The Five Tors

by Benjamin Ford

  Dolores gasped in absolute horror, whirling around on her captor. ‘No, Kinelm! It is madness to believe that Apollyon will allow you dominion over your own lands instead of His children!’

  Kinelm grinned insanely. It did not matter that Dolores seemed to know his plans. She would not live long enough to hinder either Everard or him. ‘Ye be wrong, old woman. Us be His saviours, Everard and I. He will thank us and grant us our wish.’

  Dolores tried appealing to whatever shred of common sense Kinelm still possessed, knowing it was a foolish gesture. ‘Apollyon needs no others to rule His dominions. He tried that once before, remember, with His children. They conspired against Him and betrayed Him, before they themselves were betrayed by the Good Lord himself. Apollyon will not have forgotten their treachery, even if they think He has. He’ll no more trust two mortals than He will His children. If you should allow the sacrifice of the Chosen One to proceed at the appointed hour, you will release the Destroyer from His prison and He will destroy all life on this planet… and I mean all life!’

  ‘Ye be a fool, old woman, if ye expects me t’ believe that!’

  With desperation clawing at her insides, Dolores realised she was wasting her time trying to reason with Kinelm. He and Everard had used their knowledge from within the coven of Apollyonites, utilizing the powers and knowledge she herself had granted them, to come up with their own idea of world domination. She realised now how her foolishness in entrusting unto others the truth had endangered her own plans for bringing about the ultimate downfall of Apollyon and His children.

  ‘What do you intend to do with me?’

  ‘Ye knows o’ our plans, so it be too dangerous t’ let ye live. But we have no choice, ‘cause there be still one piece o’ vital information that ye have yet t’ tell us.’

  ‘You want me to tell you the identity of the Custodian? He who knows the location of the Key to Gehenna?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  In spite of her fear and her anger, Dolores smirked. ‘Thankfully that is information you shall never obtain from me! Too much is at stake for me to tell you or anyone else!’

  Kinelm nodded. ‘Yes indeed, too much be at stake… but if ye will not tell us the identity o’ the Custodian, there be someone who will.’

  ‘And who might that be?’

  ‘Yer daughter… Lilly!’ Kinelm chuckled as he noted the look of alarm on Dolores’s face. ‘Oh yes, us knows that Lilly be yer daughter right enough. Everard has returned t’ Dorstville t’ let the High One know!’

  ‘Much good that will do! Lilly’s safe, miles from here!’

  ‘Indeed she be safe enough, down in the cellar ‘neath the shop in Dorstville, a prisoner o’ the High One herself. If ye don’t tell us the identity o’ the Custodian by midnight, then I call Everard, and he tells the High One that Lilly knows who the Custodian is… and us both knows how the High One’ll extract that information… don’t us!’

  Dolores did not need any description of how Val would try to get the information. She would not succeed, of course. Lilly’s mind was an impregnable fortress, even to the powers of the High One.

  But she would die in the process.

  * * *

  Rob drove the MGB cautiously up the pot-holed drive to Naghene Hall, not knowing whether there would be a reception awaiting him, but fully expecting some kind of reaction from Val and Stan. Considering what Dolores had revealed, it would surely not have escaped their notice that he had been gone all day, and Val would no doubt want to know what had happened to her car.

  The house was enshrouded in darkness, not even bathed in the light of the hidden moon. It looked suddenly very threatening, reminding Rob of his initial impressions; it was the image sucked straight from a nightmare.

  His sudden dread could be viewed as an ill omen, as could the radically erratic and unpredictable weather of late. Thinking of Dolores’s words, there was no shred of doubt in Rob’s mind that the meteorological madness was linked directly to what was going on in Dorstville. The sudden heat wave that had descended at the same time he arrived in the village seemed to imply to Rob the awakening of the dormant beast beneath the house, the heat from the pits of hell itself.

  Stepping from the car into the muggy night air, Rob half expected a sudden flash of lightning to illuminate the house, revealing some ghastly, bestial figure as it lunged towards him. But it was just his writer’s mind creating the scenario from his subconscious fears.

  He stared up at the house, not for the first time feeling eyes upon him, watching his every move. He shivered uneasily. Had he caught the very briefest glimpse of movement in one of the attic windows? Had he seen a face, peering down at him? Had he seen the eyes of a madman boring into him?

  He could not be certain, but as he blinked, whatever he saw vanished. It was, he decided, merely a trick of the night. Paranoia had started creeping into his thoughts shortly after leaving Exeter. First he thought he had seen Kinelm, lurking outside Dolores’s cottage, and he then thought he saw Stan driving a car going in the opposite direction. He had also thought he could feel the icy talons of Val’s mind as she reached out in search of his thoughts.

  In the end, rational thought won. Who would not be having paranoid delusions after what Dolores had told him? She had said it in such a calm, matter-of-fact manner that he found he could not doubt her, even though her claims were so fanciful. But the more he thought about the events that had originally led him to Dorstville, and the events that had transpired since his arrival, the more convinced he became of the sincerity of Dolores’s words.

  Rob thought back to the extraordinary mental techniques she had taught him, which he had picked up with relative ease. They seemed to have cleared away any cobwebs left behind by Val’s intrusion into his mind, and seeing things clearly for the first time since his arrival in the village, he recognised the hypnotic barriers that enveloped his rational thoughts and he eradicated them with a single blow.

  He recalled vividly how Naghene Hall had appeared to him as he and Gerry drove past it that first night; unwelcoming and derelict. All of his fears and disenchantment towards the house seemed to erode completely when Val took him to see it.

  The woman had clearly bewitched him, and not only him but Gerry as well. Rob once again wondered what had become of his brother. Was he a prisoner of Val’s will? Did he have any free thought left to him, or was he totally subjugated to the power of Val’s mind? Gerry had been Val’s instrument for bringing him to the village, Rob realised, just as Ginny had played her unwitting part – paying for it with her life. Rob prayed the same fate had not befallen his brother.

  How many others would yet suffer before the evil was finally vanquished? What in God’s name would they do if Dolores could not come up with a successful plan to defeat the demonic spawn of Satan and their own plans of resurrecting their father?

  We must not fail!

  Too late, Rob realised his careless thoughts might be read by Val. He shielded them, casting a veil across his mind to protect himself.

  I have to be smarter than that or it’ll cost me my life!

  Rob understood clearly the implications of what Dolores had told him. His life was in danger no matter how cautious he remained, but all the while he stayed on at Naghene Hall he was safe… until the Night of Madness.

  As he slowly walked up to the house from the parked car he felt the oppressive darkness closing in, pressing down on him in a neo-physical manifestation which sought to crush all life from his body, before discarding him like a broken rag doll.

  It’s Val again, he thought, concentrating hard in order to silence the fear that gripped him.

  No, it’s not Val. It’s the house.

  Even as he stared at the stone edifice he could feel the tangible evil radiating out towards him, bathing him in its baleful aura, choking him like a thick fog.

  And then he realised the true nature of the evil. It was buried beneath the house, awakening gradually, exerting its will on all those nearby. The
tangible evil would grow stronger with each passing day as the Night of Madness drew closer, and with it, the time of his death.

  Better to die now than be sacrificed on that night; better to end my life myself than allow my death to bring forth the rebirth of the Destroyer.

  Could I do it? Could I commit suicide?

  No; he could certainly not bring himself to take his own life, no matter what was at stake. Besides, there were no guarantees that his death prior to the Night of Madness would actually halt the resurrection of Apollyon. There were far too many variables to factor into the scenario. He might be the Chosen One, but all that really meant was that he was to spend seven days and seven nights beneath the roof of Naghene Hall and that he would then be sacrificed. It was quite conceivable that if he died prior to the Night of Madness then someone else might yet remain in the house for that length of time. And if that person were an unbeliever…

  Rob laughed suddenly, totally devoid of humour.

  Boy, are they in for a shock if they sacrifice me and find I’m no longer a non-believer!

  * * *

  Later, having made himself a coffee, and not feeling the least bit tired despite the late hour, Rob settled down in his new study to make a little headway with his writing.

  Usually by this point in writing, he would have a full head of steam and be typing away feverishly, making notes in a jotter as he went. So far he had typed very little, even though the plot was circulating wildly around his mind along with a myriad of other thoughts, to the point where he had started to lose control of what was real and what was fiction.

  He read back through what he had so far typed and found it curious that much of what he had thought to be real events were actually there in black and white before him. It was as though someone had been seriously messing with his mind, and not even Dolores’s abilities could sift them into some semblance of order.

  He decided to set aside the typewriter and his novel for the moment, to write in his notebook his own recollection of events so far. As a writer, he had always believed his mind to be fairly well disciplined, even though outwardly his life was ordered chaos. By writing everything down, he felt certain he would be able to pick out reality from the fiction that had been planted.

  As he sat writing, taking occasional sips from his coffee, the hairs on the back of his neck bristled. It was a curious sensation he had not felt since poor Satan’s murder – that was an event he was adamant to be real. He had always known when Satan was lurking in the doorway of his study back home in London, watching him working; he could always feel the cat’s eyes boring into him from behind, and those eyes had always made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

  He whirled around sharply, half-expecting to see Satan sitting in the doorway, half-expecting to see some monstrosity padding towards him silently, salivating madly as it approached.

  He saw nothing but the gloom of the hallway, a darkness in which anything could be lurking; man, animal or beast.

  Rob shivered uneasily, his overactive imagination conjuring all manner of scenarios, and in a fraction of a moment, he was out of the chair and had closed the door against the shadows. He leaned heavily against the door, pressing an ear up against the wood, straining to listen for footsteps or loud breathing from beyond… but there were no sounds from outside the room.

  Sighing with heartfelt relief, Rob made his way back to the desk and settled into the comforting embrace of the chair. He drank the remainder of his coffee and re-read what he had written. He had listed all of the people he had met since arriving in Dorstville, along with their anagrammatically correct names, and the places that seemed relevant to what was going on.

  Reaching across the desk, he opened the Ordinance Survey map of the area he had purchased in town and marked as best he could guess the location of Dorstville and Naghene Hall.

  He scrutinized it carefully.

  Though the village itself had not been marked officially on the map, there were a number of tors marked, several of which were located fairly close to where he had placed Naghene Hall.

  He grabbed his pen and joined the five closest tors together, to create a perfect pentacle.

  And in the exact centre…

  ‘Naghene Hall!’

  As far as Rob was concerned, this sudden revelation sealed his fate. Any lingering doubts he still harboured concerning the outrageous facts Dolores had laid before him disappeared in an instant of perfect lucidity; any fuzziness that lingered from Val’s intrusion into his mind vanished with a moment of pure clarity.

  Somewhere beneath Naghene Hall lay the gateway to Gehenna, the prison dimension of Apollyon. If he could locate it, perhaps there might be some way to prevent that gateway from ever being opened – without his loss of life.

  Rob sat in silence for a while, contemplating what he had unearthed. He had no idea what to look for, and to go blundering around the house in search of something so potentially deadly, without being forearmed with knowledge, was foolhardy to say the least.

  Dolores knew far more than she had been willing to tell him at her house. He was certain she would reveal the rest when the time was right. It was just a question of waiting patiently.

  Unfortunately, patience was not a virtue Rob possessed.

  * * *

  Lilly and Jonathan stared at the far wall of the room in which they found themselves whilst searching for the exit from their prison, totally in awe of their surroundings.

  ‘What a magnificent tapestry,’ gasped Jonathan as his eyes feasted upon the huge wall-mounted work of art. ‘It must have taken years to complete, not to mention far more patience than I could ever muster.’

  Her eyes as riveted as Jonathan’s to the masterpiece, Lilly agreed wholeheartedly.

  The vast tapestry was the focal point of the cavernous room, completely filling the entire far wall. There were no other works of art, no pieces of furniture, not even drapes and carpet clothed the room; it was barren, save for the tapestry, and the immense chandelier that cast glittering orbs of light across the bare floor and walls.

  The stark red walls echoed the colour palette of the other rooms they had glimpsed in their search for the way out; the house resembled a rabbit warren of interconnecting rooms and long corridors..

  The flame coloured walls reminded Lilly of the warmth of her mother’s cottage, but this house was much less welcoming. She had been in the rear section of the shop in the past, when she had worked there during her tenure in the village, but she did not recognise their current surroundings. She guessed they must be somewhere in the doctor’s surgery or house, which were linked to the shop.

  The light from the chandelier gave life to the tapestry, bringing sentience to the graphic depiction of the final battle between Good and Evil. Painstakingly detailed in the intricate weaving and stitching, the battle seemed still to rage on. Humans, unicorns and angels and all things good appeared to be losing the unending skirmish against the werewolves, vampires and other beasts of evil. The dead and the wounded littered the ground, whilst in the air a beautifully defined, ethereal man valiantly fought the Horned Beast, whilst five not dissimilar figures attacked five other humans, whose features were shielded by those they fought.

  ‘I wonder how old this tapestry is?’ asked Jonathan.

  Lilly pursed her lips as she responded. ‘Countless thousands of years, I would think.’ Though she knew of the tapestry’s history, she felt great reluctance in imparting the knowledge. She pointed at the Horned Beast. ‘That is Apollyon. This depicts the last great battle in which He and His children were vanquished.’

  ‘Banished to other dimensions, from which they seek to return.’

  ‘Yes. To my knowledge, all but two of His children have achieved their freedom, and one of the free has perhaps been defeated. We must ensure that the remaining two and Apollyon Himself are never released.’

  ‘If they do gain their freedom, can they not be defeated as before?’

  Lilly shook her head. ‘
Once opened, the gateway to Gehenna can never be resealed. That is why we must make certain it is not opened.’

  Jonathan pointed at the ethereal man. ‘Is that a representation of God?’

  Lilly shook her head. ‘That is Deiform, Apollyon’s twin. A force of supreme evil must be perfectly counterbalanced by a force of infinite good.’

  ‘What happened to Him then?’

  Lilly did not respond as she and Jonathan heard a door open and close outside the room. They listened as stealthy footsteps approached. There was nowhere for them to run, no place for them to hide.

  They huddled together fearfully in the middle of the room as the door opened.

  ‘Rob!’

  ‘Jesus, Jonno!’ gasped Rob as he surveyed the bare room. He smiled. ‘It’s good to see you’re all right. You too, Lilly. Your mother was worried about you.’

  ‘You have spoken with my mother?’

  Rob nodded. ‘She’s told me much of what’s going on. I know about Val and Stan.’

  Jonathan held up a hand. ‘Speaking of Stan, you should be aware that he no longer looks like the man he was.’

  Rob frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The beast in his true nature has the ability to take the form of whomever he kills. His last victim was Ralph Branagh.’

  Rob’s was appalled. ‘Ralph is dead?’

  Jonathan sighed sadly. ‘It would seem he followed you, Rob. He was infatuated with you, and it was his undoing.’

  ‘That means it wasn’t him who came to see me with Ginny and Gerry.’

  ‘Virginia Saunders is also dead. I must admit, Rob Tyler, you are much calmer about events than I thought you would be.’