Crik (21 page)

‘Look at her arms,’ said Inara, pointing down from Black. ‘What’re those welts?’

‘They aren’t welts,’ answered Bill. His fingers brushed up against the Vestai’s elbow where the largest dark splotch appeared. ‘It’s the same damn flower that grows on the wall.’

‘Why’d she stick those on her arm?’ asked Inara.

Jack could only feel his tongue if he pressed it against his teeth. Another minute or two playing and he will lose even that sensation.

Bill looked back, his face slack. ‘She didn’t stick them to herself. They’re growing out of her arm.’ He lifted her shoulder, pulling part of the wing up from the ground as he examined her. ‘Her back is plastered with them.’

Jack let the Syll drop from his mouth. The flowers didn’t just grow on the Vestai -the flowers were the Vestai. He yelled in fright as pale arms threaded through the hedge behind him. Long tapered hands reached out to snatch the air with hooked nails. The blackness between the flowers lifted as midnight wings parted, revealing horrid white faces.

The women stepping from the Blackthorn wore the same bloodied dress as the first Vestai. Fabric, matted in dried blood, clung to their forms like resin. Men also stepped out, their sunken chests dotted with the black flower, and children, their faces stretched into masks of torment.

‘Yin!’ cried Bill as the woman on the floor clutched at his collar, bringing his face down toward her gaping mouth.

Yang kept the nearest Vestai away from Jack with oversized fists. Bodies flew back from the impact of the shadow’s hits, but more came through the hedge. The wolves were going crazy, snapping at anything that came close. Inara only saved herself from falling by ringing her arms around the wolf’s neck. Silver, her eyes rolling back into her head sank her teeth into Krimble, who let out a gurgled scream.

The splintered wood filling the Vestai’s mouth touched Bill’s cheek when Jack blew into the Syll.

Although Jack failed to notice a small child crawl beneath Yang’s wild defence, the first musical notes stopped it, and all the other Vestai, who collapsed onto the floor. The weight of the child on his legs made Jack’s breath falter for a moment. It had come so close to biting him, another second and those barbed teeth would’ve been tearing into the flesh of his leg.

‘Why’d you stop playing,’ asked Bill, diverting Jack’s attention away from the child with the sunken eyes. ‘No,’ said Bill, holding up a hand, ‘don’t answer me. Just play, and don’t stop for anything.’

Bill fiddled with his torn collar for an instant, before turning to Inara. ‘I’m sorry I lost control of Black, my mind just went crazy when she had a hold of me.’

Inara had her teeth clenched together, and her knuckles were white from gripping Black’s fur. ‘Forget about it,’ she said, without moving her lips. ‘Can we just go now; I really don’t like this place.’

Bill nodded his emphatic agreement.

‘I’ve got the lamp, so I’ll take the lead,’ said Bill, lifting the lantern to lend weight to his words. ‘Make sure you don’t step on any of them.’ He looked down at the silent bodies surrounding them.

As though he has to tell us, thought Jack, as he followed behind.

The Syll felt hot in Jack’s hands, and as he blew, he felt the vibrations of the reed inside, tickling his fingers. Struggling to balance the instrument, he tiptoed around the winged bodies. The movement made it harder to play than when he had stood still, and a few times the piping music blew a dud note. Each time the music died Bill threw a dark backward glance, and Jack knew Inara did the same from behind.

‘Don’t you dare step on any of them, you hear me,’ Inara told Krimble. ‘Grab Black’s tail if you’re having trouble following us,’ she added after Krimble’s garbled reply.

The wings splayed out on the ground however made it impossible not to tread on the Vestai. Crunching the feathers underfoot sent shivers up Jack’s spine, making the Syll produce high-pitched notes. Already his chest strained with the effort of blowing into the flute, and his mouth continued to lose feeling.

The walls of the Blackthorn encroached upon them as they proceeded, making it harder to step around the bodies. Most of the Vestai were women. The few men lying on the floor were larger with much of their face rotted away. Their skin looked wet, reminding Jack of slime on stone. The children were the hardest to look upon; they appeared normal, apart from their sunken eyes.

His chest ached and his gums were sore. Exhausted from playing, Jack stumbled after Bill, conscious of the large wolf padding close behind. Having to escape the tunnel before he lost the ability to play stopped all other stimuli; he no longer noticed the bodies lining the tunnel floor. His mind swirled, he imagined the upturned faces of the women were winking up at him. One Vestai, who would’ve been attractive if not for the wooden teeth sticking through her cheek, seemed to motion him closer with a curled finger.

‘Careful Jack,’ said Inara, gripping his arm as he bowed closer to the prone woman on the floor. ‘I don’t think you should get that close.’

Despite his mouth losing feeling, his chest took up the slack. It burned, and with each blow his body tightened, until it felt as though his skin sank between his ribs. With each inhalation, the pain increased.

‘Give up boy,’ called Krimble. ‘Just let the instrument drop from your lips, it’ll be so easy. Relax; take a moment to gather your strength. It’s a long way to go; you can’t possibly keep it up all the way.’

Krimble’s words had a different effect than what the zombie had intended. Hardening himself against the strain, Jack strove onward. Krimble’s whispery tones, like a whip at a horse’s back, pushed him through the pain.

If the tunnel deviated from its straight route none noticed, and though the ground was far from level it never threw a sudden slope in their way. In the distance, a bluish haze heralded a change in the Blackthorn and with it a cool breeze that rustled their clothes.

‘It’s the way out,’ cried Inara.

It was too much to hope for, but as they continued Jack saw the hedge give way to an open expanse.

What lay beyond the Blackthorn Tunnel stopped them in their tracks.

Cumulus clouds stoo
d
to the north like great mountains, shining rose pink in the morning sun. A cool breeze ruffled the collars of the bedraggled group’s shirts. They stood in the open, their expressions showing surprise, and a complete lack of understanding. At their front, Jack allowed the Syll to drop from his tired lips. His relief after escaping the tunnel faltered and died. He expected green lands; instead, a land filled with red hues greeted them. Everywhere his eyes touched lay crimsons, maroons, sangria, and carmine. Gulping in air as dry as sun-baked hay, he tried to make sense of a land covered in blood. Black’s movement stirred red dust in small swirls; before long, the dust coated the great wolf’s tail and underside. Amongst this wash of harsh colour rose pillars of slender metal. Some twisted spires curled inward, creating abstract shapes akin to some unknown art. Rising above these warped constructs sprang spear points, stabbing the overcrowded skyline.

It’s not blood, Jack realised with no small measure of relief. The aged metal waged an intolerable war against the elements, and with each season, they shed a little more of their skin. Rust covered everything like flour on freshly made bread.

‘Where’re the trees?’ asked Bill.

‘I don’t think there are any,’ replied Inara. ‘There’s nothing here but dead metal. No bushes or flowers.’

‘But there’re bugs.’ Cupping his hand to his mouth Bill drew their attention to a hovering swarm of brown insects. ‘They’re disgusting. Look,’ he observed, ‘they aren’t flying, they’re leaping like fleas.’

Against his own revulsion, Jack stepped through the haze of insects. The fleas, batting against his calf, made him want to shriek. Refusing to look down, he carried on.

‘Pity Mr Gasthem isn’t with us; he could ask the insects for directions,’ said Bill.

A scream from the Blackthorn Tunnel rent the air. In the darkness, they could make out the white fabric the Vestai wore; they stopped short of the sunlight. There were hundreds of the horrid creatures, snapping the air in frustration with their sharpened stakes.

‘I don’t need any bugs to tell me we have to get away from here,’ said Inara, spurring Black toward a hill rising to the east.

While the others scampered into the Wold, Jack stayed. The tormented faces of the child Vestai held him. A macabre thought teased him with delicious horror. Had the children come from the hedge, or had something taken them to the damned tunnel? Grandpa Poulis told stories of children going missing in the wood. He thought Bill’s grandfather had made them up to frighten them from playing too far from home, now he wondered. Burdened by the question, he left to follow his friends.

Metal, imitating shrubbery, littered the path, making it feel as though he trod on sharp stones whilst wearing slippers. The cruel, unpredictability of the terrain made progress slow and treacherous. Not troubled by the new terrain the wolves threaded through the metal with uncanny agility. Without Inara’s added weight, Silver ran ahead, marking the territory. Remaining apart from the group, Krimble stumbled from one hazard to the next. Within the first mile, he had lost three toes, with a fourth attached only by sinew. Evidence of Krimble’s passage littered their back trail. A blind child could follow them by smell alone, mused Jack, his patience already spent.

Atop a rise, the air grew thin, Bill already gasping from the ascent, staggered to a slab of rock, where he sat with a grunt. From their elevated position, they could see the immense size of the Red Wood. Copper domes reflected golden light over the ground like sunlight on wet stones. Silver wire, as though spun by some monstrous spider, threaded through an intricate steel lattice. Caves speckled the side of mountainous heaps of lead like air pockets in a sponge. Although their initial reaction to the sight stirred wonder, they soon found, on closer inspection, a plague of rust in every quarter of the Wold. It brought to mind a full sink, where a drop of blood had spoiled the purity of the water.

Fingernails, caked with dirt, scraped across Inara’s filthy cheek. She no longer noticed the grime. ‘It’ll take days, if not weeks to reach the other side.’ She didn’t expect an answer; the truth of her statement lay before them, in an undulating map.

Despite the obvious evidence, Bill answered with a furious nod, dislodging his glasses. ‘I’d say months.’ He bent to retrieve his spectacles. ‘The metal on the ground will slow us down. We can’t run, that’s for sure. You could not push a ‘barrow more than a few yards without puncturing its tyre.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Krimble. His lips peeled back from his teeth like a tide scraping a beach. ‘It’s not like any of you are going to survive a meeting with the Myrms. They won’t like you invading their home. You are intruders, insects in their larder. When they see you they’ll squash you all.’ Old hands came up to touch his sunken chest where grey hair grew in an untidy thatch. Perhaps the fingers creasing his pale skin sought the Narmacils housed within. ‘When you came to my house, I took you in, kept you alive. The demons,’ his accusing yellow eyes swivelled to Jack, ‘saved your lives. I wanted to unfetter your demons; help them reach their full potential. Instead, you trap them in your stupid pursuit of a meaningless truth. The girl had it right Yin; your Narmacil, with its spiny tail wrapped around your heart, is as much a part of you as your shadow.

‘The Myrms don’t care for the Narmacil. They have evolved without knowing those gifts most of you enjoy.’ He paused, allowing his statement to percolate. ‘Best you sacrifice yourselves in the tunnel than go forward.’

Bill’s lower lip trembled at the mention of returning to the Blackthorn Tunnel. The boy, who had read books until his eyes had grown weak, showed through his mud-streaked face. Jack understood. For the first time since leaving the village, they could not turn back. Before now, they had the option to cross the marsh, and try to find the hunter’s path back to the village.

Krimble also recognised the cause of Bill’s faltering courage. ‘No one from your small village will find you here. There was a chance they would have if you stopped at the marsh.’ He looked around. ‘No one comes here. I daresay you are the first people to set eyes on the Red Wood for a hundred years. It is a pity your demons could not make you fly. It would be so much easier if you could float above the clouds. Who knows, if you flew high enough you may be able to see, far away, smoke rising from your homes’ chimneys. And Inara my dear,’ his words slipped into a sympathetic patter, ‘would you spy your papa out in the wild, still hollering your name?’

Anger shot through Jack; focusing his mind on Krimble with single-minded hate. He balled his hand into a fist, and had taken it back only a few inches when Bill stepped past him; and smacked the zombie in the nose.

‘Sorry,’ said Bill, looking both abashed and pleased. ‘I’ve been itching to do that for days.’ He stumbled back, jamming his hands into his pockets.

Krimble cackled on the floor. With his bent back, his hands waving in the air, he looked like a flipped crab. ‘Fear is like swamp water boy, it’ll suck you in slow, dragging you deeper, and before you realise it you’re in over your head. Best turn back and try your luck with the Vestai; at least they’ll eat you fast.’

Jack gritted his teeth against Krimble’s mad cackle. To look into those sallow eyes, the full moon lunacy of them is to welcome nightmares. He knew then Krimble’s mind, if not already gone, was fast slipping away, decaying faster than his body. Madness had its allure; such a filthy curtain would hide a thousand torments, a multitude of unforgivable sin. 

Inara remained silent. The shimmer of light from the metal forest glanced across her angular features, revealing in that moment the beautiful woman she would become. Her blond hair, now a copper gold, fanned her brow like a metal comb, hiding an eye pregnant with heavy sorrow. ‘I will not allow him to go unpunished.’ Entranced by the scope of the vista, she refused to look away. ‘I have decided what must be done.’ She hedged off Bill, seeing the boy about to intrude. ‘You have done me – and others – a great harm.’ She locked Krimble with a look of terrible loathing. ‘The physical scarring you have left on me is nothing compared to what you have done to my mind.’ She smiled. ‘I recognise your lunacy; it is also a part of me. No longer will I be able to take pleasure from a morning stroll, or laugh at an innocent thing. I am bereft of warmth; I feel ice water running through my veins instead of blood. This is unforgivable.’ She reached down from where she sat upon the great wolf, and with tender fingers, stroked Krimble’s scarred face. He flinched from her touch, and within that moment, his yellow eyes cleared, and feelings as harsh as a pinch poured in. Inara grinned, her small white teeth showing for the first time in memory. ‘Strange how you wanted my gift, but once I gave it to you, you howled in despair. Sometimes what we want is not what we should have.

‘Our path,’ she commenced, straightening her back, ‘is fraught with danger. We were lucky to get through the tunnel unscathed. I don’t know what is before us.’ She turned from the Red Wood with its dancing light. ‘The little we do know is that you are a danger we cannot afford. Bill is right, you must go.’

Krimble’s jaw yawned open, as dumbstruck as were the boys. ‘You’re letting me die. You’re going to end this?’ He looked down at his mottled flesh with disgust. ‘You will let me rest.’ A weak smile, cradled his mouth.

Inara’s smile broadened. ‘I’m banishing you from the group,’ she replied. ‘This does not mean your punishment has ended. You cannot die until I wish it, and that will never be. You shall roam these lands, alone and hated. Shunned by man and bird; you will know no rest. Your body will continue to decay, the blood in your limbs will congeal until it is a yellow poison, but still you will live. No doubt, your eyes will become dim, until you cannot see, and even then, you will have to find your way. This is your punishment, Krimble of the Marsh House.’

‘Wha...,’ Krimble said, his arms swaying useless at his side. ‘You can’t do this.’

‘Yes she can,’ Bill said rushing forward. Pushing Krimble, he knocked him once more to the ground. ‘You have stayed with us for too long. Your dark speech will be your only company from this moment.’

‘You said it yourself,’ Inara said, looking down as Krimble squirmed back on scathed elbows, ‘no one has been here for a hundred years. There is no turning back. Your attic was our prison, welcome to yours. Enjoy it.’

‘How will we find Knell without him?’ asked Jack. ‘He’s the only one in the group who knows of whom I speak.’

‘He told us everything that the hunter had to say,’ replied Inara.

‘North beyond the Wold,’ said Bill. ‘We’ve found the Wold; all we need to do is keep heading north.’

Beseeching fingers, their skin peeled back from tendon and bone, reached up to Inara’s back. ‘Don’t do this. I know many things.’ He swung his head around on brittle bones to look at Jack. ‘The bitch with the birds will be impossible to find without my help. Listen to me,’ he said, his stained teeth biting off each syllable. ‘What do you think happened to the others living in the Scorn Scar? Knell didn’t always live by herself. There were others in that small town. They gave me their marvellous gifts.’

‘Don’t listen to him Jack,’ Inara said, laying a hand on Jack’s chest as he took a step toward Krimble, ‘he’s full of lies. His deception caught me once; I will not fall for it again.’ She regarded Krimble. ‘You brought this upon yourself.’

With his mouth sagged open Krimble looked up at them. ‘You can’t just leave me here.’

‘Yes, we can,’ said Bill.

Reaching out, Yang laid his hands on Krimble. Incredulous, Jack watched, sure Yang wanted to give Krimble a hug. Instead, Yang stood still, his palms pressed against Krimble’s ravaged flesh. Furtive movement, seen through his dark twin, raised the hackles on Jack’s neck. The shapes were vague, elusive, like ghosts trapped beneath layers of ice. The sight of them made his skin crawl with spindly spiders, the kind normally reserved for dusty shed corners. Even without a face, Yang manages to portray deep sorrow.

With an impatient grunt, Krimble strode through Yang and reached out to snag Inara’s top. Before his fingers touched the worn fabric, Yang grabbed him, dragging him away. Struggling with the dark arms entwining his body, Krimble groaned; his eyes continued to look around for help. The zombie even sent an imploring glance toward Silver, who sat on her haunches licking her paw.

‘Let go of m…’ Krimble cried as Yang, who had grown strong in the multihued light, yanked him backward and down the slope.

Jack watched as his shadow carried Krimble away. Yang’s shadow legs were pencil thin by the time he let go of Krimble; even then, they all heard the man shout back up the hill. Closing off the pleas for mercy Jack laid a hand on Inara’s shaking shoulder. Struggling to contain her composure, at Jack’s comforting hand, she bit her lip, but in the end, she could not stop the laughter pouring out of her. The metal hills echoed to the sound, until it seemed the entire forest laughed with her.