Chapter Twenty-Nine
The dark cave is gripped with an anxious silence as the four human magicians await their leader’s return. It has been almost a full day since they last saw sunlight, and the youngest man of the group sniffs the decaying skins of the children they have fed Black Annis, then turns away, his stomach churning. He is eager for their task to be over, and a little resentful that their leader, Varick, has seen fit to come and go at his pleasure while they must wait underground. While before it was enough that Black Annis remained within the enchanted pentagram, now at least two of the coven are required to actively watch over the crone’s imprisonment.
The younger man turns towards Aradia, who has been keeping watch for the past hour with Maeve, the eldest of their coven.
‘Yes, Aradia,’ Nolan replies, struggling to keep the sarcasm from his voice. He, like Maeve, grows tired of the power wielded by their leader’s second in command.
‘You and Gale can take over for now. Leave we women to rest.’ Aradia smiles wryly. She knows as much as the younger man does that she is hardly challenged by their current task. Sighing, he and Gale swap places with the women.
‘And feed her one more,’ Aradia calls over her shoulder as she strides towards the lair’s entrance for some fresher air. Nolan gestures, and one more of the children walks towards Black Annis blindly. He grimaces as she pounces upon the boy, stabbing a talon into his chest. There are only five children left. The coven’s true task must surely be about to commence. If only they could get this over with, let the real work begin . . .
Suddenly, there is a stirring, a commotion close to the tunnel’s entrance into Black Annis’ lair. A low, thunderous growl echoes down towards the cave.
‘What’s going on? Nothing could have got past the obscura demons, surely?’ Maeve calls to Aradia, but the flame-haired woman has her arms raised and her face is immoveable with the concentration of weaving a powerful spell. Her fingers flex and bend at an impossible speed, her lips moving fast, her words incomprehensible. The elder woman turns to her fellow coven members and shouts.
‘There’s movement in the tunnel, be on your guard.’
Maeve rushes towards the entrance, but Aradia is already pulling something through the passageway and into the lair using her magic. She draws in two iron cages, woven with magic. And inside the cages are two ghosts: one, a Born Dead spirit, the other an enormous black dog – a Churchyard Grim – whose giant frame is hunched in the confines of the metal prison. At last, Aradia lowers her hands, her shoulders heaving with the effort of the spell she has executed.
‘Well, well, well,’ she says between breaths. ‘What do we have here?’