The Elemental (Blair Dubh Trilogy #1) (23 page)

“
Why didn’t he just kill her in the cellar?” said Gary. “That’s underground.”

“
Maybe it wasn’t intense enough for him down there, especially surrounded by all the alcohol?” offered Steve.

“
Perhaps,” replied Craig. “Where else is there underground?”

“
None of the houses have cellars because of the risk of flooding,” said a sheepish-looking Jimmy. “There’s nowhere else.”

Craig recalled the talk he had with Freya when she
’d first returned to the village, sitting together in the shelter of the castle while the storm gathered around them. Who would have thought back then it would come to this? “The castle,” he exclaimed suddenly, making them all jump. “It has an oubliette that goes ten feet below ground.”

“
Oh hell,” said Gordon. “It floods during the storms.”

“
Then it’s not right,” said Steve. “It’s earth next, not water.”

“
The water loosens the ground and the oubliette fills up with earth and mud,” said Fred. “It was one way they used to get rid of unwanted prisoners when it was occupied. A horrible death.”

Craig looked to Gary and Steve.
“Let’s go.”

“
Wait,” called Bill. “Let me out of the cuffs.”

“
Fuck you,” said Craig, striding for the door.

“
I can help. I’ve been potholing most of my life, I’ve got the gear to get her out.”

Craig paused, grinding his teeth with rage.

“Please Craig,” said Bill. “I want to help. It’s my fault that lassie’s in danger.”

“
Too right it is.” He sighed and nodded. “Alright,” he said before releasing him.

“
I’ll come too, I go potholing with Bill,” said Jimmy.

“
Whatever,” said Craig, “as long as we leave now.”

CHAPTER 16

Freya
’s head pounded but after the horrendous hangovers she’d suffered in the past she could tolerate it. She was lying face down, head tilted to one side and her right cheek felt cold and damp. What happened? Did she drink the whisky? If she had then why couldn’t she taste it? She lay still, willing herself to remember what had happened. She recalled a noise, the cellar door opening, her spirits soaring because she thought it was Craig come to save her. Craig. Her lips twitched up into a smile. He’d come for her and now she was safe. But if that was the case why was she lying somewhere cold and wet and not in a warm bed?

Horror started to creep its way up her spine as more memories returned; a figure appearing in the open doorway, her furious struggle with a man clad in black. She didn
’t want to open her eyes but the surge of adrenaline caused them to fly open and a scream flew from her lips when she found herself looking up a ten foot drop. She knew where she was immediately, she’d recognise the arch of stone of the castle roof above her anywhere. She was in the oubliette of the castle, the massive metal grille at the top shut so she was looking up through the wrought-iron slats. It was used to keep the tourists safe while allowing them a glory glimpse into the castle’s history. She was underground again.

The panic hit her fast and hard. She felt herself paralysed by it, childhood fears and memories assailing her, hitting her repeatedly, dragging that eleven year old girl out of herself. She curled up into a ball, covered her head with her arms and started to cry.

It was the cold water that snapped her out of it as it trickled through a gap in the rock and lapped at her face. She sat upright with a gasp, galvanised into action.

Her instinct was to scrabble along the rough ground to her right where there was a passage leading out. She should know, she and Craig had played here often enough when they were kids. She had to crawl on her hands and knees, the rock-cut passage not high enough to allow her to stand, careful to keep her head down, trying not to think about the rock all around her.

“No,” she cried when she saw the only escape route was blocked by an enormous boulder. She put her shoulder to it and attempted to push it back but it was far too heavy and refused to budge. She watched, horrified as water started to seep in through the gaps in the rocks, soaking her hands and feet. It must be high tide, the sea water would flood the cavern, filling the oubliette to the brim before receding, leaving her drowned body behind because the water would rush in so quickly it would push her up to the metal grille at the top, but not before slamming her against the stone walls of the oubliette first. She knew all too well because she’d watched it happen to a rat who’d crawled in and got trapped, Craig cuddling her as she’d sobbed her heart out, the poor creature caught in a swirling whirlpool, its tiny body little more than mush by the time it hit the metal at the top. She’d had nightmares about it for weeks and now it was going to happen to her, drowned like a rat.

“
Help,” she screamed, despair taking over when she could hardly hear herself over the roar of the storm and the approaching tidal water pounding against the rocks at the base of the castle, seeking out every little gap and finding it, the water level already up to her ankles.

“
Help,” she screamed again.

A figure peered down at her from above clad in back, the breeze blustering through the castle blowing his black robes about him, making him look like a giant bat.

“Logan,” she croaked, not sure which was more frightening, her imminent death or him.

He didn
’t reply, contenting himself with staring down at her like she was an interesting specimen in a jar.

“
You’ve got it wrong Logan, it’s not water. The next element is earth. Looks like you fucked up,” she yelled, following this statement up with a maniacal cackle as she was pushed to the very verge of sanity.

The figure just shook its head slowly three times. Then it hit her. She had watched the rat die in August when they
’d been hit by a terrible rainstorm. However now it was January, the shrubbery had all grown back and died beneath the ferocity of the winter. Landslides frequently occurred at high tide this time of year, the fast flowing water flooding through the loosened earth, dragging tons of it with it into the oubliette, then dragging it out again when it receded. That’s why the dungeon floor was covered with mud. She wasn’t going to drown, she was going to be buried alive, just like her mum.

“
No,” she screamed, clawing at the walls, ignoring the pain as her nails were torn, attempting to gain purchase and climb her way out. But it was futile, not only because the smooth walls had been designed against escape, but because of the heavy metal grille at the top. Looking back at the tunnel blocked by the boulder she saw the water pouring inside stained brown with earth, thick silt oozing around the stone, creeping towards her. The force of the water shook the boulder, pushing it forwards. Freya put her weight against it, attempting to keep it in place before being forced to retreat, scrabbling backwards to avoid being crushed as it was shoved out of its resting place and gallons of water and earth rushed in, hitting her and pushing her back against the wall, mud splattering her face and body. When she opened her mouth to scream she almost choked on it, the figure above calmly watching. The figure’s head suddenly snapped to the right, as though startled by a noise, then disappeared.

“
Don’t leave me,” she cried as the sludgy mixture of earth and water started to pound against her, crying out in pain when tiny stones banged against her body.

Craig led the band of five men clutching spades and ropes, bogged down beneath the weight of their equipment and clothes as they became saturated with rainwater. They scrabbled over slippery rock, Craig in the lead who knew the ruins so well he could make his way through them without a torch. He ran recklessly, thinking only of reaching Freya before the oubliette flooded entirely. The memory of what had happened to the rat returned, Freya’s horror as they’d watched it being battered to death. What if he was wrong and she was somewhere else? It didn’t bear thinking about.

“
It’s just up here,” he said, racing into the area that was used as the prison. They sped past more traditional cells, small rooms with barred windows and thick wooden doors that were added at a later date when an oubliette was considered too barbaric. At the end of this passage they turned left into a stinking rock-cut passage, feet sliding on the sharp stones, the torch lights bouncing off the walls, disorientating Craig and making him feel dizzy, lungs burning with the effort of running with all the heavy gear.

“
Freya,” he yelled as he flung the equipment down and knelt over the metal grille, peering through it. He pulled his torch from his belt and shone it inside, the light hitting a pale scared face. “Freya, it’s me.”

“
Craig, help,” she screamed.

“
She’s still alive, thank God,” he breathed. He looked to Steve and Gary. “Keep you torches trained on her. Jimmy, get this open.”

Jimmy nodded and drew his own bolt cutter from his belt, wrenching at the lock with the metal jaws while Bill strapped Craig up with the rope he used in potholing then pulled on a thick pair of gloves.

“Hold on Freya, I’m coming down to get you,” Craig called, not knowing if she could hear him over the deafening rush of water. “Steve, how’s she doing?”

Steve stared at her as she was caught up in a giant whirlpool, swirling round and round, being thrown against the stone walls. The water was thickening up until it resembled treacle, her upturned face the only part of her visible, eyes full of pleading. She was flung into a wall and when she brought her left arm up to take the impact her wrist seemed to collapse. She released a cry of pain and her mouth filled with the thick silt.

“She’s okay,” Steve called back to Craig, praying he wouldn’t pick up on the wobble in his voice. He knew this was one image that would stay with him for the rest of his days, to join the growing gallery of horrors.

The padlock snapped and Jimmy, Bill and Craig heaved back the grille, straining beneath its massive weight. When they released it, it hit the ground with a bang loud enough to be heard over the storm.

Craig stared straight down into a hellish pit of thick noxious earth that was trying to smother Freya, slamming her body against the walls. She was losing consciousness and if she did she was done for. He leapt into the hole, Bill only just managing to grab the end of the rope, the force of Craig’s descent dragging him towards the edge of the pit, Jimmy grabbing his legs and keeping him on terra firma. Gary snatched at the rope too, bringing Craig to a halt just before he landed in the sludge, causing the rope to tighten around his waist. For a second he thought he was going to pass out when pain shot through his ribs but sheer will kept him conscious and he concentrated on finding Freya in the blackness, Steve attempting to keep his torch on her while she swirled round and round.

“
Give me your hand,” Craig called to her.

She tried to raise her uninjured hand but the silt was growing so thick and heavy it impeded movement and attempting to lift her arm was impossible. Her left wrist pulsated with pain and she was pretty sure it was broken. She tried to fix on Craig
’s face, offering her salvation but the silt started pulling her down and filling her mouth, choking her. When she opened her mouth to cough more dirt rushed in and she gagged, drawing the dirt into her lungs and terror gripped her when she began to suffocate. In her panic she forgot to protect herself from being slammed into the walls and her head bounced off the stone, knocking her out.

“
Freya, wake up,” cried Craig when she started to sink deeper into the silt, head disappearing beneath it, only one hand visible, reaching up to him. “Get me lower,” he called back up the tunnel.

The three men dripped with sweat despite the cold as they let a little more rope slide through their gloved hands. This allowed Craig to grab Freya
’s hand and lift her head out of the silt. Gritting his teeth, muscles burning, he got his arms under her shoulders and locked them around her chest.

“
He’s got her, pull up, pull up,” urged Steve.

Steve threw down his torch and assisted the others to drag them back up as they struggled with the weight of an extra person.

Craig clutched Freya to him tightly as he was pulled upwards, ignoring the pain in his back and ribs. She remained limp in his arms and he desperately wanted to ascertain how she was, but all he could see was the top of her head.

They all fell back onto the ground panting when Craig flipped up over the edge like a stranded fish, Gary helping him pull Freya up.

Craig was exhausted but he hauled himself upright and lay Freya back on the ground. She was coated from head toe in muck and brown water. “She’s not breathing,” he said, attempting to keep calm and remember his training. Tilting back her head he opened her mouth and hooked a finger inside, scooping out globules of mud but still she didn’t breathe. “CPR,” he told Gary, who breathed into her mouth while Craig did the chest compressions.

“
Come on Freya, please,” begged Craig as they worked on her, Steve and the other two watching in tense silence. “Freya wake up,” he yelled, voice bouncing off the stone all around them.

Her eyes flew open and she drew in a breath before launching into a violent coughing fit. She rolled onto her side to vomit up a puddle of brown water.

“That’s right, get it all out,” soothed Craig, stroking her sodden hair, lumps of mud and twigs caught up in it.

When the vomiting was over she flopped back onto the cold stone, breathing hard.

Hastily he checked her arms and legs for breaks and she screamed in pain when he touched her left wrist.

“
It looks like that’s broken but not to worry, it’s nothing life threatening. Let’s get you into the dry,” he told her. “I’m going to carry you, it might hurt.”

She nodded determinedly, winding her good arm around his neck as he gently lifted her, cradling her to his chest. Freya rested her head on his shoulder and he kissed the top of her head, not caring what anyone thought because he
’d almost lost her. Even in the car he refused to relinquish her, letting Gary drive them down the hill to his mum’s house. While he carried Freya upstairs to the spare bedroom, Steve and Gary ran across the road to the pub to fetch Martin.

“
How are you feeling?” Craig asked her once she was settled on the bed.

In response tears slid from the corners of her eyes, creating clear tracks through the dirt on her face.

“It’s alright, you’re safe now,” he said, gently wiping her face with a tissue, cleaning off some of the filth. He dipped his head to kiss her and she clung onto him, shaking. “Did you see who did this?”

She shook her head.
“Just black…like a big bat….Logan….”

Tears choked any more words and she was still shaking when Steve and Gary returned with Martin and Nora.

“Oh thank God she’s still alive,” exclaimed his mum when she walked into the room. “Why is she covered in mud?”

“
She was in the castle oubliette,” explained Craig, still holding Freya. “It flooded with silt.”