The Ragwitch

I wasn’t meant to be in impossible situations, Paul thought mournfully, eyeing the green walls that surrounded him.

“It’s not fair!” he shouted at the forest. But the trees absorbed the shout and it was gone. No one will come, said the darkness between the trees; you will wander the forest, alone until you die.

“No, I won’t,” Paul whispered, brushing away the morbid thoughts that swelled up from the back of his head. “I’ll find a path, and people, and Julia!” With this whisper, Paul summoned up some reserve of determination and got to his feet. Filled with resolve, he plunged forward into the dim forest.

An hour later, much of the resolve and determination had drained away. There was still no end to the forest and the light was getting dimmer. Cool breezes were no longer refreshing–they were just cool, and becoming cold. Worse, there were no more blackberries. Without their refreshing juice, Paul was drying out, his stamina fading as his throat parched.

But he could think of nothing else to do, so he kept on, dragging his scratched legs through more bushes and brambles, hoping to find another clearing or a path. Gradually, the light slipped away and the shadows steadily merged, shifting from grey to black.

The shadows at last became one and the forest was in true twilight, if only for a short time. Paul paused to look at the darkening sky and began to hear the noises of the forest night. Still he kept on, stumbling over the roots and vines he could no longer see. Panic was beginning to fill his mind and he could not think of stopping.

Suddenly, without notice, it was fully dark–a blackness so complete that Paul couldn’t even see his hand in front of his face. Exhausted, he slipped to the ground, shivering between the two cradling arms of a giant root.

Everywhere there were subtle sounds: leaves crunching, twigs snapping–each tiny noise magnified by the total blackness. Paul’s heartbeat filled his ears, vibrating up through his cheekbones, a bass rhythm in counterpoint to the tenor sounds of something creeping through the night.

The noises became louder and Paul stopped breathing, holding a hand over his mouth and nose. Whatever was making the noise was large, purposeful–and it was sniffing…searching…following his trail. Fear, sweat and blackberries, the scent of a hiding Paul.

The noise became footsteps, gentle, stalking footsteps, coming towards Paul. It knows I’m here, thought Paul desperately. It’s coming quietly, hoping to catch me asleep, or unawares, it’s…

Here! A sudden rush of footsteps, an abortive leap by Paul, and something cold and leathery wrapped round his legs. Ankles trapped, he crashed forward, face down on to the brown mulch of the forest floor.

More leathery tentacles wrapped round his wrists, and Paul’s mind gave way to fear and exhaustion, screaming back into the impenetrable fortress of unconsciousness.

Paul awoke in sunlight, with the vague feeling that he was lucky to be awake at all. He felt strange, cramped, and in an unfamiliar bed. Then, fully awake, he remembered the events of the night before. In the daylight he saw that the leathery tentacles were just some sort of rope, and they were the reason for his cramped awakening.

He was lying on a wooden bed that was a little like a shallow baby’s cot, with his hands and feet tied to the siderails. Surrounding the bed were earth walls–he was obviously in some sort of hole. High above, the sun beamed down, harsh and bright without any leafy interference. On the far side of the hole, a rope ladder hung down from the surface, which was three metres or so above, at least by Paul’s reckoning.

A prison hole, thought Paul gloomily, just like in the film on TV the week before last. Only in the film the bad guys ended up in the hole. But then, in the movies, heroes didn’t go running around weird forests in shorts, trainers and dirty white T-shirts. They also didn’t worry about things like food and drink, Paul thought, acutely aware of his dry and cracking lips, and the dull, rumbling complaint of his stomach.

He tried licking his lips, but there was no moisture in his mouth. Even tears were beyond his dried-out body and he found himself unable to cry. Closing his eyes, Paul thought he might as well die then and there, and save himself the trouble later on–when a few lumps of earth fell on to his chest.

“What were you doing in the forest?” a voice suddenly asked from somewhere above–behind Paul’s head, so he couldn’t see who it was. “And how did you get where you were?”

Paul’s mind snapped back from his despairing thoughts and he craned his neck back to see who was talking. But he couldn’t raise his body from the bed, and so couldn’t arch back far enough. He tried to answer, but only a dull croak came out.

“You wish for some water?” asked the voice, though not in a particularly compassionate tone. “Open your mouth.”

Paul did so immediately, and a cascade of water splashed over his face and up his nose. A little found his mouth. Despite being nearly drowned, it was a very welcome drink, revitalising Paul’s tiny store of determination, and lessening his feelings of despair.

“Now,” said the stern, deep voice. “What were you doing in our forest?”

“I didn’t mean anything,” croaked Paul. “I was just looking for my sister, and then…I was just looking for people.”

“People?” said the voice. “What sort of people were you looking for?”

Frightened by the voice, Paul didn’t answer for a moment. It sounded odd, murky and overlaid with rustling sounds, as if the speaker had to think before talking, and move his lips through a layer of leaves.

“I wanted to find someone. Anyone who could help me find Julia. A town, or a house, where I could find out where I was…where the forest is, I mean.”

“Julia, towns, houses,” muttered the voice, as if cataloguing items of interest. “You won’t find any of them here. And you say you don’t know where the forest is?”

“No, I don’t…is it…is it very far away from Australia?”

“Australia?” repeated the voice, with an odd pronunciation of the name–all drawn and twisted. “Perhaps you are even farther away than you can reckon. If it is of any use to you, this is the Forest of the May Dancers…I am a May Dancer,” added the voice, suddenly closer. “At least, that is what your kind call us.”

Paul felt a slight shudder go through his heart–a tremor of fear that passed through like a metal sliver. Footsteps crunched on the dirt above and Paul looked up.

He had expected to see some sort of man. But the May Dancer who looked down on him had only the shape of a human. He was covered in shifting patterns of leaves, that rustled and moved about his body, revealing skin the texture and colour of ancient bark. His head was also covered in leaves, which streamed behind him in a russet mane. And his eyes were those of an animal: the eyes of a cat carefully watching its prey.

Paul felt just like a mouse caught in the petrifying gaze of a hunter. Even the smallest movement might cause this strange creature to spring, to suddenly snap the tension.

“So,” said the May Dancer, half closing his fearsome eyes, “you have not seen our kind before.”

It was a statement rather than a question, Paul understood. Somehow, he had become the mouse that the cat couldn’t be bothered chasing.

“You have never seen a May Dancer before,” said the creature above, in a half-whisper, as if thinking aloud. “Therefore, you have never seen us dance on the borders of the forest. In fact, as you have never even heard of us, you cannot even be of this Kingdom. And you seek a…Julia.”

Without warning, the May Dancer leapt across the hole and was gone. Startled, Paul instinctively flexed his body to leap away–succeeding only in hurting his wrists and back, held by those leathery ropes.

The next few hours passed in a half-dream, marked by the slow drifting of clouds overhead. Faint sounds carried to him, the noises of the forest: strange bird-calls, and occasionally the heavier thumping of something larger passing nearby. From all this, Paul assumed that he was still in the forest, though the clear sky above indicated a large clearing.

My mid-afternoon, the sun was high above the hole. Paul lay beneath a layer of sunshine with only his feet in shadow, unable to look up because of the glare. The sun made him tired, despite his hunger, and he began to slowly drift off into a nightmarish sleep.

When he awoke, the hole was in darkness, though it was not cold. There were slight sounds all about the hole, sounds that might have been footsteps or muffled whispers…sounds that Paul almost heard and then wondered if he’d imagined them.

Then the May Dancer spoke again. “We have talked of you among those of our people here, and you are to say more. Questions will be asked and you will answer them. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Paul. “Yes–anything you like.”

Another Dancer, farther from the hole, asked the first question, in a softer, stranger voice than the original May Dancer. The words seemed to be more of a wind song than speech and Paul couldn’t understand it, being mesmerised by the lilting tone, rather than listening. The first May Dancer repeated the question: “How did you come to be in the forest?”

“I was following my sister,” replied Paul. He wasn’t sure how he’d come to the forest himself “Her and that horrible doll. They’d built a sort of fire–and then they just disappeared. The fire was sort of scattered, but I rebuilt it and jumped through–and I was in the forest. I didn’t mean to be there–I was just trying to find Julia.”

“Enough,” interrupted the May Dancer. Paul listened to him talking to the others, whispers like wind in the reeds, a tune played by the earth rather than by man. It was rather eerie, he thought, listening to the long, sighing notes in the darkness. Only then did Paul notice that there were no stars–none at all in the vast expanse of the black sky.

“Why did your sister build this fire?” asked the May Dancer, his voice loud above the whisperings.

“I 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…”

Julia promptly somersaulted away, deciding not to do anything the Ragwitch wanted–though she felt more scared than ever. But even as she straightened out to swim away, a force gripped her, holding fiercely to the muscles in her arms and legs, twisting them back and forth, rippling them spastically under the skin. Then with a sudden wrench, her head twisted back towards the globe, and the rest of her body followed painfully.

Julia closed her eyes, but the thing inside pushed them open, making her look at the globe. Again, Julia forced them closed, only to have her own hands rise up to keep them prized open. Open–and looking directly into the swirling colours of the globe, colours that seemed to swarm out, enveloping her in a mist, suddenly going from rainbow-coloured to a dull, choking grey.

It swept her up and dashed her down into the globe. Falling, she felt her body become weightless–and then nonexistent. Without any physical sensations at all, Julia fell into darkness.

What might have been days or years later, Julia felt her senses returning. She could feel pain and sense a glimmer of light emanating from somewhere. But her body felt strange and cumbersome, and her lips felt cold and leathery to her clumsy tongue.

Hesitantly, she opened her eyes, letting them adjust to the light. They hurt at first, but slowly came into focus. She seemed to be in a rocky cave which was bathed in a dim reddish light. Eagerly, Julia looked around, hope welling up inside her. Escape from the Ragwitch?

Then she took a step forward and, looking down, saw her feet–long, leathery feet, that somehow seemed to be stitched and were leaking a yellow, wet, straw stuffing…

Julia’s scream was the first and last time she had control of the Ragwitch’s mouth. Even as it echoed, it was overlaid with a grim cackle and Julia was paralysed. She could still see, and hear, and feel, but could no longer move even the most insignificant muscle.

“For your amusement,” said the Ragwitch out into the cave, though it was solely for Julia to hear. “For your amusement I will let you see through My eyes, hear through My ears, feel what I touch. But you will never inhabit your body again.” Then the Ragwitch laughed, an obscene cackle, echoing out in the dark underground chamber. Still laughing, She began to run through the black tunnels, heading upwards towards the light.

3. Awqinn / The Spire

AFTER THE MAY Dancer dumped him on the edge of the forest, Paul spent an uncomfortable few hours trying to sleep in a leaf-filled hollow, but he kept waking at the slightest noise, so he spent the remainder of the night awake and listening. Fortunately, dawn came before too long, promising something better than a cold hollow frequented by ants.

In the bright new sunlight, Paul saw that the lands ahead were clear and obviously populated. Green fields stretched as far as he could see, gently climbing over small hills, or around the occasional small wood or copse–each full of trees quite different from those in the dark, crowded forest.

The forest lay quite high on the hill behind him, so Paul went straight down, delighting in the ability to run free of vines and clinging roots. Every now and then, a rough stone wall barred his progress–proof that these pleasant green hills were inhabited.

Then, as if further proof were needed, Paul spotted a flock of sheep and, more importantly, a shepherd. Eagerly, he ran towards them–before suddenly faltering. What if the shepherd were another creature, like the May Dancers, or possibly something worse? Paul quickly turned back to the nearest stone wall and hid near where the shepherd and his flock should pass.

As they drew closer, his fear lessened. The shepherd wore a rough wool cloak, but the hood was pushed well back, revealing the cheerful, straggly-bearded face of an old man, who was whistling between his two front teeth–a pleasant tune, that sounded a little like Greensleeves.

Paul needed no more, so he stood up and said, “Hello!”

The shepherd looked up and stopped whistling. He looked dumbfounded by Paul’s sudden appearance and made no move to speak–or indeed, to do anything.

“Hello,” said Paul, giving him a small wave. This seemed to puzzle the shepherd even more. He looked over his shoulder once, then looked past Paul, up to the forest, before answering, and his hand fell to the cudgel thrust through his belt.

“Hello,” said the shepherd warily. “What are you doing up here?”

“Nothing,” replied Paul. “I just came down–out of the forest…”

“The forest!” interrupted the shepherd, quickly making a strange sign with thumb and forefinger against his head. “What were you doing in the forest? You didn’t upset the May Dancers?”

“No…” said Paul hesitantly, somewhat taken aback by the old man’s vehemence. “I don’t think so. They let me go. One of them even carried me out of the forest–he dropped me just up there, at the top of the hill.”

The shepherd appeared quite relieved at this and Paul noticed that he was no longer fingering the thick wooden cudgel at his side.

“That is well. The May Dancers are strange folk, best left undisturbed by the likes of us. Which village are you from, lad–and where did you get your strange garments?”

“I’m not from any village,” Paul said, wishing that he was from somewhere nearby. He fingered the dirty hem of his Tshirt and added, “And these are my normal clothes.”

“Not from any village?” the shepherd asked, backing off and making the sign with his thumb and forefinger again. “Carried here by the May Dancers…”

He began to back off still further, so Paul tried to put him at ease. “I’m only a boy–I was just looking for my sister. It’s hard to explain…but I’d never even heard of the May Dancers before last night. Honest!”

“Just a boy,” repeated the shepherd, as if trying to convince himself this was true. “You’re not…a creature from the north?”

“No. I’m a normal boy. It’s just that strange things have been happening…” Paul looked back over his shoulder, up at the brooding forest. Suddenly, the full enormity of it all became too much. He was alone in a strange world populated by strange creatures and suspicious old men, and worst of all, there was no Julia to tell him what to do. Unable to help it, he sat down on the stone wall and began to cry, brushing away the tears with the back of a dirty hand.

“Here, then,” said the shepherd, somewhat surprised. “I meant no harm. Some strange folk sometimes cross near the forest–some of them might even take the shape of a young lad. But tears are beyond that sort…I think.” The shepherd looked at his flock for a second, and then at the sky, where the sun was just climbing up to its morning brilliance. “You’d best come with me, now. We’ll start back down to the village. The sheep’ll just have to eat as best they can on the way.”