Read The Spook's Stories: Grimalkin's Tale for Free Online

my next two blades did not quite find their intended targets; even so, they buried themselves deep within his flesh.
    For a moment he looked directly at me, his pupils red vertical slits. I had nothing with which to defend myself against the power that he could marshal: I waited to die. What was worse, however, he would, I well knew, find me after death and inflict never-ending torments on my soul.
    Now I was willing him away. Would he go? Or would he destroy me first?
    To my relief, he simply vanished, taking the flames of the fire with him so that we were all plunged into darkness. The rule had held. I had carried his child, so he could not be in my presence; not unless I wished it.
    There was confusion all around me, shrieks of anger and fear; witches running in all directions. I slipped away into the darkness and made my escape. Of course, I knew that they would send assassins after me. It meant I’d have to kill or be killed.
    I ran, heading north and passing beyond Pendle Hill, then curved away west towards the distant sea. I knew exactly where I was going, having planned my escape far in advance. On the flatlands, east of the river Wyre’s estuary, was the spot where I would make my stand. I had wrapped myself in a cloak of dark magic, but it would not be strong enough to hide me from all those who followed me. I needed to fight in a place where I might gain an advantage.
    There is a line of three villages there: Hambleton, Staumin and Preesall, aligned roughly north to south, joined by a narrow track that sometimes becomes impassable because of the tide. On all sides they are surrounded by soggy moss. The river is tidal, with extensive salt marshes, and north-west of Staumin, right on the sea margin, is Arm Hill, a small mound of firm ground that rises above the grassy tussocks and treacherous channels along which the tide races to trap the unwary. On one side is the river; on the other, the marsh, and nobody can cross it without being seen from that vantage point.
    I waited for my pursuers, knowing there would be more than one. My crime against the Deane clan was terrible indeed. If they caught me, I would die slowly and in great pain. The first of my enemies came into sight at dusk, picking her way slowly across the marsh grass.
    As a witch, I have many skills and talents. One of these proved very useful now. As an enemy approaches, I instantly know her worth: her strength and ability in combat. The one crossing the marsh towards me now was competent enough, but not of the first order. No doubt her talents as a tracker and her power to penetrate my dark magical cloak had brought this witch to me first.
    I waited until she was close, then showed myself to her. I was standing on that small hill, clearly outlined against the fading red of the western sky. She ran towards me, a blade in each hand. She did not weave; made no attempt to make herself a difficult target.
    It was me or her. One of us would die. So be it!
    I pulled my favourite throwing knife from my belt. This one was not tipped with silver alloy but that wasn’t necessary; it was sufficient to slay a witch. I hurled it at my attacker and it took her in the throat. She made a little gurgling noise, dropped to her knees and fell face down in the marsh grass.
    She was the first human being I had ever killed, and I felt a momentary pang. But it quickly passed as I concentrated on ensuring my own survival. I hid the witch’s body under a shelf of grass tussocks, pushing her down into the mud. I did not take her heart. We had faced each other in honourable combat and she had lost. One night that witch would return from the dead, crawling across the marsh in search of prey. As she was no further threat to me, I would not deny her that.
    I waited almost three days for the next to find me. There were two and they arrived together. We fought at noon, the late autumn sun painting the slow tidal ebb of the river blood-red. I was strong and fast, but they were