by Pat Walsh
“Move out of the way.”
William looked up and was mightily relieved to see Shadlok. The fay pointed toward Fionn. The bird screeched with pain and tumbled away through the gap in the chancel wall. Shadlok quickly took the linen rag out of the hob’s mouth and knelt by Dame Alys to gag her. His expression was grim and he looked down at the woman with deep loathing. She struggled and howled and tried to bite his fingers, but Shadlok was too strong for her and her curses were quickly muffled. He grabbed the rope that had been used to tie the sack and wrapped it around her. With a few murmured words from the fay, the rope tightened and wove itself into knots. Dame Alys could barely move. Hatred twisted her face as she stared up at him.
William helped Heremon to unravel the last loops of rope from around the hob’s legs.
The hob spat bits of linen thread from his mouth. “I think she used the cloth to wipe her nose with. Very bad woman, to do that to a hob,” he said in disgust.
William helped him to his feet. The hob’s fur bristled with indignation and his eyes were bright with anger as he scowled down at the trussed-up woman.
“Someone should put her in a sack and drag her through the forest, and see how she likes it!”
“We should leave this place,” Shadlok said. “We do not want to be here when the demon appears, as it undoubtedly will, sooner or later.”’
“What do we do with her?” William asked, nodding to Dame Alys.
“I will carry her up to the track through the forest.” Shadlok smiled thinly at the woman. “The rope will loosen in a day or so. But if you come after the boy again, I will kill you.”
Dame Alys stopped struggling, and William saw the fear in her eyes. She knew Shadlok meant what he said.
“What about her hob?” William asked. He felt sorry for the creature. Heremon might have done the woman’s bidding, but he hadn’t done it willingly.
“She used his name to make him do what she told him to,” Brother Walter said quickly. He patted his friend’s bony shoulder in sympathy. “He had no choice in the matter.”
Shadlok walked over to Heremon. He looked down at the trembling hob for a moment. “Is that true? You did not act with free will?”
Heremon nodded miserably, then shook his head. “Old Woman had power over me. I could not fight it.”
Shadlok crouched down in front of him. “Then we will give you a new name and break the power of your old one. This time, keep it secret.”
Hope burned in Heremon’s eyes. “You can do that?” he asked uncertainly.
Shadlok leaned forward and whispered something in the hob’s ear. A shudder went through the creature’s body and he closed his eyes tightly. Shadlok touched Heremon’s head and then stood up. “You have your freedom, hob.”
Heremon opened his eyes slowly. Tears spilled down his wrinkled face and dripped onto his fur. He sniffled loudly and wiped his nose with a shaking paw. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you, thank you. I will not forget this.”
“What will you do now?” William asked.
“I am going home to the forest,” Heremon said, his voice full of longing. He walked over to Dame Alys and stared down at her in silence. Years of resentment and unhappiness darkened his eyes. Without a word, he crossed to the gap in the wall and slipped like a shadow back into the wild world where he belonged.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
“Perhaps we should make sure all the animals are safe before we leave for Bethlehem,” William suggested. “We can feed and water them, and save Brother Stephen a journey.”
Shadlok nodded. “Very well, but be quick.” He leaned down and lifted the old woman onto his shoulder. She didn’t struggle. She probably knew she would be wasting her time. “I will wait for you on the track.”
They left the church by the West Door. None of them said so, but there was a reluctance to take the shorter route through the cloister and kitchen. There was a peculiar stillness over the abbey, a feeling that they were being watched, which made William deeply uneasy. Shadlok took his leave of William and the hob outside the small barn and carried the old woman toward the gatehouse.
“The hens first,” William said to the hob. “Brother Stephen keeps their food in the small barn.”
The hob stayed close to William as they fetched the food and carried it in a pail to the henhouse. He seemed none the worse for his rough treatment at Dame Alys’s hands, but he was unusually subdued. The late afternoon shadows gathered in corners, and the feeling of being watched grew steadily. William glanced around nervously and he caught fleeting movements on the edge of his vision, but each time he turned to look, there was nothing there.
The hens were huddled together at the far end of their hut when William went in to feed them. They crooned nervously and flapped their wings in agitation at the sight of him, sending feathers and straw up in a dusty cloud that made William sneeze. He bolted the door securely behind him when he left the hut. It wasn’t right to keep the hens locked up like this, but with nobody at the abbey to keep an eye on them if they were allowed out, they would probably be taken by a fox. They were safer where they were.
William let himself into Mary Magdalene’s pen. The hob climbed up to sit on a fence post. The old pig was sitting against the back wall of her shelter, grunting softly, her eyes white-rimmed and frightened.
“It’s all right, it’s only us,” William said soothingly.
“The pig does not want to be left alone,” the hob said. “She thinks the demon will come back and hurt her.”
William crouched down beside Mary Magdalene. He rubbed her ears and spoke softly to her, but she was too agitated to be comforted by his company. The animals can sense danger, William thought. He could feel it, too, that warning itch between his shoulder blades. He stood up and gazed around at the empty yard and buildings. He could almost taste the evil in the air. “Stay with her. If there’s any . . . trouble, open the pen and set her free.” He saw that her trough was empty and licked clean. “In the meantime, I’ll see if I can find some food for her.”
The hob nodded and climbed down from the fence. William heard him murmuring to Mary Magdalene, whispering words of reassurance. The pig grunted in reply.
William fetched more water from the well and went to tend to the goats. They were restless and ran from him when he opened the gate of their pen. Usually they were friendly animals who liked to have their heads scratched, but not today. He herded them out of the pen and took them to the orchard to forage on the new growth of grass beneath the trees. They kept as close to William as they could, jostling him and each other.
“Go on,” he said in exasperation, trying to push them away, “go and eat.” But the goats wouldn’t leave his side, and he had no choice but to lead them back to their pen. Once they were safely inside, he filled a basket with grass and leaves for them. That would have to do for now.
William picked some cabbage leaves for the pig, and added a few apples from the store in the small barn. He leaned over the fence and dropped them into her trough.
“The pig wants to hide in the forest,” the hob said anxiously.
“I can’t blame her,” William said, “but I don’t think she’ll be much safer out there.” He touched the feather tucked into his belt. “Tell her . . . tell her help is on its way.”
“Someone is coming to help us?” the hob said hopefully, his face brightening.
William hesitated. “I asked the angel to come back to the abbey, and I think it heard me.” He took the feather from his belt and held it out to the hob. “I think it sent me this as a sign.”
The hob took the feather and turned it slowly to look at it. “This is a nangel’s feather?” he asked dubiously. “Is it a very small nangel?”
“No,” William said, “it’s huge. The feather is just a sign. Its size isn’t important.”
The hob sniffed it. “It smells of pigeon.”
William felt a little foolish. “Maybe the angel couldn’t spare one of its
own feathers, so it used a pigeon’s. I don’t know. But that doesn’t matter. It’s still a sign that it heard me and is going to help us.”
The hob handed the feather back to William without a word. A little of William’s certainty ebbed away. Was he just fooling himself? Clinging to a slim hope where in reality there was none? He tucked the feather back into his belt. Sometimes you had to believe what you knew in your heart to be true, he told himself, even if it made no sense to anyone else. Sometimes you just had to trust. The angel will come, he thought fiercely, I know it will.
As he turned away from the pigpen, William saw that the door of the kitchen was open wide. He was sure it had been closed when he passed by earlier. Had Shadlok returned to the abbey for some reason? What was he doing in the kitchen?
“Wait here for me,” he said to the hob. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
William ran over to the doorway and looked inside. The kitchen was empty, but the door to the cloister stood open. William took a couple of hesitant steps into the kitchen and then stopped. Why hadn’t Shadlok come to find him when he returned to the abbey?
“Shadlok? Are you there?”
Keeping quite still, William listened. At first all he could hear was the blood pulsing through his body, but then he heard something else. It was someone calling his name. It was faint, as if it was coming from some distant corner of the abbey. William held his breath. Was that Shadlok’s voice? He wasn’t sure, but it didn’t sound quite right . . .
Then he caught it again: “William.”
“Shadlok?” he called uncertainly. “Is that you?”
There was no reply. William still hesitated. It had to be the fay calling to him. Who else could it be? William crossed the kitchen and walked cautiously along the west alley until he reached the archway at the bottom of the abbot’s staircase. It was too dark to see if anyone was on the small landing at the top of the steps.
“Shadlok?” he called again, his voice sounding small as it echoed around the shadowy cloister.
“William . . . I am here.”
William turned sharply on his heel, his heart pounding. The voice was coming from behind him. He caught a brief glimpse of a dark figure by the kitchen doorway. In a moment it was gone, passing out of sight behind a pillar in the south alley. It was too tall to be Shadlok, William realized. Had one of the monks returned to the abbey, perhaps?
“Who’s there?” he called.
The silence in the cloister was absolute. William watched the space between the pillars, but the figure did not reappear. If it had been one of the monks, he would have shown himself by now. So who was it? The feeling of being watched that had haunted him since reaching the abbey deepened, and he felt a shiver of fear. He looked at the kitchen door, some idea of escaping back to the yard forming in his mind, but he knew nothing would persuade him to walk back along the alley, toward the watcher hiding in the shadows. The only other way out of the abbey was through the church.
William ran as fast as he could to the South Door of the church, weaving his way between the statues in the north alley. When he reached it, he looked around nervously, half expecting to see the dark figure following him, but there was nobody there.
He let himself into the church. The hollow drip-drip of rainwater echoed in the nave. The ropes the hob had been tied up with were scattered across the floor, and the sack lay in a puddle. The rain was a gray mist in the roofless crossing. An air of hope-lessness seeped through the walls of the ruined building, as if God had turned His back on this place. And that, William thought bleakly, probably wasn’t so far from the truth.
As William picked his way across the rubble-strewn floor, the softest sound, a mere breath, whispered just behind him. He turned quickly and stared in horror.
The demon stood there, almost close enough to touch. Its crimson wings were folded around its body, the feathers gleaming like blood. Its crow head was turned to one side. A single black eye, cruel and unblinking, regarded him coldly.
“I have been waiting for you,” the demon said. Its voice was beautiful, rich and deep.
William realized with sudden clarity that it had been the demon’s voice he had heard in the cloister. It had lured him here deliberately, just as Dame Alys had, to the dark heart of its power. And like a fool, he had come straight to it. Why hadn’t he just stayed away from the church when he knew how dangerous it was to be here? He felt sick at his own stupidity.
His shaking fingers brushed against the feather in his belt. He pulled it free and held it tightly, crumpling it in his fist. Where are you? I need you now, he silently implored the angel.
“Step back slowly,” someone said softly behind him. “Stand here beside me.”
William could have cried with relief at the sound of Shadlok’s voice. He edged backward and stood with his arm just touching Shadlok’s. The fay had drawn his sword and the blade gleamed like ice in the half-light. The demon’s wings opened and swept back from its shoulders in a soft whoosh of air. It raised its hands and clawed at the back of its head. William watched in horror as it ripped at its scalp. The heavy beak clattered to the floor in a shower of small red feathers.
The demon shook its head, freeing long crimson hair and showing its true face at last. It was terrifyingly beautiful, with pale red skin and wide black eyes that were so like the eyes of the angel in the Hollow that William gasped. But what was most shocking of all was that the demon did not look evil. Its expression was serene, and a smile touched its full-lipped mouth.
Shadlok held the point of his sword blade toward the demon’s chest. His hand was steady and his fierce gaze never waved. If he felt the same numbing fear as William did, he hid it well.
The demon calmly pushed the blade aside. “That will not help you now, fay.”
The demon turned its dark gaze to William. “Your blood is mine, human. You gave it freely. I would have your soul, too. Kneel to me.”
William recoiled. “N . . . no,” he stammered. He turned to Shadlok in terror. Did he really belong to the demon now that it had tasted his blood?
“He will not kneel before you,” Shadlok said, a dangerous edge to his voice. He lifted his sword to the demon’s long neck. If the demon moved, the deadly edge would cut into its skin. “Neither of us will.”
“It is not you I want, fay,” the demon said. “This one carries the light within him. It is his soul I want.”
“No,” William said. He gripped the feather more tightly in his shaking hand and straightened his back. “I won’t kneel to you, now or ever.”
“You have had your answer,” Shadlok said.
In one quick movement, the demon pushed Shadlok’s sword aside and stepped forward to put its mouth next to William’s ear. “Kneel to me and I will let the fay live,” he whispered.
William jerked his head away. The demon’s breath was icily cold against his cheek and it made the bones of his skull ache. Any moment now, he thought desperately, the angel will be here. He just needed to stay strong.
Shadlok took hold of William’s arm and drew him back from the demon. He stepped between them, shielding William with his body. “Go! Get as far from here as you can.”
“I’m not leaving you by yourself,” William said.
“Do as I tell you!” Shadlok said angrily.
William stepped out from behind Shadlok. If they were going to die, they would die side by side. The fay glanced at him with an angry frown, and then turned his attention back to Raum.
Like a dart of light, Shadlok’s sword blade cut through the air. But in an instant, the demon lifted its wings and soared upward and out of sight. William peered up at the roof but couldn’t see it. Where had it gone?
“You must leave here now,” Shadlok said, turning to face him. “I will stay and hold the demon back for as long as I can.”
“The demon will kill you and catch me before I’m halfway across the yard,” William said.
“Perhaps you are right, but we cannot give up without
a fight.”
“I don’t intend to,” William said, hoping he sounded braver than he felt. Where was the angel? Why hadn’t it come to help them? Doubt began to gnaw at him; perhaps it hadn’t really heard him after all.
Shadlok walked out into the nave and stood there, sword at the ready, circling slowly as he looked up at the roof, as if daring the demon to swoop down on him. It was a defiant gesture that made William catch his breath in fearful admiration. He wanted to shout at him to come back, not to risk himself like this, but he didn’t. He knew the fay wouldn’t have listened.
“Show yourself!” Shadlok called scornfully. “What are you waiting for?”
William followed cautiously, picking his way between fallen stones, to stand beside Shadlok. He peered up at the roof and wondered where the demon was.
He didn’t have to wait long to find out. With a sudden rush of wind that almost knocked William off his feet, the demon swooped down and landed lightly in front of them. It raised its arms. Instinctively William crouched forward and crossed his arms over his head. He heard Shadlok gasp and squinted up to see what was happening. Stones whipped through the air and battered the fay mercilessly. The demon stood in the middle of the whirlwind, its face twisted into a mask of cruelty. Shadlok slumped to the floor and lay there unmoving.
The demon lowered its arms and the stones suddenly clattered to the ground in a painful shower, splashing into puddles and raining down on William’s arms and shoulders.
In the silence that followed, William slowly straightened up. There were several deep cuts on his hands and his already sore head throbbed with fresh pain. None of that mattered. All he could think of was seeing if Shadlok was still alive. Keeping a wary eye on the motionless figure of the demon, William knelt beside the fay.
Shadlok lay in a large puddle, half-buried beneath a layer of stones. His white hair was streaked with blood. William rolled him onto his back. There was an ugly bruise on the fay’s temple. He held a hand close to Shadlok’s mouth and was relieved to find that he was still breathing.
