The Promise Witch Page 6

  “Help you? I can’t fix this,” cried Mup, pointing to the destroyed plant.

  Magda pushed her terrible face close. There was dust on her skin, mingled with the ashes – the red and brown dust of the parched landscape she’d travelled since coming back to the borough. “I’m not asking you to fix it, you dreadful little scrap of nothing. Do you think I’m stupid? There is only one person strong enough to fix a curse like this.”

  “Mam’s not here,” snarled Mup. “And even if she was…”

  “Pah!” spat Magda. “Your mam. She’s nothing but a child, like yourself. An undisciplined, untutored wilderness dabbler. No, girl, I need a proper witch. Someone of power, who knows what she’s doing.” She grabbed Mup by her neck, swung her out from the porch and slammed her onto her knees. Grabbing Mup’s hand she pressed it to the stones of the castle roof.

  “Find your grandmother,” she said.

  “No one can find her!” choked Mup, struggling to breathe. “Don’t you think we’ve tried?”

  “Try harder.”

  “Let her go!” yelled Crow, leaping onto his mother’s back.

  Magda elbowed him aside with no effort at all. He tumbled away.

  Even as he rolled to his feet, Crow had begun to sing. Magda’s hair rose from her shoulders as if underwater. Her clothes began to float. Her eyes widened as she realized Crow’s voice was doing this to her. Mup, still pinned to the ground, felt Magda’s weight lift from her as the witch rose into the air. Magda gasped with genuine fear.

  Mup summoned what feeble sparks her weakened constitution could muster and stung Magda’s choking hand. The witch only tightened her grip and pushed Mup harder into the stones. She turned her attention to her son. “Be still,” she growled.

  Crow froze. His voice fell silent. Magda’s weight landed full force onto Mup again.

  Then the witch surged to her feet. Dragging Mup with her, she walked around Crow as if he were a terrifying statue. His eyes were closed, his mouth opened on a powerful note, now silenced by his mother’s sorcery.

  “This is no ordinary clann magic,” whispered Magda. “The boy’s an actual … he’s an actual threat.”

  Within the vardo a sound made itself known. A tentative, searching noise, as if some huge wounded creature were hopelessly asking for aid. Magda’s fierce attention turned to it.

  Mup – dark spots dancing now – fought the witch’s choking grip. Lightning fizzled at her desperately scrabbling fingers. “Mam will be back soon,” she wheezed. “If you go now, she’ll leave you alone.”

  “Stop your nonsense, child,” murmured Magda, already dragging her up the vardo steps. She opened the vardo door. At the sight of the creature, she dropped Mup like a doll. Mup fell, gasping, to the floor. Magda stepped past her and went inside.

  The creature lifted its head to her, seeking.

  Magda went to touch its cheek, then withdrew her hand. “You,” she whispered. “But how?” She looked back to where her son stood motionless in the last light, like the statue of a cockerel crowing, his head thrown back, his mouth open to the darkening sky. “Incredible,” she said.

  And then Magda was all action. Sweeping across Mup again, she touched a finger to Crow’s forehead and he collapsed like a sack of grain. She threw him into the vardo.

  Mup climbed to her hands and knees, still trying to get her bruised windpipe to gasp in more than a trickle of air. Magda took her by the scruff of her neck, about to fling her off the porch. But then she stopped. She seemed to think. She let Mup drop again.

  “I’ll hold on to you,” she muttered, rooting in her pockets. “Where’s my … ah, here.”

  She withdrew a small glass pendant, dangling on the end of a bright chain. Mup’s heart stammered at the sight of it. Magda huffed. “You’ve seen one of these before, have you? Well … here, get a closer look.”

  She shoved the necklace at Mup, spoke a rasping word.

  There was a buzzing sound, and a crack of light: a noise like a kettle whistle. The air around Mup swirled like water spinning into a drain.

  The world got very, very tiny then, and Mup was squashed inside it, like it was a frosted glass bowl. Everything swayed nauseatingly upwards. Mup saw Crow’s garden from the strangest angle, all warped and far away. The world swung horribly, and then settled into a steady to-and-fro motion.

  Mup realized that she was in the pendant, and Magda had slung it around her neck.

  “Nooo!” she howled, battering the frosted glass.

  There came a whistle, faint and distant. Magda was calling up the tornado horses. Things swung in and out of view as Magda settled the tornados between the shafts, climbed onto the porch, and took in the steps. There was a distorted, distressing vision of Crow sprawled unconscious at the creature’s dark feet, then Magda shut and locked the vardo’s painted door.

  She sat in the driver’s seat. “Hup!” she said, slapping the reins down hard. “Hup!”

  The vardo shuddered and took off.

  Mup tried to shoot lighting. It died at her fingertips. She battered the glass.

  “Dad!” she screamed. “Dad! Doctor Emberly!”

  But Dad and Doctor Emberly were motionless in the dying light, the flock of raven guard suspended all around them. The vardo skimmed their heads, and then all Mup could see, when she pressed her face to the dull glass wall of her prison, was the rushing horses, the dark sky ahead of them, and the forest speeding by.

  The Finder of Paths

  Mup watched the light die and stars come out. Soon they were travelling through a brightly sparkling night sky. Were Dad and Emberly still standing out in the dark, the ravens frozen all around them? She hoped not. Mam should have been home hours ago – surely she would have freed them?

  Mup listened for the boom and roar of Mam’s rage: for signs that her mother had restored the palace, and was right that moment striding across the landscape, coming to her rescue. But the world was reduced to the cool orb in which she found herself imprisoned and there was no signal beyond her immediate surroundings.

  It wasn’t difficult to move inside her prison once she got used to it. Mup could feel her hands and feet and arms and legs – but it was as though she were made of smoke, twining around herself, filling the pendant, pressing against its interior surface. If she looked up, Mup could see a weird, warped version of what she supposed was Magda’s chin, to the right and left the vardo’s porch, and behind her, just darkness.

  Mup twisted about, probing every inch of the glass, hoping to find a seam or a crack or a weakness through which she might slip. She closed her eyes. She pressed her palms to the surface. She thought, Show me. There was no reply, just the smooth deadness of glass.

  She tried to call forth her hare shape… It didn’t answer.

  Magda chuckled. “It would be a poor cage that left its captive their powers, child.”

  Mup slapped the glass. She was smoke, that was all, powerless to do anything other than look and scowl. “Where are we going?” she yelled.

  “No need to shout,” murmured Magda. “I can hear you.”

  The witch was scanning the distance, watching for something. All of a sudden, she breathed gently outwards, as if finding what she sought. Mup followed her gaze. A thin glow silvered the horizon. It brightened, and Mup shrank back as the moon sailed, full and knowing, into the waiting sky.

  Cold light illuminated the vardo, and Magda got to her feet. “See me, Majesty! See your repentant daughter!” She took the pendant from around her neck, and held it high. Mup found herself with nowhere to hide as the moon’s great eye examined her through the milky glass. “I come bearing gifts of power and leverage,” cried Magda. “Allow me bring them to you. Allow me find my way home to lay them at the feet of my powerful, merciful mother.”

  The moon sailed on, silent. Its light seemed to retreat as it climbed higher in the sky.

  “Did she hear you?” whispered Mup.

  Magda didn’t answer. The world jolted again as she put the penda
nt back around her neck. Mup saw her hands tying the reins. She heard her murmur, “Steady,” to the horses.

  They went inside the vardo.

  Mup pressed herself to the glass, straining to see as Magda lighted the lamps.

  The witch faltered.

  Crow, instead of being sprawled on the floor, was lying in the bed alcove, a blanket dragged across him. “Did you put him there?” she asked the creature.

  The creature just continued to loom and moan, pressing himself to wall and bookshelf and ceiling, as if trying to feel his way into understanding. Magda raised her voice. “Make yourself useful,” she told it, pointing to the open door. “Drive the vardo.” It stumbled against a chair, almost bumping her and she drew back against the wall. “Careful,” she whispered. “Don’t touch me.”

  The pendant darkened as her hand closed around it, and Mup heard a muffled word.

  There was a fizzing and a gasp of glitter. Mup popped out into the open air.

  The creature loomed above her. Mup couldn’t find her feet and she stumbled against it. Its flesh gave against her weight, a repulsive, marshy feeling. Mup recoiled, trying to hide her revulsion.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  The creature seemed to notice her for the first time. It lowered its face to hers as if trying to see her.

  “Hello,” she whispered.

  “Take him outside,” said Magda. Still pressed to the wall, she had her hands held high, as if afraid she’d accidentally touch the creature.

  She doesn’t want to turn him into ash, thought Mup. But why? Magda hadn’t cared about turning Crow into ash. And if this was Crow’s dad, Magda was the one who had killed him in the first place – or so the queen had said. Why is she being so careful about him?

  “Take him by the hand. Bring him outside. Give him the reins.”

  Mup did as she was bid.

  The creature’s hands were strong, yet somehow gentle. Mup could easily imagine him picking up Crow without hurting him, laying him tenderly onto his bed. He filled the porch with his bulk, huge and clumsy. But when Mup put the reins into his hands, he seemed to know what to do with them, and he settled down to driving the vardo as if finally finding something he could understand.

  “He was always good with horses,” murmured Magda. She had come up behind them in the porch. “A straight line, my love. That’s all I need from you for now.” Her hand hovered for a moment over the creature’s dark hair, then she snatched Mup inside and shut the door.

  “Sit there.” She slammed Mup into a chair, and turned away.

  Mup’s hand crept to the table’s surface, seeking a connection to the outside world.

  Magda chuckled. “Do you think I’m a fool, girl? I’ve masked this vardo so deeply that not even you could find it, were you to stand right on top and drum your heels on the roof.”

  “Mam will find you,” said Mup.

  “Your mother can do nothing but shoot fire and tear down walls,” murmured Magda, going to stand over Crow.

  “Mam can do lots more than that!”

  “Oh?” The witch cast her an amused glance. “What?” At Mup’s silence, Magda turned back to her son. “Wake,” she said.

  Crow’s eyes opened, wide and terrified.

  “Climb down.”

  He climbed stiffly to the floor.

  “Sit.”

  Crow sat across from Mup on the other side of the little fold-down table. His body was still and obedient, but Mup saw his bright eyes darting here and there as his mind tried to catch up.

  “Your mam stole the vardo, Crow,” she said very quickly. “The creature is driving it. She’s taking us to the queen.”

  “Be quiet,” murmured Magda.

  Mup’s words were stopped like a corked bottle. Magda leaned towards her son. His angry eyes switched from Mup to her.

  “Crow, you are going to talk, but you are not going to sing. You will say enough to answer my questions and not a syllable more. Do you understand?”

  “I understand.”

  “Who taught you to conjure the dead?”

  Crow’s eyes snapped wide with horror. “No one taught me to conjure the dead.”

  “You taught yourself?”

  “No!”

  Crow’s face had reddened with rage. Mup could see there were many more words he wanted to add to these simple answers, but his mouth snapped shut at the end of each frustratingly brief reply. Let him talk, she thought. Let him talk, you dreadful person.

  Magda regarded her son in silence for a moment. Then she went to the door, gazing through its stained-glass windows at the hulking figure on the porch. “You realize what you’ve done, don’t you? You haven’t just called forth a ghost here, boy. You haven’t just resurrected the dead. You’ve recreated the dead – conjured a ghost from memory, assembled a body for it by will alone. You made a shambling job of it, but you did it none the less.” She came and took her son’s motionless hands. “Do you know how much you are worth to me?” she whispered.

  “Far more than I was before, apparently!”

  Crow’s eyes shone at being able to score this point despite the terrible restriction on his words.

  “Yes,” said Magda, coldly dropping his hands. “Far more.” She began to pace. “Wait until the queen hears this. A necromancer. A necromancer so powerful that he can call forth flesh from air – and still untutored yet. Still ours to mould.”

  Over my dead body! thought Mup. Grandma’s not getting her hands on Crow!

  “Speaking of the queen,” muttered Magda.

  She went to the porch. Mup instantly took Crow’s hands. She squeezed down hard on Crow’s flesh, feeling for the spell inside him, trying to break its hold, but it was like an iron cage around her friend, holding him in.

  The vardo tilted. When Mup turned, she could see the tops of trees. They were spiralling downwards.

  She ran around the table. Come on, Crow. I’ll fly us away.

  She tried to lift him. He was like stone in her arms.

  Out on the porch, Magda murmured, “Land us there, my love.”

  A sly movement in the bookshelves drew Mup’s eye. She shoved Crow aside, her hand up to protect him from who-knew-what. A face slid into view within the grain of the wood. It was the little grey girl. She put her ashy finger to her lips, then slid from sight as Magda’s figure filled the door.

  The witch huffed at the sparks dancing feebly on Mup’s fingers. “You are your mother’s daughter indeed. Did you hope to blast your way out? Fly your friend to safety? Rest assured, enchanted as he is, my son would have plummeted you like a stone. You’re well used to that though, aren’t you, Crow? Weighing people down.”

  Mup squeezed Crow’s shoulder. Don’t let her get to you, Crow.

  Crow’s fierce glare told Mup he wasn’t.

  It was very annoying not being able to speak. But there was something about having a friend there, about being able to look into Crow’s eyes and know they had each other’s companionship and support, that made things better.

  Mup wasn’t alone.

  And neither was Crow.

  Magda was.

  Mup’s feelings must have shown on her face, because Magda faltered – her expression uncertain. “What is happening?” She looked suspiciously around. “What are you up to?”

  Mup lifted her chin in defiance. The vardo shuddered lightly as it came to land.

  “Get out,” growled Magda.

  She shoved Mup, making her stumble. Crow jerked in his seat. The grey girl hissed in the shadows. Mup shook her head – I’m OK – and went outside.

  The night was baking hot, the woods sere and crackling underfoot.

  Magda looked around, as if seeing the countryside for the first time. “What has your mother done to this place?”

  Not Mam! thought Mup. My grandmother! Your queen!

  Magda looked sideways at her. She sneered. “You’re like a little stoppered flask, aren’t you? With all those words choked up inside. How frustrating for y
ou.”

  The vardo glowed in its own warm circle of lamplight. Magda stalked out of its radiance, pulling Mup with her. She walked until they were far into the trees. The moon was still bright, though far away now. Magda stood and stared up into its latticed light.

  “Here, Majesty?” she asked.

  Was it Mup’s imagination, or did the moon glow a little brighter? Magda shoved her down into a puddle of its brilliance and it was icy, even on this sweltering night.

  “Find me a path,” hissed Magda.

  Can I? thought Mup. After all her trying, and all her failures, was it possible the queen would just allow Mup to find her? She pressed her hands against the moonlit ground. They sparkled as if plunged into a pool of frost, and burned as if coated in ice.

  Mup bared her teeth against the pain. Show me, she thought.

  A single path crackled out from beneath her hands. Zigzagged and sharp, it cut like a scar of ice through the gentle earth, shooting eastwards. Mup followed it with her mind. It was heading for a darkness that remained hidden just beyond Mup’s reach, heading for a cloud of bitterness and spite. Heading for Grandmother. Heading for the queen.

  Mup urged the path onwards. The place it led to was so horribly destructive and angry and dark. She didn’t want to go there. Still she followed with her mind. Determined to know the queen’s hiding place. Determined to find her grandmother at last!

  The path stopped.

  Mup held her breath. Wrist deep in agonizing cold, she waited for the path to continue.

  But it didn’t. Something – or someone – had blocked it.

  “Speak,” said Magda.

  “She’s only shown me part of the way.”

  “Then that is as far as we go.”

  Mup felt herself being snatched from the ground. Magda dragged her back to the vardo.

  Mup didn’t struggle. Even if she could have escaped – even if she had been willing to abandon Crow – there was no way she was leaving now.

  Magda was bringing her to the queen.

  She was bringing her to the queen!

  Grandma was so close to being found.

  Inside and Out