by Peter Joison
The monster woman pounded down the corridor towards him. An ungainly menacing mass of arms, legs and heads. Every time one of her black oily faces appeared, it was sneering.
Turner grit his teeth, and tried to stand. He was an Ellring wasn’t he? He’d be healed in no time right? He rose to one knee but his hand slipped on his own blood. His broken arm unable to stop his fall, he crashed back painfully into the mess of metal. The beast was almost upon him. Turner struggled one more time, threw his arm out, pushed himself up, his eyes shut tight with the agonising pain in his side, the effort making him almost black out.
‘Stop trying,’ said one of the ghastly heads in a fierce, gravelly voice. ‘And don’t think you can heal yourself, Ellring.’ In a blur one of the monster’s feet kicked out and connected with Turner’s broken arm, something snapped and he fell back with a cry of utter agony.
‘What’s the only thing that can hurt a Ring?’ said the monster.
Turner hardly heard her. His whole being pulsed in a red field of pain.
The black monstrosity moved back and raised three arms. Two of its heads said at once, ‘Scathers!’ It stepped close to Turner and a new face twisted out from a fold and murmured, ‘And we’re more Scather than Vordene. We can hurt you. We can kill you. Maybe we will. But for now, little boy, you’re coming with us.’
Three or four long clawed hands grasped Turner and lifted him easily. With his head pointing at the floor, he saw a dark hole appear beneath the monster’s feet. Once again, he fell.
*
Ember couldn’t move, but if she could she’d be weeping. She had witnessed Turner tossed like a rag doll, bashed and broken. And oh God, that thing through his side. She had watched as he tried to rise, tried to fight back. She had hoped he would be able to heal himself, but was dismayed to hear the Vordene monster’s words, and to see it kick out and hurt him even more.
Ember had tried with every ounce of her being to break out of the freezing enchantment to no avail. To be stuck statue-like and see Turner injured and belittled in such a manner battered her senses and tore at her soul.
And now he was gone.
Minutes passed, but they could have been hours. Being immobilised yet able to hear and see, made even the seconds intolerable lengths of time. She could feel Aunt Lani somewhere near. She was awake, and going by what Ember could pick up, frustrated. But at least she was OK.
Unlike Turner.
Ember thought about what he meant to her. Was she in love? Perhaps. Probably. After their physical and metaphysical bonding in the True they couldn’t have been any closer. But Ember knew who and what she was, and she knew what Turner was. She knew they could never have anything like a normal life together. But … was this all she was going to get? The Wickerwell Vordene had waited their wholes lives for their Ring, and Ember had long ago given up on ever finding love. But now, just when they had finally found these things, it was all snatched away.
Why had Brooke felt the need to drive Turner away? Ember knew her sister had a massive chip on her shoulder, knew that she was angry at Ember, at the world, and most importantly, herself. But how could she think trying to raise Scathers would be a good thing? Ember knew her sister was sorry, but it was going to take time for Ember to forgive her. None of this would have happened if it hadn’t been for bloody Brooke. And if Turner died, forgiveness would never come.
For now, the one thing which stopped her having a total mental meltdown was she knew he still lived, for she could sense him … faintly. He was alive. Somewhere.
More time passed, a frozen millennium of minutes. And then Aunt Lani appeared in the corridor. Ember had never been so relieved to see her aunt. She was still dressed in her large white nightdress. When she saw the girls at the end of the corridor, she almost ran to them. Inside her head, Ember smiled. Almost ran. This was Aunt Lani. Her run was like a mad bustle, her large bosom bouncing up and down, arms fluttering like chubby wings, and feet hardly on the floor.
‘Girls! Oh my little girls!’ Lani touched their cheeks, and rambled on as she went from one girl to another, ‘You shouldn’t have come. But of course you did. I would have done the same. Probably did in my time. Impetuous. Silly girl. Silly girls. Oh, I’m so sorry. What to do, what to do?’
Ember wanted to scream, ‘Um, try and get us loose!’
As if reading her mind, Lani stepped back and raised her hands. Nothing. With a look of fierce concentration on her face, she tried again. Her cheeks puffed out, she pushed her hands forward. Again, nothing.
Releasing her breath, she lowered her hands. ‘I didn’t really think I could do anything. To turn a powerful enchantment by myself is beyond me I’m afraid. I’m so, so sorry girls.’ Her double chin quivered and she looked as if she were about to cry.
She stood still for a moment, almost frozen herself. ‘Ah! Mother Torhild! If anyone can help, it will be her.’ Lani spoke to Celeste as if expecting an answer. ‘But I’ll need to find a well. Get to Orkney. Bring her back.’ Having made up her mind she started off down the corridor. ‘I’ll be back girls. And we’ll get you unfrozen. I promise!’ she yelled over her shoulder as she scuttled away out of sight.
Ember screamed the words in her mind, ‘No, Aunt Lani! My phone! Use a bloody …’
‘A telephone!’ came Lani’s voice. She scurried back up the corridor until she stood face to face with Ember. ‘One of your little phones. I can ring the old dear, yes?’
Lani patted Ember’s front pockets. ‘Excuse me, dear. Most inappropriate, I know …’
Back pocket, Aunt Lani, back pocket, thought Ember. But her Aunt had moved onto Skye, ducked under the girl’s outstretched arm and pulled out a mobile phone from her pocket.
‘Aha!’ said Aunt Lani, holding the phone up triumphantly. And then peering at the smooth glass surface said, ‘Now, how do I turn it on?’
Oh dear, thought Ember.
Mountains decayed one atom at a time, continents moved and slowly collided as her aunt tried to figure out a piece of twenty-first century technology. Lani sat on the floor in front of the girls, and Ember’s frozen eyes could only make out the top of her aunt’s head, but she heard her muttering to herself. ‘This button has a little telephone on it … do I press it? Hmm … numbers … I don’t know Mother Torhild’s number do I? What’s this little magnifying glass do? Oh! A little typewriter …’
Ember swore if she ever got out of this, she would spend a week teaching her technophobic aunt how to use a mobile phone and a computer.
Finally, her aunt stood up. She held the phone to her ear. ‘I did it! It’s ringing!’ After a few seconds she said, ‘Mother Torhild? It’s Lani here … from the Wickerwell Vordene. Yes. Yes. Very well thank you. Oh. Actually not. Quite the opposite in fact.’ The large woman turned and walked off down the corridor. ‘In a spot of bother really.’ As Lani moved further away, Ember could here less and less of the conversation.
Her Aunt returned a minute later, beaming madly. ‘I did it girls! The High Vordene will be here as soon as possible.’ She spun in a slow circle and indicated the corridor. ‘I didn’t even know where I was. But she knew. She was able to tune in of course.’ Once again she spoke to Celeste, ‘We’re in Cardiff! Wales! When I was tied to that bed I felt sure it was York. I thought it felt damp, you know?’
Ember tuned out. Now possible rescue was at hand, she was thinking about what would come next. Could they get to Turner? Could they stop the monster Vordene? If not, it could be bad. Really bad.
CHAPTER EIGHT
IT WAS THE noise that penetrated Turner’s wakening mind first. A deafening continuous screeching that pierced the ears and slashed at the mind. After some effort Turner opened one eye, the other seemed to be swollen or glued shut with caked blood.
His whole body hurt, so he wasn’t dead. He sat propped against a large boulder. The steel rod still protruded from his side, which strangely, didn’t hurt as much as his broken arm, which throbbed with searing agony. Shattered bone had pierced throu
gh a long bloody gash on his forearm. His head throbbed and his mind was cloudy, and he felt as if he could pass out again at any moment. His chalky and dry mouth made swallowing difficult. Every few seconds his shaking body would give an involuntary shudder, and he grit his teeth against the pain.
Finally, his good eye focused on the surroundings. He was in Hell.
He sat atop a hill or large mound. Everything he could see was either red or black. Dark, treeless hills seemed to stretch on forever, and what looked like lava flowed in the valleys between. Turner wasn’t sure if it was his eye or not, but the air seemed to be wavering, like shimmering heat. But he didn’t feel hot. He placed his hand on the black stones next to him. They felt neither hot nor cold.
The sky—or roof, as it looked almost solid—was a red and grey organic covering, like the intestines of a flayed devil that pulsed as if alive. Against the redness of the sky were the originators of the screeching: Scathers. Clouds of them. Massive, sinuous cords of thousands of Scathers flying head to tail, coiled darkly around the sky. Turner knew now he must be in the Grimshade. It was a waking nightmare. Although he could not feel the heat, he wished his Ellring powers worked on his olfactory senses. The place stank. Something like a combination of burnt flesh and an open sewer. To top it off, Turner’s newly acquired sense of perception was swamped here with an overpowering feeling of heavy dread.
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ came a voice from above him.
Turner craned his neck, which caused another shudder of shooting pain. It was the Vordene monster. It perched above him atop the rock. Every face which appeared and disappeared in its oily folds held a look of awe, almost ecstasy.
‘To think we fought against all this … now we want to embrace it, envelope it … be enveloped.’
Turner winced. Another shudder.
The monster was positively chatty. One face would talk while one or two others would watch the first in rapt attention. ‘See that dark column in the distance? It’s the Grimshade’s power core. It breeds the evil and spawns the Scathers. That’s where we’re going. We tried once before but the Scathers attacked us, but with you to scare them off, we should be able to gain access.’
Turner let his head fall forward. He wanted to escape into unconsciousness again. No pain, no monster, no hell.
‘Stay with me, Ellring. No slipping away. Here, let us help you stay focused.’ The beast thumped down beside him. A face appeared next to Turner’s. This close its skin seemed to be made of black oily twine. Its eyes were glowing yellow orbs of pus. Its dark, meat-like tongue darted across its lips, and revealed rows of sharp black teeth. Its breath, the stink of putrid carrion. Turner’s stomach convulsed.
It spoke, heavy and guttural, ‘You’ll thank me later.’
A swift flash of a clawed hand and the metal rod was torn from his side. All of the agony he’d been through had nothing on this. He felt like he was being ripped in half. He screamed and doubled over in pain. Blood spurted from the wound. He put his hand over it to staunch the flow, but the blood ran through his fingers, over his stomach, into his lap. It was all too much, and Turner felt himself falling into blackness again. Let it come, he thought. Let me die.
*
Still immobilised with her sisters in the hospital corridor, Ember swam in the worry of her mind. By turns she could faintly feel Turner’s confusion, his distress, terror and then pain. When she could no longer feel him in her mind she breathed a sigh of relief. She knew he still he still lived, she could feel that much, but he must have slipped into unconsciousness again.
Voices. Aunt Lani ran past Ember’s field of view. ‘Ladies! Oh thank goodness!’
A moment later The High Vordene of Stenness stood in front of the sisters. Ember’s heart leapt. Thank the gods! As far as Ember could tell with her frozen eyes, all five of the High Vordene sisters were here. Aunts Sigrid, Brenna, Erika, Kari and Tyra. Ember was once again struck at the middle-aged women’s beauty and poise. They cut a striking scene in their hooded cloaks.
‘Well, well, well,’ came a voice in a mocking tone. ‘What have the Wickerwells got themselves into?’ Aunt Brenna of course. She was known to look down her nose a bit at younger Vordenes.
‘Brenna!’ This was Aunt Tyra. ‘We’re here to help, not ridicule.’
‘Wasn’t ridicule, Tyra. I was just having a bit of a tease.’
Ember didn’t really mind Aunt Brenna’s ribbing; she’d been the same at the girl's initiation. Plus, it was hard to get mad at anyone when they spoke with such a wonderful Scottish accent.
Aunt Sigrid turned to Aunt Lani. ‘So Mother Torhild said you spoke of some sort of monster Vordene? A Scather Vordene?’
‘Yes,’ said Aunt Lani, ringing her hands. ‘It’s truly horrid. It told me it had fallen in the Grimshade. The Scathers merged with the Vordene sisters. They’re all mixed up into one creature.’
‘Oh my stars,’ said Aunt Kari.
Hello? thought Ember.
Aunt Lani continued, ‘It seems she … they … were down there for a long time. A year perhaps.’
‘What that would do to your head!’ said Aunt Tyra.
Ember felt like she would explode. A little help here!
Aunt Brenna turned to the Wickerwell sisters. ‘Yes dears, we can feel your impatience. Sorry to have kept you waiting.’
She didn’t look sorry, thought Ember.
‘Can you free the girls?’ asked Aunt Lani. ‘Turn the enchantment? I gave it my best shot but …’
‘We’ll do what we can,’ said Aunt Sigrid. ‘Ladies. Join hands, encircle the girls.’ In a moment Ember was face to face with Aunt Erika who gave her a wink. ‘Now,’ came Sigrid’s voice from behind Ember, ‘I think will this will be like turning a Lost incantation, which we’ve done before, but we’ll be needing the power of Ardent as well. Right, on three, the Song of the Found. One … two … three.’
The five sisters of the High Vordene began to chant. Slowly, the chant grew stronger, almost choir-like. Ember felt as if she were standing on a barren hillside within a rising thunderstorm. Behind Aunt Erika, a ghost-like figure of a huge elk ran past. Ardent! The High Vordene’s Ring. In a moment he was there again. Faster he ran, appearing to Ember every second or so. The chanting became louder. Ardent ran faster, until he was a golden blur, a vapour trail version of himself. The intense power emanating from the High Vordene penetrated Ember. The chant was almost a continuous wail now.
And then, without warning, Ember and her sisters collapsed to the floor. She could move! She could breathe!
Skye was lying next to Ember, her face only inches away. ‘I …’ began Skye, her voice a croak. ‘I feel like a sack of potatoes.’
Ember tried to raise herself. Her arms shook with the effort. A hand on her shoulder made her look up. It was Aunt Erika. Warm energy poured into Ember. She lowered herself back to the floor and let it soak in.
‘Hold still, girly. You’ll need to rest for a while. Then, we’ll get you home … to Stenness.’
*
Ember paced up and down an ancient corridor. Like much of Castle Stenness, the corridor was large and high vaulted, and her quick footfalls echoed off the walls.
The old place was Ember’s birthplace, her first home, and she knew it well. The castle, built in the fourteenth century by past High Vordenes, contained over forty rooms, some of which held nurseries where babies were born by visiting Vordenes, and then raised by carers until their sixth birthday. She remembered how she and her sisters had run up and down this same hallway when they were young, before going to live with the aunts at Wickerwell. It had been a magical place then. Today it felt like a prison.
Once more she stopped in front of the ancient double doors which lead into the High Vordene’s library. What were they doing in there? As soon as all the women had arrived in Stenness, Mother Torhild, Aunt Sigrid, Aunt Tyra, Celeste, Chloe and Aunt Lani had disappeared into the library for an ‘emergency meeting.’ Ember knew why she hadn’t been included; s
he was too upset over Turner to be of any help. Or as Chloe had put it, ‘too volatile.’
Volatile? If volatile was what it took to get things done, then maybe those older women needed a bit more of it. She wanted to be saving Turner. Right now. She couldn’t believe they would waste even a moment. Ember turned and pounded down the corridor’s length once again. Small sparks from her fingers spat like water in hot oil. Five candles on a sideboard flared into life as she passed.
Ember was also fuming over Brooke’s betrayal. Luckily for Brooke, Skye had whisked her off to somewhere else in the castle. If it wasn’t for Brooke, none of this would be happening. Ember’s breath came in bursts.
Ember heard the doors open behind her. It was Celeste, and she wasn’t happy. She stalked over to Ember, her hands clenched and a fierce look on her face.
‘You need to leave,’ said Celeste, her voice subdued and angry.
‘Why? What trouble am I causing out here?’ said Ember.
Celeste breathed out loudly. ‘Lot’s, Em. We can’t think. We can all feel your burning impatience. Your anger. It’s like sitting in front of a radiator set to full rage.’
Ember’s breath quickened. ‘Bloody hell, Celeste! Of course I’m angry. While you ‘level heads’ are in there chatting over tea, Turner is in the Grimshade dying. Dying!’ Tears rolled down Ember’s face.
Celeste embraced her younger sister. ‘Oh, Em. I’m so sorry. Look, we’ll be out in an hour or so, and we’ll announce everything then. OK?’