Winter's Shadow

by M. J. Hearle

  Saving Nefertem was beyond Blake’s power. Already feeling low, Winter’s spirits sank further as she contemplated the fate of the cat. Though she hadn’t seen his body lying anywhere around the crash site, it was unlikely he’d survived. Both Jasmine and Winter had been wearing seatbelts which had stopped them from flying headlong through the windshield. The cat had no such protection. Nefertem had been her guardian and her friend, and now he was gone.

  Her self-pity was interrupted by a cloud passing across the moon, plunging the woods into pitch-black darkness. Winter paused as frantic thoughts exploded through her mind – what if she got lost up here, stumbled into the woods? There were deadfalls everywhere – she could, would, trip, break her leg, break her neck! Nobody would know. Nobody would come.

  Suffused with the moon’s soft blue light, the path gradually reappeared as the cloud moved on. Winter sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heartbeat. Panicking wasn’t going to help the situation. She needed to be brave for Blake and for Jasmine. Looking around, she recognised this section of the woods from when Mr Denning had taken her this way. Pilgrim’s Lament wasn’t far.

  Knowing that she’d soon be reunited with Blake, the black doubts she’d been able to keep at bay since her flight from the Bane returned. Winter’s head (or was it her heart?) ached with the information Caleb had burdened her with. Such horrible accusations . . . all those girls murdered, their life force sucked dry. A cold sense of dread formed in the pit of her stomach. She tried to reject Caleb’s words, dismiss them out of hand, but his voice wouldn’t leave her mind: It’s his nature to kill what he loves.

  Finally making it to the end of the path, Winter tentatively stepped into the clearing. Her breath caught as she was struck by the church’s haunted beauty. Pilgrim’s Lament looked like something out of a painting – the moon’s cold blue light bathed its ruined form, creating deep shadows and strange highlights. It looked unearthly and it did nothing to dispel her sense of foreboding.

  Thinking back to that Sunday afternoon when she’d first stood before the church in trepidation, Winter strode on up the cracked stone steps to the doors. She was able to gain entry to the church with little difficulty, as Mr Denning and whatever work crew he’d hired had done a solid job of clearing away the fallen timber and debris from the partial roof collapse.

  As Winter looked up, she was surprised to see the night sky twinkling beyond the vast ragged holes in the roof. A few stray moonbeams spilled in through these open sections, lancing through the darkness ahead of her and catching dust motes circling lazily in the air. It seemed the previous roof collapse had yielded some unexpected benefits: the church was still a place of shadows and cobwebs, but at least there was enough light for Winter to see.

  ‘Blake?’ Winter called out, but there was no reply. The idea of lingering in this haunted place by herself was disquieting. Without knowing she was doing it, Winter began to slowly retrace her steps towards the broken stained-glass window – the place where she’d first seen Blake. The image of the Madonna looked even more beautiful in the cold light; however, there was a sadness to her features that Winter hadn’t noticed before. It was a similar expression to the one worn by Blake’s mother in the portrait. Sisters in sorrow.

  Winter reached the window and looked out into the ruined graveyard. Blake was there! She was struck with a powerful sense of déjà vu – he was standing precisely in the same position he had been the first time she’d seen him, head bowed, solemnly regarding one of the gravestones. If it weren’t for the moonlight and the clothes he was wearing, the tableau would have been a picture-replica of that first pivotal moment.

  Winter was about to call out to him when she felt an unexpected shiver of doubt pass through her. What if Blake really did mean to harm her and his whole courtship had been some kind of sick game? What if he really was the monster Caleb believed him to be? Ashamed that she was even entertaining such a possibility, Winter found her voice and called to him.

  ‘Blake!’

  He didn’t turn, but remained standing with his back to her, staring at the grave. Further unsettled by his lack of response, Winter called out again.

  ‘Blake?’

  She couldn’t wait for him to wake up out of whatever morose stupor he’d fallen into. Clumsily climbing out of the church window, Winter started through the graveyard towards him.

  ‘Blake?’

  He glanced up at her, evidently surprised to find he was no longer alone. There was a strange, faraway look in his eyes, as though his mind was somewhere else.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,’ he said in a dazed tone.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  He looked back at the grave, his voice melancholy. ‘I never told you why I was here that first day, did I, Winter?’

  Winter shook her head. ‘No, you didn’t. Look, Blake, the Bane could be on their way. We have to —’

  ‘It’s my mother’s grave,’ Blake said softly, and Winter was too shocked by the revelation to finish voicing her concerns. ‘Nearly a hundred years ago, we came to this country from Europe, Claudette, my mother and I. We left my father behind. He wanted to save us from the Bane, but he failed. They followed us here. After years of hunting, the Bane finally managed to trap us in a farmhouse near Kendle. My mother urged Claudette and me to Travel, to save ourselves, but I wouldn’t leave her. I hadn’t used my power since that first time. When Elisabetta was . . .’ He swallowed before continuing. ‘I didn’t want to ever experience that awful hunger again. I preferred to take my chances with the Bane. When I refused to Travel, Claudette was forced to transport the three of us through the Dead Lands. She picked an exit point by chance, somewhere far away from the Bane. She brought us here to Hagan’s Bluff.’

  He fell silent for a moment. Winter’s anxiety was forgotten as she watched the pain of the memory etch itself across his features. ‘The physical toll it took on my sister was great. It was hard enough Travelling alone, let alone dragging two other people with you through the Dead Lands. The hunger came upon her immediately and before she knew what she was doing she fell upon my mother and started . . . feeding. I tried to stop her, but I was too slow. And too weak. Claudette killed our mother. After the hunger left her and she realised what she’d done, my sister was never the same. Her horror at what she’d done disfigured her. Her hair turned grey, her beauty became corrupted. She went mad, became dangerous and I was forced to . . .’

  Winter didn’t need him to finish the sentence, and rested a hand in comfort on his shoulder. She guessed that Blake had been forced to kill Claudette. No wonder he kept a photograph of her next to his bed. It was in memoriam.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Blake.’

  She wished she had the time to console him further, but the threat of the Bane, not to mention the fate of Jasmine, loomed large in her mind.

  ‘We should go inside. The Bane are coming. They’ve got Jasmine.’

  Blake met her gaze, composing himself. ‘How did they find you?’

  Winter shook her head. ‘I don’t know. They must have been following us.’

  He processed this information grimly. ‘Don’t worry about your friend. They won’t hurt her.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’ Winter asked, far from convinced.

  ‘Because it’s me they want,’ Blake said quietly, and started towards the church.

  Chapter 60

  Winter watched Blake’s shadowy form cut through the moonbeams in front of her as he led her down the church’s aisle towards the altar. His hand felt cold in hers, stiff like the hand of a corpse. Before, his touch had always been so warm and comforting.

  ‘What do we do now?’

  Blake didn’t answer. His face was so obscured by shadows she couldn’t read his expression.

  ‘Blake, talk to me, please.’

  ‘We’re waiting, Winter,’ he told her softly.

  She began to grow afraid. Why was Blake acting so mysteriously? Again the photograph of Carol Oates materialised un
bidden in her mind. She tried to banish it, but the image lingered.

  ‘Waiting for what?’

  Blake looked up at her. His green eyes glittered like emerald stars. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said in a defeated tone.

  ‘I don’t understand. Why are you apologising?’

  ‘Because I don’t think I can save you.’

  ‘You said the Skivers —’

  Blake shook his head. ‘It’s not them you need to worry about.’

  There was something in his eyes that made her blood run cold – grim resignation, as though he were steeling himself to perform some unpleasant act.

  ‘What happened to Carol Oates?’ The question was out of her mouth before she could stop it. Standing alone with him in the shadows, it suddenly seemed terribly important that she know he was innocent of the crime. That her fear was unfounded.

  Troublingly, he frowned and replied, ‘How do you know about her?’

  ‘Caleb told me. He showed me the list.’ Winter tried to swallow, but her throat was constricted with anxiety. ‘Is it true?’

  She was suddenly aware of how quiet it had grown. All the ambient noises of the woods, the ones she’d only barely noticed until they’d gone, had stopped. The chirping of crickets, the soft murmur of the trees as the wind threaded through them – all had fallen silent.

  Eventually he looked at her again, his voice full of regret. ‘It’s true. They’re all dead.’

  Winter stared at him in shock, trying to see the flicker in his expression, a glimpse of the falsehood that might prove he was lying. That he wasn’t the monster she feared him to be. There was none to be seen. He was telling her the truth.

  ‘How?’ she managed hoarsely, tears pricking the backs of her eyes.

  ‘I didn’t choose them, Winter. They chose me. They would find where I was staying, expose themselves to the danger.’

  She jerked her hand out of his and began backing away. Jasmine, the Bane, the Skivers – all paled before Blake’s shocking revelation.

  ‘I tried to keep them safe! You must believe me!’

  Retreating from him, Winter suddenly tripped and fell over one of the fallen beams. Blake offered her his hand, but she scrambled away, terrified that he was about to fall upon her at any moment. She didn’t want to suffer the fate of Carol Oates and the others. She didn’t want to be another name in Caleb’s computer.

  ‘Don’t, Blake – please! I love you!’ It was true. Even now, afraid for her life, there was a part of her that still loved him. Fear couldn’t extinguish that emotion.

  Blake took a step back, evidently shocked by her declaration. Their eyes met and all at once she realised she’d made a mistake. There was no murderous intent here, no hint of the monster Caleb claimed Blake was. Instead, Winter saw only sadness in Blake’s gaze and something else too, something she hadn’t dared hope to see . . .

  Love.

  ‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ Blake croaked, his expression wounded. ‘I’d never —’

  His voice was drowned out by a strange whistling sound. Winter watched in horror as he was violently thrown back several feet across the church by some invisible force, landing in a crumpled heap against the altar platform. A long, gleaming piece of metal jutted from his shoulder, fixing him to the wooden base of the altar. Faint tendrils of smoke curled up from the dampening hole where the metal bolt entered his flesh.

  Blake groaned in pain, clawing weakly at the bolt.

  A familiar voice cried out behind her. ‘Watch out! He’s trying to move.’

  There was another whistling sound. A second bolt threw Blake’s other shoulder backwards, pinning him like an insect. He let out an anguished scream.

  It had all happened too fast for Winter to fully comprehend. Seconds before, Blake had been speaking to her; now he was lying squirming in agony. It was as though she’d jumped forward in time, missing the crucial series of actions that would make sense of this scene.

  Winter turned to see the Bane marching through the church towards her, Caleb in the centre. Beams of light cut through the darkness, projected by torches mounted on his sons’ crossbows. The only one not wielding one of these weapons was Caleb himself. Instead, he held a black-handled axe in his hand, the moonlight glinting off its blade. Winter noted that there was one Bennet brother missing – Sam.

  Caleb moved towards Winter, his eyes shining with malice.

  ‘Well, Winter, it seems you were of use to us after all.’

  Winter stared at him in fear. ‘How did you —’

  She trailed off as she saw Sam lead Jasmine into the church. The trickle of blood had dried down her cheek. Her gait was slow and shuffling like that of a sleepwalker.

  ‘Jasmine?’ Winter called out, but her friend didn’t respond. Her expression was blank, drugged.

  Outraged, Winter turned to Caleb, warning, ‘If you’ve hurt her —’

  The old man grinned. ‘Oh, don’t worry, she’ll snap out of it in a few minutes. Luckily for us, she served her purpose. I’m surprised I needed Damien’s abilities to coax your whereabouts out of her. Especially after you callously left her behind in the woods. Bad form, Winter.’

  Caleb shook his head at her in an exaggerated show of disappointment, and despite her hatred of him, his words cut Winter to the quick.

  Damien inched closer to Blake, keeping his crossbow trained on the tortured figure. ‘Father, do you want me to finish him?’

  Caleb shook his head. ‘Not yet, take the girls outside first.’ He turned towards Winter. ‘Of course, unless you want to stay?’

  Anger boiled up inside her. ‘I’m not going to let you do this.’

  Before Caleb could reply, Blake cried out, ‘Leave, Winter!’

  Startled by the sound, she turned back to face him. He hadn’t moved from his position against the altar platform; couldn’t move, in fact, as the bolts pinned him as ably as a butterfly to a killing board. His head lolled, his eyes glittering with tears, and Winter felt her heart break.

  She looked from Blake to the axe in Caleb’s hand and understood what he meant to do. The eagerness in the old man’s eyes chilled her to the bone. Caleb had trained his whole life to be an executioner and appeared excited by the chance to employ his craft. Winter could not expect any mercy from him.

  Sam strode past Caleb and took Winter firmly by the arm.

  ‘C’mon, Winter. You don’t need to see this.’ There was a hint of compassion in his voice, but it did nothing to soothe her anger.

  ‘Get off me!’ Winter yanked her arm free and backed away towards Blake.

  She turned to him, imploring, ‘Go, Blake! Get away from here!’

  Caleb chuckled at her efforts. ‘Don’t you think the creature would have left by now if he could? He’s not going anywhere.’

  Winter looked at the thin, cruel bolts jutting from Blake’s shoulders. No wonder he hadn’t Travelled yet! Something in the Bane’s metal arrows must have been keeping him fixed on this plane of existence.

  With an enormous effort, Blake raised his head and stared at Caleb, his glare accusing. ‘You destroyed my house.’ His voice was very weak, full of pain.

  Caleb nodded. ‘Yes. Soon you’ll be gone too.’

  ‘You fools,’ Blake replied quietly. His skin had taken on a waxy pallor, but his eyes still burned brightly. Not with anger, as Winter might have expected, but with fear. ‘You let her out.’

  Chapter 61

  His words, though almost a whisper, hung heavily in the old church, seeming to carry with them a terrible promise. It was all the more frightening due to its ambiguity – let whom out? Winter glanced back at Caleb and his sons. The vaguely worried expressions of confusion she saw on their faces suggested they were as uneasy as she was.

  A cold wind began to blow, whining eerily as it gained entrance to the church through the cracks and holes. Winter began to shiver. The skin on her arms tingled uncomfortably, and she was reminded of the last time she’d been in this church. As it had then, moments before the
roof had caved in, a premonition was forming – one no less loaded with menace.

  Something was coming!

  Marcus, Sam and Damien looked at each other fearfully. Only Caleb seemed unmoved by the chill wind and the sense of menace that had invaded this place. Clearing his throat, he raised his voice to the quiet church. ‘Hurry now. Let the thing be done.’

  He shoved Winter out of the way and began to walk towards Blake. Blake looked past his executioner to Winter with raw, pain-clouded eyes. Her heart felt as though it was being wrenched apart. She couldn’t let this happen!

  Winter ran in front of Caleb, blocking his route to Blake. ‘Don’t come any closer!’

  ‘Silly girl,’ the old man said, smiling cruelly, and raised the axe over his head as though he meant to cleave through Winter to get to Blake. Winter planted her feet and closed her eyes in anticipation of the killing blow, but it never came.

  Instead, a deafening shriek tore through the church, halting Caleb’s progress. It was the sound Winter heard in the woods as the Velasco place burned. The wind seemed to die down abruptly, the forces of nature themselves retreating from this place in fear. Winter opened her eyes and saw Caleb’s ashen face. The axe hung weakly in his trembling grasp. Behind him the Bennets were waving their crossbows about erratically, searching the eaves of the fallen church with their torch beams for the source of the chilling sound.

  Seconds passed in excruciating suspense, and then the horror began.

  With a second deafening shriek, a ragged white shape exploded out of the shadows above Caleb and swept the old man off his feet, spiriting him to the other side of the church. There, the nightmarish shape – a woman, Winter could see by her long, tangled grey hair, and stained white robes – hunched over his squirming figure and kissed him. There was no tenderness in the action – nothing but violence and a chilling ardour. Caleb’s limbs twitched and jerked as he struggled beneath the shrieker’s embrace, but his efforts were futile. In the space of a few seconds, his entire form seemed to crumple and sink, as though the bones, organs and muscles were being sucked away.