by Robin Jarvis
The witch-hound snapped her jaws and her eyes gleamed in the gloom, then suddenly the light was switched on and a startling figure leapt before her.
There, robustly weaving her walking stick through the air as though it were a sword—was Miss Boston.
The old lady's countenance was grave and fierce and she lashed the weapon expertly from side to side.
A raging growl bubbled up from the witch hound's throat as she stared at the idiotic spectacle, and tensing her muscles, she prepared to spring.
"On guard!" Miss Boston yelled, hopping forward and striking the fiend's snout with the stick.
Liz barked in outraged amazement that anyone could be so stupid.
"Ho, ho!" Miss Boston cried, swiping the stick across her opponent's leg. "Nice doggy want some exercise?"
Enraged, the beast snarled and lunged violently at her. Miss Boston threw up her weapon to defend herself and deflected the ripping claws.
"Come on!" she taunted, thwacking Liz on the head. "I'm only a feeble old woman!"
Driven berserk by this infuriating torment, the witch-hound roared and charged at her. The two clashed brutally, toppling against the wardrobe, and after the briefest of struggles Miss Boston was thrown to the ground.
Down swooped the rapacious jaws, snapping for the ample folds of skin around Miss Boston's neck.
But the old lady was not beaten yet. Fumbling with her hands, she strained to reach a bottle that had fallen from the dressing table, and just as the long teeth came to rip out her throat she seized the perfume and sprayed it right into the witch hound's face.
Yowling, Liz reared back and clawed at her burning eyes. Immediately Miss Boston scrambled to her feet, and snatching up a vase from the window ledge, brought it smashing down upon the creature's skull.
Her attacker let out a frightful shriek of pain, but was not defeated and the blood which trickled down her muzzle served only to enrage her all the more. With the murderous glow from her shining eyes casting a hellish light upon the old lady, Liz rose and flew at her.
But Miss Boston had already reached beneath the bed and with a tremendous "CLANG!" struck the witch hound with a large porcelain vessel that sent her reeling across the room.
"One for the pot!" Aunt Alice yelled, unable to resist the unforgivable remark.
A feeble groan burbled from Liz's canine lips as she tried to raise her head, but a mass of black stars was crowding around her and she collapsed senseless to the floor.
"Pity," Miss Boston announced, rolling the figure over with a shove of her shoe, "I was just getting into my stride!" And she whirled the walking stick two or three times, thrusting and parrying and feeling mightily pleased with herself.
Stepping over the unconscious Liz, the old lady gazed sorrowfully at the corner of the room where a glistening heap of gore was spreading over the carpet.
"Tragic," she muttered. "If only I could have prevented it."
Turning aside, she waddled to the wardrobe and rapped three times on the door.
"It's all right," she promised. "You can come out now."
The wardrobe creaked open and a frightened face peered out at her.
"Was it too stuffy in there for you, dear?" she inquired. "I'm most awfully sorry but I knew those wretches would send someone in for me. I do hope you weren't too alarmed when we slammed into the door."
Grinning cheekily, she helped Ben out from amongst her clothes and the boy stared at the witch-hound on the floor.
"Is she dead?" he asked doubtfully.
"Good Lord no!" Aunt Alice returned. "But I think she might have distemper and also a touch of mange by the look of her. Still, it'll be a long time before she feels up to going for a walky."
Ben shifted his attention to the bloody corpse in the corner but Miss Boston clucked and told him that he could mourn for Eurydice later.
"A most marvellous feline," she commented. "I'm beginning to understand what Tilly Droon saw in the species. Was it really sheer fright that made Eurydice jump out like that and scratch your sister's face or did she indeed sacrifice herself for you? I don't suppose we shall ever know. It cost the unfortunate animal her life, but otherwise Jennet would never have been jolted from their influence. Come, we must make haste; the coven have still got your sister and I'm going after them. Pass me that cloak please, Benjamin. Goodness knows the girl must be terrified. Is the amulet secure around your neck?"
Ben fingered the pendant that Irl had given to Aunt Alice and nodded.
"Good," she said, throwing her tweed cloak over her shoulders. "Now we haven't a moment to lose; the herald warned me that its power to conceal you from the Deep Ones and their agents does not last long."
Striding towards the door, she paused to look at the walking stick in her hand and with a hearty, jubilant chuckle cried, "I don't think I need you any more!" and she hung it on the door handle before marching determinedly down the stairs.
"But how do you know where they've taken Jen?" Ben called.
"There's only one place that'll do for their hellish purpose this night!" she answered, hurrying through the wreckage of the hallway. "Come on, child—to the Abbey!"
13 - Born In The Fires
Black, blanketing clouds had coursed in from the sea, covering the face of heaven and pressing low over the cliffs of Whitby—heralding the approaching storm.
The first fine drops of rain drizzled from the midnight sky but the brash wind scattered and whisked the mizzling shower, hurling it wildly about the crumbling dignity of the ancient Abbey ruins.
The grounds of the holy, broken building had been locked at six, many hours ago, but above the noise of the gusting wind a sharp metallic snap echoed over the Abbey plain as chains were cut and padlocks forced. In the darkness the gates hung from their hinges and the breathless, impatient intruders passed through, smashing the doors of the shop beyond and hurrying out on to the wet grass.
High above the anxious figures of the coven, the imposing majesty of the Abbey rose. Dipped in the unlit gloom of the greedy dark it seemed a boundless place without end. The gothic arches curved far into the weeping night and the weathered columns of the nave and south transept merged with the looming clouds.
Still holding on to Pear, Jennet staggered through the teeming blackness, staring timidly at the shadow-filled shapes that reared around her. The corroded stonework took on a sinister aspect as if indistinct forms lurked within deep recesses and watched her with resentful eyes—incensed at this disturbance.
In zealous, craving whispers, the witches spoke of their longing and Jennet could sense that Pear too was captivated and ached for the culmination of their dreams.
Squawking amidst the voracious babble, the cracked voice of the fishmonkey directed them behind the majestic ruins. Between the truncated pillars of the presbytery and over the excavations of shallow graves, the coven proceeded eagerly.
With the great eastern window rising behind them, they hurried to where a large, dark pool stretched into the farmland beyond, and gathering in avid anticipation at the water's edge, their yearning faces gazed at it covetously.
In former times the monks had fished there, but since the Dissolution the pond had diminished and now only the neighbouring cows visited the marshy banks.
The surface of the black water sizzled and spat as the rain pelted from the turbulent heavens, and with an exulting cry, Hillian Fogle raised the fishmonkey over her head.
"Hear me!" she yelled. "The Coven of the Black Sceptre has done its work! The boy threat is no more! Our part in the bargain has been kept—now bestow upon us that which was promised!"
The mummified creature in her hands lifted its head and with a screech called to his master. "Lord!" he squealed. "The followers of thine agent have in truth succeeded. Draw aside the curtain of Death—send back the one they worship!"
Jennet shook with nerves as the witches held their breath and the atmosphere became tense and charged with feverish excitement. The rain had bedraggled them, but the
girl noticed that Meta was already grooming her dripping hair for when their beloved returned.
A branching fork of lightning suddenly split the night and the Abbey flared beneath it as an almighty burst of thunder blasted over the cliff.
The plain trembled and at Jennet's side, Pear gave a glad shout. "It's started!" she cried. "Look!"
The surface of the pool was shimmering. As the lightning crackled overheard, and before the coven's adoring eyes, a faint glow flickered about the muddy banks and smouldering wisps of smoke curled up into the drizzle.
"Send him forth!" the fishmonkey squealed, madly waving his puny arms. "Knit again the sinew and clothe the unclean spirit in the raiment of flesh so that he might live again!"
Abruptly, a tongue of green flame leapt from the water, and with a flurry of sparks the pond ignited. The lurid glare of the emerald fires shone over the witches' faces and they began to mutter their high priest's name.
"Nathaniel," they hissed, "Come to us! Come to us!"
The flames danced in Meta's captivating eyes and she felt a delicious joy burn within her breast, nourishing and sustaining her very soul. He would soon be with her again and the very thought of his rapturous presence flushed shivers of exquisite pleasure down her spine.
"My love," she murmured lustily, "return to me."
Dazzling flames blazed furiously over the water, leaping ever higher and spiralling round, forming a twisting pinnacle of light that roared upwards. High above the cliff the shining beacon of green fire soared, spiking up past the ruined Abbey and piercing the seething clouds.
With a deafening clap of thunder, the towering flames stabbed into the heart of the storm and for an instant blinding needles of snaking energy illuminated the whole sky as they radiated through the tormented night.
Her face uplifted to the dazzling and frightening spectacle, Jennet stared as the massive clouds pulsed and throbbed and the booming roar of the sea trumpeted around her.
"It's fantastic!" Pear bawled. "Oh Jennet, it's actually happening—I'll see him again!"
Within the rearing coils of flame a shape was forming. Steadily it grew and Jennet's mouth fell open as a familiar silhouette began to stir in the whirling furnace.
Surrounded by the life-giving fires stood the figure of a man, and from the mouth of each witch issued a sensual and joyous breath.
Pear's attention was fixed solely upon the face now forming in the rippling flames and she stepped forward, disregarding the fierce heats of the fire. Into the fizzling mud she trod, opening her arms in greeting, and her wet clothes steamed before the blistering column of light.
"Father!" she called. "Father!"
Behind her, Jennet shielded her eyes from the harsh glare, then the cliff shook as a mighty clap of thunder resounded from the sky.
At once the flames dwindled and sank back into the pool and the plain plummeted into darkness.
Incredulously, and as a tempest of confused emotions curdled inside her, Jennet stared at the figure that was standing knee deep in the black water.
The most evil and callous outcast from virtuous humanity inhaled the damp air of the summer night and tilted his head arrogantly as a triumphant smirk spread across his bearded face.
Nathaniel Crozier, warlock, High Priest of the Black Sceptre and destroyer of vulnerable souls, appeared exactly the same as when Jennet had last seen him.
Glinting in the deep shadows beneath his brows, the sparkling, raven eyes glittered at each of his motley brides and a venomous chuckle left his lips.
"Father!" Pear sang, floundering through the water to meet him.
"Persephone," his compelling voice declared, "come to me my little succubus! Let all my hellhounds come to me!"
His command jolted the other women from their blissful amazement and with shrill, intoxicated whoops they splashed into the pool to touch and embrace the lord of their lives.
"Nathaniel!" they cooed, pawing at him, vying with each other and grovelling in the mud to gain his attention, "Praise to you!"
Clinging to his waist, Gilly Neugent gazed up at her reason for living, but he ignored her completely and she loved him all the more.
Fighting the others to reach the warlock, Meta threw her arms about his neck and kissed him fiercely.
"Choose me tonight!" she pleaded in his ear. "Let me serve you."
An irritated sneer curled over the mouth of the reborn fiend and he shrugged her off coldly, gazing past the desperate women at the two figures who had remained on the bank.
With the fishmonkey still in her arms, Hillian bowed to her high priest.
"Hail to you—darling man," she called breathlessly. "My heart is alongside itself with cheer. The road to this much happy moment was fraught with many dangers. Alas, we did lose Susannah and Miriam but to venerate you again is worth a thousand deaths."
Nathaniel's teeth flashed as he grinned. "Bravo, Hillian," he thanked her. "You have proven yourself the most worthy of all my cattle. To you will the ring of amethyst go—you shall be priestess over them. Together we will accomplish much."
Meta threw the plump, bespectacled woman a despising glance but the decision had been made and she pulled at his frayed jacket, trying to make him look at her.
"Enough!" Nathaniel icily demanded and immediately the witches recoiled as he began trudging through the water towards the marshy bank.
In the new priestess's arms, the shrivelled fishmonkey raised its webbed claws in salute.
"Thus hath my master fulfilled his portion," he shrieked. "The bargain is complete. Behold the might of the Allpowerful, his strength reaches unto the very shores of the hollow void."
Nathaniel gazed at the ugly creature in disdain and said in a cold and deadly warning, "No one—no man, woman, demon or god—uses me, not even the Lord of the Frozen Wastes!"
"Disclose not his exalted name!" the fishmonkey screeched. "There are many spies eager to hear it!"
"What do I care?" the warlock spat defiantly. "It was my will that controlled the great serpent and I shall do so again. Then let the Triad quake! I shall repay the Lord of the Frozen Wastes for using me—his repentance will be sung unto the furthest reaches of heaven!"
The creature gnashed its teeth and flapped its arms as it squawked in protest. "Twice now thou hast uttered that name. Desist from this folly—or we are all damned!"
Nathaniel ignored the ranting curiosity and his roving eyes glared into the gloom.
"What's this?" he murmured. "Are our ranks increased by a further member?"
His penetrating stare pierced the shadows where Jennet stood rooted with fear and his malevolent power cut into her.
The girl wilted before the intensity of those horrible eyes—yet at the same time a glorious thrill tingled in her heart.
"Janet," the leering man said in velvety scorn, "has the lamb finally come to wear the wolf's mantle? You ought to have embraced me long ago, child—I invited you to, remember?"
Unable to speak, she nodded faintly and swayed with uncertainty as her head pounded. She knew that she hated this foul and hideous man but could not recall why. He seemed so enchanting and charming and she felt the necklace grip her throat as her old devotion to him awakened and welled up in her breast.
In Hillian's arms, a puzzled frown stole over the fishmonkey's grotesque face and the creature stretched out a weedy arm in the direction of the town as it muttered vexedly under its stale breath.
Leaping from the water, Pear rushed to Nathaniel's side and cried joyously, "This is my friend, Jennet. She's one of us now, Father. Without the sacrifice she made you would never have been returned to us."
"Then I have much to thank her for," Nathaniel purred. "You have redeemed me from a most ignoble end, my little maiden. Won't you embrace me now and seal your fate with us?"
Jennet made to rush at him. All she wanted was to feel his caresses—nothing else mattered in the whole world. Then the voice of the fishmonkey sliced through her insane longing.
"WAIT
!" he screamed, writhing madly in Hillian's grasp. "All is not as it should be—there are forces at work here. I feel them beating out a charm of concealment and blindness, yet even now they fail. The shadows they weave are dispersing—Ahhh! I have been cheated and deceived! The threat to my master is alive!"
Turning his ferocious face to Nathaniel, the fishmonkey clawed the air and screeched, "HE LIVES! The boy is not dead!"
The power of Irl's amulet had waned at last.
"Treachery!" the fishmonkey raged. "The Allpowerful has been betrayed!" He twisted his hump-backed body to stare accusingly at Jennet and pointed a menacing claw at her. "Thou hast done this!" he shrieked. "The lies did pour off thy poisonous tongue! This duplicitous wretch did murder no one! Her reviled brother still breathes! What dissembling guile is born in humankind!"
Jennet swallowed nervously as the coven stared banefully in her direction while the mummified creature ranted and squealed with outrage and fury.
Before her, Nathaniel's harsh eyes narrowed and she shivered in the malignance that beat out from them.
"It isn't true!" Pear shouted, springing to the girl's defence. "Father, Jennet did kill him, there was blood—we all heard the scream. Jennet, tell them."
But Jennet could say nothing and the witches drew closer around her.
"Unwise was my master to put his faith in such as you!" the fishmonkey cried at them. "So much for thy boastful claims, high priest. Thy feeble conjurations are not even capable of dominating one wilful child! What over-reaching hope hadst thou of being the governing force behind Morgawrus?"
"Be silent!" Nathaniel demanded.
But the creature would not be stilled, "Verily did the Allpowerful overvalue thy vaunted abilities a thousandfold! Thou art as sand on the shore, a witless fool amongst moon-calved mortals!"
Nathaniel bared his teeth at the fishmonkey then turned on Jennet and struck her viciously.
Wailing, she clutched her stinging face and Nathaniel reared over her.
"You pathetic idiot!" he growled. "You jeopardised the entire bargain! I might have been locked in the abyss for eternity!"