The Whitby Witches 1 - The Whitby Witches (27 page)

But the aufwader would not let go, and with the waves crashing over his head he grimly held on. Suddenly the boat lurched, carried by the foaming tide. Sister Bridget cried out as she was yanked back. For an instant her fingers slipped from the moonkelp, but she leant out even further and caught it again.

Silas tried to pull the treasure free of her grasp but most of his energies had been spent labouring in the waves. With dismay he saw the novice wrench the moonkelp from his fist.

Sister Bridget sat back in the boat and waved the shining treasure over her head. 'At last,' she cried triumphantly.

Ben cheered with relief, but he turned guiltily to the aufwader, still struggling in the water.

'Help,' spluttered Silas. 'Don't leave me here. I can't make it—' His head disappeared beneath the waves and when he bobbed up again his eyes were wide with despair. 'I'm drowning!' he screamed.

Ben glanced at the novice. 'We can't leave him,' he said.

Sister Bridget looked at the boat uncertainly—it wasn't big enough for the four of them. Silas would just have to hang on to the side. 'Here,' she said to the boy, 'take the moonkelp. I shall pull him from the water.'

'Be careful,' warned Ben as she leant over the side once more.

Silas waved his arms in panic as he went under for the third time. 'Save me,' he gargled. 'I'm done fer!'

'Take my hand,' called the novice, stretching out as far as she dared.

Silas reached up and grabbed the offered hand. 'Got you now, halfbreed!' he snarled, dropping the pretence.

Too late. Sister Bridget realised she had been tricked. 'No!' she pleaded. 'I beg you!' But it was no good. Using his last reserve of strength, the aufwader dragged her out of the boat. 'Time to come home,' he yelled, as she fell into the sea.

A great spout of water flew up when she hit the seething waves. 'You'll not be welcome where you're going,' Silas bawled.

Sister Bridget was gasping and choking when she reappeared. Terror was graven on her face and she splashed hopelessly, gagging on the salt water she had swallowed.

'Are you all right?' shouted Ben, too worried about her to notice Silas swimming towards him.

A change came over the blackened sea. Far below a sickly greenish light began to pulse, as if her presence in the water had triggered some strange alarm. From the fathomless depths, a great bell began to toll. Sister Bridget wailed when she heard it and her tears mingled with the sea.

'Don't just sit there, boy!' spat Silas, grabbing hold of the side of the boat. 'Don't yer know what that is? It's the Lords o' the Deep—they're comin' fer'er.'

Ben put down the oars and stared at the horizon. In the dim distance, there rose an immense wall of water in a thunderous rush. It reached into the night sky and savage lightning flickered round its towering height. It was like a mountain of glass that fed on the surrounding darkness, sucking up the sea and ever increasing in size.

With a rumble that shook all the oceans of the world, the nightmarish spectacle roared towards them.

'They know I am here,' the novice cried. Ben held out an oar to her but she pushed it away. 'Flee!' she shouted. 'All is lost. Save yourself—it is too late for me.'

'You 'eard 'er,' bellowed Silas, fearfully looking over his shoulder. The vast wave was sweeping nearer and he trembled when he caught sight of those contained within.

Sister Bridget knew she faced death. All those years of cringing from the world were finally over. The wrathful Lords of the Deep had found her, just as they had found her father, and they had come to claim her. It was the end of everything. She sobbed hopelessly—had it all been for nothing?

'Row, damn you!' Silas screamed at Ben. 'I'll not be 'ere when they come—I'll not be dragged to the cold regions.'

But Ben was petrified, and could not move; the awful vision of the Deep Ones in all their fury paralysed him. Silas swung one leg over the side. 'I'll do it myself,' he growled. But the other leg refused to follow—in fact it pulled him down again.

'What the..?' He stared down at his foot and what he saw made him squirm maniacally. 'Leave go!' he screeched.

Below him. Sister Bridget laughed. It was a terrible sound, filled with doom and despair. Her hands were fastened about his ankle and she held on tenaciously. 'Come, stunted one!' she cried. 'Let me embrace you.'

Just as he had pulled her, she dragged Silas out of the boat. He fell into the water with a great howl of fear. 'Keep away from me!' he begged.

But she merely laughed all the more. 'Come to me,' she taunted. 'I only wish to hold you.'

Silas kicked out at her, truly panicking now. Flailing his arms in the water, he tried to escape, but she was too quick. Her strong fingers grabbed the gansey he had taken from the body of Nelda's father and hauled him back down. He was caught like a fish on a hook.

The huge wave was almost upon them, its deadly pinnacles rearing over their heads. With a fierce light in her eyes. Sister Bridget turned to Ben. 'Row, fool!' she shrieked. 'Row!'

The boy snapped out of his terror and strained at the oars. The novice watched the boat pull away and dragged Silas in the opposite direction.

'Curse you!' he whined, but his protests died in his throat as he looked up.

The sheer wall of water towered over them and within its ominous bulk he saw three shadowy figures. The Lords of the Deep wore crowns of glowing green stars. Their eyes were huge, lidless discs that glared down at Sister Bridget accusingly, and the hair which cascaded from their bloated, coral-crusted heads was like the branches of great trees. A deafening thunderclap issued from their mouths and they revealed row upon row of sharp, jagged teeth.

'Wait,' screamed Silas. 'I am not to blame—let me go free.'

The novice laughed at his futile efforts. "They do not hear you,' she cried.

'Nooo!' he begged. 'For pity's sake.'

But she took no notice and grimly wrapped her arms about him. 'Take the cold road with me, Silas Gull,' she hissed in his ear. 'Let them drag us down together!'

With terrible violence, the Deep Ones smashed down on them. The sea convulsed at the impact and shock waves sped inland and smote the cliffs of Whitby.

The aufwader boat was tossed like a matchstick on the water. On board, Ben clung to Nelda for dear life—in its ruin he had seen monstrous tentacles writhing and thrashing in the wake of the wave. For several minutes he lay shaking on the bottom of the boat, then it was all over.

The sea became calm and when Ben peered over the side, it was as though nothing had happened. Only the empty sea met his gaze—there was no sign of Sister Bridget or Silas anywhere. He stared at the dark water—they had been taken below. It was a horrible thought.

A painful groan came from the still form by his side. Ben patted Nelda's face and she opened her eyes, but the pupils were unseeing and she sank into unconsciousness again.

What am I to do? he thought. He was cold and exhausted and the night seemed to press round him. At his feet the moonkelp was dying, for the time allotted to its flowering was nearly over. Carefully Ben picked it up. The treasure which had been so hard to win and had cost so many lives was disintegrating before his very eyes. The golden light which pulsed through its stems waned and grew weak.

'Oh, no!' he said and, searching in the cold water that sloshed in the bottom of the boat, he brought out the large shell. It was chipped but still whole. Maybe it isn't too late, he told himself. If only I knew what to do.

Quickly he put the shrivelling moonkelp on the shell and held them both aloft. 'Listen to me. Lords of the Deep,' he shouted to the bleak expanse of the sea. 'Take back this treasure and let me have my wish.'

The moonkelp suddenly burst into flames and a tongue of yellow fire soared into the sky. The Lords of the Deep had heard him.

On the pier Aunt Alice squeezed Jennet's hand. They had all seen the terrible wave rise up, but had no idea what was happening. Then the sea flung itself upon the cliff and fierce waves battered against the pier. Miss Boston took hold of Hesper and, with Jennet, pushed past Rowena. They ran to the old lighthouse and clung to its rails as the waves crashed over the edge.

While the spray foamed up over the stone, Rowena pressed her fingers to her temples. 'I must see,' she whispered.'I must know.' Locking her muscles until they were rigid she sent her thoughts flying over the water towards the aufwader boat once more.

There, Ben was standing in the craft, the brilliant thread of flame scorching upwards from the shell in his hands. The wish was his now. Rowena's thought returned to her body and she staggered back.

'You idiot. Gull!' she cried. It was hopeless. The reward would go straight to the boy, he would save the tribe and she would never know where the staff of Hilda was concealed.

Then an awful smile flashed over her lips. 'There is a way,' she murmured.

She threw her arms wide and screwed her face up, summoning every ounce of power. 'Channel through me, ye demons that feed off my soul,' she cried. 'Put my voice in his mouth, let my words be his—for evil's sake!'

Unholy laughter boomed across the sky and, with her black robes flapping madly in the gale, Rowena's face turned white as she strove to control the forces she had unleashed.

Nelda grunted; she touched the tender lump on her skull and winced. Very slowly her eyes fluttered open. The world was swirling and strange voices echoed inside her head. She did not know where she was, but something bright was shining above her and she blinked to bring everything in focus.

The last sparks from the moonkelp drifted up from the shell in Ben's hands and then she remembered. She realised that she had awoken just in time, for the boy was about to lift the curse. This was the vision Nelda had seen on the cliff-top and she held her breath with anticipation. At last the tribe would be able to grow and children would be born again.

But the smile froze on her mouth—something was wrong. The boy looked ill. His face was drawn and he swayed like one in a trance. 'Hear me, ye Lords of the Deep and Dark,' he shouted, in a voice that sounded forced and unfamiliar. 'Grant to me the reward you promised ages past for returning to you your treasure.'

A cloud of soft grey ash blew out of the shell and hovered in the air. 'Hear now my wish!' he cried. The sea became smooth—not a ripple marred its perfect surface. Everything was silent, waiting for his demand.

'Reveal unto Rowena Cooper,' he uttered hollowly, 'the precise location of Hilda's staff!'

The shell fell from his hands. It shattered on the side of the boat and the cloud of ash was snatched away by the breeze.

'What... what have you done?' stammered Nelda.

Ben fell to his knees and the spell which had bound him melted. He stared at Nelda in disbelief. 'What did I say?' he cried. 'What did I say?'

On the pier, Rowena Cooper shuddered. In the far northern sky a point of light appeared. A slender shaft of green slanted down over the sea and shone on the witch's forehead. It burned into her mind the knowledge she so desperately sought and Rowena crowed with delight—at last she knew.

Spinning on her heels, she threw Miss Boston and the others a triumphant glance, then hurried back to the town with her robes billowing behind her.

The gables of the late Mrs Banbury-Scott's house cast odd, angled shadows on the lawn. With no lights behind its mullioned windows, the building was a sorry sight. There was no one at home, for both Grice and Mrs Rigpath had fled from Rowena that afternoon as she had rampaged through every room. Panels had been splintered, hangings torn, and the attic spaces poked and peered into, but without success. She had not found what she sought and now the house settled uneasily on its foundations, its ancient timbers creaking and complaining.

The serene peace did not last long—Rowena had returned. Eagerly she let herself into the house and stormed through the hall, leaving the front door wide open. Charging through the debris that littered the floor, she kicked open the french windows and hurried into the garden.

Grice's shed was lost in shadow, nestling against the garden wall. Rowena ran up to it and pushed open the heavy door. She fumbled for a switch and clicked on the electric light. The walls were covered in tools and on one side there were three shelves stacked with tins containing nails and tacks, nuts and bolts and old bits of wire.

Rowena sneered at all the patient hours the man had spent in this place and with one sweep of her arm, knocked every tin to the floor. 'There!' she whispered. 'The mark of Hilda.' On the bare wall between two of the shelves was a curious sign gouged into the plaster. Circling it were three others, but they were meaningless to her and she ignored them. 'All these years,' she said admiringly, 'and no one knew. All this time locked away here—a perfect hiding place. Grand houses are easy targets, yet who would notice a hut like this? Even I overlooked it.'

She ran her fingers lovingly over the mark. 'And now you're mine,' she snorted. 'I have beaten you, Hilda!'

The witch threw spanners and screwdrivers to the ground as she looked for something to break through the plaster. The axe she had borrowed was still in the house and she was too impatient to fetch it, so she seized a pair of garden shears and drove them into the wall.