Chapter 41
41
Just as she’d begun to convince herself that the magic was nonsense, a small part of her wondered if what she and Marcus had done in these very woods that afternoon could possibly have any bearing on this startling revelation. If so, it meant that she was now carrying his child, although with their recent and reckless intimacy, maybe it was inevitable.
Mr Findlay’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
‘So, you have lain with the foolish man who took you in, after all. And presumably in these very woods. How very daring. I must own to be wrong-footed… and even a little disappointed that I’ll not have the pleasure. Not tonight at any rate.’
Her anger at his smug satisfaction began to bubble like the very spring that was surely now feeding the well. She lifted her head and spat in his face, but Findlay didn’t so much as blink as he let his arms fall from her clothing and released her remaining hand.
‘This All Hallows’ Eve,’ he smiled, ‘the possibilities are endless. A simple summoning for Him to gather all the departed souls of the year can now have even more majestic results. He will be so pleased with me. The water will give me greater powers and add to my strength. But, as I can’t have you running off, I must first perform a binding spell.’
Still blocking her escape by his proximity, her inability to move at that moment was also partly due to the shock revelation that she couldn’t even begin to deal with properly. Findlay fixed his eyes on her face as he uttered an incomprehensible incantation to the background of the building scent. It was getting harder to focus and a kaleidoscope of colours blurred the edges of her view, but she managed to push herself into an upright position. Whatever he had thrown on to the fire was affecting her on so many levels: her vision, her balance, her ability to think clearly.
As Findlay’s words drifted in the air between them, Luna felt her legs grow heavy and almost physically anchor to the soil – as if invisible roots had snaked from the soles of her feet and twisted into the ground. She attempted to take a step but was welded to the woodland floor as surely as the farrier nails a horseshoe to the hoof. How was this even possible?
Marcus’s often repeated words were first and foremost in her mind, and she clung to the image of his uncompromising face to give her strength. She was being tricked by a master manipulator into believing that she was under his power, when none of it was real – just suggestion and the influence of powerful drugs.
Confident that she couldn’t move, Findlay turned his back on her and walked over to the assortment of candles, jars and strange implements abandoned on the ground. The hood fell from his head as he began to place curious objects around the large circle on the woodland floor. A chant in that strange and indecipherable language that he so often used came from his mouth. Happy with the final arrangement, he held his arms out to the fire, palms upwards as twisting shapes appeared, and pale grey streaks of hazy nothingness were pulled towards the flames. They resembled trails of smoke but instead of drifting away from the heat, they were being sucked towards it.
‘She wanted to kill you but I asked her to wait, although I can quite believe she’s causing mischief in the house – the odd visitation, perhaps a slammed door or a chill breeze? And now she joins us tonight,’ Findlay said, turning to her. ‘Watching all this.’
Luna swallowed hard. She twisted her head, even though her body was largely immobile, but she couldn’t see anyone with them in the clearing.
‘She came to me not long after you appeared at Ravenswood. I hadn’t seen her for days and wondered if Greybourne had put her in some asylum, but it was then that I knew the truth. Her spirit was angry and bitter. And now the master of All Hallows’ Eve calls her, along with all the dead souls he is entitled to collect. She is walking these woods in her misery and has confirmed what I suspected all along: Marcus killed her.’
‘No.’ Luna shook her head, unable to believe this of her husband. She knew him to be a good man, but nagging doubts started to swim in her watery mind, thrashing against waves of uncertainty. He had always been so sure that their deception was not in danger of discovery. Was that because he knew of his wife’s demise? And then she thought back to the morning after they had first made love and how he had tacitly acknowledged that he, too, had done wicked things.
Luna looked to the trees and it was as though the whole wood was coming alive; her surroundings were still swirling incomprehensibly, but the murky smudges had more definition now. She could make out contours and limbs. The whispers of a host of voices echoed in her ears, and the eyes of a hundred creatures fell upon her face. She could swear there was a cackle as one of the ambiguous bands of shadow whooshed past her face and into the fire, causing it to swell even more; the mass of it was now over four foot wide and spreading. Findlay was adding souls, not wood, to the bonfire.
‘And here she is!’ Findlay announced, with all the excitement of a small child. ‘Look how she dances in the flames. Always drawn to the fire, was Luna.’
The dizziness was threatening to destroy her tenuous grip on conscious thought, but there was, without doubt, a dancing woman, writhing and twisting in the building orange inferno. The figure was naked, with long hair falling around her body like a cloak and her arms high, waving in ecstasy.
‘The light from the fire guides them here, and then holds them until He can come from the depths to gather them together and lead them on a merry dance through the streets of Little Doubton. Anyone foolish enough to be in his path is swept up and dragged back to the biggest blaze of all – the raging inferno that is the underworld.’
As more of the floating figures were pulled into the clearing, she tried to focus on them: staggering men emerging from the gnarled trunks of the trees, grimacing old women floating down from the bare branches above, and the occasional young child – part smoky illusion and part human. She thought for the smallest moment of time she even saw Webber in the shadows of the dense trunks, which made no sense because as far as she knew he was alive and well.
Satisfied with his work, Findlay walked back to those objects not in the circle. Luna had abandoned her calls for help. She felt weak and muddled, but she was also gripped by a morbid fascination with everything that was unfolding before her.
He was not looking at her, instead busying himself with his ritual, and continued with a steady stream of chatter and elucidation, occasionally humming to himself.
‘Of the ten commandments, I do believe I have broken every single one,’ he said with glee. ‘I despised my parents and even hastened my own mother’s departure from this world – sanctimonious bitch. I have stolen since I was old enough to crawl, worshipped many gods, and have no special reverence for the Sabbath. But of all my transgressions, coveting Luna and committing adultery with her, time and time again, gave me the most satisfaction. She had to come to me at the cottage after we were spotted by those damn ravens, as they would no longer let me in the woods, but with her help I made them pay for their actions. Yes, undoubtedly my preferred sin is adultery,’ he said. ‘But the taking of a life, human or otherwise, comes a pleasing second. Tell me, my dear, what did it feel like when you poisoned the poor man in Lowbridge? Did you feel a secret thrill? A moment of power and triumph?’
Luna didn’t respond, merely narrowed her eyes and tried to give nothing away. She would not protest her innocence to him, especially as it occurred to her that if he believed she was capable of murder, it might be in her favour. He walked to the other side of the well and took a large grimoire from the medicine bag that she belatedly realised was tucked out of sight. He placed the book on the flat stone edge to the side of her; she could still turn her head enough to see what he was up to. Mystical symbols were embossed into the cover of the leather in gold, and the edges were protected by brass corners.
‘And now he calls for blood, my master, to enable him to claim the damaged as his own. Those whose thoughts and desires are far from pure: the selfish, the tainted and the duplicitous; the non-believers and heretics.’
He opened the pages, his finger running along the jagged, inky words. ‘Ah, yes, the blood of a sacrifice, a handful of crushed deadly nightshade berries and water of the purest origins – all to be stirred anti-clockwise with a black feather. ’
At the word sacrifice , the colour drained from her face and an icy chill crept across her skin. Was he now to kill her so that she might be an ingredient in this spell?
‘Luckily for me, I can kill two birds with one stone, or rather procure two necessary elements of this ritual with one bird.’
He walked over to collect the sack, untied the neck and pulled out a limp Bran. His beak was bound shut and a rag wrapped around his body to disable his wings.
‘No!’ she screamed, and still her legs would not cooperate.
‘This is why the water is so important,’ he explained. ‘The fresh blood of an innocent – and you are sadly no longer that – and the water from the well combine to increase my powers. I have not been able to summon him since those damn ravens attacked me every time I approached the boundary, but this year… this year I shall fulfil my destiny. And to have the water flowing again is beyond my wildest imaginings.’
He rubbed his chubby hands together in unconcealed glee and drew a long blade from the folds of his cloak. The fire was now barely fifteen yards from them, and was beginning to roar, almost as if the dancing souls within were creeping closer in expectation. As the flames leapt higher, their colours changed from deep reds and oranges to a more intense yellow and white.
Placing Bran onto the flat stone edge with one hand, Findlay lifted the blade with the other. The bound raven jerked his head and tried to peck at his captor, but it was useless.
‘No last-minute deliverance for you this time,’ he said to the bird. ‘I really was terribly frustrated that you’d survived the cull I had been so many months encouraging Luna to execute, but with all of your kind gone, I shall at last be free to come and go.’
The anger within Luna was building. Findlay was behind everything. But was his magic real or imagined? Whatever he’d thrown onto the fire was clearly affecting her mind. Could the binding spell be entirely in her head? She had to fight this. Marcus was right.
Focusing every ounce of strength she had on the muscles in her legs, she managed to lift her right leg and shunt it forward, combining it with the most primal growl that escalated to a victorious crescendo as she felt this strength grow. Findlay was momentarily distracted from whatever incantation he was reciting and looked over to see what all the noise was about.
He opened his mouth to speak but instead his jaw dropped as he realised she was lurching towards him. Dragging her other leg to the front, her slow stumble became a drunken stagger, until she rushed at him, shoving him to the ground. They landed in a heap with her body over his, as the knife and the bird fell from his hands. With one swift movement, she pulled at the twine restricting the raven’s beak and Bran shook his head free, before tugging the cloth from his body and finally stretching out his liberated wings. He flapped them furiously as he called into the night air, ‘Curse you! Curse you!’
‘Do your worst, Bran,’ she cried. This man deserved no sympathy.
The bird turned his head to look at her and, fearful of what was to come, she grabbed the knife to protect herself, but neither bird nor man were interested in her. Findlay scrabbled to his feet and lurched for the raven, who flew at him with all the frenzy of a rabid dog. Again and again, the wrathful creature attacked, as his prey waved his arms ineffectually in the air. Luna knew from experience how strong and sharp that lethal beak was. She also suspected that the cunning man’s own senses were as dulled as her own from inhaling the potent fumes from the fire. The scene before her was a mass of black, furiously flapping feathers and the sickening shrieks of both hunter and victim.
‘My eyes! Not my eyes! ’
She was forced to turn her head away as she witnessed the streaks of blood where the beak was inflicting its damage, and scrunched up her own eyes, as if not watching would make all the horror disappear. If only she could shut out the sounds of agonised screams and frantic beating wings as the bird attacked.
‘You bitch!’ Findlay screamed. ‘Call off your familiar. What kind of witch are you?’
She gripped the knife tighter between her shaking hands, expecting the man to come at her again now that her guard was down, but when she turned to face him, two bloodied eye sockets confronted her, and he was swinging his head wildly from side to side. The sight of him, his face hardly even recognisable as a face, made her retch into the rotting leaves.
The brief silence that followed was interrupted by a loud shout.
‘What the hell?’ A pounding of feet and Marcus’s shocked voice pulled her back to the moment. Findlay lurched to the left as Marcus rushed over to her, and Bran flew up onto the roof of the well, clearly feeling he’d done enough.
‘The waters… I need the healing waters…’ Findlay started to zigzag aimlessly around, waving his arms in front of him and moaning in pain.
‘My God, if you have laid a hand on my wife, Findlay… Luna? Are you okay. What the hell is going on?’
He fell to his knees beside her and placed both arms around her shaking body, drawing her close. They both watched as Findlay spun in circles, with no idea where he was, and then blundered blindly towards the bonfire. The beast had grown even greater, as the ferocious flames came dangerously close to overhanging branches, and fingers of flame seemed to reach out and grab the man. Could he not feel the intense heat licking at his cloak? The cloth caught and Luna realised he was on fire.
Again, she was forced to turn her head away as an almighty roar of flame was followed by blood-curdling shrieks, and she buried her head in Marcus’s broad chest. There was an intense wave of heat and every square inch of her skin felt afire, before a final roar and then an eerie flickering and crackle of burning wood. She turned back to the bonfire to find it had inexplicably damped down to almost nothing.
‘Did he touch you? Are you hurt?’ Marcus gripped Luna’s shoulders to look at her face and she shook her head.
Relieved that she was unharmed, he let her fall into him again and stroked her hair, holding her close as she sobbed into his coat and explained how she’d come looking for him but instead found Findlay, who had talked of summoning the Devil and tried to murder Bran.
‘That damned man was so much more dangerous than I thought. And, also, completely unhinged. I hope you were sensible enough to know that whatever you think you saw, you were being manipulated?’
She nodded and decided to say nothing of the spirits. Yes, her reality had been warped with opiates or some other mind-altering substance, but she was in no doubt that Mr Findlay had possessed dark powers that were not of this world.
‘I called for help,’ she said. ‘Where were you?’
‘I came as soon as I realised there was activity in the woods; firelight and shouts carried in the night air. I thought you were in the house. I thought you were safe. I put something in your cocoa. You were supposed to sleep through the night.’
He hadn’t answered her question but she didn’t pursue it. He was here now and, for the moment, that was enough.
They huddled together on the woodland floor for a while, both shaken by the what-ifs and what-had-beens, until the distant sound of voices caused them both to turn their heads towards the house.
It made no sense but as the babble of chatter got nearer, it was apparent that a huge crowd of people were heading for the well. Marcus helped her to her feet and stood slightly in front of her, protecting her from whatever was coming, but it was a sight neither of them could have anticipated.
Streaming into the clearing came half the village, some shouting and angry, holding pitchforks and sticks; others, like Mrs Cole and the doctor, were unarmed and trying to pacify the baying masses.
‘There she is!’ Hilda, the old woman who had scored her in the village pointed at Luna, as everyone fell silent.
‘There’s the witch.’