by G. P. Taylor
Raphah watched as they crossed the lawn, their black figures silhouetted against the white mist.
‘That is Pyratheon. I know it is. We have to get out of here – they’ll be here soon. We can take the stairs, go on to the main landing, then out of the kitchen door and escape into the woods,’ he said.
‘What if they catch us?’ Kate asked.
‘Then what Pyratheon desires may come true. Riathamus gave us a promise in the woods, that he would never leave us or forsake us, and that he would send the Seruvim when needed. He knows what we are facing, we must trust him.’
They heard a loud slamming of doors coming from downstairs and heavy footsteps walking along the hallway.
‘Grab the bag and run,’ Thomas exclaimed as he ran towards the door.
Kate grabbed the bag and the three ran out of the room and down the first flight of stairs until they reached the middle landing that led on to the bedroom corridor. The key had gone from the lock and the door was firmly secured. To their horror the door from the kitchen opened and there, in the semidarkness, stood a Glashan looking up at them.
‘We’re trapped,’ Thomas shouted as a second Glashan stepped on to the staircase and began to walk towards them. He felt a surge of cold run through his body as if his blood had turned to ice. His breath stuck in his throat as he frantically looked at Kate and Raphah, not knowing what to do. The Glashan walked slowly towards them up the stairs holding out its black leather-clad hand.
‘There must be a way out of here,’ Kate said desperately as she fumbled in the bag for the two crystals.
‘Back to the room, quickly,’ Raphah shouted.
They ran as fast as they could up the stairs and through the door of the servants’ room. Kate slammed the door behind her and Thomas slid the beds across the floor to barricade the door. They piled the frames and mattresses as high as they could and slid the cupboards from the walls and propped them against the pile of furniture that was now their only defence against the Glashan.
‘What now?’ Thomas asked, hoping beyond hope that there was still a chance of escape.
‘Peace,’ Raphah said calmly. ‘We will ask Riathamus for his peace, I know he will give that to us and help us to escape from this evil. Sit on the floor, close your eyes and think of him.’
The three got down on the floor and closed their eyes. Kate clutched a crystal in each hand. The Glashan began to pound at the door but were held back by the barricade.
‘Think of him,’ Raphah said. ‘Let him speak to you.’
In the midst of the chaos all three began to concentrate on Riathamus as the Glashan hammered on the door and tried to smash their way into the room through the wood. Even with all the noise and the fear, Thomas and Kate slipped into a place of complete peace. It was as if they were deafened to the noise of the world as their minds were drawn deeper and deeper into his presence. In a moment the fear subsided and a sure and positive hope filled their hearts and minds. They did not question what was happening, or why; they just allowed this strange new experience to gather up their thoughts and lead them to wherever it wished to go.
Kate clutched the crystals; it felt as if the hard surface of each stone was melting in her hands. In her mind she saw the panelled wall of the room. Her eyes were drawn to a small piece of wood that jutted out from the corner of one of the panels. As she looked she saw the panel open and it led to a staircase.
‘A tunnel,’ she cried. ‘A secret tunnel. We can escape!’
Her voice quickly brought them back to the present. At that moment a black-gloved hand smashed its way through a panel of the door and started to grab at anything it could. Another hand smashed through the wall next to the door sending white plaster scattering over the floor.
‘Quick,’ Kate said urgently. ‘I know the way out.’ She jumped up and looked around the room. There on the far side under the eaves she saw the small panel of wood set into the oak panelled wall, just as she had seen in her mind. She flicked the catch and a panel sprang open. There before them was a secret passage, once used to hide from the Excise men, leading from the room into the darkness.
‘We can’t go down there, we have no light,’ Thomas protested as a leather fist appeared through another hole in the wall. Kate held out the crystals before them.
‘Look, they’re glowing. We’ll have enough light from these stones to see our way,’ she said as the glow from the crystals lit up their faces. Behind them the door began to give way under the assault from the Glashan. The room shuddered with every blow and the barricade moved forward slowly as the door opened wider. ‘We’d better get going or else they’ll catch us,’ she added.
With a final kick the door gave way and the barricade collapsed into the room. The two Glashan jumped over the debris and into the room, their eyes searching every corner in the darkness. The three were nowhere to be seen. The room was empty. The creatures looked at each other. The taller began to crawl on the floor and sniff with his long nose, searching for the scent of the escapees.
By the light of the crystals it was easy to make their way from the servants’ room through the low passageway that seemed to be built into the walls of the house. As they ran they noticed doorways into other rooms and store places cut into the floors for the hiding of contraband. The passageway dropped floor by floor until they smelt the strong odour of stale water and earth. The air grew colder in the tunnel, as did the dampness. The floor of the tunnel turned into a shallow stream of fresh water; every ten yards metal grates had been cut into the roof. They were out of the house. The light of the moon shone in through the metal covers and above them they could hear voices.
‘Eat from this,’ Pyratheon was saying, ‘then I will know if you truly are for or against me.’
‘But what will it do?’ they heard Demurral ask, his voice unusually tentative.
‘It will give you an understanding of what the world is really like and commit you to me for ever. That is what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?’ Pyratheon replied. ‘You, Lord Finnesterre, can have the second bite; don’t worry, it does not lose its power and there’ll be plenty for both of you.’ He smiled. ‘Once you have eaten from the tree there will be no turning back and when the three are dead then the assault on heaven will begin.’
Demurral looked at Finnesterre. ‘I’m not too sure if this is right. I am just a human being and these are things that are not of this world.’ Suddenly all his confidence was ebbing away like the tide. For the first time in his life he began to see the consequences of what he was about to do. Finnesterre grabbed the apple from the branch of the tree and took a large bite.
‘See, nothing to it,’ he said as he chomped on the mouthful of apple. ‘Why worry? It can do you no harm. We sold ourselves to him years ago, Demurral. Now is not the time for fear and cold feet. Come on, man, the world is waiting.’
He handed the half-eaten apple to Demurral and as it changed hands they both saw the apple become whole again before their eyes. It was completely remade, completely perfect. Demurral reluctantly bit into the apple. As they swallowed each mouthful the world suddenly began to change. Demurral had the feeling that his body was growing and growing. The trees of the wood greeted him with their whispering; he could almost hear the words that they were speaking. Every branch and every leaf looked as if it were an individual living creature. They each shone with a brilliance that he had never seen before. The leaves were no longer the drab green that he had always thought but were now shimmering shades of blue and purple that fluttered in the moonlight. He wished that he could understand what they were saying, because he knew that they were trying to speak to him, trying to give him some long-lost secret. A seagull circled overhead, which drew his eyes from the trees to the sky. It was then that Demurral realized how small he really was. He could feel himself getting smaller and smaller as his eyes scanned each brilliant star. He could feel a rising sense of complete oneness with everything around him. He wanted the moment to go on for ever. This was the expe
rience he had been searching for, this was being near to his god, and now he knew his name … Pyratheon.
A soft breeze blew gently across the lawn. The grass beneath his feet began to move and sway with every breath that he took. He felt as if he was slowly being absorbed into the whole of nature. He looked around the gathering of the coven and stared into the eyes of each person there in turn. This time as he looked at them he saw the lives that they lived, the lies that they told, the people that they really were. He had an insight into each sordid reality. He looked at his hands. They appeared to shimmer with a silver light.
‘This is being alive,’ he said. ‘This is really knowing life.’
Finnesterre had curled up on the grass and was weeping like a small child. All he could see was the cold blackness of the darkest night. He was alone; a child aged six, left in his room with no light. His father’s voice boomed a warning in his head. ‘Get out of bed and the ghosts will get you.’ He was crying, trapped in his bed, wanting to be with his mother, knowing that she would bring safety from all that he feared in the night. He was held by his fear and again lived each terrible moment. As he lay in the wet grass he could hear the voices that he had heard so long ago. Voices that spoke of the things he did not want to hear. They whispered and touched his ear as they spoke with sharp words. He held his hands to his head, trying to plug his ears, hoping to stop the sound, hoping to stop them talking. It was then that he found that the voices were within his head trying to get out. The voice of his father shouted even louder. ‘Call yourself a boy? You act like a girl, look like a girl.I wanted a son, not a fop; I wanted an heir not a dandy who always wants his mother.’
It was as if his experience had been shared with all around him. The coven stood silently looking at them both. Pyratheon stared at them through his soft and beautiful blue eyes.
‘Such is this tree,’ said Pyratheon. ‘For one it brings enlightenment, the other fear. Don’t worry, Finnesterre, it will not last. The spirits of the past cannot tempt you for ever.’
*
In the tunnel the three kept as silent as possible. Kate hid the crystals in her coat for fear of their bright light shining into the darkness outside. They slowly edged their way along, ankle-deep in the cool stream. The tunnel became narrower and smaller. They crouched as they walked and after a few more paces the tunnel abruptly stopped. Above their heads was a large stone, long and flat like the marker to a grave. To one side of the stone there were steps to the surface. Kate let the light from the crystals spill out from under her coat. It shone on the walls of the tunnel that had been daubed with what looked like red paint. She looked at the stone. ‘I think this might be the stone by the path to the front door – away from where they are.’ She ran her hand around the stone and on one side found a big hinge. ‘If we push on this side the stone will open,’ she said.
Thomas gently pushed on the side. It gave a reassuring click as it eased opened. Raphah looked out through the narrow slit and could see the gathering of the coven by the corner of the house near the standing stone.
‘Come on,’ he said quietly, ‘we can get to the wood before they see us.’
Quickly the three climbed the steps of the tunnel and ran into the wood. Raphah crept along the bottom of the wall to the gate. He knew he would be close to where Pyratheon stood waiting. Just then the Glashan burst from the door of the house and ran across the lawn to Pyratheon. Raphah snatched the Keruvim from its hiding place in the wall and fled back to the wood.
Demurral happened to glance at the divining hand on the acacia pole and saw its lifeless colour.
‘The Keruvim have gone!’ he shouted. ‘Quickly. Let’s be after them.’
‘My dear Demurral. It will take many lifetimes for you to understand. Let them go, they will soon be found. Bring the Azimuth, she will tell us where they have gone.’
Vitae Veritas
IN the light of the early morning, the three tired bodies trudged their way over the final stretch of Hawsker moor to look out over the estuary from the high cliffs that surrounded the town of Whitby.
They had run, walked and slept, hiding in bushes and hay barns, one of them always keeping watch to make sure that they were not being followed. Now, finally, they were at the end of their journey, and they had the Keruvim. The fears of the night vanished with the onset of day; the bright glow in the sky to the north was the only sign that things were not as they should be and that the power of Pyratheon still pervaded the world.
The harbour below was filled with sailing ships, some larger than Thomas had ever seen, some so small that he thought they would never withstand the journey to Baytown let alone to the Continent or London. The vessels were crammed together and packed into every available piece of water. In the dawn light they looked like black logs trapped in the harbour, the residue from some recent flood.
The smell of smoke and cooked herring helped them to feel that their journey was nearly over. It reminded them that they were hungry and it took their minds from the nagging fear that had followed them throughout the dark night. Wispy spirals of smoke came from the chimneys of the houses huddled to the side of the cliff, below the stone church that looked out over the town. Behind the church the crumbling remains of an abbey dominated the skyline. Thomas could see the roof of the infirmary where they had taken his mother after the fire. He had no way of knowing if she was alive. In his own way he had committed her to the care of another, to one who would be there for her when he in his human weakness failed to be. As he looked at the red tiled roof he wondered about her fate, but even now there was no time to consider looking for her.
‘If we can get to the church we might find the man that Riathamus told us about,’ Thomas said as they left the open moor and walked for the first time on the steep cobbled bank of the donkey path.
‘I don’t think that the man we seek would be found in such a place. From my experience of those who serve there it is the pocket that matters more than the soul, and the imaginings of their own minds rather than the words of Riathamus,’ Raphah replied earnestly. ‘The one we seek will find us, and he will not be like we expect. We will have to be careful: Pyratheon will not let us go so easily.’
They followed the narrow path down the steep bank, through alleyways and tiny yards of fishermen’s cottages, until they eventually reached the market place. In ten feet they left the peace of the passageways for the bustle of the street. Within seconds the powerful aroma of the street with its fish stalls, fresh meat and bread overwhelmed them. The whole of the road that led to the church was packed with people who pushed and jostled each other as they tried to make way through the crowds.
Kate hung on to Thomas’s arm as he and Raphah walked the last few yards towards the entrance to the Griffin Inn. The sign above the door swung in the gentle breeze of morning, the white horse entwined in the golden griffin flashing backwards and forwards.
Once inside, the three huddled at a table near to the fire. The room was nearly empty. By the door three old men sat with filled clay pipes that smoked like the white chimney pots. The old men were sharing a mug of beer and half a loaf, passing the mug from one to the other and occasionally staring at Raphah. Behind the counter a fat young woman moved plates from one side of the bar to the other and then back again. Along one wall a long window at the height of the street let in the golden glow from the cloud as it reflected off the whitewashed paint of the narrow alley.
The woman looked up from the pots and came over to the three.
‘Can I be getting you anything or are you here just for the heat?’ she asked Raphah sharply. ‘We don’t usually get your kind in here and you can’t sit there without buying, so what will you be having?’
Raphah frantically checked the pockets of his coat for money. They were completely empty. Kate dipped her hand into the goatskin bag. She closed her fingers on two large round coins and without looking slapped them on to the table. The woman stared at two gold sovereigns. Kate took in a deep surprised breath as
Thomas stared at the treasure before his eyes.
‘My friend is a merchant, he has travelled here from far away and we all want something to eat,’ she blurted out. ‘We’ll have bread, cheese and three cups of your finest chocolate,’ she added in tones of confidence she never knew she had. As the woman walked away, Kate called her back. ‘Tell me, I’ve never seen anyone like you before, where are you from?’ The woman didn’t reply but quickly scurried away to the kitchen.
It was Kate who saw the man smiling at them from the darkest corner of the room. He wore a French hat and sat back in his chair with his feet on the table and a glass of red wine in his hand. She had not seen him when they had entered. She was sure that she had looked in that part of the room before and that the table where the man now sat had been empty. She knew that no one had come into the inn. They had been alone in the room with just the three smoky old men in the corner. She looked again and the man was still there, smiling. He had the kind of eyes that made Kate know that he wanted to speak, that at any moment he would get up from his chair and walk across the room and sit down.
The man looked at her and laughed to himself; it was as if he knew what she was thinking. He pushed the hat back from his forehead, leant forward in the chair, got to his feet and walked over to the table, just as Kate had seen in her mind. Kate saw him look at the two gold coins then at the goatskin bag on the table.
‘That’s a very fine bag you have there, young lady,’ he said in a fine English accent. ‘I know a man who once had a bag like that. Told me that he had left it in the wood and wondered how it was being used.’
Thomas did not turn around. He clutched the sword that he had well hidden in his coat. The man put his hand on his shoulder. ‘I hope you don’t mind me joining you. Whitby is not the place to be with so much money and so few friends, and not even Varrigal metal can protect you from some around here.’