How long remained before midnight struck? I wondered. How long before this sluggish entity became a ravening beast that moved faster than the blink of an eye?
The answer to my questions came immediately. The god took a great shuddering breath and moved forward onto his knees, then opened his mouth and showed me his teeth. They were clenched together, the muscles of the throat and jaw bunched tightly. There were four large canines; the rest were like needles—this was not a creature that needed to chew its food. Then the mouth moved, and Siscoi spoke in a deep, slow drawl, as if half asleep.
“It is so good of you to come to me,” he said. “The blood from your puny body will be my appetizer for the feast ahead!”
I did not reply. My answer was to draw the Destiny Blade and move cautiously toward the kneeling figure.
This was my chance to use my gift and slow time.
Concentrate! Squeeze time! Make it stop!
I took another step toward him, struggling to focus.
Concentrate! Squeeze time! Make it stop!
The vampire god laughed, the sound booming and echoing up through the fissure.
I was desperate now; with the whole of my being I focused on bringing time to a halt. But Mam’s gift seemed to have deserted me. If I couldn’t employ it soon, my life would be over.
“Do you think your miserable powers will work on me?” demanded the god. “I am Siscoi, and I have the strength and speed to counter anything you can throw at me. Do you really believe that my master would send me against you without the means to deal with your tricks? His servants have combined together and placed their powers within me.”
Could he be immune to my gift? Was such a thing possible? The Fiend had been able to manipulate time too, and when we lured him into the pit to be bound by silver spears and nails, only surprise had given me the advantage. If other servants of the dark had similar powers and had somehow transferred them to Siscoi, my situation was indeed hopeless.
But then Mam spoke again inside my head:
Despair, and you will be defeated and destroyed. Above all, you must believe in yourself. If you are truly the weapon I have forged to obliterate the Fiend, then you must prove it now. Otherwise all I have done has been for nothing and you are not worthy to be my son!
The words drove a dagger into my heart. How could Mam be so cruel? Was I merely a weapon—a thing to be used to bring her victory? And after all my struggles against the dark, how could she suggest that I was not “worthy”? Apart from my recent flight from the cellar, one lapse in over three years fighting the dark, I’d always done my best, whatever the odds against me. Could she not appreciate that? She seemed so very different from the warm, nurturing mother I had known at the farm. A surge of anger filled me. I took a deep breath and directed that anger, not against Mam, but against Siscoi.
I began to focus again, and now I sensed time slowing a little. The god’s eyes flickered malevolently, but I took another step toward him, readying my blade. My concentration became even more intense. The god’s eye was moving again, but the flicker had become a sluggish lifting of the upper lids.
And now the ruby eyes of the Destiny Blade began to drip blood. It was as hungry as the vampire god himself! And then I felt a movement at my waist. Bone Cutter was actually moving, twisting as if gripped by an invisible hand. It wanted to join the battle.
I was about to draw the dagger, but then I saw Siscoi’s eyes focusing on the drops of blood that fell from the Destiny Blade. Blood fascinated the god, distracted him.
Taking advantage of this, I swung the sword at his huge head. My aim was true, and had the blade struck home, I would have split Siscoi’s hairless skull. But my control of time was not perfect. He was still struggling against me, and he twisted his head away as the sword came down.
I cut off his left ear, and it fell slowly to the rocky floor, spinning like a red-tinted autumn leaf in the damp, chill breeze that heralds the approach of winter in the County.
The god screamed. So loud was his cry of agony and anger that the walls of the pit shook, and small rocks, soil, and dust cascaded down.
I took a deep breath and adjusted my stance in the way that Grimalkin had taught me. Once more I tried to focus my mind, but now Siscoi was on his feet, towering over me.
I swung the blade upward from right to left, aiming for the neck, hoping to sever the head. But our struggle had entered a new phase; Siscoi’s power was waxing, while mine was waning. My blade moved slowly, while the clawed hand swept down toward my face in a blur of motion. The god easily evaded my sword, but I felt a burning pain as his talons raked my forehead. I dropped down onto my knees, and he lunged for me again.
Once more I failed to avoid him, though I did just enough to survive. This time he used his huge knuckles, seeking to crack my skull open and knock me unconscious so that he could drain my blood at leisure. As it was, I managed to twist away, but the blow sent me rolling over and over until I crashed into the rock wall.
I struggled to my knees, my head spinning, waves of nausea washing over me. I tried to stand, but my legs were too weak to support me. Siscoi could finish me off before I even knew what was happening, but his approach was unhurried. He knew that it was all over now. He had won. My control of time was at an end.
But then I heard another voice. It didn’t actually appear inside my head like Mam’s had. It was a voice from my memory—the voice of Grimalkin, the witch assassin.
“Is this the end? Are you finally defeated? No! You have only just begun to fight! Believe me, because I know. I am Grimalkin.”
These were the words she had hurled at me over and over again when training me in the use of the Destiny Blade. I remembered that cellar in Ireland where we had first fought—I had been sure she was going to kill me. Then, over the period of a week, she had taught me to fight in a way that even the tough, battle-hardened Bill Arkwright could never have matched. She had used these words to goad me on when I had felt too weary to continue. Once again I recalled her voice:
“Get on your feet and fight! Kill your enemy now! Kill him before he kills you! Be like me! Be like Grimalkin! Never give in! Never surrender!”
I forced myself to my feet and lifted the blade, grasping it with both hands.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE SPOOK’S BLOOD
I began to focus on slowing time again. Sweat and blood were running into my eyes, making it difficult to see. I wiped them away with the back of my right hand before taking my two-handed grip once more.
Siscoi was staring at me, but time was again slowing. I was moving; he was still. Now I would indeed cleave his skull in two—I could do it. I took a step forward, so that my target was within comfortable range. But then, as I began to bring my blade down vertically, he opened his mouth wide. Once more he was challenging my control of time, exerting his own will.
I glanced at the sharp fangs, but they were not the immediate threat. Something issued forth from Siscoi’s mouth, so quickly that I barely had time to react. I ducked to my left, and it just missed my right temple.
At first I thought he had spat something out at me, but I soon realized that this was his tongue. It was at least six feet long, thick and purple, and covered with sharp spines, each like a thin hook. It rasped hard against the rock wall to my right, reducing the top layer to pebbles and dust. Had that made contact with my face, it would have ripped the flesh from the bone.
I took three rapid steps backward. The god’s tongue was back in his mouth now, and he was snarling. He came for me, his fingers reaching for my throat, but I swung the blade and made contact with his left shoulder. Once again he cried out in pain.
This time he was hurt. The Destiny Blade had penetrated his protective scales. Black blood was running down his arm and dripping to the ground.
My defenses had proved adequate, and I wondered at that. Among Siscoi’s powers was his incredible speed, so why did he not use it? It could only mean one thing—he was unable to! To some extent I was
still controlling time. Faced with such an adversary, I could not halt it, but I was doing enough to make a fight of it.
I readied my blade. Siscoi attacked again and, instinctively, I lunged forward with the sword. I failed to make contact this time, but I did enough to force him back a couple of steps. Then I was retreating just as fast as I could, dodging that long, rasping tongue with its deadly barbs. Suddenly I found myself in a cleft in the rock; escape to either side was now impossible. Siscoi’s mouth twisted into a smile, and he opened it wide. The tongue lashed out toward me in a purple blur. The god had me trapped, with no place to go.
Only one option remained: to advance! I evaded the tongue and stepped in close so that I was less than a foot away from him. Then, before he could withdraw the tongue back into his mouth, I brought the sword across in a rapid arc, cutting right through it. It fell to the ground, where it twitched and writhed like a huge snake, while a tide of blood cascaded out of Siscoi’s mouth to splatter at his feet. His howl made the ground tremble and the very stones seemed to shriek.
Now was the time to finish him. While he was writhing in torment, I swung the sword at his neck again. But just when I thought I had prevailed, it all went wrong. The god was far from being finished—as I learned to my cost.
His clawed foot arced upward as if to disembowel me. In avoiding it, I left myself vulnerable to a strike from his left hand, which almost tore my arm from its socket. The pain brought me to my knees. Even worse, the Destiny Blade went spinning out of my grasp.
Siscoi hurled himself at me, still spitting blood. I just had time to draw Bone Cutter and stab at him. I pierced his chest in two places, but he picked me up like a child and carried me toward his open mouth.
His fangs plunged into my neck, but I felt little pain. He began to suck out my blood, and I could feel it throbbing through my veins, the pumping of my heart becoming more and more sluggish.
My situation seemed hopeless but, remembering what Grimalkin had told me, I fought on. I didn’t want to die. I wanted to see Alice again, and my family too. The future I had looked forward to—my life as a spook—was being taken away. I struggled to break free, desperately stabbing at the vampire god, but the dagger seemed to have no effect, and soon I was too weak to hold it. It slipped from my fingers, and I felt my heart thudding ever more slowly. I was sinking toward death.
Then I heard a loud scream. Had I cried out? Or had it issued from Siscoi’s throat? Never had I heard a sound that was so full of anguish. It was as if the very earth had screamed out in agony.
Then I was falling into utter darkness.
My last thoughts were of Alice.
My last words, spoken inside my head, were to Mam.
I’m sorry, Mam. Sorry for being a disappointment. I did my best. Try not to think too badly of me.
I waited in darkness for what seemed like an eternity. My heart was no longer beating; I was no longer breathing—but I felt no fear. I was at peace, all my cares and struggles left far behind.
Then I heard a sound that I remembered from my childhood: it was the creak of a rocking chair. I saw a glowing figure taking shape out of the darkness.
It was Mam—not the terrible lamia, but the kind, loving mother I remembered. She was sitting in her chair, smiling at me, rocking to and fro as she used to when she was happy and relaxed.
“You are all I ever hoped you would be,” she said. “Forgive my harsh words earlier. They were necessary at the time. I’m proud of you, son.”
What harsh words did she mean? I felt confused. Where was I? Was I dead?
Still smiling, Mam faded back into the darkness. Now another figure was emerging. It was a girl with pointy shoes, her black dress tied at the waist with a piece of string. Alice.
“I’ve come to say good-bye, Tom. Don’t really want to go, but I don’t have much choice, do I? Wait for me, Tom, please. Don’t give up. Don’t ever give up!” she said.
Where was she going? I tried to ask, but she faded away before I could get the words out.
The next thing I knew I was lying in bed. I was breathing again, and my heart was beating steadily. The curtains were open, but it was dark outside. I realized that I was back in my room at the tavern in Todmorden. A candle stood on a small table, and by its flickering light I saw someone sitting beside the bed, staring down at me.
It was Grimalkin.
“At last you are back,” she said. “You’ve been unconscious for three days and nights. Despite all that Alice did to heal your body, I feared that your mind might be broken beyond repair.”
I struggled up into a sitting position. I was drenched with sweat, and I felt weak. But I was alive.
“What happened?” I asked. “I did my best. I’m sorry, but I wasn’t strong enough. Did you manage to finish him off?”
The witch assassin shook her head. “No. He was already dead by the time I climbed down to carry you back to safety.”
“He was taking my blood, but I kept fighting to the end, stabbing him with the dagger. I must have gotten lucky and pierced his heart.”
“That didn’t finish him off,” Grimalkin told me. “It was your blood.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand. . . .”
“Your blood proved to be a weapon. Very special spook’s blood; the blood of a seventh son of a seventh son, blended with that of your mother, the first and most powerful of all the lamias. To the vampire god, it was a deadly poison—just as your mother knew it would be. She appeared to Alice soon after Siscoi died and told her as much.”
I suddenly remembered how he’d appeared clothed in Cosmina’s skin. He could still possess other creatures briefly. “He’ll be seeking revenge!” I told Grimalkin. “He’ll be back. We’re still in danger.”
The witch assassin shook her head. “Siscoi is no longer a threat. You did not merely destroy the host; you slayed the vampire god himself. A terrible scream soared out of the ground up into the heavens. Your mother told Alice that it was the very dark itself, crying out in anguish at the loss of one of the most powerful Old Gods. You have weakened our enemies. The head of the Fiend has fallen silent again, and there is no way to get a response out of him—and believe me, I have been anything but gentle.”
It was astonishing to think that my blood had resulted in the death of Siscoi. Mam would have known about it all along. But a price had been paid. James was probably dead, and the Fiend had ordered his servants to kill my other brothers.
“He’ll try again,” I said. “He said that his servants were more numerous than the stars. He’ll never give up!”
“So we must make an end of him!”
I nodded. “Did you get the Doomdryte?” I asked.
“When I went to burn the Fresque house, the library was empty. There were no books. No Doomdryte. But I burned the place anyway.”
“Then our enemies must have it.”
“We must assume so.”
So that was another threat; something to face in the future.
“Where is Alice?” I asked.
“Alice has gone into the dark,” Grimalkin said. “She has gone in search of the third sacred object.”
It was almost two weeks before I was strong enough to return to Chipenden. During that time Grimalkin cleansed the hillside of the rest of the Romanian entities. Those she didn’t kill fled from her. She burned their houses, too, with the bodies inside. None would return from the dead. But although she searched for the Doomdryte, there was no sign of it.
The County side of Todmorden was also empty, its inhabitants all gone. Somehow I didn’t think that they’d be in a hurry to return.
We could have used Benson and his cart again, but I chose to walk, using the journey to rebuild my strength, bit by bit. It took me almost three days to get home.
Grimalkin accompanied me, and each night we talked and discussed our plans for the future. It depended on Alice returning from the dark with the third sacred object in her possession. The thought of her there kept me in a perma
nent state of anxiety. The worst thing was being powerless—I could do nothing to help her.
It was during the first of our talks that the witch assassin delivered another shock to me.
“Alice knows that you must sacrifice her, Tom,” she said bluntly.
For a few moments I stopped breathing and stared into the embers of the fire. “How could she know?” I asked at last.
“As I told you, her magic is very strong. Alice scryed it.”
“Did she see herself die?” I asked, my heart pounding.
“She saw you preparing to take her life, but then the mirror darkened.”
“Darkened? That’s good, isn’t it?” I said. “It means the future is still uncertain. Alice once told me that. She said when there are too many variables, the future cannot be foretold, so the mirror grows dark.”
“There is another reason for that. A witch cannot scry her own death. But I must know. Are you prepared to sacrifice Alice in order to destroy the Fiend?”
“I don’t know if I’m capable of it,” I answered truthfully. “I care about Alice too much. How could I sacrifice her?”
“I have talked it over with Alice. If we can find no other way, she will willingly die at your hands.”
“We must find another way!”
“We will certainly try, but time grows short. It is already June.”
We arrived at Chipenden to find the Spook little better. He was walking more easily, but he still looked frail, a shadow of the man who had taken me on as his apprentice four years earlier.
Later that afternoon we talked, sitting at the kitchen table, watching the fire flickering in the grate. I found it too warm, but my master clutched his cloak about him tightly, as if to fend off the cold.
First we talked of the Doomdryte. “Who knows where it is now?” he said gloomily. “In the hands of the Fiend’s servants, no doubt. The danger is that someone will attempt the incantation.”
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