by Caro King
Gathering Dark
As the sun disappeared into a pool of molten gold and the sky overhead became a translu cent turquoise that would quickly deepen into night-time blues, a bogeyman lay on his back on the hillside, still and silent in the gathering dark. He was battered and bloody and wearing the ruin of a fancy waistcoat. Next to him a pile of burned bones glowed red hot on the scorched and seared earth. The smell of smoke and cooked werewolf was dreadful.
Skerridge coughed. He opened one eye. The other was a bit of a problem as his face seemed to have swollen up, what with all the bruises from the time Greyghast had battered him against a tree until it splintered down to a stump. Skerridge peered blearily at the broken and smoking remains of the stump and then at the broken and smoking remains of the werewolf.
‘’Ow d’ya like that, stinky breff,’ he muttered.
It had taken a long afternoon of playing chase-and-fight round and round the hill, but finally Skerridge had got a lucky break and had managed to deep-fry the werewolf. Now the question was, what was happening in the valley below? Had the townsfolk been over-run by mad tiger-men or was Ninevah Redstone’s luck holding out?
Skerridge lay where he was, in a heap in the middle of the hillside, staring at the sun as it sank beneath the edge of the world. He should go and find out the answers, but he was exhausted and every bone in his body hurt. Superspeed was beyond him right now, he didn’t have the energy, but he thought if he lay still and had a rest for five minutes he might be up to at least a fairly quick shuffle.
The first minute had just begun when he saw the tombfolk.
They came striding over the hill looking like death incarnate, white as bone and dressed in rags of skin and hair. Fortunately for Skerridge they were too far away to see him and walked on past. Moments later his sensitive bogeyman ears heard Taggit shouting the retreat. Someone must have spotted the tombfolk heading towards Hilfian.
Skerridge had barely heaved a sigh of relief when the last of the sun disappeared. Three minutes later the BMs joined the party.
Arriving in a hiss of speed, they stopped on the hillside close to where Skerridge lay. There were two of them and Skerridge noticed at once that they were the same two that had escaped the tombfolk with him after frying Azork’s hive – Polpp and Rainbow. He also noticed that something was up.
‘We’re s’posed t’ be after the Redstone kid,’ Rainbow was mumbling, ‘Strood’s orders. Get the kid, burn the town.’
‘’Oo cares,’ snarled Polpp. ‘I couldn’ give a faerie’s pledge fer the blimmin’ Redstone kid. What I’m worried about is us BMs.’
Flattening himself against the ground and trying to be invisible, Skerridge gave an inner groan. He could see that Polpp was angry. Rainbow had the edgy look of someone who was gearing up to do something bad, but was a bit nervous about it. Things didn’t bode well.
‘I been finkin’,’ went on Polpp. ‘An’ what I’m finkin’ is this. We’re turnin’ into wusses an’ it’s all ‘is fault. Strood!’ He spat out the name, his red eyes glowing feverishly. ‘“Come an’ work fer me,” ‘e said … ‘Polpp put on a mincing voice that was actually nothing like Strood at all, ‘“an’ I’ll make ya the most Dread Fabulous ever so’s ya won’ die.” So now we all do what that blimmin’ Strood tells us, cos we’re scared ‘e’ll give us the sack. But ‘e lied, don’ ya see? We ain’t Dread Fabulous no more, we’re jus’ Strood’s Scary Servants!’
The twin fires of Rainbow’s eyes rose and fell in the darkness as he nodded. ‘Le’s do it,’ he said suddenly, his nervousness falling away as he spoke. ‘Le’s go rogue, like Skerridge ‘ere wha’s lyin’ on the ground ‘opin’ we ain’t seen ‘im. No more workin’ fer Strood. We could be real bogeyman again, yeah?’
The two bogeymen swapped a grin, baring teeth like knives of bone, and just at that moment the night seemed to gather more closely around them, cloaking them in darkness. Skerridge stayed still and quiet. Whatever was coming, he didn’t want to be part of it. They were going rogue all right, but in a way that had never occurred to Skerridge.
‘Right, no more workin’ fer Strood,’ Polpp said firmly, his eyes smouldering like red-hot beacons. ‘We ain’t gonna burn the town an’ we ain’t gonna bovver wiv the kid. But there’s all them Quick an’ Grimm down there jus’ beggin’ fer a bitta mayhem an’ murder, so le’s go an’ ‘ave some real bogeyman fun, eh? Le’s go make ‘em scream!’
The air fizzed and the newly real bogeymen were gone, leaving Skerridge alone on the dark hillside. He heaved a sigh. On the one hand, with Strood’s BM’s gone rogue, at least Hilfian wouldn’t be razed to the ground with no hope of any survivors. But on the other hand …
Skerridge shuddered, remembering how the real bogeymen had looked somehow bigger, more there than before. More part of the night. He supposed he must have been like that once, back in the days of Celidon. Vague memories of a crazy bogeyman raid on Beorht Eardgeard and a lot of extremely annoyed sorcerers tripped through his head, but it all seemed very hazy.
‘Watch out ‘Ilfian,’ he mumbled, ‘the bogeymen are comin’ t’ play!’
He sighed again, got to his feet and shook himself. His five minutes’ rest had come and gone and it was time to go and give the townsfolk a helping hand. It would be a shame if they survived Strood’s army, just to die horribly at the hands of a pair of BMs.
Reluctantly, he followed the sound of screams rising from the town below.
‘It’s all right,’ said Hilary soothingly to Senta’s spell, ‘we’re barricading the doors. No tiger-men will get through that!’
Around her was a hive of activity as people piled beds and furniture against the town hall’s door, even the injured doing their best to help. Someone was nailing boards over the windows. Others stood ready with weapons, on guard against anything that might break through.
‘And the tombfolk?’ snapped the spell.
‘We’ll hide in the cellar and hope they don’t find us.’
Jik appeared at her elbow, his flame eyes worried. He had arrived, with Floyd in tow, to warn them that tombfolk had been seen heading down the hill towards town. Now he was sensing something else and it wasn’t good. A shadow had crept over his inner fires and it had to do with Nin.
‘I might have guessed the girl hadn’t gone off meekly to hide with the others!’ said Hilary after one look at his face. ‘Where is she?’
They set off, hurrying up the ladders towards the roof. But they were too late. The skinkin got there first.
Up on the roof, Nin was awake at last, revived by the cool air of oncoming night. Unconsciousness had given her brain and body time to deal with the shock and although she was still shaky, she was feeling better than before. She knew she had been asleep for some time because it was dark, the last trace of daylight already fading from the sky.
A scream rose into the air, making her flinch. It was followed by shouts and then more screams. Glancing around, she saw a low wall enclosing the roof, so she got up and went to look over it.
Below her, lit by the silver globe of the moon, she could see the grassy tops of the buildings that surrounded the town hall. Beyond them was the battlefield, backed by the rise of the hill. It all looked like something from a nightmare. The field was dotted with running shapes, the Quick townsfolk, the Grimm and the remaining Fabulous from both sides, all hurtling towards the town, their legs pounding as they headed for any hiding place they could find. Some were being carried by others and some were lolloping along, trying to ignore their injuries as best they could. Weapons lay discarded on the ground, glints of silver amid the overcoat of dead.
The tiger-men were running too. Some of them were going after those fleeing to the town, but most had turned their attention the other way, towards the seven tall shapes moving at a steady pace down the last stretch of hill. A pace that was not going to stop for anyone or anything. Tombfolk.
For a wild moment Nin thought they had come to help, but then she understood. Although Azork might attack Strood’s army
as revenge for the loss of his hive, the people of the town would be in danger too. The vampire tombfolk would make no distinction between sides.
In the lead, Azork spread his arms and the others followed. The tiger-men swarmed on, roaring and howling. They didn’t know what the tombfolk were, they just saw another enemy to fight.
The tombfolk’s pace didn’t falter for a moment, but the tiger-men began to stagger and fall, their charge interrupted. The air around them filled with a red mist that rose from the struggling shapes on the ground, shapes that were breaking apart where they lay. The tiger-men were made from crowsmorte and blood, and the tombfolk were drawing out every last drop of blood. Which left the crowsmorte. Blooms sprang up everywhere and began to spread across the battlefield, feeding on the bodies of the fallen.
As the tombfolk strode on, the last of Strood’s tiger-man army crumbled before them. Even those that got close to the hive had no chance to do any damage. They were snatched up as if they were nothing, then torn apart, their blood drunk and the remains tossed aside. And as they fed, the tombfolk took back the beauty stolen from them by the day. Their skins began to shine and their eyes to fill with stars again. Even so they went on, seeking out every last drop of blood. The battle was over, but Nin could see a long and terrifying night ahead.
And then a line of dull red light flared on the edge of town, leaving a streak on the night air, like the trail that might be left by something moving very fast. Screams broke out and fire glowed briefly, followed by more cries and a long shriek.
Bogeymen! All the townsfolk had gone through, all that fighting, and now what? Tombfolk and bogeymen.
Nin put her head in her hands and hot tears spread on her cheeks as despair swept through her, so intense that she felt her heart stutter in its beat. Ice ran down her spine and her scalp prickled. Suddenly the world seemed far away because she knew, she just knew, what was behind her.
Slowly she turned. The skinkin was there all right, crouching next to the door. It was a shape in the darkness, a patch of deeper night with bone-white highlights around the paws and eye sockets, and it was so still she could almost have fooled herself that it was just a trick of the moonlight.
Then it bared its teeth and hissed.
With a cry, Nin ran, looking for the rope ladder over to the bell tower. It had gone. Before the battle began, someone had cut it down to make sure no enemy used it to get into the town hall. She could see it, hanging loose against the side of the tower, out of reach and useless. The blood drained from her face as she realised that she was trapped.
She glanced back. Just one hope. If the skinkin came after her then she might be able to get back down the way she had come. Trembling, she stumbled to the wall that surrounded the stairwell and then paused, waiting, listening. Nothing. She was numb with fear but forced herself to move, creeping around the square of the wall until she was back where she had started.
It was still sitting by the door. It had her helpless and knew it.
Nin felt her heart contract with fear as the skinkin turned its bone-socket eyes to look at her. She clenched her fists and stepped towards it. Another step; three more and she would be past it into the stairwell and down the ladder. Trembling so badly she thought her body would shake apart, she inched closer. With one, loping hop the skinkin moved. Now it was between her and the doorway.
Nin’s breath came in gasps. ‘It’s just skin and bone,’ she told herself, ‘you can rip it apart with your bare hands.’
She forced her legs to move and for a second she really believed that she had taken another step, only she hadn’t. She was standing in the same place, rooted to the spot while the skinkin looked at her, filling her with terror and loss and awful, heart-wrenching loneliness, like darkness gathering inside her. Lights sparked at the corner of her vision and the shadows began to close in. Her heart fluttered. Through it all she thought she heard someone call her name, but knew she must have imagined it.
‘Move!’ she shouted at herself, but instead of leaping at the thing and smashing it to nothing, she sank to the floor, trembling as hopelessness took over.
At the sound of movement from behind the skinkin she looked up, but she didn’t see what came through the door. As far as Nin was concerned, she was cornered by something relentless and terrible, and she was utterly, completely alone.
‘Nin!’ Hilary paused as she saw the skinkin crouched in the doorway between her and the girl.
‘Step over it,’ said Senta’s spell. ‘It won’t hurt you unless you get in its way.’
Without stopping to worry about what she was doing, Hilary jumped over the skinkin, landing next to Nin. She grabbed the girl under the arms and began to drag her away towards the outer wall.
In the stairwell, Jik inched nearer, planning to grab the skinkin from behind and pull it apart. But as he stepped close a wave of despair flowed over him, making the flames of his eyes dim to almost nothing. Still, he reached out a hand. The moment he touched the skinkin, feeling its fragile bones against his mud palm, one of his fingers broke and crumbled. A crack ran up his arm.
‘Stop!’ yelled Hilary. ‘Senta’s spell told me. No living thing can survive contact with it. The skinkin kills with fear and hopelessness … like …’ she listened again, ‘like the Dead of Night, whatever that is.’
Jik stepped back, knowing she was right. He couldn’t touch it.
‘Nik likik thik?’
‘That’s right,’ said Hilary, ‘no living thing … Oh … you’re thinking about Azork?’ She looked doubtful. ‘You could try, Jik, but why would he want to help?’
Jik shrugged, then leapt right over the skinkin and ran. In two strides he was at the wall and diving over it. Hilary looked just in time to see him hit the land below, only he didn’t hit it, he went into it, like a diver enters the water. And then he was gone.
Hilary turned back to Nin. The girl’s face was deathly pale and wet with tears, and around her arm the spell had gone dark, almost black. Her eyes, full of shadows, were fixed on the skinkin.
‘Don’t look at it,’ Hilary said softly, taking Nin in her arms, ‘don’t listen to it. You are lucky, remember, you can’t die!’
Nin knew it was a lie. Everything was clear to her now. The Dark Thing was right and she alone was responsible for all the pain and the death. Ninevah Redstone, who skipped through danger while those about her bled and burned. The townsfolk of Hilfian were being devoured by vampires and ripped apart by bogeymen. The Seven would soon be gone and so would the Land. Jik was dead. Jonas was dead. Strood had won and she would die alone and terrified in this horrible world and never see her mother or her brother again. And when she was gone, her mother wouldn’t even mourn her. All the past they shared, all the good times and the bad, would be gone forever when the memory pearl died with her. There would be nothing.
And it was best that way.
‘Come on, dear,’ said Hilary, hugging Nin to her. She kissed the girl’s forehead. ‘You must fight.’
Nin turned her eyes to Hilary’s face. They were sunk so deep in their sockets that only a gleam showed. Hilary could feel Nin’s heart beating, but each heavy pound was too far apart, and the gaps were getting wider. Panic gripped her.
‘Nin!’
In front of them, the crouching skinkin seemed bigger than before. Its hunched back looked more menacing, the claws on its bone-paws were longer and sharper.
Nin drew in a breath, then let it out. And there was one last thump that shook her like a leaf before her heart stopped beating and Ninevah Redstone died.
29
Skinkin
Swimming through the earth in his search for Azork, Jik burrowed out of the ground on the outskirts of Hilfian. He paused, taking in the scene.
Everywhere he looked he could see chunks of mud hut. The chunks were scattered untidily about as if the huts had been hit by a bomb – or maybe torn apart by something very strong and enthusiastic. Further on, past the remains of mud hut and beyond the edge of
town, he could make out the battlefields where the tombfolk had finished off the tiger-men and were moving on, looking for the townsfolk.
He was about to head towards them when a screaming Quick hurtled past, pursued by Polpp in Hooked Handed Horror form, waving the hook screwed into the stump of one arm and screeching with crazy laughter. Darkness came off the bogeyman in waves, leaving a streak of extra dense night in his wake. Also in his wake went Skerridge, an expression of desperate determination on his face.
Jik stared after them. He guessed Skerridge was trying to help the Quick, but it looked like he was having a hard time of it. With a shrug, Jik turned his attention to the tombfolk. By now, they had made it to the edge of town where they had run into trouble with one of the bogeymen. The tombfolk Queen was glaring angrily at Rainbow, who was standing in her path, grinning at her. Spirals of golden light surrounded her, she was so full of life.
‘’Stand aside, bogeyman,’ she hissed. ‘On the ground, we are indestructible. Do you know what that means?’
Rainbow snickered, gathering the dark around him like a mantle.
‘Means yer’ll still be alive after I pulls yer ‘ead off!’ he said, flexing his fingers.
With a shake of his head, Jik left them to it and moved on again. Azork was not with the hive and it was Azork he wanted. He found the once-sorcerer on the edge of the battlefield, surrounded by spreading crowsmorte. By now the bobbing purple heads with their blood-red centres were so thick that he could see no ground between them.
Jik ikked as he stumbled on a gargoyle-shaped stone, buried in the crowsmorte. It was mumbling to itself, so he dug it free.
‘Thank yoo,’ it said, shaking the dirt out of its ears.
It wandered off over the field, stopping every so often to shudder before it moved on. Jik watched it for a moment, then turned to Azork, who was studying him thoughtfully.
‘I’m still dying,’ the once-sorcerer told him. ‘I remember a time when I loved and even the memory is enough to tear my Armour of Dread apart. My spell is broken and without it to help me endure I will soon be … nothing.’
