Chapter 10
the town of ichbarrow is one unbroken line of squat buildings situated half a mile from a mine shaft.
It’s a cold, desolate sort of place, even in springtime, with homes made of tin and windows so small they barely let in any light at all.
There’s a silence here, a lack of soul that Brielle finds unnerving, and she instructs Dreska to remain close.
These places, sprung from nothing but a merchant’s hunt for metals in the ground are not real communities.
They live to serve the greed of men, and the children grow up either compliant or with so much fire in their chests that they burn themselves from the inside out.
‘Are you a hunter?’ a man asks before sucking in a lungful of air and hacking into his scrunched fist. He blinks up at Brielle, the crevices of his face accentuated with the dirt from the mine, as if the clouds of it have marked him, claimed him for the unlit world below. ‘We have no coin.’
Brielle glances at Dreska, then back at the man. ‘I am. But if it’s sprites or knockers your mine owner should pay to have them cleared—’
‘No,’ a woman cuts in, wiping her hands on an apron tied at her waist. ‘’Tis a haunting. A ghostly creature. A wraith.’
‘From a local family?’ Brielle asks quietly. There are eyes all around her, skimming over her blades, assessing.
‘A lost daughter,’ the woman says. ‘My sister’s girl. Things always were a little strange, a little different here since she was born. Doors that locked on their own, hail in the summer months, loaves of bread baked with coppers flowing from the middle when cut open.’
‘Expect you all liked that,’ Dreska says, squinting at her.
She shrugs. ‘Some things were good, some bad. Just enough good, though, to stop anyone mentioning it to the mine owner.’
‘Then what happened?’ Brielle prompts.
‘She turned seventeen. One day a girl, the next a phantom,’ the man says.
‘There was this thin wail of misery, like she was being burned alive. It shook the roofs of every home in Ichbarrow and now … Well, the bread is dry as dust. No coppers to be had. No more seams to follow for the prospectors, and it’s cold all the while. Even now it’s springtime.’
‘And the family?’ Brielle asks, scanning the homes surrounding them.
‘My sister keeps to herself,’ the woman says. ‘Her husband and eldest boy are down the mine on longer shifts. Owner working us all to death for his profits.’
A common story, Nova purrs, meowing in that strange, unconvincing way before idling towards the drabbest tin-roofed home. I can sense a presence in this one.
‘Lead us to the inn,’ Brielle says to the woman, stalling for time while Nova searches for the wraith. ‘Find us food and lodgings, and I’ll give you my answer.’
They’re offered a room with bunk beds and a chipped basin and Brielle advises Dreska to drink only what is boiled.
They have tea next to a warm fire downstairs, a local kind infused with black, bitter leaves, which the other patrons enjoy with tiny, fermented cherries.
Brielle asks for two plates of whatever is good and gets out a stack of cards that she sometimes uses on assignment to loosen up a gathering.
Dreska seems anxious and it occurs to Brielle that this is her first time away from home, let alone in a new territory.
She and Dreska play Kill or Crown, eat potatoes and mutton, then order more black tea as Nova appears at Brielle’s side, tail twitching.
It’s a wraith, all right.
Brielle nods, murmuring from the corner of her mouth. ‘And the family?’
They need to leave the home before we attempt a reversal. Three of them, all with eyes dipped in charcoal.
‘They’re tired?’
Nova gives her an un-catlike stare. They’re haunted, Hunter.
Brielle heaves a breath and turns to Dreska. ‘Ready for our first assignment?’
‘I think so,’ Dreska replies, piling up the cards neatly, biting her lip.
‘It’s a girl, already a wraith. Family suffering from it.’
Dreska winces. ‘It’s what could have happened to me. To my family.’
‘It was not your fault,’ Brielle reminds her softly.
‘Thank you,’ Dreska says, and raises her chin, a hint of her stubborn wilfulness shining through. ‘But all I want now is to help as many as I can. I want to feel worthy of my sister when I next see her.’
Brielle’s heart twists, but she says nothing, rising from her chair. She has an awful feeling that Dreska will always want to atone simply for being who she is. They follow Nova out into the gathering dark.
The family live on the outskirts of Ichbarrow, mountains rearing up in the distance behind their home, the howl of grindlewolves like some discordant chant, eddying and echoing over the plains.
Brielle smells coal and ash before they step inside, but in the sitting room the fire is unlit.
The temperature drops, cool air slipping over her neck, and she wonders if the family have not been able to light a fire in some time.
The mother rises, her sister – the woman from before – is sitting with her. ‘Men are at the mine still,’ she says, taking her sister’s hand. ‘The girl is upstairs. She won’t … You might not be able to see her. She drifts in and out of focus.’
Brielle licks her lips, listening to the creak of floorboards from above. ‘Her name?’
‘Inesh,’ the mother whispers, her cloud of dark hair bobbing as she casts her gaze down. Nova was right: she does look haunted, as if she’s never learned how to sleep. ‘My daughter, or what was my daughter. Her name is Inesh.’
Dreska sits down beside her, taking her other hand. ‘I know what this is, the crushing weight of it, and I hope we can help you.’
The woman’s head bows, as though the weight truly is pressing down on her, the knowing that her daughter may never return. That she could live out her days with her ghost. ‘Thank you,’ she whispers. ‘Please. Please save her.’
Brielle glances at Nova then at Dreska. ‘I accept the assignment. I’ll do all I can for Inesh.’ Then she moves to the staircase, Nova at her heels. ‘Dreska, stay behind me, no sudden movements. If the wraith lunges for you, you block her, yes? Just like we talked about.’
‘Yes,’ Dreska says, curling her hands into trembling fists.
Brielle slips up the cramped staircase, following the scent of burning and the sound of pitiful crying.
When she opens the door to the girl’s bedroom, she finds the wraith, crouched on a faded rug.
Inesh is a pale apparition, a shadowy form of who she once must have been.
Dark hair like her mother’s in a crop above her shoulders, a blue gown, thin shoulders.
She glances up as Nova slinks towards her, freezing as the familiar winds her tail round her knees.
Her gaze is pinched, as though hungry, and sadness leaks from her, tendrils of it latching on to Brielle, dampening her mood instantly.
She falls into her training, drawing up a mental barrier between herself and Inesh.
A wraith cannot help but create misery, consuming all hope like a flame devours air, suffocating all the happiness you hold in your heart.
‘You’re not a cat,’ Inesh says, voice sharp and serrated. Then her eyes meet Brielle’s, before straying to Dreska. ‘You – you’re all so bright. Like walking stars …’
Now, Hunter, you will see why I’m of use. Tell the young one to shield herself and, if I forget who I am, bring me back.
‘Nova? What do you mean?’
Brielle blinks down at where the familiar was, and in her place she finds something monstrous. Fangs and claws and smoke, all in a tiny, vicious storm … A storm that is growing, expanding.
We familiars form a bond with a witch for a purpose, Hunter, and I’m afraid that my witch has been gone too long. I will try not to take too much.
‘Nova, talk to me,’ Brielle says, trying to still the shake in her voice as she steps in front of Dreska, shielding her with her own body. ‘What are you doing?’
Feeding.
Inesh snaps into full focus, eyes widening in terror as her gaze meets Brielle’s. ‘Please,’ she manages, before she’s engulfed.
Brielle freezes, heart pounding like a fist. Then it hits her, what a familiar is, what it … what Nova wants from this wraith. What feeds her.
‘Nova, no!’ cries Brielle as she leaps for the tempest of chaos and magic.
She’s aware of Dreska, aware of the room, then almost at once, all there is around her is storm.
Magic engulfs her, seemingly endless, depthless, a twisting swirl of night and stars and colour.
She can barely see, barely breathe, as the world the wraith and familiar have made seems to expand and contract, where the rules of time and distance do not apply. ‘Nova!’
I’m here, Hunter, and nowhere, Nova purrs in her mind like the scrape of teasing claws. This wraith is a well of magic, almost depthless. Do you want to save her?
‘Do you?’ Brielle thunders, turning this way and that, ribbons of light and shadow and chaos dashing across her vision. ‘Did you ever intend to?’
Of course. Why do you think I suggested this assignment?
Then Nova is beside her, twice as big, all edges and sharpness, with none of the fat folds and feline fur of her usual form.
If I feed, I am no longer hungry. And the wraith no longer has an uncontrollable outpouring of magic. She’ll gain some control, enough to be a witch once more. One you can train. One you can ensure doesn’t become a wraith again.
Brielle narrows her gaze on Nova. ‘Have you been feeding off me? Dreska?’
A little, I admit. But you don’t taste right. Neither does this wraith, but food is food and hunger is hunger.
‘You like the taste of Lowri’s magic,’ she says with a shudder.
Nova, in her true form, turns to her, revealing rows of jagged teeth and eyes like the night.
Yes. And now you know our secret. The greatest secret of our kind.
What we only ever reveal to the witch we bond with, that we sustain ourselves by feeding on their excess magic.
In your world, at least. Now, please … help me detach from this young witch. I cannot take too much.
A sudden surge of magic knocks Brielle backwards, and Nova whips round, facing the wraith, who is now once more in the shape of a girl.
Inesh.
Nova stalks forward, tail lashing, and pounces at the witch. Brielle gasps, staggering back as waves of magic explode and pummel her, Inesh’s cry a deafening roar.
Brielle blinks rapidly and throws out her hand towards Nova, speaking a word with the command of a witch.
‘Dimmita.’
Brielle collides with the wall behind her, and suddenly there is silence.
Stillness. A ringing, like tinny bells in her ears.
She groans as she gets to her feet and finds the room in splinters.
Dreska crouches by the door, eyes fixed on the middle of the room, furniture in pieces all around them.
And Nova is unmoving, pulsing oddly, a glow to her fur that lingers for a moment.
She seems to have grown, now bigger than a cat ought to be, and the figure lying next to her …
‘Inesh?’ Brielle whispers, moving towards the witch. ‘Inesh, can you hear me?’
The girl uncurls, blinking into the room, and Brielle finds a witch with brown skin, a tight coiled weave of dark red hair and startlingly blue eyes. Her hand whips out to grab Nova. ‘What did you take from me, creature?’
And Brielle grins, heart calming to a patter as she kneels beside her. The witch stiffens, head swivelling slowly to meet Brielle’s gaze.
She’s like you were. All tangled thorny magic. Fearless.
‘You’re right, Nova,’ Brielle says quietly. ‘She is like me. I believe we have found a new hunter for our coven.’
Nova flicks her tail and begins to stalk away.
‘Nova?’ Brielle calls after her. ‘You and I are going to have a chat. Set some boundaries, expectations …’
Of course. A hunter managing a creature.
‘That’s not what I meant.’
But you are right. One not as strong as I, not so used to being a witch’s familiar, may have taken too much. May have become too greedy. Those creatures are no longer familiars, and their greed can lead to death.
Brielle releases a breath. ‘Just tell me next time? No more secrets. But what you did … You saved her.’
You’re welcome, Brielle.
When they emerge from the house, it’s daytime, a thin streak of grey rising up on the horizon.
Brielle squints, tracking the progress of a hawktail as it soars towards the town.
Hawktails, messenger birds, provide an expensive but dependable service.
And she’s fairly sure it’s flying towards her.
She braces herself as it circles, then she holds out her arm for it to land.
‘Aren’t you a beauty,’ she murmurs, catching the jade and violet flecks in its black wings as it lands.
She unfastens the message tied round one of its legs.
Ripping open the letter, her tiredness from the long night dissolves, forehead pinching as she races through the news it contains.
Then she bunches the message in her fist, throwing her arm up in anger.
With a cry, the hawktail ascends, leaving her at once.
Turning to her three unlikely companions – a familiar, a witch in training and a hunter in training – she sizes them up, finding three sets of fierce eyes, all resting expectantly on her.
‘We return to Ennor,’ she says, dropping the message in her pocket, ‘as swiftly as we can. Pack your things and make ready for the journey home. My friends are in danger. Clarus for Inesh, to bind you as a hunter, will have to wait.’ She turns, muttering to Nova.
‘And if that hawktail can find us with a message …’
Then we are too easy to find.