Stones of Power- Hellstone & Maelstrom

by Jenna Grey

  Bert seemed quite at peace with the knowledge; Winchard looked close to panic.

  “Just stay close,” Bert said, making sure the comment was aimed at Polly and not Winchard. “You have nothing to fear, sweetheart; I’ll keep you safe.”

  “Is this real?” Winchard asked.

  Bert gave a little chuckle.

  “Do you mean is this really Helheim? Oh yes, of course it is.”

  Winchard looked genuinely terrified, his eyes fixed not on them, but on the shapes lying half buried in the snow. Polly gazed across the frozen wasteland at the army of corpses, knowing that Winchard was experiencing the same horror she had felt the first time she’d seen them. They reminded her of the figures she’d seen at Pompeii, the poor souls that had lost their lives in the eruption, who had been preserved in their death throes for all eternity by the falling ash and lava.

  “Those things, they’re alive?” Winchard asked.

  Polly knew he had seen them move.

  “Yes. They’re alive, at least they’re sentient, and dreaming away their eternities, lost in whatever world they have created for themselves,” Bert said. “For some, it will just be a continuation of their life, a recreation of their day to day lives, mundane and neither good or bad; for others, it will be an eternity of Hell. You only have to look at the expression on some of their faces to see their torment and misery; it’s obvious that their dreams are causing them untold agony.”

  “Get me out of here,” Winchard said.

  “Not yet. I want you to experience all of the joys it has to offer.”

  An icy cold blast of wind blew across the landscape and Polly couldn’t keep from shivering as the freezing wind stabbed at her face and arms. Every breath she drew in was torture to her limbs; although she was supposedly only here in spirit, she could feel every sting of ice on her skin.

  “Of course not all of its occupants spend their eternity lost in dreams or nightmares,” Bert continued. “Some humans that end up here don’t sleep; they slip through the net somehow and remain conscious, wandering through the icy realms, surviving as best they can. It’s a tragic existence because they feel agonising hunger, never able to sleep. And they are not alone.”

  “What do you mean, not alone?” Winchard asked.

  Bert tipped his head towards something in the distance.

  “Do you see those dark shapes on the horizon, Dalbert? They look like black smoke, but they are far more than that.”

  Polly looked up and saw the black smoke forms she was all too familiar with. She had seen these before, had fought them; they were demons of all kinds, trapped in this place and able to wander freely.

  “Oh, I’m sure Dalbert knows what they are,” Polly said. “After all, he sent some of them against us when we went to find Sigurd’s burial site. They butchered our friend, Bram, flayed him alive and left him a bloody heap of flesh.”

  Bert gave Winchard a look filled with pure hate.

  “Yes, poor Bram. It was terrible to see; these creatures have so much power. They roam Helheim looking for victims, and nothing can stop them.”

  “Victims?” Winchard asked.

  “Yes, the humans that stay awake,” Bert said. “The hapless humans spend their existence running and hiding from the demons, who trap them and feed on their souls, gradually sucking the essence from them until there is nothing left. They last a surprisingly long time.”

  Polly realised, of course, that Bert was deliberately trying to terrify Winchard, and she could see that he was succeeding, but ultimately this could well be her fate if she gave in to Hel and took her place here. That could never happen.

  “You’re just trying to scare me,” Winchard said, angry now. “This is all bullshit.”

  Bert and Polly both ignored him.

  “What happens to the humans when they’re all used up?” Polly asked.

  Bert gave a casual shrug.

  “Oh, they become shades, hollow shells that wander aimlessly for eternity. It’s a tragic existence.”

  Winchard looked close to meltdown.

  “Get me out of here,” he said.

  “Have you got something to tell me?” Bert asked.

  “I told you I don’t know where Gaunt is,” Winchard snapped.

  Bert just raised an eyebrow.

  “I believe you, but you do have the name and address of one other member of your coven at least. Tell us that, and I will let you go back to your cage,” Bert said.

  “I’ll tell you nothing,” Winchard snarled. “Go to Hell. Oh wait, we’re already there.” He hesitated for a moment and then said. “I’m going to end up here sooner or later anyway; it’s only delaying the inevitable.” His voice was so bitter. “So why should I tell you anything?”

  “Because if you have more time, you might just be able to tip the balance far enough to keep you out of this place,” Bert said. “I doubt it, but there is always hope for you to have a change of heart and take the right path. If you die now, then you have no chance of avoiding this fate.”

  Polly could feel the shadows moving closer, a dreadful malevolence radiating from them. She could hear whispers in the darkness now, languages that she both recognised and some little more than incoherent babble, perhaps a long-dead language, or just inane ramblings from beings long since driven into madness. This place held too many fears for her; she couldn’t help but picture herself here, a prisoner for all eternity. It was a place of infinite misery and darkness. Polly could understand why Hel wanted so much to leave. It didn’t excuse any of her actions, but she really could understand why Hel was so desperate to escape this place.

  Winchard was rapidly descending into a quivering mess, and even though what Polly saw was only a shadow of Winchard’s soul, sweat beaded on his forehead, and he looked as if he was going to be sick.

  “I don’t know where he is, I swear,” he stammered, “I don’t know where any of the others are. That was the arrangement. I would tell you if I could, I swear I would. Gaunt always contacted me. He didn’t trust me with any other names.”

  Polly thought that might well be the truth; her uncle well knew what a treacherous little shit Winchard was.

  “I believe you,” Bert said.

  “Then please, can we leave?” Polly asked. “I’ve seen as much of this place as I want to see.”

  The shadows were so close now that Polly could almost reach out and touch them; worse, they could reach out and touch her. She felt a strange sensation of movement and thought for one awful moment that she was going to faint. Then there was a sudden burst of light as the world came back into focus and she was back outside the cell. Winchard was on his hands and knees, his body racked with violent sobs.

  “He doesn’t know anything of any use to us,” Bert said.

  Blaine muttered something inaudible under his breath, and Polly was pretty certain he was inventing a few new swearwords.

  “Okay, well, if you’ll help me with the spell, I’ll arrange for him to disappear. He won’t be seeing the light of day again for the rest of his miserable life.”

  “Do you think that Gaunt will try to break him out?”

  Blaine shrugged.

  “I doubt it. I think Gaunt was simply using him for the sake of convenience. There are plenty like him around ‒ disposable assets.”

  There was a sound of a buzzer ‒ the intercom.

  Perry sounded worried.

  “Jack, the river has broken through the barrier. You’ve got about five minutes to get out of there. We’re all heading up to the top floor. Get up here fast.”

  No explanation was necessary. They’d all heard and understood the news.

  “I need you four to get upstairs, don’t use the lift, take the stairs,” Blaine said. “I’ll join you in a couple of minutes.”

  Winchard looked panic-stricken, his hands pressed to the glass, his face a mask of real fear.

  “You can’t leave me here to drown. Please, I swear I won’t try and escape. I give you my word, but please
, you can’t leave me here to drown.”

  “I wasn’t planning to,” Blaine said. Winchard looked inordinately relieved, muttering, 'Thank you, thank you’, over and over again under his breath.

  Finn grabbed Polly’s hand and dragged her to the door, but she yanked her hand back and turned to face Winchard.

  “If it were up to me, I’d let you drown,” Polly said. For an instant, Winchard’s face clouded over with pure malice, but he forced it away again so quickly that Polly thought she was the only one that had spotted it. This man would never change.

  “I won’t try anything I promise, I swear,” he wheedled, “I don’t want to die.”

  Blaine stared straight at him, his face showing no emotion.

  “Dalbert Winchard died three days ago in that warehouse,” Blaine said, and pulling his sidearm, he fired through the glass at almost point blank range. The sound was eardrum shattering. It left her head ringing. Polly just stood, totally numb, staring at the hole in the glass that was just a little larger than the hole in Winchard’s forehead. She watched him drop backwards and hardly noticed as Liam grabbed her arm and frogmarched her towards the door.

  “Sorry, I didn’t want you to see that,” Blaine said, putting his gun away. “But it was kinder than letting him drown.”

  Polly just stared at the corpse, the blood spreading outwards in a dark red pool beneath him. His head was tilted to one side, and Polly could see that the back of it had gone, just gone, leaving a red ruin of brains and shattered skull.

  “He’s really dead then, no coming back?” Polly asked, transfixed by the macabre sight in front of her.

  “No, he’s gone. Now upstairs, or you’ll be bloody well joining him,” Blaine said, forcing her towards the stairs.

  They took the stairs, three at a time, Polly and Bert struggling to keep up with the others. They reached the ground floor just in time to see the great tsunami of water smashing through the entrance doors, to sweep them off their feet. The wood splintered under the incredible pressure, glass shattered and Polly was plunged under the water as the tidal wave hit her. For a second the world disappeared as she screwed her eyes tight shut against the oncoming onslaught. The sudden cold hit her like a bullet, numbing her, and panic took over as water rushed into her nose and mouth; she began to choke, fighting to clear her lungs of the muddy filth. She tried to push up to the surface, but the force of the water was too great, and even though she knew the floor was there beneath her, she couldn’t find it. She managed to break surface, gasping in air and trying to clear the water from her lungs, but she felt herself being dragged underwater again. For a moment she panicked as the water swept over her. Then someone grabbed hold of her. It was Liam.

  Then the lights suddenly blinked out and they were thrown into total darkness.

  Polly could feel Liam holding her up, and he was dragging her towards the stairs. She just let him take her, lost in the darkness, his grip on her the only thing keeping her from total hysteria.

  The emergency lights blinked on, the eerie yellow glow making the world around her seem illusory. Polly struggled to the surface with Liam’s help, managing to find her feet for a moment and then losing her footing again. Liam still had his arms wrapped tightly around her, struggling against the surging water to get onto the wide staircase. Finn was hanging onto Bert, dragging him along, but Jack was nowhere to be seen. He burst out of the water just a second later, spluttering out water from his lungs.

  The water was still pouring in with such force that Liam was thrown back again, and he almost lost his hold on Polly; she could feel nothing now, her limbs leaden and numb where the freezing water had taken its toll. Her lungs were starting to burn, and she felt dizzy, The emergency lights were now almost at the water line, and they desperately needed to get onto those stairs before they submerged and they lost their only source of light.

  They finally surfaced halfway up the stairwell, where the water seemed to have found its natural level, staggering the rest of the way, gasping and traumatised. At least they were alive. Polly felt a strange kind of exhilaration, a burst of pure happiness – she was terrified, yes, but they were alive.

  “Fuck that for a game of soldiers,” Blaine said. “Everybody okay?”

  “Just a few lumps and bumps,” Finn said. “Are you okay Polly?”

  Polly was still trying to get the last of the water from her lungs, coughing and wheezing in air. She gave him the look that question justly deserved.

  “It looks as if it’s levelled out. I don’t think it’s going to rise any higher,” Liam said.

  Blaine glanced uneasily at the emergency light.

  “We need to shift our arses and get upstairs before the lights go out. You can stay up in my office until the water subsides. There’s more than enough food to see us through a good few days. The water should start going down with the turn of the tide.”

  They followed Jack up the four flights of stairs, Polly’s legs protesting the whole way. She was freezing cold, her teeth chattering, but she was more worried for Bert than for herself. He had obviously relieved himself of the oilskin when the water hit, or it would have been the end of him, but he looked worse than dreadful, and he needed to get somewhere warm and dry. As they got to the third-floor landing, Blaine stopped and looked out into the darkness. The rain had eased, and although the window was spotted with a thousand drops of rain, they looked out across the river at a battered London. Surprisingly enough the street lights were still on, and the gleam of moon on water revealed just how dreadful the devastation was. All Polly could see were buildings jutting out of the water like broken teeth and she knew that beneath that dark water, hundreds, if not thousands, of people lay drowned.

  “How high up is the water now?” Finn asked.

  “It’s still rising, but a lot more slowly now. Dear God, how the hell did this happen?”

  “You just said it. This is Hel’s doing, or Gaunt’s,” Liam said. “That fucking bitch is responsible for all of this misery.”

  They took the rest of the stairs, and as they got higher, Polly could hear the sound of people talking, a clamour of scared people trying to make sense of what was going on.

  “Go into my office. I’ve got a camp bed there,” Blaine said. “Bert needs to rest. I’ll go and see if I can find another one in sickbay for Polly. It might still be above the water line.”

  “I don’t―” Polly began, but Finn cut in.

  “Yes you do, don’t argue.”

  If she was totally honest, she couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do than lie down in a nice warm bed.

  Jack’s office wasn’t exactly palatial, about 15 feet square, and crammed with old filing cabinets, and piles of folders. Polly had imagined Jack to be a lover of all technology, but this place was like something straight out of the 1960s. She was amazed he could ever find anything in this mess. The emergency lights were still on, but they shed such a feeble light that they were hardly worth having.

  “We need to get out of these wet clothes as well. I’ve got a few spare sets I keep here, just jeans and tee shirts and they’ll swamp the pair of you, but at least they’re dry. I’ll see if anyone has got anything for Polly. Stay here, though. I don’t want you getting near anyone else.”

  “Why?” Polly asked.

  Blaine raised an eyebrow.

  “Because if I were Gaunt, I would try to get someone in here to spy on me. Anyone of his coven could have taken over anyone in this building, and they could be in that other room, right this minute.” He tipped his head towards the wall.

  “Oh dear God, I never thought of that,” Finn said. “Okay, we’ll stay put.”

  Polly hadn’t thought of that either, but it was so obvious, now it had been pointed out. All of the coven had been in high powered positions before, judges, military men, of course, they would try to infiltrate this place and keep an eye on what was going on here, and more especially, keep an eye on Jack. Jack had found a couple of blankets from somewhere and d
raped one around Polly’s shoulders and another around Bert’s. It helped. He came back a few minutes later with a pair of jeans and jumper for Polly, that were at least three sizes too big and some clothes for the others that were even bigger on Liam and Finn. Bert was relegated to wearing a pair of old workmen’s overalls.

  “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of a cup of tea is there?” Bert asked.

  Blaine gave the kettle a melancholy glance and sighed.

  “No, sorry, we’re only running on emergency power.”

  “Oh that’s not a problem,” Bert said. “Put some water in the kettle and Finn can sort it out for us.”

  Blaine went to the kettle and brought it over to Finn, with a look of profound curiosity on his face.

  “This I’ve got to see,” he said.

  Polly found the teabags and put them in the three assorted mugs Jack had produced from the cupboard. Finn just sat staring hard at the kettle as if he were expecting it to do something interesting any minute. Within a couple of minutes, there was that familiar bubbling sound of water getting hot and a minute after that, the steam rushed from it, as it galloped a little under the pressure of the water boiling inside.

  “Absolutely bloody amazing,” Jack said,

  “Oh merely a trifle,” Bert replied, “A parlour trick.”

  Polly made the tea and felt so much better now she was warm and dry again. At least until the next catastrophe struck.

  “Is Winchard really dead?” she asked again, still not believing that she had finally seen the last of him.

  Jack looked a little uncomfortable.

  “I really am sorry you had to see that, sweetheart, but yes, he’s not coming back.”

  “But how can you say that? I mean he came back before,” Polly protested.

  “Yes, but don’t forget he never went the whole distance before. He never did get to Helheim, but ended up in some kind of limbo between here and there,” Jack replied.

  Liam nodded his agreement.

  “That’s right. I never got to Helheim, Polly. Gaunt and Winchard went to the same place I did. This time it’s different.”