The Spook's Stories: Grimalkin's Tale

back of my tongue.
    I obeyed, sitting cross-legged and gazing up at her through the steam. She had remained standing so that she was higher than me, a tactic often practised by those who wish to dominate others. But I was not cowed and met her gaze calmly.
    ‘What did you see?’ I demanded. ‘What is my future?’
    She did not speak for a long time. It pleased her to keep me waiting. I think Ribstalk was annoyed because I had asked a question rather than waiting to be told the outcome of her scrying.
    ‘You have chosen an enemy,’ she said at last. ‘The most powerful enemy any mortal could face. The outcome should be simple. Unless you wish it, the Fiend cannot approach you, but he will await your death, then seize your soul and subject it to everlasting torments. But there is something else; something that I cannot see clearly. An uncertainty … another force that may intervene. Just a glimmer of hope for you …’
    She paused, then stepped closer and peered into the steam. Once again there was a long pause. ‘There is someone there … a child just born—’
    ‘Who is this child?’ I demanded.
    ‘I cannot see him clearly,’ Martha Ribstalk admitted. ‘Someone hides him from my sight. And as for you, even with his intervention, only one highly skilled with weapons could hope to survive. Only one with the speed and ruthlessness of a witch assassin. Only the greatest of all assassins – more deadly even than Kernolde – could do that. Nothing less will do. So what hope have you?’ she mocked.
    Kernolde was then the assassin of the Malkins. A fearsome woman of great strength and speed, who had slain twenty-seven challengers for her position – three each year, as this was the tenth year of her reign.
    I rose to my feet and smiled down at Ribstalk. ‘I will slay Kernolde and then take her place. I will become the witch assassin of the Malkins – the greatest of them all.’
    I turned and walked away, listening to the scryer cackling with mocking laughter behind me. But mine were not vain boasts. I believed that I could do it. I truly believed.

    Three pretenders to the position of Malkin assassin were trained annually, but this year one place remained to be filled. No wonder – for most believed it was certain death to face Kernolde. The other two witches had been in training for six months. Thus half a year remained before the three days assigned for the challenges. That was the time left for me to gain some of the skills necessary. Barely time for most to learn the rudiments of the assassin’s trade.
    The training school was in a clearing in Crow Wood. My first day there filled me with dismay. The other two trainees had no confidence, and death was already written on their foreheads. I grew more and more disgruntled with every hour that passed.
    At last, just before dark, I spoke my mind. We three were sitting cross-legged on the ground, looking up at Grist Malkin, our trainer. He was droning on about blade-fighting. Behind him were two sour-faced matriarchs of our clan, both witches. They were there to ensure we did not use magic against our trainer.
    ‘You are a fool, Grist!’ I snapped, no longer able to control my irritation. ‘You’ve already prepared twenty-seven defeated challengers before us. What can you teach us but how to lose and how to die?’
    For a long time he did not speak but simply locked eyes with me and glared, his face twitching with fury. He was a big man, a head taller than me and heavily muscled. But I was not afraid and met his gaze calmly. It was he who looked away first.
    ‘On your feet, girl!’ he commanded.
    I stood slowly and smiled.
    ‘Take that grin off your face. Don’t look at me!’ he barked. ‘Look straight ahead. Have some respect for your teacher. Listening to me might just save your life …’
    He began to circle me slowly. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he disappeared behind my left shoulder. Suddenly he seized me in a bear hug, trying to squeeze the breath from my body. I felt a sharp pain as one of my ribs cracked.
    ‘Let that be a lesson to you!’ he cried, throwing me down into the dirt.
    But I made sure that he did not speak again: I was on my feet in an instant and broke his nose with my left fist, the punch knocking him to the ground.
    The struggle between us was over quickly. I did not let him get close to me again. My blows were swift and executed with precision. Within moments one of his eyes was swollen and closed.