The Witch’s Blood

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.

INN WAS LEANING against the wall by the mouth of the cave, his arms crossed. On the other side of the invisible net, silhouetted by the faint grey light of dawn, stood Jack. Merry conjured more globes of witch fire; now she could see he was frowning angrily, one hand gripping the hilt of his sword. There was a bloody gash on his forehead.

‘What happened?’

‘Jack tried to walk through the barrier you created and got thrown several metres away.’ Finn smirked. ‘I think he’s a bit cross.’

Merry quickly murmured the words to dissolve the net. A gust of cold air swept in, raising swirls of dust from the floor and making her shiver.

‘Come in, Jack – it’s safe now. Finn, can you go and get Gran’s healing ointment from my bag?’

Finn rolled his eyes, but he did as she asked. Jack stomped into the cave and glared at the wizard’s retreating back.

‘He laughed at me. I know he’s your friend, but …’ His mouth snapped shut, flattening into a narrow line.

‘I understand.’ Merry patted Jack’s arm. ‘I didn’t like him either when I first met him. So … did you find out where Ronan is?’ Her stomach tensed. ‘Or my brother?’

‘No. I’m sorry. There have been more attacks not far from here, more villages destroyed. But none of the people I spoke to know where Ronan is hiding. They’ve lent me another horse, though, and there is another encampment we could try.’

Merry shook her head. ‘I’ve come up with an alternative plan.’

Finn was back. He held out the pot of ointment to Jack. ‘And what is this plan?’

‘Well,’ Merry glanced at Jack, ‘I’ve found a way of reaching the friend that I mentioned. Meredith.’ Finn’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t say anything. ‘I think she’ll be able to help us. Jack, you’ve already done so much, but would you mind lending us this other horse? I’ll try to find a way to send it back to you once we’ve reached Meredith.’

‘There will be no need,’ Jack replied. ‘I’m coming with you.’

Finn groaned, and Jack’s lips twitched as if he was trying to suppress a grin. ‘This will be my kingdom one day. I need to make sure what’s left of it isn’t destroyed by your quest. I brought some fresh supplies back with me; we should eat before we leave.’

Once Jack had left the cave, Finn turned to Merry. ‘Meredith – she’s your ancestor, right? The witch who put Jack and Gwydion to sleep?’ When Merry nodded, he continued: ‘So how did you find her?’

‘I haven’t precisely found her. Not yet. But I have this manuscript that she made. I used some blood magic to reawaken it and—’

‘Blood magic? Again? That’s the third time in …’ Finn knitted his brows, ‘I don’t know exactly, but it can’t be more than three weeks. It’s not safe.’

‘Seriously?’ Merry put her hands on her hips. ‘Weren’t you the one encouraging me to use blood magic before? The first time I tried it, you said I should go for it. Those were your exact words, as far as I remember.’

‘Yes, but I didn’t mean for you to get hooked on it. You of all people should know that using blood magic is risky.’ Finn looked nervously out of the cave, as if he expected something monstrous to suddenly materialise, intent on raining down magical retribution upon them both.

‘I am not hooked on blood magic, and I’m not using it to hurt anyone. I’m not Gwydion.’ Merry took a deep breath, swearing softly. ‘Look, the only thing I care about right now is getting Leo back. And I’ll do anything it takes to make sure I do. There’s no need to be all … judgy.’

‘I’m not judging you, Merry.’ She could hear the exasperation in his voice. ‘Honestly, I’m not.’ He ran his hand down her arm, entwining her fingers in his. ‘But I am trying to look after you.’

Jack was back, carrying a woollen sack plus a larger bundle.

‘Here is the food.’ He passed the sack to Merry and set the bundle down on the floor. As he opened it, the fragrance of lavender spilt out into the air. ‘And here are some clothes.’

‘Clothes?’ Merry echoed.

‘If you are to journey through the kingdom, it would be as well if the pair of you looked less …’ He shrugged slightly. ‘Outlandish.’

‘Oh.’ Merry glanced down at her jeans and jumper, both covered in dried mud and bits of dead vegetation. ‘You think we need to blend in more.’

Jack nodded. ‘The customs of Northumberland are strange to us here.’ There was a slightly odd expression in his eyes. As Merry reached into the bundle he caught hold of her arm. ‘Though indeed, I have never seen such fine weaving, even on the queen’s robes.’ He lifted the fabric of her sleeve to examine it more closely, grazing her skin with his fingertips as he did so.

Merry drew her breath in sharply as Jack touched her. She couldn’t help it. The solidity of him, after so many months of grief and dreams, was a shock. The fact that he was warm and breathing, instead of lying cold and dead underneath the Black Lake. Every time she remembered, it hurt her like a plaster being ripped away too early from a partly healed wound.

Jack had let go of her arm and was holding out a pile of folded clothes. ‘Get changed.’

Merry grabbed the clothes and swung away from him.

Finn was frowning at her, clutching his own stack of clothes to his chest like a shield. Before she could say anything, he stalked outside.

She sighed.

At least the new clothes were warm. There was a long linen shift, a bit like a nightie; a blue, long-sleeved woollen dress over the top of that, and then a green sleeveless over-dress fastened at the shoulders with round brooches and at the waist with a woven belt. It was all a lot more colourful than Merry had expected. The brooches looked like silver, ornately carved into tiny, flowing animal shapes. There was a hooded, fur-lined cloak too.

When Merry returned to the cave entrance, Finn was already there. He looked older in his new outfit, more of a man and less of a boy. There was a sword belt slung round his hips, Leo’s sword in the scabbard. As Finn waited, one hand resting on the hilt, Merry couldn’t help remembering all the fairy stories she’d read as a child, where the handsome prince rescues the princess from a life spent doing housework, or stuck in a glass coffin. ‘You look … nice.’

‘Thanks,’ Finn said stiffly. He bent and picked up an apple and a hunk of cheese. ‘I’m going to stretch my legs.’

Merry didn’t have much of an appetite. She forced down a couple of handfuls of dried fruit, then went to repack her bag and refill the water bottles. It didn’t take long; after slipping the cloak round her shoulders and extinguishing the last globe of witch fire floating in the dark interior of the cave, she was ready to leave.

Jack appeared, mounted on Sorrel and leading a huge grey stallion that apparently answered to the name of Blossom. The horse neighed when it saw her, tossing its head and straining against the rope Jack had in his hand. To Merry’s disgust, Finn didn’t seem remotely concerned. He patted the horse on its neck and pulled himself on to its back quite easily. Then he held his hand out to her. ‘Shall we?’

There wasn’t really any choice. After a couple of undignified minutes spent being dragged up on to the horse by Finn, she was settled in front of him, gripping Blossom’s mane and clinging on with her knees while Finn held the reins.

‘Now,’ Jack glanced at Merry, ‘you must guide us.’

Merry opened the manuscript. ‘Please, take us to Meredith.’

The spiky writing appeared instantly.

Your way lies through the courts of the dead.

Whatever was speaking to her through the manuscript still seemed to have a thing for being cryptic. She read the instruction out to Jack. ‘Does that mean anything to you?’

He frowned for a minute or two before his face cleared. ‘It means the barrows. Obviously.’

‘Huh?’

‘The graves of the dead kings. This way.’ Jack set his horse walking.

Finn urged his horse forward too. ‘Ooh, the dead kings,’ he muttered into Merry’s ear. ‘Look at me, I know everything.’

‘He’s just trying to help. And we need him. We don’t know our way around here.’

‘I know, I know. But still, he’s really, really irritating.’

Merry couldn’t help it. She snapped back, ‘But in a lovable way, right?’

Finn straightened up and jerked the reins so the horse lurched forward, forcing Merry to hang on to Blossom’s neck.

Merry sighed, and wondered how many days it would take to reach Meredith.

The next three days were uneventful. The lands they rode through seemed empty of life, though every so often they passed the charred remains of wooden houses, blackened timbers sticking up out of the snow. In the sky above one ruined village Merry noticed large, reddish-brown birds of prey riding the wind.