by Robin Jarvis
Perched upon the rocks, they averted their eyes when the youngster greeted them and concentrated their gaze upon the calm waters of the sea.
"A fair evening," Nelda said warmly. "Tis a lovely sunset. I hope the caves are cooler this night."
Neither of the aufwaders looked at her and she raised her eyebrows in surprise at this uncommon lack of manners.
"At least all is quiet now," she persisted. '"Twas a mighty crowd afore. I did fear one of the bolder children would find our dwelling."
Judd sniffed then shuffled round on the boulder until his back was facing her. Nelda stared at him in confusion, then to her dismay Eurgen slowly removed the pipe from his mouth and spat at her feet.
"Master Handibrass!" she cried. "Why do you mistreat me so? What have I done?"
The other aufwader snorted and Nelda grew fearful at their spiteful silence.
"I... I must find my grandfather," she mumbled, pulling the leather jerkin more tightly about her as she hurried towards the cliff face.
Eurgen cleared his throat and tugged at the tobacco-stained whiskers upon his chin.
"Tha won't find Tarr in yon cave!" he called after her. "Im's not theer!"
Nelda turned slowly, feeling a cold dread wash over her. "Where... where is he?" she asked.
Eurgen scratched his large ears and exchanged several low muttered words with Judd before answering. "Shrimp's in the main entrance!" he said curtly. "Tha'll find 'im theer."
Nelda clasped her hands in front of her and stared up at the cliff. Since the destruction of the fisherfolk caverns, her grandfather had only returned to the entrance chamber three times. As leader of the tribe he was obliged to sit in judgement there and listen to all complaints brought by other aufwaders. Shivering in spite of the heat, she wondered what had compelled Tarr to go there today.
A glance at Eurgen and Judd brought her no comfort.
"Tha'd best seek him," Eurgen told her. "Theer's summat to touch thee theer."
Nelda left them and walked cautiously towards the hidden tunnel entrance which led to the great chamber.
With her heart in her mouth she passed within a narrow and dripping passage, her wavering steps carrying her up a steep slope. The tunnel was dark and humid, filled with the ponderous sound of falling droplets that steadily ticked the time away like a landbreed clock. Yet Nelda wished that it would never end, for she could guess what kind of reception awaited her.
Suddenly the cramped way opened out into a much larger space and, turning a sharp bend, she found herself in the entrance chamber behind the cliff face.
The cavern was large and lit by the silver radiance of many small lanterns. Their pale flames shimmered through layers of fishing nets like the moon behind the leaves and their dim beams rippled over the high walls until they appeared as fluid as the sea. Quivering pools of pearly light shone over the stone floor and played on the faces of those who were assembled there.
Nelda looked timidly before her. Standing in the glimmering gloom, waiting in grave silence for her to arrive, was the rest of the tribe.
Every old and weather-beaten face stared across at her with accusation and reproach burning in their solemn eyes.
Footsteps behind her made the girl turn around and she saw that Eurgen and Judd had been following. The two aufwaders brushed past and joined the others without uttering a word.
Nelda eyed them fearfully, then took several hesitant steps forward.
As one, the crowd parted and there, sitting behind them, was her grandfather. His grand and stately chair of office was made of rusting cogs and pieces of the mechanism which once operated the huge doors. Flanked by two enormous spindles of corroding iron, it had become the throne of the tribe leader and he only sat upon it when a judgement was to be proclaimed.
One look at Tarr's cold and blighted face told Nelda all she needed to know. He was stiff with pain and pride but his ancient countenance betrayed no emotion. He was as immovable as granite and his steady, condemning eyes seemed to bore right through her. Across his lap Tarr gripped his staff, and only in the almost luminous whiteness of his knuckles could his inner grief be glimpsed.
A malicious hiss issued from a squat figure standing at his side, but Nelda paid Old Parry no heed. The evil crone had done her worst and she was not going to gratify her with any acknowledgement.
Fixing her eyes solely upon her grandfather, Nelda approached.
The other aufwaders backed against the rocky walls as though she carried some infernal contagion, and their mouths twisted into ugly scowls. A few of the elderly seawives shook their heads with pity as the girl passed them but they feared and were revolted by her all the same.
When she stood before the chair, Nelda gazed sorrowfully at Tarr and in a subdued voice uttered, "Is aught amiss, Grandfather?"
The leader of the fisherfolk lifted his eyes to a point just above the girl's head so that he did not have to look at her and cleared his throat to summon his cracked and faltering voice.
"Hearken to her!" Old Parry shrieked before Tarr could speak. "Brazen as you please—the foul hussy!"
Nelda winced at the bitterness contained in that harsh voice but she continued to stare up at her grandfather and waited desperately to hear what he had to say.
"Go on!" Parry urged. "Make her admit it! Then tha'll see if'n I don't speak the truth!"
Tan threw the hag a flinty look then returned his attention to his granddaughter.
"Be this true?" he managed at last in a husky voice. "Is the poison which drips from her barbed tongue a vile fact?"
Old Parry huffed in outrage but no one took any notice.
"What poison has she uttered?" Nelda asked meekly.
"Tha knows."
"The wretch brims over with malice," she murmured. "How can I tell which deceit or venomous tale she has told? There have been so many."
"Must tha make me give voice to it?"
"If I am to know, then yes."
Tan's pent-up rage suddenly erupted from him and he slammed his staff upon the floor. "The bairn!" he roared. "Have tha been carrying a child these past months?"
There, he had said it, and on hearing his own, violent accusation, Tarr felt a part of his soul perish within him.
Tears sprang to Nelda's eyes and ran down her burning cheeks before she could wipe them away.
"Yes," she said, her voice battling to overcome the lump which was choking her.
Disapproving and contemptuous cries echoed around the cavern as the horrified fisherfolk vented their anger. Only Old Parry appeared pleased and she lunged forward to rip aside Nelda's jerkin.
"See!" she screeched as the girl pulled away. "Her belly's already swellin'!"
Nelda pushed the crone from her and hastily buttoned the jerkin over her gansey once more. Everyone was jeering at her now and she looked beseechingly up at her grandfather but it was no use.
Trembling with anguish and fury, Tarr glared back. "Art tha mad?" he wailed, joining in the ranting cries of the tribe. "Dost tha not know the mortal peril that burden of thine puts each and every one of us in?"
"I think of naught else!" she sobbed. "I cannot sleep for the fear which freezes my blood—the same blood which will turn to brine when the time comes."
Old Parry raised her arms to address the others. "Woe and disaster!" she announced in a doom-laden voice. "That's all this whelp will bring upon us. Never mind frettin' about her salty death, 'tis the rest of us who'll suffer for her wanton stubbornness. 'Tis the tribe who'll feel the brunt of the Deep Ones' wrath long after she's withered and oozed into the sands."
"Cast her out!" one of the aufwaders demanded. "Exile the selfish fool!"
"Aye!" agreed another. "Let us prove to the Triad beneath the waters that we want no part of this base madness."
"This is why our nets are clogged with stinking weed! She is the reason our catches have diminished!"
"Let us be rid of her!"
"Out! Out! Out!"
Nelda stared wildly ro
und at the hate-filled faces, then turned to her grandfather. "Listen to me!" she pleaded. "What am I to do? The babe is the result of a bargain I made with Esau. I had to lie with him; our very existence depended upon it."
"Yet now the fruit of thy bargain threatens us also!" Tarr snapped. "The displeasure of the Lords of the Deep will grow daily. Already are we suffering—what more evil signs are we to endure?"
"But what would you have me do?" she cried. "I am sorry I kept this secret from you, yet I was afraid. Oh Grandfather, what am I to do?"
Tarr hung his head.
"You know well enough!" snarled Old Parry. "What does it take to convince your feeble brains? Did I not warn you? Did you not scorn my advice? Advice founded on years of toiling with the labours of others."
"Leave me be!" Nelda implored her, but Parry would not be quelled. Striding up to a shelf carved into the rock, she took down a large conch shell and carried it reverently back to the young aufwader.
This was the horn of the fisherfolk, the ceremonial trumpet which few could sound and whose mighty voice boomed out over the sea—reaching even the far-off realm of the Deep Ones. It had been given to them in the beginning and was one of the few treasures that remained from the time of the tribes.
A cruel glint shone in the crone's eye as she lifted the conch to Nelda's ear and forced the girl to listen.
"This is why I told the others," she said, "for this very day I did put mine ear to the shell and this is what I heard.
As she listened, Nelda's eyes grew round with terror and she whimpered in fright.
Instead of the usual roaring of the sea, the shell was filled with screaming voices. It was as if she was standing at the gates of Hell and the tormented souls were yelling and shrieking in their agony, drowning in a cacophony of despair and desolation.
Yet even as she listened in stricken horror, Nelda grew faint. One of the tortured voices grew louder in her ear and her scalp crawled as she recognised it—the voice was her own.
Old Parry kept the conch there longer than was necessary and a triumphant leer stole over her ugly face. "Tis another sign," she hissed. "By that unborn maggot we are all doomed. For is it not the result of a union which the Lords of the Deep and Dark themselves forbade? Did their herald not warn you against marrying Esau? Did you not flout their ban? Are we all to pay for your wilfulness?"
"It wasn't like that!" Nelda protested, looking round at the rest of the tribe. "You were all there, we couldn't stop Esau. He was the ruling elder—I had no choice!"
"Maybe!" Parry bawled. "But you have a choice now!"
Nelda stared at her blankly, then turned to her grandfather for support. But Tarr was still cradling his head in his hands, unwilling to involve himself any further.
The young aufwader felt totally alone. All around her the members of the tribe were agreeing with Old Parry and shaking their fists at the girl for placing them in such danger.
"Do as she says!" they called. "Show some wisdom at last, child! Even now it is not too late!"
From the middle of the insistent fisherfolk, Maudlin Trowker, a seawife who had arrayed Nelda for the Briding, stepped up to her and put a tender hand upon her shoulder.
"Dinna fret so," she soothed. "Tis nothing—I should know. When I were young 'twas Parry I looked to when the curse fell over me. For the good of all, entrust thissen to her care—she knows best in this."
Aghast, Nelda dragged herself from the insidious and sympathetic comforter. "No!" she stormed, disgusted and appalled at the suggestion. She could not believe that the whole tribe was urging her to get rid of the baby and saw each one of them as if for the first time.
Through their fear, they had become callous, depraved creatures and Nelda was at once alarmed and aggrieved to witness the base transformation.
"Purge the evil from you!" they called. "Cast it aside! Kill the wicked spawn of Esau!"
As this insane uproar filled the chamber, Nelda looked once more at her grandfather, seeking one last time for his assistance and understanding.
"Help me," she beseeched him, "please."
But Tarr could not even raise his head from his hands. "Ah canna," he said flatly. "As leader ah mun look to our safety. The Deep Ones will punish us."
"What... what are you saying, Grandfather? Are you agreeing with this mad rabble? I must know. Do you also wish my unborn child—your grandchild—do you wish it dead?"
Stung by this, Tarr lifted his face but it was set and grim. "Don't fling that at me!" he snapped. "Ah know what we're askin' and ah ain't proud o' it. But reckon this—what are we to eat if'n the fish desert our waters? Wheer are we to shelter if the sea crashes agin the cliff and drags it into the deep?"
"Is that the measure of your concern?" asked Nelda sadly.
"Tha know it ain't! Oh Lass—ah were theer when thy mither bore thee! Ah saw all that happened to her—ah nivver wish to look on such horror agin! For thy sake if not fer the tribe—think on!"
Nelda recoiled from him. She was bewildered and a stinging sense of betrayal tore through her heart. The young aufwader bit her lip and shuddered wretchedly.
"Come now," Old Parry piped up. "I shall look after you. Poor little Nelda, let Parry help and assist in what must be done."
At that moment a cold anger seized Nelda and all her hurt was forgotten.
"How dare you!" she yelled. "How dare all of you! What right have you to order the death of my child? Listen to yourselves! You speak of the most innocent of all things as though it were some reeking foulness! To what base level have you sunk? You disgust me—each and every one!"
Tossing her head defiantly, she whirled around, incensed and furious. "Listen now to me—I will carry this child for as long as I am able, and if it is fated that we perish together then so be it. That is my decision and no one—not even my so-called family—can deter me now! Exile me or do what you will—I have finished with you all and want no part of the tribe for as long as I and my baby live!"
Tarr clung to his staff until the wood bit into his palm as his granddaughter thundered from the chamber.
Around him the aufwaders shouted but all had been taken aback by Nelda's inflamed temper, and though they had not changed their minds about what she should do, many were already feeling guilty for the things they had said.
With her arms folded, Old Parry sneered. "She'll come to it in the end," she predicted acidly, "for all her fine talk. The bitter herb will be picked—I'll wager everything on it."
Too distraught to say anything, Tarr bowed his head to weep, but so intense were his shame and grief, the tears would not come.
***
May's glorious weather continued and the tills of Whitby rang merrily as trippers continued to squeeze into the small town. Never had the souvenir shops known such business and the tea-rooms and restaurants were always overflowing. The Sandy Beach Café had reopened shortly after the mysterious disappearance of the proprietor and a tall, reedy-looking woman now ran the establishment. But she proved to be extremely unpopular with those customers who had grown to love Susannah's cream teas.
On one occasion, Doctor Adams took Edith Wethers there but they were both dismayed by the slovenly manner of Miss Gilly Neugent, the new owner. Slouching up to their unwiped table, she unceremoniously shoved two cups of tepid dishwater before them followed by a plate of walnut-like scones which were as tough as cork and tasted of cardboard. After a miserable half-hour, the doctor and Miss Wethers left the place and vowed never to return.
They were becoming closer than ever, and Conway frequently brought flowers round for the delighted ex-postmistress and once, in a mad, unthinking moment of passion, she had given him a peck on the cheek.
During this time, Miss Boston continued to regain her old vigour. Her arms were as strong as they had ever been and she would often spend the warm evenings sitting in the wheelchair, bowling cricket balls for Ben in the garden.
As the month progressed, the old lady became increasingly agitated and had circle
d a date on the calendar. When Ben had asked her about this she had vaguely replied, "The Horngarth is approaching."
The boy had thought no more about it, assuming that Aunt Alice was talking about astrology or equinoxes as usual. Then, one Saturday morning, he awoke early and trailed downstairs in search of breakfast, only to discover that the old lady was well wrapped up and ready to wheel herself outdoors.
"Ah, Benjamin!" she cried. "I wasn't sure whether to wake you or not; still you had better change out of your pyjamas if you wish to join me. I'm afraid Edith has no taste for it—do you, dear?"
In the kitchen, her mind fixed on other matters and thoroughly out of humour, Miss Wethers stirred a pan of thick porridge and answered in an impatient tone. "That I haven't," she twittered. "It's a thing I've seen far too many times—why don't they liven it up a bit? Any change would do, just to make it interesting or mildly entertaining. It really is very dull."
Aunt Alice scowled. "Not to me it isn't," she replied.
"Oh well, we can't all find dreary little hedges enthralling, can we?"
"Had a bit of a falling out with Doctor Adams yesterday evening," Miss Boston whispered confidentially to Ben. "Be no use to anyone today, will our Edith."
"But where are you going?" the boy asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"Why! To see the Horngarth, of course!" she exclaimed, screwing up her face and chuckling gleefully. "It's the morning of Ascension Eve and there's only one place you'll find me then. Best hurry, for I shall be gone if you're not ready in time. You might pop in and see if Jennet wants to come too—I'm sure she'd find it all very intriguing."
Ben doubted that, but he dutifully ran back upstairs and peered into his sister's room.
Jennet was still sound asleep and he wondered if he dared awaken her. She had been so unpleasant to him lately that he no longer enjoyed the rare times they spent together. Eventually, however, he plucked up courage and shook her gently.
