by Robin Jarvis
"'Tis finished," he muttered. "Everything is ended."
"Shrimp," cried Old Parry waddling up to him. "Look there, your granddaughter approaches, and with two of the landfolk—has she no shame?"
Tarr ignored her. Obviously she wasn't going to let the fact that he had rescued her change her cantankerous ways.
Over the sands charged Miss Boston, her cloak flapping and flying. At her side were Ben and Nelda and the young aufwader ran ahead to hug her grandfather.
"Oh, lass," Tarr cried in delight, swinging her round and holding her tightly. "Ah feared ah wouldna' sithee again."
"Mr Shrimp!" Aunt Alice cried sombrely. "Take your people away from here, lead them into the town—the shore is too dangerous."
Tarr gaped at her. "They'll not set foot in yon stinkin' place," he said flatly. "If'n we're to die we mun do it here, where we have allus lived."
"Then they are sure to perish," Miss Boston rapped back. "Look!"
She pointed out to sea and there, on the outermost spur of the East Pier, stood a solitary figure.
Nathaniel Crozier was silhouetted against the dismal horizon and his arms were raised in exultation as the water bubbled and thrashed wildly.
"A storm is coming," warned the old lady, "the worst there has ever been."
"Deeps take me!" muttered Tarr, realising what was about to happen. Calling to the rest of the tribe, he cried, "Follow me, we mun clear out from here and seek shelter in the town of the landfolk."
There was surprisingly little resistance from the others. The tribe now looked to him for guidance and even Lorkon, the only surviving member of the Triad, accepted his decision without rancour. Only Old Parry objected, but they were all too weary and afraid to listen to her. Tarr was their leader now and he started shepherding them along the shore towards the town.
"And you go with them, Benjamin," Aunt Alice told him.
"No," the boy cried, "I won't leave you—you don't know what Crozier is capable of."
"On the contrary," she said bitterly, "I am only too well aware of his deceit and cunning. Now, please, do as I ask."
Nelda took hold of Ben's hand. "Come," she said, "your aunt is right. We have done our part."
The old lady smiled at her gratefully. "You see," she murmured, "it's up to me now—this is my battle, not yours. From here I go on alone."
Ben gazed at her anxiously. "But... but," he spluttered.
Miss Boston bent down and kissed him. "Goodbye, Benjamin," she said. "Take him away from here, Nelda dear."
"I shall," the aufwader replied. "Farewell."
Aunt Alice pulled the brim of her hat over her eyes and the tweed cloak swirled madly about her as she marched towards the stone pier and ascended the steps.
"She has great courage," commented Nelda, "I could not face what she must. Hurry, we have to catch up with the others. The tide is already racing in." And she pulled him gently towards the town.
Ben twisted round and saw for the last time the old lady's indomitable figure as it hurried along the pier. Then the mist closed and he saw no more.
***
The sea was angry now and violent waves crashed against the square stones of the pier, lashing the full might of its rage upon them in a frenzy of destruction.
Through battering walls of stinging spray, Miss Boston struggled. The brutal strength of the breaking waves almost knocked her off her feet, but she steadied herself and pressed on.
The salt rain hammered down and the old lady shielded her eyes from its merciless onslaught. Not far now; she could see the small lighthouse at the end of the pier and before it—Nathaniel.
The warlock crowed triumphantly, leaning into the growing storm, revelling in its savagery and defying it with his laughter. The waves smashed into his legs, but his fists were locked about the railing and though the sea plucked and tore at him he resisted and clung on tenaciously.
Turning his head, his dark gaze fell upon Miss Boston as she tottered towards him and he hooted. "The end has come!" he cried. "Even though one guardian still remains, the enchanted sleep is over. No need to murder that detestable child after all."
Aunt Alice grasped the rail as the sea burst over the side. "You revolting creature!" she shouted, her mouth filling with brine. "You killed Patricia."
"Don't forget that old fool Roper," he interrupted with a vile chuckle.
"Ernest?" she cried. "Him too?"
But the warlock had turned back to the sea, where the water had turned a disgusting, inky green.
"Spare me your tiresome grief," he snapped, "there's nothing you can do now, old hag. You're too late, it's too late for everyone. Only I understood, only I realised what my stupid and greedy wife failed to comprehend."
"Aren't you a trifle too sure of yourself?" Miss Boston scorned, raising her voice to be heard against the roaring waters.
Nathaniel grinned. "No one knew except me," he bragged. "Who would have guessed it? Not a dabbling amateur like you, you with your precious tea parties, wart curing and furtive seances." He stretched out his hand and in an arrogant sweep of his arm, encompassed the darkness that was Whitby. "The whole town," he grandly announced, "was founded and built on the back of Morgawrus, a serpent so huge that it can swallow the contents of the entire harbour in one vast gulp. The enemy of all living things it was called in the beginning of days and the coast was laid waste for miles around, choked by its poison and blackened with its fires."
"And you've woken this unclean spirit!"
"How else could I dominate and control it?" he cried.
"Benjamin was right," Miss Boston declared, "you are insane!"
The warlock laughed at her. "We'll see," he exulted, "for the head of Morgawrus is already free."
Miss Boston stared at the boiling surface of the waves. "But, surely," she cried, "if it leaves the underground caverns, Whitby will be utterly destroyed!"
Nathaniel did not answer, for at that moment the sea exploded, mountainous spouts of water soared into the heavens and putrid brown froth erupted from the depths as a hideous shape slowly rose.
Miss Boston opened her mouth and called out in fear, but her voice was drowned by the roar of the waves and the monstrous head of Morgawrus burst from the raven deep.
The pier shivered, dwarfed by the ghastly nightmare which reared up beside it, and Aunt Alice dropped to her knees in horror.
"The enemy of all living things," Nathaniel rejoiced. "Was there ever such a diseased, malignant vision of disaster?" he screamed with joy.
Two golden eyes blasted upwards, searing the night like great furnaces and plumes of steam screeched into the sky around them. The head was massive, encrusted by barnacles and the reeking scum of millennia. It was a repulsive aberration that shamed nature and mocked the symmetry of creation. An endless torrent of stagnant water gushed from the immeasurable jaws and stained the pier black.
A deafening screech issued from three huge nostrils as Morgawrus breathed, and the row of gills that gaped below the eyes yawned wide—like a hideous range of grinning wounds.
High the fetid apparition reared, towering far into the sky, the five, tortured horns that crowned its head raking the clouds and tearing the canopy of the world.
Miss Boston balked at the stench that beat from this perilous nightmare. She was soaked to the skin and wept in bleak despair as the warlock raised his arms to begin his evil work.
"Now!" he cried. "While the drowse still lies heavy on it—I seize my chance!" He clenched his teeth and summoned the dark forces at his command. "Aid me!" he ordered. "Give me the strength to conquer and control!"
The air about his fingertips shimmered and a livid green flame flickered into existence. For a moment it crackled feebly, then snaked across his palms and swiftly grew brighter. Down the warlock's outstretched arms the energy twisted, entwining him in a glowing spiral of magical force.
High above, the vast head opened its ravening maw and a hollow cry bellowed from the dark throat. The noise rent the heaven
s, buildings toppled and huge chunks of the cliffs crumbled into the sea.
Minuscule in the serpent's shadow, tears streamed from Nathaniel's eyes as he quaked under the strain of his exertions. The power which channelled through him was treacherous, almost impossible to control and he shrieked in agony as the pressures intensified.
"Concentrate," he howled. "Hold on until the forces reach their peak."
The flames that weaved about him were dazzling now, flashing and sparking with jags of lightning.
Miss Boston turned from the harsh green glare and frantically babbled words of protection and challenge under her breath. She had been wrong to come—just being near the serpent filled her with uncontrollable despair and Nathaniel's powers were far beyond anything she had ever encountered.
"Now!" yelled Nathaniel and he threw back his hands. At once, the spitting flames leapt from his fingers and bolted upwards. The jagged stream of energy burst through the air, striking the ghastly head, which roared more fiercely than before. This time the pier rocked and the stones cracked, the railings buckled and the wooden extension broke away, collapsing thunderously into the sea. The breath of Morgawrus howled like a gale and tore inland—creating a whirlwind which sucked up the sand and fell viciously upon the town.
Huddling at the bottom of the abbey steps, the remains of the aufwader tribe vainly tried to shield themselves from the deadly storm. It was as though the whole shore was screaming about them and the grit scored their faces and cut into their hands. Ben hid his face whilst Tarr grimly held on to his granddaughter as the tempest raged ferociously.
On the pier, Miss Boston let go of her hat and it was snatched from her head as she clung for dear life to the twisted rail.
The warlock's spells crackled furiously over the serpent and, though the beast tried to pull away, the dazzling flames held it securely.
"Creature of the primeval dawn," Nathaniel proclaimed, "hear me!"
The fires surged and the head shuddered, trying one last time to escape the terrible forces which gripped it. Down it plunged, sinking into the waves, churning the water and screeching in protest.
"You will be mine," the warlock commanded. "You have no will of your own—obey my words, obey me!"
The serpent froze, the enchantments scalded and blistered and Nathaniel's voice finally cut through—biting savagely into its mind.
A triumphant smile flashed across the man's face as their two wills strove with one another. The brain of the creature was vast, yet the countless years of sleep had made it sluggish and his quick mind sliced in, jabbing through the defences like a keen blade. The contest was his; he was a master of domination and, as the serpent's mind peeled away before his razor-like senses, he knew he had won.
Deep into Morgawrus the warlock delved.
Projecting the essence of his warped being out into the dark labyrinth of the monster's drowsy memory, where fleeting images of swamps and desolation pulsed and glowed. But Nathaniel was ruler there now, and he enslaved the serpent—binding it to his service.
Miss Boston watched the silent combat in disbelief—the awful man actually seemed to be succeeding. The eyes of the apparition dimmed, gradually glazing over and, in a trance-like stupor, the head swayed from side to side. In a steady, continuous stream, Nathaniel's power flowed across to the beast, quenching, conquering and controlling it.
Her white hair plastered down by slime and frightful ooze, Miss Boston finally took a grip on herself. "What's the matter with you, Alice?" she cried amid the storm. "Get up there and stop that foul man!"
Lumbering to her feet, the old lady rushed forward. "Stop!" she yelled, grabbing the man's arm and dragging him away.
Nathaniel shrieked, his concentration was broken and the mental link between him and the monster snapped momentarily, sending him reeling backwards.
"You imbecile!" he bawled. "You could have killed me!"
"This has gone on long enough!" she shouted. "You must stop!"
"Get out of my sight, you odious hag!" he cried. "Morgawrus is mine to command—and nothing on this earth will be able to stand against us."
Turning his back on her in contempt, Nathaniel looked on his terrifying slave. "All will be ours," he laughed, "now and forever more. Heave out the rest of your coils my beautiful horror. Show the world how easily you can destroy. Let the town of Whitby crumble into the bottomless pit."
"No!" screamed Miss Boston. "You mustn't." And she threw herself at him, pummelling the man with her fists and kicking him with her feet.
Nathaniel staggered under the ferocity of the old lady's attack. One of her punches caught him on the chin and another went straight into the ribs. Miss Boston was like a mad thing and he blundered against the railing in surprise. But the advantage was not hers for long. Swiftly the man recovered and he shoved her roughly away, his face black with wrath.
"Whitby can wait!" he growled. "It's you who'll die first—but it's a pleasure I'll undertake myself."
Never had Nathaniel Crozier been so incensed; like a tiger he sprang and the old lady fell beneath him.
"No," she wailed, as her head hit the ground and his strong fingers closed about her neck. The warlock squeezed his hands together and the breath choked in her throat.
"Look your last on this world, old woman!" he snarled.
Miss Boston tried to pull his hands away but it was no use, he was far too strong. With a strangled cry, she turned her eyes from his evil face and fixed her gaze on the ruins of the abbey which rose majestically in the distance.
A darkness greater than that which had already engulfed Whitby closed about her and the old lady's hands fell limply to her sides.
"Nathaniel!" came an urgent voice. "Nathaniel!"
The warlock looked up uncertainly. Running towards them along the pier was the small figure of a girl.
Miss Wethers had proven to be a poor guard and Jennet had escaped from her without difficulty, hurrying instinctively to the shore. She knew he would be there, she could sense his delicious presence. Now he would take her away and they could be together always.
She hurtled to greet him, but her stride faltered. The head of Morgawrus loomed monstrously up out of the mist and the girl cried out. Staring at the grotesque spectacle in fear, she felt faint again and stepped back apprehensively.
But the creature still seemed to be in the grip of Crozier's influence and made no sign that it had seen her. Jennet cautiously edged into the beast's great shadow, her obsession with the man driving her through the danger.
"Nathaniel," she called, "what... what are you doing?"
The warlock was crouching over the body of Aunt Alice, his hands tight about her throat. Jennet was bewildered. What was happening?
The warlock rose, his ringers twitching. "What do you want?" he sneered.
The girl wavered, unsure of herself. Miss Boston looked so pale, what had her beloved done? She stared incredulously at him. His face seemed cruel and less handsome than she remembered—how harsh his voice sounded, and the horrible dark eyes cut right through her.
"Will you never stop pestering me—you boring child?" he spat. "Your constant simpering grates on me. What does it take to be rid of your pathetic attentions—shall I throttle you as well?"
It was as if a veil were torn from Jennet's eyes. Finally she saw the man's true nature and she gasped at her own foolishness as the last vestiges of his control left her.
"Aunt Alice!" she screamed, rushing to the old lady's side. "You've killed her!"
Nathaniel sniggered and his fingers fidgeted for another victim. "Come here, little one," he sang, "let me embrace you too."
"Stay away from me!" Jennet cried.
The warlock closed in on her. "Come to Nathaniel," he chuckled, "let him hold you, it won't take long—I promise."
"Keep back!" Jennet warned.
"What's this?" he murmured. "Would you deny what has been burning in your heart since the day we met?"
"Don't you touch me!" she screamed.
"How fickle is woman," Nathaniel growled, stealing closer.
The girl fell back and the warlock reached out for her.
"Don't you dare!" came a croaking voice.
Nathaniel turned and Jennet grinned with joy. "Aunt Alice," she gasped, "I thought you were dead!"
"For a minute back there so did I," muttered the old lady, gingerly touching the red marks at her throat. Then she glared angrily at Nathaniel and shook her head at him. "I suppose I should be grateful for your slipshod incompetence," she shouted, "it seems you can't do anything right—look behind you."
The warlock stared at her, what was the old bag jabbering about now? And then a doubt crossed his mind and he spun round. The eyes of the massive head were bright again, and glowed down at them as though it understood everything they said.
Nathaniel frowned, disconcerted for a moment and then his mouth fell open and his hands flew to his temples as a fearful voice boomed inside his mind.
"Tiny insects," Morgawrus spoke, the forbidding sound echoing inside each of their heads, "what paltry webs do they spin? What petty plots do they nurture in their fleeting existence?"
The warlock threw his arms open. "Remember," he roared, "you are mine to command! My will is yours!"
Terrible laughter cut deeply into the three small figures on the pier as the serpent reared up. "Too long have I been tethered in sleep," it shrieked. "Thou mayst have wakened me, little man, but thou canst not make me thy thrall. I shall not trade one set of bonds for another."
"I demand it!" the warlock cried, running to the buckled railing and pointing up at the creature.
"Enough!" screamed the serpent. "Cast thy feeble sorceries elsewhere. Now are my wits restored and thy powers are as nothing compared to mine."
Nathaniel was incensed; he had dared much to come here and he was not prepared to simply stand by and let all that he had strived for slip away.
Screeching, he put forth his powers. Terrible lightning rent the sky and the surrounding waters flashed as the lethal energies discharged down into the deep. Yet every furious volley of enchantment broke against the unassailable might of the gigantic serpent and fierce green stars went spinning, out of control, into the night.
