The flame arced higher and I lost sight of her. My throat was raw. The base had been consumed and flames licked their way up the steps. The stone walls of the castle wouldn’t burn, but the floors were all wood, held up by vast wooden beams. If the fire took hold, there would be nothing left but a shell.
At the other end of this corridor was the door to the Witch’s study. If I meant to go to her, it would have to be now; already the floorboards beneath my feet felt warm. Coughing in the smoke, I hesitated at the doors to her private space – she would be angry at the intrusion – but there was no time for manners. I found her in her bed, a streak of black hair against white sheets and delicate lashes brushing the tender skin beneath her eyes. I shook her awake and she pushed up on her elbows, blinking the sleep away.
‘Mina? What is it?’ Her voice soft and confused.
‘There’s a fire. Come quickly.’
Back in the corridor smoke was boiling across the ceiling, pouring round the door to the stairs. Half the steps were alight, flames roaring ever upwards. Sparks jumped and danced. Burn marks already marred the nearby tapestries, only saved by the heavy damp in their fibres.
I pulled up short and the Witch collided with my back.
‘What do we do?’
Her fingers dug into my shoulders and I realised she was afraid. Smoke made my eyes water; I pulled us back as the Witch began to cough.
‘It’s too big to put out,’ I said. ‘We could never bring enough water.’
I looked to the Witch, waiting for her to bark an order at me, or tell me of the castle’s fire defences. But she did nothing, only watched wide-eyed as the fire swallowed the stairs, her hand still clamped around mine in desperation.
The bannisters caught like a ribbon of flame, fire eating along the ancient wood like poison.
A thought struck me.
I had seen fires tear through the forest around Blumwald at the end of long, dry summers, bracken and brush like so much kindling. The woodsmen would carve out wide avenues, felling trees and clearing scrub to halt the inferno before it could reach us.
I disentangled myself and darted along the corridor, checking each door until I came to the room I was looking for: a junk room. And amongst the centuries of detritus: axes. I took the two sharpest ones and raced back to the Witch, who cowered against the wall, frozen in fear. I pushed one axe into her hand.
‘We have to make a firebreak.’
I pulled the neck of my nightdress over my mouth and nose and edged out onto the top of the stairs. The flames had made rapid progress but there was a swathe of unburned wood. Before, the rotten steps riddled with woodworm had been a threat to my safety – now that would be our saviour.
I took an experimental swing at the bannister and it splintered under the bite of the blade, and I yanked it out to raise overhead again.
‘Help me.’ When the Witch didn’t rise I gave her a sharp look, and snapped, ‘Get up. Now.’
The shock of my harsh words broke her paralysis and she rose, tied up her nightdress at her hip, exposing her slender, muscled thighs, and shakily holding the axe, joined me at the stairs. Following my lead, we hacked at the steps, fire so close the hair on my arms curled and my lungs felt tight and itchy from the smoke. I felt the blisters forming under the skin of my hands, sweat running from my forehead and the back of my neck and under my arms. Side by side, arms swinging, sweat sticking our nightdresses to our bodies, hair tangled and fire-singed, throats burning. After a while, we no longer spoke, exhaustion threatening to overtake us. The bannisters went easily; the steps took more work, bent forward precariously. We hung between one danger and another: the flames, and the fall.
‘Hold on,’ I said, extending the handle of my axe to the Witch. She took it without question, and with her anchoring me, I held the head of the axe and leaned further out to kick at the rotten wood until the whole step had gone. Now, there was only the frame on either side.
The drop below us was vertiginous. My head span.
The Witch coughed beside me. Ash was streaked across her forehead and in her hair, her eyes were glassy and flicked rapidly from the fire, to the frame, to the hall beneath us.
‘We can do this.’ I clasped her hand tightly but she shook her head.
‘Witch.’ I softened my tone. ‘Do you trust me?’
I expected a snide remark in response but she said nothing.
I said again, ‘Do you trust me?’
Slowly, she nodded.
Her arm holding firm around my waist, I bent forward to wield the axe at the frame. I was reaching exhaustion, but with the Witch by my side, I found my last scrap of strength over and over. I was working not only to save myself, but to save her and her home too.
The frame gave, and for a moment the stairs remained standing, a path of fire arcing through the open air of the hall.
And then the remaining strut on the other side snapped under the lopsided weight and the staircase collapsed in a torrent of flames and ash. As it went, it tore the remaining steps at the top loose from their joists. The boards beneath me gave way and fear consumed me in one terrible moment as I saw my death come hurtling closer – then the Witch was hauling me up as the steps disappeared and together we slammed into the corridor, arms and legs tangled; I took the brunt of it, and she landed on top of me as we collapsed to the floor. She was trembling. I held her close for a moment, stroked the curl of hair at the base of her neck.
