The Power of Dark

by Robin Jarvis

  ‘Let none pass into this place!’ she commanded.

  The clouds over the abbey began to curdle and spread. They sank over the ruins and rolled out across the cliff, becoming a wall of dense fog that smothered the roads, cutting the town off from the eastern approach. Thunder shook the ground. Overhead, the dawn sky became black and spiked with lightning.

  Annie stepped on to the bridge. On the other side, Verne did the same. Slowly, they advanced towards each other.

  ‘Melchior Pyke!’ she called out. ‘Long ago I halted your ambition. This day I shall do so again. The Nimius will be wrested from you a final time!’

  ‘Never!’ he shouted back. ‘There is no power equal to that of my glorious creation. Your struggles are in vain.’

  Annie turned to her followers.

  ‘Wake the storm!’ she commanded.

  The inhabitants of the East Cliff began to chant. Their combined voices resonated through the air. At once a stiff gale came gusting through the cobbled streets and went blasting across the harbour. The smaller robots were knocked over, many in the crowd were thrown off their feet and top hats went flying into the distance.

  ‘In the name of science,’ Melchior Pyke yelled, ‘let battle commence!’

  Photon weapons flashed across the harbour. A glowing plasma grenade crackled over the river and exploded against the wall of the Gazette building, engulfing it in turquoise flame. The tank-commando machine came stomping on to the bridge and fired two rockets from its shoulders. Annie raised her hands. Jagged forks of lightning erupted from the clouds and detonated the rockets in mid-air. High above, riding the buffeting wind, the airship pilots took aim with the automatic blunderbuss and fired into the enemy below. The shots went wild, ricocheting off the pantile roofs.

  Annie let loose a shrill, screeching cry. At once, five squalbiters came racing through the sky. They clamped their claws into the stitched cagoules that formed the airship’s inflated gas bag and began slashing and tearing. The dirigible spun out of control, losing height until it splashed into the river.

  The host of robots went clanking across the bridge. Screaming, the skeletons rushed to meet them. The clamour of war was deafening.

  Cherry Cerise came rushing through the narrow streets, pushing past her neighbours. In their gothic make-up and witchy attire she barely recognised them. But there wasn’t time to stare at their transformation. Photon bolts were slicing the air above their heads and several shop awnings were already ablaze. Soon there would be serious casualties, then deaths and carnage. Dodging between the crowds, she squeezed her way to the bridge.

  The spectacle before her was insane and impossible. Not only was Whitby at war, so were the laws of nature and physics. Gritting her teeth, Cherry ploughed on through the chaos.

  A thunderclap cracked overhead so loud she felt it boom in her chest, and Cherry cried out when she stared beyond the harbour piers at the horizon. A mountainous wave was forming. It was already higher than the topmost stone of the abbey.

  Terrified, Cherry plunged further on to the overcrowded bridge. She could see Annie a little way ahead, close to the halfway point. She was surrounded by a vanguard of corpses, which were locked in a violent fight against the robots. Bones were being smashed and metal heads were tumbling into the river. All around, the storm howled and the dazzling beams of ray guns flared.

  ‘Annie!’ Cherry shouted urgently. ‘You must listen to me! You have to stop this!’

  The grotesque skull face upon Lil’s shoulders regarded her with scorn as she strove to get closer.

  ‘Why are you still here?’ Annie asked.

  ‘Because you need to know you were wrong!’

  ‘You waste your final moments. I will have my revenge.’

  ‘Mister Dark lied to you!’ Cherry yelled.

  The hideous face turned away and glared through the violent tangle of skeleton and robot warriors that fought between her and her enemy.

  Verne’s face was just as grim and determined. Melchior Pyke was deploying every weapon he had. When the mechanical devices had been spent, he would send in the human troops and ensure they fought to the death.

  Cherry read that callous intent on both of their faces.

  ‘It was Mister Dark!’ she shouted again. ‘He lied to you both. He was an agent of the Lords of the Deep. He wanted the Nimius for himself.’

  Annie glared at her. ‘Melchior Pyke used me!’ she insisted.

  ‘OK, so he used you to get the serpent’s tears, but he loved you. Lords’ sakes, he adored you, and if you hadn’t listened to Mister Dark’s lies you’d have known just how much. Melchior tried to tell you, for cryin’ out loud!’

  ‘This is a new lie of your own.’

  ‘By my witch’s oath I swear to you – and I can prove it! I saw what he wrote in his journal. Just search that memory one more time and see for yourself.’

  The ghastly red-rimmed eyes stared at her uncertainly. ‘Annie cannot read,’ she said.

  ‘But you know a girl who can!’ Cherry answered. ‘Lilith Wilson – the girl you’ve possessed. If there’s a tiny echo of her mind left in there, use that, or bring her back if you can. Please! For all our sakes. Use that smart girl’s brains and read that journal for yourself. Do it! Now!’

  Papery skin closed over those bloodshot eyes.

  The din of the battle was silenced and Scaur Annie was back in the workshop that fateful night.

  ‘’Tis is a night for toasts,’ she was saying, pouring the contents of the poisoned jug into two goblets. ‘This shall be the second that Annie has overseen, but this one she shall relish far more. Here, my lord. To your Nimius and a golden future.’

  Melchior Pyke drank the wine in one thirsty draught.

  ‘To the glory that is the Nimius,’ he declared. ‘The word flew into my head whilst I was making my . . . final . . . calculat . . .’

  The deadly moment slowed to a stop and Annie stared hard at the open journal. But the funny squiggles still made no sense. She gave a cry of frustration and despair.

  ‘I feel weird,’ a young voice said abruptly. ‘It’s so cold. Am I dead?’

  Annie turned and there was Lil, blinking and gazing around her.

  ‘We both are, child,’ Annie replied. ‘But a wisp of your wits remains. Would you . . . would you aid me and read what is scribed there?’

  ‘You want me to help you? After what you’ve done?’

  ‘I do but ask it. I cannot compel you. Yet it would be a great kindness.’

  ‘Can’t you read?’

  ‘No, and those words hold a terror for me.’

  Lil saw the fear on Annie’s face and, in spite of everything, she felt sorry for the witch.

  ‘Let’s have a look then,’ she said gently.

  Lil began to read, speaking the last written words of Sir Melchior Pyke out loud.

  As I tarry for my true love’s return, I am consumed with shame. I have used her most cruelly. The desire to complete my life’s work had rendered me blind and log-headed and I must spend every day begging her forgiveness. This thing I have made is without parallel, but it is not fairer than she. It cannot bring me the same deep joy as her honest affection. Though it is wrought of gold, she is the one true prize of my life.

  ‘Kallisté’ was to be its name, but my own sweet dove is ‘the most beautiful’. Therefore, I will call it Nimius and give it to her as a token of my enslavement, if she will forgive my folly. My love for Scaur Annie, that wild, ragged witch of Whitby town, truly is ‘beyond measure’ . . .

  There was a tear in her eye when Lil looked up from the page.

  ‘He named it for you,’ she said. ‘“Nimius” is the word for how much he loved you. It’s a big golden Valentine.’

  Annie stared back at her. The enormity of what she had done was graven on her face.

  Lil pitied her more than ever, but before she could say any more, the girl faded and was gone.

  ‘The wine burns strangely,’ Melchior Pyke said as the frozen m
oment thawed. ‘I feel . . . I am unwell. A sharp tightness across the chest. Agh, there is a fire in my veins!’

  Annie’s scream of anguish catapulted her back to the bridge, where the battle was still raging. The animated corpses were almost beaten. They were no match for metal fighters and only one remained standing. The rest were heaped in severed pieces across the road and railings.

  ‘Stop!’ Annie shrieked. ‘Stop!’

  The chanting ceased. The last skeleton staggered back to look at her and a robot fist crunched clean through it.

  ‘I was wrong!’ Annie cried. ‘I was wrong!’

  The pain in her voice cut through the squalling wind and even the robots stood still.

  Trembling, Annie stepped forward. She glanced nervously at Cherry and the colour witch nodded encouragement.

  ‘My lord?’ Annie called. ‘My fine, noble gentleman. Scaur Annie knows now. She knows how much you loved her.’

  The robots parted to let her through. Verne came closer. The storm clouds finally burst, the rain began lashing down and Cherry shielded her eyes. The figures on the bridge were transformed. A beautiful young woman in a ragged gown and bare feet was standing before a handsome man in a velvet doublet with a white lace collar.

  ‘Why did you doubt me?’ he asked.

  ‘I told you,’ she said, daring to raise the ghost of a playful smile. ‘I am just a common, ignorant witch girl.’

  ‘You were never that. But you meant the world and more to me.’

  ‘And you to me. I should have trusted my heart.’

  ‘Don’t waste any more time blaming yourselves,’ Cherry told them. ‘It was that lying reptile of a manservant. All of this misery was his doing.’

  ‘Mister Dark?’ Melchior Pyke muttered in dismay.

  ‘You betcha. He was working for a different set of Lords entirely and dark was the power they gave him.’

  ‘Is it over now?’ Annie asked. ‘Are we free of that foul wretch?’

  Cherry shook her head. ‘I can only hope.’ she answered. ‘Can dark ever be truly defeated? I dunno.’

  ‘And what of us?’ Melchior Pyke asked. ‘Can we end four centuries of hate? I am so weary of it.’

  ‘How can I be forgiven?’ Annie wept.

  ‘Holy salamis on a pogo stick!’ Cherry declared impatiently. ‘Just kiss and make up!’

  ‘One should always pay heed to the Whitby witch,’ Melchior Pyke said. Taking Annie in his arms, he kissed her full on the lips.

  The air shook and a closing peal of thunder echoed over the harbour.

  With that, the enchantment of the Nimius faltered. The robots and the rest of the impossible, preposterous machinery reverted to useless junk and started to fall apart. The energy shield around the West Cliff vanished and the people on the quayside awoke from their trances, astonished to find themselves out of doors wearing steampunk gear and wondering why home-made ray guns and other silly weapons were dropping to pieces in their hands.

  On the East Cliff, a fresh wind blew the fog from the roads and the residents of the old part of town were aghast to find themselves heavily made up and wearing their best curtains.

  Cherry gazed out to sea. The cataclysmic wave had disappeared. She let out a huge, thankful sigh and bowed her head.

  ‘You didn’t get us this time,’ she breathed with relief. ‘Not this time. But oh brother, it was close.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ a familiar but outraged voice was crying. ‘Get off ! Agh!’

  Cherry spun round in time to see a very much alive Lil Wilson pushing Verne away.

  ‘Hey!’ Verne protested, spluttering and wiping his lips with equal distaste. ‘What’s going on? What you kissing me for?’

  He stared around them and his eyes widened when he saw the piles of scrap and countless ancient battered bones.

  ‘Another zombie apocalypse!’ he exclaimed. ‘And I missed it again!’

  Then he became aware of the heavy crash helmet on his head and fumbled to remove it.

  ‘Hey, kiddo,’ Cherry greeted Lil warmly. ‘Glad to have you back. And good to finally meet the kissy-kissy boyfriend.’

  ‘He is not my boyfriend!’ Lil answered emphatically before throwing her arms around Cherry and thanking her.

  ‘No, honey,’ Cherry said. ‘We all need to thank you. You’re the one that saved the whole damn town. You’re the one who gave Annie and her gentleman their everlasting peace and I’m gonna make sure they all know about it.’

  Lil had so many questions she didn’t know where to begin. Then she saw her parents rushing towards her from the confused and startled crowd and she raced to hug them.

  Moments later she was running again. A terrible, sickening thought had seized her. She splashed though the cobbled streets, desperate to get home.

  Up on the West Cliff, standing beneath the whalebone arch, within the seal of the Lords of the Deep and Dark that she had painstakingly chalked on the ground, Tracy Evans uttered a howl of dismay. From that vantage point, she had been cheering the battle on with the foulest language, willing it to be over so that her beloved dream boyfriend could join her. But now everything was ruined. The destruction of Whitby had been averted and Tracy took out her phone to send desperate texts.

  There was no reply.

  Tracy yelled and screamed. She kicked the base of the nearest whalebone. Then she glared at the cheerful knitted sleeve that covered it and reached out with her fingernails to rip it to shreds.

  The instant she touched it, a blast of energy hurled her backwards. Sprawled on the ground, her upturned face battered by the rain, she began sobbing.

  ‘Where are you, Dark? Don’t leave me on my own. I need you. What am I going to do now? Please come back to me.’

  As she lay there, a cold shadow spread around her like a puddle and the silhouette of a hand stroked her pale, wet throat.

  Tracy’s tears turned to ugly laughter.

  As she neared home, Lil’s dread mounted. The front door was open. Breathing hard, she entered and sank to her knees.

  What she feared had happened. The safety gate had not been put in place at the top of the stairs. Sally was lying at the bottom. Lil pressed her face against the Westie’s head.

  When the Wilsons returned, they found her in the hall, with the little dog’s body in her arms.

  ‘It’s not fair,’ Lil uttered desolately. ‘After everything that’s happened – it’s not fair!’

  Outside, the rain continued to fall.

  GONGOOZLING

  It was a gorgeous day and Cherry Cerise was wearing her favourite outfit: fuchsia wig, orange sombrero, pea-green blouse that also served as a miniskirt, fluorescent yellow leggings and raspberry vinyl knee-length platform boots. Her enormous sunglasses had retro, space-age silver frames.

  Barging into the Wilsons’ cottage, she stomped up the stairs and breezed into Lil’s bedroom.

  ‘Right, kid,’ she said briskly. ‘Today’s the day you haul your sorry tushy outta here. It’s glorious out there.’

  Lil was still in bed, facing the wall.

  Three weeks had passed. Lil had blamed herself for Sally’s death. It rained all day and night, but Lil had crept into the garden in the dark. She was determined to bury her beloved dog herself, with no one watching. It was to be a private, personal goodbye, just the two of them. And so, in the driving rain, she blistered her hands digging the deepest hole she could. When it came up to her waist, she lowered Sally into it.

  She had dressed the Westie in her best tartan jacket, wrapped her in a clean towel, with her favourite chewing sticks and a love note, and tied it all up with ribbons. Then, consumed with grief, she filled in the hole and collapsed. It was like this that her parents had found her.

  For two weeks she had been gravely ill in hospital. Now the worst was over and she had been home for five days, but she would not eat and refused to get out of bed. She didn’t want to see anyone.

  Lil’s parents were beside themselves with worry, so they hoped Cherry’s
plan today would work.

  ‘Go away,’ Lil told her.

  Cherry sat on the bed.

  ‘I got no time for wallowers,’ she said bluntly. ‘Self-pity is so ugly. Thought you was better than that.’

  ‘Leave me alone.’

  ‘Lords’ sakes, you’re stick-thin. That reminds me, the bones have all been re-interred and the rest of the town is back to normal – whatever that means. Anyway, we had us a huge meeting, strictly residents only. Boy, I told them a few home truths they won’t never forget and finally outed myself as ‘witch in residence’. That caused a few wet seats I can tell you. Well, we decided unanimously to put a lid on the whole Annie business. We gotta keep all that amongst ourselves. No one outside Whitby is ever gonna know. Who’d believe it anyways? They’d think the place was nuts. How’s that for a mass conspiracy? The entire town is now guardin’ this humungous secret. Pretty cool, huh?’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘Sure you do. And I read me some more of my predecessor’s books. Remember how Annie was hanged and thrown into a cesspit? Well, seems the family of aufwaders she loved so much forgave her. They fished out her body, washed it, covered it in flowers, sang their sad songs over it and buried her on the cliff above their tunnels. After what she did to them, ain’t that amazin’? If they can forgive that, isn’t it time you forgave yourself ? It wasn’t your fault, babe.’

  Lil turned over.

  ‘Yes it was!’ she said and Cherry saw that she was clutching Sally’s fleecy blanket.

  ‘Let me show you somethin’,’ Cherry said, rooting in her Mary Quant bag. ‘I was gonna save this for when you was better, but what the heck.’

  She brought out a large reproduction of a sepia photograph. It was one of hundreds taken by Frank Meadow Sutcliffe of Victorian Whitby. They were popular with the tourists, and many Whitby families, including the Wilsons and the Thistlewoods, had them on their walls because the people in them were ancestors.

  The one she showed to Lil was of a group of elderly, wizened women sitting in the sun, mending fishing nets. Lil didn’t bother looking at it. She’d seen them a million times and they all seemed the same.