The Whitby Witches 1 - The Whitby Witches Page 20

  Ben did as he was told, leaning forward to put the glowing moonkelp into the shell. Nelda took a deep breath, hesitating until Sister Bridget gave a nod of encouragement.

  The aufwader faced north and held the shell aloft.

  'Hear me,' she shouted into the wind. 'Listen to my words, ye Lords of the Deep and Dark. Let my voice journey to your cold realm and may you—'

  The boat tipped suddenly. Ben was thrown to one side and the novice screamed. Terrified in case they fell into the water, she gripped the sides and sobbed with fear.

  Above her frantic cries a harsh voice said, 'May the deeps swallow the lot o' yers!'

  Nelda lowered the shell and forgot everything; the shock of what she saw overwhelmed her. For, clinging to the boat, drenched and malevolent, was the uncle she had presumed dead.

  'Silas!' she exclaimed.

  Just as Ben had gathered the moonkelp, Silas had caught up with them. Silently he had swum closer, gloating in the sure knowledge that they were unaware of his approach. This was going to be too easy, he had told himself.

  Ben stared at Silas fearfully. 'I thought this was your father,' he told Nelda.

  'No,' she muttered tearfully. 'He is my uncle, and a murderer.'

  'Shut yer whinin'!' Silas roared, and his rough hand snaked out and struck the side of her face. It was a vicious slap and Nelda yelped with the force of it. The shell and its golden treasure dropped from her grasp and crashed to the floor of the boat.

  Ben sprang forward but was too slow. With a sideways dig of his elbow, Silas shoved him down, winded and spluttering. The little craft lurched, threatening to capsize. Sister Bridget, petrified with terror, could do nothing to prevent Silas from reaching in to snatch the moonkelp away.

  He laughed as his grubby fingers clawed up the shining prize and he spat at each of them in turn. 'A curse on all,' he growled. 'Man, kin and halfblood—yer fishbait now.' With a cackle he rocked the boat deliberately. Sister Bridget sobbed and Ben held on tightly.

  Anger to the point of madness furied up inside Nelda. Still stinging from his last blow, she lashed out at her evil uncle. 'You killed my father!' she screamed.

  Silas pushed her down once more, enjoying watching them suffer. A few more rocks and the boat would tip over completely. Then, to his surprise, Nelda staggered forward again. Lunging at the hand which held the moonkelp, she seized it in her own, bared her teeth and bit deeply into his skin.

  'Aaaaaaggghhhh!' he screeched, tearing his hand from her mouth. 'You've drawn blood,' he yelled, gazing at the torn flesh. 'Well, you'll not do that again!' With his other hand, he punched his niece for all he was worth.

  Nelda reeled backwards and, as she fell, her head struck the side of the boat with a dull crack. She slumped senseless to the bottom.

  'You've killed her!' cried Ben. He stared at Silas, appalled, then turned to Sister Bridget. 'Can't you do anything?' he asked.

  'Don't waste yer breath askin' 'er,' sniggered Silas. 'Afraid t'step in a puddle, that one is.' He scooped up a handful of seawater and threw it at the novice. She shrieked when it hit her. 'That's what comes of mixin' the two,' Silas snarled mockingly. 'I'll wager there's weaker stuff in her veins.'

  Sister Bridget raised her head and glared at Silas reproachfully. He did not notice the perilous look which had crept into her eyes. Very softly, she began to hum.

  'Barmy, she is,' Silas grunted. 'Hark at her—cracked as an old bog pot.'

  Ben did not listen. He was cradling Nelda's head in his arms and did not care what happened to them any more.

  Silas sucked the back of his hand and eased himself back into the water; it was time to return to Rowena. Let them sail where they wanted—they were not important now. Besides, if they thought they could escape they were mistaken. After tonight nowhere would be safe. Keeping the glowing moonkelp over his head, Silas pushed himself away from the boat and began swimming to the far shore.

  Sister Bridget stroked Ben's hair. For a moment the tune died on her lips. 'Do not worry,' she told him. 'Nelda is not dead—she will awaken.'

  The boy looked up at her. 'Why didn't you do anything to help?' he asked. 'Why didn't you stop him?'

  'I was afraid,' she replied. 'All my life I have been afraid. Yet it is strange, is it not, that the moment he threw the water at me and I tasted the bitterness of its salt, all my fears vanished.'

  Ben stared after the determined figure of Silas as he swam away. 'It's too late now,' he said.

  'I think not,' she answered secretively. 'He will never reach the shore. For Oona was my mother and I am proud of that, for she taught me much that day when she sang to me. Now I know it was not I, her child, whom she could not bear, but the thought of returning to the life of an aufwader. That is why she left me in human care. Finally, I understand.' With a deadly smile, the humming resumed.

  Ben watched Sister Bridget doubtfully. Perhaps Silas was right—maybe she had gone mad. Why else would she behave like this?

  Almost imperceptibly, words began to creep into the tune. It grew stronger until Sister Bridget was singing loud and defiantly. Ben felt a chill pass over him. The song was unsettling and made him want to get away. But how could he?

  Suddenly the melody changed: the tone became harsh and prickled the hairs on his neck. A shadow fell over the novice's face but her voice continued. The discord mounted, seeming to jar every bone in Ben's body until he covered his ears in an attempt to block it out.

  The silver moonlight faded and all around them the sea darkened threateningly, as if responding to the sister's song. The gentle wind now blew in strong gusts that whipped up the waves and crowned them with foam. The boat spun round as the breakers smashed into its sides. Ben stared at Sister Bridget—somehow she was responsible for this.

  'Weathercharming!' he cried. 'You're singing up the storm.'

  The waves swelled all the more. Huge volumes of water reared up and raged towards Silas. The aufwader cried out but his voice was lost amid the tumult as hammering waves swept him up, then hurled him down again. Silas fought to keep afloat, with the moonkelp held over his head. He gulped down deep breaths and the sea battered into him. The full fury of the mounting tempest was focused on him and he floundered in its wrath.

  Ben thought the piercing notes were going to burst his eardrums. Though the storm was at its height he could still hear the shrill song and it pounded in his head.

  With one final shriek that seemed to madden the wild blasting gale. Sister Bridget stopped. Take the oars,' she shouted to Ben. 'You have to row to him.'

  'Into that?' spluttered the boy. 'You must be mad. We'll be dashed to pieces!'

  'Do it!' she commanded. 'It is our last chance to retrieve the moonkelp.'

  Ben seized the oars and plunged them into the churning water. The current snatched at them and the rough wood rubbed the skin from his palms. With his teeth clenched, the boy clung on determinedly and began pulling the boat through the frothing waves.

  They rode the boiling sea, skimming bravely between the steep water valleys, gaining with every dreadful moment upon the toiling figure of Silas.

  'Closer,' demanded the novice. 'Hurry, boy!'

  Ben heaved on the oars but they bucked and tugged at his arms. It was like riding a mad horse. 'I can't,' he yelled. 'I'm not strong enough.' But even as he said these words, the wind drove the craft into the centre of the tempest.

  The light of the moonkelp was dimmed by the black brine which rained down as the waves broke over Silas, but it was still firmly in his hands.

  'Hold her steady,' Sister Bridget called to Ben as they rammed through the water.

  Silas was almost within reach now. He turned his stricken face to them and battled against the waves. Never had he been so afraid, but although his heart rejoiced to see the boat he cursed the novice with all his strength. 'Damn her!' he cried. 'Damn her to her Deep!'

  But neither she nor Ben heard him. Sister Bridget stretched out her hand. 'I have it!' she shouted as her fingers closed abo
ut the moonkelp in Silas' clutches.

  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.'