The Spook's Destiny

by Joseph Delaney

  ‘We don’t have many heroes in the County, alive or dead,’ Alice said, grinning mischievously. ‘All we have are spooks and their daft apprentices!’

  The Spook frowned at Alice but I just smiled. I knew she didn’t mean it.

  My master turned to Farrell Shey and asked, ‘Would you tell us something of your Irish heroes? We’re strangers to your land and would like to know more about it.’

  Shey smiled. ‘Were I to give you a full account of Ireland’s heroes, we’d be here for days, so I’ll just tell you briefly about the greatest of them all. His name is Cuchulain, also known as the Hound of Calann. He was given that second name because, when he was a young man, he fought a huge, fierce hound with his bare hands. He killed it by dashing its brains out against a gatepost.

  ‘He was immensely strong and skilled with sword and spear, but he is most famed for his battle frenzy – a kind of berserker fury. His muscles and his whole body would swell; one eye would recede back into his skull while the other bulged from his massive forehead. Some say that, in battle, blood erupted from every pore of his body; others that it was merely the blood of the enemies he slew. He defended his homeland many times, winning great victories against terrible odds. But he died young.’

  ‘How did he meet his end?’ asked the Spook.

  ‘He was cursed by witches,’ Shey replied. ‘They withered his left shoulder and arm so that his strength was diminished by half. Even so, he continued to fight and took the lives of many of his enemies. His end came when the Morrigan, the goddess of slaughter, turned against him. She had loved him but he had rejected her advances. In revenge she used her powers against him. Weakened, he suffered a mortal wound to the stomach, and his enemies cut off his head. Now he waits in the Otherworld until it is time for him to return and save Ireland again.’

  We ate in silence for a while: Shey was clearly saddened by the memory of Cuchulain’s death, while the Spook seemed deep in thought. For my part I had been unsettled by that mention of the Morrigan. I met Alice’s eyes and saw that her mischievous teasing had been replaced by fear. She was thinking of the threat to me.

  ‘I’m intrigued by your talk of this “Otherworld”,’ said the Spook, breaking the silence. ‘I know that your witches can use magical doors to enter ancient burial mounds. Can they also enter the Otherworld?’

  ‘They can – and often do so,’ said Shey. ‘In fact, another name for the Otherworld is the Hollow Hills. Those mounds are actually gateways to that domain. But even witches don’t stay there long. It is a dangerous place, but within it there are places of refuge. They are called sidhes and, although to ordinary human eyes they look like churches, they are actually forts that can withstand even an assault by a god. But a sidhe is a dwelling for a hero: only the worthy can enter. A lesser being would be destroyed in an instant – both body and soul extinguished.’

  His words brought back an image from my recurrent nightmare. Running from the Morrigan, I’d sought refuge in what appeared to be a church. Was it really a sidhe? My dreams were starting to make some kind of sense to me. Was I learning from them, gaining knowledge that might help me in the future? I wondered.

  ‘You see, that’s what the mages ultimately seek,’ continued Shey. ‘By drawing enough strength from Pan, they hope one day to gain control of the Otherworld – which contains items that could endow them with immense power back here.’

  ‘What things?’ asked the Spook. ‘Spells? Dark magical power?’

  ‘Could be,’ said Shey. ‘But also weapons of great potency manufactured by the gods themselves. Some believe that a war-hammer forged by the blacksmith god, Hephaestus, is hidden there. Once thrown, it never misses its target and always returns to its owner’s hand. Doolan, the Butcher, would love to get his hands on something like that!’

  The Spook thanked our host for the information, and the topic of conversation changed to farming and hopes for the next potato crop. There had been two bad years of blight: another poor harvest would bring many people close to starvation. I began to feel guilty. We had dined well during our stay in Ireland while, out there, people were going hungry.

  We were all tired after the journey and went to bed early. Alice was in the next room, close enough to be protected by the blood jar, the Spook further down the corridor. I was just about to undress and climb into bed when I heard a muffled voice.

  I opened the door and peered out. There was nobody there. I stepped through the doorway, heard the voice again, and realized that it was coming from Alice’s room. Who was she talking to? I leaned against her door and listened. It was definitely Alice’s voice, but hers alone. She seemed to be chanting rather than engaged in conversation with someone else.

  I eased open her door and crept in, closing it carefully behind me so as not to make a noise. Alice was seated in front of the dressing-table mirror, gazing into it intently. By her side stood a candle.

  Suddenly she stopped chanting and I saw that she was mouthing something silently into the mirror. Some witches wrote on mirrors, but the more skilled used lip-reading. She must be trying to reach Grimalkin.

  My heart leaped, for instead of Alice’s reflection I could see the outline of a woman’s head in the mirror. From my position by the door I couldn’t make out her features, but for a moment my blood ran cold. However, as I moved closer to this mirror, the chill quickly passed, for now I recognized Grimalkin’s face.

  Alice had established contact at last. I was elated, filled with hope. Perhaps the witch assassin would soon come to Ireland and help us to bind the Fiend so that we could finally stop relying on the failing blood jar.

  I knew that if she emerged from her trance and found me sitting there, she might get a terrible shock, so I left, shutting the door quietly behind me. Once back in my room, I sat down on the chair and waited for her. I felt certain that she’d soon come and tell me about her conversation with Grimalkin.

  The next thing I knew, I was sitting up with a jolt. I’d fallen asleep. It was the middle of the night and my candle had burned low. I was surprised to find that Alice hadn’t paid me a visit, but maybe she’d fallen asleep too. We’d been travelling for two days and were both tired. So I got undressed and climbed into bed.

  * * *

  A gentle rap on my door awoke me. I sat up. The morning sun was streaming through the curtains. The door opened slightly and I saw that Alice was standing there, smiling at me.

  ‘Still in bed, sleepy head?’ she said. ‘We’re already late for breakfast. I can hear them talking. Can’t you smell the bacon?’

  I smiled back. ‘See you downstairs!’ I said.

  It was only when Alice had left and I started to get dressed that I realized she hadn’t mentioned talking to Grimalkin in the mirror. I frowned. Surely it was too important to leave until later, I thought.

  For a moment I considered the possibility that I’d just dreamed it, but my master had always stressed the importance of knowing the difference between waking and dreaming. The state in between could sometimes be a problem for spooks; that was when witches and other servants of the dark sometimes tried to influence you for their own ends. It was vital to know which was which. No – I knew it hadn’t been a dream.

  I went down to breakfast and was soon tucking into pork sausages and bacon while my master questioned our host further about our enemies, the goat mages.

  I was only half listening to what was being said. I wanted to get Alice alone as soon as possible so that I could ask her about last night. Was Grimalkin finally on her way to join us? Would she reach us before the protection of the blood jar failed? Why hadn’t Alice mentioned her conversation to the Spook as well? There was something strange and worrying going on here.

  ‘I need a bit of air – I’m going for a walk,’ I said, getting to my feet. ‘The dogs could do with some exercise, anyway.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Alice said with a smile. Of course, that’s what I’d planned: she couldn’t afford to be separated from the blood jar.r />
  ‘It would be best not to wander too far from the house,’ said Shey. ‘Kenmare is a refuge, but even though I have guards watching the approaches to the town, the area is not entirely safe. Our enemies will almost certainly be watching us.’

  ‘Aye, lad. Take heed,’ added the Spook. ‘We’re in a land that’s strange to us and we’re dealing with the unknown.’

  With a nod of agreement, I left the dining room with Alice. We went to the kennels to collect Claw, Blood and Bone, and were soon passing through the front gate and striding briskly down the slope away from the house. It was a fine sunny morning again, the very best that could be hoped for in late winter, and the dogs raced ahead excitedly, following scents and barking loudly.

  Keeping an eye out for anything untoward, we entered a small wood where the ground was still white with frost, and there I paused beneath the bare branches of a sycamore and came directly to the point.

  ‘I heard you chanting at the mirror last night, Alice. I went into your room and saw you talking to Grimalkin. What did she say? Is she on her way? I’m surprised you haven’t told me about it already …’ I tried to keep the annoyance out of my voice.

  Alice looked flustered for a moment and bit her lip. ‘Sorry, Tom,’ she said. ‘Was going to tell you but thought it best to wait a while. It ain’t good news.’

  ‘What? You mean she isn’t able to join us?’

  ‘She’s coming, all right, but it could be some time before she manages it. Enemy soldiers swept through Pendle and tried to clear out the witch clans. At first it went their way, and they burned some houses and killed a few witches. But once it was dark, the clans conjured up a thick fog and, after scaring the men, drove them into Witch Dell, where many met their deaths. The witches feasted well that night. Though that didn’t satisfy the Malkins, because they sent Grimalkin after the commander, who had taken refuge in Caster Castle.

  ‘Grimalkin scaled the walls at midnight and killed him in his bed. She took his thumb-bones and wrote a curse on the bedroom wall in his blood.’

  I shivered at that. The witch assassin was ruthless and could be cruel when the situation demanded it. Nobody would want to be on the wrong side of her.

  ‘After that there was a price on her head, and every enemy soldier north of Priestown is hunting her down,’ Alice continued. ‘She’s hoping to reach Scotland and get a boat from there to bring her to Ireland.’

  ‘I still don’t know why you didn’t tell me this earlier.’

  ‘Sorry, Tom, but I really did think it was best to keep the bad news from you for a while.’

  ‘But it’s not that bad, Alice. Grimalkin escaped and, although delayed, is still on her way.’

  Alice lowered her eyes and looked down at her pointy shoes. ‘There’s more, Tom … I can’t hide anything from you for long, can I? You see, Grimalkin’s worried about you. She wants to destroy the Fiend, she does, but believes that she can only do it with your help. She believes what your mam said – that you will find a way to finish him. But now she’s been warned by a scryer that you’re in danger – that you risk death at the hands of a dead witch …’

  ‘What – you mean—?’

  ‘Yes – the Celtic witch you mentioned – the one Old Arkwright killed. Grimalkin said she’s back from the dead and she’s hunting you down.’

  Images from my nightmare came vividly into my mind. Were they a warning? Perhaps that’s why I kept having the same dream over and over again. But how could that witch be after me? I wondered.

  ‘It’s not possible, Alice. She can’t come back. Bill Arkwright fed her heart to his dogs!’

  ‘Are you sure? Grimalkin seemed certain that she was right,’ Alice said.

  ‘I was there when he did it, Alice. I saw him throw it to Claw and her pups.’

  If you hanged a witch, she could come back from the dead, but there were two ways to make sure that she couldn’t return. One was to burn her; the other was to cut out her heart and eat it. This was why Bill Arkwright always fed the hearts of water witches to his dogs. He’d done the same with the Celtic witch: it was a tried and tested spook’s method – it always worked. That witch was dead beyond any hope of return.

  ‘Do you remember me telling you about my dream, Alice – the one about the Morrigan?’ I asked her.

  She nodded.

  ‘Well, I’ve been having that same nightmare every night. A large black crow is flying after me. I’m in a forest, running towards a chapel. It’s my only chance of refuge and I have to get inside before midnight – otherwise it’ll be the end of me. But then the crow shifts its shape. It’s standing nearby, with the body of a woman but the head of a crow …’

  ‘Ain’t no doubt about it – that’s the Morrigan for sure,’ said Alice.

  ‘But then the crow’s head slowly changes into a human one. And I’ve seen that face before. It’s the witch that Bill Arkwright killed. But why should the Morrigan take on the dead witch’s face?’

  ‘Maybe she wants vengeance for what you and Bill Arkwright did,’ suggested Alice. ‘Using her dead servant’s face is a way of warning you what’s going to happen. Don’t like to say this, Tom, but it could be more than just an ordinary nightmare.’

  I nodded. Scary as it was, that seemed likely. It could be a direct warning from the Morrigan, one of the most vengeful and bloodthirsty of the Old Gods.

  My sense of foreboding was growing. Not only did we face the approaching goat-mage rituals, but now the threat from the Morrigan seemed imminent too. It was a relief to know that Grimalkin would soon be joining us – though that would bring another challenge: the attempt to bind the Fiend. We might soon have three powerful entities from the dark to contend with all at once.

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out the blood jar, holding it up to the light and examining it carefully. Was the crack a little bigger? It certainly seemed to be. I handed it to Alice.

  ‘Is the damage worse?’ I asked her nervously.

  Alice studied the jar for a long time, turning it over and over in her hands. Then she handed it back to me. ‘The crack could be lengthening a bit,’ she admitted, ‘but it’s not leaking any more blood. Don’t worry, Tom. When Grimalkin arrives, we can bind the Fiend and we won’t need that jar any more.’

  We walked slowly back to the house, the dogs following at our heels. By now clouds had blown in from the west to obscure the sun. It looked like the period of good settled weather was over. I could smell rain.

  WHEN WE RETURNED to Farrell Shey’s house, the Spook was pacing back and forth outside the gate. He had a worried look on his face.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he demanded. ‘I expected you back an hour ago. Weren’t you warned not to go too far from the house? I thought something had happened to you.’

  ‘But we haven’t been very far away,’ I protested. ‘We’ve just been talking, that’s all. Alice has made contact with Grimalkin. She is on her way here at last. It could take her a while, but she’s coming. So that’s good news, isn’t it?’

  Of course, I didn’t tell the Spook everything. He’d find it hard enough to work with the witch assassin without knowing the details of what she’d done to the enemy commander.

  ‘Aye, lad, it certainly is.’ He looked a little more cheerful now. ‘But while you’ve been away, things have been decided. As a matter of fact, they were being decided at the breakfast table, but you seemed to have other matters on your mind. In a couple of years you’ll have finished your training and you’ll be a spook yourself. It’s time to think and behave like a spook. You should have been concentrating, not away with the fairies.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, hanging my head. I could tell he was disappointed in me. ‘So what’s happening then?’

  ‘Up until now the landowners have attacked the mages just before the goat ritual,’ my master explained; ‘usually as they left the fort and travelled to Killorglin. But this time it will be different. Farrell Shey thinks it’ll be about a week before most of the mages tr
avel to the town, but they always send a few men on in advance to secure their accommodation and build the tower for the platform they use in the ritual. He’s going to hide some of his men in Killorglin to take the advance party by surprise, and we’re going with them. You see, we need to try and capture one of the goat mages and question him. It might be possible to learn some of the secrets of the ceremony – maybe even how to halt or counter it.

  ‘Of course, the hard part will be reaching Killorglin without the mages’ spies warning them of our presence. So Shey’s summoning scores of armed men. They’ll spend the day scouring the surrounding countryside and clearing it of danger.’

  ‘But with all that activity, won’t the mages guess that something is up?’ I asked.

  ‘Aye, lad, they might – but they won’t know exactly what. It’s far better than allowing their spies to report back to the Staigue on our departure from the house and the direction we take.’

  * * *

  The Land Alliance men returned at dusk, declaring the whole area to be safe. So, leaving the dogs and our bags behind, the Spook, Alice and I set off for Killorglin under cover of darkness, in the company of about a dozen burly men under Shey’s command.

  We travelled on foot, through the mountains, following a slow arc as we climbed northeast, a heavy cold drizzle slowly turning the trail to mud. As dawn approached, we skirted the shore of a large lake before reaching the small town of Killarney. We took refuge in a barn on the outskirts, and slept through the daylight hours before setting off again.

  By now the rain had stopped and the going was easier. Soon we were following the banks of the mist-shrouded river Laune, and we arrived on the outskirts of Killorglin long before dawn. Making camp in a large muddy field on the edge of the town, we joined scores of others who had arrived in anticipation of the Puck Fair. Warming our hands by the fire, we asked Farrell Shey about the large numbers of people already gathering.