Tale of Raw Head and Bloody Bones (9781101614631) (54 page)

The Light was failing. And yet—and yet—I stared out thro’ the Window. The Sky was leaden grey, darkening to the Southwest above the High Chalk, but the View was oddly clear, and thro’ the softening Veil of evening Light, that rendered everything to mine Eyes diffuse and unsure, I perceived, atop the far distant Ridge, a flittering Line of brilliant Lights, bright and sharp as Stars.

I caught my Breath. The Gypsies had returned.

I stared across the Valley. Nathaniel! I thought. At last. And in that blinding Moment, as indeed for some long while afterwards, I thought only of the Possibility that I might see him again, my Friend; alive, present, solid, warm; that I might hear his magpie Laugh, and watch his green Eyes glint and spark like Emeralds in the lanthorn-Light; that I might stand Shoulder to Shoulder with him again, and feel his Hand upon mine Elbow, the Touch of his Skin on mine like Fire on Tinder. I looked across the Vale whither the Owl had flown, and I forgot Viviane. I forgot Leonora, Raw Head, and Bloody Bones. I forgot everything I ought to have remembered, and I knew not that I had forgotten.

Without pausing, without a Moment’s Thought or an Instant’s Delay, I caught up my saddle Bags and ran as hard and swift as I could to the stable Block, where finding, by some Stroake of Fortune, the Lad still at Work, I had my grey Mare bridled and her Saddle thrust upon her Back. Like a Djinn under a Spell, I vaulted straight upon her and put mine Heels roughly to her Flanks. She leapt forward; and it seemed to me as if she knew, within her own, animal Mind, whither we must go, even tho’ I did not. Her iron Shoes crackled on the granite Flagstones of the Yard.

I had some unformed Notion of crossing the Valley toward the Ridge Way, that I might intercept, or at least follow, the Gypsies’ Caravan; but when I at length arrived within Sight-line of the High Chalk, the starry Procession had vanished, and I could not make any Guess as to the Direction in which the Gypsies might have gone. I reined in my sweating Mount and surveyed what I could see of the darkening Landscape. In the fast falling Twilight, the Valley of the Horse was becoming by the Second harder to perceive; soon, I realised, with a Stirring of Panick in my deep Bowels, even the Road ahead of me would be compleatly black. Could my Mare still see in such Darkness? I knew that I could not.

I should turn back, I thought. But I did not do it. Mine Heart was pounding so fiercely against the membranous Wall of my Ribcage that I could not still mine Hands upon the Reins. Mine Ears ached with the Echo of its Drumming. One-one, one-one; neither a Drum, nor a Phantasm, but mine own Heartbeat. And now I was out, out in the blackening Middle of Viviane’s Country, alone and undisguised, defended only by this one beautifull Servant, my grey Mare, of whom I knew so little and who had served me so well.

I must not dismount, I thought. That is the Answer. Whilst I am out of Contact with the Earth, Viviane cannot harm me. This Notion, which gave me some small Comfort, immediately was followed by another; that in fact my Katherine’s Love might provide me with a Rampart and Protection against Viviane and her Goblins that Viviane, who knew naught of Love, would find it a wearisome Task to break thro’. Whilst Katherine loves me, I thought, I may be safe. This Thought, Conjecture tho’ it was, put great Spirit in my Vitals. I might still, I thought, survive this Night. I might meet with Nathaniel again.

“Damn you!” I shouted out into the Night. “You will have nothing of me! Nothing!”

I closed my Knees about my grey Mare’s Sides, sending her forward once more, but this Time more carefully, that she might pick the Way for both of us, into the pressing Darkness underneath the Storm.

I rode thus onward for Houres, I conceive. I had not any Idea where I was going, but, after some while, I realised that I had come as far as the Crossroads whereupon stood the wayside Inn where Nathaniel had held his farewell Revellries: that Inn of the Bull, where I had first seen Viviane, and had been vilely insulted by the pig-Man, Cox. A weak tallow-Light shone from the paired Lanthorns that hung, supposedly for Illumination, over the oaken Door. On a clear Night, such as it had been upon that May Eve, they were scarcely needed; but in this thickening Blackness they glowed like twin Beacons, promising Sanctuary within to any Human Soule in need of Companionship, and of Light.

But I knew that I would not discover Nathaniel in any such Place as this; he would be as strange, now, to its Comforts as any other Man must be to those of the Moon. Besides, I thought, the Landlord Haynes will never admit those Vagabonds upon his Premises a second Time. He only admitted them the first because he owed Nathaniel a Favour, and he feared too the sore Consequences should he fail to repay it.

I presst on. From far off in the southern Distance came a low, throbbing Growl. So I had been right: Thunder.

It seemed that I must head towards the Ridge Way, and the Chalk Horse, and I turned my Mare along the Road that led thither, by Way of Withy Grange. We had not gone, however, more than seven Paces when she, until then so steady, perceiving
some Terrour—a Movement upon the Road, or in the Hedge, or our own Shaddowe falling on the carven Way-Stone—shied, and lost her Footing in the Dark. She stumbled, and went upon her Knees. I, taken by Surprize, and already as tense upon the Saddle as a wooden Doll, lost my Balance and plunged Head first over her left Shoulder. As Fortune fell, along with me, the Ground was soft from the continued Rains, and I got therefore as gentle a Landing as one might wish. But I had fallen off, and lost the Reins besides; and my Mare, affrighted perhaps as much by our suddenly broken Connexion as by the Monster in the Dark, got unsteadily to her Feet and began to sidle away, her Eye wary.

Shaking, I staggered to my Feet and reached out for her, but she shied from mine Hand and all I managed to do was to grab hold of my saddle Bag. I held on tightly to it and spoke to her gently. At this most unusual Contact, however, my Mare finally panicked. She reared, and I felt the saddle Bag’s leather snap. My Mare let out a ringing Neigh, put her Hindquarters hard to work and set off at a flat Gallop along the Road toward Faringdon, leaving me alone, the torn-off Pannier still in mine Hand and mine Arse planted once more full-square in Viviane’s Earth.

I called my Mare to come back, but she did not. Shaking, I staggered to my Feet. My Cloathes stuck tight about mine Arms and lower Quarters, and my buckled Shoes—for I had not, in mine Hurry, thought to change them—were heavy with the clinging Mud. I feared that I was surely stuck, and a sitting Duck for any of Viviane’s Hunters, should they recognise me, but a few Seconds’ vigorous Agitation freed me from the Ground’s Embrace, and tho’ my Shoes were ruined, I did not lose either—which, in the Circumstances, I counted a Victory.

But I was alone, and a fair Distance beyond home, even in Dayelight. Moreover, I was nowhere near to where I imagined the Gypsies might be camped. I turned mine Eyes toward the Inn of the Bull, whose pale Lamps glowered in the Gloom, and the Thought presst in upon me that I ought to seek Succour there, as I had been forced to do once before; but I could not abide the Humiliation of admitting to the Landlord Haynes that I had lost my Seat. Besides, I knew that once I had entered within, I should have abandoned all Hope of encountering Nathaniel. I continued instead to walk toward the South, in Hopes that I might follow the Track on Foot as far as Withy Grange, and there borrow a fresh Mount, if need be.

Reasoning that the grassy Verge that ran alongside the Road would probably give a firmer Footing to my Tread, I put my saddle Bag under mine arm, and stumbled up out of the Mire. Slowly, it seemed, I approached Withy Grange. I had no Method of judging Time, for the Moon, if it had risen, was utterly invisible behind the Clouds, and I had no Clock about me save mine own, measureless Heartbeat, which pounded on against the dampe, brooding, nocturnal Stillness. Perhaps I had been walking for some Houres, when I trippt upon some indeterminate hidden Thing, and tumbled for the second Time into the Dirt. As I fell, my Shin grazed against whatever it was that had brought me down: some metal Implement, perhaps a broken Scythe, or a Plough-tip, rusty with Age, but sharp enough nonetheless to part the soft Flesh from the Bone. I cried out in Shock and Alarm, and acting automatically, covered mine injured Leg with both mine Hands. At once I understood the Wound to be exceeding unpleasant; mine Hands became wet with my Blood; and as I explored the Scrape with my Fingertips I felt the unmistakable Texture of living Bone exposed beneath them. I had
sliced off the outer Skin of my Shinbone from below the Knee to the Ankle.

Mine Head reeled for an Instant at this Realisation; then mine other Instinct, the Surgeon’s, waked suddenly into Life. With my right Hand I untangled my silk Cravat from my Neck, and crouching in the Darkness, I bound up my Shin as well as I could, and then sate back on mine Haunches as the Wave of Pain crashed in upon me.

Pain. I could not comprehend wherefore it was so strong. I held my Leg against my Chest and cried aloud, as mine agonised Tears scalded the bone-Line of my Jaw. For some Reason, I know not what, I found My Self thinking of Captain Simmins.

Even as I do not know how long I walked, neither do I know how long I sate, keening, Blood from my mutilated Leg slowly seeping thro’ my Bandage like a River thro’ wet Silt. But after some while the initial Shock began to subside, and I opened mine Eyes, which I had shut against the Tears that had overwhelmed them, and peered once again into the Darkness.

It was no longer Uniform. The Clouds had shifted. Thro’ them, to the East, I could discern a faint silvery Halo in the Sky. The Moon had risen. Moreover, some far Distance behind me, flickering like a marsh-Light, was the Glow of a small Lanthorn; and by the excited Drumming of mine Heart I realised that it was not the Light of any ordinary Traveller.

“Nathaniel!” I shouted out. “Nathaniel Ravenscroft!”

My Voice disappeared into the Night. I turned My Self about, and attempted to rise.

“What dost want with Nathaniel Ravenscroft?” The Voice came, suddenly, seeming in front of me. It was a fluting, pretty Voice,
innocent as a little Child’s; and yet something besides: a thin, wheezing Hiss; that of a Creature antient in its Dayes.

“What?” I whirled mine Head around, but I could see nothing.

“I asked, what do you want?”

“I want—” I broke off in a sudden Confusion. “I do not know,” I confesst. “Who are you? Shew yourself.”

“I am My Self,” the Voice replied. “My Mother gave me one Name, I am called by another. But I am, still, My Own Self.”

I began to feel a Clenching in my Gut, as I had done that Night when I had met the old Crone in Mary Fielding’s Kitchen. ’Tis one of Viviane’s Creatures, I thought. I could not help but ask, tho’ I dreaded the Answer. “By what Name,” I said, trembling, “are you called?”

There was a faint Shift in the Pattern of the Night, a quick, flitting Movement, the which I felt, rather than saw. The Creature was direct in front of me. I put out my bloodied Hands, groping midst the pitch Grasses. If it be a Goblin, I thought, I will strangle it.

“Bat,” replied the little Voice. “I am called Bat.”

Mine Heart stoppt. “Bat!” I cried. “What? Bat? My Bat?”

“No,” came the sorrowful Answer. “Not your Bat, Tristan Hart.”

“You know me?”

“I do, for your Name was spoke so often in mine Hearing that I never might forget it; and by that I do know you, and might find you anywhere. But I would never use’t against you, for you should have been my Father; and you were kind to me, and would have raised me as your own. Now I have come to help you, ere by your mouse Squeak you call down my Queen-Mother on your foolish Head. She hunts tonight. Dost seek Nathaniel Ravenscroft?”

“I do,” I answered. “But I have been a long while seeking you,
besides; I would have you come home with me, Bat, as my Daughter, whether we be blood-Kin or no.”

My Words met only with the swift Rush of oncoming Rain. The Storm had broken.

The Water drummed upon my Forehead, like a new Baptism. I put mine Hand up to mine Eyes to shield them, for even tho’ I could not see an Inch in the Darkness, I could not bear the Thought of being blind. “Bat?” I said. “Art there?”

“Poor Tristan Hart,” Bat said. “You do not see a thing.”

I reached out again in front of me, towards the Space from which emanated her Voice. “No,” I admitted. “I cannot see anything, Bat. Stand close, that I might know you by my Touch.”

It seemed to me an Eternity that I knelt there, muddy, drenched, and still bleeding, mine Hand outstretched, a pagan Adam, prayerless in the Dark. Then all on a Sudden I felt her small Fingers taking strong hold, sharp, wicked little Claws piercing like Scalpels into the Skin of mine unprotected Palm. I yelped aloud, and as a Reflex tried to pull mine Hand away; but she dug her tiny Talons deep into my Wrist, and pulled mine Hand up to explore her Face. Her infant Skin stretched like living Velvet beneath my Fingertips.

“I have lost my Mother,” Bat said. “If I fetch Nathaniel Ravenscroft to you, you will take me home, to her.”

The Darkness parted before mine Eyes, like a Veil. But before me, as clear as if upon a Stage, I saw not Bat, but only the Vision of My Self, standing in full Light on Mary Fielding’s Doorstep, reading Katherine’s Letter:

“Katherine!” I shouted. My Voice was louder than the rattling Rain. “Katherine Montague!”

“Now you see,” Bat said. “And I go.” The Aire fluttered once; then there was Emptiness.

I perceived everything. I watched how I had stood upon the Fieldings’ Step and read the Epistle Katherine had sent; and how the World had unravelled about me, and re-woven itself into a Nightmare. I remembered every damning Character, every cursed Word of the Tale of Raw Head, which I had tried to make My Self believe a Fiction; which my Mind had for so many Months kept, under an obscuring Cloud of Unbelief, from Memory’s clear Sight. I cannot go on, she had explained, excepting thro’ Leonora. Black Words, in Katherine’s spiderweb Handwriting, spun themselves anew across the white Page of mine Imagination, laying open to my Conscience the Chapter Book of Revelation.