CHAPTER 5: Witchfinding

“Where exactly are we going?” Miles thought to ask after they had been walking for about an hour. They had reached the edge of Walton-on-Tye, Obelie and Kester marching confidently ahead and Miles following with the carpet bag. He had brought the kitchen mop also — “for defense,” he had said wisely.

“You need the help of a witch to find a witch,” Kester replied. “We’re going to go find a witch.”

Walton-on-Tye was bordered by a river. Barges came along it occasionally, trading fish and supplies up from the south, and a mill sat half in and half out of the water, the forceful rush of the river turning its great flywheel to grind wheat into flour. As they approached, they heard its murmur, growing into a roar as the mill came into sight. It towered over them like a huge creaking ferris wheel, flying furiously in circles almost as if it would break itself apart. They stopped — they had arrived.

“Now, you mustn’t be afraid,” Obelie explained, raising her voice to be heard. “We’re only going Downstairs.”

She went ahead, down the flight of steps cut into the bank that led down into the path of the wheel. Miles watched in growing horror as she kept on walking down, directly into the whirling teeth of the mill, and disappeared under the water. Kester threw a look back at him, and then followed her.

Miles advanced cautiously down the steps, until he stood directly in front of the flywheel. The sound of roaring water was so loud he felt it rattling in his chest. Huge wooden teeth whizzed past, a curtain of water pouring out of them. One after another dipped into the river and flew up into the air, powerful enough to crush a body or send it flying. “Warning! Stand clear of machinery” read a large, sensible sign.

“Come on!” her voice cried out distantly.

Bracing himself, one eye squinted shut, Miles stretched a toe out into the curtain of water.

He opened his eye. His toe was still there. It was not wet. It felt warm. Baffled, he advanced further, his left leg, then an arm, and then finally his head. He was standing in an underground tunnel with a low, sloping earthen roof. Obelie and Kester were there watching him.

He pulled his head back out. The other half of his body was still on the platform beneath the huge flywheel of the mill. Falling water thundered in his ears. He ducked back in. In the tunnel, all was silent.

He pulled himself fully in, shaking the damp out of his clothes.

“Nice trick that,” he said at last, feeling slightly faint.

“Thank you,” replied Kester neatly. “Now, the witch.”

They walked down the tunnel for what seemed like a very long time. It branched off in odd directions, sometimes turning back on itself. The ground rose, so that at one point they were almost crawling up a steep hill, and then abruptly lowered the next moment. Obelie was not sure why she chose the directions she chose, but with every turn of the tunnel she felt certain that they were getting closer. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed, or what day it was. At some point they became conscious of being hungry and stopped to eat their sandwiches and lemonade, before continuing on again.

“Miles, you have a streak of gray hair,” Obelie laughed. “Look, you’re getting older!”

He examined his reflection in the side of the bottle of lemonade. He had grown a beard, and his hair was shot through with gray at the temples.

“So I am!” he replied. “And I think you’ve gotten taller.”

He passed Obelie the bottle, and in its warped reflection she saw an adult woman looking back at her. Kester’s fur had thinned, and he had a distinguished white patch on his chin.

They walked on. Obelie’s feet hurt, and she began to find she tired more and more easily. “That’s odd,” she thought to herself. “I’ve become an old woman already, when inside I still feel like a child.” Miles’ hair had gone completely white, and he had a long, tangled beard. His thin form had grown crooked, and he leaned heavily on the mop.

“Just a little further,” she reassured him, when they stopped to catch their breath.

She was right. Around the next bend, the path dipped sharply downward, and opened into a large cave, filled with dripping stalactites. The ground was covered in fake grass, painted an improbable shade of green, and the ceiling and stalactites were bright blue and hung with cardboard clouds. In the center of the cave, seated at a fake campfire filled with red and orange tissue-paper, was a figure.

She had three torsos and three heads, each painted with red and blue face-paint. One held a foam finger printed with a faded “#1!”

The heads looked up.

“Who’s that?” they asked in unison.

Obelie stepped forward. “I’m Obelie, and these are Kester and Miles. Who are you?”

“I’m the Team Spirit,” replied the Team Spirit, waving the foam finger enthusiastically. “Go Spirits!”

“What brings you here?” asked the leftmost head after a moment of thought.

“She’s excited because we don’t get a lot of visitors,” added the middle head.

The right head nodded wistfully. “No one has come here in a long time.”

“We’re looking for a witch,” replied Obelie.

“Hey, we’re a witch!” the left head exclaimed, waving the foam finger again. “Go Witches! Give me a W! Give me an I! Give me a-”

“Oh give it a break,” interrupted the right head bitterly. “I wish I could get further away from that one.”

“Be good sports you two, please,” the middle head chided. “We are a witch, though. Could you have been looking for us?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Obelie replied. The left head sank sadly. “Although I’m sure you’re a very nice witch too. We’re looking for a witch named Penthesilea.”

“Oh, Pen! We know her,” exclaimed the middle head.

“She’s probably dead,” added the right head cynically.

“How could you say that?” the left head cried.

“She’s not dead, but we are worried for her,” clarified the middle head.

“Anything you know would be helpful,” Obelie.

The three heads of the Team Spirit conferred amongst themselves for a moment, then worked together to lurch forward. She poked the fire, and the tissue-paper flames rustled to life and began waving and crackling. The heads watched in interest. Obelie could see vague shapes moving inside the fire — it seemed that there was a meaning to them, and she kept thinking she was at the verge of understanding, but the forms always eluded her at the last second. Obelie, Kester, Miles, and the Team Spirit gathered around and watched the fire for a long while. At last, the tissue paper flames settled low, and the Team Spirit raised her six eyes as if coming back from far away.

“As I feared,” said the middle head in a subdued voice. “Do you know… Kevin?”

Obelie did not.

“Kevin is a very old spirit, much older than us — it comes from the same time as Pen, although it is slightly older even than her. It is very powerful, and feeds on suffering and chaos.”

The left head chimed in. “In the beginning, when there were few spirits, it had complete power and the whole world was in darkness. The handful of other spirits that existed at that time came together to fight it. Pen was one of those spirits. There was a great war in the sky, and with their combined strength finally Kevin was defeated and locked away.”

“That was back at the beginning of time,” continued the right head, “before we can remember. Kevin has been powerless and sleeping for a long while.”

“Recently though— ”

“It seems to have awakened.”

They left her in the cavern tending her fire, and continued on.