John MacLean shook his head and smiled somewhat wryly at the MacArthur. “I knew something had happened the minute I arrived home. My front door, for a start — solid oak, mind you — was almost scratched to pieces, the front hall was full of broomsticks and Janet was entertaining a houseful of witches!”
Neil and Clara looked at one another and smiled for their father’s face had been a picture of horror and disbelief when he’d walked in, demanding to know what was going on — and then, mouth open, had stopped dead in his tracks as he realized that his living room was full of witches!
They were everywhere, crowding the settees, perched on the arms of chairs and crouched on the cushions. Not only was the room full of witches, but they were being served tea in what he recognized as his wife’s best china; china that was never used except on very special occasions. He couldn’t believe it! Janet, who loathed witches, was fussing over them busily like a mother hen over a brood of chicks!
“I think you’d better have some tea, Dad,” Neil said swiftly, shoving a cup into his hands. “We’re … we’re all a bit shaken up, actually …”
It was only when Maritza, the Queen of the Earth Witches, rose to her feet and bowed rather shakily, that their father realized that the witches were more than a bit upset; which was no more than the truth, for they, more than the children, understood the very narrow escape they’d just had and still couldn’t believe that it had happened at all. A Gra’el! It was unheard of!
Clara, still looking white, was hugging Katy, the thin little witch who had been last in the line, and very lucky to have made it through the front door at all. She was sobbing her heart out and trembling like a leaf while the other witches talked in low tones, shaking their heads and gulping down hot, sweet tea greedily as his wife made the rounds with a fresh pot, topping up empty cups and spooning sugar in vast amounts.
“What happened?” he asked abruptly.
Everyone immediately flooded into speech, his wife and children included!
“Here, Dad, have a seat,” Neil said, carrying in one of the chairs from the hall, “and I’ll tell you what happened.”
There was a silence broken only by the hiccupping sobs of the littlest witch as he told his father how they had been attacked by a huge black bird, how the witches had taken them on their broomsticks and how Kitor and Cassia had saved them by ringing the front door bell.
“It’s true, John,” Mrs MacLean nodded. “The bell kept ringing and ringing and when I opened the door, the witches flew in with that fearful, monstrous bird behind them.”
“It almost caught me,” the littlest witch whispered, tears streaming down her face.
Clara pulled more tissues from the box on a side table and helped her mop up. She’d never, ever, have thought she’d feel sorry for the witches but this was certainly a different side to them. Their bold, strong faces were worried and their confidence seemed to have vanished. Even Maritza looked undecided about what to do next.
“More tea, Maritza?” Mrs MacLean asked.
“Thank you, Janet,” Maritza nodded, holding out her cup almost absent-mindedly. Ever since they’d arrived, her mind had been racing frantically. Was the Gra’el still outside, waiting for them to leave? She didn’t know and the more she thought about it, the more she realized that this was something she couldn’t cope with on her own. Her witches relied on her to keep them safe and as she sipped the sweet brew, she came to a decision. Carefully laying her cup and saucer on a side table, she called her witches to order. “I think that Wanda and Samantha,” she said, speaking in the language of the witches, “must be told about this.”
There was a murmur of agreement at her words and her face was grave as she looked at them all in turn. “I propose that we summon them immediately. Gra’els can only be called up by magic and very strong magic at that! I don’t need to tell you how lucky we were to escape! Next time,” she paused, “we might not be so fortunate!”
Her black eyes swept the room as the witches looked at one another in something like awe. To summon the Witch Queens so abruptly was not a decision to be taken lightly. Indeed, there was a subdued mutter of apprehension at the very thought. They all, however, knew that there was nothing else to be done and as Maritza stood up, slowly raising her arms in front of her, the witches, too, rose to their feet in a rustle of black silk.
The MacLeans, who of course, hadn’t understood a word of what she’d said, looked at one another somewhat anxiously as a deadly silence fell. Suddenly, the homely atmosphere of the old house was replaced by a feeling, the like of which they had never felt before; for the witches’ magic was powerful and as old as time itself. Clara gasped and felt her blood run cold as Maritza invoked a spell in a torrent of weird, harsh sounds.
“Wow!” Neil said softly as Maritza lowered her arms and bowed to the witches. “How cool was that!”
Much to Clara’s relief, the atmosphere immediately returned to normal, the witches sat down again and, reaching once more for their teacups, chattered excitedly. No longer upset at the thought of their encounter with the Gra’el, they were bright-eyed and excited, their glances drifting expectantly towards the door that led into the hall.
Maritza swept across to the MacLeans, frowning worriedly as she saw their somewhat nervous expressions. “I’m really sorry about the spell,” she apologized, “but we’re not powerful enough to deal with the Gra’el on our own. I hope you don’t mind but I’ve had to call for help!” She ran a hand dramatically through her hair. “Please bear with me, Janet! My nerves,” she confessed, “are in absolute shreds!”
Two minutes later, Kitor fluttered from his perch on top of one of the bookcases and, flapping down onto Neil’s shoulder, whispered into his ear. Neil looked towards the windows. “Kitor says it’s snowing,” he announced.
“So it is,” Janet MacLean looked up in surprise, “and the wind seems to be picking up, too!”
“Wanda and Samantha,” Maritza said with satisfaction. Everyone knew who she meant — even the MacLeans!
“Shall I let them in, Dad?” Neil asked, looking at his father doubtfully. Samantha, he knew, was Queen of the Snow Witches and Wanda, Queen of the Wind Witches. He’d had dealings with them both in the past and hadn’t been at all impressed. And now they were outside, circling the house …
“Of course,” he mother interrupted, “at once, Neil!”
Neil looked warily at his mother. He knew how she hated the witches and hadn’t really understood her change of heart.
Still he hesitated. “Go on,” she urged, more or less pushing him towards the door. “Don’t keep them waiting! They saved your life, didn’t they?”
Knowing that the witches would be on broomsticks, Neil opened the door wide and, sure enough, in they swooped. The Queen of the Wind Witches entered first, sweeping into the hall on the heels of a howling gale, followed closely by the Queen of the Snow Witches, who arrived in a flurry of snowflakes.
Neil closed the door hurriedly, wondering if he should put the central heating on, for the temperature in the house had, quite suddenly, gone down like a lift!
Wanda and Samantha parked their broomsticks by the hall table and raised their eyebrows as they looked at the mess of shivering broomsticks that lay, any old how, across the hall floor. The significance wasn’t lost on them and, indeed, nothing could have told them more clearly the seriousness of the situation for the broomsticks had obviously been so traumatized that they’d lain where they were thrown. Trouble was most certainly afoot!
Neil bowed to each of the witches in turn and, gesturing towards the living room door, followed them in.
Wanda and Samantha strode in regally and Clara hid a grin as they, too, stopped dead in amazement at the sight of an entire coven of earth witches drinking tea in the MacLean’s living room. The earth witches hung on to their cups and saucers, rose to their feet and curtseyed deeply.
Maritza, too, curtseyed respectfully as Samantha and Wanda looked at her blankly.
“What’s going on?” Wanda demanded.
“Why did you summon us?” Samantha asked, looking totally bewildered.
Neil brought in more chairs from the hall as Maritza introduced Mr and Mrs MacLean to the newcomers and Clara slipped off to the kitchen to put another kettle on to boil. The cup of tea that Mrs MacLean had originally offered the witches had multiplied to four or five cups at least and, given the way things were going, might stretch to four or five cups more …
The meeting was quite lengthy but as the witches spoke in their own language, the MacLeans didn’t understand a word of what was said although they did gather that Wanda and Samantha weren’t too keen on Maritza’s suggestions. Eventually, however, there was a nodding of heads and Maritza turned with a relieved smile to John MacLean.
“It is settled,” she announced, “we will do our best to protect Clara from danger.”
Mrs MacLean looked at her sharply. “Protect Clara?” she questioned. “But what … what about Neil?”
“Oh, we’ll keep an eye on him as well,” Maritza nodded, “but it was Clara the bird wanted. She’s the one that’s in danger.”
John MacLean looked at his wife in alarm and made to argue but Neil held up his hand and said quietly. “The Queen of the Earth Witches is right, Dad. The bird wanted Clara. I’m sure of it, too!”
“Well,” the MacArthur said, once they’d finished telling him all that had happened, “if anyone else had told me a tale like this, I’d never have believed it for second!”
Archie, too, looked alarmed and Arthur flapped his dragon wings anxiously.
Never have believed what?” John MacLean asked.
“That Clara was attacked by a Gra’el. It isn’t a bird that can be called up lightly, you know.”
“What exactly are Gra’els?” Neil asked. “I know they’re birds, but …”
At his words, a grumbling roar gathered in Arthur’s throat and he blew an angry cloud of smoke that set them all spluttering.
“Gra’els,” the MacArthur continued when they’d stopped coughing and waving their hands about to disperse the cloud of sparkling smoke, “are vile birds, a bit like vultures. They can only be conjured up by magic and in the old days were used to pick clean the bones of dead dragons — once the apothecaries had finished their task, that is. Dragon flesh is poisonous to humans, you see; which is why magicians used them as scavengers.”
“But,” Clara looked mystified, “apart from Arthur, there are no dragons in the world today, are there?”
“There are, actually,” Archie said, breaking into the conversation. “There’s a whole valley full of dragons in Ashgar.”
Neil looked at him in surprise. “In Ashgar!” he repeated, “then it could have been Lord Jezail who called up the Gra’el,” he said, looking worriedly at Clara. “If what you’ve told us about the sword is true then I bet he came the moment he saw it in the tomb! He wants the sword and …” he paused, his brow wrinkling as he tried to puzzle things out, “… now it looks as though he wants Clara, too. Otherwise, why would he send the Gra’el to capture her?”
The MacArthur looked thoughtful. “The only other thing that Jezail would want is the Book of Spells,” he frowned. “That’s why I gave it to the Lords of the North for safe keeping. He might be able to get into the Arthur’s Seat but he’d never get into Morven. Not in a million years!”
Neil turned pale. “But, that’s it, then,” he whispered, looking anxiously at his father. “That’s why he wants Clara. She knows all the spells off by heart.”
Clara’s heart sank. She knew instinctively that Neil was right. It was the spells that Lord Jezail wanted …
There was a sudden silence as they all looked at Clara.
“The witches said they’d look after me,” she said in a small voice.
“I’m sure they will,” the MacArthur said grimly, “and it was good of them to offer, but if Lord Jezail is here then I think you’re going to need more than witches to protect you, Clara. The Lords of the North will have to be told of this!”
“Has Prince Kalman returned yet?” John MacLean asked.
The MacArthur nodded. “Yes, he and his father got back yesterday.”
There was a murmur of delight from the children. Since the prince had returned to Morven, they had seen him many times and, indeed, they held a special place in his affections for he was very conscious that Neil and Clara had saved his life; Clara by giving him her firestone to wear when he was on the brink of death and Neil by working out that, unbeknownst to anyone, Lord Jezail had hexed him. When they’d heard this, the Lords of the North had been quick to lift the dreadful hex that had left him near death and now, once more, his easy, charming self, the prince had become firm friends with Neil and Clara.
“They were in Turkey with the Sultan when the horn sounded,” the MacArthur continued, “and decided to cut short their stay. The Sultan came back with them and now they’re busy trying to find Lord Jezail.”
“Have they had any luck?” John MacLean asked.
The MacArthur shook his head. “They’re working round the clock,” he assured him, “but so far the crystal hasn’t picked up on the slightest whisper of magic. Lord Jezail is hiding himself well.”