The Ragwitch. Garth Nix

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СКАЧАТЬ don’t know,” replied Paul, trying to make out the May Dancer’s form above him. “It wasn’t really her. I mean it was her building the fire, but she’d been taken over. The doll had her under its control.” Paul thought back to the Midden, and the words Julia had spat at him in another voice. “The doll spoke to me before it…they jumped in the fire. It talked of being imprisoned and it called itself…the Ragwitch.”

      “The Ragwitch,” echoed the May Dancer, the words twisting into a screaming wind, to be picked up by the other Dancers and made into a raging shout. A shout of anger and hatred, but also a shout of ancient fear. The Dancers were moving as well, no longer silently gathered around the prison hole. Branches snapped and crackled, the ground thudded with their heavy, stamping footsteps. Paul closed his eyes and turned his head to the side, blocking the sound from at least one ear. The noise above was like a violent storm, filling the darkness with threats and danger–the sounds heard by people found crushed by falling trees or struck by lightning during a thunderstorm.

      Slowly, the noises died. The May Dancers crept back to the hole, drained of noise, if not the fear and anger. Paul listened to their whisperings again, tense, waiting for them to decide his fate. They seemed to be arguing in some fashion, for there were many interruptions and changes of tone–but there was no foot-stamping anger, nor the sudden violence of their shouting.

      A few stars appeared in the sky. Paul watched them spring into sight and dimly saw the ragged edge of the long black cloud that had cloaked them. The cloud was blowing north and more stars began to sparkle, lightening the sky.

      The May Dancer leant over to speak again and Paul saw a dim silhouette, edged with starlight. Past him, Paul could vaguely make out “human” shapes, blacker than the darkness behind them. They moved slightly all the time, shifting positions to no apparent pattern or purpose.

      “We have decided to release you,” the May Dancer said flatly. “You will be taken to the edge of the forest and from there you can go where you will–though you must not come here again.”

      Paul nodded dumbly, unable to speak. They were going to let him go and the forest was the last place he’d ever go back to! But he was still wary of the May Dancers. They’d captured him and tied him up, and now they were going to let him go–just like that. But none of it made any sense! Why bother to tie him up if they were going to let him go all along?

      The May Dancer dropping into the hole made Paul start, then he relaxed as his bonds were untied. It was odd to see the leafy Dancer so close—the smell of him was like trees newly washed in a summer storm.

      Blood rushed into Paul’s hands and feet so quickly he yelped and bent to massage his ankles. A second later, a leafy hand covered his eyes, leaving behind two large green leaves which totally blocked his sight.

      “Hey,” exclaimed Paul, letting go of his ankles to feel his eyes. “What are you doing to my eyes?”

      “It is a law,” replied the May Dancer, picking up Paul and easily hoisting him on to his shoulder. “No one of your kind is allowed to see us or the forest, save at our dances.”

      “But I’ve already seen you…” said Paul. “I mean, just briefly–I didn’t really see anything…”

      “You saw enough,” said the Dancer. “But you are only a child and our Laws are not strict for children of any folk. Also, there is the matter of your arrival and your purpose…It is better that we do not interfere…”

      The May Dancer stopped talking and Paul felt himself tip sideways as they climbed over the edge of the hole. He could dimly see the starlight though his leaf-blindfold, and when it suddenly became dark, he guessed they were deep in the forest–a guess made easier by the crackling of leaves and twigs underfoot.

      An hour later, Paul was eagerly waiting for the leaves and twigs to stop crackling and the May Dancer to stop his steady, stomach-bruising stride. Paul had an awfully cramped leg and his position was several degrees from comfortable.

      At last the May Dancer stopped and lowered Paul on to the ground–face down. The leaves fell from his eyes and he rolled over to look up into the night. Ahead, the moon had just risen to illuminate the open lands beyond the forest.

      

      Far to the north of the Forest of the May Dancers, the sea beat against the cliffs and dark waves foamed into deep caves–the Sea Caves, ancient home of many of the Ragwitch’s evil-hearted minions.

      In a black pool, far underground, the water seethed and bubbled, and the air above it grew suddenly chill. A red light filled the cave, banishing the darkness of centuries. The light grew brighter, and then the Ragwitch appeared in the pool, Her arms still outstretched, the eversmiling mouth still chanting. She had lost all trace of Julia’s form and was now only a gross parody of a rag doll. She was taller than a man, with huge bulging arms and legs that leaked straw. Her painted face appeared even more malign in its new proportions.

      Floating easily in the pool, She looked around the cave and laughed–the chilling cackle that had scared Paul and thousands of others over her grim past. Still cackling, She hauled herself up on a ledge and took stock of Her surroundings.

      Julia woke with a start, suddenly feeling that she was late for something. She sat up sleepily, opening her eyes–to see nothing but absolute blackness. Everything was black, totally black, and for a second Julia panicked, thinking she’d been struck blind. Then she remembered previous mornings, of waking up before dawn with the curtains tightly closed against any light that might be outside.

      Giggling a little nervously, Julia reached down to throw off her blankets–and somersaulted. Just by reaching forward–but it was a slow somersault, like being underwater. Forgetting to be scared, Julia somersaulted again, and then did a few corkscrews ending with a flip. She seemed to be suspended in something like water, but it was stiffer, less fluid–like glue. And she could still breathe.

      Then Julia remembered the Ragwitch.

      “Oh, Paul,” whispered Julia. “How could I be so stupid?”

      A dull rumble, like distant laughter, punctuated her whisper and, at the same time, Julia caught sight of a small spark of light, like a candle in a distant window. As it was the only thing visible in the blackness, Julia headed for it, breaststroking through the strange atmosphere.

      Slowly, the light became brighter and Julia saw that it was some sort of globe. It seemed to produce the light itself, in irregular flashes–occasionally shifting through the spectrum, but always coming back to a clear white light.

      Julia circled it, delighting in the light that made her new environment so clear and beautiful. She flipped end over end with ease, breaking into a swan dive to float slowly down past the globe. An eddy in the fluid pushed her close to the globe and, without thinking, she touched it.

      Instantly, all was black again and the fluid suddenly went cold. A voice came to her mind, chill and biting–the voice of the Ragwitch.

      “Ah–you have found your way to the globe. But where do you think you are, little Julia?”

      “I don’t know,” shouted Julia, half-angry, but afraid to show this to the awful creature who spoke into her mind.

      “You are inside Me,” whispered the Ragwitch maliciously. “Your essence has been consumed. But I will let you live a little longer, for My amusement…and other things. Perhaps they will amuse you too, My little Julia, who loves her dolls. Look into the globe…”

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