“I wanted to strike fear into you. I needed to put you under pressure so that you would fight as if for your life. I have now had the opportunity to study your use of the sword and know what needs to be done to improve it. I’ve spoken with John Gregory and told him that I need at least a week to train you. He has agreed. Once you reach the required standard, we will attempt to bind the Fiend. It’s our best hope.”
“I’m going to fight the Fiend with this sword?”
Grimalkin smiled again. “Not exactly—but what I teach you will be vital, because denizens of the dark, the Fiend’s servants, will seek you out. They will try to hunt you down, so you will need skill to wield that sword. It could mean the difference between life and death. As I told you, the sword has another name, the Destiny Blade, and despite what your master says, each of its keepers fulfills his destiny—that which he was meant to achieve in this life—while he bears it.”
“That sounds too much like fate,” I said, “the idea that the future is fixed. I’m with the Spook on that. I believe that each of us has some free will, some freedom of choice.”
“Child, maybe that is true, but I do believe you have a destiny—you were born to destroy the Fiend. And you are the hunter of the dark. Now that you have that blade, it will truly begin to fear you! Do you remember how you sliced off the head of the Morrigan?”
Suddenly I knew what Grimalkin expected of me. “You want me to do that to the Fiend?”
“We impale and then behead. I will then bury the head elsewhere. It will give you time to work out a permanent solution so that he can be destroyed for all time.”
“I almost killed you just then,” I told her. “The test went too far….”
Grimalkin shook her head. “I know when I will die. Martha Ribstalk told me that, too. I am not meant to die here at your hands.”
I nodded. I knew the Spook would have thought Grimalkin’s faith in that prophecy foolish indeed.
CHAPTER XXI
FROZEN IN TIME
BILL Arkwright had once spent six months training me, with an emphasis on the physical aspects of the spook’s trade, particularly combat—fighting with staffs. He had been a hard task-master, at times verging on cruelty, and I had ended up covered in bruises. It had been a painful and exhausting experience.
That, however, was nothing compared to what I went through in the week I spent under Grimalkin’s tutelage. Much of my suffering was caused by the sheer terror I felt, fighting head-to-head with the witch assassin. Her appearance was daunting enough, but in addition, her eyes blazed with an intimidating ferocity, and I never knew which blade she would draw from the many sheaths around her body.
She also possessed a physical strength that I could not hope to match yet. I had to keep out of range. Once she got a hand on me, I invariably ended up on my back, with the breath driven from my body and a blade at my throat.
She cut me, too, more than once. It would have been good to have Alice at hand, with her healing herbs and poultices. The pain of losing my best friend was still undiminished—the sharp edges of Grimalkin’s blades were nothing compared to that.
I soon became skilled with the sword—which now felt like an extension of myself—but the witch assassin was quick to tell me that this was barely the beginning of what I would need to know. She said that I would improve each time I fought for my life against an opponent who wanted to kill me—always assuming that I survived the encounter.
One of the skills I was made to practice over and over again was stopping time while in combat. As the week progressed, my control steadily improved. As I’d already shown, by using it I could match an opponent as deadly as Grimalkin.
All too soon, that week of intense training came to a close, and we were ready to face our greatest challenge yet.
As the sun set, we left Shey’s house and approached the pit. There were just the three of us: the Spook, Grimalkin, and me. I was wearing my cloak, but beneath it lay the Destiny Blade in its scabbard. The blood jar was in the pocket of my breeches. During my training with the witch, the Spook had been adding to his Bestiary, updating it where possible and writing a new section on our preparations for binding the Fiend.
In my years with the Spook, I had always expected Alice to take part in this task—but it was not to be. She was gone forever now, and I had to learn to accept it.
The rigger and his mate were waiting beside the huge wooden frame they had erected above the pit. They both looked scared, but so far they had done a good job: Suspended from the block and tackle, hanging horizontally, was the huge flat stone that would seal the pit. To one side lay the heavy rock that would finally be placed on top. It had a ring embedded in it to make lifting it easier.
Heaped close to the pit was the mound of soil that I had worked so hard to excavate. Mixed into it was a large amount of salt and iron. They were not likely to have much power against the Fiend, but the Spook thought that if it weakened him even slightly, it was worth a try. If we succeeded in binding him, that mixture would fill the pit.
If we failed…the Fiend would be quick to take his revenge for what I had done; he’d first deal with me, then kill the Spook and Grimalkin. After that, our souls would face an eternity of torment.
I noticed that Grimalkin was carrying two sacks: One contained the spears and nails; the other was made of leather and appeared to be empty. It looked quite new—had she stitched it herself? I wondered. She placed both sacks on the ground and, already wearing her leather gloves, carefully unwrapped the four long spears. Beside them were a number of long, broad-headed silver-alloy nails, and two short-handled lump hammers for driving them into the Fiend’s flesh. One of these she handed to the Spook.
It had already been agreed that the Spook and I would take up positions in the pit, ready to attack the Fiend from below, while, from above, Grimalkin would attempt to drive her spear through his heart. Then, if we succeeded thus far, we would nail him to the rock.
By now the sun had gone down and the light was beginning to fail, but the pit was lit by seven lanterns; three were suspended from the wooden gantry, the others placed on the ground close to its four corners.
The Spook climbed down into the pit, and I followed. Despite the solid rock base that had halted my excavations, it was very deep, the Spook’s head barely level with its rim. The witch assassin handed each of us a spear. They were slender and flexible, and had sharp points. The Spook and I took up positions at opposite corners of the pit. Above, Grimalkin held the third spear with both hands—the fourth lay on the ground beside her—and gazed down intently.
The Spook cleared his throat. “This is the moment we’ve all been waiting for,” he said solemnly. “One or more of us may lose our lives. It will be well worth it if the Fiend is successfully bound. We share the same purpose, and I thank you both for standing by my side!”
It was an astonishing declaration by my master. He had actually thanked a witch for working with him! Grimalkin gave the faintest of smiles and nodded toward him in acknowledgment.
“It’s time,” said the Spook, turning his gaze toward me. “Give me the blood jar!”
My mouth was dry and my hands shook, but I was determined to do what was necessary. I focused on controlling my breathing and calming myself. Nervously I took the jar out of my pocket, walked across the pit, and handed it to him. How strange it was to think that Alice I had spent so much time worrying that the cracked jar might lose its power and enable the Fiend to snatch us away, and now the Spook was about to destroy it.
I quickly returned to my place. For a moment the Spook stared at the small earthen jar with an expression of distaste, then held it high.
“The crack in the jar has enabled the Fiend to come close to you many times,” he said. “I suspect he is always nearby, waiting to come and take his revenge. So I expect him to appear the very moment the jar is broken. Be ready!”
With a sudden convulsive movement, the Spook hurled it up out of the pit and against one of the stout w
ooden props that supported the gantry. With a sharp crack, it shattered, and my knees nearly gave way.
It was done. The Fiend would arrive within seconds. Alice had always believed that if the jar broke, his response would be immediate.
However, the seconds became minutes…and nothing happened. I became uneasy. Maybe it would be days before he arrived. If that were the case, it would be difficult to remain vigilant. This was not what we’d expected.
And then I felt a strong tremor under my feet. The ground was shifting. Suddenly the lanterns flickered ominously and their light began to wane. They died right down to a faint glimmer, and one of riggers gave a loud cry of fear. Directly overhead, there was a sound like a peal of thunder, and we were momentarily plunged into total darkness.
The Fiend was approaching….
I began to concentrate, summoning my strength. Stop time too early, and the Fiend would be unable to enter the pit; do it too late, and he would seize control—and I would be his prisoner, stuck like a fly trapped in amber while he did his worst.
The lanterns shone brightly once more, and with a terrifying bellow that seemed to make the whole world shake, the Fiend appeared in the pit between me and the Spook. He radiated a lurid red light of his own. Despite my terror, I was filled with hope. He had come. It could be done.
Concentrate! Squeeze time! Make it stop!
The Fiend was three times the size of the Spook, with a broad chest, a long tail, cloven feet, and the curved horns of a ram, and he was covered in thick black hair. His pupils were two vertical slits, and he gave off a strong animal stench that made my stomach heave. But amid the terror I felt, I noted with relief that the pit would be big enough after all.
The Fiend wasn’t moving—controlling time had become almost second nature to me now—but neither were the Spook or Grimalkin. All was immobile and silent. My heart was still beating. I was still breathing. I had stopped time. Now I had to impale him….
I moved to stab toward him, but my spear moved very slowly. Even worse, my heart seemed to be slowing, each labored beat taking longer to arrive than its predecessor. The Fiend was fighting back; trying to freeze me in time and release himself.
Had I left it too late? How could I hope to match his strength with my own? I asked myself. But I had to try. I couldn’t give up now.
Gritting my teeth, I drove my silver spear up toward his belly—but I saw that it was moving ever more slowly. If I failed in this, the Fiend would end our lives. It would be the end of everything we had tried to do. I thrust the weapon toward him just as hard as I could, bringing all my concentration to bear. But it was as if I was frozen now.
Grimalkin… I thought. Couldn’t she just wish him away?
That hope was snuffed out instantly. How could she? She would be just like me, trapped in an instant of time, desperately wondering what could be done. She would not wish the Fiend away because then he would escape her spears. Grimalkin had faith in me: She trusted me to defeat the Devil. But what if I couldn’t?
And then my sight began to dim.
CHAPTER XXII
THE DESTINY BLADE
EVEN as my vision clouded, I continued the fight, once again summoning all my concentration. Even though I was facing defeat, I couldn’t give up. Not now. I remembered the advice given to me by Cuchulain: I must struggle on, no matter how hopeless it seemed. And the thought of what the Fiend had been doing to Alice spurred me on to make one final effort. Even if I couldn’t get her back, I could hurt him, make him pay. Even if I was losing, I would fight to the bitter end.
But then, just when it seemed that all hope was gone, there was a sudden change. I felt something yield very slightly. My heart began to thud inside my chest—slowly at first, then faster and faster! I was in control again, my blood surging through my veins. The Fiend was standing before me, large and terrifying—but immobile. Now he was still and I was moving!
I thrust the silver spear up into his side. There was momentary resistance, then a spurt of black blood. I pushed it upward even harder, deep into his hairy hide. The Fiend screamed, a noise that stabbed into my eardrums; a cry of pain and anger, with the power to split the earth asunder and make the very stones bleed. It buffeted me so hard that I lost my concentration—and my grip on time.
Suddenly the Fiend burst free of my control, twisted toward me, and drove his huge fist downward. I ducked, felt it brush past my hair.
But time was moving freely again, and now the others were able to attack. The Fiend bellowed for a second time as the Spook plunged his own spear deep into his hairy belly, bringing him to his knees.
Above, there was a flash of forked lightning, followed immediately by a deep rumble of thunder. A storm burst overhead, torrential rain drumming into the ground. It seemed to have come from nowhere.
I looked up and saw Grimalkin balanced on the balls of her feet, taking careful aim. The witch assassin never missed—surely she wouldn’t this time? My heart was in my mouth, but I needn’t have feared. She thrust downward powerfully, and her spear pierced the Fiend’s back. It went right through his body and, with an explosion of black gore, the bloodied point emerged from his chest. She’d speared his heart with silver. But would it be enough?
Lightning flashed again, dividing the sky, and a fury of rain plummeted into the pit as the witch assassin threw her second spear to pierce the Fiend’s body within an inch of the first. His heart was now transfixed by two silver spears. He gave a great groan of pain and bowed forward, blood and saliva dripping from his open mouth. Grimalkin now leaped down into the pit to his left. In one hand was the hammer; in the other gloved hand, a fistful of silver nails. Meanwhile, the Spook moved toward the Fiend’s right arm.
By now the Fiend was on all fours, tossing his head like a wounded bull and roaring with pain. The witch assassin seized her chance and stabbed a nail into his left hand, then struck the broad head three times with the hammer, driving it right through his flesh to pin that huge hairy paw tightly to the rock. He twisted his head, opened his mouth wide, and lunged toward her as if to bite her head from her body. But, lithe as a cat, she avoided that deadly mouth and swung the hammer back hard into his face, smashing his front teeth into fragments and leaving only broken bloody stumps.
I watched my master quickly drive a nail into the Fiend’s right hand, the muscles bunching in his shoulder as he swung the heavy hammer with a rhythm and power that belied his age. Seconds later, working as a team, the Spook and Grimalkin had driven a nail through each of the Fiend’s ankles. As he roared with pain, Grimalkin pointed toward me.
“His head!” she cried. “Now! Strike off his head! Do it now!”
I drew the hero sword and stepped toward the Fiend; as I did so, blood started to drip from both its ruby eyes. I lifted it high, took a deep breath, tensed my muscles, and brought it down toward his neck. Black blood spurted up as the blade cut into his flesh. But my arm jarred as it struck bone and sinew. The Fiend screamed, the blade jammed, and it took a couple of seconds for me to tug it free.
“Strike again!” shouted Grimalkin. “Do it!”
Once more I brought the sword down on the same place on the neck. This time the resistance was slight, and the sword severed the Fiend’s huge head from his shoulders. It fell into the pit and rolled away, to end up at Grimalkin’s feet.
My eyes met the Spook’s, but there was no victory there. He simply nodded.
Grimalkin seized the head by the curved horns and held it aloft. Black blood dripped from it, and the Fiend’s swollen lips moved over his shattered teeth as if he was trying to speak. But his eyes had rolled up into his head; only the whites were showing. Grimalkin sprang out of the pit and pushed the head into the new leather sack. After tying the neck securely, she returned to the pit, where the Fiend’s decapitated body still shuddered and writhed.
The Spook and I got our shovels and quickly started to fill in the pit with the mound of iron-and salt-laced soil. I glanced up at the gantry. The rigger and his mat
e were nowhere to be seen. They had fled.
With torrential rain still falling, the three of us chucked soil into the pit just as fast as we could. Drenched to the skin, we worked rapidly, frantic to hide the monstrous beast, not knowing yet what he was capable of. I wondered whether, even without a head, he could tear himself free. Gradually his struggles lessened; the groans from the head in the sack were quieter, too.
Some time later, the rigger and his mate returned. By then the decapitated body of the Fiend was almost covered, though the soil still twitched and heaved. Shamefaced, the two men mumbled their apologies. The Spook simply patted them on the back. With the extra hands, our progress was faster—though it took almost another hour before we had finally filled in the pit and stamped down the earth. The work completed, we stood there, looking down, our chests still heaving with the exertion. At last it was time to lower the flat stone lid onto the pit.
By now the rain had ceased, but it was slippery underfoot, so we had to take care. With the rigger working the chain, Grimalkin and I grasped one side of the stone while the Spook and the rigger’s mate held the other. It came down smoothly, and at the last moment we pulled our hands clear and the lid fell into position, a perfect fit.
Next the rigger’s mate dragged the chain across and set the hook into the ring in the boulder. Soon it was being lifted into the air and lowered into position in the center of the stone lid. Then, its work done, the rigger unscrewed the iron ring. Finally we heaped the last of the soil over the lid and around the boulder. Once the grass grew, it would look just like a central thirteenth standing stone amid the twelve that surrounded it. Folk would never know that the body of the Fiend lay buried here within the stone circle at Kenmare.
But Grimalkin wasn’t finished yet. She added to the dragon’s threat by casting a cloaking spell of her own, to hide the Fiend’s presence from the servants of the dark. The Spook turned his back as she completed the ritual, walking three times around the outside of the stones; as she walked, she chanted her powerful spell.
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