by Craig McNish
“Fucking hell, Hodge, what did we do?”
“Can't worry about that now, mate – let's concentrate on getting away from the mad bastard with the two axes first, eh? You can berate me all you want later, and I'll soak up every single word of it 'cos I'll just be happy I'm still alive.”
The other two fleeing parties had stopped to catch their breath, seeing that they were now in no imminent danger. And while they couldn't properly make out what he was saying, Mills was shouting a lot and moving way too quickly for their liking.
“Christ, he's got some speed for a three-hundred year-old dead bloke, hasn't he? The guy's like a man possessed!” said Harper.
“That's exactly what he is, right?” Ford replied. “Maybe he wasn't lying when he told that story. If you had one chance to save your life or at least die with a grain of dignity you wouldn't be standing on the gallows shouting the Devil made you do it, would you? But let's just hope I'm wrong.” she added when Harper's camera hand started to tremble. He was filming again, but impressing his lecturer and fellow students was the furthest thing from his mind. If there was going to be a beating or possibly even murder, it was his duty to use any means at his disposal to try and bring the killer to justice. The best tool he had for that now was his camera.
“I need to film this” he told Ford. “Get the police back here ASAP.”
“And what do I tell them? A man who was hanged in the seventeenth century is chasing two of our friends across a field with two axes? That should go down well...”
“Christ Almighty, Anna, just say anything that'll get their arses down here quick! Look, he's still catching them up!” Ford glanced briefly across the field and nodded before running off towards Ferryhill.
*
Parkes watched as three shadows continued heading north across the field. Two of them were flagging now, while the third still moved with surprising speed and agility. He was closing on them quickly; a thirty metre gap soon became twenty-five, then twenty, and then fifteen. She had been stood almost five minutes now, and her lungs still burned as she tried to catch her breath, so it was easy to imagine that Hodgson and Hunter were both struggling right now. Their bodies must surely be running purely on adrenalin and the absolute fear of death that continued to hunt them down without mercy.
“You have proved yourself to be a coward, Lieutenant! To go at a man from his back without reason and expect him to surrender mercifully having no chance to stand his ground is surely a sign of a weak soldier! And to think that I once held you in esteem – how wrong I was! And Miss Constance; I can but only think that the Lieutenant has misguided your good and honest thoughts, for you would never hurt a living creature on this earth. Get me the Lieutenant, and I shall spare your life – on that you have my word.”
“You expect me to help you kill my friend? Why, would you be so good to do such a thing if it were you in my place, and I yours?”
“I suppose not, but then I would not pounce on a man without first giving him at least a small chance to prepare himself to fight! As you wish, Miss Constance, but have no complaint when you lie dead next to the soldier!” Hunter glanced across at Hodgson, who was looking straight ahead but could feel his friend's gaze burning into him.
“You and your fucking brilliant ideas” was all Hunter could manage to say before coaxing his legs to give that little bit extra.
Now the gap wasn't closing, but it wasn't widening either. On current form, it seemed the only chance of safety was if Mills got scared by the busier traffic and unusual surroundings of town, of if he simply gave up. The latter seemed highly unlikely, and if he was indeed a manifestation of the Devil then the former was indeed uncertain. Although the camera had lost sight of the three men some time ago, Harper kept recording in the hope it would pick up their distant voices. Surely Anna has found help by now, he reasoned. It was a comforting thought that a least some backup would soon be here.
Now Mills was of the realisation that this was becoming something of a pointless chase; not only that, but they were also approaching a much more brightly-lit town than he could ever remember and had no way of knowing what was waiting for him there. Common sense might have told him to turn and run back the other way to try and find Jane, but these men had attacked him and to let them go unpunished meant they could return and kill him as he slept. They had to be dealt with now.
'Andrew Mills, I have given thee keen eyesight and a sure hand! You carry weapons that could cleave a man's skull! Know that I wish so much to see fresh blood that I will not let you fail! Let the axe fly and it will find its spot!' Mills stopped for a second to get a proper feel for the weight of the axe in his right hand and reposition it a little before continuing forward. He started to spin his arm before releasing the three-foot long weapon into the darkness beyond.
Hunter didn't know what hit him. By the narrowest good fortune, he moved a few inches to his left to avoid a pothole; the handle of the axe struck the base of his skull, just below his right ear, and knocked him out cold. He fell to the ground and lay motionless. In one swift motion, Mills stooped down and grabbed a hold of the axe before continuing after Hodgson. The pitch black had worked in Hunter's favour, along with Mills' apparent desire to finish off his first assailant. Either he didn't realise that the man was only knocked out, or he didn't care.
“I have just killed me one of the traitors!” Mills called out to Hodgson. “And now I am about to get me another! The price you pay for your lack of manners is death, soldier! Where is the rest of your coven now? They have abandoned you, I think, because they know that they would die otherwise! Well I will have to be satisfied for taking me only your life at first, but to find Miss Jane will be my next prize!” Parkes heard Mills' words drift across the open field on the wind. There was no way she could risk being caught. As much as she wanted to stay and make sure Hodgson would get away, Parkes turned and started to run again. She only made it twenty metres before tripping and twisting her ankle badly. Suppressing the desire to scream or throw up, she hauled herself up and headed for a thick hedge that lined a fence into the next field. There was no way she could run – even a single step proved agonizing – so all she could do now was hide and hope help arrived soon.
The sanctuary of Ferryhill was close now, maybe a couple of hundred yards. Never in his life had Hodgson been so grateful to see the illumination given off from the street lights of the small town. He hadn't looked behind him since Hunter had fallen but so could only guess that Mills was still in pursuit. Worn out and ready to drop, he just had to know. Hodgson turned and looked over his right shoulder.
There was no chance to take any evasive action. A second after seeing the axe flying through the air towards him, its blade was embedded deeply in his forehead. Hodgson simply dropped where he stood without making a single sound. Mills appeared; he grabbed hold of the axe handle and moved it from side to side to work it loose before raising it up to eye level and inspecting it closely. A finger ran along the side of the blade, collecting an amount of blood. He touched the bloodied finger to the tip of his tongue.
'Yes, Andrew Mills! Now that I have tasted the blood of the traitor, I have a craving for more! Fetch me what I seek! Find those who would make you their enemy and have them draw their final breath! Make them pay for taking delight in your demise! Kill all, Andrew Mills – kill all!'
The words rang in his ears as he moved off west to track down the woman he had loved three centuries ago.
*
Mills had been unconsciously questioning his speed and sure-footedness ever since it first became apparent. As he ran across the frozen soil, he chanced to look down and what he saw both frightened and fascinated him. His legs, they weren't human; his eyes, his mind, saw instead the strong and sturdy legs of a black stallion. No wonder then he had been moving so swiftly. But there were times when he almost felt like his feet weren't touching the ground, and not simply because of moving at such a rapid pace. It was as though he was flying. Mills rolled his shoulder
s; his arms weren't used to the weight of the axes he was carrying and had started to ache. But despite the bitter cold, he still felt warm.
Then he began to think about where he was or, more accurately, when he was. Everything he'd ever been taught about life and death told Mills that he could not possibly be alive after three hundred years. The oldest person he'd ever known was a man who used to live not far from him and his father, who had been somewhere over seventy years old before he passed. Mills would have considered himself lucky if he'd lived to be fifty. And yet here he was, walking, talking and breathing, just like any other human being he had ever met. So what had happened after he was hanged? And maybe more importantly, why had he suddenly reappeared at the place where he had lived his whole life, interacting with strangers whose faces he could clearly liken to people he'd been surrounded by before the troubles had started. Maybe Miss Jane could answer some of his questions.
“Miss Jane! I know you are nearby! You might have had the good fortune to slip away while I went after the traitors, but I do not believe you would stray far from your coven. I have questions to ask of you! Show yourself, and I promise you won't be harmed. I do not believe you are the sort who would behave in such a cowardly manner and attack an unarmed man when he is alone. I have always known you to be a gentle and soulful creature, and without any bad in your body. There are no carriages in a field so you must still be close by, unless you have used magic to spirit yourself away from here. So where might you go? It will not be far, and I will keep looking until I find you. Maybe you forget I would play such games with Miss Elizabeth, and in good heart. It will not tire me to keep searching.” Parkes drew her knees up to her chest and pulled herself a little further back into the bushes, wincing when a jolt of pain shot through her ankle. There was so much wrong with what Mills had just said and she was so tempted to shout out and let him know precisely that, but knew better and managed to bite her tongue. Hopefully he would think she kept going and do the same, then she could haul herself out of her hiding place and make for the road, and possibly freedom. But time was passing agonisingly slow and she was absolutely freezing.
A sudden icy cold gust of wind blew. Mills watched as it swayed the line of bushes not too distant; they quickly settled and all was quiet again. He looked out towards the road, intrigued by the street lights and the strange glow they cast off; a colour not entirely unlike fire, but with no discernable heat and without the flickering of a flame. An oil lamp that burned as brightly as one of those strange-looking lights would have suited him just fine right now, but it wasn't to be and he would have to rely on eyesight and instinct instead. He looked at the bushes again with an interested eye.
“I think that maybe you are hid in them trees not far from me. Now if you was Miss Elizabeth I might have reckoned you could be a couple of miles from here, for she would run all day and never tire. But you Mistress Jane were not the sort to be so lively, so to look for a place to hide for a spell is what would suit you.”
Mills carried on with this inane chatter as he headed closer to the tree line, but away from where Parkes had concealed herself. She still knew though that it wouldn't be long before he'd get to her hiding place and didn't want to contemplate what might happen when he did. She slowly moved her ankle to see how it would hold up when pressure was applied, and jumped when the pain shot up her leg. It wasn't broken, but even if she were to grit her teeth and force herself to keep moving it would still be tough going. Staying in her present position was no longer an option; Parkes readied herself to move when Mills got to the farthest point, where the trees ended and his search would begin.
“This plough must have been led by a blind man! Why, these furrows are so wayward I should be ashamed to put my name to such work! Such an incompetent would not be working for me for a single hour – not one! To accept wages for such poor work would be a criminal act – I fancy even Sellby could do a better job than this!” Parkes was fascinated by Mills' attention to detail, especially on something so seemingly mundane and surely of fairly low priority. But with Mills crouched and facing away from her, a better opportunity to leave was never likely to present itself. She got fully to her feet; her legs tingled from loss of feeling and her damaged ankle hurt like hell but now the adrenalin began pumping furiously around her body. Taking a few deep breaths, Parkes broke cover and kept as close to the trees as she could while staying on open ground so that her escape might not be impeded further.
'You worry about how a man cuts his soil when we have more important doings? Andrew Mills, you are a fool! The girl must be found, with her blood offered up to me as a prize! Why, she is moving away from here as I speak, and if you care to look over your shoulder you will see that I am right! Think only of things that concern you! Yours is not the work of a farmer, not now – my wish is for blood, and you will bring it to me! Kill all, Andrew Mills, KILL ALL!' The voice inside his head fell silent; Mills followed its instruction and turned around. There was a movement in the blackness, not far distant.
“I see thee, Miss Jane! The night does not hide you as easy as you might think!” He made off in the direction of Parkes, but at an unhurried pace. Parkes, meanwhile, started to panic when she heard his declaration and tried to move faster. She could hear him counting aloud the number of steps he was taking on his approach. What the hell is wrong with this guy? And now, the awful realisation that in her current state, escape would be impossible. After everything she had witnessed, only one logical course of action remained.
“Please don't kill me!” She begged, dropping to her knees with Mills now only a few metres behind. He stopped in his tracks and looked down at her, a mixture of confusion and horror on his face.
“That is not my intent” he said, holding out a hand and helping Parkes to her feet. “There is a far greater purpose for my being here; I realise that now. There can be only a single reason why you brought me back here.”
“And that would be?”
“Why, I would have thought that was plain! Or maybe you jest. But I think it is you brought me here because you no longer wish to join with William Cutter, and instead would marry me and give me a son. You might not say so, but with the rest of your coven gone it would be the best way for you to keep your life.”
Parkes didn't say a word. She thought she was going to be sick.
*
THREE
Ferryhill, County Durham, 1682
The sixth day of May was one that Andrew Mills had awaited with a heart full of hope since the last snow of Winter had melted not yet three months before, and he had spent many an hour preparing for this day to arrive. In a small, unimportant house on the northern perimeter of the town, built in an area that was little more than a den of villainy and host to many miscreants and ne'er-do-wells, Arthur Mills lay in his bed and listened to his son ready himself for departure, take his leave of the family dwelling and head for the market place. Today was the day that men and women would present themselves to those who might be looking to hire workers for their homes, and their farms. To gain employment as a maid or a servant for a kind and thoughtful taskmaster while earning reasonable wages was as much as they had to hope for.
Arthur Mills was a small fellow, and without an ounce of extra fat on his thin and bony body. With his brown eyes staring out from a weary face and unkempt hair now mostly grey, his appearance was that of a man who was older than the thirty-nine years Arthur Mills truly was. He was a sickly man, often stricken with an ailment that would make him take to his bed for many days at a time, but the love of his wife Mary had made him a robust character and each time the illness passed without taking him. For that he had been thankful, as his wife and mother to his son had succumbed to whooping cough approaching the Christmas before last, and while the boy might have been of an age where he could fend for himself, still he was too young to be left an orphan.
It had been a shock when Mary was taken from them. That she was small in stature could not be disputed, but there was an inner str
ength and commanding voice that belied the outer appearance. With long, black hair and a soul filled with kindness and compassion, it pained her husband that she would have to take work as a prostitute at the times he was unable to work and earn wages, this so they would remain only poor and not become destitute. The most unselfish act of commitment to a husband and a family, Arthur would say to himself at the times he most needed to believe she was acting without sin, working so as to keep the family together in this small house, with its three sparsely-furnished rooms and cold stone walls. Luckily though this year's spring had been less inclement and so the threadbare blanket that covered Arthur Mills was comfort enough.
A quiet knock at the door, and then his son's familiar voice.
“Father, are you awake?”
“I am. And what might the time be?”
“Not far past seven, I think. Why, I couldn't sleep half the night for raucous behaviour of what sounded like a dozen drunken men just beyond the window, and on this most important of days! What should a master think of me if I am to close my eyes and start snoring in broad daylight? I should be thankful the small rest I got has seemed to refresh me plenty, and I am imagining a successful day ahead.”