Tales From The Wyrd Museum 2: The Raven's Knot

by Robin Jarvis

  The undine raised his massive head from the pool but this time his face was clouded with anger.

  ‘What say you?’ he thundered.

  Edie placed her hands upon her hips. ‘You're the last one,’ she said obstinately. ‘When you leave ‘ere you'll be on your lonesome all over again, with only the likes of sardines and kippers to talk to.’

  The cavern trembled as the water spirit snarled and the pool churned as his wrath mounted. A dark shadow fell upon Edie Dorkins but the child simply laughed and snapped her fingers rudely.

  ‘Blast and blow all you want,’ she told him with an unimpressed sniff and a curt toss of the head. 'I don't care no more. All I wanted was to be friends. If you'd have come back to the museum with us you could have stayed in the well there, and I could've chatted to you every day and kept you company. Would'a been good I reckon, you wouldn't be lonely no more and the well'd be full again. But you go off, go swim on your tod, leave us stranded ‘ere where we found you.’

  The very air quivered as her insulting talk angered the ogre of the deep. Then, without warning and as Miss Veronica buried her face in her hands, the wide mouth opened and the creature chuckled softly.

  It was a beautiful, melodic sound, like the gushing of water over pebbles and Edie grinned to hear it.

  ‘I see you are a keeper of a different kind of sacred spring,’ he said. ‘The spirits of the waters are wise beyond your understanding, yet in you I see the hope of the world.’

  ‘Then you'll come live in our well?’ she pressed.

  The undine threw back his head and laughed more loudly this time and the joyful noise rebounded throughout the vast cavern.

  ‘Persistence should be your name,’ he told her. ‘But I will not trade one cramped gaol for another. The wide waters are calling and I must travel them.’

  ‘Oh, what a pity,’ Miss Veronica said. ‘It would have been quite like the old days. I know Celandine would be thrilled and even Ursula would have to admit she was pleased. She couldn't be angry with me for running away then, could she? It would be as if nothing had ever changed.’

  The undine held them both in his keen, considering gaze. ‘Perhaps the time has indeed come for change,’ he said with unexpected sharpness, as his mood swung yet again. ‘Why should the well beneath the final root be replenished? The time of the Nornir is gone. Their ancient strength should not be restored to them.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ the old woman cried.

  ‘To all things there is an end,’ came the sinister reply. ‘Is that time not come for the attendants of Nirinel? Let the final root die.’

  ‘But if that happens...’ Miss Veronica began to protest.

  Again the creature laughed, but this time the sound was unpleasant and scornful.

  ‘What care I?’ he rumbled. ‘If I am the last of my race, then let the brethren who imprisoned me rule over a new darkness. Why prolong it further? The final, eternal night will come.’

  With that his immense head submerged beneath the surface of the pool and his voice was lost in the bubbling waters.

  ‘Get back ‘ere!’ Edie bawled, leaning over the edge and shaking her fist. ‘I hope you get torpedoed and end up fried and battered with a penny worth o’ chips in last week's paper!’

  Down into the dismal dark the undine descended, his vast bulk melting into the fathomless depths. But Edie continued to shout and rage until she saw two points of light flash and glimmer at her from far below and knew that the creature was laughing at her.

  Disgusted, she spun around and brandished the golden circlet with a ferocious determination upon her young face.

  ‘Time we got out of ‘ere,’ she cried, stomping over to the draped ice formation and ducking beneath it. ‘Got to be some way out—let's find it and take this up to your Captain.’

  Miss Veronica agreed, but glancing worriedly back at the pool, she let out a frightened wail and the child whirled around.

  ‘Edith,’ the old woman yowled. ‘Look!’

  Hurrying back to her side, Edie saw that the water within the black, boundering boulders was bubbling and beginning to spill over the stones.

  Over the frozen ground it flowed, flooding past their feet and seeping out into the cavern to swash against the furthest walls and fill the night-black crannies.

  Like a spouting fountain the pool continued to swell, gushing its contents over the cavern floor, and the level quickly began to rise.

  Miss Veronica gripped her cane in despair. ‘We shall never leave this place,’ she whimpered. ‘The undine's heart must have been hardened by the cold. He is no better than his brothers, the Frost Giants.’

  The water was up to Edie's ankles now and she began to paddle back towards the centre of the cavern where the silver cruets were still blazing brightly.

  ‘Sooner we get out the better then,’ she said. ‘Don't worry, Veronica, s'only a bit of water, nothin’ to be scared of. If we can fall all the way from up there with only some cuts an’ bruises we'll be all right.’

  The old woman swallowed fearfully as she stared down at the rising flood. ‘You don't understand,’ she muttered. ‘The power of the undine is behind this deluge. It is his will which flows about us.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘He and his kind are mightier than the Nornir,’ she despaired. ‘Edith, can you not see? Do you not understand why they were our most bitter enemies? They and their works are capable of destroying us.’

  The water was up to the girl's knees now and she gazed at Miss Veronica anxiously.

  ‘So that's why he was laughing,’ she murmured. ‘What happens if we can't find a way out?’

  ‘Then we're certain to drown,’ the old woman said. ‘Oh, Edith! There is no way out—there isn't!’

  ‘Has to be!’ Edie yelled, wading through the fast flowing water. ‘We have to find it—we must!’

  With growing panic, she floundered through the galleries of ice towards the cavern wall. But the glittering halls and corridors had become sluicing rivers, smashing through the fragile frozen screens in their path. Strong currents eddied and whirled around the high colonnades, which dragged at the child's small frame as she pushed and trawled her way past.

  Suddenly, the steady brilliance of the silver cruets was thrown into turmoil as the waters lifted them from the ground, and the hallowed vessels were borne upon the tenacious tide, bobbing their way through the vast chamber, their blazing light shooting wildly around.

  Shadows dipped and swamped as the magical lanterns rode the rising, churning waves, their splendour spinning giddily over the shimmering surfaces of rock and ice.

  With the erratic glare flashing upon her distressed face, Miss Veronica laboured through the foaming channels after Edie and called to her desperately.

  ‘It's no use, Edith!’ she wept. ‘We'll never make it!’

  Yet the child's anger would not let her rest, and when she reached the enclosing wall she frantically searched for a hand-hold or cleft, anything that might lead to a way out. With bitter determination she battled on, her arm thrust through the spiral hoop of the bracelet—exploring the stone by its pale radiance.

  The water continued to swell and rise. By the time it had surged up to the girl's neck, she had still not found any means of escape and as the dragging, towing currents grew ever stronger, she finally abandoned all hope.

  Sobbing, Miss Veronica blundered toward her. The water had reached the girl's chin and Edie had to stand on tip-toe to breathe.

  With tears streaming down the old woman's face, she threw her arms about her and tried to lift Edie above the raging torrent. The child spluttered and clung on to her, jumping up and down to gulp the cold air, but Miss Veronica's limbs were too frail and weak to even pick her off the floor and she snivelled desolately.

  ‘Forgive me, Edith,’ she wept. ‘It was my vanity that brought you to this. Oh, I'm so sorry.’

  Edie shivered, thrashing madly with her arms as she tried to float above the surging waves. But it was no
use, the undertow was too great and despite her frenzied splashes it hauled her down.

  The girl's ears filled with freezing water as it closed above her head and she choked as it flooded her mouth and nose.

  With the silver cruets reeling a deranged wheel of light across the cavern, Miss Veronica did all she could to drag the child back to the surface. Summoning all her puny strength, she tugged on Edie's sleeves and the girl came up gasping and retching.

  But the old woman could do no more. The fierce currents snatched the child from her grasp and with a howling, terrified scream, Edie Dorkins was dragged down into the dark, seething waters.

  ‘No!’ Miss Veronica shrieked. ‘No!’

  And then she too, was lost.

  Chapter 25 - Battle of the Thorn

  Wretched and afraid, Neil Chapman scrambled over the stubbly grass of Wearyall Hill, his feet slipping upon the unseen mud. The great bare mound which faced the Tor across the valley was shrouded in darkness, and rose like the back of an enormous whale from the surrounding sea of street lamps which glimmered in the remote, encircling distance.

  Only able to see the rearing outline of the hill, Neil lumbered blindly upward, slithering on to his hands and knees when the ground abruptly rose even more steeply.

  Before him, bounding and scampering, with his one eye ogling the way ahead, Quoth urged him on, squealing the directions.

  ‘Keep true to this path!’ the raven instructed. ‘We art upon a slender ridge. If thou dost stray but a little ye shalt tumble down.’

  ‘Any sign of the Thorn yet?’ the boy cried. ‘There doesn't seem to be anything growing up here!’

  Quoth spied into the darkness in front. ‘Not far!’ he warbled. ‘Not far!’

  Neil picked himself up but, before he could resume the stumbling climb, a faint yammering sound floated to him upon the night breeze. Turning, he looked across the twinkling valley below, to where the Tor blotted out the horizon like a huge black cloud.

  Quoth's goading encouragement choked in the raven's throat as he too heard the chilling noise and, although he could not see them yet, he knew that the Valkyries were racketing through the sky.

  ‘Hlökk hath fetched her sisters,’ he muttered dismally.

  Neil strained his eyes and thought he could see specks blacker than the enveloping night veer over the Tor and Chalice Hill, and swing out across the levels towards Wells.

  ‘They're chasing Aidan,’ he breathed.

  Quoth sniffed and hung his bald head. ‘Though the darkness rideth o'er him, his goodly name shalt keep its lustre everlasting.’

  In silence they waited, wondering what was happening beyond the screening hills.

  *

  Leaving Glastonbury behind, Aidan had headed for Wells in order to lead anything that followed him as far away from Neil as possible.

  Speeding along the deserted country road, the cold air rushed in through the van's clawed roof, battering against the gypsy's grim face and tugging at his long dark hair.

  The fleeting blur of trees and hedges raced by as the vehicle roared down the winding way, but Aidan's thoughts were elsewhere. Ruefully he remembered how he had told Miss Ursula Webster not to worry, that he would bring Veronica and Edie back to her. Yet ever since he had arrived in Glastonbury everything had gone wrong. What if the raven women had already captured Verdandi and the girl? What hope could there be for them now?

  ‘Please, let there still be a chance,’ he muttered under his breath.

  As if in answer, he suddenly heard the rising clamour of repulsive, skirling voices and Aidan's face contorted with anguish and desolation.

  ‘So soon,’ he whispered. ‘I thought there'd be a little more time...’

  Pressing his foot down, the van careered recklessly over the road, the beams of the headlamps streaking into two flaming smudges of light. The air which poured into the jagged rents was whipped into a pummelling gale that sang in his ears. Yet it could not drown out the tremendous baying and screeching which echoed about the sky and Aidan knew that the end would not be long in coming.

  Down the twisting lanes the vehicle shot, skidding around the sharp bends, the brambles scraping against its sides in its mad, bouncing dash. But soon the air above was thickly alive with a frenzied thrashing of feathers. Over the meandering lane the host of the Valkyries soared—their abhorrent faces glaring at the small blue van bolting below them.

  At the forefront of the hellish horde, with oaths of death and bloodshed screaming from its cruel beak, Hlökk began spiralling down, plunging through the air—leading the others in the attack.

  Glancing up through the torn roof, Aidan saw the Valkyries descending and, before he knew it, the van was swamped by a mass of flailing black plumes and clattering feathers.

  Desperately, Aidan battled to keep the vehicle on the road as savage claws buffeted and hammered into it. Down ripped the ravaging beaks, shredding what remained of the roof like tattered fragments of paper. Then, up on to the grassy banks and back again the nightmares hurled the battered, beleaguered van and their harrowing, horripilant screams of derision rose to a malevolent crescendo.

  At the height of the screaming, four curved talons ruptured the side windows, hooking around the frame, and two pairs of mighty wings began to lash the air.

  Trapped in the driver's seat, Aidan felt the van judder and lurch, and the rear wheels whined in complaint as they were lifted off the tarmac.

  Up from the road Raging and Screamer hoisted the vehicle, hauling it above the hedgerows, then higher than the trees.

  As the van swung perilously from side to side, Aidan let go of the steering wheel and threw himself back against the seat. There was nothing he could do now, all further struggle was futile.

  Staring up through the torn ceiling, he saw the loathsome forms of the two Valkyries eagerly flap their filthy wings, but beyond their odious shapes he glimpsed the gangly figure of a terrified man dangling from the claws of another.

  His arms aching and his face numb with cold and shock, the Reverend Galloway could hardly believe what was happening. At the top of his voice he called to Thought to put a stop to this ghastly ordeal, but the raven ignored him and the vicar was left hanging like a limp rabbit in an eagle's claws.

  Unable to reconcile the lies he had been told about the glorious future with the tenets of his faith, he now doubted everything that the raven had said.

  Twisting his head around, he gazed upon the suspended van, dazzled momentarily by the blazing headlamps, their beams slicing through the night as the vehicle tipped and rocked, then looked at the driver within. For the briefest instant the men exchanged glances, each sharing their fears, each pitying the other.

  Aidan narrowed his eyes, but he was not permitted to wonder about the identity of the unfortunate soul or why the Valkyries had captured him, for at that moment there was a flutter of smaller feathers. Diving between the creatures above, a sleek raven with sharp, cunning eyes perched upon the edge of the roof and leered feverishly inside.

  ‘What trickery is this?’ Thought cried when he discovered that the van contained only Aidan. ‘Where is my brother? Where is Memory?’’

  A look of defiant recognition crossed Aidan's face. ‘You must be Thought,’ he shouted above the rushing wind. 'I wondered if we'd meet.’

  The raven spat at him, ‘Bandy no words with me, thou progeny of peasants. By the slenderest thread dost thy scamaundering life hang, naught would give my Master's servants greater glee than to let thee fall.’

  The gypsy laughed bleakly. ‘You were pickled in the museum too long,’ he tutted with a fearless shake of the head. ‘Otherwise you'd know that threats never work on someone you're going to kill anyway. I'd say it was time to give up your stripes and take the pension, old lad—you're not the bird I've heard you were.’

  ‘Thine ill-mannered tongue shalt be ripped from the root!’ Thought hissed in outrage.

  ‘What is the stipend for the likes of you?’ Aidan jeered. ‘Three worms a
day is it? Or do you get millet and a cuttlefish thrown in as well? If you're really lucky you might get a dinky little mirror to keep you company.’

  Incensed, the raven threw back his head to bark out the order for the Valkyries to send their burden hurtling to the ground. But at the last instant he wavered and his beady eyes darted back to gloat over the audacious gypsy, in the callous hope of seeing him squirm.

  Yet Aidan was no longer looking up at him—the man was staring out of the shattered passenger window. Thought followed his glance to see the lights of Glastonbury sparkling in the distance and the dark mound of Wearyall Hill rising just beyond.

  ‘Ho!’ he squawked, puffing out his chest. Thine own eyes betray thee.’

  Aidan turned away quickly, but the raven could see the anxiety he was so desperately striving to conceal.

  ‘What of thy arrogance now?’ the bird cackled. ‘Art thou so sapped of thine taunts to be so silent?’

  Furious with himself, Aidan growled and without warning leapt up in his seat to grab the insidious, malicious raven and wring his neck.

  But Thought was too quick. With one sweep of his wings he was out of the gypsy's reach and his mocking laughter floated down to him.

  ‘Now thou shalt drink at the bitter cup of thine own providing!’ the bird's harsh voice scorned. ‘Raging, Screamer, bear thy charge a little further—we return to Ynnis Witrin!’

  The atrocities above shrieked their obedience and the van whirled about as the horde of raven women flew back towards Glastonbury.

  Gazing out of the windscreen, Aidan saw the small shape of Wearyall Hill grow ever larger as they stormed through the heavens and hoped that Neil had managed to reach the Thorn in time.

  *

  ‘Danger approacheth,’ Quoth whimpered, starting to back away up the slope. ‘The Valkyries are returning. To the Thorn, Master Neil whilst there still be time!’

  Holding his wings out wide, the bird scuttled up the hill in panic, and with the screeching growing steadily louder in the distance, Neil Chapman tore after.