One part of me wanted to run. But if I left the Wardstone, it might move on through time again and leave me behind to die in this inhospitable place.
The skelts were getting closer now – there were too many of them to count. I could see their multi-jointed legs and the long bone-tubes that they plunged into their victims to drink their blood.
Finally, in the face of that advancing horde, my nerve broke and I prepared to flee. I glanced around, planning my escape route, but saw skelts advancing from all directions. Within moments I would be completely surrounded.
I PUT MY hand on the hilt of the sword that Grimalkin had given me. Apart from the silver chain tied about my waist, it was the only weapon I had left – the three hero swords, having done their job well, were still impaled in the Fiend’s body.
The first of the skelts reached the base of the rock, stepped up onto it with its thin legs and began to climb towards me. I watched it warily but didn’t draw my sword. I felt weary, weakened by the heat and my exertions in the battle. The skelt paused less than a yard from me, regarded me with its two red eyes, and gave a little twitch of its head, its long snout quivering slightly. Then it moved on, heading for the Fiend.
It scuttled up onto his chest, settled close to the wound made by the sword and plunged in its bone-tube. Instantly the tube turned red: the skelt was drinking the Fiend’s blood. Soon others were passing me to join the first, driven by a terrible hunger. But each one that came close to me paused and gave the same twitch of the head.
What did it mean? Whatever the reason for this behaviour, I was just grateful not to be attacked.
Within minutes, the huge body was hidden by a mass of writhing, twitching, ravenous skelts. Did the Fiend truly feel pain? I wondered. Was he still conscious, his spirit trapped within the flesh of that gigantic body?
It was difficult to judge the passing of time, but at last the feeding frenzy ended. One by one, the skelts left the Fiend’s body, passing by me in single file as if I weren’t there. As they did so, I stared at each of the creatures in fascination and wonder.
Each carried a small piece of the Fiend in its mouth. Until that moment I had never thought of skelts as having teeth – for they had that terrible bone-tube; but below this I now saw a mouth full of small, needle-sharp teeth. With a combination of teeth and bone-tube, they had ripped away what they wanted.
I suddenly realized that these creatures were carrying out our plan. Each took away a small piece of flesh or a fragment of bone in its mouth. I had maimed and incapacitated the Fiend, making this possible. What I had started, they had finished. It was strange to think that they had become my partners in the final destruction of the Fiend.
They moved away towards the lake, carrying their prizes. I watched until they had receded into the distance. Then, one by one, they disappeared into the boiling water, taking the remains of the Fiend with them.
I looked at the place where he had been bound to the rock. All that was left was a few stains and damp patches. Could that really be the end of him? Had the combination of the hero swords and the skelts really destroyed him?
It seemed likely. After all, it would be almost impossible for the Fiend’s servants to return him to power if all those pieces of his body were hidden.
All at once I remembered the Spook. My master had died to make this possible. I felt very sad, but he had played a large part in this outcome. We had won.
I sat on the rock for what seemed like ages. I was hungry, but even more thirsty; the air was growing warmer and my mouth was parched.
In the distance I saw what appeared to be a waterfall cascading down the rock face. From there, a stream cut across the valley and flowed into the lake. I knew that eventually I would be driven by my thirst to leave the Wardstone.
But what would happen, I wondered fearfully, if the rock moved through time while I was away? I could be trapped here until I died. So I tried to ignore my thirst and thought about the passage of time here. No doubt the Wardstone didn’t appear to leave its place on the County fells for long. But time might pass differently here. There was no knowing how long I might be trapped in this scary, inhospitable place.
At last, as I watched, a green mist began to cover the landscape; first the lake and then the cliffs were hidden from view. Then the rock lurched and I was thrown forward onto my face. I felt dizzy and nauseous. Once again, I lost consciousness.
I awoke with a headache, lying face-down on the ground. The first thing I was aware of was the change in temperature. It was cold and I lifted my head, hoping to see the County, for the rock below me was now covered in a white frost.
But despite the cold air and whining wind, I had certainly not returned home. The sun sat on the horizon, perhaps five or six times larger than I had ever seen it before, and a dull orange. There were no clouds, but it seemed much dimmer than usual. I found I was able to look directly at it – something I’d never been able to do with the County sun, in one of its rare appearances between rain clouds.
I was thirstier than ever, but I forced myself to stay where I was and look around. The ground below me was flat and grassy but coated with a thick hoar frost. In the distance I saw a hill and, atop that, a dark tower. It looked very similar to the one in Cymru, where I’d found the Fiend’s head.
And then I spotted a dark figure approaching from the direction of the tower. Long before she came near, I knew that it was Alice.
At last I stepped down from the rock to meet her, my feet crunching on the frosty grass. Her face betrayed no emotion at all. I couldn’t tell whether she was angry, or even glad to see me – although I thought the latter unlikely. We both came to a halt a little distance away from each other.
Alice was wearing a long black coat trimmed with fur and fastened with a broad leather belt. It looked expensive – something that a titled lady might wear. She appeared so different to the girl I’d first met; then she’d worn a tattered dress tied at the waist with a piece of string.
But there was one thing that hadn’t changed. She was still wearing pointy shoes.
‘I hope you’re satisfied,’ she said, her voice colder than the frosty air.
‘You mean what I did to the Fiend? I don’t regret that one bit.’
‘Don’t you? That’s because you don’t know what you’ve done. We saw it all in a mirror. You stabbed him with the blades – with the skelt blades, mind. Don’t forget the skelts! And then that big rock that has your name carried you off into the dark—’
‘Into the dark?’ I interrupted, astonished at her words.
‘Ain’t no doubt about it – I been to that bit of the dark myself. It’s one of the domains. Lots of different domains, there are, most of ’em controlled by one of the Old Gods. Haven’t you thought about what happened after you stabbed him? Doesn’t that worry you?’
‘The skelts, you mean? The way they cut the body of the Fiend into pieces?’
‘Yes, Tom, what else? The way they cut him up into pieces and carried him into that boiling lake. Do you know why they did that?’
I didn’t reply. I was remembering what she’d told me about a god shaped like a skelt.
‘They fed those bits to their god, Talkus; the bloodthirsty god who’s just been born. Newborns are hungry, Tom. Every woman knows that. Talkus is hungry for power. And just as Grimalkin takes the bones of the witches she slays and wears them around her neck to take their power, so the Kobalos god drew the power of the Fiend into his own body! And now Talkus will lead his people in a war to exterminate every male and enslave every female. Are you starting to see what you done? The Fiend, evil as he was, would’ve stood beside us against that threat. As much as he likes hurting us, he wouldn’t have allowed Talkus to carry out his plan and conquer the whole world for his people. Now he’s gone and we’re no longer protected. Only Lukrasta stands between us and that skelt god. He’s the only human mage who has a chance. The Kobalos have lots of mages, and now that this god is born, their strength will be increased t
enfold. Even Lukrasta may not be powerful enough to fight them.’
‘What about you, Alice? You have power.’
She shook her head. ‘What I have belongs to Lukrasta. He’ll need most of my strength if we’re to fight Talkus and the Kobalos, so I’ve offered it to him. He’ll know how best to use it.’
Anger surged through me at the way Alice was completely in thrall to him. I preferred Grimalkin’s stance on Talkus. We had removed the Fiend – that had been our most urgent task. Now we would find a way to deal with Talkus and the Kobalos. And as for Lukrasta – why did we need him? I would deal with the mage, and then Alice would help us with her magic.
‘Where is Lukrasta now?’ I demanded.
‘He’s in the tower.’ She gestured towards it. ‘He’s waiting to talk to you. Once the Fiend was destroyed, he brought the rock here so that you could meet. But you’ve made him angry, Tom – I know it. He’s got a terrible temper and he’s dangerous when he’s angry. So don’t go. Climb back onto that big stone and I’ll send it back to the County.’
‘I’ll do that, Alice, if you’ll come with me.’
She stared at me for a moment, and I saw something flicker in her eyes. This was my last chance to win her back from the dark. I held my breath. But then her expression changed and I knew that I had lost.
‘Ain’t coming back with you, Tom. Not now. Not ever. I belong here with Lukrasta. He needs my strength. There’s nothing for me back in the County. I feel different. I feel cold and I don’t care about people any more – not even you.’
‘I don’t believe that, Alice.’
I listened to words tumble from my mouth, but I didn’t really believe what I had just said. I felt only pain and I was desperate, clutching at straws.
‘Think what you like. You ain’t me – how can you know how I feel inside?’
‘Well, even if you do feel that now, you can change. We all change – all the time. Don’t you remember saying that to me? With help, you can change back to what you once were. Surely that isn’t impossible? I can help you to do that, Alice. Please, let me help you.’
‘No, Tom – climb onto that rock and I’ll send you back.’
I shook my head and set off towards the tower. Alice stepped into my path, trying to stop me. Our shoulders collided with some force and she went spinning down onto her knees.
‘No, Tom! No! Come back! Come back!’ she cried.
But I just carried on walking.
Lukrasta wanted to talk to me, did he? And he was easily roused to anger. Well, I would make him very angry and then I would kill him.
I was tired of being walked over. I was going to make him pay for what he had done. I wanted revenge, and I was determined to achieve it.
Only one of us would leave that tower.
THE NEARER I got, the more certain I was that this tower was identical to the one in Cymru, where the boggart had killed the witches. It was very high, square and constructed from grey stone blocks.
There was the same long narrow flight of steps leading up to the big iron door; the same arrow-slits in the walls; the same high balcony where Lukrasta had stood with Alice, his arm round her shoulders. He had hurled something against me there; some form of dark magic. Would he do so again? This time I did not have the boggart with me. I wondered if it had survived the battle on the Wardstone and returned to Chipenden . . .
But I had something else to aid me. I now carried the starblade; I hoped I would no longer be vulnerable to his magic.
But I guessed Lukrasta would not want to attack me from afar. He would prefer to look me in the eye as he killed me. Perhaps he wanted me to die in pain. What sort of a man was he? Power changed people; in time it might corrupt those who had started out with the very best of intentions. How might it affect an ambitious mage who had successfully completed the Doomdryte ritual?
By now he was probably more god than a man; an amoral god who considered the rights and desires of human beings unimportant. Lukrasta had lived a very long time – at least a thousand years, maybe longer . . . He might have evolved into something terrible.
I was soon approaching the tower, and I began the long climb to the top of the steps. The stones were slippery with ice and I had to be cautious. At one point I paused and glanced back at the surrounding land. It was mostly flat, unlike the mountainous region in Cymru. But the most alien feature was the sun. It still sat on the horizon, large, orange and bloated, and seemed to be in the same position as when I’d arrived. Was it early morning or late evening? I wondered. It had moved neither upwards nor downwards, but had perhaps shifted along a little? Was this another domain within the dark? Or maybe, on this occasion, the Wardstone had carried me through time?
I continued my careful ascent to the iron door. Last time I had hammered upon it with the hilt of my sword until the witches had opened it. I saw that it was now ajar; slowly it began to move, grating on the stone, opening wide as if pulled by some invisible hand. Of course – Lukrasta wanted to trap me inside his tower so that he could put an end to me at his leisure.
I stepped inside; immediately the door slammed shut behind me. I didn’t bother to try it – I knew that it would now be locked.
Before taking another step I looked about me. Although the outside of the tower resembled the one in Cymru, the inside was very different.
I found myself in a small circular room with a single wooden door leading from it. This door had a silver handle and, at head height, a strange symbol, also of silver, shaped a little like a horseshoe. I recognized it.
It was omega, a letter from the Greek alphabet.
My mam had taught me Latin and Greek, which had come in useful when learning my trade as a spook. When we bound a boggart, we carved on the stone the Greek letter beta. But the letter on the door was one we never used. Omega was the last letter in the Greek alphabet.
Why was it carved here? I wondered. Could it possibly mean . . . the end of something?
I was nervous about what I would find on the other side of that mysterious omega door, but to find Lukrasta I had to go forward. Glancing back, I now realized that I couldn’t retrace my steps even if I’d wanted to. The metal door behind me had vanished.
I had no choice but to advance further into the tower. It was an early demonstration of the powerful dark magic that Lukrasta had at his disposal. He was deciding and controlling my movements.
I grasped the handle firmly, twisted it and pushed. The door opened without resistance. Beyond was only darkness. I couldn’t see a thing.
Apart from the sword that Grimalkin had given to me and my silver chain, I had no weapons; I’d lost my staff on the battlefield.
But I did have two things that might help me – the small tinderbox that my dad had given me, and the candle-stub I always carried in my breeches pocket.
It was the work of moments to light the candle. With that held high in my right hand, and with my left hand on the hilt of my sword, I brought a yellow glow to that dark place.
To my surprise, I found myself in what appeared to be the kitchen at the Spook’s Chipenden house. But it was greatly changed. There were cobwebs everywhere; a thick coating of dust and grime lay on the floor and on the table and chairs. Disturbed by the flickering light of the candle and the soft tread of my boots, a rat scampered away into a gloomy corner.
I looked about me. The fire was cold in the grate and the glass of one of the windows was cracked. The house looked as if it had been abandoned for many years. It was as if there were no more spooks to carry on the work of fighting the dark.
The Wardstone could travel through time . . . but were we back in the past or in the future? Perhaps I was correct about the meaning of omega. Was I being shown the end of something?
I reflected that in the domain of a powerful mage I could not truly trust my eyes. Dark magic could create powerful illusions – not least the spell Dread; I recalled how the daemon’s house in Todmorden had changed at nightfall from a warm, comfortable abode into a
ruin.
I could trust nothing here. Of course I was not really in the Spook’s house. Although it seemed real, this was an illusion created by the magic of Lukrasta. I turned to leave, but again the door I’d entered by had vanished. I felt a surge of anger. He was playing games with me; feeding me untruths. I was trapped within his illusory world.
I wondered about the starblade: Grimalkin had said that it would protect me against dark magic that was intended to harm me. But right now I wasn’t actually being harmed – just shown what the mage wished me to see.
What now? How long would I have to wander through this maze before Lukrasta finally confronted me?
I had a sudden hunch that I should go upstairs. Was it my instinct, telling me the right thing to do? Or was it Mam’s latest gift showing me where to find Lukrasta? If this was indeed the case, there was no flash of light inside my head to confirm it.
Of course, it might simply be more of Lukrasta’s magic. I began to climb the stairs anyway.
As I headed for my bedroom, the candle began to flicker violently in the draught from a broken pane of glass and almost went out. I shielded it with my cupped hand. The room was damp; there was mildew on the blankets. The bed hadn’t been slept in for a long time.
Only one thing in that room had survived the fire – that wall where each of the Spook’s apprentices had scrawled his name. I stared at it. Something was different. I could see my own name almost lost amongst the others. But another name had been added to the original thirty:
Jenny
But Jenny was surely a girl’s name. How could a girl be the apprentice to a spook? What madness was this? What game was Lukrasta playing?
Angrily, I turned to leave the bedroom and descended the stairs. I went through the kitchen again and out through the back door. But this was more trickery: instead of the Spook’s garden, I found myself in a wood, and darkness had suddenly changed to daylight. Not that there was much of it left. The sun had set and light was rapidly being leached from the sky.