Shadowmancer

by G. P. Taylor

  Kate held her breath, unsure of what she would see. She pressed herself into the wall of the tunnel, as if trying to find some small crevice or crack into which she could disappear. Raphah stood with his back against the tunnel and spoke silently to Riathamus.

  The glow from the creature’s lamp came very close and then suddenly veered to the right. It had taken the passage, only yards from them, that ran to the cellar door. Thomas could hear the coughing and spluttering moving up the tunnel away from them into the distance. Mingled with their enormous relief that the creature had turned before it found them, was the dread that surrounded them like so many unseen hands grabbing at their thoughts, a terror heightened by the smell of the tunnel, the penetrating dampness and the long, shrill echo of each footstep.

  They waited for what seemed like a lifetime and then Thomas took the lamp from under his coat, turned up the wick and began to lead them down the tunnel. He knew that soon they would be out of the darkness and into the fresh air of Beastcliff.

  A small patch of light was visible a hundred yards below them. It was the entrance to the tunnel. The red glow from the cloud merged with the golden sunlight forming a beautiful yellow and red ochre glow that shone on the walls. It brought with it a sense of relief as they quickened their steps, wanting to run towards the light. Raphah held the Keruvim close; in his heart he believed there was a chance of getting the statue back to the Temple. He had travelled so far, and here, in what he had been told was a civilized land he had found hostility, hatred and ignorance. He had met with a people who beneath a profession of faith still believed in the power of spirits. People who clung to the old gods but dressed them in new clothes; who called them different names but still believed in their power.

  It was then that they heard the muffled coughing getting closer and closer. Raphah turned, and there saw to his horror the light of a lamp coming back down the tunnel. Thomas looked to the entrance and silhouetted against the light was the figure of a tall man with sword in hand. They were trapped.

  From behind they heard men’s voices coming closer. Thomas looked back and then down to the entrance. He could not think how they could escape. Kate grabbed hold of his shoulder.

  ‘What can we do?’ she asked desperately.

  ‘They have us,’ Thomas said. ‘All we can do is either fight or give up.’

  ‘There is another way,’ said Raphah as he took out the Keruvim from inside his coat.

  ‘You can put that back,’ the voice shouted from the entrance. ‘You won’t be needing any help from that God of yours.’ It was Jacob Crane.

  Behind them the wheezing got stronger as Skerry and Blythe approached. Blythe was completely out of breath and wearily dragged his feet along as he walked. They echoed through the tunnel, amplified by the cold stone walls and their imaginations.

  ‘We came back for you,’ Blythe panted, as they approached in the dim lamplight. ‘Captain Crane came to set you free but it looks like you’ve done the job for yourselves.’

  They followed Thomas to the entrance of the tunnel. Crane waited, leaning against the wall and holding his wounded shoulder. He could see the look of anger on Kate’s face, and he knew that a broadside of venomous words would soon follow.

  ‘You left us,’ she screamed, ‘left us to die in that tower!’

  ‘I left you to buy some more time and lucky I did. Captain Farrell and the Dragoons arrived. That old soak had sold me to Farrell. If I’d waited around I’d be in irons by now and on my way to the gallows at York.’ He pointed to his cheek. ‘I have some unfinished business with Captain Farrell. The plan was to leave you here until tonight then come back for you. I have ordered my ship to fire a broadside at the house tonight, just when the Vicar is settling down for dinner.’

  ‘There is something you should know,’ Raphah interrupted. ‘There are creatures that have been released by Demurral. They too want the Keruvim.’

  ‘One tried to kill us in the house,’ Thomas butted in.

  ‘So, what are these things, my young lascar?’ Crane asked. ‘In the last two days I have seen so much I don’t understand.’

  ‘They’re the Glashan, fallen Seruvim and followers of Pyratheon. They intend to capture the Keruvim and wage war against Riathamus. Heaven and earth are in great danger. Demurral is being used by them and I don’t think he even knows of their existence,’ Raphah told him.

  ‘So, how do I know if I see one? Can they be killed?’ Crane asked.

  ‘They have green eyes, like a cat’s, and they can change shape,’ said Raphah. ‘They look like people. The only way to tell them is by the eyes. If you have faith they can be destroyed, if not then they will overpower you.’

  Crane took the pistol from his belt and aimed it at Raphah.

  ‘Can they take a piece of lead and still survive? Can they endure the cutlass and not bleed?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes they can,’ said Raphah. ‘These weapons are of this world. What you need is far more powerful than lead or metal fashioned by man’s hand. You need that which comes from Riathamus and cannot be seen.’

  ‘A pure blow in his name?’ Thomas asked.

  ‘Yes, in his name,’ Raphah replied.

  ‘You leave me confused,’ said Crane. ‘I’ll fight these Glashan with the things I know. If that’s not good enough then I’ll die. You fight them with your riddles and we’ll see who wins.’ He lowered the pistol and looked at Raphah. ‘I know I have to help you escape. Since you’ve been here the world has changed. Maybe when you’ve gone things will get back to normal and I can get back to my business.’

  ‘If we don’t stop the Glashan and Pyratheon, then you won’t have a world to carry on your business in. What you have to understand is that Demurral has opened the gates of the Great Capture. The Glashan are free again; they will take over this world and then attack Riathamus.’ He looked at the faces of those gathered around him. In the glow of the lamp they looked at him as if he was speaking in a foreign language, as if their minds could not grasp what he was trying to say. ‘There are two worlds – one visible, the other unseen. In this world we are ruled by time, by the rising of the sun, the stars and the tides. In the other we stand outside time: past, present and future are all the same. A prayer today can affect an event yesterday; a curse tomorrow can be like an arrow fired into the past. Pyratheon wants to overthrow all of this.’

  ‘But that is what Demurral said to me - that he wants to control the elements,’ Crane said, pressing his hand to his wound, which was becoming increasingly painful.

  ‘You are hurt,’ Raphah said. ‘You need to be healed for the fight ahead.’

  ‘What I need is a jug of rum and a soft bed,’ Crane replied.

  Raphah ignored him and placed his hand on Crane’s forehead. He closed his eyes and for several seconds stood silent; then he began to speak quietly to himself. Crane felt a powerful heat radiating from Raphah’s hand rushing through his body. He began to tremble as the heat set every nerve on fire and vibrated through each sinew. He felt as if he was standing beneath a hot waterfall that gushed into his body, cleansing and scouring each thought and desire. Instinctively he placed a protective hand over the wound, to find to his surprise that the pain had gone. Pulling aside his clothing to inspect the injury he found only fresh, undamaged skin. To a man of action, with no time for fanciful thought or theory, it seemed what he had thought impossible was now grabbing at him, turning his world upside-down. He searched for an explanation but found none, and felt himself beginning to panic. The madness was closer to him than he’d thought.

  Such uncomfortable thoughts were soon driven from his mind, however, as, before any of them could speak, a sudden draught rushed through the tunnel. In the distance they heard the resonant clang of a heavy metal door closing. ‘We have little time,’ Raphah said. ‘Each one of you has seen something of this other world. You have to decide on whose side you wish to fight. If you are not for Riathamus then you are against him; there is no neutrality in the kingdoms of heave
n and hell.’

  ‘I never thought I’d see the day when I would be asked to stand for God. Can’t he fight his own battles?’ Crane asked.

  ‘Don’t think he will leave us helpless. He has given us one who will fight with us, back to back in the thick of battle. He will be with us and the Seruvim will fight in the realms we cannot see.’

  ‘Well, lad,’ said Crane, ‘you’re either insane or this world has completely changed. Two days ago I would have seen you in the madhouse for talking like this, but now I’m sure that there must be some truth in what you say. We can fight only against what we see. You’ll have to show us that which is unseen, our eyes are blind to the things you talk of and my heart has been hardened to your God by too many years of fighting and stealing.’

  The sound of marching feet echoed in the tunnel. They resounded and grew louder and louder as echo built on echo, pounding through the tunnel.

  ‘Dragoons,’ said Crane. ‘Quickly, into the wood.’

  ‘This is the place of the Varrigal,’ Kate protested. ‘They may be here again.’

  ‘Whatever they are, they can’t stop us; we have three pistols, a barrel of powder and two swords. That’s enough to take on twenty Dragoons,’ Crane said. ‘Now come on. Into the wood. We’ll hide there and leave a surprise for whoever is following us.’

  Thomas was the first out of the tunnel and into the wood. The clearing had a fresh feeling. The morning dew clung to the blades of grass, the trees hung over the entrance like a deep green curtain. He stopped by the holly bush and looked out into the glade; he could see no one. He waved for the others to follow. Crane stayed by the entrance to the tunnel and wedged the barrel of powder into some tree roots that had knotted themselves in and out of the rock. Taking a length of the fire rope that had been dipped in lamp oil and coated with iron filings and black powder, he ran a length from the barrel to a tree stump several feet above the entrance.

  The sound of marching feet could be heard getting closer and closer.

  ‘Not much further.’ The voice was familiar to Crane. ‘Draw your pistols. They may be anywhere down there.’ The words reverberated through the tunnel.

  Crane smiled. Captain Farrell, he thought to himself. If only he could time the explosion it would be so fitting to blow the tunnel right above his head. He waved for the others to hide away from the entrance. Thomas, Kate and Raphah ran a little way along the track and hid among the dried bracken. They could see the entrance to the tunnel behind the holly bush and could hear the men approaching.

  It was Kate who saw the first red coat appear from the holly bush. He was a small man whose uniform fitted badly. He shielded his eyes from the glare of the sun and looked around him before going back into the tunnel.

  Captain Farrell then came into view, large hat and feather blowing in the breeze. In one hand he had a pistol, in the other a rapier, its blade flashing cold and clean in the light. She watched Crane light the fire rope, which flashed blue sparks and hissed and smoked deep blue smoke.

  Farrell turned to look, unaware of what was happening. The fire rope burnt quickly, covering the several feet in a matter of seconds. Crane ran for the cover of a sturdy oak tree, pressing himself as close as he could to its bark as the blast from the explosion ripped through the woods.

  Farrell was blasted backwards into the sharp leaves of the holly bush and then covered in large clumps of sodden earth. The thunderous roar sent shock waves that tore at the branches of the trees and blew back the dead bracken. The entrance to the tunnel had completely collapsed with the power of the exploding powder keg. All that could be seen was a crater of imploded mud and shale filled the space where the entrance had once been.

  The Dragoons were stuck in the tunnel. Their only escape was to go back to the Vicarage. Farrell, now separated from his men, lay on the flattened bush covered in dirt. His bright red tunic was stained with mud and his fine hat with its feather was nowhere to be seen.

  Crane stepped out from behind the cover of the oak tree. Embedded in it were fragments of wood and stone that had been blown like shrapnel from the explosion. He walked towards Farrell, looking down on him from the mound that formed one side of the crater. Taking out his pistol from his belt and with sword in hand he stared at Farrell, still stretched out, stunned by the blast.

  ‘Stand and deliver, or the devil he may take yer!’ Crane shouted at Farrell. ‘No jar of whisky for you, my fancy friend. No helping hand to pull you from that tree.’ He stepped down from the mound and walked towards the Captain, who struggled to get up from the holly bush. ‘Stay where you are, I’m not finished with you yet. I hoped that you would have been killed with the explosion but now I am going to have to do it myself.’ He looked at Farrell. ‘What do you want, pistol or the sword? I promise either way to make it as slow and lingering a death as possible.’

  ‘Take my money; leave me to live,’ Farrell muttered painfully. ‘I promise I won’t follow you.’

  ‘I’ll have your money and your life: there is no bargaining to be done. You came for the lad and now I’ve got you.’ Crane cocked the pistol and put it to Farrell’s temple, pressing the rim of the barrel into the flesh. ‘Say goodbye to Jacob. The next time you see me will be in hell.’ His finger went to squeeze the trigger.

  A hand fell on Crane’s shoulder. Surprised, he turned to see Raphah.

  ‘There is another way, Captain Crane – he doesn’t have to die.’

  ‘Keep out of this, lad, it goes too deep for you to be involved,’ Crane snapped at him. ‘He dies now, it’s only right. If I let him go my men will think I’ve gone soft. I’ll have every one of them trying to take over. If I kill him they’ll know I mean business.’

  ‘So you would kill him to save face – what kind of a man does that? He’s not some dog to be shot when it’s outlived its use, he’s a man, flesh and blood like you and me.’ Raphah put his hand on the pistol. ‘There’ll be others who’ll come after you if you kill him. You’ll have to kill them and keep on killing until they kill you.’

  ‘He’s a dragoon. Farrell knew what he let himself in for when he took the King’s shilling. He knew that one day it could end like this. Did he think of me when he tried to swipe my head off in the woods?’ Crane clicked back the hammer of the pistol.

  ‘You don’t have to act as he expects you to. You can be free from that. A kind word turns away wrath. Giving him his life isn’t a sign that you’re weak; it shows that in your power there is also mercy. If he’s involved with Demurral then there may be another way of getting what you really want.’

  ‘Blythe, Skerry!’ Crane called. ‘Tie him up, he’s still drunk from the blast so he’ll cause you no trouble. We’ll leave him here, it won’t be long before they find him.’ Crane leant over and looked at Farrell straight in the face. ‘I give you the right to live. Don’t go telling people fancy tales about nearly capturing me, because if you do I’ll finish the job. Go and tell your master that the stakes are now higher. I want half of what he’s stolen from the people and I’ll be out of these parts for good. Tell him to leave it in gold at the wishing tree on White Moor at midnight tonight. If he tries to take any of my men then I’ll give word for my ship to bombard his house and blow it to pieces. Understand?’ Crane took the pistol away from Farrell’s head. ‘Tie him to the thorn tree, make sure he’s uncomfortable.’

  Blythe and Skerry dragged Farrell to his knees and then across the glade to the thorn tree. Using the rest of the fire rope, they bound his arms tightly to some low branches and his feet to the trunk. He hung there like a life-sized puppet. Skerry found the Captain’s hat, now torn and tattered, and put it on Farrell’s head, pulling it down over his eyes so he could not see. Crane gestured for them all to walk silently down the track that led to the beach.

  Within a few minutes they were standing on the muddy point that overlooked the bay. It was low tide and a vast expanse of sand stretched into the distance. On the other side of the bay they could see where the cliff had fallen. It was as
if a large chunk of the headland had been scooped out by a giant and thrown into the sea. Strewn across the beach and mixed in with the mud, clay and stone, was the wreckage of the houses and shops of King Street, which had toppled. Crane’s ship lay at anchor in the bay. Two miles of sand separated them from the safety of his boat and the escape to freedom for Raphah and the Keruvim.

  ‘If we go by the beach then Demurral can watch us all the way,’ said Crane cautiously. ‘If we split up then we’ll have a better chance of getting through.’ He turned to Thomas. ‘You take the lad to Rueben at the Mill, I’ll go for the ship. Martin should be there by now. We put to sea at six o’ clock, I can’t wait for you.’ He pointed to a deeply rutted path used by the miners to take the alum to the ships that put into the shore and then took it to London. ‘Go that way, stay clear of the mine and get to the Mill as fast as you can. Rueben will get you to the ship. I’ll take my crew this way; we should make it in the hour. Good luck.’

  ‘I don’t believe in luck,’ Raphah said. ‘It leaves so much to chance.’

  With that the three quickly made their way to the steep track that went from the beach into the wood. Thomas turned and watched as Crane and his two men walked along the beach keeping as close to the high cliff as they could to stay out of sight of Demurral and the Dragoons.

  *

  In the wood Captain Farrell hung from the thorn tree by his hands and feet. He was aware that there was someone standing close by. The hat pulled over his eyes prevented him from seeing anything. He heard a twig break underfoot, a hand rested on his shoulder, warm breath danced across his neck.

  ‘Who is it? Who plagues me with their games?’ he growled, angry of his capture and humiliation.

  ‘It is I,’ said the soft feminine voice, ‘the one you love and left behind so long ago. At last I have found you.’

  ‘Elizabeth, is it you?’ he asked, unsure if he was dreaming. ‘If it’s you then take this hat from me so I can see your face.’