The Five Tors

by Benjamin Ford

  She turned to face him, her expression surprisingly neutral. ‘I cannot say I either like or dislike you, Mr Tyler, since I do not know you. In spite of the grotesque things you write about in your disturbing novels, somehow I suspect you might actually be a decent human being with a pleasant personality.’

  Rob was unsure whether he should laugh at the woman’s comments. He leaned against the doorframe, his arms folded, eyes fixed on hers unblinking, wondering who would be the first to look away. ‘And how do you deduce that?’

  She smiled at him a little more warmly. ‘I have seen you on chat shows in the past, and I’d like to think I was a good judge of character when I meet someone for the first time.’

  Rob arched an eyebrow. ‘I see.’

  The woman laughed. ‘I ‘ve decided I do like you!’

  Rob found he could refrain from blinking any longer, and breaking the stare, he pushed himself away from the doorframe with the heel of his foot. He moved closer to the woman, arms still folded. ‘But you don’t know me!’ he whispered in her ear.

  She turned to face him, her own eyes still wide. ‘Perhaps I know you better than you know yourself, Mr Tyler.’ With a sigh, she at last allowed herself the privilege of blinking. ‘Or perhaps I just think I do. So, what brings you down to our neck of the woods?’

  Rob chuckled slightly without knowing why. ‘Well, I’m just starting a new novel and I was having difficulty concentrating in London, so I’ve come away for a bit of peace and quiet.’

  ‘And are you finding Exeter to be peaceful enough for your writing?’

  ‘Actually, I’m not staying in Exeter. I’m renting a house in a little out of the way village called Dorstville.’

  The woman’s head jerked up at the mention of the village. ‘There’s no such place,’ she said, a little too quickly.

  ‘Of course there is,’ responded Rob, offering her a charitable smile. ‘Oh, it’s not on any map; it’s too small. But it’s real, all right. It’s deep in the heart of Dartmoor. I’ve been there nearly a week.’

  The old woman turned away sharply. ‘If you say so, but I have never heard of it.’

  Rob sensed fear within the woman’s voice, so he did not press the subject.

  She waved her hands around the room. ‘These books will tell you the history of Exeter and the surrounding villages.’

  ‘What about the tors that are dotted around Dartmoor? Will I find anything about them in here? Especially the one named Devill’s Tor. That’s what my next book is called, but I need more information about its past.’

  The woman faced him, her face inscrutable, her voice filled with definite fear. ‘If you’ve any sense, Mr Tyler, you’ll stay away from that place, and leave the past well alone!’

  Rob sighed. ‘I can’t do that. There’s something very odd going on in Dorstville, and it’s connected to the Devill’s Tor. I have to get to the bottom of it.’

  The woman clutched his hand suddenly, her ice-cold grip vice-like. She refused to let go when Rob tried to snatch his hand away. ‘Rob Tyler, if you value your life you’ll get away from that place while you are still able to. You must not meddle in things that you cannot possibly comprehend.’

  She released her grip and Rob rubbed his hand ruefully, trying to get some of the feeling back into his numbed skin. He was thankful that her grip had not burnt like Val’s, even though it was the total polar opposite. ‘Look, I don’t know who you are, but you don’t frighten me, old woman. There has been an horrific death in Dorstville, and some of the locals are behaving very strangely.’

  ‘A death?’ gasped the woman, her face pale. ‘Who?’

  ‘An old friend of mine, Virginia Saunders.’

  The woman emitted a sigh , almost of relief. It was clear to Rob that not only did she really know that Dorstville actually existed, despite her protestations that it did not, but that someone she knew was in fact already there. With her oddly cold touch, it occurred to Rob that this old woman might possibly be close to Val somehow. He stared at her hard, but could see no resemblance at all.

  ‘On top of that death, another of my friends has disappeared, and so has my brother’s girlfriend. My brother himself is behaving rather oddly. I have reason to believe that the disappearances are connected with something that’s going on in Dorstville, and I cannot possibly leave until I find out what’s happened to them all.’

  ‘Rob Tyler, by the time you find them it will be too late.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Rob locked eyes with the woman once again. ‘You know what’s going on in that village, don’t you?’

  The old woman wrenched her gaze away from Rob’s. ‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she muttered as though her previous comments had been merely an aberration of her thoughts, involuntarily vocalised. ‘I really must get back to work, Mr Tyler. You’ve monopolised me long enough. When you finish in here, please lock the door behind you and hand the key in at the desk. And please don’t forget to turn off the light when you leave.’

  She was gone before Rob could argue. He made a move to follow her, but changed his mind. It was clear the old woman was terrified by what she knew, which in turn induced profound reluctance to impart the information. Perhaps he would need to quiz her no further; maybe the answers to his questions were in this room.

  Why else would a room of books about the local area be locked?

  Rob closed the door and turned to face the shelves.

  Where to start; that was the problem!

  * * *

  The librarian closed the door of her office in an annexe off the front of the library and reclined for a few moments in the comfortable chair behind her desk. Deep in thought, she reached for her mobile and selected a number from its memory, tapping her pen absent-mindedly against the blotter in front of her.

  ‘Yes?’ asked the male voice on the other end when the call was answered after three rings.

  ‘It’s Dolores. Rob Tyler is here at the library, digging into the history of Dorstville.’

  ‘That be a mite alarming. Do he say why he be looking?’

  Dolores sighed. ‘Apparently there are odd things happening in the village, and it would seem his intention is to include the place in his new book. He’s staying at Naghene Hall, and when that house falls beneath the blood red shadow of a lunar eclipse on the Night of Madness, and the blood of an unbeliever is drained at the place of sacrifice, then the Dark Lord shall be reborn. That is the prophecy.’

  ‘He be the Chosen One, bain’t he?’

  Even though the man on the other end could not see her, Dolores nodded. ‘Yes, that he most certainly is. He doesn’t believe in any of the things he writes about.’

  ‘Then it has started, and nothing can stop it!’

  ‘Indeed. The Night of Madness is nearly upon us.’

  ‘The doctor has made it impossible for Rob t’ leave. He has too many questions he needs answering. He’ll stay now till it be too late.’

  ‘That is why Rob Tyler must be made to believe. You know the only alternative is to kill him.’ Dolores could hear the man’s sharp intake of breath. ‘I hope it won’t come to that. That would only be as a last resort.’

  ‘What must we do, Dolores?’

  ‘Leave it to me. I shall see to it personally that he learns the truth, and then he will leave freely of his own accord.’

  ‘And if he don’t?’

  Dolores sighed with great sadness. ‘As I said, his death is the last resort!’

  * * *

  Everard pressed the button on his own mobile to finish the call, deeply disturbed at the way events had progressed out of control. He replaced the phone in its secret compartment at the back of the cutlery drawer in his kitchen. It was not safe to possess a telephone in Dorstville, a fact of which he was only too aware. It was a necessity, however, and he prayed continually that the brethren of the High One could not pick up mobile signals like they could intercept those of an ordinary telephone.

  ‘Well?’
asked Kinelm, pacing the far end of the kitchen in agitation.

  ‘Rob Tyler be probing the history o’ the village. It bain’t gonna be long afore he finds the truth.’ Everard turned to face Kinelm. ‘Dolores wants t’ deal with the situation herself. If Rob do learn the truth then it might make him leave freely. So long as he do that afore the Night of Madness then the prophecy won’t come true this time.’

  ‘And what if the fool decides t’ stay?’

  ‘If he stays then us all must make sure he do become a believer, Kinelm. Then it don’t matter if he do get sacrificed.’

  ‘That be a bit harsh, Everard. He be the innocent in all this. It bain’t his fault he be the Chosen One.’

  ‘It mayn’t be his fault, but it be his birthright. It be a bloodline that goes right back t’ the start o’ it all. Such be the legacy left t’ the poor sod by his father.’

  * * *

  Switching off her mobile, Dolores Hawthorne sat back in her comfortable chair and stared in contemplative silence at the door, her mind filled with images of horror that she was powerless to control. Devoid of all rational thought, she realised, desperately, that if the worst scenario came true then it would undoubtedly fall to her to end Rob’s life.

  ‘No,’ she whispered, ‘I must make certain it doesn’t come to that.’

  She tapped her lip thoughtfully. She had known of this ultimate possibility for most of her life, and yet found herself wholly unprepared to deal with it. She had for so long thought the time would never come, that the Chosen One would not find his way to Dorstville, and that the Night of Madness would come and pass without incident.

  Like her mother before her, and her own daughter, she dared to disbelieve the facts, dared to hope that the events now unraveling would in fact never occur.

  Only now did she realise the folly of such actions. She could have prevented this eventuality, but instead she now found herself powerless.

  I’m not entirely powerless, she thought solemnly as she went through the scenario in her well-ordered mind. I must tell Rob Tyler everything. I must make him understand and I must make him believe, unquestioningly, and then we must take on the combined might of the High One and her disciples. When he does finally believe, I must share my powers with Rob, otherwise I too shall be doomed.

  He has got to believe!

  If I cannot convince him of the truth then it’s all over… for all mankind.

  Dolores sighed as she stood and made her way towards the door. ‘I shall just have to make certain I don’t fail then!’

  Murder was an unpalatable alternative that she could not really consider, even as a final last resort. Even more so because Rob seemed such a likeable young man. Being nice, however, did not factor into things; that was something she clearly recalled her mother drilling into her, and something she reiterated repeatedly to her own daughter. When it came to it, could murder be justified?

  She leaned her head against her hand as it pressed against the door. Oh, why me? Why did this task fall within my lifetime?

  She wanted neither the responsibility of saving the lives of billions, nor the irresponsibility of standing by and doing nothing while all life on Earth came to an abrupt end. It was only now that she began to realise she should have made more thorough preparations for what was to come.

  She threw open the door and re-entered the main body of the library, looking upon her domain with fresh eyes. This library had been her refuge all her life, but now, as she watched the patrons go about their hushed business, it seemed to have taken on a new atmosphere. It appeared strange and unfamiliar to her senses, as if the very fabric of the library itself knew what lay in store and cried out its anguish, knowing it would become not only obsolete, but non-existent.

  Dolores Hawthorne’s love for the printed word stemmed directly from her mother, who had instilled in her from an early age the importance of literature; should all books be destroyed then the world would plunge into a new Dark Age. Despair would consume those who still lived – providing of course that whatever catastrophe befell mankind left anyone alive.

  Maria Hawthorne had explained in minute detail exactly what force could drive men – even scholars – to destroy all books. The insatiable insane urge to destroy knowledge could be traced only as far as written history, yet Maria had known it stemmed from a time far before that, right back to the dawn of creation when the newborn world was still in chaos and a creature other than man walked upright upon its dominion.

  Maria had calmly told her daughter the terrible prophecy that had been passed down by word of mouth, instructing her to pass it on to her own daughter when the girl came of age. Dolores had thought it odd back then that her mother should believe she might have but a single offspring, and that the child would be a girl. However, because of a number of bizarre incidents she witnessed as a little girl, she realised it could only mean the terrifying prophecy she had been warned about was sure to come true.

  As such, Dolores obeyed her mother’s wishes, hoping that her mother was in fact wrong, and upon her own daughter’s eighteenth birthday she sat her down and related what Maria had told her, absolutely word for word.

  Maria had made certain Dolores never married, because the prophecy proclaimed that there would be no marriages in their bloodline until the opening of the final barrow, after which the Chosen One’s arrival would swiftly follow and the Night of Madness would be upon them. Dolores did not want that burden to fall upon her shoulders, or those of her daughter, Lilly.

  It was only when Lilly scoffed at the notion, met a man and married him, that Dolores began to appreciate the full extent of the prophecy.

  She cursed the day her darling Lilly crossed paths with Stan O’Nass, for on that day the prophecy became a reality. Dolores knew that what she had hoped to avoid during her lifetime hurtled towards her like an out of control train, and with that knowledge came the stark realisation that she had ill-prepared her daughter for the battle ahead.

  Although many more countries other than Britain were littered with countless ancient burial mounds, Dolores knew instinctively where the barrow from the prophecy was located, and when Lilly and Stan moved to Dorstville following their wedding, she realised in a heartbeat that the barrow was indeed beneath one of the five tors that dotted the desolate landscape of the area. She had already witnessed the opening of one of those barrows; if the prophecy were to come true, that meant three of the remaining barrows were already opened, with the opening of the final one imminent.

  It had taken Lilly very little time to realise the folly of her disbelief when she discovered that a large number of the villagers in Dorstville seemed to know a great deal about the prophecy, warning her that she should get away whilst she still had the free will to do so.

  Upon revealing these facts to Dolores, mother and daughter decided that, no matter the danger, Lilly should remain by Stan’s side as long as possible to discover all that she could. She fled for her life only when Stan discovered her deception, though it was a discovery too late in the making, for Dolores had passed a secret talent for shielding thoughts, and even now, Stan did not know the extent of Lilly’s true birthright.

  As Dolores strode swiftly through the library towards the local records room where she had left Rob, she knew she must not concern herself with the possibility of what might yet come to pass. She had a daunting task ahead of her, and instinct told her she could succeed, even with her followers in disarray and ill prepared still. Common sense forewarned her, however, that a person could not be bullied into believing something that they really do not believe.

  Only a fool would believe in the success of such tactics, and only a liar would submit to the bullying.

  Dolores was no fool, and she knew Rob Tyler was no liar.

  Maybe it was hopeless after all.

  Still, she had to try, for the consequences of failure did not bear thinking about.

  * * *

  Once he was left alone, Rob had no idea where to start looking,
nor indeed what he was actually looking for. Any clues as to what lurked in the shadows of Dorstville were certain to be buried deep, hidden in the records where only a person with clear insight and an open mind could hope to find them.

  He wandered around the small room, inspecting the spines of various books, knowing he had no hope of looking through them all today. He pulled out a couple that looked as though they might be informative, but replaced them when they revealed only facts of which he was already aware. He was still looking through them at random when Dolores returned.

  Rob turned as she entered the room. ‘Hello again,’ he muttered in a low voice, noting that the woman had that frosty look on her face once more, a cold look that unnerved Rob and destroyed the refined, majestic features of the woman’s handsome face.

  She reminded Rob of one of his old schoolteachers, one who had always picked on him, relentlessly ruthless in her merciless ridicule of him before the entire class. She had forced him to retaliate in the end, when he could endure the tirade of mental abuse no longer, and he had humiliated the cruel old dragon so effectively that he reduced her to tears. His actions earned Rob the respect of his classmates, if not their unilateral friendship, including poor Virginia Saunders before her removal from the school when her parents relocated.

  With her austere apparel and stern, flinty features, the librarian so resembled that old witch that Rob felt a sudden desperate need to humiliate her too, but there was no audience, and he knew nothing about this cold faced old woman with which to ridicule her except her weight. Even Rob, however, would not stoop that low.

  He realised he did not even know the librarian’s name, and decided he should perhaps give her the benefit of the doubt: he himself had often been told to cheer up or lighten up in various green rooms before appearing as a guest on television chat shows. Some people were just predisposed to appearing unhappy even if they were perfectly content in themselves. Rob was one of them, and perhaps this woman was one too.

  Dolores smiled as she closed the door, and Rob realised she had actually done so before. It gave her countenance an altogether separate semblance, an air of approachability that reminded Rob of his mother.