by RA Jones
“Right. Let’s go then,” Sam said. “And no more scarifying, thank you.”
Still with its hands over its sticking-out ears, the Dreable led on, mumbling to itself. Every few steps, it turned to look back at Sam, its eyes full of mistrust. They walked out of the cavern and back into the tunnel. Sam saw no more Dreables lounging against the walls. But there were people. The first one Sam saw was a man, leaning with his head against the tunnel, eyes shut, fast asleep. Pretty soon there were others. Sam tried to wake a couple, but it was no good. They were like Gran, frozen somehow by the Dreables, ready for whatever they wanted to do with them at some later date.
Sam lost track of time. The darkness was all about him, the walls featureless, the Dreable trudging on ahead. At last, after what seemed like hours, Sam could feel that the floor was rising and ahead he could just make out the faintest of flickering lights and guessed that it was the flame of a lit torch. The Dreable stopped and stood aside. Sam saw that the evil look was back in its eye.
“The king’s waitin’ for you,” it said and grinned.
It was light enough to see now and Sam flicked off his torch and walked into another huge cavern. Once inside, Sam saw that it was more like a vast hall. Huge elaborately carved pillars of stone lined the way. Statues of strange and horrible creatures stood guard in the shadows where the light faded. At the end of the hall sat a figure on a massive throne flanked by two more flickering torches. Sam walked forward. The figure shifted on the seat. It was vaguely human in shape, but Sam couldn’t be sure if it was a Dreable or not. Two yellow eyes stared out at him from a hooded face. Suddenly, it spoke.
“What human dares demand an audience with me?”
Sam stopped. The voice was ancient. Older even than Gran’s mobile. It sounded like the creaking open of a rotten coffin lid. The flames in the torches flickered and died down to a candle glimmer. Sam looked around him and swallowed loudly. Not for the first time since leaving the cottage, he began to wonder if he’d really made a terrible mistake.
Chapter 9
Arglwd
“Me,” Sam said. “Sam Jones. It’s me that wants to see you.”
“Are you frightened?” asked the king. And he asked it in a soft voice which somehow made it much, much worse.
“A bit,” Sam said truthfully.
The king bared his long yellowed teeth. Sam thought he might have been smiling.
“Yes,” he said. “I can taste it. Sweet and fresh.”
Sam stepped forward and flicked on his torch. The king flinched. And though Sam had seen enough to make him want to flick off the torch immediately, he kept it on. What was revealed in that harsh light was a face. At least, it might have been a face once. What flesh there was looked almost transparent, only loosely attached to the skull beneath. Within that long face were deep and hooded eyes, framed by the ragged black material of a hooded cloak. But the material, as with the flesh of its face, looked decrepit and rotten, like something that had been left out in the rain and wind for too long. Sam saw the long thin fingers of the king’s hand grasp the bulbous end of the throne’s armrest as he turned his head away from the torch beam.
“What have you done to my grandmother?” Sam demanded.
The light in Sam’s torch died even though he hadn’t touched the switch and the oily flames on either side of the throne roared and the yellow eyes flared. A wheezing noise like a cracked bellows came from the king. After a long while, he spoke.
“Not many dare enter this hall without cowering. None dare shine a light on that which has not seen day for eons.”
“What about my gran?” Sam asked again.
“The cunning woman sleeps. My faithful pets have grown cunning too. This time, her kind will not interfere.”
“What do you mean, this time?”
The yellow eyes glittered and Sam felt an icy finger trace a line down his spine.
“What I crave is what all things crave. To live. To exist. To kill. To hunt. To taste blood as I did in the beginning.”
“What are you?” Sam asked.
“I have many names. My pets like to call me Arglwd, for I am their lord and master.”
“Stealing the children and the animals and changing the adults into your pets, that isn’t right.”
Arglwd regarded Sam and tilted his head as if he was some strange curiosity. “And yet it is my right, for I can. The cunning woman grows old and greedy. She will not stop me this time.”
He didn’t know why he said it but he did. “Then I will.”
Arglwd considered Sam and smiled. “The brave ones taste all the sweeter when they break down and simper and wail. I will feed on your misery before morning, Sam Jones. Do not think you can hide your weakness.”
An image suddenly appeared in Sam’s head. He saw his mother and father high on a mountain, walking along, enjoying the bright, sunny day. But even as Sam watched, smoky tentacles of a creeping Nule began to roll down the mountain from above. In seconds it had engulfed them and instantly, their healthy walk was a fog bound, groping struggle against the elements. The path was narrow and the mountain steep. Helpless, Sam watched as they groped forward blindly to a ledge, where they sat, clutching each other as the Nule writhed about them.
Sam shook his head and the image cleared. It was like the dream he’d had at Gran’s house.
“You see,” said Arglwd. “Your nightmares speak to me.”
“You don’t know where they are,” Sam said.
Arglwd laughed. It was a very unpleasant sound. “Enough of this pathetic bluster. You are a child and I am the ruler of this kingdom. Time now for you to suffer your fate. When we meet again, I will feed on your terror and hopelessness and misery.”
Two of the statues creaked into life behind Sam. They emerged from the shadows and Sam saw that they were huge Dreables, twice the size of the one that had brought him to the king’s hall. There was something different about their eyes though. Where there should have been lustre and sparkle reflecting the light of the torches, there was nothing but a dull dead white. Shocked, Sam realised that they were blind. They prodded him with long fingers topped with pointed filthy fingernails and he could do nothing but retreat. Outside the chamber, the other Dreable waited, looking sullen.
“You didn’t please him,” he moaned. “Now we’ll all suffer,” and then he added in a low whisper, “but you will suffer the most.”
The smaller Dreable grabbed at Sam’s arm and yanked at it, while the two blind dreables shuffled back into the hall. Sam half stumbled forward. They were going back the way they’d come. Back to the cages and the dark and once again Sam’s head filled with the image of his parents on the mountain in the dense fog. Cold, lost, stumbling on the high path.
“Stop,” Sam ordered. “I want to ask you something.”
The Dreable hesitated and turned back. “Are we going to start to cry now?”
“No. I want to ask you what’s it like being a Dreable?”
The Dreable stared at Sam. It was clear that no one had ever asked it that before. “It’s like bein’ hungry all the time, an’ waitin’ to be told what to do an’ enjoyin’ the dark. That’s what it’s like.”
Sam nodded. “I expect looking after all those terrified children is hard work.”
“You don’t know the half of it. Scarifyin’ isn’t easy. You’ve got to work at it.”
“Don’t suppose you ever get a thank you, do you? From the king I mean.”
“The king don’t need to say thank you. He’s in charge.” The Dreable eyed Sam suspiciously.
“I suppose it isn’t easy to get noticed by him, being a drone.”
The Dreable exhaled loudly and shook its head. “This place would fall flat on its bum if it wasn’t for us.”
“Be nice if you could do something special for him, the king, wouldn’t it?”
“Special? What you talking about?”
“What if I could help you make Arglwd feel better?”
The Dreable frowne
d. “What could you have that the king wants?”
Sam rummaged in his pocket and came up with the old coin he’d found in the boxroom in Gran’s house. “Here,” he said, holding it out. “Give him this.”
“What is it?” The Dreable stared suspiciously at Sam’s outstretched hand. There was still light from the flickering torches in this tunnel and the coin glittered feebly.
“Payment,” Sam said. “Payment from me and my gran for what he’s done for us.”
The Dreable frowned again and the thick lumps on its forehead turned into mini Himalayas. “Payment?”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “I bet he never gets paid. Like you. Never even a thank you for all the people he steals.”
The Dreable’s eyes were darting everywhere, thinking through this new little twist. “Maybe he would like payment.”
“Be like giving him a present,” Sam said. “A present for Arglwd from me. Only you’d get all the thanks because you brought it to him. Go on, give it to him now.” Sam held up the coin. “Look, it even has a hole in it so he can hang it around his neck like a medal.”
The Dreable’s small eyes were alight with excitement, but doubt clouded them momentarily. “I’m supposed to put you in a cage.”
“I’m not going anywhere, am I?”
“No, you’re not,” giggled the Dreable. He snatched the coin from Sam’s outstretched hand and clenched it tightly in his fist. The Dreable gurgled something and two of its companions appeared out of the dark. They sat and looked at Sam while the other ran off, chattering to itself as it went. Sam waited. There really was nothing else to do. He waited and hoped, because hope was all he had.
As he’d lain on his bed in Gran’s cottage thinking about duty, he’d thought of the man with the aubergine face roaring past in his car as Gran tootled along at twenty-nine miles an hour. He’d remembered how that man had waved his fist and of the way Gran had smiled and waved and the sudden change in the man’s expression. The way the anger dropped away to leave shock and shamefulness.
Seconds – long, dark, and damp – ticked by. Somewhere, deep under the earth, Sam could hear the whispering rush of a river far below him. The darkness was a solid wall in front of his eyes. Only the slow, steady breathing of the Dreables gave any clue that there was another living thing in the Barrows. And Sam wondered if indeed these were living things because Arglwd hadn’t looked alive. He looked like a spectre. Something that wanted to be alive but wasn’t – at least not yet.
The roar, when it came, made Sam jump into the air. It was a terrifying sound, like a wounded animal. It echoed along the tunnels and reverberated off the walls so that it seemed to last for a very long time.
But deep down, Sam knew what that roar meant. It was the same noise that the aubergine-faced man would have made in his car at the sight of Gran grinning at him innocently.
Sam flicked on his torch. The Dreables watching him looked startled. Obviously the sound had troubled them too. They looked as if they weren’t sure what to do, but then they saw Sam’s torch and decided that perhaps making sure he remained captive was probably a good idea. They shambled forward, but their outstretched wicked nails never reached him because the air around Sam was whirling and spinning. Above him, cracks were appearing in the roof of the cave – jagged openings that showered dust and debris but which continued to groan and rumble apart. Shafts of watery daylight pierced the darkness. It felt to Sam as if he was standing on solid ground, but when he glanced down there was nothing beneath him but the blackness of the Barrows.
It was over almost as soon as it started. With a final spurt of acceleration, Sam shot up and out into late afternoon daylight and promptly fell flat on his face onto the grass. He shook dust from his hair and sat up. He was sitting on the very top of one of the biggest of the Barrows. The crack in the earth that had ejected him rumbled again and closed, leaving nothing but a faint scar in the grass. Sam stood up. Although the Nule was above him, it had not yet reached the ground. From here he could see the whole of Wihtlea. Sam made a fist and held it up to the sky and yelled, “Yesss!” before running down the slope, back towards the village and Gran’s cottage.
Sam ran like he had never run before. He wasn’t sure exactly what had just happened, but he sensed that somehow he’d beaten Arglwd – for a while at least. As he crested the rise that led to the rear of the cottage, he saw immediately that the back door was open. He came to a full stop and his heart lurched. Suddenly, triumph turned to despair again. Troop and Ginger couldn’t have opened the door. Had his little game with the Dreables annoyed Arglwd so much that he’d sent a detachment to do something horrible to the animals and Gran? He ran on, this time with fear spurring him. But as he leaped through the gap in the stone wall that led into the garden, who was coming to meet him with his tail wagging furiously but Troop himself. An instant later, Ginger appeared on top of the wall, his tail up, purring. Sam grabbed Troop and hugged him to his chest.
“Troop! Am I glad to see you. But how did you get out?”
“I reckoned they needed some air,” said a voice from the doorway.
“Gran,” yelled Sam. He was on his feet in an instant. He sprinted across the back yard and almost bowled his grandmother over as he grasped her in a hug.
“Well, this is a welcome change,” Gran said, yet she was squeezing him as hard as he was squeezing her.
But Sam didn’t want to look up at her yet. He had something he wanted to say and it seemed easier to say it into her warm shoulder. “I’m really glad you’re alright, Gran. I’m really sorry. I didn’t know…I wasn’t sure if what I’d done to Arglwd would…”
“Whoa, horsey,” Gran said. “One thing at a time. Let’s go inside. I’ve got the kettle on. Sounds like you’ve got a story to tell and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone more in need of a cup of tea and a cherry bakewell.”
Sam looked up at his grandmother’s face and nodded.
Two minutes later he was sitting at the kitchen table drinking from a steaming mug of tea and enjoying the jam and almondy taste of the bakewell as he poured out his story to a patient but grim-faced Gwladys Merryweather. When he’d finally finished explaining how he’d sneaked into the car because he was worried about her and ended with being ejected from the Barrows, Gran leaned back from the table and held him in her piercing gaze. But it wasn’t in the disapproving way she usually looked at him when he was being stubborn or sulking; this was a totally new way. Sam wasn’t sure what it was, but he’d never seen it in her eyes before.
“Well, well, Sam Jones. Aren’t you the duskiest of dark horses. It looks like I got you completely wrong.”
But even though there wasn’t a Samuel to be heard, Sam was expecting a telling off and he took Gran’s words the wrong way.
“Sorry,” he said, letting his chin drop. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen. I’m sorry I hid in the car and…and I’m really sorry I didn’t give you a kiss goodnight.”
Gwladys Merryweather leaned across the table, smiled, and kissed her grandson on the forehead.
“There. No sooner said than mended. As for all the rest, sorrow is for something you regret, not for something you should be proud of.”
Sam looked up, confused. “But…”
“But nothing. You’re my grandson and you’ve proved it today. Oh, I had my doubts, but not anymore.”
“But…”
“Sam, I thought I’d never get you to listen to me but obviously you have. You’ve looked anger and hate in the eye and been polite to both. You paid the king of the Dreables for what he’d done to me and was going to do to you. That was very brave of you. That’s a very, very powerful counter curse. So powerful, it’s undone everything he did to me. Congratulations.”
Gran held out her hand. Numbly, Sam took it and shook it. He knew he had his mouth open but he couldn’t help it. He was trying to work out if he’d heard correctly.
“Did you just say curse?”
“I did indeed.”
Sam shaped
his mouth into another objection but Gran held up her finger. “What did Poppy Stevens tell you about me?”
“She said you were the cunning woman.”
Gran smiled a little smile and took another nibble at another cherry bakewell. “Mmmm,” she said in ecstasy, “we’ll have to send Mrs Walpole a thank you card. These are totally delicious.”
Sam frowned. “Yeah, and that’s another thing. How come I feel so much better when I eat one of Mrs Walpole’s cakes? Does she use a special Mrs Walpole spice too?”
“That’s for her to know and for you to find out,” Gran said, as Sam knew she would. “But they make you feel good because they’re made with love and skill, Sam. That counts for an awful lot in this world and counts for an awful lot more here and now when falsehood and despair rear their ugly heads.” Gran took another sip of her tea but her eyes never left Sam’s as she peered at him over the rim of her cup. She seemed to make up her mind as she put the cup down. “I suppose you’re going to have to know sooner or later and since you’ve already been to see them in their dark holes, it had better be sooner...”
“Know what?” Sam asked.
“First, have another bite of bakewell. What I have to tell you is better heard with your mouth full of goodness. The king of the Dreables is a Wiht. It’s pronounced wight but there is no g in it. He’s older than a lot of those mounds he lives under. A long time ago, before books and TV and football, the world was a very different place. Things lived on the land and some under it. Old, old things. But then we came along and even though we didn’t know the lore and the old ways, we were quick and cunning. Eventually, most of the old things were driven away. But in some corners of the world, they held on and dug in and used their power and the old ways to protect themselves. Some hibernated and waited for a day when we perhaps would not be so vigilant. When they could come and try again to put us in our place. Wihtlea is a place where one of the old ones hung on.”
Sam was frowning.
“Oh, you won’t find it written down anywhere, but the people who live here know. And they made sure that someone always remembered the old stories about the things that lived under the ground that got into your dreams and stole the children and fed off their terror. Tabatha Stevens, Poppy’s grandmother, was a Keeper. It was her job to keep the story alive.”