www.epicreads.com
Book design by Chad W. Beckerman and Paul Zakris
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Delaney, Joseph, (date.)
[Slither’s tale]
Slither / Joseph Delaney ; illustrations by Patrick Arrasmith.
pages cm. — (The last apprentice ; book 11)
Summary: Slither lurks in woods and towns, hunting for human blood, but before he can feast on three lovely sisters, their dying father binds the monster to a bargain.
ISBN 978-0-06-219234-9 (trade ed.)
EPub Edition © DECEMBER 2012 ISBN 9780062192363
[1. Supernatural—Fiction. 2. Monsters—Fiction. 3. Horror stories.] I. Arrasmith, Patrick, illustrator. II. Title.
PZ7.D373183Sk 2013 [Fic]—dc23 2012042032
13 14 15 16 17 LP/RRDH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
FIRST EDITION
DEDICATION
For Marie
CONTENTS
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter I - A Price to Pay
Chapter II - The Kretch
Chapter III - What Manner of Creature?
Chapter IV - The Skelt Domain
Chapter V - The Downcast Dead
Chapter VI - Predators and Prey
Chapter VII - How It Began
Chapter VIII - The First Scars
Chapter IX - The Reluctant Soul
Chapter X - Blood Spots
Chapter XI - Do You Need Blood?
Chapter XII - Betsy Gammon
Chapter XIII - A Horrible Thing
Chapter XIV - What Can You Do?
Chapter XV - Elizabeth of the Bones
Chapter XVI - The Dance of Death
Chapter XVII - You Little Fool!
Chapter XVIII - The Dark Moon
Chapter XIX - An Old Enemy
Chapter XX - Jaws Wide Open
Chapter XXI - A New Threat
Chapter XXII - The Bones of Beelzebub
Chapter XXIII - The Blood-Filled Eye
Chapter XXIV - The Throne Room
Chapter XXV - The Testing
Chapter XXVI - The Strong Ones
Chapter XXVII - The Spider Demon
Chapter XXVIII - Poor Brave Thorne
Chapter XXIX - Heart of Darkness
Chapter XXX - Good News and Bad
Credits
Copyright
I’m a bad girl, bad inside.
My hair is kindling; my flesh tallow; my bones dry twigs.
One day I’ll burn in the fires of hell. As sure as eggs rot, that’s the truth.
So there ain’t no use denying it.
My name is Alice.
PROLOGUE
THE destruction of the Fiend may be achieved by the following means. First, the three sacred objects must be at hand. They are the hero swords forged by Hephaestus. The greatest of these is the Destiny Blade; the second is the dagger called Bone Cutter, which will be given to you by Slake. The third is the dagger named Dolorous, sometimes called the Blade of Sorrow, which you must retrieve from the dark.
The place is also important. It must be one especially conducive to the use of magic. Thus the ritual must be carried out on a high hill east of Caster, which is known as the Wardstone.
The blood sacrifice should be made in this precise manner. A fire must be constructed—one capable of generating great heat. To achieve this, it will be necessary to build a forge.
Throughout the ritual, the willing sacrificial victim must display great courage. If she once cries out to betray her pain, all will be lost and the rite will fail.
Using the dagger Bone Cutter, the thumb bones must be taken from the right hand and cast into the flames. Only if she does not cry out may the second cut be made to remove the bones of the left hand. These also are added to the fire.
Next, using the dagger Dolorous, the heart must be cut out of the victim and, still beating, cast into the flames.
CHAPTER I
A PRICE TO PAY
Into the Dark
Hell has many names.
Some call it the underworld,
Others Hades or the abyss.
We witches simply call it the dark.
It is our beginning and our end.
I was being trained as a witch, wasn’t I, when I first met Tom Ward, the Spook’s apprentice. We should have been enemies, but after a very uncertain start, we ended up friends. I helped him and fought the dark by his side, and it was during that time that I learned a terrible truth about myself—I was one of the Fiend’s daughters, and Bony Lizzie was actually my mother.
But I carried on helping Tom and Old Gregory, the Spook. Despite my background, I couldn’t let myself go over to the dark. We fought the Fiend together, with the help of Grimalkin, the witch assassin, and eventually we dealt him a terrible blow: We chopped off his head and bound his body with silver spears so that he was trapped within his dead flesh.
Knowing that his servants would pursue us relentlessly, Grimalkin went on the run with the Fiend’s head wrapped in a leather bag, fighting any creature she encountered. It would only be a matter of time before she was caught, I was sure—not even the powerful witch assassin could defeat so many dark entities. Once they killed Grimalkin and retrieved the head, they would take it back to Ireland and reunite it with the rest of the Fiend’s body; then he would be set loose in the world once more, and a new age of darkness and terror would begin.
There is just one chance to stop him—just one way to destroy him forever. My friend Tom Ward has to complete a sacrificial ritual at midnight next Halloween, now less than four months away. It involves the use of three blades known as the hero swords. Tom already has two of these weapons in his possession, but the third is located in the dark, and it is up to me to retrieve it.
The details of the ritual had been communicated to him by his own mother, who was the first and most powerful of all the lamias. She died in Greece fighting the Ordeen, one of the Old Gods, but her spirit was still very strong, and she had been trying to aid us in our attempt to deal with the Fiend.
But there was something about the ritual that Tom had withheld from me. Something that I’d had to find out for myself.
It involved a sacrifice. There had to be a “willing sacrificial victim.” Someone had to die.
Tom had to sacrifice the person he loved most of all.
That someone was me.
So I am off to the dark to find the dagger called Dolorous—the blade that will eventually be used to kill me.
Just one thing worse than the dark, ain’t there? And that’s what’s inside it—the things that call it home. . . .
Lots of my enemies were in there, supporters of the Fiend. So I cloaked myself using the most powerful magic I had. I wasn’t sure it would be enough. The dark is where magic comes from, and it’s the dwelling place of the Old Gods. And I was alone.
I’d been there once before, snatched away by the Fiend. Each of the Old Gods has a home in the dark—a territory, a personal domain that belongs only to them—and there was one god who’d helped me. Brought me back to the world, he had. Pan. He, like some of the others, wants to be left alone, completely alone, and doesn’t take kindly to intruders. If I found a way into Pan’s domain, none of my enemies would be waiting for me there. ’Course that didn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t destroy me for invading his space.
Pan has two aspects, two different forms. One, which I hoped I would never see, is terrible. Most folk would be driven mad just by gazing into his face. The other form was the one I hoped I’d be able to talk to.
To get into Pan’s domain with my powerful magic should be relatively easy. He mostly dwells in the dark, but he’s also the god of nature. His home is never that far from our world.
Anyone who’s been alone in a forest has sensed his presence. There are times when everything becomes still and silent; everything that can breathe seems to be holding its breath. There are no rustles in the undergr
owth, no breeze; just a sense of a gigantic unseen presence.
Which means that Pan is close.
So I chose a forested area southeast of Chipenden, not too far from the River Ribble. If I did manage to get back safely with the dagger, I wouldn’t have far to go to find Tom Ward again.
I selected a lonely spot, sat in the long grass, and made myself comfortable with my back against a tree. I was scared, my whole body trembling, so I took long, slow, deep breaths to calm myself. Then I waited for the conditions to become right.
It happened very close to dusk.
Everything became still and quiet, just as I knew it would. Pan was nearby. It was as if he were just behind a curtain, so close I could have touched him.
I used my magic and tried to enter his domain. It was much more difficult than I expected—it took me a long time to find a way in. It was like searching for a tiny lock in a big door with my eyes blindfolded. It was hard to locate, and it resisted my attempts for so long that I thought I was sure to fail. Then, very suddenly, I was in, and a mixture of feelings raced through me: elation at my success, nervousness at entering Pan’s domain, and a touch of fear.
I was standing close to a lake that was gleaming bright green. Above, the sky was dark, so I knew it wasn’t reflected light. Everything around me was glowing with that same green—even the tree trunks. Green is the color of nature. Green is the color of Pan.
At the river margin were tall reeds, and beyond them, on the far bank, thin ash saplings, but all was absolutely still. Nothing moved but my chest, which was rising and falling rapidly. I took three deep breaths, trying to slow down my heart.
I had to stay calm.
Just beyond the saplings was the edge of a forest—tall deciduous trees of a type I didn’t recognize. They were covered in blossoms that suggested early spring, but rather than being pink or white, the flowers were green, too.
It was as if the forest were alive and listening to my fluttery breaths and the thumpety-bump of my heart. The word panic comes from Pan’s name; they say that if he appears in his terrible form, a strong sense of dread is experienced at his approach. Few have lived to tell the tale.
Was he approaching in that aspect now? If so, I wasn’t feeling the dread.
At that moment I heard high, thin musical notes in the distance. Could it be Pan in his more benign form, playing his reed pipes?
I could only hope for the best.
So I circled the green lake, pushed my way through the thicket of saplings, and entered the forest. I hurried toward the sound of the music and came to a wide clearing that was thick with ferns. At its center, they had been flattened by many creatures, hares, rabbits, rats, mice, voles, a couple of badgers, and a bushy-tailed red fox, while above, the branches were laden with birds. All were silent and still, held in thrall to the source of that exquisite music.
Looking like a young, pale-faced, fair-haired boy, Pan was sitting on a log playing a reed pipe, just as I remembered him. His clothes seemed to be made out of grass, leaves, and bark. The face appeared human, but the ears that poked out through his long, unkempt hair were elongated and pointy. I also noticed the green toenails of his bare feet. They were so long that each curled upward into a spiral.
The Old God looked at me and stopped playing. Immediately the spell of the music was broken, and the creatures of the forest fled, while the birds soared up into the sky, making the branches overhead dance. Moments later, we were alone.
He glared at me, and his face began to distort into something fierce and bestial. I felt a cold dread wash over me. In seconds the boy would be gone and I would face his other terrible aspect.
“Please! Please!” I cried. “I’m Alice. Remember me? You helped me once before. Please listen to me. Didn’t mean to cause any offense, did I?”
To my relief, the change stopped and slowly reversed until I was looking at the boy once more—though his face looked very serious, without even a hint of a smile. Then it flickered with anger.
“You assume too much,” he snarled. “Tell me why I shouldn’t strike you dead on the spot.”
“Don’t mean no harm,” I told him. “Sorry to intrude without permission. Helped me once before, you did, and I’m really grateful for that. And now I need your help again. I have to fetch something from the dark, and this is the safest place I could think of to enter. Got lots of enemies here, I have. But I know they won’t dare come here because of you.”
“But you dared! And there is a price to pay for such presumption.”
“I’ll pay whatever you want,” I told him, “as long as you don’t take away my life. I ain’t afraid to die, we all got to go sometime—but I need to give it to someone else. My life has to be sacrificed. Help me, please. I have to find a blade that’s hidden under the Fiend’s throne. Just guide me to the edge of his domain and let me escape back this way afterward . . . that’s all I ask.”
Pan looked intrigued. “And why is the recovery of this blade so important?”
I had learned that I was to be the sacrifice by scrying, but later, when Tom Ward lay unconscious, recovering from his battle with Siscoi, the vampire god, I’d taken the letter from his pocket and read it several times, so that I’d remember it. I saw no reason why I shouldn’t now tell the god. After all, he already knew how we’d bound the Fiend. It was that weakening of the Fiend’s power that had made it possible for Pan to return me to the world above.
“We need three sacred objects for the ritual that’ll destroy the Fiend for all time—the hero swords forged by the old blacksmith god. They must be present when Tom Ward carries it out.”
“These blades are known to me,” said Pan. “And they have brought much misery and suffering to humans. Which one is hidden here in the dark?”
“Tom already has the Destiny Blade and Bone Cutter. The one I’m here to find is the one called Dolorous,” I told him.
“Ah, but the Blade of Sorrow is by far the worst of the three. It would be better for humankind if it were not returned to your world.”
“But by using it we can destroy our worst enemy.”
Pan slowly shook his head and regarded me with an expression of extreme pity. “Foolish human—don’t you see what will happen? You may be able to destroy the Fiend, but you cannot destroy the dark, for it will always find a way to achieve balance with the light. End the present situation, and a new equilibrium will develop. Destroy the dark’s most powerful entity, and another will eventually grow in power and replace it.”
These were not words I wanted to hear. Did it mean I was going to sacrifice my life for nothing? But that was for the long term; it was the situation now we had to deal with. What happened in the distant future seemed less important.
“If that happens, it happens, and I can’t do nothing about it, can I? But we have already attacked the Fiend and hurt him badly. If he recovers and returns to his former power, his revenge will be terrible. Ain’t just talking about me, Tom, and Old Gregory—the whole world will suffer. So we got to stop him somehow. And the ritual has to be carried out this coming Halloween, or it will be too late.”
Pan stared at me for a long time, and my knees began to tremble. I had strong magic at my disposal, and for a moment I thought about using it, but I knew that I had no chance against one of the Old Gods in the heart of his territory. He might kill me on the spot, and all I’d done would have been for nothing.
Then he gave me a quick nod. “Tell me more about the ritual,” he commanded.
“It has to be done on a special hill in the County called the Wardstone. A forge has to be built there,” I explained. “The victim must not cry out, no matter how terrible the pain. The dagger called Bone Cutter is well named—that is the blade that will cut the thumb bones from her. If she cries out when the bones of her right hand are cut away, the sacrifice fails. After the bones have been thrown into the fire, a second cut does the same to the left hand. The other dagger, the one I’ve come to get, is then used to cut out the victim’s
heart, which is cast, still beating, into the flames.”
“You say ‘the sacrifice,’ ‘the thumb bones,’ and ‘the victim’s heart’ as if they belong to somebody else. But this terrible thing will be done to you! Do you not know this?” Pan asked me.
I nodded and, unable to meet his fierce gaze, lowered my eyes. “Of course I know. Detaching my mind from it is the only way I can deal with it. . . .”
“Do you think when it comes to the sacrifice that you will be able to endure the pain? When they cut the bones from your hand, your body may disobey you and cry out anyway. To be human is to be weak. For you creatures, some things are simply impossible to bear.”
“Just do my best. That’s all anybody can do, ain’t it?”
Pan nodded, and for the first time he didn’t look quite so angry. When he replied, his voice was gentler.
“You may be foolish, human, but you are also brave. I will escort you across my land and start you on the next stage of your journey.”
We traveled in silence, Pan about five paces ahead, striding out through the trees. All was still and our journey seemed endless, for it was difficult to judge the passing of time in the dark. And that was a worry.
From my last visit I knew that time behaved differently here. It had seemed as if I’d spent long years as a prisoner of the Fiend, but on my return to earth I found it had been mere weeks. I knew the reverse could happen too. For all I knew, time might be passing more rapidly back in the County, where now only four months remained before Halloween. Even if I did succeed in retrieving the dagger, it might be too late.
The forest was beginning to thin out now, the large ancient trees giving way to saplings and scrub. Directly ahead I could see what appeared to be a vast, featureless plain, divided by a path that began just beyond the final tree. Beyond the green glow from the forest, the land was dark but for this narrow path, which was formed of tiny white stones.
The Last Apprentice: Complete Collection Page 230