by Jodi Taylor
Three women stepped forward. They wore white. I was reminded of the ones who had escorted the old Year King to what should have been his death. This time, one was scattering flowers, one was carrying lengths of red ribbons, and the other was carrying a robe. The robe. The golden robe of the Year King.
I remembered from before, the flowers and the ribbons carefully laid at the foot of the stones. Ready for the sacrifice. The red ribbons had flowed like blood. I wondered whether, after the ceremony, they would carefully gather them all up to present them again at the end of the year.
Alice Chervil walked slowly across the grass until she stood before Michael Jones. This was it. If I was going to do anything it should be now. I clenched my fists. I was only one person. What could I do?
Jones stood quietly as they slipped the robe over his shoulders. He stared blankly at the ground. Was he even aware of what was going on around him?
Becky and Veronica continued to stand motionless – not participating at all. And then I had it. They were holding the spell in place, freeing up Alice to …
To conduct the ceremony.
The singing rose to a tuneless crescendo. Looking at the state of them, most were mightily drunk. They began to stamp their feet. Faster and faster. The drum picked up the rhythm. The pipes joined in. The emotional temperature was sky high. Their faces were ugly with anticipation. Yes, there had been a hiccup, but here was the new Year King; the age-old ceremony would proceed and everything would be as it should be. The singing died away and now they began to shout. Urging her on.
She was loving it. She turned in a slow circle, arms held above her head as they whooped and cheered.
She slipped off her robe and now I knew if I was to do anything it would have to be now, because underneath she was stark naked. Because this was their wedding night. The night when the new Year King impregnated the Mother, confirming her power and setting his feet on the path to his own death. I suddenly thought – this would have been me. The woman standing there would have been me. Naked and exposed to whichever man the stones had selected to be king for that year. It would have been me …
There had been no need to drug Alice Chervil. Her colour boiled with her eagerness to begin. To confirm her position in the eyes of the village. To offer herself up to the stones. To put one over on Veronica and her daughter. To succeed where her predecessor had failed. Her purple colour was nearly incandescent with anticipation. She couldn’t wait.
She held out her left arm. Two women grabbed Jones’s left arm, holding it against Alice’s. Another began to twist the long red ribbons around them. Binding them together …
Somewhere, a new drum began to beat, dark and dangerous. The women began to sway. I could hear their soft, low chant with that familiar rhythm. Their colours mixed and blended together, forming an opaque semi-circle that surrounded Jones and Alice and the stones. I don’t think it was my imagination – the stones leaned towards them, anticipating the ceremony. They were still alive. And they were very hungry.
I had only a moment to wonder about that before the crowd parted again. Someone dragged out a small, skinny mongrel on a piece of string. He was displaying a considerable reluctance to participate, digging in his paws and practically sitting down as he did everything he could to resist. They were literally dragging him along on his hindquarters. He was twisting his bristly head from side to side, trying, unsuccessfully, to bite at the string knotted tightly around his neck.
It would appear there was to be blood after all. A life would be taken in lieu of the last sacrifice. The one I’d ruined. I wondered if dog blood was as potent as human blood, but I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that to these monstrous women – and their even more monstrous stones – blood was blood. In these leaner days, they would take what they could get.
Every hair on his little body was bristling with fear and his lips were drawn back off his teeth in a snarl of terror. At the sight of the stones, he flung himself to the ground and howled. The poor thing might not know exactly what was about to happen, but he did know he didn’t want to be a part of it. Which made two of us.
A woman – I think it was Joanna from her bulk – picked him up by the scruff of his neck, contemptuously tossed him onto the table and picked up the bronze sickle I remembered from before. His terrified yelps were pitiful to hear. The chanting quickened. The women swayed. The setting sun cast long, long shadows over them all.
Joanna raised the knife high and at the same time, Alice began to sway, slowly, in front of Jones. The noise intensified. We were approaching the climax of the ceremony.
She stood before him, naked, the two of them handfast, her robe pooled silver at her feet. Her colour softened and streamed out around him, enveloping him in gentle purple, stroking and caressing him. Slowly, very slowly, Jones reached out and touched her breast. He didn’t look drugged or hypnotised. His eyes were open – he looked aware of what he was doing.
I was completely unprepared for the huge, hot, murderous jag of rage that coursed through me. If I had a colour of my own it would have lit up the landscape. I saw myself striding down amongst them, sowing the storm, reaping the whirlwind, dealing death and destruction to them all. I saw the ground gape. I saw the stones tumble, crushing screaming women beneath their weight. I saw myself tearing down their world in a blizzard of blood and terror. Dealing it out to those who had previously dealt it out to others.
Behind me, something stirred …
The air cooled and now, far from being a summer’s evening, the familiar scent of snow was in the air. Angry snow. A lone snowflake danced before me. And then another. The world around me turned to shades of grey.
My vision blurred and suddenly I was somewhere else. I was back at the Sorensen clinic. Back in my reality. The reality that had never gone away. It was real. I knew it was real. I’d always known it was real. Jones and the rest of the world could say what they liked about concussion and suchlike, but, at that moment, I knew I’d never accepted their comforting words. I’d never accepted the easy explanation.
Memories and emotions came rushing back and I remembered how I’d been betrayed, manipulated, lied to. I remembered the moment I’d realised I wasn’t as powerless as I had thought. I’d conjured up a whirlwind of angry snow and pulled the world down around me. I had done that. Me. Elizabeth Cage. Discounted. Overlooked. Deceived. Used. I remembered how I’d felt. How I’d revelled in an orgy of ruin and revenge and destruction. I’d done it once. I could do it again. A familiar warning pain throbbed and the thing that lived in my head opened its eyes …
… and Veronica turned her head slowly and looked directly at the place where I was hiding.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I felt her shock. And her surprise. But most importantly of all, I felt her concentration falter. The spell snapped like the pressure change in an aircraft and, as it did so, Jones’s colour burst out around him; the familiar golden-red engulfing the purple that was Alice Chervil. I knew, from bitter experience, that, when he had to be, he was an expert in violence and pain. His size and strength gave him a natural advantage, anyway, but now I saw how good he really was.
He didn’t waste a single moment staring around in bemusement or demanding to know what was going on, or why he was wearing this silly gold dress, or why that woman didn’t have any clothes on. His first act was to protect himself and secure his position. To give himself a safe platform from which to operate.
He reached out in one smooth movement, grabbed Alice Chervil and twisted her round until he had her pinned tightly against him while he took in the situation and gained control. He wrapped one arm around her neck. The other forced her head to one side. Almost to the point where her neck could snap. They were still tied together with the red ribbons and the way they wrapped themselves around her neck made it look as if she’d already had her throat cut.
She drew a breath – to scream, I think, or possibly to curse him, and he tightened his grip even further, saying, ‘You�
�ll never know anything about it.’
He was speaking for everyone’s benefit, not just Alice Chervil, but the words drifted up to me quite clearly. I wondered if this little basin was an acoustic trap in the same way ancient Greek theatres could effortlessly capture every word. Whatever the reason, I could hear almost as clearly as if I was down there.
He was a big man and he was strong and there was no doubt he knew exactly what he was doing. She was forced up onto tiptoe, crushed against him, her face darkening as she fought for breath.
The women had fallen silent. Shock and surprise and fear written across their faces and then someone – I think it was Joanna. Big, strong Joanna – took a cautious step towards him. The little dog seized his moment, twisted and nipped her hard. She shrieked and jumped back. Obviously her enthusiasm for blood didn’t include seeing her own. He jumped down and fled. No one tried to stop him.
Jones forced Alice’s head around even further. ‘Stay where you are. If just one of you moves – I will break her neck.’
Veronica laughed. She actually laughed. Joanna took another tiny step forwards. Veronica held up her hand to her and laughed again. She looked contemptuously at Alice Chervil and then at Jones. ‘Go ahead. Kill her. Please. Blood – any blood – is always acceptable.’
Becky smirked, the orange of resentment rippling through her colour.
Intentionally or otherwise, with those words Veronica had wiped out any advantage Jones might have had. It’s hard to control a situation when no one cares whether the hostage lives or dies. Especially if the hostage dying is the preferred option.
She hadn’t finished. Turning to where I was hidden, she called, ‘I can see you, Mrs Page. Come down, please.’
There was no point in hiding. I had a sudden picture of what would happen if I tried to run away. I saw wild-haired women, their faces caked in thick white chalk hunting me through these ancient woods, hounding me down … I saw what they would do to me when they caught me … A word flashed through my head. Maenads … in all their frenzied fury … naked and bloodstained … screaming as they hunted me through the wild woods.
I stood up and at the same moment, Jones shouted, ‘Cage. Get out of here. Now.’
I couldn’t. I didn’t have it in me. I hadn’t been well. I had half walked and half run all the way from Rushby. And there was no way I was going back into those woods and whatever waited there. I really had no choice.
I began to walk down the slope towards the stones. I took it very slowly, concentrating on keeping my feet and trying to ignore my thumping heart. My legs felt leaden.
I pushed away all thoughts of Jerry and Iblis and any rescue. I was alone. I had no weapons. There was just me and I had no idea what to do next.
The women were all gathered in a tight cluster around the stones, arms raised, intoning something under their breath. I couldn’t make out any words. I suspected they were invoking the protection of the stones.
I took my time getting there. The sun was very low now and this place was full of shadows. A pale moon was emerging, thin and insubstantial, lying on its back like a pair of horns. I looked up at the woods and the tops of the trees still tipped with gold and thought, just for a very brief moment, that I saw something move. The chanting faltered and stopped as I entered the circle. In the silence, Veronica and I stared at each other. Her colour had transformed, stabbing towards me, shot through with red and black. Shot through with hatred and murder. And, licking around the edges, uncertainty and fear. I saw her eyes narrow. Her colour gathered itself. And then she had herself back under control, looking over my shoulder. She was checking to make sure I was alone.
I moved to the centre of the circle, staying well clear of Michael Jones. That was always his instruction. ‘Stay behind me, Cage, and don’t get in my way.’
I stayed well clear of everyone and addressed the other women, all standing uncertainly. Their colours were wavering. I was certain they would remember me and the catastrophic events of New Year’s Eve. Would this be the second ceremony I’d ruined?
I should speak before they realised I was only one person.
Remembering how good the acoustics were, I spoke in normal tones.
‘I can see you all remember me. Veronica Harlow made a grave mistake in trying to keep me here against my will, but Alice Chervil made an even greater one when she brought this man here today. You could not have chosen a worse Year King. This man is a stone-cold killer. He is brutal, misogynistic and cares for no one. He has killed before. Many times. And he will again. I beg you, for your own good, to stand very still and do as exactly as he says.’
Veronica said wonderingly, ‘Who are you?’
A very good question and one I wished I was able to answer. I channelled Michael Jones and bluffed. ‘You know who I am.’
Her face twisted with bitterness. ‘I should have killed you the second I laid eyes on you.’
I nodded. ‘Yes, you should.’
‘What do you want here?’
I nodded towards Jones, still holding Alice Chervil in a death grip. ‘I want what is mine.’
She looked around at the crowd of silent women. No children, I noticed. This was obviously the sort of place where it was perfectly all right for them to witness a man having his throat cut and his blood thrown over a couple of old rocks, but sex was considered unsuitable. Family values at their finest.
The silence dragged on as we all looked at each other. I held her gaze, not daring to look away even for a second. I could hear the crackling bonfires and smell the smoke. Her colour had slowed and calmed. She was assessing the situation, working out how to twist things to her advantage. It wouldn’t take her long. She held all the cards. Yes, Jones had a hostage, but that hostage had no value. In fact, Alice’s death would not only feed the stones and make them stronger but rid her of a hated rival at the same time. She had numbers on her side. Jones and I could easily be overpowered. She would have both a new Year King and me at the same time. I couldn’t help a stab of admiration. Not liking. Never liking. Not for any of them, but I couldn’t help admire her strategic planning.
I said, as quietly as I could. ‘Jones. Stop. You mustn’t kill anyone. That’s what the stones want.’
‘Well, I’m not hanging around while they kill me Cage, so think of something.’
Veronica smiled, although there was no mirth there. I suspected her thoughts had mirrored mine. I could see it in her colour. A way to bring down Alice Chervil and reinstate herself. We – Jones and I – might only have a few seconds left before we became victims of their nasty little power struggle. And the stones wouldn’t care. As long as they had their worship and their blood, they didn’t care who stood in front of them. Or for what reason.
I called to her. ‘There are other forces at work here besides your stones.’ I paused to let that sink in. ‘Forces that only I can control. Forces not even your silly stones can withstand.’
I gestured at the stones, dark and looming in the failing light. ‘Why don’t you call on them? Go on. Call them.’ I drew a deep breath and chose my words carefully. ‘Go on. I challenge you.’
I half expected my words to ring dramatically through the air, but there was a soft, distorted, almost muffled quality to them. My imagination saw the stones, not so much listening, as absorbing every word. Absorbing everything going on around them.
I turned to face the stones and closed my eyes. There was power here – and not necessarily from the stones. There was power in the earth. Power in the air around me. But mostly, there was power up in those woods. I took a deep breath and the thing that lives inside my head spoke with my voice, filling it with authority. I felt no fear. It was as if I was someone else. Opening my eyes, I addressed the spirits of the stones themselves.
‘Depart. You have outlived your time. Depart while you still can. I am not afraid of you and you know who I am.’
Silence. The stones brooded. The horned moon hung silently in the darkening sky. Shadows grew, reaching o
ut towards me.
Unable to move her head, Alice rolled her eyes at Veronica, venomous and spiteful, somehow managing to hiss, ‘This is all your fault. You brought her here.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘You should have let me go when I told you to. You have brought this upon yourselves’.
Now she rolled her eyes back to me. I don’t know if the physical strain of having her head pulled back was affecting her voice, or whether the malice of the stones spoke through her, but I felt the hair on my neck rise. ‘He belongs to me. He is the Year King. Ancient custom and tradition confirm my right.’
I took a few deep breaths. Partly to make her wait, but mostly to calm myself and then I shook my head and spoke so everyone could hear me. ‘The line has been broken and cannot be restored. There was no blood for the stones this year and now they are old and weak. Their time is over.’
I turned to the stones. ‘I speak to the things that live within you. You are finished. Your time is ended. Depart while you still can. You have never shown mercy and none will be shown to you. Depart.’
There was no response. Not from the stones. Not from Veronica. Or Alice. Or the women gathered around. Or from the woods above. I didn’t dare look at Jones. Only I could do this. But how?
I considered. One thing hadn’t changed. Becky was still the weak link. From her colour, I could see she was even more resentful and aggrieved than ever. Her sparkling orange bitterness far outweighed her feeble blue. It just remained to be seen whether her resentment could overcome her fear of reprisals.
I turned to her and said quietly, ‘Listen to me, Becky. Do you really want to live here forever? Do you really want to spend the rest of your life always being the youngest? You’ll never have a future if you do this.’ I sought for something that would matter to her. ‘You’ll never have a boyfriend. Ever. You’ll never get away from here. You’ll spend your whole life serving the stones and they’ll suck the life from you. No matter how long you live you will never leave this place. With Alice Chervil as the Mother your time will never come. She’s not that much older than you. By the time she’s too old to be the Mother, so will you be. You’ll be passed over. You’ll be the perpetual Maiden. Until one day you’ll wake up and find you’re the perpetual Crone. And by then it will be too late for you. Far, far too late.’