Darkwells

by R. A Humphry

  The lights were on in The Black Swan. Henry was sensibly taking refuge inside. Heather hurried onto the boat and closed the door behind her. She didn’t see Henry; maybe he was in the bathroom? She took off her wet jacket and moved to the far side of the boat, trying to straighten out her hair before Henry came back through. She heard a sound and turned and her smile melted away from her face. It wasn’t Henry. It was Max.

  A cold dread rose up in Heather and she backed away to the far wall. “Max,” she said in a quivering voice, “what are you doing here?”

  Max just smiled at her. It was his most dangerous smile, careless and completely confident.

  “It’s my boat, I bought it this morning. So maybe I can do what I please on it.”

  Heather was breathing fast. He was between her and the door and he was big and strong and fast. She couldn’t repel him or else the Black Swan would sink to the bottom and she would drown. The jade bracelet was in the drawer by her bed. She started to mutter an illusion spell. Maybe she could dazzle him while she escaped. The spell sputtered out as her mind recoiled in panic. Max was advancing on her.

  “When I saw you at Lord Kilburn’s ball, I just knew I’d like a taste,” he said still smiling. “I knew that we would fit very well together.”

  “Max, what are you doing?” Heather asked, shrinking in on herself. “Please just leave.”

  “Don’t play coy, Heather. We both know that you want this. We know why you hang around with the cripple. He can’t give you what I can, Heather. He can’t treat you like a man should.”

  He was nearly on top of her. In a panic, Heather lashed out to slap him, but he caught her hand with ease.

  “Oh, I love frisky ones,” he said as he pulled her close.

  She started to cast the repel spell, to hell with drowning, when he slapped her across the face.

  “Oh, yes. I thought you liked it rough,” he said as he leered at her and pulled off his top, revealing a muscled, solid torso.

  “Please, Max. Please stop,” Heather begged as real fear rose up in her.

  “And I love it,” Max said as he tore off her shirt with a casual jerk, “when you beg.”

  #

  In Darkwells Henry sat casting the bones as the storm lashed against the ancient stone. Over and over he would toss them and try to interpret the signs. Toss and gather, toss and gather. The future. The past. The present. He tossed the bones with two hands and disinterestedly checked the signs. What he saw made him sit up in alarm. He gathered the bones and tossed them again. “Heather,” he said and then clambered up to his desk.

  He poured water from a plastic bottle into his small scrying dish and searched for her. She wasn’t at her college, where she should have been. She wasn’t with her mother. She wasn’t at Hawksworth. He pulled up The Black Swan and the spell was blocked and thrown fifty feet clear. Heather had cast her privacy spells well. Henry tried to calm the anxiety in him. She is at home, he told himself. No harm can come to her. And she is right; I can’t read these bloody bones at all.

  #

  Heather didn’t cry until Max had left. She held on to that much, at least. She tried to scrub him off her in the shower with shaking, nervous hands and hot steaming water that scalded and burned her skin. She pulled on new clothes. She picked up her phone and started to dial the police.

  “I wouldn’t my love,” the whisper advised, its deathly voice full of sorrow and understanding. “They won’t help you.”

  Heather cried out. “Why not! Why won’t they? And where were you? Why didn’t you help?”

  “Think about it love, think for a moment. Who will they believe? The penniless daughter of the local crackpot fortune teller or the handsome millionaire rugby captain from Darkwells? When he says that you asked for it, who will they believe?”

  “Where were you?” Heather shrieked. “Why didn’t you help?”

  “I couldn’t, I tried but I couldn’t. You were too afraid. Your fear blocked me out. It blocked out all of your magic, that’s why you couldn’t cast.”

  Heather pulled her knees to her chest and started rocking. “Henry, where was Henry? Why wasn’t it him? Why didn’t he buy the boat? What was it Max?”

  “The boy can’t help you. The boy is just a boy. But he will stop you getting your revenge. He and the Warden. They are an Aegis now. They will prevent you.”

  Heather stopped rocking and became very calm. “What revenge?”

  “I can show you, love. I can show you what we do to men like this. But it will be dangerous. It will be difficult. The boy and the Warden will try to stop you. The Keeper will try to stop you.”

  “I want to kill him.”

  “Yes, love. I can show you. But killing is too quick. Worse things await that one. Come, you will see. He has caused you pain, yes, but he has also set you free.”

  “Show me. Please. Show me what I have to do.”

  Chapter Twenty Nine: Desperate

  His dreams were not his own. He knew that his physical body remained on his narrow hard bed, cold and sweating in a Darkwells night. He knew this, and yet was powerless as his spirit was tossed across the vastness of time and space, across continents and centuries. He was like flotsam in a torrent. All around him was colour and sound and emotion. He could taste the heavy tension of great events even as he struggled to understand them.

  A dragon wheeled above the blackened Tor. A lone figure slumped to his knees in shining mail, dropping his shattered sword into the blasted earth. The dragon swooped and dove. As it neared the desolate ground it shed its form in a slithering cloud of black smoke and resolved into the shape of a bent-backed man who hurried, as quick as he could, leaning heavily on a crooked staff. The Knight pulled off his helmet which was missing one of its raven-wing cheek-guards. Grey hair spilled out across bloodied cheeks and the pale grey eyes were still and sightless.

  “Myrddin!” the man called out, wild. “Is it done?”

  The dragon-man reached him and cradled the warrior’s head tenderly. “Hush, my King, hush now. It is done. The Seal is set.”

  “My eyes,” the King said in a wondering voice, “it took my eyes.” Anguish washed over the face of Myrddin, who made no answer. “The blade is broken. I doubt she will make me another.” Tears rand down the weathered face. “Is it truly done?”

  The older man considered for a moment. “Do you remember, my liege, what you said to me that first time? About how you proved yourself worthy of the blade?”

  The King laughed and it was a wondrous sound. The wasted hill seemed green and bright for a moment, the trees re-grown from blackened stumps. “I told you that I just let myself become everything I could be.”

  “And you have, my King. In your words we find the answer. Will those that follow us have your courage?”

  The King laughed again. “Courage Myrddin? You sound like the others. How could I have been other than I am?”

  Myrddin looked up at the sky and right into Manu’s eyes, who watched floating midair. “How indeed?”

  #

  His second dream was of the place he tried to forget. It wound along clear blue seas on powerful fins. It was a great one, a wise one. A mango-taniwha from the old times. It exploded out of the water and shimmered from a shark into the shape of a man. The man’s face was covered in a Ta Moko that seemed alive and ever changing. He strode along the rocky shore to a waiting circle of grim faced Maori who stood around a blue-burning fire.

  He greeted each in turn with the hongi, grabbing them roughly by the back of the head then gently pressing noses together. They waited for him and he addressed them. “Kuku-Lau will rule. Rangi is set aside by this one and our old ways will fail.”

  The gathered group muttered and exclaimed to themselves. “What of Rakaihaitu’s ally from across the seas? Of the white one who helped his friend draw steel from stone? What of the Niu Kowhata? The interpretation was clear. If we fail in this…”

  “We will do what we must do. We will watch for the girl. Our childre
n’s children will teach her.”

  “And for what? We waste this power. If we are to be set aside then might we not…”

  #

  A thumping on his window tore Manu back into Darkwells. He realised that he was curled up in a ball. The taste of the dream made him think of his mother and how she had called such sleeps whawhati. Bad luck, she had said of them. An evil omen.

  He pulled himself out of bed and stumbled to his window. It was probably one of Max’s games again, but he wasn’t going to go back to sleep until he checked it, so he decided to get it out of the way. He pulled back the curtain to see Henry standing shivering in the dark, soaked to the bone. Manu opened the window in a hurry and helped his friend through.

  “Something has happened,” Henry announced, ignoring Manu’s exclamations over his soaked clothes. “Something terrible. Something big. I can feel it. Some balance has shifted in the power of this land. I can’t find Heather in the mirror. I can’t get her on the phone. The Black Swan is empty and locked.”

  “Have you tried Hawksworth?” Manu asked. “She would go there if she was in trouble.”

  Henry shook his head. “I fear the jump,” he muttered. “Something is very wrong. I don’t know what it is but I dare not do it alone.” Manu nodded and took the dagger that Henry offered out to him. It was his father’s Arabian blade, hidden with Henry for safety. Henry cast the portal and they stepped through.

  #

  Hawksworth burned. Bright flames licked at ancient stone. A giant pillar of smoke rose up and spread over the lake which glowed orange and flickered in the rippling waves. The portal had deposited them on the driveway. Had they taken the one in Henry’s room and they would be in the heart of the inferno.

  A woman screamed and Manu turned to see Matron being lowered out of a first floor window by a figure that could only be Watkins. Once the round woman was on the ground they saw him disappear back into the flames. A moment later a window exploded and a bag full of what looked like books flew out and landed in a heap.

  “Watkins!” Henry screamed. “Leave the bloody books you bloody fool!” A second bag flew out of the house. The dark shape then staggered and fell to the ground. “Manu! Get him!” Henry raised his hands and started casting. A whirlwind twisted and rose in the lake behind him, scooping up water.

  Manu flew in a dead sprint. There was no glow about him now, no infusion of Warden power. He was not deterred. He threw himself into the solid oak door which crashed and buckled under the weight of his shoulder. The flames roared around him and the heat singed his hair. He bounded up the stairs, one hand over his mouth and nose and clambered over a burning beam. He coughed. The smoke was very bad in here. Watkins was unconscious on the floor ahead of him. He dove into the flames and hauled up the broad and heavy butler. He slung him over his shoulder and kicked out a window.

  “Jump!” he heard Henry bellow in the distance. Manu obeyed, launching himself and Watkins into the air. Henry’s levitation spell caught them and dragged them clear with a violent tug. As Manu landed, Henry’s fire-fighting spell took effect. The water-whirlwind descended on Hawksworth and flowed through the house to purge it of flame drowning and dousing the it in a flood of cold, fresh rainwater.

  Henry, blue eyes blazing, knelt down to Watkins and spoke a word. Watkins’ eyes flew open and he fell into a fit of coughing. “What happened?” Henry asked through gritted teeth. “Why didn’t the protection spells work?” As he spoke, Matron arrived, looking old and scared and singed, the other staff following behind her. Manu counted them and breathed a sigh of relief when they were all accounted for.

  “It was her,” Matron said, shaking her head. “She did it.”

  Henry was very still. He kept staring at Watkins. “Who did it?”

  “Your friend Heather,” Matron responded. “She came here. She was distraught. Something had happened to her, something bad. She made no sense. She kept ranting about someone called Max. She attacked Andrew and made straight for the… the Grimoire room. After that the fire started.”

  Henry seemed to be shaking. “Watkins, what books? What did she take?”

  Watkins stared up at him for a long moment before responding. “She took Erichtho and Taliesin.”

  “Oh my god.”

  #

  Manu had never seen Henry like this. The sense of urgency and purpose was terrifying to behold. He waded straight through the still burning embers of his home and retrieved his special staff from its safe, which was undamaged. He spent a few minutes ruthlessly sorting the singed volumes of Grimoires that Watkins had managed to save and then slung them over his shoulder. Without another word he opened a portal back to Darkwells and stepped through. Manu had to run to make sure he made it back.

  Henry was already striding down the corridor when Manu arrived. They were in Dukes, by the door to Killynghall’s own apartments. Henry dropped his bag and thumped on the door with his cane. Manu looked at his watch. It was half past two in the morning. The door swung open and Henry marched in. Manu followed. Killynghall did not look like a man they had caught in bed. He was dressed as one ready to go on a midnight ramble.

  “We have a situation,” Henry said without preamble. “A very serious one.”

  “I am aware of it, Lord Grenville,” Killynghall said, watching the two of them in a manner that Manu didn’t find very reassuring. “I would remind you that justice must run its natural course. We can have no vigilantes amongst our kind, as you well understand. I won’t allow you to do anything reckless. But rest assured, he will not be allowed to get away with this. I would turn him in myself if not for…”

  “I’m sorry, what do you think I’m here for?” Henry asked, angry and mystified.

  “Revenge, of course. For what Master Bolton did to your pupil.” Confusion, understanding then pure rage contorted across Henry’s face.

  “Henry!” Manu cried, grabbing his friend before he tore off down the corridor. “Henry, we are not here for that! Henry! Why are we here?”

  Henry’s eyes took a long while to come back and focus on Manu’s own. When he spoke it was a voice of tight control. “We need help. Keeper, we are in serious danger, all of us. Heather - she, it all makes sense now. Oh Christ. What have we unleashed? What have I done? We have to stop her. We have to stop her now!”

  “Stop her doing what?” Killynghall asked calm and unmoving.

  “She is going to break the Tor. She is going to release Gwyn ap Nudd and the hoard. If we do nothing the Tylwyth Teg will be free, the great hunt will be unleashed.”

  There was silence. “She cannot breach the Tor.”

  “She has Erichtho and Taliesin. You’ve felt her power. You sense what is happening tonight. Do you believe that? She is out of her mind. She might do anything.”

  Killynghall hesitated. “I cannot help. I must guard the school. I must defend the tomb.”

  Henry stared at him in disbelief. Manu looked at Killynghall with a tinge of disgust. “You’ll abandon these people when you have the power to help?” he asked, pouring as much contempt into his voice as he could manage.

  Killynghall moved across his living room and flipped on his television. It was on a twenty four hour news channel. A BREAKING NEWS banner was rolling along the bottom of the screen and a presenter was breathlessly recounting the headlines in a serious, sombre voice.

  “…no accurate figure on casualties as yet. To repeat. There has been a major terrorist attack in the heart of London. The Tower of London was hit by multiple explosions and witnesses have reported seeing exchanges of gun fire and grenades between…”

  Killynghall cut off the sound via the mute button. He strode over to his table and poured water across it carelessly. The surface resolved in an image of the Tower.

  “This is what happened a few minutes ago,” Killynghall said as a cluster of masked figures appeared by the river. Moments later the assault began. Huge sections of the wall were blasted away. The Feylings poured through and detonations could be heard fro
m within the Tower. Then there was a shrill howl and dark shapes started flooding out of the Tower in all directions. The Valravens then began to arrive and battle commenced. They fought the Feylings and the escapees in a furious riot of colour and sound. “The Black Hall is broken. The Dread-witch makes her move. One Keeper has failed this night and died for it. I shall not make it two. Some things are more vital than you know.”

  “This is what she intends,” Manu said. “Don’t you see? To divide and distract us. To spread the resources too thin. If Heather unleashes the Patupaiarehe in numbers then who can oppose them?”

  Killynghall shook his head. “This is not my doing. I did not make this choice. I will defend the school. I will defend the tomb.” Killynghall set off out of the room. Clearly ‘the school’ only stretched to inner courtyard. Princes and Dukes would be left to their devices.

  “You cowardly…” Henry began, starting after him.

  “Henry!” Manu shouted. His friend turned, frustration writ large on his face, “He never said he would stop us.”

  Henry nodded, comprehension dawning. “The brass door.”

  Chapter Thirty: The King

  Manu sprinted to his room and grabbed the rain-coat his mother had sewn for him, so long ago. He slipped it on, running his hand across the woven pattern of the Ta Moko that lined the hood. Her gift to him. It felt warm and comforting in the lonely rain.

  Henry was moving as fast as he was able, heedless of the downpour. He cut across the lawns in the most direct route to Lingua and the tunnel that burrowed under the ground. Where was Killynghall? Why was he not stopping them? It was certain that he knew of the secret entrance, just as they did. Did it mean he approved? That he wouldn’t oppose? Manu stretched his legs and caught up with his friend.

  “Henry, stop. Stop for a second,” he urged, cutting in front.

  “We don’t have time! We need the Seal of bloody Solomon. She might be casting the ritual right now. I’d open a portal this second but I fear her. She is so strong. What if she beats me? I need the Seal. I need something that I can use to undo what she might have done. And I have a horrible feeling that she is not alone.”