The Crowfield Curse

by Pat Walsh

  Suddenly, a tangle of black feathers and claws flew across the clearing, heading straight for Shadlok’s face. The fay ducked aside and the bird fell to the ground, broken and dead. That brief moment of distraction was all the Dark King needed. He pointed to Shadlok and spoke in a language William did not understand, his words battering Shadlok like sharp stones. Shadlok staggered sideways but quickly regained his footing. He held up a hand as if to shield himself from the king’s words, but in the next moment, another crow was hurled through the air and this time its beak and claws caught Shadlok’s face. Blood welled from deep gashes on his cheek and trickled down his neck. Then a third crow came flying toward him. Finally shaken into action, William grabbed a stone from the pile of earth beside the grave and flung it as hard as he could, catching the huge bird full on the chest. The crow spun away and landed with a thump on the ground. William desperately hoped it had been dead before his stone hit it.

  With a great effort, Shadlok turned and swung his arm in a wide arc toward the king. Magic crackled through the Hollow like lightning and the Dark King snarled in fury as his words of power fell short of their mark.

  Time was running out. William knew he had to remove the arrow now. He forced himself to look away as the fox cub jerked and twitched in a slow and painful death dance. It tumbled into the grave by the angel’s head and lay still on the silver-blue hair. William could smell blood and fear on the air and tried to block out the anguished yelps and screams of dying creatures as the enraged king renewed his assault.

  Feeling as if his heart were breaking into pieces, William gently pushed the cub’s body aside. Taking a deep breath, he gripped the broken arrow shaft and began to pull.

  At first, the arrow seemed to be firmly lodged in the angel’s chest. Then, slowly, it started to move. William clamped his jaws tightly together and tried not to hear the rasp of wood against flesh and bone as he worked it loose. It came free with a sudden unpleasant slurch, and he fell against the side of the grave.

  To his horror, the angel’s body began to convulse and there was a choking sound in its throat.

  William scrambled to his feet, terror shooting through him like nails. He watched, wide-eyed with disbelief, as the angel put a hand over the wound in its chest. Its mouth opened and it took a huge, juddering breath, gulping at the air like a drowning man breaking the surface of the water. The eyes opened, black as polished jet, and stared up at the sky.

  William edged his way backward, up and out of the grave. The angel sat up, blinked, and gazed around as if it was struggling to understand what was happening. William caught a glimpse of something just showing above its shoulders, the upper curves of white-feathered wings.

  The angel rose to its feet slowly and stiffly, as if every joint and muscle hurt, until it was standing upright in the grave, its slim body almost twice William’s height. There was a soft rustle as it flexed its wings. They lifted and spread wide, shaking bits of earth and small stones from between the feathers.

  The angel turned to look at the two fays. It raised an arm and held the palm of its hand toward the Dark King. For several moments, the king held his ground, the fierce green eyes staring defiantly at the angel, but then his gaze wavered and he took a step backward. A look of fear briefly weakened the sharp lines of his face.

  “It is not over,” he spat, glaring at Shadlok. “You will pay for this.” And just as suddenly as he’d arrived, he was gone.

  Bewildered, William stared at the empty patch of earth where a moment ago the king had been standing. He looked around the clearing, but the fay had vanished.

  Shadlok walked toward the angel. He knelt beside the grave and bowed his head. His silver-white hair spilled forward and hung down over his chest. The angel leaned forward slowly and touched him on the forehead. It looked very like the blessing Prior Ardo gave to his monks.

  Staring up at the angel, Shadlok started to speak. William did not understand what he was saying, but the angel clearly did. It listened with an intent expression before turning its dark eyes to Jacobus. It stretched out a hand and beckoned to him with a slow curl of its long fingers.

  “Help me, boy,” Jacobus said in a harsh whisper, the mask jerking around to face William.

  With great reluctance, William crossed the clearing to Master Bone’s side.

  “Let me lean on you,” Jacobus said, lifting his arm.

  William hesitated, not wanting to touch him. He forced himself not to pull away when Jacobus rested the stump of his hand on his shoulder. Together they walked toward the angel.

  Shadlok got to his feet. He moved aside to allow Jacobus to stand in front of the angel. Jacobus leaned more heavily on William, forcing him to stay by his side.

  “I beg you to show mercy,” Jacobus said, a break in his voice. “Set aside the curse that has been placed on me. Let me die.”

  William stared at Jacobus. So he was not looking for a cure at all; he wanted death.

  “I am begging you,” Jacobus said. He held up his arms, and his sleeves fell back, exposing what was left of his hands.

  William could not begin to imagine the depths of Master Bone’s despair if all he craved now was to be allowed to die.

  “Step away, human,” Shadlok said softly.

  William took a few steps backward, until he was standing beside Shadlok.

  The angel’s black eyes reflected the sparse snowflakes as it looked down at Jacobus. It lifted a hand and pointed to his mask.

  Using what was left of a finger, Jacobus pushed back his hood and pulled down the mask.

  William gasped. Master Bone’s face hardly merited the name. Where the nose should have been, there was an open wound, wet and dark. His lips had gone, as had his ears. His teeth were black and his skin blotched with weeping sores. Only his brown eyes looked recognizably human. They were wide and clear and filled with despair. It was a terrible sight, like something from a nightmare, and in that moment, William understood what had brought Jacobus to this clearing to beg for death.

  The angel did not show any trace of pity or revulsion. There was just a look of infinite compassion on its calm and beautiful face. It leaned down and laid a hand on Jacobus’s scabbed scalp. Its lips moved soundlessly. Jacobus gave a long, shuddering sigh and sank slowly to the ground. His thin body seemed to fold in on itself as he fell sideways and lay still.

  A flurry of snowflakes whirled across the clearing. The angel stepped out of the grave. A wisp of white mist coiled up from the body on the ground. William watched in astonishment as the mist clouded and sharpened, and a man stood there. At first, he was just a pale ghost form, but then colors darkened and details became clearer. The man was tall and lean of build, with dark hair hanging to his shoulders and wide hazel-brown eyes. It was Jacobus Bone, but Jacobus as he had been a long time ago, not the decaying shell he had become. He held up his hands and stared at the long unblemished fingers in wonder, his face shining with fierce joy.

  The young Jacobus turned to Shadlok. “Good-bye, my old friend. Our journey together ends here, but I could never have come this far without you.” He looked at William. “And my heartfelt gratitude to you, boy. Without you, the king’s curse could not have been broken.”

  With that, Jacobus bowed to the angel, then turned and walked up the slope and away from the Hollow. He disappeared into the forest without looking back.

  The snow was falling more heavily now. It settled on the ground and balanced delicately along branches and twigs. William was too lost in awe of the scene before him to notice the cold.

  A softly shimmering light flickered over the angel’s body. For a panic-ridden moment William thought it was on fire. He glanced at Shadlok but the fay did not look alarmed. The light grew brighter until it hurt his eyes and he turned away. Then suddenly, the light faded away. It was some moments before his eyes adjusted and he could see the clearing again. The angel had gone.

  William knelt down by the grave and picked up the fox cub. He cradled it against his chest, strok
ing its fur with his thumb. His throat hurt with the effort of not crying. He walked over to the pond and laid the cub gently on the ground. Balancing on a mat of reeds, he reached out to grab the dog fox, to pull it out of the water. His fingers touched wet fur but he couldn’t get a hold on the fox’s body.

  “Step aside,” Shadlok said.

  William watched as the fay guided the animal’s body to the shore with a branch. When it reached the reeds, Shadlok leaned down and lifted it from the pond. It hung limp and dripping in his arms, and he laid it down beside the cub.

  “Why did he do this?” William asked, his voice thick with tears. “Why them? They did nothing wrong.”

  “He did it to punish you for helping Bone to die,” Shadlok said, his voice surprisingly gentle.

  “I hate him.”

  “So do I.” Shadlok put a hand on William’s shoulder in a brief gesture of sympathy.

  William gathered all the bodies together beside the foxes. The stag was too big and heavy to move so he carefully straightened its head on its broken neck.

  The snow settled on the still-warm creatures. William crouched down beside them and a hot tear trickled down to his chin and dropped onto the ruffled fur of the cub. William closed his eyes. He wanted to say a prayer, but no words came.

  A warm breeze touched his face, and startled, he opened his eyes. Something nudged his leg and he looked down to see the fox cub wriggling to its feet. Too amazed to move, William watched as one by one the bodies of the dog fox, the crows, and the smaller birds struggled back to life, broken bones mending, drowned lungs filling with air. There was a snort and a grunt as the stag scrabbled onto its feet. It stood there trembling, its breath clouding around its head, very much alive.

  William started to laugh. He gave a whoop of joy, and the stag, startled by the noise, leaped up the slope of the Hollow and back to the safety of the forest.

  Quickly and silently, all the animals and fays slipped back to the woods, leaving only their tracks in the snow to show they had ever been there at all.

  William and Shadlok faced each other silently for several moments; then Shadlok leaned down and lifted Jacobus’s body onto his shoulders. He set off up the slope, back to the track and the horses. William followed and stopped for a moment when he reached the trees. A light wind sent snow dancing and whirling through the Hollow. Huge soft flakes settled on the ground around the empty grave. William was not sure if it was his imagination, but the atmosphere in the clearing seemed to have changed. It did not feel so hostile. The air felt lighter and fresher, as if the snow-laden wind had blown away the ancient presence lurking there. Pulling his jacket more tightly around his body, William turned and hurried after Shadlok.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-SIX

  When William reached the trackway, Shadlok was waiting for him. He had slung Master Bone’s body over the back of his horse, and stood holding the reins of all three horses. Snowflakes dusted Master Bone’s cloak.

  “Are we still going to Weforde?” William asked.

  “No. We will take Bone’s body back to the abbey,” Shadlok replied, handing him Matilda’s reins. “I am sure the monks will not begrudge him burial.”

  They walked along without talking for a while. William could see Shadlok’s face in the dusk and something in the set of the fay’s jaw told him he would be wise to keep silent, but there were things he needed to ask.

  “How did you know the angel could overturn the Dark King’s curse?”

  Shadlok glared at him. “Do you ever stop talking?”

  “I helped you tonight. You owe me an explanation.”

  The fay sighed heavily. “There are tales amongst the fay of creatures who pass freely amongst the stars, who were already ancient when this world was new. They have the dust of creation on their feet.” He turned to look at William. “They have many names. Angel is but one of them. They have the power over life and death itself, so it is said. They are the only creatures other than the Creator who could undo the Dark King’s curse of eternal life on Jacobus Bone. For many centuries Bone and I searched for them in vain. We finally came across a book in an abbey in France eighty-two winters ago, with pictures of the death of just such a creature, but we knew it could not die. We set out to find its grave and our journey brought us to Crowfield Abbey. The rest of the story you know.”

  William shivered. What if Shadlok and Master Bone had not discovered the book in the French abbey? Would the angel have lain in the earth until Judgment Day? There were so many questions and no answers, just mysteries wrapped inside puzzles, like the layers of an onion, one inside another.

  “What about Brother Snail?” William asked at last.

  “The monk is unharmed,” Shadlok said.

  “So he’ll wake up now?”

  Shadlok’s eyes narrowed. “You doubt me?”

  William shrugged.

  The fay stared ahead, his eyes as cold as the snow whirling past his face.

  William was uncomfortably aware that he had managed to insult Shadlok. They continued on their way in silence.

  There was one last thing William still wanted to know. It had been troubling him since their visit to Dame Alys’s house. “What was the thing in the bird-mask that I saw yesterday?” he asked.

  Shadlok glanced at him. “I believe it was one of the old gods of this land.”

  “A god?” William said in surprise. “But there’s only one, isn’t there?”

  “There is only one Creator,” Shadlok said, nodding, “but there are many others who have been worshipped as gods, and the thing you saw in the hut is one of them. It inhabited a sacred grove of trees that was cared for by the woman’s ancestors. It seems she has not turned her back on the old ways, as so many others have.”

  “But what is it? Is it a fay, or a demon?” William persisted. “A ghost, perhaps?”

  There was an odd glitter in Shadlok’s eyes as he turned to look at William. “It is an angel.”

  William stared at Shadlok. “An angel ? It can’t be.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it was evil,” William said.

  “Like fays and humans, there are dark and light angels. I believe the angel you saw in the woman’s house is a creature of the darkness. The angel we freed from its grave was sent here to hunt it down.”

  “That was why Dame Alys never told anyone about the angel,” William said, suddenly understanding. “She must have known it wasn’t really dead and she didn’t want anyone to find it, because it would come after her angel.”

  Shadlok nodded. “Exactly, and she could not allow that to happen. A word of warning: The woman and the angel she serves are drawn to those whose hearts are good, people like you. Turning you from the Creator would matter more to them than you could ever imagine. Stay away from Dame Alys from now on.”

  William bowed his head. He just hoped she would stay away from him.

  Shadlok touched William’s arm and pointed toward a stand of birch trees a little way ahead. The thin white trunks were pale stripes against the dark woods. William couldn’t see anything to explain the fay’s sudden wariness.

  “What?” William said, frowning. “There’s nothing there.”

  “Look again,” Shadlok said softly. He drew his sword and handed the reins of the two horses to William. “Stay behind me.”

  Peering through the snow, William thought he glimpsed something green move between the trees. Shadlok walked slowly along the track, sword at the ready, until he reached the birches, and then he stopped. William heard him say something, but the wind carried the words away.

  The horses started to pull at their reins. Matilda whinnied and jerked her head back. The other two danced nervously, eyes rolling and nostrils flaring as fear infected them. William turned his back on Shadlok as he struggled to control the horses.

  “Steady!” he said, trying to stroke Matilda’s neck, but she was beyond listening to him.

  William looked over his shoulder. All he could see of
Shadlok was his white hair. In front of him was a blur of green. Was it the Dark King? he wondered anxiously. Had he come to kill Shadlok?

  William felt powerless. He couldn’t help Shad-lok, and unless he let go of the horses’ reins and made a run for it, he couldn’t help himself, either.

  “Hush, Tildy,” he said, desperately trying to calm the horse. The other two tugged at their reins and he had to wrap the thin leather strips around his wrists to stop them slipping out of his grip. He kept a wary eye on the pawing hooves.

  Something touched William’s shoulder and he turned, half expecting to find a sword blade pointing at his throat. To his surprise, he saw Shadlok standing in front of him, his face tense, his eyes narrowed to icy slits.

  “Give me the reins,” the fay said.

  William did as he was told. He looked at the stand of birch trees. The patch of green had gone. “Was that the king?” he asked anxiously.

  Shadlok nodded. He whispered something to the three nervous horses, stroking their muzzles and patting their necks. William was astonished to see their ears prick forward as they listened to him. They grew calmer, and Matilda nuzzled his shoulder gently.

  “He came to tell me that I will be allowed to live for now, and to warn you that he will not forget your part in what happened today.”

  William felt sick. How was that fair? “But I didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

  “That means nothing to him,” Shadlok said scornfully. “The king is cunning and his memory is long, human. Keep your eyes open and your wits about you at all times. He will come for you when you least expect it.”

  William gave Matilda’s reins a tug and put his head down against the driving snow. Sick dread churned in his stomach. Was Shadlok right? Would the Dark King really come after him, simply because he’d been forced to help dig up the angel? William urged Matilda on. He wouldn’t be happy until he was safely inside the abbey walls.