The Crowfield Curse (23 page)

Master Bone was silent for a moment. “And that is all you want?”

“Yes.”

Jacobus nodded slowly. William had the feeling that Master Bone was pleased by his answer.

“We chose well, my old friend,” Jacobus said softly, leaning toward Shadlok.

“So it would seem,” Shadlok replied, his tone giving nothing away.

“There is no doubt about it. Only one pure in heart and gifted with the Sight will be able to complete the task, you know that,” Jacobus went on, gently insistent. William had to listen hard to catch the whispered words. “This boy is both. He
must
be the one.”

“We will find out soon enough.” Shadlok stared straight ahead.

What did Jacobus mean, he was
the one
? William wondered. It seemed they were not merely bringing him along to help dig out the grave but had chosen him for some other task. He didn't like the sound of that at all.

“The horses will not be able to get through the undergrowth,” Shadlok said, dismounting. “We will leave them over there, out of sight.” He nodded to the scrub on the far side of the track, away from the Hollow.

William led Matilda between the trees and tied her reins securely to a hazel sapling. If he did not return to the abbey, for whatever reason, the monks would not have too much trouble finding her. They would not be able to see her, but if she was hungry enough, they would certainly hear her.

Shadlok helped Jacobus to dismount and then led their horses into the wood. William unpacked the shovel and walked back to the track to wait for them.

“Are the Dark King's warriors following us?” he asked, shivering beneath his woollen tunic and jacket. His fingers inside the mittens were numb with cold.

“No,” Shadlok said, “though it will only be a matter of time before they find us. Do you still have the knife I gave you, human?”

William nodded, and lifted aside the front of his jacket to show the knife tucked into his belt.

“Good. Now, lead the way.”

William walked over to the edge of the track. Taking a deep breath, he put up his arms to protect his face and forced his way between the holly bushes. The wood was more overgrown than he remembered. Thorns snagged his clothing and scratched his face and neck. Holly branches caught in his hair and trailing ivy stems wrapped around his ankles and tried to trip him up. He pushed aside branches with the shovel and grunted with the effort of pulling free from vicious ropes of bramble, whose huge thorns could easily rip flesh from bone.

The ground sloped gradually downhill and he saw the dark bulk of the yew tree a little way ahead. They were almost there. Only another twenty paces or so and they would reach the clearing around the pool.

And then he heard it, a soft, low whistle. He froze. It came again and his blood turned to ice. Surely no living creature could make that unearthly sound? He looked over his shoulder at Shadlok. The fay's expression was grim, his eyes wide and fierce.

“Keep moving,” Shadlok said.

William pushed on through the undergrowth. His shoulders were hunched up to his ears as he tried to block out the whistling. He could not work out where it was coming from; one moment it seemed to be up ahead, the next it was right beside him. Sweat ran down between his shoulder blades, quickly cooling on his chilled body. He edged his way around the yew and was relieved to see the steely glint of the pool through the tangled thicket ahead of him. The whistling faded into a sibilant hiss that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It rose and fell, like something breathing.

Shadlok's knuckles dug William in the back, forcing him to keep walking.

The sound died away on a long sigh. The silence that followed made William's skin crawl; there was nothing to see or hear, but the sense of being watched was overwhelming.

Faint ripples spread across the dark surface of the pool as water from the spring trickled into it. Shadows gathered in the undergrowth and the gray afternoon light leached away what little color there might have been in the woodland that encircled the clearing.

William reached the hazel tree and looked around. He hugged the shovel to his chest and shivered, as much from fear as cold. “Where do we start digging?”

The Hollow was as large as the monks' graveyard at the abbey. How were they supposed to find one unmarked grave here? It could take days, and they might only have minutes.

Shadlok frowned as he gazed around. For once, William noticed with a trace of satisfaction, he did not look so sure of himself. He pointed to a level patch of ground near the hazel tree. “Start there.”

William scraped aside the dead leaves, then swung the shovel into the earth and began to dig.

For a while, the only sound in the Hollow was the ring of metal on stone as William hacked away at the hard ground.

Shadlok kept watch for unwelcome visitors, prowling around the edge of the clearing, sword in hand. Jacobus Bone sat on a fallen tree, a silent, hunched figure, watching William as he worked.

The roots of the hazel tree were a twisted tangle in the earth. It was impossible to dig through them. William leaned on the handle of the shovel for a few moments to rest his aching shoulder muscles. The tree was old, its trunk as broad as a man's neck and the mossy bark deeply scored. It must have been growing here when the angel was buried, or the monk would not have drawn the hazelnut as a clue. The grave had to be close by, but not
this
close to the roots.

“Why have you stopped?” Shadlok called.

“The grave can't be here. There are too many roots.”

The fay made an impatient noise and sprinted lightly down the slope to stand beside him. “Where, then?”

William turned on him angrily. “I don't know! I wasn't here when they buried the body. I didn't draw the pictures on the book page. None of this has anything to do with me. I
don't know
!”

Shadlok looked startled by his outburst. He sheathed his sword and took the shovel from William. He walked slowly around the clearing, jabbing at the ground every few paces. There was an intent look on his face. A short distance from the pool, just before the ground sloped uphill, he stopped.

“Here,” he said, holding the shovel out to William. “Dig here.”

A sudden breeze stirred the branches of the trees around the clearing. William caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. A gray mist was rising up from the surface of the pool. It coiled between the dead reeds and up through the branches of the hazel tree. The whistling started again, like the single note from a pipe. The sound seemed to get inside William's head.

“Dig!” Shadlok said sharply, pushing the shovel into William's shaking hands.

The earth was just soft and damp enough for the shovel blade to cut through without too much backbreaking effort. Nevertheless, it was still hard work. William hacked and scraped as fast as he could, fear making his movements clumsy. He stopped just long enough to pull off his hood, jacket, and the thick woollen mittens. He threw them aside and rolled up the sleeves of his tunic.

Shadlok moved to stand between William and the pool. The mist spread out across the clearing, creeping purposefully toward William. The whistling turned to furious, ear-splitting shrieks that made him flinch with pain. Shadlok stood his ground, saying something in a low voice, words that William did not understand. He could feel their power, though, and knew Shadlok was battling the misty presence in the clearing with magic. The mist coiled and seethed and radiated malevolence, but came no closer to the grave.

The hole beneath William's feet was growing bigger by the minute. There were no roots to hinder him, just stones and black earth. Sweat ran into his eyes. He wiped it away with his sleeve. His broken nose throbbed with pain and his back and shoulders ached. Something touched his face and he glanced up. A few snowflakes, as soft as lamb's wool, drifted idly down between the lattice of branches overhead. The daylight was starting to fade.

There was a muttered curse from Shadlok and William was alarmed to see the fay take a few steps backward. The mist was gaining strength.

“Quickly, human. We are running out of time,” Shadlok said urgently.

On the far side of the clearing, Jacobus struggled to his feet, and even at this distance, William could hear the man's ragged and gasping breath as he watched what was happening.

Terrified, William shoveled the earth from the bottom of the hole as hard and fast as he could. Something pale caught his eye and he crouched down to take a closer look.

It was a piece of white cloth. William's hand shook as he pulled at it. More of the material unraveled and came free. It was as white as goose down and far too clean for something that had been in the earth for a hundred years. William sat back on his heels and stared at the cloth uneasily. There was something very odd about this.

“I think I've found it,” he called, his voice unsteady.

Jacobus took a couple of faltering steps forward, his whole body quivering with excitement. Shadlok pushed past William and knelt down to scrape the loose earth aside, uncovering more of the white material.

William gasped as Shadlok pulled aside a fold of fabric to reveal a hand. A deathly pale, long-fingered hand, perfect and whole.

“I . . . I don't understand . . . ,” William stammered, turning to Shadlok. “I thought there would be just bones.”

The fay's face showed no surprise. There was not enough room in the hole for two people, so William scrambled out and stood shivering on the edge, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest. As Shadlok uncovered more of the body, the shrieks from the mist grew louder. But the fay's magic was powerful. The mist seethed against an invisible barrier, unable to reach the grave.

Something moved on the edge of the clearing. William turned and saw a stag. It sniffed the air and its flanks quivered nervously as it looked around. It took a cautious step forward and turned its dark eyes toward the grave. A second deer, a doe, stepped out of the undergrowth, followed a moment later by a large dog fox.

William stared around the clearing in wonder as squirrels and badgers, a whole family of foxes and several more deer crept out of the forest. One of the fox cubs ran over to the edge of the grave, more curious than fearful. Behind the animals, other creatures emerged from the dusk; strange creatures from hidden places: fays and misty spirit shapes, some no more than tiny points of light, others almost as tall as the trees. They were drawn to the angel like cold hands to a fire.

William looked back at the grave. The angel lay on its back with its hands crossed on its chest. Between its fingers William could see the broken shaft of an arrow, but there was no blood on its robe. Perhaps angels did not have blood. He held his breath as Shadlok carefully brushed the earth from the angel's face with his fingertips.

The creature in the grave might simply have been asleep. The face was long and narrow, with high cheekbones. The smooth skin had a blue tinge, which darkened around the eye sockets and around the nails. Its hair was long and silver-blue and it wore a robe of milk-white fabric, pure and unstained. It was impossible to guess if the creature was male or female; it could have been either.

Suddenly, something deathly cold touched William's leg. He gasped with the shock and stared in horror. The gray mist had broken through Shadlok's barrier and was beginning to climb slowly up his body. Shadlok was still murmuring but his face was twisted with pain and there were beads of sweat on his brow. The mist curled around William like coils of rope, tighter and tighter, higher and higher, slowly crushing the life out of him. He struggled to breathe. Lights whirled inside his head and he felt himself pitching forward into darkness.

And then the grip eased. Cold air flooded into his lungs and he lay gasping and coughing on the ground. He pushed himself up onto his knees and peered around the clearing. The mist had gone. Shadlok had recovered his strength and stood by the grave, arms raised, lips moving soundlessly. The animals stood their ground, eyes wary and bodies tensed for flight.

“Pull the arrow out,” Shadlok said over his shoulder.

It was a moment or so before William realized what the fay meant.

“M-me?”

“Do it,” Shadlok snapped.

“Only you can do this, William,” Jacobus called urgently. “Do it
now
.”

William took a hesitant step toward the edge of the grave. The palms of his clenched hands were damp with sweat, and his legs trembled. This was why they had brought him here, he realized. Not to dig up the grave, but to pull the arrow from the angel's body.

“Do what he asks and I will kill you where you stand,” a soft voice said somewhere close by.

William spun around and saw a man dressed all in dark green, standing unarmed and alone at the top of the slope. He heard Shadlok draw a sharp breath. The man was half a head taller than William, lean in build but wide-shouldered. His hair was the color of old blood and it hung straight and gleaming down his back. His face was sharply boned and his skin was pale and flawless. The shocking brilliance of his green eyes marked him as a creature that was not human. For some reason William knew with complete certainty that this was the Dark King.