B00JX4CVBU EBOK (20 page)

Ember laughed and embraced him. ‘It’s so good to have you back,’ she said into his shoulder. Turner felt every part of her, including her feelings.

Turner lowered his head and whispered into her ear, ‘Thank you. For everything.’ Ember’s embrace grew stronger.

Turner looked up, morning had almost arrived. The dark sky grew lighter every minute. He had no idea what day it was, or how long he’d been in the Grimshade.

The women stood in groups of two or three chatting and exclaiming over the recent events, until Mother Torhild shushed everybody loudly. She looked across the loch, now lit with the gold of the rising sun, and asked, ‘Can you feel it?’

Ember, standing next to Turner asked, ‘What? The power of the Ellring?’

‘Not that. Not that. It’s started. It’s like a wound in my heart. A Scather gate, and it’s a big one.’

Turner winced. Yes, of course, the Scathers. The giant vacuum cleaner. Damn. Now that Mother Torhild had made him conscious of the threat, it was clear in his mind, a giant Scather gate …

‘At Wickerwell.’ said Aunt Sigrid. ‘Yes. I feel it.’ Other women murmured in agreement. Yes, thought Turner, and hung his head. Wickerwell.

‘Aye,’ said Mother Torhild. ‘I’m afraid so. Every Vordene in Britain will be feeling it, and rushing to the battle.’ She turned to the gathered Wickerwell women. ‘As must you.’ 

Ah yes, thought Turner, the High Vordene wouldn’t go. They couldn’t afford to lose any one of their number; they were needed for initiations and Bindings—for everything Vordene.

Mother Torhild suddenly looked her age. She leant against the arm of Aunt Brenna, but her voice was strong, and carried across the ancient circle. ‘You mustn’t tarry. Go now, and fight. Fight with all of your being. Fight for the Earth.’

Ember reached out and took Turner’s hand.

CHAPTER TEN

T
HE
W
ICKERWELL
V
ORDENE
and their Ring appeared beside their own sacred well. Turner could tell immediately things were serious. Beyond the small stone wall to the north of the well, in the fields beyond Wickerwell Manor, the battle was in full swing. The sky was dark with storm clouds, explosions and Scathers. Shockwaves of sound battered the newcomers.

Without a word, the five sisters and Turner ran through the opening in the wall and into the fields. Now they could see the Scather gate. It was the size of a football field and as dark as space. Thousands of Scathers erupted out of it and into the sky above, while some swept back down into the maw of the pit. Turner thought the whole thing looked like an angry hornets’ nest. 

In clumps around the pit, but not too close, were groups of Vordenes. Hundreds and hundreds of women. Some, younger than the Wickerwell women, many older. Turner was astounded—so many Vordene families! Running, flying and slithering around these women were their Rings. Turner saw the spirits of a horse, a fox, one or two dogs, an eagle, a swan and more. And every one of these women, these elemental forces, were fighting; shooting balls of fire, ice, and lightning into the circling, screeching mass of Scathers. 

Every second, a new explosion blew apart some of the cloud of creatures, but none of it seemed to make any difference. More filled the voids. Scathers dive-bombed the groups of Vordene, but were mostly rebuffed by the protective fields of so many Rings. To his horror though, Turner could see two or three battles on the ground where Vordene women were fighting off Scathers from their sisters. Their screams added to the mayhem and noise. 

The girls and Turner came to a halt just in front of a group of about thirty Vordene. Many of them saw the Wickerwell group and stopped what they were doing, a look of shock and anticipation on their faces. The Ellring! The Ellring is here!

Celeste took a look at the storm of death around them, turned to Turner and said, ‘Turner?’

Turner knew a baton had been passed, but he had no time to think about it. He looked up into the clouds of shrieking creatures and knew just what to do. He raised his hands and remembered Celeste’s force field; it was his too now. He held his hands out and imagined the sphere between them. He needed it to be big. He tapped the power within himself, held it, let it intensify, stronger, stronger, and then … Now! He threw the thought of the sphere outwards and upwards, and drew a gigantic bubble around at least three quarters of the flying Scathers.

Turner needed the crowd of Vordenes to do something, and he had to get a message to them—all of them—immediately. He wasn’t sure if it would work, but Turner knew what he was: he was the True, and True spirits could communicate directly into people’s minds.

Still holding the gigantic sphere aloft, where thousands of Scathers could be seen inside batting against its glowing walls, Turner extended the tendrils of his mind across the field.

He sent the message out to the mind of every woman there. ‘Listen to me everyone! This is Turner … the Ellring. Can you hear me?’ He could see women stop what they were doing and turn to him.

‘Yes! In our minds. Yes!’ said Ember next to him.

Turner nodded. Good. ‘I need you to create your power balls and energy bombs inside the sphere, and let them off in there. See it?’ Hundreds of women raised their faces. ‘All at once. Ready, set, GO!’

The giant, slightly transparent ball in the sky suddenly became a mini sun, as scores of gathered Vordene set off their elemental energy within it. Hundreds of arms covered hundreds of faces as the blinding light hit them like a supernova. Turner, arms still raised, felt the sphere break apart in his hands, but knew its job was done. 

When he looked again, most of the Scathers had been destroyed, some still in the process of exploding into black wisps as they died. Unfortunately, many hundreds had survived, and still flew around the gate. The gathered Vordene had taken up the fight again, and bevies of power balls took to the air, knocking out whole groups of Scathers. But more still rose from the pit.

Ember pointed. ‘Turner! The gate. We need to close it.’

‘Together, sew it up! Close the gate!’ yelled Celeste.

Turner could feel the others pulling, tugging. He joined with them and imagined the pit closing and saw just that: the gate was becoming smaller. Its sides closing in. We’re winning!

But then the ground shook. Turner looked around. An Earthquake? 

A large rumble came from the pit, and from the depths a gigantic, black hand and arm appeared, easily over one hundred feet long. It rose up out of the pit and then came crashing down. Maybe a dozen Vordene women lost their lives then, crushed to death under the enormous hand. The top of a head appeared in the hole, and a harrowing shriek louder than thunder, emanated from it, ‘Emmmmber! Emmmmber!’ 

Ember turned to Turner, fear and astonishment on her face.

Turner knew then he’d been wrong about the death of the Vordene monster.

‘Close the gate!’ screamed Celeste.

But it was too late. Another arm rose out of the pit, and when it hit the ground it killed more Vordene, scattered some, and sent the rest running. And yet another hand grasped the edge of the pit. The monster rose up, and up. And it kept going, arms, heads and deformed breasts, all churning and twisting upon themselves, pushing the gate wider as it rose. It was the monster Vordene, and this time it was hundreds of feet tall. 

Turner craned his neck. Oh no.

*

The creature screamed and rose out of the giant Scather gate. Turner knew the faces well. Somehow the creature must have merged with the Grimshade power core and been reborn. Its giant arms glistened with the familiar oily blackness. Its mouths, the size of buildings and its fangs now as big as cars. Talons on the end of its claw-like hands scraped at the earth. Even from where Turner and the girls stood they could smell the terrible stench the monster exuded. Once again it bellowed, rattling every bone in Turner’s body, and knocking many of the women to the ground.

Everywhere, the Vordenes broke apart and scattered. A few stragglers threw power bombs at the creature but to no effect. Turner knew, even with the combined power of every Vordene woman here, he wouldn’t be able to defeat this monster.

One of the monsters arms, on Turner’s side of the pit, swiped at some of the retreating women, killing some and flinging a dozen into the air. Without thinking, Turner stopped them in mid-air, and eased them to the ground. But it was one small victory. Turner knew without more power they would be lost. All of them.

More power.

Yes! Turner fist punched the air.

‘What? What!’ Ember yelled into his ear. But Turner just shook his head; there was no time to explain. Ember would catch on soon. If it worked.

Turner ran up the small hill behind him, back towards the Manor’s boundary wall, ignoring the calls from his sisters. Once at the summit, he turned and raised his arms—he wanted to be seen. Plus, the fact he was still wearing the golden hooded cloak of the High Vordene would help. He needed to concentrate, to tap that True part of himself, for right now the two things he needed to do were pure True. The first was easy … he had already done it.

Turner imagined the connections, the tendrils between the groups of Vordene: not only the ones present on the field but the many thousands over the Channel, across Europe, Asia, Africa, the Americas, all around the globe. He was going to speak to them all. But he wasn’t going to ask them to come here and battle. The opposite in fact.

Imagining the pure essence of the Vordene elements, he tapped into the tendrils of his sisters in front of him, followed the connections to the rest of the women on the field and then outward, spreading wider, pushing it further. He sent out his thoughts to them all. ‘Listen! This is the Wickerwell Ellring! I speak to all Vordene. All of you, across the world. Many of your sisters are here with me and we battle a great threat. The whole world is in peril, and we cannot do this alone. But … I do not ask for you to come here. What I ask is that every Vordene go to their well. Now, please. Stand by your well, hold hands with your sisters and reach out to the unseen ones.’

Every single woman on the fields in front of Turner had stopped. They stood and looked up at this Ellring, this crazy boy. Turner felt sure they had no idea what he was talking about.

He also knew if his message had not reached around the world, he was going to need the power of every Vordene woman on the field in front of him. And this was where he hoped he could use the second True power. 

He pulled back his world-connecting thoughts and focused once again on the hundreds of women in the fields. Most had escaped the reach of the monster, some dragged or levitated the injured away. The monster had one of its huge legs out of the hole now. Its body loomed in the turbulent clouds. The earth shook every time one of its limbs hit the ground. Its screeching never stopped. There was no time to waste.

Turner raised his hands again. He spoke to the gathered Vordene on the field with his mind, ‘Sisters! Think of your wells. Imagine them. See yourself standing next to your wells.’

As soon as Turner’s thought had gone out he acted. Please let this work, he thought. He pushed his hands forward. Go!

But nothing happened. Many of the women looked around at each other. Some shrugged.

‘Turner,’ said Celeste next to him. ‘What you are trying to do … it’s not possible. You can’t …’

But Turner wouldn’t listen. The True could move people between worlds at will, without wells. Turner was the True, wasn’t he?

‘Think of your wells!’ he yelled into their heads. 

Please, True, I need your help with this one. He pushed his hands forward again. Go! Back to your wells!

Every single woman—alive and dead—vanished. All except his sisters. Turner was part of the Wickerwell Vordene, and he couldn’t do this without them. 

‘Oh my bloody God,’ said Brooke.

He moved to stand between the girls. They reached out and grasped each other’s hands, forming a circle around Turner. Ember gave him a smile. Stand within us.

The monster screamed. It was now or never.

Alone on the hill, the Wickerwell Vordene faced a monster the size of a skyscraper. Turner raised his arms.

This was it. It had to work. Turner had remembered the Gathering in the True, and how the True spirit had spoken about their ‘connected knots,’ and how their shared energy was stronger than power concentrated in one place. Distributed computing was how Turner had thought of it. Nodes. By sending every Vordene in the world to their wells he had created the world’s biggest web of elemental energy.

And now he drew it to him. Starting with the immediate node around him, he siphoned in the power of thousands of Vordene women, all connected by their wells. He could feel the energy swelling inside him, it increased, multiplied, and multiplied again, until an intense blue stream of light burst from Turner. With his arms outstretched, his body tense and stiff, his head thrown back, the composite power of Vordene the world over converged in one man. One Ellring. 

He held it. Held it.

And then he let loose. 

He brought his arms together, and the massive shaft of pure blue plasma rocketed out across the field in a heartbeat, and struck the monster between two of its heads. The bolt of concentrated energy blew a hole straight through the creature, and spread in lightning arcs across its body. The monster screamed with every available mouth. The beam burned and expanded, and the hole through the monster grew until parts of it started to fly off, sparking with blue lightning. 

And then the whole thing exploded.

A shock wave of blue energy and monster body parts flew out, but Turner was ready. And this time it was simple—his power and understanding of it flowed easily now—he threw a gigantic force field around the pit. The monster’s explosive death finished in a cloud of sparking, black smoke safely inside a bubble the size of a mountain. And when Turner released the force field there was nothing there. No monster. No sound. No Scathers. Just the pit.