A Cold Season (31 page)

Remick spoke. ‘I think you should step away from the boy, Cass, for your own safety.’

She turned her head, but she did not take her arms from Ben.

‘As I said, young Jessica, sweet as she is, is something of a problem. A loose end, so to speak. Of course people are looking for her. Ever in their thoughts, hmm, Cass? I can’t be bothered with keeping them out for ever. And I’m sure she’d prefer to be with her mummy.’

Cass started, but Jessica didn’t move, other than a slight twitch of her mouth as if she was going to cry.

‘Ben, however, is proving quite the disciple. It’s all about free choice, you see, Cass. We are none of us anything if we are not free. There’s the beauty, is it not? You’ve felt it, Cass. There is no freedom like that of
throwing everything you have – everything you
are
– into the arms of another.’

Cass closed her eyes, felt Remick’s breath on her skin and jerked away.

Remick smiled. ‘So beautiful. Ben knows it, don’t you, son? And there is something he has promised to do. Show her, Ben. Show Mummy what you came here to do.’

Ben shifted, stared at the ground.

‘Ben.’ Remick’s voice was a command; it thrilled through Cass, jolting down and dissipating into the ground like electricity. Everyone around her jumped.

Remick spoke again, more softly, his voice comforting, but there was a hint of steel in it too. ‘Remember what I said, Ben.’

Sally spun around and caught hold of Jessica’s shoulders, her hands digging into the child’s coat.

‘It’s time, Ben,’ said Remick. ‘I thirst. I hunger.’

Ben opened his hands and revealed the thing he held. It shone white, then dull grey and back to white as he twisted it. Cass reached out, but now Sally moved, grabbing her arm, blocking Cass with her body.

Ben stared down at the knife, his eyes dead.

‘Ben, don’t you
dare
. Put that down.’ Cass planted her feet apart, tried to push Sally aside, but Remick’s hand was on her shoulder. He didn’t force her but she stopped anyway. He stroked her as though she were a pet.

‘It’s all right,’ he said, and his voice was like a release. ‘This is what must be. You’re one of us now, Cass. Don’t fight us.’ He leaned in so that his breath warmed her neck. ‘We love you. We know who you are, Cass. You’re
not a good mother, but we’ll never take him from you. We’ll never blame you. All we will do is support and help and love you, make you better than you are.’

Sally turned and her smile was beatific. She beamed her joy at Cass.

Remick’s voice was low as he gestured at Pete. ‘He’ll take Ben from you. Why do you think I protected you from him, Cass? He’ll break you,
destroy
you.’ His voice deepened, became more like her father’s. ‘You fall short in his eyes. Don’t let him hurt you, Cass. He never was any good for you. I am good for you – for you both.’ He reached out and his fingertips brushed Ben’s jacket. ‘It’s time.’

Ben raised the knife in one hand, holding it as he might a pen. He glanced at Remick, adjusted his grip, curled one hand around the other.

‘Good boy. Good, Ben.’

Sally snatched Jessica up in her arms and carried her to the flat stone on the ground. The sacrificial stone. Jessica cried out, but she did not struggle; there was no point and she was exhausted, helpless.

‘That’s enough,’ said Cass’ father, but Remick held up a hand and her father stopped dead in his tracks, as though he had no choice.

‘Cass,’ he said calmly, ‘I need you to hold Jessica down.’

Cass shook her head, horrified, but she stepped forward anyway – she couldn’t help it. She was trapped in her body, watching what she was doing as though from a distance.

She heard Remick let out a hiss. ‘I prefer free will, Cass, but I don’t
need
it. Now,
hold her down
.’

Cass tried to turn, to look at her father and Pete, but she could not, and nor could she call out. Her muscles were moving, expanding and contracting, and she took a step towards the stone.
He could hold Jess down
, she thought,
probably is holding her down. He doesn’t need me.

Oh, but Ben does
. She didn’t think Remick had spoken out loud, but she heard the words in her ear.
And I so want you to do this for me, dear Cassandra
.

Cass found herself moving around the stone so that she faced Remick. To his side she could see her father, frozen in the attitude of stepping forward. Pete stood motionless too, still wearing that dazed expression; only his eyes moved to follow Cass as she crouched and put her hands on Jessica.

She thought of the girl’s mother, half-buried in the snow and watching from her icy prison. She pushed the thought away and instead Captain came into her mind, the way the fleshy ridge of his lips had pulled away from his teeth. He had been
alive
. He had been in pain when they had spilled his bowels onto the ground.

She closed her eyes, and they opened again of their own volition.

Watch
, Remick said in her ear.
Feel it. Taste it.

For a moment it was him she tasted: the salt tang of his sweat on her tongue, the slipperiness of his skin.

She held Jessica down, feeling the girl’s fragile bones through her padded coat, her skin and flesh; she could almost sense the hot blood racing through her veins and the rush of her heart as it pumped faster, as though it could outrun what was happening. Cass’ teeth set in a
grimace, almost a smile. Her head rose until she was looking at her son. She gestured to him, a curt nod.
Now.

Ben shifted his grip on the knife, held it tight to his chest. He looked to his mother to tell him what to do. She tried to shake her head and found she could not.

‘Well?’ said Remick. Cass turned to him but he wasn’t looking at her. He was watching Cass’ father.

‘All right,’ her father said. ‘Stop. Just stop.’

Cass found she could move her arms. She snatched them away from Jess and put out a hand to stop her son, though he hadn’t moved, hadn’t come any closer.

Remick reached into his jacket and took out a black object that fell open in his hands. It was a book. Cass recognised it, of course, though it was smaller than before. The cover was fine leather, the pages yellow. A book.
The
book – the one she had seen her father burn. She thought she saw fine specks of soot fly from the pages as he leafed through it, flicking each page over with contempt. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘here’s where you need to sign. Then I’ll release your daughter.’

‘And Ben.’

Remick rolled his eyes. ‘If I’ve told you once! Ben is free already. Free will, isn’t that so, Ben?’ He winked. ‘It will be his choice, one day, when he’s ready. Of course, if I free your daughter, she can look after him, try to turn him.’ He looked back at Cass’ father, stroking his chin, his fingers rasping against the stubble. ‘I dare say you could trust her. You do trust her, don’t you?’ His eyes flicked sidelong to Cass, and she looked away.

Remick tutted, as though irritated with himself,
rummaged in his coat and pulled out a long, slender pen. It had a cruel, sharp nib. ‘Bring the knife, Ben. It appears it has another purpose after all.’

Ben did as he was told, and when Remick reached out his hand, he put the knife into it, then drew back.

Cass shook her head but her father reached out anyway and snatched the knife. He turned his back on them all and took a few steps away. He stared out over the rooftops of Darnshaw. They were dark now, the snow melted. His head swivelled towards the nearby white mounds.

From somewhere far distant Cass heard a dull, pained sound. She opened her mouth to say something, but somehow she didn’t say it, just watched as her father turned towards them once more, a half-smile playing about his lips. He didn’t look at Cass. ‘Take care of him,’ he said, and held out his hand.

Cass realised she could hear Remick breathing, his breath hissing in and out. Vapour rose into the sky. The pale arc above them looked impossibly distant and impossibly near; she could reach out and touch it. The hillside swayed beneath her. She closed her eyes. She couldn’t speak. It was Remick, working his influence through the air between them and into her mind. Her hand – the one that bore Remick’s sign – was clenched, the nails pressing into the skin. She remembered her father looking down into her face.

What had he said to her?
I should have armed you, Cass. I tried. I did try.

And he had. He had done his best.

You do trust her, don’t you?

‘It’s all a matter of faith.’ Remick’s voice rang out, and Cass opened her eyes. His eyes were flashing, mocking her father, whose head was bent now, staring at the knife in one hand, the open palm of the other.

‘Come now: you do have faith, don’t you?’ Remick’s voice lowered, became ugly. ‘I’ve been watching you,’ he said, ‘ever since you forced her to bend her knees and gave her to
Him.
You think you can
dedicate
a life, do you? You think you could keep her from me?’

Her father’s eyes flicked to Cass.

‘I’m all about choice,’ Remick said, and threw back his head and laughed. ‘So make yours. Don’t keep us all waiting.’

They stood in a circle – the boys, Sally, Cass, Ben, now standing with his father, with the sentinel stones and the white, buried figures – and watched.

‘You’re all free,’ Remick called out, and his voice echoed back from the hillside. ‘The only shackles are those you place on your own wrists. Be free. Follow me.’ His eyes were clear and honest and his face shone with moisture. Cass realised he was crying. ‘I love you,’ he said, ‘your beautiful freedom. You have no idea how much.’

Pete stepped forward, shaking his head as though waking from a dream, and Ben caught hold of his legs to hold him, and Pete’s hand dropped to the boy’s hair. Jessica sat up from the stone, her hood slipping and hair falling across her face. There was no sound, only the white silence.

Cass’ father lifted the knife, rested the blade against his palm. He watched it intently, as though it might move
of its own accord. His shoulders heaved. He looked up at Remick and the light in his eyes went out.

Remick smiled, and tears poured down his face. ‘Welcome,’ he whispered, ‘old friend.’

A blur shot past Cass and she jerked back and slipped, went down. Pete charged at Remick, and the slighter man never saw him coming; he fell, Pete on top of him, his fingers spread wide as though to catch at the blue sky. The book landed on the snow and Cass’ father blinked, his eyes clearing. He looked down at the knife in his hand and at Pete, who was crouched on top of Remick and punching hard.

Cass heard something, a long, slow creak, and she caught her breath and pushed herself to her feet. Remick drew back his own hand and punched Pete under the chin, and although the blow didn’t look hard, Pete’s head snapped back.

‘
Pete—!
’ Cass called. She didn’t know if she was warning him or trying to stop him.

Her father started towards them, slipped and fell to his knees. This time the ice didn’t groan, but gave a sharp splintering sound.

Remick raised an arm and pushed Pete off. He started to get to his feet, and his reaching hand found one of the snow-covered figures. He clawed at it, revealing a grey scalp with strands of hair still clinging.

Remick straightened, the smile returning to his lips as he wiped his hand on his coat and turned to Pete, who was transfixed, staring down at the body in the snow.

Remick’s lips formed a word; he raised his hand, but
before he could speak, Cass’ father crashed into him from the side and Remick flew into another of the mounds, which shattered, scattering pink-grey ropes of flesh.

The ice creaked again, a loud, pained sound that seemed to come from all around them. There was another distinct sharp crack.

Remick looked at Cass. His lips drew back, a secret smile just for her, and he bent, seized something from the snow – a frozen piece of intestine – and held it to his lips and licked it. There was ecstasy in his eyes.

Cass’ father appeared behind Remick, the knife in his hand, then Pete was on them and they all went down together.

The ice shook and this time Cass
felt
it, a convulsive shudder. She saw her father stand, his legs spread, hands held out. Somehow he’d kept hold of the knife. He wasn’t looking for Remick, though; he was looking around his feet, at the ice. The next instant they were all gone.

Cass watched her father as the ice swallowed him: he did not look afraid. He looked back at her with eyes that saw everything.

Sally’s shriek pierced the air and Cass ran towards the hole in the ice. She felt like she was drowning, her lungs filling with snow. She had to reach her father; he had been about to save her, to give up everything he held precious to free her.

She threw herself down and slid towards the jagged hole, her hands grabbing for purchase on the slippery surface as she slid towards the water. She dug deeper, her nails tearing against the ice, and came to an abrupt
stop. Her hair hung down over the dark water and something rose to meet her; she cried out as she saw it was her own reflection, slowly forming in the pool as the surface calmed.

She stared into it, reaching out without touching it. They were all in her mind: her father, Pete, Remick, and she didn’t know who she was reaching for, only that they were gone, and that somewhere behind her, her son was crying.

The ice vibrated under her as though someone had struck it with their hand.

The surface erupted and a pale shape burst from it, like destruction, like birth. Ice-water raked Cass’ face, but this time she did not pull back. There was something dead in the water; she recognised the bloated shape of Mrs Cambrey, her praying hands. Her eyes bulged at Cass.

Other shapes rose to the surface, their limbs stiffened by ice and time. They surged and the water roiled as something pushed them aside, something with hands that flailed and clawed. A head broke the surface; Cass couldn’t see whose. It would be Remick, she knew it was Remick, and warmth spread unbidden through her stomach.