I had no strength to resist. There was little pain, just a sense of floating away toward death. How long it went on I have no idea, but the next thing I knew, Scarabek was walking purposefully into the room, her shadow flickering on the ceiling in the candlelight. She came across and gently plucked the creature from me; as it came away, I felt a tugging at my throat as its teeth were withdrawn. She carried it over to the cradle, which still lay on its side, and swaddled it in the woolen blanket again.
She started singing to it in a low voice—a lullaby that might have been used to soothe a human child. Then she righted the cradle and placed the creature inside, carefully adjusting the blanket to keep it warm.
Scarabek came back and stared down at me, and I saw that her face had changed. Previously, she must have used some enchantment to disguise herself. The truth was now revealed, and I recognized her instantly. There was no doubt: She was the Celtic witch from my dreams. These were the eyes—one green, the other blue—that I had seen in the cloud as we’d approached Ireland, and I shuddered at the malevolence glaring from them.
But how was it possible? How could she have returned from the dead when the dogs had eaten her heart?
“Tom Ward! How easily you fell into my hands! Ever since you approached our shore, I have been watching and waiting!” she cried. “It took the simplest of spells to lure you into my cottage. And how well you obeyed me, leaving your precious staff at the threshold. Now you are totally in my power. My life will end soon, my spirit given up in sacrifice to Pan. You will die too, but only after suffering terribly for what you did to my sister.”
Sisters…were they twins? They looked so alike. I wanted to ask her, but I was almost too weak to draw breath. How much blood had the little creature taken? I wondered. I fought to remain conscious, but my head began to spin, and I fell into darkness. The witch had promised to make me suffer, but I already felt close to death—although there was no fear, just a terrible weariness.
How long I was unconscious I don’t know, but when I came to, I heard voices: a man and a woman talking together quietly. I tried to make sense of what they were saying—something about barrows and traveling north. At last I managed to find the strength to open my eyes. The two of them were standing over me—Scarabek, the witch, and the man called Thin Shaun.
But was he really a man, or something else? His hood was pulled back, revealing an emaciated head that could almost have been that of a corpse. The skull was clearly visible, the skin thin and parchment dry, his hairless head covered in patches of flaking skin.
“He conceals a deadly weapon in the left pocket of his cloak,” said Scarabek. “Take it from him, Shaun. I cannot bear to touch it.”
Thin Shaun reached into my pocket. I had no strength to resist, and he drew out my silver chain. As he did so, I saw the pain upon his face; with a shudder, he dropped it on the ground, out of my reach.
“He used that to bind my sister before she was slain. But he won’t ever need to use it again. His life as an apprentice spook is over. We’ll take him north now, Shaun,” said the witch. “I’m going to hurt him badly and let him feel something of the suffering I experienced.”
I was dismayed at the loss of my silver chain, but at least he hadn’t discovered the blood jar in my pocket.
Thin Shaun picked me up and threw me over his shoulder, just as my master would carry a bound witch before putting her into a pit. He held me by the legs so that my head was hanging down toward his heels. I lacked the strength to resist, and I was aware of a strange musty smell emanating from him, an odor of dank underground places. But what really unnerved me was the extreme coldness of his body; even though I could feel and hear him breathing, it was as if I was being carried by a dead man.
Curiously, though my body was weak, my mind became strangely alert. I tried to practice what the Spook had taught me and take careful note of my situation.
We left the cottage and headed north, Scarabek taking the lead and carrying the creature in the woolen shawl close to her bosom, as if it were a human baby. Perhaps it was her familiar. A witch usually gave a familiar her own blood, but this was often augmented by blood from her victims. The most common familiars were cats, rats, birds, and toads, but sometimes witches used something more exotic. I had no name for the thing she was carrying; it certainly wasn’t mentioned in the Spook’s Bestiary. But I was dealing with a witch from a foreign land, and her powers and habits were largely unknown to me.
To the east, the sky was already becoming lighter. I must have slept for at least a day and a night. The fog was lifting, and I could see the bulk of two mountains rising up ahead and to the right. And then I caught sight of something else—the unmistakable shape of a burial mound—and we were moving directly toward it. It was small, hardly more than twice the height of a man, and covered in grass. When we were less than five yards away, there was an intense flash of yellow light. As it dimmed, I saw the silhouette of the witch against a round doorway.
Moments later, the breeze died down and the air immediately became significantly warmer; we were surrounded by darkness, right inside the barrow. There was a sudden flare of light, and I saw that the witch was holding a black candle, which she’d just ignited by magic. Within the mound stood a table, four chairs, and a bed, to which she pointed.
“Put him there for now,” she instructed, and Thin Shaun dumped me on it without ceremony. “It’s time to feed him again….”
I lay there for several minutes, struggling to move. I was still suffering from that strange paralysis. The witch had gone into another room within the barrow, but Thin Shaun stood there silently, his unblinking eyes staring down at me. I was starting to feel a little stronger, and my heart and breathing were gradually returning to normal. But I guessed that Scarabek was now going to feed me more of the gruel laced with poison. If only I could manage to regain the full use of my limbs.
She returned within minutes, carrying a small bowl. “Lift his head, Shaun,” she commanded.
With his right hand, Thin Shaun gripped my shoulder, lifting the upper part of my body almost upright. This time the witch had a small wooden spoon, and as she brought it toward me, she held my forehead firmly while, with his left hand, Thin Shaun tugged my jaw downward, forcing my mouth wide open.
The witch kept stuffing the spicy gruel into my mouth until I was forced to either swallow or choke. As the concoction went down my gullet, she smiled.
“That’s enough for now—let him go,” she said. “Too much will kill him, and I have other plans for him first.”
Thin Shaun lowered me back onto the bed and stood beside Scarabek. They stared down at me while my mouth grew dry and the room started to spin.
“Let’s go out and get the girl,” I heard the witch say. “He’ll be safe enough here.”
The girl—which girl? I wondered. Did they mean Alice? But then, once again, I felt my heart flutter and I fell into darkness. I knew no more for a while but kept having dreams of flying and falling. For some strange reason I was compelled to jump from a cliff, spreading my arms wide like a bird’s wings. But then I would plunge downward out of a dark sky, the unseen ground rushing up to meet me.
I felt someone shaking me roughly by the shoulder; then cold water was dashed into my face. I opened my eyes to see Thin Shaun staring down; I could smell his foul breath. He stepped back to reveal that there were two other people in the room. One was the witch; the other was Alice.
My heart lurched. Alice looked disheveled, and her hands were bound behind her back.
“Oh, Tom!” she cried. “What have they done to you? You look so ill—”
But the witch interrupted. “Worry about yourself, child!” she cried. “Your time on this earth is almost over. Within the hour I will give you to your father, the Fiend.”
CHAPTER X
IN THE GRASP OF THE FIEND
AS Thin Shaun picked me up again, I heard Scarabek cry out some words of dark magic. Seconds later we were standing outside the burial mo
und. It was dark once more, and there was a waxing crescent moon; the air was very cold, a hoarfrost already forming over the soft, boggy ground.
We headed north, the witch’s fist bunched in Alice’s hair as she dragged her along. The familiar had been left behind in the barrow.
Alice had been beyond the protection of the blood jar, so why, I wondered, hadn’t the Fiend come for her already? We’d both expected that, at the first opportunity, he’d take his revenge.
So was the witch going to summon him now? If so, the blood jar would prevent him from coming near. Did she know about it? Would she break it and give us both to the Fiend?
The landscape was bleak and treeless but covered with scrub and brambles, and it was to a tangled thicket that the witch finally led us. She dragged Alice over to a large thorny bush and tied her by the hair to its intertwined branches. While I watched from Thin Shaun’s shoulder, horrified at what was taking place, Scarabek circled the bramble patch three times against the clock, chanting dark spells. Alice began to weep. Her knowledge of the craft would tell her exactly what the witch was doing.
“Oh, Tom!” Alice cried. “She’s done a deal with the Fiend. She wants to hurt you, too. He’ll be here soon.”
“He will indeed!” agreed Scarabek. “So it’s time to get you yonder so that the Fiend can come and collect the girl. Let’s away!” she commanded Thin Shaun.
I’d expected—and hoped—to be tied up alongside Alice. Unknown to the witch, I still had the blood jar in my pocket, so he surely couldn’t hurt me.
But I was led away from Alice, up the slope. We gazed back down from on high. Alice looked very tiny, but I could just make out her desperate struggles to get free of the brambles.
I soon found out how wrong I’d been about Scarabek: She knew everything!
“We’re far enough away now,” she said, “and the girl’s beyond the protection of that jar she made. So that’s the first pain you’ll endure—watching the Fiend take your pretty friend’s life and soul! He’s delighted to have the opportunity to make you suffer. But don’t worry, I won’t let him get his hands on you! I intend to give you to the Morrigan.”
Lightning suddenly split the sky to the west as dark clouds raced inland, obscuring the stars. It was followed within seconds by a rumble of thunder, and then, in the ensuing silence, I heard a new sound—that of distant but very heavy footfalls, each followed by an explosive hiss.
Although still mostly invisible, the Fiend was just starting to materialize. He would take on the huge form of what witches called “his fearsome majesty,” a shape designed to instill fear and awe in all who beheld him. Some said that the sight could make you die of fear on the spot. No doubt this was true for those of a nervous disposition, but I had been close to him in that form, and so had Alice, and we’d both survived the encounter.
We were too far away to see his approaching footprints. They were fiery hot, and while his cloven hooves could burn their impression into wooden floorboards, in cold, boggy terrain like this they would merely cause the ground to spit and hiss, erupting in spurts of steam at each contact.
Although the clouds were almost halfway across the sky now, the moon was still ahead of that dark advancing curtain, and by its light I saw the Fiend materialize fully. Even at this distance, he looked huge: thick and muscular, his torso shaped like a barrel, his whole body covered in hair as thick as the hide of an ox. Huge horns curved from his head, and his tail snaked upward in an arc behind him.
My heart was in my mouth as he strode directly toward Alice, who was struggling in vain to tear herself free of the brambles. I could hear her screams of terror. I tried to struggle out of Thin Shaun’s grip, but he was very strong and, in my weakened condition, my efforts were feeble.
Towering above Alice, the Fiend reached down with his huge left hand and knotted his fist in her hair, as the witch had done, tearing her free of the brambles and lifting her up so that her face was level with his own. She screamed again as her hair was ripped from the thicket, and began to weep. The Fiend loomed closer, as if intending to bite off her head.
“Tom! Tom!” she cried. “Good-bye, Tom. Good-bye!”
At those words my heart surged up into my mouth and I could hardly breathe. Was this it? Was it really over at last? The Fiend had her in his clutches, and there was nothing more I could do to save her. But how would I live without Alice? Tears began to run down my face, and I began to sob uncontrollably. It was the pain of imminent loss, yes, but also the pangs that came from my empathy with Alice.
We were so close I knew exactly what she was experiencing. I suffered what she suffered. Never again to be comfortable in this world; anticipating an eternity of pain and terror as her soul languished in the dark, at the mercy of the Fiend, who would devise endless tortures to repay her for the trouble and hurt she had caused him because of me. All because of me. It was just too much to bear.
A moment later, it was over. There was a flash of light, a rumble of thunder, and a blast of hot wind searing into our faces. I screwed up my eyes, and when I was able to open them again, the Fiend had vanished, taking Alice with him.
Another pang of loss knotted my stomach. Alice was now beyond this world; never had I felt so alone. As Thin Shaun carried me, Scarabek walked close beside me, spitting cruel taunts.
Although she grinned with delight at my tears, which flowed as copiously as the rain that swept over us, I cared nothing for her heartless words. My tears were for Alice and for myself. Now the world had changed terribly. I had lost my mam and dad, and both losses had been devastating, but this was different. This was a pain beyond even that. I had called Alice my friend, held hands with her, sat beside her. But only now that she was snatched away forever did I fully realize the truth.
I loved Alice, and now she was gone.
After collecting the creature from the barrow, we returned to the cottage and Thin Shaun threw me onto the bed like a sack of rotten potatoes.
Scarabek looked at me with scorn. “Even if you weep an ocean,” she hissed, “your sorrow will not even be able to approach mine. I loved my sister as myself, for indeed she was me and I her!”
“What do you mean?” I demanded. Despite my anguish, the spook in me was waiting just below the surface. My master had taught me to use every opportunity to learn about our enemies so as to be in a better position to eventually defeat them.
“We were twins,” she answered. “Witch twins, of a type so rare that only once before has our like been seen in our land. We shared one mind—a mind controlling two bodies. I looked out through her eyes, and she through mine.”
“But your eyes are not the same as hers. One is blue and the other is green—why should that be so?” I asked curiously.
“Once both my eyes were blue, but since my sister’s death I have wandered among the Hollow Hills, seeking power,” the witch replied. “All who stay too long there are changed. But we were closer than you can ever imagine. The experiences she had, I had too. The pain she felt, I felt too. I was there when you betrayed and killed her. Half of me was ripped away at her death.”
“If you were there, then you will know I didn’t kill her,” I protested. “It was my master, Bill Arkwright.”
“Don’t lie! You were working together. You planned her death. It was a trick—your device.”
I shook my head weakly. “That’s not true. I would have kept my side of the bargain.”
“Why should I believe a spook’s apprentice? What you say matters little and will make no difference to what I plan.”
“What are you going to do with me now?” I asked. It was better to know the worst. Despite my grief, I was still calculating the odds against me—searching for any chance of escape, however slim. My silver chain was still on the floor where Thin Shaun had cast it. But when I looked at it out of the corner of my eye, Scarabek gave me an evil smile.
“Forget that. Your days of wielding such a weapon are over. You will be too weak to use it, being food for Konal
. He’ll be hungry again within the hour.”
“Konal is your familiar?”
The witch shook her head. “No, Konal is my beloved son, and his father is Thin Shaun, the barrow keeper, whose time on this earth is now short. A keeper has only one son, born of a witch—the child who will replace him and continue his role.”
“The keeper? Why is he called that?”
“The name is apt. Keepers maintain the many barrows that are scattered across our land. Once they contained the bones of the ancient dead, but now they are refuges for the Celtic witches. Shaun keeps the magic strong and appeases those who made them, for their spirits are never far away. He offers them blood.”
A horrible thought struck me. Did Thin Shaun need blood, like his son? I glanced up at the keeper, who gave me an evil smile.
“I can see the fear in your face,” he told me. “You think I seek to drain you too? Am I right?”
I shrank away from him. Could he read my mind?
“Well, you needn’t fear on that account,” Thin Shaun said. “I offer up the blood of animals. Only rarely does a keeper take human blood. But then, if his thirst is great, he drains his victims until they are dead.”
“But none of this concerns you, who have perhaps less than a week to live,” the witch interrupted. “Soon we’ll be in Killorglin, and your suffering will intensify. We’ve talked enough. Shaun, bring more gruel!”
They force-fed me again, this time a smaller amount; then, while I lay there, helpless, my mouth dry, a gritty feeling in my throat, the world beginning to spin, the witch brought her child over to where I lay. She partially unwrapped it from the blanket and laid Konal close to my neck. Within moments I felt the stab of its sharp teeth, and while Scarabek watched over me, smiling, my blood was slowly drained.
The Spook's Destiny (Wardstone Chronicles Book 8) Page 9