Crik (43 page)

When the tree crashe
d
into the shore, the log continued to move up the pebbled bank, driving inland. For one horrifying moment, Jack feared Ajenda’s flick of a wrist, would send the tree all the way to the looming mountain. The impact of the makeshift boat’s landing threw both he and Bill onto the bank. Entwined in the branches, Inara screamed. Driven forward the oak slammed into a young birch, snapping the leaner trunk, before coming to a complete stop.

‘You alright?’ shouted Jack, running alongside the gulley left in the tree’s wake.

Cradling her head, Inara winced as a cascade of leaves showered her. Seeing Jack, her face became inscrutable, obliterating all signs of her earlier fright. ‘Bill, call Black to me. I’ve had enough of this tree.’

While Bill pulled Black away from the wolf’s investigation of the new shore, Jack took the opportunity to do some investigating for himself. Compared to the lush woodland they had traversed the land was barren. What scant foliage existed offered little concealment. Since leaving the Wold, the constant threat of a wolf attack, or ambush, had beset him. At least here, no hunter would creep up on them unawares. Grey pebbles littered the ground. Sometimes a swirl patterned the smooth stone at his feet. After pocketing a perfectly round pebble, he left the lake by climbing the steep bank. Cries of blackbirds, flitting across the sky, failed to surprise him. He expected to find the birds. When the Lindre had taken him here, hundreds of the feathered creatures had lined the road leading toward Knell’s house. In the stillness, he heard the clap of their wings. Yang watched them as well. No doubt his shadow wanted to stuff a few for his collection back home.

‘Don’t run off like that,’ said Bill, leading Inara into the trees. ‘We don’t know what we’ll find out here.’

‘I do,’ said Jack, following the birds.

‘All is fine then,’ said Bill, crossing his arms. ‘Are you willing to share what you know?’

‘A baby will be crying in a crib,’ said Jack. He strode forward, not waiting to provide any further information. Let them find out for themselves. ‘A path, or beaten track, must run through here,’ he mumbled.

Instead of showing reluctance, Yang sprang forward, as impatient as Jack to find Knell. Watching his shadow snatch a tree and propel itself forward, made Jack wonder whether his demon knew some secret about Knell.

‘There’s a dog barking,’ said Inara. ‘Can’t you hear it?’

Stopping to listen, Jack waited until in the distance his ears picked up the faint sound of a dog’s bark. He had forgotten the tethered dog, harassed by the birds. Picking up his pace, he followed the bark, no longer needing a road to find his way.

‘I don’t like the idea of crashing through the wood,’ said Bill. ‘The witch will be waiting, ready to cast a spell on us.’

‘Would you prefer to surprise her?’ said Inara. ‘Accidents happen when you startle a person.’

‘Good point,’ said Bill.

‘She knows we’re here,’ said Jack. ‘When the Lindre sent me here, she was expecting me. I don’t think creeping through the woods will make any difference. Besides, we want to talk to her. Not sneak up and scare her.’

The dog’s barking grew louder, causing Jack to quicken his steps. Tramping through the low-lying underbrush, he took no notice of the browning flora. His shoe crunched heather, trampled white flowers, and the browning ferns, without a care. If Bill saw any animals hiding amongst the coarse grass, he never brought attention to them. With the mongrel’s barking filling their ears, Black lowered his nose to the ground.

When the expected road cut in front of them, Jack intently studied the packed earth. The track was wider than he remembered, wide enough for two wagons riding abreast. At the centre of the road, two deep-set lines, a few metres apart, wound away in both directions. Taking a moment to study the tracks, he said, ‘Heavy wagons made these, perhaps there’s a quarry nearby.’ Craning his neck, he looked at the mountain that dominated the wilderness with a godlike presence. Nothing moved on the rock. His eyes rushed past the heather to settle on the suspected quarry, filled with square cut stone. Stone from here may have reached Crik Village; the stone shared the same pale characteristic as the tombs in Long Sleep Cemetery.

‘Are you sure you want to see Knell?’ said Inara.

‘We can all follow this road back home,’ said Bill, shuffling his feet.

‘Jack?’ said Inara, when Jack ignored them.

Yang stood scratching his head. Jack remembered trying to work out crossword puzzles by lantern light, with Yang perplexedly scratching his head just as now.

‘Don’t look to Yang for help,’ said Inara. ‘You’re so close to your goal; hours may only remain until you destroy him.’

‘It hid from me,’ said Jack. ‘My insides crawl with the thought of it.’

His eyes misted as he looked at Yang. Yang had gotten him into trouble, but his shadow got him out of a few scrapes too. He had come all this way; he would see it to its conclusion. Resuming the trek his legs ate up the distance to Knell’s home and the dog’s beckoning call.

As he turned a bend in the road, more houses than expected met his gaze. Every stonewalled home lay abandoned. Dirty curtains and spread cobwebs filled the windows. Thin trees grew from open doorways, their limbs curled like arthritic fingers. Here and there, weeds grew from forgotten chimneystacks. Even the insects had abandoned the small town. A well, with a broken hand pump, and a discarded bucket to the side of its crumbling wall, drew his attention. At some point, the well had been the centre of the town; people would have come here to talk. Children would have played while their mothers drew up the water. Disconcerted, he noted Yang staring down the well. What curiosity had his shadow found? Passing weed filled gardens and broken fences, he reached the well; he peered through his shadow into the dark depths. An old grime encrusted rope, plunged into the well, leading the way to hundreds of dead birds. The dark plumage of the blackbirds still clung to broken frames, and snapped wings. Pushing himself back, he stumbled, desperate to distance himself from the rising stench of decay.

‘What’s down there?’ asked Bill.

‘You are pale Jack,’ said Inara, moving Black with a touch of her legs.

‘Dead birds fill the well.’ He bit his hand to stop from vomiting.

‘Why kill birds?’ said Inara.

‘Only blackbirds,’ replied Jack, rubbing the back of his hand against his mouth. ‘When I was here last, hundreds of birds waited outside Knell’s house.’

‘We all saw the birds flying this way when we first entered the trees,’ said Bill. ‘I wondered where birds went to die.’ Inara and Jack exchanged a quizzical look. ‘Think about it,’ said Bill, ‘when was the last time you saw a dead bird? Sure, you’ll see a cat catch one or two, but you never find them dead on the ground. With the hundreds flying in the skies, we should be picking our away through dead birds everyday. Maybe there’re other deserted towns, each with their own well full of birds.’

‘I don’t know about that, but something’s drawing them here,’ said Inara. ‘This is all very strange. If I paid better attention to the bones outside Krimble’s house, I wouldn’t have drank his tea. Perhaps the birds in the well are a warning.’

‘Listen to her,’ said Bill. ‘We know this road leads back home. We can tell everyone about the Narmacil.’

Jack wanted to shout that the Village Elders, Mr Gasthem, Mr Dash, perhaps even Bill’s own Grandfather, already knew everything. Revealing Mr Dash’s collusion with the Giant would mean divulging his secret. ‘I’m not going to turn back,’ he said, ‘not when we’re so close. I have to hear what Knell has to say.’

‘We’ve come all this way with you Jack, we won’t let you face Knell by yourself,’ said Inara.

‘Then let’s find her, before my shadow decides to jump into the well,’ said Jack, eyeing Yang with distaste.

Leaving the cluster of houses circling the well, they strode up a hill. Away from the centre of town, the homes became elaborate; some had porches and balconies that extended from upstairs windows. One house had stone pillars outside its door with a welcoming stone ribbon wrapping the white marble. Reading the script brought a pang of sorrow for the once thriving community that had lived here.

‘This whole town reminds me of the spook house,’ said Bill.

The spook house was what the children back home named the deserted house that sat on the far side of town. Jack never walked past the spook house in the dark, afraid of what would give chase from its dilapidated door. ‘It’s not like the spook house,’ he said. ‘Sometimes people just move on.’

‘Jankal warned us to keep away from the Scorn Scar,’ said Bill, denying Jack the opportunity to brush aside his remark. ‘People don’t get up and leave their homes. There’s a doll on that stoop,’ he pointed to a rag doll with red knitted hair. ‘What girl would leave behind her toy?’

‘You’re spooking yourself,’ said Jack, impatient to crest the hill. Bird chirps mingled with the dog’s bark.

Cresting the brow of the hill with Jack, Bill saw blackbirds perched on trees, fences, and old swings. ‘Must be thousands,’ he whispered. ‘Why are they here?’

The sheer volume of birds confronting them, made Jack take a backward step. When he had last visited The Scorn Scar, blackbirds had loitered outside Knell’s home, but nothing prepared him for this sea of birds. Birds had turned the trees black, hiding the lofty branches with pinion and tail feathers. They occupied every inch bordering the two houses at the bottom of the road. Blending together, the monstrous flock formed a lake of tar, rippling with constant movement. From atop the hill, Jack saw four islands from which that black lake receded. Two homes, the pit in Knell’s garden, and the tethered dog also had his own patch. Thousands of birdcalls, emitted from yellow beaks, incessantly taunting their target, giving the birds the demeanour of bullies. Drawing its leash taught, the dog snapped at the feathered fiends in a frenzied assault. 

‘That’s Knell’s home,’ said Jack, pointing to the house with the billowing net.

‘I’ve always found birds passive creatures,’ said Inara. ‘These remind me of vermin.’

‘They’re only blackbirds. They flap over the village all the time. Miss Mistletoe’s cat, Gesma, catches them,’ said Bill.

‘No, Inara’s right. These birds are acting queer.’

‘Well, we’ve got Black with us,’ said Bill. ‘If they try anything, he’ll crunch them up and spit them out.’

‘I don’t fancy getting into a fight with a thousand birds,’ said Jack. ‘I have no doubt Black will kill a few…’

‘Which only leaves a few hundred for us to contend with,’ interrupted Inara. ‘But, we’re here now. There’s nothing for it, we have to get to Knell.’ Her pointing finger traced an invisible line through the birds and past the dog. ‘We can stand around and debate for hours, or end our journey.’ Biting her chapped lips, Inara urged forward the big wolf.

Bill raised his hands. ‘Come on Yin, you aren’t afraid of a few birds are you?’

With his stomach clenched tight, Jack followed his friends down the road.

The first birds they passed threw them dark glances, they then returned their attention to the house with the caved in side. Those in Jack’s way, hopped from his scuffling shoes, only to return once he had passed. A few fanned their wings in annoyance, trilling their spite. One he kicked from his shoe, scaring a dozen others into the air.

‘They don’t seem at all interested in us,’ said Inara.

‘They’re watching the net on the side of the house,’ said Bill.

Or waiting for the woman behind the net, mused Jack.

‘Aren’t blackbirds an ill omen?’ asked Bill.

‘You’re thinking of ravens,’ said Inara. ‘My father hates ravens. He told me that they eat the dead, or those too weak to defend themselves. These are blackbirds, quite different.’

Yang had taken the form of a large dark bird, reminding Jack more of the Lindre’s rook than the small birds surrounding them. Instinctively he looked at the large tree where he had first spotted the rook cawing at him. Blackbirds by their hundreds ignored his gaze.

‘That’s odd,’ said Inara, looking toward the houses. ‘Neither house has windows, just white boards.’

‘I can’t see any doors either,’ said Bill. ‘If it wasn’t for that large hole in the side of Knell’s house, I wouldn’t know how to enter. This is most peculiar. The haunted houses my grandfather mentioned in his stories, always had windows. Remember the tale of the face frozen in the glass?’ he asked Jack.