THE BLACKBERRY WITCH: chapter 27

All chapters of The Blackberry Witch

XXVII. The Blackberry Witch

The sky and land and road around them darkened, shifting away from the shades of blue and orange and green that dominated the autumn morning, replacing them with black and darker hues that swallowed up the world. It seemed as though the arrival of the witch had chased away Wednesday, leaving only a timeless shadowy not-place behind. The ground underfoot groaned for a moment at the intrusion as the witch stepped from wherever she dwelt onto mortal soil.

Lightning crackled and sparked again, and the darkness began to bleed out of the world, color draining and paling. Instead of a return to the warmth of day, however, the North Road remained locked in a gray twilight, a half-place, an in-between world, like the space between wakefulness and sleep.

The witch was the only source of color left, and hers were vibrant and stark against the gray.

She looked much as Thomas remembered her, though he shivered again at the sight. The witch was tall and slender and beautiful in the way of dragons and deep chasms. Her gown was violet and lace, embroidered with thick threads that looked like vines, shimmering as she took another step toward the group. Her face was pale except for a hint of rose in the hollows of her cheekbones, the light red of her parted lips, and the black of lashes and brows. Further black framed her face, a waterfall of shining hair that curled over one bare shoulder. Thomas saw the familiar pendant hanging from her uncovered ear; the serpent’s fangs were now embedded in the silver tree, and he could see that its sinuous body had tightened around the trunk.

The four companions were quick to regroup at Eleanor’s side. The girl was still translucent, kept captive by the enchantment, but it gave Thomas some comfort to stand with his shoulder right next to his sister’s. Cathán had scampered up to Thomas’s left shoulder, his arrow trained on the witch, while Avery perched on Thomas’s right shoulder and Elwood growled beside him.

The witch’s eyes were as black as her hair. She watched Thomas with them, coming to stand before him, her hands at her side and her feet bare upon the dirt.

“Hello, Thomas,” said the witch, flashing her pointed teeth, in a voice that was pleasant and smooth. “Welcome back.”

Thomas held her gaze. He trembled inside, wanting to break and flee, but reminded himself of the strength of his companions and the things he’d learned and the purpose of his presence before the witch once more. He remembered his words to the wise merchant—that he was well prepared. Afraid, yes, and unsure of the outcome of the day’s meeting, but prepared to face it regardless.

“Hello,” he replied: and his voice was firmer than he had expected. He kept a hand on Elwood’s shaggy back, both to restrain the dog and to comfort himself.

“You have kept our appointed meeting,” said the witch. “This bodes well for your sister; but do not think your role has been fulfilled. What accounting can you provide of the week since our last conversation?”

Thomas took a breath. “I had a series of adventures. Some parts were exciting, thrilling, even pleasant. Some were dangerous and scary. I began by collecting some provisions and advice from an old, wise friend in my village, and then I started my quest in earnest.

“I first sought the fragment of boar tusk in the western hills. While I was there, I met Cathán Caolán, First Captain, Mouse Knight of the Thistledown Kingdom.” Thomas lifted his left shoulder a little to display the fearless mouse, who twitched his nose in the direction of the witch. “Cathán and I became instant friends. He helped me find a well of bravery instead me that I didn’t know existed. We faced the Nathaia Iór together, a most fearsome enemy, and claimed victory for the Thistledown Kingdom. Cathán has been a true and loyal friend. I’ve learned a great deal about myself and my own capabilities and desires by knowing him.”

Thomas held up his other shoulder to display Avery. “We then encountered Avery, the cunning and clever and kind raven.” Avery seemed even less inclined to greet the witch; the raven looked away, flapping his feathers toward her and pretending interest in the gray cloudy world that veiled them.

“Avery likes tricks and jokes,” said Thomas, “but only those of the best humor and nature. He’s kind to his friends and crafty against his foes. He helped us claim the boar tusk and even taught the boar himself a valuable lesson. More than that, Avery has shown me that it’s important to believe in your own cleverness. No one is cleverer than Avery, and no one holds himself in higher esteem—and rightly so, I think. Avery showed me how to combine good humor and wit with bravery and doing good. He too has made me better than I am.

“After claiming the fragment of boar tusk, we turned southward toward the Grimgrove. There we passed through many travails and adventures; we nearly ended up as dinner for several types of creatures, and I think we almost pushed two opposing groups into full-out war. Our adventures were not all pleasant. But we made a new friend among the Vathca of the Grimgrove: Brak, once an outcast of his people, now cherished by both the golden eagles and the Vathca.”

Thomas paused a moment, looking for any sign of recognition in the witch’s night-black eyes. But whether the violet witch recognized the names and places by virtue of her close involvement with them, Thomas couldn’t tell; and after a bit of silence he regained the thread of the tale and started unraveling again.

“Brak was not much inclined to help us at first, but he came around,” Thomas said, his heart warming at the memory. “We made a friend of him as well, and he of us, and there he remains in the Grimgrove to do some good among the golden eagles of the Great Trees. I wish he could have come with us, but he’s found a better place among his kind and his new allies. He showed me how to persevere, even without friends, and made me cherish mine more.

“In the Grimgrove we claimed the acorn you asked for, and we traveled north into Palewater Bog. That’s where we met Elwood.” Thomas patted the shaggy dog’s head. Elwood barked and howled, a long joyous sound, wagging his tail hard against Thomas’s leg. Then the dog seemed to remember where and who and what, and his tail slowed and his hackles raised and that low growl started up in the back of his throat again.

“Elwood was companions with a changeling named Saf. We thought they were both our friends, and that they were leading us to the center of the bog, but then we learned Saf’s true nature. He intended to take my skin and give the meat and bones to Elwood and the sirens. Instead, Avery fought him off while Cathán and I delved into the ruins at the heart of Palewater. We found the skeleton of Sir Elbarion there, and I spoke with him within his shroud. Elbarion is a proud knight and patient, waiting for the day when he can undo the curse placed upon the bog and return it to former beauty. He lent me his sword and allowed me to take the lichen off his ribs for my quest.”

Thomas paused again, remembering Sir Elbarion’s words about witches: They’re cunning, and they’ll make you forget who and what you are. Don’t let them. The words echoed through his mind. He considered them, and then he smiled.

“Sir Elbarion helped teach me that my actions and my ideals are both important,” Thomas said. “He showed me to stand my ground to help others. I tried to do just that when it came time to leave Palewater, and in doing so, we gained Elwood as a new friend and traveling companion. Elwood is a good and pure and faithful dog. He’s loyal to the last, and kind, and energetic, and brave, and strong. Elwood is many things, but at his heart he is what all dogs are and what all people should be: the simple joy of loving others. I’ve tried to be more like Elwood.”

Thomas could feel his companions relaxing as he kept talking, could sense them adjusting to his own mood and demeanor. Nothing else of the scene changed. The witch was stoic and unreadable, her violet gown shimmering, her expression serene and icy and unknowable. Eleanor was still trapped. The world was still gray. But Thomas was feeling a little better.

“With Elwood as our new friend, we traveled to the eastern river and met Finlay the fisherman. He cooks a marvelous eel-skin soup and is pleasant and friendly and helpful besides. He gave us food and company and showed us where the forbidden grotto was. He also told us stories about his own sister, and what he learned about kindness and compassion from his relationship with her. More than his directions to the grotto, Finlay’s story of helping his sister was an unexpected gift.”

Thomas reached out for Eleanor’s fingers, knowing he would feel nothing, though he imagined that perhaps there was a brief moment in which their hands brushed together, beyond the confines of the witch’s enchantment. Thomas smiled.

“In the grotto, we met Ableil, Gilroy, and Anna. I suppose that you probably know about Anna, at least, and perhaps the others. I think they are the kinds of people you might have interacted with before. Following Finlay’s example, I showed Ableil some kindness by helping her and Gilroy with Anna. That kindness prompted relief for everyone—Anna’s torment was lessened, Gilroy found his voice, Ableil was no longer alone in the grotto, and I received Gilroy’s heart as a show of newfound friendship: the blue-white speckled shell you asked me to retrieve. I think I gained more than just that in the forbidden grotto, though. Life is hard. Love is complicated. It’s not always as easy as Elwood makes it seem. But hard things can still be good things, and love and kindness are stronger than they appear.”

Thomas lifted his hands, palms up. “And here we are now, and my accounting is complete. After all I’ve experienced, all I’ve learned and lived through—well, I wanted to ask: How are you? How has your week been? You look very beautiful, by the way. You have the kind of beauty that shows how strong and powerful and determined you are. I hope you’ve had a good week.”

Silence reigned upon the gray landscape. Thomas could feel all eyes turning toward him. Out of the corners of his own, he saw Elwood lift his head and raise a shaggy brow in confusion, saw Eleanor look over with a similar furrow and frown.

The witch’s black eyes flickered momentarily. “I am well,” she responded at length, inclining her head just a little. The tree-and-snake pendant swayed with the movement. “Thank you.”

It might have been Thomas’s imagination, but it seemed that the scene relaxed, just a little, the grayness losing some of its bleak intensity.

The witch’s eyes narrowed. “Flattery will not allow you to escape our bargain, however, Thomas. Show me the talismans you have collected.”

Thomas moved over to his satchel, retrieved the objects within, and returned to stand next to Eleanor. He laid his jacket on the dirt before the witch, then carefully positioned each object on top: the fragment of tusk from the boar who thought himself a dragon, the acorn from the Greatest Tree, the lichen from Sir Elbarion’s bones, and the speckled shell that was Gilroy’s heart.

“Ah,” the witch said, her voice a throaty purr, and she glided forward. Her eyes glittered redly as she considered the four talismans on the jacket. Then they returned to obsidian and leveled at Thomas once more. “Well done, Thomas. You have kept your sworn oath. But are you really so naïve as to come with these talismans and hand them over and expect that all will be well?”

Smoke of a darker gray roiled behind her, reaching toward the jacket and its treasures.

Cathán responded first. The Mouse Knight leapt from Thomas’s shoulder with a mighty cry, loosing his arrow midair. The tiny dart flamed and puffed away at a wave of the witch’s hand. Cathán landed atop the acorn, balancing precariously, and nocked another dart. “Nay, canny witch, you’ll not take these without a rousing fight!”

Avery swooped down next to Cathán. His talons closed about the fragment of boar tusk. “We’ve got a nobler magic shared among us than the tricks you can conjure,” the raven muttered, clacking his beak with distaste.

Elwood joined the talismans’ defenders with a bark and a growl. He planted himself over both the lichen and the shell, shielding them from the witch with his shaggy bulk. His ears were pointed and his hackles raised.

“We will protect Thomas from you,” Cathán translated. “And you can’t have these if you don’t release Eleanor.”

The witch laughed. It was a sound Thomas had heard before, just the once, and he liked it even less this time. It was no sound of mirth or even satisfaction: just a dark not-sound, a noise that leeched away any good humor and made his skin grow cold.

“Threats?” said the witch. Her hands were clasped before her; Thomas saw that her nails were sharp and black as she slowly spun a silver ring around her finger. “Charming. This is a true tableau of the frailty and foolishness of mortals. Of all of you, including the boy, only this dog poses any real danger to me at all.”

The witch stared at Elwood. Elwood’s shoulders slumped a little, but he kept firm.

“And even the dog does not worry me,” the witch finished. “Perhaps if you had brought any army with you, Thomas, these threats would be credible.”

“An army would be easy enough to summon,” said Avery sternly. “Thomas has many friends among the wild peoples of the valley. He has made allies of a great number of warriors and mages and savage things that would overwhelm you.”

“Aye, Thomas’s noble friends would withstand any of your witchcraft to protect him,” agreed Cathán. “He has inspired a great deal of loyalty among the woodland folk.”

Elwood barked.

“What do you know of summoning armies, little mouseling?” The witch threw back her shoulders and lifted her hands high. “What do you know of witchcraft, little fledgling?” She clapped her hands together, and when she pulled them apart, violet and black lightning crackled between her fingertips. “What do you know of bravery, little pup?”

The witch cast her hands downward, and a fractured world of magic crashed down with them.

The grayness of the sky and earth took on the color of blood: scarlet, throbbing, pulsing like snakes burrowing in their damp tunnels. Thomas saw winged things moving quickly through the air; they streaked past him, ruffling his hair, carrying the scent of decay, too fleet to observe anything but snarling and snapping jaws and twisted expressions.

The ground broke and released violet vines. They rose in human-shaped clusters, swaying in the wind of the flying beasts, then withering and dying and rising again like a macabre dance. The vine-puppets wailed with leafy throats. The sound made Thomas’s ears prickle and burn.

Holding up a hand, the witch conjured a tuft of pale fire over her palm. Thomas could feel the heat where he stood. The fire leapt to one of the vine-puppets, consuming it in a flash. The burning vines belched smoke and char and withered into brown piles of dead leaves.

The pale flames spread through the vines. Some the witch’s fire consumed; others it transformed, twisting their plant figures into horrible contortions, mockeries of mockeries of living things. Still others of the vine-puppets were simply robbed of animacy by the flames: left to crumble in heaps like hedge-clippings or the remains of a sunny spring morning out in the garden.

The witch trod upon these matted piles of violet vines, and her gown fluttered with the color and stolen life, swallowing back the pale fire, sucking the bloody sky back into gray. She waved her hand over the heads of Thomas’s brave companions. A dark smoke curled from her fingertips to trace heavy charcoal lines through the air before them. The lines mingled and intertwined, forming the outline of a headless figure atop a smoky steed. The patterns of smoke shifted; the figure swelled and bulged, sometimes leaning over the horse’s flank toward Thomas and his friends, sometimes reaching into the air to grasp at prey unseen. In one of the figures hands was a flagon that leaked red smoke as it sloshed back and forth.

“The dullahan,” said Eleanor in a whisper.

“The dullahan indeed,” said the witch, dispersing the smoke with another wave, returning the North Road to slate and gray. “The monster that prowls the eastern crossroads with a wagon of skulls. A fearsome enemy and a fright, all say. And you three, little animals? Are you sure that the dullahan of nightmare is not just another of my pets, following my bidding, taking bones and blood and souls for me? Are you so certain that you know the extent of my dominion—so convinced that you would defy me?”

Her eyes flicked over to Thomas. “What about you, Thomas? What do you think? Are you and your absent armies willing to face my terrible majesty in order to claim your sister’s freedom?”

Abruptly, Thomas recalled the words that Master Dún had spoken, the strange prophecy about the quest to save Eleanor. They rattled around in his mind: The boy who seeks a girl to save, a witch to slay, by seventh day; two companions new, unlikely and true; a quest for four before seven’s end ends. Haste and hurry, haste and hurry: bone and wood, moss and bone, and sprightly steps the father’s son whence the dark and dreadful come.

Thomas could make a kind of sense of them now, could see their meaning now that he had undertaken and completed his quest. But in two things Dún had misspoken, and one was certainly more important than the other. Thomas almost smiled, promising himself he’d let Dún know the truth of things sooner or later—for he’d certainly found more than two new companions. But the other matter . . . that was more somber, required more bravery, and stole the smile away before it began.

Thomas took a deep breath. “No,” he replied to the witch. Then more firmly: “No, we’re not—I’m not. Because I’m not here to fight you. I’m here to help you, if I can.”

He kept his gaze on the witch’s, aware of his friends and sister watching, listening, of the eternal empty gray of the road and the blooming violet magic of the witch overshadowing everything else. “I’m here to show you kindness.”