by Robin Jarvis
The old lady made a grab for it but the witch recovered swiftly. She bristled with wrath and a vicious growl rumbled in her throat. Savagely she leapt up and, thrusting Miss Boston aside, snatched the staff once more.
Aunt Alice rolled backwards, clasping her stomach, for Rowena's shove had winded her. She was too old for physical combat and she scolded herself crossly. 'What do you think you're doing wrestling at your age, Alice?' she wheezed. 'Your body's clapped out, so use your brains.'
'Hag!' screeched Rowena. 'I should kill you now!' Trembling with anger, she raised the staff and brought it smashing down. Miss Boston scuttled backwards as it drove into the soil, which burst into flames.
'Temper, temper,' puffed the old lady. 'What's the matter, my dear? Everything getting out of hand, is it?'
Rowena hissed through gritted teeth, 'Have a care! One command from me and you will suffer untold torments.'
'Oh, I do beg your pardon,' Miss Boston rallied. 'I thought you'd already tried that.'
Sable lightning flashed from the staff and Rowena shrieked with fury. 'You haven't seen a thousandth of my power!' she snapped.
'Your power!' scoffed Aunt Alice. 'Don't flatter yourself, madam. The staff obeys no one now. It was made for Hilda alone to wield but even she became afraid to use it. That is why she had to hide the thing: it started to take over. It has a will of its own, can't you see that?'
Rowena's confidence was not shaken. 'Don't be absurd,' she laughed. 'I am in full control. Hilda was weak; she listened too long to the whinings of the bishops and abandoned the way of the night, that is all.'
The old lady struggled to her feet. 'Use your head, woman,' she said. 'If that were true then Hilda would have had the staff destroyed. The fact that it still exists must tell you something. The staff is invulnerable—it cannot be broken. Over the centuries it has increased in strength, waiting for another to discover it. If you pursue this folly then you shall be bound to it forever. It is using you—it needs a human vessel to work through and you shall be utterly enslaved.'
The witch looked uncertainly at the staff in her hands. Could the old fool be right? Is that why she desired this so much; was it really the staff tricking her into subservience? Then an unpleasant smile crossed her lips and she tossed her head. 'Be silent,' she told Miss Boston. 'I am the Empress of the Dark, the staff of Hilda obeys me!'
'Does it?' shouted Aunt Alice desperately. 'Look around you, you poor deluded woman. Is that what you call control?' And she pointed at the town to convince her.
Whitby was still lurching in and out of time, confusion everywhere. In the sky the sun and the moon traversed the heavens, wheeling great arcs of light and darkness about the world. Winter and summer mingled in the chaos, trees shrank into the ground and buildings glimmered through the spinning ages. The Norman abbey rose about them. For the briefest of instants they were enclosed within its covered walls, then these fragmented and they stood amid ruins once more.
'It's a mess!' Miss Boston declared. 'The staff is out of control.'
Rowena studied the town with suspicion. At first she had enjoyed watching it gallop into the past, but now it irritated her. 'I will have order,' she barked. 'I have the mastery.'
'Never,' goaded Aunt Alice. 'The staff won't listen to you any more—you have become its servant.'
The witch rounded on her. 'Name a time,' she demanded. 'Name a year, a day if you wish, and you shall see who rules here.'
The old lady seemed taken aback. 'A time?' she asked in a fluster.
The witch ground her teeth impatiently; she was being pushed too far by this senile idiot and she advanced on her menacingly. 'Come on, hag—choose!' she barked.
Miss Boston stammered and shuffled backwards. 'Er... let me see, any time did you say?' She counted on her fingers and scratched her woolly head idiotically. 'Nineteen, no... six, dear me, no—of course, June the 25th, 1830,' she said at last, 'my grandpapa's birthday, don't you know.'
Rowena threw back her head and held the staff high in the air. 'Hear me!' she announced. 'Show your devotion, acknowledge my sovereignty.'
At once the wind died down, the sun slowed and came to rest in the bright blue sky of a hot June afternoon. The hazy images of Whitby stabilised and fused into a solid collection of houses. The harbour was filled with whaling ships; seagulls flew over the church of St Mary and flapped lazily round the cliff, riding the air currents and crying with contented voices. From the streets below, the bustling sound of a busy town drifted up and the majestic abbey ruins shone rich and gold in the sunshine.
Miss Boston was overawed at the speed of the transformation—Rowena really was in control. The witch smirked, greatly pleased with herself. She could see that the old lady was impressed, for that know-it-all look had been completely wiped from her face. The smile broadened as she thought of an even more conclusive way to prove the extent of her powers.
With the end of the staff, she tapped the ground three times and closed her eyes. 'From the very jaws of death I snatch thee,' she muttered.
A blaze of purple fire burst over the grass and out of Whitby's history crashed three figures. Ben and Nelda gasped for breath; they were soaked to the skin and icy seawater dripped from them on to the summer grass. They flopped on to their backs and gulped down the sweet air. Jennet crouched nearby still with her fingers in her ears and her eyes squeezed shut.
Miss Boston was overjoyed. She longed to run to them but her difficult task was not yet finished. For the moment at least, they were safe. Her eyes rolled cautiously upwards as she turned back to Rowena. 'A good four or five metres to go yet,' she told herself quietly.
The witch was glowing with satisfaction as she smugly gazed at the tranquil scene around them. 'See how wrong you were,' she breathed. 'I have total control over absolutely everything.'
'Yes,' Aunt Alice mumbled, 'I rather think you have.' She stole another glance at the children and the aufwader. Ben and Nelda were recovering already and Jennet was tending to them. Good—so long as they stayed there all would be fine. The old lady wrung her hands and, in a small, frightened voice, asked Rowena, 'What will you do with me now? Have mercy, I beg you.' Very slowly, she started to shuffle away through the high archway below the central tower.
Rowena stalked after her. 'The time has come for me to end my business in Whitby,' she said with a sneer. 'I have other matters to attend to, but as for you—you have been a thorn in my side for too long, old crone. Before I leave I shall deal with you in my own way.'
Miss Boston cowered further back. 'Please,' she cried, 'have pity. I'll do anything you ask—just spare me!'
The witch laughed. Her teeth were long and sharp and when Aunt Alice saw her eyes they were red as blood. 'Only now do you understand,' howled Rowena. 'Look at me and die!' Her face was pulled into a dreadful snarl and hackles prickled from her neck. The fingers which held the staff twisted into claws and in a deep, rumbling voice she roared, 'Your life is over.'
The old lady recoiled. 'No!' she blubbered pathetically.
Jennet and the others watched in disbelief as Miss Boston grovelled and pleaded for her life.
Rowena's hellish laughter rang round the abbey ruins as she summoned all her black powers and the ancient stones shook around her. 'I'm going to rip you apart!' she screamed.
With her jaws slavering, the witch sprang at Miss Boston. But the old lady was not as cowed as she had pretended to be. She stepped nimbly aside and, as the terrible creature lunged, she gave it a mighty stab with her hat-pin. Rowena howled and yammered, but then she turned again on her prey. Miss Boston looked hurriedly at the vaulted ceiling above; why was it taking so long?
Rowena prowled towards her, half woman—half hound. She had Aunt Alice pressed into a corner and advanced with her teeth snapping. A stone rattled down and bounced over the ground by her feet but the witch ignored it. The muscles in her shoulders tensed and she prepared to pounce.
As the fiery eyes blazed malevolently at her. Miss Boston bellowed, 'I'
ve waited a long time to do this!' and punched the witch for all she was worth.
The blow had little effect, but that little was enough. Rowena stared at her, not believing the audacity of it. Seizing her one chance, the old lady bolted for the archway.
'You can't escape me now,' screeched the witch. 'I am the hunter of souls!'
From the structure above there came an ominous crack—the great arches were splitting. Rowena looked up warily; her burning eyes widened with shock as she realised that she had been tricked. In a thundering crash, the central tower collapsed. A shrill howl pierced the deafening tumult as Rowena Cooper was crushed beneath the tons of falling masonry that toppled and smashed down. A cloud of dust billowed out and, when it cleared, all that remained of the tower was a mound of rubble.
Beyond the vast pile of broken stones the children and Nelda were standing with fearful looks on their faces. Where was Aunt Alice? Jennet and Ben rushed forward, calling her name.
'What do you think you are doing?' came a voice. Miss Boston's head popped up from behind a wall and she peered at the devastation.
'We thought you were under there,' cried Jennet.
The old lady stepped carefully through the wreckage. 'Don't be silly, dear,' she said. 'Give me a hand here, would you?'
Ben and Jennet dashed over and threw their arms round Aunt Alice's neck.
'Oh, Benjamin,' she said with a grimace, 'you're all wet.'
'I thought you were dead,' the boy cried.
Miss Boston pulled the children from her and became serious. 'Quickly,' she told them. 'We must search through this rubble and find the staff of Hilda—it is our only link with the future. If we don't find it then we may be stuck in this time for good.'
She and Jennet began pulling the stones from the great mound but Ben did not join in. He was looking for Nelda. 'Where is she?' he asked. 'Did you see where she went?'
The old lady straightened her back and glanced past the church—Nelda was there and she knew what she had found. 'I believe she is on the steps,' she said, a little croakily. 'She is with Hesper—leave her alone for a while, Benjamin.'
Aunt Alice clasped her hands together and stared at the ground. A forlorn, soul-wrenching cry floated on the warm breeze, and the old lady covered her face so that the children would not see her weeping.
Jennet dragged a huge square stone from the pile and sent it rolling on to the dusty grass. 'Aunt Alice,' she shouted excitedly, 'I think I've found it—look!'
She had uncovered a corner section of the ruined tower. It was balanced precariously on one of the fallen pillars but, in the shade beneath, the carved end of the staff was plain to see.
'Wait,' said Miss Boston, drying her eyes and scrabbling anxiously over the debris. 'No, Jennet, don't you touch it.'
The girl reached in and her fingers closed round the black wood. 'It's all right,' she told her. 'I've got it,' Jennet tugged at the staff but it was held fast. 'It must be wedged under all this. Just one more...'
She staggered down the side of the heap and stared, horrified, into the hole—the staff was in the grip of a large black paw.
'Hush, dear,' Miss Boston whispered in the girl's ear, 'don't let Benjamin know.'
'But that's the hound,' Jennet stammered, 'the Barguest. Where is Rowena—what happened to her?'
'You're looking at her, dear,' Aunt Alice answered mildly. 'That was Rowena's true nature.' She patted Jennet's arm and stooped down to retrieve the staff herself. It came free in her hands and, reverently, she held it up.
'Oh, what a divine creation,' she breathed, examining the intricate carving. 'Simply marvellous.'
'Do you really know how to use it?' Jennet ventured. 'I mean, it's not as if you're a witch like Rowena.'
Aunt Alice smiled. 'I seem to remember somebody saying otherwise not too long ago. I think I told you then that I preferred the term "wise woman".'
She held the staff before her, but a call from Ben interrupted her concentration. 'Look up there!' he cried.
In the east windows of the abbey a white light shone. At first they thought it was only an illusion, but then the blurred shape took form and the old lady gasped in wonder. So intense was the radiance that it cast long shadows over the abbey lawns and the summer sun seemed pale by comparison.
'My word,' murmured Miss Boston and humbly bowed her head.
Jennet shielded her eyes but found that she could look into the light quite easily without it hurting. The girl blinked; for a second she thought she had seen the figure of a woman.
Miss Boston lifted the staff and offered it to the dazzling vision. 'Take it,' she said respectfully. 'It is too dangerous a thing for this world.'
Briefly the light welled up and then was extinguished. Jennet gawped stupidly; everywhere seemed dull and chill. Aunt Alice lowered her hands, which were empty. The staff had gone back to its rightful owner. 'All is as it should be,' she sighed, 'thank the Lord.'
'But how will we get home without it?' asked Ben.
The old lady chuckled. 'Look about you, dear,' she said.
It was a grey September dawn and the town was waking. Cars lumbered down Church Street and the fish market was about to start on the West Cliff. Just another ordinary day in Whitby.
Miss Boston wrapped her muddy cloak round the two children and they wandered slowly out of the abbey grounds. Wearily, the three of them passed through the churchyard and on the hundred and ninety-nine steps they found Nelda waiting. The body of her aunt was in her arms and she huddled her close, brushing the sand-coloured hair from Hesper's peaceful face.
'It is over,' Miss Boston told her.
The aufwader stared at the leaden sea and nodded.
Requiem
In the dead of night. Aunt Alice, Jennet and Ben stood upon the pier, while in the distance a small black boat sailed over the water, wreathed in flames.
'What will the fisher folk do now?' asked the girl.
Miss Boston shrugged. 'I'm afraid there is no hope for them,' she replied sorrowfully. 'They are doomed to extinction.'
From the exposed shore beneath the cliff, a sad lament began. The whole tribe was gathered there. All was forgiven and they mourned the passing of Hesper Gull together. The Song of the Dead drifted through the calm night and Nelda held on to her grandfather desolately.
Ben watched the burning craft drift into the dim horizon until the fires died and it was gone.
'Goodbye, Hesper,' whispered Miss Boston. She coughed and briskly rubbed her hands. 'Now then, let's get you two tucked into bed.'
She led them down the pier but Ben could not help staring at the sea.
'Come on,' said his sister kindly, 'we're going home.'
The boy trailed behind them, silently. He knew that one day he would have to atone for his failure to lift the curse of the Deep Ones.
