The Beginning Woods

Home > Other > The Beginning Woods > Page 18
The Beginning Woods Page 18

by Malcolm McNeill


  But Martha didn’t answer. He caught a strange glimpse of her sinking into dark water.

  “She’s been waiting for you,” he got out, but that was all he managed to say. Something was happening in his chest. A kind of tightness. It was getting hard to breathe.

  The woman smiled bitterly. “You don’t believe that old nonsense, do you? When people die, that’s it. There’s nothing you can do except get on with life.”

  Jake’s voice piped up from under the porch. “Why should we think about her when she doesn’t think about us?”

  The woman’s face went still. “Jacob. Go in and help your Father.”

  The boy recognized the danger and came out from under the porch, the kitten mewling in his grip. The woman waited until he was through the door before she went on.

  “I don’t know who you are. I don’t know who you’ve been speaking to. But Martha died three years ago. We don’t want to hear another word about her.”

  “But you can’t… you don’t really think that…” Max gasped. He had to force each word out. There was a horrible shrinking inside him—a vacuum sucking everything inwards.

  Martha is this you doing this? Martha please… I can’t breathe!

  “It doesn’t matter what I think,” the woman said then. “It doesn’t matter what I want, what I believe, what I hope, what I need. All that matters is what is. And Martha is dead. She drowned in the millpond, and now there’s a railing. That’s what is.” She took a step towards him. “I’ve answered your questions. Now you’re going to answer mine. Who else knows you’re here? Who sent you? Was it the Coven?”

  Max backed away from the house, hardly hearing. He had to get Martha out of the village. She was drowning all over again. And she was taking him with her.

  “It’s too late,” the woman said. “You can’t get away. You’ll not last a second in the Woods at night.” She smiled suddenly. “Why don’t you come in and rest, and we’ll talk about it? I’m making soup.”

  He turned and ran, disappearing into the shadows of the houses.

  But now every breath was a painful effort. Something was swelling inside him. A pressure was building that squeezed the air from his lungs.

  He’d never make it out of the village. He had to find somewhere to hide. Fast.

  Martha please… help me.

  And then a bell was clanging out behind him. Doors all around him banged open. People rushed outside as the alarm was raised.

  “Who is it? What’s going on?”

  “There’s an intruder!”

  He staggered into the narrow space between two buildings. His ribs had locked in place, like they were paralysed. He coughed. Water gurgled from his mouth and poured down his front.

  Martha please I’m drowning too. Martha stop!

  Her voice, faint and far-off, came back at him for only a moment.

  Leave me alone! I want to die! You’ll die too if you try to stop me!

  And then she was gone, swimming down into the very bottom of the millpond, into whatever lay beyond.

  Gone!

  He dropped to his knees, choking, his back arching, his ribs cracking. A torrent of water gushed from his lips.

  Martha! Martha wait! Don’t go!

  He dived after her.

  The moment he plunged into the millpond, there was a strange kind of peace, and it all stopped hurting.

  If he knew anything, it was this, he thought, as he swam downwards into the murk—how to long for what was out of reach, for far-off lands, for what floated in the beyond. Somehow he’d lost his Forever Parents to that invisible world, and he’d spent his whole life trying to find them again.

  He was not going to lose Martha too.

  He kicked himself down, deep as deep could go, past the Merry-Go-Round, past the Minotaurs and Unicorns and the lights and the music, beyond the bottom of the millpond, which had been only pretend, only make-believe, an imaginary layer. So he sank deeper still, into a depthless darkness that went on and on and on.

  And there he found her.

  Max, it’s all right. You don’t have to. This is where I’m meant to be. There’s nothing for me up there any more.

  He put his arms around her.

  There’s me…

  And then she was beside him, called so strongly she’d come out of his finger into the night, and he was squeezing her thin, sobbing body to him. Together they lay in the darkness, soaked and muddy and helpless. Seeing them there, the Woods took pity, and sent out its minions to protect them. The moon hid behind a cloud, drawing over them a veil of secrecy, and a flurry of shadows came skittering out of the trees, taking on the form of running boys to lead the villagers on a chase, here, there and everywhere, before melting away, or falling flat and long against the ground, ha-ha!

  But now—what was this?

  Something stranger than strange. Beams of light, flashing out into the darkness.

  Torches.

  New Light in the Woods.

  Forest Folk holding it. Controlling it. Using it. Pointing it between houses. Driving away shadows.

  Do what it could, the Woods would always be driven away by volts and amps, and in the village of Gilead its influence was already weakened by buried power cables, by stores of batteries, by circuit diagrams chalked out on blackboards, by the greasy generator that hulked in oily secrecy under the mill. So when those long beams of New Light swung back and forth, the invisible fingers of the Woods were snipped like ribbons, one by one. And its influence withdrew.

  In moments, three men were within earshot of the hiding place, and getting nearer.

  Martha blinked back under Max’s fingernail, and he held himself as still as his shivering body allowed.

  “What is it this time? A Wild One?”

  “It’s a boy. Said he was from Rosethorn.”

  “On his own? Up here?”

  “Not likely. Must be someone with him.”

  “Think the Coven sent him? Maybe they got Wind of what’s going on.”

  “Let them come. That’s the idea. Not much they can do anyhow.”

  “I’ll fetch the dogs. You two have a look round the back of Murdew’s place.”

  The men moved off. Max got to his feet and peered out from his hiding place, pressing himself flat against the wooden walls of the building. Whatever was going on in Gilead, the villagers wanted to keep it secret. They were on every corner and marching along every path—the moment he left his hiding place he’d be spotted.

  Please get me out of here. I don’t want to ever come back.

  I can’t. I’m soaking wet. I’ll freeze to death in the Woods like this.

  You’ve got to get to the Wolf. It can take you to Rosethorn.

  Isn’t it too far?

  Maybe.

  Can’t I hide somewhere? Isn’t there anyone you trust?

  Not here. Not any more. But there’s a barn. We passed it when you came in.

  I remember.

  You can hide in the hay loft. It’s warm.

  They’re looking in all the buildings. Won’t they check?

  There’s no other choice. It’s high up, you’ll be safe from the dogs at least.

  OK. Let’s try.

  He was about to make a break for it when a solitary howl came down from the hills. The eerie sound floated over their heads.

  Every last one of the Forest Folk froze on the spot.

  Then: “WOOOOOLVES!”

  The cry went up round the village. The search parties scattered as parents raced to find their children. Those carrying flashlights moved towards the outskirts of the village, their faces grim but unafraid.

  Max watched from his hiding place.

  What was going on?

  Was the Wild One attacking the village?

  A woman herding a group of children went past. He slipped out of his hiding place to join them, but he’d only gone a few steps when his collar snapped tight against his neck, and a powerful hand yanked him round. Light blinded him—electric light,
bright and hot, held up close. Behind it he could just make out a broad, grinning face.

  “Would you look at this? A World One. Not a Coven spy at all.”

  Dazzled, he squirmed and kicked. The man bonked him on the head with the flashlight.

  “Hold still, World One. Ho, Bingham! Look what’s sniffing about behind your smokehouse!”

  Someone else ran up. A hand took Max under his chin and tilted his head back.

  “Must be a Cross-Over. Why’s he all wet?”

  “Who knows? Landed in the pond?”

  “That’d be a first. What’ll we do with him?”

  “Let’s lock him in the mill.”

  “Good idea. I don’t fancy going up against Wolves, even with New Light on our side.”

  “Very wise,” snarled a voice.

  Suddenly and without warning a plank came whistling out of nowhere and slammed into the man’s face with a sickening crunch. He fell backwards, the flashlight spinning over his shoulder. The other man barely had time to cry out before the plank came down on his head with a CRACK! He turned, a look of stupid astonishment on his face. The plank caught him under the chin with such force it lifted him clean off the ground—he dropped like a stone.

  Max turned this way and that in utter confusion. The plank clattered past his feet, and a shadowy figure exploded out of the darkness. The next thing he knew he was being carried through the village, stretched over a man’s broad shoulders. The man ran low and hard, using the shadows so skilfully nobody caught sight of them. They were almost at the fields when they came upon a group of villagers gathered round the doors of the barn. The man slowed then stopped, waiting for a chance to sneak past.

  “We’ve got one trapped!”

  “You sure?”

  “Listen to that growl! It’s a Wolf all right.”

  “Over here, boys! Over here!”

  The man spat and set Max down. For the first time he saw his rescuer’s face, furious and bleak.

  “Ready with the torches!”

  “It’ll be mad when it’s out! It’ll be frisky!”

  “NOW!”

  “Pull!”

  The doors slid apart.

  “THERE! THERE!”

  The crowd jumped back. The doors slammed together. Caught in the cross-beams of a dozen flashlights, the shadow of a Wolf sprang up against the barn, curved and huge.

  “They’re not working!”

  “It’s a World One! Must have gone Wild!”

  “Don’t let it away!”

  “AT IT! AT IT!”

  Rakes and shovels rose and fell. There was a terrible yelping. Something flipped in the air—then another piece.

  A half-human, half-animal howl stopped them. A blood-curdling cry of pain.

  Astonished, the villagers turned as one at the sound.

  Lights raced across the grass.

  The Dark Man was too fast. With a fluid movement, he ducked his shoulder and scooped up Max—and then he was on the Wolf once more, racing over the fields and into the trees, away from the village and its cruel, electrical lights.

  5

  LONDON

  Max lay next to Martha in a mound of Wolves, the processes of animal biology, the blood and fur, livers and cells, keeping him warm against the midnight chill of the Woods.

  The only cold part of him was the hand Martha held. He knew if he took it away she would fail and die, so he held on long after his became stiff with cold. He was not afraid of falling asleep: he would remember her in his dreams.

  But he did not want to sleep.

  He just wanted to hold onto her.

  This was better than any dream.

  They had not gone far from Gilead. As they went, other Wolves had caught up with them, their loping forms visible now and again through the trees. It was Max that had stopped the Wolf—he would have fallen off if the ride had gone on a minute longer. Frozen and shivering, he collapsed at the foot of a tree, and Martha, to his surprise, had come out without his calling. She wordlessly lay next to him, put her thin arms round his neck and squeezed him as she sobbed and cried for her parents, lost for ever.

  From a distance, the Wolf had watched. Max had watched back, unashamed—because the Dark Man knew everything about him already, and always would. And then the other Wolves had come out of the trees, and curled themselves around them. Warmth. And softness. Manes and tails. Great ribcages swelling and sinking, rocking him on every side.

  He did not want to sleep—he just wanted to hold her.

  But sleep he did.

  The last thing he saw, was the Wolf flickering under the trees. Now Wolf. Now Man. Black eyes watching over him. Golden eyes. Black eyes.

  The spark of Wildness in both.

  “How does she speak to you?”

  “With words. It’s just like talking, really. Except faster.”

  “And you hear her in your mind?”

  “Yes. But it’s strange. It’s way down deep inside.”

  “Is she speaking to you now?”

  “No. She’s upset about what happened. I think she’s watching the Merry-Go-Round.”

  Boris nodded. “You must take care of her,” he said. “If what you say is true, you are bound to each other forever. I wonder if you know what that means.”

  Max had woken to find the Wolves gone and the Dark Man holding his hands over a crackling fire. They had spent the morning talking quietly. Boris had questioned him closely about everything that had happened, especially in Gilead. Max had waited for the chance to ask his own questions: now he took it.

  “She says you’re a Wild One. Are you really?”

  “Yes. Or I used to be.”

  “She told me the Wildness is dangerous.”

  “And you must listen to what she says,” Boris warned. “The Wildness is not to be tangled with.”

  “How did you get gotten then?”

  “The same way as everyone else—I left the Paths, and got lost in the Woods. What makes me unique, is that I found my way back.” He rubbed his large hands slowly together, then sat back from the fire. “Maybe I am the only one to escape the Wildness. But it is still within me. Mine takes the form of Wolves. Mrs Jeffers calls me the Dozen Wolf. I like the name, but after last night, it has lost its… numerical accuracy.”

  “So that Wolf they killed—it was part of you?”

  “Not part of. One of.”

  Max stared at him. “There’s… more than one of you?”

  Boris smiled faintly. “How else do you think I kept an eye on you, all those years, day and night? I could not do it alone. That’s why Mrs Jeffers came to me for help. A scientist studying the Vanishings. One who knew the Woods and could set a watch on you like no other. I was the perfect candidate. Of course, I should never have been able to unleash the Wildness in the World, just as Mrs Jeffers should not be able to manipulate Old Light. But as we know: the World is no longer what it was.”

  “Wait a moment,” Max said. “So last night… are you saying one of you died?”

  “One of me, yes, you could say so. But what happens to me is not important,” Boris said emphatically. “Only one thing matters: stopping the Vanishings.”

  “But—”

  “So you must decide what you are going to do,” Boris said, interrupting him. “If you wish, you can search for your Forever Parents on the Balloons. There is still time to enter Eisteddfod, of course. We must leave tonight, however.”

  The offer of a choice surprised Max. He’d expected to be taken straight back to London. Then he remembered it was the Dark Man who had brought them to Gilead in the first place.

  “Why did you let me run away? You could have stopped me.”

  Boris shrugged. “I may not be a Seeker, but I am still a scientist. And most science is based on good, old-fashioned observational discovery.” He waved a finger between his eyes. “Watching what happens, in other words. And look what I have learnt by doing nothing! Old Light in the World, and New Light in the Woods. A pattern is eme
rging, and where there is a pattern there is a governing principle to be discovered. We are making progress.”

  Max looked away. What he was about to say was so hard after what the Dark Man had sacrificed at the village. “I’m sorry I ran away,” he said. “But I just don’t think I can do it. Go after a Dragon, I mean. I’m not brave like you.”

  “You are braver than you realize. I felt it, when you fought the Shredders. And I have good reason—we have good reason—to believe you will stand in front of the Dragon Fire and survive.”

  “How do you know?” Max asked, a bit suspiciously.

  “I will leave that to the expert to explain. We were scheduled to meet him this afternoon, and we still have time to make our appointment.” He gave Max an amused look. “Besides, if you are interested in Balloons, then for sure the best place to start is a Wind Giant.”

  Max clung onto the Dozen Wolf’s fur and leant between its ears as it loped towards London.

  He felt calmer back with the Dark Man. The threat of the Dragon Fire still hung over him, but the news that he might have some special chance of success made it seem less terrifying.

  You won’t be able to cheat during Eisteddfod. The Dragon Hunters will find out.

  He never said it would be cheating. He just said I would be OK. Anyway, he’s going to give me a chance to find my Forever Parents first.

  You might be surprised when you find them. They might not be who you think they are.

  Why not?

  I knew my parents for years, and I still didn’t know them. You don’t know yours at all.

  I do so.

  No you don’t. You’ve just had dreams about them.

  My dreams aren’t regular dreams. They come true.

  Just because some did doesn’t mean they all will.

  With that she dropped away from him.

  OK fine. Go. I was more interested in the scenery. I’ve never been in the Woods, and it’s super interesting to look at.

  Glancing about, he sighed.

  Actually—it wasn’t so interesting.

  Fields. Fields. Fields.

  Hedge.

  Field. Field. Ditch.

  Cow.

  Sometimes the Dozen Wolf had to perform a special manoeuvre, like bounding over a stream, but mostly it was all featureless farmland.

 

‹ Prev