Crik (57 page)

‘There’s grandpa.’

From where he stood, Jack could not say for sure whether Grandpa Poulis was amongst the living, or another foot soldier in Inara’s ever growing army. The old man stood to one side of the track that had once served to separate the two factions. Dropped weapons, abandoned armour, blood drenched cobbles, and scorch marks from a fire that still blazed close to the trees, lay about him. At his feet, wrapped in grey cloth, lay Grandma Poulis. Wisps of feeble blue light seeped into the air around her, fighting the black night. Where is everyone? Jack wondered. They could not all be dead. He fought back his rising dread with great effort.

Bill had taken a few unsteady steps forward. One of the bodies that had risen from its grave wandered before him, dripping mud and gore. Behind this first strode a young girl, whose skeletal face wore an askance grin as she cradled a clump of sodden grass to her chest as though it were a favoured doll. Bill took one look at the grisly pair and picked up his speed toward his grandparents.

‘Bill,’ cried Grandpa Poulis when he saw his grandson. ‘My boy.’ He grabbed Bill and pulled him tight to his chest. ‘I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you.’ He went to repeat the words again when Bill pulled away.

‘What’s wrong with Grandma?’

The punitive treatment by the hands of the Ghost Walkers had left the once radiant Grandma Poulis looking old and weary. She had not transformed back into the accustomed wizened woman, her physical body remained in her upstairs bedroom, yet deep-set lines marred her smooth features and shadows pooled under her closed eyes. The meagre light coming from her managed to spread some warmth, a promising sign that Jack held onto as he joined Bill.

The smile slipped from Grandpa Poulis. ‘They tried to steal her light. If not for that girl on the wolf drawing them away they would’ve succeeded.’

‘Did they mean to kill her?’ Jack knew it was a dumb question as soon as he uttered it.

‘I don’t know if they could,’ said Grandpa Poulis, looking down at his wife. ‘The one calling herself Justice,’ he scoffed, ‘strode through fire without harm. Benjin drove a sword through her; she only paused long enough to reach into his chest and stop his heart. I saw more try to stop the other Ghost Walkers with their Talents. Formidable powers, such as Jeff Swizleback’s mouth dart, passed right through them without effect.’

‘Where are they now?’

‘They went to the river after the girl. They knew while she remained their pet beasts had no chance.’

Without Inara, the dead would remain dead, and the surviving Myrms atop the hill would regroup and kill the rest of the villagers. Then the village would belong to the Ghost Walkers, and Grandma Poulis would bend to their will.

Jack moved away from Grandpa Poulis. ‘Stay with your family,’ he said as Bill followed him.

‘You can’t go after Inara by yourself. They’ll kill you for sure.’

‘I’m not alone, I have Yang.’ The shadow had sprung back to life when the light from the fires swept over the field. ‘I need you to stay here with your family, you can do more good here than with me.’

Bill looked torn and tired, not just physical exhaustion, but soul weary; he had seen and done too much. ‘If my grandfather and I can move my grandmother to Dr Threshum, I’ll stand guard over your mother too.’

Jack gave Bill a hug. ‘I will be back, with Inara; you can then show everyone Black.’

Bill brightened at the mention of his wolf. ‘Make sure you look after him - I don’t fancy going to look for another. Besides,’ he said, ‘Black is one of us, he’s my friend.’

‘He is our friend.’ Jack wished he could promise to keep the wolf safe. ‘Keep that sword to hand, there’re still Myrms around.’

Jack broke away from the hug and ran toward the river. His headlong flight saved him from seeing the worst sights of the fighting, dismembered limbs, and enough blood to fill a river dampened the ground. Come daybreak the sun would sparkle on crimson pools; until then he paid the plasma splashing up his calves no heed. Skirting the hill, where the conflict still waged, he looked up to the silver Tristle River that reflected moonlight and starlight. Yang, strong and ink black, led the way. The shadow directed them from the worst of the carnage, for which he was immensely grateful; Bill was not the only one who had seen too much horror. Walking in Yang’s wake, he feared that despite their route he would see more evil before the end of the night.

Once Yang led hi
m
to the banks of the Tristle, Jack could almost trick himself into believing the horrors of the night had ended. The waters lapping the steep slope sounded the same, as ever, there was even a frog croaking amongst the tall reeds. If he concentrated on the passing water, its flow and eddying currents, he could allow his mind to escape from everything that had happened. However, as he watched the running water take a meandering path toward the bridge, the first glint of red firelight danced across its surface. The sky was aflame, and even down here he felt the heat touch the back of his neck. Then there was his mission; he had to find Inara before Justice grabbed her. Not only to save a dear friend, but also someone who in all likelihood would prove to be the pivot that swung the village from survival, to a sure death at the hands of the Ghost Walkers. He had never counted any girl amongst his close friends; a few, like Betty Hulme, were pleasant company, in small doses. Inara was different; he wanted her around, and missed her when she was not. This realisation scared him; it in fact frightened him to his shivering core.

‘Are you sure they came this way? I see no wolf prints.’ His voice came out fast and hoarse.

Yang gave a curt nod to the impatient enquiry, the shadow then pointed down the river away from the bridge. Although Jack looked, he could see nothing of interest along the length of the bank. He had supposed Inara must have escaped to the cemetery; there she may find more bodies to aid her - why then did she head downstream? Her choice of direction perplexed him. She did not know Crik as he knew it, he reminded himself. Perhaps she made a mistake in choosing her route, or the Ghost Walkers had herded her away from the graves, where Inara may escape amongst the labyrinth of tombs and figureheads.

He moved at a brisk trot, all the time fighting the urge to break into a run. What good would it do to arrive at Inara’s side too exhausted to stand? Despite his rationale, the feeling persisted and grew as Yang drew him away from the cemetery. Where was his shadow leading him? Scanning the coarse brush for any sign of Inara’s passing, he wished he had either Dwayne’s night vision or a tracker’s skill to locate what he sought. He didn’t want to second-guess Yang; after all, the Narmacil had located Huckney back in the Red Wood. The Narmacils had some connection tying them together; perhaps they called to one another by some secret means, a communication only they heard.

He wracked his brain trying to understand the strange path Inara had taken. Something at the back of his mind, teased him. He supposed he had forgotten something, which at a less fraught time, would be obvious. Although he knew this side of the river well, when he ventured this far from home, he was apt to climb the tree, not spend his time beside the river. Intrigued by his partial memory, that had sown a seed of understanding as to Inara’s flight; he stopped questioning where his Narmacil led him.

‘Do the Ghost Walkers have her?’ The fear of being too late to help Inara made him wish he had brought along Bill. Justice would kill the wolf that protected Inara, and Bill would know if anything happened to Black. The doubt niggled at him like a bad tooth. Yang didn’t answer, he only infuriatingly stretched ahead.

Only the soft rustle of the grass against his legs, and the soothing water beside him, met his straining ears. Though he had left the fight, atop the hill, far behind, he was still amongst the grounds the Elders counted amongst the boundary of the village. He passed a lover’s bench, its pale wood shaped into the likeness of a leaf. A few yards farther, he noted a familiar leaning fence that allowed a splendid vantage of the river as it dove down a clutter of rocks in a mini-waterfall. The cascading water hid copper pennies on the riverbed. Nostalgia tightened his throat; he wanted to stray from his path, if only a moment, to take in the well-known sight, but there was no time. If he had a penny, he would have thrown it into the water, to make a wish for Inara’s safety.

The river moved from the woods that threatened to the west. Its meandering course would take it through boggy fields, that come spring would have daisies, bluebells, and clusters of clover. Taking a sharp turn, the Tristle would eventually enter Crik Wood, near to where he and Bill had entered the trees to look for Bill’s wolf.

Ahead he spotted the tell-tale amber glow of the Ghost Walkers. Piles of jagged rock partially obscured their light from him; and, he hoped, him from them. Yang had retreated to his side on sight of Justice and her party. Their light reminded Jack of a sun, paled by passing clouds, when you could look directly at the rising star and see its entire opaque sphere. Like that winter sun, the Ghost Walkers promised only a chill touch.

The purple candle Knell had given him when he faced the Birdman lay secure in his pocket, but he dare not light it for fear of Kyla or one of the others seeing him. Feeling alone, and unsure of his next step, his fingers traced the cylindrical object; he would have done much to hear his Narmacil’s advice. He considered hanging back to hear the raised voices that tumbled from dead lips like soot from a dirty chimney. To discern the angry words required him to sneak in closer. From here, he only heard their high pitch, swatting at the night like mothers beating a rug. Now that he was so close to the Ghost Walkers, he asked the question that he had not dared face since leaving Bill. What could he do against Justice and her sisters? They had nothing to fear from Yang. His shadow shrank from them, like any other shadow confronted by light. Grandpa Poulis had told how a sword passed harmlessly through Justice’s chest, only for her to kill the weapon bearer where he stood. Deprived of a sword, he decided not to dwell on its absence.

Despite his fears, he took an unsteady step forward. Although he could still not understand a word, the sound increased enough for him to differentiate between those ahead. Kyla’s voice cracked like a whip, while the mollifying tone of Justice carried its own weight. No, he thought with a sudden fierce heat. Justice did not wish to appease, only to cajole Inara, like a cruel boy calling a cat, only to hit the animal when in range of his stick. Tantalised, by what transpired beyond the stones, brought him two quick strides closer.

Kyla sounded like an out of tune piano, punching at every syllable. He had no doubt her rushed sentences would remain incomprehensible, even if the wall, which acted as a sound barrier, were not there. Even with the obstacle, he knew the Ghost Walker, who had wanted to execute them back in the Wold, had lost it.

The ghost lights moved, stretching the shadows as they did. Not wanting them to catch him in the open, he sprinted for the piled stone. If Yang, lit by starlight, did not brace his shoulders, he would have collided with the sharp rocks hidden in darkness. Stifling a cry, he saw the tip of a Ghost Walker’s dress slip by the edge of the rocks. The transparent cloth floated close enough for him to reach out and touch. Its tattered ends sailed against the wind, moving by its own accord. Cautious of the ghostly garment, he moved from Yang’s embrace. As he was turning toward the wall, he thought he spied a silhouette, beyond the billowing fabric, well away from the Ghost Walkers. Searching for the shape, he saw nothing. Perhaps there was nothing to see, a tired and scared mind was apt to create tricks for the eyes. Unable to explore further, he began his ascent. Sharp rocks scored his hands a hundred times before he gained the top. He always figured someone, long ago, had piled the stone one atop another, with such expert precision that it had withstood the test of time and elements.

He knew the floor of the basin as a dust bowl, hard packed earth with no grass, and good for nothing other than a few ball games. Now as he peered over the top of the wall he saw that the rain had transformed the floor into an ankle deep muddy lake. The wall circled the dirty water in two protruding arms, like the horns of a ram. Within the crook of the stone arms, gripping Black’s wiry hair was Inara. She slumped over the great wolf, one hand gripping her opposite shoulder. Shivering, she jerked as though shocked by the soft whispering wind. Another spasm twisted her, making the wolf growl. When the seizure passed, she tilted her face to reveal gritted teeth and lips etched into a gruesome grin. Deep pain lines furrowed her white skin, making her look like another corpse. This time Jack shivered. Incredulous, he watched as she threw back her head and laughed. He could not help but think that she had gone insane. Justice watched; her hollow cheeks clove to her skull like plaque on teeth. Circlets of cold sweat coated his arms, and a damp crown peppered his head, as another peal of mirthless amusement cut the night.

‘Why are you laughing?’ Kyla, unlike her impassive sisters, strode partway across the water. Her reflection threw back a once beautiful face. A deep loathing curdled her lips. ‘You should not scoff at an offer to spare your life.’

‘It is her choice to make,’ said Justice.

Against the wall, Black bared his fangs. Jack heard the threatening growl with a heavy heart, Black could no longer protect Inara; the wolf’s teeth were useless against the dead women. Inara, swaying with the wolf’s motion, fell silent and fixed her dark heavy eyes on Kyla. ‘The Red Sisters want me dead.’ Her guttural broken voice only just managed to find Jack’s straining ears.

‘No,’ answered Justice. ‘We never wanted to eradicate all life in the Wold. Our fear, of what had happened to us, made us blind and rash. The Red Sisters closed us off from the rest of the world, to protect us. To make a haven for our kind, somewhere we could be safe from persecution.’

‘Isabelle,’ said Justice, looking at the third Ghost Walker, ‘was your age when her mother took her to the tree.’

Isabelle nodded. ‘I promised to leave the village, to go into the woods and never return. She refused to listen, and waited for me to leave my body before tying the rope around my neck.’

‘We all have sorrowful tales,’ snapped Kyla. ‘Each of us trusted someone, who in the end betrayed us. This girl will be no different. We should only trust in our own kind. The village has not changed; the Hanging Tree still stands at its entry, with rope tied to its branches.’

Jack stared open mouthed. That was not fair, he and his friends played on that rope, it had been years since the last execution.

Justice spoke, ignorant of Jack’s impotent rage: ‘We came to Crik to rescue your friend’s grandmother. She refuses to see their fear and hate; in time her beloved village will turn on her.’ A sympathetic smile smoothed her hard contours. ‘You are also an outcast. They will come to fear your Talent; others will call you an abomination. They will distrust you, and fear what you can do.’

Inara shook her head. ‘They will thank me for what I have done tonight.’

‘Tomorrow they will,’ answered Justice, with a sad tilt to her mouth. ‘In time they will forget the debt they owe you. They will see how you alone turned the battle, and knowing that they will fear you will turn on them. They live beside a large graveyard, filled with the bodies of their mothers, fathers, wives, husbands, and their lost children. The burial ground is a constant reminder of your capabilities. All it would take for it to spread is for one person to speak of his trepidation. They will lay aspersions against you; how you fornicate with the dead, and use their loved ones to poison their land when their crops do not grow. At first, the stories will only be there to disturb, or to entertain the listener. Those hearing the tale will tell their own lies; people will begin to believe those lies, and when there are enough believers, they will turn on you. Each will carry a burning torch, and in the flame, you will see triumph in their eyes.’

‘Listen to her,’ said Isabelle. ‘I was much loved in the village before they discovered my secret. Half the boys wanted to be my boyfriend, and the other half wanted to be my friend. As I was without a Talent, they pitied me, but never made fun of me. I used to dream of being like them, envying even the most frivolous Talent. Each time a young child woke to tell the world that they had found their Talent my heart sank. Being much older than they are, I yet waited, and waited. Then one night, to my horror, I left my body. All my life I had heard warnings about Ghost Walkers; evil spirits from the woods come to invade a person’s body to take it over. Only that did not happen. I was still me. I watched my sleeping self for a long time, waiting to see if something would possess me, to stop me from going back into my body. Nothing happened. When I wandered the woods, I befriended the animals. Returning to my body, I returned to the terror that someone would find out my secret. Whenever I heard the stories and warnings about Ghost Walkers, I had to bite my tongue from shouting down the lies.’

‘Lies are their religion,’ spat Kyla. Angry, she glided over the dark pools, her fingers drawn toward her palms like twisted thorns.