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

by Robin Jarvis

  Louder grew the braying shrieks, as the boy ran the final stretch to the Glastonbury Thorn.

  Situated just short of the summit, the solitary tree was a tortured-looking specimen that had been sculpted by the wind and was ringed about by hooped railings.

  The Thorn leaned rakishly to the left—its dense knot of tangled branches resembling a cloud of spikes and needles. As he stared at it, Neil wondered if Aidan's story had been only a joke. How could that puny tree possibly be any defence against the power of Woden's conjured monsters?

  The screeches were almost deafening now and he knew that the Valkyries were closing fast, yet the boy dared not turn round in case the fearful sight of them rooted him to the spot.

  ‘Almost there!’ Quoth called, his eye flicking from Neil to the evil rushing towards them. ‘Quickly, quickly!’

  Neil sprinted the remaining distance but just as he neared the Thorn, two circles of light flashed across the hillside. Hearing the noise of an engine overhead, the wild idea occurred to him that the air force had been called to contend with the winged enemies and he spun gladly round to catch a glimpse of the arriving helicopter, only to reel back in horror.

  The glare and noise were coming from Aidan's van and Neil spluttered in fright to see it swinging high above.

  ‘Master Neil!’ Quoth squealed. ‘The Thorn—reach for it.’

  But the boy could not tear his eyes from the horrendous spectacle and the draught of many wings beat down upon his upturned, stricken face.

  Ducking under the railing, the raven wailed when he saw that Neil had halted and came blustering back to tug at his shoe-laces.

  Three of the grotesque nightmares plummeted out of the sky, wings tucked behind them and talons outstretched, ready to snatch the boy from the ground and shower the soil with his blood. Transfixed, Neil could see their malignant eyes fixed upon him and demoniacal yells blared in his ears, but still his legs would not move and the Valkyries opened their murderous beaks to snap through his bones.

  At the boy's feet, Quoth did all he could to rouse him. Then as the great quilled spectres came ripping over the grass in a deadly, swooping dive, the raven pushed his head forward and bit Neil sharply on the ankle.

  Neil yowled, and at last his paralysed terror left him and he staggered towards the Thorn, only to slam into the railings which surrounded it.

  With an almighty scream, the raven women shot after him, their feathers battering and raking over his back, as their talons reached up to slit his flesh. Neil screwed up his face as the first claw slashed his blazer, but before it scythed into his skin, he thrust his arms between the rails, threw them around the tree's gnarled trunk and clung on for dear life.

  Upon the grass behind him, Quoth was flung backwards as a brilliant light suddenly burst over the hilltop and the despoiling, triumphant shrieks of the Valkyries were at once transformed into shrill screams of agony.

  Rolling down the sloping ground, Quoth came to a sprawling stop and, with his head tucked awkwardly under one leg, he gazed up at the wondrous sight in amazement.

  The knotted branches of the Thorn were erupting with fiery blossom. Every petal crackled and shone like the sun reflected upon rippling water, until the whole tree was bathed in one enveloping, fulminous flame which drenched the hillside with a holy, rose-coloured light.

  Beneath the blazing boughs, Neil felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and rise. But despite the intensity of the flaring, lambent fires, he felt no heat and staring upwards, saw that the branches were neither burned or scorched.

  Above the radiant Thorn, whirling in dismay and alarm, the three Valkyries brayed their angry frustration. The fabulous light pained their unclean eyes and if they strayed too close to the flame their primary feathers smoked. They squawked in outrage at this unlooked-for threat to their ferocious and brutal authority.

  High over the hill, the other creatures clamoured to see their sisters so confounded, but Thought flew amongst them to assuage their rising panic.

  'Fear not!’ he crowed. ‘Such gimcrack chicanery poseth no obstacle.’

  Glaring down at the shining Thorn, the sour-faced raven suddenly spotted a black dot tottering over the grass. He recognised it at once.

  ‘The time of judgement is nigh!’ he hissed, thundering down.

  *

  ‘Cleave to the tree, Master Neil!’ Quoth hollered, bowling forward—overjoyed to see the Valkyries held at bay. ‘Thou canst come to no harm in its blessed shelter.’

  Scuttling forward to join the boy in the Thorn's protection, the bird stopped abruptly and whisked wildly around.

  ‘Brother mine!’ called a terse, strident voice. ‘Where goest thou?’

  In a flurry of feathers, Thought landed lightly upon the grass and Quoth's one eye goggled at him as a turmoil of emotions flooded through every fibre of his being.

  Woden's lieutenant eyed him shrewdly. It was plain that the power which had restored his brother to life had been lacking and the regeneration was not complete. If he could only reach those damaged areas of his brain, if he could only deliver him back into the service of the Gallows God.

  ‘Memory!’ Thought cawed in an insidious, truckling voice. ‘I did think ne'er to look upon thy visage again. It pleaseth me greatly to find thee now.’

  Quoth's beak fell open as his brother's wheedling words stirred the vague images of his past, and he recalled the terrible craving for war and carnage which his former self had revelled in.

  ‘No greater love exists than that of brother for brother,’ Thought asserted, putting forth his power. ‘Divided we are naught, yet together none may assail us. Join me, Memory, be what thou wert. A most excellent crusade awaits our commanding and great renown shalt be ours.’

  Swaying unsteadily, Quoth floundered in the resurging memories and those images which had been mere transient glimpses now reared almost tangibly around him.

  In the last hour of his former existence, the forces of Woden were charging over the plain towards the enchanted wood, where the three usurping females had made their abode—dispensing their destinies and setting at nothing the might of his Lord.

  The sound of battle raged all about, as those faithful to the royal house of Askar clashed with the legions of their erstwhile Captain, and the turbulent noises of death were like glad music to the dumbfounded raven. Flying low over the enemy's green banners and weaving in and out of their upraised spears, the twelve terrible servants came storming after, and the Valkyries strung their hideous, gore-dripping loom with the entrails of their butchered victims.

  It was a magnificent, victorious day. Whilst his Master's army was trampling over the bodies of its foes, Memory shot clear of the fray to go speeding towards the wood, laughing raucously at the top of his brash, haughty voice—singing the praises of the Gallows God and deriding the hated Nornir.

  Trumpets and drums proclaimed this the finest moment of his life as he rushed recklessly through the outlying trees, to be the first to mock the three sisters and herald the end of their dominion over fate and fortune. Yet even as the jubilant, conceited song of victory sprang from his gullet, the mist rose about him and into darkness and oblivion he tumbled.

  Quoth teetered upon his scrawny legs, the shock of his unleashed, pernicious personality jolting through him and Thought snickered to himself to see it.

  ‘Let us be as we were in the early time,’ Woden's raven invited. ‘Join me, brother, and we shalt feast on victory ever after.’

  Clinging to the Holy Thorn, Neil Chapman watched anxiously as his tattered companion wavered and the boy recalled Miss Ursula's warning concerning the treachery of the bird should its memory ever be restored.

  ‘Quoth!’ he shouted. ‘Don't listen to him!’

  Steeped in the splendour of the tree's flames, the one-eyed raven glanced back at the boy. Then, returning his hooded gaze to his brother, in a defiant, sublime voice, announced, “Tis better to nibble a morsel of sweet pudding than gorge upon the stale and wormy pie.
Hatchlings we may have been—yet no more. The bond betwixt us is sundered, Memory didst perish in the mists long ages since. Now I doth dance to a different tune, for I am Quoth and zooks-hurrah for that!’

  Neil could have hugged him, but Thought's face contorted with rage and his eyes burned with rancour and bitterness. Squawking in fury, he leapt into the air and let loose a piercing shriek to the Valkyries high above them.

  ‘Behold then the dire consequence of this thy imbecile choice!’ he ranted. ‘Look on what thou hast done.’

  Neil and Quoth glanced upwards, to where Raging and Screamer wheeled in circles above the hill. Suspended from their talons Aidan's van swung precariously, but hearing their leader's signalling cry, the monstrous creatures responded with a foul, jubilant screech and slackened their grip.

  To the boy's horror he saw the vehicle fall from their grasp and come toppling out of the sky.

  ‘No!’ he yelled. ‘Aidan!’

  Chapter 26 - Dejected and Downcast

  Quoth trembled and hurriedly buried his face in his feathers as the van tumbled down, somersaulting in the darkness—the headlamps Spinning a demented whirl of light as they rocketed towards the hilltop.

  With a horrific, splintering crunch of metal, the vehicle thundered into the ground, smashing on to the hill a sickeningly short distance away from the Holy Thorn.

  ‘AIDAN!’ the boy bawled.

  Impacted upon its side, the shattered wreckage rocked momentarily, before tipping over and crashing on to its roof. With a grating clank of buckled metal, the driver's door popped from its hinges to go slithering down the hillside and, like a rag doll, the gypsy's broken body was thrown out on to the grass.

  Neil stared at him in despair. The man was covered in blood and he was so badly crushed and smashed that the boy wrenched his eyes away to press his face against the weathered trunk. But he could not escape the revulsion which boiled and tore inside him, and he cursed Woden's raven with all his might.

  ‘Damn you!’ he bawled. ‘You murdered him!’

  Thought gave a chilling chortle as he flew around the tree. ‘A fitting punishment,’ he cried, ‘and one which thou shalt surely share. Didst thou truly think this burning briar couldst hinder my Master? Nay, ‘tis a sanctuary no longer. Easily canst thou be torn from thy petty shield.’

  ‘You just try it!’ Neil dared. ‘I'd love to see you burst into flames!’

  But the raven mocked him and gave a loud chittering cry.

  At once Biter descended, with the Reverend Galloway dangling in its clutches, and seeing the man who had danced at his school assembly come swooping out of the night, Neil thought he had finally gone mad.

  *

  Peter had witnessed everything. When the Thorn had erupted with divine flame his heart had leapt, taking it for a sign that all would be well. But when he realised that it was repelling the winged atrocities he had taken for angels, he was once again consumed with anguish, which turned into abject despair when the van was sent hurtling down. In his distress he prayed for the man who had been inside.

  The ground raced up to meet his trailing feet and when Biter released his aching arms, the vicar was thrown roughly on to the grass.

  Staggering, he stared woefully at the wreckage where the gypsy's motionless body lay and stumbled away from it.

  ‘What have you done?’ he wailed when Thought came fluttering towards him. ‘This is evil! You've lied to me—from start to finish!’

  ‘Silence!’ the raven scolded. ‘Yonder rogue didst betray our Lord. His seditious crimes wouldst have prevented His return.’

  Peter shook his head. ‘That's no reason to kill,’ he sobbed. ‘I want no part of this!’

  ‘Faint-hearted worm!’ Thought shrieked. ‘From thy path there is no returning. My Lord hath need of thee yet awhiles.’

  ‘I can do no more than I have,’ the vicar refused. ‘I only wish I had not done that much.’

  The raven flew before his face, his voice ringing with compelling command. ‘Obey me!’ he demanded. ‘Obey the Master! Dost thou wish for countless others to perish?’

  ‘You know I don't.’

  ‘Then undertake this simplest of tasks.’

  Peter nodded wearily. ‘What must I do?’ he asked.

  Thought swept back to the Thorn. ‘Remove this whelp!’ he ordered. ‘Tear him free!’

  ‘Don't do it!’ Neil shouted. ‘Don't help them.’

  The Reverend Galloway turned back to the raven. ‘He's just a child!’ he protested. ‘Suffer the little children!’

  ‘Shrink from this one act and thou art denying thy faith,’ Thought screamed back at him. ‘Thus far, through trial and ordeal thou hast come and He is best pleased in thee—do not balk at this, the bitter end. Shall it be said of thee that thou wast found wanting at the last?’

  Peter pressed his fingers to his temple, he didn't understand anything any more. He was tired and shaken, and the raven's raucous urging was subverting his own force of will.

  ‘Very well,’ he found himself saying.

  ‘You keep away from me!’ Neil warned when the vicar approached.

  ‘I'm not going to hurt you,’ Peter promised. ‘Why don't you just let go?’

  ‘You're crazy listening to that lying bundle of filth!’ the boy cried. ‘He'll kill us all!’

  ‘Master Neil doth speak the truth!’ Quoth pleaded. ‘Avaunt and leave him be—thou art deceived and duped!’

  But the vicar strode up to the hooped rails and put his hands through them to take hold of the boy's arms, then started to prise them from the tree.

  Furious, Neil lashed out and kicked him. The man grimaced under the raining blows but eventually he dragged him away. At once the Holy Thorn flickered; the fiercely blazing blossom withered and darkness returned to Weary all Hill.

  ‘Beware!’ Quoth yelped as the horrendous black shapes of the Valkyries came swooping down.

  There was nothing Neil could do to save himself. A searing pain pinched his shoulders as Hlökk's vicious talons grabbed him, and the boy was torn from the hillside and carried aloft into the night.

  ‘Master Neil!’ the one-eyed raven whined.

  The Reverend Galloway watched Neil's wildly wriggling figure soar heavenwards and he turned an ashen face to Thought.

  ‘What'll it do with him?’ he asked.

  Woden's lieutenant sniggered wickedly and cocked his head over to the van's wreckage. ‘The cur shalt pay for the trouble he hath caused, as do all who rise against our Lord,’ he muttered hollowly.

  ‘You'd kill even a child? How can this be the will of God?’

  Thought smirked at him. ‘Thee and thy conscience shalt not wrestle for much longer—the time is almost upon us. But first, one more score remaineth to settle.’

  Spreading his wings he glided down to where Quoth hopped dejectedly upon the grass, whimpering Neil's name and staring disconsolately up at the sky.

  ‘Fawning mouthpiece of the despised Nornir!’ Thought spat. ‘Thou hast been spared till the last. If Memory, mine brother be truly dead, so too art thee, quisling!’

  Sprinting forward, he rammed his flat head into Quoth's chest and the startled bird blundered helplessly on to his back.

  ‘Die then!’ the malevolent raven cried, lunging down to claw three bloody rents across the side of Quoth's face, who squealed in pain as he struggled to right himself.

  Lashing out with his feet, Neil's companion kicked his opponent under the beak and Thought was thrown off balance.

  Seizing his chance, Quoth sprang up—but Woden's lieutenant was strong and his wings were powerful. Snapping and biting, he charged at the bald bird, plucking a cloud of mangy feathers from Quoth's scraggy neck as they grappled and vied with each other, scuffling and rolling over the grass.

  Yet Thought had the mastery and soon Quoth was pinned down with a fierce claw squeezed about his throat. Woden's raven sneered his contempt as he casually scored his talons through his brother's flesh.

  ‘Thy trifl
ing attempt to foil my Lord's design hath failed,’ he crowed. ‘The palsied hags shalt be destroyed and the Gallows God wilt take his rightful place as the Master of Destiny.’

  Bruised and bleeding, Quoth bleated forlornly, unable to struggle any longer.

  ‘The breath from thine body shalt I wring,’ Thought said sadistically. ‘Against the stones thy skull wilt be dashed and thy carcass become a haunt of wasps and maggots.’

  His beak gaping open as he gasped and choked, Quoth felt the life ebb away from him and his flailing wings flopped limply at his side.

  Throwing back his ugly head, Thought gave an odious, gloating chuckle and prepared to snap his brother's spine.

  Suddenly, a feverish yammering resounded above the hilltop and the raven glared upwards as the Valkyries began shrieking more excitably than ever.

  “Tis time!’ he cried. ‘The Twelve hath seen it!’

  Giving Quoth's inert, battered body a scornful kick, Thought flew to Peter's shoulder and shouted in his ear.

  ‘Hark! We must fly—the final moment is come!’

  ‘Do I have to go with you?’ the vicar complained.

  The raven pointed up into the night where the Valkyries were circling and cackled darkly. ‘Behold the boy thou didst pluck from the Thorn,’ he said. ‘Perform this last act and I swear unto ye his life shalt be spared.’

  ‘You promise?’

  Thought's eyes glittered at him. ‘Assuredly, I do. Yet think on the marvels which lie ahead. The golden prize hath been found.’

  And so, for the last time, Peter agreed and lifted his arms in the air. Once again they were seized by Biter and he was swept up into the darkness above.

  Alone upon the hilltop, Thought gazed at the destruction around him and his black, merciless heart was gratified. Then, anxious to oversee the last stage of his Master's intricate plan, he stretched his wings and rose into the sky.

  Across the tormented heavens the ghastly host raged, away from Wearyall Hill, following the course of the road which led to Chalice Hill, and their horrendous voices dwindled in the distance.