The Whitby Witches 1 - The Whitby Witches Page 21

  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.

  14 - The Empress Of The Dark

  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.

  The plaster was dry and crumbled easily, as she hacked and stabbed with the blades.

  'Oh, Hilda,' Rowena said, 'you should have destroyed your staff instead of sealing it in a wall for me to find. Were you so unsure of your newfound God? How its very existence must have tormented you—how you must have longed to wield it once more.'

  A ragged gash now grinned in the whitewash. With the next strike of the garden shears, the plaster gave way. A sound like a rifle firing blistered through the hut and all along the wall hairline cracks appeared.

  Rowena stood back as the cracks widened and in an avalanche of dust and dirt the whole lot slid down.

  When the choking cloud settled she wiped her eyes and laughed. At her feet, half hidden in the rubble of long buried centuries, was the staff of Hilda.

  It was a long piece of polished black wood, carved round the handle with Celtic snakes that twined into knots and swallowed their tails. A beautiful thing, it had been untouched by age since the day Hilda herself had walled it up. Rowena could feel the power beating from it. She licked her dry, dusty lips and held out a quaking hand.

  'Mine,' she said softly as she felt the magic of the ancients surge through her. 'It really is mine.' The witch threw back her head and laughed madly.

  Miss Boston watched the little boat drift closer. At her side, Hesper was fretting. 'I see only Nelda and the boy. Where then are Eska and Silas?'

  Jennet waved to her brother as the craft sailed into hearing distance. 'Ben, Ben,' she called out.

  He looked up but did not return the wave.

  Aunt Alice clasped her hands behind her back and her chins shook querulously. 'I fear all is not well,' she said.

  'But Rowena's gone,' Jennet told her. 'That must mean she's failed.'

  The old lady said no more, but that last look of triumph on the witch's face had been troubling her. The only thing they could do was wait for the boat to return and learn the truth.

  The aufwader vessel bumped against the side of the pier and Nelda slowly rowed to the iron rungs. Ben scrambled up the ladder. When he was safely on the pier he ran to his sister and flung his arms round her. 'It's all my fault,' he cried. 'It's all my fault.'

  Jennet stared at Aunt Alice. What did he mean?

  Hesper pattered over to the edge of the pier and helped her niece up next. 'My heart rejoices to see that you are safe,' she said, 'but what happened to Eska? Why is she not with you?'

  Nelda raised her head and Hesper saw that tears were streaming down her cheeks. 'So the Deep Ones took her,' she murmured. 'Well, perhaps she is happy at last.'

  Miss Boston removed her hat and gazed at the ground. 'Then Sister Bridget is no more,' she clucked sorrowfully.

  Nelda wiped her eyes. 'They took Silas too,' she put in, 'and... and that is not all,' She glanced quickly at Ben and hung her head.

  'Weep not for Silas,' Hesper said, trying to comfort her. 'I was a fool to think he would ever change. A rogue he was when I wed him and a rogue he remained. The shore is a cleaner place without him.'

  Aunt Alice looked from Ben to Nelda, trying to understand their despair. She moved forward and tapped Hesper on the arm. 'I think there is more to this than we know,' she told her.

  'But what else might there be?' Hesper returned. She gasped suddenly as a suspicion crept into her mind. 'No!' she exclaimed. 'Nelda, tell me I am wrong. Tell me you found the moonkelp and returned it to the Lords of the Deep.'

  Nelda did not reply—she avoided her aunt's eyes and stared at the ground.

  It was Ben who answered for her. He let go of Jennet and said in a wavering voice, 'It's my fault. I had it in my hands but instead of, instead of asking for the curse to be lifted...' He was too ashamed to complete the sentence.

  'Then what did you ask for?' Hesper cried angrily.

  Ben felt rotten. 'I'm not really sure,' he mumbled feebly.

  'Not sure!' shouted Hesper. 'How can you not be sure? Are you a total simpleton, boy? The moonkelp was our only chance—have you doomed us to extinction, human?'

  Miss Boston covered her face. 'Of course,' she groaned. 'Rowena—I thought she looked too happy.'

  'What has that witch woman got to do with this?' snapped Hesper. 'Do you not understand that this child has betrayed our trust in him?'

  'Nonsense,' Aunt Alice retorted. 'Don't you see? He was a victim of her devilish arts.' She laid her hands on the boy's shoulders and looked him squarely in the face. 'Tell me, Benjamin,' she began, 'what was it you asked for? Was it for the whereabouts of Hilda's staff to be revealed to Mrs Cooper?'

  'How did you know?' he asked.

  Miss Boston groaned again and stuffed her hat back on. 'Then we have all failed,' she said. 'If that staff is as powerful as Rowena believes it to be, nothing can stand in her way.'

  They fell silent, for the situation seemed hopeless. Miss Boston was deep in thought. If there was a solution to all this then it eluded her.


  Nelda chanced to look into the sky, where heavy clouds were now gathering. 'The weather is changing,' she said. 'I think a storm is coming.'

  'A storm is coming,' Aunt Alice affirmed, 'but not the kind you were thinking of.'

  Nelda continued to look at the dark heavens. She had never seen clouds quite like these; they seemed to ooze overhead like thick treacle. Her gaze followed their slow, deliberate progress over the harbour and towards the East Cliff.

  Suddenly Nelda cried out. 'Look!' she shouted, pointing to the church.

  Miss Boston, Hesper and Ben turned and fixed their eyes upon the floodlit building.

  'Gracious,' breathed the old lady.

  Curious as to what her brother and Aunt Alice were staring at, Jennet peered up at the church.

  Standing before the arc lights, as Sister Bridget had done hours earlier, was Rowena Cooper—and the staff of Hilda was in her hands.

  Even from that distance they heard her harsh, gloating laughter. Rowena was insane with joy and she revelled in the new-found strength which flowed through her veins.

  'Now we'll see,' she yelled. 'The time has come for you to serve a new mistress.' With both hands clasped firmly about the staff she raised it over her head. 'Obey me!' she screeched.

  A jagged streak of black lightning erupted from the staff. It crackled upwards and split the night sky apart. With a mighty roar the clouds exploded and ripples of destruction radiated out to the far reaches of the world.

  Rowena hugged herself. She was amazed—the power of the staff was greater than she had ever dreamed. The thrill of it was delicious. She looked down on the little town of Whitby which would have the honour of being the first place to suffer. 'I am Empress of the Dark,' she exulted. 'Armies shall fall before me and nations tremble at the mention of my name.'

  Down on the sands. Miss Boston was appalled. 'She's testing the staff's powers!' she exclaimed.

  Whitby flickered beneath the flashes of darkness that issued from Hilda's staff. The very fabric of the night seemed to swirl over the rooftops and the heavens were alive with black thunderbolts. Rowena laughed all the more, her shrieks of mirth carried on the gale that tore round the graveyard. Her voice ricocheted off every headstone and it seemed as though the dead themselves were rejoicing with her.

  'Now for a true demonstration of your power,' she cried.

  The staff blazed with evil energy and she flourished it in the air. A large whirlpool of shadow began to form above her. It spiralled out, growing larger with every swing and changing everything it touched.

  The tombstones blistered and moss fell from them as the ancient magic passed over. The weathered inscriptions glowed with purple fire until they were as clear and sharp as the day they had been carved. Still the staff poured out its might. The solid, immovable shape of St Mary's quivered as the coils of blackness pounded its walls and the years fell away from it.

  Rowena looked around at what she had done, impressed and delighted. Even as she admired her handiwork, the expanding web of darkness engulfed the abbey. The majestic ruin shimmered and its ragged walls switched in and out of past ages. For an instant it was the grand structure it had once been, whole and with light shining through its high stained-glass windows, and the next it was partially built. Then it disappeared entirely, replaced by a collection of smaller buildings. Rowena was unravelling time.

  Lowering her arm, the witch pointed the staff at the huddled houses below her and screeched with glee. The twisting helix of magic spun towards the town. It blasted through the narrow lanes and confusion rampaged in its wake. Street lamps dimmed as they became gas lights and then they too were whisked away. Paved roads buckled and the tarmac split apart as cobbles forced their way to the surface. Modern buildings vanished and the surrounding houses grew shabby, while in the harbour the fishing boats were replaced by high-masted whaling ships.

  On the sands of Tate Hill Pier five figures gazed at the town, bewildered.

  'What's happening?' asked Jennet in disbelief. 'The houses are changing.'

  'Rowena is dragging Whitby back through its own history,' said Aunt Alice. 'But this is only the beginning. If she is not stopped then everywhere will be plunged into chaos.' The old lady held on to her hat and darted over the beach. 'We must take that staff from her,' she told them, 'whatever the cost.'

  'How?' Jennet began, but Miss Boston was already scampering up the path towards the hundred and ninety-nine steps. Hesper ran after her, closely followed by Ben and Nelda.

  Jennet was scared; anything might happen to them. 'Stop!' she shouted. 'Wait, you won't be able to take it from her. Stop!' But they were caught up in the urgency of the moment and did not hear her.

  The girl glanced wildly at the town. Whitby continued to judder through the past, but the rate at which the centuries devoured it was not constant. Some areas were still untouched by the crackling power of the staff whilst others were totally devastated. Primitive stone huts stood beside Victorian houses and next to them an arcade sparkled.

  Jennet looked at the church steps. As yet they were unchanged and she saw Aunt Alice striding up them with her brother close behind. There was nothing she could do to make them turn back, so, with her heart pounding, she rushed after them as fast as she could.

  Upon the bleak, empty cliff, where the churchyard had once been, Rowena Cooper flung her arms open and embraced the glorious spectacle below. As the town hurtled down the ages, she contemplated, with relish, the new life that stretched before her. 'No more will you rule me, Nathaniel!' she hooted ecstatically. 'No more will I be bound to you. I am free at last—free to do whatever I choose—and you shall cringe before me.' She breathed a great sigh of contentment and drank in the devastation all around. Her glittering eyes swivelled from barren marshland to the rapidly shrinking piers and along the wide expanse of cliff. There her gaze was arrested as it fixed upon the five figures that toiled up the steps.

  Miss Boston had almost made it to the top; Hesper was at her side and below them came Ben and Nelda, while Jennet was right at the bottom of the steps. And even if she ran for all she was worth she would never catch up.

  Rowena regarded them as she might a collection of insects. 'Futile creatures,' the witch spat. 'How they plague me. Will they never learn that I have beaten them?' She pounded the staff on the ground in irritation, then smiled cruelly. 'Perhaps I could have some sport with them.' Filled with evil purpose, she raised the staff and pointed it at Ben and Nelda.

  The boy and the young aufwader were running side by side. The clamour of the tormented night was rising behind them but neither dared to look on the horror that Whitby had become. Ben's ribs ached and the blood thumped in his head. He felt responsible for everything—if only he had not succumbed to the enchantment Rowena had put on his tongue. If he had been stronger, then none of this would have happened. Tears of guilt trickled down his cheeks and he blamed himself with each step.

  The anguish Nelda had felt before was nothing compared to this. If the alternative was living in a world of Rowena's making, the curse of the Deep Ones was a thing to be welcomed. In all the legends of the tribe there was never a more deadly threat than that vile witch woman. Nelda glanced quickly at Ben, feeling the torture of his guilt. Suddenly her face fell and she stumbled.

  'Ben!' she screamed. 'Look out!'

  Too late. A twisting jet of power streamed down from the staff and cannoned into them with staggering force.

  Ben and Nelda were plucked off the steps and swept into the air. Torrents of unstable time thrashed about them as the full fury of Rowena's might was unleashed. The staff blazed and a yawning fissure opened in the sky above their heads.

  'Jennet!' the boy shrieked as the swirling chasm widened over him. Hideous forms rushed through the cyclone of darkness that bore him into the heavens and the coils of the past seized him utterly. Nelda yelled and kicked but the gaping mouth bore down on them both. With a flash of purple fire, they were sucked into its spinning centre and their cries were swallow
ed by the night.

  On the steps beneath. Jennet staggered to a halt. She howled her brother's name but he had vanished into the whirling void. 'Ben, Ben,' she sobbed, falling to her knees.

  The maelstrom crackled and spun towards her prostrate form. Jennet stared up at the awful vision that threatened her with oblivion. Springing to her feet, she ran down the steps but the wind tore at her hair and dragged her backwards. Jennet clung to the railing as the gale lifted her off the ground and the spiralling maw of night closed on her. She felt her fingers slip from the rail then, with one final cry, was lost.

  Rowena crowed with amusement. 'Back you go,' she laughed, 'out of reach forever!'

  Miss Boston's breath rattled and wheezed in her throat. She glared at the empty steps below and threw her hat down in dismay. 'Cooper!' she cried. 'May God forgive you!'

  Hesper was distraught. 'Nelda!' she wept bitterly. 'What has happened to her?'

  'I don't know,' murmured the old lady. 'I just don't know.'

  Whitby was almost completely destroyed—gone were the houses and only the River Esk glinted between the rippling shadows on either of its muddy banks. The menacing waves of power crept over the bottommost steps and they melted beneath it, dissolving into clay and shale.

  The sound of Rowena's laughter broke into the night. 'Fools,' she cried. 'See how easily I vanquish you.'

  From out of a shimmering rent in the fragmented heavens there suddenly came a fierce burst of gunfire. Above the valley two aircraft appeared, locked in combat, their engines roaring in the shredded clouds.

  Miss Boston looked up incredulously. 'Good Lord,' she muttered.

  The planes swooped low over the cliffs. Hugging the ground, they zoomed perilously close to Aunt Alice and Hesper and a blizzard of lead hailed from their spluttering guns. Sparks rang off the steps and the bullets plunged into the soft soil beyond. That was too close for comfort and Miss Boston staggered back. One of the planes bore a swastika: they were witnessing the dogfight which had taken place over the rooftops of Whitby during the Second World War. Rowena had snatched the planes out of time to fight again.