Clive Barker's First Tales

by Clive Barker

  As worthless as a maiden's tears.

  When he had finished singing the song, except for the wind, there was utter silence.

  "What does the song mean?" Gwen asked.

  "It's a song of leading," he replied. "It tells that all is not what it may seem. That we walk believing we know where the world ends, but we delude ourselves. Look at the stars. Some say that they are holes in heaven, others that they are candles lit in a great darkness. But I have talked with some men who believe that they are bigger than candles by far."

  "They are," said Graham. "They are. They're like the sun, and some of them are being born, and others are dying. They are all suns like our sun, but they look small because they are so far away."

  "Indeed."

  "I've got a book on astronomy at home."

  "The science seems more advanced in your world."

  "It is. We know what the stars are made of, and how many light-years they are away from us."

  "Light-years. I don't know what that can mean, but it is a fine sounding word. You must tell me more of these matters, my boy, if we have a moment."

  A shooting star flashed in the sky, burning out abruptly. They watched it fall.

  Suddenly, from the direction in which they had come, there drifted a sound like the shrieking of many birds. For a few breathless moments it stained the night, and then sank away.

  "What was that?" whispered Graham.

  "They have discovered that we have eluded them," said Darach simply, "and they are angry. Come. We have some way to go yet, and the hour approaches..."

  They set off once again, striding through the night. Presently the moon fell away and the stars began to fade. The gloom that the children had seen on that first morning crept over the world.

  "We must be more careful than ever at this time," said Darach, "for the night is holy, and we were safe after a fashion. The moon is a power of light. But here, in this darkness, when there is no sun or moon, we are unsafe. Don't speak at all if you can avoid it. In the unnatural hush our voices will carry miles, and the horsemen have sharp ears. If anything does happen, obey me to the letter, if you care for your lives. The horsemen are close."

  Now there was a nightmarish quality to their journey. The land that they were crossing was marshy, and each step was soggy and uncertain. Often they were up to their knees in clinging, oozing mud. As they became accustomed to the gloom, they could just see the expanses of flat marshland they were crossing, to right and left of them, but though they strained both eyes and ears they neither saw nor heard the dreaded pursuers. Occasionally a marsh-bird would screech, a blood-curdling cry which froze them in their tracks. Then they would all sigh and plod on through the mud.

  A cool wind had sprung up, smelling of the sea. It was a fresh, clean smell, and although the wind chilled them, they were glad of it.

  Now they had left the marsh behind them and were walking on dry sand, which hissed beneath their feet. Softly, on the wind, came the lisping of the sea. They walked on. Finally Darach called a halt.

  "This dismal gloom," he whispered. "I can't find my way in it. The Beacon can't be that far. But it's the tide. It plays tricks. Comes in quickly and surrounds you. We must be careful."

  Now the sand beneath their feet was no longer soft and dry, but damp and hard-packed. Though they tried to keep the sound of the sea to their right they could tell by the ripples on the sand that tide would soon cover the place where they stood. Though they scanned the horizon as hard as they could for the beacon tower, the gloom seemed deeper and more impenetrable than ever before.

  "It isn't just the gloom," whispered Colin to the others. "There's a sort of sea-mist."

  "We'd better hurry," said Darach. "The tide's coming in."

  "If we can't find the Beacon – we'd better go back the way we came and wait for the sun to come up," suggested Colin.

  "A sensible idea. Come on."

  They turned back. But they had only walked a few yards when they were up to their ankles in water.

  "We've come the wrong way," said Graham. "We're walking into the sea."

  "This way then!"

  They headed in another direction. But the water was encroaching that way too.

  "The wind is off the sea," said Darach. "Therefore, if we sprint with the wind to our backs –"

  "It is to our backs," said Gwen, "but there's water ahead of us."

  "Maybe it isn't very deep. Just a stream perhaps," said Colin, and taking hold of Darach's staff, he waded in up to his knees.

  The Beacon

  Suddenly the sun broke above the edge of the maggot-cloud and flooded the world with light.

  The tide was still rising, and they were marooned on a large sandbank in the middle of the estuary. Ahead, a stone's throw away, stood the Beacon-tower, grey and squat, rising above the sea mist on a small rocky island. But between them and it was a swirling and eddying stretch of water.

  "We can swim it," said Graham.

  "Never!" said Darach. "The current will pull you under in a flash."

  "What can we do then?"

  "Hope that the Keeper has an eye out for -" he stopped suddenly.

  "What is it?" asked Graham.

  Darach said nothing, but stared at a spot not four yards in front of the party. The sand was liquefying for something below the surface was moving. Two stick-like objects reared from out of the sand.

  "What on earth -"

  "Too late! Too late!" yelled Darach, "Back! Back!"

  "Which way?"

  "Any way!"

  "But the water! We're surrounded!"

  The sticks were eyes. The sand shifted and the shiny green back of a huge crab emerged. Like some ghastly machine, it dragged itself from its sandy bed and stood in the swirling water upon its many-jointed legs, huge claws clicking, mouthparts dripping.

  "What kind of crab is this?" cried Colin. "It's as big as a man!"

  "And it's between us and the tower."

  They backed off slowly, while the crab lowered its eyestalks into the forty-five degree position and cleaned them with its claws. Behind them, the channel had widened, and the current was fast.

  "Water all round – and that thing ahead of us."

  "Maybe if we confused it –" suggested Graham.

  "Had you any confusing tricks in mind?" replied Colin sarcastically.

  "No! I mean, if we were to yell and wave our arms and –"

  The crab had stopped cleaning itself. It was watching them. They stared back.

  "Surely they must be able to see us from the tower. Why don't they get a boat and do something?" cried Gwen.

  "Maybe the horsemen got here first," said Colin grimly.

  Suddenly Darach cried, "Stay where you are!" And throwing down his bag and taking his staff in both hands he ran towards the crab making the most terrifying noise, which became a sort of chant:

  Beware, O crab, I see thee! Hear thee!

  When I catch thee I shall eat thee! I shall tear thy limbs from off thee! O thou monster!

  Beware, I, waiting,

  In the early light of morning! Waiting! Waiting! Waiting!

  The crab scuffled sideways, bewildered by this attack, its claws snapping the air. Darach seized his advantage, and swung round on the creature, landing it a resounding blow on the leg. There was a crack, but the crab was unbowed.

  It seized the end of Darach's staff in a vice-like grip. Darach tightened his grip on the other end, and there followed a mock-dance, with man and crab waltzing round and round each other with only the staff's length between Darach and the deadly claws.

  "Quickly!" yelled Graham. "We've got to help him." And the three of them rushed forward.

  "Get out of the way," Darach commanded, but they took no notice.

  They ducked under and around the six scuttling legs, kicking and yelling. But the crab's shell was all but impenetrable.

  Suddenly Gwen said, "Turn it over! Turn it over like a turtle! Turn it over!"

  Darach was now ti
ring of the struggle and the crab's free claw was snapping dangerously close to his head. Colin grabbed hold of the staff with him, and tugged. The crab, suddenly presented with another enemy, seized the staff with his other claw. The struggle became furious and confused. The crab scuttled to right and left, legs moving like pistons.

  "Graham!" Colin yelled. "Get hold of the staff with us. Gwen - get out of the way!"

  "Not likely," Gwen said, and grabbed hold of the staff with the others. The crab's attempts to wrestle with the staff became more furious. "Tip it over to the right!" cried Darach. "Now!"

  Suddenly all four of them wrenched the staff over, and the crab, refusing to let go, went with it. Its legs sprawled in all directions, and it fell over sideways.

  "On to its back!" Darach cried, and with one final heaving of the staff the crab was thrown on to its back, legs vainly pedalling the air.

  It relinquished its grip on the staff in order to get up again. As it did so, Colin seized the staff and brought it down on the crab. Once. Twice. Three times.

  Suddenly a voice said, "Stand back!"

  And before they knew it, a figure had stepped forward, and with a harpoon, dispatched the struggling crab.

  "Hardly a timely entrance," said Darach to the Keeper.

  "Get into the boat," the Keeper said, not smiling, "or you'll be drowning. The tide's still rising."

  Though the battle had seemed to last hours, it had in fact encompassed no more than a minute or two, and the sand-bank on which they were standing was now no more than a few feet across, and disappearing rapidly.

  They got into the boat and the Keeper began to row towards the Beacon. He was a burly, low-browed man, with a short, greying beard, and the expression on his face was like thunder. He didn't look at Darach or the children, but pulled on the oars, and kept his eyes down. Eventually, the keel of the bow grated on the shingle of Beacon Island.

  "Get out," the Keeper ordered.

  One by one they get out of the little boat and stood on the beach while the Keeper dragged it out of the water and tied it up.

  "You'd best come inside," he said sullenly. "Get those clothes dry."

  He swung open the heavy oak door and led the way up a flight of slippery stone steps in a large, single-windowed room. A small fire was burning in the grate.

  "Sit down," he said.

  "I'd better introduce you," said Darach. "Gwen - Colin – Graham, this is the Keeper of the Beacon."

  "How d'you do?" said Gwen.

  "Pleased to meet you," said Colin.

  "Likewise I'm sure," added Graham.

  The Keeper said nothing, but sniffed and set about cooking some fish for breakfast. Darach did not seem surprised by his strange silence, but took the books out of his bag, which had begun to float as the tide came in, and dried them in front of the fire. Only when the Keeper went out for some more driftwood for the fire did Colin say:

  "He's a bit odd isn't he? He hasn't said more than half a dozen words since we arrived."

  "He lives alone," explained Darach. "Doesn't need to talk much."

  "But what about the sailors and the captains, all the ships that come up the estuary?"

  "No ship has been up the estuary for the past fifty years. Too much silt."

  "Is the Beacon still lit?"

  "No. There's no reason to light it. And there never will be. Eventually the sea will recede completely, and this place will be left in the middle of the dunes."

  "An island in the sand?"

  "That's right."

  "How strange."

  They breakfasted well, and dried their clothes. Just as they were settling down to catch up on some of their lost sleep they heard the rhythmic beating of a large drum. They ran to the window. Coming up the estuary, born on the rippled surface of the water like a magnificently plumed bird, was a barge. It was painted in gold and red, and two huge banners furled and snapped from poles at its stern. The prow was carved like a three-headed dragon, bright green and gold, and the six oarsmen were also in those colors. Sitting forward of the oarsmen was a gentleman with a feathered hat, beating out the rhythm on a huge drum. But the most arresting figure in the barge was that of a lady wrapped in furs, sitting towards the stern of the boat, looking neither to right or left, with Wake-Robin sitting beside her.

  "Oh no, " said Darach, turning away from the window.

  "What's wrong?" asked Graham.

  "She said she was just going to send an official –"

  "Who did?"

  "But she's here! That's her!"

  "Who has? Who is?"

  "The Queen, my boy, the Queen herself!"

  The Queen

  A shout. The oars were raised, dripping, from the swirling water. The barge glided in under its own momentum and grated up the shingle, coming to a shuddering halt. The man sitting in the bows of the barge stood up, unrolled a manuscript, and announced to the empty beach:

  "Her Majesty The Queen."

  The door of the Beacon Tower was flung open, and Darach and the Keeper emerged, followed by the children. They all bowed as the Queen stepped from the barge, trailing her long robes in the water. The man in the bows, seeing this unfortunate circumstance, and yet not wishing to get his feet wet saving the robes, leaned over the side of the barge and took hold of them. Unfortunately, at this very moment, the Queen, oblivious of his efforts to preserve the splendour of her attire, carried on up the beach, dragging the gallant gentleman over the side and into the water.

  The oarsmen, who had been watching this comic mime with spreading smiles, broke into laughter, which was immediately suppressed when the Queen turned her eyes on him.

  "Benedick?" she said slowly, addressing the unfortunate gentleman in the water. "What do you think you're doing?"

  "I – well –I – you – dropped your – er –"

  "Well don't," the Queen said.

  "No, ma'am."

  "And do get up. We really haven't any time for acrobatics."

  "I apologise, ma'am."

  He struggled out of the water, muddied from head to foot, the ostrich feather in his hat looking like a wilted flower.

  "You look wet," the Queen said.

  The gentleman sneezed.

  "Go in and change."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  He waddled up the beach.

  "Benedick?"

  "Yes ma'am?"

  "Dismiss the men first."

  "Of course, ma'am. Er – right men – er – dismiss."

  The oarsmen lowered the oars and placed them in the bottom of the barge, while Benedick hurried up the beach, wringing out his cloak, and trying his best not to look undignified. He encountered the children at the tower-door, coughed, bowed, turned crimson with embarrassment, and hurriedly squelched up the stairs.

  Darach was speaking with the Queen.

  "We weren't expecting you, your Majesty."

  "What you mean is you were praying I wouldn't come."

  "Oh, your Majesty –"

  "I know I'm a cantankerous old lady, there's no need to ply me with compliments. Are these the children?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Approach," she commanded. They did so.

  "Hello," said Graham.

  "Bow," hissed Darach through clenched teeth.

  "What?"

  "Bow."

  "Oh."

  Graham and Colin bowed very low, and Gwen curtsied. The Queen regarded them with eyes as clear and blue as a young girl's. Her high cheekbones, wide, slightly pinched mouth and long, pale neck gave her a look of great nobility. Everything about her person spoke of Queenship; her features, her voice, her graceful bearing, and the way her long-fingered, many-ringed hands fluttered here and there like careless birds.

  "I don't know what we can be thinking of –" she said, a look of deep concern altering her face completely, "believing they can help us."

  "They can, ma'am," replied Darach.

  "Well, well, we shall see. It's really very much a question of what alternative we h
ave, isn't it? Never let it be said that I didn't examine all the possibilities. I should prefer open warfare of course. I have never found intrigue very palatable. I may very well get a chill coming here."

  "Your majesty does a great honour -" began Darach.

  "Oh, away with you, you old flatterer, you're sick of the sight of me already!" She smiled at Darach. It was the kind of smile you give to an old friend. Darach smiled a little too.

  "We couldn't risk the palace, ma'am."

  "All the same you might have chosen a slightly less obscure rendezvous. It may appeal to your sense of drama, but really -"

  "I'm sorry, ma'am"

  "You're not sorry in the slightest."

  "If you say not, ma'am. Shall we go in?"

  "That's the first sensible thing you've said. My feet are like blocks of ice."

  They went into the tower and up the steps, the Queen's wet train flapping behind her and sounding rather like a wet frog following her up the stairs.

  Benedick was seated in front of the fire, shivering.

  "Benedick!" said the Queen as she swept through the door.

  The poor man leapt to his feet.

  "Ma'am."

  "Arrange for the men to feed and so on."

  "Yes, Your Majesty."

  He exited.

  "Close the door, will you?" she said.

  Colin did so.

  "Now, what about him?" She pointed to the Keeper.

  "He's trustworthy," said Darach.

  "Very well, sit down, will you? I could do with a glass of wine." The Keeper poured out a cup of wine.

  "How much have you told them, Darach?" she said.

  "Very little."

  "Well, where shall I begin? I want you to listen carefully to what I have to tell you, my dears. You see, at this moment, this land and the one which you once lived in, are in great peril."

  "From the cloud?" said Gwen.

  "Yes, my dear. From the cloud. A time ago now, in a country that lay, but lies no longer, to the East of here, over the mountains, there ruled a lord by the name of Elz-raal-hiam. It has been said of this gentleman, though I never knew him personally, that there never ruled a man with a colder heart. What he desired was dominion over as many lands as he could get his hands on, including this. He waged war on all his borders, and gradually his empire spread. But it wasn't enough apparently, for he turned to summonings and magic to mount further wealth and power. It is an old story. Many men have done so, and been consumed in their madness."