Witch Crag by Kate Cann

the only thing we have proof of, that keeps the witches safe?”
    There was a pause, then Quainy said, “The stories. Our fear of them.”
    â€œYes. Exactly. Suppose they’ve created this fear to keep themselves safe? They’ve said to themselves – people hate us, they think we’re evil, they’ll hunt us down – all right then, we’ll play it their way, we’ll put on a display of necromancy so twisted and dark it will create terrifying stories that will swell and spread and they’ll be afraid to come after us. The weird lights, the grotesque corpses – it could just be their protection. The making of their reputation. What man dare venture up the crag if he thinks his bones will be boiled and made into a daisy chain?”
    Raff shook his head. “So there’s no sorcery,” he said, slowly. “The girls who go to them – they work this out like you’ve done?”
    â€œI don’t know. Maybe there’s some kind of magic, some kind of contact. Something to tip the balance. For me it was. . .” She paused. Then she said, “I saw the witch that Arc dragged up to the gates.”
    â€œ What? ” said Quainy. “How?”
    â€œI was up on my ledge. I watched her get slit. It was horrible. She was beautiful, and scared, and she didn’t hex anyone. And she looked straight at me, as though she was trying to tell me something. I was hidden, in among the brambles, but it was as if she knew I was there. And I’ve been having these dreams. . .”
    Quainy and Raff, speechless, stared at Kita.
    â€œIt’s an almighty gamble,” croaked Raff, at last. “Based on a look and some dreams.”
    They’d finished their soup. Any minute now the headman would set them to work. By the fire, the young footsoldiers were getting restless, and looking around. If the three were spotted together, there’d be trouble.
    â€œAre you sure you want to go, Kita?” asked Quainy, urgently. “Arc has singled you out. You’ll have privileges if you carry his child.”
    â€œYes,” said Kita. “I’m sure.”
    â€œThen I’ll come too,” said Quainy. Her eyes were huge. “I trust you, Kita. I trust your instinct.”
    Kita took hold of her hand, squeezed it tight, no need for words.
    Raff exhaled shakily. “You’ve made your mind up fast,” he muttered.
    â€œBecause there’s no time to waste,” said Quainy. “And anyway, if it’s death we’re going to, death by dogs or cannibals or the witches, bring it on. Sooner that than what’s waiting for me with the horsemen.”
    â€œOK,” groaned Raff, “but you’re both girls. The witches might accept you but they’d slaughter me—”
    â€œMaybe not,” said Kita. “You’re clearly not a threat – not a warrior.”
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œ Raff , you’re an artist! And maybe they love beauty, and they’re enlightened, freethinking. . .”
    â€œThat’s just your hope, Kita. Your longing.”
    â€œWell, maybe it should be your hope, too. Maybe you should trust like Quainy.”
    â€œLet me think,” he muttered. “I can’t think so fast.”
    The quiet was shattered by the headman’s roar. “ Put out the fire! Get to work! ”
    â€œRaff – meet me tomorrow in the dung passage,” whispered Kita, as they scrambled to their feet. “Soon as you can after the midday meal. You have till then to decide.”

    Kita spent that day in the infants’ pens. Because the day had started so early, dawn only just turning the sky a dull grey, the infants were all still asleep when the matron let her through the cage door. They lay in rows in the shed, snuffling and whimpering under their lamb fleeces. “Sort the washing till it’s time for them to wake,” the matron ordered. “Then you can dish out