The Whitby Witches Trilogy

by Robin Jarvis

  "That was a long time ago," Nathaniel said curtly. "We were both young, and you couldn't do enough for me. Oh, how things changed."

  Rowena gurgled in mild astonishment. "Of course they did!" she laughed, stealing over the muddy bank. "I grew to despise you."

  Nursing her bleeding face, Hillian Fogle eyed Rowena with hatred and distrust. "Beware, my Lord!" she called. "Artful and dangerous is she. Did Roselyn not betray you and pursue the Staff of Hilda for her own glory?"

  "Really, Hillian," Rowena snorted, "your English still leaves a lot to be desired."

  Nathaniel took a step backwards as his wife crept nearer. "What is it you want?" he asked. "You haven't cheated Death merely to indulge in nostalgia; that was never your way, my dear. Hillian speaks the truth; you did betray me, the staff was not meant for you to wield."

  "Pooh," she purred acidly, stalking closer. "I never wanted the thing! I am here simply because you are still the keeper of my heart. Throughout the empty reaches of death, your image did haunt my melancholy soul and I have been sustained by the undreamed of hope of this one moment."

  Rowena raised her arms to him and held them open, but the warlock knew his duplicitous wife too well to trust her.

  "You could never lie to me, Roselyn," he snapped. "I always discovered the truth that lurked beneath your deceptions—have you forgotten?"

  For an instant a vengeful light glinted in Rowena's eyes but she tittered and continued to advance towards him.

  "Deny that the Lord of the Frozen Wastes has sent you back," Nathaniel challenged, "for my ears are well used to the sound of your subtle lies. Tell me what he hopes to gain by this."

  "Are not the Deep Ones most merciful?" she answered. "Their power knows no bounds and to all of us here they have granted our dearest wishes. You, my fine Duke of the Darkness, baron of my heart, are restored to life and my coven sisters are reunited with their deity once more."

  She threw her arms above her head and giggled wildly. "But I," she roared, "have been given the greatest gift of all, though the price to myself is costly indeed and from this awful pact I shall never be released. Yet gladly did I accept and never once, throughout the endless stretch of eternity, shall I regret it."

  The warlock scowled as Rowena moved close to him. "What pact do you speak of?" he asked. "What has been promised to you?"

  But she made no reply and the warlock began to feel unaccountably afraid. Raising his hand he summoned his powers and threw up a shimmering barrier of dark enchantment between them.

  "Oh Nathaniel," she laughed, stepping leisurely through the seething spells which dissipated harmlessly around her, "are you frightened of me? How clever of you."

  Her husband stumbled back and his black sorceries blasted before him, weaving a mightier wall of defence. Yet this also failed. Rowena breezed through it and her crowing voice sang his name gloatingly as she reached out and stroked his bearded face.

  "Tell me you forgive the mistakes I made," she pleaded in a childish voice, wrapping her arms about him. "You know I never desired to wield Hilda's Staff to usurp you and rule in your stead. That was the last thing I wanted."

  Rubbing her cheek against his, she pressed against him, savouring the delicious moments that would nourish her forevermore.

  The warlock took hold of her wrists and tried to pull her away but the woman clung to him desperately. "Get off me!" he commanded but Rowena hugged him more tightly than ever.

  "Kiss me," she begged, "just one last time."

  Her lips pushed over his spluttering mouth and lingered there despite his struggling protests and then, laying her head on his shoulder, the woman sighed with satisfaction.

  "It's done," she breathed, "and I am contented."

  Nathaniel spat on the ground and again attempted to throw her from him.

  "No, my wretched love," she muttered, "you cannot be rid of me now. This is why I am here. This is why the Lord of the Frozen Wastes has granted me this one, glorious moment."

  "You're mad!" he cried, clawing at her arms to wrench her clear, but the woman's strength was incredible and her arms were locked like bars of iron about him.

  Rowena shrieked with fey laughter. "Oh my fabulous husband!" she hooted. "Yes, I came here to steal the Staff of Hilda but for one purpose only—to be free of you! Yet even in death your despised memory plagued and tormented me."

  "Let me go!" he yelled. "Roselyn, that is an order!"

  "You don't understand!" she crowed. "I stopped serving you long ago. The Lord of the Frozen Wastes is my master. For many months now I have done his bidding and lain hidden in dark places, hoping beyond hope for such a chance as this. Now all bargains are void and I am to be the instrument of the Allpowerful!"

  "Hillian!" Nathaniel called. "Help me—kill her!"

  The other members of the coven rushed forward and their hands tore at Rowena but the woman whooped insanely and there was nothing they could do. "Too late!" she trilled. "I am beyond you now. My master has made me strong and given me life eternal—although in return I have sacrificed this human form."

  Her wild eyes flashed triumphantly before the warlock's fearful face and in a low, condemning rattle she said goodbye.

  "Now I shall be free," she breathed, "but you will be a part of me until the end."

  And so Rowena Cooper abandoned her true shape and assumed the raiment which the Lord of the Frozen Wastes had decreed she must wear till the breaking of the world.

  Without warning, from the wide flapping sleeves of her black gown, a mass of tentacles whipped and writhed and her arms melted into ropes of clammy muscle. The woman's face bubbled as her eyes ballooned into two great fragmented clusters and her flesh sagged into grotesque blubbery rolls of slime.

  Nathaniel screamed as the wriggling, snaking nightmare bound its coils tightly about him and the spy of the freezing deep gave a bellowing shriek.

  "Save me!" the warlock screeched, his nostrils filled with the stench of rotting weed that beat from the apparition.

  The witches wailed and struck at the bloated monster with their knives but Rowena's new form ignored their puny stings and with a braying rumble the pale underside of her deformed body flowed over her husband's frame and enveloped him just as it had Susannah O'Donnell.

  "NOOOO!" Nathaniel clamoured as the acid began eating through his clothes. "Hillian!"

  Horrified and flailing their arms against the quivering flesh of the monster in abject terror, the coven called to their beloved as the grey frills of glistening skin crept up to his chest.

  The warlock's screams were terrible to hear. Into the vast bulk of the wobbling creature he slowly dissolved and a vile sucking squelch boiled up from the greedy innards as Rowena consumed him.

  Hillian threw herself at the ulcerated hide, plunging her dagger deep into the putrescent jelly. But it was all in vain and the stab wounds healed as soon as she ripped the blade out.

  "Lord!" she howled as the pale devouring fronds reached Nathaniel's neck.

  But her anguished face contorted in despair as she saw the ghastly oozing mouth reach up and smother the man's head.

  "Damn you, Roselyn!" he squealed as the liquefying juices swallowed him. "Daaaammnn yoooooouuuuuuu!"

  Within the massive, rippling body, his final tormented curse echoed and then was silenced.

  A frightening calm settled over the Abbey grounds, disturbed only by the constant noise of the rain and the rapacious squidging sounds of Rowena's virulent digestion.

  "No!" Hillian bawled, tearing at her hair. "Nathaniel! Nathaniel!"

  But the warlock had vanished—every trace of him had been utterly consumed, and emitting a satiated, belching grunt, the loathsome apparition wriggled and dragged itself over the ground towards the pool.

  Into the dark water Rowena Cooper retreated. Her one terrible ambition had finally been attained and now she had to pay the price. Imprisoned in this horrendous shape forever but contented at last, she sank beneath the splashing surface and disappeared in a r
ush of bubbles.

  Upon the muddy bank, the remaining members of the coven screamed hysterically. All their plans, all their hopes had suddenly been dashed. Their magnificent high priest had been eaten alive and their minds recoiled from the evil memory. A dreadful madness seized them and they threw themselves on the ground devoid of reason. Now their lives were without purpose and they screeched until their throats bled.

  Within the ruined Abbey a tall figure moved in the deep darkness. From the shadows it stepped and moved over the excavated graves towards the raving uproar until it was standing at Hillian's side.

  The witch was rocking backward and forward and though her mouth gaped open, her screams had dried into a cracked, droning monotone.

  Oblivious to everything except her overwhelming grief, she had not seen the stranger approach and when a hand was placed lightly upon her jerking head she was not aware of it.

  "Peace be on you," the newcomer said with infinite grace and kindness. "The time of your servitude is at an end."

  At once the beads about Hillian's neck broke and were scattered in the mud. The woman fell forward and her ranting terror subsided as the figure blessed her.

  "No longer shall you be a slave to the memory of that evil man," the warm voice gently told her. "You are released."

  Hillian gasped and she gazed around her as though shaken from sleep. "He... he is dead!" she exclaimed.

  The stranger left her and went over to where Caroline was weeping desolately. A second necklace snapped and the fiddle player collapsed in exhaustion.

  Touching her scratched and wounded face, Hillian watched as her deliverer released each of the women in turn.

  "Thank you," she sobbed.

  Sister Frances smiled benignly and in a patient, inspiring voice addressed them all.

  "Hear me now," she pronounced nobly. "Cast away your fears, for Nathaniel Crozier will never return. Henceforth rejoice and never more be troubled by the horrors of the past. Blessed are you, for the freedom of choice is returned unto you. Each one present has suffered much in the service of that black villain, but wounds can heal and if you are indeed repentant then your sins shall be forgiven."

  The women listened to her dumbly and her stirring words brought them hope.

  "What will we do?" Gilly Neugent asked. "Where are we to go? We lived only for him."

  "Then you must begin again," the nun replied, "or pick up the threads of your old lives. Each of you has free will—shape your own destiny and let no other steer you. You have wandered too long in the darkness—come now into the light."

  Uncertainly, the women rose to their feet. "Will you help us?" they begged her. "It's been so long, we don't know how to begin."

  "You must help one another," Sister Frances answered. "Instead of striving for supremacy and indulging in petty squabbles, you must lend support and have generous hearts."

  Bowing her head to them, the nun turned, but her attention was held by a livid light that glimmered out at sea.

  "What is it?" Hillian muttered as the thunder blared over the cliffs and the rain hammered down more fiercely than ever.

  "The end is near," Sister Frances said quietly. "The Lord of the Frozen Wastes himself is coming!"

  ***

  Upon the shore, Miss Boston stared grimly into the tempest as a sickly green glow rose in the distance and beneath the waves the sound of a great bell began to toll.

  "The Deep One!" she cried. "Is it he?"

  Stroking her dead daughter's hair, Meta gazed at the pulsing horizon and nodded gravely. "All is lost for him now!" she shouted above the gale. "His designs are in ruin and soon his secret treason will be known to his brothers. He has nothing left to lose—for they will surely destroy him."

  The sea churned and wrathful waves charged towards Whitby as the Lord of the Frozen Wastes rose from the fathomless regions. Leaving his icy realm, the waters boiled as torrents of black foam exploded to the surface and fountains of poison shot into the lightning-ripped sky.

  Jennet peered out from under the old lady's cloak, staring in terror at the awesome tumult, and she realised that the evil power of the waking world was coming to wreak his vengeance upon them.

  "Ben!" she cried. "I must be with Ben!"

  The girl fled back to the concrete ledge and Miss Boston hurried after her.

  Alone with Pear, Meta waited for the end to come.

  Leaning into the ravaging wind, Jennet and Aunt Alice battled their way to where the fisherfolk defied the screaming storm and watched the calamitous rising of the mighty Lord of the Deep.

  Beside the black boat, Tarr glared at the riotous seas, whose fearsome waves reached far into the crackling heavens while the lightning speared deep into the tortured waters.

  Amidst the squall, and oblivious to the terror that encircled her, Nelda cried out and clutched Ben's hand despairingly. The boy flinched as the aufwader crushed his fingers, and when he stared at her he stifled a scream.

  Nelda's skin was bubbling; huge blisters filled with salt water were swelling over her face and hands and Ben cried to Tarr in dismay.

  Her grandfather looked down at her and wailed. "She's dyin'!"

  A deafening thunderclap split the night and the jagged forks of blinding light smote the seething surface of the sea as the Lord of the Frozen Wastes reared up from the deep.

  Into the shrieking blizzard the crown of his gargantuan head lifted, and, like the vast outline of a colossal mountain, his dark presence left the lashing tides.

  About the immense brows a coronet of green stars blazed and the repellent countenance that was revealed beneath their lurid glare made the crowd on the shore recoil and call out in dread.

  Through the insane waters, the unbounded god rumbled towards Whitby.

  "Ben!" Jennet shouted as she flung her arms around him. "Oh Ben!"

  Looking up into the towering vileness that stretched into the yowling night, Miss Boston spread her tweed cloak about the children like a pair of protective wings and spoke to them hurriedly.

  "My dears," she declared, "I've failed you—we cannot escape from the fiend that approaches. At least here, at the end of all things we are united."

  From the black cloud that roared in the waters, a forest of tentacles came thrashing—like an army of gigantic snakes. Spreading before the immeasurable enemy the monstrous coils broke from the waves and reached through the sky.

  Braving the spectral vision, Miss Boston stuck out her chins and stared upwards as the terrible shadow of the writhing demon fell over her and the children. A darkness deeper than the brumal night descended over the shore and the fisherfolk squealed in fear and panic, clinging to the boat as the sea charged towards them.

  Blind to the chaos around him, Tarr sobbed over his granddaughter as the brine-filled blisters that covered her body began to weep and the hand that he held withered horribly.

  "Nelda!" he bawled. "Nelda!"

  Into the stone of the East Pier the first of the squid-like limbs tore and huge chunks were dragged down into the frothing water. The small lighthouse was thrown down and it toppled with a thundering crash as the tentacles smashed and drove into the solid foundations as though they were built of sand.

  "Ben!" Nelda gargled, her voice choked with salt water. "Where are you? Stay by me, please!"

  At Miss Boston's side, the boy looked wildly into the boat, then at the horror that reared from the sea.

  A strange expression spread over his face and he suddenly pulled himself free of the old lady's arms.

  "Benjamin!" she called as he ran towards the town. "Comeback!"

  "Ben!" Jennet shrieked. "Don't leave us!"

  But the boy raced under the high quivering footbridge, made perilous by the shuddering violence of the Lord of the Frozen Wastes. As he fled over the sands and past Meta's huddled figure, the lofty narrow way buckled and with a splitting roar the footbridge dropped on to the rocks below—flinging clouds of concrete dust and twisted metal into the air. The noise boomed over the
cliffs, but charging into the streets, Ben did not even glance back.

  Jennet and Miss Boston peered in anguish through the swirling debris.

  "Ben!" Jennet cried. "I've got to go after him!"

  "No, child," Aunt Alice restrained her, "it's too dangerous—there's still rubble falling. He's gone, there's nothing you can do now."

  The shore trembled as the full wrath of the Deep One was vented upon the harbour. Between the wreckage of the East Pier and the West, a host of writhing limbs sailed and with unparallelled fury they fell upon the fishing boats, dashing their timbers against the quayside.

  Down came the harbour walls and death screams filled the night as the inhabitants of Whitby were shaken from their beds and buildings slid into the river.

  From his supreme height, with the storm clouds gathered about his vast star-crowned head, the Lord of the Frozen Wastes surveyed the terrible scene with malevolent pleasure. A petrifying cackle blasted from his cavernous mouth as his gigantic lidless eyes fell upon the pinnacles of the Abbey perched on top of the cliff.

  Into the sheer walls of shale his winding limbs pounded, and the rock thundered down as the twisting malice tore into the Abbey plain.

  The stately ruins quailed as the Deep One grappled with its ancient columns, then with an idle flick of the serpent-like coils the broken stones of the holy place tumbled down the crumbling cliff.

  Mercilessly he let out an exulting laugh. The sight gratified his malignant mind but there was still one act of vengeance before he could be truly triumphant.

  Far below, cringing in his swamping shadow, he espied the minuscule figures gathered around the black boat and his ghastly mirth shook the coast.

  ***

  Inside Miss Boston's cottage, Ben tore from his bedroom and leaped down the stairs. Under his arm the boy clutched a large bulky object wrapped up in his old duffle coat, and with his heart beating madly he flew through the hallway then out into the courtyard.

  With a rattle of crumbling mortar the lintel of the front door gave an ominous crack and as he sped out of the alleyway, Aunt Alice's home collapsed.

  Into Church Street Ben ran, dodging falling masonry and hopping over trenches that gaped in the cobbled ground. The East Cliff was unrecognisable; heaps of debris had replaced the quaint shops, burst water mains gushed tall fountains over yawning pits and the first of many fires was already burning in the wreckage, broken gas pipes shooting rivers of dripping flame into the decimated night.