Ellie shook her head, or tried to, but nothing happened. It refused to move, as though it was a lump, weighted on the pillow. Frowning, Ellie tried to think of something, anything, but it felt an impossible task. Her thoughts were disjointed as though her mind had given up, and was now floating high and free, like a balloon.
She giggled. What a mad idea. On impulse, Ellie reached up, trying to pull her mind back. But the next thing she knew, she had the weird sensation of floating, stretching up high above her bed, with her feet the only things keeping her tethered to her body. Without really meaning to, Ellie yanked at them and the sudden momentum pushed her so hard that she slipped free and banged up against the underside of the ceiling.
Below, Ellie could see the outline of her body on the bed. It was lying perfectly still and peaceful, with one hand over the hag stone and the other resting by her side.
How did I do that? She wondered. Her thoughts, thankfully, now felt free and clear. As Ellie hovered she wasn't sure if she should go back down and ask the stone for help. She could sense it, an ancient, solid piece of earth weighing down the centre of her stomach.
As she considered it, Ellie felt herself begin to sink lower, down towards the bed. ‘No, no,’ she whispered. ‘No, not yet.’ Immediately the descent eased.
Elation surged though her being. Soul Flyer. She grinned. My God.
The bedroom ceiling was the only barrier between her and the open sky. Ellie hesitated, wondering how to get through. Trying not to think about it too much, Ellie simply willed herself upwards. She didn’t know exactly how, but a breath later she was floating high above the roof outside. Her home lay below - a dark, squat shape surrounded by a sea of dried out lawn.
It was weird. Ellie could feel, acutely, physical sensations running over her body - the warm air streaming over her skin, the prickling cold of distant starlight - every cell felt energised and wide-awake. But she couldn’t see it; she couldn’t see her body at all, she could only feel it, like she was dreaming - but wide, wide, awake.
Soul flyer, that's what it all means.
Hugging herself in delight, Ellie let her vision settle on a fine line of brightness spanning the darkness. The sun, she realised with a shock of surprise, the last edge of the sun before it disappeared over the distant ocean. High above the horizon line, specks of light glittered in the inky blackness - stars, beckoning her still further upwards into the wide embrace of the heavens.
I could just keep on going… Ellie realised, as she considered the vast cool expanse of space, and a frisson of fear trembled though her heart. Then she laughed and, turning on a whim, Ellie soared down and away, her flight as light and as ephemeral as thought.
Effortless, all it took was a simple arching of her back and Ellie executed a flawless looping circle. Delighted, she looped higher still, dipping and tumbling in the vast wonder of the sky. With a flick of an idea, she swept above the sleeping landscape, over the cliffs, and on to the dark forest beyond, her eyes wide and her hands outstretched.
A shimmer brushed her skin, and then another. Ellie turned to see a gathering cloud of beings, of all shapes and sizes and brilliance, swooping toward, above, and beyond her.
For a long time - Ellie didn't know quite how long, she flew through the open night, but after a time her exhilaration calmed and she slowed, circling in wide slow arcs back above the trees. Darkness, the canyons below held quiet shadows of night and rest. The rocky edges were mere ghostly shapes jutting through trees and meshed so closely together they seemed a single wave of deepest black.
Ellie breathed, mesmerised by the calm and depth of the sleeping valleys. But as she gazed down, studying the forest, she began to be aware of something else, a faint silvery glow running through the land itself, connecting tree to tree, rock to tree, rock to rock, delicate, overlapping, its rhythm as constant as a heartbeat. Lines as fine as lace were intersecting through the forest like luminous strands, looping around, beneath, and through the trees, fanning on through the soil, connecting them all.
Beautiful. Ellie thought, floating motionless above. It is so beautiful, I wish Rose was here too, and then she would understand. Nothing this beautiful could ever, ever be wrong.
EIGHTEEN
The stone house on the edge of the cliff was dark.
A full-length mirror stood in the centre of the bedroom on the first floor, its smoky glass edged with an antique wood, red cedar perhaps or mahogany. Arranged at its base in a half semi-circle were coloured candles of different heights, each one freshly lit.
Blowing out the match, Rose casually flicked it into the wastepaper basket by her door where it hit the tissue paper, crackling and hissing. At her feet a dress lay crumpled in a heap on the floor, the price tags still showing, its silver satiny delivery box kicked near the wall.
Facing herself in front of the mirror, Rose pursed her lips to a pout. She turned and stood side-on, studying her profile illuminated in the flattering, fluttering light. She arched her back to a rebel pose and raised one hand, tapping out an imagery cigarette, with the other poised, cupped under her chin. Smiling, she blew herself a kiss. Her reflection smiled back, a slow full movement.
Rose licked her lips. I’m beautiful, she thought, her eyes travelling over the curves and swells of her body.
She felt so good, gone was the cloying heaviness that had been pressing in on her for weeks. She could breathe again. The air in here even felt a little cooler. It danced around her skin and from the open window she could smell a sweet hint of freshness. It might even rain. Parting her lips, Rose licked them again, slowly, how she longed for moisture.
‘What is with me tonight,’ she murmured, trailing her fingers down her arms. She shook them out, watching her hands as they fluttered prettily in the light. Her skin felt hot to touch and she closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of her hair as it fell against her fingers.
Rose was alone in the house. Her father had left for a service hours before, and the day had since lengthened into darkness.
‘I don’t feel well,’ she’d explained sleepily that morning, her father waiting outside her door. Later she had heard his feet echo as he paced up and down the hallway, waiting she supposed, in case she changed her mind. But as the clock in the hall marked the hour, she’d heard the back door bang shut and the low roar of the car as it faded away into silence.
She had let out a long, slow breath in relief.
In the quiet of her room, as the sun streamed in through the chinks in the curtains, Rose had slept. The afternoon silence was broken only by the chimes of the clock, and her dreams were free of disturbing, frightening images.
Now her dreams were much more fun.
Rose frowned, watching the pretty lines crease her forehead.
Ben could’ve come over, she pouted. Later. She’d call and convince him to climb up into her bedroom.
She giggled softly. He wouldn’t be able to resist. And she would wear nothing… Except -
Rose paused as a hot flush burned across her skin, tingling across her cheeks. She imagined Ben climbing up into her darkened bedroom, lifting her window, pushing back the heavy velvet curtains, and finding her lying, draped sinuously over her bed. Lit by the gentle glow of the candles, she would be wearing only her own soft satiny skin and….
Her tawny eyes shone golden. Oh yes it would be perfect.
Smiling, and enjoying the feel of her swaying hips, Rose padded over to her dressing table. Humming softly, she opened the top right drawer, and searched through the mass of tangled silken scarves. Her fingers brushed metal. It was there, just where she had hidden it. She lifted the heavy roped chain high, and the feathered wings of the amulet wavered in the soft light of the candles.
‘Oh…’ Rose sighed in wonder at its priceless, mesmerising beauty.
Stumbling over the intricate workings of the clasp, she lowered her head and secured the thick chain around her neck. She shivered as the golden body of the amulet fell heavily between her breasts. Clasping it betw
een her hands, it felt solid and vital. Unthinking, Rose pressed the figurine right to her skin, close to her heart. Her pulse raced. Her legs trembled and, unnoticed, a crackle of heat began to flare over her skin.
A warmth she’d never before experienced, a rich golden heat as molten and thick as honey, began to spread out from her chest, melting down into her belly, curving along every hidden swell and surface. Expelling a low moan of surprise, Rose closed her eyes as her body began to sway in response, her legs trembling as the warmth melted through every cell of her being. Rose moaned again, enjoying the sensation as the warmth rose higher and higher up her spine, up into her throat. It begged to be released. Smiling languorously, Rose tipped back her head and sang out a low rich tone.
Oh that felt good, thought Rose in surprise.
She breathed in again, her belly felt warm and soft as if the sound was made of liquid. Rose moaned again, letting her voice stream out from the base of her throat. Unstopped, unfettered, she sang it out, long and loud. Undulating with power, the moan of sound filled the room, before slipping through the window and soaring out into the night.
Rose moaned again.
✽✽✽
On the gravelled drive outside, the Reverend Matthew Hopkins slammed the car door shut and stared up at the darkened face of the house. The windows were drawn and the sky behind was lit with a haze of stars. He waited, his body tense, but whatever had made that infernal, ghastly noise had ceased. Frowning, he turned away. Some night creature, he supposed, scuttling back into the darkness from whence it came. Brushing it from his mind, Matthew walked quickly across the path to the back gate, his robes flowing in his wake.
A good night, he smiled, nodding to himself as the metal latch creaked open. The congregation gathering around him were rich and fervent with belief, especially that young Ben. He smiled again, such a good choice for his daughter.
Matthew let the gate bang behind, feeling his heart clutch in regret that his Rosalind hadn’t felt well enough to join them this evening. May she find peace, he prayed softly. May she be sleeping well and safe.
His footsteps crunched as he rounded the back of the house and entered the secluded peacefulness of the garden. As he always did when he returned late, Matthew glanced up towards the second floor, his daughter’s window; it was the largest, double cased and situated behind a small balcony in the centre.
Matthew stopped. A single spot was glowing within the vastness of the dark stone brick. Rosalind had retired, her high window draped with cloth emitting only the faintest of wavering lights.
So like her mother, Matthew smiled. She too had preferred the gentle soothing flicker of candles. In this modern world, he mused, the old ways were still best.
Relishing in the peaceful quietness, Matthew turned back from his daughter’s window and headed towards the back door. Pulling the long brass key from under his robes, he had turned it only once in the lock when the terrible sound erupted once more into the night.
Fear hackled across Matthew’s skin. After a dreadful pause, in which it seemed the very heavens drew breath, the sound came again - louder this time, rising in tone and urgency, on and on and on, a wanton lowing shattering the stillness. Staring up into the centre window, Matthew whispered a single desperate word.
‘No!’
The wretched noise erupted again as Matthew rushed into the house.
What was happening? He stopped on the first landing, trying to gauge its direction. A lull, and then it came again, from somewhere on the first floor, gathering in strength and intensity.
Where was Rosalind?
His heart pounding, Matthew flew up the stairs as the sound gathered intensity.
Reaching his daughter’s room, Matthew threw his weight against the door.
It was locked. Inside the moaning was reaching a fevered crescendo, wailing higher, shrieking now its desire for release.
Gathering his strength, Matthew hurled his body against the door once more and burst open into an abruptly silent room.
Darkness waited.
Desperately he searched for the light switch, his fingers draping the wall behind the door. He flicked it on.
The light glared, dazzling his eyes. Blinking rapidly, Matthew rushed into the centre of his daughter’s room.
‘Rosalind’ he cried, his voice hoarse with fear.
Her bed opposite lay open and exposed, unmade and empty, the covers pushed against the wall. The new dress she had pleaded for so eloquently lay discarded, crumpled on the floor. In the centre of the room, in its habitual pride of place was the mirror she loved so much, but pooling at its base were puddles of coloured wax and the misshapen remains of burnt out candles.
What had she been doing?
Shaking, Matthew turned. ‘Rosalind.’ He called softly. ‘Rose.’
The room remained mute save for a hushed whisper. Matthew glanced over at the window. It was open, a gentle unconcerned breeze lifting and lowering the fall of the curtain. But beneath it hidden, unnoticed in the shadows, a figure stood hunched beneath the folds of the drapes, its head turned as though it was staring up into the starlit night. The curtains lifted, and the ripple of air ruffled the dark feathers along its crown.
Horror and shock tore the breath from Matthew’s throat. ‘No…’ he gasped, refusing to believe. Cautiously, he stepped forward, his tread creaking the floorboard as he moved. The thing turned, its deep yellow eyes pinioning him with the intensity of its gaze.
‘NO!’ The sound wrenched itself out of his heart, out of the pit of his deepest nightmares. With a bellow of revulsion, Matthew threw himself forward and slammed the heavy window shut. He bolted it, locking it tight.
The creature reared in alarm, its dark wings unfurling, its sharp talons scraping along the bare floors. But it couldn’t flee. Ungainly, it scrabbled further into the room away from the window. Away from him.
The thing could not escape
His Rosalind could not escape.
Agonised, Matthew moaned, his hands shaking, tearing at his hair, his face, his eyes; the desire to scratch them out to blind himself from this horror was overwhelming.
No! No! No!
How could this be happening; she was still just a child! She was an innocent. She didn't know the ancient ways.
No wait. Agonised at what he might see, Matthew opened his eyes. Hanging around the creature’s neck, looped around the abomination of its form, was a string of gold - a long twisted chain. From it, hanging insolently over its chest, was a golden figurine, boastful in its finely wrought detail - an idolatrous half eagle, half woman monstrosity.
Matthew’s heart quaked, and if he hadn’t been holding onto the wall he would have fallen, crashing to the floor.
With a howl he sprang for the golden amulet, and in a single swift movement wrenched it off the creature’s neck. Clutching it between his hands, Matthew ignored the intense heat searing into his palms. The creature reared, flexing its dark wings out to their full span. The tip of one swept over his head into the centre of the room, while the other bashed against the confines of the wall. The creature hovered, lopsided for a split second, held aloft by the strength of a single wing before it toppled, crashing to the floor, unused to the limits of its new-found form.
Matthew ran from the room.
‘She is an abomination!’ The agony in his voice knifed through the shadows of the house. She was a thing to be shunned, a thing to be destroyed, a monstrosity to be cast into the pit of everlasting torment along with all others of her kind.
‘Oh why didn't I have a son?’ shouted Matthew, his eyes staring up towards the apex of the house. ‘Why Lord, why? Why did you not give me a son?’ The questions flung into the silence were answered only by the pounding of his footfalls as he fled from the nightmare in the bedroom above.
She was cursed. He was cursed. She was a monstrosity. He was an abomination. But no, Matthew’s heart whispered, refusing to permit him to deny the love he felt for his only child.
‘Do not damn her,’ it whispered. She was still his beautiful daughter, his own sweet faced Rosalind and he would protect her if he could.
Muttering a delirium of prayers, Matthew dashed into his room and without hesitating, flung open the doors of the scroll-topped cabinet standing in the corner. Down low he searched, nearest to the floor for the tiny drawer hidden within a nest of others. With his heart in his throat, and hope flaring, his fingers unlatched a silver clasp and he reached down deeper into the maze, and drew out his greatest treasure. Small, only pebble sized, it lay almost lost within the palm of his hand.
Matthew stared at it, fear and grief paralysing his muscles. The stone shone obsidian, its dark surface reflecting the feeble light of the moon outside.
It had kept him safe for centuries, for nigh on eight hundred years.
NINETEEN
Southern England 1340
Ulrick pulled the reins, forcing his mount to rear with a shriek before it dropped heavily to the earth, its nostrils snorting and eyes rolling in fury.
‘Here he is!’ He cried, brandishing his staff in triumph. ‘The Holy Child whom I saw commune with angels and does so again!’
Jumping off his horse, the knight dropped to the ground. His eyes bright with glory as he gazed up at the towering, luminous faeries. ‘Bless me, child.’
Tey recoiled. Behind the knight, six hooded monks too had fallen to their knees and, with fingers bone white against the black folds of their robes, they were gesturing the sharp sign of the cross. Behind them all, watching silently from the shadows was the abbot - his face hidden and his jewelled staff glinting in the afterglow of the luminous faeries.
The boy shuddered, then felt his mother’s hard hand grasp his own, tightly. At first Tey couldn't see what had caught her attention. Concealed on the ground, his grandmother was crouching low, shoulder to shoulder with Ash Kit; the two women’s hands were face down, and their eyes were closed.
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