The Whitby Witches Trilogy

by Robin Jarvis

  Ben turned to look at him and found that Tarr, crotchety and bluff as he was, was crying.

  "I'm sorry," said Ben.

  "'Tain't thy fault," muttered Tarr, wiping his eyes on his sleeve, "but the cruel hard hearts o' them what lives in the deep waters."

  The boy fell silent and stared at the ground. It was his fault. If it wasn't for him, the mother's curse would have been lifted and hope would have returned to the tribe.

  Tarr coughed and cleared the lump from his throat. "It's time," he said solemnly, "ah mun go t' fetch Nelda." He patted the boy on the back and limped from the entrance chamber.

  Ben looked from one kippered old face to another. Now the initial shock had worn off, the male aufwaders were regarding him with resentment. Here was a member of the hated and untrustworthy human race, who had done them so much wrong in the past. Their thoughts turned to all the legends in which "sighted" men had played a part. In those tales landfolk had always betrayed and done only harm to their people. It was mostly due to them that they were forced to live in secret and underground. Only one aufwader dared to smile benignly at the boy and Ben guessed this to be Tarr's friend, Prawny Nusk.

  "Over here," he beckoned to the boy, "watch with me the tide a creepin' up the shore."

  Ben turned gladly from those reproachful eyes and the chill sea breeze ruffled his hair. He smiled in gratitude at Tarr's friend and filled his lungs with the keen salt air.

  The view looking out from the entrance was one vast stretch of water. The dark sea reached far into the invisible horizon, a mighty realm where wild things lived and bided their time. Deep and black was the night and the sky seemed to blend with the rim of the watery world, curving down into the distant waves, taking darkness into that cold, foam-topped world.

  "She'm fillin' the pools now," remarked Prawny as he raised his lantern, "sithee down yonder, the tides racin' in. Won't be long, an then the poor lass'll be wed."

  "I don't understand," said Ben. "Doesn't Nelda want to get married?"

  Nusk only shook his head and the mane of sand-coloured hair shivered about his shoulders.

  Only then did Ben understand Tarr's unhappiness. Appalled, he stared out at the expansive, rising waters, feeling sick and cold.

  ***

  With a comb clamped between her teeth, Old Parry leaned back and squinted at what she had done. "Tha's lovely," she admitted after removing the comb, "a right, fair maid." The normally acid-tongued aufwader dabbed at her eyes and gulped back a cry. It was over three hundred years since she had wed her Joby and he had taken that final voyage on the black boat only fifty years after that.

  Nelda stood still as stone near the entrance to her chamber. At that moment she was the most beautiful aufwader ever to have lived; her hair had been teaseled and combed free of sand and now a coronet of rare, underwater flowers sat lightly upon her brow and more were woven into her long tresses. She was arrayed in a richly-embroidered dress which all the womenfolk had been at pains to complete in time, sitting up throughout the night to accomplish the delicate task. It was a glorious, blue-green colour that shimmered like the sea itself when she moved and, in the stitches, traced her lineage down many generations. About the neck tiny pearls had been sewn and around her waist was a belt of silver decorated with the three-pronged symbol of the Lords of the Deep.

  It took three sea wives to fuss over and groom her in all her bridal finery. Old Parry was one of these, the other two were Maudlin Trowker and a toothless crone known only as Baccy because all she ever did was suck on a clay pipe and cackle to herself. If the truth be known, the latter did very little in helping Nelda to get ready, she only wanted to make sure she didn't miss out on anything interesting and sat nearby, hunched on a bunk sucking her gums and muttering battily to herself.

  Maudlin fiddled with a stubborn bloom which refused to stay put in the young aufwader's hair, then she too stood back and heaved a great sigh. "Why," she said, "you'd outshine the moonkelp itself were it here."

  Old Parry snorted. "Puh!" she exclaimed. "If it were here the girl wouldn't have to wed at all."

  At this, Baccy the crone gave a prolonged cackle and the pipe rattled between her blackened gums. Maudlin gave both of them an irritated glare then turned, smiling, back to the bride.

  "Dinna fret yourself," she said, "it's a new life that's waitin' for you. At the close of the night you'll be Nelda Grendel. I know it ain't what you wanted..."

  "It's not what anyone would want," Parry chipped in.

  Maudlin carried on as though she hadn't spoken. "But it may not be so bad. Aye, Esau was wrong to force this upon you but what's done is done. Look you to the future now—prepare for what lies ahead."

  Old Parry stuck the comb into her tangled mass of grizzled hair where it wagged like the tail of a dog. "Bah," she grimaced, "dinna fill the maid's head wi' such claptrap! That Esau's an evil, covetous nazard who wants his face slappin' an' if'n he weren't the eldest of us all I'd do it missen. 'Tain't right any of this, why she's nowt but a lass, barely a babe and tricked into wedlock!"

  Throughout all of this, Nelda remained silent. She had let them primp and preen her as was the custom, but that was all—she did not have to join in. Her eyes stared fixedly in front, a doll to be dressed and made ready—as though she was a sacrificial victim being prepared for the altar of some heathen and bloodthirsty god. Only this was to be a fate worse than death and the altar had a completely different function.

  "You're ready," Maudlin told her. "Nelda?"

  The bride-to-be blinked and stared round as if she had been asleep. Everything was strange to her, the dress felt unusual and her hair was soft as foam. "You've done well," she told them, "thank you."

  "Yip!" yammered Baccy, momentarily removing her pipe. "Tha's all trussed up like a fish supper an' Esau's the one who'll be feastin'!" And she dissolved into a fit of squawking cackles.

  Nelda stared dispassionately at the old hag, she was too numb inside to be angry at her idiotic and tactless remarks. Nothing seemed to matter any more.

  "Dinna you listen to her!" advised Maudlin, but she leaned forward and pressed a small glass phial into Nelda's hand, whispering, "If'n you're nervy over tonight—you know what I mean—sprinkle a pinch of this powder into the old goat's drink—he'll be too full of drowse to think of aught else and kip for hours."

  Parry was adept at listening to other people's conversations, especially whispered ones and let out a delighted squeal. "The maid won't need that!" she laughed. "Esau's too ancient! It's more than he can cope wi' just walkin' from one cave t'nother."

  "Then why's he weddin' her?" retorted Maudlin and Baccy let loose again with her horrible cackling, only to cease suddenly as Tarr strode into the chamber.

  Nelda lifted her head as he entered and rushed over, flinging her arms about his neck while he stood, rigid and immovable as a wooden post.

  Maudlin took the hint at once. "Come along," she gabbled to Parry and the crone, "us'll be wanted at the entrance."

  The other two gaped at her. Baccy had no intention of leaving, this looked far too interesting and Old Parry was dying to hear what Tarr had to say to his granddaughter on her wedding day.

  But Tarr shot them both a dangerous glance and they hurried out of the chamber as fast as they could. Before she left, Baccy spat brown phlegm on the rushes to register her complaint then scuttled off.

  "Oh grandfather!" Nelda cried, weeping for the first time. "I'm so unhappy!"

  "Lass," he answered, relaxing and holding her close, "let me sithee. Why, tha's prettier 'an yer grandmither ever were." And for several minutes they clung desperately to one another.

  Eventually, Tarr pulled away and dried the tears which had streaked down Nelda's cheeks. "'Tis time, lass," he said in a wavering whisper, "that dreaded hour is upon us, is tha ready?"

  She squeezed his hands tightly, drawing courage and strength from him. "That I am," she replied in a brave voice.

  "Then let us get gone. Can't hide from it now—bu
t you listen t'thy grandda when he says he's reet proud o' thee."

  She linked her arm in his, and if she was aware that he was trembling, made no mention of it. Out of the cave they went, out to where Nelda's doom awaited her.

  ***

  The tide had come in quickly, it lapped against the cliff face and still the waves rolled higher. Ben was very cold and his legs ached, for there was nowhere to sit down. He stared at the gurgling water below and watched it steadily rise. As the breakers crashed against the rock, the spray was caught in the light of the aufwader lanterns and showered a thousand sparkling mirrors back into the sea.

  Prawny glanced back into the chamber, his face growing stern. "It begins," he muttered.

  Ben followed his stare. Through the assembled fisherfolk came two wizened creatures and everyone stepped aside to let them pass; for here were Johab and Lorkon, the other members of the ruling Triad. Leaning upon their staffs they headed for the entrance, nodding to those who bowed before them.

  The two aufwaders acknowledged Ben's presence with a brief twitch of their bushy brows. Then they parted and stood at either side of the great stone doors, their faces grim and troubled. Try as they might, they had failed to dissuade Esau from this ruinous path, and both shivered with fearful misgivings.

  "Sound the horn," said Johab, motioning to the crowd.

  Up to the threshold stepped the tallest of the tribe, yet even he was only a foot taller than Ben. In his arms he carried a large conch shell which he raised over his head for all to see. Then, putting it to his lips he blew with all his might.

  Ben had never heard such a noise before, it was like a hundred trumpets blaring at once. It boomed around the cavern, bouncing off the rocky walls, deafening everyone and challenging them to withstand its roar. Then out, out over the sea it bellowed, shaking the waters and sounding the deeps, never was there such a voice to shout down the stars and make the moon herself tremble.

  And then the aufwader with the conch was breathing rapidly, trying to fill his spent lungs. His face was almost purple and his knees knocked feebly together, his role in the ceremony was finished and he ambled back to the others—gasping and puffing.

  The echo of the shell's blast was still resounding in the far distance, battering through the dark horizon until it faded altogether. Ben wondered what would happen next, everyone seemed to be waiting, holding their breaths in expectation—and then he heard it. At first he thought it was a delayed echo but no, this note was deeper than before. It was an answering call, and though it came from many miles away, it vibrated through the rocks and made the hairs on the boy's neck prickle and tingle.

  A hushed murmur ran through the aufwaders, but before they had chance to discuss it, Esau entered the chamber and the whispers were silenced.

  In came the eldest of the fisherfolk, shambling slowly forward, putting all his decrepit weight on two gnarled sticks which tapped out a harsh rhythm on the ground. His eyes darted everywhere, swivelling slyly from side to side. He glared at the tribe, his crabbed face twisted into a sneer.

  Ben could not believe any living thing could be so old and asked Prawny in a low voice, "Who's that?"

  "Esau," came the bitter reply, "the bridegroom."

  The boy clutched at his stomach, so this was the one Nelda was to marry. Surely it was impossible! The leader of the Triad was vile and withered, his back was bent with age and Ben could feel nothing but revulsion at the sight of him.

  Esau raised his shrunken head and, when his beady eyes lit upon the boy, a foul curse issued from his hideous lips. Malice boiled within him, he despised the landfolk and the urge to cast the child into the sea to drown nearly overwhelmed him. But this was part of the bargain with his future bride, the whelp had to remain and witness the union. Turning his back on him, Esau came to the threshold and waited.

  Another rippling murmur bubbled through the gathering—Nelda had arrived. The womenfolk all sighed when they saw her, then wept, remembering what was in store for the unfortunate girl.

  The young aufwader was holding tightly to her grandfather. Her face was set in an awful, grim expression but she held her head proudly and glided with a cold dignity smoothly through the chamber—not flinching once from the shrivelled horror which leered at her by the entrance.

  Passing Ben, Nelda's eyes wavered, flicking from her husband-to-be to the boy. But the occasion was too dreadful and solemn to allow for anything else. No welcoming smile crossed her small mouth, all she could do was nod once and continue on her way.

  In the dark heavens, the moon appeared from behind a cloud and bathed the entrance in a cold, grey light. Nelda crossed into the pale glow, stopping at Esau's side, where Tarr reluctantly wrenched himself from her arm.

  Kissing her forehead, he said, "May tha find joy lass—if'n tha can."

  Nelda thanked him, then, choking back her misery, turned to face the groom.

  Esau was regarding her with lustful eyes. Her hair was streaming in the sea breeze and the bridal dress fluttered closely about her. The moonlight picked out the small pearls at her throat and burned icily in the silver belt around her waist. She was beautiful, and the frozen dignity she wrapped herself in only made her more desirable and kindled the dark thoughts within him.

  With his bearded chin resting on his claw-like hands he licked his lips and croaked, "Thou art indeed most fair, my love." The words went through her like hot knives but she steeled herself and he added, "Many gifts shall I shower upon thee, much wisdom shall I share—many secrets which I alone am privy to." The tiny eyes gleamed and a trickle of spittle dribbled from his mouth as he muttered, "Thou wouldst clap thy dainty hands with glee at the knowledge I possess," and he gave her a lascivious wink.

  Nelda said nothing, but looked out to the shimmering waters. Esau grinned indulgently then pounded one of his sticks on the ground.

  "Let the Briding commence!" he declared. Raising one hand he pointed to the black horizon. "Under cover of stars and moon," he called, although there were no stars and, almost as if he had frightened it away, the moon slid behind another cloud and did not reappear. A few of the other fisherfolk nudged each other and raised their eyebrows at this. A proper ceremony usually only took place on clear nights. As the darkness swallowed the sky once more, Esau continued, he was too impatient to be denied now.

  "Under cover of stars and moon," he repeated defying the traditions of his people, "do I, Esau Grendel pledge mine intent—to take for mine own, Nelda Shrimp and bestow upon her such gifts that are in my power."

  He looked over to her, smiling and showing his one, snaggled tooth. It was time for them to join hands. Nelda lifted hers and closed her eyes in disgust as Esau's deformed claw clasped itself around it.

  "Now is the bond made," he cawed, "and I do call on the sea itself to bear witness." With some difficulty, he made a bow to the waves and bid Nelda do the same. When this was done, he raised his cracked voice and called out. "Now do I offer the prayer. Hear me, ye Lords of the Deep and Dark. Grant to thy loyal servants, Esau and Nelda, thine own blessing, that we may be sure of a merry life together hereafter."

  This was merely a formality and, once the prayer had been given, a plump female came forward bearing a wooden dish. Upon it was a strange loaf-shaped cake and a length of string.

  Esau took the cord and passed one end to Nelda, who received it as though it were a venomous snake. Then, slowly, she bound it around her wrist and Esau did the same.

  "Now are we tethered," he gurgled, "and ever after shall it remain, with thee by my side, though there be no rope to bind thee."

  "So shall it be," she said in a frail voice.

  "Then let us eat and seal ourselves till the end of our days," he told her.

  With her free hand, Nelda broke off a piece of the bridecake and bit into it. Without chewing she kept the morsel in her mouth and offered the rest to Esau whose lips snatched it greedily from her fingers. All they had to do now was kiss and the ceremony would be complete. With a quailing hea
rt, Nelda bent down and the ancient creature upturned his face, both closed their eyes, one in repulsion, the other in ecstasy.

  "Look!" cried Prawny suddenly. "Out yonder, a light is shining!"

  Ben glanced out to sea. Sure enough, at the edge of the dark, watery world a faint glimmer had appeared. At once, everyone began to chatter in bewilderment and fear. Esau glared round and peered intently at the dim glow, scowling horribly. Confused, Nelda turned to her grandfather who narrowed his eyes, trying to discern what the eerie, pulsing speck could be.

  "Hang on, lass," he told her in a frightened voice, "theer may be joy for thee after all."

  "'Tis comin' nearer!" someone cried.

  Ben looked at Prawny. "What is it?" he asked. "Why is everyone so afraid?"

  "Whatever that light be," Nusk replied, "'tain't from no mortal lands. 'Tis a sign—from them."

  Esau stamped his sticks on the ground and hissed. "We must not delay, let the Briding proceed!"

  Grabbing hold of Nelda he pulled her towards his puckered, waiting lips but Tarr intervened, his strong hands restraining the ancient leader. "Us mun wait," he said gravely, "we dursn't carry on till us knows what they are wantin'."

  The rest of the tribe agreed, and Esau mumbled irritably into his beard.

  For a long time they remained motionless and silent, watching and waiting as the light drew closer. Presently, even Ben could see that it came from a small wooden boat, such as the fisherfolk used, and that a figure was seated in it.