Katharine Corr - The Witch’s Blood

Merry smiled and rested her head back against Finn’s shoulder. They rode on for a while in a comfortable silence.

Jack, still a little way ahead of them, seemed to be getting slower and slower. He kept turning his head, scanning the woodland on either side of the path, riding with one hand on the hilt of his sword.

‘Jack,’ Merry called, ‘is anything wrong?’

‘I do not like this forest.’

Merry looked around. To her, the forest seemed like most of the other woods they’d been through since she arrived here. Damp – chilly – the trees crammed so closely together that, even in their leafless winter state, there was hardly any light filtering down to the track they were following. The still air, heavy with dust, reminded her of something. The forgotten corner of a museum, or an abandoned church. A crypt. She shivered and rubbed her hands together.

Jack slowed his horse until he was riding next to them. ‘I know I haven’t been here before. Yet somehow, if I close my eyes, I remember riding this path, a group of mail-clad knights around me, until we were attacked …’

A long, low growl coming from the trees off to the left made the hair on the back of Merry’s neck stand up. Both horses snorted nervously.

‘What was that?’ Finn was craning his neck, peering into the undergrowth.

‘A wolf.’ Jack drew his sword. ‘Can you ride faster? We must escape this wood before it is too late.’

‘It’s already too late.’ Merry pointed ahead. Not just one wolf, but many – too many for her to count – were stalking through the trees towards them. The animals were advancing purposefully, evenly spread out, almost in ranks. The horses were terrified. Jack still had Sorrel under control – just – but Blossom seemed to be trying to back away and sideways at the same time, tossing his head and rolling his eyes. Finn was leaning forward, gripping the reins and swearing but it didn’t seem to be helping. ‘Let me down,’ Merry insisted.

‘Are you crazy? You can’t – dammit –’

She didn’t waste time in arguing. Squishing her right leg up in front of her and cursing her long skirts, she twisted and slid underneath Finn’s arms and off the horse.

The wolves were only a few metres away now, almost encircling them. Merry realised a shielding spell wouldn’t be enough. She would have to drive them off.

Clenching her hands into fists, she began to sing. A stinging hex, basically. But Merry added more. She wove into the hex the words of a spell to control lightning, keeping the power coiled within her fingertips until the pain of it almost took her breath away.

As if responding to a signal, the wolves attacked.

Merry threw up her hands, releasing the spell. Behind her she could hear the horses screaming and Jack and Finn yelling, but she ignored them, concentrating on the magic coursing through her outstretched arms. She had to spin and duck, aiming the spell, making sure it hit every wolf hard, hard enough that the animal was no longer a threat.

And it was working. The wolves were howling, writhing on the forest floor. Some of them managed to escape, limping away as fast as they could, melting back into the shadows. More of them didn’t. Merry kept going, out of breath, murmuring the spell now rather than singing it. But almost all the wolves had fled or collapsed and she was nearly done, nearly—

‘Merry!’

She swung round to see a huge blond wolf leaping at her, brought up her hands—

Jack’s sword flew past her head and buried itself in the wolf’s chest. The animal crashed to the ground.

Merry let the spell fade and lowered her arms, breathing heavily, grimacing: the air stank of burnt fur.

‘Are you hurt?’ Jack, still leading Sorrel, wrenched the sword out of the dead wolf. He had bloody claw marks along one arm. ‘Merry?’

‘No. Just tired.’ She flexed her aching fingers and looked around. ‘Where’s Finn?’

‘Blossom bolted. I’ll find him.’ He jumped on to Sorrel’s back and rode into the forest.

Left alone, Merry crossed her arms and looked around her at the ring of dead wolves. The snow was stained with blood. When Ronan had killed a wolf back in the woods near Tillingham, she’d buried it – covered it with a mound of roses. But there were no roses here. And far too many bodies …

But what else could I have done?

One of the bodies was twitching; she moved closer to investigate. This wolf was alive. It gasped for air, trying feebly to get back up on its feet. And then Merry saw one of its paws, and froze.

It was a human foot. The top part of the wolf’s leg was as it should be, but the bottom half of the leg, and the foot … Merry clapped one hand to her mouth. The wolf whined again, scrabbling at the ground with its front paws.

I could try to help it – him – but …

Revulsion and fear and exhaustion coalesced into something hard, sitting in the centre of Merry’s chest. Whatever Ronan had been doing here, whatever he was still doing, nothing and no one was going to stand between her and her brother. She didn’t have time for pity.

Raising one hand, Merry murmured one line of the spell she’d been singing. The wolf collapsed. It didn’t move again.

‘Merry!’ Jack was returning through the trees. And next to him was Finn, still on Blossom’s back. He was covered in tiny scratches, but otherwise seemed unharmed. When he got closer, in answer to Merry’s raised eyebrows, he shrugged and said:

‘Brambles. Lots of them. But at least they stopped the damn horse before he threw me in the river.’ His eyes widened as he took in the pile of dead animals. ‘Bloody hell. You OK, Merry?’

‘Yes. I’m fine.’ Merry went to her bag, found the pot of Gran’s ointment and tossed it to Jack. ‘Put some of that on your arm. We need to keep going.’ She got the manuscript out from the pouch on her belt and checked the instructions. ‘Nothing’s changed. We just keep heading through the forest.’

‘Actually, I think we’re nearly at the end,’ Finn said, as he pulled her up on to the horse. ‘The land slopes downwards further on, and I could just see the trees start to thin out …’

‘Then let’s get out of here.’

They rode fast now, not speaking other than to urge the horses to a quicker pace. Finally, after another couple of hours, Merry could see what she’d been straining her eyes for: a cottage, tucked into the edge of the forest, a wisp of smoke rising from the roof. And then the details came into view: a thatched roof, shutters over the windows, a stream winding past the front of the building.

Finn drew the horse to a halt.

‘Why have we stopped?’

He pointed. There, coming through the trees from the left, were three young women. One tall and blonde, one black-haired and pale, one with vivid green eyes. Merry recognised them from the dreams and visions she’d been having for the last six months: Carys, Nia and Meredith. Carys and Meredith appeared much as Merry remembered, but Nia, the middle sister … she looked terrible. Gaunt and sickly.

The sisters became aware of the newcomers. Meredith ran towards Jack as he dismounted. ‘Jack, I thought I might never see you again …’

They knew each other?

Before Merry could react, Nia had wandered over to them. She stared up at Finn. ‘You do not belong here.’

‘Well,’ Finn slid down from Blossom’s back. ‘We’re not exactly from around here …’

But Nia wasn’t listening. She was gazing at Merry, and the curiosity on her face gave way to horror. She stumbled backwards. ‘No! Why have you come back out of my dreams? That path was never followed.’ Shaking her head, she raised her hands as if to cast a spell. ‘You cannot exist! You cannot—’