B00JX4CVBU EBOK (17 page)

Turner let his head fall forward. He wanted to escape into unconsciousness again. No pain, no monster, no hell.

‘Stay with me, Ellring. No slipping away. Here, let us help you stay focused.’ The beast thumped down beside him. A face appeared next to Turner’s. This close its skin seemed to be made of black oily twine. Its eyes were glowing yellow orbs of pus. Its dark, meat-like tongue darted across its lips, and revealed rows of sharp black teeth. Its breath, the stink of putrid carrion. Turner’s stomach convulsed.

It spoke, heavy and guttural, ‘You’ll thank me later.’ 

A swift flash of a clawed hand and the metal rod was torn from his side. All of the agony he’d been through had nothing on this. He felt like he was being ripped in half. He screamed and doubled over in pain. Blood spurted from the wound. He put his hand over it to staunch the flow, but the blood ran through his fingers, over his stomach, into his lap. It was all too much, and Turner felt himself falling into blackness again. Let it come, he thought. Let me die.

*

Still immobilised with her sisters in the hospital corridor, Ember swam in the worry of her mind. By turns she could faintly feel Turner’s confusion, his distress, terror and then pain. When she could no longer feel him in her mind she breathed a sigh of relief. She knew he still he still lived, she could feel that much, but he must have slipped into unconsciousness again.

Voices. Aunt Lani ran past Ember’s field of view. ‘Ladies! Oh thank goodness!’ 

A moment later The High Vordene of Stenness stood in front of the sisters. Ember’s heart leapt. Thank the gods! As far as Ember could tell with her frozen eyes, all five of the High Vordene sisters were here. Aunts Sigrid, Brenna, Erika, Kari and Tyra. Ember was once again struck at the middle-aged women’s beauty and poise. They cut a striking scene in their hooded cloaks.

‘Well, well, well,’ came a voice in a mocking tone. ‘What have the Wickerwells got themselves into?’ Aunt Brenna of course. She was known to look down her nose a bit at younger Vordenes.

‘Brenna!’ This was Aunt Tyra. ‘We’re here to help, not ridicule.’

‘Wasn’t ridicule, Tyra. I was just having a bit of a tease.’ 

Ember didn’t really mind Aunt Brenna’s ribbing; she’d been the same at the girl's initiation. Plus, it was hard to get mad at anyone when they spoke with such a wonderful Scottish accent.

Aunt Sigrid turned to Aunt Lani. ‘So Mother Torhild said you spoke of some sort of monster Vordene? A Scather Vordene?’

‘Yes,’ said Aunt Lani, ringing her hands. ‘It’s truly horrid. It told me it had fallen in the Grimshade. The Scathers merged with the Vordene sisters. They’re all mixed up into one creature.’

‘Oh my stars,’ said Aunt Kari.

Hello? thought Ember.

Aunt Lani continued, ‘It seems she … they … were down there for a long time. A year perhaps.’

‘What that would do to your head!’ said Aunt Tyra.

Ember felt like she would explode. A little help here!

Aunt Brenna turned to the Wickerwell sisters. ‘Yes dears, we can feel your impatience. Sorry to have kept you waiting.’ 

She didn’t
look
sorry, thought Ember.

‘Can you free the girls?’ asked Aunt Lani. ‘Turn the enchantment? I gave it my best shot but …’

‘We’ll do what we can,’ said Aunt Sigrid. ‘Ladies. Join hands, encircle the girls.’ In a moment Ember was face to face with Aunt Erika who gave her a wink. ‘Now,’ came Sigrid’s voice from behind Ember, ‘I think will this will be like turning a Lost incantation, which we’ve done before, but we’ll be needing the power of Ardent as well. Right, on three, the Song of the Found. One … two …
three
.’

The five sisters of the High Vordene began to chant. Slowly, the chant grew stronger, almost choir-like. Ember felt as if she were standing on a barren hillside within a rising thunderstorm. Behind Aunt Erika, a ghost-like figure of a huge elk ran past. Ardent! The High Vordene’s Ring. In a moment he was there again. Faster he ran, appearing to Ember every second or so. The chanting became louder. Ardent ran faster, until he was a golden blur, a vapour trail version of himself. The intense power emanating from the High Vordene penetrated Ember. The chant was almost a continuous wail now. 

And then, without warning, Ember and her sisters collapsed to the floor. She could move! She could breathe! 

Skye was lying next to Ember, her face only inches away. ‘I …’ began Skye, her voice a croak. ‘I feel like a sack of potatoes.’

Ember tried to raise herself. Her arms shook with the effort. A hand on her shoulder made her look up. It was Aunt Erika. Warm energy poured into Ember. She lowered herself back to the floor and let it soak in.

‘Hold still, girly. You’ll need to rest for a while. Then, we’ll get you home … to Stenness.’

*

Ember paced up and down an ancient corridor. Like much of Castle Stenness, the corridor was large and high vaulted, and her quick footfalls echoed off the walls. 

The old place was Ember’s birthplace, her first home, and she knew it well. The castle, built in the fourteenth century by past High Vordenes, contained over forty rooms, some of which held nurseries where babies were born by visiting Vordenes, and then raised by carers until their sixth birthday. She remembered how she and her sisters had run up and down this same hallway when they were young, before going to live with the aunts at Wickerwell. It had been a magical place then. Today it felt like a prison.

Once more she stopped in front of the ancient double doors which lead into the High Vordene’s library. What were they doing in there? As soon as all the women had arrived in Stenness, Mother Torhild, Aunt Sigrid, Aunt Tyra, Celeste, Chloe and Aunt Lani had disappeared into the library for an ‘emergency meeting.’ Ember knew why she hadn’t been included; she was too upset over Turner to be of any help. Or as Chloe had put it, ‘too volatile.’

Volatile? If volatile was what it took to get things done, then maybe those older women needed a bit more of it. She wanted to be saving Turner. Right now. She couldn’t believe they would waste even a moment. Ember turned and pounded down the corridor’s length once again. Small sparks from her fingers spat like water in hot oil. Five candles on a sideboard flared into life as she passed. 

Ember was also fuming over Brooke’s betrayal. Luckily for Brooke, Skye had whisked her off to somewhere else in the castle. If it wasn’t for Brooke, none of this would be happening. Ember’s breath came in bursts.

 Ember heard the doors open behind her. It was Celeste, and she wasn’t happy. She stalked over to Ember, her hands clenched and a fierce look on her face.

‘You need to leave,’ said Celeste, her voice subdued and angry.

‘Why? What trouble am I causing out here?’ said Ember.

Celeste breathed out loudly. ‘Lot’s, Em. We can’t think. We can all feel your burning impatience. Your anger. It’s like sitting in front of a radiator set to full rage.’

Ember’s breath quickened. ‘Bloody hell, Celeste! Of course I’m angry. While you ‘level heads’ are in there chatting over tea, Turner is in the Grimshade dying. Dying!’ Tears rolled down Ember’s face.

Celeste embraced her younger sister. ‘Oh, Em. I’m so sorry. Look, we’ll be out in an hour or so, and we’ll announce everything then. OK?’

Ember pushed Celeste away. ‘No, Celeste! What about Turner? We have to do something. He’s our Ring for Christ’s sake!’

Celeste looked back at the door. ‘I’m not sure if I should say anything yet …’

‘Celeste!’

Celeste crossed her arms. ‘OK. Look. From what we’ve already decided we won’t be going after Turner. No rescue. To go into the Grimshade you need the protection of an ice shield from a water or sky elemental, which would only last seconds. The heat is too strong. We could do it if we knew exactly where he was in the Grimshade, but we don’t. We tried coming up with ideas, but nothing can be done, Em. I’m sorry.’

Ember couldn’t believe her sister. Were they just going to sacrifice Turner? How? Why?

She was seething. Celeste put a hand on her sister’s arm. ‘Em, calm down. I can’t do anything about it. He’s our Ring, our Ellring, and if there was any way to save him I’d be there already, but there isn’t. So we have to prepare for the fight of our lives. It’s all we can do. I know you’re upset, but before you do anything rash, go for a walk, have a nap. Just calm down. And please, please, don’t burn anything.’

Burn anything? Ember wanted the whole damn place to explode in flames. And an even more terrifying thought—she wanted to slap her sister. Instead she turned and ran off down the corridor, tears stinging her eyes.

She barrelled down the stone spiral staircase, across the entrance hall, pushed through a group of little girls—future Vordenes—and out into the bitterly cold Northern evening. And still she ran, not caring where she was going. Turner? Turner? Don’t give up, she thought. Please don’t give up.

*

Turner’s train crashed. He tumbled over and over, every bone in his body breaking, shards of glass pierced his body, until finally the rolling stopped, and he lay still. He heard other passengers shrieking, crying for help. The pain was immense, and he wondered when he would die. But somewhere in the torn wreck of the train came a woman’s cry. ‘Turner! Turner! Come on. I need your help! Wake up, Turner!’

‘Ember?’ Turner came back to consciousness slowly. He opened his one good eye, but for a moment it was all a blur. As his vision cleared, he realised he wasn’t in a train wreck—no, it was much worse—he was still in the Grimshade.

Someone shook him. ‘Turner! Come back to me, Turner.’

His eye focused. ‘Ember?’ It was Ember. She’d come to save him! 

Ember looked up at the sky. ‘The Scathers were about to attack. You have to be awake, alright? No blacking out again.’

Turner raised himself up into a sitting position. The sky directly above them was a mass of swirling Scathers, like the inside of a black tornado, but they were leaving, circling like a large flock of birds, and flying away. 

Ember double-checked the sky. ‘They’re leaving. That was close.’ She held out her hand and helped him stand. But he was weak, shaky and spent. His legs almost buckled under him.

Turner went to hug her. ‘Em! I’m so glad …’ 

But instead of the embrace he was expecting, Ember stepped back. ‘No time for that, Turner … dearest, we need to get going.’

What was wrong with her? Turner’s body shook with the effort of standing and he wobbled on weakened legs. His mind felt like porridge, and he found it hard to think clearly. Ember was here. We’re in the Grimshade. We have to leave.

‘Let’s go home, Em,’ he croaked, his throat dry and rough. He reached out his good arm, took a step, but fell to his knees and cried out in pain. Everything hurt. He couldn’t think. His head was bowed, and he stared at the black glassy stones at his knees. He needed to get up. Ember was relying on him. He needed …

‘God damn it you rotten piece of meat! Do we have to carry you?’

He looked up, unsure. His vision swam. Blackness. He squinted through the pain. ‘Ember?’

But it wasn’t Ember. The fell lifted and the Vordene monster stood before him.

‘Emmmber?’ One of its faces mocked. And another, ‘Emmber?’ And a third face twisted into view. ‘Ember?’ Now they all spoke at once, a guttural squawk, ‘Ember? Ember? Emmmmber?’

Turner stared down at the dark rocks. He was tired. Tired of running away, of giving up. He decided then and there he wouldn’t die. He was going to live. Live so he could personally destroy this hateful creature. 

Iron-like hands grasped at his arms and legs and lifted him. Two or three of the monsters arms held Turner roughly against the ropey texture of its body. It oozed a disgusting oily sweat, stinking of shit and rancid meat. Turner didn’t struggle; he had no energy left. And although the monster’s grip on his broken arm was excruciating, he gritted his teeth and did not cry out. No more crying out. No more wanting to die. Whatever happened now he decided, he was going to get through it and get back to Ember. 

The monster began to march down the rocky hill, dislodging glossy stones in small avalanches. The uneven gait tossed Turner around like a rag doll. With his head pointed down, he could see the ground as it passed, as well as the occasional splatter of blood which dripped from his side onto the black stones. 

He was going to kill the monster—if he didn’t run out of blood first.

*

Brooke sat on the edge of a bed in one of the castle’s large dormitory halls. The great hall-like expanse had been used by visiting Vordenes for centuries. Two rows of old iron beds rested against the ancient stone walls. The ceiling was a lattice of intersecting heavy black timbers. Concessions to comfort had been made, long rugs, elaborate wall hangings and bedside tables with ornate lamps. 

Apart from Brooke, the large space was almost empty. There were two pregnant women sitting on a bed at the far end of the dormitory, both from Becca’s Well in Dover. The occasional small laugh came from their direction but Brooke shut them out. She hadn’t moved for over half an hour, and sat, staring at her hands. Her thoughts swirled in dark, bitter circles. 

Brooke heard steps close by but didn’t look up. And then there was somebody sitting on the bed beside her. Finally, Brooke turned. It was Aunt Brenna.

‘Hello, you poor tormented soul.’

Brooke said nothing, she looked away. She didn’t need Aunt Brenna’s teasing right now.

Brenna brushed some of her blonde hair over her shoulder, and straightened the folds of her medieval-looking blue gown. She sighed. ‘It may seem like the end of the world right now, girly, but … Oh. It might actually be the end of the world, mayn’t it? Slipped my mind. Nevertheless, by sitting here moping you’re not doing anyone any good, least of all yourself.’

Brooke stared at the bedside lamp. 

‘Let me tell you a story,’ said Aunt Brenna. ‘Once there was a beautiful Vordene girl. She was a water, so you and I both know she had something special. She had recently gone through the Grand Initiation, and was now a High Vordene. At the ripe age of seventeen the world was hers. She could do anything. She was much better than all those little tykes scampering about the castle. She
knew
she was. Prettier, smarter, older, more powerful in every way. But the little ones didn’t think the same as she did. They teased her, and stuck out their tongues, even after she became a High Vordene.’