The Spook's Blood (Wardstone Chronicles) (14 page)

Then, suddenly, I had another idea.

I retreated three steps, until I was standing on the path once more. Instantly the bear dropped back onto all fours. It regarded me intently but did not attack. I remembered the warning I’d been given – not to stray from the path because of bears. So was I safe if I remained on the path? I wondered.

I sheathed the sword and began to walk towards the house again. The bear followed but made no move to attack me. It must be some sort of guardian, patrolling the grounds of the house for Mistress Fresque, just as the Spook’s boggart had once guarded his garden at Chipenden. And then a word dropped into my head:
moroi!

Mistress Fresque had told me that they’d fed the Spook’s body to a moroi. I vaguely remembered reading about them in my master’s Bestiary. They were vampiric elemental spirits that
sometimes
lived inside hollow trees. But they could possess animals – bears being their favourite host. They hunted humans and crushed them to death before dragging them back to their lair. Direct sunlight could destroy them, so they weren’t seen abroad during daylight hours. Then I remembered something else: a moroi was often controlled by a strigoi and strigoica. So my guess had been correct. Mistress Fresque was using the elemental as a guard.

But why didn’t it attack those who used the path? The answer came to me in a flash of insight. It was because the path itself didn’t need guarding. Anyone using the path would be instantly known to those within the house. And it provided a safe route for anyone who was welcome there.

I realized that there was no need to fight the moroi. I had numerous other enemies waiting for me inside the house. I’d be safe as long as I stuck to the path, so I might as well save my strength. I hurried on, and as I neared the house I heard the bear move off into the trees.

The door was open so I drew my sword and stepped inside. I didn’t bother with my tinderbox and candle this time – I was ready to face my enemies. My courage was high, and that was enough to cause the ruby eyes of the Destiny Blade to flicker into life, then cast a red beam to illuminate the passage.

I passed through the second doorway, expecting to see the dilapidated library empty of books and curtained with cobwebs. Instead, dozens of red orbs gleamed in the darkness.

For a second I thought they were pairs of eyes – creatures of the dark preparing to attack. But then I realized that I was
staring
at reflections of myself – or rather, of the ruby eyes of the sword hilt. Gone was the library; I was in a hall of mirrors, each set within an ornate iron frame and at least three times my size.

I took a careful step into the chamber, and then another. The mirrors all faced me, set one behind the other like a pack of cards spread out against the walls on either side. At first they all reflected my image in the same way. I was looking at a young man wearing the hooded gown of a spook’s apprentice, but instead of holding the customary staff, crouching down with a sword held in both hands, ready to attack.

Then, as I watched, the surfaces of the mirrors flickered and the images began to change. Now cruel, hostile faces peered out at me as if about to leap out and devour me on the spot. Some seemed to be chanting; others opened their mouths as if uttering bestial growls. But they were merely images and the atrium was absolutely silent. Then I
did
hear a noise, and I whirled round, expecting to see some dangerous creature, but it was just a mouse that twitched its tail and scurried off into the darkness.

I turned back to face the mirrors, took a deep breath and studied the images. There were fierce women, their hair tangled with thorns; grim, cadaverous faces; things that had surely crawled straight out of the tomb. Were they strigoica? If so, why had they not chosen younger hosts like Mistress Fresque? All had one thing in common – their lips were red with blood. I wondered if they were some other type of dark creature. They reminded me of witches.

One thing I was sure of: I was no longer afraid. I was angry! Fearsome eyes had peered at me from mirrors before. I only wished that the ones here had substance so that I could strike them down with my blade. I did the next best thing – it achieved little but gave vent to my fury and made me feel better.

I laid about me with my sword, stepping forward and twisting left, right, and left again, to smash each mirror as I passed. There was the crash and a tinkle of breaking glass, shards of it exploding upwards to fall like silver at my feet; each glittering image was replaced by darkness. Soon the last mirror was shattered, and still the ruby eyes of the Destiny Blade glowed red. But when I stepped beyond the dark empty frame of that final mirror, I was filled with dismay.

Instead of the door that opened onto the cellar steps there was just a blank wall. I had been prepared to fight my way down there to release my master from his torment. If necessary, I would have given my life to do so.

But I had been wrong about the house. I had assumed that its true condition was revealed during the hours of darkness. I knew now that the magic employed was more complicated than that. The house could change and change again. My master’s remains were now hidden; I had no way of freeing him.

Baffled and angry, I turned and retraced my steps. I left the shape-shifting house and followed the path down through the trees. This time the bear possessed by the moroi did not approach me. I wandered through the streets but did not
cross
the river, instead sitting amongst the trees by the bridge.

A sword or staff could be used to fight enemies once they were before you, but such weapons were useless to me at the moment. I needed to use my brain. I needed to think.

However, this had become impossible. Emotions were churning within me at the thought of the terrible state my master had been reduced to. I couldn’t dispel the image of his severed head. Every time I closed my eyes it returned to haunt me. My chest felt tight, and I struggled to hold back the tears. John Gregory didn’t deserve to end his life in this way. I
had
to help. I
had
to do something to save him from that.

Restless, I came to my feet. I’d been up on the moors to the west of Todmorden but not on this side. It might help to find a vantage point above this part of the town. Was there another approach to the house – perhaps another entrance? I wondered. Or maybe another building I hadn’t seen where my master was being kept now?

I walked back through the narrow streets and then found a track that led straight up the hill. Soon I was walking beneath trees; at last I came to a five-barred gate. I climbed over and continued up through pasture land, heading north, until I found myself at a point high on the moor’s edge.

I had chosen an excellent spot. The sky was clear and the stars were out so there was just enough light to see by. Far below, I could see the lane that led up to Mistress Fresque’s house, which was hidden beneath the trees – I could learn nothing more of that from here. There was no other path to the house; just dense foliage crowding in on it from every side.

I searched lower. Nothing moved; the streets were empty, the dwellings huddled together as if for protection – but then I noticed other large houses on the hillside, each surrounded by trees.

Were these the dwellings of other strigoii and strigoica? I counted them carefully – there were at least thirty, with others perhaps hidden beneath the trees. I waited and watched. At one point an owl hooted, to be answered by the roar of a bear somewhere in the forest. The wind was getting up, a ridge of cloud blowing in from the west, obscuring the stars one by one. It was growing darker; now the houses were barely visible. But suddenly I noticed a thin column of yellow light extending up from the ground high into the sky. As I watched, the light grew brighter and changed colour, becoming first purple, then a dark red.

What was its source? It was emanating from a dense clump of trees some way from the nearest of the buildings. It was then that I saw the first yellow orb of light soar upwards from the house east of there. It was immediately followed by a second, then a third glowing sphere. Each made its first appearance directly above one of the large houses. I counted quickly. There were nine in total, gathering together to form a group of dancing orbs that circled the column of dark red light. They moved like summer midges; hovering, then darting around to exchange places.

Suddenly it felt as if something had reached into my mind and tugged hard. It happened again, and with that strange tug I felt an overwhelming compulsion to walk towards the
glowing
orbs. I gave a gasp of fear and lurched to my feet in terror. I had seen such entities before – I knew what they were and the terrible danger that they represented.

They were Romanian witches, who lived isolated lives, and in human form did not usually form covens like other types of witch. These were their souls, projected from their bodies using animism magic; it was only in this way that they ever gathered together. According to my master’s Bestiary, unlike the other dark Romanian entities, they didn’t drink human blood; but if they encountered a human when in the form of orbs, they could drain his animus, his life force, in seconds. It was a quick and certain death. I could feel their power. They knew that I had travelled to Todmorden with my master and was still somewhere in the vicinity. However, they didn’t know my precise whereabouts and were trying to summon me, using dark magic.

At first it was like strange powerful music inside my head – it reminded me of the sirens off the coast of Greece, who had used their melodious cries to lure our ship onto the rocks. I had managed to resist them: a seventh son of a seventh son possesses some immunity against witches and other entities of the dark. Now I did the same, until the music inside my head eventually faded and ceased altogether.

Maybe they sensed my increasing strength, because next the lure became visual. The spheres of light moved more rapidly, pulsing and changing colour in an ever more complex dance, and I felt my will slipping away, my mind like a moth drawn towards the candle flame that would consume it.

I crouched down on all fours and fought hard against the compulsion; rivulets of sweat ran down my forehead. Gradually the urge to go towards them lessened then faded away. But still I was in danger – if they noticed me, then I was doomed.

After about ten minutes of dancing together high above, darting in and out of the red light, the nine orbs combined to form one large glowing sphere, which then sped northwards and vanished.

Where had they gone? Were they hunting some chosen victim? It struck me that they would try to avoid killing too close to their homes, which would attract attention. Todmorden would rapidly become depopulated and terror would spread westwards through the County.

The wind, which had been blowing fiercely, first lessened to a breeze then died away altogether. A deep silence settled upon the river valley. The few sounds were greatly magnified. I heard the eerie screech of a corpsefowl, and soon afterwards the call of an owl. In the distance beyond the river, a baby cried; then someone coughed and swore. After a few moments the child was quiet – no doubt its mother was feeding it. These were all natural sounds of the night – but then I heard something else.

First there was a deep groan, followed by a shrill scream that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The sounds came from two different directions. Next, from somewhere directly below me, a voice began to beg:

‘Leave me tonight, please! Not again, not so soon. I won’t see
the
dawn if you do that again! Please, please, leave me be!’

Drawn by this cry for help, I was on my feet in an instant and began to scramble down the slope. Soon I had climbed over a wooden fence and was under the trees. The sounds were closer and much louder now.

‘Oh no, please don’t. That’s enough. Don’t take too much. Please don’t carry on or my heart will fail! Don’t stop my heart, please! I don’t want to die  . . . ’

I was running now, and I drew the sword. Instantly the ruby eyes cast their red light in my path, and I saw the horror before me. It was a strigoi which could have been the twin of the one I’d fought at the Fresque house; it glowed with a lurid orange light, and its head was bald, with the same large pointed ears.

The strigoi was crouching over a man dressed in a ragged gown; it had half pulled him out of a dark hole in the ground, beside which lay a large stone. Its teeth were fastened onto its victim’s neck and it was sucking his blood.

THE STRIGOI TURNED
, saw me coming, and cast its victim aside on the grass. It spun round to face me, then attacked, mouth wide, fangs ready to bite me, talons extended to rend my flesh. I hardly broke my stride. I was in a rage, all the pent-up emotion of the past twenty-four hours released in a violent fury.