by Nick Moseley
‘Granddad!’ he called out in a cracked voice.
The relief when he saw a twitch of movement in response was almost overwhelming.
‘Stay down, we’re coming!’ Trev let his companions catch up with him and they fought their way to Granddad, forming a protective circle around him while he struggled to his feet.
‘All right, we’ll escort you to the path and counter-attack the barghests to give you cover while you get away,’ said Deacon. ‘Oscar’s waiting there, he’ll lead you back to your car, Bernard.’
‘All right,’ said Granddad.
Trev reached out and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Considering his ordeal, Granddad appeared to be holding up well. He returned Trev’s gesture with a nod and the four of them set off, the three vapour weapons keeping the barghests at bay.
‘What about Smith?’ Trev asked Deacon.
The purple glow of then lantern was still visible near the centre of the clearing. Smith had given up trying to control the whole pack of barghests and had instead reined in a smaller group, perhaps half the total number. These were arranged in a loose circle around him. Smith was obviously doing his best to escape but was being thwarted by the rest of the barghests, which were attacking anything that moved. The effort of retaining control meant that he couldn’t just run for it, and if that concentration slipped he’d be chased down and torn apart. He’d effectively trapped himself.
‘He’s not going anywhere for now,’ Deacon said. ‘Let’s get Bernard clear first.’
Trev was wholly behind that suggestion. They got Granddad to the trees and found the path. The barghests shadowed them all the way, though more and more were being drawn into the mass brawl surrounding Jack Smith. Oscar was perched on a tree branch, watching events in the clearing with amused interest.
‘I’ve got him from here,’ the kitten said. ‘You kids go and enjoy yourselves.’
Trev was too worried about his psychic energy running out to think of a sarcastic response. The next order of business was to keep the barghests occupied so none of them followed Granddad into the woods. Fortunately the beasts had the collective attention span of a sleep-deprived goldfish, so they lost interest in the old man as soon as he was out of sight. The three vapour weapons were quite a distraction for them anyway.
Trev, Desai and Deacon battled back into the clearing, driving the persistent barghests ahead of them. When they’d created themselves a little breathing space, Trev glanced at his companions.
‘What now?’ he asked. ‘I’m running on fumes here.’
Desai reached into her jacket and pulled out the kris. ‘Found this just lying around,’ she said, raising her eyebrows. ‘Let’s put it to use.’
Forty-Three
Trev puffed out his cheeks and somehow kept a lid on his enthusiasm. With Granddad safely away his instinct was to follow suit and leave Smith to the barghests. He knew the two Custodians wouldn’t see it that way, though. They wanted to make sure Smith met his end that night.
‘All right then,’ Trev said. ‘Plan?’
‘No need for anything complicated,’ Desai replied. ‘Smith’s cornered himself, so we just have to thrash our way through the barghests to reach him.’
‘It’s definitely uncomplicated,’ Trev agreed, ‘but if we take out Smith, what happens to his doggies?’
‘We’re relying on your Plan C there,’ said Deacon. ‘Worst case scenario, we’ll have to fight our way out.’
Trev shrugged. ‘Let’s get on with it then.’
‘Go hard and fast,’ said Deacon.
He set off at a run, Desai alongside him. Trev trailed a little behind. He didn’t have any choice but to let his two companions do most of the work. The little energy he had left he was holding back for a last-ditch, life-or-death situation.
Reaching Smith’s defensive line proved fairly straightforward. The barghests not under his control seemed fed up of being smacked by vapour weapons and made only a half-hearted effort to impede the Custodians. They were more interested in fighting each other. Trev didn’t know anything about the social habits of hellhounds, but on the evidence in front of him they didn’t play nicely in groups if left to their own devices. If only I had a video camera, he thought. I could’ve filmed all this and sold the footage to David Attenborough for a documentary.
‘Why are they fighting?’ he asked himself.
They’re pack animals, lad, replied Caladbolg, and the pack has to have an alpha. The beasts not under Smith’s control are scrapping for dominance. It’s ingrained in them. The demon realms are a harsh place and even a pack of barghests won’t last long there without strong leadership.
‘Attenborough couldn’t have explained it better,’ said Trev. ‘Cheers.’
Who’s this Attenborough fella? asked Caladbolg. A mighty warrior?
‘It’d take too long to explain,’ Trev said. He doubted Caladbolg had any idea what a television programme was. He doubted Caladbolg even knew what a television was, come to that. Ancient weapons didn’t consume much in the way of popular culture, though considering the standard of most TV programming that was probably a good thing.
Trev scrambled to keep up with Deacon and Desai, who were on a mission. They’d carved themselves a path through the general melee and had come up against Smith’s bodyguard. Smith himself had been working his way towards the back of the clearing, looking for an escape route. His problem was that controlling the agitated barghests was an ongoing exertion, and as a result all he could manage in terms of movement was a slow backwards shuffle.
The line of hellhounds in front of Smith growled and barked. Spittle flew, orange eyes glared and jaws snapped. Even the hardiest postman wouldn’t deliver to this address. The two Custodians, however, barely broke stride. Deacon swung his Zweihänder in broad arcs, hammering barghests out of the way. Desai weaved through the chaos, following up Deacon’s attacks and making sure they didn’t get surrounded.
Trev mostly stood and watched them work. He batted away a couple of barghests that got too close and put on his best “badass” facial expression so everyone would know he was helping.
‘Trev!’ called Desai. ‘Here!’
She threw him the kris, which he managed to catch without stabbing himself or losing any fingers. He looked up. The two Custodians had almost broken through the wall of barghests.
‘We’ll make you a path,’ Desai said. ‘Get ready!’
Trev set himself and waited for his chance. It wasn’t long in coming.
Deacon unleashed a massive swipe that started somewhere near the ground and finished with his hands at head height. Two barghests were lifted off the feet and flung across the clearing. To Deacon’s right, Desai spun into a flurry of precision strikes that were almost faster than Trev’s eye could follow. Hit repeatedly by an enemy that couldn’t be hit back, the barghests retreated.
Trev ran into the gap the two Custodians had formed. Ahead of him was Jack Smith, yellow teeth bared in his ruined face. A single barghest stood in the way, looking slightly panicked at being abandoned by its comrades so suddenly. Trev swung Caladbolg as he ran, connecting with the creature’s chin and knocking it aside. Now Smith was unguarded and exposed. This was the end.
Trev ran two more steps and his psychic energy ran out.
The effect was like being tackled by a twenty-stone prop forward after a long run-up. All Trev’s aches and pains collapsed back in on him. His legs gave way and he sprawled onto the frozen mud. Both Caladbolg and the kris fell from his grip and skidded away from him. His vision blurred; the barghest poison was still in his system, although the effects weren’t as potent. The vapour weapon had used some of his energy to neutralise it. Even so, it was still enough to debilitate him. He could barely get onto his knees.
‘Trev!’ shouted Deacon.
The barghests had regrouped and driven the Custodians back. Trev, not Smith, was now the isolated one. Nearby snarling told him at least a couple of hellhounds had been held back from the c
ounter-attack to deal with him. Still he couldn’t get on his feet.
He turned his head and saw a flash of orange as one of the beasts charged him. There was a second flash, this time green, and the slavering black shape disappeared.
‘On your feet, sir, unless you wish to die here,’ said a voice.
Trev looked up. Ezekiel Barker stood over him, his vapour weapon a blur as he kept another pair of barghests at bay.
‘Barker?’ he croaked, disbelieving. ‘What?’
‘On your feet,’ Barker snapped.
Trev made an effort and got his uncooperative feet underneath him. He rose unsteadily.
‘The kris,’ he said, eyes searching the mud for it. ‘We have to find it!’
‘No time,’ said Barker.
More barghests were coming to confront them. Trev’s gaze fell on Smith, who appeared to have given up on retreating. He was standing his ground and using all his strength to bring as many barghests back into the fight as he could. Deacon and Desai were being held by a wall of the creatures, and Barker was coming under increasing pressure himself.
‘Die!’ Smith grated, raising his lantern. Its light pulsed across them. ‘Die, you bastards!’
He stared at Trev in triumph, and Sarah stabbed him in the back with the kris.
Everything seemed to stop. Trev’s mouth hung open in shock. Even the barghests looked surprised.
Smith let out a howl of pain and the light from his lantern flared. A wave of psychic force struck Trev and he staggered back a step, clutching at Barker for support. The barghests went crazy, thrashing around, barking and whining. Trev blinked, clearing his vision, and saw Sarah running towards them. She dodged past the distracted hellhounds and caught Trev as he wavered on his feet again.
‘Bloody hell,’ Trev said. ‘Did you kill him?’
‘I think not,’ said Barker.
Smith was clawing at his shoulder. He caught hold of the knife’s hilt and pulled it free. He didn’t look happy, but neither was he falling over dead. He pointed the kris at them in accusation.
‘A demon weapon,’ he shouted at them. ‘You thought this would be enough? Back-stabbing cowards!’
He threw the kris down. It stuck in the ground, quivering.
‘Shit,’ said Trev.
‘Time to go,’ said Sarah.
Barker nodded. ‘Indeed.’
Smith lifted his lantern again. Trev could almost see him gathering his strength. His anger at Sarah’s attack seemed to have given him renewed purpose. The barghests were no longer thrashing on the ground. They were rising to their feet. Growls issued from their throats. Orange eyes narrowed.
‘Come on,’ said Sarah.
Barker put out an arm, encouraging them to get behind him. He began backing away, weapon raised. The barghests’ growls rose to an ear-buzzing volume, then abruptly stopped. Smith said two words into the silence.
‘Kill them.’
The hellhounds exploded into motion, filling the air with howls. If Smith’s control over the beasts had been complete, his enemies would have been overwhelmed in a few seconds. Having been wound up and unleashed, though, not all of the barghests followed his instructions. Some of them began fighting each other again, and those got in the way of the others. Even so, Trev found himself staring down quite a few clashing sets of teeth.
‘Run!’ said Sarah.
Adrenaline overrode Trev’s lingering unsteadiness. He went with her as she set out for the cover of the trees. What they’d do if they got there was anybody’s guess, but that wasn’t the immediate problem. Barker covered their retreat, snapping off a few shots from his revolver which knocked the front row of barghests off their feet.
Trev glanced across and saw Smith was on the move as well. He was shuffling away from them, towards the back of the clearing. Their gazes locked and Smith grinned at him. There was no humour in the expression, just arrogance. The knowledge that, once again, he’d beaten his pursuers. He could vanish into the dark, unpunished and unrepentant, as he’d done so many times over the years.
Trev read all that on his face. Bad Trev did too, and it responded. Without thinking about it, he changed direction so he was running towards Smith. Sarah reached the tree-line and looked back, seeing Trev heading in the wrong direction.
‘Trev!’ she shouted. ‘What are you doing?’
He didn’t have the breath to answer. Some part of him was aware that he was running to his death; however it was almost worth it to see the self-satisfied expression falling from Smith’s crumbling face as he saw Trev rushing him in a determined half-stagger.
Something else was happening in the clearing. Until now the light had been mostly provided by a combination of glowing eyes, vapour weapons and an evil lantern. As Trev ran, though, he could see a pale luminescence spreading around him. Smith had noticed it too, and his eyes flickered left and right uncertainly as Trev closed in on him.
The kris was still sticking in the ground and Trev broke stride to pick it up. Smith was waving his lantern, trying to bring some of the barghests back to his defence. He was having about as much success as a supply teacher with a class of unruly sixth-formers. The majority of the hellhounds were throwing themselves against the three vapour weapons of Barker, Desai and Deacon, who’d arranged themselves back-to-back. The others were tearing lumps out of each other. One stray charged to intercept Trev, but when it saw the kris in his hand it changed its mind.
Trev put his head down and threw himself at Smith in a clumsy rugby tackle. Smith smashed him across the shoulders with his lantern, but it was a glancing blow. Trev drove him backwards for a few steps before he lost his footing and they both fell.
Trev had the advantage of being on top, but Smith’s unnatural strength evened things up. He was able to hold the kris away with one hand as Trev, teeth bared, tried to stab him with it. The lantern thumped into Trev’s ribs and he was forced to roll off, gasping for breath. He raised the kris again, this time in defence, and Smith knocked it out of his hand, following up with a vicious kick that sent Trev sprawling.
‘Some might praise your spirit, boy,’ Smith snarled, ‘but not me. It’s not courage to throw yourself against a stronger and more experienced opponent, it’s stupidity. And now you’ll die for it. What else did you expect?’
Trev wheezed out a laugh. ‘Just… stalling you,’ he said.
Smith looked up. The pale luminescence had spread; the trees around the edge of the clearing were shimmering with white light. As the two men watched, streamers of it detached themselves from the branches and floated inwards. They were drawn to the barghests, the vapour weapons… and Smith’s lantern.
‘What… what is it?’ Smith stammered. He backed away from Trev, but the light was drifting towards him from every direction.
‘This?’ Trev replied, sitting up with one arm cradling his bruised ribs. ‘This is Plan C.’
The barghests were panicking as the glowing streamers converged on them. Where the light made contact, black essence fizzed into the air. The hellhounds whined and flung themselves on the ground as if they could rub the streamers off. It didn’t work. Each of them was soon enveloped in white light. The hulking beasts were being dissolved before Trev’s eyes, sinking into the ground.
‘Trev!’ shouted Deacon from the tree-line. ‘Get out!’
The noise from the barghests was fading, and behind it Trev could hear the sound of many voices, rising and falling in a rhythmic chant. He knew Deacon was right, and that he ought to move, but he’d reached the limit of his endurance. Just lying down and letting it all end seemed like the least painful option.
‘No!’ shouted Smith. He was flapping his arm frantically as the streamers began to settle on him. The purple glow inside his lantern was being dragged to the top, nearest his hand. ‘Get it away from me!’
‘Wouldn’t if I could,’ Trev replied. Although most of the light was homing in on Smith, one or two streamers appeared to be taking an interest in Trev too.
‘I
’ll give you anything,’ Smith screeched. ‘Anything! Stop this!’
‘I can’t,’ Trev said. ‘I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not.’
‘No! No!’ Smith brushed at his arm. He couldn’t dislodge the wisps of light. His forearm was covered in them. The top of the lantern was beginning to glow purple. It spread to the handle as the white light drew his soul back into his body. Smith stared at it in horror. His eyes snapped to Trev.
‘If I have to go, then you can join me!’ He staggered to where Trev was sitting, reaching out for his neck with his free hand. ‘I’ll be the first person you see in Hell!’
The purple glow passed from the lantern’s handle to Smith’s hand. He gasped as, for the first time in centuries, his soul took up residence in his body. His eyes bulged. A puff of breath left his mouth. His hand clutched at his chest. And then he died.
His body thumped to the ground. Trev turned away from it. Everything was becoming faint and blurry. He could hear voices calling his name. Sitting up was painful and he let himself fall onto his back. Above him he could see the streamers of light against the starry sky. It was quite beautiful.
Dorothy Walcott said the end was coming, he thought. Looks like she was right.
He closed his eyes.
Forty-Four
‘Trev?’ someone was shaking him.
The voice seemed to be coming from a long way off, or down a very bad telephone line.
‘What is it? The barghest bites?’
‘I’ve given him a shot for that,’ said a second voice, equally muffled. ‘It’s just exhaustion, I think.’
‘Trev?’
He felt himself being shaken again. Nerves came to life. Sensation returned. The ground was cold and wet beneath him. His ribs and shoulders ached. All things considered, unconsciousness was preferable. He wanted to return to it and this cruel person wouldn’t let him.