by Pat Walsh
Three surprised faces turned to look back at him.
William caught up with the others and stopped for a moment to catch his breath. He pointed into the undergrowth behind him. “The demon . . . I saw it.”
“You must keep up with us,” Shadlok said. “The Old Way is not far now. The going will be easier when we reach it, and it should afford us some protection. Stay close.”
They walked along in silence until at last they came to a wide, shallow ditch. Shadlok pulled Matilda to a halt. He seemed to be listening for something, but other than the call of a blackbird, the forest around them was silent.
Careful to keep his distance from the horse, William stood by the ditch and looked around. There were fewer trees here and the undergrowth was sparse. A wide strip of flat and treeless ground stretched away on either side of him, running from north to south. He could see a second ditch on the far side of it.
“This is the Old Way?” he asked. “Where does it lead to?”
“Nowhere in this world,” Shadlok said, “not any longer.”
“Is it a fay path?” William had heard of such places, where you trespassed at your peril, but he had never come across one before.
“It is now, though it was made by humans hundreds of years ago.” Shadlok’s head jerked around and he held up a hand in warning. William followed the direction of the fay’s stare and saw a wisp of mist coiling out of the woodland on the far side of the Old Way. It gathered itself into a more solid shape that looked troublingly human.
“Stay silent, all of you,” Shadlok said softly. “Do not move.”
William didn’t need to be told twice. He watched the misty figure drift toward them until it drew level with Shadlok. By now, William could see that it was a woman, but it bore only a fleeting resemblance to a human woman. William stared in revulsion at the gaunt face with its gaping mouth and cloudy white eyes. She wore a loose robe of fragile and ghostly pale skeleton leaves. Through it, he could see her body. She seemed to be made of sticks and twigs, moss and lichen, all dried out and bleached. A band of thin twisted roots circled her head like a crown, and her matted cobweb hair wafted in the breeze. William stared at her in horrified fascination. How could such a creature exist outside the darkest of nightmares?
The strange white eyes turned to stare at William. “Human.” The single word was as soft as an exhaled breath.
William shivered and clutched the bag to his chest. He barely even noticed the cold that speared through his body from the bowl.
“Evil!” The dark gap of her mouth widened, showing teeth made of vicious black thorns. William had a sudden image of those teeth biting into flesh and tearing sinew from bone, and he took an unsteady step backward.
“Stand your ground!” Shadlok whispered sharply.
The fay woman turned to Shadlok. “You bring evil to the forest.”
“We mean no harm,” Shadlok said. “We are on our way to find the one who might be able to destroy it.”
The woman gazed at Shadlok. It was impossible to guess what she was thinking. William could see the tense set of Shadlok’s shoulders and the tightness of his jaw as he waited for the woman to speak.
“The Great Spirit of the forest alone decides who is allowed to walk the hidden ways.”
“Then I would ask the Great Spirit to let us pass,” Shadlok said evenly. “Let us continue our journey along the Old Way and finish what we have set out to do.”
William risked a quick glance around. The Great Spirit? What was that?
A breeze stirred through the trees. It sounded like many soft voices whispering all at once. William saw that the forest was alive with movement, quick darts of vivid color against the muted browns and greens of the woodland. They flicked away too quickly for him to be able to see what they were. The breeze died, and the movement ceased.
“Go on your way,” the woman said at last, “but leave the forest before nightfall, or you will not leave at all.”
Shadlok inclined his head to her. The woman drifted away and seemed to melt into the sunlit air.
Shadlok breathed out a sigh of relief and stood for a moment with his head bowed and hands on his hips. He turned to look around at the faces of his companions. “We need to be on our way now.”
“What was that . . . thing?” Brother Snail asked with a quaver in his voice.
“A forest fay,” Shadlok said. “A guardian of the Old Way.”
“Is she dangerous?” William asked, thinking about the sharp thorn teeth.
“She can be, if she catches an unwary traveler alone in the woods after dusk. Just be thankful she did not try to stop us from using the Old Way,” Shadlok said, taking hold of Matilda’s bridle and guiding her across the ditch. “Bringing the bowl into the forest was not a wise thing to do. It could have gone very badly for us just now.”
The hob clung on to Brother Snail as the horse scrambled up the slope of the ditch, onto the Old Way. “She doesn’t like humans,” he said breathlessly as he was bounced around behind the monk. “She eats them.”
Shadlok’s eyes narrowed as he looked back at William, and there was the shadow of a smile on his lips. “But only if you do something to anger her.”
William met Brother Snail’s startled gaze.
“What is the Great Spirit she talked of?” the monk asked. He peered into the shadows beneath the trees as if he was frightened something would be lurking there.
“It is the spirit of the wildwood,” Shadlok said. William heard something in the fay’s voice that he hadn’t heard before, an awed respect. “It existed long before mankind and faykind came into this world, and will be here long after we have gone.”
William looked up at the hob. “Did you ever see it when you lived in Foxwist?”
“No!” The hob shook his head vehemently. “Nonono! It keeps to the deepwoods and fays never go there. The magic in that part of the forest is too strong for us.”
William was quiet for a while as he tried, and failed, to imagine what such a being could possibly look like. Brother Snail appeared to be having the same problem. He glanced down at Shadlok with a troubled expression.
“Can the demon harm the Great Spirit?”
Shadlok’s expression hardened. “I hope not, for all our sakes.”
They made their way along the Old Way quickly and in silence. William stayed just far enough behind the others not to upset Matilda. He thought of all the times he had walked through Foxwist, on his way to one of the villages, or to take the pigs out to forage in the autumn, never suspecting for even one moment that the forest was home to creatures like the guardian of the Old Way or the Great Spirit. It seemed the woodland revealed its secrets slowly, layer by layer, and each one was darker than the one before. He didn’t think he would ever feel safe here again.
The Old Way led them as far as the edge of the hill overlooking Weforde, and then it just seemed to melt away into the long grass and dead bracken. They turned right along the shoulder of the hill, heading for the main track down to the village. William looked back for a last glimpse of the Old Way, but to his surprise he could no longer see it. The ditches had vanished and trees grew across the gap where the old road had emerged from the forest.
“It’s gone,” William said in astonishment.
“The Old Way stays hidden until one of the fay needs it,” Shadlok said.
“So, if I went looking for it, I wouldn’t find it?” William asked.
“No, and you would be reckless to try. The guardian is there for a reason.”
The hob looked over his shoulder at William and made a face. “She will crunch your bones and suck out your eyes . . .”
“Yes, thank you,” William said hurriedly, “there’s no need for details.”
“I never realized magic was so common in this world,” Brother Snail said, then added, “or so dangerous.”
Shadlok shrugged. “It is everywhere, if you know what you are looking for.”
They reached the track and followed it
through the fields and into the village. Shadlok again hid the hob from sight and told him to remain quiet. People stopped to watch them go by, the monk on horseback, the servant boy, and the armed man with the white hair and strange eyes. The villagers whispered to each other, and William saw several people cross themselves. Word of what had happened at the abbey must have reached the village, he thought. The stonemasons’ sudden return probably caused a stir, and by now stories of ghosts and demons were running like wildfire through Weforde and the surrounding farms.
The gates of the demesne farm stood open. Edmund Maudit, the bailiff, was talking to a group of villeins outside one of the manor’s barns. He broke off when he saw the visitors from Crowfield, and walked over to ask what it was that brought them to the village.
“We’ve come to talk to Sir Robert,” Brother Snail said, “on abbey business.”
“And what might this business be?” the bailiff asked suspiciously.
“That is between the abbey and Sir Robert,” Brother Snail said firmly. “Kindly let him know we are here on a matter of great urgency.”
Master Maudit’s annoyance was plain, but he knew he could hardly question the monk any further. “Follow me, then,” he said gruffly, and stumped away toward the manor gatehouse.
The villeins drew into a huddle and watched uneasily as they passed by. One of them whispered something to his neighbor, and William thought he caught the word demon.
“Anyone would think we were the demons, the way people are looking at us,” William muttered. He was feeling cold and uncomfortable; the chill from the bowl was eating its way into his bones and he had lost all feeling in the hand holding the bag.
“They can sense the evil,” Shadlok said, keeping his voice low. “It is growing stronger with the passing hours.”
William rubbed his arm with his free hand, trying to get the blood moving again. He looked over his shoulder and saw a huddle of women peering at him from the doorway of the brewhouse. They quickly ducked back inside.
Master Maudit led them across the courtyard in front of the manor house and through the gateway into the inner yard. Several of the stonemasons were going about their work, and the sound of chisels and hammers ringing on stone came from the new wing of the manor house. William recognized a couple of the men and nodded to them. Glancing at each other, they turned their backs on him. One of them hurried away, presumably to tell Master Guillaume of the new and not very welcome arrivals.
The bailiff watched while Shadlok helped Brother Snail down from the saddle. William felt the hob climb onto his shoulder and wrap his arms around his neck. The hob kept very still, and all William could hear was soft breathing against his ear.
“Wait here,” Master Maudit said. He walked over to the door of the manor house and went inside.
“I don’t think the stonemasons were best pleased to see us,” Brother Snail said, rubbing his knees and bending his legs as he tried to ease his aching body after the long ride. “Nor the villagers.”
The hob patted William’s cheek. “I want to get down now. The bowl is making my skin scrittle.” He dug his fingers into William’s hair and scrabbled at his scalp. “Scrittle scrittle, like this. Not good.”
“No” — William jerked his head aside — “not good, so stop it.” He helped the hob down onto the cobbles.
“It is not safe to make you visible yet,” Shadlok said, “so you must stay close to us at all times.”
“I will,” the hob said from somewhere over near Brother Snail’s feet.
“And don’t touch anything,” William added with a meaningful stare at the empty cobbles.
Master Maudit appeared in the doorway. “Sir Robert will see you. Leave your horse over by the stable and follow me.”
Shadlok led Matilda over to the stable on the far side of the yard and tied her reins to an iron hook in the wall. Brother Snail and William waited for him by the manor door, and together they went up the stairs to Sir Robert’s private quarters.
Brother Snail paused outside the door for a moment and turned to look from Shadlok to William. He smiled, but there was no disguising his apprehension at what they were about to do. William nodded and forced a smile in return. There was no need for words.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
Sir Robert sat at a table with his back to one of the two-light windows set into the thick walls. Beside him stood a short bald man, well dressed and fond of his food, to judge by the heavy jowls and rounded belly beneath his fine blue woollen tunic.
“This is Master Henry Woodcote, my steward,” Sir Robert said, with a nod in the plump man’s direction.
The steward glanced at Shadlok. Shadlok might have lived as a guest in the manor house for a few weeks last winter, but it was plain there was no friendship wasted between these two. But Master Woodcote smiled at Brother Snail: The fleshy cheeks dimpled, though the grin didn’t reach his eyes. They were cold and calculating as he took the measure of the crippled monk.
Sir Robert glanced at William. “Fetch a chair for Brother Snail, boy.”
William looked around and spotted a carved and gilded chair to one side of the huge stone fireplace. He carried it over to the table and set it down for the grateful monk.
“You have matters you wish to discuss with me?” Sir Robert asked. He leaned his elbows on the table and linked his fingers together. His sharp gray eyes were alight with curiosity.
“Of grave importance,” Brother Snail said. “To do with the recent . . . events at the abbey.”
Sir Robert nodded. “Master Guillaume told me a little of what has been happening there.” He gestured to his steward with a flick of his hand. “You can speak freely in front of Master Woodcote.”
The two men listened as Brother Snail explained why they had come to Weforde. The monk took the leather bag from William and unwrapped the bowl. He stood it on the table. Sir Robert reached for the bowl, but before his fingers touched it, he hesitated and withdrew his hand.
When Brother Snail had finished, Sir Robert sat in silence, one finger tapping the table absently. William glanced at Master Woodcote. The steward was staring at the bowl nervously. It had grown noticeably colder in the room, but in spite of this there was a sheen of sweat on the man’s face.
“Did you bring Abbot Bartolomeo’s letter with you?” Sir Robert asked at last.
“Yes,” Brother Snail said, pulling the folded parchment from his cloak pocket. He handed it to Sir Robert and waited while the lord of the manor read it through.
“You are hoping I might be able to trap the demon in the bowl, just as my ancestor did a hundred years ago?” Sir Robert said.
Brother Snail nodded. “It is a lot to ask, but we are desperate.”
Sir Robert looked up at Shadlok, who was standing silent and still beside the monk’s chair. “It was you, I assume, who told the prior and Brother Snail here that I practice alchemy?”
Shadlok nodded. “I had little choice. They cannot fight the demon alone.”
“I asked for your help last winter,” Sir Robert said, quietly angry, “but you refused. Now you come here to ask for my help. That is hardly fair, I think.”
Shadlok gave Sir Robert a look that would have made most people think twice about pushing the matter further. William felt a grudging admiration for the lord of Weforde when he merely stared back at the fay, a determined gleam in his eyes.
“If I do this, then I expect you to help me in return.” Sir Robert spoke directly to Shadlok. Whatever was happening here, William realized, was between these two and nobody else. Brother Snail was forgotten for the time being.
“And if I refuse?”
“Then” — Sir Robert sighed and spread his hands in a gesture of apparent regret — “the fate of the monks will be on your conscience.”
Shadlok closed his eyes for a moment. The fay had been backed into a corner, just as he had feared he would be.
“Please” — Brother Snail sat forward in the chair and rested one thin
hand on the table — “can you not find it in your heart to help us without asking Shadlok to pay the price for that aid? I don’t know what it is you want from him, but it is clear to me that he doesn’t wish you to have it.”
Sir Robert turned to the monk, but his expression didn’t soften. “Ridding you of a demon isn’t just a matter of snapping my fingers, Brother. It will be difficult and dangerous, and it might not even succeed. All I want is fair payment for my trouble, and the fay has the one thing I want.”
“But what is it?” Brother Snail looked from Sir Robert to Shadlok, baffled and anxious. “What can Shadlok possibly possess that is worth more than the abbey and all those who live there?”
“He can tell me how to find the Unseelie Court. I want him to open the gateway between his world and this one.” He paused for a moment. “I want to meet King Comnath.”
Brother Snail stared at Sir Robert as if he hadn’t quite understood what the man had just said. Shadlok turned away. He folded his arms and stared out the window. The thick panes of glass distorted the view. The village and the fields and woodland beyond it wavered and twisted into a landscape from a dream. There was a look of defeat in the fay’s eyes that William had never seen before, and he felt an overwhelming pity for him.
“The Dark King?” Brother Snail asked uncertainly. “Why in God’s name would you want anything to do with that . . . creature?”
“When Jacobus Bone came here last winter, he told me he had been cursed with immortality by a king of the Unseelie Court,” Sir Robert said. “I have studied and practiced alchemy since I was a boy no older than your servant here. I have searched for that one secret without success, but now, at last, with the help of this fay, the gift of eternal life could be within my grasp.”
“Such a thing is against God,” Brother Snail said, appalled. “It is blasphemy! You will forfeit your soul.”
Sir Robert sat forward and smiled. “Don’t you understand, Brother? None of that will matter because I will never die.”
