Crossing Over - Anna Kendall [66]
“All here goes slow,” the Blue captain said to me. “We have found no way to go back to The Queendom. Queen Eleanor remains under a spell, not eating nor sleeping nor talking. But there are more of us now, sent by the magic fire-sticks.”
“Fire-sticks? ”
“Weapons that belched fire along with their magic, wielded by an army of male witches chanting foul spells.” He shuddered and spat again. “It was a battle outside the city walls, won by darkest magic.”
The guns. Today’s skirmish had been small; Lord Robert had said the major battle would take place tomorrow morning. And when those additional Blue soldiers died and arrived here, they too would be told this was Witchland. And so the number would grow of men who did not behave like the Dead because they did not know that they were.
“But we caught one of the witches,” the Blue said grimly. “Just a while ago. And we will burn her.”
“You caught a witch?”
“Yes. Tell that to the witch-queen when she snatches you back!” His face took on a strange expression, both horrified and sly. “Does she strip you naked for her ensorcelling? And herself, too?”
“No. Yes. No.” I scarcely knew what I was saying. They had caught a witch here, a woman, and were going to burn her? How? Who?
“Did the whore-queen—”
“Can I see the witch?” I said. “I could . . . I could report back to the . . . the whore-queen that she does not have the control over Witchland that she thinks she does!”
He considered, nodded. The ground rumbled under my feet. “Come then, boy.”
I followed him across the plain, away from the river, to another patch of woods. The leaves blew in a restless breeze, where there had never been a breeze before. On the far side of the little woods were three dozen Blues, some standing and some sitting, none of them behaving like the Dead. A captain held a writhing girl by the arms. It was Cat Starling.
“Let me go!” she shrieked. “Let me go!”
Beside her was a great pile of dry wood, with a tall stake in the center.
“Help!” Cat cried as I stood there, dumb. “Help me, whoever you are! I’ve done nothing wrong! I—want—my—mother!”
“Tie her,” one of the Blues ordered.
The soldier dragged Cat, still screaming piteously for her mother, toward the stake. Another handed him two long strips of red wool. They had been torn from her skirt.
The Blue with me said, “She has the sixth finger. Just like the witch-queen who controls you. You’ll enjoy this, boy.”
I found what brain I had left. “Wait! I must talk with her first!”
The soldier scowled. “Why?”
“To . . . to ...” All at once country lore, heard at so many faires with Hartah, came back to me. And I thought, too, of Bat, from the Frances Ormund. “To take the amulet from her! She will not burn so long as she has the amulet.”
“Aye, that’s true,” said a Blue seated on the ground. “My granny always said that. Their magic amulets protect witches from fire.”
“You’re a brave man,” the soldier beside me said. He stepped back respectfully, and I walked to Cat.
“Give her to me.”
The captain did, and I wrapped one arm around her waist. She flailed and struck at me, but she was no fighter and I found I could hold her, although not without difficulty. That made her flail and shriek more. Under cover of her noise I spoke into her ear with all the urgency and authority I could.
“Cat Starling, a message from your mother—think of the river at Stonegreen. Think hard and wish yourself there. Do it now!”
She seemed to have not heard me. The soldiers looked at each other—was that suspicion on that face there? I was supposed to be looking for an amulet. . . . I thrust one hand into her blouse, between her breasts.
At the touch of her skin, I got an immediate and enormous erection. My member leapt like a startled dog. The effect