The Whitby Witches Trilogy

by Robin Jarvis

  Through the devastation the boy carefully picked his way, forcing himself not to hear the desperate cries calling from beneath the rubble, and he scrambled down on to the sands.

  In a mad dash, he headed back along the beach while behind him, the town of Whitby was swept into the swollen river.

  Yet upon the shore, Miss Boston, Jennet and the fisherfolk stared up at their doom.

  As a great black mountain, the Lord of the Frozen Wastes loured in the hell-torn sky. The massive discs of his shining eyes pierced the battering rain and his branching hair whipped amongst the swirling clouds thundering through the blighted heaven. Around him his monstrous limbs reared in awful majesty. Not since the dawn of the unhappy world had a member of the Triad been unveiled in all his full black glory.

  The faces of the insects that grovelled on the rocky shore, besieged by destruction, were graven with terror. For this one moment of revenge, the Deep One had spared them from the cataclysmic upheavals and he savoured their raving fear.

  "Now!" he bellowed hideously. "Go screaming into the abyss! For the hour has come for all of you."

  Like an immense tidal wave, his vastness obliterated the sky and the tempest of his wrath plummeted through the gales.

  In the deepening dark, Miss Boston squeezed Jennet tightly while at their side Tarr kissed Nelda's shrivelling hand.

  Through the curling mists that had risen from the steaming sea, the Lord of the Frozen Wastes fell and the torrent of his anger stampeded before him, blasting from his evil, plunging countenance—tearing at those gathered beneath.

  Fighting through the screaming storm, Ben clambered over the ruins of the footbridge and even as the mighty god of the waters avalanched from above, he cast aside his old coat and held aloft the thing he had taken from the cottage.

  There in his grasp, swinging madly in the charging gale, was the Penny Hedge.

  The flimsy fence of twigs and sticks that Ben had stolen and kept hidden beneath his bed these many months, tugged and pulled at his hands but he gritted his teeth and gripped it firmly.

  In the black, freezing shadow of the Lord of the Deep, the boy glared up at the plummeting nightmare and a fierce snarl twisted his young face.

  With his hair streaming in the shrieking wind and his drenched clothes flapping wildly about him, Ben threw back his head and in a loud, clear voice he yelled.

  "OUT ON YE! OUT ON YE! OUT ON YE!"

  Suddenly the Horngarth crackled and with a burst of fiery sparks the woven twigs became blinding white flames.

  Up into the gaping maw the dazzling light shone, illuminating the grotesque contours of the infernal face and, as the age-old power to withstand one more tide beat out from the Penny Hedge, the Lord of the Frozen Wastes let out a deafening scream.

  Thunder exploded around his massive head and a ferocious hail tore about his thrashing limbs as the sea was whipped into a demonic frenzy. But upon the Deep One's wrathful brow, the crown of stars dimmed and their baleful glow was lost in the searing brightness that flowed from the framework of sticks that the boy held over his head.

  The ancient force of the magical barrier fell furiously about the evil member of the Triad. Chains of enchantment ripped at his titanic form, binding and holding him, until the terrifying apparition could no longer move, caught in a net of primeval magic.

  With the Horngarth belting out the ensnaring spells of defence and challenge above his head, Ben glowered up at the motionless cliff of darkness and the boy bawled at the top of his voice, defying the Lord of the Frozen Wastes and crying down his destiny.

  "Begone from the waking world!" the boy shrieked. "The powers of the Deep have no dominion here. The time of the gods is past!"

  By the black boat, Miss Boston and Jennet peered fearfully over to where Ben ranted and they shuddered in disbelief.

  The boy's voice was changing, it had become deeper than his own and was filled with arrogance. A hard bitterness crept into the severe words that tumbled from his lips as he shouted his scorn and Jennet shook her head incredulously.

  "Gone are your temples!" Ben yelled with haughty derision. "Forgotten is your memory—slink back to your empty desolation for no more does the world need you. Humankind commands here now! It is Man who rules; he has succeeded your position and surpassed you in might! Return into the void of neglected memory and be a whisper on the wind!"

  As he shouted these proud, insolent words a shadow crept over the child. Despite the blinding glory that blistered from the Penny Hedge, his face darkened and then, as Miss Boston and Jennet watched in horror, the boy grew.

  His bones stretched and his features shimmered as Ben journeyed into his own future until standing beneath the Lord of the Deep was a swaggering, middle-aged man whose face was cruel and full of conceit.

  "Ben," Jennet breathed, "what's happened to him?"

  Miss Boston mumbled sorrowfully, "That", she replied, "is what your brother will become."

  "Without us you are nothing!" the braggart continued. "I am Lord above the waters! Leave this place—crawl into your noisome holes and be glad that Laurenson is merciful!"

  Jennet stared at the vain, boastful man. "It's horrible!" she wept.

  "That is why the Deep Ones fear him," Miss Boston muttered. "Look at that ruthless face. There is nothing that brazen villain would not do! There is no compassion in his eyes—great heavens, what have I nurtured?"

  "But he isn't like that!" Jennet sobbed. "You know he isn't. He's just a boy!"

  Running over the shore the girl called to the dreadful vision of her brother. "Ben!" she cried. "Ben!"

  The man tore his eyes from the Lord of the Deep and glared down at her. A repulsive sneer flickered over his face and he regarded her with contempt and disdain. "Flee while you can, little sister!" he laughed and the foul sound pierced the girl's heart.

  "You have no claim on me now!" he said sourly. "I have no need of a puling family. I am allpowerful—a master of control and domination! Run back to the old hag—you are nothing to me now."

  Jennet fell back beneath the fierce hatred of his words. "Ben!" she wailed.

  The man guffawed to see her pain, but then his face fell and he stared furiously up at the white flames of the Penny Hedge—they were dying.

  "No!" he screeched.

  As the light dimmed and the forces of the Horngarth were utterly spent, the man that Ben would one day become let out a terrible roar, then faded.

  Only a charred skeletal framework remained of the hedge and, grasping hold of the brittle, torrefied twigs, an eight-year-old boy staggered in bewilderment, aghast at his evil destiny.

  "Ben!" Jennet cried in relief.

  But the power of the Horngarth had gone and as the wind blew a plume of black ash from the boy's hands, the Lord of the Frozen Wastes was released.

  Yet raging in from the far distance, rampaging through the wild surf, came two immense towers of darkness.

  From the distant reaches of the world the Lord of the Roaring Waters and the Lord of the Circling Seas came storming. Their brother's treachery was revealed to them and towards the devastation that had once been Whitby they raced.

  Their wrath was more frightening than anything the survivors had yet seen. As black billowing clouds of doom they came and Ben leaped from the quaking rubble to be with his sister and Aunt Alice.

  In a shriek that rocked the earth and sent the waters pounding over the despoiled land, the Lord of the Frozen Wastes quailed in terror.

  The bed of the River Esk shivered and a wide fissure split across the ruined town. Into the chasm the sea tumbled and down into the gaping gulf the ruined town slipped.

  Miss Boston held the children tightly and the fury of the Deep Ones lashed around them.

  The Earth tipped and the shore buckled as the powers of the world did battle. Caught in the waves of destruction, Miss Boston wailed and down into the bottomless abyss she and the children were dragged. Spinning helplessly after plummeted the black boat of Nelda, and with her th
e sole remaining tribe of aufwaders was finally extinguished. The horrendous tumult rolled over the broken land, engulfing it beneath a foaming wrath and eternal night swallowed the world.

  ***

  All was darkness, not a sound disturbed the eerie peace.

  Ben opened his eyes but could see nothing in the blind gloom.

  "Jen?" he whispered. "Are you there?"

  "Is that you, Ben?" the girl answered. "Where are you? I can't see!"

  Aunt Alice's familiar tones echoed from the pitch black void. "Gracious!" she uttered in a small voice.

  Very faintly, a pale radiance glimmered in the distance and a wonderful dawn edged over the rim of a placid, rippling ocean. Into the clear heavens the rejoicing light was thrown, bathing the cloudless canopy in rich golden beams.

  Miss Boston marvelled at the sight and a fresh breeze ruffled her white woolly hair.

  She and the children were standing upon a sandy shore. Behind them a curtain of shadow shimmered darkly but before them lay a stretch of sparkling water that shone like crystal.

  "It's beautiful," Jennet breathed.

  Suddenly an amazing sound cut through the sweet air and Miss Boston and Ben whirled round in astonishment.

  There, sitting up within the black boat, with her head in her grandfather's arms was Nelda, and huge tears were rolling down her face.

  Ben's heart leapt and he darted over to them, spluttering with delight, and the tears that Nelda wept were tears of joy—for in her arms was a new-born child.

  The infant gurgled happily and its large grey eyes blinked up at its mother as a tiny mouth opened and it gave a chuckling yawn.

  Nelda laughed and stroked the baby tenderly.

  "It's a boy," she told Ben. "Look—isn't he perfect?"

  Tarr grunted sagely, "Arr! He'm a Shrimp reet enough. That's my nose he'm got theer! A proper netter of fish he'll be—make tha proud 'e will."

  Nelda gazed lovingly at the small wrinkled face and smiled. "He already has," she whispered.

  Around the black boat the hazy shadows retreated and the rest of the fisherfolk shuffled in a daze on to the gleaming sands.

  "A bairn!" Old Parry squawked. "She's managed it—they both live!"

  The aufwaders stared at the mother and child dumbfounded, then the seawives threw down their dripping shawls and they all clustered around Nelda to weep and fuss.

  Miss Boston beamed at Ben as he ambled back to her.

  "What's happening?" he asked. "Nelda was dying."

  A mysterious smile twitched over the old lady's face and she looked into the swirling gloom behind them. "I'm not sure," she replied, "yet I have..."

  "Be jubilant and banish your dread!" proclaimed a loud voice.

  Everyone turned to see who had spoken and out of the shadowy curtain stepped a tall figure dressed in white robes that dazzled them in the brilliant sunshine.

  "I don't believe it!" Miss Boston cried. "What are you doing here?"

  Sister Frances strode to the water's edge. Gone was her ungainly gait and a strange tranquillity glittered in her large eyes. Gone too was the nun's gauche playfulness and when she addressed them it was with an air of supreme authority.

  "Your time of sorrow has ended," she told the fisherfolk, "for the Mother's Curse has indeed been lifted. May that infant be but the first to bless your tribe in the days that are to come."

  "How can that be?" asked Nelda. "What miracle has occurred?"

  Sister Frances smiled. "The Lord of the Frozen Wastes is no more," she replied. "His brethren have destroyed him. His evil has been purged from the world and his dark soul banished to the outer reaches of the void."

  "Just one moment!" Miss Boston called indignantly. Puffing out her cheeks, the old lady clucked to herself then waggled a dubious finger at the nun's shining figure. "Are you trying to tell me," she began truculently, "that we have been returned—that this place is..?"

  "You are where you were," Frances answered, "behold!"

  She flourished her hand, gesturing towards the churning shadows behind them and as they stared, the darkness melted.

  Rearing high into the clear sky was a towering wall of shale and jutting from the top of the cliff, like a jagged fang of rock, was the Abbey.

  The mists receded further and beneath the glorious sunshine, the harbour flashed and glimmered. All around them the final shreds of shadow were uncurling and the gulls glided lazily over the rooftops as Whitby was restored.

  Gazing at the wondrous sight, Tarr dropped humbly to his knees. "Praise the Lords of the Deep and Dark," he murmured reverently.

  "This is the measure of their remorse," the nun declared. "In atonement for their brother's crimes they have laboured long and this haven by the sea and those who dwell therein are saved."

  "Nine times bless me," Tarr muttered. "Theer ain't nowt they canna do."

  "Not so," she replied, "for at the side of joy there runs also grief. See, they cannot undo what they have had no part in." Sister Frances pointed along the shore, where the figure of Meta still nursed Pear's body. "Never shall that unhappy soul be free of her torment," she said. "It will hound her always."

  Jennet lowered her eyes and silently mourned her late friend.

  "Are we really here?" Ben cried. "Are we really home?"

  Aunt Alice stuck her tongue in her cheek and keenly scrutinised the figure that purported to be Sister Frances. "Who are you?" she asked. "What happened to that idiot with the Jolly Cheer Up Bag?"

  "She is here," the white figure replied, "though her mind is at rest. Do not be startled, Frances has been most useful to me. You must know, Alice Boston, that not all possession is evil."

  The old lady's face resembled a surprised frog and she spluttered in amazement.

  "But now the time has come", the nun announced, "for many partings." She gestured to the sea and as the fisherfolk gazed out to the sparkling horizon they saw tiny shapes sailing from the distance.

  "Grandfather," Nelda whispered, "what is it?"

  With his whiskery brows knitted together, Tarr became solemn and around him the aufwaders uttered in dismay.

  "The tribe has been spared," he snorted gruffly, "but at what cost?"

  A fleet of small rowing boats was floating over the peaceful waves and standing at the prow of the foremost vessel was a figure arrayed in a tunic of bright silver.

  It was an aufwader, but one such as Ben had never seen before. About his proud head was bound a circlet of purest gold, that revelled in the dancing sunlight and appeared to burn over his noble brow as a crown of flame. Around the stranger's shoulders, long sand-coloured hair streamed in the breeze and the face which it framed was etched with wisdom.

  "By Gow!" Tarr exclaimed. "It isna!"

  But all around him the aufwaders took deep excited breaths and shook their heads in astonishment.

  "See the pattern twisted over yonder tunic!" Eurgen Handibrass shouted. "There's only been one wi' a crest like thattun! It were writted throughout the caves on all the works he did!"

  Old Parry hopped up and down as she tried to contain herself. "Irl!" she blurted. "It's Irl!"

  Miss Boston nodded, admiring the regal, legendary figure that sailed towards them. "So he too has been forgiven," she sighed. "Splendid!"

  The boat which held the former herald of the Deep Ones floated to a halt at the water's edge, and Irl turned a great glad smile upon them.

  "Hail to thee, Tarr of the Mereades!" he saluted.

  Tarr bowed stiffly then Irl fixed his large green eyes upon Miss Boston. All the shifting moods of the sea were reflected within them and the old lady blushed coyly. "Hail to thee also," he greeted her, "Queen amongst mortal kind."

  "Most gracious," she mumbled.

  "The mighty ones are in truth merciful," Irl proclaimed. "They have repented of their anger towards our race!"

  Many tears flowed from the fisherfolk, but as the other vessels glided to a halt, Nelda eyed them uncertainly. "Why are there so many empty boats?" she asked
. "Who is to sail in them?"

  Irl turned to her and in a lamenting voice said, "Compassionate the Deep Ones might be, yet they will not suffer thee to live alongside the humankind. I have been sent to guide thee away."

  Ben rushed to Nelda's side. "You can't go!" he cried. "Tell him you're staying here!"

  "Neither she nor any other can remain," Irl told him, "for the condition of their survival is that they accompany me."

  "Where to?" the boy asked. "Can I still come and visit them?"

  "No," Irl said sadly, "the Deep Ones have toiled unceasingly to raise an island in the far girdling waters and around it they have woven a mist which no mortal ship may penetrate. The race of the aufwader is passing out of thy world, child—their dwellings upon the enchanted isle will be forever beyond man's reach."

  A lump formed in Ben's throat as the sobs welled up and a large tear rolled down his cheek as he looked at Nelda. "I won't see you again!" he sniffed.

  "Oh Ben!" she cried as her own tears flooded out. "I'll miss you so much!"

  Passing the infant to her grandfather, Nelda gave the boy a fierce hug.

  "Don't forget me!" he blubbered.

  "How could I do that?" she wept, disentangling herself from his arms and taking the baby from Tarr.

  "Look at this child of mine," she cried. "Hold him in your arms before we part."

  Ben held the infant gingerly and the tiny face gurgled up at him.

  "He likes you," Nelda murmured. "See, my son—this is the one you were named after. Yes, my dearest friend, he too shall be called Benjamin."

  Hearing this Miss Boston dabbed her own moist eyes and turned briskly to Tarr.

  "So this is goodbye, Mr Shrimp," she said. "I can't say as I'm pleased. Whitby will be a sad place without you and your kind. It seems as if all the mysteries are fading and the world is becoming woefully dull and grey."