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

by Robin Jarvis

  Edie knelt by Peter's battered figure, but she was too late—he was already dead.

  Wheeling overhead, Hlökk viewed the scene below and a hideous, profane plan formed in the monster's corrupt mind.

  Flying in pursuit of his master, Quoth urged the boy to hurry.

  ‘Haste! Haste!’ the raven gaggled. ‘Nine terrors yet remain!’

  Glimmering in the darkness, the spear's upturned blade pulsed and shone, and Neil dashed down the path to fetch it. But, before he had run three steps, there came an urgent clattering of huge primary feathers and the misshapen form of Hlökk swooped through the trees.

  With its malignant travesty of a face contorted into a vision of despair, the terrifying servant of Woden dived towards the hapless boy, shrieking and bellowing, and Quoth was cast aside as it thundered down.

  Racing towards the pale, shimmering light, Neil could feel the creature's hot, putrid breath blast upon his neck and suddenly Shrieker's massive wings were beating and thrashing all around him.

  With a barbarous snarl, the Valkyrie jerked its repulsive head to one side, then brought it swinging around and its powerful beak smashed against Neil's skull.

  There was a horrible crack and, with a cry, the boy collapsed senseless on to the path.

  ‘Master Neil!’ Quoth yelped from the hedge where he had crash landed. ‘Avaunt from him, thou base scavenger of carrion! I shalt put out thine great gogglers if thee touch him!’

  Hlökk’s ghastly face regarded the insignificant bird for a moment then a chilling, rasping cackle rattled in the spectre's throat.

  ‘’Your brother iss dead? it croaked, ‘’but we sstill sserve the Gallowss God. He made uss, he called uss, we will obey him?

  Quoth quickly clambered from the brambles to carry out his threat as best he could, but with a tremendous sweep of its wings, Hlökk left Neil unmolested and returned to its sisters.

  Frantically the raven bounded over the path. ‘Master Neil!’ he cried. ‘Shrieker is gone. Quick, awaken! The peril is not yet over. Methinks a new evil is afoot.’

  But to Quoth's dismay, the boy did not move. The raven glanced fearfully back to the gateway where two of the Valkyries were taunting Tommy, driving him further along the hillside—away from the stile where Miss Veronica stood alone and anxious.

  Edie Dorkins looked up from the Reverend Galloway to see Hlökk circle overhead, croaking its instructions and, to her astonishment, the other raven women reared up in answer and came lumbering towards her.

  The girl narrowed her eyes and rose to stand her ground. She could see that the creatures were afraid of her, but still they came and a twinge of doubt surfaced in the child's thoughts.

  Thrashing their enormous wings, the Valkyries stalked forward. Edie raised her arms in challenge and took a prowling step nearer.

  The braying din from the horrors’ beaks grew louder but this time they refused to be cowed and Edie glanced back at Miss Veronica nervously.

  ‘Here, child!’ the old woman called. ‘Hurry!’

  Edie fled back to her and the feathered nightmares charged after.

  *

  In the pathway, Quoth saw all of this and perceived that Hlökk was executing some loathsome, dark design. Torn with anguish, the raven wanted to stay at his master's side to watch over him, but he was also greatly distressed to see the others so beset with evil and he understood that the spearhead was their only way of fighting those horrendous apparitions.

  Scuttling down the track he approached the glimmering blade and fluttered around it, attempting to pluck it from the thick mud it had fallen into. Yet the weapon was too large and unwieldy for the bird to lift. It had embedded itself firmly in the soft ground so that the blade pointed upwards and the sharp edges cut his feet when he tried to clasp them around it.

  ‘It budgeth not!’ Quoth wailed. ‘What am I to do? All is woe—alas, alack!’

  Glancing from his master, over to where the Valkyries were assailing Edie and Miss Veronica, the raven flapped his wings to go and help them, but suddenly he heard Tommy's dismal cries and didn't know who to fly to first.

  Distraught by indecision and panic, the raven finally chose the girl and the old woman, for Woden's servants were concentrating their ghastly energies upon them and Miss Veronica was crying out in fright.

  Soaring over the path, Quoth rushed to join them and do whatever small service he could, but before he reached the gateway, Aidan's dying words came to him once more.

  “Tis madness!’ the raven spluttered, as at last he realised what the gypsy had been trying to say. ‘Loon ravings, no more! And yet—what other hope have I?’

  Darting through the trees, he flew over the open ground of the lower slopes, leaving Edie and Miss Veronica to confront the infernal foes on their own.

  He veered across to where the tramp was beset by Biter and Screamer—the walking cane still flailing in his hands.

  Up to that point the raven women had been toying with the old man, afflicting and tormenting him—relishing the terror ingrained upon his florid, craggy face. But the sadistic sport was over now—Hlökk needed them elsewhere and they set about the tramp in deadly earnest.

  Feverishly, Tommy thrashed the stick at them, shouting for all he was worth, desperately calling upon aid which never came.

  Suddenly, Quoth came sweeping through into the frenetic fray and landed upon the tramp's shoulder. Tommy was so frightened by the horror of Biter and Screamer as they clawed and pecked at him, that he didn't even notice.

  ‘Old one!’ Quoth was forced to squawk in his ear. ‘Harken to me!’

  Tommy jumped, startled by the bird's unexpected voice and turned his head, distracted.

  Immediately Biter pounced, snatching the infuriating cane from the old man's hand and hurling it across the hillside. Screamer's talons flashed out and tore through Tommy's forearm, shredding the sleeve of his coat and gouging a savage wound in his skin.

  The tramp wept with the agony and stumbled back as they attacked him, but upon his shoulder, Quoth steadfastly remained and yelled at him.

  ‘Save thyself!’ the raven cried. ‘Save us all! Thou hast the power!’

  Sobbing in terror, Tommy waved his hands before his face and staggered under the Valkyrie's horrendous battering.

  ‘With his dying gasp Aidan named thee!’ Quoth continued, ducking and dodging the slashing claws which reached for the tramp's throat. ‘Think! Why wouldst he do such? Why couldst thou remove the crow doll when no other could? What is thy hidden secret? Why hast thou forgotten?’

  Tommy blundered on, his face cut by the vicious quills which churned about him.

  ‘Tommy doesn't know!’ he wailed. ‘Save him, someone—Gabriel, Uriel. Send him angels! Oh, dear God, hear him!’

  Clinging to him grimly, Quoth's one eye grew wide with excitement and he hooted with joy.

  ‘Zooks-hurrah!’ he shrieked. ‘I have it! Thy tale of war, of the battle where thou didst see the shining ones-’tis all true! Canst thou not see, canst thou not recall?’

  ‘No!’ the tramp screamed as Biter tore three jagged rents along his back and he fled up the hill in the vain hope of reaching the tower.

  ‘Tommy's angels!’ he howled. ‘He must have them!’

  Screeching bloodily, the Valkyries snapped at his hands and plunged down to bite his legs and the tramp could run no further.

  ‘Thou wast not a foot soldier!’ Quoth cried, scrabbling to remain by his ear as the tramp was overwhelmed by the destroying raven women. ‘Thou art no mortal. Thou art thyself a shining one—stranded in human flesh! Tommy—thou art the angel! Dost thou not see?’

  His face streaming with blood, the tramp stared at the raven dumbfounded, but it was too late. Screamer and Biter slammed into him and Tommy fell to the ground; squealing, Quoth was dragged with him.

  Buried beneath the baying, trampling Valkyries as they pecked and feasted upon his flesh, Tommy's shrieks were quickly lost and Quoth was swamped in the unholy pair's foul shadow. />
  Away from the terrible scene of slaughter, Edie Dorkins and Miss Veronica flinched from the gathered monstrosities which screeched and squalled before them, and edged through the stile.

  ‘What's happenin’?’ Edie cried, as a frenzied blur of sharp quills whisked the air before her.

  ‘They're driving us back,’ Miss Veronica answered. ‘Herding us down the Tor like sheep.’

  ‘But why?’

  The old woman shook her head. The Valkyries propelled them down the path, hemming them against the hedge with their furious beating—controlling every footstep of Woden's hated enemies.

  ‘I don't like this!’ Miss Veronica whimpered. ‘Some vile purpose lies behind it. Look at their horrible faces, they don't like being so close to us but something's mastering their fear. They're excited, all of them, listen to their blaring voices—something's going to happen. Oh, Edith, I'm afraid.’

  Driven further down the muddy trail, Edie held on to the old woman's hand and stared along the path to see where the raven women were directing them.

  Close by she could see Neil Chapman lying unconscious in the mud, and a little way ahead...

  ‘Veronica!’ Edie cried. ‘We've got to stop this! Don't let ‘em take us down there! I know what they're doin!’

  Desperately, the girl tried to push her way clear of the goading feathers, but the Valkyries screamed at her and seven sets of brutal claws lashed out to bar her way and thrust her back along the desired route.

  ‘It's no use,’ Miss Veronica told her. ‘We must go where they want us to.’

  ‘But we can't!’ Edie yelled. ‘Look!’

  The old woman stared down the track and sharply drew her breath when she saw what awaited them.

  ‘By the great Ash!’ she exclaimed.

  Seeing their horrified expressions, Woden's hulking, winged servants crowed and yammered and proceeded to jab and poke with their sharp beaks, pushing their victims more swiftly down the path.

  ‘Death to the Nornir!’ Hlökk chanted and the other malignant creatures joined it, croaking and rasping as their grisly goal drew near.

  Past the spot where Neil Chapman lay, Edie and the old woman were marched and their forbidding destination shimmered in the shadows.

  With its tip pointing to the sky, the spearhead they had gone through so much to find, shone coldly and the captives were driven unerringly towards it.

  The Valkyries were beside themselves with excited, rapturous zeal. Woden would be pleased with them. Even without Thought's cunning to lead them, they had discovered a way of killing the reviled enemy and Hlökk crowed with rejoicing glee.

  ‘Kill! Kill! Kill!’ the nightmare shrieked.

  Like an enveloping cloud of darkness and despair, the atrocities whipped each other into a greater frenzy than ever before and their claws smashed into the prisoners, knocking them off balance.

  ‘Veronica!’ Edie cried when the old woman staggered under a vicious, battering blow.

  Miss Veronica tried to steady herself, but the Valkyries pushed her again and she lurched precariously over the upraised spear.

  ‘No!’ Edie bawled, rushing forward to save her from falling.

  The old woman regained her balance at the last moment, but the spectral horrors around them were furious. Hlökk tore its way through, lowering its plumed head and with a ferocious, trumpeting shriek rammed the girl in the chest.

  Screaming, Edie was thrown backward and fell sprawling towards the waiting, glistening blade.

  An horrendous chorus erupted from the assembled Valkyries as Nornir flesh was punctured and sacred blood went seeping into the mud. But their jubilant cackles were swiftly curtailed, for at that moment the entire Tor shook. They tore their repulsive, gloating heads away to gaze fearfully up the pathway as a deep, rumbling quake vibrated through the ground and an almighty, bellowing roar boomed out across the earth.

  Upon the grassy slopes, where Biter and Screamer caroused in the tramp's stringy flesh, the two raven women were suddenly catapulted into the air and a tremendous rush of searing flame boiled heavenward.

  Into the darkness the brilliant pinnacle of light went shooting and from the ground a vast, billowing cloud blossomed and swelled. It burgeoned up into the night, rearing above the great, green hill and flaring with dazzling colour as fierce jags of lightning burst from its heart.

  A ravishing, blazing splendour, like the noonday sun, blasted out across the whole of Glastonbury and the surrounding countryside was flooded with blinding radiance.

  Higher the gargantuan cloud expanded, and within its fulminous vapour a colossal, cataclysmic vision rapidly took shape.

  Inside the mushrooming mist, three stupendous, serpentine silhouettes snaked and coiled and, from the haze, one of the golden, horn-crowned heads exploded.

  High over the tower of Saint Michael the staggering revelation reared and the Tor was dwarfed by its soaring dimensions as a pair of hook-clawed wings unfurled with a sound like rolling thunder.

  As slivers of the sun the fiery eyes burned in that mammoth, dragon-like head. The burnished scales scintillated and flashed as, from the gaping lips, torrents of destroying flame cascaded over the ploughed fields, scorching the soil and kindling the hedges.

  So was the angel that had descended to the mortal world in 1915 finally released from the trammelling flesh of the corporeal form it had assumed, and in which it had been locked ever since.

  Over Glastonbury the celestial, shining being was revealed in all its apocalyptic, dream-like glory and the living plane shuddered at the violence of its reawakening.

  Writhing from the crackling cloud, the three gigantic heads twisted upon the winding, arching necks and a mighty, gold-armoured tail wrapped itself about the summit of the Tor as the angel's searing eyes glowered down.

  Flung clear of the divine flame, Screamer and Biter were stricken with terror, thrashing their tattered wings to flee the awful sight which towered above them. But from the celestial being there was no escape. From one set of fiery jaws there hailed a tempest of flame and the two Valkyries were utterly swallowed in a mesh of light.

  Out of the sky the human hosts dropped and the controlling dolls squealed shrilly as they were devoured by the hallowed fires.

  From the track, the remaining raven women burst through the trees, fiercely beating their dark wings and rocketing out over the town, dismayed and defeated by this unforeseen catastrophe.

  Yet terrible though they were, Woden's grotesque servants were no match for this one marooned member of the heavenly host.

  Tearing through the bewildering, lustrous night, shooting past its screeching sisters and leaving them behind, Hlökk heard the ominous rumbling roar reverberate from the Tor and the sky was filled with flame as the Valkyries withered and were consumed.

  But Hlökk rampaged ever faster, hurtling out across Wearyall Hill and over the levels beyond. Shrieker would not be consigned to ashes, her malevolent spirit would never return to the dark recesses of the infinite void.

  Throwing back its monstrous head, Hlökk, last of the Valkyries, crowed joyously, but that screech was its last. Down streamed a jet of flame and Shrieker's malignance was wholly obliterated.

  Wreathed in the scorching, devouring heats, Hlökk fell like a stone. Down to the bare fields it plummeted, the agonised screams echoing over the land as its spite-filled, seditious spirit was sent back to the furthest reaches of the abyss.

  With a shattering crunch, the hideous shape crashed on to the ground, then melted and the plump figure of Lauren Humphries lay insensible across the furrows, with shredded ribbons of burned and smouldering cloth fluttering in her carrot-coloured hair.

  The Twelve were conquered at last. Above the Tor the wondrous vision of the angel lifted its heads to unleash a tremendous bellowing roar and, silhouetted before its golden magnificence, a tiny black speck dared the dripping flames and spiralled upward to sing and squawk in gladness.

  Unafraid of the lethal resplendence which blazed all arou
nd him, a one-eyed, scraggy-looking raven, quacked a song of victory and basked in delicious splendour as he dived in and out of the glimmering gigantic cloud.

  ‘Merrie meetings!’ Quoth crowed. “Tis better to be happy than wise! Zooks-hurrah! Zooks-hurroosh!’

  Warbling in delight, he fanned out his feathers and twirled deliriously. Then he saw it, the scene upon the ground far below—and the raven's celebrations ended.

  *

  Neil Chapman groaned and sucked the air through his teeth as the dull pain in his head throbbed and pounded. Groggily, he opened his eyes but closed them straight away as the blazing light from the angel upon the Tor blinded him.

  Lying in the mud, he waited until he was ready and, shielding his eyes, gazed up at the momentous being rearing above the hillside.

  Then the boy wrenched his attention away, for a desolate, soul-rending sob came to his ears and he looked down the path to where Edie Dorkins was crouched upon the ground.

  Great tears were tumbling from the child's almond eyes as she knelt in the soft earth and her entire body shook with her weeping.

  ‘Edie?’ Neil murmured, a dreadful fear coming over him. ‘What's wrong?’

  The girl did not answer and as the boy drew near he understood why. Miss Veronica Webster's frail figure lay motionless upon the path. Edie had lifted her wizened head on to her lap and was sobbing uncontrollably over her, stroking the old woman's long, dyed tresses with her small, trembling fingers.

  ‘She... she pushed me...’ the child wept bleakly. ‘When... when those things threw me down, she... she pushed me out of the way.’

  Neil gazed down at Miss Veronica and closed his eyes at the sight of the spear blade which was sticking up through the flimsy white robe that was now stained with her royal blood.

  ‘She... she slipped,’ Edie cried. ‘Slipped and fell on it instead. Oh, help me, I can't lift her off it. Please, we might save her.’

  Gravely, Neil slid his hands under the old woman's shoulders and gently raised her from the ground as Edie pulled the spear from Miss Veronica's back.

  ‘There now,’ the child sniffed, dragging the pixie-hood from her head and dabbing it on the wound in the vain hope it would staunch the blood and heal her.