The Last Apprentice: Complete Collection

by Joseph Delaney

  “Then he could well be the dark shaman,” said the Spook. “It couldn’t be worse—he’s a man of power and influence. But if we can destroy the buggane, that’ll undermine him. What sort of a man is he?”

  “‘Cruel’ is the word that best sums him up,” Simon replied. “He’s a man who likes to get his own way—and he’s a big gambler. There are all sorts of tales about gambling parties in the keep. They often bet on fights between dogs. They say Barrule once had a bear shipped in and made it fight a pack of wolves.”

  We all fell silent on hearing that. I hate cruelty to animals, and I was thinking of Claw and her pups being in that situation.

  “It must be terrible when the buggane approaches in its spirit form,” I said at last.

  “In the open, your only hope is to get away from it just as fast as you can,” the Spook told me. “Trapped close to one, you have no chance at all, lad. It whispers to its victims in a sinister human voice until they see images in their heads—pictures of the very worst things they’ve experienced or done during their lives. The demon is sadistic—it loves to inflict pain—and it forces them to relive those events over and over again.

  “You hear the whispering right inside your head. Some folks have been driven mad, forcing sharp sticks into their ears to make themselves deaf, but that doesn’t help—the whispering still goes on. Over the course of a few days, the creature sucks out the whole of your life force. It stores the animus of its victims in an underground labyrinth.”

  “You mean a labyrinth like the one behind the silver gate under Priestown Cathedral?”

  “No, lad, this is very different. The Bane was bound there, and that labyrinth had been dug out by the Little People and lined with cobbles. A buggane digs its own labyrinth, which weaves in and out between the roots of trees. It controls the trees and makes their roots move—sometimes with devastating effects for those who are close by. The first time I attempted to deal with the Bane, as a young man, I tied a ball of twine to the silver gate. I unraveled it as I explored the tunnels and followed it back again. But you couldn’t do this here: those buggane tunnels shift and change, sometimes overnight. They can also collapse, suffocating any who venture inside. There’s one record of a buggane being slain by a spook far to the south of the County. About three months after the demon died, its tunnels collapsed, causing subsidence over the whole area.

  “A buggane should never be confronted in its tunnel system,” continued the Spook, “so going underground is the very last thing we should be thinking about! It won’t show its face in the daytime, but just venturing near the chapel after dark should be enough to tempt it out into the open. So that’s what I intend to do.”

  I slept well that night before being woken a couple of hours before dawn to take my turn on watch. I thought the dogs would be sufficient to keep guard, but the Spook was taking no chances. He said that shamans had a special power over animals and, no matter how well trained they were, a shaman could force them to do his bidding.

  At last the sun came up through the trees to the east and soon the birds were singing, the wood slowly coming to life around us.

  There was no sense of danger at all. It was hard to believe that, just a mile or so to the north, we would enter the domain of the buggane. We had a late breakfast—some mushrooms, again supplied by Alice. It was too risky to buy food in a tavern; neither the Spook nor I ate much anyway. We were about to begin a fast—our preparation for facing the dark.

  Later, the four of us set off for the chapel. Captain Baines was to stay behind with the dogs.

  “Stealth is the key to success here,” my master told him, “and I don’t want those animals anywhere near the ruin in case a shaman is involved. However, I’m reasonably confident that the buggane poses no threat during the hours of daylight. We’re just going to observe for now, so that we’re better prepared once night falls.”

  By the time we arrived, rain clouds were billowing in from the west and the chapel looked forbidding in the gray light. It stood on a hillside, surrounded on three sides by a wood that extended down the slope. All the walls were standing, but there was no roof. The door had been removed from its hinges, so we went inside and stared up at the ancient stone walls, which were patterned with moss and lichens.

  “Some believe that a buggane haunts a ruined chapel to prevent it being rebuilt,” said the Spook, “although there’s no evidence for that. However, many creatures of the dark shun places where people gather to pray. Some boggarts move the foundations of churches as they’re being built—they can’t bear the sound of prayers. But what concerns me here is the extent of its territory. How far does it roam?”

  “There’s the keep!” I said to Alice, pointing toward the gray tower just visible above a distant wood. Behind it loomed the forbidding Greeba Mountain.

  She stared at it but said nothing.

  “That it is,” Simon said mournfully. “The dungeons where they keep the victims for the buggane are on this side, just to the south of the moat.”

  “If the buggane’s territory extends that far in every direction, it’s got itself a sizable domain,” observed the Spook. “Let’s take a walk in that direction so we better know the lay of the land.”

  He led the way south from the chapel ruins. We began to descend the hill, going deeper into the woods, the murmur of running water increasing in volume with every step we took. The ground was saturated, and our boots made squelching sounds as we walked.

  “That should be the Greeba River down there in the valley,” the Spook said, coming to a halt. “We’ve gone far enough. This is dangerous terrain—not a place we’ll risk entering after dark. If the buggane does take a different form, it’s likely to be one suited to this boggy environment.”

  “Could it take the shape of a worme?” I asked. Wormes were really scary. When I was working with Bill Arkwright, we had to hunt down one that had killed a child. It had dragged the boy from his bed and eaten him. All that was left was a few blood-spattered pieces of nightshirt.

  “It’s possible, lad, but let’s hope not. Wormes are dangerous creatures—sometimes as big as a carthorse. They love marsh and water. This place would suit one, all right.” The Spook turned to Simon. “Their bodies are covered with scales that are very difficult to penetrate with a blade. Moreover, they have powerful jaws and a mouthful of sharp teeth, and when on land they spit a deadly poison that’s absorbed through the victim’s skin. What results is a very unpleasant death indeed.”

  I remembered the worme we’d finally cornered. It had spat at Bill, but luckily the venom had landed on his boots. I looked down through the trees and thick vegetation. It was so dense I couldn’t even see the river. Alice and I looked at each other, both thinking the same thing. This place gave us a bad feeling.

  We returned to the copse, where Captain Baines was waiting with the dogs. Soon after dark we prepared to set off back to the chapel. It had been raining heavily, but now the moon flickered fitfully through tattered clouds, driven across the sky by a blustering westerly wind.

  “Well, lad, let’s get it over with,” said the Spook, handing me his bag.

  The captain and Simon Sulby were to remain behind with the dogs. I suppose the Spook expected Alice to do the same, because he first looked surprised, then frowned as she started to follow us.

  “Stay where you are, girl,” he said. “This is spook’s business.”

  “I’ve been useful enough in the past,” Alice replied.

  My master glanced at us in turn, his eyes full of suspicion. He certainly didn’t know about the blood jar, but I could tell that he thought something was wrong.

  “Joined at the hip, are you?” he asked, frowning.

  I smiled and shrugged. With a shake of his head, the Spook set off for the chapel; we both followed behind. We were still quite some distance from the ruins when he brought us to a halt. “Keep your wits about you now, lad,” he said softly.

  We continued forward, but much more slowly and ca
utiously, every step bringing us toward the chapel walls. Eventually we were standing close enough to touch the damp stones.

  “I think it’s nearby,” said the Spook. “I can feel it in my bones. . . .”

  I knew he was right. A chill was moving down my spine, a warning that something from the dark was very near. The Spook led the way forward along the wall, heading for the trees.

  Moments later we were among them, a breeze in our faces, shadows dappling the ground briefly each time the moon emerged from behind the clouds. We’d taken another couple of dozen steps when my master came to a sudden halt. There were two men standing among the trees, about fifty yards ahead of us. One was a thin, tall, scarecrowlike figure in a long, dark gown; the other appeared squat and muscular, with a large head and no discernible neck.

  The moon came out again and lit them, showing the true horror of what we faced. The tall man had a hard, cruel face, but it was the other figure that filled my heart with dismay and started my knees trembling. It wasn’t a true man at all. The creature had appeared squat because it had been on all fours. Now it suddenly stood upright to reveal its immense size. The face was hairy, as was the rest of the body, but it was more like fur than human hair. We were facing the buggane in the shape of a hairy man—the Cruncher. Its companion had to be the shaman.

  No sooner had those thoughts flicked through my head than the buggane dropped onto all fours once more. The moon went behind a cloud, plunging us into darkness, and all I could see was a pair of glowing red eyes. Then it bellowed loudly, a fearful cry that made the ground—and the very trees—shake. So terrifying was that cry that I was rooted to the spot, unable to move.

  I heard a click as the Spook released the blade from the tip of his staff, and he began to stride purposefully toward our enemies. But when the moon came out again, we saw only the buggane ahead. The shaman had vanished.

  The demon had now taken the shape of a muscular black bull with enormous horns, its huge front hooves pawing the ground in anger, its nostrils snorting clouds of steam. It was getting ready to charge.

  It galloped toward the Spook, hooves drumming on the earth. My master took up a defensive position, holding his staff diagonally across his body. Compared to the buggane, he appeared small and frail and looked certain to be gored and trampled underfoot. My heart was in my mouth. I stood there, terrified. My master was about to die.

  CHAPTER IX

  The Attack of the Buggane

  IT was all so quick that at first I didn’t register what had happened. The demon completely missed the Spook, who had stepped aside at the last moment, stabbing at it with his staff. But then, as it passed, the buggane lunged with its huge head, catching my master with its left horn and tossing him sideways. He fell hard, then rolled over and over before coming to a stop.

  He wasn’t moving. Was he dead? If he wasn’t now, he soon would be. The buggane ignored Alice and me and came around in a wide circle, lowering its head so that its sharp horns pointed straight at the prone figure of my master. My heart lurched. It was going to charge him again.

  For a moment I was unable to move, but then Alice gave a cry and started to run forward. She was waving her arms, trying to distract the buggane and make it attack her instead.

  It stopped and stared at her with its huge, red, baleful eyes. Then it charged at her!

  All at once I was free to move again. I dropped the bags and sprinted toward Alice in an attempt to get between her and the fearsome creature. I released the blade in my staff as I ran, shouting out to distract it. “Here!” I cried. “Here! It’s me you want!”

  It ignored my shouts, and my heart was in my mouth; it was upon Alice before I could get into a position to defend her. For one awful moment I thought it had trampled her, but I saw her drop to her knees and roll clear just in time.

  The buggane came about again. Once more it pawed the ground and snorted hot breath through its nostrils. This time it was looking at me. I’d gotten what I wanted. Now I was the target!

  It rushed at me, red eyes locked with mine, sharp horns ready to impale me. But I concentrated hard, sucking in a deep breath, trying to slow the flow of time outside myself. It was a gift I’d inherited from Mam—something that I’d only recently discovered I possessed. I’d used it to defend myself against the Ordeen—she’d said I had “a speed that mocks the tick of time.”

  If so, I certainly wasn’t mocking time now. The gift wasn’t easy to use, and I was far from being in full control of it. I tried my best, but if time did slow, it didn’t seem to bother the buggane much. It was upon me in seconds, and as I stepped clear and dropped to one knee, its right horn missed my head by a fraction of an inch.

  I barely had time to get back on my feet before it charged at me again. This time it shook its head, sweeping its horns wide. But I’d already anticipated that, jumped clear, and stabbed at it with my staff. The blade cut it just below the ear, and the creature bellowed with pain and seemed to stagger slightly before turning to attack again.

  The silver blade had hurt it. If the demon assumed the form of a worme, its armored scales would make it hard to kill, but now I had an opportunity to plunge my blade into its heart and put an end to it. I felt more confident now and began to focus.

  Concentrate! Squeeze time. Slow it. Make it halt!

  It was working. The buggane really did seem to be slowing. Before, its legs had been a blur, but now I could see the individual movement of each one. As it came within reach of my staff, it was almost frozen in time, its breath in a still cloud, its red eyes like glass. Seizing my chance, I stepped to one side and raised my staff, ready to stab behind its shoulder and down into its heart. It was almost completely still now. I’d nearly done it—stopped time! One thrust of my blade and the demon would be no more. I thrust downward, but, to my intense disappointment, met only empty air.

  The buggane had vanished!

  The surprise disappearance broke my concentration, and I lost my grip on time. I felt the breeze on my face again, heard it sighing through the branches; the moon sent brief shadows flickering across the ground before being obscured by cloud once more.

  I stood there, letting my breathing return to normal after the exertion of the struggle. Would the creature rematerialize? I’d hurt it, but not that badly. Perhaps it had sensed what I was attempting to do with time, realized the threat I posed. Would it come back—this time in a more dangerous shape? Or would it whisper to me in its spirit form and start to drain my animus?

  I glanced across at my master. He still wasn’t moving. How badly was he hurt? It was only then that I realized that there was no sign of Alice.

  “Alice! Alice!” I called, but there was no reply. Fear clutched at my heart. Had the shaman seized her?

  “Alice!” I shouted again, desperation in my voice. The only answer was a groan from the Spook, so I went over to see how he was.

  As I knelt down beside him, he sat up with a grunt of pain. “Here, help me to my feet, lad. . . .”

  I laid my staff down on the ground, put my arm around him, and helped him up.

  “How badly are you hurt?” I asked anxiously. There was no sign of blood, but he was deathly pale.

  “Fortunately the point of the horn missed me, but it whacked me hard on the shoulder and knocked me clean unconscious. I’ll live—but with a headache and a few bruises to remember it by. What happened?”

  I told him about my fight with the buggane and how it had vanished. “But Alice is missing,” I continued. “When you were down, the buggane was about to charge you again and she distracted it. She saved your life. That’s the last I saw of her. Maybe the shaman’s got her? That was the shaman next to the demon, wasn’t it?”

  “Most likely it was, lad—especially as he vanished like that. But don’t worry about the girl. She can look after herself. If she’s got any sense, she’ll put some distance between herself and the buggane. And so should we.”

  “But what if the shaman feeds her to the buggane?”
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  The Spook didn’t answer, but we both knew he might well do that. After all, the abhuman had sniffed Alice and found darkness within her. But there was something more immediate that put a terrible fear into my heart. She was now beyond the protection of the blood jar.

  Despite the Spook’s warnings of the risks, I insisted on searching the area but found nothing, and finally I was forced to abandon the hunt.

  I was scared for Alice—there was a lump in my throat as I left, following my master. The Fiend might appear at any time and take his revenge. He could slay Alice and drag her soul off into the dark forever.

  Back at the camp, racked by fears for Alice, I found it impossible to sleep. I thought dawn would never arrive, but at last morning came—a bright, beautiful one, totally unsuited to my mood.

  The day started badly. No sooner was I up and about than I realized that the dogs were missing. Of Claw, Blood, and Bone there was no sign—nor did they answer my call. They were generally obedient, and it was unusual for them to wander off for so long. Was it the shaman’s doing?

  There was no real breakfast—just a nibble of cheese. Everyone was in a somber mood, and Simon Sulby in particular was desperate to do something, aware that each day that passed increased the danger to Adriana.

  “I can’t just sit around here!” he said, his voice filled with anguish. “What if you fail again tonight?”

  “I can guarantee nothing,” the Spook replied, clearly irritated, “but I’ll tell you one thing—go off alone in some foolish attempt to rescue her from that keep and there’ll be one more person in those dungeons, ready to feed to the buggane. And that’ll be you!”

  “I might have little hope of rescuing Adriana, but there’s one other thing I could do. I could walk to St. John’s and appeal to the Tynwald.”

  “The Tynwald?” I asked. “Is that the island’s ruling council?”

  Simon shook his head. “No, it’s the parliament, an elected body, but they appoint the council and have the power to overrule them. They’ll be meeting in a few days in St. John’s—the village by the witch tower where they imprisoned you. The Tynwald could order Lord Barrule to free Adriana.”