Blood (16 page)

“He's there.” Will nodded, and Eloise thought about it for a second before asking, “Are you scared, Will? I mean, do you get scared?”

“I don't think so. I'm uneasy, but then I've been uneasy for seven hundred and fifty years. And I fear myself. I fear that I'll fail to do justice to my name and title.”

“Yeah, that keeps me awake at nights, too.” Eloise waited for him to smile, then laughed and said, “I'm not scared at all. I believe, one hundred percent, this will turn out right.”

Will nodded again, trying to assure her that he felt the same way, but he was thinking of the poor people of Puckhurst, unknowingly bled into extinction by a feudal lord of darkness, Asmund. And he hoped, too, that Eloise couldn't see that he
was
scared, not for himself, but for her.

In the late summer of 1256, a curse seemed to fall upon this city and the lands that surrounded it. Rumors came first from a village to the north, of a child and a man who had both been struck down by a strange sleeping sickness.

Throughout the late summer months, more reports came of healthy people meeting their deaths in similar fashion. Some had been bitten, or so the rumors went, and the blood had been drained from their bodies.

Other strange occurrences filled those months. Sheep and cattle were found mutilated, often missing their heads, churches were desecrated, and the dead removed from their graves.

Witchcraft was suspected, and as the weeks progressed and accusations flew from village to village to city, seven unfortunate women were brought to trial. Even though they came from various locations, they were accused of being a coven, found guilty, and sentenced to death by fire.

I have long believed that my father knew as well as I do now that these poor women were innocent, but he was no fool and I cannot condemn him for what he did. There was panic across his entire domain and the people, whether they knew it or not, required a blood sacrifice.

The death of the witches satisfied the population, and as events transpired, the evil acts that had dominated the harvest months came to an abrupt end with the burning. Their Lord had delivered them.

The burning of the witches took place late in the afternoon of the second of October. The weather being fine, and excitement being widespread, people came into the city from outlying villages for the spectacle.

The pyre was built on the small rise close to the West Gate, ensuring that the easterly wind would keep the flames from wreaking the witches' revenge on the buildings of the city.

The seven were tied to posts at the center of the pyre and left there for an hour as the crowd gathered. I can only imagine the abuse and taunts they suffered in that time.

Certainly, they looked ready to meet their end by the time we arrived with the light fading. As the flames were put to the bonfire, one of the women cried out some confused sermon to the baying crowd, but the others remained silent even as the fire reached them.

The protesting woman yelled one last curse, that her descendants would take this Earldom unto themselves. Then she, too, fell into silence, and I wonder now if the smoke killed them before the fire had started to eat at their flesh. I hope so, for there could be no worse way to die.

I can't remember what I thought of them at the time. I was curious that there was no smell from the fire, perhaps because the wind was against it, but other than that I think I failed to fully comprehend that this magnificent spectacle was bringing about the death of seven innocent women.

The fire burned vigorously, sending glowing embers flying up into the night sky and out into the western darkness. It crackled and filled the land with its orange glow and illuminated the crowd in its ghostly light.

I walked amongst that crowd, I remember that much, but I recall nothing else. At some point I was bitten, at some point my body was found, and I have little doubt that the witches were most probably blamed for one last act of evil.

But the acts attributed to those women must surely have been perpetrated by the man who bit me, Asmund. And though I chose to be bitten no more than they chose to be burned, I can't help but believe that I was somehow responsible for their deaths. I pray only that there was some reason for it, for all of it, that this was done to me for a purpose and that those women did not die for nothing.

Perhaps Asmund himself had no choice in the matter. I can only assume now that he was in the service of Lorcan Labraid, playing his part in what the fates have planned for me. My need for vengeance against him might even seem hypocritical, given the many lives I have ended over these long centuries.

And yet, beyond answers, vengeance is what I desire most from Asmund. I desire it for myself, for the women who were so cruelly condemned for his evil, for the honor of my family and its name. Above all, I desire it because I am the last of the Mercian Earls, the only one left who can put right all the wrongs of that cursed autumn long ago.

Will and Eloise both looked up at the ceiling of Chris and Rachel's sitting room as a rogue gust of wind tested the building around them, reverberating through the timbers. They were sitting across from each other on the green sofas and as they lowered their eyes again, Eloise said, “I hope that woman's cat comes back—when this is over.”

It was just after eleven on Saturday night and Chris and Rachel were seeing off the last of their customers, not that there were many of them. On their walk through the city, Will and Eloise had found it oddly deserted for a weekend evening and one of the few people they'd met had been a woman looking for her cat.

“I'm sure it will, though I suppose that depends on what
this
is.”

“Nature foresees a catastrophe,” she said, echoing Will's words of the night before. Another rogue gust of wind pummeled the house and she glanced up briefly. “You're right though. If only we knew what kind of catastrophe it'll be.”

She'd misunderstood him and now he said, “Don't you see? The catastrophe is me. My very existence is an affront to everything that is natural and good.”

Eloise's response was simple and unshakeable. “I don't believe that.”

But before either of them could say any more, they were interrupted by the sound of Chris and Rachel approaching, chatting in a light-hearted fashion. Will's arm started to ache and burn, the stubborn return of that ill omen whenever they were near. They looked innocent enough though—he had to admit that to himself—and happy, too, as Rachel sat next to Will and Chris settled down at Eloise's side.

Immediately, Chris looked across at Will and said, “We've had some success. I'm not making any promises, but I think we've narrowed it down to three possibilities, all within about thirty miles of here.”

“Is one of them Puckhurst?”

“Yes,” said Chris, puzzled.

“Good, because that's the one. We came here to tell you.”

Rachel turned to face him and said, “But how did you find out, and I mean, how do you know that's the one?”

“It's a long story, but I'm absolutely certain that Asmund is in Puckhurst.”

“Right now?”

Will nodded and said, “I was hoping you might be prepared to take me there.”

“Is tonight soon enough for you?” It reassured Will to hear Chris say that—he didn't try to buy time, whether to lay plans or inform others. Maybe Eloise had been right about them all along.

But Will didn't have time to answer the question. There was a sudden blast of wind, as if one of those rogue gusts had finally prized open an upstairs window. It died away just as suddenly and a book flew violently from the shelves on the far wall and landed with a thump on the coffee table in front of them. It fell open as it landed.

Both Chris and Rachel jumped backwards in their seats, a look of terror on their faces that didn't bode well for them being much help if there were trials ahead. Eloise jumped, too, but immediately rallied herself and said, “What book is it?”

She leaned forwards, but as she reached out, the pages of the volume burst into flames, a fire so intense that it was hard to believe the book hadn't been soaked in some sort of fuel.

Will shielded his eyes from the glare, but he couldn't help but smile, too—this had to be the work of the female spirits, trying to warn him off, but it was only making him all the more determined to unearth Puckhurst's secret.

Rachel jumped from her seat and ran out of the room, coming back a moment later with a jug of water, which she threw over the burning book. The flames died immediately and Chris gingerly brushed away the pages that had been reduced to a black film of ash.

“Well, I never,” he said as he revealed the first two surviving pages, each of them bearing a large illustration and only singed around the edges.

“It's my tarot book,” said Rachel, glancing at the shelf from which it had flown, then pointing at the two pictures, which had now been revealed, each of a tarot card. “That's the Hanged Man, suspended upside down by one foot. And, of course, Death needs no explanation, though the card rarely refers to death itself.”

Will wasn't interested in death. What intrigued him was the picture of the hanged man, and perhaps the position of the two pictures was significant.

“A hanged man, but possibly a suspended king, and to find him means also finding death.” He looked at the three of them. “It's a warning—the spirits that did this don't want us to go to Puckhurst.”

It was Rachel who responded first, saying, “But do you want to go?”

“Of course.”

She looked determined as she said, “Then our car's in the garage out the back—we're ready when you are.”

“Do you know how to get there?”

Chris nodded, and they all ignored the flickering of the lights as he said, “Is there anything you need?”

A low rumble of thunder growled ominously across the sky overhead and Rachel laughed nervously. “I was just going to say, how odd, thunder in November, but I don't suppose it's any odder than books spontaneously combusting.”

Eloise laughed, too, and said, “I was just thinking exactly the same thing!”

Will was becoming more and more uncomfortable. Their mood was too light, as if they saw this as some great adventure. His real concern was that he was leading them into a greater danger than they realized, and Eloise most of all.

“Do you have any weaponry?” The smiles faded as they stared in Will's direction. He couldn't believe that they hadn't given any thought to the dangers that might lie ahead, but he said carefully, “There are clearly forces that will try to stop me reaching Puckhurst. I can't even be certain that the man I hope to find there will talk willingly, and Asmund is not some ephemeral spirit—he will be as solid as I am and perhaps less well disposed towards the world. So I have nothing to lose, but you should consider carefully before setting out on this journey.”

Chris smiled and said, “We can't speak for Ella, I mean, Eloise, but as for Rachel and me, this is the most amazing thing that's ever happened to us.” He waved his arms around, gesturing at the books and ornaments that filled the house. “You've seen all this stuff—we've been looking for proof of ghosts or the supernatural for years, and we're not gonna pass up an opportunity like this. No way.”

Backing him up, Rachel said helpfully, “We have a samurai sword. We were given it by a Japanese company we did business with in the dot-com days. It's hanging on the wall in the office, but it's a real sword.”

“Good, may I borrow it?”

Chris got up as the lights flickered again, and Eloise called after him, saying, “And Chris, do you have any torches?”

“Yeah, but we've also got an electric camping lantern—that might be better.”

Will turned to her and said, “I won't need a lantern, and I think I should go into the church on my own.”

Eloise looked him straight in the eye with steely determination as she said, “I hate to remind you of this, Will, but did I not help you at least a little with your brother? Did I not find Puckhurst on the map?”

“Detection work and dealing with spirits is one thing, but I fear there's something more evil about the creature we hope to find at Puckhurst than in anything we've yet encountered.”

“Then perhaps you need me more than ever. Anyway, I think I've earned the right to come after everything that's happened.”

Will didn't respond, realizing how determined Eloise was, how little chance he had of dissuading her. Perhaps he should have mentioned his real fear, that he'd be asked to sacrifice her just as the spirits had suggested, but he didn't remind her of it because he knew it wouldn't sway her, and because a part of him wanted her to be there.

Chris walked in carrying the sword in one hand and the lantern in the other. He handed the lantern to Eloise. Will took the sword and pulled it a little out of its sheath to inspect the blade—light but razor-sharp. “Let's hope we have no use for it.”

The lights flickered again as they got up to leave, and as they emerged into the small yard at the back of the house, the wind was gusting violently and the clouds were stacking up with menace in the dark sky above.

Something fell and shattered not far away, a roof tile perhaps. The buildings all around them creaked and groaned. And beyond the edge of the city, the sky flickered with lightning, illuminating the mountains of black cloud looming overhead.

They climbed into Chris and Rachel's Range Rover and set off towards the West Gate. Will and Eloise were in the back and she looked at him now and said, “Have you been in a car before?”

“In the 1980s, a number of times. I wanted to know what it was like so I used to take taxi journeys—it relaxed me.”

“I doubt it did the same for the driver,” said Chris.

Will smiled and Rachel said, “It's astonishing to think of you traveling around the city in a taxi back when we were students. It seems such a long time ago. Though I don't suppose you see it like that.”

“Sometimes everything seems a long time ago.”

No one responded at first, and then Rachel started to say something, but ground to a halt as the lights of the city went out, the streets reduced to total blackness. And, a second later, thunder boomed and cracked across the sky above them.

“Must've been a lightning strike,” said Chris, though no one believed it was that innocent.

They drove through the West Gate and out through the suburbs of the city, all shrouded in the same inky darkness. And the further they got from the city, the more fiercely the wind buffeted the car and squally rain lashed itself in sheets against the windshield.

Anyone driving for pleasure would have given up and returned home, and Will guessed that was exactly the purpose of this weather, to make them turn back. But Chris slowed down and leaned forwards to peer at the road ahead where their own headlights were the only illumination.

They turned on to more minor roads, single-track and hemmed by hedgerows. The wind ripped at the winter branches and scattered them in front of the car where they snarled under the wheels and clattered away.

The thunder seemed to grow more distant for a short while, but then lightning blasted down in front of them, exploding into the bare branches of a tree, which fell burning in their path. Still Chris didn't stop, and even accelerated briefly to clear the flames.

But then they rounded a bend and as the headlights illuminated the rain-lashed lane ahead of them, Chris hit the brakes and stared open-mouthed. Will moved into the middle of the backseat to get a better look.

Someone was walking in the road, walking slowly away from them, a woman in a dark hooded robe.

“I don't like this,” said Chris.

“Nor me,” said Rachel.

They looked back at Will and then he heard Eloise, sounding nervous, but trying to overcome it. “What should we do, Will? Do you think it's one of the spirits we saw?”

He looked at the figure who'd stopped moving as they'd halted. No one would be out walking on a night such as this; no one would ignore a car behind them—only a spirit that was determined to slow their progress. Even so, Will could understand Eloise's hint of doubt because the woman looked very real, even more so than the one who'd appeared in his chambers.

“Drive through her. It's a spirit.”

Rachel glanced forwards and said uncertainly, “Are you sure? She looks awfully solid to me.”

Will looked at Chris and said, “Trust me, drive through her.”

Chris nodded and the car started to move again, building speed. The rain still prevented them from seeing the woman properly, but the closer they got, the more solid she looked, no spirit but flesh and blood.

Rachel shouted, “Chris, stop!”

“Drive through her,” said Will firmly.

“Chris, no—you'll kill her!”

Chris ignored Rachel, looking grimly determined, and now they were only seconds away from hitting the woman.

“Will?” It was Eloise, wanting reassurance.

Rachel covered her eyes and shouted again, “Chris!”

And, at the last second, the woman started to turn to face them. Chris slammed on the brakes, but it was too late. The car ploughed into her. But there was no deafening thud. They passed right through her, or she passed through them, the energy shaking the car, and bringing with it a terrifying female scream that clawed at them and tore their eardrums.

Chris stopped braking even before they'd come to a stop, then accelerated again, his knuckles white where they gripped the wheel. Will and Eloise both looked behind them, but there was nothing there to see, even as the echo of the scream still died away.

Will expected this would be the moment they chose to go no further, but Chris screamed himself, an exhilarated sound, and Rachel joined in and then she turned, her eyes wide open as she said, “Can you believe that! I thought I'd never do anything wilder than bungee jumping but that …!”

Will looked at Eloise. She looked calmer, but smiled at him and, guessing he needed an explanation, she said, “It's this sport where you tie a long piece of elastic around your ankles and jump off a very high bridge.”

“Oh.” He was too confused by their reaction to ask why anyone would want to do such a thing. They had been terrified, he was certain of that, but they had apparently brushed it off as if this, too, was merely a sport to them.

They drove for another ten minutes before a flash of lightning lit up the sky and briefly illuminated a church on a small hill before sending it hurtling back into the darkness.

“That's it,” said Rachel. “The turning must be just ahead on the left.”

Chris slowed even further and veered onto a narrow track that led down into some woods where the bare branches of the trees danced wildly in the storm. He stopped the car and turned off the engine.