Stones of Power- Hellstone & Maelstrom

by Jenna Grey

  Bert made an assortment of tuts and other noises of good-humoured disapproval.

  “Oh, now, now, that’s enough of that. You’re not going anywhere until we are quite certain you’re safe. Your grandparents would haunt me to my dying day if I let anything happen to you.”

  Polly had the overwhelming urge to throw her arms around Bert and give him a heartfelt hug. Instead, she beamed her best smile at him, a sudden wave of relief and gratitude rushing over her.

  “I can’t even begin to tell you how happy I am to be here. I want to pay my way, though, even if I only do your cooking and cleaning for you. Perhaps I could clean the shop and serve customers until I can get a job. I won’t freeload.”

  Bert tutted again, shaking his head.

  “Now that’s enough of that, young lady. I’ve not asked you here to become a servant. Liam and are I both good cooks, we don’t believe in wasting our time cleaning, and we never get any customers, so that’s the end of that.” Polly giggled.

  “Well, I’ll take my turn,” she insisted.

  “Of course you will,” he said. “You’re well out of there, sweetheart. It sounds to me as if something nefarious is going on there and the further away from it you are the better. It’s providence that brought you here, and we should all be grateful for that.” Polly could only agree. It did feel as if someone was looking after her.

  “Finn said that you saw someone today who might have some information that will help us?”

  “Yes, indeed,” Bert replied. “This chap, Bramwell McAlistair is one of the world’s leading authorities on Viking history and lore. He knows everything there is to know about our friend Sigurd – well, the legend that surrounds him, anyway. There is very little historical evidence to prove that he existed truth be told. There are quite a few old Viking sagas that mention him in passing, but they are mostly just fragments and snippets about him. We have records of his sons, Asmund Blood Hammer and Authgrim Storm Bringer – very colourful characters. He had a fair few sons by all accounts, but not that much is written about him.”

  “But if he had sons he must have existed,” Polly said, puzzled.

  Bert put on the kettle for yet another cup of tea. Polly couldn’t help but think that she was going to end up with a weak bladder if she stayed here for too long.

  “Well, some scholars think that he’s an amalgam of several old kings, but I can tell you that he did exist,” he said. “I did quite a bit of research on him myself after Winchard approached me about finding his burial site. The fact is, nobody knows that much about him and your guess is as good as mine as to what happened to him after he was murdered; it was murder. He and his men were captured in battle and were prisoners of war. Hallfrid Iricsson could have shown mercy and let them go with an assurance that they’d never darken his door again and paid him tribute, but he chose to execute them in the most barbaric way. They called this particular form of execution ‘the Blood Eagle’, a most horrific way to die. They laid the poor soul on his stomach, the skin of his back was peeled back and outwards to form ‘wings’, then the ribs were severed from the spine with a sharp tool or an axe. The final, awful torture was for him to have his lungs pulled out through the opening. Most unpleasant.”

  “Oh God, that’s disgusting,” Polly said, putting down the rich tea biscuit she was about to eat.

  “They were a barbaric lot and no mistake,” Bert continued. “Anyway, thanks to Bram and some old documentation we’ve managed to narrow down the possible location of his burial site. It’s still a huge area to cover, basically most of the Yorkshire Moors, but it’s a start. More importantly, he’s found a dagger hilt with Sigurd’s name engraved on it, and he’s quite certain that it did belong to him. With that, I am convinced I can find Sigurd’s last resting place. First, though, I think we need to do a bit of breaking and entering to get more solid information if we can. There’s no point traipsing all across the country to find Sigurd’s resting place if your uncle already has the Hellstone – and I hate to say it, but it sounds as if that might be the case.”

  “We don’t even know for certain that’s what we’re dealing with, anyway,” Finn said. “For all we know it could be some other artefact entirely. There are a lot of stones of power out there.”

  “Quite, right, my boy.” Bert turned to Polly. “One of the boys will watch your uncle’s house around the clock for the next few days, and as soon as they see Winchard and your uncle leave, they’ll give us the heads up. Then we can go in there and see what we can find. I can locate this stone, whatever it is, if it’s in there, I can assure you of that.”

  Finn was still perched on the arm of the chair, close to Polly, and she caught him tossing the odd glances in her direction out of the corner of her eye. He was close enough for her to get a faint whiff of aftershave or soap, a fresh, clean smell.

  “What do we do if we can’t find anything?” Polly asked.

  Finn scrunched up his face in a grimace.

  “Well, we need to do something. The idea of your uncle having any object with that amount of power is a terrible one, but we have to be sensible about this. An all-out assault on him and Winchard would be very foolish because we don’t know enough about what’s going on. If we don’t have any joy finding anything in your uncle’s house, then we’ll need to have a rethink. I’m sure we can come up with something.”

  Bert slammed the old book shut, sending a puff of dust up into the air and stood up.

  “Right now, there’s nothing more we can do, so I suggest that you get settled in, my dear girl. We can spend a pleasant evening together getting to know one another a bit better. It’s just about closing time, and I have some rather delicious fish cakes I can throw on the stove with a bottle of white wine to wash it down. I’ve been keeping it for a special occas—” The tinkle of the shop bell cut him off. “Oh, no rest for the wicked. I best see what they want. You two amuse yourselves for a few minutes. I’m sure you can find something to occupy your time.” He gave a cheeky little laugh that made it quite clear what he meant.

  Finn was blushing furiously.

  “Don’t mind him,” he said, giving an embarrassed laugh.

  “I think he’s brilliant,” Polly said. “You’ve both been so kind to me.”

  Finn looked a little wistful.

  “Like Dad said, I think it was providence that brought you here. Some things are meant to happe—”

  Finn stood up suddenly, prompted into action by the sound of raised voices coming through from the shop. Polly could swear that her heart stopped beating for a few seconds as she recognised the voice.

  “It can’t be,” she muttered, her stomach cramping.

  Finn looked worried. He put his arm around her shoulders in a gesture of reassurance.

  “It’s okay; Dad will deal with him. You’re safe, I promise,” he whispered into her ear.

  “You have no business here,” she heard Bert say.

  Polly fidgeted, uncertain as to what she should do for the best.

  “I have to do something,” Polly said, “I can’t just sit here.”

  Finn pressed his fingers into her arm, not hard, but enough to tell her that he thought she should stay put. She looked up at him, and he gave her a weak smile.

  “Trust us,” he said. “Dad can handle your uncle.”

  Her uncle’s voice was louder now, more insistent, but surprisingly pleasant.

  “I just want to speak with my niece, that’s all. I know she’s here.”

  “How the hell did he find me?” Polly asked, easing herself away from Finn’s desperate grip and moving towards the door to go back into the shop.

  “Please, stay here, we’ll deal with it. You don’t need to see him,” Finn begged.

  Polly shook her head – well, she was shaking all over, truth be told.

  “I don’t let other people fight my battles for me.” She gave him a little smile to show that she appreciated his concern.

  She walked through and found her uncle, Winc
hard and Bert in a standoff. Her uncle looked surprisingly smug and Winchard a little nonplussed.

  Polly moved around the counter to confront her tormentors.

  “How did you find me?” she demanded.

  Her uncle gave an unpleasant smile.

  “Fountain here isn’t the only one who can find things that are missing, my dear. You gave away just a little too much information when you told me you were going to stay with a friend. The only person you ever speak about is that strange little man that runs the corner shop in the village. It wasn’t much of a stretch for me to deduce that you’d gone to stay with him, or he would at least know where you’d gone. He was most accommodating – with the right persuasion.”

  Polly felt her stomach somersault, pure terror taking hold.

  “You didn’t hurt him, did you?” She didn’t even try to keep the panic out of her voice.

  Her uncle made a noise that wasn’t quite a laugh.

  “No, but he was a tough nut to crack, believe me; he wouldn’t give me any information, even after I threatened that little rat of a dog of his. In the end, I had to use more subtle methods.”

  “You bent him to your will,” Bert said.

  Her uncle’s smile broadened.

  “Indeed. He’s none the worse for it; he just won’t remember once he comes back to his senses. He told me that you’d paid special interest to a card in the window. When I saw who it was, it really wasn’t difficult to put two and two together.”

  Bert moved closer to the two men, his posture threatening, although what he could have done to defend himself if either of them had made a move against him Polly had no idea. She was beginning to wish that Liam was here.

  “Well, we all know where we stand, don’t we?” Bert said. “No more pretence. Just leave Polly alone, and that’s the end of the matter. She wants nothing more to do with you.”

  Her uncle raised an elegant eyebrow.

  “Surely that’s for Polly to decide.”

  Through all of this, Finn had remained in the background, unmoving, and Polly had almost forgotten he was there. He moved forwards then, an untroubled glide across the floor until he was just a couple of feet from her uncle.

  “You’ve got to the count of five to leave, or I will break something,” Finn said, his voice little more than a whisper. It somehow made it far more threatening. Her uncle just looked down his nose at Finn who was several inches shorter than him, a look of disdain on his face.

  “I will leave when I’ve said my piece. We don’t want any trouble. Polly, you need to hear me out.” There was a terrible silence for a moment, and Polly knew that something was happening she didn’t quite understand. The air had suddenly become charged with energy, building between the two of them. Then Polly understood. They were testing one another’s power. If her uncle didn’t back down, the fight wouldn’t be with fists; it would be with magic. Would Finn be able to beat her uncle in a psychic battle? Polly really didn’t want to find out.

  Polly considered it for a moment and then thought that she’d better hear what he had to say.

  “Make it quick,” she replied.

  Her uncle gave her a condescending nod. The energy that had been sizzling between Finn and her uncle died away gradually, and Polly let out her pent up breath.

  “I take it you came here initially to ask about my mother’s will? Don’t bother, it’s long gone, and there’s no money in this for you, Fountain. Polly, come back with me, and we’ll say no more about this little misunderstanding. We can go to the solicitors tomorrow and arrange for a very generous sum to be paid to you, enough to give you a good start in life. Let’s put this unpleasantness behind us and start over.”

  “Stuff your money,” Polly hissed, through clenched teeth. “I’d rather starve to death in the gutter.”

  Her uncle tutted.

  “Now you’re being childish,” he replied.

  “Not everyone is as motivated by greed as you are, Gaunt,” Finn said. “Polly is staying here with us, where she’s safe. We heard about what happened.” He turned to face Winchard. “You certainly seem to be keen to live down to your reputation. Just make sure that it’s not the death of you.”

  Winchard wilted under Finn’s verbal assault and moved just a little closer to Gaunt, as if he thought he would protect him if it came to blows.

  “Dalbert has already apologised for the misunderstanding. It was just a bit of harmless fun that was taken the wrong way.”

  Polly felt her hackles rising, and she growled her fury at him.

  “Fun? Do you call this fun?” She pulled her hair back to reveal the livid bruise on her neck. “You’re lucky I didn’t go straight to the police. I am never, ever, letting that man get within twenty yards of me, ever again,” she said, jabbing a finger at Winchard.

  “Now, get out of our shop,” Finn said. Although he didn’t raise his voice, there was no doubt it was a threat.

  Gaunt’s face hardened, and he gave Finn a look that would have blunted sharpest steel. The air began to crackle with energy again, and this time Polly could feel real power. A cold wind seemed to come from nowhere, lifting their hair and tingling over Polly’s skin. The curios lining the shelves began to rattle, clattering across the wood, some of them toppling over the edge to smash on the floor. Books hurled themselves across the room. Bert remained in the background, letting Finn deal with the situation, although she had no doubt that his power was far greater than Finn’s. Perhaps it was just to make the point that Gaunt didn’t have as much power as he thought he had, if the student could beat the master all on his own. Polly could feel the energy crackling through the air, sizzling over her skin, like a million ants and setting her teeth on edge.

  “You don’t want to challenge me on this, boy. Polly, this is your last chance. You wouldn’t want to cause these people any more trouble now, would you?”

  Finn took another step forward. Her uncle backed off, and Winchard was already almost at the door, his face a pallid mask of fear. Gaunt pulled himself up to his full height and looked Finn straight in the eye, giving him a look of pure hatred.

  “We’re going, but remember that I warned you. I will not be responsible for what happens from here on in.”

  And with that, her uncle forced Winchard out of the shop, slamming the door behind them.

  Finn turned to Polly, who was feeling so sick and giddy she had to take hold of the counter to stop herself falling.

  “I’m not going to ask if you’re okay,” Finn said, taking Polly’s arm, “Because I can see you’re not.” He slipped his arm around Polly’s waist as he felt her tottering against him. Polly rested her head on his shoulder, letting him take her weight. She hated herself for being so pathetic.

  “I think we could all use a stiff drink,” Bert suggested. “I’ve got just the thing.”

  Finn helped Polly through into the back room and into the armchair. She curled up on it, huddling, her knees tucked up to her chin in a foetal ball, totally numb. Finn draped a jacket over her, and she knew it must have been his because it smelt of him; she pulled it around her, snuggling into it. Bert pressed a glass of some golden liquid into her trembling hand.

  “Brandy,” Bert said. “Good for shock. You get that down you, and you’ll feel much better.”

  Polly doubted that, but she took a huge gulp of it and nearly coughed her lungs up, whooping in air and making strange noises. A red hot burn hit her stomach, but within a few seconds she did feel quite a bit better – well, at least she didn’t care that she felt bad. Finn helped himself to a drink as well, downing it in one long gulp. He made a noise like a horse with colic as the alcohol hit his system.

  “I’d like to know what that was all about,” Bert said. Polly didn’t quite understand what he meant, but that was probably because she was well on the way to being very drunk. Finn seemed to know what he was talking about.

  “Yes, you’re right. I’d like to know what the hell he’s up to,” Finn said. “He wouldn’t have ris
ked coming here without an excellent reason.”

  Polly frowned her puzzlement.

  “Sorry, I’m missing something here; what are you talking about?”

  Bert took a sip of his brandy and settled himself down at the table.

  “Don’t you think it’s strange that your uncle is suddenly so desperate to get you to go back? Yes, I’m sure he is going to find it difficult to manage the cooking and household chores without you around, but do you think that he would be so desperate to get you back if he didn’t have some ulterior motive?”

  Now Polly thought about it, that was strange. He had always made it clear that she was only there under protest, and that he wouldn’t be the slightest bit bothered if she moved out. Now he was willing to pay out a big bribe to get her back. It didn’t make any sense.

  “Perhaps he thinks I know more about what’s going on in the house than I’ve let on and he’s worried that I’ll tell you things he’d rather you didn’t know.”

  “That sounds like a good possibility. But he can make all the threats he likes; we aren’t going to be intimidated by scum like him,” Finn said.

  Polly took another slug of brandy and then another, desperate to stop the chaos inside her from completely overwhelming her. The world soon looked like a much nicer place, and she felt warm right through, floating on a cloud of blissful indifference.

  “Could you have taken him if he hadn’t backed down?” Polly asked. “I could feel the power building, and it was scary.”

  “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure. I think I could have taken him if it came to it. If it had got out of hand Dad would have stepped in. He could take Gaunt without even thinking about it too hard.”

  “Well, thank you both for defending me. It was very gallant of you. Let’s hope he got the message and leaves us alone now.”

  “I hate to say it, but I doubt it. That man has got some agenda, and I don’t think he’s going to stop pursuing it.”

  “At least Polly is safe for the moment. We have to decide what we’re going to do now. That bastard has to be stopped.”