Spook's Destiny (14 page)

‘Tom! Tom!’ she cried. ‘Goodbye, Tom. Goodbye!’

At those words my heart surged up into my mouth and I could hardly breathe. Was this it? Was it really over at last? The Fiend had her in his clutches, and there was nothing more I could do to save her. But how would I live without Alice? Tears began to run down my face and I began to sob uncontrollably. It was the pain of imminent loss, yes, but also the pangs that came from my empathy with Alice.

We were so close I knew exactly what she was experiencing. I suffered what she suffered. Never again to be comfortable in this world; anticipating an eternity of pain and terror as her soul languished in the dark, at the mercy of the Fiend, who would devise endless tortures to repay her for the trouble and hurt she had caused him because of me. All because of me. It was just too much to bear.

A moment later it was over. There was a flash of light, a rumble of thunder, and a blast of hot wind searing into our faces. I screwed up my eyes, and when I was able to open them again, the Fiend had vanished, taking Alice with him.

Another pang of loss knotted my stomach. Alice was now beyond this world; never had I felt so alone. As Thin Shaun carried me, Scarabek walked close beside me, spitting cruel taunts.

Although she grinned with delight at my tears, which flowed as copiously as the rain that swept over us, I cared nothing for her heartless words. My tears were for Alice and for myself. Now the world had changed terribly. I had lost my mam and dad, and both losses had been devastating, but this was different. This was a pain beyond even that. I had called Alice my friend, held hands with her, sat beside her. But only now that she was snatched away for ever did I fully realize the truth.

I loved Alice, and now she was gone.

After collecting the creature from the barrow, we returned to the cottage, and Thin Shaun threw me onto the bed like a sack of rotten potatoes.

Scarabek looked at me with scorn. ‘Even if you weep an ocean,’ she hissed, ‘your sorrow will not even be able to approach mine. I loved my sister as myself, for indeed she was me and I her!’

‘What do you mean?’ I demanded. Despite my anguish, the spook in me was waiting just below the surface. My master had taught me to use every opportunity to learn about our enemies so as to be in a better position to eventually defeat them.

‘We were twins,’ she answered. ‘Witch-twins of a type so rare that only once before has our like been seen in this land. We shared one mind – a mind controlling two bodies. I looked out through her eyes and she through mine.’

‘But your eyes are not the same as hers. One is blue and the other is green – why should that be so?’ I asked curiously.

‘Once both my eyes were blue, but since my sister’s death I have wandered among the Hollow Hills, seeking power,’ the witch replied. ‘All who stay too long there are changed. But we were closer than you can ever imagine. The experiences she had, I had too. The pain she felt, I felt too. I was there when you betrayed and killed her. Half of me was ripped away at her death.’

‘If you were there, then you will know I didn’t kill her,’ I protested. ‘It was my master, Bill Arkwright.’

‘Don’t lie! You were working together. You planned her death. It was a trick – your device.’

I shook my head weakly. ‘That’s not true. I would have kept my side of the bargain.’

‘Why should I believe a spook’s apprentice? What you say matters little and will make no difference to what I plan.’

‘What are you going to do with me now?’ I asked. It was better to know the worst. Despite my grief, I was still calculating the odds against me – searching for any chance of escape, however slim. My silver chain was still on the floor where Thin Shaun had cast it. But when I looked at it out of the corner of my eye, Scarabek gave me an evil smile.

‘Forget that. Your days of wielding such a weapon are over. You will be too weak to use it, being food for Konal. He’ll be hungry again within the hour.’

‘Konal is your familiar?’

The witch shook her head. ‘No, Konal is my beloved son, and his father is Thin Shaun, the barrow keeper, whose time on this earth is now short. A keeper has only one son, born of a witch – the child who will replace him and continue his role.’

‘The keeper? Why is he called that?’

‘The name is apt. Keepers maintain the many barrows that are scattered across our land. Once they contained the bones of the ancient dead, but now they are refuges for the Celtic witches. Shaun keeps the magic strong and appeases those who made them, for their spirits are never far away. He offers them blood.’

A horrible thought struck me. Did Thin Shaun need blood like his son? I glanced up at the keeper, who gave me an evil smile.

‘I can see the fear in your face,’ he told me. ‘You think I seek to drain you too? Am I right?’

I shrank away from him. Could he read my mind?

‘Well, you needn’t fear on that account,’ Thin Shaun said. ‘I offer up the blood of animals. Only rarely does a keeper take human blood. But then, if his thirst is great, he drains his victims until they are dead.’

‘But none of this concerns you, who have perhaps less than a week to live,’ the witch interrupted. ‘Soon we’ll be in Killorglin and your suffering will intensify. We’ve talked enough. Shaun, bring more gruel!’

They force-fed me again, this time a smaller amount; then, while I lay there, helpless, my mouth dry, a gritty feeling in my throat, the world beginning to spin, the witch brought her child over to where I lay. She partially unwrapped it from the blanket and laid Konal close to my neck. Within moments I felt the stab of its sharp teeth, and while Scarabek watched over me, smiling, my blood was slowly drained.

My thoughts were still all of Alice’s fate, and the grief was in my throat and chest, almost choking me. It was a relief to grow weaker, the poisoned gruel and slow loss of blood plunging me into a merciful unconsciousness.

I REMEMBER VERY
little. We must have used horses – as if from a great distance, I heard the sound of hooves, and my body was repeatedly jolted and shaken. Whether I was in a cart or tied over the back of a pony I’m not sure – maybe, over the duration of the journey, both.

My next clear recollection was of sitting on a heap of dirty straw in a dusty attic. It was full of rubbish, and curtained with enormous cobwebs strewn with desiccated fly carcasses; spiders were coiled in dark corners, ready to spring upon their next victim. There was daylight coming through the only window – a skylight set in the sloping ceiling directly above me. I could hear the squawking and pattering of seagulls walking on the roof. I was alone in the room, my hands tied behind my back – though my legs were free.

I felt shaky, but at the second attempt managed to struggle to my feet. I could hear other noises: the occasional
clip-clop
of hooves, and people shouting in the sing-song manner of market traders. I suspected that I was now back in Killorglin. I leaned against the door handle, but it was locked, so I moved around the attic, looking for something I could use to help me escape. Perhaps there was something sharp to cut through my bonds …

I’d no sooner started my search than the room went dark. Was there a heavy cloud overhead blotting out the sun? Was a storm approaching? I wondered. The street sounds had also gradually faded away until I could hear nothing beyond the walls of my prison: I was trapped in a cocoon of silence.

Next the temperature began to drop; it warned me that something from the dark was approaching. I sat down in a corner with my back against the wall so that nothing could come at me from behind. I’d no weapons I could use to defend myself. If only my hands were free, I thought. Having them bound made me feel vulnerable.

Something started to whisper in my ear. At first I thought it might be a jibber, and my whole body started to shake with fear, but then I realized it was some other type of spirit. Its words were half formed and unintelligible but they had a malevolent force. Moments later it was joined by others – how many, I couldn’t be sure, but the entities were close and I saw flashes of baleful purple light as they circled the gloomy attic, approaching nearer and nearer. Thin fingers began to tug at my ears, and then powerful hands clamped themselves about my throat and began to squeeze. It was a strangler ghost, a powerful one, and I was helpless against it.

A seventh son of a seventh son has some immunity against such dangerous spirits, but I’d never encountered one as strong; I began to choke as my windpipe was constricted by invisible fingers. I struggled to breathe, trying to think of something from my training that might help me. I gasped, feeling my consciousness ebbing away.

But then, all of a sudden, the pressure on my throat eased and the whispering voices fell mercifully silent. However, my respite lasted just seconds because one deep terrifying voice replaced them – that of the Fiend.

‘I have your little friend Alice here with me now,’ he taunted me. ‘Would you like to hear her?’

Before I could answer I heard someone sobbing. The sounds seemed to reach me from a great distance, but I was listening to a girl crying. Was it indeed Alice or was it some trick of the Fiend? It was not for nothing that one of his titles was the Father of Lies.

‘She is scared and she is suffering, Tom. Do you doubt it? Soon you will join her. I can almost reach you now. You are close – so very, very close.’

That was true enough. I couldn’t actually see him, but I could feel his hot, fetid breath in my face and sense the proximity of something huge and terrifying. The Fiend was crouching over me, straining to grab hold of me.

‘Would you like to talk to your friend, Tom? Perhaps hearing your voice will ease her suffering a little …’ he rasped.

Against my better judgement I called out to her. I just couldn’t bear to hear her crying in the dark like that.

‘Alice! Alice! It’s me, Tom,’ I shouted. ‘Hold on, be strong. Somehow I’ll get you out of there! I’ll bring you home!’

‘Liar!’ Alice shouted. ‘Don’t lie to me. You’re not Tom. I’ve been deceived enough!’

‘It is me, Alice, I swear it.’

‘Devil! Daemon! Just leave me alone.’

How could I convince her that it really was me? What could I say that would prove it beyond doubt? Before I could think of anything, Alice began to scream as if she was in terrible pain.

‘Please, stop hurting me. Stop it! Stop it! I can’t stand any more. Oh please, don’t do that!’

She stopped begging then, but started crying and moaning as if in great pain.

‘Have you heard enough, Tom?’ the Fiend asked me. ‘It won’t be long before you share her torment. And what she is suffering is far worse than that of a witch being tested. Think of the jabbing of sharp pins; imagine the weight of heavy rocks constricting the chest; feel the flames of the fire flickering nearer and nearer to the stake. The flesh bubbles and the blood boils. It hurts so much, but eventually death brings release. For Alice, though, there is no such respite. She is trapped in the dark for eternal torment. Eternal! That means it will go on
for ever
! And soon I’ll be back to collect you. The power of the jar has almost failed.’

I sensed the Fiend move away from me, and Alice’s cries gradually faded away until I was left in silence once again. I was shaking with emotion. I could do nothing to help Alice in any way; it was more than I could bear.

Gradually things returned to normal: the cries of the street traders could be heard outside and the attic grew steadily lighter. I struggled to my feet and, driven almost mad by what I’d heard, staggered from wall to wall until I collapsed and lost consciousness again.

The next thing I knew, Thin Shaun was shaking me by the shoulder.

I was sitting up, my back against the wall by the door. On the floor beside me was a bowl of a dark, steaming liquid and a spoon. Shaun dipped the spoon into it and brought it slowly towards my mouth. I tried to twist away but he held my head with his free hand and pushed the spoon hard against my lips. Much of the hot liquid was spilled, but I realized that there was no spicy tang – it wasn’t the poisoned gruel. It tasted like oxtail soup.

‘There’s nothing in this to harm you,’ Thin Shaun told me. ‘It’s nourishment’ – he smiled evilly – ‘to keep you alive for a little while longer.’

I wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not, but I was too weak and weary to resist, and I allowed him to feed me the bowl of soup until it was all gone.