Winter's Shadow

by M. J. Hearle

  Winter was vaguely aware of cries around her and movement, but she was unable to heed them, so transfixed was she by the horrible feeding. Mercifully, she was spared seeing Caleb’s face, as the woman’s hunched form blocked her view, but Winter could imagine the terror in his eyes. She could imagine it all too easily.

  Something whistled past her head – another of the Bane’s iron bolts – but this one didn’t find its mark, instead slamming into the wall beside the creature’s head. Like a startled vulture, the mad woman flew off Caleb’s wasted form and disappeared into the shadows over their heads.

  ‘Father!’ Sam rushed to Caleb’s side, while everyone else appeared rooted to the spot in terror. Winter watched as Sam cradled his father’s lifeless head in his arms, still too petrified to feel anything but the vaguest sympathy for him. A scream from the back of the church shattered the stunned silence, and jerked Winter’s attention away from the grieving son.

  The woman had appeared behind Marcus and Damien. They scrambled to bring their crossbows around, but her speed was too great. She’d managed to knock Damien to the ground and pull Marcus into her embrace before a single shot was fired. Winter heard Jasmine scream as the nightmarish spectacle jolted her out of her stupor. The woman planted her lips on her captured prey’s mouth and began to suck his life force away. Damien struggled to his feet, and with a loud battlecry charged towards the feasting banshee with his weapon raised.

  His shots went wide and, once he was in striking distance, the woman lashed out with one thin arm, sending him flying the length of the church in an impossible display of strength. Damien’s body smashed right through one of the support columns as though it were made of paper, before landing sprawled and lifeless beside Blake. Winter could see Blake’s tormented expression as he watched the massacre from his trapped position. His frightened gaze silently implored her to run, but she simply couldn’t leave him. There was a loud rumble from the eaves above them, followed by a shower of dust, as the church struggled with the loss of another of its support beams.

  Finished with Marcus, the madwoman dropped his limp body and turned towards Jasmine, who was cowering behind a pillar. Horrified, Winter watched as the monster’s tongue slithered out of her mouth, licking her dry lips in anticipation of another meal. Jasmine screamed again as the woman strode towards her.

  A bolt fired from behind Winter whined through the air, glancing off the creature’s shoulder. The effort was enough to distract the woman from her intended victim, and with a howl of rage she turned to confront her attacker. Sam ran to Winter’s side, already loading a fresh iron bolt into the crossbow’s chamber.

  ‘Get behind me!’ he grunted. There were tears in his eyes, but he seemed resolute not to let his grief stand between him and vengeance. He aimed the crossbow at the creature and fired, but before the bolt could strike its target the woman winked out of existence. One moment she was standing there, the next she was gone!

  The church was silent, save for Jasmine’s sobbing at the back of the room and the increasing rumbles from the roof above. If we don’t get out of here soon, the thought flashed in the back of Winter’s mind, the roof will come down and kill us all! A large piece of timber fell from the eaves and crashed to the ground as if to prove her suspicion. However, there was still no sign of the evil apparition. Winter kept close to Sam as he slowly circled the church with the crossbow, using the torch beam to search the darkness.

  ‘Behind you!’ Blake cried out with a cracked voice from his position, but it was too late. The woman materialised behind them, her green eyes blazing with madness and hatred. Now that the creature was so close, Winter was shocked to discover she recognised her face. As Blake had mentioned, the hair had turned slate grey but the eyes . . . the eyes had triggered her memory. So much like her brother’s yet darker, crueller. This banshee was Blake’s sister – Claudette!

  Claudette’s ragged white robes swirled around her as she reached towards Winter, her hands hooked into claws. Sam thrust himself into her path, but she swatted him aside easily. Her hunger was fixed on Winter. Now there were no more obstacles in her way, Claudette seemed to slow her attack, apparently relishing the moment before the kill. Her mouth (her gums! Her gums were black!) twisted into something approximating a smile. It was the most terrifying thing Winter had ever seen.

  Winter knew she was close to death; she could smell it in Claudette’s rank breath. Sam lay slumped against one of the rotting columns, chin resting on his chest, barely conscious. Jasmine had crawled into the corner and was hiding from the howling nightmare, sobbing to herself quietly. There would be no last-second rescue from either of them.

  Winter willed her limbs to start working so she could at least try to get away, but they didn’t respond. What would be the use, anyway? How could you outrun a creature that could move through space and time in the blink of an eye? Winter felt paralysed – unable to run or even scream. Claudette’s shining green eyes held her own in their mad gaze, rooting her to the spot. Winter felt her will to live ebbing as she stared into those terrifying emerald depths. Claudette moved closer, closer still . . .

  There was a whistling sound over Winter’s shoulder, a faint gust of air on her cheek, as the iron bolt flew by. Claudette’s eyes widened in shock. Her viper’s smile vanished; her jaw fell and she staggered backwards, scraping at her chest. An awful, low keening sound came from the depths of her throat. Her pale hands gripped the end of an iron bolt, the rest of which was buried in the flesh just above her right breast, piercing her heart. The madness fled from Claudette’s face, and Winter could see that she shared her brother’s beauty. It had been corrupted, transformed by the terrible hunger inside. Now it was restored to her in her last tragic moments.

  It couldn’t have been Sam who fired the shot, as Winter saw him now limp towards Claudette from the opposite direction, dragging his father’s axe behind him. Letting out a hoarse battlecry, Sam swung once, deftly slicing into Claudette’s neck. She dropped to the ground, and he swung again, finishing the job.

  ‘Winter . . .’

  Blake!

  Winter turned and ran to where Blake lay, his breathing laboured. He was holding Damien’s crossbow in one shaking arm, pointed at the fallen body of his sister. The youngest member of the Bane sprawled a few feet away from him, his hair matted with blood. Winter crouched at Blake’s side. The tears were coming now, tears of grief and shock, spilling over her cheeks.

  ‘I killed her . . .’

  ‘You saved me.’

  ‘It wasn’t her fault. It was the hunger.’

  ‘Don’t talk,’ she said, trying to keep him from wasting his energy, but Blake was fighting to explain himself.

  ‘I couldn’t let her hurt you . . . like the others.’

  Winter knew later she would have time to piece the puzzle together more clearly, but she’d seen enough to form a hazy impression of what had happened. All those girls hadn’t been killed by Blake – but by Claudette. Poor mad Claudette . . . born without the strength to resist the darkness inside.

  Winter tenderly brushed back one of Blake’s curls. ‘It’s over now. She’s found peace.’

  ‘Peace?’ Blake looked up at her in confusion as though the word was unknown to him. The expression was so naked and vulnerable that Winter felt fresh tears spilling down her face.

  ‘Everything’s going to be all right,’ she managed to choke out as she kissed his burning cheeks. Winter moved to his lips, kissing him deeply on the mouth, feeling that tingling sensation which was both wonderful and frightening. Immediately, she felt herself being drawn into him, and he into her. Winter knew it was dangerous but she didn’t care. Damn the consequences! After a few glorious seconds she felt him feebly trying to push her off him. It would have been easy to stay, pressed up against him, their lips sealed together, but she drew herself back.

  ‘Easy now.’ Blake was staring at her with those beautiful green eyes. Wincing, he tried to raise himself up. ‘Could you . . .’ Winter was a
ppalled at her own ignorance. One of the iron bolts still nailed him to the altar. He’d ripped out the other one in his effort to reach and fire the crossbow at Claudette. Luckily neither had pierced his heart, but the pain must be excruciating.

  Winter gulped, baulking at the act. ‘What should I . . . ?’

  He tenderly placed her hands on the shaft of the left bolt.

  ‘Just pull.’

  Winter nodded, steeled herself and then, with her eyes closed, yanked the bolt free from Blake’s right shoulder. Blake let out a scream of pain, the sound of his agony raking across Winter’s heart. She cradled his face in her hands, feeling his tears on her fingers.

  Blake smiled feebly at her. ‘Thank you.’

  She leaned down to kiss his tears away. ‘Can you move?’ He was too hot. Sick heat radiated from him in waves. Why was he looking at her like this? That pained smile on his face seemed entirely for her benefit. He was trying to distract her from the deeper truth.

  The sounds from above were increasing in volume. Another loose timber strut crashed to the floor a short distance from them.

  ‘We have to go, Blake. The roof . . .’

  He shook his head, still smiling through his pain. ‘No. I’m staying.’

  Winter frowned, confused by the finality of Blake’s words. She felt fresh tears welling again, and her throat was tight and restricted. ‘What are you talking about?’ More dust was falling from the ceiling now, covering them in a fine layer, but Winter barely noticed it.

  Blake looked past her shoulder, his eyes narrowing, and whispered, ‘It’s time.’

  Winter turned to follow his gaze and saw them hovering behind her, watching silently – the Skivers.

  Chapter 62

  If she hadn’t been so upset by Blake’s pain, Winter knew she would have screamed, but as it was, only a strangled cry escaped her lips. One of the Skivers tilted its head, studying them in that hideous way of theirs – the Master.

  She scrambled to her feet, standing over Blake protectively. Winter was terrified of these black-clad wraiths, but wouldn’t let fear dictate her actions. Not any more.

  ‘No . . . no, you can’t have him!’ She directed her indignation towards the Master.

  Sam, kneeling beside his father’s body, glanced up at her from across the church. His voice sounded distracted when he spoke. ‘Who are you talking to?’

  Winter ignored him.

  Blake spoke softly behind her. ‘It’s okay, Winter. It’s okay.’

  ‘Blake —’

  ‘Please, come here.’

  Winter risked momentarily diverting her attention away from the creatures, and saw him beckoning weakly for her to join him on the floor. The Skivers hadn’t moved yet; they remained where they were, watching. Winter quickly crouched back down at Blake’s side. Her hands found his and held them tightly.

  ‘Look at me,’ he whispered, gazing at her, willing her to see.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Look at me, Winter . . .’

  Winter still didn’t understand what he meant until she saw the light in his eyes. His kiss had restored the Sight and now she could see his Occuluma; the tiny flames burning in the depths of Blake’s pupils. They were no longer green.

  ‘Blake, what have you done?’ Winter cried with horror, staring at the sickly red light.

  ‘I made them a deal. It was the only way to save you. My life for yours.’

  Winter began to cry. She buried her head in his chest. ‘No, Blake! No! Why would you do this?’

  Stroking her hair softly, he whispered into her ear, ‘You have to ask?’

  She raised her head and looked deeply into his eyes, her heart breaking at the acceptance she saw there. Blake wasn’t going to fight this; he was going to let them take him.

  He gently cupped her face in his hands, and even through her grief Winter could see how tired he looked. How tired he sounded.

  ‘No tears, Winter. You’ve given me something wonderful: an excuse to die. I never belonged here anyway.’

  It was wrong, so wrong and he didn’t seem aware of it. She’d make him aware of it – make him see how much he meant to her, but when she opened her mouth the words wouldn’t come, even though Winter willed them to. ‘You belong with me!’ she wanted to say to him, but a pain-racked sob was all that made it past her lips.

  She leaned forward to kiss him one last time, their lips brushed against one another – and then she was being lifted off the ground by cold, white hands.

  ‘No!’ she cried out, struggling in the two Skivers’ clutches, but their strength was great and her efforts went unnoticed. Her eyes remained on Blake as she was pulled away.

  If he was afraid, there was no sign of it on his face, just a kind of resigned sadness as the Master knelt over him. It conjured an ornate canister from its robes and opened the lid, placing it on the ground. Trapped in the Skivers’ iron grip, Winter watched numbly as it withdrew a pair of scissors. She heard the shnick as the blades sprung open – like a knife being scraped against stone – and watched as the creature reached into Blake’s chest and pulled forth a dazzling orb of red light. One of those loose strands of red light twisted around its pale, shrivelled hand like a snake as the Skiver brought the blades to the thread.

  Winter stared at Blake from across the church and willed him to know her heart, willed him to see it in her eyes. She saw a glimmer there, a flash in those beautiful green depths and felt some relief amid her sorrow that he did.

  Blake knew . . . he’d always known.

  The Master closed the shears on Blake’s life and Winter heard someone scream in agony. It was her own scream. Once the deed was done, the Master placed Blake’s shimmering soul in the canister and returned it to its robes. It stood and turned towards Winter, regarding her somewhat pityingly – or as close to pityingly as its alien features could – then was gone, like so much black smoke. The two Skivers at her side also vanished, disappearing back to the Dead Lands.

  Ignoring the rumbling sounds from the roof above, Winter ran through the grey rain of dust that was falling from the eaves, and threw herself onto Blake’s body. His head was tilted up towards the ceiling of the church, the eyes open, a beatific smile on his lips. Sobbing uncontrollably, Winter gathered him up into her arms and rocked him gently. She would have held him like that forever, but a hand fell on her shoulder.

  It was Jasmine. She’d limped across the church to where Winter was crouching over Blake’s body.

  ‘Let’s go, Winter,’ she said with quiet urgency, and Winter allowed herself to be led away.

  Chapter 63

  Seconds after she and Jasmine hobbled through the church entrance, there was an apocalyptic crash behind them as the rest of the roof came down. Sam was lying in the grass at the foot of the steps, cradling his father’s wasted corpse in the moonlight. It had been the only body he’d had time to retrieve before the roof collapsed. He looked up at them with wide, lost eyes as they came down the steps towards him.

  ‘What do I do now?’ he asked them hopelessly.

  Winter didn’t have an answer, and had too much pain in her heart to pity him. Instead she and Jasmine walked on, leaving Sam to wallow in his grief alone. They didn’t speak on the walk through the woods. The cloud cover had moved on and the path was easier to see in the clear moonlight. Winter barely noticed. She wouldn’t have minded if the woods had been pitch-black. She was beyond fear. She was beyond anything but pain and grief, which seemed to have wrapped itself around her like a heavy shroud.

  Once they reached the Heritage Centre, Jasmine turned to Winter. ‘What happened tonight, Winter?’

  ‘He saved me,’ Winter answered quietly, and they were the only words she had left to say. She walked past Jasmine to the edge of the parking lot and closed her eyes, breathing in the night air.

  She willed herself to slip into the Dead Lands, to follow Blake into Krypthia. If she truly was one of these mythical Keys, then let this power manifest itself now. For a moment she fooled h
erself that the ground beneath her feet lurched as if threatening to fall away, but when she opened her eyes the night around her was unchanged. It was her night, a night which held no deeper mysteries.

  He was gone.

  Chapter 64

  Winter took the following week off school, spending most of the time alone in her room, reading and listening to music, anything to keep her mind off her grief. Lucy was surprisingly empathetic, not questioning her decision to stay at home. It was as if she sensed Winter had been through something profound and was willing to give her the space and time to come to terms with it.

  Two nights after the incident on the mountain, Winter was lying in bed staring at the ceiling when a scratching sound came from the window. Almost too afraid to look in case her hopes were dashed, she slowly turned to see Nefertem pawing at the glass. Somehow the cat had survived the crash, and made it back to her house. Weeping with surprise and joy, she threw open the window and hugged him tightly. His return was a brief respite from the darkness, but one she was grateful for.

  As she washed the dirt off the squirming cat in the bathroom, Winter’s mind turned to the mysteries she’d witnessed, trying to piece together the parts of the story Blake had never explained. She remembered the door in Blake’s house with the strange sigil painted on it, and deduced that Blake must have imprisoned Claudette in that room. When the Bane set fire to Blake’s house, the flames must have burnt away whatever mystical means he’d used to keep her from escaping. She was the monster Caleb and his sons had hunted through the years, the girls on their list victims of her hunger. Blake had been merely her keeper.