“Ah, death will come to you one day. It will surely come despite all that I do, creeping toward you like the mist on a riverbank on a cold, damp night. But I can delay that moment. Delay it for years and years. It would be a long time before you’d have to face that darkness. That blackness. That nothingness! So what do you say, boy? I’m got proper. I’m bound. But you can help!”
I was scared and tried again to wake up. But suddenly words tumbled out of my mouth, almost as if they’d been spoken by somebody else:
“I don’t believe there’s nothing after death,” I said. “I’ve a soul and if I live my life right, I’ll live on in some way. There’ll be something. I don’t believe in nothingness. I don’t believe in that!”
“No! No!” roared the Bane. “You don’t know what I know! You can’t see what I see! I see beyond death. I see the emptiness. The nothingness. I know! I see the horrible state of being nothing. Nothing at all, there is! Nothing at all!”
My heart began to slow, and I suddenly felt very calm. The Bane was still behind me, but the crypt was starting to get warmer. Now I understood. I knew the Bane’s pain. I knew why it needed to feed upon people, upon their blood, upon their hopes and dreams. . . .
“I’ve a soul and I’ll live on,” I told the Bane, keeping my voice very calm. “And that’s the difference. I have a soul and you don’t! For you there is nothing after death! Nothing at all!”
My head was pushed hard against the near wall of the crypt, and there was a hiss of anger behind me. A hiss that changed to a bellow of rage.
“Fool!” shouted the Bane, its voice booming to fill the crypt and echo beyond it down the long, dark tunnels of the catacombs. Violently, it swatted my head sideways, scraping my forehead against the hard, cold stones. Out of the corner of my left eye I could see the size of the huge hand that was gripping my head. Instead of nails, its fingers ended in huge yellow talons.
“You had your chance, but now it’s gone forever!” bellowed the Bane. “But there’s someone else who can help me. So if I can’t have you, I’ll make do with her!”
I was pushed downward into the heap of bones in the corner. I felt myself falling through them. Down and down I went, deep into a bottomless pit filled with bones. The candle was out, but the bones seemed to glow in the darkness: grinning skulls, rib cages, leg bones and arm bones, fragments of hands, fingers and thumbs, and all the while the dry dust of death covered my face, went up my nose into my mouth and down my throat, until I was choking and could hardly breathe.
“This is what death tastes like!” cried the Bane. “And this is what death looks like!”
The bones faded from view and I could see nothing. Nothing at all. I was just falling through blackness. Falling into the dark. I was terrified that the Bane had somehow killed me in my sleep, but I struggled and struggled to wake up. Somehow the Bane had been talking to me while I slept, and I knew who it would now be persuading to do what I’d refused.
Alice!
At last I managed to wake myself up, but it was already too late. A candle was burning close beside me, but it was just a stub. I’d been asleep for hours! The other one had gone, and so had Alice.
I felt in my pocket but only confirmed what I’d guessed already. Alice had taken the key to the Silver Gate.
When I staggered to my feet, I felt dizzy and my head hurt. I touched the back of my hand to my forehead and it came away wet with blood. Somehow the Bane had done that to me in a dream. It could read minds, too. How could you defeat a creature when it knew what you intended before you had a chance to move or even speak? The Spook was right—this creature was the most dangerous thing we’d ever faced.
Alice had left the hatch open and, snatching up the candle, I wasted no time in climbing down the steps into the catacombs. A few minutes later I reached the river, which seemed a bit deeper than before. The water, swirling downstream, was actually covering three of the nine stepping-stones, the ones right in the middle, and I could feel the current tugging at my boots.
I crossed quickly, hoping against hope that I wouldn’t be too late. But when I turned the corner, I saw Alice sitting with her back against the wall. Her left hand was resting on the cobbles, her fingers covered in blood.
And the Silver Gate was wide open!
CHAPTER XIII
The Burning
ALICE!” I cried, staring in disbelief at the open gate. “What have you done?”
She looked up at me, her eyes glistening with tears.
The key was still in the lock. Angrily, I seized it and pushed it back into my breeches pocket, burying it deep within the iron filings.
“Come on!” I snapped, almost too furious to speak. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
I held out my left hand, but she didn’t take it. Instead she held her own, the one covered in blood, against her body and looked down at it, wincing with pain.
“What happened to your hand?” I asked.
“Ain’t nothing much,” she replied. “Soon be right as rain. Everything’s going to be all right now.”
“No, Alice,” I replied, “it’s not. The whole County’s in danger now, thanks to you.”
I pulled gently at her good hand and led her down the tunnel until we came to the river. At the edge of the water she tugged her hand free of mine and I didn’t think anything of it. I simply crossed quickly. It was only when I got to the other side that I looked back to see Alice still standing there staring down at the water.
“Come on!” I shouted. “Hurry up!”
“I can’t, Tom!” Alice shouted back. “I can’t cross!”
I put the candle down and went back for her. She flinched away, but I grabbed hold of her. If she’d struggled I’d have had no chance at all, but the moment my hands touched her, Alice’s body became limp and she fell against me. Wasting no time, I bent my knees and lifted her over my shoulder, the way I’d seen the Spook carry a witch.
You see, I had no doubt. If she couldn’t cross running water, then Alice had become what the Spook had always feared she would. Her dealings with the Bane had finally made her cross to the dark.
One part of me wanted to leave her there. I knew that’s what the Spook would have done. But I couldn’t. I was going against him, but I had to do it. She was still Alice, and we’d been through a lot together.
Light as she was, it was still quite difficult to cross the river with her over my shoulder, and I struggled to keep my balance on the stepping-stones. What made it worse was the fact that as soon as I started across, Alice began to wail as if she were in torment.
When we finally reached the other side, I lowered her back onto her feet and picked up the candle.
“Come on!” I said, but she just stood there trembling, and I had to seize her hand and drag her along until we reached the steps that led up to the cellar.
Once back there, I put the candle down and sat on the edge of the old carpet. This time Alice didn’t sit. She just folded her arms and leaned back against the wall. Neither of us spoke. There was nothing to say, and I was too busy thinking.
I’d slept for a long time, both before the dream and after it. I went to peer out the door at the top of the cellar steps and saw that the sun was just going down. I’d leave it another half hour and then I’d be on my way. I desperately wanted to help the Spook, but I felt utterly powerless. It hurt me even to think about what was going to happen to him, but what could I possibly do against dozens of armed men? And I wasn’t going to the beacon hill just to watch the burning. I couldn’t bear that. No, I was going home to see Mam. She’d know what I should do next.
Maybe my life as a spook’s apprentice was over. Or she might just suggest that I go to north of Caster and find myself a new master. It was difficult to know what she’d advise me to do.
When I judged it time, I pulled the silver chain from where I’d tied it under my shirt and put it back inside the Spook’s bag with his cloak. As my dad always says: “Waste not, want not!” So I also put t
he salt and iron back into their compartments inside the bag—as much as I could manage to get out of my breeches pockets.
“Come on,” I said to Alice. “I’ll let you out.”
So, wearing my cloak and carrying the bag and the staff, I climbed the steps, then used my other key to unlock the back door. Once we were out in the yard I locked it behind us again.
“Good-bye, Alice,” I said, turning to walk away.
“What? Ain’t you coming with me, Tom?” Alice demanded.
“Where?”
“To the burning, of course, to find the Quisitor. He’s going to get what’s coming to him. What he deserves. I’m going to pay him back for what he did to my poor old aunt and Maggie.”
“And how are you going to do that?” I asked.
“I gave the Bane my blood, you see,” Alice said, her eyes opening very wide. “I put my fingers through the grille, and it sucked it out from under my fingernails. It may not like girls, but it likes their blood. It took what it wanted so the pact’s sealed and now it has to do what I say. It has to do my will.”
The fingernails of Alice’s left hand were black with dried blood. Sickened, I turned away and opened the yard gate, stepping out into the passageway.
“Where you going, Tom? You can’t leave now!” Alice shouted.
“I’m going home to talk to Mam,” I said, not even turning back to look at her.
“Go home to your mam, then! You’re just a mam’s lad, a mammy’s boy, and you always will be!”
I hadn’t taken more than a dozen paces before she came running after me.
“Don’t go, Tom! Please don’t go!” she cried.
I kept walking. I didn’t even turn around.
The next time Alice shouted after me there was real anger in her voice. But more than that, she sounded desperate.
“You can’t leave, Tom! I won’t let you. You’re mine. You belong to me!”
As she ran toward me, I turned around and faced her. “No, Alice,” I said. “I don’t belong to you. I belong to the light and now you belong to the dark!”
She reached forward and gripped my left forearm very hard. I could feel her nails cutting into my flesh. I flinched with the pain of it but stared back directly into her eyes.
“You don’t know what you’ve done!” I said.
“Oh, yes, I do, Tom. I know exactly what I’ve done, and one day you’re going to thank me for it. You’re so worried about your precious Bane, but believe me, he ain’t no worse than the Quisitor,” said Alice, releasing my arm. “What I’ve done, I’ve done for all our sakes, yours and mine, even Old Gregory’s.”
“The Bane will kill him. That’s the first thing it will do now it’s free!”
“No, you’re wrong, Tom! It ain’t the Bane who wants to kill Old Gregory, it’s the Quisitor. Right now the Bane’s his only hope of survival. And that’s all thanks to me.”
I felt confused.
“Look, Tom, come with me and I’ll show you.”
I shook my head.
“Well, whether you come with me or not,” she continued, “I’ll do it anyway.”
“Do what?”
“I’m going to save the Quisitor’s prisoners. All of ’em! And I’m going to show him what it’s like to burn!”
I looked hard at Alice again, but she didn’t flinch away from my gaze. Anger blazed in her eyes, and at that moment I felt that she could even have looked the Spook in the eye, something she wasn’t usually capable of. Alice meant it, all right, and it seemed to me that the Bane might just obey her and help. After all, they’d made some kind of pact.
If there was any chance of saving the Spook, then I had to be there to help him to safety. I didn’t feel at all comfortable about relying on something as evil as the Bane, yet what choice did I have? Alice turned in the direction of the beacon fell and, slowly, I began to follow.
The streets were deserted and we walked quickly, heading south.
“I’d better get rid of this staff,” I said to Alice. “It might give us away.”
She nodded and pointed to an old broken-down shed. “Leave it behind there,” she said. “We can pick it up on our way back.”
There was still some light left in the sky to the west and it was reflected in the river, twisting below the heights of Wortham. My eyes were drawn upward to the daunting beacon fell. Its lower slopes were covered in trees, now starting to lose their leaves, but above there was only grass and scrub.
We left the last of the houses behind us and joined a throng of people crossing the narrow stone bridge over the river, moving slowly through the damp, still air. There was a white mist on the riverbank, but we soon rose above it as we climbed up through the trees, trudging through mounds of damp, moldering leaves to emerge near the summit of the hill. A large crowd had already gathered, with more people arriving by the minute. There were three huge piles of branches and twigs ready for lighting, the largest one set between the other two. Rising from these pyres were the thick wooden stakes to which the victims would be tied.
High on the beacon fell, with the lights of the town spread out below us, the air was fresher. The area was lit by torches attached to tall, slender wooden poles, which were swaying gently in the light westerly breeze. But there were patches of darkness where the faces of the crowd were in shadow, and I followed Alice into one of these so that we could watch what was going on without being noticed ourselves.
On guard, with their backs to the pyres, were a dozen big men wearing black hoods, with just slits for eyes and mouths. In their hands they carried cudgels, and they looked eager to use them. These were the assistant executioners, who would help the Quisitor with the burning and, if necessary, keep back the crowd.
I wasn’t sure how the crowd would behave. Was it worth hoping that they might do something? Any relatives and friends of the condemned would want to save them, but whether there were enough of them to attempt a rescue was uncertain. Of course, as Brother Peter had said, there were lots of people who loved a burning. Many were here to be entertained.
No sooner had that thought entered my head than, in the distance, I heard the steady beat of drums.
Burn! Burn! Burn, witches, burn! the drums seemed to thunder.
At that sound the crowd began to murmur, their voices swelling to a roar that finally erupted into loud catcalls and hisses. The Quisitor was approaching, riding tall on his big white horse, and behind him trundled the open cart containing the prisoners. Other men on horseback were riding alongside and to the rear of the cart, and they had swords at their hips. Behind them, on foot, were a dozen drummers walking with a swagger, their arms rising and falling theatrically to the beat they were pounding out.
Burn! Burn! Burn, witches, burn!
Suddenly the whole situation seemed hopeless. Some in the front rank of the crowd started to shy rotten fruit at the prisoners, but the guards on the flanks, probably worried about being hit by mistake, drew their swords and rode directly at them, driving them back into the throng, causing the whole mass of people to sway backward.
The cart came nearer and halted, and for the first time I could see the Spook. Some of the prisoners were on their knees, praying. Others were wailing or tearing at their hair, but my master was standing straight and tall, staring ahead. His face looked haggard and tired, and there was the same vague expression in his eyes, as if he still didn’t understand what was happening to him. There was a new dark bruise on his forehead above his left eye, and his bottom lip was split and swollen—he’d evidently been given another beating.
A priest stepped forward, a scroll in his right hand, and the rhythm of the drums changed. It became a deep roll that built to a crescendo, then halted suddenly as the priest began to read from the parchment.
“People of Priestown, hear this! We are gathered here to witness the lawful execution by fire of twelve witches and one warlock, the sinful wretches whom you see before you now. Pray for their souls! Pray that through pain they may come to know th
e error of their ways. Pray that they may beg God’s forgiveness and thus redeem their immortal souls.”
There was another roll of drums. The priest hadn’t finished yet, and in the succeeding silence he continued to read.
“Our Lord Protector, the High Quisitor, wishes this to be a lesson to others who might choose the path of darkness. Watch these sinners burn! Watch their bones crack and their fat melt like candle tallow. Listen to their screams and all the while remember that this is nothing! This is nothing at all compared to the flames of hell! Nothing compared to the eternity of torment that awaits those who do not seek forgiveness!”
The crowd had fallen silent at these words. Perhaps it was the fear of hell that the priest had mentioned, but more likely, I thought, it was something else. It was what I now feared. To stand and watch the horror of what was about to happen. The realization that living flesh and blood was to be put into the flames to endure unspeakable agony.
Two of the hooded men came forward and roughly pulled the first prisoner from the cart—a woman with long gray hair that hung down thickly over her shoulders, almost as far as her waist. As they dragged her toward the nearest pyre, she began to spit and curse, fighting desperately to tear herself free. Some of the crowd laughed and jeered, calling her names, but unexpectedly she managed to break away and began running off into the darkness.
Before the guards could take even a step to follow, the Quisitor galloped his horse past them, its hooves throwing up mud from the soft ground. He seized the woman by the hair, twisting his fingers into her locks before bunching his fist. Then he tugged her upward so violently that her back arched and she was almost lifted from her feet. She gave a high, thin wail as the Quisitor dragged her back to the guards, who seized her again and quickly tied her to one of the stakes on the edge of the largest pyre. Her fate was sealed.
The Last Apprentice: Complete Collection Page 30