They came on all fours, scuttling faster than a horse could gallop. They were naked as babies and smaller than a man. The pallor of their flesh suggested that they had never seen the sun and never should. The eyes were too large for the avid bony faces, and so pale that they appeared to glow with an unholy lurid light. The mouths were unnaturally huge, gaping to display the fangs of predators, and further enlarged by blood smeared like an infant’s food around the lips. So much Kane saw before the leader of the pack leapt at him.
He barely had the chance to draw a sword, and none to brace himself. He swung the blade up just in time to meet the creature in mid-air. The sword impaled it through the guts, but Kane had not judged the force of the leap. It sent him staggering backwards into the lake as a second creature sprang at the horse, jaws wide.
The horse gave a whinny that was close to a scream. As the creature seized its neck with all four scrawny limbs, it reared up and lost its footing on the slippery grass. Before the attacker could sink in its fangs, the horse crashed to the ground. As the thing at its throat tried to scrabble out of danger, it was crushed by the horse. Kane heard ribs snap like a bunch of twigs, and a dying snarl that sounded uncannily close to a word.
He was up to his thighs in the water. Another of the creatures was ranging back and forth along the margin, apparently uncertain whether to spring at Kane or to assail the horse. The creature that had attacked Kane was still skewered on the sword. Kane plunged the blade into the lake and trod on the thing’s chest while he pulled the sword free. Water surged away from him, and the nearest of the drowned bodies wallowed in response, waving its bloated arms and nodding its decayed head so vigorously that it seemed on the point of raising whatever remained of its face out of the lake. As Kane lifted the sword, the horse struggled to its knees before it succeeded in standing up. This might have been the signal for the third of the pack to spring on Kane. He brought the sword down with all his strength and hacked the monstrosity in half.
The severed halves continued to twitch as they sank to the bottom of the lake. The sword was deep in the water too, and a fourth creature was poised on the edge. Kane dragged at the sword – dragged harder, but it was entangled in a mass of weeds. As the thing on the margin of the lake prepared to leap at him, he snatched a pistol from his belt and pulled the trigger. The weapon was aimed straight at the monstrous head, but it was useless. Kane’s fall into the lake must have dampened the powder, and the pistol failed to go off.
He flung it at the creature, which dodged and immediately sprang at him. As the pistol landed on the bank Kane let go of the trapped sword. Throwing out his hands, he seized the creature by the throat as it reached to fasten its clawed hands and feet on him. He twisted it around and bowed forward to hold the head underwater. The thing flailed the water with its limbs, struggling to find Kane with its lethal claws, but he pinned its arms between his knees and forced the head deeper. At last the body jerked into stillness, and a final unclean bubble swelled up from the water and burst. Kane lifted the limp body and peered at it, seeing what he feared he would. Despite its size, which suggested that its frame had withered around the evil it contained, it was clear that the creature had once been human.
Kane let it sink into the lake and retrieved his sword. He floundered to the bank and climbed out of the water to recover the pistol. For minutes he stood absolutely still, listening for any hint that more of the creatures were abroad. When he was sure there were none he stroked the horse’s neck until the animal ceased trembling. It shied when he attempted to mount it, and he had to murmur to it as though he were saying a prayer. Eventually it suffered him to remount, and he ventured to ride it across the meadow – there was no other way back to the road. Once they were clear of the grass he did not permit himself to imagine they were safe. He was painfully alert now, knowing that any part of the land could be the lair of some unimaginable evil. Worse, the thought made him wonder what might be happening to Meredith.
TWENTY-THREE
The fall from the cliff snatched away Meredith’s breath and the last of the muffled daylight as well. She might have thought that the abyss had already swallowed her, robbing her of every sense, if it had not been for a gust of rain that found her face. It kept her breathless and stung her blinded eyes throughout the endless fall. She had time to imagine being caught up by angels and borne back into the midst of her family, however vain and arrogant the hope was, before her plunge came to an end.
She had been most afraid that she would hit the rocks. Instead she struck open water, which was vicious enough. The thump it dealt her was hard enough for earth. Her left arm took most of the impact, but she had no chance to recover before the river closed over her head. A relentless current dragged her down, and she thought she was drowned. Thick weeds stretched out to entangle her, but the rocks where they were rooted slowed the torrent and turned it aside. For the moment it was tamed, and Meredith was able to struggle gasping to the surface.
Perhaps her prayer had been answered more thoroughly than she would have dared to hope. Even if you should not pray for salvation in this world, surely she had encountered so much evil that God would never leave her at its mercy. While the banks of the river were too steep to offer her a refuge, even supposing that she could have reached one and held on, that meant the raiders had no way down to her that she could see. The torrent was rushing her onwards, deafening her with its roar and dashing foam into her face, but she might not be helpless for long. She was being swept towards a pair of jagged rocks, and a fallen sapling was wedged between them.
As the tree came within reach she clutched at the trunk. The impact bruised her right hand – the left was devoid of sensation – and shuddered through her arms. The current was so strong that it sent her cannoning against the trunk. The collision knocked the breath out of her and loosened her grasp on the slippery wood. It dislodged the sapling from between the rocks, and Meredith wrapped her arms around it as it raced downriver.
At least it was heading eastwards, where any safety ought to be. The river was clear of rocks now, and she wanted to believe that the headlong speed at which she was being borne was only to her good. It might even be faster than anyone could ride along the cliff. Had the raiders seen her reach the surface? Perhaps they assumed the fall must have killed her, or that she had drowned. As she composed a silent prayer – the torrent left her no breath for even a whisper – those were among the entreaties she made. Her eyes were so blurred by spray, and the course of the river had grown so dark, that she did not immediately observe that the nearer bank was no longer a cliff.
Soon it was no taller than she would be if she could stand. She blinked at it through the spray as the torrent rushed her onwards, and saw nobody in the gloom among the trees. The land sloped down until it was level with the river, which sprouted reeds along its margin. Meredith grappled with the tree and the implacable current, and eventually managed to steer the tree towards the bank. The branches snagged the reeds and became entangled in them, and the trunk swung landwards. As it bumped against the bank Meredith scrambled over the supine tree and sprawled face down on the muddy grass.
She lay there, panting and drenched and utterly spent, until she realised that the tumult of the river would prevent her from hearing anyone who approached. She pushed herself up on her unsteady arms and blinked hard at the dark. Tall dim silhouettes and hulking ones gathered around her, and their companions appeared behind them in the gloom, but all of them were trees and bushes. As far as she could make out, none of them hid anything more human or once human. All the same, anybody searching for her would look for her close to the river.
She lurched to her feet and stumbled away. The rain had stopped, but she could not be any more soaked. Her saturated clothes clung to her like an icy second skin, and her hair dangled like drowned weeds against her face. Stealth was impossible; once she left the sounds of the river behind she heard the mud suck at every footstep. The treacherous ground slowed her down until her body fe
lt like a burden too ponderous for her exhausted legs to support. When she lost her footing in the mud she no longer had the strength to save herself from falling. She grabbed at a bush but succeeded only in snapping a handful of twigs before she hit the sodden earth.
She was almost too weakened to gasp. Her bruised hand and the insensible one spread slackly open on the drenched grass. At least she was away from the river and surrounded by bushes. Surely they would hide her, even from any searchers. Surely she ought to be safe there while she regained just a little of her strength – and then she heard a muffled footstep, and another.
Had her pursuers left their horses for the sake of stealth? She made to pray not to be found, and then as her hands moved to join together she felt how the left one was tainted. Perhaps that was one function of the mark – to prevent her from praying as she had prayed ever since she had words. She could only inch her right hand forward to keep her face out of the mud. She closed her eyes and clung to an idea no less childish than desperate – that so long as she was unable to see, she could not be seen either. But the inexorable footsteps came on, halting just a few yards away. Meredith released a breath that felt as though she were giving up more than air, and then she raised her head.
A solitary figure was just visible against the thick night sky. It was smaller and slighter than a man. As Meredith peered at the face it began to take shape. She could hardly believe she recognised him, but it seemed she did. “Samuel,” she whispered. “Am I dead?”
“Dead, miss?” The boy gave a laugh so nervous it was barely audible. “You ain’t dead. You can’t be. You’re speaking to me.”
He was not Samuel. His accent reminded her of Captain Kane’s. Meredith managed to sit back on her haunches and brushed ineffectually at the muddy front of her soaked dress. “I thought I was,” she said, not without wistfulness.
“We may be,” the boy muttered, “if we wait round here much longer.”
He started as a black shape flapped out of a tree – a crow. It flew towards the ill-defined horizon, and the boy glanced apprehensively about. “What is it?” Meredith whispered.
“There’s terrible things in the dark, miss.”
He spoke as if he was afraid his very words would bring them. Meredith wanted to believe he was just beset by night fears – he seemed more timid than Samuel – but she was too aware of the evils that were abroad. She tried to stand, only to discover that her legs were incapable of the task. “Please help me,” she said.
The boy hesitated until Meredith held out her shaky hands, and then he trudged forward to grab her arms, so that she felt he was avoiding the touch of her infected palm. Having hauled her unceremoniously to her feet, he let go at once. She caught at his arm as her legs wavered. “May I lean on you?” she pleaded.
“I’m meant to be finding the ewe. She’s wandered.” When Meredith staggered against him the boy relented. “I’ll help you a bit of the way,” he said. “Where do you want to go?”
“I don’t know.” Even if it had not been so dark Meredith would have had to confess “I don’t know where I am.”
The boy peered into her face and reached a decision. “You can come home,” he said. “You’ll be safe there for the night.”
“Thank you.” The words seemed not just inadequate but impersonal. “What is your name?” Meredith said.
“Thomas.” With a hint of defiant familial pride the boy said “Thomas Woolman.”
“Thank you, Thomas. I’m Meredith,” she said and found she was unable to go on.
As soon as they took a step she stumbled. “You can put your arm round me if you like, Mistress Meredith,” he said.
She draped her right arm across his shoulders, and he matched his pace to hers. Their slowness gave her time to imagine an attacker behind every bush, especially since Thomas had begun to peer nervously at them. She would have searched for conversation, but she sensed he would be nervous of that as well. She tried to silence her thoughts too until the bushes thinned out and the trees gave way to bare fields. “There,” Thomas murmured.
He was pointing across the nearest field at a group of small buildings huddled against the featureless dark. A rush-light flickered beyond a cottage window, but the other buildings were unlit. “That’s my father’s farm,” Thomas said. “Don’t make any noise now. They mustn’t know you’re here.”
Meredith had an uneasy notion that he did not mean his family. “Who?” she whispered.
“Anyone,” Thomas said and supported her to the hedge around the field. Now that they were in the open he seemed more anxious. As he guided Meredith along a rough path that followed the perimeter of the field, she sensed his impatience with her tardiness. The night was silent apart from the bleating of sheep, with no sign of life from the farmhouse. Thomas steered her off the path well before they reached the building and ushered her around the edge of the farmyard. A hen clucked in its sleep, but it was a man’s cough that made the boy start. When nobody appeared at the lit window he hurried Meredith to the barn.
The door opened with a faint creak, and Thomas glanced nervously towards the house. As soon as Meredith was through the meagre opening he offered her, the boy dodged in and shut the door. The darkness felt like some undefined threat rendered tangible until Meredith heard the striking of a flint, and a rush-light flared up to illuminate the interior. Shadows fluttered bat-like above the rafters and performed a ponderous dance behind bales of hay, but the large room seemed empty of actual danger. Thomas watched Meredith sink onto a heap of straw, and then he cleared the floor in front of her and set the rush-light down. He took off his heavy woollen coat and settled it around Meredith’s shoulders, then stepped quickly back. “Nobody but me will come in here,” he said. “You can sleep.”
“Thank you. God bless you, Thomas,” Meredith said.
“I’ll get you when it’s safe,” Thomas said and frowned. “Where will you go?”
“I don’t know.” The admission seemed to isolate her with all that it summoned up. “I managed to escape from – I can’t say what they are,” she whispered. “The raiders. Servants of evil, some terrible evil.”
Thomas glanced towards the door as if he wanted to escape what she was saying. “They –” Meredith blurted, and her words did their best to desert her, but they were all that remained in her mind. “They killed my family,” she said.
The boy watched unhappily as she was overwhelmed by tears. “There’s nothing you could have done,” he mumbled.
Meredith sobbed and gulped and eventually recaptured her voice. “How do you know that, Thomas?”
“The raiders came here too.” As Meredith shivered, not just with the chill of her drenched clothes, he said “To our village. We gave them food. We gave them whatever they wanted. That’s how everyone survives here. My father says we might as well be slaves.”
He must have seen that Meredith felt vulnerable again. His words had brought the raiders and the threat of their return too close. “This place is safe,” he said. “It’ll be warm. I’ll try and bring you some food and clothes when I can.”
He retreated to the door and stood with one hand on the latch. “Don’t go outside,” he said. “Don’t go near the door.” He snatched it ajar and slipped through the gap. In a moment it was shut as if the boy had vanished like a will-o’-the-wisp. Shadows pranced behind the bales and veered about under the roof, and then the flame steadied. As Meredith gazed at it her eyelids seemed to gain an unbearable weight – to take on all the exhaustion she had been fighting off. In another breath she was asleep, and there was no peril where she found herself, nor any cold or loss.
TWENTY-FOUR
As Kane rode through the low hills he was aware that a change had invaded the late afternoon. Was there a sound besides the incessant hiss of rain, which had begun to seem as constant as the sunless sky? His horse had sensed something ahead, and gave an uneasy snort. Kane stroked its wet head and guided the horse up a hill. Before they reached the top of the gradual slope
he thought he heard an unfamiliar noise – a murmur too low to be defined, or perhaps just an unidentifiable vibration. He came to the brow of the hill and was scarcely aware of reining the horse to a standstill. “Dear God in Heaven,” he breathed.
Beyond the hills the landscape flattened out, and it was thronged with people fleeing eastwards. A few couples supported each other, but most of the fugitives were alone. Every head was downcast as a penitent’s, lashed by the rain. Even at that distance the spectacle exuded despair. It was plain that the refugees believed their world had been brought to an end. The exodus might have been mistaken for a pilgrimage, but Kane thought they were advancing as hopelessly as a beast goes to the slaughterhouse. The notion enraged him, and he rode downhill.
No doubt some if not all of the throng took him for a raider. Many kept their heads down, and even those who glanced up in fear or beaten resignation seemed to find no reassurance in the sight of him. He rode back and forth among them, but none of the solitary girls was Meredith. He might have shown the fugitives the locket, except that his instincts told him that they were too immured in their own misery to identify a stranger, unless their despondency had infected him as well. He could almost have imagined that they were trudging without souls, in a devilish parody of the Day of Judgment. When at last the parade of defeated faces came to an end, Kane rode fast until he found a westward track.
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