The Crowfield Curse (24 page)

“Ignore him. Pull out the arrow,” Shadlok said evenly, glancing down at William. “Trust me, I will protect you.” He sounded calm but William saw the tense set of his jaw and knew that they were in danger.

“Do it!”

William jumped into the grave and knelt down. Carefully, he lifted the angel's hands aside. He gasped as something hit his shoulder and landed on the angel's chest. It was a moment before he realized what it was. A sparrow, small and crumpled, blood gleaming wetly around its open beak. Startled, William fell back against the side of the grave. Seconds later another bird, a robin, landed with a small thud beside the sparrow. It looked as if it had been crushed to death.

The Dark King walked down into the Hollow and stood in front of Shadlok. His eyes burned like wildfire, and his mouth was drawn back in a twisted sneer.

“Still surrounding yourself with humans, Sceath-hlakk? Have you no pride left?”

Shadlok said nothing. His eyes were slits of blue ice.

The king glanced at William, a look of contempt on his thin face. “Get away from there.”

William looked uncertainly at Shadlok.

“Remove the arrow, human,” Shadlok said without turning around. “Do not stop for anything.”

William picked up the dead robin and stroked its chest feathers with a trembling finger. He laid it gently on the edge of the grave and placed the sparrow beside it. He glanced at the Dark King with deep loathing. He was sure the king had killed the birds, using fay magic. But why? The birds had nothing to do with what was happening in the Hollow.

“The arrow!”
Shadlok said furiously.

William bent toward the angel's chest. A high-pitched yowl somewhere close by made him jump. He stared around wildly and saw the dog fox over by the edge of the pond, writhing on the ground in agony. Its legs jerked and its muzzle was flecked with spittle and blood. Its eyes had rolled back in their sockets and were blind white. William watched in horror as the animal fell into the water and struggled desperately to stop itself from drowning.

“Get away from the grave,” the Dark King said, his voice low and full of poison, “or the blood of every one of these creatures will be on your hands.”

William looked around the Hollow. All the creatures that had come out of the forest were like flies trapped in honey by the king's spell. He saw the glint of terror in wild eyes and the twitch of paralyzed bodies. The stag fell to its knees and collapsed onto its side, its mighty antlers gouging the ground as it thrashed in its death throes. With a sudden jerk, its neck broke and the light left its eyes.

William thought he was going to be sick. Bile stung his throat. He slumped forward and touched the cold hand of the angel. There was a tingle in his fingers and he had the oddest sensation of something flowing up into his arm, something calm and pure. He breathed in deeply and straightened up. The Dark King and Shadlok faced each other, eyes locked, bodies rigid. William could feel the magic in the air, heavy and oppressive, as the two fays struggled silently against one another. For a few moments time seemed to stop. They seemed to be equally matched, and William felt a brief flicker of relief. If Shadlok could just hold off the king for a few minutes longer . . .

Suddenly, a tangle of black feathers and claws flew across the clearing, heading straight for Shadlok's face. The fay ducked aside and the bird fell to the ground, broken and dead. That brief moment of distraction was all the Dark King needed. He pointed to Shadlok and spoke in a language William did not understand, his words battering Shadlok like sharp stones. Shadlok staggered sideways but quickly regained his footing. He held up a hand as if to shield himself from the king's words, but in the next moment, another crow was hurled through the air and this time its beak and claws caught Shadlok's face. Blood welled from deep gashes on his cheek and trickled down his neck. Then a third crow came flying toward him. Finally shaken into action, William grabbed a stone from the pile of earth beside the grave and flung it as hard as he could, catching the huge bird full on the chest. The crow spun away and landed with a thump on the ground. William desperately hoped it had been dead before his stone hit it.

With a great effort, Shadlok turned and swung his arm in a wide arc toward the king. Magic crackled through the Hollow like lightning and the Dark King snarled in fury as his words of power fell short of their mark.

Time was running out. William knew he had to remove the arrow
now
. He forced himself to look away as the fox cub jerked and twitched in a slow and painful death dance. It tumbled into the grave by the angel's head and lay still on the silver-blue hair. William could smell blood and fear on the air and tried to block out the anguished yelps and screams of dying creatures as the enraged king renewed his assault.

Feeling as if his heart were breaking into pieces, William gently pushed the cub's body aside. Taking a deep breath, he gripped the broken arrow shaft and began to pull.

At first, the arrow seemed to be firmly lodged in the angel's chest. Then, slowly, it started to move. William clamped his jaws tightly together and tried not to hear the rasp of wood against flesh and bone as he worked it loose. It came free with a sudden unpleasant
slurch
, and he fell against the side of the grave.

To his horror, the angel's body began to convulse and there was a choking sound in its throat.

William scrambled to his feet, terror shooting through him like nails. He watched, wide-eyed with disbelief, as the angel put a hand over the wound in its chest. Its mouth opened and it took a huge, juddering breath, gulping at the air like a drowning man breaking the surface of the water. The eyes opened, black as polished jet, and stared up at the sky.

William edged his way backward, up and out of the grave. The angel sat up, blinked, and gazed around as if it was struggling to understand what was happening. William caught a glimpse of something just showing above its shoulders, the upper curves of white-feathered wings.

The angel rose to its feet slowly and stiffly, as if every joint and muscle hurt, until it was standing upright in the grave, its slim body almost twice William's height. There was a soft rustle as it flexed its wings. They lifted and spread wide, shaking bits of earth and small stones from between the feathers.

The angel turned to look at the two fays. It raised an arm and held the palm of its hand toward the Dark King. For several moments, the king held his ground, the fierce green eyes staring defiantly at the angel, but then his gaze wavered and he took a step backward. A look of fear briefly weakened the sharp lines of his face.

“It is not over,” he spat, glaring at Shadlok. “You will pay for this.” And just as suddenly as he'd arrived, he was gone.

Bewildered, William stared at the empty patch of earth where a moment ago the king had been standing. He looked around the clearing, but the fay had vanished.

Shadlok walked toward the angel. He knelt beside the grave and bowed his head. His silver-white hair spilled forward and hung down over his chest. The angel leaned forward slowly and touched him on the forehead. It looked very like the blessing Prior Ardo gave to his monks.

Staring up at the angel, Shadlok started to speak. William did not understand what he was saying, but the angel clearly did. It listened with an intent expression before turning its dark eyes to Jacobus. It stretched out a hand and beckoned to him with a slow curl of its long fingers.

“Help me, boy,” Jacobus said in a harsh whisper, the mask jerking around to face William.

With great reluctance, William crossed the clearing to Master Bone's side.

“Let me lean on you,” Jacobus said, lifting his arm.

William hesitated, not wanting to touch him. He forced himself not to pull away when Jacobus rested the stump of his hand on his shoulder. Together they walked toward the angel.

Shadlok got to his feet. He moved aside to allow Jacobus to stand in front of the angel. Jacobus leaned more heavily on William, forcing him to stay by his side.

“I beg you to show mercy,” Jacobus said, a break in his voice. “Set aside the curse that has been placed on me. Let me die.”

William stared at Jacobus. So he was not looking for a cure at all; he wanted death.

“I am begging you,” Jacobus said. He held up his arms, and his sleeves fell back, exposing what was left of his hands.

William could not begin to imagine the depths of Master Bone's despair if all he craved now was to be allowed to die.

“Step away, human,” Shadlok said softly.

William took a few steps backward, until he was standing beside Shadlok.

The angel's black eyes reflected the sparse snowflakes as it looked down at Jacobus. It lifted a hand and pointed to his mask.

Using what was left of a finger, Jacobus pushed back his hood and pulled down the mask.

William gasped. Master Bone's face hardly merited the name. Where the nose should have been, there was an open wound, wet and dark. His lips had gone, as had his ears. His teeth were black and his skin blotched with weeping sores. Only his brown eyes looked recognizably human. They were wide and clear and filled with despair. It was a terrible sight, like something from a nightmare, and in that moment, William understood what had brought Jacobus to this clearing to beg for death.

The angel did not show any trace of pity or revulsion. There was just a look of infinite compassion on its calm and beautiful face. It leaned down and laid a hand on Jacobus's scabbed scalp. Its lips moved soundlessly. Jacobus gave a long, shuddering sigh and sank slowly to the ground. His thin body seemed to fold in on itself as he fell sideways and lay still.

A flurry of snowflakes whirled across the clearing. The angel stepped out of the grave. A wisp of white mist coiled up from the body on the ground. William watched in astonishment as the mist clouded and sharpened, and a man stood there. At first, he was just a pale ghost form, but then colors darkened and details became clearer. The man was tall and lean of build, with dark hair hanging to his shoulders and wide hazel-brown eyes. It was Jacobus Bone, but Jacobus as he had been a long time ago, not the decaying shell he had become. He held up his hands and stared at the long unblemished fingers in wonder, his face shining with fierce joy.

The young Jacobus turned to Shadlok. “Good-bye, my old friend. Our journey together ends here, but I could never have come this far without you.” He looked at William. “And my heartfelt gratitude to you, boy. Without you, the king's curse could not have been broken.”

With that, Jacobus bowed to the angel, then turned and walked up the slope and away from the Hollow. He disappeared into the forest without looking back.

The snow was falling more heavily now. It settled on the ground and balanced delicately along branches and twigs. William was too lost in awe of the scene before him to notice the cold.

A softly shimmering light flickered over the angel's body. For a panic-ridden moment William thought it was on fire. He glanced at Shadlok but the fay did not look alarmed. The light grew brighter until it hurt his eyes and he turned away. Then suddenly, the light faded away. It was some moments before his eyes adjusted and he could see the clearing again. The angel had gone.

William knelt down by the grave and picked up the fox cub. He cradled it against his chest, stroking its fur with his thumb. His throat hurt with the effort of not crying. He walked over to the pond and laid the cub gently on the ground. Balancing on a mat of reeds, he reached out to grab the dog fox, to pull it out of the water. His fingers touched wet fur but he couldn't get a hold on the fox's body.

“Step aside,” Shadlok said.

William watched as the fay guided the animal's body to the shore with a branch. When it reached the reeds, Shadlok leaned down and lifted it from the pond. It hung limp and dripping in his arms, and he laid it down beside the cub.

“Why did he do this?” William asked, his voice thick with tears. “Why them? They did nothing wrong.”

“He did it to punish you for helping Bone to die,” Shadlok said, his voice surprisingly gentle.

“I hate him.”

“So do I.” Shadlok put a hand on William's shoulder in a brief gesture of sympathy.

William gathered all the bodies together beside the foxes. The stag was too big and heavy to move so he carefully straightened its head on its broken neck.

The snow settled on the still-warm creatures. William crouched down beside them and a hot tear trickled down to his chin and dropped onto the ruffled fur of the cub. William closed his eyes. He wanted to say a prayer, but no words came.

A warm breeze touched his face, and startled, he opened his eyes. Something nudged his leg and he looked down to see the fox cub wriggling to its feet. Too amazed to move, William watched as one by one the bodies of the dog fox, the crows, and the smaller birds struggled back to life, broken bones mending, drowned lungs filling with air. There was a snort and a grunt as the stag scrabbled onto its feet. It stood there trembling, its breath clouding around its head, very much alive.

William started to laugh. He gave a whoop of joy, and the stag, startled by the noise, leaped up the slope of the Hollow and back to the safety of the forest.