Page 8 of The Snow Witch

‘Alice?’ Meggie was appalled. Alice was Meggie’s closest friend. ‘My Alice?’

Charles laughed and shrugged, unconcerned. ‘I do not know who you associate with – well, for the most part.’ He licked his lips suggestively and Meggie flushed with anger, knowing what he implied. ‘But yes. I believe you do know her. So, if you wouldn’t mind – I would be most grateful.’

He bowed, cocksure, and Meggie’s hatred for Charles, at that very moment in time, knew no bounds.

How many children would Charles Milburn have spawned by now if Meggie had not been called upon to intervene and end it, every time he got a girl with child? She hated it, and she hated him. And in her heart, she felt it was murder – but what option did she have? All she could do was offer prayers to the goddess to look after the child in the afterlife.

If she chose to murder, it would not be the life of an innocent unborn babe she took. But that was not her way. Her way was to help and heal, and she must try to remember that she was helping these poor girls, even if it was not in the way she would have wished to.

She would pray to Coventina about Alice as well. Nobody knew for sure what was out there, listening to the words Meggie whispered in secret. But Coventina was a powerful spirit, the goddess of the spring thaws, the disappearing snow and the welcome green shoots of spring; the goddess of healing and childbirth; the Mother of Covens. To Meggie, who revered her, Coventina was the spring flowing into the Sacred Well of the sanctuary in the wilderness she needed to roam, where she could scream her frustration to the four winds.

‘Tell me, Meggie,’ asked Milburn curiously, bringing her back to the present moment, even as her mind was reeling and her heart was hurting for Alice. ‘What is it that you give them?’

Meggie shook her head. The least she said to this creature, the better. And she would not share her secrets with him. She would not give him ammunition. The mugwort she used was dangerous if you miscalculated the dosage. Picked at midnight, on the Summer Solstice, it had never failed Meggie yet.

Her recipes were safe from prying eyes, carefully written in a book her grandmother had inherited, belonging to generations of women in the family. Hidden under a loose flagstone in her cottage, the book was, her grandmother had said, secret.

Meggie had been taught her letters so she could continue to fill the ancient pages. She had always thought that when the time came, goddess willing, she would teach her own daughter to do the very same.

‘What does it matter to you, Mr Milburn? So long as the draught does its job.’

Milburn sighed. ‘You are right, Meg. I’ll see to it that you are paid for your services.’

Services!

She bit her lip to stop herself saying something she would regret, and dipped her head in acknowledgement. She wanted him to leave. She did not want to look at his face with that awful sneer on his lips any longer.

Then, suddenly, Milburn bent his head down and kissed her on the cheek. Meggie fought the urge to vomit. Milburn laughed, and turned on his heel. He headed back down the alley whistling to himself, tapping the shaft of his whip in tune.

Meggie watched him go, then wiping her face roughly with her hand to rid herself of his vile touch, she sent a quick prayer to Mother Earth and Brigantia, the ancient fertility goddess. She made a mental note to offer something back to them, in exchange for the life she was about to take from them.

5

NOW

Violet pulled on her walking boots, glad she had had the foresight to bring them. She’d walked the short distance down the hill to the Brocolitia car park this morning, the cold February air biting into her cheeks. Once she got there, she paused and looked out across those fields again.

Bleak was the word she’d use to describe them today. The horizon was grey and she couldn’t see the distant hills of the Pennines this morning. Everything was covered in a cloud, and she was almost certain that snow was being carried her way. Just as that chap had said at breakfast. She’d left before him. Her cup of tea didn’t take her long to drink, and her stomach had churned at the plates of fried food that were being carried past her from the buffet. But she didn’t envy the stalwart hikers who were carb-loading that morning. She was happier just coming to the Well for her expedition.

‘Okay,’ she said, pulling her scarf tighter, and casting a wary glance at the rolling cloudbank. ‘Down there – through those fields. And that should get me to the Mithraic Temple.’ She looked at a rough sketch she had copied from the old book that sparked her interest in this place and turned it around, making sure she got her bearings. She was correct – she needed to go through the gap in the fence and walk past the ruins of the temple, then climb a stile to get near the Burn. The book had said there had been a shrine to the Water Nymphs nearby too, so with that, the temple, and Coventina’s sacred well, the place must be drenched in mysticism.

Add Meggie to the mix, and, well, the thought made Violet catch her breath. The place could, if she was prone to flights of imagination, be the perfect storm – for something. Although she wasn’t quite sure yet what it might be.

She walked down the rough trail, Carrawburgh Fort to her right. There was another stile – gosh, they were fond of those here – which invited tourists to clamber over it and explore the site of the fort. There wasn’t much to see at the fort, just a huge, green mound and a few rocks sticking out of the ground.

But it wasn’t the fort Violet had come to see today.

As she walked down and turned to the right, the cloud had somehow managed to beat her. It had rolled across the fields and was settled on the other side of the Burn, almost as if it was a veil into another world.

Violet had always liked mist and fog – she thought it made her a bit strange, but she loved the idea of being inside a cloud that was sitting on the ground.

She walked a little faster. She was aware that the closer she was getting to the Burn, the quieter the area was. It maybe had something to do with the geographical features – the fact she was deep inside a valley, perhaps – but the silence and stillness were palpable. And it wasn’t a normal stillness either. It was almost as if something was lying in wait down there – sleeping until somebody or something disturbed it.

Violet paused and turned a full 360 degrees. There wasn’t another person around, and all she could see when she looked upwards was Carrawburgh looming over her. No road, no car park, no B & B.

‘Wow. Meggie, I can imagine you loved it down here,’ she murmured. She looked around and took a deep breath. It was weird being the only person here – being inside a cloud and all…

‘Don’t be so stupid,’ she told herself. ‘You like weird.’ She tucked her chin into her scarf, shoved her hands in her pockets and hurried over to the stile.