And then, with a sudden snarl of rage, Xanthë grabbed Jessica’s hand and hauled her upwards.
For an instant, their eyes locked and Jess stared deep into a face of fathomless, ancient and terrible beauty. The face was a composite of them all - of Xanthë, Róisín, Bethan, Martha, Lizabeth, Anne, Kathleen, Yseult, Alice.
And deep within the eyes, far beyond, dark and twisted with anger, was the face of another, a thing with the blackest hair and yellowing teeth and red-rimmed eyes, framed in the light of flickering candles.
Jessica’s hand grew horribly, unbearably ice-cold.
‘Now, Emerald!’ she screamed. ‘Now!’
Richie heard Jess scream, ‘Now, Emerald, now!’ and then he saw her collapse on to the muddy field, clutching her hand in pain.
‘Jess! Jess, are you okay?’ Richie ran to her, grabbed her arms and held her up.
The snarling maelstrom sizzled with power, lifting above the school, high into the night sky like a gigantic fountain of light. Richie was sure that he could see a twisted, angry face - the face of an enraged woman - flickering in the flames. All around them, rain was sizzling as it turned into steam.
The nine witches strode forward, their glowing staffs upraised in triumph.
In the dim light, Richie could only vaguely make out Emerald Greene. She appeared, to his astonishment, to be crawling across the front seats of Mr Courtney’s Mercedes, trying to slide a CD into the car stereo.
A second later, a shockingly loud eruption of beautiful, terrifying music shook the car, the field around them and, Richie thought, his very bones as well. He suddenly realised what the sound was - the singing of the witches, amplified a hundredfold by the power of octophonic stereo. It sounded like a choir of a hundred, of a thousand, harmonious and yet discordant at the same time, the sound echoing off the wall of the school building and bouncing back at them. Louder than cars, then helicopters, than thunder, it made Richie’s teeth shake and forced him and Jess to their knees, clamping their hands over their ears.
The effect was electrifying. The sounds slammed together above the school with an audible crunching noise, pushing and straining against one another like two huge wrestlers.
For what seemed like an eternity, a storm of light and sound raged above the school, like two titanic giants fighting for possession of the sky.
The ground shook. The school building was shaking, vibrating, its turrets shedding tiles like autumn leaves from trees, the remaining windows popping one by one like firecrackers, twisted showers of glass bursting out into the darkening sky.
Blue, strobing light flashed in the darkness. Richie, shading his eyes, thought he could see shapes again, like the flickering images in fire; half a face, the hint of a hand, a flash of a screaming mouth.
Jess and Richie clung to each other, watching in astonishment.
And then, slowly, the giant, thrashing mass of light began to shrink.
Professor Ulverston, running in darkness, knew he would only have the slimmest of windows to escape through.
There, ahead of him, he could see the circle of blue lights, like a child’s bead bracelet cast adrift upon a dark stream. Ulverston gathered the last resolves of his energy. He loosened his tie, wiped the sweat from his brow and headed towards it.
Bigger and bigger the circle grew, until he could make out the nine individual points of light which formed it, eight of them swarming around the central one. As he glided closer the points became globes, and now he could see the shimmering figure of a witch trapped inside each one, all of them thrashing and screaming frantically.
All bar one. Alone, still and silent at the centre, Xanthë stood, her face impassive, her arms spread-eagled as if to embrace her fate.
‘Things not going to plan, dear ladies?’ he murmured. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you!’
Then, he saw the gap. He hadn’t known what he was looking for, but there it was - a slice of artificial light just beyond the circle, light which obviously came from elsewhere, cutting into the Otherworld like a sharp knife.
Light from the physical world.
Ulverston steadied himself, peering towards Xanthë’s globe. He looked into her eyes and saw that they were dull, now, and that her skin was yellowing and drying. Wrinkles cut across her face. Her gold tresses were drying up like old flowers, crinkling and withering to strands of white.
She reached out a hand, and her aching, desperate eyes seemed to recognise him.
‘Ulllll - ’
He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
He leapt for the gap, which was already starting to close. On the brink, feeling his body tugging as he was pulled back through, back into the world where he belonged, Professor Ulverston managed to turn back in slow-motion and to look.
‘ - veeerrrrr - ’
Xanthë’s hand brushed his. Tantalisingly close. The gap was closing around him now, pulling him through. He was sinking into the hole between the dimensions, disappearing into it like quicksand.
If he touched her hand again, he knew he could possibly have lost his chance for ever. She was screaming his name, and the syllables became stretched, warped through Time.
‘- stoooooooonnnnnnnnnne!’
And Ulverston felt himself sinking rapidly now, as if through soft and enveloping water. The portal closed around him and his eyes were filled with darkness.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, ‘I belong back there, and you don’t.’
The scream which echoed through the winds of Time was agonised, seemingly endless. Nine incandescent globes fell as if into an endless abyss, dwindling to nine points of light which shrank, shrank, shrank into the darkness until they were no more.
Down and down, the maelstrom dwindled.
Richie glimpsed Emerald standing right underneath the thing, pointing at it as she read from the book. An enraged bellowing and screeching, like the sound of an animal being put to death, echoed out across the field and through the Mere valley, up into the cloudy night sky. Jets of fire - one, two, three - sizzled like stray fireworks across the school field, cutting flaming furrows, turning rain into steam and exploding in showers of sparks. Fountains of earth shot upwards, and there was a horrible, pungent odour of burning earth and hot metal. Everyone ducked behind cars, helicopters and bushes.
One sizzling bolt of fire smashed straight into the windscreen of Mr Courtney’s car, turning the glass to liquid in seconds, splattering the molten residue across the bonnet.
And still Emerald held her position, her hand held high, her red hair streaming out from behind her, as the amplified bedlam of the singing reached a crescendo -
And stopped.
There came a sound like a popping balloon, and then a great, echoing gurgle. The maelstrom gave one last, angry surge and then was sucked in on itself. It shrank like water down a plughole, swirling back into nothingness.
Then nothing. Stillness and silence, apart from the gentle fizz of the rain.
A second later, the axles snapped on Mr Courtney’s Mercedes.
The car’s chassis crashed down into the mud and the remaining windows burst, breaking into tiny cubes of glass which spewed out on to the mud like an avalanche of ice-crystals.
There was a loud, firm thump as Emerald Greene slammed shut the leather-bound copy of Lore of Albion Guiding the Fullest History, Taming and Containment of Witches. Then, she turned back to face her friends and let out a long, deep breath. As Jess and Richie watched, she lifted her finger, licked it once and chalked up an invisible mark in the air.
‘Yesssss!’ Richie exclaimed, punching the air.
Jess smiled weakly.
As the rain gently continued to hiss around them, Richie saw Jess pull her sleeve back, exposing her hand again. She gave her fingers an experimental flex and nodded to herself, as if happy.
Mr Courtney lifted his head from the mud, uncovered his ears and slowly picked himself up. He was staring in horror at the shattered husk which had once been his Government-issue black Mercedes.
‘Mr Odell,’ he said faintly.
‘Yes, sir?’ His right-hand man, re-adjusting his glasses and brushing himself down, appeared from the shelter of one of the other cars.
‘Get the PM on the line. Tell her Situation X has been contained, and she’ll have my full report in the morning.’
Mr Odell nodded, gave a grim smile. ‘Right away, sir.’
‘And Mr Odell?’
Mr Odell paused with the phone halfway to his ear. ‘Yes, sir?’
‘Please tell me,’ said Mr Courtney, pointing shakily towards the wrecked Mercedes, ‘that we had up-to-date insurance cover on that?’
Professor Ulverston awoke with a jolt, flat on his back in the dark.
He became aware that a light drizzle was falling on him, and a slow smile of recognition spread across his face. He was cold and hungry and he had a splitting headache, but he knew the taste of that rain all right - it was real rain, and more to the point, it was good old British rain.
Ulverston sat up and looked around, his wide and staring eyes getting used to the darkness. He blinked - and glimpsed on his retina an imprint of the witch as she spiralled away, away, down into the depths of despair. Calling his name.
He pulled a face and shook his head, trying to clear it of the image. ‘Charming filly,’ he muttered. ‘But it would never have worked out.’
Grunting with the effort, he hauled himself to his feet. His limbs ached and his suit was spattered with rainwater. Blinking, he realised in astonishment that he had been deposited back beside the shore of the Darkwater. Just a few metres from him, a gentle drizzle spattered on the lake’s surface, and water lapped gently against pebbles.
‘Well, I never,’ said the Professor, and he allowed himself a broad, satisfied grin. Stretching his aching limbs, he reached up to embrace the autumnal drizzle. ‘I’m back,’ he said, and then, spinning round with his arms held aloft, he threw back his head and laughed, shouting up at the stars. ‘Professor Edwin Ulverston is back!’ he bellowed in delight. Then he took a deep breath, shook his aching head and cleared his throat. ‘Time for a cup of tea,’ he added, and, straightening his tie, he set off back towards Meresbury.
12
Resonances
‘Hello, I’m Mike Devenish with Mike’s Open Mike on County TV, presented in association with Chox bars, the chewier and more chocolatey snack.
‘Well, before we go on, a little bit about tomorrow’s programme. I’m afraid to say that tomorrow is the last in the present series of Mike’s Open Mike. We’ll be, er, taking a break, to make way for the new interactive game-show King of the Castle, hosted by the lovely Vanessa Shaughnessy. Don’t forget, though, that you’ll still be able to catch me at 1.30 am, with the, ah, late news update. Mmm.
‘However, as it’s our last show tomorrow - aaaaaah! - it will be a very special one indeed. I shall be talking to the Dean of Meresbury Cathedral, the Right Reverend Toby Walmsley, about supernatural phenomena - and I’ll be welcoming back the famous Professor Edwin Ulverston. Yes, the famed archaeologist was, just a few weeks ago, missing and presumed dead - but, ah, the rumours of his death have been greatly exaggerated, haha. He is now, I understand, promoting his new series of lecture tours. A former sceptic of the paranormal, Professor Ulverston will be talking about the importance of understanding myths and legends when excavating the past. I’ll look forward to that, I have to say...
‘And we’ll have music from It-Girl, who’ll be in the studio performing their new single Boy, You Wind Me Up. Smashing. Can’t wait.’
It was a clear November afternoon, and pale sunlight filtered through the stark trees. At Beeches Point, above the Darkwater, shadows lengthened on the forest paths and small animals scuttled for shelter.
Jess Mathieson was hurrying along the woodland path, crunching dried leaves underfoot and pausing to pick the occasional blackberry. She was dressed sensibly in a black woollen coat, roll-neck sweater, jeans and Caterpillar boots, and she was struggling to keep up with the long strides of Emerald Greene, who was marching ahead in her eternally-uncool cagoule and wellies.
‘So,’ Emerald said over her shoulder, ‘Richie could not be here?’
‘He’s being kept in to finish his half-term project,’ Jess said, indistinctly. ‘I think his mum isn’t very pleased at the moment. She sees me as a bad influence. Honestly - me, a bad influence! Aunt Gabi would love that. She thinks I’m so square you could put shelves up with me.’ She chewed and swallowed the last of her blackberry.
‘And how is your aunt?’ Emerald asked.
‘Oh, fine... she got over her nasty experience. Thanks for the pasta, by the way. I think she’d like to employ you!’
‘A pleasure,’ said Emerald.
Emerald, at Jess’s request, had shown Gabi her culinary skills the previous evening. She had produced a beautiful Capricci Formaggio with a tomato and basil sauce and home-baked ciabatta bread, the success of which had made Gabi wonder about taking some cookery lessons. ‘Honestly,’ Gabi had said, ‘you kids are so cosmopolitan. When I was your age, tinned ravioli was exotic.’
Jess caught up with her friend in the clearing. She took a deep breath of the peaty, ferny forest air. It was cold, refreshing and made her lips numb, but it reminded her she was alive.
Emerald, hands clasped behind her back, was patiently waiting, her eyes unblinking behind the blue lenses of her glasses. ‘It sounds,’ she said quietly, ‘as if everything is more or less back to normal in Meresbury.’
‘Yeah, you could say that. Well, what passes for normal round here.’
‘That is good.’ Emerald sighed, shook her head. ‘I fear I almost made a terminal error in letting the Viking draw power from the barrier. Still, all is well. Freygerd showed her hand, and was defeated.’
Jess nodded. ‘Look, Em... I’ve been meaning to say this before, but with everything else... We’ve really got to do something about the way you talk, you know.’
‘There is something amiss with my accent?’ Emerald Greene demanded.
‘Not your accent, no, but...’ How could she put it? Jess sat cross-legged on the forest floor and smiled up at her friend. ‘Look, maybe you just need to chill out a bit.’
‘Chill... out?’ repeated Emerald Greene doubtfully.
‘Mm. Chill out,’ said Jessica. She put her thumbs and forefingers together and extended her arms, palms upward; then she tilted her head back and closed her eyes. ‘Like this, twice a day. It’s relaxation. Gabi taught me it.’
‘I... need to learn this?’ said Emerald Greene, peering down at her in consternation.
‘Well, yeah!’ Jess opened her eyes, let her arms fall by her sides and sighed. ‘You do if you’re going to settle in around here, Em.’
‘Oh. I see,’ said Emerald Greene, and for a second she looked away, guiltily.
‘I remember the first time I came to this clearing,’ Jess went on, leaning back and gazing up at the trees with their twisted branches and their fragments of yellowing leaves. ‘It seemed so weird, seeing you vanish through the Barrier. Now, though...’ She shook her head, smiling ruefully. ‘Can you get used to weirdness?’
Emerald tilted her head on one side, in that way she had of appearing to listen for the answer. ‘The definitions change,’ she said quietly. ‘The strange becomes normal. It is all part of being... attuned to the right wavelengths.’
‘Well... thanks for tuning me in.’ Jess tapped her forehead. ‘I think I’m beginning to understand... Em, we did defeat them, didn’t we?’
Emerald laughed, shrugged. She put her hands in the pockets of her cagoule and began to pace up and down, kicking the leaves up into fl
urries. ‘We saw a fracture in the threads of Time and mended it,’ she murmured. ‘But Time is an ancient garment which easily becomes worn.’ She swung round, and her eyes were wide and urgent. ‘Eternal vigilance is the price you pay. You must always think, now. Think twice, three times.’ She began walking round her in a circle. ‘Whenever you see a grey shape out of the corner of your eye, or hear a sound that seems out of place, or hear a song you think you have heard somewhere before... all those unsettling experiences will start to take on new meaning.’
‘Because...’ Jess paused. What was the expression Emerald had used? ‘Because I’m... Time-intuitive, right?’
‘Of course. That is part of it.’ Emerald stopped circling. ‘How is the hand?’ she asked.
Jess noticed that she sounded merely curious, rather than concerned. ‘Um... still stings a bit,’ she admitted, rubbing the back of her right hand. ‘Aunt Gabi’s worried. She thinks I might have rheumatism.’
‘Tell her from me not to worry. It is not... rheumatism.’ Emerald said the word almost with amusement. She squatted on her heels, faced her friend. ‘Experiences change us, Jessica Mathieson. These past few weeks have seen unimaginable forces awakened in the Mere Valley - changes and disturbances not seen in this realm for centuries or more.’
Jess tried not to let herself be frightened by the chill in Emerald’s voice. ‘I know,’ she said.
‘We are all older now,’ said Emerald Greene. ‘Remember that.’
Jess, as usual, wasn’t sure if she was meant to understand. ‘Look, umm...’ She stood up, brushing the leaves off her, and gestured towards the centre of the clearing. ‘Are we going through the Barrier? Only you said you’d show me the swimming-pool, remember? I need to practise my backstroke. And I’d like to see the Librarian again to thank him for the book - oh, and Anoushka, if he can be dragged away from his mice.’ Jess grinned. ‘Yeah, I even miss the miserable moggy.’
Something, though, was wrong.
Emerald Greene and the Witch Stones Page 20
