by Robin Jarvis
The boat swiftly rode the waves, yet Ben could not tell how it moved, for the occupant was not rowing. It seemed rather that the sea itself was drawing it forward.
"Bless us," breathed Tarr in fear.
The craft had come to rest just before the entrance where the tide had risen level with the floor. But the vessel remained a constant three feet away from the rock, as if it had been forbidden to touch any part of the land.
Ben stared at the spectacle in wonder. The boat was filled with clear water, and it was this that glowed. The light was silvery blue and fell on everyone's face, coldly flickering over their features and reflecting in their eyes. Yet the vessel was damaged. A long, jagged hole gaped in the hull and should have made it impossible to remain afloat, but there it was, upheld by the hand of the sea. The boy was amazed and then the figure within commanded his complete attention.
Dressed in a loose robe of sea-green, it was a crouched shape whose lower half was submerged in the shining water. A large hood concealed the face and not even the shifting light could penetrate the black shadows beneath that cowl. Whatever was hidden under there, Ben thought, could stay out of sight, he had no wish to look on a face from the dark deeps.
The figure did not move, yet they all felt as though it were studying them, gazing at each one in turn with invisible eyes and at some point everyone shivered.
As leader of the Triad it was Esau's duty to present himself. He managed a polite, if impatient bow then greeted the strange visitor. "I welcome thee, most noble guest," he said fawningly, "the Triad of the aufwader race is honoured at thy presence."
Then the figure began to speak. It was a chilling sound, full of despair, like the voice of the north wind. In a hard, ringing voice it cried, "Esau Grendel! I am a messenger from the Dark Realm. A herald am I, sent hither by the Three whom thy petty triad mirrors in dread."
The fisherfolk were dismayed at these words, for they were filled with scorn and they knew that the Deep Ones were angry with them. Only Esau remained undaunted, he leaned forward like a stubborn blade of grass that will not bend before the storm, and the messenger continued.
"In thy arrogance thou hast called upon my masters to bless this unholy union. Hearken to me Esau Grendel, know that this base lust of thine will be thy undoing. Turn aside from the folly of thy diseased heart—for thou hast asked and thou art denied. The Lords of the Deep and Dark withhold their blessing and dispatched me with this warning—continue in this and thou art doomed!"
Even Ben shivered at this, and he was aware of the terror that filled the rest of the cave.
"I await thine answer," the messenger said coldly.
Esau had been silent up till then, now he raised one of his sticks and pointed it accusingly at the herald of the Deep Ones. "Take this reply back to thy cruel masters!" he raged and behind him all the aufwaders recoiled in horror at the brazen insolence of his words. "They have lost the right to interfere in our affairs. 'Tis their curse which we have suffered under and I shall not be commanded by such bitter liege lords. Are they not content to see our race dwindle from this land? Must they refuse us a final happiness?"
"They deny thee nothing," rang the messenger angrily, "only a bride too young for thee. And I say again—beware!"
"Begone!" Esau demanded. "As a friend I welcomed thee but now do I turn thee away as mine enemy. Tell that to thy masters and may their thrones rot below the waves. I will have naught else to do with them!"
The herald said no more. Smoothly, the boat began to turn, but before it departed, the blank space beneath the hood turned to Ben. For an instant the boy thought he saw a cluster of many eyes staring out at him and from the folds at the bottom of the robe a livid green tentacle snaked out.
With an ominous rumble, the sea began to swell and, beneath the cold light, grew black and dark. As the boat sailed away, the waves crashed over the threshold of the entrance chamber, covering everyone in freezing salt water.
"What has tha done?" Tarr cried. "Esau, tha's angered them wi' thy haughty words! What possessed thee? Is tha mad?"
The waters crashed against the cliff and the rock shuddered at the violence of it.
"Close the doors!" Esau ordered. "They'll not fright me so easily. Let them rant all they can, they'll not batter the entrance down."
Another wave rampaged into the chamber, knocking several of the fisherfolk off their feet and dragging them towards the entrance.
Quickly, Prawny and another leapt at one of the chains and pulled down hard. With a slow grinding, the slabs of stone began to close. Everyone cowered back as a further wave hammered through the gap, tearing the nets from their hooks and throwing down the fishing boats.
Only Esau was unafraid, he stood amid the surging water, laughing madly while, still tied to his wrist, Nelda wept and struggled to free herself.
With a juddering slam, the doors closed and were sealed, but the fury of the Lords of the Deep continued to throw itself against them.
"Now!" Esau cried. "'Tis time to finish what was started!" He dragged Nelda towards him and before any one could stop him, pressed his putrid lips against hers.
"Grendel!" shrieked Tarr furiously. "Dost tha know what tha's done?"
"Wed thy granddaughter!" he snapped back. "And there's not a thing thou canst do about it. The wench is mine for eternity!"
"But the Deep Ones!" muttered Johab in dismay. "They forbade you!"
"They no longer have dominion here!" he proclaimed. "Only the law of the Triad rules and I am its leader!" He swung Nelda before him and pushed her towards one of the tunnels. "Time for us to retire, my sweet," he told her.
Nelda untied the string from her wrist and backed away. "No," she protested.
"Thou canst not run from me now, my love," he laughed, "we are bound together for life." He cast a disgusted look at Ben then said, "I give thee a few moments with thy human friend. For it shall be the last time thou shalt ever see him. Remember the bargain, my pearl, the upper world is denied thee now." Shuffling off, he called over his shoulder, "Seek me in my chamber, there shall I be waiting."
Nelda watched her husband hobble down the tunnel, then she ran into Tarr's arms and, after holding him tightly, turned to Ben, tears stinging her face.
"This is what I feared," she told him, "that day when I felt a dark fate was upon me and we would never meet again. Esau has forbidden me to leave the caves—I shall never see you, or the daylight until he dies." And sobbing, she told him how she had been forced into the marriage. Ben's heart sank, so this too was his fault.
"I'm sorry," he told her.
The aufwader shook her head. "It was my own rash promise that led me to this," she said, "the blame lies with me alone."
"But if I hadn't been got at by Rowena..." Then he remembered Nathaniel, and knew this was his only chance to tell her about what had happened. Quickly he explained all that he knew and Nelda listened to his story with great interest, especially the part about Irl and the first guardian he had made.
"Never have I heard of such a thing," she murmured when he was done. "In all our legends none speak of this. He must have hid it well indeed. What of you, grandfather?"
Tarr frowned. "When I were a lad," he began, "I recall talk of summat girt and wicked sleepin' in the dark, but nowt of any guardian. Theer's only one in the tribe who might know of it."
Nelda knew who he meant. "Esau?" she breathed.
"Aye, he's the one. If'n any remember it'll be 'im."
She looked down into the tunnel where her husband had gone. "If this is as important as you say," she said to Ben, "then I will do what I can."
"Be careful," the boy told her.
Nelda managed a weak laugh. "I shall. A bride in name only will I be—have no fear there. Esau may yet rue this wedding day. Now I must go." She gave Ben a hug. "Goodbye, my friend," she said sorrowfully, "perhaps one day, when you are old and Esau is no more I shall venture from the caves and seek you out—remember me."
"Goodbye," sniffed Ben.
The aufwader waved farewell and disappeared into the tunnel.
Leaning on his staff, Tarr sucked his teeth thoughtfully. "Don't you go a-frettin'," he told the boy, "ah'll keep thee abreast of the news, an' bring you messages from my granddaughter. Come now, ah'll lead thee back to thy world," he smiled grimly at the boy's face—guessing what he was thinking, "theer's other ways into the caves apart from thissun. Ways that lead out on to the cliff top, tha'll not have to get so much as a toe wet."
And so he led Ben from the entrance chamber, taking him down secret passageways and up into the wild, stormy air above.
***
Esau sat on his bunk, stroking the bedclothes dreamily. Only the eldest of the tribe was ever allowed in this cavern, and for many years he had dwelt there alone, gnawing on his emptiness and slowly going mad with desire. But now he had a wife to share his life with and perhaps other things...
It was a large place, lying beyond the throne room. Tapestries covered the walls, dating from earliest times and all the treasures of the tribe were stored in five large sea chests that he kept locked and the keys permanently about his person. The most unusual feature of the chamber however, was a circular pool set into the rocky floor. It was filled with black water, the surface of which was smooth as glass and Esau spent many long hours scrying into it.
The curtain which hung over the doorway was drawn aside and Nelda peered in.
"Welcome, my beauty," Esau said eagerly, "step into thy new home, what is mine shall be thine also." He shifted on the bunk so there was space enough for two but she pretended she hadn't noticed and wandered about the cave looking at everything with interest.
"No, my rosebud!" he cried warningly. "Don't touch that!"
Having seen the pool, she had knelt beside it—curious at the stillness of the water. Just as she was about to reach down and run her fingers through it, Esau had called out and leapt off the bunk to lead her away.
"Promise me, my bloom of the deep, that thou shalt never touch that pool." He stared down into the jet water and his voice faded to a whisper as he explained. "My Darkmirror, I call it," he breathed, "and a most hallowed thing. If I gaze long enough into its black heart a thousand sights can be seen. Places and peoples far off and days long gone—of the world that was and what the world may be. 'Tis the great secret of our tribe and only the leader of the Triad may use it, so leave well alone, my sweet wife."
"I shall," she answered.
Esau smiled, obviously relieved. "There's a comely, dutiful beloved," he cooed. Then, giving the pool one last glance asked, "Wilt thou swear unto me never to reveal to a soul the existence of my Darkmirror? 'Tis too dangerous a knowledge for the common folk to be aware of."
"I swear," she said, startled at the earnestness of the request.
"Nine times bless thee," sighed her husband.
"There is one thing I should like to ask," she began carefully.
Raising his hoary eyebrows he licked his single tooth. "And that would be?" he asked.
Nelda looked at him searchingly. "Have you ever heard tell of an old legend where Irl wrought a guardian to protect Whitby from a great evil?"
Esau's smile vanished for a moment and he said uncertainly, "There are many legends, and many concern Irl—where didst thou hear this one?"
"The human child told me," she replied.
Esau's face contorted into a hideous mask and he spat on the ground. "Forget about the landbreed!" he shouted at her. "He will be long dead before you set eyes on him again!"
"But of the guardian?" she insisted. "Does it exist?"
Esau refused to talk about it. "A hard and difficult day this has been," he muttered, "let us retire."
Limping over to the bunk, he patted the blankets expectantly and all thoughts of Irl flew out of Nelda's head.
"Oh no!" she cried defiantly. "A companion only shall I be! That was the bargain! Sleep well, my husband, for never will you delight in me! An empty marriage you have forced your way into!" Dragging the bedclothes from the bunk, she strode into a warm corner and made herself comfortable. "Goodnight," she said curtly.
Esau glowered and threw his sticks down in his temper. "Curse you!" he raged, but no matter how much he shrieked, the girl took no further notice of him and closed her eyes.
11 - The Demon And The Dog
The storm was raging savagely against the cliff. Tremendous waves dashed themselves against the rocks and the cobles in the harbour strained at their moorings as the water came rushing in.
On the sands by Tate Hill Pier, Nathaniel Crozier regarded the unnatural tempest with keen interest. "It would seem the Deep Ones have been stirred to fury," he told himself. A brief doubt crossed his mind. Could they be angry with him for killing Mr Roper? Surely not, the death of one paltry human would not interest them, unless of course it was one who had their favour. Clutching the plastic bag he resumed his work. It was imperative no one should suspect his involvement in this night's gruesome business. He must be above suspicion when the boy's body was discovered.
Stooping, he looked into the carrier; it was bloated with offal and gory shreds of liver which squelched and wobbled like lumps of red jelly. "I hope this is what it's partial to," he muttered distastefully.
By the pier wall, leading from beneath the houses on the East Cliff, a wide outlet pipe opened on to the sand. Nathaniel inspected it carefully. The grille which had covered it had been torn away and peculiar impressions had been left on the wet sand at the entrance.
Whistling softly and encouragingly, he dipped into the bag and threw a bloody piece of meat into the dark drain.
"Come on, my little beastie," he chuckled, "come to Nathaniel."
Another gruesome piece of flesh was thrown from his hands, followed by another, until a short trail had been made leading from the opening on to the shore.
Then he waited, patiently listening for the first signs.
There! Nathaniel put the squashy bag on the sand and held his breath. "Don't be afraid, my pet," he murmured, "I won't harm you."
A furtive snuffling echoed from the pipe, followed by noisy chewing.
"There's more out here, little one," the warlock promised.
Suddenly a scaly claw flashed from the shadows and snatched one of the bloody lumps. Instantly it disappeared back into the darkness and the loud chomping began again.
Nathaniel smirked, not long now, if he could only look into its eyes...
He threw some more of the offal, letting it fall just short of the drain. There came an agitated scuffling, as though whatever it was could not decide whether to venture out or not. But the scent of the blood was too delicious—cats no longer satiated its hunger and it craved for sweeter, plumper meat. It stared out at the sandy world beyond the circle of the pipe, gazing at the tantalising titbits lying there.
It was too much; the creature could bear it no longer and crept cautiously out, its luminous eyes blinking in the darkness and its nostrils questing for danger.
Nathaniel was fascinated. As the fish demon slowly emerged from the outlet he marvelled at its ugliness. The finned head appeared first, the eyes glowing like pale round lamps and the mouth gaped open to reveal the three rows of needle-sharp teeth. Then came the pot-belly and, with a rustle of its spiny fins, the hump-back followed. The last of the Mallykins crawled warily forward, then lunged ravenously at the slimy entrails which glistened on the sand.
"Bon appetit," the warlock said with some amusement.
The creature glared up at him. Hissing, it held the offal to its chest and scampered back to the mouth of the drain, lashing out with its other claw.
"Stop!" Nathaniel commanded. "You need not fear me—I shall not hurt you."
At once the fish demon froze, its primitive mind utterly dominated by the warlock's will. Letting the rancid guts splash around its clawed feet, it turned and trotted tamely over to the evil man, where it bowed in an almost comical manner—blood still staining its hideous jaws.
"Excell
ent," Nathaniel cooed, patting the foul monster on the side of its head, "if you serve me well you shall gorge on daintier meat than cats and butcher's left-overs." Crouching down, he looked into the Mallykin's dish-round eyes. "Be my instrument this night," he instructed, "perform one small task for me and I shall be forever grateful."
The creature flapped its stunted arms eagerly and hopped madly about the warlock's legs, like a dog keen to please its master.
Nathaniel scratched it beneath the chin, covering his fingers in blood from the offal as he did so. "Now my pet," he said lovingly, "follow this scent and devour what you find at the end of it." From his pocket he took a woollen glove and thrust it under the fish demon's snout. The glove belonged to Ben.
Gurgling, the Mallykin snorted the garment, memorising the smell, then it sniffed the air and snuffled along the ground hunting for the trail.
"There's my fine animal," gushed Nathaniel, "go seek him out, find the boy and kill him. He must not stand between me and the second guardian." He paused, perhaps he should take the beast to Miss Boston's cottage and break a window for it to climb through. No, this way was better, he would be absolved from all blame.
The fish demon quivered as an electric shock passed through its misshapen form. The fins opened out along its head and back and it began to jabber excitedly.
"He's caught wind of something," said the warlock, vastly impressed, "go now, my destroyer, rend the child limb from limb and eat your fill of his puerile flesh."
Emitting a shrill squeal of delight, the Mallykin leaped into the air and bounded away, up the steps of the pier, then into the dark alleyways of the East Cliff, obeying its new master and pursuing its thirst for blood.
On the shore, Nathaniel threw back his head and laughed. Once the boy had been dealt with, the second guardian would be his.
***
Danny Turner inhaled deeply on the cigarette, letting the curling blue smoke issue from his mouth and nostrils.
"You look like a dragon," Mark told him. "Give me ago.
The cigarette was handed over and the other boy puffed eagerly on it, but Mark was not as practised a smoker as his friend. Spluttering and coughing, he retched and passed it back.