Wings of Sorrow (A horror fantasy novel) (13 page)

Chester nodded. “When he arrived, he had no memory of who he was. I must say, that as far as demons go, he’s not all that bad.”

Margaret grunted. “Mr Chester, have you taken leave of your senses? Manah is one of the vilest creatures ever to walk this earth. We need to seriously discuss your priorities when all this is over. A demon-sympathiser is of no use to the cause.”

Chester swallowed loudly. “I am more than capable.”

“Sorrow is the only reason I’m still alive,” Scarlet objected, having had enough of the crabby old woman looking down her nose at everyone.

“That’s precisely my point. You are the metaphysical equivalent of a nuclear bomb, and Manah’s role is to make sure you go off one day. You people seem to have things very backwards. Manah wants to see the world burn—he is not the valiant hero here. The Saint is the force of good in this equation. He has been responsible for stopping countless tragedies throughout human history. Do you know that, prior to Hiroshima, the Japanese developed a warhead that, once ignited, would convert the atmosphere into a perpetual fuel supply? They had no idea that if they had ever set it off, they would have immolated the entire planet. Every square inch of oxygen would have turned to flame. The Saint assassinated the scientists involved and destroyed the research. To this day, their Government believes that the United States sent Special Forces to do the deed.”

“Then how do you know about it?” Scarlet asked.

“Because The Saint and the White Order are on the same side. During the Second World War, members of the Order assisted The Saint many times. Our history with him goes back a very long way, and he will not be pleased that one of our members has been working against him.”

Scarlet’s dad snarled. “You mean, you people associate with the maniac that tried to murder my teenage daughter right outside her own home? Then you are as much a monster as he.”

Margaret wore no expression. “I, myself, have yet to have the pleasure of making The Saint’s acquaintance, but once again, I will highlight that your notions of good and bad are muddled. The Saint wishes to prevent the end of mankind. You label him a monster. Ridiculous.”

“She’s right, dad. I’m the dangerous one here, not The Saint.”

But he didn’t agree. “Way I see it, there are no good guys. If the good guys are willing to murder innocent girls, then they are just as bad as the other side. If that’s the cost of being good, then I’d much rather follow the Devil.”

Margaret rolled her eyes behind her spectacles. “There is no singular Devil, Mr Thomas. The reality is far worse. There are forces in existence that your mind cannot even begin to comprehend, and there are fates a hundred times worse than death. Now, if you have any sense at all, you will allow me to get started.”

Her dad went to argue again, but Scarlet grabbed his hand. “Let’s just get this over with so we can go back to our lives.”

“Very well,” said Margaret. “Let us begin then. Scarlet, stand inside the circle.”

She did as she was told and stepped over the red paint. “What is all this stuff, anyway?”

“The paint is cat’s blood mixed with ground up acorns.”

“Eww. Did you kill a cat?”

“No,” snapped Margaret. “A shaman has such things on hand at all times. I’m sure Mr Chester already explained that the small magic we can still utilise is possible only through sacrifice. Human blood and dead foetuses would work best, but cat’s blood and acorns will suffice. The blood of a mammal and the unborn.”

Scarlet nodded. “Cat’s blood and an acorn. I get it.”

“What a relief,” said Margaret. “Now, kick off your shoes and place your bare feet on the grasses. You must be tethered to the earth for the spell to flow through you.”

Scarlet kicked off her shoes and placed her toes amongst the grass and straw. It stabbed at her soles and made her itch.

“Keep still,” Margaret chided. “You don’t want me to turn you into a monkey, do you?”

“Y-you can do that?”

“If I’m in a bad mood.”

“You’re in a
good
mood?”

“Yes, can’t you tell?”

“Not really.”

“What’s next?” her dad asked impatiently.

“Now we stay silent,” Chester whispered. “Margaret must now speak the incantations of the spell. It must be spoken in ancient tongues.”

Holtby moved then, making everyone, except Margaret, flinch. He’d been so still and quiet for the past ten minutes that he seemed to have disappeared, but now that he moved, all eyes were on him. He dragged a chair over from the side of the room and sat down on it before crossing his legs femininely. He noticed them all staring and smirked. “It might be a while, folks, and I’m not one for standing when I don’t have to.”

Chester took heed of the comment and dragged over another two chairs—one for him, and one for Scarlet’s dad.

Margaret rolled her eyes. “If you’re all quite finished?”

Everyone went still and quiet.

Margaret kept outside the circle and faced Scarlet. Closing her eyes, she clasped her hands together and let them hang at her waist. “
Cadatha, lux partis boll vartis. Camla holl lux montra. Kathtarla Kath
.”

This went on for almost twenty minutes. Scarlet had to fight to stay still. Her feet ached from the uncarpeted floor beneath the grasses, and she had an itch right in the centre of her spine that she was dying to get at. She was relieved when Margaret finally stopped speaking nonsense and started speaking in English again. To Holtby she said, “Give me the receptacle.”

Holtby leapt up out of his chair and was by her side in a second. In his hand, he offered out a small, silver cylinder not much bigger than a pen.

“That’s it?” Scarlet asked. “That little thing is going to hold The Spark?”

“Silence! You must not interrupt the spell. I have performed the preparation, but now I must pull the magic from your body into this receptacle.”

Scarlet shut up. What was coming sounded painful—she hoped it wasn’t.

Margaret went back to chanting gibberish.

The pain began soon after.

“It… It’s burning my feet.”

“The spell is beginning to work,” said Margaret. “Remain still. It will be over soon.”

Scarlet gritted her teeth. It felt like something was sucking on her skin, trying to turn her inside out. At first, it felt like a burning sensation, but it was really more like pressure—something drawing her insides out. “I can’t… I can’t…”

“You’re hurting her,” she heard her dad shout.

Chester’s voice: “Remember, it is like an operation. Stay calm, Mr Thomas. She can take it.”

“No,” she cried. “I can’t.”

She began to scream.

Her dad rushed to get her, but Holtby was up out of his chair again with his blade to Scarlet’s father’s throat. He tried to shove the blade away, but the other man punched him in the face with his free hand and sent him to the ground. “Don’t make me open you up, mister.”

“I’ll kill you,” he growled.

“No, you won’t,” said Holtby with a twitchy smile.

“Everybody remain still!” Margaret hollered in a voice that was manly and deep.

Scarlet went to move, as she could take no more, but found that she couldn’t. Only her mouth could move and it was busy screaming. The pain increased to a point where she could barely breathe, and her mind became so muddled that her vision was only a series of brief glimpses.

This time, it was Chester who objected. “Margaret, she shouldn’t be in this much pain, surely? A de-infusion is not supposed to be like this.”

Margaret turned to glare at Chester. “I’m not doing a de-infusion, you fool. What do you think you are doing? This is The Spark in front of us. We have spent our entire lives waiting for this moment. She must die.”

“What? No, that is not why I brought you here.”

“No,” she spat. “That is why the Council brought
you
here. You have neglected your duties, Miles. I am to bring you before the Council as soon as we are done here. You are finished.”

“You bitch! I won’t allow you to do this.”

“You have no choice.”

Chester lowered his shoulder and ran at Margaret, but Holtby was there in a flash. He threw out his arm again, and that flash of steel came out from his sleeve.

The knife entered Chester’s shoulder and made him howl.

Holtby pulled the blade free and shoved him aside.

“You should have killed him,” Margaret said. “He attacked me.”

“Forbidden to slice up another member of the Order. It was enough to get the point across, though. It’s a lesson that will stick with him, you know? I took a stab at-”

“Holtby! Not now.”

“Sorry, ma’am.”

Scarlet managed to move her eyes in her pain-filled skull, and saw her dad getting up off the floor. He was staying low, and creeping along while Margaret bickered with her custodian. Holtby was too wily to trick, though, and he soon glanced aside and spotted him.

“Hey, stay right there, papa bear.”

“Leave my daughter alone, you monsters.”

It looked like her dad was going to rush Holtby, and Scarlet panicked when she thought he would end up on the bad end of that wrist blade, but instead, he rushed towards her.

He made it over to the circle and dragged his foot across the bloody paint, cutting out a streak. Then he dove into the air towards Scarlet. Her eyes went wide, her body bracing for impact. He struck her right in the ribs, yet the pain of it was no worse than what Margaret had been doing to her. Together, the two of them fell backwards.

As soon as the bloody circle had been broken, she had been able to move, and now that she was lying on her back with her father on top of her, she struggled urgently. The pain ebbed away from her, as if it had never even been there, and she was able to roll free and leap up to her feet. Her dad got up a split-second after and stood in front of her, facing down the members of the Order. “You’re done,” he growled. “No one is getting near my daughter.”

Holtby grinned.

Margaret was
not
grinning, although she did seem satisfied. “Bravo, Mr Thomas, but I’m afraid it’s too late,” she purred. “All you did was buy your daughter a little time.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that the true purpose of my spell was to unravel Scarlet’s life force, and I succeeded. She is dying, Mr Thomas. Fast enough that she won’t make it to her eighteenth birthday, which suits our agenda just fine. Thank you for being so cooperative.”

Her dad wobbled. “Y-you bastards.”

Holtby began to laugh, head and shoulders bobbing like a chicken.

Mr Chester wept.

Scarlet vomited.

“You had no right!” Chester clambered up off the floor, clutching his bleeding shoulder, but seemingly too angry to care. His skin had turned to chalk and oil, but his voice was powerful and strong. Scarlet had never seen him act so aggressively.

Margaret glanced at him like excrement on her heel. “You do not speak to me, Mr Chester. As far as I am concerned, it is only a matter of days before you are struck from the Order. You have been helping our sworn enemy.”

“I have been helping an INNOCENT girl. This is not our mission. We are here to protect humanity, not lose it.”

Margaret tutted. “Come on, Holtby. Let us leave this horrible little town. Our work is done. Oh yes, and please take Mr Chester into custody. He will be returning to the city with us.”

“You’re not bloody taking me anywhere, Margaret!”

“We’ll see about that, me old Mucker.” Holtby hopped towards Chester, but an almighty
crash
made him stop.

Margaret spun around. “What was that?”

“It sounded like it came from the shop floor,” said Holtby. He had tensed up like a vulture ready to take flight, but his appearance was deceptive and underneath his feathers was a jackal in hiding.

“Then what are you waiting for? Go.”

Holtby disappeared.

Chester stood protectively in front of Scarlet and her dad. Scarlet was still gagging and retching. “Leave this place, Margaret. You’ve done enough damage.”

“I am not leaving without you, Miles. You’ll be thrown in front of the High Council for judgement.”

“It’s
you
who should be judged.”

Margaret rolled her eyes. “Do you really think I acted upon my own agency? The High Council wants The Spark dealt with. My mandate was very clear. They won’t be completely satisfied that my spell didn’t have time to complete fully, but the result will be sufficient. The girl has a year at most.”

Scarlet moaned in pain, but it was more imagined than physical. She imagined poison flowing through her veins, breaking down her organs slowly—a cancer that would kill her in less than twelve months. But at least she was no longer dangerous. At least she could die with a clean conscience that nobody had got hurt.
Except for Indy. What has The Saint done to him? Was he dead? Like she would be soon? Dead by seventeen. It wasn’t fair.

“What did I ever do to you?” Scarlet managed to ask the icy woman currently packing away her things into a brown, leather satchel.

“It’s about what you would have done, girl. Beyond that, you are of no importance to me”

“How do you know I would even have done anything? How do you know anything for sure?”

“The prophecies-”

“Could be wrong,” Scarlet interrupted. “I
might
have been responsible for doing a bad thing, but you
are
responsible for doing something bad right now. You probably tell yourself that you’re doing good, and that the means justify the ends, but I don’t think you really believe that. If you did, you wouldn’t be such a bitch.”

“How dare you!”

“How dare I? You just cast a spell to kill me. I’d say I’m pretty much entitled to call you whatever I like. How does: cold, lizard bitch-face with sagging tits, grab you? You’re nothing but-”

Margaret slapped Scarlet hard across the face, knocking the words right out of her mouth. It hurt like a mother and bought tears to her eyes. It also pissed her off.

“I’m so glad you just did that.” She lunged at Margaret with her claws out and knocked the woman to the ground. Then she started unleashing slaps of her own—lefts and rights—connecting with the bitch’s bony cheeks on either side.

“Get her off me! She’s bloody mad.”

“You’re damn right I am,” Scarlet screamed in her face. “And I’m dying, thanks to you, so this is the one chance I’m going to get to whoop your arse.” She drove her fist into Margaret’s nose and split it open at the bridge. The escaping blood made her feel queasy, but also pretty freakin’ great.

Before she had time to deliver another blow, her dad dragged her backwards and back onto her feet. “Okay, Scarlet, she’s had enough.”

“I’m going to kill her,” she raged.

“That would make you as bad as her,” said Chester. “Leave her to look in the mirror at night. That should be bad enough punishment.”

The three of them looked down at Margaret, who gingerly climbed to her feet, wary of another attack. One of her shoes had fallen off, and it took her three attempts to wiggle her foot back inside it. Her blazer was ruffled, and blood had dripped from her nose onto her white blouse. “You little monster! I’ll make you pay for this.”

The door to the shop floor burst open and Holtby appeared, looking decidedly less amused than normal. “Eh, I think you need to see this.”

It was assumed he was talking to Margaret, but then it became apparent that he was addressing them all.

“What is it?” asked Chester.

“Someone’s standing outside the shop. Kid said his name is Indy.”

Scarlet’s eyes went wide. “Indy! He’s okay?”

Holtby shook his head and raised an unkempt eyebrow. “Not exactly, luv.”

Her dad tried to grab her before she set off, but was too slow. She shoved Margaret out of her way and even Holtby dodged aside. Indy had gotten hurt because of her and she needed to make sure he was alright. At least now that she was dying, The Saint should leave them all alone. Perhaps that was why Indy was here now; The Saint had let him go—
without his hand.

Indy was standing right outside the shop’s door, his face pressed up against the glass.

“Indy! Let me open the door,” she said, racing across the shop floor towards him. She was surprised to find that the door was unlocked. Indy could have let himself in, but hadn’t done so. Then she remembered that he was missing a hand.

She pulled open the door and reached out to him, but didn’t grab him because she didn’t want to hurt him. “Come in,” she urged. “Come in.”

Indy stepped forward. His right hand was indeed missing, but no blood fell from the stump, which looked like it had been cut cleanly and by something very hot. His usually brown skin was now almost white, and a sheen of sweat glistened on his brow.

“Indy, I’m so sorry.”

“Scar?”

“Yes, Indy, it’s me. I’ll get you some help. Come inside.”

“No! You need to come outside with me.”

She had been about to turn around and go for the phone on the counter, but she stopped. “What? Why?”

“He said that if you don’t come outside, Scar, he’ll kill me.”

“But you’re safe now. Everything has been dealt with.”

Indy shook his head. Both of his eyes were bloodshot, and they looked down and to the left.

Scarlet followed his gaze until she spotted a length of chain dragging on the floor behind him. Some of the links were blood-stained. It ran up the back of his leg and under his shirt. He remained perfectly still, even when she lifted his shirt to see where the chain led.

“Oh, my god.” She covered her mouth and tried not to be sick. The length of chain disappeared right inside Indy’s back—buried in the flesh behind his spine. “What has he done to you?”

“He said that if you don’t come outside, he’ll kill me. He’ll kill me, Scar. Said if you don’t…” His words descended into muttering, and then quiet sobbing.

Scarlet heard footsteps behind her and turned around. Chester and her dad were there, Holtby and Margaret too. “You said this was over!” she shouted at Margaret.

“And indeed it should be.” The woman looked confused. “The Saint obviously does not know that I have performed a spell. Strange, for he should be focused in on your life force. He should know that I-”

“Come outside or he’ll kill me,” Indy repeated, cutting Margaret off.

Scarlet put both of her hands against Indy’s face and looked into his eyes. “Okay, Indy. I’ll go outside. Don’t worry, okay?”

Indy smiled and his eyes filled with more tears.

“You can’t go out there,” her dad shouted.

“This is over,” she said. “The Saint doesn’t need to hurt anybody else. I’m no longer The Spark. So why is there a chain attached to Indy’s spine?”

Margaret actually looked sickened. Dry blood smeared her face, but she still somehow managed to look green. “I-I don’t understand what is happening. I need to speak with The Saint myself. This is unnecessary.”

“Well, he isn’t getting in my shop,” said Chester. “I have a ward of Auris in place.”

“
Calaris box tre taris
,” said Margaret. “And now I have just broken it. The Saint can enter and explain himself. His actions are barbaric.”

“You just did
what?
” said Chester. “What if he comes in and kills us all?”

Scarlet’s dad looked at him. “What? What did she just do?”

“She just spoke the undoing words for the spell I cast to protect this building. Now The Saint can walk right in here.”

Her dad went to make a move on Margaret, but Holtby stood in front of him and shook his head. “Not gunna happen, mister.”

“Come outside or he’ll kill me,” Indy said, growing more desperate.

Scarlet held Indy in her arms. He was shivering—freezing cold. Then she moved into the open doorway and looked out into the night. “I’m not coming out there, you hear me? You can come to me. You can come inside and explain why you are doing this, you monster.”

There was a flash of movement.

The metal chain on the floor went taut.

Scarlet screamed.

Indy snapped in two. The chain disappeared out the door, along with a glistening chunk of his spine. His lifeless body flopped into Scarlet’s arms.

“Indy! Indy, no! Somebody help!”

Her dad appeared behind her and dragged her away. Indy fell from her arms and crumpled to the floor at an unnatural angle, a puppet with its strings cut.

Margaret marched over and looked down at Indy’s broken remains. “This is entirely unnecessary,” she said. “What on earth is he playing at?”

Holtby was beside her, shaking his head and fidgeting. “I thought
I
had issues.”

“He’s here!” cried Chester.

They all looked up at once and saw The Saint appear. His towering frame filled the doorway where he paused for a moment, then took a slow step over the threshold. He was inside.

“My name is Margaret Kindersley, Grand Shaman of the White Order—your long-time allies. I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you, sir, but I must ask what exactly it is that you are doing? I have drained this girl’s life force. She will not live long enough to ignite the world. Your mission is over.” Despite being almost three feet shorter, she marched right up to The Saint as if he were a naughty child.

“Yes,” he said in hissing speech. “My mission is over, yet I have been gravely defied. I gave my word that if the girl continued to elude me, I would wreak vengeance upon her. I will destroy everything she cares about.”

“I think you should sleep on it,” said Holtby. “My urge to kill is always a little less after a good night’s sleep, mister.”

“The girl is dying,” Margaret stated. “Isn’t that enough?”

“She will die tonight, at my hand. I will not accept compromise. My mission may be over, but it is not finished.”

“Now look here.”

The Saint swatted Margaret to the ground like a mangy dog that had dared jump up at him.

“Looks like I’m up,” said Holtby, who leapt into the air like a bird of prey. This time, blades came out of both his sleeves and he crisscrossed them in a blur and tore deep furrows into The Saint’s chest. He followed it up by twirling around and slicing the larger man’s kneecaps.

The Saint dropped down to one knee and grunted.

“And they said you couldn’t be killed,” Holtby quipped. “Allow me to take a slice at proving them wrong.” This time he aimed for The Saint’s throat. But this time, The Saint was too quick. He caught both wrist blades in mid-air and snapped them like twigs.

“Oh shite,” said Holtby, right before The Saint picked him up and tossed him across the room like a bag of rubbish.

“You have to do something,” Scarlet shouted at Chester.

“Do what? I… Sorrow was a demon sent to protect you, and he failed. What can I do?”

“Sorrow?” said Margaret, a light suddenly in her eyes. “Do you have something of his?”

Scarlet looked at the battered shaman and glared. The only reason she was able to crawl across the floor towards them was because her custodian, Holtby, was back up on his feet and throwing himself at The Saint, ducking and weaving, and buying them all time.

“What are you talking about?” Scarlet asked.

Margaret sighed. “Sorrow is a demon. He cannot die—only be injured. If you have something he possessed, then I can summon him.”

“He was a demon,” said Chester. “He had no possessions.”

“Yes, he did,” said Scarlet. “I gave him something.”