Acolyte (The Wildermoor Apocalypse Book 1)

by Tetreault-Blay, Chris

‘I think we can afford the poor man some respite for what he is about to go through,’ he told his father.

  Sensing again an air of secrecy around Ewan, Edward decided he needed to eke whatever was haunting his son out into the open before embarking on another expedition.

  ‘What are our chances?’ he asked, hoping that his directness would win favour.

  Ewan stopped pouring the water into the canteens hesitating to answer, the colour suddenly draining from his cheeks. He did not meet his father’s gaze.

  ‘I need to know, for all of our sakes,’ Edward pressed further knowing he was getting closer. ‘Four days removed from this place does not make a man a good liar.’

  ‘I have no idea whom or what we are dealing with,’ said Ewan finally. ‘That’s what is scaring me.’

  Edward noticed a tremble in Ewan’s voice and for the first time he saw fear in his son. He was fiercely proud of all of his boys but most of all Ewan. He was born into the world a fighter, along with his twin sister Katrina – less than an hour older than him. He never gave in to the same infection that eventually took his mother’s life. But Edward could never understand why Ewan had decided not to fight for his country as his siblings did. He was a home bird and the one Edward could rely on.

  Ewan’s elder brothers Henry and James had both given their lives in King Charles’ war with Holland during 1672, almost twelve years previous. Grief was what had strengthened the bond between Ewan and his father, as well as Edward and Franklin. The recent years had been solely focused on rebuilding their respective families.

  Ewan had always carried a flame for Evelyn. It was no secret. Edward and Franklin had spent many nights in The Weary Traveller planning for the future, for Ewan to come good on the childhood promise he had made Evelyn that one day she would be his wife, uniting the two families, restoring her father’s plantation back to its former glory and finally bringing their fortunes together.

  It was with heavy heart that Edward listened to his own boy soldier admitting having fear and losing faith.

  ‘Are we in danger?’ Edward asked gravely. Ewan solemnly bowed his head.

  ‘Why in God’s name do you come back and give the man hope?’

  ‘I wanted to bring him closure, not hope. I didn’t think for one moment he would want to risk his own life out there on a whim of one vague sign of her existence.’

  ‘The man has nothing left. That girl is his life,’ Edward saw fit to instil reality back into his son’s thinking. ‘How did you think he would react?’

  ‘I loved her too, Dad. But after what I have seen I have had to accept that this time our efforts were in vain.’ It pained Ewan to hear him speak like that. He had kept himself alive out on the plains for days clinging to every shred of hope that he would find Evelyn alive again, much the same as her father did.

  Edward one again saw the flicker of sorrow and dread in his son’s face.

  ‘What happened out there?’ Edward pleaded. ‘You must tell me.’

  ‘That which I cannot explain,’ Ewan replied cryptically.

  ‘Well you better try, my boy. If you cannot think rationally by yourself, I will have to step in and think for you, to save us all.’

  Ewan sank into the chair at the small workbench in the storeroom where Franklin used to package up his crops for trips across Wildermoor to the market. It had not been used for months, but still showed evidence of the once rich earth that had helped to build the James Empire all those years ago.

  Ewan proceeded to detail his search party’s movements, which started four days ago, the night of Evelyn’s disappearance. Edward had tasked him to follow the route in which Franklin had heard Evelyn’s final screams for help and seen the brief flash of white from her nightgown. They travelled west through the woods that bordered Tewke’s Range with the barren stretch of Wildermoor, across the River Wilde at the shallowest point and then after a ten mile trek east they re-joined the trail.

  On the second night they found themselves entering the thick growth of the next borderland, the woods which formed the entrance to Harper Falls. Ewan travelled with three other riders, which he had handpicked himself. They had ridden tirelessly to this point, but their steeds could not travel another mile before nightfall, so they set up camp at the riverside to ensure the horses had a steady supply of water.

  ‘I awoke to find it was deep into the night but I could no longer hear the breathing of the others, or the chatter between the horses as they grazed and rested,’ Ewan recalled. ‘My eyes would not allow me enough time to even consider my predicament before they closed again. I rose with the dawn’s first light, left my horse to rest a little longer and ventured back into the woods. What I found in less than half a mile would change everything and send me back home.’

  ‘You didn’t find the others?’ his father pressed.

  ‘I did…in some respect.’

  Edward did not need words to encourage Ewan to elaborate. His eyes bore a hole in him hotter than any branding iron.

  ‘I smelt it before I saw it; a smell of rotten brisket, but fresh. It was as if I could feel the moist touch of the blood in the air. As I moved forward it became stronger, but I could not tell the source. Then I heard it, as the ground beneath my boot changed from the crunching of dead leaves to a squelch. I looked down and saw a mass. That’s the best way I can describe it. Red with blood, black with dirt from the ground, tinged with pink. I could finally make out shards within it. Torn flesh and shattered bone.’

  ‘An animal? A deer maybe falling foul of a flock of buzzards?’ Ewan shook his head grimly and continued.

  ‘As unrecognisable as it was, I knew it was human,’ Ewan said, his voice starting to break as his father watched a tear form and fall onto the bench. ‘Nothing left but mangled remains of the torso. It was evil, Father. Pure evil.’

  Edward sat in silence, not wanting to admit that he had no idea how to deal with what he had heard, not bearing to think how Ewan had managed to bottle this up showing no hint of the horrors he had seen.

  ‘How could you possibly tell it was human?’

  ‘Within the mass were shreds of cloth, from a tunic or nightgown. The state of the remains was not the work of man. The cloth was not from the killer itself. So I ran, for what seemed like hours and miles. I heard a growl from deeper in the forest, which made my heart stop. As I tried to retrace my steps the growl grew louder. I looked behind me, quick enough to see a flash of green followed by another ungodly sound. As I turned to run I tripped, stumbled and fell. I could see nothing, hear nothing but the crack of branches and the scrape of my skin against the rough stones, but I knew I was falling. I awoke in the darkness, I don’t know how much later. My head pounded and my body ached. I could feel the trickle of blood underneath my tunic,” Ewan said, lifting up his shirt to show his father the evidence; an angry graze on his skin, leading to a large gash across his stomach. The blood had dried but the wound was far from healed.

  ‘Not far from there, there was a glint in amongst the mud and fallen leaves; Evelyn’s locket.’

  ‘Where?’

  Ewan looked up and met his father’s eyes at last.

  ‘At the opening to a cave within the forest walls. Or what I thought were the forest walls.’

  ‘Where were you? Can you remember what you saw?’

  ‘I don’t know. As I looked up, I could barely make out the light shining though the tops of the trees, which appeared as though they stood a few hundred feet tall.’

  ‘No tree around here grows that tall, not that is known to any man familiar with Wildermoor at least.’

  Ewan shook his head in agreement.

  ‘I know where you were,’ Edward told him. ‘But it’d be impossible for you to be sitting before me now if that were true. You are describing the bottom of Devil’s Pit.’

  ‘Devil’s Pit?’ asked Ewan, ‘Where is that?’

  ‘You’re asking me? You were there yourself!’ Edward reasoned.

  ‘I mean why is it called that
?’

  ‘The residents of Harper Falls bestowed the name upon it,’ answered a third voice. Franklin was now standing in the entrance to the storage room having witnessed much of the exchange between the Childs. He was struggling to hold himself together.

  Edward and Ewan startled at the sound of his voice, guilty for discussing this behind his back. Neither stood for betrayal, and did not know how to react when feeling accused of it.

  ‘Mr. James, I’m so sorry,’ Ewan replied offering him his seat and his arms for solace. But Franklin waved him away and walked further into the room.

  ‘Over twenty years ago, Reverend Joseph Yeo lost his position in the clergy by refusing to acknowledge and commit to the new religious regime created by the new Parliament,’ Franklin continued, ‘and was exiled for his beliefs. He started conducting secret meetings for worship and blessings hidden from the authorities. The King ordered a reward be paid to anyone who offered up the whereabouts of such rebels and Yeo’s time was running out. One of the villagers reported it but the army could not find Yeo or his followers. After the search had ended Yeo was pronounced dead but that’s when they started disappearing.’

  ‘Who?’ Asked Ewan, looking at his father whose stare was fixed to the floor. He must have known all about this.

  ‘The villagers. The women mostly. The children were next. Nobody knew where they went or who took them but many believed the Puritans were behind it, avenging Yeo’s death. There were other reports however that more sinister forces were afoot and that the Puritans had summoned evil itself from the Pit.’

  Franklin walked to the window and stared out at what was left of his land, his mind making the shadows of the past dance again. He could see Evelyn running gaily through the fields, the crops’ grown up to her shoulders. He had been stood on the veranda, Christina-Rose next to him, his arm clutching her waist. Now the field was frozen hard from the winter and flat, no green to suggest any life at all.

  ‘All the villagers fled Harper Falls within days and reports are that it has been deserted ever since. Whoever or whatever remains you found, were either one of your party…’ he paused steadying himself before continuing, ‘or my daughter.’

  ‘Frank, don’t talk like that,’ Edward asked of him, but he could see that the man in front of him was one who was at the end of his faith, left with little amount of dwindling hope.

  ‘Dawn is here,’ Franklin said, ignoring the plea. ‘We must go.’

  All three rode out of Bradley’s Range in silence, as the morning sun began to slowly eat away at the frosted ground.

  Chapter Fourteen

  She was almost perfect. Her pale white skin smooth as silk and her hair, as black as the night sky, had caught his eye. He had been watching her for a long time thinking that she was The One. He had waited for so long and now she was here.

  She was almost perfect, had it not been for the smear of blood that ran from her breast to her slender waistline and stained her perfect frame, a wound across her throat caused by his hand.

  William Archibald sighed deeply, pushed his hand against his temples trying to relieve the pressure that had been building up for some time, and sank back into the chair behind him. The chair was hard and offered little in the way of comfort. He afforded himself only the leanest of luxuries in his quarters.

  He had already worked for too long tonight and was crying out for sleep, but this was not to be one of his luxuries. It was a burden that he was carrying around, driven on beyond limit by his own obsessive nature. He looked down at the body in front of him. She had asked for it. She made him use force on her; she had not wanted to make it easy for him. And after the few minutes of pleasure that he had rewarded himself with her, she spawned an overwhelming emptiness within him, which turned to guilt and then anger. She had forced his hand with the small blade – the letter-opener that he kept in his desk drawer. He told himself that they were all responsible, the five before her too. They were all the same worthless whores but had served their purpose. She was still out there. He knew it.

  A knock rapped on his door, which woke him from his reflective state. He beckoned them to enter, and in stepped a hulk of a man, almost seven feet tall and at least half that wide. He answered to the name Stamwell and had been his most trusted advisor for the last fourteen years.

  Stamwell entered and took one look at the corpse, then looked up at Archibald. He was not shocked by the sight. There was a silent exchange between the two, in which Stamwell asked simply another one? They had an understanding; they would not ask of the others past or motives for the present, they accepted that they were who they were. Stamwell had seen too much over the years for anything Archibald did to ever surprise him.The man-mountain stepped over the corpse to where Archibald sat.

  ‘I’m sorry to, erm, interrupt you, sir,’ Stamwell started.

  ‘No matter. As you can see I am pretty much done here. This better be worth my time though, Stamwell. I am desperate need of some rest,’ Archibald replied still pressing his hands to his head.

  ‘The Fielders have returned with another one for you to look at,’ Stamwell informed him.

  ‘Can it not wait until morning?’

  ‘I think you had better see this one tonight sir. She has had a pretty rough journey and is need of some attention. They are not sure if she will make it through the night, so whatever you need to do, it is advised you act quickly.’

  A scowl appeared across Archibald’s face. He didn’t take kindly to being commanded especially by one of his own minions, and he detested sloppy work. The Fielders’ only job was to bring the subjects back alive, and in the last few weeks they had barely managed to do that.

  Archibald stood up with a sigh of disgust aimed at Stamwell and his incompetent field staff.

  ‘I guess my sleep will have to wait yet again. It appears I must take matters into my own hands. One day I might remember why I employed you lot in the first place.’

  Archibald walked over to his closet, reached in, brought out his cassock and slid it gracefully over his shoulders. The garment hung loosely on his withering frame, its black fabric swallowing all light within reach. Only the red piping, that signified Archibald’s position as Bishop of his chosen flock, shone.

  ‘Take me to her.’

  ‘Yes,’ Stamwell bowed his head and lead him out of the quarters.

  *****

  She had never considered herself afraid of the dark but that quickly changed. The dark felt like it was touching her, groping every part of her body, but not hurting her. It was toying with her, it seemed.

  Evelyn feared what she could not see in the dark but the smell was what hit her first. The dank, dampness of the air and putrid smell of rotten meat stung the back of her throat. She could feel her eyes were stinging and watering too. She could tell she was sat on the ground and could feel the moist earth beneath her and against her cheek. She was slumped against a wall not made of stone but wet earth.

  Nor could Evelyn move. She could not feel that she was bound but the pain in all of her limbs and her face had sapped her energy. She felt conscious and nothing else. She was not aware of her surroundings except for the damp earth and had no idea what was going on or why she was there.

  She remembered being woken in her bed - what seemed like an age ago - and being dragged away. It all happened so fast that she could not even see her captors, how many of them had taken her or what direction they headed in. She remembered only seeing figures of black, draped from head to toe in the darkness that surrounded her now.

  She mustered enough strength to put her hand to her face. It felt clean, free of abrasions, wounds or dressing. She knew she had such wounds elsewhere on her body though, that would justify the pain she was feeling.

  She could hardly remember anything, except that she thought she recalled a blow to her head – again it justified the searing headache she was now suffering – and being woken moments before being put into wherever she was now. Her cell.

  She felt si
ck at the thought of what was happening to her. She felt pain in almost every part of her body. Even low down, between her thighs, was painful. That thought alone made her body jolt to meet a dry-retch. Thinking was depleting her energy. But thoughts were something she could not deny herself for the absence of them would be enough to drive her mad.

  As she was starting to argue and reason with herself she heard faint footsteps. She could not tell if they were coming from within the same room as her but they grew louder and were drawing closer.

  Soon they came to a stop and Evelyn could feel her heart race again, making her chest ache. Her breathing became heavier. She could just make out a faint line of light up ahead, interrupted at certain points. Feet perhaps, or shadows of them.

  She could hear whispered voices, and then with a loud screech something appeared before her. She could make out two shapes; one much larger than the other, both as dark as night but bathed in soft light coming from a nearby torch that hovered close to them. Her eyes adjusted but she did not know she was looking at the door to her cell and these were her first visitors.

  ‘Stamwell, shine a light over her. I want to see what we have here,’ ordered one of the figures.

  With that the larger of the shadows grew larger still, the light travelling with him and revealing more of his bulk. He was a massive man with a square jaw, half of his face covered by a flock of hair. She could make out heavy scars on the other half.

  Stamwell stood next to her. She could finally see some of her earthen cell. They were in a cavern of some kind. Stamwell shone the torch over her as the smaller figure drew closer. She couldn’t see his face well but could see he was a minister of some kind, a member of the clergy. At once, her heart softened slightly as she thought she was saved. A holy man does nothing but care.

  As she started to believe she would see her family once more, the smaller figure spoke.

  ‘His strength is in his loins and his force is in the naval of his belly,’ Archibald recited.

  ‘Sir?’ Stamwell enquired.