The Wanderers of the Water-Realm (6 page)

Hetty paused again.

“My son,” to find this exit must be your prime concern; otherwise you can never return home. You must find it within the space of five years, so that you can re-pass the curtain when our two worlds are again in close proximity.”

Myra laid her hand upon her brother’s shoulder.

“That settles the matter,” she said quietly. “I must accompany Darryl into the Water-Realm, so that I may employ my wisewoman’s knowledge to reopen the exit curtain, otherwise he will have no chance of returning should he be fortunate in reaching the necessary portal.”

“Aye, that fact had crossed my mind,” the older woman added, “but it near breaks my heart to risk losing the pair of you. My daughter, I foresee that you will develop mystical powers far greater than my own and I feel that you would be of great assistance to your brother in the long and arduous journey that he must inevitably undertake.”

Hetty wiped tears from her eyes. “Go with my blessing, children who shared my womb.”

She paused and threw a log onto the kitchen fire.

“My inner-eye advises me that a third wanderer should journey to the Water-Realm aboard your narrowboat. Young George is devoted to you both and he would never suffer to be left behind. Indeed, why should he not plunge into another reality, for this one has shown him little mercy and you pair are amongst the few persons to have given him any real kindness.”

Hetty turned away and began throwing medicinal roots and dried herbs into a hessian sack.

“Come children,” she said. “We have many preparations to make before you embark upon your journey and little time to make them, for it cannot be long before the officers of the Constabulary arrive in the village and begin searching for their quarry.”

The three Littlewoods immediately began work and within the hour had transported almost the whole of the wisewoman’s stock of preserved food to the old mill wharf and stowed it aboard the narrowboat. They also loaded a variety of other useful items, such as hand-tools, spare clothing and a stock of coal for the all-purpose stove that was situated in the craft’s cabin. Myra, under her mother’s supervision, had filled a heavy wooden chest with potions, charms and all the other paraphernalia of a wisewoman, stowing it beneath her bunk in the cabin.

Darryl also explained the gravity of the situation to his incredulous young boat hand and advised him to travel across the hills to Yorkshire and start a new life far away from the navigations, aided by all the cash that remained in the boatmaster’s possession; but the young man would have none of it and expressed his firm intention to take his chances aboard the ‘Bonny Barbara’ along with his friends.

The evening shadows were lengthening before everything was prepared for the boat’s departure with the old barge horse standing harnessed and ready to move at the quayside. Hetty then bade a brief farewell to her children as they boarded the craft, and to each one she gave a present that she knew would be of great value in the hard years that lay ahead.

She kissed her son lightly upon the cheek and presented him with a curved sword of oriental design. The weapon was old and the deeply scored hilt showed that it had seen much service, yet the blade had an edge like a well honed razor and the balance seemed to suit the young man to perfection as he practiced swinging it around his head.

“The sword is called ‘Kingslayer,’’the wisewoman said. “It was given to your great Uncle Herbert by a Persian holy-man whom he once saved from drowning. He warned your great uncle not to sell it to buy rum, for he prophesied that it would protect the life of a kinsman as yet unborn.”

Hetty turned to her youthful witch-daughter and handed her a case containing an old parchment volume.

“This document is the grimoire of your ancestor Rose Littlewood. It contains a little of the magical knowledge that she gained whilst wandering through the Water-Realm. Unfortunately, most of the text seems to be written in a code that appears indecipherable. Yet I feel that it may prove useful to you in the trials that lie ahead.”

Finally, she strode down to the water’s edge where George was making the final adjustments to the boat’s towing line, and she pressed a small but beautifully worked spoon into his hand.

“George my lad,” she said. “Two years ago, I used all of my unseen arts to bring you back from the edge of the grave, but not for the sake of pity alone, for my inner-eye warned me that you would someday be the instrument of my children’s survival.

In giving you this spoon, I may be presenting you with the means of helping them to continue living, for this object will turn black for the briefest instant, if brought into contact with any substance that is injurious to humankind.

Hetty Littlewood, the wisewoman of Elfencot, stepped back from the wharf-side and bade the three travellers a final farewell.

“I have cast my inner self beyond the curtain and contacted one who dwells on the other side. He will meet you and give you aid and protection when you reach the Water-Realm.”

She paused, describing a magical witch-sign with her right forefinger.

“Blessed be you all.” She cried aloud. “Now go!”

The old barge horse strained at its harness and slowly the narrowboat pulled clear of the wharf with Myra at the tiller. Meanwhile, Darryl and George had scrambled up into the bows and prepared to pull aside the mass of foliage, obscuring the entrance to the disused mill wharf. Within the space of a few minutes, the ‘Bonny Barbara’ was clear of her former haven and moving down the last few yards of the main canal before plunging into the dark maw of the ‘Devil’s Hill’ tunnel.

Darryl now took over the tiller and steered the craft into the very heart of the hill, assisted by the light of a hurricane lamp suspended from a pole in the bows. George carried another lamp and led the nervous horse along the narrow towpath that hugged the right hand wall of the tunnel. None of the crew-members uttered a single word as the craft advanced into the depths of the hill, each being fully preoccupied with their own doubts and fears. The only sound that could be heard was the lapping of the water on the hull of the boat and the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves echoing from the vaulted brick roof of the tunnel.

The wisewoman watched the craft depart and then plunged into the depths of the surrounding wood. She picked her way between clumps of prickly briers, skirting the trunks of numerous blackened oaks, until she finally entered a small clearing that was dominated by a huge moss-covered stone towering a good fifteen feet above the forest floor. She retrieved a leather bag from beneath the bush, where she had previously hidden it, and began the magical ritual that she hoped would place her son and his companions well beyond the reach of the constabulary.

Firstly, she drew a small brazier from the bag and placed it upon the ground in the shadow of the great stone and filled it to the brim with dry twigs and lumps of charcoal. She lit the brazier and blew upon its contents until they glowed red.

The witch took out a square of silk cloth that was decorated with ritual signs and spread it out upon the grass in front of the brazier. From the leather bag, she also produced a small bowl of polished copper and filled it with clear water from a spring that surfaced in a corner of the clearing and placed it in the centre of the silken cloth. Finally, she placed a bundle of scented herbs alongside the glowing brazier, then threw off her clothing and washed her body scrupulous lyin the waters of the nearby spring.

Hetty completed her ablutions, then knelt before the square of silk and began the strange and terrible ritual needed to open the portal to another world. She began the ritual proper, by casting some of the herbs upon the glowing coals and inhaling the narcotic smoke that billowed upwards in a dense cloud. Then she began singing her witch-song.

The song that broke the silence of the surrounding woods, bore no resemblance to any other music performed in the vicinity of Elfencot, for it had been composed by some long dead minstrel who lived long ages past upon the edge of time itself, and whose lyrics where couched in the language of some ancient long dead tribe whose very name was now forgotten.

The cadence rose and fell as Hetty piled more herbs upon the brazier, and slowly, the brazier, the stone and even the surrounding trees began to fade from the wisewoman’s view as the powerful narcotic took effect.

The witch-song died away and Hetty began concentrating her mental powers upon the water filled bowl. Pain, agonizing pain began to stab through the wisewoman’s head as she flung wave after wave of occult energy towards the bowl. Ripples now began forming on the surface of the water, for the liquid served as a conduit directing spear after spear of psychic energy towards the curtain separating the two adjacent realities.

The wisewoman screamed aloud as she sought to open the portal, suffering untold agonies as the frightful mental energies tore at the fabric of her brain. Her cries became animal-like in their intensity. Yet she knew that she was succeeding in her task for the water in the bowl had turned an inky black and she began sensing the near presence of the alien reality.

Abright spot formed on the surface of the dark liquid, a spot that steadily expanded. Hetty knew the portal was opening, yet her feeling of triumph quickly evaporated, for her inner-eye began warning her that an unfriendly force had entered the ‘Devil’s Hill’ tunnel and was in hot pursuit of her loved ones.