Vengeance Child

by Simon Clark

  Victor felt himself still drifting between being awake and some shadowy borderland. The room was warm, with the sun shining in . . . he felt drowsy . . . in fact, drowsier than he had ever felt before. That mellifluous voice of Solomon’s had such a relaxing quality. That woozy sensation left him with the impression he was floating. After the anger of earlier, Laura stood calmly, her eyelids drooping, yet she listened with close attention.

  Solomon’s speech flowed on. ‘I finished my register of names, with its truths, half-truths and downright lies. My boss was satisfied. The only hitch that stopped me from believing I had completed my task was that one person didn’t appear on the list. Jay. He was four years old at the time, or as far as the rescuers could judge. However, I find no trace of him being born in my country. We have perfectly competent civil servants, plus a strict procedure for registering births. Jay doesn’t appear on registers. Nobody from the Cathdran village remembers seeing him. Yet he turned up on the ship, and he was the only survivor. That always unsettled me. After my accident I dreamt, as I’ve told you, about the refugees, about how the ship fell apart, and most of all I dreamed about the four-year-old boy surviving for days in an open raft. Even though I’d retired by that time I tried again to find a record of the boy, so that he might be reunited with any surviving family. What I did discover is that wherever Jay stayed afterwards, whether in children’s homes or with foster families, bad things happened. It was as if the boy was cursed. Or . . .’ Solomon dabbed at his forehead where perspiration beaded. ‘Or the boy was the instrument of that curse.’

  ‘Jay had bad luck . . .’ Laura began. ‘People blamed him. It’s not his fault.’

  ‘No?’ Solomon took a tissue from a box on the desk so he could dab his glistening face. ‘Even discussing this makes my heart beat faster. Please. I’m here to impart facts. This boy does not exist, at least as far as the public records show. The boy is dangerous. He is like a lightning conductor, but instead of lightning he conducts tragedy and death.’ Solomon plucked another tissue from the carton. ‘Just as I dream of the refugees and of Jay, I also dream that this is my last year on earth. I know God has given me the chance of redemption by putting right the wrong committed by my people, your people, and by myself. I compiled a register of lies against innocent men, women and children. That is my evil act. I must atone, so I’ve travelled here to tell you what I know . . .’

  ‘What you’ve said wouldn’t help us. Or Jay.’

  ‘Maybe not. But I have information that will help. If you do as I advise you will have a chance of stopping the suffering, the fear, the deaths.’

  Victor still gazed drowsily at the Severn. In the river a shape swam beneath the surface. It seemed so ominous. A predatory shark? Or one of the old river gods? He rubbed his forehead. The heat in the room made him dizzy. He was thinking such strange, troubling thoughts.

  Solomon continued in a calm tone. ‘Imagine I’m here to warn you about an earthquake. You will respond with “there are no earthquakes in this part of the country, don’t be ridiculous.” Nevertheless, I’ll explain as much as I can about Jay. On the surface you won’t believe me, yet deep down I’m sure you will. Remember my words if Jay puts more lives in danger. Then maybe you will act on them and innocent people will be saved.’

  Laura bit her lip. To Victor it seemed she was making a decision whether to step over a threshold. And once crossed, there would be no way back. This was one of those pivotal times. Like signing a death warrant. Or accepting the risk of dodging bullets in order to cross a battleground. A sudden resolve took hold of her. Nodding sharply, she said, ‘OK, Solomon. Tell us what we need to do.’

  ‘In most cultures there are legends of changelings. You know how it goes, a baby is born to a family. Then one morning the mother notices the baby is different. The eyes are a different colour. Maybe it doesn’t cry any more but growls like an animal instead. The parents realize that during the night a demon, or troll, or some such sprite has stolen their baby and put one of their own offspring in its place. The family know they are cursed, but they continue to care for the demon child, even though it grows up to be ugly and wicked. Crops fail. Bad luck dogs them, but they’re afraid to cast out the child in case they never get their own flesh and blood child back home again.’

  ‘You’re saying Jay is a changeling?’

  Solomon didn’t answer the question directly. ‘Sometimes the demon child would be a changeling. Sometimes it would be a foundling. The family believe they are doing the decent thing by taking in an orphan child. Only it turns out to be the son or daughter of a devil. Whatever the details are of the adoption by the human family the evil foundling or changeling has a purpose. That purpose is to punish the family. Someone in the family might have sinned. That sinner might already be dead but when the world of magic is involved that doesn’t matter. It’s as if whoever has the sinner’s blood is punished. So brothers, sisters and cousins suffer. Vengeance is visited upon those who share the wrongdoer’s blood. The Cathdran believed in the Vengeance Child. If they lost a war they would conjure a foundling into their enemy’s town to exact revenge. Whether you believe it is neither here or there, just as you might not believe in the story of Moses or reject the existence of heaven. My purpose is to tell you what I know. So I ask you to imagine that you are back on that ship, the N’Taal, as it breaks apart. You see the panic of the refugees. They know they will drown. Mothers cradle babies. Fathers weep in frustration at not being able to save their families. They have been hounded out of their homeland. When they sailed the Atlantic looking for a safe haven they were turned away. Not one nation helped them. As the vessel sinks, the men, women and children are crying, but the Cathdran are a fierce people. You can imagine as the water gushed in they all screamed – but this time it was a scream of fury. And as one they cursed the blood of my people, they cursed the blood of your people. As one they directed their anger at you and me, at all our people, at mankind. All those different individuals united in the moment they died to direct their collective willpower at us. To curse us, to wish that we suffer like they suffered. When the ship vanished underwater nothing remained. Except one life raft. In that raft was a child. He is the vessel of their fury. His purpose on earth is to inflict suffering. It doesn’t matter to who. Because our elected governments did nothing to help Jay’s people then we are all guilty of murder. At least in the eyes of the Cathdran.’

  Victor realized his muscles had grown tense. A pain burned behind his eyes. Part of him wanted to tell Solomon to shut up, but a deeper, primeval part longed to know which weapon he could use against Jay. Again, he felt that current of unease as strange thoughts plagued him. There was an ominous sense that violence would erupt at any moment. For some reason he was gripped by the urge to yell. Then maybe lash out. Was that fear? He clenched his fist, trying to control his racing heartbeat.

  Solomon wiped perspiration from his face. ‘My mouth is so dry. It’s hard to tell you this. It goes against my oath to uphold the law and protect the innocent.’ He patted his neck with the tissue. It came back as a damp wad. Grimacing, he dropped it into the bin. ‘The old remedies for dealing with a changeling or evil foundling are this. Expose the child to danger. In times gone by families would even lock the child in a hot oven . . . or put it in a barrel into which they’d pour water. Imagine those desperate men and women. They put the changeling in so much danger that they hope the demon parent will take pity on their offspring then snatch the child back.’

  ‘Let me get this straight.’ Victor ran his hand through his hair. ‘You’re saying that we put Jay in peril? We do something so bad to him that his life is put in danger?’

  For once, Laura couldn’t even bring herself to speak. She looked guilty at even hearing such a measure.

  Solomon stood up. The man’s hands were shaking. ‘I told you that on one level you wouldn’t believe me. Deep down, however, you do. If you have the courage to stop Jay causing any more deaths you will have to act. You must put the boy i
n so much danger – genuine danger, mind – that he is taken back to those who made him. I believe in God, I believe in heaven. I also believe that in the moment of their dying those hundreds of men, women and children aboard the N’Taal willed Jay into existence. A Vengeance Child. A boy who would have the power to send us, the guilty, mad with fear before destroying us. This kind of vengeance might be blind, but like a wounded lion lashing out to anyone who comes near it’s still lethal.’ Solomon glanced at the wall clock. ‘I’ve done what my God wanted me to do. I’ve explained about Jay, I’ve advised you of a method to stop the killing. What you do with that advice is up to you.’

  Solomon nodded to Laura and Victor, then he left the room. As for the pair they could only stare wordlessly at each other. For a moment Victor thought Laura would go after Solomon to harangue him. Instead, she went to Victor and made a whispered plea, ‘Hold me.’ When he put his arms around her she sighed as her head rested against her chest. But he saw the way she stared out at the river. She was thinking hard.

  Solomon Constable left the hostel thirty minutes later. His clothes were now dry enough to wear, despite a little damp clinging to the shirt collar. The weight of that guilt he’d experienced for years slipped away. That sense of redemption made his step lighter. He felt such pure relief at completing his mission. Softly, he sang a hymn under his breath. ‘Onward, Christian soldiers . . .’ On his walk through the village to the beach, where he’d left the motor boat, he noticed that an outbreak of illness was taking hold. Men and women sat in their gardens, their heads in their hands, and the colourful fallout pooling on lawns and patios. Jay brought the plague, too. Then a Vengeance Child had many powers.

  It was dusk when he reached the red motor boat pulled on to the pebbles. The sun glinted on its Perspex windshield.

  Solomon eyed the river. ‘Thank goodness there are no crocs or hippos. Especially hippos. I hate hippos.’

  His heart still pounded. Telling the couple, and such a lovely couple, that they would have to act in an extreme way to preserve life was hard. He wondered if they would have the courage to do as he suggested. If anything, his heart clamoured even faster as he untied the rope from an old tree trunk lying in the mud. Nerves, he told himself. Is there any wonder? Sweat dribbled inside his shirt. His mouth tasted bad. The sooner I get away from this island the better, he thought. When the boat was afloat the current pulled it quickly downstream. Before he’d even started the motor it passed a headland. At the tip of that headland stood a young boy. One with elfin eyes. He stood, feet apart, completely motionless.

  The man’s heart lurched. He recognized the boy from the photographs his Internet searches had revealed. The boy watched him drift past. The ex-cop met his gaze. Inside his chest his heart went berserk.

  ‘Solomon . . . Solomon . . . Solomon.’

  Even though Solomon didn’t hear the name he knew that Jay mouthed it over and over. The moment he managed to start the engine his heart rammed against his ribs with enough force to make him grunt. Then that fist-sized block of muscle that had driven blood through his veins for more than five decades stopped dead. Solomon Constable collapsed backward across the boat’s seats. Sightless eyes gazed heavenward. Still hopeful, always hopeful, of ascending there when his day was done.

  With no one to guide it, the boat surged down the estuary toward the ocean where it dwindled to a speck and eventually disappeared from human sight.

  Eighteen

  ‘Archer . . .’

  ‘Go away.’

  ‘Archer. I hurt people. I know that. I hurt the policeman today. He fell in the boat. The river took him out to sea.’

  ‘Go away.’

  ‘Archer, I’m frightened.’

  ‘Why should I want to know that, Jay? Go tell Laura.’

  Jay stood in Archer’s bedroom at the farm. Archer had been in bed ten minutes when Jay appeared in the door. Archer hated Jay. He talked in that weird way again, sort of dull sounding, his arms hanging down all limp. When he told Jay to go back to his own room he didn’t seem to hear, he just kept talking. Archer didn’t want to hear. What if he starts saying my name? Or if he takes me for a walk? Archer remembered the last time with a shudder. The car in the cave-place . . . the dead woman in the back seat . . . how she’d got hold of him . . . then stuck the gold bracelet into his hand so hard that it hurt. Tears welled in Archer’s eyes. Jay’s a witch. He does bad things to people. He’s done bad things to me! Jay took a zombie step into the room. Archer moaned in fear. He pulled the blanket up so only his eyes peered over the material.

  ‘I don’t want to hurt people, Archer. But there’s this thing inside of me that makes me do it. It’s like being hungry. You can’t help it when you’re hungry. Your stomach aches until you put food in it. This begins with me hurting inside. I know I start to look strange to people. I just keep staring and muttering and I don’t move. You see, I’ve got the power to do bad things to people. But I try to make good things happen for them. If I concentrate really hard I can do nice things instead of bad things . . . or at least I try. Because sometimes it turns out wrong. I took Laura to see Tod Langdon, where he was locked up, but she became frightened. I thought Laura would be happy to see Tod again but it was nasty.’

  ‘You made me go into that room with the car. There was something horrible inside it. It scared me, Jay, ’cos I thought the dead woman would kill me. That wasn’t to make me happy it was to frighten me to death, you bloody witch.’ Archer knew he risked provoking Jay, but the memory of the body in the car still tortured him. ‘You did that to be evil to me, and I’ve done nothing bad to you, Jay.’

  Jay continued in monotone. ‘That wasn’t meant to hurt you. I wanted to do a nice thing for Victor. Victor’s OK. I like him. He worries about Ghorlan. I knew I could bring something back for him. The bracelet. You’re going to give it to Victor.’

  ‘No fear.’ Archer buried his face in the blankets. Even looking at Jay made him feel sick with terror. He didn’t want to be in the same house as him, only with everyone falling ill on the island he’d been forced to stay here with Jay. Laura was in the room down the hall. Victor had an apartment in a different building across the yard. If Jay wants me to take the gold bracelet to Victor then he’s dead wrong. Victor might have put the woman in the car. If he finds out I know about the body he’ll put me in the car, too. For ever. There was silence for a moment. Archer began to hope that Jay had gone. When he peered over the blankets he saw Jay had come closer so he could look right down at Archer. Or do something awful to me.

  For a moment Jay did that zombie stare at Archer, then continued. ‘Archer, this island has done something to me. My power is different here. I can make it do more. Something inside me wants to hurt you.’

  Archer whimpered.

  ‘It wants me to hurt you, Victor, Laura, Lou, Max, Trisha, Ben, Carol . . . and everyone on the island. It wants me to kill everyone I can. It’s what I’m supposed to do. But this island is strong. It’s made me stronger too. I’m changing. I feel different inside. If I try as hard as I can I’ll be good.’ His eyes shone in the gloom. ‘Tonight I’m going to do magic. I’ll make nice things happen for everyone.’

  Jay wants everyone to be happy. That night he went across the island. He longed to help people, not hurt them. So he strived to make wishes come true. Of course, everyone whose wish came true the night the epidemic took hold blamed it on the fever. They insisted they dreamt it. But the scars they received, both inside and out, told a different story. Because sometimes what you wish for can so easily become your curse.

  ‘You’re getting cold. Come back to bed.’

  The church clock chimed midnight. Tonya Fletcher continued to stare out of the window, hardly daring to believe her eyes. Her naked body rashed with the faint puckering of gooseflesh.

  ‘See? You’re cold,’ said her husband. ‘Aren’t we going to finish what we started downstairs?’

  Tonya shivered. That wasn’t the cool air. She shivered because she saw some
thing that excited her.

  Richard sat up in bed. ‘What’s out there?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing.’ Don’t come to the window, she thought. If you look you’ll spoil it . . . like you’ve managed to spoil everything else.

  He laughed. ‘It must be an interesting nothing. You can’t take your eyes off it.’ He swung his legs out of bed. ‘Are you going to let me see, too?’

  Tonya hid the powerful emotion that must show on her face by keeping her face to the blind. ‘It’s the Saban. They’re back in the street again.’

  Richard smiled. The foreplay had put him in a good mood. ‘You know what they say? When the deer come into the village then miracles happen.’

  ‘I don’t see any miracles yet,’ she lied. ‘Just a bunch of animals munching flower beds.’

  ‘Speaking of munching . . .’ He patted the mattress.

  Tonya Fletcher continued to look out of the window. In the moonlight she saw about twenty of the Saban Deer. A little bigger than Labrador dogs, they were moving slowly along Main Street; they resembled a dark stain seeping over the road. The peculiar sight that first caught her attention wasn’t the rare appearance of the Saban in the village, but that a boy stood down in the garden. He gazed up at her as she’d gone to the window just moments ago. Aged about eleven, he had large almond-shaped eyes. The way they caught the moonlight in such an uncanny way had held her attention. Tonya saw him mouth a word as he locked his eyes on hers. At that instant she felt such a tug of vertigo she thought she’d tumble forward out of the window. Then she saw an impossible sight. Andrew sat astride his motorbike in the middle of the deer herd. There, her first love gazed up at her. It was just the same as when they’d dated each other. Andrew would arrive on the motorbike, then wait patiently until she looked out of her bedroom window back at her parents’ home. Her heart would leap with excitement when she saw his face. Then she’d hold up three fingers. I’ll be down in three minutes. One minute to change. One minute to apply lipstick, spray perfume. One minute to brush her hair. Then she’d dash downstairs with a hurried, ‘Mum, I’m going out. See you later.’ Seconds later, she’d kiss Andrew – a heartfelt kiss. Then she’d swing her leg over the pillion, pull on the helmet that he held for her and . . . whoosh . . . they’d roar away through the suburbs.