Black Water had
enveloped his body, and were grasping and writhing so that his face was the
only part of him still visible. Belladonna could see his jaw tighten as he
sprinted the last few yards as the final drips of the binding potion fell from
the bottle and joined the first. He dropped to the ground, gasping and
coughing. The binding should have been complete, yet still the shadows
screamed. Belladonna knew she couldn’t stop speaking.
“…attorlathe, stune…”
Steve rolled over.
“Why hasn’t it worked?” His
voice was a rasping gasp.
“You must bind it,” whispered
Branwyn, her voice barely audible. “You must bind it.”
“…wegbrade, maethe, stune…”
Belladonna stopped. Mrs. Jay
had been wrong, this did need the Spellbinder. It did need Words
of Power, just not ancient Sumerian ones. It needed English words. English
words to imprison the worst of the Old Magic of England in this ground forever.
“This is a seal of the Old
Times,” she yelled, each word coming faster than the one before. “A vexation to
fear, a mortification to pain, a shackle to disease and despair. It has power
against three and against thirty, against the hand of a fiend and the spell of
vile creatures. It has might against the onflying, it binds you here until the
seas slip apart, until the sky falls away, until the earth beneath the feet of
men turns to salt. This spell is bound, the Spirits of the Black Water are
bound, the ground beneath them is bound, the air above them is bound. All is
bound and will not be undone. By the power of Nantosuelta, who is the Queen of
the Abyss, and the power of the Spellbinder, you shall move not, live not, die
not!”
She stopped. That was all.
She hoped it was all…that it was enough. She could sense Steve and Elsie
staring at her, their mouths hanging open, and she could feel the crowd of
ghosts watching and waiting behind her, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off
the Spirits of the Black Waters.
The screaming stopped first.
Then the roaring whine that had followed Steve around the parade ground. Then
the spirits themselves split apart and flew, swirling into the sky, only to
recombine and like an arrow shoot towards the ground, vanishing beneath the
muddy grass with a mighty groan.
The crowd of ghosts cheered
and applauded.
“That was amazing,” said a
man in a smart suit.
“Fantastic,” enthused a 1920s
Flapper, the fringe on her dress swaying as she ran to congratulate the live
girl.
“You must be a mighty seer to
your people,” said the man who had asked about the binding.
“Thank you,” said Belladonna,
suddenly feeling very shy. “It was nothing. Steve had the hard part.”
“Best Halloween ever ,”
said a girl who looked an awful lot like Jane Austen.
“Seriously, Belladonna,” said
Steve, scrambling to his feet, “that was even better than the standing stones
thing!”
“It would’ve been better with
a few “thees” and “thous,” though,” said Elsie. “Maybe a “begone” or two as
well. More Shakespearian.”
“But I’m not Shakespeare,”
said Belladonna, feeling a tiny bit deflated.
“Well, thank goodness for
that,” said Steve, laughing. “I wouldn’t have understood a word you said!”
The crowd were still talking
and laughing when a small voice broke through the cacophony.
“I’m free.”
Belladonna whirled around.
For a moment she’d forgotten why they were there. It was for Branwyn, the girl
who had been sacrificed, who had spent two thousand years, wet and muddy and
protecting the world from the Spirits of the Black Water.
She was still sitting on the
railway tie, but the mud and water had gone. She was holding her hands up and
staring at them. Staring at the pale skin she must have forgotten she ever had.
She turned to Belladonna, her face flushing with joy and her eyes a sparkling
blue. The linen dress was white again and the flowers fresh in her hair, which
turned out to be light brown, not red at all.
She stood
enveloped his body, and were grasping and writhing so that his face was the
only part of him still visible. Belladonna could see his jaw tighten as he
sprinted the last few yards as the final drips of the binding potion fell from
the bottle and joined the first. He dropped to the ground, gasping and
coughing. The binding should have been complete, yet still the shadows
screamed. Belladonna knew she couldn’t stop speaking.
“…attorlathe, stune…”
Steve rolled over.
“Why hasn’t it worked?” His
voice was a rasping gasp.
“You must bind it,” whispered
Branwyn, her voice barely audible. “You must bind it.”
“…wegbrade, maethe, stune…”
Belladonna stopped. Mrs. Jay
had been wrong, this did need the Spellbinder. It did need Words
of Power, just not ancient Sumerian ones. It needed English words. English
words to imprison the worst of the Old Magic of England in this ground forever.
“This is a seal of the Old
Times,” she yelled, each word coming faster than the one before. “A vexation to
fear, a mortification to pain, a shackle to disease and despair. It has power
against three and against thirty, against the hand of a fiend and the spell of
vile creatures. It has might against the onflying, it binds you here until the
seas slip apart, until the sky falls away, until the earth beneath the feet of
men turns to salt. This spell is bound, the Spirits of the Black Water are
bound, the ground beneath them is bound, the air above them is bound. All is
bound and will not be undone. By the power of Nantosuelta, who is the Queen of
the Abyss, and the power of the Spellbinder, you shall move not, live not, die
not!”
She stopped. That was all.
She hoped it was all…that it was enough. She could sense Steve and Elsie
staring at her, their mouths hanging open, and she could feel the crowd of
ghosts watching and waiting behind her, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off
the Spirits of the Black Waters.
The screaming stopped first.
Then the roaring whine that had followed Steve around the parade ground. Then
the spirits themselves split apart and flew, swirling into the sky, only to
recombine and like an arrow shoot towards the ground, vanishing beneath the
muddy grass with a mighty groan.
The crowd of ghosts cheered
and applauded.
“That was amazing,” said a
man in a smart suit.
“Fantastic,” enthused a 1920s
Flapper, the fringe on her dress swaying as she ran to congratulate the live
girl.
“You must be a mighty seer to
your people,” said the man who had asked about the binding.
“Thank you,” said Belladonna,
suddenly feeling very shy. “It was nothing. Steve had the hard part.”
“Best Halloween ever ,”
said a girl who looked an awful lot like Jane Austen.
“Seriously, Belladonna,” said
Steve, scrambling to his feet, “that was even better than the standing stones
thing!”
“It would’ve been better with
a few “thees” and “thous,” though,” said Elsie. “Maybe a “begone” or two as
well. More Shakespearian.”
“But I’m not Shakespeare,”
said Belladonna, feeling a tiny bit deflated.
“Well, thank goodness for
that,” said Steve, laughing. “I wouldn’t have understood a word you said!”
The crowd were still talking
and laughing when a small voice broke through the cacophony.
“I’m free.”
Belladonna whirled around.
For a moment she’d forgotten why they were there. It was for Branwyn, the girl
who had been sacrificed, who had spent two thousand years, wet and muddy and
protecting the world from the Spirits of the Black Water.
She was still sitting on the
railway tie, but the mud and water had gone. She was holding her hands up and
staring at them. Staring at the pale skin she must have forgotten she ever had.
She turned to Belladonna, her face flushing with joy and her eyes a sparkling
blue. The linen dress was white again and the flowers fresh in her hair, which
turned out to be light brown, not red at all.
She stood
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