by G. P. Taylor
He squeezed the Keruvim even tighter to his chest. ‘Doesn’t God realize that he’s finished? People are tired of him, they’ve forgotten all about him. Money … power … dark arts. These are the new gods and I hold the keys to the Kingdom.’
Raphah waited for Demurral to finish speaking. He kept one eye on Beadle who had picked up the golden sickle from the stone floor.
‘Do you really think that is all that people want out of life? It won’t make you immortal. You can’t take these things into death.’
‘Death. The old man’s friend.’ Demurral spoke in a patronizing tone. ‘You are more foolish than I thought. Tonight will bring an end to death. With the power invoked from the Keruvim I will never have to fear standing before God again. The god within is far greater than the god without. That is the truth of this age. I will control powers that you know little about and you will be unable to stop me.’ With that Demurral reached underneath the altar. He brought out a long pistol and pulled back the hammer. The trigger gave a loud click as it set ready to fire.
‘I think this will make you obey me.’ Demurral laughed as he nodded to the subservient Beadle.
Beadle limped across the chamber. He took Raphah cautiously by the arm and led him to the three wooden chairs. He shrugged Raphah into the centre chair and hastily tied his wrists and feet with the golden cord. It cut into his wrists, pressing them against the hard wood.
The door to the stairs slammed shut and the sound of heavy footsteps could be heard making their way to the top of the tower. Demurral turned to Beadle.
‘See who it is; we don’t want to be disturbed.’ He barked out the order.
Beadle went to the door and reached out for the handle, but it was flung open sweeping Beadle to one side and pressing him against the stone wall. Jacob Crane stepped in to the room, giving a casual glance to the heap on the floor that was the crushed Beadle. Demurral looked surprised to see him. His eyes fell on a widening bloodstain on Crane’s upper arm and shoulder, but he said nothing.
Crane looked at Raphah.
‘So this is the cause of all the trouble, an Egyptian by the look of him. Wouldn’t interfere with him, Demurral. Unlucky to interfere with the likes of that.’ Crane took a step closer towards Demurral.
‘Luck comes from Lucifer. This one isn’t a bright morning star. Where are the others?’ Demurral demanded.
‘I’ve come for the money. The children are downstairs.’ Crane spoke like a man who did not want to be messed with.
‘We have a slight problem, Mr Crane. You will have to wait.’ Demurral pointed to the bound Raphah in the chair. ‘He has taken up all our time. Beadle will take you to the house and give you the money. Bring the children; their friend is waiting and so am I.’
‘Don’t think of swindling me, Vicar. One whiff of double-cross and your servant will have a smile cut across his double chin from ear to ear.’ Crane gestured with his hand as if to slice his throat. Demurral pointed the pistol at him.
‘What’s to stop me from killing you now and keeping the money for myself?’
‘Go ahead, pull the trigger,’ said Crane. ‘Then my men will light the barrel of gunpowder set at the door and blow this tower and you into the next world.’ He smiled. ‘Then we’ll all know if there really is a God.’ He winced and clutched at his shoulder as he turned to Beadle. ‘Come on, slug, get up off the floor and slime your way down the stairs. The smell in here makes me want to vomit.’ He turned to Demurral. ‘When I get the money I’ll send in the children. What you do with them is your concern.’
Beadle pulled himself up by the door handle and followed Crane down the stairs and out of the tower.
Raphah looked across the smoke-filled room. Demurral stood at the altar and began to lift the top from the Azimuth stone. He placed the two halves of the stone next to each other.
‘Very soon, my dark friend, I will have all I have ever wanted. When your friends arrive things will be just perfect.’ He smiled a thin smile.
‘They have done you no harm. Why do you involve them? Am I not enough,’ Raphah responded.
‘Enough? You can never have enough. After all, three hearts are better than one. Haven’t you realized that all this is about sacrifice? Even your God knows that. A full, perfect and sufficient sacrifice for the forgiveness of sin, wasn’t it?’ He spoke as the metal roof of the chamber rattled in the storm outside.
Raphah was quick to rejoin. ‘It was more than you would ever be prepared to do.’
‘I know about sacrifice. All my life I have given up this or done away with that. Now is the time for me,’ Demurral replied.
At that, the tower door opened. Crane pushed Beadle into the chamber followed by Kate and Thomas. Two of his men blocked the doorway.
‘Here you are, Vicar, the two that you wanted and in prime condition. Do with them what you will.’ Crane pushed the children towards Demurral.
‘I like a man who can keep his word,’ Demurral answered.
‘Word? He’s a cheat and a liar. A sluggard,’ Kate screamed.
‘Tie them to the chairs and get the sluggard and his men out of here. We have work to do.’ Demurral held the pistol up towards Crane. ‘No tricks, Mr Crane; I can use one of these as well as you can.’
‘They’re all yours, Vicar. Do what you will. I’ve got my money and the ship is ready to sail.’
Crane turned and gestured to his men to get out of the room. He backed across the stone floor, keeping his eyes fixed on Demurral and the pistol.
‘Sorry, my young friends, business is business and life is but a vapour, and a cheap one at that. Thirty pieces of the King’s silver.’ He smiled at Kate as he walked out of the room. The last tremor of the storm shook the tower.
‘Quite fitting. I like a storm, it sets the heart aquiver.’ Demurral turned to Beadle. ‘Prepare them for the ritual.’
At that instant a shaft of sunlight struck the narrow windows, filling the smoke-filled room with a prism of coloured light.
Beadle shouted out. ‘It’s too late, master, the dawn is here, we have missed the time. It’s the morning.’
‘One more night and we’ll have lost the moon,’ Demurral snarled at Beadle. ‘Tie them well. Prepare the chamber and we’ll come back tonight. I suppose it is worth waiting one more dull day for what will be.’ Demurral took off his long white robe and draped it over the altar. ‘Make sure you lock the door when you’ve finished; they can last a day without food – after all, it matters not whether they are fat or thin where they’re going.’ He stepped out of the chamber leaving Beadle to hobble around the altar, place the Keruvim in the centre and blow out the candles.
Beadle stopped and looked at Kate. His eyes searched the smooth contours of her face. He stepped towards her, dragging his withered leg. Leaning close to her, he looked in her eyes and gently stroked her cheek.
‘You are so pretty, it will be such a waste. All that could have been, all that you could have done, will be vanished by the time the sun rises tomorrow.’
‘Leave her alone, you freak,’ Thomas shouted at Beadle. ‘Touch her again and I’ll pull the warts off your face …’ He tugged at the cord holding him to the chair. It seemed to get tighter with every move he made.
‘I’ll do what I want with her,’ Beadle snapped at Thomas, ‘and I’ll do what I want with you tonight. Wait until the moon rises and you’ll see what he has in store for you all.’
‘Kate, don’t listen to what he is saying. They won’t dare touch any of us,’ Thomas said, trying to be as bold as he could. He turned back to Beadle. ‘We’ll be out of here as soon as her father finds out.’
‘Her father has eaten out of Demurral’s pocket for many years. Who do you think is behind all that has gone on? One day he’s the magistrate, next the priest and by night he’s behind all the smuggling that has gone on for all these years. The Vicar is the power in this place, not your father. If it weren’t for Demurral you too would be in the poor house chivvying alum from the alum mine, you
ng Kate.’ He slapped Thomas across the face with the back of his hand. ‘As for you, the best thing for a Barrick is to be drowned at birth … then again, they usually manage to drown themselves before they get to forty.’ He laughed at his own wit as Thomas fought to hold back his fury.
Raphah spoke softly. ‘Leave him, Thomas. His own tongue will destroy him. A good word can turn back anger and it’s like tipping burning coals on his head. There are more important things than his anger.’
‘That’s right, Thomas. Listen to your dark friend. It may be the last voice that you hear in this world.’ Beadle picked up the candle from the altar and walked to the door of the chamber. Beside the door was a small wooden box with a brass lock. In the lid were several small holes. Beadle stepped out of the door and flicked the lid of the box open with his foot. Whatever was inside the box gave an annoyed hiss.
‘Maybe this will keep you entertained whilst I am away. They hate company, and especially children.’ Beadle kicked the box once more and the heads of three vipers peered over the top, disturbed from their sleep. Their tongues flicked in the air as their eyes darted around the room. They bobbed their dull brown heads trying to feel for warmth. Beadle quickly shut the door to the chamber.
He shouted from the stairway: ‘Goodbye, my friends. I will bring the light back when darkness falls.’
The chamber felt cold. The mixture of stale incense smoke and tallow hung in the air like thick brown smog. There was still not enough light from the rising sun and, without candlelight, the chamber fell into a murky gloom. Shadow merged with shadow as it took on the appearance of an ancient tomb of a dead king. The snakes hissed coldly in their box, coiling around and sliding one over the other. Occasionally they lifted their heads over the wooden rim but did not venture any further.
Thomas stared at the altar candles and watched as the smoke rose from the snuffed-out wicks. It looked like the spiralling will-o’-the-wisp that would dance across the lake in midsummer. In his mind, he looked back to a different season. A time when he felt the warmth on his face, when the cold wind didn’t beat at his back and bite at his fingers. He remembered swimming with Kate till late into the night, watching dragonflies hop and skip over the smooth water, landing on the lilies and hanging in the air like creatures from another world. They had sat for hours on the bank watching fish catch the lumps of bread that Kate had rolled in her hands.
Together they had talked about Captain Farrell, the Captain of the Dragoons, and how he had captured twelve smugglers in one night. They had shared the secrets of their hearts for what seemed like an eternity, and he had taken it all for granted. Thomas had thought that his life would never end, but now, high in the tower, tied to the chair and awaiting Demurral’s return, thoughts of his own death flooded his mind.
Thomas was no stranger to the sight of death. He had seen the dead bodies of many sailors washed up on the shore of the Bay. Death visited Baytown every day. It took the form of disease and sickness, storm and tragedy.
He realized now how precious each breath really was. He felt himself growing more and more aware of each inhalation, each beat of his trembling heart. He looked at Kate. She had closed her eyes, her head bowed towards the floor. A single tear fell across her cheek. He turned to Raphah who was staring into the growing light that began to come in to the chamber through the coloured glass of the narrow windows. Raphah muttered to himself words that Thomas couldn’t hear; he could just see the rhythmic moving of Raphah’s lips silently chanting over and over again. Thomas didn’t know what to say. He only knew that he had to break the silence, he had to make some sound. There was a sense of helplessness and hopelessness in his heart. He felt as if all the powers of the world were set against him, overwhelming and powerful. Gone were the human adversaries, only to be replaced by the incredible fear of silence and not knowing.
‘What will they do to us?’ Thomas asked.
‘They will kill us,’ Raphah replied calmly.
‘Why?’ Thomas could hardly say the word, his throat suddenly dried like a burnt desert.
‘Why has man killed man since they left Eden? Why did Cain kill Abel? Some men have it in their hearts from birth,’ Raphah spoke slowly. ‘Others learn through bitterness and anger.’
‘Why us?’ Thomas asked urgently.
‘It is not so much us as me. I am the one he wants, not you; you should not be here and I should never have asked you to help me. I should have come alone. Your blood will be on my hands.’ Raphah turned to Thomas and tried to give a reassuring smile.
‘But he can’t kill us – people will find out,’ Kate cried tearfully.
Raphah looked at Kate as he spoke. ‘We are not the first and we will not be the last. This man will never stop, he desires the world, to rule it through some forgotten magic that in the end will turn on him and destroy him. Only then will we see the true Principality behind all this.’ He paused. ‘By then it might be too late.’
‘But I don’t want to die, dying is for old people … stupid people,’ she said sharply. ‘Let Demurral have what he wants … he’ll let us go free.’
‘What Demurral wants is me. He wants me dead. If I die then he will grow stronger. As we are bound to these chairs in life, so we will be bound to him in death. Our spirits will find no rest. He will call upon us and we will have to answer, trapped between life and death, between captivity and freedom.’
‘I don’t believe in all this. Life is only what you can see. How can he capture what is not there?’ she said angrily.
‘Whether you believe or not, you can never alter the truth that each one of us is body, soul and spirit. You can protest all you like, Kate, but inside you is a spirit that is eternal. You were created by Riathamus to live in this world, then be transformed in the next. This is the truth and the truth will set you free.’ He almost shouted, the words echoing around the chamber. ‘Don’t fear that which destroys the body, but fear the one who can destroy your soul.’ As Raphah twisted his tightly bound wrists, he looked at the wooden box by the door. ‘One snake dragged mankind into hell; maybe three will help him escape into Paradise.’
The Witch of White Moor
CRANE sat on his horse and watched Beadle leave the tower and walk across the gravel to the back door of the Vicarage. From his hiding place in the woods he could easily see the road to Whitby, his ship in the bay and the alum mine three hundred feet below.
The last drops of rain battered the dry leaves that clung to the branches of the trees like the hands of dead men. Crane pulled up the collar on his coat, took out an oilskin hat from his saddlebag and pulled it down over his eyes so he could just peer out from under the brim. In the saddlebag was a spyglass and the three hundred pounds wrapped in a green velvet drawstring bag that he had taken from Beadle. The large guinea coins pressed against the fabric. He held it in his hands, feeling the weight, crunching the coins against themselves. Money for nothing, he had thought.
His eyes kept returning to the room at the top of the tower. In the first light of morning he saw that a narrow stone wall connected the tower to the Vicarage and acted as a buttress. The circular roof of the tower was made of thick copper that had turned green with years of weathering from the wind and sea spray. The spines of the supporting beams had been clad with metal and looked like the points of a compass. From his years at sea he knew that they had been set to point to the four quarters: north, south, east and west. On top of the roof was a long metal pole and running from this like a thick pencil mark was a strip of iron that disappeared under the eaves.
Out to sea the sky grew lighter and more golden as daylight broke over the horizon and illuminated the dark storm clouds that sped over the waves, soon to blot out the sun from the earth. The shafts of sunlight bounced from cloud to cloud and rippled across the surface of the swelling sea. To the north the strange glow had grown brighter. It was as if the whole sky had been torn in two. From the horizon to the top of the sky the amber, green and red glow towered like a pillar of burning
cloud.
Crane scanned the horizon from north to south, his eye following the line where sea met sky. He searched for a reason for the cloud: there was nothing but the peculiar glow. Crane had seen many bizarre things in his life, but the burning cloud was far beyond anything that he had ever experienced. He knew that this was not a truly natural event, that in its formation and control there was a power that would soon declare itself.
Looking out of the woods, Jacob Crane couldn’t rid his mind of the night before. The vision of the Azimuth plagued his thoughts. In the light of morning he could still see her face, the pleading eyes and her desire to cling to a world now lost. He had been dragged from a world of disbelief by this one manifestation of the spirit. It had planted a seed that in several hours had begun to grow like choking ivy around his soul.
Crane knew that in his hatred for Demurral there was a trace of intrigue and admiration. It was Demurral’s covetousness, his secrecy and his desire for power that penetrated into Crane’s unusually hardened emotions, making him feel somewhat jealous. Jacob Crane didn’t like the feeling; it meant he wasn’t in control. For him there was only one way to deal with a problem and that was to get rid of it by whatever means he could.
There was one thing in the world that Crane wanted and that was money. From his teens he had seen the blessing of riches, envying all that they brought. He had watched as men had fought and died for money and betrayed even those closest to them. All for the jangle of gold coins in a velvet bag.
