The Witch’s Tears. Katharine Corr

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СКАЧАТЬ spin ordinary flax into the finest cloth of gold, fine enough to be worn by the king himself. The earl in whose lands she lived heard of her boast and, pretending that he hated witchcraft, had her locked inside a cell. The floor and the ceiling and the walls of the cell were lined with mirrors, so the witch could not use her magic to escape. Then the earl revealed his true purpose: using only the flax that grew on his estate, he wanted her to weave a cloth-of-gold cloak that he could present to the king. If she succeeded in her task, he would give her a dowry and set her free. But if she failed, he would coat her in tar and burn her alive in front of the castle walls, as a warning to other witches and liars. The earl told the witch she had three days, then left her.

       Of course, the witch knew no spell that would allow her to create cloth of gold from nothing more than flax. The best she could do was spin the flax into linen, which she could enchant to appear golden. But such an enchantment would only last a few days, and who knew how long the earl would keep her imprisoned?

       The witch wept bitterly at her boastfulness. Then, on the third night, a man appeared in her cell. The witch was scared, because although the stranger was clearly magical, he seemed unaffected by the cage of mirrors. The visitor offered to help her by turning the flax she had been given into gold thread, which she would then be able to weave into a cloak. In return, he asked that she should give him the life of her firstborn child. The witch hesitated and begged the visitor to choose another reward, offering him all she possessed. But he still demanded her child, although he relented a little, telling the witch that if she found out his name before he returned, he would consider her debt cancelled.

      ‘It’s Rumpelstiltskin,’ Merry said out loud, and the cat blinked in agreement. In the version Merry had read as a child, the girl wasn’t a witch. And she ended up married to the greedy king. But presumably the ending would be the same: someone would figure out Rumpelstiltskin’s name just in time, and the bad fairy – or whatever he was – would disappear in a puff of frustrated rage. She turned the page to read on.

       So, in fear of her life, and thinking that she may never be a mother, the witch finally agreed. The visitor burnt an invisible rune into the witch’s skin, just above her breastbone, and settled himself at the spinning wheel to begin his task …

       The next morning, the earl was delighted with the shimmering cloak. And, much to the witch’s surprise, he kept his word, releasing her from the castle and presenting her with a large bag of gold.

       Now wealthy, the witch was soon married to a young man she had long loved from a distance, the son of a local merchant. She forgot all about her promise to the mysterious stranger, until she fell pregnant with her first child. The witch began asking all the travellers she encountered for news of a man who could spin flax into gold, hoping to learn her visitor’s name. But no one had heard of such a man. So instead she sought to protect her family from the stranger, seeking help from many other witches and wizards. And it seemed to work: no one appeared to claim the baby, and the little girl grew in wisdom and in power. Until, nearly twenty years later, the witch, now a widow, heard a commotion outside her house. Thinking it was her daughter returned from gathering herbs, the witch hurried to open the door.

       It was the stranger, looking exactly the way he had all those years ago. And in his arms, he held her unconscious daughter.

       ‘I have come to collect my debt,’ the man said. ‘Have you discovered my name?’

       The witch, overcome with terror, could only shake her head.

       The stranger smiled. ‘Then I shall take what I am owed.’ He laid her daughter on the floor and sank his fingernails into her face and began to draw out her power, while the witch, pinned in place by the rune on her chest, looked on helplessly …

      Merry shuddered and pushed the book away from her, not wanting to read the last few lines.

       That’s not a fairy tale. It’s a horror story.

      There was a bad taste in her mouth. She drained her glass of water and stood up. At the same time a crash came from somewhere outside; fear bolted down her spine like an electric shock. She turned the light out and hurried to the window, peering into the darkness.

      The lawn, the flower beds, the outline of next-door’s house: as far as she could see, everything was as it should be.

      Merry started breathing again, picked up her books and ran upstairs. Apart from the thumping of the blood pounding through her chest, the house was silent; there were no sounds from Leo’s room.

      And now she thought about it, there had been no sign in the kitchen that Leo – not usually the best at clearing up after himself – had cooked any dinner. She’d never known her brother to be too ill to eat. He was either seriously unwell, or lying his backside off. Walking to the other end of the corridor, where her bedroom faced his, she knocked on Leo’s door.

      ‘Leo?’

      No answer. She turned the handle carefully, peeped inside.

      The bed was empty.

      Anxiety chilled her skin, making her shiver. She went into her own room and texted him.

      Where are you? Thought you were home sick???

      She waited, then sent the same text again. And again.

      After the fourth text, Leo replied.

      I’m out. Don’t wait up. If you’re worried just use your magic to spy on me again.

      Merry sighed. Leo was right: it was spying. She couldn’t forget the angry, disappointed look on his face. So instead she got ready for bed, slipping into her pyjamas and under the covers quickly. She texted for the next hour with Ruby, then picked up a new book she’d just got from the library and tried to read. But she couldn’t concentrate. Something kept niggling at her. Her gaze wandered over to the wardrobe in the corner of the room.

       Merry, get a grip.

       Don’t even think about it.

      She returned to her book, but found herself rereading the same paragraph. She glanced at the wardrobe again.

       Come on. Don’t be ridiculous.

      But there was no resisting it. She jumped out of bed, went to her dressing table and fished the large key out of her jewellery box. Then she marched over to the wardrobe and opened the doors. At the bottom, pushed right to the back, was an old cardboard box. Inside that was the trinket box, the contents of which Merry had used to defeat Gwydion only three months ago.

      She unlocked it. The braid of Edith’s hair and the manuscript still lay inside. Mum had suggested burning them, to celebrate the fulfilment of Meredith’s oath symbolically. But Merry couldn’t bear the thought of destroying the only things that linked her, however tenuously, to Jack.

      She hesitated, then picked up the manuscript and took a deep breath. Heart pounding, she opened it …

      The pages were completely blank. Just as they had been ever since the day the manuscript had last been used. Ever since the day Jack died.

       See? Nothing’s wrong. No magical activity going on whatsoever. You can stop being an idiot now.

      Her СКАЧАТЬ