“Scarabek has vanished,” he growled. “I find it hard to believe that she should let us down like this.”
“What about the barrow keeper, sir?” one of the mages asked.
“There’s no sign of him either, but we can’t fail now!” the Butcher cried. “Not when things have gone so well. Two sacrifices have already been made.” He turned toward me and stared at me with hard, cruel eyes. “We’ll execute the boy first to make it three. It could buy us some time by appeasing Pan until Scarabek returns.”
There was a murmur of approval, and Doolan began to pull on his gloves. Rough hands seized me, and I was dragged toward the execution block.
CHAPTER XII
THE OLD GOD PAN
THERE were simply too many of them—I had no hope of resisting their combined strength. The mages pushed me down onto my knees, and seconds later my throat was positioned against the cold, damp stone.
I began to shake. Even stronger than my fear of the ax was the knowledge that at the moment of my death I would immediately be snatched away by the Fiend. I struggled again, but someone was holding my hair, keeping my head down, my neck exposed, ready for the ax; my outstretched arms were pulled so tight that they were in danger of being torn from their sockets. I was helpless.
I sensed the ax being raised and tensed myself for the inevitable blow, squeezing my eyelids shut. Everything was over. I thought of the Spook. I had failed him. Then, at the very last moment, I heard footsteps coming toward us.
“Wait!” shouted a voice that I immediately recognized. It was Thin Shaun, the barrow keeper.
“Where is Scarabek?” the Butcher demanded.
“She’ll bring her head to the block willingly, don’t you worry,” Thin Shaun told him. “I’ll lay my life on it. Why kill the boy now? She hasn’t finished with him yet. There is still tomorrow. I guarantee she will be here by then.”
“Then, once again, I ask you: Where is she now?”
“She is a prisoner, but I will follow and release her. She hasn’t been taken far—”
“Our enemies have her—the Alliance?”
“Enemies have her, yes, but not ones who are known to us,” Thin Shaun answered. “They must certainly be powerful to have taken her unawares. But they’ll regret this. I am the keeper of the barrows. They have yet to face my wrath. Then they’ll wish they’d never been born!”
Although he spoke of wrath, Thin Shaun seemed very calm, displaying little emotion. I wondered if he was really human at all.
I was hauled to my feet, and I stood there, trembling, while the mages walked away to discuss Thin Shaun’s news. Two of their servants still gripped my arms. In any case, I was too weak to run away.
Doolan returned and addressed Thin Shaun. “You have until the same time tomorrow night, when we’ll perform the fourth and final rite—otherwise we’ll kill the boy in her place. For our efforts to be successful, it is vital that Scarabek is here to offer herself voluntarily.”
Thin Shaun nodded and left immediately. My hands were tied again, and I was dragged onto the platform next to the goat. It was rapidly hoisted into the air, and I knelt there in shock. I had come within seconds of death; I had sensed the ax beginning to fall.
Once I’d collected my senses, I started thinking about what Thin Shaun had said. Who could have snatched Scarabek? She was powerful—not easy to overcome. Maybe it was the Spook? After all, Thin Shaun had claimed that someone “unknown” had done it. If so, my master would now be in grave danger.
The night passed very slowly, and long before dawn the goat began to bleat pitifully, as if in pain. In the pale moonlight, I saw drops of blood ooze from the wounds on its head, where the barbed wire had cut it. The blood ran in rivulets down its face, circling its eyes to reach its mouth, whereupon its tongue emerged and began to lick the blood away.
Now the goat’s cries changed dramatically; they became powerful, as if sending out a challenge. I wanted to avert my gaze but was unable to do so; I was forced to watch as the goat’s face began to distort and change into something half human, half animal.
Dread came then—a feeling of terror of something loathsome and terrible—but it was different from that cast by any witch. I had faced those spells before, and usually knew how to overcome their effects. But this had something else, an added ingredient: a touch of compulsion, too. I felt a sudden urge to move close to the goat, a need to touch it. Unable to help myself, I shuffled forward on my knees until I was so close that the fetid breath of the creature washed over me.
The goat was now fully transformed. I was in the presence of Pan. He had a human face with a hint of the bestial; wild and rugged, ravaged by the elements. The horns had gone, but the hooves remained. The only other remaining animal feature was the eyes: The pupils were black slits that glittered insanely.
Pan lurched up from all fours to stand upright, towering over me, his hind hooves still bound by the silver chains. And then he laughed long and loud—with the uncontrollable, delirious hilarity of the insane. Wasn’t he reputed to drive his victims mad? I felt completely lucid; my thoughts seemed ordered and logical. I was afraid, yes, and took deep breaths to calm myself, but for now it appeared that he was the crazy one, not me.
Did being a spook’s apprentice help me to remain relatively rational? No sooner had that thought entered my head than everything began to spin, and I was plunged into utter darkness. I felt myself falling anyway. It was as if the wooden structure had collapsed beneath me and I was hurtling down toward the cold cobbles below.
I heard the wind whistling through reeds and water trickling musically across rocks nearby. I was lying on my back; I immediately opened my eyes and sat up. The first thing I noticed was that my hands were no longer bound.
I was sitting on a grassy bank close to a river, which was gleaming like silver. I looked up, expecting to see the moon, but the sky was dark. Then I noticed that everything around me was glowing with a faint silvery light. At the river margin, tall reeds swayed rhythmically in the light wind that was blowing downstream toward me. They too gave off that silver sheen.
Where was I? How was this possible? Was it a dream? If so, it had an unusual clarity to it: I could smell blossoms on the breeze, and the ground felt very solid beneath me. To my left was the edge of a forest, which continued on the other bank. There were deciduous trees as far as the eye could see, the branches heavy with blooms, and the air was balmy. It seemed to be high summer, not the chill prespring weather of Killorglin.
I got to my feet and heard a new sound. At first I thought it was the whistle of the wind ruffling the reeds, but there were definite notes, and I found it compelling. I wanted to hear more.
So I set off upstream toward the sound. I came to a wide, grassy clearing that edged the river, where I saw an astonishing sight. It was full of hundreds of animals—mostly rabbits and hares, but there were a few foxes and a couple of badgers, all staring toward the source of the music, their eyes wide and unblinking, as if they’d been hypnotized. Additionally, the trees were full of birds of all types.
A young boy was sitting on a rock playing a pipe. It appeared to be made from a simple reed, but the music he made was exquisite. His hair was long, his face very pale, and he was clothed in a garment that seemed to be fashioned out of leaves and grass. The face was fully human, but for his ears, which were elongated and a little pointy. His feet were bare, and his toenails were so long that each curled up into a spiral.
From my reading of the Spook’s Bestiary, I knew that this must be Pan. He sometimes took the form of a boy; this was his least threatening shape. In this form the god was sometimes considered benign, the life force of nature itself.
The boy looked up at me and stopped playing. Immediately the creatures of the forest fled, the spell of the music broken. In a few seconds there were only the two of us left.
“Where am I?” I asked. I felt very calm and not in the least afraid.
“Does it matter where you are?” the boy said
. He smiled pleasantly, but his next words filled me with sudden terror. “I’ve brought you to the region where I dwell. This is what you call the dark, the place you fear the most!”
CHAPTER XIII
A PACT
I looked up at the trees, which still shimmered with silver light. Could this really be the dark? I wondered. It certainly wasn’t what I’d anticipated.
But Pan was right. This had been my biggest fear of all—to be dragged off to the dark after my death. But I had expected the Fiend to do that.
“I didn’t expect the dark to be like this,” I said, my voice hardly more than a whisper.
“That’s because it isn’t the dark,” Pan replied sweetly.
“But you just said it was…”
“Listen to me carefully, boy. I said it’s a place that you call the dark. In truth, this is a shadow world that lies between limbo and the dark itself. It is a resting place. To me it is the Hollow Hills, but is called Tech Duinn by the people of Ireland—or sometimes the Otherworld. Their gods like this place, as do their dead heroes. But most humans can’t stay here for long—their memories bleed away into the silver light, and they are lost forever. Only heroes can endure. But you needn’t fear that now, because only your soul is here. Your body is back on the platform with that reeking animal.”
“The Morrigan? Is she here too?” I asked, glancing nervously up into the trees.
“She comes here on occasion, but not just now.”
“Am I dead?” I wanted to know.
“Not yet,” Pan replied, “but if you stay too long, you certainly will be. Your body is barely breathing. You need to get back as quickly as possible, so let’s not waste any time. I brought you here so that we could talk. It took all my strength; I keep being drawn back into the body of the goat, and it’s getting harder to resist the mages’ dark magic. Being in your world drives me insane—then I infect others with that same madness.”
“What do you want to talk about?” I asked. Was he actually going to return me to the world again?
“I need you to do something for me. In return, you get to keep your sanity.”
I nodded cautiously. What could one of the Old Gods want of me? What could I do that he couldn’t manage himself?
“All you have to do is release the hooves of the goat from the silver chains that bind them.”
“How can I do that? My hands are tied,” I reminded him.
“You’ll think of something, I’m certain of that,” Pan said with a smile. “Then, once you have freed me, I will do the rest.”
“The rest? What will you do then?”
“I will leave the goat’s body and escape the control of the mages. To be summoned in that way is abhorrent to me.”
“I thought the Old Gods wanted to be worshipped….” I said.
“The mages don’t truly worship me, not respectfully; they just use me to their own advantage. Employing those arcane rituals, they force me into the body of the goat and draw forth my power bit by bit. It weakens me and strengthens them.”
“Have they gained power already?” I asked.
“Some—their dark magic will be strong for a while,” he told me.
“I’ll do my best,” I agreed. “But there’s something else that I’d like from you….”
Pan raised his eyebrows.
“I have a friend called Alice, who was brought alive into the dark. Could you find her for me and release her, too?”
“Who brought her here?”
“The Fiend,” I replied.
“Then it’s hopeless,” said the god. “In the dark there are many different domains. I have one there, too. Each being has his own domain, which is generated by his power. The Fiend is a law unto himself and owns the largest domain of all. It is a terrible place for a mortal to be, living or dead. If I could, I would help. But I am powerless. We must go back now. I’m not strong enough to keep us both here for much longer.”
I nodded, and Pan began to play his pipe again. All around us there was a rustling and a beating of wings as the creatures entered the clearing, summoned by his compelling music.
Suddenly the sound of pipes ceased; everything began to fade, and my sight darkened once more.
I found myself lying on the platform. I struggled up into a sitting position and looked down onto the marketplace to be sure that no one was watching. I stared at the goat. It gave a bleat, so I turned my back on it and thrust my hands toward its mouth. I had thought of a way to release my bonds.
The goat sniffed at the rope and then began to chew with relish. Once or twice it nipped my skin and I flinched away, but it took the animal only a few minutes to release me.
I rubbed my hands to restore the circulation. Then I turned my attention to the problem of freeing the goat. The silver chains that tethered it were designed to hold captive a being from the dark as well as an earthly animal. There was no way that I could force the links apart with my bare hands. In my possession was the special key that could open most locks. Never knowing when I might need it again, I decided that, although it might just be possible to use it to break a link, it wasn’t worth damaging the key unless I had to.
I turned my attention to the fastenings that secured the chains to the wooden boards. The moon was bright, and I was able to see the situation clearly. The wood itself was new and strong, and there was no way I could pull the chains free. But then I saw that they were attached to two small iron rings, which were fastened to the wood by screws. Could I undo them? The mages had evidently never imagined that anyone would try. Maybe they hadn’t tightened them very hard?
I thought for a moment before searching in my pocket again and finding a coin. I inserted the edge into the head of the screw and turned. It wouldn’t budge. I pressed down as hard as I could; finally it began to move. Soon I was removing the screw with just my fingers.
The second screw proved much more difficult. I almost despaired of moving it, and the groove in the head started to shear away, but at last the screw turned. Eventually the iron ring came away from the boards, and the goat was free.
The creature looked at me and bleated once. It seemed to tense its body; then, to my astonishment, it leaped off the platform.
I watched, horrified, as the goat plunged toward the ground and hit the cobbles with a dull thump. It didn’t cry out on impact, but its legs twitched a few times and a puddle of blood began to form beneath it. The crown fell off its head and rolled away across the marketplace. Now I realized that it was through the goat’s death that Pan had intended to free himself.
The god didn’t leave our world quietly. A howling gale sprang up from nowhere, which blew out all the windows facing the marketplace and hurled down tiles from the roofs to smash on the cobbles. Doors blew off their hinges, and shouts rent the night air.
Fearing that it might topple over at any moment, I began to climb down from the platform, my feet seeking out the struts of the wooden shaft. I needn’t have worried—the wind was directed at the mages, who’d taken rooms facing the market; the tower, right in the calm eye of the storm, barely moved.
Moonlight lit up the whole area, giving me no place to hide, and by the time I reached the ground I could see mages heading toward the wooden structure. One gave a cry of anguish as he reached the body of the goat. I started sprinting down the triangle toward the street at the bottom, but someone holding a long-bladed, curved knife blocked my path. I swerved around him and headed for the river, which lay like a silver ribbon in the distance. There were trees beyond it; dark, shadowy areas. Once across the bridge, I’d have a good chance of escaping.
I glanced back and saw that I was being followed. I tried to hurry, but my body didn’t respond, still weak after spending long days and nights on the platform, exposed to the elements and eating little. When I looked back again, my pursuers were catching up fast. But I was approaching the bridge now. There was still just a slim chance that I could cross it and escape into the trees.
That hope was sho
rt-lived. I heard the sound of galloping hooves and knew that I was just moments from recapture or death. The first rider came at me from the right. I saw the glint of a sword in the moonlight, and ducked to my left as it swept down toward my head. Whether the blow was intended to kill me or the rider had just been using the flat of his sword, I couldn’t tell, but other horsemen quickly surrounded me, pointing their weapons at me, waiting until the runners caught up.
Moments later, rough hands seized me, and I was dragged back up the slope toward the marketplace. Magister Doolan was waiting beside the tower, grim faced.
“You have a lot to answer for, boy!” he said, cuffing me twice about the head, making my ears sing. “I’d love to slice you up slowly myself, but I’ll give you to the witch. She’ll know best how to make you suffer.”
With that, my hands and feet were tied and I was thrown over the back of a horse. All around me I heard a bustle as the mages and their followers prepared to leave Killorglin. Soon we were off, heading south in a long convoy. No doubt the mages feared that the Alliance would take this opportunity to attack, and we hurried along so quickly that those on foot had to jog to keep up with the horses.
I’d had a brief taste of freedom. Now it seemed that we were bound for the refuge of the mages, the Staigue ring fort. According to Shey, its defenses were impregnable. Once inside, I’d be as good as dead. They’d hand me over to the witch.
Despite everything, I allowed myself the small satisfaction of reflecting that the mages had been forced to abandon their ceremony. It had failed, and I had been the one to stop it.
CHAPTER XIV
The Spook's Destiny (Wardstone Chronicles Book 8) Page 11
