"Don't lie to me, woman," I shouted. "The only fire you are lighting is to brew some deadly potion. What wickedness do you intend to make with that?" I pointed at the skull but, to my shame, I saw my hand was trembling.

The old woman chuckled. "Don't you know all fires must be doused on Samhain, and lit again from the need-flame to see us safe through the dark winter?" She held up the fire-filled skull. "You're a priest. You're not afeared of dead things, are you? What harm can a bit of old bone do to you?"

The flames danced in the sightless eyes. I couldn't tear my gaze from them. I felt as if I was being pulled closer to the old woman and yet neither of us was moving. Such a small skull, it could almost be small enough to be a child's. I squeezed my eyes shut. Saint Michael and all angels defend me!

"That's the head of the little boy, isn't it? That's Oliver ... What have you done, you foul hag? Where's the rest of the corpse? The flesh, how did you remove the flesh so quickly; he's only three days dead?" A wave of nausea flooded up from my stomach. "God in Heaven, did you boil and eat ... You did, didn't you? Tell me the truth, you demon, tell me what you did to that child!"

I leapt forward, swinging the iron cross hard at her evil face. It caught her across the cheek and she fell backwards. The skull rolled down her legs, spilling the burning tinder. In an instant, her skirts were on fire.

Horrified, I stood and stared as flames shot upwards into the dark. The witch was writhing on the grass, screaming and pleading for me to help her. But I couldn't move. I was mesmerised by the yellow flames. With a desperate effort she rocked onto her belly trying to smother the fire beneath her own body. A lifetime seemed to pass while I stood transfixed as the old woman rolled on the ground, beating at the flames licking around the dark outline of her body, then finally they were gone and we were in darkness.

The old woman lay still. I thought she was dead, but then I heard her moan. I collapsed onto my knees and pushed her over onto her back. The stench of burning cloth hung in the air. In the darkness I could see little of what the fire had done to her, but I saw the glittering of her open eyes as she stared up at me.

"God did this to you, Gwenith, because you lied. God struck you down with fire for your foul deeds. You were screaming when you felt the heat and pain of those flames. Imagine how much more you will scream when you are burning for all eternity in fire that is a thousand times hotter than any fire on earth."

I was still gripping the iron cross. I ground it against her mouth, forcing her lips to touch it in the semblance of a kiss. "If you lie now you damn your soul to Hell. If you speak the truth, I will pray that you may be spared a little of the suffering that is about to fall on you. Now, Gwenith, I charge you to tell me what you did with the child you stole from the grave. Show me where I may find his body or at least his bones, so that I may return them to his grieving mother. If you do not I shall see you hanged and I shall send your maleficent soul straight to Hell."

"A bairn's ... been taken ... from a grave?" she gasped.

"You know that, you fiend. You took him. This is his skull."

"No, no ..." She shook her head. "That is my daughter's skull ... Gudrun's mother ... it's my daughter who brings the need-fire to us ... I loved my daughter ... I keep her with us ... I'd not leave her in a cold grave all alone ..."

"You are lying," I shouted at her.

"Pick up ... the skull ... Feel it. Those aren't the teeth of a bairn ..." She gripped the front of my robe with a surprising strength. "The bairn's corpse, you mustn't let them use it ... Three generations ago, five cunning women joined their powers to send the creature back into the twilight time. My great-grandam was one ... They thought no man would ever have the knowledge to conjure him again ... But Aodh braved the bull oak and the hide ... Aodh has the knowledge ... Now he has the boy ... He means to bring the creature back ... I'm the only cunning woman left. Can't fight him alone ... I hoped the grey women ... but there is not enough time. Only one way to stop the Owl Masters now. You must go back to Ulewic and get the bairn's corpse afore they can use it ..." She groaned. Her grip momentarily tightened, then slackened as she fell back.

I shook her. "What is this creature? What will it do? Tell me!" "Go ... hurry. If you want to prevent evil this night ... stop the Owl Masters afore it's too late."

IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN EASIER going down the river path than up it, but it wasn't. The moon had risen, but the light that it cast deceived the eye. Shadows masked holes. Rocks which looked solid rolled away beneath the feet. Only the moonlight shining on the tumbling white foam of the river differentiated between ground and water. I knew I should slow down. Several times I slipped and had to clutch at bushes and rocks to stop myself falling right down the hill. My back and arms were bruised and smarting, but all I could think of was what the Owl Masters were even now doing down in that village. going down the river path than up it, but it wasn't. The moon had risen, but the light that it cast deceived the eye. Shadows masked holes. Rocks which looked solid rolled away beneath the feet. Only the moonlight shining on the tumbling white foam of the river differentiated between ground and water. I knew I should slow down. Several times I slipped and had to clutch at bushes and rocks to stop myself falling right down the hill. My back and arms were bruised and smarting, but all I could think of was what the Owl Masters were even now doing down in that village.

How could I have been so stupid as to let myself be tricked into coming up here? I should have known that there was something odd about the men's story. The sexton must have noticed the grave had been opened long before Oliver's mother found it in the afternoon. Why had he not come to me straightaway to tell me about the grave? Had Phillip D'Acaster instructed the sexton to send me on a fool's errand, just to get me out of the way? Or did the men really believe that old Gwenith had stolen the corpse?

I heard the hounds howling long before I reached the first of the cottages. All the flea-bitten curs in Ulewic seemed to be joining in. But the streets themselves were deserted. Chinks of light escaping through cracks in shutters showed that not all the villagers had gone to the Samhain fires. Women and children were doubtless cowering behind those closed doors, terrified of the dead or of the Owl Masters. But despite the chill of the night, no smoke rose from any cottages. As old Gwenith had said, all the hearth fires had been extinguished. They would not be lit again until the men came home bearing flames from the Samhain fire.

But something was burning in the village; I could smell the wood smoke on the air, and as I rounded the corner I saw it: A crackling bonfire had been lit right in the centre of the graveyard, in front of the very church itself. Scarlet and orange flames were twisting into the night sky. Showers of red sparks burst around it, as the wood crackled and spat.

A large group of villagers, men and women, had encircled the blaze and were dancing round it, their hands linked and arms raised. Their feet stomped in a slow heavy rhythm to the beat of a drum. Some of the dancers were dressed in long white shifts, their faces masked by wooden carvings of human faces or shrouded with white cloth in which holes had been cut for eyes and mouths-crude imitations of the dead, come back to dance among the living.

The drummer sat cross-legged on top of one of the D'Acaster family tombs. He was naked save for a deerskin wrapped round his loins. On his head he wore the skull of a stag. The sharp antlers gleamed white and the drummer's bare skin was bronzed with sweat in the firelight.

I tore through the church gate, hardly able to contain my anger, shouting at the villagers to stop, but no one took any notice. The dancers' heads were thrown back, their eyes closed, as they surrendered themselves to the beat of the drum. I was beside myself with rage. How dare they perform this heathen rite on holy ground, right before the door of the church, trampling over the graves, making a mockery of those Christian remains which lay beneath their filthy feet?

I strode towards the dancers and seized a stout, matronly looking woman by her arm.

"Cease this godless spectacle at once!" I ordered.

But she flung me off with such force that I bounced on the ground and lay there winded and gasping. Shocked by her strength, I stared up and realised that she wasn't a woman at all. Those dancers I had taken to be village women were all men. There were no women in the graveyard.

Any attempt to break up the dance would be futile. The men had been drinking and were too carried away by the rhythm of the drum to pay any attention to me. They could wait. I would deal with their sins in the confessional. The important thing now was to find little Oliver's body.

I struggled painfully to my feet. If Gwenith was right and they intended to use the corpse in some dark rite, it must be somewhere close by. Then I saw them. Four masked Owl Masters stood in the doorway of the church, beneath the carved Black Anu, blocking the entrance to St. Michael's, as if they were guarding something. They had put the body in the church. Maybe the rest of the Owl Masters were inside, already committing their foul deeds upon the corpse. Perhaps they were performing their rites upon the very altar itself.

I ran round the circle of dancers towards the church door where the Owl Masters stood guard. The flames of the Samhain fire glinted red on the bronze beaks of their masks and on the drawn short-swords in their hands.

"Out of my way!" I tried to push past them, but two of the blades flashed upwards and were at my throat before I could take a step.

"How dare you threaten me; I am your priest. I could have you flogged for this."

But the Owl Masters didn't move. Deep behind the masks I glimpsed the flicker of eyes watching me.

"What is going on in the church? This is the house of God. If you violate a sacred building, God will smite you down and damn you for all eternity."

I fumbled for the cross about my neck and held it up in front of their faces. "I command you in the name of ..."

I sensed someone behind me and in the same instant saw one of the Owl Masters gesture with his sword. I half turned, but too late to prevent myself being seized on either side by powerful hands and dragged towards the dancers.

"How dare you lay hands on a priest! I will have you arrested for this."

But the men only laughed. They knew the threat was an empty one. They had my arms pinioned behind my back. How could I punish them when I couldn't even identify them, for they were both dressed in white shrouds, their faces concealed behind grinning wooden masks and hair of straw.

"You must join the dance, Father," one of them said. "Else the dead will think you don't welcome them."

"Let me go," I yelled, struggling to get out of their grip, but it was no use. I found myself pushed and pulled round the circle with the other dancers. A priest's strength is no match for burly villagers, strong as oxen from years of labouring in the fields.

Ducking under the upraised dancers' arms, an Owl Master entered the ring and strode across to the fire in the centre. He was holding a straw figure in his arms, about the size of a child. The straw figure was more than large enough to contain the corpse of little Oliver. They meant to destroy it, burn it to ashes. And without a body what hope was there of resurrection for the boy on the Day of Judgement?

"No! No!" I screamed. "Not an innocent child."

The Owl Master turned his head in my direction, raising the straw figure high in his arms, as if delibrately taunting me, then he tossed the effigy into the flames. The straw smouldered and burst into flames. An unpleasant, pungent stench began to mingle with the wood smoke, heavy and soporific. But it was not the smell of flesh. Some herb or leaves must have been stuffed inside the straw figure, something that was sending up clouds of dense smoke.

I felt light-headed, almost dizzy. I found that I had ceased to struggle. I no longer had the will to do so. The beat of the drum grew louder, until it seemed to be coming from inside my head. I found my feet obeying its rhythm, stamping with all the other feet; it was impossible to do otherwise.

Shapes moved between the dancers and the fire. They were insubstantial at first, so blurred that I thought what I could see were our own shadows, but they couldn't be. Across the far side of the circle I could see the shadows of the dancers on the ground, cast by the firelight, but the shadows were behind the dancers and moving with them. We were circling like the sun, towards the right, but whatever was in the centre of our ring was moving in the opposite direction, against the sun. I shook my head, trying desperately to draw in the night air and clear my brain, but my thoughts only became more fuddled. Then the shapes began to solidify.

They were not shadows moving in the circle. They were people. Barefoot girls with thick ropes about their necks were dancing with ancient men, whose beards hung grey to their gnarled feet. Old women with cobweb veils moved stiffly beside pale young men with bloodstained shirts. Old crones, their twisted nails gleaming yellow as old bones in the moonlight, grasped the hands of children with sunken black hollows where their eyes should have been. They lifted their hands as they circled the fire, and all their fingers were webbed. More and more of them joined the circle, rising up from the ground, slipping out from between the branches of the yew trees, slithering from between the cracks in the stone tombs. The dead of Ulewic were being called back.

The flames of the fire rose higher, red and yellow snakes striking at the stars. The drum beat quickened. The stamping grew louder. We were circling faster and faster, until the faces of the dancers opposite were a blur of mouths and eyes. I clung to the hands that were holding me in the dance. My fingers were locked rigid; I could not let go.

There was a huge bang and a flash of blinding light. The circle broke. Men were falling and stumbling, knocking into one another. For a moment I was blinded; the flash was seared onto my eyeballs. Then the villagers began pointing up at the round tower of the church. Blinking hard, I gazed upwards too.

One of the Owl Masters was standing on the flat roof of the tower, silhouetted black against the moon and stars. His long cloak swirled out about him in the breeze. He stretched out his hands over the churchyard, holding what looked like a rolled piece of white cloth. He raised the bundle in his hands, high above his head.

"Through blood we renew our strength. Through death we renew our life. Through destruction we renew creation. Through fire we make all things fertile."

"Through fire we make all things fertile," the villagers echoed in the churchyard below.

On the top of the tower the Owl Master's cloak billowed up behind like wings. "I call upon Cernunnos to give him spirit. Triple Goddess, Blodeuwedd the virgin, Anu the mother, Morrigu the hag, I call upon you to give him substance. Taranis lord of destruction, Yandil lord of darkness, Rantipole lord of rage, I call upon you to awaken the Owlman! Awaken the Owlman! Awaken the Owlman! Ka!" "I call upon Cernunnos to give him spirit. Triple Goddess, Blodeuwedd the virgin, Anu the mother, Morrigu the hag, I call upon you to give him substance. Taranis lord of destruction, Yandil lord of darkness, Rantipole lord of rage, I call upon you to awaken the Owlman! Awaken the Owlman! Awaken the Owlman! Ka!"

The Owl Master let the pale cloth he was holding unfurl in the wind. I could just make out two vertical lines, written on it in crimson, on which were many horizontal slashes and marks. Above the lines a circle was divided into four, and below the lines, a triple spiral. I could make no sense of what I saw. I heard people crying out in fear. I thought it was the marks on the cloth that they were afraid of. Then with mounting horror, I realised it was not the bloodred marks; it was what they were inscribed upon. That was not a cloth the Owl Master held in his hands, but a flayed skin, a human skin, the size and shape of a small child.

I'd scarcely had time to register what I was seeing when a new cry went up from the crowd of villagers. A trickle of smoke was coming from the church door. For a moment I thought they'd set the church on fire, but then I realised it was not coming from the inside of the church itself. Smoke was writhing out from the gaping cunt of the old hag carved above the door.

At first the smoke was white but as more and more poured out in a steady stream it began to turn black. Now it was taking shape-the head of a monstrous bird, then huge wings as wide as the church tower. The thing rose in the night air, hovering above the church. Even as we watched, it was swelling, becoming denser and darker, blotting out the stars.

The villagers, standing mesmerised, now began to scream and flee. Everywhere men scrambled to get out of the churchyard, throwing themselves over the walls, not caring where they landed or how, in a frenzy to get as far away from the demon as they could. As if their screams had broken the spell which had transfixed me to the spot, I found myself stumbling and running towards the gate.

I did not look back.

november souling day third and last day of samhain.[image] the day on which christians collected alms to pay for prayers for the souls of the dead in purgatory. the day on which christians collected alms to pay for prayers for the souls of the dead in purgatory.

pisspuddle pUT ONE FOOT STRAIGHT IN FRONT OF THE OTHER," that's what the tumbler's girl said at the May Fair. "Feel your toes touching your heels, then you don't have to look down. You mustn't ever look down, 'cause that's what makes you fall."

I got to the end of the trestle without falling off, but then I had to turn. That's the really hard bit. It looked easy when she did it. She put her leg straight out, then sort of swivelled.

"Stare real hard at yon tree," she said, "then you'll not slip. Stare at one spot. Don't ever take your eyes off it."

I swung my leg, wobbled, and crashed onto the ground.

"God's blood, what ever are you up to this time, lass?" Mam stood over me, hands on hips, her mouth wrinkled tight like a pig's arsehole. Her mouth always pinched up like that when she was going to clout me.

I quickly began to bawl, rubbing my leg and rolling around. I was good at that. Mam could never tell if I was really crying or not.

"She's practising to be a tumbler, aren't you, Pisspuddle?" William grinned.

"Are you hurt, lass? Where? Show me." Mam bent down. "Tumblers indeed! Whatever put that nonsense in your head?"

"Isn't nonsense. I'll do it, you'll see. When the tumblers come for the next May Fair, they're going to take me with them. They said they would if I practised and could walk the pole. I'll go all over, fairs and castles and the like. The tumbler's girl said they toss you real gold coins at the castles. And I'll be eating suckling pig every day, twice sometimes."

Behind me, William snorted with laughter.

"You just wait, fat-arse," I told him. "One day I'll be rich and you'll be starving hungry and you'll come to me begging for food and I'll not even give you a bone to suck."

"It's you who won't have a bone to suck, lass. A bed in a ditch and a kick for your supper is all they'll give you." Mam pulled me to my feet, feeling my arms and legs. "And what do you think happens to little girls when they're too big to be tossed on poles? Turned out to thieving and begging, or worse. End on the gallows, every one of them. Just look at the state of you! Muck from head to toe. How's your leg? Can you walk?"

William pushed his face close to mine and whispered, "Do you know where the tumblers get their suckling pigs, Pisspuddle?"

"Don't call me that. Mam, tell him not to call me that."

"I'm bigger than you, so I can call you anything I want. And I'll tell you where the tumblers get their suckling pig. They wait for a dark night when the little girls are fast asleep, then they creep up and cut their throats from ear to ear." He sliced his grubby finger across my throat. "Then they chop them up and stuff them in pickle barrels. That's their suckling pigs, silly little pisspuddles like you. But don't worry, they'll fatten you up first, you're so skinny, your arse wouldn't fill a pasty." He poked me sharply over and over, going for all the soft places.

"Make him stop, Mam! My leg hurts." I tried to limp away.

"I thought it was the other leg that was hurt," William smirked.

"Why you little ..." Mam aimed a swipe at my head, but I dodged out of reach. "You just wait till I get hold of you, I'll give you hurt."

I darted round the corner of the cottage and smashed straight into Lettice's belly. She staggered back and I tried to dodge round her, but she grabbed me by the back of my neck and marched me back to Mam.

"Have you heard, dear?" Lettice said.

"What?" Mam asked, grabbing hold of my arm.

"Two maids from the Manor, attacked in the churchyard last night. Ran screaming all the way home. Scarcely escaped with their lives, so they say."

Mam's eyes were wide. "Do they know who it was attacked them?"

"Now you're asking, my dear. It's not so much a question of who who but but what." what."

Lettice looked fearfully round as if who or what might be behind her. She moved closer. "A great bird, taller than Blacksmith John, swooped right down on them from the church tower just as they were setting out for the Manor."

"A bird?" Mam whispered.

"You're hurting me, Mam!" I wailed. She still had a tight hold of my arm and her fingers were digging into me. Everyone ignored me. "Mam!"

"When I say a bird, I mean he had the head and wings of a bird all right, an owl, with a beak big enough to sever a maid's leg and great black talons instead of feet, but he had the body and private parts of a man. And when I say privates of a man," she raised her eyebrows, "it was more like a stallion, so I've heard."

Mam gasped. "So, it's true then. I heard what happened on All Hallows' Eve, but the men were in their cups. Sow-drunk most of them by the way they went roaring through the village. Most of them couldn't get out of their beds the next day, never mind talk any sense. But if the Owlman himself has been seen ..."

Lettice crossed herself. "My old grandam used to tell me tales of him that her mam had taught her. Not just bairns he took, but full grown men, ripped the flesh off them and ate them alive. Devoured their souls too. He terrorised the whole village for more than a year last time he flew, until the cunning women cast him into a sleep. But that was nigh on a hundred years ago, maybe more. I never thought he'd fly again, not in my lifetime."

"God save us ..." Mam squashed me tightly against her leg.

"Amen to that, for there's not a cunning woman left in these parts, save old Gwenith. God grant that her grandam taught her the words to bind the demon, else there'll be no stopping him this time nor them that wakened him."

She crossed herself again. "You heard about poor Aldith's little Oliver, of course you have, who hasn't? Still not a sign of the little lad's body. The dear woman's beside herself. In and out of her cottage every day I am, to comfort the dear soul, fair wearing myself out with it. But at the end of the day what can you say to her? They're dark arts indeed that take the body of an innocent boy for their work." Lettice inched closer to Mam. "You want to keep those bairns close by, my dear."

Mam whirled me round to face her. "You two inside now and stay there. From now on neither of you sets foot outside the door till the sun's full up and I want you indoors before the Vespers bell. You hear me?"

"But, Mam," William groaned.

"Now inside, both of you, and no more arguments."

Mam landed a stinging slap on my backside and pushed me towards the door. It wasn't fair. I hadn't said a word. William was the one who was arguing.

William kicked the doorpost as he passed, but he daren't say anything to Mam. He threw himself down next to the fire.

"Stupid lasses. I'd not have run away screaming from the Owlman. I want to see him. She needn't think I'm going to stay in."

"Me neither." I tried to look as sulky as him and kicked the nearest stool. It tumbled over, scattering a bowl of beans which Mam had left on top. They trickled into the thick layer of rushes on the earth floor. Mam would kill me! Why did she have to put them there? I scrambled to pick up the tiny beans, but every time I grabbed one bean, it made more of the others disappear.

"You're going to get a really good skelping this time, when Mam sees that," William grinned, deliberately scattering them even more with his foot.

My stomach somersaulted. I could still feel Mam's hand across my backside from the slap. I crept to the door. I could slip out while she'd still got her back to it, gabbing to fat Lettice.