The Spook's Stories: Grimalkin's Tale Read Free

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. Seconds later, his forehead was split open and blood was running into his other eye. Unable to see, he could offer little defence and I quickly administered a chop, bringing him to his knees.
    The two crones knelt at Grist’s side. One was his mother, and I saw that tears were streaming down her cheeks.
    ‘I could kill you now,’ I cried, ‘but you’re just a man and hardly worth the trouble!’
    I began to walk away, but before I entered the trees I turned. I had one last thing to say.
    ‘I’m leaving this place,’ I told them. ‘But I’ll return to face Kernolde.’

    There is one thing that I have not yet told you. Grist had trained my older sister, Wrekinda. She was Kernolde’s fifth victim: one more reason to kill the witch assassin.
    It was fortunate that I was already skilled in the ways of the forest and crafting weapons. Fortunate too that, as the third accepted for training, I’d be the last to face Kernolde. Even in defeat the other challengers might weaken her, or at least drain some of her strength.
    So I trained myself. I worked hard; invited danger; ate well; built up my strength; swam daily to increase my endurance for combat – mile upon mile despite the winter cold. I also crafted the best blades of which I was capable and carried them in sheaths about my body, which grew stronger and faster by the day. I ran up and down the steep slopes of Pendle to improve my stamina, readying myself for the fight to the death against Kernolde.
    In a forest far to the north, beyond the boundaries of the County, I faced a pack of howling wolves. They circled me, moving ever closer, death glittering in their hungry eyes. I held a throwing knife in each hand. The first wolf leaped for my throat; leaped and died as my blade found its throat first. The second died too. Next I drew my long blade, awaiting the third attack. With one powerful stroke I struck the animal’s head from its body. Before the pack turned and fled my wrath, seven lay