‘There are stories about weakness too,’ Gran says. ‘Some Black Witches can’t stand to be indoors at night. They are stories. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t true.’ Gran massages her forehead again. ‘Being indoors at night drives them mad.’
Arran looks at me and shakes his head. ‘This isn’t happening to you.’
Gran continues, ‘I should tell you one of the stories. It’s important for Nathan.’
By this time I’m backed into the corner of the kitchen. Deborah comes to stand with me. She puts her arm round me and leans on my shoulder whispering, ‘I’m sorry, Nathan. I didn’t know. I didn’t know.’
the story of the death of saba
Saba was a Black Witch. She had killed a Hunter and was on the run. Virginia, the leader of the Hunters, and a group of her elite were on Saba’s trail. They had tracked her across England, through countryside, cities and towns and they were closing in.
Saba was exhausted and in desperation she hid in the cellar of a large house on the edge of a village. She must have been desperate or she wouldn’t have tried to hide. It doesn’t work, hiding from Hunters. She must have known that they would track her there. And they did. The Hunters found the house and quickly surrounded it. There would be no escape for Saba. Some of the Hunters wanted to charge into the cellar but Virginia didn’t want to lose anyone else. There was only one way into the cellar, through a trapdoor, and Virginia ordered that the entrance be blocked up for a month, by which time Saba would be either dead or so weak that she could be captured with no losses on the Hunters’ side.
Virginia knew that most of her Hunters weren’t happy about this. They wanted revenge, glory and a quick end to Saba and this hunt. Virginia set a guard on the entrance to the cellar to stop Saba escaping but also to ensure none of the Hunters disobeyed her orders.
Night fell and the Hunters found places in the house and its gardens to sleep. But no one slept because, soon after dark, terrible screams came from the cellar.
The Hunters ran to the trapdoor, thinking that one of their number had disobeyed Virginia’s orders, had entered the cellar and was being tortured by Saba. But, no, the guard still stood at the blocked-up entrance. The screams came from the cellar and carried on until dawn. The Hunters tried to sleep and covered their ears or plugged them with bits of material from their clothes but nothing would stop the sounds from piercing their heads. It felt as if each one of them was screaming too.
The next morning the Hunters were exhausted. These were all tough men and women, the toughest, but they had been hunting Saba for weeks and now they were drained.
The second night the screaming returned and again no one slept.
This carried on every night so that by the end of the first week the Hunters were arguing and fighting among themselves. One Hunter had stabbed another, and one had deserted. Even Virginia was desperate: she had not slept and she could see that her elite group was descending into anarchy. On the eighth night, when the screaming started again, she ran to the cellar in a rage and began to strip back the barricade from over the trapdoor. The Hunters gathered round her but they were unsure what to think. They all wanted to go in and end the torture, but seeing their leader, normally the epitome of control, tearing at the trapdoor made them wonder if she had lost her mind.
One Hunter stepped up and dared to remind Virginia that she had ordered that Saba should be shut up for a month and it had only been one week. Virginia pushed the Hunter back, saying that she was willing to risk her life and theirs to end the torment.
Virginia opened the trapdoor and descended into the cellar with her Hunters crowding behind her.
The cellar was dark. Virginia used her torch to throw light on to the floor and pick her way between crates, boxes, an old chair, bottles of wine and a sack of potatoes. There was a doorway to another room. The screaming was coming from there. Virginia made her way to the door and the Hunters followed.
The second room appeared to be empty. But in the furthest corner, barely discernible, was a low pile of rags.
Virginia strode up, lifted the rags back and there was the body of Saba. She was half dead, totally mad and still screaming. She had clawed at her face, which was a mass of scars. She couldn’t speak as she had bitten off her own tongue. But still she screamed.