Shadowsmith

by Ross Mackenzie

  “I’ll say!” Dad laughed. “It’s July. Must be global warming.”

  “No, I don’t mean that. I mean… just please be careful. Extra careful. Promise?”

  “Aye,” said Dad. “Promise.”

  Somehow, this didn’t make Kirby feel any better.

  A Nice Cup of Tea

  Mrs Coppershot lived right next door, at number nine in the row of old terraced fisherman’s cottages. She had been there forever, it seemed. Kirby quite liked her. She was really old and a bit deaf, but she always gave him a present at Christmas, and he’d sometimes take her dog Mylo out for a walk because Mrs Coppershot didn’t get out as much as she used to.

  Dad had been gone for over two hours, and the storm wasn’t waning at all. If anything, it had grown stronger. Kirby and Mrs Coppershot were sitting at the front-room window watching the waves thundering against the harbour wall, the foam and spray whipping up in great peaks of white, when the doorbell rang.

  Nobody had come up the street from the harbour. Neither had they come down the hill from the rest of town. Kirby stared at Mrs Coppershot. She stared back at him, the deep wrinkles in her face arranged in a picture of confusion.

  “Who the devil is out in this?” she said. “They’ll get themselves killed!”

  She went to the door as fast as she could manage, which was not very fast at all. Kirby followed behind, hoping beyond hope that it was Dad, that somehow they just hadn’t noticed him walking up the road, that he was back, safe and well.

  But when Mrs Coppershot opened the door, it was not Dad who stood before them.

  There were two men, dressed all in black. Both were very tall and very thin. One had long, greasy hair and the other was completely bald. They looked down at Kirby and Mrs Coppershot and smiled. Their smiles made Kirby feel uneasy.

  One of the men, the one with the hair, said, “Hello, dear. You’re going to invite us in for a nice cup of tea, aren’t you?”

  Kirby stared at Mrs Coppershot. Her face had gone strangely blank.

  “Yes…” she said in an absent-minded sort of way. “Yes I am. Come on in out of the rain.”

  The men stepped into the hallway, brushing past Kirby, and he caught the scent of damp and rot coming from them. Mrs Coppershot closed her front door and followed them into the living room, Kirby at her heels.

  “Who are they?” he whispered.

  “Oh… I’m not sure,” she said in that strangely vacant manner. “But they’re nice, aren’t they?”

  “No,” said Kirby. “No, Mrs Coppershot, they aren’t nice.”

  But she didn’t seem to hear him.

  The living room was warm and cosy, filled with the many trinkets and ornaments Mrs Coppershot had picked up on travels with her husband a lifetime ago. The two men in black sat on the couch, while she toddled into the kitchen to make some tea. Soon they were sat, the four of them, listening to the crackle of the open fire as the gale roared outside.

  Kirby shifted in his seat. Something about these two was familiar… and something was very off. He wished Amelia would knock on the door, sweep into the house and sort everything out.

  The bald man sipped his tea, his face wrinkled in disgust. “This tea is horrific.” He reached out and poured the contents of the cup onto the carpet.

  Mrs Coppershot smiled at him as if he’d just told her she made the most delicious tea in all the world.

  “You can’t do that!” said Kirby.

  “I think you’ll find we can do what we like, sonny Jim,” said the bald man.

  “What do you want?”

  The other man, the one with straggly black hair, stared at Kirby with close-set eyes that sparkled like black jewels in the light of the fire. “We’re here to give you a warning, Kirby Simpson.”

  “Oh,” said Mrs Coppershot, “that’s nice.”

  Kirby realised what felt so familiar about these two. It was something in the air around them, a crackling static that he’d only ever felt once before.

  “Has something happened to Amelia?”

  “You want to watch that one, sunshine,” said the bald-headed man. “She’s tricky.”

  “Just tell me,” said Kirby. “Is she in trouble?”

  “Not yet,” said the long-haired man, “but she will be. There’s a witch over on the little island out in the bay. We reckon it’s this witch who’s making the weather go all haywire. Your friend is heading out there now. But this witch is so strong…” He gave a sad shake of his head. “Your friend doesn’t know what she’s in for.”

  “She’s going there?” said Kirby. “Now?”

  “Oh!” The long-haired man looked shocked. “She didn’t tell you? Oops.”

  “No, she didn’t.” Kirby sat back in his chair and looked around the room, from the vacant smile of Mrs Coppershot to the faces of the two strangers. He wasn’t stupid. He knew they were up to something. But if Amelia really was in trouble and he did nothing about it, he’d never forgive himself. “You’re like her, aren’t you?”

  The men looked at each other. “You could say that.”

  “So you can help her?”

  Their eyes widened in mock surprise. The one with the hair pressed a thin, bony hand to his chest. “Oh, no,” he said. “We don’t get involved in matters such as this. We wouldn’t normally have come here to talk to you… only…” Something hung in the air, something he was holding back.

  “Only what?”

  “Only… your dad. He’s out in the storm, isn’t he?”

  Kirby gripped the arms of the chair. “That’s right. On the lifeboat.”

  “Oh dear,” said the man. “Oh deary dear. We thought so, didn’t we, Brother Swan? See, this witch is getting stronger. This storm is only going to get worse. And if it does… well, I don’t fancy your dad’s chances out there on the sea.”

  Kirby stood up, panic swirling in his head, making him dizzy. The dream came back to him, the one with the sea of blood and the explosion by the standing stones on Ruby Island. “I need to go.”

  Mrs Coppershot looked up from her tea. “Have a lovely time, Kirby dear.”

  Kirby raced to the front door and threw on his raincoat. He had one hand on the door handle when he realised he was about to leave poor Mrs Coppershot alone with the two strange men. Rushing back to the living room, he said, “I think you should leave now…”

  But the couch was empty. Mrs Coppershot was asleep, barking out snores from the comfort of her armchair.

  The only signs the two men had ever been there were a pair of cups on the table, one empty, the other full, and a tea-stain on the carpet.

  Kirby covered Mrs Coppershot with a knitted blanket, put out the fire, and rushed out the door into the raging storm.

  ***

  Outside in the street, Brothers Swan and Swift stood in the driving rain and watched the boy coming out of the old woman’s house. He hurried to the next door along and stumbled inside, reappearing a minute later only to dash away down the street towards the harbour. He ran right past the brothers without seeing them.

  “Well,” said Brother Swift, “I think that went well, don’t you?”

  “Very well indeed,” said Brother Swan. “Shall we?”

  And they walked, in no great rush, down the winding road after Kirby. As they went, the wild rain whipped around them, but they did not get wet.

  A Dangerous Journey

  Kirby shut Mrs Coppershot’s front door, then turned and fought his way up the street towards his own house, the screaming wind and rain pushing him back every step of the way. At his own front door, he fumbled in his pockets for the keys and, half blinded by the rain, managed to push it open.

  The keys to Dad’s lobster boat were hanging on their hook in the kitchen as always. He took them down, stuffed them in his raincoat and ran to the door, darting out into the storm once again. Then it was down the hill, past the cosy glow of Mrs Coppershot’s window to the harbour.

  The tide was high, the water black and churning. The boats
anchored in the harbour seemed huddled together as if frightened by the angry sea. Some of the scaffold the harbour repairmen had been using was broken and twisted, and another section of the wall had crumbled. Dad’s boat was halfway along. Kirby climbed down the slippery metal ladders, clinging on as he was battered by great gusts, and jumped onto the deck. The cabin offered some shelter.

  “This can’t be happening,” he said to himself as his fingers probed his coat pocket for the keys. He’d watched Dad doing this hundreds of times. “Right… where’s the ignition?”

  Aha! Kirby found the slot, inserted the key and turned. The boat coughed to life; it vibrated and juddered beneath his feet, but the sound of the old engine was lost to the storm. He hurried out to the deck, unhooking the rope from the harbour to free the boat, which began to bob and drift. He grabbed a lifejacket and slipped it on. Then he was back inside the cabin at the wheel.

  What am I doing? he thought. This is the craziest thing anyone’s ever done. Now what? How do I make it go?

  Before he could attempt to do anything else, the engine revved, sending a billow of smoke into the night. The boat shot forward, the wheel turning as if steered by an invisible helmsman as it moved out through the harbour.

  Frightened and confused, Kirby grabbed the wheel and tried to turn it – to gain control – but it wouldn’t budge.

  Something made him look back then, towards the harbour wall, and he saw the two men from Mrs Coppershot’s house, tall and thin and dressed all in black, watching him. One of them gave him a little wave. Kirby did not wave back. He turned again, looking through the windscreen just as the boat made a sharp turn out to the open sea.

  No longer protected by the harbour walls, the boat was tossed around in the huge, foam-peaked waves. Kirby tried to wedge himself into a corner, tried to hold on to the seat and the railings in the cabin, but his grip failed and he staggered and rolled around as the boat moved up and down… up and down… in a sickening rhythm. Save for the faint twinkle of lights from Craghaven, all Kirby could see was darkness and mist as he tried desperately not to think of the deep, dark water beneath him. The occasional flash of lightning gave glimpses of what lay further out to sea: enormous, churning waves waiting to swallow him up.

  Onwards the boat charged, climbing great mountains of water, splashing down, the bow stabbing through the surface. At the peak of every wave, Kirby caught sight of Ruby Island Lighthouse, its light carving through the darkness – one flash, then two, then three…

  And with every wave, every flash of light, he was moving closer to the island.

  A thought struck him. Maybe Amelia was the one controlling the boat. Maybe she was bringing him to the island. Maybe she’d be waiting for him with one of her smiles.

  The thought made him braver, stronger, more determined, and the storm intensified around him, roaring as if it knew he wasn’t afraid any more and it wanted to break him.

  The boat curved a path around the back of Ruby Island, until at last it approached a small jetty sheltered between high cliffs. The waves died away and Kirby was able to come out of the cabin and look properly around. The fog was cotton-wool thick out here. Kirby could almost feel it pressing against him. Huge craggy cliffs rose from the mist behind the jetty, looming over him and his boat, and atop them was the lighthouse.

  Dad’s boat came to a stop. Kirby tied it to the jetty and climbed out. A short walk, huddled against the wind and rain, and he reached a set of steps hewn from the cliff face winding up and away towards higher ground.

  “Kirby?”

  The voice was almost lost in the gale, but he heard it and turned to see her, wearing her yellow raincoat as always.

  “Amelia!”

  Kirby ran towards his friend and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight. But she didn’t hug back. He let go, took a step back. Her face was fierce.

  “You, boy, are daft! Soft in the head! What are you doing here?”

  “They said you were in trouble.”

  “Who did?”

  “The men who came to see me.”

  “What men?”

  “There were two of them,” said Kirby. “One bald and one with long dark hair. They knew all about you. They told me you were in trouble.”

  “Do I look in trouble to you?” Amelia brushed soaking hair from her eyes.

  “They told me there’s a witch here on the island, and if we don’t stop her my dad’ll die. I’m frightened, Amelia. He went out in the storm on the lifeboat.”

  The anger faded a little from her face. She peered over his shoulder, back towards the jetty. “You stole your dad’s boat?”

  “Borrowed.”

  “You can’t drive a boat.”

  “I didn’t have to.” He explained how it had brought him here seemingly by magic. “I thought it might have been you.”

  “Not me.”

  “Then who? The weird guys in black?”

  Amelia looked troubled. Kirby could see her working things out in her head. Then she looked around as if checking whether anyone was watching. For the first time she seemed spooked.

  “We need to move. Come on.” She grabbed his hand and led him to the steps in the rocks, and they began to climb.

  Brave

  Nobody lived on the island these days. Engineers from the mainland regularly serviced the lighthouse, and sometimes expeditions of birdwatchers would visit to observe the many species of seabirds that nested in the cliffs. Apart from that, nobody set foot on the place.

  Amelia opened the lighthouse door with no great trouble and soon they were inside, sitting on the spiral steps, the whole place banging and creaking in the wind. The interior was bare and grey, all chipped paint and plaster. A rusted metal banister curved up and out of sight, and a cold breeze breathed down the concrete steps from above.

  “I can’t believe you came here without me,” said Kirby. “Really. After all the times I’ve helped you. You said I’d done well!”

  “I know what I said.” She folded her arms. “You know why I didn’t bring you? To protect you! That’s out the window now, isn’t it? Eh?”

  “I wouldn’t have come at all if those two weirdos hadn’t shown up. They confused me. They got in my head.”

  “It’s what they do,” said Amelia. “I should never have let you get involved. Stupid. They know they can use you to get to me.”

  “Who?” said Kirby. “Enough with the mystery, Amelia. Please! I’m here now, there’s nothing I can do about that. Look, I’ve already almost lost my mum because of this witch. I’m not going to watch her take my dad.”

  Amelia shook her head, muttering under her breath. “Those men who paid you a visit, I’ve known them for a long time.”

  Kirby raised an eyebrow. “How long a time are we talking?”

  “Long,” said Amelia. “Look, imagine the most evil, dangerous thing you can. Well, whatever that might be, it’s about as threatening as a litter of puppies compared to these two. I’ve been putting the pieces together for a while now. I could feel something in the background as soon as I got here, something making it difficult for me to see clearly, to make sense of things. It was them – Swan and Swift.”

  Kirby sniggered. He couldn’t help it. “Swan and Swift? Really?”

  Amelia gave him a scornful look. “There’s nothing funny about them. They’d slit your throat as soon as look at you – if you’re lucky. They’re the ones who brought the witches back. They’re behind all of it. I can see it now.”

  “Why?” asked Kirby. “What could they possibly want in a little place like Craghaven?”

  Amelia’s green eyes were almost glowing in the darkness of the old lighthouse. “Me,” she said. “They need me. They need my help with something, and it’s not good.”

  “And you’d never help them, right?”

  “Not by choice.”

  “And they know that?”

  “Oh, they know.”

  “Are they stronger than you?”

  A pause.<
br />
  “There are different kinds of strength, Kirby.”

  Kirby found his mind wandering to the night Amelia had first turned up in his life. “When we first met you asked me if I was brave. Remember?”

  She nodded.

  “And I didn’t know the answer. I didn’t know what to say. But I do now. I know I can be brave. But I also know that to be brave you have to be frightened first, and do your best to beat it. You taught me that. And you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

  Amelia looked at him, and smiled. “That means a lot, Kirby Simpson, coming from you.”

  “We can do this,” said Kirby. “We can beat them.”

  Amelia was on her feet. “It has to be me. Understand? They’re too strong. You’ll do nothing. You will stay by my side and keep quiet, and maybe, if you’re really lucky, you’ll make it out of this with all your limbs.”

  Kirby nodded. “You’ve got a plan?”

  “I’m going to clean up the last of their mess,” she said. “Get rid of the last witch. Stop this storm.”

  “Then?” asked Kirby.

  She took his hand, and led him to the front door, and the darkness, and the storm.

  “Then?” she said. “Then, Kirby… I honestly don’t know.”

  The Last Witch

  Walking the cliff tops was dangerous in such weather. The mossy grass was bumpy and littered with rocks, and although they kept well back from the edge, Kirby knew it would only take a stumble or slip and he’d be falling to the rocks and freezing water far below. The waves thundered against the cliff face, and the wind and rain drove at them without mercy.

  The further Kirby and Amelia walked along the jagged coastline, the more the island tapered down towards the sea, until Kirby was no longer afraid to look over the edge.

  Amelia tapped him on the arm. “Here,” she yelled over the din. She pointed into the mist, where dark shapes gathered… buildings. As they moved closer Kirby could see that they were ruins, the skeletal remains of stone cottages, abandoned many years ago. There were six of them, all in a row – one nothing more than a lopsided wall, others more complete.