over, and he’d be as spry and fit as before.
Dad reckoned it was the shock of the water that did it.
No doubt if you weren’t already dead, such a shock could as easily kill as cure. But I was desperate, and I couldn’t think of anything else.
So I rolled Jenny into the freezing water of the fast-flowing stream so that she ended up on her back. Then I knelt beside her. Her head I supported with both hands, but her whole body was immersed.
Suddenly she gave a gasp, opened her eyes wide, and stared up at me.
“Take deep breaths,” I told her. “Concentrate on your breathing.”
She tried to say something, but this started a choking fit. When it subsided, I continued to support her head with my right hand while using my cupped left hand to dribble water into her mouth. After I’d done this six or seven times, Jenny spoke again, this time managing to utter two words.
“The beast . . . ?” Her eyes widened again, and she started shivering.
“The beast is dead,” I reassured her. “Concentrate on getting well.”
“I’m cold,” she said. “So cold . . .”
So I lifted her out of the water and laid her down on the grassy bank again.
“Take off your clothes,” I ordered. “You can wear my cloak until they dry.”
I turned my back, intending to give her some privacy, but after a few moments she cried out, “My fingers are numb!”
I turned, watching as she fumbled with the buttons of her blouse. She couldn’t get them undone. I had to do it for her—and there was no time to feel any embarrassment. Finally I wrapped her in my cloak.
“I’m wearing a spook’s cloak!” she said hoarsely, a hint of a smile on her face.
I lit a fire by the stream and set some traps for rabbits. As the sun came up, I fed her—mostly the gravy, with just a few small pieces of meat. I was glad to see that she already seemed much stronger.
“I thought you’d left me to die,” she said after swallowing the last mouthful. “It was the most terrifying moment of my life. Until that point I thought you’d work out some way to save me. When you ran, I couldn’t believe it. I was desperate. But you came back . . . I owe you my life.”
“I’m sorry I had to leave you. I ran back to Chipenden to get this.” I held up the sword before her. “It was crafted by Grimalkin, the witch assassin of the Malkin clan. Have you heard of her?”
Jenny shook her head.
“She forges her own weapons and made this specially for me. While I wield it, magic can’t be used against me. Normal spook methods had no effect on the beast. This was the only way I could defeat it.”
“It’s not much to look at.” She stared at the blade. “It’s covered in rust.”
I nodded, studying it closely. It didn’t look like much, but it was perfectly balanced for me to wield; I also knew that it would never break or lose its edge.
While Jenny rested, I went back to the beast’s lair. I entered the tree cautiously. I was sure that I had killed it, but it had shown such power that I was taking no chances.
Some Pendle witches could die and yet still move and hunt, taking small animals for their prey, but a few were very fast and hunted humans. One even stalked her prey carrying her head underneath her arm. I would take no unnecessary risks with this creature.
Would it be better to take the body back to the garden and bury it in a pit with bars over the top, as I would a witch? I wondered.
I needn’t have worried. I was instantly greeted by the drone of flies and the faint stink of death. The creature lay in exactly the same position; it was quite dead.
I took my time searching both the room where we had fought and the dungeon below. I was intrigued by the jars. I picked up one and looked at it closely. It contained what looked like yellow jelly, and suspended within it were small objects. What could they be? They looked like seeds—or perhaps very small eggs.
There seemed to be other rooms higher in the tree, but the entrances were
Dad reckoned it was the shock of the water that did it.
No doubt if you weren’t already dead, such a shock could as easily kill as cure. But I was desperate, and I couldn’t think of anything else.
So I rolled Jenny into the freezing water of the fast-flowing stream so that she ended up on her back. Then I knelt beside her. Her head I supported with both hands, but her whole body was immersed.
Suddenly she gave a gasp, opened her eyes wide, and stared up at me.
“Take deep breaths,” I told her. “Concentrate on your breathing.”
She tried to say something, but this started a choking fit. When it subsided, I continued to support her head with my right hand while using my cupped left hand to dribble water into her mouth. After I’d done this six or seven times, Jenny spoke again, this time managing to utter two words.
“The beast . . . ?” Her eyes widened again, and she started shivering.
“The beast is dead,” I reassured her. “Concentrate on getting well.”
“I’m cold,” she said. “So cold . . .”
So I lifted her out of the water and laid her down on the grassy bank again.
“Take off your clothes,” I ordered. “You can wear my cloak until they dry.”
I turned my back, intending to give her some privacy, but after a few moments she cried out, “My fingers are numb!”
I turned, watching as she fumbled with the buttons of her blouse. She couldn’t get them undone. I had to do it for her—and there was no time to feel any embarrassment. Finally I wrapped her in my cloak.
“I’m wearing a spook’s cloak!” she said hoarsely, a hint of a smile on her face.
I lit a fire by the stream and set some traps for rabbits. As the sun came up, I fed her—mostly the gravy, with just a few small pieces of meat. I was glad to see that she already seemed much stronger.
“I thought you’d left me to die,” she said after swallowing the last mouthful. “It was the most terrifying moment of my life. Until that point I thought you’d work out some way to save me. When you ran, I couldn’t believe it. I was desperate. But you came back . . . I owe you my life.”
“I’m sorry I had to leave you. I ran back to Chipenden to get this.” I held up the sword before her. “It was crafted by Grimalkin, the witch assassin of the Malkin clan. Have you heard of her?”
Jenny shook her head.
“She forges her own weapons and made this specially for me. While I wield it, magic can’t be used against me. Normal spook methods had no effect on the beast. This was the only way I could defeat it.”
“It’s not much to look at.” She stared at the blade. “It’s covered in rust.”
I nodded, studying it closely. It didn’t look like much, but it was perfectly balanced for me to wield; I also knew that it would never break or lose its edge.
While Jenny rested, I went back to the beast’s lair. I entered the tree cautiously. I was sure that I had killed it, but it had shown such power that I was taking no chances.
Some Pendle witches could die and yet still move and hunt, taking small animals for their prey, but a few were very fast and hunted humans. One even stalked her prey carrying her head underneath her arm. I would take no unnecessary risks with this creature.
Would it be better to take the body back to the garden and bury it in a pit with bars over the top, as I would a witch? I wondered.
I needn’t have worried. I was instantly greeted by the drone of flies and the faint stink of death. The creature lay in exactly the same position; it was quite dead.
I took my time searching both the room where we had fought and the dungeon below. I was intrigued by the jars. I picked up one and looked at it closely. It contained what looked like yellow jelly, and suspended within it were small objects. What could they be? They looked like seeds—or perhaps very small eggs.
There seemed to be other rooms higher in the tree, but the entrances were
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