Jack of Ravens

by Mark Chadbourn

  As he watched over the pale girl, his thoughts flashed back to Carn Euny and the dawn celebration for Ailidh’s stillborn child. Eighteen hundred years separated the two girls, yet their concerns were the same. Hope and sadness; humanity in essence.

  Before Church could say something to ease the woman’s grief, a powerful wind crashed against the tiny window and they all jumped. A snowstorm had come out of nowhere with an unnatural ferocity. Through the window, Myddle was gone. There was only a wall of white, as if the house was floating in a non-place. Flakes were already compacting to blanket the glass.

  Church and Tom exchanged a brief look of unease before hurrying outside. So intense was the storm it was near-impossible to pick the right direction. Everywhere was white, and they were blinded by the snow driven into their faces by the bitter wind. For five minutes, they wandered around calling for Will, though they had left him only a stone’s throw from the door.

  And then the snowstorm abated as suddenly and mysteriously as it had begun. The wind dropped in the blink of an eye; the final flakes drifted to the ground.

  A snow-covered mound lay where Will and Lucia’s body had been. Church and Tom brushed the snow away and dragged Will to his feet. He was dazed, barely conscious, frozen to the bone and shivering. Lucia’s body was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘What happened to her, Will?’ Church asked.

  Will tried to reclaim his thoughts. ‘I saw … dark eyes …’ was all he could manage.

  Tom indicated a set of cloven hoofprints leading away from them.

  ‘An animal?’ Church said.

  ‘That walks on two legs?’

  Church and Tom helped Will back to the house to recover in front of the fire. Before they could talk further, the woman stumbled down the stairs, wailing hysterically. ‘My Alice! My Alice!’ When they had finally calmed her, they learned that the pregnant girl had disappeared from her bed. The woman had looked to the window, and when she looked back the girl was gone.

  ‘I’m going after Lucia and the girl,’ Church said as he pulled his cloak tightly around him.

  ‘Is that wise?’ Tom said. ‘The suddenness of the snowstorm, the hoofprints – it speaks to me of wild, dark magic.’

  ‘I can’t abandon them, Tom.’

  The Rhymer nodded. ‘Then take care. I fear what awaits you.’

  The hoofprints led Church to the main street and then out of the village. Beyond the houses, they left the road and crossed the fields. Shivering, Church struggled through the thick snow until he came to Myddlewood, where Lucia had spent a night of wonder and mystery only hours earlier. The hoofprints continued straight into the heart of the wood.

  Church hesitated on the boundary and stared into the desolate trees. Nothing moved. There was no breeze, no sound. He drew his sword and entered the dark world.

  The strange, still atmosphere blanketed the edge of the wood, swollen with anticipation, like the moment before someone speaks. Church was ready for an attack from any direction, but he could not sense any impending threat.

  As he progressed further into the wood, the claustrophobic atmosphere slowly dissipated, and with it went the snow as the temperature gradually increased. Eventually it felt like a balmy spring day. Snowdrops and then bluebells carpeted the floor of the wood, illuminated by shafts of sunlight, and birdsong filled the air. Words from an uplifting song sprang to mind: ‘The day is full of birds’. Soon he stood amidst summer in the heart of winter.

  Cautiously, he sheathed his sword. A rabbit hopped out from behind a tree and approached him without fear. It sniffed his boots and then looked up at him. He felt a frisson as he stared into its eyes: an unnerving intelligence lay there. As it lazily hopped away, the wood gradually came alive: a fox slipped amongst green ferns, mice and voles, more rabbits, birds landing so close it was as if he was not there. The same gleam of consciousness lay in all their eyes.

  An abiding sense of peace came over Church, and then a sense of wonder that made him feel as if he was on the brink of something profound. The sound of a child’s voice startled him and he broke into a run.

  In a grotto formed by the gnarled roots of ancient trees and filled with woodland flowers sat Alice, now pink with life, her blonde hair gleaming. She was laughing in amazement, and her eyes sparkled when she saw Church.

  ‘Look,’ she said with delight. ‘I have a baby now.’

  She pulled her newborn from the folds of her nightgown. It looked at Church with big, dark eyes, and in them Church saw everything for which he hoped, but had never dared believe possible.

  Not enough time had passed for Alice to have delivered the child herself, and yet there it was, apparently healthy and filled with life. Alice too had recovered from her near-death state with unbelievable speed.

  ‘Who delivered your baby, Alice?’ Church said, as he moved towards the answer himself.

  ‘Oh, ’twas wonderful. I remember it all,’ the girl said. ‘There was no pain, only a beautiful light and the scent of roses.’

  Church looked around the glade. The wildlife was everywhere, all looking towards him with the same fierce personality, one mind behind a hundred eyes. He could sense it, too, breathing with a deep peace in the trees, the ferns, the flowers, the rocks, the soil.

  ‘It was a woman, a beautiful woman,’ Alice continued dreamily. ‘Long, dark hair that had stars sparkling in it, and dark eyes, and a smile that made me safe. I could feel her love. She delivered me from the dark and the cold and brought me to life.’

  The last vestiges of Church’s sadness dissipated. Once again he was with Lucia, sitting amongst the stones on a balmy night, and this time her words did resonate with him. Do not mourn for me, for I will travel into the heart of the mystery.

  Alice rocked her baby gently. ‘She was not alone. There was a man waiting for her amongst the trees … a handsome man. I think she loved him.’

  Church had no idea exactly what had taken place there, but he was certain of the result. In death, Lucia’s adventure continued, and now her innate goodness permeated everything. She had moved on from the grief and the suffering and found her oasis of peace. He hoped Myddlewood would be a good home for her.

  ‘Goodbye, Lucia,’ he said softly, and he felt as if he was answered, though it may have been just the breeze amongst the trees.

  Church helped Alice to her feet, and then wrapped her and her baby in his cloak before picking them both up and carrying them. As they left the wood, Alice’s face took on a strange cast. ‘There was something else … something I couldn’t see … I remember … dark eyes, and laughter …’

  Her words echoed what Will had said when Lucia’s body had been stolen. There was a hidden hand at play here, and Church was unsure of what it might be, whether good or evil.

  Back at the village, Alice’s mother was hysterical with joy. The other villagers gathered round in amazement, proclaiming a miracle. Church considered telling them who had really delivered new life to their community, but knew they would not believe him. Even Will registered quiet disbelief when Church tried to explain what he had experienced in Myddlewood. The spy thought Church was merely trying to ease his grief, and thanked him for his kindness. In the end, Church accepted that only by being there and experiencing first hand could such a thing be believed; perhaps that was the heart of mystery.

  ‘This is a hard world, filled with shadows,’ Will said grimly as they followed the trail north from the village.

  ‘It’s designed to make us think that,’ Church said, ‘but the light’s there. You just have to look hard to find it.’

  They rode on through the cold without food or drink, but for a brief while Church felt that no misery could touch him again.

  17

  ‘We have to follow them,’ Church insisted over a much-needed meal of mutton and potatoes and ale in a vinegar-smelling inn overlooking the Liverpool docks. A ship had sailed for the New World not long before; the trail had gone cold.

  ‘Of course, Master Churchill. I have a
ship here, up my sleeve,’ Will replied tartly.

  Church realised how ridiculous his statement must have sounded. The cost and logistical difficulties of chartering a ship at a time when war with Spain was threatened must have been the equivalent of trying to book passage on the Space Shuttle in modern times.

  ‘All right,’ Church said, ‘but we can’t just let it go. Whatever they’re planning with the box and skull can’t mean well for England.’

  ‘True,’ Will said. ‘And there is a matter of revenge, which I will not take lightly. I personally will ensure Don Alanzo and his men pay for what was done to Lucia.’ He punctuated the statement with a long draught of ale to mask the emotion that lay beneath the surface of his vow.

  When Will went to relieve himself, Jerzy said quietly, ‘Do we have to pursue them? While Niamh is gone, we are free men. And if she does not survive we are free men for ever.’

  ‘That’s right, think of yourself, you selfish creature,’ Tom snapped. ‘Never mind that whatever is in the box could mean that the Army of the Ten Billion Spiders will win this war.’

  ‘We do not know for certain that there will be a war!’ the Mocker protested. We do not know who they are or what they want!’

  Church calmed him; curious eyes were already turning in their direction. ‘Tom’s right. They’re a threat to everything. That much is clear, even if we don’t know the details. We have to find a way to get across the Atlantic.’

  18

  Time passed excruciatingly slowly for Church. Winter had turned to spring by the time Will had negotiated passage for the two of them on a ship carrying more than 100 men, women and children to create a New England in the New World. Tom and Jerzy would have to remain behind in London.

  Church could remember little of the voyage from his history books apart from a few sketchy facts: that the expedition had been arranged by Sir Walter Raleigh to capitalise on the riches of the land Elizabeth I had named Virginia after his scouts had brought back news of it three years earlier; and that Raleigh had originally intended for the colonists to settle on the shores of Chesapeake Bay, but that the ship’s pilot had refused to take them any further than Roanoke Island on the coast of what was in modern times North Carolina.

  The pain of Lucia’s death grew less acute, but did not diminish for either Church or Will. Church often saw her in his dreams, when her face would line up with all the others who had died since he had set off on his long road home. In his darkest moments he wondered how many more would join them by the time his journey ended.

  Will and Church kept themselves to themselves throughout the ten-week voyage. John White, the man who had been appointed governor of the new colony, knew from Raleigh of Will’s status as a spy and gave them all the protection they needed.

  The only person who paid any attention to Church was White’s pregnant daughter Eleanor Dare, a thoughtful, sensitive woman who came to him one morning as he stood on deck looking out across the Atlantic.

  ‘I have been watching you for a while, Master Churchill. You appear to be afflicted with a terrible sadness,’ she said with some concern.

  ‘I’m worried about what lies ahead,’ he replied. ‘There are a lot of dangers in the New World.’

  ‘God will watch over us. But I fear it is more than that. It is an affair of the heart that troubles you.’ She smiled when she saw the shadow cross Church’s face. ‘I knew it! You have left your love behind in England.’

  ‘Yes,’ Church replied truthfully. In England, 500 years in the future.

  ‘And you fear you will never see her again?’

  ‘There are a lot of obstacles, a great distance, many dangers between us.’

  ‘Master Churchill, you must not lose hope. Love overcomes all – that is the one, true rule of life and God.’ She unconsciously stroked the curve of her belly as she watched the swelling waves. ‘My child shall be the first to be born in the New World. She is a symbol of the hope I feel, that we all feel. We have faith in our future, Master Churchill, and you must, too. We will abide in this strange, new land, and grow, and thrive. And you will see your love again.’

  Eleanor caught sight of her stern-faced husband Annanias, and she hurried to meet him. Church wished he could feel the same bright hope that Eleanor had described. Instead, he was aware of a dark stain deep inside him that appeared to be growing by the day.

  19

  The ship anchored off Roanoke Island in July. It was a low, narrow island lying between the treacherous Outer Banks and the mainland, but it was green with oaks and marshland and teeming with wildlife. The colonists unloaded their supplies and set about repairing a fort that had been abandoned by Raleigh’s men the previous year. Will and Church helped with the work for most of the day before scouring the island at twilight for any sign of Don Alanzo and the Army of the Ten Billion Spiders. They found nothing.

  On 18 August, Eleanor Dare gave birth to a daughter she named Virginia after the land in which they had settled, and ten days later Simon Fernandes, the Portuguese pilot, departed for England. John White, who had grown anxious that the supplies they had brought were not enough, went with him to fetch more.

  Despite the joy of the birth, the mood amongst some of the colonists had started to sour. Food was already running low, and cultivation of the surrounding area was not progressing as quickly as the colonists had hoped. They were also repeatedly being attacked by the Native American tribe that lived in the area, who had not forgotten the cruelty the English had meted out to them on their arrival in the New World.

  And three nights after the ship had departed for England, the Army of the Ten Billion Spiders rose up.

  20

  It was twilight. Will and Church sat by the communal campfire watching the stars appear and the bats chasing the insects rising up from the marshland.

  ‘Maybe Don Alanzo just stopped here, checking out the lie of the land,’ Church said. ‘He could be on his way back to Spain—’

  ‘Don Alanzo is a man of purpose. If he were to charter a ship and sail across the ocean it would be for a great reason, not a mere dalliance,’ Will said. ‘The truth lies here somewhere. We have yet to find it.’

  A cry rang out from one of the huts near the stockade. Church and Will grabbed their swords and ran. Eleanor Dare was tearing at her hair on the front step of her hut, limned by the lamplight from within. The door hung askew in its frame. ‘He took my baby!’ she cried.

  Church pulled Eleanor to him to calm her. ‘Who took Virginia?’

  She pointed towards the gate. ‘Tom Bowler. He took her out of the settlement.’ As Church turned to give pursuit, Eleanor caught his sleeve. ‘I fear the Devil has taken hold of him,’ she whispered, full of dread.

  At the gate, Church and Will found the guard unconscious and the gate open. Will fetched a brand from the fire, but on his return Richard Cordell was already trying to force the gate shut. ‘You must wait till dawn,’ he said. ‘Go now and the savages will slit your throats in the dark.’

  ‘We can’t wait,’ Church said. He drew Llyrwyn, and Cordell recoiled when he saw the blue glow dappling the blade.

  ‘Sorcery,’ Cordell hissed.

  Will threw him to one side and wrenched the gate open. Church followed him out into the night. Deep into the heart of the wilderness they ran, where the oak trees moved in the wind with threatening gestures. The paths through the thick vegetation were few and Will found regular footprints in the damp earth. Eventually they caught up with Tom Bowler, who was standing on the edge of a sticky expanse of marshland, looking around desperately. Virgina Dare was clutched to his chest, whimpering softly.

  ‘Tom,’ Will called softly, ‘release the child. Her mother calls for her.’

  As Tom Bowler turned, Church saw in the flickering light of the brand what Eleanor Dare had meant: a black spider was embedded in the centre of his forehead. It appeared newly attached, for blood trickled down from the eight spiky legs. As the colonist’s eyes fell on Church and Will, a clarity came to t
hem. ‘I am afflicted with a madness,’ he stuttered. ‘What ails me?’ He looked down at the baby as if seeing it for the first time. But when Church stepped in to take Virginia, the colonist clutched her even more tightly, his eyes crazed once more. Stay back,’ he said. With this gift I shall buy my future.’ He took a step backwards towards the sucking marshland.

  Will held out an anxious hand. ‘Master Bowler! Your future lies this way.’

  Church’s attention was drawn past the colonist to the expanse of marshland, the surface of which appeared to be moving in the light of the brand. At first Church thought it was marsh gas bubbling up from the depths, but it was too consistent and moving towards them in a direct manner.

  Will caught sight of it, too, and then Tom Bowler whimpered and said, ‘They are coming again!’

  Church seized the moment to grab Virginia. Off-balance, Bowler stumbled waist-deep into the marsh. He began to claw at his face and hair, howling like a madman.

  ‘He has lost his mind,’ Will said. ‘Let us back to camp—’

  He paused mid-sentence as the moving shadow crossing the surface of the marsh reached Bowler and they could both see clearly what was causing it. Spiders, some as small as the one attached to Bowler’s head, others as large as dogs, were rising up from the depths and skimming across the surface of the marsh on scuttling legs. They surged towards Bowler, then over him, into his clothes, his hair, tumbling into his mouth, choking his screams with the multitude of their bodies.

  As Church and Will spun around to race back to the fort, figures emerged from the trees to block their path. ‘Will Swyfte,’ Don Alanzo said with surprise and unconcealed glee. ‘Good sense, as always, escapes you. You have brought yourself to the end.’

  The spiders were all around now, a lake of wriggling black as far as the eye could see.

  21

  Church and Will were herded back into the fort, where the colonists had been rounded up by a small army of Spaniards. Eleanor Dare cried with joy when she saw Church carrying Virginia. Don Alanzo moved his men to one side to allow her to reclaim her child tearfully. Her brief words of thanks to Church were drowned out by the cries of the colonists as the multitude of spiders swarmed through the gates and over the stockade to seethe on every available surface. At Salazar’s silent command, they came to rest.