by G. P. Taylor
‘Come and sit at the table,’ said the bright voice behind them. ‘It’s not much, but it’ll keep you going.’ Finnesterre smiled a warm and friendly smile.
On the table was a loaf of fresh bread, cheese, apples and cold meat. Finnesterre placed a hot pot of coffee and four cups on the table. It was like a ritual. He placed the cups to form a perfect square and then poured the dark liquid into each cup. The hot steam swirled in the half-light, like the vapours rising from a witch’s cauldron. They had an eerie glow in the candlelight and whirled around his hands as he carefully poured the coffee.
‘Is this coffee?’ Kate asked wanting to be sure.
‘It is, my dear girl, I’m afraid I’m quite an addict. Coffee, chocolate, and the occasional glass of wine are all that I can call my sins,’ he said as he sat at the table.
‘Sir,’ said Raphah, ‘I do not wish to be rude, but I cannot have this drink. Its effect is not one that I desire.’
‘A wise man always knows what he shouldn’t have,’ Finnesterre said curtly. ‘But he should never push his views on others.’ He smiled through his teeth as he pushed the cups towards Kate and Thomas. ‘I’m sure you two would like to try some of this wonderful elixir, wouldn’t you?’ He paused. ‘What brings you to Stregoika Manor?’
Thomas took hold of the cup and sat back in the tall-backed chair. He had never been one for talking, but the warmth of the fire and the hot bitter coffee made his mind race. He felt comfortable with Finnesterre, almost at home. His fears had subsided and were now replaced by the desperate urge to share all that had happened with someone whom he thought wanted to listen. He did not sense Raphah’s growing unease.
For the next ten minutes Thomas told him of their adventure, from the moment they had entered the tunnel, the Keruvim, the escape, and the trek across the moors.
‘My goodness!’ Finnesterre exclaimed. ‘And to think all this happened so close to my home. Where is the Keruvim now?’ he enquired casually.
‘It’s lost,’ Raphah interrupted before the others could speak. ‘Before we got here I must have dropped it on the moor. I checked my coat at the gate and it was gone. When we leave here we will have to go back and find it.’
‘You never said,’ Kate snapped at him.
‘I never had the chance,’ he replied.
‘Well, such an item should not be lost for long. You wouldn’t want such a powerful thing to fall into the wrong hands again.’ Finesterre patted Thomas on the back. ‘You are a brave lad; you should all get some sleep. I’ll have no talk of you sleeping in the stables, you can have the servants’ room at the top of the house. I am all alone. Sadly no one will stay with me for long; they always say they don’t like the house. Come, bring a candle and your food and I will show you the room. I lit a fire for your arrival …’ Finnesterre stopped short as if he had said too much, stood up from the table and beckoned for them to follow him.
They left the warmth of the kitchen for the icy cold of the back stairs that led to the top of the house. On each landing was a doorway to the rooms on that floor with a key in each lock. Finnesterre took them higher and higher until they were in the eaves of the house. The wind rattled the stone tiles and blew in through the wattled and whitewashed ceiling into the long thin room that was the servants’ quarters. Four beds filled one half of the room leaving little space to walk. A large rug covered the wooden floor and a fire burned brightly in the small fireplace.
‘You can make yourselves at home. I’ll leave you be and see you in the morning,’ Finnesterre said as he stepped back to the door. ‘Don’t worry about any noises you may hear. There are always owls and foxes outside and sometimes they sound quite human. This house rattles and moans but it means no harm.’ He stopped speaking and a worried look came over his face. ‘It’d be best that you stayed in the room. I wouldn’t go walking the corridors if I were you. I would hate you to have an accident.’
With that he bowed politely and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. They waited until the sound of his footsteps going down the stairs could be heard no more.
Thomas looked at the beds in disbelief. He had never slept on anything so wonderful. The sheets were white and crisp and the blankets had no sign of lice to prickle his sleep. He fell back on to the mattress and wallowed in the delight of the softness of the feathers. Soon Thomas and Kate had left this world and were dreaming, whimpering and twitching their limbs like worn-out spaniels. Raphah sat on his bed and in the candlelight he listened to every noise in the house, waiting for something he knew would come.
Lubbock’s Drum
CRANE heaved himself on to the deck of the Magenta. A rolling swell made it difficult for him to stand upright. He held on to the rail and looked up. The ship was ready for sail. The crew pulled on the halyard ropes, and by the mainsail, the cannon was being powdered and made ready for firing. The wind tugged at the sails and the ship lurched forward, beating against the waves. Crane took in a deep breath; on land he always felt confined, almost claustrophobic, but here at sea he felt he was a free man. He reached into his pocket and took out a small silver coin and in one movement tossed it into the sea.
‘Thanks for safe harbour,’ he said under his breath as he paid off the Selkie, hoping that the sea spirit would look after the ship until its return.
‘Right men,’ he shouted. ‘We’ll head out into the bay and cut as close as we can to the cliff, then clear for action.’
Martin came from below deck and greeted his captain.
‘Did they make the ship?’ Crane asked.
‘No sign of them, Captain. I had two men waiting for them and Rueben, but we can’t wait any longer. We’ll have to run on this tide or stay until the morning.’ Martin walked with Crane to his cabin.
‘I just hope that Demurral never caught them. When we cross the bay we’ll lay up and give the old soak something to think about,’ Crane said. ‘They’ll have to make their own way.’
The Magenta rose and fell with each wave. The wind in the sails quickly pulled her through the water and out into the bay. Crane could see the lights of the Vicarage in the distance, high on the hill. Far below, the chimney of the alum mine belched out its dark, acrid smoke.
Crane and Martin stood at the cabin door and looked towards the Vicarage. In his heart Crane knew that the action he was about to take would make him an outlaw for ever. He knew that as soon as the cannon fired he was a condemned man. Farrell would see to that, and Demurral was sure to lie through his teeth. But, Crane thought, the satisfaction of blasting the house from the cliff face far outweighed the cost of spending the rest of his life away from this land. There would be other ports, other countries, and maybe, just maybe, he would find what he was looking for.
Crane looked around the deck. Around him men were heaving ropes and pushing the cannon into position.
‘I want some music. There’s nothing better than a song and the sight of cannon fire. Where are Lubbock and Fingus?’ Crane shouted. ‘Get those two bogeys out here now, I want music.’
Lubbock and Fingus were both drunk and seated on a coil of rope oblivious to all that was happening. Lubbock had a thick leather strap over his left shoulder and by his feet was the large pigskin drum he had stolen from a dragoon. In his lap Fingus had an old violin that he kept in a black velvet bag. At the shout from the Captain they both jumped to their unsteady feet.
Fingus was a small man with spider-thin legs and a long nose. His long feet got in the way as he took the violin and bow from the bag, stuck it under his chin and began to play. Lubbock took up the drum and began to beat out the rhythm faster and faster. Some of the ship’s crew began to clap as Fingus danced and played the violin. He spun on his feet, crashed into the cabin door and then fell to his knees while still playing a raucous tune in time to the rapid beating of Lubbock’s drum. As the ship rolled, Fingus was thrown from side to side but still kept playing. His tune got faster and faster. Some of the men began to dance. They twirled each other arm in arm and
spun round and round. Fingus danced as fast as he could on the deck. Crane kept a constant eye on the cliff and the Vicarage high above. By the side of the ship two dolphins broke cover from the waves and leapt into the air.
Lubbock’s drum beat louder as Fingus sawed the bow across the strings faster and faster. Spray from the sea began to break over the decks, and to the north the glow from the cloud broke through. In one sudden moment the music stopped.
‘Make ready to fire,’ Crane shouted as the Vicarage came into range of the heavy cannon. He waited for the swell to lift the side of the ship nearest to the cliff. The vessel tilted in the waves. ‘Fire!’
The night air was filled with the smell of burning powder. A bright red pall blasted from the cannon into the black sky. There was a load roar as the ball flew through the air towards its target. Then, with unexpected force, the roof of the Vicarage blew up, scattering the grey tiles through the air and sending a shock wave to the ground.
‘Fire!’ Crane shouted again to the crew manning the second cannon. The shot groaned into the night like an unseen fist. It smashed into the corner wall sending bricks and stone crashing to the ground.
There was then a crack-crack-crack of muskets being fired and flashes like small sparks could be seen on the cliff top. Musket balls pelted the rigging like hailstones.
‘Go for the muskets,’ Crane ordered. He waited for the roll of the ship. ‘Fire!’
The first cannon fired again, aimed directly at the small group of riflemen on the cliff top. In the shadows from the moon and cloud, Crane could see the ball hit its target, sending clods of soil up into the air. The firing stopped.
‘Fingus, play me something cheerful, I want to celebrate,’ Crane said calmly as he walked into his cabin. The crew gave a loud cheer and Fingus struck up another tune to the beat of Lubbock’s drum.
*
The sound of the cannon fire had echoed across the valley. In Stregoika Manor, Raphah leapt from his bed and ran to the window. In the distance he could see the smoke and fire of the Vicarage glowing like a soft, red candle on top of the dark hill.
‘Quickly,’ he said in a hushed voice to Thomas and Kate. ‘Demurral’s house is on fire.’
Thomas woke clumsily from his dream and staggered to the window, pulling Kate with him. Together they looked out through sleepy eyes at the sight in front of them.
‘What’s happened?’ Kate asked.
‘Whatever it is, I don’t think Demurral will be pleased. He’ll come looking for us and we are too close for comfort,’ Raphah replied.
‘Look,’ Thomas said, suddenly pointing through the window into the garden.
Walking through the trees and out on to the lawn, was a long procession of black hooded figures. They walked towards the standing stone and formed a circle around it.
Thomas stepped back into the room to blow out the candle and rejoined the others at the window.
‘What are they doing?’ he asked, as they watched the figures join hands and slowly begin to walk hand in hand anti-clockwise around the stone.
‘They’re witches,’ Raphah said. ‘They are walking against the sun. They are summoning a power for evil.’
‘How do you know what they are? They could be doing anything,’ Kate objected.
‘I have seen them many times. They’re trying to use the stone as a centre for power. It is buried deep in the earth and –’
‘Why walk around a stone?’ Kate interrupted.
‘They believe it brings power from the earth that they can use – but all along Pyratheon is using them,’ Raphah said.
They looked on as the crowd of hooded figures began to chant. They began to walk faster and faster until their walking turned into a dance, their voices getting louder and louder. The circle of dancers let go their hands and began to twist and turn as they went around the stone. One of the figures stopped dancing and, taking a long shaft of wood, walked up to the stone and began to hit the side of the rock.
‘One, the wind that springs from the west,
Two, the earth that brings forth life,
Three, the fire that consumes our breath,
Four, the water that brings our healing,
Five, the moon that lights our path,
Six, the sun the greatest light,
Seven, the master we summon this night.’
The figure shouted the spell at the wind as he hit the rock with the staff. He then thrust it into the ground and stepped back from the stone. The staff burst into bud, young shoots sprang from the old wood. It became a living tree before their eyes. From the trunk grew thick branches and from the branches fresh green leaves. White flowers tipped each branch, the blossom giving way quickly to small red apples. All but one apple dropped from the tree and were swallowed up by the earth. The last fruit hung on the smallest branch, bowing it low. With one hand the figure lifted back the hood from his face. It was Finnesterre.
There was no need for the three to speak his name. Kate and Thomas just looked at each other in total disbelief.
‘We must leave here as soon as we can. They must never get the Keruvim, and they are closer to it than they would ever imagine,’ Raphah said.
‘Look,’ Thomas exclaimed, as he saw what was taking place below.
In the garden the other figures began to take the hoods from their faces. In amongst them was Demurral, standing next to Finnesterre, and by him was Captain Farrell, whose face appeared blurred as the Dunamez trembled slightly in and out of his body, merging its face with his.
At that point the stone began to make a low rumbling noise, vibrating the earth around it. Demurral looked at Finnesterre and smiled. A mist began to rise from the ground, forming a white curtain around the circle and reflecting the moonlight. Two Glashan appeared from the wood and walked into the centre of the circle and stood next to the stone. The whole gathering was becoming obscured by a blanket of fog that had appeared, to hover over the garden. By the standing stone the earth split in two, and out of the ground marched a company of Varrigal with their burnished shields, short swords, and snake helmets. They formed an outer circle around the coven as if to protect them from a hidden adversary.
Demurral took the acacia pole and black hand from under his cloak. He held it upright and then stabbed it into the ground. Immediately it began to glow white-hot.
‘Both of the Keruvim are near,’ he said. ‘When the moon strikes the stone it will be time.’ He looked up to the bedroom window high in the eaves of the house. ‘They sleep soundly,’ he commented to Finnesterre.
As he spoke a deep hush fell over the gathering. Demurral turned to see the phalanx of Varrigal quickly part and a tall figure with bright red hair and dressed in armoured leather walk into the middle of the circle. The Glashan fell to their knees and bowed their heads before him, not daring to gaze upon his incredibly beautiful face.
Finnesterre and Demurral stood silently, not knowing what to say. They both looked at him not daring to ask his name and wondering if their thoughts could possibly be true.
‘For people so eager to speak to me you both appear to be lost for words.’
The man spoke with a surprisingly warm voice, his words appearing quite tender. ‘I am always willing to come and listen to those who follow me and it is so … nice … to meet you.’ He looked at them and smiled. ‘There is no need for you to introduce yourselves. I know who you both are, I have followed your lives with great interest and my helpers have told me all about you and your desires. I believe, Parson Demurral, that you once followed the ways of …’ He paused and looked at the sky. ‘I wonder what He is thinking, moments away from being deposed of all his power. I have waited many lifetimes for this … and look – we even have the tree and the apple. All we need is an Adam and an Eve and the Keruvim, and we will have the fall of man and the fall of God, once and for all and this time for ever, without any interruptions from Riathamus.’
He shouted, his voice deepening and growing angry, his face contorting as if in pain
and then suddenly calming and regaining composure.
‘Gentlemen, I am sorry. Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Pyratheon; that is my true name. I am the one behind every deity that is not Him. I am Pan, Baal, the earth goddess and whatever distraction I could think of to call myself and get your kind to worship me. I’ve been called many things in my time, but I prefer Pyratheon; it was the name given to me by my father.’
‘You – you are different from what we expected,’ Finnesterre said quietly and fearfully.
Pyratheon laughed. ‘You expected a horned beast with a spiked tail covered in scales?’ He looked at Finnesterre. ‘I thought so. My dear, dear Finnesterre, I was once a Seruvim, I led the worship in heaven, I sat at His feet. Do you think that He would allow something ugly to serve him? Wickedness came to me like an unexpected joy and I seized the opportunity and if it hadn’t been for Riathamus, I would have succeeded.’ He looked at Demurral. ‘Sadly, Demurral, you’ll not have all the power for yourself. You have underestimated what you have begun. I could never leave the running of the world in the hands of a human. Your kind often has fits of compassion and mercy; even the most despicable people have that dreaded seed of love that melts the heart. It was the flaw in your creation. Without the ability to love, you would have so much potential. Sadly, none of you is beyond redemption, so you cannot be trusted with much. When I set up my kingdom you will get what you deserve and what is right for a man of your standing.’ He looked around the coven circle. ‘Where are the three?’
‘They are in the house,’ Finnesterre replied.
‘Then, Lord Finnesterre, I suggest you fetch them.’ He paused and thought. ‘No. I will send the Glashan, they don’t like to make mistakes or let people escape.’ He signalled to the Glashan, who left the circle and walked towards the house.