Katharine Corr - The Witch’s Blood

Merry made no move to take the bag. Jack had to be mistaken. He was making it sound like Ronan had been here – wherever here was – for ages. But Ronan and Leo had only left Tillingham and their own world a few days ago …

‘You must go.’ Jack thrust the bag into her arms. ‘The king …’ Jack’s voice faltered for a moment, ‘King Aidan still holds Helmswick. But Helmswick has been under siege from Ronan and his forces these two months past. The citadel cannot hold out much longer.’

Two months?

‘But – but what about Edith?’ The Helmswick Merry knew of, the place Jack had told her about, had been ruled by a queen: by his mother, Edith, not by his father, Aidan.

There was a pause. Merry heard a shriek in the distance – some sort of animal, or bird. The first living sound she’d heard in this place apart from their own voices.

‘The queen is dead: Ronan murdered her. A few weeks before the siege began.’

Merry stood there, struggling to comprehend. Jack’s voice was flat, emotionless, almost as if he didn’t care. Didn’t he know that the queen was his blood mother? Or was he just as heartless as he seemed?

He swung away from her. ‘The road to the Kentish border lies there. I suggest you take it.’ Jerking his thumb over his shoulder, he began striding in the opposite direction.

‘But you’re wrong: the Ronan I’m talking about can’t possibly be the same person who’s attacking your lands,’ Merry cried out. ‘He isn’t that powerful.’ She’d fought with Ronan at the lake and had almost destroyed him – until Finn had got in her way. Finn had been trying to save his own brother’s life; she knew that now. But still, Ronan had escaped and he’d taken Leo with him. ‘And besides, Ronan would only have arrived here a few days ago. Days, not months.’

Jack didn’t respond – he just kept walking.

In desperation, Merry hurried after him. ‘Wait!’ She hooked the necklace out from beneath her T-shirt and opened the locket that was hanging from the chain. ‘This is my brother. Are you sure you haven’t seen him?’

Jack glanced at the photo in the locket. His eyes narrowed. ‘I have seen him. I saw him with Ronan.’ He ripped the chain from her neck and hurled it away from him. ‘Standing next to Ronan, as a free man.’

Merry raised her hands and started to back away.

‘No, it isn’t like that: my brother isn’t with Ronan through choice. He was kidnapped! Whatever you think you saw, you’ve got it wrong.’

‘You’re lying.’ Jack drew his knife again.

In the next instant Finn was at her side. He looked ill, and there was a streak of blood on his neck, but he held Leo’s sword – the one they’d brought with them – firmly in front of him.

‘Merry, I don’t understand whatever language he and you are speaking, but this … this isn’t the Jack you described to me. He isn’t kind, or compassionate. Hit him with a binding charm, quickly!’

Merry still hesitated.

‘But we need him to help us –’

‘He can’t! Or he won’t.’ Jack was circling them, looking for a way past Finn’s blade. ‘Hurry up!’

An unearthly wail split the stillness of the forest. Jack swung around, scanning the treetops. Finn grabbed Merry’s hand.

‘If I didn’t know better,’ he murmured, ‘I’d say that was a banshee.’

‘A banshee?’ Merry peered into the shadows around the edge of the clearing. ‘But they don’t exist.’

Another long, drawn-out shriek, nearer this time. Finn shifted so he was back to back with Merry.

‘Are you sure about that?’

As he finished speaking, a creature exploded out of a clump of dark fir trees. Merry gasped and flinched, raising her hands in defence even as her brain clamoured in denial. She recognised this creature. She’d seen it in a school library book about ancient Greek myths. Wide, bronze-feathered wings, monstrous sickle-shaped talons, and the head – the head of a woman, with feathers for hair. Its mouth was open, screaming, revealing razor-sharp, needle-like teeth.

Not a banshee. A harpy.

The creature swooped towards Jack. He threw his knife at it, but the blade missed. Screeching with rage the harpy banked and descended again, raking Jack’s up-flung arm with its claws, forcing him to his knees.

Finn grabbed Merry by the wrist. ‘Let’s go.’

‘No.’ She wrenched her hand free. ‘We can’t leave Jack. We need his help …’

Finn gritted his teeth, but he raised the sword again. ‘Fine. Go on, then. Help him.’

The harpy had started shredding Jack’s arms and neck, scattering dark red droplets of blood across the white snow. Merry summoned two balls of witch fire and launched them at the creature. The seething, coruscating violet strands encased the harpy and it screamed again – screamed in pain, this time. As it flapped around, trying to shake the magic from its wings, Finn leapt forward and brought the sword round in a great arc, slicing the creature’s head from its neck. Body and head tumbled to the ground.

Jack, still crouched on the snow, dragged his gaze away from the dismembered remains and the pool of blood that was rapidly sinking into the frozen earth, and stared at Merry and Finn.

‘You saved me.’

‘Yeah.’ Merry sighed. ‘We saved you.’

All three of them watched the dead harpy for a bit longer. Merry had no idea what to do next.

Finally, Finn bent down to clean the blade of the sword on a bit of moss that was sticking up out of the snow. Jack’s knife was lying nearby; Merry picked it up. ‘If I give you this back, will you promise not to attack us?’

Jack hesitated for a moment, then nodded. Merry handed him the blade. He pushed himself up off the ground and shoved the knife into its scabbard.

‘So,’ he looked at her, the hint of a smile on his lips, ‘just a girl?’

‘I am a girl.’ Merry shrugged. ‘But I’m also a witch.’ She glanced up: two large carrion crows had settled on the branch of a nearby tree, eyeing the bleeding carcass. They were probably just regular birds, but she hadn’t forgotten the crow that seemed to be following her and Leo through the woods a few weeks back.

‘We’re attracting attention.’ She nodded towards the harpy. ‘Let’s get rid of this thing.’

Twenty minutes later, Merry had magically incinerated the remains of the harpy and had healed the injury to Finn’s neck. She walked over to Jack, the pot of Gran’s healing salve still in her hand. ‘Here: this will help.’

Jack peered at the jar. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s an ointment my grandmother made. It will heal the cuts on your arms.’

He drew back. ‘How do I know you’re not trying to poison me?’

‘Poison you?’ Merry shook her head, slipping back into modern English as she exhaled sharply. ‘And why would I be trying to poison you?’

Finn was sitting beneath a tree nearby with his arms wrapped round his legs and Leo’s sword stuck into the ground next to him. He glanced up. ‘If she wanted you dead she’d have let the harpy kill you. Idiot pleb.’

Jack flushed. He couldn’t have understood Finn’s words – and it was doubtful he had ever heard the word pleb used the way wizards used it, as a dismissive term for a non-magical person – but he obviously recognised Finn’s tone of voice. Still, he held out his arms and allowed Merry to dab some of the ointment on to the gashes dealt out by the harpy’s claws. Almost immediately, Merry could see the wounds begin to heal as his skin puckered and pink scar tissue formed: Gran’s potion was working.

Jack winced, flinching from Merry’s touch.

‘The pain won’t last long,’ she reassured him.

He nodded and gritted his teeth. ‘Tell me: are you and Ronan kin? Is that why you speak the same strange language as him?’