Young Writers Society

TWO

Lady Anna de Bullen came back every other day to learn more witchcraft. I lost track of the days after a while, and it began to seem as though she had always come here, had always sat at the table and learned the tarot cards, the blood sacrifice, the singing magic, the seeing-stone. The witchings she made were not very exciting; simple things like making a feather float in the air above her palm, changing a pebble into sand, unravelling a handkerchief into a pile of white silken thread. But she learned very quickly.

‘Too quickly,’ the Cantiaci grumbled one evening, setting out the bowl and the stone ready for Lady Anna’s arrival.

‘If she learns quickly, there’s less chance that someone will notice her coming and tell the guards,’ I said.

‘Yes, yes…’

‘But when she leaves she’ll stop paying,’ I said. ‘And then what will you do for ale money?’

She boxed my ears, and told me to shut up and sweep the fireplace.

I found I rather grew to like Lady Anna, despite myself. She was so bright, so lively, and after the first few visits, she started bringing me presents. A pretty grey stone carved with the outline of a bird, a peacock feather that peeped at me with it shimmering blue and green eye, six gingerbread cakes wrapped up in a silky blue cloth. I ate all the gingerbread in one sitting and felt a little queasy afterwards. The Cantiaci scowled and grumbled, but she let me keep the feather and the stone.

*

It took a bit over a month for Lady Anna to learn everything that the Cantiaci was willing to teach her.

‘Are you sure?’ Lady Anna asked doubtfully. ‘I feel there’s so much more I could learn. What about alchemy, divination?’

‘I’ve taught you enough,’ the Cantiaci snapped. ‘Anymore, and the guards will be onto the both of us, and I’ll not end my days at the stake, thank you very much.’

I was pretty sure that the Cantiaci had forgotten most of her magic or lost it at the bottom of an ale mug, but I was too sweet to say that out loud.

‘Well, if you’re sure,’ Lady Anna said.

‘I’m sure,’ the Cantiaci said, and held out her hand for the five gold crowns Anna dropped into her dirty palm. I watched the gleam of the light on the shining metal, and wanted to touch them and see what they smelled and tasted like, but the Cantiaci was wearing boots tonight, so her kicks hurt a lot more.

The Cantiaci stowed away the coins in her belt pouch, then stared at Lady Anna as though wondering why she was still there. ‘Well? On your way, then.’

Lady Anna rose slowly. She was looking at the Cantiaci with an odd expression on her face, but the Cantiaci was picking under her broken thumbnail and didn’t see it.

I crept closer, and said, ‘Did you bring any gingerbread?’

‘No, mon ossillion,’ she said. She crouched down and tried to stroke my hair, but I shied away from her. I didn’t like people touching my head. She glanced back at the Cantiaci, then said, ‘You know, the people at court can eat gingerbread whenever they want. They just have to send down to the kitchens and ask for it.’

I sighed. ‘I would murder someone for gingerbread.’

‘Would you?’ She said it lightly, but I could feel her looking at me closely, her dark eyes suddenly very intense.

I grinned at her, and stuck out my tongue. ‘I’d murder you for gingerbread.’

She grinned back, and the hard magpie look left her face. ‘Ah, but if you did that, who would bring you the gingerbread?’

‘True,’ I conceded, and waggled my fingers at her. ‘But I still want it.’

‘Haven’t you gone yet?’ the Cantiaci demanded. ‘Jane, fetch me the jug.’

‘My name isn’t Jane,’ I said.

‘I don’t give a rat’s arsehole what you think, just get me the sodding jug!’

Lady Anna straightened. ‘I shall take my leave of you, then. Goodbye, Maid Barton. Goodbye, mon ossillion.’

I went with her to the door, and watched her go down the thin dusty path to the ferry dock. She became a little black dot in the fading light, dwindling smaller and smaller as she went down the path. The few trees hushed and sighed in the twilight, the sky behind the hut was dark blue, but the sea was still on fire with the sunset, the water and the sky burning red and pink and orange and gold. A phoenix sky, I thought, and took a deep breath of the warm air, scenting the dust, and the faint smack of salt, and the heat of the sun trapped in the mouldering thatch.

‘Corpus bones!’ The Cantiaci yanked on my chain so hard that I was thrown backwards onto the floor. I hacked and choked, and crawled on my hands and knees to the shelf to bring her the jug.

As I set it on the table, the Cantiaci gripped the back of my hair, her fingernails scraping my scalp. Her stinking breath close to my face made me gag. ‘No more presents for you now,’ she hissed. ‘She’s not coming back here. You’re mine, no one else’s. Mine!’

‘Very flattered,’ I gasped, and scratched at her hands until she let me go.

I scuttled away from her to my spot by the fire. There was a tiny crevice in-between the wall and one of the hearthstones, and I had secreted my treasures there. I hunched up against the wall, and stroked the peacock feather with my eyes closed, listening to the tiny prongs whispering together over my skin. I wasn’t sad that Lady Anna had gone. I really wasn’t. But now things would go back to the way they had been before. And that was a bit boring, really. But it wasn’t that I was sad, because I really wasn’t sad at all.

*

But the next evening, there was a knock at the door, and when I opened it, it was the Lady Anna. I grinned at her, and my grin got even wider when I smelled what she was carrying. ‘Gingerbread!’

‘Yes, mon cherie,’ she said, laughing. ‘Especially for you.’

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ the Cantiaci demanded, heaving herself up from her chair in front of the fire. She’d already drunk away one of the golden crowns that evening, and then had decided it would be a good idea to try carving a new design on the side of her black bowl. My words of wisdom about mixing ale with knives had been ignored, and I had a new bruise forming on my shoulder where she’d kicked me.

‘Purely for pleasure,’ Lady Anna said, beaming a smile bright as the sun. She opened the leather bag she held, and took out a bottle. ‘With my thanks for all your efforts.’

The Cantiaci’s scowl faded away, and she said almost cheerfully, ‘Well, I won’t say no to a wee token. You’ve given Jane enough trinkets, I wondered when my turn would come.’

Lady Anna went to the table and took down two mugs from the shelf, and began opening the bottle. I could see the Cantiaci didn’t much like the idea of two mugs, but when Lady Anna started pouring, her expression became friendlier. ‘Wine?’

‘Indeed,’ Lady Anna said. ‘A 1501 vintage, from the finest Cramoisi vineyards.’ I crawled to the edge of the table and peeked over the edge. She smiled at me. ‘And here for you.’ She gave me a little package wrapped in green cloth.

I took it, and retreated to the hearth to unwrap it. There weren’t as many pieces as last time, but any gingerbread was better than none. I shoved the first cake in my mouth, and examined the green cloth. It was different to the blue cloth, which was silky and smooth and bright like a summer sky. The green cloth was thick and heavy, and the light moved over the hills and valleys of it when I crumpled it in my hand, shining lighter and darker, almost yellow, almost black. And it was very soft, soft like fur, and I remembered Lady Anna’s dress on the first evening she had come here.

They were sitting at the table, Lady Anna and the Cantiaci, and I could smell the strong bitter fumes of the wine. I wrinkled my nose. The Cantiaci was obviously enjoying it; she glugged down the first mug before Lady Anna had even touched hers, and refilled it again immediately.

Lady Anna didn’t drink. She sat with her hand cupped around the mug, her long white fingers clasping the broken handle, and her rings gleaming like colourful eyes in the candlelight.

The Cantiaci drank. I finished my gingerbread. Lady Anna smiled, and watched the Cantiaci. ‘This is nice,’ she said. She glanced at me, then refilled the Cantiaci’s mug. ‘You live so isolated here, Maid Barton. Do you have difficult neighbours?’

The Cantiaci snorted into her mug. ‘I keep myself to myself.’

‘Oh,’ Lady Anna said. ‘That’s a shame, isn’t it? I would have thought you would have been a valued asset to the village. With everything you know, everything you can do…’

‘Let me tell you something about that,’ the Cantiaci said sourly. She wiped her nose on her sleeve. ‘I have power, sa. But that’s no good, ain’t enough. Soon as people know what you’re doing, half of them will be up to the guardhouse clamouring for a reward because they turned in a witch. And even if they didn’t, even if they thought it was worth keeping it a secret, it wouldn’t last.’

‘Why?’

‘Never lasts. Say you make a witching to bless the crops. All very trim and bonny. But then one farmer makes more than his neighbour. Don’t matter that the neighbour got the worst stall in market, didn’t act right to traders, didn’t water his patch enough. Suddenly the neighbour’s whispering that you cursed his patch, that you’re going to curse all their patches and then the whole village. Next thing, they’re making a pyre in the square, and you’re expected to give away the clothes off your back before you snuff it, cos what’s the point of burning a good gown?’

Lady Anna looked politely at the Cantiaci’s filthy dress, and shook her head sympathetically. ‘So the people in this village, they don’t know what you can do? They don’t know about…’ She gestured towards me.

‘Na,’ the Cantiaci said, scowling. ‘She’s mine, my secret.’

‘Of course,’ she said, and adjusted the bottle.

It was getting late. Normally I’d have curled up on the hearth by now and gone to sleep, but I didn’t want to with another person here. It made me feel unsafe. I rested my chin on my up-drawn knees, and watched the sparks fly up the chimney, whirling and spinning like tiny tiny dancers in their own magic ballroom. The little sparks winked at me, and when I closed my eyes, I saw the firelight leaping and crackling in the darkness behind my lids. My limbs felt slow and heavy and sleepy, the warmth wrapping itself around and inside me. I sighed, full of comfortableness and gingerbread.

But then I heard Lady Anna say in a voice that sounded like the low rustle of wind in sweet-scented grass, ‘Maid Barton, we have reached the bottom of the bottle. Now, I would like you to look into my eyes.’

I raised my head. The Cantiaci looked up from staring into her mug. She blinked, slowly, heavily, and Lady Anna smiled. ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘Just like that.’ She hummed a note, low and clear. And then she began to sing, softly, under her breath, so quietly that I could not catch the words.

I unwrapped my knees and crouched low, watching.

Lady Anna sang, her eyes fixed on the Cantiaci’s face. The Cantiaci stared back at her, swaying a little, her mouth hanging open. The song grew between them, and I could feel it, almost smell it. The fire crackled, and the shadows stretched up to the ceiling and shifted in the rafters. The hairs on the back of my neck bristled, and something flickered and snapped inside me, and I wanted to reach out to it, wanted to join in and realise—something, I didn’t know what, something that I’d forgotten but was on the edge of remembering—

And then it was over.

The Cantiaci’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. A string of drool gathered at the corner of her mouth and dribbled down her chin.

‘Wipe your mouth,’ Lady Anna said patiently.

The Cantiaci swiped at the drool, clumsily, bumping her hand against the table so the empty wine bottle jumped.

I giggled.

‘Good,’ Lady Anna said, her voice a low purr. ‘Very good. Now. Maid Barton. I am very grateful for all your instruction. I suspect you have not taught me everything you know, but the parts of your knowledge you deigned to share with me have been very useful indeed. I have looked into the stone and spread the cards, woven the garlands and sung into the black bowl. But I find that a pricked thumb and a bowl of rainwater can only take one so far, and as my endeavours require more power than the gods freely offer, I am afraid that I must relieve you of the half-sidhe girl. You understand, of course, that my need of her is far greater than yours. You will offer her to me, as a gift.’

The Cantiaci blinked. Her red-veined eyes seemed to water, and her head nodded back and forth on her neck like a baby bird’s. ‘Course,’ she said, and her voice was thick and heavy with more than the fine Cramoisi wine. ‘Your need is greater. Take her. As a gift.’

‘No, no,’ Lady Anna said kindly. ‘I could not possibly. I will pay you for her—twelve golden crowns for you to drink away.’ She took the coins out of her purse, and placed them on the table. ‘There. I am very grateful to you, Maid Barton. You have my enduring gratitude.’

The Cantiaci’s head sank down onto her chest. She made a noise so like a snore that I thought she had fallen asleep, but then she hauled her head up again. ‘Jane,’ she slurred. ‘Jane the Fool. This is the way of it.’

‘Indeed,’ Lady Anna said soothingly. ‘So grateful. I will take good care of her.’

She rose, and smoothed down her gown. The firelight lit up her face, and gleamed on the tiny pearls sewn into her hood. For a moment she was like a statue, dark and golden, glowing with power, on fire with magic, boiling and sparking with it. I felt as though I should be scared of her, but it had been so long since I had been scared by anything that I found I did not know how.

‘Come on,’ she said to me. She smiled. ‘Get your things.’

I didn’t move.

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘It won't last long; she'll be up and awake in a little.’

I wanted to reach out and touch her, but it seemed as though I would burst into flames if I got too close. I felt as though I was standing at the bottom of a very tall staircase, looking up into the darkness. Or at the top, looking down. I would either climb up or throw myself down.

She went to the ring in the wall, and unhooked the end of the chain and looped it over her wrist. She was smiling. ‘Do you want to take your feather? And the pretty stone?’

Slowly, not looking away from her, I felt for where my treasures were hidden in their little secret place. I wrapped up the stone in the green and blue cloths, and held it tightly in my hand, and then took the peacock feather. It was my wand, my sword, and I felt a little better with it clasped between my fingers.

Lady Anna threw on her cloak. She held the chain loosely, but gave it a gentle tug to direct me towards the door. ‘There we go,’ she said, and then pulled the door to behind us.

And I was outside.

Outside, with the velvet night sky all around me, and the soft brown dust between my toes. I could smell the night, the faded heat, the trees and the flowers. And, far away, the sea.

I was outside, and I was dizzied with it. I shouldn’t be outside. I wasn’t allowed outside. My chain wouldn’t reach, and the Cantiaci would never let me go, and I would live and I would die inside that squalid little hut with the fleas and the stink of ale soiling and warping me inside out.

But the clean air was singing all over me, inside me, and I breathed it in, pulling it inside me, and feeling it fill me up like water, like fire, like magic.

‘This way,’ Lady Anna said, and I remembered that she was there, remembered the twelve golden crowns, and felt her hand on my shoulder guiding me forward. I flinched away, and she let her hand drop. ‘Come on,’ she said, and her voice was gentle, but I could still hear the power thrumming behind it, the magic in her song weaving its noose around the Cantiaci’s neck.

She drew me down the path, away from the village and towards the dock. The trees sighed to see us pass by, and the wind ruffled the long dry grass and sent pale wispy clouds scudding across the deep black sky. I looked up and saw the stars again, the razor slice of the hunter’s horned moon.

And there was the moonlight, gleaming and rippling in a silver-white path down the stretch of black ocean before us. A little ferry barge was drawn up at the wooden dock, and a ferryman in a dirty brown cap was nodding over the oars. He started to his feet when he saw us, and hastily doffed his cap. ‘My lady.’

‘Thank you, Pierre,’ Lady Anna said. She ushered me to the dockside, and I stepped aboard the barge, feeling as though I was floating through a dreamworld where the black water gleamed and sparkled beneath my feet, and where the warm salty wind lifted my hair and silked across my face.

Lady Anna stepped in after me, and she settled herself on the seat, then patted the space next to her. I sat down, and she smiled. ‘There we go. Are you alright?’

I stared at her, at her dark eyes and at the moonlight glowing on her heavy pearl earrings. The magic was fading from her, but I could still sense it, the heavy dusky aura of it hanging in the air. ‘Where are we going?’

The ferryman untied the rope, and pushed away from the dock. He sat down on his bench, rolled his shoulders, and then took up the oars. The barge glided over the water, into the night away from the island.

‘We are going to Gallia,’ she said. ‘I must return there to gather my luggage, and I have a tailor ready to visit us tomorrow to make you a proper dress, something so much nicer than those dirty rags. And then, in a few days, we will sail to Lloegres, to the court there.’

‘Lloegres,’ I repeated.

‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘And you are coming with me. You will be my servant, and you will help me with—the things that I have to do there.’

Her servant?

She was smiling still, smiling as though she wanted me to smile back at her.

Her servant.

She wanted me to help her with magic, that was what she meant. That meant she would treat me just like the Cantiaci did. Maybe she wouldn’t kick me as much, but that would come later. And there would be the drainings, where she would drink my power like a leech, just like the Cantiaci had. Nothing had changed.

But everything had changed. I was outside now, and I had seen the stars again, properly, with the night air all around me. Lady Anna had given me gingerbread and the pretty stone and the feather. She might give me more treasures. But she might not. She might give me gingerbread to make the drainings more bearable. But she might not. But even if she did, she would drain me, and nothing would change.

She lightly stroked my hair, and I knew that nothing had changed but everything was different now, and she was different and I would have to get used to her and learn her ways and there would be new places and new things and new people, and it would never end well because new things never did.

So I jerked away from Lady Anna’s hand, and threw myself over the side of the barge.