Crik (56 page)

A stone struck metal with a sharp crack, breaking off the threatening growl and turning the beast from the boy. Bill threw a second stone, striking the round beak. Bloodshot eyes, peering from the eyeholes, grew larger as they spied them standing atop their mound. The boy stood rooted to the spot behind the hulking menace. Jack wanted to scream at him to run away; instead he flung his own rock. Enraged, the beast charged forward. In its haste to reach them it did not see the pool, as dark as tar, on the ground. As soon as its feet struck him, Yang sprang upward, swamping the Myrm in roping black lines. Entangled, the arms fought against the bonds, trying to heft its weapon and strike at its assailant, and yet the more it struggled the more knotted Yang became. Black ropes rose up the chest, coating the breastplate and filling the gaps in the armour. Shock snapped the eyes wider as it felt the cold touch rise higher, and then, with a sudden jolt, Yang snapped its neck. Finally, the body fell to the ground.

Sweat bathed Jack’s back; making his muddy rags cling to him like a second skin. Although the fight had only lasted a few seconds his emotional investment into the outcome left him exhausted. He didn’t notice the Delver’s kid still standing over the fallen Myrm until the boy shrieked. Aghast, Jack saw the boy, his face paper white, cringe as Yang placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘No,’ Jack cried, jumping down from the mound. ‘He’s your friend, he won’t hurt you.’ He knew, no matter what he said, the boy had watched Yang wrap himself around the Myrm before breaking its neck, and would think the shadow also meant him harm. ‘Yang, get off him.’

Flinching from the cowering boy, Yang changed shape to a large sparrow, and flew a few yards away. From high, the shadow kept watch on the surrounding violence.

‘I got you,’ said Jack; he dropped to his knees and took the boy’s hand. The boy was shivering. Ignoring the desperate struggle only a few feet away, he asked, ‘You’re Dean Delver’s boy aren’t you?’

The boy’s glance reminded Jack of balloons buffeted by wind. The large pupils shone darkly. A moment passed when Jack thought the boy’s shock had rendered him mute, and then the boy spoke. ‘I was looking for him.’

Most farmers, living outside the protection of the village, had formidable abilities. Dean Delver was no different; he patrolled his farmstead in the form of a massive badger. Most of the trees ringing the Delver farm had deep scratches on their trunks. Mr Gasthem had told Jack that Dean Delver did that to keep wolves and big cats from troubling his cattle. Looking around Jack knew he had no chance of spotting the badger in the darkness. ‘Come on, I’ll take you back to the other children. Your father will know where you are when he comes looking for you.’

‘Will he?’

The pathos held within that simple question aroused such emotion in him that Jack took a moment to answer. He hoped the boy’s father would come looking for him. So many had died that it was not certain whether Dean would survive to see his son again. ‘He knows all the children are by the tree. You will frighten your father if he doesn’t see you with them.’

‘You don’t want that to happen do you Michael,’ said Bill as he joined them.

Of course, his name was Michael, how could he have forgotten? He gave a sour shrug at the vagaries of his mind. ‘We’ll take you back to the tree. Liza will look after you.’

‘What about the mound?’ Bill asked.

‘Yang has to stay close to protect Michael, and with him gone who will protect you when you start throwing stones?’

‘I see your point.’

The bones in Michael’s hand felt like a collection of loose twigs. Jack gave a gentle squeeze. ‘Yang will protect us.’ Looking scared at the mention of the shadow Michael made to pull away. Remembering a stuffed toy Michael at one time carried with him, Yang took its form. Reassured by Yang’s resemblance to a badger, the boy allowed Jack to lead him away from the mound.

With Yang trailing behind, the three of them began pushing their way through the throng. The tight press at once jostled them. Jack tightened his grip on Michael’s hand.

‘I’d have thought the farmers would be far enough away from the village to escape this mess,’ said Bill as they broke through to a clear area no larger than a front stoop.

‘It must be Friday night,’ Jack answered. ‘They always come the night before the street market so that they can set up their stalls early.’

‘Were you at the Crik Inn?’ asked Bill, looking down at Michael.

The boy gave a quick nod at the name of the only inn in Crik village. ‘My father hid me in the cupboard when the monsters came.’ Bright tears formed in his eyes.

‘Don’t worry; our friend is beating the monsters. It won’t be long before they are all gone.’

‘Her name is Inara,’ added Bill. ‘And that’s Black, my pet wolf.’

‘You have a pet wolf,’ Michael exclaimed, his fear forgotten in his excitement.

Bill’s answering grin grew wide, as though someone had pushed a plate into his mouth.

Huddling close they drove into the crowd, eager to enter the comparative safety of Liza’s concealing mist. As they squeezed past Mr Scorch’s fat belly, who Grandma Poulis always said ate more of his own bread than he ever sold, came the first screams of terror from the crowd. Those without a defensive Talent broke and ran, as the stag helmed chieftains altered the focus of the attack to them. Jack almost fell, and knew the fleeing crowd would have trampled him underfoot if not for his fast reflexes. The Hanging Tree lay ahead. With Bill in tow, he darted toward the looming wood, desperate to escape the maddening press.

Jack bundled Michael up into his arms. The boy let out a cry, ‘Let go,’ in a shrill voice that rose above the other screams.

Ignoring the pleas of the boy, they broke through to the deep obscuring mist. The smudged shapes within became more distinct as they entered the shroud.

‘Liza,’ called Jack.

‘I’m here,’ Liza said. She sat on a looping root, with boys and girls sitting around her. Dwayne stood behind, holding a stick in his good hand.

The mist dampened the sounds of alarm from outside; tricking the senses into believing the danger was distant. People and Myrms alike were no more than shades, flickering by like smoke. Still, everyone within Liza’s boundary stood rigid, ready to flee at the least provocation. 

‘They are attacking Mr Dash,’ said Dwayne, his large eyes peering through the mist as though it was clear glass.

‘I know,’ said Jack.

He lowered Michael to the ground. The boy ran to where the other children welcomed him back with tired smiles.

‘Should we stay where we are?’ Liza asked. She cringed against the wood, her eyes darting at every movement beyond her veil. The haughty girl Jack knew had disappeared, leaving Liza looking vulnerable, and for the first time he thought she looked pretty.

Briefly, he considered asking Liza to carry her mist to where the injured lay, concealing his mother from the terrible rout. The heightened risk of discovery involved in moving the children stopped him from suggesting that to Liza. ‘No, you have to stay here; it’s not safe to move.’ The words left his mouth tasting of copper pennies.

‘What’s happening out there?’ Bill asked Dwayne.

Dwayne took a moment, scanning the field the rest could not see, from one end to the other. ‘The girl on the wolf has broken though; the creatures are fleeing in terror.’ His voice rose in incredulity. ‘Some of the monsters are fighting for her, attacking their own kind.’ His face grew pensive. ‘Mr Dash is with her; I saw him die?’

‘It’s her Talent,’ said Bill, distracted. ‘If the Myrms are running away does that mean we’ve won?’

‘Can you see Dr Threshum?’ asked Jack, desperate to hear news about his mother.

‘Oh no,’ said Dwayne.

‘What?’ Jack was about to run back through the mist when the fear in Dwayne’s voice stopped him.

Dwayne pointed as four shadows coalesced into stark relief against the vapour. Leading the company strode a creature with a carven mask supporting a rack of antlers. Jack looked to Yang to tell him to protect the children, only to discover that within the mist he cast no shadow.

Gold-flecked eye
s
, peering from the stag mask, betrayed more emotion than any other of the foul creatures that had come from the Wold. Revealing not anger, nor hatred, only a need to escape. The cautionary turn of its body amplified the desire trapped within its fleeting eyes. Intent on what lay beyond the mist, the chieftain, and the creatures under its control, missed the children. Blood caked the arms of the Myrms, whether the blood belonged to them, or some unlucky villager, Jack could only speculate with feverish concern. Passing shapes waxed against the shifting backdrop, heightening the clarity of the four beasts. Each notch on the naked sword blades, etched themselves in vivid relief against the white vapour. 

Confronted by the Myrms, the children let out gasps of horror. One child, her hair a brown nest with so much twigs and dirt in it that Jack would not have batted an eyelid if he saw three chicks amongst its growth, screamed. Too late: ‘Quiet, Kari,’ scolded her brother, wrapping his hand over her mouth to muffle the noise - her raised cry had snapped the Myrms attention to them.

Even without the added height afforded by the antlers, the chieftain stood a head taller than the other Myrms. Its fear made Jack think of a cornered animal, and like a trapped badger the Myrm was ready to fight. Slicing its wicked sword blade through the billowing vapour created swirls of lazy smoke around its point.

The children cringed at the sight, huddling against the bole of the tree as though it would protect them. Liza backed away until she stood rooted amongst them. Dwayne stood before her, shaking as a leaf caught in a draught.

‘Stand with me,’ Jack told Bill. Bill settled in beside him, clutching a rock in his right hand, while his left sought another in his trouser pocket. 

‘Get out of here,’ said Jack, stabbing a finger at the lead Myrm. His face felt as stiff as slate. ‘You have seen the Talents we possess here in Crik; if you want to live, go now. None here will stop you.’

He knew his words meant nothing to the Myrms; only Krimble had the ability to speak with them, yet, after seeing Inara’s gift, they were cautious. Every person in the village had a unique Talent; these creatures had no way to know what abilities this group possessed. Even the smallest child may have the power to defend himself - who was to say one of them did not have a power more terrible than Inara? Faced with such unknown dangers must frighten the beasts. Taking heart, Jack took a step toward them brandishing his own stone as though it were a talisman of great power, and then threw it away. ‘I don’t need a weapon,’ he said, taking another step, trying his best to ignore the flutters that took flight in his stomach. It is a mummer’s farce, he thought, his words made as much sense as a dog’s bark, and yet by moving closer to the beasts he had brought them to a halt. The trailing Myrm looked set to run.

The chieftain spat out a guttural word; spittle flew from its blubbery lips in a fat spray. The fog, as thick as a stew, swirled around its legs, giving the beast an ethereal quality. Jack could almost believe this was all a dream. More words sprang from the chieftain’s mouth to echo around its metal helm.

‘Don’t show any fear, and they’ll think we’ve got the power to stop them,’ Jack told Bill.

‘Who’s scared? I’m done running from them. This is our home; these are our people.’ He jerked a thumb to the children. To Jack’s surprise Bill threw the stone he held. Although the projectile missed his target by a few feet, the rearmost Myrm disappeared into the mist with a frightened snarl. ‘Must’ve reckoned I missed on purpose,’ said Bill, astounded by the result his thrown stone had on the fleeing beast.

‘It doesn’t recognise you, so doesn’t know your Talent. Perhaps it feared the cast stone would transform into a gargoyle and squash it.’

‘First time someone regarded my throwing arm as a talent.’

‘Dwayne, can you get the children safely away?’ Jack dared not take his eyes from the Myrms; sure, if he lost contact for even an instant they would be upon them. He was about to repeat the question when Dwayne shouted, ‘Its chaos out there, those dead things are...’

‘Never mind those dead things, they are fighting for us,’ cried Bill.

Time was Dwayne and Liza had bullied Bill for not having a Talent, calling him a freak; now both boy and girl jumped at the whip of his voice. ‘It’s too dangerous,’ Dwayne resumed. ‘The Ghost Walkers have left your grandmother to help with the fighting. No one’s Talents can hurt them; when touched even the raised bodies under your friend’s control fall to the ground.’

That did not sound good. Since light affected Yang, he had hoped the Ghost Walkers mastery over the Narmacils stopped with him. With this evidently not the case, the outcome of the battle remained uncertain. ‘Stay with the children,’ he ordered Dwayne. ‘Our words are gibberish to the Myrms so they can’t tell how vulnerable we are. Their wariness is close to turning into panic.’

‘My grandmother is out there.’

Jack ignored Bill’s whisper; he had to focus on the chieftain. He noticed the skittish behaviour of the Myrms, loitering behind their chief; he knew he had only to give them a shove and they would break and run. The world within the mist was alien and unfriendly; no doubt, the rising vapours brought their own terrors to them that knew nothing of Liza’s gift.

‘Liza,’ he called back. ‘How much control do you have over this mist?’

‘I can’t stretch it any farther.’ Her voice sounded strained and weak.

‘I don’t want it stretched,’ he replied, keeping his impatience hidden. ‘This is your world Liza. Are you able to make the mist act?’

‘Act?’ she queried. Then she understood. ‘I can make the mist dance, push it against the wind.’

‘Do it,’ Jack ordered. ‘Have it dance around them.’ His pointing finger created its own current in the mist.

The three remaining Myrms stood still, their wariness making them uncertain. When the first Myrm had fled from the mist, the two others behind the stag helmed chief had looked at one another. Despite the iron covering each face, it was easy to see they wanted to flee the mist, only the hulking presence of their leader stopped them from escaping. Each held their weapon as though they bore a torch in some underground cavern, frightened to lower the steel for what might attack them. Outside, the conflict, though muted, still played all around them. Loudest of all were the screams of the killed Myrms raised to attack their own kind. Every scream intensified the fretful Myrms’ anxiety. Tired of the impasse, the chieftain growled from deep within its throat. Striking its fist at the nearest Myrm, the antlered brute strode forward, swinging its weapon. Only a few feet separated it from Jack when the mists began to swirl. The beast slashed the billowing clouds that wrapped its armour, only for its blade to disappear in the smoke.

The whipping fog swirled like ghosts. Both hind Myrms copied their chief and stabbed the speeding damp air. Liza pulled back the mist as the swords descended, only to return the white wall in a rush, making the brutes flinch and backtrack. Faster and faster, the fog swirled, first going one way and then the other. Each time the chief took a step, she increased the speed. Sweat dripped down her face. She compressed her lips so tight they had lost all colour, but her eyes blazed with vigour.

‘Look,’ cried Bill as one of the Myrms fell back, dropping its weapon.

Antlers rose above the cyclone, their barbed lengths marking the location of the chieftain as the mists rose higher. The blurred outline marched closer, unafraid of the moving mist.

‘That one is the last of them,’ cried Dwayne, his huge unblinking eyes staring into the cloud. ‘The other ran away.’

As Dwayne’s words died, the enormous creature plated in steel, iron, and copper, sprang through the mist. It did not care that it stood alone; it brandished its weapon high above its antlered head. Ignoring the huddled children, the Myrm raced across the open ground, intent on Jack.

Recognising the savagery of the charging beast, Jack pushed Bill away. Bill shouted in surprise at the shove an instant before the chieftain barrelled into Jack. The impact expelled Jack’s breath in rush. Crashing into the ground, he felt every snarl and root. He had time to wish for Yang to be with him, but not to ponder where his erstwhile twin and gone in this white world. Raising the sword up, the Myrm prepared to bring the weapon down, severing Jack in two. Faintly, Jack heard Bill scream out his name. A desire to laugh overcame him; he had come all this way back to the Hanging Tree, and for what? Reflecting on his craving to expel Yang only brought bitter remembrance. His quest alone had brought this killer to his village. Deserving of his fate, he lay down. Here he would remain, under the great tree’s shading branches; he would not go on any more adventures.

Liza yanked back the mist, collecting the vapour into a surround shining white wall, with Jack at its centre. The world above Jack grew clear, allowing him to spy movement in the trees. Hung bodies writhed against taught ropes. High above, Mark Alefeet, the hunter who had beguiled Jack with his drawings that sprang from the page, had managed to loosen the noose about his neck. Others, who the Ghost Walkers had executed, struggled on yet higher branches. Miss Mistletoe, horrid in her frailty, was amongst them, bucking against the hanging branch that anchored her in the sky.

The Myrm’s sword stayed up, wavering in the air, as the beast looked up at Mark with fear crazed eyes.

The white walls collapsed in, popping Jack’s ears. Damp air hit him as hard as a fist, plastering his hair to one side. Above him, the sword went spinning through the air to land, point first, a few inches from Bill’s staring face. Reeling back from the unexpected blow, the Myrm tumbled into the cloying cloud. Jack could only discern a blurred shape where had stood his assailant. A shadowed outline dropped from above to cling to the Myrm’s back while it staggered in terror. The sound of ripping cloth mingled with the clang of fists beating against metal. Twirling together the two combatants embraced each other in a deadly dance.

The strange governing winds whipped the mist into frenzy. Standing against the storm Liza wrought, Jack pushed toward Bill.

‘I have to help her,’ Bill cried as Jack drew close.

Seeing how frightened he was Jack hunkered down with a thought of putting his arm over Bill, but Bill shoved him aside with a brusque swat of his arm. ‘I have to go,’ Bill repeated.

‘Where do you want to go? The Myrm chieftain can’t harm us.’ Even as Jack said the words, he knew them to be true. Although smaller, Mark Alefeet had both surprise of his attack, and the fear of what he was, against the Myrm. The chieftain howled, not in pain, he screamed in terror and outrage at what Inara had brought back here tonight. With Mark staying within Liza’s cover, he knew the children would remain safe.

Bill was no longer thinking of the children. He had come to the same conclusion as Jack, allowing him to turn his mind to other matters. ‘They were killing my grandmother,’ Bill said in a half a sob. ‘The Ghost Walkers had her on the ground.’

Behind them, the Myrm had dropped to one knee as a second shadowed figure dropped from the tree. The chieftain roared, wrenching back an arm it meant to drive its gauntlet into the newcomer, when Mark tore open the Myrm’s throat. Gagging on its own blood the chieftain collapsed as the zombies teared at its now lifeless body.

‘Come on,’ Bill urged. ‘The children no longer need us.’

Turning, Jack saw the scared children. It hurt to leave them, yet by remaining with them meant hiding, while those beyond the mist fought and died for his mistake. ‘Alright,’ he relented.

Dragging the sword from the ground Bill took off in a clumsy run. Jack wanted to tell Liza where they were going, but Bill did not spare him the time. Liza slumped against the tree, with her limp hair covering her exhausted face. Driving the mist as a physical force against the Myrm had taken it out of her. As different coloured light revealed surprising aspects to Yang, Liza had discovered a new trick when she attacked with her Talent. Raising his hand to the girl, he tried to reassure her. She only stared back, uncomprehending. The children too beseeched him to remain with them, not with words; they communicated their need through haunted faces that did not understand. They are safe now, he told himself. No Myrm remained to threaten them. Upset, he followed Bill, rushing through the damp air, hoping the children would remain safe.

The sight that assaulted him as he broke from the white barrier had brought Bill to a standstill and astounded him. The shambling bodies of the fallen were everywhere. Scores of wounds covered each as they stumbled over the ground. Almost all fighting had stopped; a few Myrms had retreated to the top of the rise, where long rotted bodies, freshly killed people, and Myrms that had already succumbed, besieged them. Not a single body remained undisturbed; Inara would not let them rest. Frantic, he searched for survivors. Dr Threshum struck a determined figure, as he remained steadfast beside the wounded. He hoped his mother still lived. No, he told himself, she is safe, if she had died then she would be one of those attacking the hill and he saw no sign of her. Mr Dash walked amongst his onetime charges. The grave keeper had appropriated a shovel, which he held close to the ground as though he was about to dig a grave. Jack saw other recognisable faces amongst the throng, and each one hurt him to see.