The Spook's Destiny (Wardstone Chronicles Book 8)

by Joseph Delaney

  “Would I have come all this way otherwise?” She gave me a brief smile. “Though we need to discuss everything with John Gregory. The attempt will be dangerous and could be the end of us. It’s a big risk—but yes, I do believe that it can be done. Where the Fiend is bound is important. It must be possible to hide the site from those who might wish to release him.”

  “By dark magic?”

  The witch assassin nodded. “Yes, I will wrap a cloak of dark magic about the place. But it must be remote—we mustn’t have anyone stumbling upon it by chance.”

  After dark we continued toward Kenmare. I was feeling much stronger now, and was pleased to feel my staff in my hand and to hear the familiar chink of my silver chain in my pocket. Mostly we strode along in silence, but I was preoccupied by thoughts of Alice’s plight, and eventually I brought the subject up again.

  “Is there really no hope for Alice?” I asked. “No way of getting her back?”

  “I fear we can do nothing. I wish it were otherwise.”

  “But what if we do manage to bind the Fiend? Won’t that make a difference?”

  “When we destroy the blood jar, he will come, desperate to seize you. He will leave Alice behind, and there she will remain. I know it is a terrible thing to accept—but console yourself with the thought that, once he’s been bound and cut off from his domain, Alice’s pain will surely lessen. He will not be there to mete it out.”

  Grimalkin’s attempt to console me failed. I thought of Alice, trapped in the dark, lonely, afraid, and in unimaginable torment. I remembered the words of Pan:

  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.

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE DRAGON’S LAIR

  WE reached Kenmare about two hours before dawn and approached the high wall that enclosed Shey’s fortified mansion. Intercepted by several aggressive guards at the gate, Grimalkin drew a blade and showed them her pointed teeth. In the lantern light she looked every inch the fearsome witch, but the men, although they recognized me, were wary of a witch and prepared to attack.

  There were five of them, but I wouldn’t have given much for their chances against Grimalkin. However, sense prevailed, and I persuaded them to send one of their number back to the house to wake Shey and the Spook. The guard returned quickly, muttered an apology, and we were escorted in.

  I had a brief meeting alone with my master and told him what had happened. When I came to the part where the Fiend had disappeared, taking the terrified Alice back into the dark with him, a lump came into my throat and I gave a sob, my eyes filling with tears.

  The Spook put his hand on my shoulder and patted it gently. “There’s little I can say to make you feel better, lad. Just try to be strong.”

  Grimalkin and I joined the Spook and Shey in the study in the east wing, where a peat fire was burning in the hearth.

  I suppose I’d never expected to see the leader of the Land Alliance again, thinking he was bound to be killed when the walls of Ballycarbery Castle were breached. But he told us that the enemy forces had merely come to take the mage we’d held prisoner so that he could be sacrificed. So once that aim was achieved, they’d immediately called off the siege.

  “You did well, boy!” Shey congratulated me. “One of our spies brought us word. Magister Doolan is dead. Single-handed, you stopped the ritual. It took some courage to free the goat and push it off the platform.”

  “I wasn’t really alone,” I told him. Then I explained about my visit to the Hollow Hills and how Pan had played his part.

  They all listened in silence, but when I’d finished, Shey reached across and clapped me on the back.

  “It was incredibly brave,” he said. “Most people would have been driven insane by him.”

  “Indeed, but we’re seventh sons of seventh sons,” explained the Spook. “In such situations, that gives us the strength that others lack.”

  “Maybe,” said Grimalkin, “but Tom is more than that. Remember, he also has the blood of his mother running through his veins. Do you really believe that Pan would have deigned to cooperate with you, John Gregory, in that way? I think not.”

  The Spook didn’t reply, but neither did he disagree. Instead, he reached across and picked up Shey’s map of Kerry. Then he unfolded it and spread it out on the table.

  “Am I right in saying that you’ve once again reached a stalemate with the mages?” he asked, looking directly at the leader of the Land Alliance.

  Shey nodded. “I’m afraid so. The rites may have been brought to a premature end, but they gained some power—any further attack made on them now may be risky.”

  “Well, we are going to attempt something very dangerous, but if it succeeds, it could help your cause too,” the Spook went on. “We are going to try and bind the Fiend—the Devil himself. If that can be achieved, the power of the dark and all its other servants will be reduced. Aye, and that would include the mages.

  “What we need is a remote location, a suitable place to bind him. This is your land. Where do you suggest?” he asked, pointing at the map.

  Shey got to his feet, rested his hands on the table, and studied the map, tracing the line of the coast southwest toward Cahersiveen with his index finger before moving inland. “There’s a ruined church there,” he said, jabbing at a point with his finger. “Kealnagor. The locals think it’s haunted, so they stay away. You couldn’t choose better than that.”

  “It’s a little too close to the ring fort at Staigue,” said the Spook. “The last thing we want is one of the mages coming across it—especially while we’re doing the binding.”

  Shey moved his finger eastward and tapped Kenmare. “Why not do it near here, then? This is probably the area that’s safest from the interference of the mages. And there is one place that most local folk avoid: a stone circle that lies just outside the village.”

  “Is that haunted too?” the Spook asked him.

  He shook his head. “There’s something there for sure, but perhaps not a ghost. I visited it once for a wager and felt it myself, though I could see nothing. It’s a creepy place, especially after dark. I kept shivering—I just knew that there was something nearby, something huge and terrifying. Even in daylight, people keep well away.”

  “Well, I suggest that we go and see this haunted stone circle.” The Spook smiled. “It could be just what we’re looking for!”

  It was a bright, clear morning, and the ground was dusted with frost. As yet there was little warmth in the sun, and our breath steamed up into the crisp air. As the stone circle wasn’t far from Shey’s house, we set off before breakfast, as soon as it was light. It was perfect weather for walking, and we took the dogs. They ran ahead, barking excitedly, glad to be out and reunited with us all again.

  Soon we could see the stone circle in the distance. It stood on a small hill, surrounded on three sides by trees. On my travels with the Spook I had seen such circles formed with much larger standing stones. Some of the ones here were no more than boulders. I counted twelve of them.

  When we reached the circle, the wolfhounds suddenly started to whine; they lay down at its edge and would proceed no farther.

  I sensed something right away. A cold shiver ran the length of my spine. Something from the dark was nearby. But, to my surprise, my master gave me one of his rare smiles.

  “Couldn’t be better, lad!” he told me. “What we have here is a dragon, and a special one to boot! This is a dragon’s lair!”

  We followed him into the stone circle, Shey looking nervous. Even Grimalkin looked tense, and rested her hand on the hilt of her largest blade. I vaguely remembered reading about such creatures in my master’s Bestiary.

  “Most people think that a dragon is a huge lizard breathing fire and smoke, but a true dragon is an elemental,” the Spook explained. “They are air spirits, invisible but immense. This one is probably coiled about within this hill. They live their lives at a different spe
ed than we humans. To them, our lifetimes pass in the blinking of an eye. Most people can barely sense the presence of a dragon, but this one is particularly strong. Can’t you feel its malevolence? It’s enough to keep people away—and that’s exactly what we want.

  “However, it wouldn’t worry a true servant of the dark,” he continued with a frown, turning to face Shey. “We can’t guarantee that this area will always remain safe and in your hands.”

  “I can cloak it,” said Grimalkin. “Even if the mages camped close to the stones, they would not suspect what was here. Of course, there are other powerful servants of the dark who might see beyond my magic. But first things first…”

  “Yes, there’s no point in delaying. Let’s get on with our preparations,” said the Spook. “We’ll try to bind him here, right at the center of the circle, within the coils of the dragon. Now I need the services of a stonemason, and also a good rigger. They must be craftsmen we can trust to keep quiet afterward. Could you find them for me?” he asked, turning to Shey.

  “I know an excellent local stonemason,” he replied. “The rigger might be more difficult, but I’ll make inquiries.”

  “And I need something else from you,” said Grimalkin. “I must fashion spears and nails with which to bind the Fiend. I noticed that you have extensive stables behind your house—do you have a forge?”

  “Yes, and an excellent smith who I’ll put at your service.”

  “The forge itself will suffice. I work alone,” Grimalkin said with a frown. “I would like to begin the task as soon as possible.”

  “Of course—I’ll take you there right away,” said Shey nervously, clearly intimidated by the witch.

  “Aye,” said the Spook, “and while you’re doing that, the lad and I will get started on the pit.”

  Back at the house, after a light breakfast, we collected our bags and a couple of sturdy shovels to do the digging. The weather seemed likely to remain fine for the rest of the day. It made sense to get started. It would be no fun at all digging in the rain.

  “Well,” said the Spook as I put down our bags and the spades near the center of the circle of stones, “this is a good spot. Give me a spade, lad!”

  He jabbed it deep into the soft earth and gave a satisfied grunt. “The digging should be relatively easy. But first I’ll mark out the boundaries of the pit,” he said, taking a folded measuring rod from his bag. “We’d better make it large—no doubt the Fiend will appear in the same form as he did last time, so it needs to be at least three times as big as a boggart pit. I hope you’ve recovered your strength after your ordeal, lad.”

  That meant there would be a lot of earth to remove. I’d be doing most of the digging, no doubt, even though I still felt weak, and I would be left with sore muscles and an aching back.

  I watched as the Spook marked the dimensions of the pit on the bare earth very precisely, using small wooden pegs and twine. When he’d finished, I picked up the largest shovel and set to work. I had a long day ahead of me. Mostly my master just watched, but every hour or so he gave me a break and set to himself.

  At first, as I worked, I kept thinking of poor Alice, but after a while my mind went blank and the numbing monotony of hard digging took over. At one point I paused to catch my breath and leaned heavily on the shovel handle.

  “What about the stone lid for the pit?” I asked. “It’ll be much heavier than usual, and here we have no branch to lower it from.”

  When binding boggarts, the rigger usually lashed his block and tackle to a branch and used it to lower the stone. That’s why we always dug our pits beneath a large tree.

  “The rigger will have to construct a strong wooden gantry, lad, with a beam from which to hang the block. It makes the job more difficult and will take extra time. Not only does the rigger have to be good at his job and able to keep his mouth shut afterward; he and his mate both need to be brave. Do you remember what happened to poor Billy Bradley?”

  Billy had been John Gregory’s apprentice before me. The Spook had been ill and was forced to send Billy out alone to bind a dangerous ripper boggart. Things had gone wrong. The stone lid had trapped Billy’s fingers, and after finishing the blood in the bait dish, the ripper had bitten off his fingers. He’d died of shock and loss of blood.

  I nodded sadly. “The riggers panicked,” I recalled.

  “That’s right, lad. If they’d kept their nerve, that rigger and his mate could have lifted the stone off Billy’s fingers in seconds, and he’d still be alive today. We need an experienced rigger who doesn’t scare easily!”

  Suddenly a thought struck me—the carving on the stone…

  “Where do we leave our mark when the binding is done?” I asked. “Do we carve a symbol on the top and put our names underneath to show who bound the Fiend himself?”

  “It would certainly be the pinnacle of my life’s work,” my master replied. “But we’ll leave no mark this time. Nobody must know he’s there. We’ll put a boulder on top of the stone. That way, folks in years to come will just assume it’s part of the pattern of standing stones and not think to disturb it.

  “Anyway, lad,” he went on. “You’ve rested long enough; let’s stop this idle speculation and get back to work! Instead of just cutting out the dimensions of the pit, why don’t you test it for depth just about where you’re standing now?”

  I’d been working methodically, following the marks the Spook had made, keeping the excavation more or less even. But what he said made sense. It was a good tip to put into my notebook for future reference; something that, no doubt, my master had learned from experience. We had to know if we could achieve the necessary depth. So I started to dig deeper.

  I started to feel a chill: Was it the dragon sensing me disturbing his lair?

  CHAPTER XVII

  WORDS IN A MIRROR

  THE following day we soon hit solid rock and could go no deeper. I hoped the pit would be big enough for our purposes. About midafternoon, when I’d just about finished, Grimalkin paid us a visit. Over her shoulder she was carrying something wrapped in sacking—no doubt the spears that she’d forged.

  “Will that be big enough?” she asked, looking down at the pit doubtfully.

  “I hope so. I was going to make it deeper, but this rock’s put an end to that,” I told her.

  Grimalkin looked worried. “I’ve seen the Fiend bigger than that. He was a giant, a monster.”

  “If he’s that big, there may be nothing we can do,” I said.

  “Remember, I have given birth to his child—the child he slayed,” Grimalkin said. “He cannot come near me unless I will it. That could be our last line of defense.”

  She smiled, curling her lips over her needle-sharp teeth. “And perhaps that layer of rock will be to our advantage,” she said. “I have crafted spears and also some shorter nails. The rock will provide a firm base for the binding.”

  “Well,” said the Spook, “we’re ready now—as ready as we’ll ever be. We can rest and gather our strength for the ordeal tonight.”

  Grimalkin shook her head. “No, there is further work to be done first,” she told him. She knelt and unrolled the sacking on the ground to reveal the stakes and nails. I could not see even a hint of silver alloy. They seemed to be crafted of plain steel.

  “I need silver to fold into the steel,” she said.

  I knew I had no choice. I would have to offer my silver chain. It was a vital tool for a spook, and a present from my mam, but surrendering it would make the binding of the Fiend possible.

  “You can use this,” I said, making to hand it to her.

  But the Spook frowned. “Nay, lad, you’ll need it again one day. We’ll use mine. What better use could it serve? Besides, my old master, Henry Horrocks, had a chain of his own, and I inherited it after his death. It’s out of harm’s way with my brother Andrew in Adlington, at his locksmith’s shop. One day, when it’s safe to return to the County, we’ll go and collect it.”

  As he spoke, there was
a hint of sadness in the Spook’s face. That chain had served him well over the years. To surrender it was hard.

  It took nearly two days for Grimalkin to craft the weapons to her satisfaction. Behind the house, the forge rang with the rhythmical pounding of her hammer. She melted down my master’s silver chain before forming it into strips, which she worked skillfully into the iron of the stakes and the broad-headed nails.

  In the afternoon of the second day, one of Shey’s servants brought word that Grimalkin wished to speak to me alone. I entered the shed that housed the forge where she was working. Afraid of disturbing her concentration, I didn’t speak, but instead waited patiently in a corner, watching her craft a spear. She wore thick leather gloves to protect her witch’s skin from the iron and silver. The long, sharp spear in her grasp was being formed into a slender helix, a fine twisting alloy of silver and iron. It was the last of four; the nails had already been completed.

  Satisfied at last, she laid down the finished weapon on a bench close to the anvil, and then she turned to face me, her gaze holding mine.

  “Listen,” she said, her eyes glittering fiery red with the reflected light of the forge. “Tonight we’ll bind him—whatever it takes. I’d give my life to achieve that, if it was necessary.”

  I nodded. “I fear that the moment the Fiend realizes he’s in the pit, he’ll halt time. And I won’t be strong enough to stop him—though I vow I’ll die trying.”

  She frowned. “I have often thought about the Fiend and his powers. When he’s halted time in the past, the initiative has been his. So, rather than being on the defensive and trying to prevent that, why not attack by halting time yourself, at the very moment he appears?”

  “I’ve managed to achieve that a couple of times in the past, but the effect hasn’t lasted. Still, I’ll do my best,” I assured her.