✽✽✽
Matthew unleashed his despair.
Darkness fell completely.
Across the New Forest, windows smashed, and debris, sticks and branches cartwheeled across the sky, torn free by a mindless, demonic wind.
The air whipped into a frenzy and with a lost and desolate howl, the storm swell raked the coast, lashing a spray of wild foam across the shoreline. Seawater smashed over roads and the wind tore on, felling posts, electricity poles, and blacking out the sky.
In the towns, dogs barked in a frenzy of baying panic. Metal shrieked on metal, weather vanes spun, and any untied object was flung in a cacophony of sound over the anguished groaning of the surrounding forest. In the following breath, from the heavens came a deafening, guttural roar. The centre of the storm darkened, and a giant funnel of cloud stretched towards the ground.
✽✽✽
Ellie and Rose’s voices were barely audible as they sang in a field in the centre of the ancient forest. Ellie sang for the trees, for these ones lashed by the wind around her, and for the giants at home poised to die. Her throat hurt, ice bit into her skin, but she didn’t stop.
A sound came, so faint that at first Ellie didn’t notice it. Yet it strengthened with each passing moment. Ellie opened her eyes. Miss Dorothy. Her voice pitched higher than the relentless howling.
The rest of the circle were struggling to their feet. They gathered close, shoulder-to-shoulder, weaving their voices into a renewed circle of power. With them was Rose, with her dark hair plastered to her head, her dress muddied and torn, singing with her arms raised to the sky and with her gaze locked to her father.
Lightning cut across the heavens.
✽✽✽
Unflinching, Matthew beheld the vision of his daughter. So beautiful, so pale, so perfect, with a face so like her mother’s … except for those accursed golden eyes.
A single bolt, aimed and powered by clear, cool intention, was all it would take. Rain coiled, a vast reservoir held aloft by the rotational forces of the wind. Matthew sensed its strength. His life was poised at this moment. Everything he had ever accomplished in his long, long life came to this.
The witches had risen, and they challenged the very will of God - heretics, witches, they were all the same and they all must die.
This was the price, he realised. The blood price. If he was ever to be rid of the taint of his family, he must cleanse the final drops. Unto the fifth generation, isn’t that what the Good Book said?
Below him Rose was singing, and her face, as beautiful as always, held sweetness and an openness he’d rarely seen. Loneliness knifed his soul, but…
This was the price of love.
Matthew quietly flexed his will, and the shades that came to his call were bright, searing hot, and forked with flame.
He felt their incendiary power like a slap.
How apt. He smiled at the perfect symmetry. His daughter would burn, burn like all the others of her kind.
He was the Instrument.
✽✽✽
The warning prickled along her skin, but Ellie didn’t notice.
She’d stopped singing, and stood concentrating on the hag stone. It was leaping like a live thing, sending erratic jolts of electricity shuddering up her arm.
She gripped it tightly, terrified it would fling itself from her grasp. Light swirled, and from within its centre came a glimpse of a void as vast as a spiralling galaxy, and as tiny as the spinning dance of atoms. Ellie shook her head. Above her, thunder rumbled and Rose’s voice soared even higher, so high and clear and free it seemed it could crack the very air itself.
The wind slackened, and at that moment, the heavens exploded, and a burst of lightning forked, unimaginably wide and blue, and so riven with colour that Ellie could only stare. Burned against her retina was the image of Matthew, his head back, and his body balanced within the centre of the vast cyclonic storm.
Ellie stumbled. Sound hit her head, her ears, like pain, a sonic wave ripping through her body. There was nothing she could do, sound possessed her being, it pounded through her consciousness reverberating out and on into the darkness.
Crying out, the witches fell to their knees as the spirits returned - ice, flood, fire - expelled from the heavens by wanton forces of destruction. Wind spirits, black-faced feathered ones, their wings ripped and useless, smashed into the earth. Clear, liquid ones, their strange forms refracting colour and brightness, fell, driven by a demonic, spinning wind. The ground quaked, and out of the sky burst a brutal ear-piercing shriek. Fire spirits appeared, molten and twisting with rage.
Ellie stared in momentary fascination; forked tongued and bright of eye, they moved with incendiary speed. Then she coughed, choking, as heat tore at her throat and dry, scorching air filled the centre of the circle. Laughter crackled loud and close, and the torches staked in the ground burst alight. At that moment, Rose fell to her knees screaming, her light summer dress erupting into flames.
It happened so fast.
Horrified, Ellie ran to help her friend. Rose screamed again, writhing, enveloped in fire. Ellie tore her gaze away, her eyes streamed, burning in the heat. She blinked them as rapidly as she could, desperately trying to find relief. Again Rose screamed, an agonised, tortured sound, and when Ellie turned back, her friend’s body was shuddering, her pale form becoming darker, shifting, changing … her arms lengthening, her dark hair fanning outwards. Flames surged, red, yellow, twisting shades of darkness, and her form seemed to flicker from long-haired girl to winged creature and back … all the while her eyes, burning gold, stayed the same.
Panicked, Ellie threw the hag stone to the ground. ‘What’s happening,’ she cried, ‘I don’t understand!’
Lightning cracked, and the great finger of cloud bored down from the heavens reminding them, reminding her, Ellie, of how puny, insignificant and worthless she was.
Ellie dropped to her knees. ‘Help me, help me, I don’t know what to do.’
Around her, she could hear Dorothy and Gladys, still singing, their voices shooting up into the heavens like bursts of hope.
Now Soul Flyer, a voice seemed to whisper across the ages. Now. You don’t need to understand it all. Remember, breathe and trust.
Discarded where she’d thrown it, the hag stone flashed, reflecting the red and yellow of the flames. Without taking her eyes off its its central core, Ellie tilted back her head and poured out a single defiant note. It was all she could do; it was all she had left.
Then she launched herself through the fire at her friend. They hit the ground and rolled across the muddy earth as a brilliant, piercing light shot into the night.
Iridescent, and as true as an arrow, it soared beyond the circle of witches, and up through the darkness above. Lightning scattered, and beneath the peak of the massive thunderhead, deep gashes of angry purple radiated outwards through the storm. The cloud pulsed, roiled, its underside darkening as the concentrated beam of light pierced its central point. Resolute and without pause, brightness enveloped the funnel, following it down to earth, draining its fury, pulling the massive storm down into the centre of the stone.
THIRTY-FIVE
Blue Mountains, Australia, present day
‘Rose, get up!’ Ben gasped. The heat was suffocating, and his eyes burned. A thunderous crack erupted overhead, shaking the cottage as though the roof was about to be split open. Embers pelted the window. Oxygen tore from the room. ‘Come on!’ Choking and crying with terror he ran out into the night.
The forest was ablaze.
Ben stumbled down the stairs and fell gasping to the ground. They were going to die. Help us. Lord Help us.
A roar of fury erupted, so hot Ben convulsed as his breath was sucked out of his lungs. He turned, horrified, expecting to see Rose fleeing the chaos, sure that flames were engulfing the cottage.
He stared. A column of incandescent light blazed. Blue-white and interwoven with sheets of red and gold, it soared up through the roof and into the heavens above, oblite
rating the surrounding shadows.
As if in response, thunder boomed and a searing brightness flashed so acute Ben fell backwards to the ground, his arm up shielding his eyes. Wind roared.
Ben curled into a tiny ball to protect his body from the assault.
Overhead thunder cracked again, and cold, hard drops of rain poured out of the sky. Hitting his skin, they pummelled the earth, quenching the fire, and fell in great streaming torrents over the cottage.
Dazed, Ben struggled to sit up, as branches fell hissing to the ground around him. The wind intensified and he saw, spreading out over the forest, a vast curtain of falling water. Flames flared and sparked as they were extinguished, and the earth around him turned to mud.
Ben ran inside. His clothes were sodden. On the floor, Rose was moaning, her eyelids fluttering. Her dress was torn, and burn marks and lacerations were seared across her face.
‘Help me,’ Rose cried. ‘Help me.’
She fell sobbing on to the floor. ‘He tried to kill me.’
Ben dropped to his knees. ‘Thank God, you’re alright,’ he crooned. ‘Look outside. Rose, look. Our prayers were answered.’
‘No.’ She shook him off. ‘My father has gone mad.’
Ben grasped her hand. ‘No, Rose, we’re safe. Your father is a man of the Lord-’
‘No!’ Wrenching herself free, Rose staggered to her feet and leant against the wall with her eyes closed. ‘I just have to get out.’ She whispered weakly. ‘Now.’
‘Wait!’
Ignoring him, Rose stumbled out into the storm.
Quickly Ben surveyed the room. His sister lay on the sofa. Her hands by her side, she looked peaceful. At her feet, Matthew was stirring. He moaned and clutched his head. Then he sat up. Ben couldn’t see if Rose’s father needed help; he hesitated, unsure. In the corner, an old woman lay motionless with a great red gash open along her face.
‘Ben!’ Rose cried.
At that moment Matthew rushed past him and without a word lurched out into the torrential rain. Ben jumped to his feet, and as he turned he saw a dark shape glinting on the floor, no bigger than his thumb. The obsidian stone - Rose wore it everyday hanging on a silver chain. Ben grabbed it. He smiled in relief. This will make her feel safe. She never let it out of her sight.
Whispering a quick prayer of gratitude, Ben ran out into the miraculous storm.
THIRTY- SIX
New Forest, England, 1944
Stars shone in a clear sky. Ellie sat on a bench overlooking the sea. Miss Dorothy and Miss Gladys had gone indoors for a chat and a cup of tea, but Ellie hadn’t wanted to follow; she needed to sit on the edge of the cliff in silence and think of nothing at all.
Waves washed in, and Ellie watched as fluffy remnants of sea foam ebbed and flowed along the shingled beach. Yawning suddenly, the salty freshness stung her skin. Ellie felt awake and shivery with excitement, but she wasn't ready for the long cycle back to the village.
There was a slap of footsteps and Miss Dorothy appeared, clutching a silver thermos. Ellie smiled hello, her stomach rumbled. After a mutter of, ‘my old, poor knees,’ Miss Dorothy eased herself down. She produced a small set of cups from her pocket, and poured out a stream of hot sweet tea.
‘The best kind,’ she murmured. ‘Why, if we had some toast that would be simply heavenly…’
Ellie let her friend extol the virtues of tea, toast and butter, the holy trinity of life, but she wasn't really listening. Taking another unhurried sip, she looked out. Dawn was beginning to break. In the grey light, the serrated streaks of last night’s storm wisped high above and in the last hour Ellie had watched as it slowly dispersed. Stars glittered, and low in the west she could see the shape of the setting moon.
‘I didn’t know it was full?’ She turned in surprise.
‘Oh yes.’ Miss Dorothy took a comfortable sip of tea and licked her lips. ‘Ah that's good. Yes, the full moon before the summer solstice, Tuesday, 6th June 1944, just before dawn and therefore in Sagittarius. Always my favourite, you know. It heralds freedom, adventure, and risks…’ She glanced at Ellie. ‘Maybe that's why you are here, my dear, you bring us adventures.’
‘Maybe…’ replied Ellie slowly. ‘But Miss Dorothy,’ she gestured back out to sea, ‘what’s all that about?’
In the silence of the predawn, Ellie had been watching black shapes leaving the mouth of the bay. They seemed to be ships, hundreds of them, steaming out, their hulls glinting as they bore through the water. Each one was packed so close together, it seemed she would be able to run across them all and never wet her feet.
As Ellie and Miss Dorothy studied them, other shapes appeared in tight formation over the top of the ships. As dark as shadows, they were hard to see in the gloomy light. Yet as they flew closer, the sound grew and Ellie felt a rippling shockwave in her chest. Bombers, hundreds of bombers roared overhead, heading over the wide tranquil sea.
‘Oh my God,’ she whispered, unable to believe what she was seeing. ‘This is the English Channel, isn’t it?’
Miss Dorothy nodded.
‘And today is the 6th of June 1944? Oh my God, it’s World War Two, D-Day. We were studying it in history at school. I can’t believe it.’ Ellie shook her head in wonder. ‘This is crazy. We saw a documentary about D-Day in class. I remember it, people were talking about the storm – “the worst storm in forty years”, an old guy said. And he’d been there. “The Germans weren’t expecting anything, and we snuck in and clobbered the lot of them.”’
As Ellie spoke, another mass of planes buzzed low over the ships. These ones were much smaller - hundreds of them, flying in a tight V formation close to the waves. A moment later, they lifted higher and screamed overhead, like angry hornets blackening the sky, heading for the beaches of France.
‘Dorothy? Do you know what this means?’ Ellie jumped to her feet. She felt like running, jumping around with excitement. ‘We did it. It was us. The guy in the film said the break in the weather had been a miracle.’
‘A miracle and I think it was,’ whispered Dorothy. As she watched the planes disappear into the horizon, her eyes glistened with tears. ‘Tell me,’ she said, after wiping her nose delicately on her handkerchief. ‘Tell me, Ellie, do we win? Do we get rid of that nasty Adolf Hitler?’
‘Oh yes’, smiled Ellie broadly. ‘Yes we do.’
✽✽✽
Ellie woke with a feeling of warmth drifting gently across her face. She stirred, too sleepy and too comfortable to move much more. From the window, came the twitter of tiny birds as they skitted through the leaves.
Her stomach rumbled and a few seconds later, the door opened after a quick knock.
‘Good morning, dear,’ Miss Dorothy bustled in, a red scarf covering her curls and a large wooden tray balanced in her grasp.
‘Oh, I should get up -’ Guiltily, Ellie pushed back the bed covers.
‘No no,’ the old lady smiled. ‘This is your last morning with us, and I’ve made you something extra nice. Besides, you have slept virtually a whole day and night and you must be starving.’
‘Really?’ Sitting up, Ellie glanced out the window. The light sparkled, glinting with the special quality that came after a good saturating rain. With a chirrup of welcome, Queenie jumped up onto the bed and settled heavily, his purr made a loud vibrating rumble over her legs.
‘They are strange beings, aren’t they,’ began the old lady, eyeing the trees outside.
‘What are?’
‘Well, spirits, faeries, those type of beings. I never really spent much time with them before…’ she gestured towards Ellie. ‘And I don't know anything about them really, except of course what I read in the old tales.’
‘But I thought you worked with them all the time?’
‘Yes, with our family weather spirits, they come as a matter of course. But those ones, the ones you work with, the faeries that come out of the trees, the grass –’ she turned back to the window. ‘They’re all new to me.’
‘Me to
o,’ mumbled Ellie. ‘They just sort of appear all by themselves.’
The old lady nodded and handed Ellie a steaming cup of tea. ‘Now, I’ve made you a special tea cake, it took a few eggs and a bit of flour which was hard to get with the war on, and I know it’s early but we’re worth it.’
Queenie watched them both silently through his big orange eyes as they finished the rest of the cake. Miss Dorothy brushed down her skirt and stood up, ‘I expect you’ll be impatient to go?’ she said, picking up the tray.
Ellie looked up at her in surprise.
‘Home,’ said the old lady, ‘isn’t it time to know what’s going on in your world?’
For a brief blissful moment of peace and cake, Ellie had completely forgotten.
‘Oh,’ she stared up at Miss Dorothy. ‘I’ll miss you-’ and to her horror, a tear ran down her cheek.
Miss Dorothy laughed. ‘Oh be off with you, it’s not that bad,’ her blue eyes twinkled. ‘You can always come back here for a visit, you know, you just need to leave something behind,’ she pursed her lips wistfully.
Ellie laughed. ‘And I’ll bring you back your hag stone.’
‘Oh don’t worry about that. I had a feeling it was going to leave me soon anyway, off to greener pastures as they say. Objects of power do that, you know, we can never keep them for good, they have their own journeys.’
‘Miss Dorothy?’ Ellie was quiet for a moment.
‘What is it, dear?’
‘Last night … my friend, Rose, she was here. I’m sure of it. But...’ Her voice trailed off. ‘I don’t understand. How did she get here? Do you know? It doesn't make sense…’ Ellie frowned.
‘Well I expect a lot doesn’t make sense, just yet. My advice is not to fret over it too much, my dear - important things have a habit of making themselves clear, just when you least expect it.
Miss Dorothy nodded, ‘I’ll just sort this lot out,’ and taking the tray she hurried off down the hallway. ‘Oh!’ she shouted, her voice echoing off the confined walls, ‘speaking of objects of power, I have something here for you.’ With that her small busy footsteps pattered away into silence.
Soul Flyer Page 30