“No, we’re going to visit the Father Superior in his private quarters.”
We were led toward a small building and then into a spartan cell, where a monk with a gaunt gray face and a head shaven even closer than Bill Arkwright’s squatted on the stone floor. His eyes were closed, and he hardly seemed to be breathing. I looked at the bare stone walls and the straw in the corner that served as a bed—not the accommodations I’d expected for the important priest who ruled the monastery.
The door closed behind us, but the Father Superior made no attempt to acknowledge us or move. Mam put a finger to her lips to indicate that we should be silent. Then I noticed the monk’s lips moving slightly and realized that he was saying his prayers.
When he finally opened his eyes and regarded us each in turn, I saw that they were the color of the bluebells that brighten the County woodlands in spring. He gestured that we should join him on the floor, so we sat down facing him.
“This is my friend, Mr. Gregory, an enemy of the dark,” Mam said, nodding toward the Spook.
The monk gave him a faint smile. Then his eyes locked upon mine. “Is this your son?” he asked. He spoke in Greek, in a dialect I found easy to understand.
“Yes, Father,” Mam replied in the same language, “this is my youngest and seventh son, Thomas.”
“Have you a plan to enter the Ord?” asked the monk, turning to Mam again.
“If you could use your influence to persuade them to stand aside, some of my party could take the place of Kalambaka’s delegation.”
The monk frowned. “To what purpose?” he demanded. “What would you hope to achieve by taking such a risk?”
“A few of the Ordeen’s servants are already awake when the Ord first appears—just the ones who receive the delegation. We will distract them, and while they are diverted, a larger attack will be mounted. We are hoping to reach the Ordeen and destroy her before she is fully awake—”
“Will you take part in the sacrificial blood ritual? Would you go that far?”
“There is more than one way to breach a citadel’s defenses. I will employ the same device used by the ancients—a wooden horse,” Mam added mysteriously.
I hadn’t a clue what she meant, but the monk’s eyes suddenly lit up in understanding; then he fixed his gaze upon me once more.
“Does the boy know what is required of him?” he asked.
Mam shook her head. “I will tell him when the time is right. But he’s a loyal and obedient son and will do what is necessary.”
At those words my heart sank. I remembered what the Fiend had told me. Had he been telling the truth? The Father Superior had used the term “sacrificial blood ritual.” Was I to be sacrificed in order to gain victory?
The Spook now spoke for the first time. “It seems to me that there’s a great deal we haven’t yet been told. No doubt we’ll be finding out the worst soon enough,” he said, giving Mam a withering glance. “But what can you tell me, Father? Have there been signs yet to indicate precisely when the Ord will pass through the portal?”
The Father Superior shook his head. “No, but it will be soon—days rather than weeks, we believe.”
“We’ve little time to prepare,” Mam said, rising to her feet. “We must take our leave of you. So I must ask you once again, Father—will you ask the delegation to stand aside so that we may replace them?”
The Father Superior nodded. “I will do as you ask. No doubt they’ll be happy to be relieved of a duty that for most is a death sentence. But before you go, I would like you to hear us pray,” he said. “The boy particularly. I sense that he has little idea of our power.”
So we followed the Father Superior from his bare cell toward the magnificent dome of the katholicon. I was a little irritated by his comment. How did he know what I thought? I’d never really believed that prayers could achieve anything, but I’d always added my “Amen” when Dad had said grace before our family supper. I respected those who had faith and prayed, just as my dad had taught me. There were many ways to reach the light.
The church was splendid, with its ornate marble and beautiful mosaics. About a hundred monks were standing facing the altar with steepled hands as if already at prayer, though they hadn’t yet begun. Suddenly they began to sing. Their prayer was a hymn. And what a hymn!
I’d heard the choirboys sing in Priestown Cathedral, but in comparison to this it had been little more than a tavern singsong. The voices of the monks rose up into the dome in perfect accord, to swoop and soar there like angels. You could sense the incredible strength of all those voices singing in harmony. A powerful sound with a single purpose.
Had those prayers really had the power to keep the Ordeen at bay? Apparently so. But the power of the dark had grown, and this time the bloodthirsty goddess would not be confined to the plain. Unless we could destroy her first, she would attack the County. But the odds against our success were very high.
We took our leave of the Father Superior and left the katholicon, the hymns of the monks receding behind us. It was then that I caught a glimpse of the Spook’s face. It was twisted with anger as it had been when he’d left me at the farmhouse and rushed back to Chipenden. I sensed that he was getting ready to speak his mind, and that Mam would receive the full force of its withering blast.
CHAPTER XIV
Portents
”THE blood ritual . . . what does it involve?” demanded the Spook, staring hard at Mam.
We were in her tent, seated on the ground in a circle. Alice was on my left, the Spook to my right. Also present were Bill Arkwright and Grimalkin. The Spook had given Mam a piece of his mind as soon as we returned to camp. Politely but firmly, he’d demanded to know exactly what we were all facing, especially the delegation; he’d even accused Mam of holding back important information that we badly needed.
This meeting was the result of those hot words. Mam was grim and unsmiling. I sensed there were things she didn’t want to say—certainly not to this gathering. I think she would have preferred to speak to me alone.
“I don’t know everything, far from it,” she admitted. “What I know I’ve learned from talking to the survivors of previous delegations. Some of the accounts were contradictory, probably because their minds had been damaged by the experience. It seems that the servants of the Ordeen demand blood. And they’ll want your blood, Tom.”
“My blood? Why will they want my blood?”
“Because you’ll be the youngest, son. You see, each time a delegation visits, they take the blood of its youngest member. And we really do want to give them your blood—that’s important.”
“You expect your son to give his life?” the Spook demanded angrily.
Mam shook her head and smiled. “This time they won’t be killing the donor—although that’s what has happened in the past. This time they’ll just get a cupful of blood.” Her gaze moved from the Spook to me. “Do you know the story of the fall of Troy?” she asked.
I shook my head. Although she’d taught me Greek, Mam had spoken little of her homeland; my life back at the farm had been filled with tales of the County, its boggarts, witches, and wars.
“In ancient times, we Greeks fought a long and terrible war against Troy,” she continued. “We besieged the city for many years, our forces camped outside its impregnable walls. At last our people crafted a great wooden horse and left it on the plain before Troy and sailed away, pretending to have given up the fight. That huge wooden horse was assumed to be an offering for the gods, and the Trojans dragged it into their city and began to celebrate their victory.
“It was a trick. The horse was hollow, and that night, when the Trojans had retired to their beds, exhausted and drunk with wine, the Greeks who’d hidden inside it crept out and threw open the gates of the city, allowing their returning army to enter. Then the slaughter began. Troy burned, and the war was finally won. Son, you will be my Trojan horse. We will trick the Ordeen’s servants and breach the defenses of the Ord.”
“
How?” I asked.
“The Ordeen needs a sacrifice of human blood to awaken her from her sleep in the dark beyond the portal. Your blood will animate her, give her life. But your blood is mine also; the blood of her sworn enemy will be flowing through her veins. It will weaken her. Limit her terrible power. Not only that. Sharing the same blood will make you like kin. You will have access to places that would not normally be open to you. And so will I. The Ordeen’s defenses—traps, snares, and other dark entities—will be weakened. Those who guard her have senses that are attuned to blood. They may not all see you, or me, as a threat. That is what I hope to achieve.”
“You say just a cupful of Tom’s blood?” said the Spook. “Previously a life’s been taken. Why should it be different this time? Tell me that!”
“There’s an invitation for one of the delegation to come forward in combat,” said Mam. “The rules aren’t completely clear, but victory for the delegation champion means that the life of the donor is no longer forfeit.”
“Has the delegation’s champion ever won?” the Spook persisted.
“Usually there’s nobody brave and strong enough to volunteer. This time our champion will be Grimalkin.”
“And what if she loses?” Arkwright asked, speaking up for the first time.
“I will win,” said Grimalkin calmly, “so the question needn’t be answered.”
“That’s not good enough!” he persisted. “You don’t know what you might face inside that citadel. Maybe some demon, some dark entity that can’t be defeated by a mortal.”
Grimalkin smiled grimly, parting her lips to show her sharp, pointed teeth. “If flesh clothes its bones, I will cut it. If it breathes, I will stop its breath. Otherwise”—she shrugged—“we will all die.”
Mam sighed and then finally answered Arkwright’s question. “If Grimalkin loses, the lives of all the delegation are immediately forfeit, and our main attack will fail. Every one of our party will be slain, along with the inhabitants of Kalambaka and the monks. Then, seven years from now, the Ordeen will be free to use her portal to materialize anywhere she pleases.”
For a while after that, nobody spoke. The enormity of what we faced and the disaster that would follow our defeat were awful to contemplate. It was the ex-soldier, Bill Arkwright, who shook us from our stupor.
“Let’s assume that Grimalkin succeeds,” he began. “As far as the journey itself is concerned, I’ve discussed the deployment of the mercenaries with their leaders. There should be no problem in keeping the maenads at a distance. But what about the actual attack? How are the rest of us to get into the Ord?”
“There’s only one entry point that would give our attack any real chance of success,” Mam explained. “Fifty paces to the left of the main gate, high on the wall, is a huge gargoyle. It’s a skull, with horns like a stag’s antlers branching from its forehead. Beneath it is a tunnel leading to the inner courtyard of the Ord. That tunnel is the route into the Ord taken by the delegation—it’s the easiest way into the citadel. The Pendle witches will attack first. Soon afterward, our mercenaries should be able to ride through and lay siege to the inner defenses.”
“What if it’s too heavily defended?” Arkwright asked.
“That’s a chance we’ll have to take. If we attack soon enough, all should be well. As we know, servants of the Ordeen who receive the delegation awake as soon as the Ord has cooled. But they will be distracted by the delegation and hopefully slain by the Pendle witches soon after Tom’s blood has been drunk. That’s what I hope for, anyway. As for the rest of her servants, it is hours before they are fully alert. We must reach the Ordeen and slay her before she regains her strength.”
“How will those on the outside know that the delegation has completed its work?” Arkwright asked.
“Grimalkin will use a mirror,” Mam told him.
I saw the Spook’s face tighten, but he said nothing.
“Once we’re inside the Ord, do we know where to find the Ordeen?” I asked.
Even before she shook her head, I could tell by Mam’s face that she didn’t know. “We assume she will be somewhere away from the main entrances that is easy to defend. It seems likely she will be sleeping at the top of one of the three towers, but there is also a domed structure beyond them. Once inside the inner citadel, we should be able to search out the Ordeen, though we will still have to contend with denizens of the dark.”
For a long time after hearing those grim words, nobody spoke. It seemed to me that we had very little hope of success, and I’m sure we all shared that view, perhaps even Mam. Then I started to think about the delegation. Would Mam be part of it?
“The delegation . . . who’s going with me, Mam?”
“Grimalkin, Seilenos, and ten more of my escort. There’ll be great danger, and not all of you will come back. I only wish that I could go with you and share those perils, but the Ordeen and her servants know me as their enemy. I fear I’d be recognized immediately, and our plan would fail. However, I’ve told Grimalkin all I know about the likely dangers. For example, you’ll come upon a table heaped with food and wine—but you should neither eat nor drink. That’s important.”
“Is the food poisoned?” I asked.
“Not poisoned. Enchanted. It’s charged with dark magic. So beware,” Mam warned, her voice hardly more than a whisper. “Touch neither food nor drink. Those who eat the food of the Ordeen can never go home—”
“If Tom’s going into danger, then I want to go, too!” Alice cried out, speaking for the first time.
Mam shook her head. “Your place will be by my side, Alice.”
“No, that ain’t good enough!” she said, springing to her feet. “I have to be with Tom.”
“You stay away from him, girl,” said the Spook.
“Stay away? He’d be dead if it weren’t for me—and you all know it.”
Mam shook her head. “Sit down!” she commanded.
“Ain’t going to sit down until you give me what I want!” Alice retorted, almost spitting out the words. “You owe me this! And there are things even you don’t know yet!”
Mam came to her feet to face Alice, anger in her face. At that moment the tent canvas began to flap. It had been a calm evening, but now a wind was getting up. Moments later, it was gusting furiously, threatening to tear the fabric from its supporting poles.
Mam led the way outside and looked up at the sky. “It begins,” she said, pointing toward the horizon. “That’s the first of the portents. The Ordeen is preparing to move through the portal.”
A gale was blowing strongly from the south, and on that horizon there was an unmistakable yellow tint to the sky. It looked like a big storm was brewing. This was the first of the signs. Mam was sure of it. So we made our preparations. We would start our journey at dawn.
It was a restless night, disturbed by animals fleeing from the south. At one point our camp was invaded by a pack of scampering, squealing rats. Birds shrieked with panic as they flapped their way north into the darkness.
About an hour before dawn, unable to sleep, I stepped outside to stretch my legs. Seilenos stood there, looking up at the sky. He saw me and came across, shaking his head.
“Well, young spook, we win or die this day. A dangerous land, this. Land of many mysteries, too. Much danger ahead. You stay close to me and be all right. Seilenos, he know what to do. Ask me anything. I explain. Lamias and elementals I know all about. I will teach you. . . .”
I remembered the mysterious sounds in the tunnel before the roof came down. I was curious to know what had been responsible. “After the attack on the camp, Alice and I hid in a cave and had to fight off some maenads, but there was something else—strange tapping noises all around us. Then there was a rockfall that nearly killed us.”
“Tapping? What kind, this tapping? Fast or slow?”
“It started slow, but then got much faster. It had a sort of rhythm to it and built to a crescendo so that the rocks fell, nearly killing us.”
&
nbsp; “Lucky to escape with your lives, young spook. Dangerous elementals, those. Live in caves and called tappers. Try to drive humans away. First use fear. Frightful tapping sounds. Next bring down big rocks and try to crush you. When hear tappers—run fast!”
That was probably good advice, but we’d been faced with dangerous maenads and were forced to stand and fight. Seilenos patted me on the shoulder and headed for one of the fires where breakfast was being prepared. I stayed where I was, waiting for the sun to rise.
Not that I saw it, for at dawn the sky was filled with a yellow haze. The Spook told me we needed to fast in order to prepare to face the dark, so we didn’t eat breakfast. Even Bill Arkwright, never one to go for long without food, confined himself to one thin slice of bread, but Seilenos ate his fill, grinning and shaking his head when he saw that we’d left our plates of lamb and boar untouched.
“Eat up! You need strength. Who knows when we eat again?”
“As I told you, we do things differently in the County—and for good reason,” growled the Spook. “I’m about to face what might well be the greatest danger from the dark that I’ve encountered in all the years I’ve been practicing my trade. I want to be fully prepared, not so full of food that I can hardly think!”
Seilenos just laughed again and continued to stuff large slices of meat into his mouth, washed down with red wine.
As we prepared to head south, Alice joined me, a little smile lighting her face.
“Your mam’s changed her mind, Tom,” she said. “I’m to be part of the delegation after all.”
“You sure you want to do this, Alice? Wouldn’t you be safer with Mam? I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“And I don’t want anything to happen to you. That’s why I’ll be by your side. You’re safer where I am, Tom. Trust me. And we do want to be together on your birthday, don’t we?”
I smiled and nodded. I’d forgotten all about my birthday. Today was the third of August. I’d just turned fifteen. But Alice hadn’t finished yet. I could sense that she was about to say something else. Something I wouldn’t like. She kept glancing at me sideways and biting her bottom lip.
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