The Whitby Witches 1 - The Whitby Witches

by Robin Jarvis

  Ben tried to push these thoughts to the back of his mind and attempted to explore the large fissures and crannies that were within his reach. It did not take long for him to find out that they were only shallow gouges in the rock and not real caves at all.

  'Nelda, where are you?' he shouted.

  Only the incoming sea answered him. Ben whirled round and, to his horror, saw that the way back to the pier was totally cut off. The path was now flooded—he was trapped.

  Orange firelight flickered over the rough cave walls. Bunches of drying weeds were suspended from the fishing nets which were draped from one side to the other, and they gave a sweet, salty tang to the damp air. These were Hesper's quarters and they suited her admirably. Since the decline of the tribes there was plenty of room for everyone—too much room. The ancient galleries had not been visited for many years and the long halls were bereft of song. Some passages had even been blocked up because they were no longer needed and this saddened the kindly aufwader. Beyond those blockades were the wondrous ammonite caverns where, in days long gone, important festivals were celebrated. The revels had been high then; sometimes there was music and light for a whole three days.

  Hesper brought herself back to the present and peered into the flames. Tarr sat cross-legged on the rush-matted floor beside her, his wiry white hair untied and tucked beneath him. He drew on his pipe and watched his daughter thoughtfully. The net which lay across her knee would not be mended tonight, he told himself.

  'Tha'd better put it down if'n that's the best ya can do,' he said. 'Get thee to bed. Theer's nowt worth stayin' awake fer.' He jabbed the air with his pipe and pointed at Nelda, who was idly pulling the loose rushes from the mat. "Tha too,' he told her.

  Nelda looked across at Hesper. This was the first night they had stayed in the caves. It seemed pointless to go on searching for the moonkelp without the human boy. She had no idea what had happened to Ben or why he had stopped meeting them in the evening. Perhaps she had been wrong about him. Were the elders right after all—could no humans be trusted?

  'Ah'm to kip,' said her grandfather grumpily. He reached for his staff and pulled himself up. With the briefest of nods, he bade them goodnight and hobbled out.

  'It is over,' Hesper said miserably. 'Oona was wrong, there never was any moonkelp. I have fooled myself all this time. We are all to die and our kind will disappear.'

  Nelda hung her head and said nothing.

  In the passage beyond, Tarr slowly made his way to his own quarters. He could never understand what went on inside the heads of his children. Why, for instance, had they remained in the caves that night? They had been so despondent over the past few days, too. If he lived to be six hundred, which seemed likely, he would never work them out.

  The ringing of heavy boots brought him to a halt. Someone was coming down the tunnel.

  'Prawny?' he called. 'If'n tha's come t'pinch me baccy, Prawny Nusk, tha can—'

  But it was not the aufwader Tarr had expected. Out of the gloom hurried a squat, busy-looking female. She was a scowling, bad-tempered creature who loved to put others in their place and wore a string of beaded shells on her brow to show her self-importance. Old Parry, the tribe called her—a nasty, small-minded widow with a sharp tongue and ears that flapped at any conversation she was not a party to.

  'Oh,' muttered Tarr, 'it's thee, Parry.' He quickened his limping pace and spluttered, 'Ah canna stop, sithee tomorrer.'

  But old Parry was determined, and she caught hold of Tarr's sleeve. 'Don't you scaddle off yet, Tarr!' she told him fiercely. 'Come listen what I've heard—gives me great gladness it do, but I don't think you'll like it none.'

  Tarr sighed. 'What be it?' he groaned, hoping this was not another petty scheme of hers.

  She led him down the tunnel to a point where it opened out into a high, echoing chamber. This was the Hall of Whispers, the one place in the aufwader caves where you could hear the outside world. In here the fisher folk would gather at times of storm and listen to the roaring tempest of the sea as it hurled its fury against the cliff. Old Parry, however, was fond of this spot because it was not just the sea you could hear from it. If she stayed very quiet and kept her ears glued to the rock, she could listen to humans walking along the shore. She hated those ugly land animals and blamed them for everything, but her enmity did not prevent her eavesdropping on them.

  Tarr looked round huffily. He wanted to go to sleep. 'Well,' he said, 'what be it?'

  Old Parry drew him to the rock wall. 'Do you not hear?' she asked with a giggle.

  He regarded her disdainfully. There was nothing unusual out there, just the noise of the tide coming in. ''As tha gone doolally?' he barked. 'Theer's nowt—'

  Tarr's words failed as his large ears caught the sound. It was a human voice crying in panic; someone was trapped by the tide. He turned away, disgusted. Old Parry was a cruel piece of work.

  'Ah dunna want t'hear such,' he muttered. 'Tha's got a heart o' stone.'

  'Puh!' she snorted. ' 'Tis only a human boy. Just one less of them—won't make no difference, there's so many.'

  'A life, all t'same,' Tarr spat as he shambled out. 'Thee's gone bitter 'n' twisted, Parry. Jus' cos thee canna'ave bairns, dunna gloat when others perish.'

  This struck a nerve and she countered with all her petty spite. 'You dare preach at me, Tarr Shrimp?' she squealed. 'Look to yer own door afore you lord it!'

  He glared at her and demanded, 'What's thee on about?'

  'Where's yer son?' she shouted accusingly. 'Who killed Silas Gull and where do Hesper and Nelda vanish to at night? Taking vittles to Abe, are they?'

  He gnashed his teeth and raised his staff fiercely, but she laughed in his face and dodged to one side. 'A curse on your line, Tarr!' she sneered. 'Childless I may be but it's folk like you that made me so.' She lifted her hand and triumphantly declared, 'There, hear now the voice that condemns your own children!'

  From the outside world the cries of the boy were growing fainter but they could still make out the words. 'Help!' came the pitiful shouts. 'Nelda, Hesper, it's Ben—help me!'

  Tarr charged back along the tunnel with Old Parry's taunts ringing in his ears. 'Get you gone from this place,' she called after him. 'It's to the elders I'm bound. Consortin' with the humans! Your folk are a disgrace to the tribe. It's exile for you till the end of your days—you and your family!'

  Ben stood on a tiny island of rock, but it was rapidly shrinking. He had climbed as high as he could to escape the encroaching water and was now truly stuck. He had called for help until it hurt his throat and his voice was weak and croaky. All he could do was watch as the sea rose steadily and lapped ever closer. He screwed up his face and sobbed with despair. One big wave was all that it would take to sweep him off and drag him under. The boy's fingers gripped the shale tightly as he waited for the inevitable.

  Suddenly the cliff trembled. A loud cracking and grinding issued from the darkness above and a shower of small pebbles rattled down.

  The doorway to the aufwader caves was opening.

  A familiar voice called, 'Ben, take my hand.' It was Nelda.

  After leaving old Parry, Tarr had stormed back to Hesper's quarters and demanded to know why a human child was calling for them outside. They did not stop to tell him but jumped up and sped to the entrance.

  Ben reached up and clasped the small aufwader's hand, then, helped by her aunt, she began to haul him up. He scrabbled over the sharp rock, scuffing his shoes and cutting his knees, but at last he was safe. As he lay gasping on the threshold of the aufwader caves, a large wave crashed on to the ledge he had just left. The spray hit their faces and they staggered back.

  They were in a damp chamber, dominated by a primitive mechanism overhead that operated the two huge slabs of stone which were the main doors to the fisher folk dwellings. When closed, they fitted so precisely that it was impossible to see them from the outside and they made a perfect seal against the sea. Stacked in rows on the near wall were the littl
e wooden boats the aufwaders used and beside them the nets and weights needed for fishing. Ben took it all in, then remembered what had driven him here.

  'Close the entrance,' urged Hesper quickly. 'The others will be here soon. They will throw the boy into the sea if they can.'

  Nelda ran to one of the two rusty chains which dangled from the lofty ceiling and tugged with all her strength. The massive doors began to swing back into position.

  Ben staggered to his feet. 'Stop!' he said. 'We haven't got much time.'

  'We know that, boy,' sniffed Hesper. 'Oh, nine times bless me! They will be here all too soon—hurry, Nelda.' She turned on Ben and said scoldingly, 'Do you realise the trouble you've caused us, child? The penalty for merely talking with you is great enough, but now you have stepped inside our domain, where no human has ever been.' She buried her face in her oilskin hat and paced about in a circle, nibbling the brim.

  'No, you don't understand,' said Ben. 'It's the moonkelp! It's time!'

  Nelda released the chain and Hesper ceased her pacing. The cork lifebelt slid down to her ankles but she took no notice. 'Tonight—are you sure?'

  'Positive!'

  Hesper stared at her niece and let loose a terrific hoot of happiness. 'It's true after all!' she cheered. 'It's true, it's true—Oona was right!'

  Nelda looked at Ben. 'I knew you would be the one,' she said. 'I fear that when you stopped meeting us I thought—' She stopped, seeing the boy's troubled face. 'Why do you turn away?' she asked.

  'It's your father,' he said quietly. 'I've seen him.'

  'You have seen my father?' she cried joyously. 'Where? Was he well?'

  A vivid image of that night flashed into Ben's mind. He remembered the cruel lines that scored the aufwader's face and the glint of the knife that he had raised. He shivered and for the umpteenth time wondered how such a wicked creature could possibly be Nelda's father.

  When Ben looked back at Nelda he realised that she was waiting for an answer. He nodded, but before he could tell her any more the tramp of many feet filled the chamber. The tribe was approaching, running down the tunnels to the entrance.

  Hesper yanked up her lifebelt, ran to the row of boats and dragged one to the doorway. 'We have not the time to explain our actions,' she said. 'For three hours only does the moonkelp bloom—we must not miss it. Nelda, the gap is not wide enough for me to get the boat out.'

  Nelda ran to the other chain and heaved hard. The doors opened a little more and the craft was through.

  The sea had risen a great deal. Now it was not far below the doorway and Hesper studied the waves keenly. 'A calm tide,' she said. 'We shall be safe. Fetch me the oars, Nelda.'

  Ben watched as the funny little aufwader stepped aboard, took the oars from her niece and gave the signal.

  'Push!' she shouted.

  Ben and Nelda put all their weight behind the small boat. Lurching, it slid along the ledge and flew through the air, landing with a great 'smack' on the water. Expertly, Hesper steadied the tiny craft and brought it as close to the threshold as the current permitted. 'You next, boy,' she called. 'All you have to do is step down. Do not be alarmed, it's perfectly safe.'

  Ben was not sure—it didn't look safe at all. Taking a deep breath in case he fell into the water, he stepped out. With a bump, he found himself sprawled in the boat at Hesper's feet. He pulled himself up gingerly as the vessel tilted from side to side.

  Hesper laughed. 'There, that caused you no hurt, did it?' She looked up at Nelda. 'Now you, child.'

  But her niece was not looking at them. She had turned away and was staring into the chamber. Hesper frowned. What was she up to? At that moment the clamour of angry voices burst into the night and Hesper realised that the rest of the tribe had arrived.

  On the threshold Nelda faltered as the fisher folk poured in. There were thirty-five of them, the sole survivors of the aufwader race. They made no attempt to rush forward but shouted and screamed their contempt. She was caught. Trapped by the aufwader snare, she could neither speak nor run. Nelda had never seen them stirred to such anger before; the light in their eyes was terrifying.

  Abruptly the noise died down and the crowd parted, making a clear path down the centre. 'Esau approaches,' they whispered reverently.

  Through the assembled fisher folk moved a single figure: Esau, oldest of the ruling triad. His face was withered and the burden of eight centuries lay heavily upon his gnarled brow. Thick white whiskers trailed from his chin, knotted and threaded with stones and shells. Seaweed twined amid his bristling hair and hanging about his neck was a single pearl. Of all the elders he was the most respected. He seldom spoke—only in the direst emergencies, when judgements or important decisions were needed, had he been known to utter a word.

  Grimly, and with his twisted back bowed by age, he crept closer. Nelda watched dumbly as he halted just three paces in front of her. The atmosphere was tense. Everyone held their breath and waited for him to proclaim the judgement.

  Nelda knew that the elders had the power of life or death over wrongdoers. It was a power they rarely wielded, as such a severe punishment was reserved for only the most heinous crimes like murder or treason. An ice-cold dread stole over her—in the condemning eyes of Esau she had betrayed the tribe.

  In silence, the elder raised his wizened arm and pointed an accusing finger at her. 'Treachery!' came his cracked old voice. 'Thou art a traitor to thy kind.' His words rang harshly round the chamber and he waited for the echo to die down before turning his back on her. 'All bear witness to my judgement,' he cried. 'Henceforth the line of Tarr is banished from this place—let no one give them aid.'

  Everybody hissed and began to stamp on the ground. At that moment Nelda felt the snare release her, but instead of leaping into the boat below she rounded on Esau. 'Be silent, you old fool!' she shouted defiantly.

  Everyone gasped at this disgraceful behaviour—had she no respect? 'Insolence!' they roared.

  But she had not finished with him yet. She stood her ground and cried, 'For years we have hidden away from the world and bemoaned our lot. Our numbers have dwindled, and why? All you elders can do is huddle together, despising any who try to bring about change.' She threw back her head and proclaimed triumphantly, 'Tonight the moonkelp blooms, and when we find it the curse of the Deep Ones will be lifted for ever.'

  Esau stared at her incredulously. 'It cannot be so,' he muttered. 'It is but a legend. The moonkelp does not exist.'

  Nelda snapped her fingers at him. 'Yes it does. Long Whiskers,' she said.

  'Impudent whelp!' snapped the elder. For a moment he glared at her, then he relaxed and said with a shrewd smile, 'Very well, child. If thou do indeed bring back the treasure of the Deep Ones, I shall lift my judgement. But if thee return empty-handed, then expect the full measure of my wrath and abide by my decision.'

  Nelda agreed. 'So be it,' she said, and with that she leapt off the threshold.

  Hesper chuckled and rowed away from the cliff. 'Well done, Nelda,' she said. 'Imagine Old Parry's face when we succeed.' The two aufwaders looked back to the cliff entrance where the tribe was watching them leave and laughed. Then Hesper turned to Ben. 'Tell me,' she asked. 'Just where may we find the moonkelp?'

  Ben bit his lip; he had been dreading that question. 'I don't know,' he answered flatly. 'Out here somewhere, I suppose.'

  Jennet, Miss Boston and Sister Bridget ran down the alleys that led to the beach. Most of the summer visitors were snugly downing their final pints in the pubs, but those that were still wandering in the streets stared at the novice with goggling eyes. She was certainly a striking figure, with her dark-green hair streaming behind, stark against the dazzling whiteness of her habit.

  Jennet saw how the people were staring. The last thing they wanted was a crowd of spectators following them, so she smiled at every passer-by and said in a casual voice, 'Fancy dress,' That seemed to satisfy everybody and they reached the sands of Tate Hill Pier with no one in tow.

  It was q
uiet on the gloomy shore. Sheltered by the two piers, the waves which were driven on to the sand were small and gentle.

  'Will we require a boat for this?' asked Miss Boston, eyeing the dark water uncertainly.

  Sister Bridget said nothing but stared out beyond the harbour entrance towards the horizon. The old lady followed her gaze. Something was slowly moving over the water; it was a strange, hazy sight and she wished she had brought her binoculars with her.

  Jennet also looked, but although her vision was stronger than Aunt Alice's, it was not as sensitive. What she saw made her shake her head and look again. It appeared to be a small figure hovering over the surface of the sea. Jennet was taken aback, but when she turned her eyes upon it a second time she saw that the figure was actually sitting in a little boat.

  'It is an aufwader vessel,' said Sister Bridget unexpectedly. Her sight was the keenest of the three and quickly she identified those on board. 'I see two of their folk,' she murmured. 'One wears an oilskin hat, the other is younger, and beside her there is a human child.'

  'Is it Ben?' asked Jennet.

  The novice nodded. 'Yes,' she confirmed, 'it is your brother. They are searching for the moonkelp—they will never find it without my guidance.'

  'Then we must attract their attention,' said Miss Boston excitedly. 'Soon they will pass out of sight. Come along.' With her cloak flapping madly, she ran over the sand to the pier and clambered up the few stairs which led on to it. Along the flat stretch of stone she scurried, unwinding the scarf from her neck and waving it madly in the air. 'Hello!' she called to the boat in the distance. 'Hello, Benjamin!'

  Jennet caught up with the old lady just as she had reached the end of the pier.

  'Jump up and down. Jennet dear,' cried Aunt Alice desperately. 'They must see us.'