pleb, and he’d been taught to think that plebs weren’t that important, anyway?

But Finn was asleep, his mouth open a little, breathing softly.

Probably just as well.

Turning to lie on her side, Merry studied his face for a bit, noticing the length of his eyelashes, the sprinkle of pale freckles across the bridge of his nose, the shadowing of coppery stubble along his jawline. Her eyelids began to grow heavy again, and this time she didn’t resist the lure of sleep.

It was dark outside when Merry woke. Finn was still asleep next to her, but she was too cold and stiff to lie there any longer. Her throat was sore as well – all the talking, and the smoke from the fire, probably. Wincing at the ache in her shoulders, she pushed herself to her feet and summoned a ball of witch fire into life in her fingers. Finn muttered in his sleep, frowning. Merry pulled the bit of blanket she’d been lying on across his body and stumbled towards the spring at the back of the cave.

The bubbling water was ice-cold, but she still gulped it down as fast as she could, floating the globe of witch fire next to her head so she could use both hands. When she paused, she noticed the small wooden bowl that she’d used the previous night to see Leo – it was still sitting on the rock next to the spring. She picked it up, hesitating. Jack had told her not to use magic, but would it really matter if she did just the one spell? The longing to see her brother again was so strong it made her chest ache. Quickly, she plunged the bowl into the small pool beneath the spring, scooping up the water and leaning over it. In the violet glow of the witch fire she could see her reflection. The colours were wrong, though: her hair, slipping out of the ponytail, looked dark brown, not auburn. Her eyes looked green instead of hazel.

She didn’t look like herself at all.

Merry saw her reflection’s eyes widen with realisation.

I look like my ancestor. Like Meredith.

She stared at herself for a bit longer. And then, setting the bowl down, she ran to her bag and pulled everything out until she reached the seven-sided wooden trinket box stashed away at the bottom.

Sitting back on her heels, the box in her hands, Merry traced one finger over the intricate design carved into the box’s lid. Interlocking figures of eight, inlaid with flint, rippled along the edges, interspersed with Celtic knots at each corner. And at the centre, a flint disc etched with the crescent moon. Six months or so had passed since the night she and Leo found the box in the attic – six months of her time, at least. It felt like longer.

Inside the box were the key, the braid of hair and the manuscript. She left the key and the braid where they were. The hair was Queen Edith’s, and the key … Merry wasn’t exactly sure of its provenance, but since it was the key to Gwydion’s tower it was unlikely that Meredith had made it. The manuscript, however …

She flipped through the pages. They were still blank, as they had been ever since Gwydion died. Meredith had made the manuscript fifteen hundred years ago as a way of guiding whichever of her descendants ended up having to deal with Gwydion. And it had worked, sort of. The manuscript had ‘woken up’ when Jack and Gwydion woke up from their enchanted sleep under the lake. It had answered Merry’s questions about Jack and advised her what to do, although often in annoyingly vague terms.

Perhaps she’d be able to wake it up again.

Merry thought back to the blood magic she’d performed – with Finn’s help – a few weeks ago. Because she and Gran were linked by blood, she’d been able to use blood magic to reveal the location of the cave where Ronan had left Gran to die. She and Meredith were linked by blood too. Doubly linked, in fact: by ordinary genetics, and because of the oath. The oath that Meredith had sworn, which meant that a part of her had continued through each of her descendants, allowing Meredith herself to be present at Gwydion’s final defeat.

So much in magic seemed to come down to blood.

Of course, blood magic was dangerous. Merry smiled briefly as she remembered Leo’s childhood obsession with Star Wars. In her world, it was blood magic that led to the dark side: it could so easily be used for black spells, to control or hurt or kill. That’s what Gwydion had used it for. And every use of blood magic drew the evil energies of the shadow realm towards the spell caster, like pins to a magnet, looking for a crack in the caster’s defences, looking for a way in. But Merry hadn’t suffered any side effects from using it. Nothing demonic had possessed her. No fallen angels had shown up at the foot of her bed to drag her into the darkness.

At least, not yet.

And my intentions are good. Surely that must count for something?

She would just have to hope so. Fishing Gran’s obsidian knife out of the side pocket of the bag, Merry held her right hand out above the manuscript and pressed the point of the blade into the soft flesh between her thumb and forefinger. Her blood began to drip on to the manuscript, soaking into the parchment. She started to sing, combining bits from various spells: the hydromancy she used to see Leo, the charm for finding lost things, a memory spell. Making it up as she went along; it seemed to be what she was best at.

After she’d sung everything she could think of, she waited. The blood had spread in splodges across the parchment, but nothing seemed to be happening. No writing appeared on the page, no helpful map. Merry swore and drove the knife into the ground. She opened the trinket box to shove the manuscript back inside –

The blood stains had vanished. In their place was the same spiky writing she’d seen before. The same word of greeting.

Eala.

She blinked and swallowed hard.

The manuscript prompted her again for a response.

Eala.

‘Um … Hello, again. Do you remember me? I need your help. I need to find Meredith, the person who created you. Can you tell me where she is?’

Yes.

Merry held her breath, waiting.

Meredith is in the woods near the cottage.

‘Oh, for …’ She took a deep breath. ‘OK. But can you tell me how to get to the cottage?’

There was another pause. Finally, another word bloomed on the page.

Yes.

Excitement fizzed through her veins. If anyone in this place could help her find Leo, it would be Meredith and her sisters. Hurriedly, Merry rolled up the manuscript and began repacking the trinket box and everything else.

She was nearly finished, when the sound of raised voices came from the other end of the cave. Someone was trying to get inside.