‘I don’t think she’ll thank you for it,’ Jake said. ‘You promised her the man she loved and all she got was me. She left her home and her child to save the life of a stranger.’
‘Her child?’ The frown returned to the Preacher’s brow. ‘What child?’
‘Katherine.’ Jake stared at the old man. ‘Katherine Hobarron. Hers and Josiah’s daughter.’
‘You are mistaken—my son was never a father and Eleanor never yet a mother. I know of no daughter.’
‘But that’s impossible!’
Jake explained the significance of Katherine Hobarron: according to history, the daughter of Josiah went to live with her mother in Hobarron’s Hollow. It was her blood, and the blood of her descendants, that had kept the demon Door sealed for almost four hundred years. How could this child not exist?
‘So many strange things have happened,’ the Preacher said. ‘The miracle of your birth, the twinned nature of yourself and Josiah, your arrival in 1645. It is possible that Time is in flux, warping and changing around us. All of our histories must now be uncertain. Jacob, you must promise not to mention any of this to Eleanor. Her knowledge of this child could be disastrous.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We do not yet know how this situation will play out. It is clear from your understanding of history that Eleanor goes to Hobarron’s Hollow and settles there with Katherine, the daughter she had with Josiah. That the descendants of Katherine will be crucial in keeping the Demontide at bay. Now it may be that this will come to pass, but we must be careful not to influence or prejudice the outcome. We must trust that Fate will play its hand when the time comes, and that the cards will fall in our favour.’
‘But the child doesn’t exist!’ Jake exclaimed. ‘Surely that’s the end of it.’
‘Perhaps … But come, let us move on to other, more certain things. It is time we talked about what you came here for—Josiah’s witch ball.’
‘You know where it is?’
‘I do. In June of this year, I received a letter from Lord Tiberius Holmwood, once a member of the Crowden Coven and now the leader of the Hobarron Elders—a group of men and women dedicated to fighting demonkind. The letter informed me of the death of my son … ’ The tears of the Preacher were in his voice for he had no eyes to shed them. ‘Lord Holmwood also told me that, three days after Josiah’s death, he had summoned the courage to go down into the cavern. He found the demon Door, sealed but still in existence, rooted into the roof of the cave. He also found my son, frozen in ice. But it was what he failed to find that disturbed him—Josiah’s witch ball. You see, Josiah had told Holmwood that the ball contained great power.’
Jake stirred.
‘There’s something I don’t understand. Did the witch ball give Josiah his magic or was it inside him? And if it was, why did he need the ball?’
‘Josiah had his own magic but the witch ball sometimes aided him and inspired his natural feel for Oldcraft.’
‘But how? What is it?’
‘That is what I cannot tell you. One day, if all goes well, you will hold the witch ball in your hand and you will know its true nature and purpose. I only hope that, on that day, you see it as a blessing and not the most wicked curse.’
‘And that’s all you’ll tell me?’ Jake sighed. ‘All right then, go on with what you were saying about Tiberius Holmwood.’
‘After Josiah left him to battle with Marcus Crowden and the Door, Lord Holmwood had ordered his men to watch the cave. Later, unable to find the witch ball, he questioned them most carefully. Each swore an oath that, other than Lord Holmwood himself, no man had gone into the cavern. During the interrogation, the watchmen had seemed strangely confused by Holmwood’s simple questions, and this raised his suspicions. Using hypnosis, he asked them a slightly different question: had anyone entered the cavern? The response was immediate: two women had done so. What were they like? One was old and ugly. The other, younger and beautiful, had spoken to the guards. “You will forget all about us,” she had crooned, “for I am Lethe, the mistress of your memories.” ’
Something stirred at the back of Jake’s mind. He had heard that name before. His father’s words came back to him:
He had three older sisters—Miss Drude, Miss Lethe, and Miss Frija …
‘Marcus Crowden’s sisters,’ Jake said.
‘Indeed. My guess is that their demons told the witches of their brother’s fate. The demons must also have told them that a powerful object had been lost in the shadows of the cavern. Drude and Lethe then retrieved the ball and took it back to Havlock Grange.’
The Preacher reached out and grasped Jake’s shoulders.
‘You must go to the Grange and reclaim what once was yours.’
‘But what’s the point? Let’s say that somehow I get the ball back from these witches—what good will it do? The Khepra Beetle is gone, the Scarab Path closed. I’ve no way of getting home.’
‘There is a way.’
‘How?’
‘The box. The Pale Man used it to come here.’
Those thin, birdlike hands clutched at Jake.
‘The nightmare box is your way home.’
Chapter 27
Lure of the Signum
‘Tobias Quilp is here?’
‘Is that his name? Quilp? My vision did not give me that detail.’
Jake felt anger course through his veins. Quilp must have been sent by the Demon Father to retrieve the witch ball. The very thing that Jake had travelled back in time for now rested in the hands of his mother’s killer.
‘Havlock Grange is a three day ride,’ the Preacher said. ‘You must set out at first light.’
‘But why?’ Jake asked through gritted teeth. ‘Quilp has the witch ball. He’ll take it to the Demon Father and—’
‘So like Josiah!’ The old man laughed. ‘Your mouth is busy while your brain slumbers. Think—this Mr Quilp has been at the Grange for several weeks and yet has not returned to his own time. There must be a reason for his delay. Is there something wrong with the orb? Are the sisters reluctant to part with it? Is there a problem with the nightmare box? Quilp’s continued presence in this time means one thing: the witch ball is still here.’
A chance to steal back the witch ball and to use it to cure his father. A chance to revenge himself on Tobias Quilp. Hope flowered in Jake’s heart, but there was a problem with this picture.
‘My magic.’ He turned to the Preacher. ‘You want me to go after the Crowden sisters? You want me to face one of the most powerful witches in existence? I wish I could, but my magic isn’t strong enough.’
Jake explained how, after he had destroyed the demon Door, the magic of Josiah Hobarron had weakened. For a long time he had tried to reignite the flame of Oldcraft but had been successful only in conjuring a weak shadow of Josiah’s power. Since coming to 1645, the magic seemed to have left him completely. Jake’s eyes returned to the tile below the altar. He felt again the pulsing song of the hidden object. Yesterday the magic had returned to him, stronger than ever.
‘When you first felt the trace of magic in your soul, it came like wildfire,’ the Preacher said, ‘furious and uncontrolled. Is that not so?’
Jake remembered when he had almost drowned in the river near Dr Holmwood’s house. The Preacher was right—the raw and unbridled power had overwhelmed him.
‘So it was with Josiah. The first time is an emotional experience so primal that the brain has little to do with it. Oldcraft is, at its root, a power of emotion and instinct. It is only later, when doubts and logic creep in that the magic is somehow tamed. That is what has happened with you. Early on, you used your power instinctively. Later, when you faced Marcus Crowden and the Door, you had Josiah’s experience to help you. If you had continued to feel your way into the magic it would still be strong, but you were so desperate to cling to it that you started imposing rules and structures. You conjured dead memories to inspire you, but these emotions, although strong, were not being ho
nestly experienced. They were being summoned for a purpose, to be used as a prompt. Despite what witches may tell you, pure Oldcraft does not come to us through spell books and manipulation but through the honest passions of our heart. That is why your magic has been weak, Jacob. You must now find your way back to it.’
Jake felt the truth of these words but a sense of frustration distracted him.
‘I don’t have time for all that. Quilp must be dealt with now.’ He pointed at the tile. ‘That thing is like the witch ball, isn’t it? When you were talking to Eleanor you called it a “Signum”.’
‘You overheard.’ The Preacher’s face turned horribly pale. ‘Jacob, listen to me: something like the witch ball does indeed lie beneath that stone, but it is not your destiny to wield it, not yet. You must go to Havlock Grange and reclaim the witch ball from the demons before they use it to open a second Door. Jacob, please … ’
But Jake wasn’t listening. He dropped to the ground and crawled towards the stone. The power throbbed through his hands and into the hidden parts of his soul.
‘I must have it,’ he said. ‘The power of the Signum in my hand!’
The blind man joined him on the ground and tried to pull Jake away from the stone.
‘You cannot bring them together!’ John Hobarron cried. ‘The world still needs you, Jacob.’
‘But with the Signum, I stand a chance.’ Jake’s upper lip curled into a snarl. ‘With a flick of my fingers I can tear Tobias Quilp apart like a rag doll. Then I can bend all of time and space to my will—I can return home and save my father.’
Power like he had never felt before seared into Jake’s mind. Power beyond that which he had experienced in Crowden’s Sorrow. Power beyond any witch or demon. It overturned his thoughts and, in that moment, he caught a glimpse of the time before flesh. So beautiful, so distant …
A hand caught at his arm and tried to prise him away. Furious, he lashed out and sent the old Preacher flying down the nave of the church.
‘It’s mine!’ Jake cried. ‘It was always mine. You can’t keep it from me!’
His fingers dug at the corners of the tile. Upturning with an earthy sigh, it fell against the altar steps and cracked into seven shards. Jake ploughed into the dirt—threw clods of earth aside—ripped his way down to the hidden Signum. Sweat dripped from his brow and ran into his eyes. He took a moment to clear his vision—nothing must sully his first sight of the prize.
He heard footsteps running down the aisle. Felt a tug at his shoulder—
‘Stop!’ Eleanor cried. ‘Jake, listen to me, you must stop.’
He grunted and went back to digging. Her hands linked across his chest and Eleanor pulled with all her might. Jake toppled backwards out of the hole.
‘No!’
He turned and raised his hand, ready to strike her down.
Eleanor’s terrified eyes froze him as effectively as any freezing spell. He felt the frantic beat of his heart slow to a dull, shameful thud. He reached for her and the girl flinched away.
‘Eleanor. I-I’m sorry.’
‘He never … Josiah, he … ’
She felt for the pew behind her and pushed herself to her feet. The fear vanished from her eyes and she looked down on Jake with such sadness that he had to turn away.
‘Josiah would never have raised his hand to me. Never.’
She went to help the old preacher to his feet. For a long time no one said a word. Eventually, John Hobarron whispered to the girl and she turned and left the church.
‘The Signums are there to inspire you, Jacob,’ the Preacher said, ‘not to consume you. For what it’s worth, I have told you the truth: the witch ball and the object beneath that stone are brothers that must never meet. Not until all hope is lost. You must trust in yourself, my son. Believe in your instincts and in your magic.’
Jake felt the old man’s hand on his shoulder. He looked up into that seeing and unseeing face.
‘Believe in yourself, as I have always believed in you.’
* * *
Dawn crept over the hillside, its rays slinking across the crow-pecked fields and into the empty streets of Starfall. Standing in the sunlight of this bygone day, Jake felt the great gulf of time that separated him from his father and his friends. He remembered the harsh words he had spoken at their parting. To Simon—I’ll hunt you down. Do you understand? I won’t show you any mercy. To his father—You haven’t got any more time, Dad. For Rachel there had been no words, just cruel silence. He needed to get back to them, to see them again, to hold them close and tell them he was sorry. Surely that mattered more than anything.
A mean little voice whispered to him—More than finding Quilp? More than revenge?
As if it sensed this dark voice, the dog at Jake’s side gave a nervous whine. It nudged his leg and looked up at him with sorrowful eyes.
‘Don’t worry, Sebastian,’ Jake said, scratching behind the dog’s ear, ‘he’s only gonna get what’s coming to him.’
Sebastian pulled his head away. The old hound threw Jake a reproachful frown and slunk back into the house.
Jake tugged his new cloak tight around his shoulders and started down the lane. An hour ago, he had woken to find fresh clothes folded on the chest that stood by the door. They had been placed there, together with a bowl of warm water, by the woman of the house. The woman that part of Jake remembered as ‘mother’. After washing, he had dressed, fumbling with the ties at the knees of the breeches and the small buttons of the buff coat. Then he had gone to knock at a familiar door.
‘Mothe—Mrs Hobarron? This is Jacob. I just wanted to say—’
‘Go away.’
It hurt to hear that voice. He remembered a hundred scoldings and a thousand loving words.
‘Please open the door,’ he murmured.
‘For God’s sake, leave me be,’ the woman cried. ‘I cannot lose you again.’
Jake had left with the wailing of a heartbroken mother in his ears.
Now he joined Josiah’s father at the church gate. Eleanor was busy packing the last of their provisions into the pouches of a saddlebag. Last night, after the madness in the church, Jake had returned to the house and knocked on Eleanor’s door. Again, he had tried to apologize but his words had met with silence. She was equally silent now. Ignoring his ‘good morning’, she draped the bag over the horse’s back and adjusted the straps of the saddle.
Two horses stood side-by-side in the lane, heads busy in their nosebags. The first mare was golden-brown, the second, black with a sprinkling of grey hairs. To an average rider’s eye, Jake guessed that these were standard-size mounts, their withers level with his own shoulders. Eleanor removed the nosebags, placed her foot in a stirrup and swung herself onto the back of the black mare. With her eyes on the road, she asked, ‘Are you ready?’
Jake swallowed. ‘I’ve—ah—I’ve never been on a horse.’
They turned to him, amazed. Even the horses flicked their ears as if they couldn’t believe what they had just heard.
‘You’ve never ridden?’ Eleanor marvelled.
‘Um. No. Sorry.’
‘Then how do you get from place to place in the future? Have horses died out? Do you walk everywhere?’
‘I’ve seen it in my visions,’ the Preacher chirruped excitedly. ‘Glimpses of people moving at incredible speeds, twice as fast as any horse. They are encased in the bellies of metal carriages. Perhaps Jacob rides such a beast.’
‘Er … no,’ Jake said, ‘I’m not old enough. Next year I can start having lessons.’
‘You aren’t old enough to ride these metal horses and you can’t ride a normal horse.’ Eleanor shook her head.
Blood rushed into Jake’s face. He snatched hold of the brown mare’s rein, grabbed the pommel on the saddle and tried to jump up. His sudden movement unnerved the horse. She trotted forward and Jake fell back onto the path. He groaned through gritted teeth—a sound of pain and embarrassment.
Eleanor jumped down and helped him
to his feet. ‘Come on, I’ll show you.’
The briefest of riding classes followed. Jake was taught how to mount on the nearside of the horse and how to bounce himself into position. How to lace the rein between his fingers, how to loosen it for speed and pull it taut to stop. The pressure of his knees on the flanks was the key, Eleanor said: the tighter the grip the faster the horse would go. Like Marian, Eleanor’s horse, Pepper was a mature mare and, despite Jake’s fumbling, wasn’t easily startled. As long as she was handled with respect, Pepper wouldn’t throw him. After twenty minutes of practice, Jake had managed to trot down the lane without falling off .
‘I think that’s the best we can hope for,’ Eleanor said, stroking Pepper’s neck. She looked to the horizon and sighed. ‘This is going to be a long journey. I’ll help you where I can, Jake, but we’re going to have to ride fifteen hour days to reach Havlock Grange in reasonable time.’
‘Fifteen hours in the saddle,’ Jake said. ‘Easy.’
Eleanor laughed despite herself and mounted Marian.
‘My dear, I wonder if Jacob and I might have a private word?’ the Preacher said.
‘Of course.’
Eleanor made a clucking sound and Marian clopped down the lane. The Preacher listened to the fading sound of hooves on stone, then turned to Jake.
‘It is time to say goodbye. We shall not see each other again in this life … or the next.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘More mysteries, I’m afraid,’ said John Hobarron.
‘You remind me a bit of my dad. He’s a pain in the backside, too.’
Jake looked down to where Eleanor waited for him.
‘It’s too dangerous,’ he said. ‘I should go alone.’
‘Hasn’t she proven herself to you?’ the Preacher asked. ‘You underestimate that girl at your peril.’
‘It’s not that. I don’t want her putting herself in danger on my behalf.’
‘Again, you sound like my son. Eleanor would plead with Josiah to allow her to accompany him on his travels. He always refused, not because he doubted her abilities, but because the thought of her in the clutches of some witch or monster was too painful for him to bear. In the end, it was selfishness on his part. When he died, alone and helpless, she suffered more pain than a thousand dark hexes. So tell Eleanor that you forbid her to go with you.’ The Preacher smiled through his sorrow. ‘And I will go into the house and plug my sensitive ears.’
Gallows at Twilight Page 24
