The Whitby Witches 2: A Warlock In Whitby Page 4

  "Maybe he's been got at," put in Ben. Jennet groaned and squeezed his hand till he yelped and pulled away from her. "He might have, mightn't he?" the boy protested. "Loads of others have."

  Mrs Rigby trembled. "Oh the poor creature," she wept. "Oh my poor Mokey!"

  "Don't worry," Jennet tried to reassure her, "We'll keep an eye out for him. He's a marmalade cat isn't he?"

  "That's right, a lovely coat he's got—oh, good God, how awful! To think that could be why he's been taken. To be skinned!"

  "You should have put him on a string," Ben told her.

  Mrs Rigby took from her pocket a length of twine and held it up for them to see. One end of it had been chewed and bitten through. "But I did," she whispered, "I did."

  3 - In The Chamber Of The Triad

  The passage was dark and narrow; here and there the rough, rocky floor was covered in slimy weed and only those sure of the safe path had ever dared venture down it. This was one of the oldest of all routes to the aufwader caves—unlike the others, this natural entrance had never been widened and made completely secure. In places it was almost impassable, it had always been a tight squeeze even for the smallest of the fisherfolk.

  Only Nelda now used this tunnel and because of that she considered it to be her very own—somewhere secluded to escape to when life in the main caves grew unbearable. During the last couple of months she had spent a lot of time just sitting in the quiet, cramped darkness, alone with her thoughts and fears.

  Some distance along the path there was a low outcrop of moss-covered stone which she used as a seat, and it was on this she now sat. An hour had passed since she had said farewell to Ben on the shore, but she had not yet had the courage to return to the rest of the tribe.

  Slowly she rocked back and forth, her head resting in her hands. A great burden lay heavily on her spirit and she was at a loss to know how to escape what must come.

  "Peace," she eventually said aloud to dispel the black mood which was stealing upon her. "Can I not be free to choose my own destiny?" Her voice rang in the tunnel, echoing round until it faded on the last word. "Destiny, destiny..." it repeated.

  Nelda peered into the gloom, just to be certain that it was indeed an echo and not someone hiding and playing tricks. Anything was possible and she was wise to be suspicious.

  "No," she told herself after a long silence, "'tis nothing. Have I then come down to this, where I jump at shadows and the slyness of my own mind?" She tried to laugh but the sound was artificial and forced. It was no use, she could not shrink from it any longer, it was time to join the others.

  Nelda rose and moved further up the passage, stooping then crawling until it opened out into one of the main aufwader halls.

  Standing upon the more even ground, Nelda stretched and looked about her. The place was deserted. At that time in the evening most of the other fisherfolk would be in their chambers mending nets or cooking a meal over the fire.

  Through the empty tunnels which connected the main halls she slowly wound her way. The caves were lit by oil lamps, set into niches in the rocky wall or suspended from the ceiling on chains. The lamps themselves were diverse shapes and sizes: mostly plain bronze bowls, but some had been fashioned into the shapes of fish with the flame licking from the mouth, and in one crevice a dragon's head glared out with blazing eyes. The light they radiated was soft and it flickered before the slight draughts, rippling over the green walls, creating the illusion that all was submerged beneath the sea.

  It was not long before Nelda realised that something was wrong. Although she could hear the usual sound of crackling fires, and the scent of steaming broth and roasting fish tantalised her nostrils, there was nothing else. No aufwader voices drifted through the salty air and by now she ought to have bumped into at least one of the other inhabitants. A frightening disquiet crept upon Nelda—what had happened to the rest of the tribe—where were they?

  With mounting concern she hurried to the nearest cell. It was the home of Prawny Nusk, a friend of her grandfather. He was a good-natured soul who spent most of his time smoking his pipe and whittling pieces of driftwood. She ducked under the fishing nets which festooned the ceiling, but the cell was empty. The cooking fire had been left unattended and was gradually dying; above it the iron cauldron which contained Prawny's supper bubbled and seethed. The broth within was spoilt and it splashed over the edge, hissing as it trickled down the sides, forming a black, sticky goo that dripped and fizzed on the hot embers. Nelda gazed round at the deserted room. Prawny's knife lay by his stool, next to a heap of wood parings, even his pipe had been left behind to smoulder on the rush-matted floor.

  "Mr Nusk," she called, knocking out the glowing tobacco and stamping on it. Only the spluttering cauldron answered her.

  Nelda ran out and in a louder voice shouted, "HELLO!", but all she heard was the echo of her own voice ringing through the tunnels. Hastily Nelda ran the rest of the way to her family's quarters, anxious and afraid.

  When she reached the low entrance she paused before pulling aside the dividing curtain—what if there was no one here either?

  Taking a deep breath, she threw back the cloth and stepped inside.

  It was horribly cold and the lamp was not lit. But, in spite of the darkness, Nelda could discern a figure seated by the heap of ashes in the centre of the chamber. The figure was hunched and still, staring into the charred remains of yesterday's fire—as if waiting for some oracle to speak from the cinders. When Nelda entered he lifted his head.

  "Grandfather!" she cried. "What is it? Where is everyone?"

  Tarr reached for the staff which lay at his side and hauled himself from the rushy floor. His eyes fixed on her and at once she saw they were filled with pain and despair. "Lass!" he uttered thickly. "Ah wish tha hadna come back." The old aufwader rushed towards his granddaughter and caught her in a desperate embrace, clinging to her for dear life.

  And then Nelda knew; all those weeks of doubt and uncertainty were finally confirmed. As the coils of her doom wound tightly around her she felt nothing; of all reactions this was the last she had expected.

  "The summons bell has been rung," she said flatly. "That is why they are all absent."

  Tears were running down Tarr's ancient brown face and dripping from his wiry whiskers on to her cheek. 'Theer was nowt ah could do," he sobbed, "nowt! Deeps take me if'n ah didn't do all ah could. But theers nowt to be done, he'll nivver be gainsaid."

  Slowly Nelda pulled away from him. "Strange," she said, "I did think I would be more upset than this. Why am I not weeping and tearing out my hair?" She pulled the hat from her head and let it fall to the floor. "Grandfather," she began in a wavering voice, "a part of me has died this night—inside I am numb."

  "Then ah'll weep fer us both," he answered huskily. "Come, lass." He held out his rough, calloused hand and she took it in her own. They left the chamber in silence, the only noise coming from Tarr's grief-ridden chest as it let loose all his sorrow.

  Down the dim labyrinth of tunnels they made their way, hand in hand. Nelda knew where they were headed. She had been resigned to making this solemn journey for months now. It was, after all, her own rash words which had brought about this evil moment and there was no escape. Nothing could release her from the fate which was waiting—nothing except death.

  Deeper under the cliff the two fisherfolk went, down the steep Ozul Stair to remote and seldom visited caverns. Only once before had Nelda been down there: when Hesper, her late aunt, brought her to see the fossilised bones of long-dead monsters. Again she walked the eerie gallery beneath them, that crowded host—like the hellish legions of a skeletal army.

  Nelda and her grandfather left the fossils behind them and came to the Gibbering Road. This was a slender bridge of stone that stretched across a wide chasm. It was said that the gaping gulf it spanned was bottomless and contained the tormented souls of those drowned at sea. On stormy nights you could hear the hollow voices wailing in anguish. Occasionally the horrible shr
ieks had reached as far as the living quarters high above and all were forced to stop up their ears. Few of the aufwaders, even Old Parry, dared listen to those nightmare cries, for those who had were driven insane.

  In single file they began to cross, with Tarr leading the way. As Nelda stepped on to the perilous bridge she happened to look down. It was a mistake; the world fell away and the blackness below was so impenetrable it seemed to have a substance all its own. Nelda pinched herself and concentrated on reaching her grandfather who was already on the other side. She wanted him to speak reassuring words but if the legends were true then any noise might arouse the souls of the dead. With her heart fluttering in her breast she hurried across and seized Tarr's hand once again.

  They were getting close to the ancient heart of the aufwader realm. Through a series of dank grottos and evil-smelling tunnels they continued, whilst all the time the sound of running water grew in their ears. Nelda stared about her as they came to a huge cavern, larger than any she had ever seen.

  It was filled with stalagmites that towered up to the dripping ceiling, forming immense, natural pillars of glistening rock. Underground springs foamed along deep channels worn into the floor and waterfalls cascaded over the emerald-coloured walls. It was a spectacular place, where land met sea in harmonious perfection, the joyous rush of water over stone was like music and it gave comfort to them both.

  Since the time when the churning waters brought forth the land, this wondrous, subterranean cathedral had been sacred to the aufwaders. Even before man had driven them underground they had worshipped here and spoken of it with reverence. The Lords of the Deep were rumoured to have built it and some still clung to the belief that anything spoken here would be heard by them. A devoted few would still venture down at certain times of the year to plead for the aufwader cause and beg the mercy of the Deep Ones. If their prayers were ever hearkened to, however, they went unanswered—for the terrible curse was never lifted. Yet it remained a glorious, hallowed place.

  Between the gurgling rivers of seawater, Tarr and Nelda walked until a great arch reared up before them. Huge columns of smooth rock supported the sweep of its curved roof which was encrusted with ammonites. An immense, heavy curtain of woven seaweed barred the way. It had been made in days long gone, by cunning hands whose skill had never been matched. Upon that intricate tapestry were symbols of the moon and sea and in nine panels it depicted the creation and destruction of the world, from its birth out of darkness to its return.

  From behind the curtain they heard the buzz of many whispering voices. Tarr glanced at Nelda: was it too late to turn back? Could she bear the agony of living outside the tribe? For a second her breaths faltered and beads of sweat sprang from her forehead. No, she had already decided there was no way out. It took a while for her to compose herself but when she had, a slight nod to her grandfather told him she was ready for what lay beyond. Leaning on his staff he put out his hand but the curtain was drawn aside before he could touch it.

  "Enter, Tarr," summoned a croaking but powerful voice, "and welcome, Nelda."

  The cave was smaller than the one which preceded it, yet no less important. Here sat the Triad, those elders of the tribe who ruled all the others. Their word was law and woe betide any who disobeyed them.

  Every member of the tribe was there and as the two figures entered they turned, their hushed whispers dying. All eyes were on Nelda and she gripped Tarr's hand more tightly. The assembled fisherfolk parted, clearing a path down the centre of the chamber. As Nelda passed by they hung their heads, too ashamed to meet her gaze. The atmosphere was electric and all shifted uncomfortably, for this was a black day in their history. Through this corridor Nelda and Tarr moved, coming finally to where the elders sat in judgement.

  The Triad sat upon three grand thrones. The two outer ones were decorated in patterns resembling the sea and stars but they paled in comparison to the one in the centre. The middle throne was magnificent, it dwarfed those beside it, rising grandly from the living rock, its broad back thrust upwards to the ceiling, where it clove in two to support a great silver lamp. Nelda stared up at it in wonder. The lamp was the shape of a boat riding waves of glittering crystal which absorbed the light from the tapering flame at the prow and scattered it throughout the chamber. It was dazzling, like the sun on the sea, and Nelda had to lower her eyes.

  A hideous face was peeping up at her. It was only a carving beneath the seat of the main throne but above that crouched a figure that Nelda truly feared. He was more loathsome than any sculpted gargoyle, for he was the oldest of all the fisherfolk and leader of the Triad.

  Esau had lived for eight centuries and each and every one of those years was etched on his face. He was a wizened, shrivelled creature, whose hands were more like claws. His matted forked beard was adorned with small shells and the long, unkempt hair which flowed down his humped back was tangled with seaweed and threaded with painted stones.

  The talons of his fingers tapped the stone serpents that twisted around the arm of the throne. He was impatient and, as Nelda approached, leaned forward with undisguised anticipation. Though he was ancient his eyes were as sharp as ever they had been. They twinkled under the dancing light of the silver lamp and darted slyly round the chamber. He could see the expressions on all their faces—he knew what they were thinking. Well, let them, there was nothing they could do to stop him. He had waited a long time for this. Toying with the pearl that hung about his neck, he squinted at his fellow elders on either side—they too were powerless to stop him and he could not prevent a gleeful cackle issuing from his cracked lips.

  Tarr let go of Nelda's hand, it was the law that she must face this on her own. She stepped forward and stared defiantly at the hunched figure.

  "I have been summoned," she said, managing a bold, fearless tone. "What is it the Triad want of me? I stand here guiltless and await your judgement." So ran the words of the trial and she waited for the response.

  The elders who flanked Esau swallowed nervously. Neither of them could look at the young aufwader and they mumbled into their beards. Both hated what they must do and they struggled to pronounce what they had been instructed to say.

  "Daughter of Abe," muttered one of them, "thou hast been brought to this chamber to answer." He stole a glance at Esau and shuddered. His name was Johab and he was only a little older than Nelda's grandfather. His sea-grey eyes closed and his pity went out to her—he could not continue.

  Esau jabbed at the other elder to complete the condemnation, who reluctantly cleared his throat. He fidgeted for a time then said, "Dost thou remember what occurred two moons since? And dost thou recall the words thou didst speak?"

  Nelda did not look at him but continued to glare at Esau. He was the one behind all this. It was time to draw him out, the charade had gone on long enough.

  "I remember calling you an old fool!" she snapped.

  A murmur ran round the rest of the tribe, but this time they were not angry with her, they agreed.

  "Be silent!" Esau gripped the arms of the great stone chair and barked at everyone, his eyes gleaming with malice. Then he swung round and pointed an accusing, gnarled finger at Nelda. "'Abide by my decision', I did tell thee!" he raged. "And didst thou not answer?"

  "I did."

  Esau hugged his knees, panting eagerly. "And thine own words were?"

  "So be it."

  "So be it!" he screamed triumphantly. "So be it!" He crawled from the throne and put out his bony hands to the surrounding crowd. "From her own mouth she doth freely admit the bargain!" he cried. "If she did fail to return with the moonkelp, then unto me she would surrender her fate. And without that treasure came she back to these caves!"

  He took a pace closer to her and lowered his ugly, withered head. "Now have I decided," he breathed into her face, "and thou must obey."

  Here it came, the final pronouncement of doom, the jaws of her dreaded fate were closing and she could do nothing to save herself.

  Esau raised
an emaciated arm and all held their breath.

  "Hear me!" he commanded. "Witness this—my judgement. For years beyond the span of many have I sat in council upon this throne and long and lonely have those years proven to be. My heart shrieks out at me! How often have I felt it bleed? I have hungered, I have craved—but no more! The gnawing solitude is come to an end at last. Nelda Shrimp, thou shalt be my bride!"

  There, it had been said aloud. The fears of the whole tribe had been brought into the light and the truth of his lust reviled them all.

  Nelda did not move; throughout all this she had been in the possession of an icy dignity but now hot tears streaked down her face.

  Esau hobbled closer and reached out one of his filthy claws. She flinched as he stroked her hair. "Fear not, my beloved," he feverishly cooed, "I shall never harm thee. For many years I have watched thee, many empty years—a soul cannot last alone. Be a companion to me in my dotage, that is all I ask of thee—nought else."

  The leathery skin of his repulsive hand brushed against her cheek and Nelda drew quickly away. "Cease your pawing!" she demanded. "It's true you have the right to claim me, but I curse the day I uttered those foolish, ill-counselled words. Would that I could call them back!"

  "I am fortunate thou canst not," he broke in. "Thou shalt be mine at the next full moon."

  A horrified uproar erupted in the chamber. "The moon—she waxes even now!" the fisherfolk cried. "In only two days she will be at her zenith. Whither are your wits?"

  "Tha canna intend to wed wi' me granddaughter two nights hence!" bellowed Tarr in outrage.

  "I do indeed!" declared Esau clenching his crippled fists. "And there is nought you can do, Tarr. The law is with me on this. I have waited too long already—I shall not be kept from her another moon."

  The clamouring continued and many vented their opinions on the lecherous elder. What he was doing was obscene. The only one who said nothing was Nelda herself. Through the turmoil her eyes met those of Esau and held them. In that brief instant, when the oldest of the fisherfolk stared at the youngest, their spirits strove for dominance. Each battled with the other and attempted to cast their snares, Nelda with the pure vigour of youth and Esau with the desperate tenacity of age. The air between their brows shimmered and once the elder took a step backwards, but he swiftly rallied and countered with such violence in his eyes that Nelda staggered and broke free.