The Whitby Witches 3: The Whitby Child

by Robin Jarvis

  Nathaniel snatched the ceremonial dagger from the ground and gave it to Meta.

  "Get after them," he snarled. "I don't care what you do—just kill them all."

  The golden-haired woman brandished the knife proudly and with a lingering look at her beloved, raced through the ruins.

  "Meta!" Pear shouted in dismay. "No!"

  "Persephone!" Nathaniel barked, but the girl was already tearing after her mother.

  In Hillian's arms the fishmonkey waggled its repulsive head and, in a condemning tone, muttered, "Thou hast failed, thou and thy rabble have reneged on the bargain. Thy part has not been honoured, the boy lives still."

  "Not for much longer!" the warlock retorted vehemently. "Meta excels as an assassin."

  "Empty words," the wizened creature denounced. "Too often hath much been promised and all for naught. Thou wert given new life, yet you have dared cheat the Allpowerful."

  Nathaniel had heard enough from the ugly monster and made no reply. Instead, Hillian gazed at the deformed object in her hands and laughed dismissively.

  "What matter is that to us now?" she scoffed. "The Lord of the Frozen Wastes has given us our High Priest—that is all we ever wanted. I pray the boy does indeed grow to bring about the demise of the Lord of the Frozen Wastes. I am sick to my teeth of his demands and your constant puling squeaks!"

  The fishmonkey glared up at her, then with a raging screech it wrested free of her grasp and launched itself upwards, shrieking in a frenzy of hate.

  Hillian's spectacles were thrown to the ground as the webbed claws tore into her flesh and the witch screamed in alarm and pain.

  Gouging deep into her skin, the creature squawked and slashed out bloody rents. "A curse on the day thou wert contacted!" it cried. "Thou hast used my master for thine own ends—fie on you, Drab of the East!"

  The needle-like teeth lunged for Hillian's neck but they snapped only the rain as Nathaniel dragged it from her and threw it to the ground.

  "I think we can dispense of your services now," he muttered in a threatening voice filled with menace.

  The fishmonkey wormed and bolted through the mud, dragging itself by its emaciated arms, but Nathaniel came stomping after and with a vile laugh he brought his foot fiercely down upon the creature's humped and bony back.

  A piercing squeal blared from the gaping mouth as the brittle body shattered and the scaly, papery skin burst into a flurry of tiny fragments.

  "Master!" it gibbered, writhing and twisting like a headless snake.

  Grinning, Nathaniel crushed the creature's limbs, snapping the bones until they hung pathetically from the shoulders, twitching helplessly. Above the splintered remains of its misshapen body, the domed head gasped its last and the yellow eyes stared balefully upwards.

  "Dost thou... thou truly believe..?" the servant of the deep rasped, "Didst thou think my... my mighty Lord would be so... so unwise?"

  The light dimmed behind the eyes but the fishmonkey managed a final sneer and with a cackle gurgling in its broken neck, scorned Nathaniel and the rest of the coven with consummate loathing.

  "No... no trust did he have in thee and thine!" it wheezed. "Ha! The Lord of the Frozen Wastes shall not be chea..."

  The ugly head rolled to one side and the flimsy eyelids closed as a rattling breath groaned from the gawping mouth.

  Nathaniel kicked the shattered fragments aside and turned to the others. The witches had gathered about Hillian, who was whimpering from the agonies that seared her flesh.

  "My face!" she howled. "My face!"

  From the ragged wounds her blood was flowing freely but the warlock looked at her without compassion. "Be quiet," he rebuked. "The scars will heal—I didn't recruit you for your beauty."

  Obediently Hillian stifled her cries and the others stood away from her.

  "Time to leave this place," he snorted. "Heel!"

  The witches trailed after him but suddenly the night was torn asunder as a blinding bolt of lightning forked from the churning clouds and flashed over the surface of the pool behind them.

  For a brief moment a layer of livid flame blasted across the dark water, and when it dispersed and only the smouldering gloom remained, Nathaniel stared back suspiciously.

  "Miserable weather for such a long-awaited reunion," observed a pert, arch voice.

  The warlock stepped forward and his face fell.

  From the rain-splashed water a figure was rising. Her short, strawberry-blonde hair was held back by a black band, accentuating her fine-boned features, and a seductive smile played over her thin lips.

  Dumbfounded, Nathaniel stared at the newcomer, whilst around him the witches muttered in surprise and through her bloody tears Hillian felt her new position as priestess slip hopelessly away from her.

  The woman in the pool stretched her lithe frame and straightened the black robes that covered her. Then she gazed steadily at her speechless husband and with a mocking, girlish laugh, asked, "Have you nothing to say, darling Nathan? Am I so unwelcome?"

  "Roselyn!" the warlock growled, his rising anger dispelling all bewilderment. "Why are you here?"

  Wading through the pool, with her garment billowing around her, the woman who had lived in Whitby as Rowena Cooper spoke in soft, treacherous tones and her face was wreathed in a dangerous, deceitful grin.

  "Surely you must know by now," she murmured darkly, "that wherever you go, my dearest heart's blood, your wife must follow. I too have torn through the veil! We are united at last!" And she strode stealthily towards the bank, with faint derisive laughter trickling from her lips.

  ***

  Down the one hundred and ninety-nine steps the children and Aunt Alice tore. The driving rain pelted in their faces and over the wet, slippery stairs they slithered and scrambled. Far below them the drenched rooftops of the town glistened and the streets rippled like rivers as the rushing deluge gushed from the drain-pipes and flowed over the cobbles.

  Clinging to the dripping handrail, Ben hurried as fast as the perilous, glass-like steps allowed, while just behind, Aunt Alice lumbered with Jennet still clutching on to her cloak.

  "Hurry," the boy called, too busy concentrating on the hazardous way to turn around. "They'll be coming after us!"

  "Come along, Jennet!" Miss Boston cried. "Exert yourself, child!"

  Still in shock, the girl blundered aimlessly after her. Half stumbling, half falling, she was beyond caring what would happen to them. The loss of the necklace and Nathaniel's malevolent influence had left a ghastly hole inside her. It was as if she had suffered a tragic wounding that left her bereft and empty within.

  "We're not even halfway down!" Aunt Alice blustered, pulling her by the hand. "Quickly!"

  Jennet skidded to a defeated standstill and leaned heavily against the rail. "I can't," she protested wearily, "there's no point."

  "No point?" Aunt Alice repeated furiously. "At any moment that devil and his harpies will come charging after us!"

  "I don't care," the girl insisted. "Can't you see? I've had enough—I just want it to end."

  Miss Boston gripped Jennet's muddy uniform and scolded her furiously. "You listen to me, madam!" she cried. "It's time you stopped thinking about yourself! Was there ever such an ungrateful and selfish child?"

  Jennet flinched before Aunt Alice's withering scorn, but before she could respond the old lady pointed down to where Ben's sopping figure was hastily descending.

  "Look at him!" she rapped. "Your brother needs you—he always has. Are you going to abandon him now? If we escape this night there are worse dangers in the world."

  Jennet blinked the rain from her lashes, and as she listened to Aunt Alice's tirade she began to emerge from the apathy that the shock had wrought.

  "Ben!" she called suddenly. "Wait for us!"

  The girl darted down the steps and a pleased grin lit Miss Boston's face as she hurried after.

  At the summit of the Abbey steps two points of hellish light shone in the darkness, glaring through
the slanting rain at the three figures fleeing below. With a wild snarl, Meta tucked the dagger into her belt as her jaws trembled and formed a ravaging snout.

  The witch-hound's golden hair streamed behind her as she bounded in pursuit. Her elegant hands tapered into bitter talons and she dragged the sharpest claw over the railing until the metal squealed and screeched.

  Nearing the bottom, Miss Boston and the children heard the dreadful clamour and they glanced hurriedly upwards.

  "Meta!" Jennet exclaimed.

  The frightful squealing grew louder as the misshapen woman raced towards them. Her gleaming eyes blazed with malice and hatred, and from her transformed head she let loose a terrible, bestial shriek.

  "Quick!" Aunt Alice shouted. "Don't turn round, don't look at her. We still have a chance."

  Baying into the squalling night, the witch-hound chased her prey. Galloping like a gusting wind, she could smell their fear, and the scent heated her blood as the savage side took absolute control and she slobbered with evil greed.

  In some remote region of her barbaric mind a familiar voice called her human name—but it was too late now.

  Coarse fur was already bristling down her neck as her hair shrank into her skull and her claws came clattering over the stone. In a tangled knot of cheesecloth and cotton, her clothes were cast aside and on all fours Meta stampeded down.

  Hearing the awful yammering blare behind them, Miss Boston and the children flew into Henrietta Street and the old lady threw herself against the door of the nearest house.

  "Help!" she bawled, hammering with her fists. "Open up! Help us!"

  Holding on to her brother, Jennet turned as the great black hound with fiery eyes came leaping and she screamed in terror.

  "Open up!" Aunt Alice demanded, punching and kicking the front door.

  Ben heard the muffled sound of footsteps within the house and the lock turned, but his attention was fixed upon the monstrous creature which came prowling towards them. The great jaws lolled open and a row of jagged teeth were revealed as the lips curled and the hideous beast uttered a guttural growl.

  Abruptly the front door opened a chink and an irritated man peered out at them. But his face fell as he beheld the fiendish hound and with a scared whimper of panic he slammed the door again and drew the bolt across.

  "Wait!" Miss Boston trumpeted. "You must help us!"

  Closer to the doorway the huge dog stalked and the hot breath steamed from its flaring nostrils.

  Cornered, Aunt Alice turned to face it, pulling the children behind her.

  "Begone from this place!" she commanded, but her voice was thin and woeful and the infernal eyes became evil slits as the muscles tensed and the hell hound crouched, preparing to spring.

  "Meta!" a voice cried anxiously. "Stop!"

  Hurtling down the one hundred and ninety-nine steps came Pear. In her hands she clutched a bundle of clothing and she scurried over frantically, just as the immense apparition flew snapping at Miss Boston.

  "No!" Pear yelled, snatching hold of the wooden beads about the dog's neck.

  With a throttled yelp, the creature was dragged off balance and went toppling to the ground, tearing its claws over the cobbles. Still gripping the necklace, Pear was hauled after and for several confused moments they were a tangle of legs and talons.

  The beast's powerful limbs raked the air and, mad with rage, it struggled back to its feet, gnashing its terrible jaws and twisting from side to side, trying to bite the hand which held grimly to the beads.

  "No, Meta!" Pear shouted, heaving on the thread until the brute choked and the burning eyes bulged. "The killing must stop!"

  Quickly she stuffed the clothes into the gaping maw, glanced at the huddled figures on the doorstep, and with a desperate plea to Jennet cried, "I might not be able to hold her—fly now! Go to your aufwader friends! Don't worry about me!"

  Miss Boston needed no further prompting and she and Ben jumped from the step then headed for the shore.

  Jennet hesitated before following. The two girls stared at one another. "Thank you," she said.

  Pear opened her mouth to speak but an almighty yowl issued from the hound's jaws as it spat the gagging cloth on to the floor and the animal brought its teeth snapping for her arm.

  "Meta!" the girl shrieked. "It's me! Come back! Meta, come back!"

  Snatching up the cheesecloth dress, she threw it over the brute's head, and as it strained and scrabbled for release she called her mother's name. The hackles beneath the necklace became a rich golden colour and the sprouting hair flowed finely through Pear's fingers as the glare faded in the monster's eyes.

  The witch-girl looked up from the dwindling form but the street was empty. Jennet had run after the others and with an aching heart she watched as her mother assumed her human shape.

  Naked in the pouring rain, Meta grabbed her wet clothes then struck her daughter angrily.

  "You little fool!" she yelled. "I had them!"

  Pear touched her smarting cheek gingerly and winced at the pain. "But it's wrong!" she answered. "All this is wrong!"

  "Quiet!" Meta roared, slapping her a second time. "Do you want the others to know about this? Do you know what your father will do? Just because you're his daughter doesn't give you the right to disobey his demands. You know as well as I what happens to those who fail him!"

  "But Jennet..." the girl wept.

  Meta pushed her roughly against the wall and in a low, threatening hiss said, "If he hears of your betrayal, Nathaniel will not balk at murdering you—what will happen to me then?"

  "You?" Pear sobbed. "Don't you care about me?"

  Her mother leered and spat on the ground. "You'll endure an eternity of torment," she muttered, "but you'll only have yourself to blame. You know what he's capable of—how he delights in torture. Why didn't you think of that before you let those wretches go?"

  Pear sank to her knees. "What can I do?" she blubbered desolately.

  With a cold, harsh expression malforming her beauty, the witch looked down at her. "Atone for your disobedience," she demanded, "show your devotion to the coven, let there be no doubt of your submission."

  "H... how?" Pear stammered.

  A severe smile snaked over Meta's face. "Complete the task he set for me," she replied forcefully. "Kill those three and we shall take their hearts to him as proof."

  "No," the girl murmured.

  "You will do as I say!" her mother declared, pulling her up by the hair and sliding her fingers under Pear's necklace. "Must I beat the demon out from you? Scream your rage, daughter—do your father's bidding!"

  Her strident voice rang in the girl's ears and the wooden beads pressed into her skin as the tingling began and Pear let out a frightened whine.

  "Don't make me!" she wailed. "Not Jennet!"

  "You have no choice!" Meta barked, hitting her brutally. "Not when the primitive side has control—and I shall unleash it!"

  The hellish glow welled up behind her daughter's anguish-ridden eyes and the witch sniggered horribly.

  "I'll shake the beast out of you!" she snapped, but the girl was already lost as the power of change seized her. Pear's plaintive cries vanished and a chilling growl rattled in the throat of the black hound that now stood at Meta's side.

  "Come, Seffy!" the witch laughed as the beast tugged impatiently on the restraining beaded collar. "Devour the enemies of your father!"

  The hound bayed ferociously and together they rampaged down on to the sands.

  ***

  Beneath the cliffs, where the rain lashed and the gale drove the white-capped waves over the shore, the tribe of aufwaders stood in a large and solemn circle.

  Over the heads of the sea wives thick black shawls were draped, and from their murmuring lips they sang the dirge of the black boat.

  In the centre of the lamenting circle a narrow vessel of ebony rested against the rocks. Its shapely prow pointed towards the open sea and beneath the great, fringed awning that covered the leng
th of the craft, Nelda lay close to death.

  The young aufwader moaned in distress, for the blood that pumped through her veins was gradually turning into brine and she cried in agony as it started to burn and blister inside her.

  With the rain battering his uncovered head and flooding down his craggy features, Tarr stood beside her. Reaching into the black boat, his large hands closed tightly about his granddaughter's clenched fists and he watched as she drifted ever closer to that distant shore.

  His grieving tears were washed and swept away by the storm and though it murdered his soul to look on Nelda's pain he could not leave her.

  "Mother!" she screamed feverishly. "Forgive me! I killed you—Oh Hesper, why did I live and she did not? Speak to me, Father. What was she like? Will no one mention her name? Aaaaieee! A furnace is blazing within me! In the caverns there are eyes that watch—I cannot evade them. Is there none to save me from Esau?"

  The fisherfolk hung their heads in shame and weeping. For the first time in many years, Old Parry's pitying tears overwhelmed her.

  "Grandfather!" Nelda pleaded hoarsely. "Do not let them kill my baby! Spare me this doom—let me not suffer it alone!"

  Despairing, Tarr clung to her, yet he could find no words to ease her torments and he gibbered impotently into the surrounding gloom.

  Nelda's pinched, contorted face jerked from side to side as the brine scalded through her body and her glazed eyes saw only the void that awaited her.

  Into this sorrowful scene Miss Boston and the children came blundering. Over the ledge beneath the towering footbridge they clambered, yet even as he jumped on to the boulders below, Ben let out a dismal cry.

  For an instant as the gale tore the thick curtain of rain aside, the boy saw the tribe assembled around the black boat and knew that it could mean only one thing.

  "Nelda," he muttered anxiously.

  Aunt Alice peered at the grim tableau and caught Jennet's arm as the girl pushed on ahead of them.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  "The fisherfolk," Miss Boston replied sadly. "It would appear poor Nelda is dead."

  "No," Ben cried and he dashed forward, barging through the crowd until he stood at Tarr's side.