The Spook's Sacrifice

by Joseph Delaney

  'That's what Mam told us about, Alice,' I exclaimed, pointing ahead. 'It's the pillar of fire. The Ord must be somewhere within it!'

  We were at least three miles away from the fiery column, but I could soon feel its warmth on my forehead despite the drop in temperature around us. We were heading for an immense crimson vortex, a gigantic throbbing artery connecting sky to earth. It looked dramatic and disturbing, and seemed to be thickening and flexing rhythmically: I was afraid that it might suddenly explode outwards to engulf us all. Lightning forked upwards from its base, bifurcations of white and blue like the jagged branches of trees reaching out into the black cloud above.

  Although fixed in the same spot, the column was rotating rapidly in a widdershins direction, against the clock. Swirling dust formed a mushroom at its base, and at its apex combined with the substance of the swirling cloud. The shrill whine grew to a raucous screech and there was now a sharp smell, at first difficult to name; it bit high into my nostrils and I could taste it on the back of my tongue.

  'It smells like burning flesh!' cried Alice, sniffing the air. 'And sounds like souls screaming in Hell. They're burning! All burning!'

  Yet, if so, it was the reverse of what my senses told me: this was creation rather than cremation; flesh reborn of fire. If what Mam had told me was correct, the Ordeen and her servants were entering our world in the midst of those flames. It was a fiery portal. The heat upon my face abated somewhat; the fury lessened as the colours shifted across the spectrum, crimson slowly transmuting into bronze.

  'There's a huge building!' cried Alice, pointing fearfully ahead. 'Look! Inside! You can see it inside the flames! That's the Ord . . .'

  Alice was right. I could see the vortex slowing and shrinking, but the process was one of definition rather than collapse; now almost transparent, it allowed us to make out the shape of the Ord that lay within, that dark dwelling place of the Ordeen.

  It had three twisted spires of equal height, so tall they almost reached up into the cloud. Behind them, as though protected, was the dome Mam had talked about. And both towers and dome rose from a massive edifice that resembled a great cathedral, though far larger and more magnificent than Priestown's, the biggest church in the County. And whereas a cathedral sometimes took decades to build, this seemed to have been formed in a matter of moments.

  The pillar of fire had now disappeared altogether. We moved on, getting closer and closer to the dark mass of the Ord, which rose up before us like some gigantic, terrifying beast. Although the outer darkness increased again, there was a strange new light radiating from inside the Ord. It was now lit from within by a bronze glow that was increasing in power even as I watched. Now, for the first time, I was able to appreciate the detail of the structure. Each twisted spire had long narrow windows, arched at the top like those of a church. They were open to the air, and through them the inner fires shone more brilliantly.

  'There are horrible things moving inside the windows,' Alice whispered, her face filled with awe and terror. 'Things from Hell.'

  'It's just your imagination, Alice,' I told her. 'It's too far away to see anything properly.'

  But notwithstanding my rebuke, I could see movement at some of those windows; indeterminate shapes that flickered like wraiths against the light. I didn't like to think what they might be. Then my eyes were drawn to the main entrance – the largest of the cavernous doorways that gave access to the structure. It was high and arched, and although it glowed brightly, deep within it was a darkness so complete that I was suddenly seized by dread of what it concealed. The Ord had come through a portal from the dark, and anything might lurk within it.

  We were nearing it now: the citadel was immense, rearing up before us to block out the darkness of the sky.

  A shouted order rang out from behind us, and we turned to see the warriors come to a halt before changing their formation into two crescents, horns facing the Ord. They looked formidable, with their glittering mail and weapons. They had performed the first of their two tasks well. The maenads had been kept at bay: occasionally small patrols had peeled off from the main force to drive them away and hunt them down. Now these mercenaries faced an even more dangerous assignment: they were soon to ride straight into the heart of the citadel and fight the dark beings within.

  We walked on. It had been agreed that the mercenaries wouldn't approach until it was time to attack. I gazed at the citadel, searching along its outer wall, and finally my eyes found the secondary entrance that Mam had described: above it was a gargoyle skull with huge antler horns. This was where the delegation would enter. If we failed, the Ordeen's servants would surge out through the main entrance to ravage the area.

  Suddenly I felt the first drops of moisture on my face; drops that quickly became a torrent of warm rain falling through the utterly still air. As it descended, drumming furiously on the hard dry ground, steam began to rise from the Ord, and the fanciful idea came to me that some invisible blacksmith, having completed his work, was now quenching the heat to temper it for his intended purpose.

  Within moments a dense white mist was rolling towards us and the visibility was reduced to a few feet. Everything became eerily silent. It wasn't long before Grimalkin loomed out of the mist, along with Seilenos and the other members of Mam's escort who would make up the thirteen of the delegation.

  Mam turned to me, patting me on the shoulder in reassurance. 'It's time. You'll need to be brave, son. It won't be easy. But you have the strength to come through it.'

  'Won't the maenads have warned the Ordeen that we're approaching? Won't they tell her that we have an army of mercenaries with us?'

  Mam shook her head. 'No, they can't contact the Ordeen directly. They simply wait for her arrival and then take advantage of the horror that she brings, feasting on the dead and dying.'

  'But won't we have been seen anyway? Won't those already awake within the Ord guess what we intend to do?'

  'Although ours is larger than normal, an armed escort always accompanies the delegation to the Ord, so it's nothing new. To the watchers inside, these assembled warriors are just flesh and blood waiting to be devoured. They won't expect the attack we've planned.'

  Mam suddenly hugged me tightly. When she let me go, there were tears in her eyes. She tried to speak: her mouth opened but no words came out.

  Someone moved out of the shadows behind her. My master. He laid a hand on my shoulder and drew me to one side.

  'Well, lad, this is it. I don't like your mother's methods and I don't like the company she keeps, but I do know that she belongs to the light and she's doing what she's doing for the good of us all. Whatever you face in there, remember all I've taught you, be true to yourself and don't forget that you're the best apprentice I've ever had.'

  I thanked him for his kind words and he shook my hand.

  'Just one other thing,' he said as I turned to go. 'I don't know why your mother is sending that little witch in with you.' He gestured towards Alice. 'She seems to think the girl will protect you. I truly hope so. But don't for one moment forget who her parents are. She's the daughter of a witch and the Devil. She's not one of us and never can be, no matter how hard she tries. You'll do well to remember that, lad.'

  His words struck at my heart. But there was nothing I could say in reply, so I merely nodded, picked up my bag and staff, and went over to where Grimalkin was waiting with Alice and the others. She led us into the mist, heading towards the Ord.

  CHAPTER

  16

  FILL THE CUP!

  As we walked forward, Grimalkin was on my right, Alice on my left. When I glanced back, the ten selected warriors of Mam's escort, including Seilenos, were following, dark silhouettes against the dense fog.

  Soon everything became silent but for the squelching of our boots and shoes across the ground. It was still raining – not as heavily now, but the ground was rapidly turning to mud.

  And then, too soon, the walls were suddenly right in front of us, huge wet stones gli
stening in the rain. It was solid all right: it was incredible to think that it had passed through that portal of fire into our world. We turned left, following the wall for a little way until we reached the smaller entrance. Grimalkin did not falter as she led us forward under the gargoyle, and into the Ord. A tunnel stretched away ahead of us, but she turned into a doorway on the left and we followed her into a hall of such vastness that the centre of the high vault above was lost in darkness. The light here was dim. I could see no torches, but there was an even diffusion of low light. Directly before us was a long table covered with a cloth of red silk; upon it lay dishes made of silver and bronze, heaped with fruits and meats. There were thirteen ornate high-backed chairs carved from the whitest ivory and upholstered in rich black silk; and on the table before each chair was a golden goblet, exquisitely wrought and filled to the brim with red wine.

  As the light increased, so the colonnades to our right and left came into view, and I could now see that the floor between the rows of pillars was a fine mosaic depicting great serpents entwined about each other. I was following those meandering forms across the floor when I stopped in shock.

  In the middle of the floor was a dark pit. For some reason that opening filled me with dread. I began to shake with fear. What did it contain? I wondered.

  We all sat down but, remembering Mam's instructions, ignored the food and drink on the table. The chairs had been positioned on one side of the table so that we all faced the pit.

  We heard echoing footsteps, distant at first, then getting nearer and nearer. Ahead slowly rose into view out of the pit as if lifted by a giant hand. Someone was climbing up the steps within it. A dark figure stepped out onto the mosaic floor; a warrior encased from head to foot in black armour. In his left hand he carried a long blade; in his right a large crystal chalice.

  He walked towards us with measured steps and I had a few seconds to study him. There was no vent in that black helmet for either mouth or nose, but two thin horizontal slits were positioned where his eyes should have been. But I could see no eyes – nothing but darkness. His armour was black chain-mail and his boots were both unusual and deadly. Their toes ended in sharp barbed spikes.

  He halted by our table, and when he spoke, fear gripped my heart. The voice that boomed out was cold and arrogant, with a harsh metallic quality.

  'Why do you not eat the food provided to sustain you? Why do you not drink from the wine so freely given?' he demanded reproachfully, his words echoing from ceiling to floor and wall to wall.

  His questions brought us all to our feet, but it was Grimalkin who spoke for the rest of us.

  'For your hospitality we thank you,' she replied, her voice calm and dignified. 'But, as yet, we neither hunger nor thirst.'

  'That is your decision to make, but despite that, an exchange is required for what we have freely provided. Fill the chalice so that my mistress may live!'

  So saying, the dark warrior held the vessel out towards the witch assassin.

  'With what shall we fill it?' Grimalkin asked.

  At first the warrior did not reply. His head turned and he seemed to look along the row, checking each of us in turn. Then my heart filled with dismay. I was still unable to see his eyes but I knew beyond all doubt that his gaze had settled upon me.

  'My mistress needs sustenance. She must drink warm blood from the body of the youngest here!' he declared, pointing his blade directly towards me. 'Surrender his life. Fill the cup from his heart's blood!'

  I began to tremble again. Despite everything I had been told, even though I knew that Grimalkin would fight for my life, I was afraid. All sorts of doubts began to whirl through my head and a cold fear clutched at my heart. Was I going to die here? Had the Fiend spoken the truth after all? Had this been Mam's intent all along – to make a sacrifice of me? Perhaps her slow reversion towards the feral state had leached away any human love she might have had for her son.

  Grimalkin shook her head. 'You ask too much!' she cried in a loud, commanding voice. 'We demand the right of combat!'

  The warrior inclined his head. 'That is your right. But do not undertake such a challenge lightly. If I win, all your lives are immediately forfeit. Do you still wish to proceed?'

  Grimalkin bowed her acceptance of the terms. And suddenly everything grew dark. I heard sighs and whispers all around, and then, as light filled the hall once more, I saw that the warrior now stood armed and ready in the middle of the mosaic floor. He no longer carried the chalice. In his right hand he hefted a long blade; in his left, a spiked metal orb on a long chain.

  Grimalkin drew two long blades and, with consummate grace, leaped across the table, landing like a cat. She began to pad towards the armoured figure, a slow deadly stalking of her opponent. And it seemed to me that a smile played about the lips of the witch assassin. This was what she lived for. She would enjoy combat with this knight. She liked to test her skill against a worthy opponent, and I knew that she had found one who would push her to the limit. Grimalkin was not afraid to die. But if she failed and was killed, then we also would forfeit our lives.

  Her adversary stepped forward and began to whirl the spiked orb around his head. The chain spiralled higher and higher, the heavy metal sphere at its end scything through the air with enough force and velocity to remove Grimalkin's head from her body.

  But not for nothing was Grimalkin the assassin of the Malkin witches. Timing her attack to perfection, she stepped inside the orbit of the whirling orb and struck straight at the left eye-slit of the helmet, her blade rasping against metal to miss by less than the width of a finger.

  The warrior's sword was as swift as Grimalkin's blades, and they exchanged savage blows, but she was in too close for him to wield the orb. It hung uselessly on its chain while she used two blades against his one. For a while she seemed to have the upper hand and pressed him hard.

  Then it was the warrior's turn to gain the ascendancy. The witch assassin had no armour, and now, in retreat, that drawback became apparent. Twice he directed kicks at her body, the spike threatening to disembowel her, but she spun like a wheel, with great economy of movement, staying too close for him to use the chain and orb. Again and again her blades struck her opponent's body with metallic clangs, but were deflected by the armour that encased it. It seemed impossible that she could survive, let alone win. What chance had she against such a heavily protected foe? Her legs and arms were naked; her flesh vulnerable.

  It suddenly struck me that she had given up something that would have been greatly to her advantage.

  Had she retained the blade and dark wish, she could have employed them now. She had made a great sacrifice indeed.

  Now Grimalkin whirled away from her enemy, moving widdershins in a circling retreat towards our table. I became concerned. The tactic seemed ill -advised. At this distance the warrior could once more wield his deadly orb effectively against her. He began to whirl it above his head, faster and faster, readying himself for the killer blow. Grimalkin stepped towards him, as if placing herself in the perfect position and waiting for the spiked orb to crush her. My heart was in my mouth. I thought it was all over.

  But when the weapon descended, the witch assassin was no longer there. The orb struck the table a terrible blow, sending dishes and goblets crashing to the floor. And then Grimalkin committed herself, aiming directly for the slit in the helmet that marked the position of her enemy's unseen left eye. Her blade struck home and a great scream of pain filled the hall.

  In an instant all became dark, the air freezing cold. Powerful dark magic was being used. I felt dizzy and reached out towards the table to steady myself. The great hall was silent as the echo of that shriek faded. But then, in the darkness, I saw two glittering eyes moving towards us from the direction of the pit.

  Again the light steadily increased and we were all seated at the table – although I couldn't remember having sat down. The goblets and dishes that a moment ago littered the floor had been returned to their proper places. G
rimalkin was back in her original position at the table.

  The dark warrior was once more standing directly before us, carrying the crystal chalice and his long blade. Was it the same man? Had he been returned to life by dark magic? It was as if the fight with Grimalkin had never happened.