Garth Nix - The Ragwitch

TO SHAHNAZ,

MY FAMILY, AND FRIENDS

Cover Page

Title Page The Ragwitch Garth Nix

1. The Midden

2 The Forest of the May Dancers The Sea Caves

3. Awqinn / The Spire

4. Gwarulch by Night / The Raqwitch Looks to the South

5. Rhysamarn / The Mountain of the Wise

6. Tanboule’s Advice / The Sack of Bevallan

7 A Friend of Beasts / Lyssa

8. A Guide / The Namyr Steps

9. The Wind Moot / Glazed Folk

10. The Memory / A Village by the Sea

11. The Sed Festival

12. The Beast /To the Water Lord

13. Golden Fire / The Water Lord’s Catch

14. Sleye Midden / Sharks

15. Anhyvar / Aleyne

16. A Picnic With Lyssa / Master Caqael and Friends

17. Reddow Cairn

18. Julia Is Summoned / Dancing With Fire

19. Within Her Mind/ Rhysamarn

20. The Potato Harvest / The Raqwitch Attacks

21. The Challenge / Thruan

22. The Worm / Dreams and Shadows

23. The Spire / The Forge

24. The Last Battle

Epilogue

Also by Garth Nix

Copyright

About the Publisher

“COME ON, PAUL!” shrieked Julia as she ran down the dune, the sand sliding away under her bare feet. Below her lay the beach, a white expanse bordered by mounds of seaweed. Beyond the seaweed lay the sea, a great mass of slow, tumbling waves, each solemnly dumping another load of the green-brown kelp.

Julia didn’t wait for an answer to her call – a brief backward glance showed Paul atop the dune, staring single-mindedly into the sea. She kept on running, breaking into an erratic skip to avoid the stinging bluebottles cast ashore to die in the morning sun.

Entranced by the view, Paul slowly moved his gaze along the beach, like a swivelling human telescope. He looked mainly to the north, where grey rocks thrust out into the sea, forming a spit, full of intricate pools and dangerous channels.

Above the spit, a strange hill rose out of the sand, a reddish hill, crowned with thousands of gleaming white fragments and shells. The hill dominated the shore, rising high above the lesser dunes that flanked it.

“Come on!” shouted Julia again. Paul looked down and saw that she was already walking towards the spit. He quickly switched from looking to walking mode and took a diagonal path to meet her, half sliding down the face of the great dune.

“Isn’t it fantastic?” burbled Julia, as Paul finally arrived at the spit, panting from his exertions. She spoke without looking at him, intent on the tiny fish that swirled about her toes in the rock pool.

“Yeah, great!” answered Paul enthusiastically. “Do you want to go out on the spit? We might see a dolphin from the end.”

“Not now. Wouldn’t you rather climb that?” asked Julia, pointing at the hill.

“What sort of hill is that?” asked Paul. “I’ve never seen a hill like that on a beach!”

“It’s a midden. Daddy told me about it last night. You can just see it from the house.”

“What’s a midden?”

“An Aboriginal midden,” explained Julia, “is sort of a really old rubbish tip. It took thousands of years to build up, just by people dropping shells in the same place. That’s what those white things are.”

“But what about the red dirt?”

“Oh, that,” whispered Julia, her eyes widening in mock fear. “The dirt is the remains of old, old bones.”

“Maybe I don’t want to go up there after all,” said Paul, echoing Julia’s tone of mock fear. Deep inside though, he was a little frightened. The Midden looked quite safe in the bright sunlight, but at night, it could easily be a different, more chilling place.

“Let’s go then,” shouted Julia, springing to her feet and bounding up towards the Midden. Not quite so eager, Paul slowly got to his feet and walked after her.

It took several minutes to climb to the top, as the shell fragments cut their bare feet, making it like walking across a field of broken glass. Still, it was possible to thread a precarious path through the shell patches by keeping to the sections of plain red earth.

On top of the Midden, the sea breeze was much stronger and the scent of salt was heavy in the air. From their vantage point, they could see clearly for kilometres, both to the north and south. With their newly extended horizon, an ocean-racing yacht had just become visible out to sea.

“The Sydney to Hobart race goes by here,” said Paul, watching the yacht’s spinnaker billow out to catch a sudden breeze. “We might see them go by if we stay long enough.”

“Hey, I’ve found a nest!” cried Julia, who had started exploring the irregular bumps and hollows at the top of the Midden. Paul didn’t come at once, so Julia re-emerged from her hollow and dragged him round to see her find.

The nest, if it was one, measured a good two metres in diameter, and was made of loosely woven sticks and dried mud. It was empty, save for a single ball of feathers about half a metre wide. Paul looked at it curiously, noticing that some of the feathers were longer than his arm and very, very black.

“Julia, what sort of bird makes a nest like this?”

“Oh, some sort of sea eagle,” replied Julia, who was poking at the ball of feathers. She found a scrap of brightly coloured cloth and eagerly began to take the ball apart to find whatever might be inside.

“Sea eagles don’t have black feathers,” said Paul. “Anyway, this bird must be a lot bigger than a sea eagle.”

“Must be a wedge-tailed eagle then. They’re the biggest birds in Australia. Everyone knows that!”

“I think we ought to go,” said Paul, a chill fear suddenly creeping up the back of his neck. As he spoke, the sun went behind a large black cloud that had sneaked in from the west. Almost instantly, the Midden was dark, the summer heat suddenly absent.

“I’ll go when I find out what’s in this,” replied Julia, ripping feathers from the ball. “I think it’s some sort of doll.”

“Who cares?” shouted Paul. “This place isn’t safe. Let’s go!”

Julia ignored him and continued to pull feathers from the ball. Already she had uncovered a hand made from shiny pink cloth and was pulling free a head.

In the twilight created by the cloud, a darker shadow swept across the nest, accompanied by a cawing shriek, horrifyingly loud. Instinctively, Paul looked up, and screamed. Hovering above them was a giant crow, its wings beating down a ferocious wind.

“Come on!” shouted Paul, holding a hand over his eyes to keep out the swirling dust. With the other, he grabbed Julia and tried to pull her away from the nest.

“No!” cried Julia, pushing him away. “I’ve almost got it!”

Overhead the crow screamed and dropped like a stone, landing directly in front of Paul, who grabbed Julia. Both of them tumbled over backwards. The giant crow lunged forward as they fell, its vicious beak jabbing through the air, missing them by centimetres.

Lying on his back, Paul looked up into the crow’s black eyes, glittering above the long, lethal beak. He saw the sudden spark of calculation as the crow decided who it was going to skewer.

The beak flashed through the air straight at Julia, but at the same instant, she pulled the rag doll free of the last remaining feathers. The crow disappeared in mid-lunge, leaving only an impotent shadow. Even that faded as the sunlight splashed on to the Midden, now no longer obscured by the black cloud.

“Look,” said Julia, holding up the doll. “She’s beautiful.”

Paul looked at it, bemused, still half expecting the crow to come back. He saw an old rag doll in fairly good condition. It seemed unexceptional, save for the face, which to him looked malign and thoroughly evil. Its eyes were made of black-pupilled greenstone and seemed to follow him with an uncanny interest.