by Peter Oxley
Chapter 34
We each held our breath as the front window filled with blue and then cracked with the impact of us hitting the water head-on. We bounced and skidded along the surface for a few moments and then spun to a halt before lurching down under the water. A series of crackling noises like the sound of tiny gunfire filled the room as the window fractured and, before I could check on the health and whereabouts of the others, we were pushed back by a deluge of water.
I lost all sense of perspective, any idea of what was up or down or where the walls or window were. I had managed to pull in a good lungful of air before we were immersed and I resolved not to waste it. A hand touched mine and I spun round to see Maxwell, his cheeks bulging as he pointed toward the hole which had once been the window. I nodded and then turned, looking for the others. Kate was thrashing around not too far away and we both grabbed her and pushed her forward. I let Maxwell guide her out and then looked round for Freddie in the murky darkness. I saw a form by the rear bulkhead and kicked toward it, rewarded by the sight of my old friend’s limp form. I looped an arm round his chest and then kicked us toward the window and out of the craft.
My lungs were burning as I pushed us through the window, in my desperation ignoring the shards of glass which threatened to rip us apart as we passed through. I kicked up as soon as we were clear, panicked by the lack of light. Was I heading in the right direction? Was I actually swimming down, away from the surface? Or maybe we were trapped underneath the craft, doomed to waste our last breaths futilely trying to claw our way around it.
My cheeks felt as though they would burst and finally I could take no more, expelling the contents of my lungs and reflexively gasping, taking in water. I clamped my mouth shut as the liquid hit my throat, but there was nothing for my body to feed on and I started to kick around, panicking.
My hand waved out into something cold and free and then, mercifully, my head broke the surface. I coughed out water and sucked in sweet, cool air, treading water to keep myself from sinking below again. Somehow I had managed to keep hold of Freddie in spite of my thrashing around and I pulled his head up, holding his mouth out of the water. It was only then that I registered the deep gash in his skull, with half of his head missing. I had no time to feel sorrow but instead kicked toward the shore before the last of my strength ran out, dragging the corpse behind me.
Thankfully we had crashed not too far out from the shore and in no time I felt stones beneath my feet. I pulled Freddie’s body up so that it was not in danger of washing back out and then threw myself onto my back, letting my tired muscles relax.
I looked up at a frantic splashing sound to see Maxwell’s head bobbing toward me. I waded out and helped him with Kate’s immobile form. “Dear God, no,” I muttered. “Not her too.”
We pushed and pulled her body onto the shore, noticing how she did not even flinch as we dragged her over the hard stones. I bent over her, listening. There was a faint pulse but no breathing. I put my lips over hers and blew into her mouth; one, two, three. One, two, three.
I lost count of the number of times I repeated the pattern. At some point I felt Maxwell’s hand on my shoulder but I ignored it and continued with my labours.
Her lips twitched and then she started to cough. I slumped back, panting, suddenly aware of how tired I was.
After a few minutes of retching she sat up and gave me a weary smile. “I s’pose that means we’re even.”
I laughed and fell to my back with sheer exhaustion, staring up at the blue sky above. A malevolent shadow fell across us and my heart sank. “Oh, no,” I groaned as the demon dived toward us. “Move!” I shouted at Kate and Maxwell and threw myself into a roll, ignoring the stones which cut into me as I reached for my sword.
In one fluid, exultant movement I jumped to my feet and drew my sword, my heart singing with the joy of swinging the steel free at last. I saw the creature’s attack not with my eyes but with something much more primal, my whole body sensing and moving as one, the sword an extension of me. I swung the blade in a glorious arc, cutting the air around me with the line of steel and was rewarded with a slight pressure as it connected with the demon.
It screamed, a noise so loud and bestial that I would have been forced to block out my ears, were I not so full with the energy and fury of my own attack. It wheeled round and this time I saw it as it charged straight at me, trailing black blood as half of its body hung loose. I smiled with the cold joy of the moment, stepping out of the way of a decaying claw and parrying with another blow which connected sweetly. We were now mere feet apart, and it thrust its face at me, a nightmarish blend of alligator and crow. Sharp, yellow teeth snapped at where I had been standing only a moment beforehand and closed on thin air above my head. I straightened up from where I had squatted and drove the sword up into the soft flesh of the creature’s chin and through its head, uncaring of the black wetness which oozed onto me. I kicked it away before it could collapse on me and pulled the sword free, ready for the next attack.
It took a fair few seconds before I realised that that attack would never come; the creature was dead.
* * *
I placed the last rock upon the cairn which formed the final resting place of Lord Frederick McNaughton, then stepped back and blinked away a tear. In the distance, the remnants of the deflated balloon still floated limply on the lake, marking the grave of his constant companion, The Old Lady. Kate put a hand on my arm while Maxwell stood motionless at my other side, providing that particular form of emotional support that only a brother can. A little further away stood the farmer who had come to our assistance when he had seen the dirigible crash into the lake. His children ran and played around us, too young to comprehend the tragedy which had unfolded this day.
I scratched at my leg. The farmer and his wife had kindly provided us with dry clothes, but I had a horrible feeling mine were infested with fleas.
They all expected me to say something, some words to mark this great man’s passing but, not for the first time, my mind was a blank. For a person who made his trade using words, I was a pathetic speechmaker. No wonder I was broke.
The self-pity sparked off something deep within me and the words started to come out of me, first a trickle then a torrent.
“I first met Freddie when I was a young man, barely out of my teenaged years. I was honoured to have travelled with him in The Old Lady many, many times. He was a good friend, always there for me; I lost count of how many times he saved my life.” I looked down, blinking away the tears. “I suppose this makes one last time. Goodbye, old friend.”
“He seemed like a good man,” said Maxwell.
“He was,” I said, my mind’s eye full of his beaming smile and booming laugh. “One of the best.”
Kate hugged her arms round her chest. “So what do we do now?”
“It’ll be dark soon,” said the farmer. “You can stay with us for the night. Your clothes’ll be dry in the morning; I can get you on the road to wherever you’re going then.” He looked up at the sky. “We should go now.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “I mean to say, thank you for the offer of hospitality, but we would not wish to impose.”
“I wouldn’t be much of a man if I let you wander these parts at night,” he said, gathering the children and shepherding them toward his house, which stood on a hill overlooking the lake. “Be a shame if you were to survive the lake, just to be killed out here.”
“What do you mean?” asked Kate.
He looked up to the darkening sky again. “There’ll be time to talk later. When we’re safe inside.”
* * *
We sat around the meagre fire and pretended to enjoy the watery broth which our hosts had made us. The farmer made no attempt to disguise the fact that he was studying us from the other side of the room, while the children ranged about the single-roomed house, playing or fighting or just sitting and staring at us. The farmer’s wife busied herself around the edges of the room, avoiding having anyt
hing to do with us. All in all, it was not the most welcome of surroundings, but compared to the alternative it was a veritable palace.
“That thing,” said Kate. “That thing that attacked us. What was it?”
Maxwell and I looked at each other and shrugged. We were about to answer when the farmer cut across us.
“Looked to me like a dragon,” he said. “Just like in the fairy tales.”
I studied him. “And that does not surprise you?”
He shrugged. “Time was, it might have done. Now... I’ve seen much stranger things these past few days.”
“Like what, for example?” said Maxwell, leaning forward.
The woman banged a pot on the table and glared at her husband, then turned back to her chores. The farmer cleared his throat. “There’ve been some odd things, mostly at night. Strange noises, weird shaped things.” He shuddered. “Ghost-like creatures that’ll steal your soul.”
“Have you seen them then, these soul-sucking ghosts?” said Kate.
“Aye. Through the window, in any event. They don’t come into houses, thank God. But we saw a traveller the other night on the hills. In the morning we found his body, and the look on his face...” He shuddered.
“How do you know his soul had been taken?” said Maxwell. “As opposed to him simply dying of natural causes?”
“We saw him on the hill,” said the farmer. “These glowing creatures were chasing him. Human-looking but something not right about them; they seemed too thin to be real, and floated, not walked. They surrounded him and put their hands on him. His scream...” He looked around at his family, the protective father suddenly ageing by at least ten years before our eyes. “Sir, if you’ve ever seen a man whose soul has been taken, you’ll know it.”
Maxwell and Kate looked at me and I shuddered; I could sympathise all too well with the poor man.
We all jumped at a howl from far away, a desperate, keening sound which echoed round the hills. “It’s starting,” said the farmer. “We should all try and get some rest.” As one, the family pulled out rugs and makeshift beds from every corner and crevice, curtains pulled across to divide the room.
“What’s starting?” asked Kate.
“Best you just put your head down and try to sleep, Miss,” said the farmer. “Otherwise it’s going to be a long night.”
* * *
I awoke the next morning with a sore head and itching eyes. I had clearly managed to doze off at some point, although the quality of that sleep was dubious at best. I looked up and noted that Maxwell appeared to be in a similar state to me whilst Kate was snoring rhythmically, as she had for most of the night.
“How does she manage that?” I asked.
“I understand her upbringing accustomed her to achieving a deep sleep whenever she can. Although an interesting factor is how reactive she is to external stimuli, regardless of how soundly she appears to be sleeping.” To demonstrate, he picked up a stick and rested it gently on her shoulder. Instantly, her hand snapped around it and her eyes flicked open.
“What?” she asked, stretching.
“Time to go,” said Maxwell. “We have a lot of travelling to do and not much time in which to do it.”
Kate frowned. “How do we know where to go? Your Sensor thingy went down with the balloon. I don’t know about you two, but I don’t really fancy diving back into that lake.”
“In any case,” said Maxwell. “If the impact did not irretrievably damage the Aetheric Sensor then the water certainly will have done; it will not be in any way serviceable now. No, there is no need for us to go swimming. I have a better idea.” He looked at us triumphantly, relishing the opportunity to demonstrate his ingenuity.
“Pray tell,” I sighed.
“I can still recall enough of the readings to lead us there. If I can have access to a map I believe I can triangulate to where the Sensor was indicating, at least to within a thirty mile radius.”
The farmer and his family were already up and about, the children playing outside while he busied himself with whatever it was farmers did. Kate turned to the farmer’s wife. “‘Scuse me, do you have a map?”
The woman looked at her as though she had asked for a sterling silver tea set or other such exotic luxury. “I don’t think they have much need for maps round here,” I said gently to Kate.
“We will simply head to the nearest town,” said Maxwell. “I am sure we will be able to procure one there.”
We found the farmer out in a field a little way from the house, watching over his sheep. He nodded at a lump of rocks nearby. “See, that’s what we have to deal with these days. I preferred it when it were just the foxes we had to worry about.”
I realised that the rocks were actually the body of a sheep, or rather several bodies. As I stared I could make out at least five heads, all of which had been gored and fused into one big bloody mess. “Dear God,” I said. “What sort of creature could do such a thing?”
The farmer just raised his eyebrows. “I see you’ve got your clothes back. I suppose you’ll be wanting to know where the nearest town is.” He pointed to the nearest hill. “Head over the top and you’ll see a drover’s path below you. Head west and you’ll come to Cockermouth just before midday.”
Maxwell produced a money bag from within his jacket; he had an almost religious conviction about never being more than a few inches away from a source of funds. He pressed a collection of coins into the man’s hand. “By way of compensation for your hospitality,” he said.
The man looked down at the coins as though they were the rarest things he had ever set eyes on. “But this is far too... I cannot take this...”
“Please,” said Maxwell. “Without your assistance we would have no doubt ended up in the same state as those animals there. Thank you again.”
As we walked away, Kate frowned at Maxwell. “If I’m not mistaken, there was at least twenty shillings in there.”
“I think it was worth it.”
She chuckled. “That’s probably more than he’s ever earned in his life.”
I grunted. “He’ll have no idea what to do with it. Probably end up sticking them to the wall.”
Chapter 35
The small boat bobbed beneath us as we rounded the cliff and entered the estuary. “Welcome to Scotland,” grinned the man at the helm.
I looked around. Mist clung to every scrap of land and sea, such that I feared we had accidentally found ourselves back in the Aether. Or maybe the Aether was taking over our world; certainly we had witnessed enough strange happenings to throw into confusion any concept of the world to which we had clung hitherto. As well as the strange forms and sounds heard at night, our dreams had taken on an increasingly surreal quality, as though everything were one long nightmare. Matters did not improve even after we managed to charter a boat at Cockermouth; vast, beastly forms had shadowed our passage as we made our way up the River Derwent and out into the Irish Sea, visions from the saltiest sea dog’s tales.
“There it is again,” said Kate, pointing behind us and out to sea at a shadowy, faintly glowing form which loomed below the horizon.
“It really does look like a Galleon from Tudor times,” I said.
“Prob’ly is,” said the helmsman. “Legend says the Spanish Armada still sails these waters, in search of English blood to spill.”
“I would say that that is not possible,” I said. “But I think I have lost all sense of what is possible and what is not.” With one last push on the oars we bumped into the deserted, makeshift jetty. While the helmsman secured the boat in place I looked over Maxwell’s shoulder. “So, where now?”
He pointed at the map spread over his knees. “I believe we are here. My estimates placed the centre of the Sensor’s readings somewhere around there, so we should head for that spot.”
“What do you think? Half a day’s walk?”
“Probably. We could be there by late afternoon; although if there is nothing there then we may have a problem.”
“Meaning?”
“If we cannot find shelter, then we would be at the mercy of all the creatures that seem to infest the night.” As one, we shuddered; that was a prospect none of us relished.
The helmsman glanced at the map. “If you’re going there, you’re as good as dead anyway. Them’s haunted lands.”
“Really?” said Maxwell. “Precisely here?” He pointed at the epicentre of his circle.
“Pretty much.”
Maxwell grinned. “Then I believe our luck has finally turned.”
* * *
“You have a very bizarre concept of luck,” I noted as we trudged through the mud, rain lashing at our faces.
“Is that it?” asked Kate, pointing at a hut in the middle of the valley.
“It is the only place he could be for miles around here,” said Maxwell. “If nothing else, it would be a good place to sit out this storm, not to mention somewhere to rest for the night.” This double benefit brooked no argument and we pressed on with renewed vigour. There was little doubt in our minds, after all that we had seen and heard over the past week or so, that being out of doors once the sun was down was a sure way to lose one’s sanity, or even life.
We reached the door to the hut and stood outside, wondering what to do next. Finally Kate shook her head and banged on the door.
“Go away!” shouted a voice from within.
Maxwell and I started to turn away without thinking but Kate glared at us, pushed open the door and marched inside. After a moment’s hesitation, we followed her in.
The hut may have once been a homely little cottage, but such past glories were hidden behind a facade which was well worn, if not downright neglected. The remains of furniture were scattered around the room, while the walls appeared to be only a few days away from caving in completely. The room was sparsely illuminated by a meagre fire sputtering within a broken-down fireplace against the far wall. In the midst of this decay sat a huddled mass which wore N’yotsu’s face.
