The Crowfield Demon (23 page)

“You will slow us down,” Shadlok said brusquely, as he guided Brother Snail's foot into a stirrup.

A leather bag hung from the pommel of the saddle. A feeling of evil seeped into the air around it, and William guessed that it held the bowl. He saw Matilda shiver when it touched her shoulder. One gentle brown eye rolled in panic.

“I'll carry the bag,” William said. It was an effort to force the words out. “It's scaring Matilda.”

Brother Snail untied the bag and held it out to him. “It might be for the best.”

William took it and caught his breath. It felt as if he had plunged his arm into a pail of freezing water. He pulled his sleeve down to cover his fingers and gripped the neck of the bag tightly.

Shadlok took Matilda's bridle and led her toward the gate. William hauled it open and stood aside to let them pass. The horse shied away from the bag, and Shadlok had to hold tightly to stop her from bolting. Brother Snail clung to the pommel as the horse's hooves slipped and skidded on the wet bridge timbers. For one terrible moment, William thought she was going to fall into the river, taking the monk with her. Shadlok moved quickly. He hauled her to a standstill, talking softly to her in his own tongue and running a hand gently down her nose. The wild look gradually left her eyes, and her ears pricked forward as she listened to his voice. Shadlok guided her onto the causeway and up to the trackway. William kept his distance as he followed them into the forest, not wanting to scare her again.

When they reached the oak tree at the fork of the track, Shadlok made the hob visible again. He lifted him up to sit behind Brother Snail, and the hob settled himself comfortably on Matilda's broad back. He grinned over his shoulder at William, clearly very pleased with this unexpected bit of comfort.

The day warmed as the sun rose in the sky, but it was going to take more than one spring day to dry out the muddy track. William trudged along, keeping to the grass along the edges whenever he could. Up ahead, he saw Matilda struggle through the mud, her large hooves sinking deep into the oozing ruts. A short distance beyond the rag-hung bushes near the Whistling Hollow, Shadlok turned the horse's head and led her into the undergrowth. Brother Snail and the hob ducked low to avoid a tangle of elder branches. William followed them into the woodland and to his surprise saw that Shadlok had found a dry path leading away between the trees. It narrowed to the width of a fox in places and disappeared completely into the undergrowth in others, but Shadlok's pace never faltered, and they always picked it up again.

The lightest of breezes swayed through the branches high overhead, and sunlight dappled the forest floor with light and shadows. New green growth unfurled beneath the trees, and here and there blackthorns were covered in clouds of white blossoms. The woods were full of the sound of birdsong, and somewhere close by, a woodpecker hammered. William breathed in the damp scent of old leaf mold and warm bark and felt a stir of anticipation. Spring was creeping through the forest and summer would be close behind. If it wasn't for the chill from the bag numbing his arm, William would have enjoyed the walk. He hummed to himself to keep his spirits up and wondered how long it would take Shadlok to make his new flute. In an effort to keep his mind from dwelling on everything that had happened, he went through all the tunes he had learned, the fingers of his free hand moving to form the notes on an imaginary flute.

They reached a clearing and Shadlok pulled Matilda to a halt. He helped Brother Snail down from the saddle.

“When nature calls . . .” The monk smiled sheepishly at William. He hurried over to the ivy-smothered hulk of a dead tree and disappeared behind it. William hung the bag on a branch and stood in a patch of sunlight, rubbing his hands together to try and get the feeling back into his fingers.

Shadlok stood in front of Matilda, stroking her head. She closed her eyes and rested her nose against his shoulder contentedly. The hob shuffled forward onto the saddle and began to plait Matilda's mane.

“Why hasn't the demon come after the bowl?” William asked. The farther they traveled from Crowfield, the more he wondered why the demon had made no move to follow them.

“What makes you think that it has not?”

William glanced around uneasily. “
Is
it following us?”

Shadlok's long fingers continued to stroke the horse's face, but his expression was grim. “It has been keeping pace with us since we left the abbey.”

The hob turned in the saddle to look around the clearing with frightened eyes. William felt as if he had been doused with cold water. “Why hasn't it attacked us?”

“I do not know,” Shadlok said softly. “It must know where we are taking the bowl and what we intend to do, but for some reason it is not trying to stop us.” He stared at William for a few moments. “And that worries me.”

Brother Snail hurried over to them. “There is something in the trees over there,” he said, keeping his voice down and pointing toward a stand of birches on the edge of the clearing.

“It's the demon,” William said softly. He peered between the trees but couldn't see anything.

“God help us,” the monk whispered, crossing himself quickly.

William fetched the bag and waited while Shadlok helped Brother Snail back up into the saddle. They set off again, picking up the path again on the far side of the clearing and moving as fast as they could through the undergrowth.

“Are we going the right way?” William called. It seemed to him they were traveling east, but he was sure Weforde lay more to the south.

“This path should cross the Old Way a short distance from here. We will turn south then,” Shadlok said over his shoulder.

William glanced around as he pushed his way through dense thickets of blackthorn and hazel. Thin branches whipped back at him and tangled in his hair. He stumbled over tree roots and for a couple of heart-stopping minutes he lost sight of the others when the path wove its way through a grove of oaks. He felt a sudden snatch of panic when he caught a glimpse of something red off to his left. He was certain it was the demon. It was moving silently through the undergrowth, shadowing him. Terror burned through him like wildfire. He tried to run, but the harder he tried, the more entangled in branches he became. Fighting down his terror, he pulled himself free from the sharp spines of a blackthorn and pushed his way through a hazel thicket. He glimpsed Matilda's rump and tail up ahead and called out, “Wait!”

Three surprised faces turned to look back at him.

William caught up with the others and stopped for a moment to catch his breath. He pointed into the undergrowth behind him. “The demon . . . I saw it.”

“You
must
keep up with us,” Shadlok said. “The Old Way is not far now. The going will be easier when we reach it, and it should afford us some protection. Stay close.”

They walked along in silence until at last they came to a wide, shallow ditch. Shadlok pulled Matilda to a halt. He seemed to be listening for something, but other than the call of a blackbird, the forest around them was silent.

Careful to keep his distance from the horse, William stood by the ditch and looked around. There were fewer trees here and the undergrowth was sparse. A wide strip of flat and treeless ground stretched away on either side of him, running from north to south. He could see a second ditch on the far side of it.

“This is the Old Way?” he asked. “Where does it lead to?”

“Nowhere in this world,” Shadlok said, “not any longer.”

“Is it a fay path?” William had heard of such places, where you trespassed at your peril, but he had never come across one before.

“It is now, though it was made by humans hundreds of years ago.” Shadlok's head jerked around and he held up a hand in warning. William followed the direction of the fay's stare and saw a wisp of mist coiling out of the woodland on the far side of the Old Way. It gathered itself into a more solid shape that looked troublingly human.

“Stay silent, all of you,” Shadlok said softly. “Do not move.”

William didn't need to be told twice. He watched the misty figure drift toward them until it drew level with Shadlok. By now, William could see that it was a woman, but it bore only a fleeting resemblance to a human woman. William stared in revulsion at the gaunt face with its gaping mouth and cloudy white eyes. She wore a loose robe of fragile and ghostly pale skeleton leaves. Through it, he could see her body. She seemed to be made of sticks and twigs, moss and lichen, all dried out and bleached. A band of thin twisted roots circled her head like a crown, and her matted cobweb hair wafted in the breeze. William stared at her in horrified fascination. How could such a creature exist outside the darkest of nightmares?

The strange white eyes turned to stare at William. “Human.” The single word was as soft as an exhaled breath.

William shivered and clutched the bag to his chest. He barely even noticed the cold that speared through his body from the bowl.

“Evil!” The dark gap of her mouth widened, showing teeth made of vicious black thorns. William had a sudden image of those teeth biting into flesh and tearing sinew from bone, and he took an unsteady step backward.

“Stand your ground!” Shadlok whispered sharply.

The fay woman turned to Shadlok. “You bring evil to the forest.”

“We mean no harm,” Shadlok said. “We are on our way to find the one who might be able to destroy it.”

The woman gazed at Shadlok. It was impossible to guess what she was thinking. William could see the tense set of Shadlok's shoulders and the tightness of his jaw as he waited for the woman to speak.

“The Great Spirit of the forest alone decides who is allowed to walk the hidden ways.”

“Then I would ask the Great Spirit to let us pass,” Shadlok said evenly. “Let us continue our journey along the Old Way and finish what we have set out to do.”

William risked a quick glance around.
The Great Spirit?
What was that?

A breeze stirred through the trees. It sounded like many soft voices whispering all at once. William saw that the forest was alive with movement, quick darts of vivid color against the muted browns and greens of the woodland. They flicked away too quickly for him to be able to see what they were. The breeze died, and the movement ceased.

“Go on your way,” the woman said at last, “but leave the forest before nightfall, or you will not leave at all.”

Shadlok inclined his head to her. The woman drifted away and seemed to melt into the sunlit air.

Shadlok breathed out a sigh of relief and stood for a moment with his head bowed and hands on his hips. He turned to look around at the faces of his companions. “We need to be on our way now.”

“What was that . . . thing?” Brother Snail asked with a quaver in his voice.

“A forest fay,” Shadlok said. “A guardian of the Old Way.”

“Is she dangerous?” William asked, thinking about the sharp thorn teeth.

“She can be, if she catches an unwary traveler alone in the woods after dusk. Just be thankful she did not try to stop us from using the Old Way,” Shadlok said, taking hold of Matilda's bridle and guiding her across the ditch. “Bringing the bowl into the forest was not a wise thing to do. It could have gone very badly for us just now.”

The hob clung on to Brother Snail as the horse scrambled up the slope of the ditch, onto the Old Way. “She doesn't like humans,” he said breathlessly as he was bounced around behind the monk. “She eats them.”

Shadlok's eyes narrowed as he looked back at William, and there was the shadow of a smile on his lips. “But only if you do something to anger her.”

William met Brother Snail's startled gaze.

“What is the Great Spirit she talked of?” the monk asked. He peered into the shadows beneath the trees as if he was frightened something would be lurking there.

“It is the spirit of the wildwood,” Shadlok said. William heard something in the fay's voice that he hadn't heard before, an awed respect. “It existed long before mankind and faykind came into this world, and will be here long after we have gone.”

William looked up at the hob. “Did you ever see it when you lived in Foxwist?”

“No!” The hob shook his head vehemently. “Nono
no
! It keeps to the deepwoods and fays never go there. The magic in that part of the forest is too strong for us.”

William was quiet for a while as he tried, and failed, to imagine what such a being could possibly look like. Brother Snail appeared to be having the same problem. He glanced down at Shadlok with a troubled expression.

“Can the demon harm the Great Spirit?”

Shadlok's expression hardened. “I hope not, for all our sakes.”

They made their way along the Old Way quickly and in silence. William stayed just far enough behind the others not to upset Matilda. He thought of all the times he had walked through Foxwist, on his way to one of the villages, or to take the pigs out to forage in the autumn, never suspecting for even one moment that the forest was home to creatures like the guardian of the Old Way or the Great Spirit. It seemed the woodland revealed its secrets slowly, layer by layer, and each one was darker than the one before. He didn't think he would ever feel safe here again.

The Old Way led them as far as the edge of the hill overlooking Weforde, and then it just seemed to melt away into the long grass and dead bracken. They turned right along the shoulder of the hill, heading for the main track down to the village. William looked back for a last glimpse of the Old Way, but to his surprise he could no longer see it. The ditches had vanished and trees grew across the gap where the old road had emerged from the forest.

“It's gone,” William said in astonishment.

“The Old Way stays hidden until one of the fay needs it,” Shadlok said.

“So, if I went looking for it, I wouldn't find it?” William asked.