by Robin Jarvis
'I like a woman who knows what she wants,' Tick-Tock gurgled. 'But you'll pardon me if'n I change to my normal clobber. These 'ere armours might be 'istorical, but they pinch an' restrict the arms summat cruel. Got to be comfortable when settin' to your fun or it takes all the pleasure out.'
In the grey shadows the Roman costume faded, to be replaced by his usual shabby clothes. The spear remained exactly as it was, whilst in his other hand the standard dwindled but did not completely disappear.
Instead, the aquila became a mocking parody of itself and Jack Timms honked with malice, watching the expression on Neil's face as the boy saw what the imperial standard had transformed into.
The tall pole had shrivelled in size and the stick in Tick-Tock's fist was now his dreaded Tormentor. But impaled on top of that bullying cane, instead of the proud Roman eagle, was a large, black bird whose head hung limply from a broken neck, and whose one eye was open in a fixed and sightless stare.
'Quoth!' the boy screamed, and the warder guffawed all the more.
Incensed, Neil flung himself forward, his fists plunging ineffectively into the fat assassin's gut. Jack Timms barely stopped laughing. One callous swipe with the back of his hand sent the boy crashing to the ground, and he contemptuously threw the dead raven on top of him.
Now his taunting was complete and he pointed the spear's blade at Miss Ursula's breast. Upon that regal, dignified face not a flicker of fear or anxiety registered, and Tick-Tock hesitated momentarily.
'Listen to me, vassal of the Gallows God,' she pronounced in a chilling voice that dripped with doom. 'Before you strike me down, know this—for the one who takes the life of the Fates, a special Destiny has been set aside in the tapestry of life. Though Celandine, my sister, suffered untold agonies, your own will be three times more extreme. A horripilant demise awaits you, Jack Timms, and in that knowledge I find a sweetness which I will take to my grave.'
Disturbed by her fatal words, Tick-Tock sneaked a glance at Austen Pickering, but his confidence was at once restored by the assured glint he saw behind those thick spectacles.
'That's enough!' he snapped, darting his eyes back to the old woman. 'Takes more'n words to fright old Jack. You've had your say, but I've got a sharper tongue than yours—a lovely rusty one, and it's well time you were licked.'
With that, he drew his arm back and, as the uproar of the rampaging armies blistered through the wood, the spear hurtled from his unholy hands.
At that same instant, an astonished yowl galed from his slobbering mouth. A dainty white fist came shooting from the darkness, slamming into the side of his flabby face, and Woden's corpulent agent went toppling sideways. Like a great tree he was felled, his heavy, barrelled weight striking the forest floor with a reverberating crash.
High over Miss Ursula's head the spear went whistling and, setting Josh down upon the ground, Brian Chapman immediately went scooting off to fetch it.
Jumping up, Edie Dorkins looked on the warder's prostrate figure. His florid face was a blank expanse of pitted flesh. No movement agitated those ugly, scarred features and the detestable, pricking eyes were firmly closed, squeezed in a fold of excess skin. A dark, bloody bruise was already forming on the side of his head, and the girl clapped her hands triumphantly.
'Spark out!' she declared with an impish grin. 'He won't 'urt us no more.' Then, lifting her eyes, she gazed up at the one she had summoned to aid them. With its remaining ivory hand still clenched, the alabaster statue stood over Jack Timms' unconscious body, swaying slightly from side to side.
'Thank you,' the girl said.
The headless sculpture lifted its foot in response and planted it firmly upon Tick-Tock's back.
Brandishing the key in her hand once more, Miss Ursula stepped over the comatose man and turned it in the lock of the iron-studded door.
'Excellently done, Edith dear,' she said proudly. 'How very great you have become in the short while you have been with us, but we are not clear of danger yet.'
Ever closer to the oaks where Miss Ursula and the others stood, the surging nightmare stormed. Roman soldiers crashed through the trees, swinging their swords and hollering Latin oaths, whilst their enemies harried them at every turn. In that sea of war, scarlet-striped horses reared in pain and terror. Most of their riders were slumped, lifeless, with arrows in their necks.
'All of you,' the old woman ordered as she pushed the stout door inwards, 'hurry inside before the battle claims you.'
Staring down at his agent, Austen Pickering suppressed a disdainful sneer, then turned to see Brian Chapman holding the spear.
'I'll take that if you want, old son,' the ghost hunter offered, wearing his most affecting smile. But Brian simply shook his head and, picking up Josh with his free hand, ducked under the stone arch to enter the darkness beyond.
Edie Dorkins strode to Neil Chapman's side and held out her hand to help him up. The boy declined and, cradling Quoth's body in his arms, picked himself up from the floor.
'He didn't ought to 'ave been killed,' Edie stated.
'Leave us alone,' Neil said hollowly and, clutching the raven close to his chest, followed his father and brother, his head bowed in grief.
Wiping her nose, Edie hurried after, and Miss Ursula called impatiently to the ghost hunter as she too plunged under the arch.
'I'll be right behind you,' Mr Pickering promised, lingering by Jack Timms to give him a parting kick.
'Dolt!' he cursed with crackling scorn. 'Now another way will have to be found. I have wasted enough of my power in nourishing your clumsy misadventures. Be thankful there is not time to deal with you in the coin you deserve!'
With a curt wave of his hand, the strident clamour suddenly ceased and the battle melted from the forest. Then the Captain of Askar gave a withering glare at the alabaster figure which pinned his acolyte to the ground, and strode through the entrance which led to the secret stairway.
Chapter 23 - The Glistering Grains of Truth
Deep into the devouring dark the straggly group trudged. The blackness in that spiralling stairway was absolute, and their progress painfully slow as they fumbled down the treacherous, unseen steps. Aching and weary after the flight from The Separate Collection, all attention was focused upon that plunging road to keep themselves from slipping.
Lost in that winding night, the echo of their own breathing hummed in their ears, and the scuff of heels over smooth stone was the only noise to break the despondent silence. Isolated by the secluding gloom, each of them became wrapped in their individual thoughts.
Leading the way, Brian Chapman tapped out his descent like a blind man, using the shaft of the spear as a cane. With his arms holding tightly to his father's neck, Josh closed his eyes to shut out that horrible, helter-skeltering dark. To his child's mind it was safer not to look, and he coloured his thoughts with the brightness of his imagination.
No illuminating hues cheered Neil's grief. For him it was just as dark inside as without. A barren emptiness, which would never again hear Quoth's heartening hails, was all he knew and he plodded down mechanically.
Running her fingers along the wall as she trod those still unfamiliar stairs, Edie Dorkins was thinking of many things. Memories of Miss Veronica and Miss Celandine were shouldered aside by images of Miss Ursula, laughing idiotically, who in turn was supplanted by Jack Timms.
Behind her came Miss Ursula Webster. Of all the group, her brain burned the most fiercely. In that vast darkness it was almost impossible to keep a rein on her sanity—how it longed to drift into that delicious oblivion and never return. With gritted teeth, the old woman strove to control and be ever vigilant. If she were to surrender now, even Edie would not be able to call her back. If she could just hold on a little while longer, to complete that which she had begun.
Bringing up the rear, the disguised Captain of Askar came, the complex compartments of his subtle faculties calculating his stratagems. Yet, rising above all his designs and murderous schemes, the knowledge of
where they were headed continuously surfaced. In spite of himself, he could not repress the excitement that he felt as the scent of sweet decay grew ever more powerful.
After what seemed an age, the steps came to an end. Prodding the spear shaft before him, Brian Chapman discovered that the floor abruptly became level, and the noise of their footsteps was suddenly lifted up into a vaulting blackness as a spacious cavern opened around them.
'Now our destination is almost reached,' Miss Ursula's voice rang from all sides. 'I shall lead the way—I need no guiding light to steer me through these catacombs, not to that blessed place where my beloved sisters and I dwelt in ages past.'
Through the vast cave Miss Ursula strode, as surely as if the noonday sun were shining upon her path. Trailing after, groping their way in the supreme dark, the others followed. After several minutes of stumbling and tripping over invisible stones, they were called to a halt, and Miss Ursula charged them to prepare themselves.
'Beyond the gates which lie before us,' she said with exalted reverence, 'is a sight no mortal eye has ever witnessed. You have come to the abode of the three Fates of the ancient world, where the seed of all legend still lives. For here is the final surviving root of Yggdrasill, mightiest of all the three which delved and flourished in the deep beginning of time, before there was day, and before the frost flowers were cast into the eternal night. Behold—Nirinel!'
At that, she touched her hand upon the gates and they swung silently open. Immediately, the blazing glare of the countless torches which flamed endlessly in the chamber beyond burst out into the dark. The group covered their faces as the intense flickering dazzled and seared their eyes.
Only Miss Ursula was unaffected by that brilliant eruption and she strode determinedly forward. Into the Chamber of Nirinel the old woman advanced, and the torches flared as if in greeting.
Edie was the first to follow her and she rushed to her side. To the wellhead Miss Ursula swept and, spinning on her heel, discovered that the others had still not entered.
'Why do you hesitate?' she demanded. 'Come—look on the most precious jewel of the world and let your fears be eased.'
Through the great metal gates Neil came staggering as he shifted his disbelieving gaze about him. It was as if he had stepped back into an age of forgotten myth. Despite his mourning for the raven he nursed in his arms, the boy could not help but gasp and be awed.
In the centre of the huge space, where Miss Ursula and Edie were standing, was a circular dais of stone. As Neil drew closer, he saw that it was smothered in a velvety layer of soft, sooty ash.
Beyond them, a mighty tree-like shape thrust up from the cavern floor. Then he became aware of the blackened chunks of wood and bark that littered the ground and, realising they could only have fallen from the tree, he raised his gaze to see how high that wide trunk reared.
Slowly, he moved his head round, and in the distance saw the massive form reaching down to drive into the furthest part of the wall. 'Nirinel!' he breathed. 'I never dreamed...'
Shuffling in behind him, his father placed a shivering Josh down upon the ground and wandered through this astounding chamber, the spear trailing through the earth in his wake.
'I'm cold!' Josh whimpered, unimpressed by the marvellous sight. 'Dad, I'm cold.' But Brian had already moved away, towards the stupendous shape of Nirinel.
Into this fantastical place, the Gallows God came, his shambling disguise savouring the momentous grandeur. Even blighted and withered with age, the root possessed an unequalled majesty, and he dragged the glasses from his nose to stare upward.
Since that ominous day when the daughters of the Royal House had ridden into the enchanted wood, he had desired to look on this final vestige of the World Tree. Now, standing transfixed beneath its diseased glory, it dredged up a profusion of memories and emotions which he thought he had expunged long ago.
Snatches of forgotten moments glimmered fleetingly in the barren regions of his mind—of the dappled, emerald light which shone beneath Yggdrasill, and the delicious sapphire shades of a tranquil evening. Through those vibrant blues he had walked upon the high ground, his faithful ravens soaring and swooping above as he looked down upon the citadel of Askar, its towers gleaming in the ravishing twilight. And in that trysting place of his memory, he recalled the slender figure who had hastened to meet him.
Woden passed a hand over his eyes and shook his head sadly. Those blissful days had died with the World Tree, and there was no returning.
'Now we may set aside our cares, for a while at least,' Miss Ursula began, breaking into his reverie.
With a sonorous clang, the metal gates swung shut of their own accord and the ghost hunter glanced at them suspiciously. Here he was in the very heart of his enemy's domain and there was no escape.
Walking over to the wellhead, Neil gently laid Quoth upon the ashes, folding those limp, lifeless wings about the raven's body.
'Yes,' Miss Ursula addressed the boy, with a tenderness in her voice he had not heard before. 'To lie in peace beneath Nirinel—that has long been my wish. Your loyal friend has rightfully earned his place upon the brink of the sacred well. There let him remain until the final end comes.'
'Seems the proper spot for him, somehow,' Neil answered.
The old woman smiled benignly. 'It shames me to admit that I never trusted him,' she said. 'When Memory was restored I suspected his previous nature would assert itself once more; how mistaken I was. Never was there a more faithful companion. We were fortunate to have him amongst us, even for such a little while. Would that I could call back the harsh words I spoke unto his gallant heart.'
'Too late for that now,' Neil mumbled. 'And his name was Quoth.'
Miss Ursula inclined her head in apology, then sighed with a sudden, overwhelming fatigue.
'You must remember, child,' she told him, the strain evident in her voice, ‘I am not as you are—of a different, older race am I. Many years have I guarded and tended the last root of Yggdrasill—too many. Unto it I am irrevocably bound, as were my sisters. Like theirs before me, my wits are failing as it, too, fails. I am sick in heart and mind, and the weight of endless ages crushes me down.'
With dragging footsteps, she crossed to the wall where a small niche was hewn amidst the carved animals. 'Two aims only have sustained me throughout the palling years,' she murmured, taking from the recess an earthenware beaker imprinted with the image of a white stag. 'To find a successor to our custodianship was my primary concern, but the waiting for the true heir was interminable, and when the strand of her life finally shimmered within the web, I missed her. Eventually, however, and with your assistance, Edith was delivered to us.'
Watching the old woman saunter back to the wellhead with the double-handled drinking vessel in her grasp, a puzzled frown crinkled Edie Dorkins' forehead.
'What you doin?' the girl asked.
‘I am tired, Edith dear,' Miss Ursula replied, avoiding the question. 'More tired than I have ever been. Long have I anticipated this moment and, of all the sensations I envisaged I might feel, drained and weary were not amongst them. I am just relieved that it is finally over and all the perils are past.'
'You sure?' Neil said doubtfully. 'What's to stop Tick-Tock coming down here, or Woden trying to get at us again?'
'As for the factotum warder, I do not think he will trouble us—Edith's alabaster friend will see to that.
And with regard to the Gallows God, he must be weakened, as am I. We are both too ancient and spent to vie with one another beyond this night, and already the dawn is waking.'
'You said there were two things,' Neil reminded her. 'If Edie was the first, what's the other?'
Setting the beaker down in the soot, Miss Ursula peered into the clear water it contained. 'Matters unfinished,' she replied simply. 'Something I would have done long, long ago if Edith had been born in an earlier age. As it is, I only barely managed to achieve it. The creeping madness stalked me, but I evaded it in the end. There is just enou
gh time to accomplish what must be done.'
Edie's frown deepened. 'What you sayin'?' she demanded.
'You must forgive me if candour does not come naturally,' Miss Ursula answered, 'but after the countless, dissembling years, one cannot be surprised. Yet, in this hallowed place, at this the instant of Doom, all veils of deceit and mendacity should indeed be torn away, and the glistering grains of truth laid bare.'
Toying with the golden chain which hung around her neck, she looked over to where Austen Pickering was regarding her cautiously. 'Do you not agree, Mr Pickering?' she asked.
The ghost hunter shrugged with feigned confusion. 'I'm afraid I didn't hear,' he prevaricated. 'This is... it's all so incredible. I was aware of the great ash myth... but you don't expect... I mean, how can I ever go back to my ordinary investigations after this?'
'Your investigations,' Miss Ursula repeated with a wry smile. 'Yes, of course, all those morose and tragic spectres you so diligently release from their torment. I'm afraid your few days here have been a trial in themselves, have they not, Mr Pickering? Still, I trust your experiences inside the museum were worth your patient waiting.'
'More than I can possibly say!' he exclaimed. 'Although I'll never be able to write them up, not if I want to be believed.'
Lifting the chain from around her neck the old woman gave an understanding nod. 'And it is so important to be convincing, do you not agree, Edith?'
The girl made no response. She did not comprehend what Miss Ursula was doing and began to wonder if her reason had wandered again.
'You agree with me, don't you, child?' she appealed to Neil.
‘I don't really know what you mean,' he muttered, with growing unease.