question, but none of us answered.
‘Sacrifice.’ The same word that Darren had used, but out of Dougie’s mouth it made me shudder. As if on cue, a sinister wind whipped around the campfire, making the flames snap and jump. For a moment the fire was almost extinguished entirely and we were engulfed in a shocking blanket of black. I gasped, but just as suddenly the light flared into life again, illuminating Dougie’s cheeks and jaw, leaving his eyes ghostly dark pits. The effect was frightening.
‘They practised sacrifice. If a creature could bleed, if it could feel pain, then it had the ability to provide the witches with power. They used animals sometimes, if the spell was small. But when the enemy was great, when the witches needed to delve deep into the darkness of their souls – the sacrifice would have to be human.’ Dougie smiled at us softly, but there was no warmth in it. Despite that, I found myself leaning closer towards him, drawn by the cadence of his voice, the hypnotic gleam in his eyes. ‘Witchcraft began with the Pagans. More specifically, the druids. They believed in the power of sacrifice, that through it they could commune with the gods, drink of their might. Just across that water –’ he pointed to the sea with one ghostly pale arm – ‘that’s where it happened. Because one year men from the south came, armed with weapons and soldiers, intent on taking over the Pagans’ lands. Romans. Outnumbered, outmatched, the druids fled to one of their holiest places, Ynys Dywyll. An island, rocky and bleak. It means, ‘the Dark Isle’. There they set up their altar, chose their victim. Her name was Ygraine, and she was the daughter of the lord. With the Romans gathering round, with time running out, the druids slaughtered her as a gift to their gods.
‘First, they strangled her, taking her right to the brink of death. Then, calling upon their gods, asking them to strike down the cursed army that had invaded their lands like a plague, they slit her throat and watched her blood spill out upon the stone. As the life drained out of her, the leader cut open her chest and drank directly from her heart. It’s said her spirit screamed as she watched him do it.’
Another pause. This time there were no interruptions. Dougie let the silence linger for almost a minute.
‘What happened?’ Emma finally managed to whisper.
‘The Romans stormed the island and killed them. Every single one. A mass sacrifice, the blood flowing so freely it stained the rocky ground red. And at last, at last the gods were appeased. The druids had lost their lives, but the gods let them return, as spirits, to guard the land. To haunt it.’
Dougie finished exactly as he’d started: quietly, softly. Eerily. Seconds passed but the silence drew on.
Eventually there was a tittering, then a confused bark of gasping and laughter as the tension that had gripped our little circle for the duration of Dougie’s story was dispelled. Martin’s face broke into a grin; Darren shook his head ruefully as he swigged from the bottle of booze. Emma was rubbing her arms, getting rid of imaginary goosebumps in such a way as to shove her cleavage higher up her chest, her side pressed against Darren’s.
But not me. I was eyeing the inky landscape, sudden fear twisting my stomach. Not a single house light anywhere; not a single soul. Just empty blackness where, I now imagined, evil spirits lingered.
Suddenly our campfire seemed far too small, far too insubstantial. Its glow barely illuminated our faces, close as we were to the flames. How near could evil get without us noticing?
Beside me, Dougie rose and brushed the sand from his jeans, then yawned and stretched.
‘Right, I’m knackered. I say we sleep.’ His voice was back to normal and as he looked down at me, hand outstretched to help me up, all at once he was my friend again, his mouth tugging into a smile, dimples winking in his cheeks.
There was a murmur of agreement. Only
‘Sacrifice.’ The same word that Darren had used, but out of Dougie’s mouth it made me shudder. As if on cue, a sinister wind whipped around the campfire, making the flames snap and jump. For a moment the fire was almost extinguished entirely and we were engulfed in a shocking blanket of black. I gasped, but just as suddenly the light flared into life again, illuminating Dougie’s cheeks and jaw, leaving his eyes ghostly dark pits. The effect was frightening.
‘They practised sacrifice. If a creature could bleed, if it could feel pain, then it had the ability to provide the witches with power. They used animals sometimes, if the spell was small. But when the enemy was great, when the witches needed to delve deep into the darkness of their souls – the sacrifice would have to be human.’ Dougie smiled at us softly, but there was no warmth in it. Despite that, I found myself leaning closer towards him, drawn by the cadence of his voice, the hypnotic gleam in his eyes. ‘Witchcraft began with the Pagans. More specifically, the druids. They believed in the power of sacrifice, that through it they could commune with the gods, drink of their might. Just across that water –’ he pointed to the sea with one ghostly pale arm – ‘that’s where it happened. Because one year men from the south came, armed with weapons and soldiers, intent on taking over the Pagans’ lands. Romans. Outnumbered, outmatched, the druids fled to one of their holiest places, Ynys Dywyll. An island, rocky and bleak. It means, ‘the Dark Isle’. There they set up their altar, chose their victim. Her name was Ygraine, and she was the daughter of the lord. With the Romans gathering round, with time running out, the druids slaughtered her as a gift to their gods.
‘First, they strangled her, taking her right to the brink of death. Then, calling upon their gods, asking them to strike down the cursed army that had invaded their lands like a plague, they slit her throat and watched her blood spill out upon the stone. As the life drained out of her, the leader cut open her chest and drank directly from her heart. It’s said her spirit screamed as she watched him do it.’
Another pause. This time there were no interruptions. Dougie let the silence linger for almost a minute.
‘What happened?’ Emma finally managed to whisper.
‘The Romans stormed the island and killed them. Every single one. A mass sacrifice, the blood flowing so freely it stained the rocky ground red. And at last, at last the gods were appeased. The druids had lost their lives, but the gods let them return, as spirits, to guard the land. To haunt it.’
Dougie finished exactly as he’d started: quietly, softly. Eerily. Seconds passed but the silence drew on.
Eventually there was a tittering, then a confused bark of gasping and laughter as the tension that had gripped our little circle for the duration of Dougie’s story was dispelled. Martin’s face broke into a grin; Darren shook his head ruefully as he swigged from the bottle of booze. Emma was rubbing her arms, getting rid of imaginary goosebumps in such a way as to shove her cleavage higher up her chest, her side pressed against Darren’s.
But not me. I was eyeing the inky landscape, sudden fear twisting my stomach. Not a single house light anywhere; not a single soul. Just empty blackness where, I now imagined, evil spirits lingered.
Suddenly our campfire seemed far too small, far too insubstantial. Its glow barely illuminated our faces, close as we were to the flames. How near could evil get without us noticing?
Beside me, Dougie rose and brushed the sand from his jeans, then yawned and stretched.
‘Right, I’m knackered. I say we sleep.’ His voice was back to normal and as he looked down at me, hand outstretched to help me up, all at once he was my friend again, his mouth tugging into a smile, dimples winking in his cheeks.
There was a murmur of agreement. Only
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