The Whitby Witches 3: The Whitby Child (32 page)

At her side Tarr's face was drawn into a horrible expression of hate. "Now ah know," he snarled, pointing an accusing finger at the powers of the world, "why, out of all others, my Nelda was allowed to live after she were born. She were only a puppet fer tha to use in tha greedy search. Tha needed her to be ready to meet a human child wi' the sight! That was all she were good fer! Her whole short life were leadin' up to that one moment when she'd help the lad find your poxy treasure—ain't that so?

"Well, now her part's been done an' theer's naught else tha got planned fer her, so she might as well die. Good thing too, eh? Makes the whole nasty business that much tidier!"

Shaking with rage, the aufwader strode to the edge of the high platform and spat as far as he could. "Damn yers all!" he yelled.

Miss Boston watched him approvingly, then stared back at the shimmering wall of water and spoke up in a clear and strident voice. "A curse on you!" she said. "I pray long and hard that you shall get what you deserve. Do you honestly expect me to surrender the children into your care? You must think I am mad! I am now more determined than ever to protect them from your unholy influence and shall do so unto the last breath in my body!"

Behind the thrones the light of the moonkelp dimmed as the sea grew dark.

"Silence!"
commanded the Lord of the Frozen Wastes.
"Hag! Thou hast asked why thou wert summoned to this place—for one purpose only was the audience permitted. Know now the judgement of the almighty Triad!"

"The boy child has indeed done us great service,"
the central figure boomed.
"Our coveted prize is returned to 
us, yet still he associates with the aufwaders. Henceforth this must cease!"

Tarr laughed grimly. "Tha can't do nowt to stop the lad," he growled. "He's more than welcome in our midst—an' more so when I tells the rest what I've 'eard this night. The boy can come a-visitin' whenever he chooses. Alone amongst humans he has touched the moonkelp and so is under tha protection. Theer's nowt tha can do to stop 'im."

"Is there not?"
the voice echoed mysteriously.
"We believe a solution has been found and our oath of protection need not be broken. Look to the water.
"

Miss Boston and Tarr glanced down as the smooth surface of the placid lake was pierced by thousands of bubbles. From the black depths, an object resembling a small stone came floating upwards.

With a mild splash it burst into the air, then rolled and spun in the water as it drifted towards the pinnacle of rock.

Miss Boston descended the winding stair as the curious object came to rest against the bottommost step, and with the handle of her walking stick she fished it out.

Glistening in her palm was a round earthenware jar no larger than a tennis ball, and she examined it cautiously. The container was glazed a deep swirling green; around the base weird characters and symbols were inscribed and removing the wax that sealed the lid, she warily looked inside.

A pale, almost luminous cream filled the jar and the old lady sniffed it tentatively.

"And what might this be?" she asked.

In a soft, mellifluous voice the Lord of the Circling Seas replied,
"In thy hands is the answer we have sought. Take the salve and with it anoint the boy's eyes."

"Why?" she demanded.

"We cannot permit the child to continue mingling with 
the aufwaders. That singular ointment will remove his special sight. Never again shall he see the folk who dwell by the shore, nor the shades of those who have passed through the veil."

"How dare you ask me to do such a dreadful thing!" the old lady shouted. "Benjamin's sight is a wondrous and most marvellous gift—I would not dream of stealing it from him!"

Upon the left-hand throne, the Lord of the Frozen Wastes swelled with anger and his enormous shadow whipped and thrashed in the icy waters.

"Behold the ignorance of mortal kind!"
he thundered to his brothers.
"Let us destroy these two now and send the herald back with fierce words of warning to those who wait upon the shore."

"Peace,"
the voice of the Circling Seas called.
"The leader of the aufwaders must return to make certain the guardian remains unharmed, and who can measure a human's heart? Perhaps our words shall weigh upon thee, Alice Boston, and thou shalt use the salve ere long."

"I rather think that is highly unlikely," she replied.

Without warning, the Lord of the Frozen Waters let out a wrathful shriek that shook the cavern.

"Then begone from this place!"
he roared, rising from the throne, thrashing his snaking limbs.
"Thou art dismissed!"

At once the glimmering images behind the wall of water were engulfed in darkness and Miss Boston gazed grimly at Tarr.

"It would appear the audience is over," she observed.

A rush of froth and foam signalled the return of the small rowing boat and it floated back to the surface. Still crouched within, the tortured remains of Irl gazed at Miss Boston from beneath the hood of his cloak and he spoke urgently.

"Quickly—thou must make haste. The way back to thy world will soon collapse!"

Miss Boston and Tarr hurriedly clambered aboard the boat but as soon as they were seated, the immense barrier of dark water trembled, and with a tremendous rending crash, the might of the Deep Ones was withdrawn and the freezing torrent came flooding into the chamber.

The pinnacle of rock was thrown down and the seething tides hammered into the quartz-covered walls, snatched the lanterns from their huge iron hooks, and smashed against the vaulted ceiling.

But the small wooden boat was already tearing through the dimly-lit grottoes beyond. Carried on the racing currents, it soared wildly through the passages hewn into the mountain and pitched uncontrollably as the incredible forces of the whirling vortex clutched and seized it.

Out into the cold deeps the little boat shot, hurtling back along the spinning tunnel, but the journey was faster than before and Miss Boston was thrown from side to side as the craft darted wildly forward.

The eyes of the herald sparkled in alarm as he stared behind them and saw that the spinning walls of the enchanted way were closing. Violent surges thrust the boat onward as the tunnel snapped out of existence, unravelling with a furious turbulence that tore apart the ocean floor, leaving a path of foaming destruction in its wake.

Over the drowned continent the vessel rampaged, but swiftly the decaying cities vanished from sight as the tunnel convulsed and buckled, threatening to dash the boat to pieces at any moment.

"Hold on!" the herald yelled and his voice rang with fear. "Save us, oh masters! The way fails too swiftly—we shall be torn apart!"

Only the savage, screaming waters answered him as they stampeded malevolently and raced for the boat. The spray of the collapsing vortex blasted into Tarr's face as he glanced round and saw that the terrible, churning cataclysm was only metres away. Beyond the roaring confusion of the unwinding tunnel, the murderous pressures of the deep were waiting, eager to crush and kill.

Tarr wrenched his eyes from the horrendous sight and stared anxiously at the herald. "We'll not make it!" he bawled.

"Have faith, Mr Shrimp!" Miss Boston cried. "They wouldn't dare let anything happen to us, otherwise Nelda will destroy the guardian. This is just a show of bluster."

Suddenly her hat was plucked from her head and sucked into the darkness behind. The old lady snorted tersely. "Steady on!" she shouted into the storm.

At a breakneck speed the boat flew through the cold reaches, rocketing ever upwards until, with a sickening jolt that rattled its timbers, the little craft was hurled from the sea and flung out beneath the fading stars.

The waves lashed and the wind tore at Miss Boston's cloak as the mouth of the gigantic whirlpool toppled and came raging down, smiting the waters and splitting them asunder in its ruinous downfall. A tempestuous cauldron steamed and foamed within the sea, its choking vapours hissed into the air, obliterating the heavens with billowing clouds of thick white mist.

Wraith-like, the rowing boat sailed noiselessly through the mist and its occupants took great glad gulps of the cool night air, relieved to be above the waves once more. Neither Tarr nor Miss Boston ventured to speak; they were both thinking about what they had learned and the vile knowledge angered and depressed them. As they drifted towards the distant shores of Whitby, their spirits sank ever lower and with downcast faces they floated into the night.

Finally it was the herald who broke the forbidding silence.

"There is fear in the Deeps," he said in a soft and conspiring voice. "For only the second time in the history of the world the cold regions are filled with dread—the Triad is afraid."

Miss Boston was startled out of her despondency and Tarr stared at the huddled figure keenly.

"Messages and rumours spread swiftly beneath the waves," the herald continued. "Many are the frightened tales spreading from the bitter realms. 'Tis said that the Lord of the Frozen Wastes is especially fearful and has despatched many spies to watch the shores of my ancient home."

"Theer's nowt to see theer," Tarr said sourly, "save misery and hopelessness."

Leaning across to Miss Boston, the tormented remains of Irl whispered to her anxiously. "Cruel and devoid of compassion are my masters," he began, "yet they are wise beyond all others. Use the thing they have given to thee, rub the salve well into the boy's eyes. His sight is a curse and only woe shall befall him and those he loves."

"I'm afraid you cannot persuade me," she answered stubbornly. "I swear here and now as God is my witness that I will never use their despicable ointment."

So adamant was the old lady that she took the jar from her pocket and stretched out her arm ready to throw it back into the sea, but the herald called for her to stop and the command in his voice was so compelling that Miss Boston wavered.

"I beg thee not to cast it aside," he cried. "The gifts of the Deep Ones should not be lightly surrendered."

The folds of the sea-green cloak stirred as the hideous shapes within uncoiled and a putrescent, snaking tentacle emerged—creeping towards Miss Boston.

For a brief second she feared that the creature was going to strike her, then she saw that bound about the tapering tip of the extended limb was a piece of carved jet, suspended on a fine gold chain.

"Unto thee do I now give this," Irl said gravely. "I fashioned it in the young long ago, when I was a leader of my tribe and resolved to quest for the moonkelp."

Holding the carving high above the tendrils of mist which still clung to the boat, the herald gazed on his craftsmanship sorrowfully, then gave the amulet to Miss Boston.

The old lady received the dark jewel silently and peered at the intricate detail. In her hands, the bright moonlight curved over a tiny squat figure whose face was hidden beneath a veil embroidered with the ancient script of the aufwaders, and emblazoned over the back of the black, glimmering gem was the symbol of the Triad.

"'Tis the very charm I devised to conceal me from the vigilance of the Lords of the Deep and Dark," Irl told her. "When it is worn around the neck it renders my masters and their countless agents insensible to thy presence. Without it I could never have stolen the shining treasure and wrought the guardian to keep Morgawrus entombed."

"
I
cannot accept such a precious gift," Miss Boston said, reaching out to return the ancient pendant, "but if anyone has a claim to it then surely it would be Mr Shrimp and the rest of the fisherfolk?"

The herald shrank from her and the hood shook from side to side. "The last tribe is doomed," he said flatly, "and I fear that thou mayest yet have need of the charm's properties—the spies of my Lord of the Frozen Wastes are ranged about the town. May this assist thee in evading them."

"I am most grateful," Miss Boston breathed, "though I pray it won't be necessary."

Irl's tone grew cold and ominous. "I assure thee it will," he uttered, "yet its power to withstand the piercing gaze of my masters doth wane after a time. Use it only in the direst need and remember that they are capable of anything. Nothing is beyond their reach—do not forget that. They do serve only their own ends and thou knowest already how merciless are their punishments."

Tarr stared at the cloaked figure and could not stop a look of revulsion creeping over his face. The herald noticed it and gathered the cloak tightly about his grotesque form.

"Do not provoke them further," he told the aufwader. "'Tis better for thy granddaughter to die sooner than be damned to eternity as I."

Guiltily Tarr lowered his eyes and not another word was spoken for the rest of the journey.

***

Upon the shore beneath the cliffs many of the fisherfolk were asleep when the blue light of the boat's lantern reappeared in the distance.

Ben and Nelda were sitting upon a coarse blanket and wrapped in two more, struggling to remain awake, when the aufwader on watch leapt up and called to the others.

"They're here! They've returned!"

Rubbing the sleep from their eyes, they lurched to their feet and waited in fearful silence as the vessel sailed closer.

"Are Aunt Alice and Tarr all right?" Ben asked.

"They are," Nelda replied, but her hopes plummeted as she realised how still and quiet her grandfather seemed. Even before the boat came to rest at the water's edge she hung her head and murmured, "The Deep Ones have denied his pleas."

Tarr glanced across at her forlorn figure and a large tear trickled down his round nose. "Ah dinna know what to tell her," he wept.

Miss Boston put her arm around him. "Be honest with the girl—she deserves that."

"Aye," he sniffed, "and a 'ell of a lot more that I canna give."

"May her ending be swift and without torment," the herald said gently, "and may courage be granted to thee, Tarr of the Mereades, for the full face of doom is staring at thy kind. A ninefold blessing upon thee and fare as well as thou art able."