The Spook 9 - Slither's tale

by Delaney Joseph

  ‘I offered him his freedom, but he refused, and would have continued his attempt against my life – and then yours and your sisters’. So what was I supposed to do? I must confess that his blood did taste sweet and I must apologize if I slurped it too greedily. But otherwise I behaved quite properly.’

  ‘Properly?!’ cried Nessa. ‘It was monstrous! And now you are taking us to a city populated by many thousands of beings such as yourself!’

  ‘No, you are wrong,’ I told her. ‘I am a haizda mage. There are probably no more than a dozen of us in existence at this time. We are not city people – we live on the extreme fringes of Kobalos territory. We farm humans and see that they are happy and content.’

  ‘Farm! What do you mean you farm humans?’

  ‘It is nothing to worry about, Nessa. Why do you find it so alarming? You, your father and your sisters were all part of my farm, which is called a haizda – thus I am termed a haizda mage. We harvest blood to sustain us – along with other materials that may be of use. Your dead father knew the true situation, but he did not wish to upset you. He made a trade with me so that I would keep my distance. You believed I was just a dangerous creature that lived nearby, but in truth I owned you.’

  ‘What?!’ Nessa raised a hand to her face in shock. ‘You took the blood of my father and my sisters? My blood too?’

  ‘I did so at first, but later chose not to continue. I respected your father and decided to trade rather than take. He supplied me with red wine and bullock blood, both of which I am quite partial to. We had an agreement that suited us both. But, yes, other humans in the haizda give me blood. But most do not know it is happening – I usually take it in the night when they are sleeping.

  ‘I make myself very small and slither into their house through a tiny hole in a roof or wall. Then I blow myself up to a comfortable size and crawl onto their beds. I sit on the human’s chest, lean forward and make a small puncture in the neck. Then I drain a little blood – never enough to affect their health too adversely. Just as a human farmer concerns himself with the health and welfare of his cattle, so I husband my resources. The worst they ever experience is a little night-terror – like a nightmare in which a demon has sat on their chest, making it difficult to breathe. Very rarely they feel slightly dizzy on first rising – mostly the ones who leap out of bed too quickly. The puncture marks on the neck heal very quickly and, by first light, are easily mistaken for insect bites. Most humans on a farm are quite unaware of what is going on.’

  Nessa had fallen silent, and when I glanced at her, I saw that she was staring at me, eyes wide. It was a long time before she spoke.

  ‘You said “other materials”. What else do you take?’

  ‘Souls, little Nessa. Sometimes I use the souls of your people.’

  She looked back to the cave, presumably to check that her sisters were still sleeping, before she spoke. ‘How can you “use” a soul?’ she managed eventually. ‘That sounds horrible!’

  ‘The owners don’t mind because they are always dead before it happens. And dead souls are usually confused for quite a while before they find their way home. I just use up a little of their energy until they manage that. So really, I just borrow them.’

  ‘Their “home” – where is that?’

  ‘That depends. Some are an “Up” and others are a “Down”. The first spin away into the sky silently; the others plunge into the ground, giving a sort of groan or sometimes a shriek or a howl – I don’t know where their home is, but none of them seem very happy to be going there.’

  ‘Were you present when my father died?’

  ‘Yes, Nessa, I was. He took a long time to die and was in a lot of pain. It wasn’t a pleasant death, and because you were so inconsiderate and ran off, he could have died all alone. But I was patient and stayed with him to the end.’

  ‘Did you borrow his soul?’

  ‘No, I wasn’t given the chance. Some souls aren’t confused at all. They don’t linger but go home straight away.’

  ‘Which way did my father go?’

  ‘He was an “Up”, little Nessa. So be happy for him. His soul sprang up into the sky without even the slightest of groans.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Nessa spoke quietly, and then she got to her feet and went back into the cave without another word.

  Of course I’d lied about ‘borrowing’ souls. After you’ve taken their power there isn’t really much of them left. Once released, they spin slowly for a few moments, then give a little whimper and fade away. So they never get to go home – that’s the end of them. That might not be a bad thing with those who go down, but the others – the ‘Ups’ – might have lost a lot. It was a good thing for Old Rowler that he hadn’t lingered.

  NESSA

  I WENT BACK into the cave and waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. In the dim flicker of the campfire, I made out the forms of my two sisters. I could tell by their breathing that only Bryony was sleeping.

  Saying nothing, I lay down, wrapped my blanket tightly about me, and tried my best to sleep. But I was upset, remembering over and over again the way Father had died, unable to get it out of my head. I was so ashamed that I’d run away and left him with just the beast for company.

  Then another thought snared me. I couldn’t stop thinking about what Slither had said – how he harvested blood and souls. Something slowly came into my mind. I remembered my dream – the recurrent nightmare I’d had as a child – and now, suddenly, it all made horrible sense. Over and over again I’d dreamed of being paralysed in bed, unable to call for help, while something terrible sat on my chest, making it hard to breathe, and sucked blood from my neck.

  As I grew older the nightmare had become less frequent and had then faded away altogether. I had assumed that my glimpses of the beast through my bedroom curtains when he’d visited the farm had given rise to my nightmare. Now, at last, I knew the truth. It had been real. It could be no coincidence that my nightmares had ended soon after Father had started to trade with Slither. That must have been part of the ongoing deal between the two of them – that Slither would leave us children alone.

  Had part of that trade also been Father’s promise that if anything ever happened to him, Slither could have me in exchange for the safety of Susan and Bryony? It was hard to accept the idea that I must sacrifice myself. Had my father truly loved me? I wondered.

  I thrust my doubts aside. Of course he had. Hadn’t he written that he would have sacrificed himself for us if necessary? Now I must do what I could to save my sisters.

  ‘Oh, I’m scared, so scared!’ Susan called out.

  ‘Shhh!’ I said. ‘Keep your voice down or you’ll wake Bryony.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Susan asked more quietly. ‘He’s taking us north to his own people. One is bad enough, but what about when we have to face hundreds or even thousands? They’ll kill us and eat us. Have you seen the way the beast stares at me? He keeps looking at my neck. He can’t wait to sink his teeth into me!’

  She was right, but so far Slither had resisted his urges. ‘He’s savage, that’s true enough,’ I told her. ‘But he is certainly a creature of his word. He promised our father that you and Bryony would be safe, and I have no reason to believe that he will not honour that. Hasn’t he fought his own people to preserve us? We need to stay calm and believe that things will turn out for the best.’

  I kept my own doubts to myself. It had been dangerous enough in the tower. How would we fare in Valkarky, where so many beasts might attack us?

  ‘How can we ever be happy again now that Father is dead and we’ve left our home for ever? It’s so cold, and it’s getting worse with every mile we travel north. Will we ever be warm and comfortable?’ Susan wailed, her voice rising with every word. ‘We left our trunks behind in that awful tower and all my best clothes were inside. I’ll never wear nice things again.’

  Now she’d woken Bryony, who began to sob quietly. I suddenly felt very angry. Susan had always been selfish �
� no doubt that had come from being Father’s favourite. I was the eldest, yet Susan had always been bought new clothes while I’d routinely been given her cast-offs – I’d had to take them in so they would fit. Even the dress I was wearing now had once belonged to Susan.

  ‘You always think of yourself and nobody else!’ I snapped. ‘You’ve woken your sister and frightened her. You should be ashamed, Susan!’

  Susan began to cry then, and that made Bryony worse.

  Immediately I felt sorry for my outburst. We had to stick together while we still could. I knew it was harder, much harder, for Susan to adapt to this new situation. I had helped Father with the farm work – milking the cows, herding the sheep and feeding the chickens. I’d even taken his tools and repaired some of the fences. Mine had been mostly an outdoor life while Susan had made the beds and swept the floors. Of course she’d left the cooking and washing-up to me. So she’d had it relatively easy. No wonder she was finding our new life with the beast hard. I had to make allowances.

  ‘Hush! Hush!’ I called out more gently now. ‘Come here, Bryony. Come and sit by me and I’ll tell you a story.’

  For a moment or two Bryony didn’t reply, but then, dragging her blanket with her, she crawled across and sat next to me. I put my arms around her and gave her a hug.

  ‘Tell me about the witches again, Nessa,’ she begged.

  Bryony loved tales about witches, and, sitting in front of the kitchen fire on a dark winter’s evening, I had been only too happy to oblige. I’d told her the tales I’d learned from my mother. Bryony had never known her, so it pleased me to take her place and do what she’d have done if she’d lived. The witches I told her about were from Pendle, a place a long way to the south and in a foreign country far across a cold sea. She loved to hear about the different types of magic they used – some cutting off the thumb-bones of their enemies to steal their magical power. They were scary stories, but heard in a happy and secure environment. In those days Bryony knew nothing of Slither, and I’d ensured that when he visited the farm to talk to my father she never even glimpsed him.

  But this was different. We were far from safe, and in the power of a creature who seemed just as dangerous as the witches I’d told Bryony about. I didn’t think telling her that kind of story was a good idea now.

  ‘I’ve got a different kind of story for you tonight, Bryony. It’s a nice one about a handsome prince.’

  ‘Oh, yes – that would be nice! Tell me a really nice story, Nessa,’ she said. ‘Tell me one where everything turns out happily in the end.’

  The last thing I felt like was telling a story, but for her sake I did my best. ‘Once upon a time an evil ogre carried off a princess and locked her in a tower—’

  ‘What did the ogre look like?’ Bryony interrupted.

  ‘He was big and ugly,’ I said, ‘with one huge bulging bloodshot eye in the middle of his forehead. But news of the princess’s captivity came to the attention of a prince, who saddled his horse and rode to the rescue—’

  ‘Was the prince handsome?’ Bryony demanded.

  I was finding it hard to concentrate because I could hear the beast moving around outside; I wasn’t much good at telling stories anyway. But at least I had her attention.

  ‘Yes, he was tall, with fair hair and blue eyes, and he wore a sword with a silver hilt in a leather scabbard.’

  ‘Did he have nice teeth and sweet breath?’ Bryony asked.

  ‘Yes, his breath was sweeter than spring blossom.’

  ‘Better than the beast’s breath then.’ Susan spoke up now. ‘It stinks of rotten meat and blood.’

  ‘Shhh!’ I hissed. ‘He has sharp ears.’

  ‘His teeth are really long and sharp too,’ Bryony added.

  I took a deep breath and tried to continue with the story, but Susan interrupted again. ‘I’ll tell the story this time, Nessa. Your stories are always so boring and predictable!’

  I was too weary to protest so I let her carry on from where I’d left off.

  ‘The handsome prince rode up to the dark tower,’ she said, ‘and he was lucky because the fierce ogre with long sharp teeth and breath smelling of blood and rotten meat wasn’t at home. So the prince broke down the door and went up to the top of the tower and, after stealing one quick kiss from the beautiful princess, carried her down the steps and lifted her up onto his horse.’

  Bryony had giggled when it came to the bit about the kiss and I began to relax.

  ‘But the ogre had been hiding in the trees behind the tower, and he rushed out and attacked the prince, who drew his sword,’ Susan continued.

  ‘Did the handsome prince cut off the ogre’s head?’ Bryony asked, almost breathless with anticipation.

  There was a pause. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t, and I was too late to intervene.

  ‘No,’ Susan said. ‘The ogre opened his big stinky mouth and bit off the head of the prince. Then he ate the horse and finished off the princess for his dessert!’

  Bryony screamed and began to sob again, and at that moment the beast lurched into the cave.

  ‘Be silent!’ he growled. ‘End this foolishness now. You will need all your strength in the morning!’

  The fierce way he spoke stunned us all into silence. I lay there for a long time, listening and waiting for the breathing of my two sisters to change as they slipped into sleep. Above it all I could hear the harsh, heavy snoring of the beast. At last I fell asleep myself and began to dream.

  The rat is crawling up onto my body now. I can feel its small sharp claws pricking into my skin through the blankets. It is sitting on my chest. Its tail goes thumpety-thump, faster and faster, keeping perfect time with the beating of my heart.

  And now there is a new thing, even more terrifying. The rat seems to be growing heavier by the second. Its weight is pressing down on my chest, making it difficult to breathe. How can that be possible? How can a rat be so large and heavy?

  THE FOLLOWING DAY we made good progress, but finally it became necessary to kill one of the horses for food.

  Despite her protests, I chose Nessa’s mount because I judged it to be the weakest of the three. Of course, when I started to drink its hot sweet blood, the purrai became upset. That didn’t stop them eating the meat once I’d cooked some for them, though. They did what I did in order to survive. So why did they turn from me in revulsion?

  From then on, Nessa and Susan were forced to ride together while I carried the youngest purra with me. Nessa protested and offered to ride with me so that Bryony could be with her elder sister, but I refused. I might have to fight again at any moment so I wanted to spare my own horse as much as possible. Bryony was light, and mercifully she didn’t make a fuss about riding with me, though I could feel that she held herself rigid with terror.

  Finally, after another week of travelling, we were within sight of Valkarky. It was just after midday, and although at this latitude the sun was still low in the sky, it was a bright clear day and the visibility was excellent.

  ‘What are those lights?’ Nessa asked, bringing her horse alongside mine. She stared directly into my eyes as she spoke, but her sister clung to her back and averted her face so that she would not have to look at me.

  On the horizon there was a shimmering curtain of colour, the whole spectrum of the rainbow. At times it seemed to open, giving a glimpse of what seemed to be utter blackness within.

  ‘The lights shine from the eyes and mouths of the creatures who are building Valkarky,’ I answered. ‘Soon the walls of the city will be in view. That sight will delight your eyes and fill your hearts with happiness!’

  I was proud of our city, but having chosen the vocation of a haizda mage, I lived far away in order to learn and develop my magic. Now, in truth, I was happy to be away from its intrigues and bustle, but it was still good to return occasionally to the place of my birth.

  As we got closer, the three sisters found it difficult to look upon the city – it gleamed too brightly; nor co
uld they appreciate the beauty of the industrious sixteen-legged whoskor, which swarmed over Valkarky’s outskirts, engaged in the never-ending task of extending it. The eyes of these creatures swayed gracefully upon long black stalks and their brown fur rippled in the breeze as they spat soft stone from their mouths before working it skilfully with their delicate forelimbs, adding it to the new sections of wall.

  We were approaching the southern edge of the developing city. Here the walls were uneven in height, obviously in various states of construction.

  ‘Those are terrible creatures walking the walls!’ Nessa cried, pointing up towards the whoskor. Bryony and Susan were wide-eyed and silent in their shock. ‘They are so huge and there are so many of them. We can’t go in there! We can’t! Take us away, please.’

  But I disregarded her protests and the wailing of her terrified sisters. We followed the road that led up to the main gate, flanked on either side by the walls. The further we travelled into the city, the older the fortifications. In the course of our journey, which lasted almost half a day, we passed through several gates in the succession of inner defensive walls. Each was already open to receive us, but I noted that they closed behind us after we had passed through, cutting off any possibility of retreat.

  Eyes watched us from narrow windows far above, but I knew that no friends gazed down upon me. We haizda mages lived and worked far from the dissident groups and shifting alliances of the city’s inhabitants.

  At last we reached the main gate, and here the walls towered up, lost to sight amongst the clouds. Covered in ice and snow, Valkarky appeared more like the vertical face of a mountain peak; the open gates were like the entrance to some wonderful dark cavern, full of unknown delights.

  Two mounted Shaiksa assassins, lances at the ready, waited on either side of these huge gates, but they had rivals who would compete to seize me: three score of foot militia had lined up, their captain holding my arrest warrant with his left hand extended over his head in the traditional manner. The red seal formed from the spit and coagulated blood of the Triumvirate was clearly visible.