by Robin Jarvis
Ben put down the oars and stared at the horizon. In the dim distance, there rose an immense wall of water in a thunderous rush. It reached into the night sky and savage lightning flickered round its towering height. It was like a mountain of glass that fed on the surrounding darkness, sucking up the sea and ever increasing in size.
With a rumble that shook all the oceans of the world, the nightmarish spectacle roared towards them.
‘They know I am here,’ the novice cried. Ben held out an oar to her but she pushed it away. ‘Flee!’ she shouted. ‘All is lost. Save yourself – it is too late for me.’
‘You ’eard ’er,’ bellowed Silas, fearfully looking over his shoulder. The vast wave was sweeping nearer and he trembled when he caught sight of those contained within.
Sister Bridget knew she faced death. All those years of cringing from the world were finally over. The wrathful Lords of the Deep had found her, just as they had found her father, and they had come to claim her. It was the end of everything. She sobbed hopelessly – had it all been for nothing?
‘Row, damn you!’ Silas screamed at Ben. ‘I’ll not be ’ere when they come – I’ll not be dragged to the cold regions.’
But Ben was petrified, and could not move; the awful vision of the Deep Ones in all their fury paralyzed him. Silas swung one leg over the side. ‘I’ll do it meself,’ he growled. But the other leg refused to follow – in fact it pulled him down again.
‘What the . . .?’ He stared down at his foot and what he saw made him squirm maniacally. ‘Leave go!’ he screeched.
Below him, Sister Bridget laughed. It was a terrible sound, filled with doom and despair. Her hands were fastened about his ankle and she held on tenaciously. ‘Come, stunted one!’ she cried. ‘Let me embrace you.’
Just as he had pulled her, she dragged Silas out of the boat. He fell into the water with a great howl of fear. ‘Keep away from me!’ he begged.
But she merely laughed all the more. ‘Come to me,’ she taunted. ‘I only wish to hold you.’
Silas kicked out at her, truly panicking now. Flailing his arms in the water, he tried to escape, but she was too quick. Her strong fingers grabbed the gansey he had taken from the body of Nelda’s father and hauled him back down. He was caught like a fish on a hook.
The huge wave was almost upon them, its deadly pinnacles rearing over their heads. With a fierce light in her eyes, Sister Bridget turned to Ben. ‘Row, fool!’ she shrieked. ‘Row!’
The boy snapped out of his terror and strained at the oars. The novice watched the boat pull away and dragged Silas in the opposite direction.
‘Curse you!’ he whined, but his protests died in his throat as he looked up.
The sheer wall of water towered over them and within its ominous bulk he saw three shadowy figures. The Lords of the Deep wore crowns of glowing green stars. Their eyes were huge, lidless discs that glared down at Sister Bridget accusingly and the hair which cascaded from their bloated, coral-crusted heads was like the branches of great trees. A deafening thunderclap issued from their mouths and they revealed row upon row of sharp, jagged teeth.
‘Wait,’ screamed Silas. ‘I am not to blame – let me go free.’
The novice laughed at his futile efforts. ‘They do not hear you,’ she cried.
‘Nooo!’ he begged. ‘For pity’s sake.’
But she took no notice and grimly wrapped her arms about him. ‘Take the cold road with me, Silas Gull,’ she hissed in his ear. ‘Let them drag us down together!’
With terrible violence, the Deep Ones smashed down on them. The sea convulsed at the impact and shock waves sped inland and smote the cliffs of Whitby.
The aufwader boat was tossed like a matchstick on the water. On board, Ben clung to Nelda for dear life – in its ruin he had seen monstrous tentacles writhing and thrashing in the wake of the wave. For several minutes he lay shaking on the bottom of the boat, then it was all over.
The sea became calm and when Ben peered over the side, it was as though nothing had happened. Only the empty sea met his gaze – there was no sign of Sister Bridget or Silas anywhere. He stared at the dark water – they had been taken below. It was a horrible thought.
A painful groan came from the still form by his side. Ben patted Nelda’s face and she opened her eyes, but the pupils were unseeing and she sank into unconsciousness again.
What am I to do? he thought. He was cold and exhausted and the night seemed to press round him. At his feet the moonkelp was dying, for the time allotted to its flowering was nearly over. Carefully Ben picked it up. The treasure which had been so hard to win and had cost so many lives was disintegrating before his very eyes. The golden light which pulsed through its stems waned and grew weak.
‘Oh, no!’ he said and, searching in the cold water that sloshed in the bottom of the boat, he brought out the large shell. It was chipped but still whole. Maybe it isn’t too late, he told himself. If only I knew what to do.
Quickly he put the shrivelling moonkelp on the shell and held them both aloft. ‘Listen to me, Lords of the Deep,’ he shouted to the bleak expanse of the sea. ‘Take back this treasure and let me have my wish.’
The moonkelp suddenly burst into flames and a tongue of yellow fire soared into the sky. The Lords of the Deep had heard him.
On the pier Aunt Alice squeezed Jennet’s hand. They had all seen the terrible wave rise up, but had no idea what was happening. Then the sea flung itself upon the cliff and fierce waves battered against the pier. Miss Boston took hold of Hesper and, with Jennet, pushed past Rowena. They ran to the old lighthouse and clung to its rails as the waves crashed over the edge.
While the spray foamed up over the stone, Rowena pressed her fingers to her temples. ‘I must see,’ she whispered. ‘I must know.’ Locking her muscles until they were rigid she sent her thoughts flying over the water towards the aufwader boat once more.
There, Ben was standing in the craft, the brilliant thread of flame scorching upwards from the shell in his hands. The wish was his now. Rowena’s thought returned to her body and she staggered back.
‘You idiot, Gull!’ she cried. It was hopeless. The reward would go straight to the boy, he would save the tribe and she would never know where the staff of Hilda was concealed.
Then an awful smile flashed over her lips. ‘There is a way,’ she murmured.
She threw her arms wide and screwed her face up, summoning every ounce of power. ‘Channel through me, ye demons that feed off my soul,’ she cried. ‘Put my voice in his mouth, let my words be his – for evil’s sake!’
Unholy laughter boomed across the sky and, with her black robes flapping madly in the gale, Rowena’s face turned white as she strove to control the forces she had unleashed.
Nelda grunted; she touched the tender lump on her skull and winced. Very slowly her eyes fluttered open. The world was swirling and strange voices echoed inside her head. She did not know where she was, but something bright was shining above her and she blinked to bring everything in focus.
The last sparks from the moonkelp drifted up from the shell in Ben’s hands and then she remembered. She realised that she had awoken just in time, for the boy was about to lift the curse. This was the vision Nelda had seen on the cliff-top and she held her breath with anticipation. At last the tribe would be able to grow and children would be born again.
But the smile froze on her mouth – something was wrong. The boy looked ill. His face was drawn and he swayed like one in a trance. ‘Hear me, ye Lords of the Deep and Dark,’ he shouted, in a voice that sounded forced and unfamiliar. ‘Grant to me the reward you promised ages past for returning to you your treasure.’
A cloud of soft grey ash blew out of the shell and hovered in the air. ‘Hear now my wish!’ he cried. The sea became smooth – not a ripple marred its perfect surface. Everything was silent, waiting for his demand.
‘Reveal unto Rowena Cooper,’ he uttered hollowly, ‘the precise location of Hilda’s staff !’
; The shell fell from his hands. It shattered on the side of the boat and the cloud of ash was snatched away by the breeze.
‘What . . . what have you done?’ stammered Nelda.
Ben fell to his knees and the spell which had bound him melted. He stared at Nelda in disbelief. ‘What did I say?’ he cried. ‘What did I say?’
On the pier, Rowena Cooper shuddered. In the far northern sky a point of light appeared. A slender shaft of green slanted down over the sea and shone on the witch’s forehead. It burned into her mind the knowledge she so desperately sought and Rowena crowed with delight – at last she knew.
Spinning on her heels, she threw Miss Boston and the others a triumphant glance, then hurried back to the town with her robes billowing behind her.
XIV
THE EMPRESS OF THE DARK
The gables of the late Mrs Banbury-Scott’s house cast odd, angled shadows on the lawn. With no lights behind its mullioned windows, the building was a sorry sight. There was no one at home, for both Grice and Mrs Rigpath had fled from Rowena that afternoon as she had rampaged through every room. Panels had been splintered, hangings torn, and the attic spaces poked and peered into, but without success. She had not found what she sought and now the house settled uneasily on its foundations, its ancient timbers creaking and complaining.
The serene peace did not last long – Rowena had returned. Eagerly she let herself into the house and stormed through the hall, leaving the front door wide open. Charging through the debris that littered the floor, she kicked open the french windows and hurried into the garden.
Grice’s shed was lost in shadow, nestling against the garden wall. Rowena ran up to it and pushed open the heavy door. She fumbled for a switch and clicked on the electric light. The walls were covered in tools and on one side there were three shelves stacked with tins containing nails and tacks, nuts and bolts and old bits of wire.
Rowena sneered at all the patient hours the man had spent in this place and with one sweep of her arm, knocked every tin to the floor. ‘There!’ she whispered. ‘The mark of Hilda.’ On the bare wall between two of the shelves was a curious sign gouged into the plaster. Circling it were three others, but they were meaningless to her and she ignored them. ‘All these years,’ she said admiringly, ‘and no one knew. All this time locked away here – a perfect hiding place. Grand houses are easy targets, yet who would notice a hut like this? Even I overlooked it.’
She ran her fingers lovingly over the mark. ‘And now you’re mine,’ she snorted. ‘I have beaten you, Hilda!’
The witch threw spanners and screwdrivers to the ground as she looked for something to break through the plaster. The axe she had borrowed was still in the house and she was too impatient to fetch it, so she seized a pair of garden shears and drove them into the wall.
The plaster was dry and crumbled easily, as she hacked and stabbed with the blades.
‘Oh, Hilda,’ Rowena said, ‘you should have destroyed your staff instead of sealing it in a wall for me to find. Were you so unsure of your newfound God? How its very existence must have tormented you – how you must have longed to wield it once more.’
A ragged gash now grinned in the whitewash. With the next strike of the garden shears, the plaster gave way. A sound like a rifle firing blistered through the hut and all along the wall hairline cracks appeared.
Rowena stood back as the cracks widened and in an avalanche of dust and dirt the whole lot slid down.
When the choking cloud settled she wiped her eyes and laughed. At her feet, half hidden in the rubble of long buried centuries, was the staff of Hilda.
It was a long piece of polished black wood, carved round the handle with Celtic snakes that twined into knots and swallowed their tails. A beautiful thing, it had been untouched by age since the day Hilda herself had walled it up. Rowena could feel the power beating from it. She licked her dry, dusty lips and held out a quaking hand.
‘Mine,’ she said softly as she felt the magic of the ancients surge through her. ‘It really is mine.’ The witch threw back her head and laughed madly.
Miss Boston watched the little boat drift closer. At her side, Hesper was fretting. ‘I see only Nelda and the boy. Where then are Eska and Silas?’
Jennet waved to her brother as the craft sailed into hearing distance. ‘Ben, Ben,’ she called out.
He looked up but did not return the wave.
Aunt Alice clasped her hands behind her back and her chins shook querulously. ‘I fear all is not well,’ she said.
‘But Rowena’s gone,’ Jennet told her. ‘That must mean she’s failed.’
The old lady said no more, but that last look of triumph on the witch’s face had been troubling her. The only thing they could do was wait for the boat to return and learn the truth.
The aufwader vessel bumped against the side of the pier and Nelda slowly rowed to the iron rungs. Ben scrambled up the ladder. When he was safely on the pier he ran to his sister and flung his arms round her. ‘It’s all my fault,’ he cried. ‘It’s all my fault.’
Jennet stared at Aunt Alice. What did he mean?
Hesper pattered over to the edge of the pier and helped her niece up next. ‘My heart rejoices to see that you are safe,’ she said, ‘but what happened to Eska? Why is she not with you?’
Nelda raised her head and Hesper saw that tears were streaming down her cheeks. ‘So the Deep Ones took her,’ she murmured. ‘Well, perhaps she is happy at last.’
Miss Boston removed her hat and gazed at the ground. ‘Then Sister Bridget is no more,’ she clucked sorrowfully.
Nelda wiped her eyes. ‘They took Silas too,’ she put in, ‘and . . . and that is not all.’ She glanced quickly at Ben and hung her head.
‘Weep not for Silas,’ Hesper said, trying to comfort her. ‘I was a fool to think he would ever change. A rogue he was when I wed him and a rogue he remained. The shore is a cleaner place without him.’
Aunt Alice looked from Ben to Nelda, trying to understand their despair. She moved forward and tapped Hesper on the arm. ‘I think there is more to this than we know,’ she told her.
‘But what else might there be?’ Hesper returned. She gasped suddenly as a suspicion crept into her mind. ‘No!’ she exclaimed. ‘Nelda, tell me I am wrong. Tell me you found the moonkelp and returned it to the Lords of the Deep.’
Nelda did not reply – she avoided her aunt’s eyes and stared at the ground.
It was Ben who answered for her. He let go of Jennet and said in a wavering voice, ‘It’s my fault. I had it in my hands but instead of, instead of asking for the curse to be lifted . . .’ He was too ashamed to complete the sentence.
‘Then what did you ask for?’ Hesper cried angrily.
Ben felt rotten. ‘I’m not really sure,’ he mumbled feebly.
‘Not sure!’ shouted Hesper. ‘How can you not be sure? Are you a total simpleton, boy? The moonkelp was our only chance – have you doomed us to extinction, human?’
Miss Boston covered her face. ‘Of course,’ she groaned. ‘Rowena – I thought she looked too happy.’
‘What has that witch woman got to do with this?’ snapped Hesper. ‘Do you not understand that this child has betrayed our trust in him?’
‘Nonsense,’ Aunt Alice retorted. ‘Don’t you see? He was a victim of her devilish arts.’ She laid her hands on the boy’s shoulders and looked him squarely in the face. ‘Tell me, Benjamin,’ she began, ‘what was it you asked for? Was it for the whereabouts of Hilda’s staff to be revealed to Mrs Cooper?’
‘How did you know?’ he asked.
Miss Boston groaned again and stuffed her hat back on. ‘Then we have all failed,’ she said. ‘If that staff is as powerful as Rowena believes it to be, nothing can stand in her way.’
They fell silent, for the situation seemed hopeless. Miss Boston was deep in thought. If there was a solution to all this then it eluded her.
Nelda chanced to look into the sky, where heavy clouds were now gathering. ‘The wea
ther is changing,’ she said. ‘I think a storm is coming.’
‘A storm is coming,’ Aunt Alice affirmed, ‘but not the kind you were thinking of.’
Nelda continued to look at the dark heavens. She had never seen clouds quite like these; they seemed to ooze overhead like thick treacle. Her gaze followed their slow, deliberate progress over the harbour and towards the East Cliff.
Suddenly Nelda cried out. ‘Look!’ she shouted, pointing to the church.
Miss Boston, Hesper and Ben turned and fixed their eyes upon the floodlit building.
‘Gracious,’ breathed the old lady.
Curious as to what her brother and Aunt Alice were staring at, Jennet peered up at the church.
Standing before the arc lights, as Sister Bridget had done hours earlier, was Rowena Cooper – and the staff of Hilda was in her hands.
Even from that distance they heard her harsh, gloating laughter. Rowena was insane with joy and she revelled in the new-found strength which flowed through her veins.
‘Now we’ll see,’ she yelled. ‘The time has come for you to serve a new mistress.’ With both hands clasped firmly about the staff she raised it over her head. ‘Obey me!’ she screeched.
A jagged streak of black lightning erupted from the staff. It crackled upwards and split the night sky apart. With a mighty roar the clouds exploded and ripples of destruction radiated out to the far reaches of the world.
Rowena hugged herself. She was amazed – the power of the staff was greater than she had ever dreamed. The thrill of it was delicious. She looked down on the little town of Whitby, which would have the honour of being the first place to suffer. ‘I am Empress of the Dark,’ she exulted. ‘Armies shall fall before me and nations tremble at the mention of my name.’
Down on the sands, Miss Boston was appalled. ‘She’s testing the staff ’s powers!’ she exclaimed.
Whitby flickered beneath the flashes of darkness that issued from Hilda’s staff. The very fabric of the night seemed to swirl over the rooftops and the heavens were alive with black thunderbolts. Rowena laughed all the more, her shrieks of mirth carried on the gale that tore round the graveyard. Her voice ricocheted off every headstone and it seemed as though the dead themselves were rejoicing with her.
