Crik (20 page)

Black’s growl stopped him from speaking. Looking up he saw the wolf bearing down upon him. Black lips curdled back from long canines like windblown sheets. Focusing on Bill’s hand Jack willed his friend to recover, but he dare not make a sound. Tilting its head back, Black howled, and then bringing its shaggy head down, rushed forward.

‘Stop.’

Bill’s words had an immediate effect on the wolf, which stopped a metre before Jack. Unable to move, Jack continued to watch the wolf, listening to the wind pass from its laboured lungs.

‘I suppose having your own demon can be useful,’ said Bill, pushing himself up from the ground.

Bill moved to take Inara’s hand. ‘Help me get her on Black.’

Not wanting to approach the large predator, Jack advanced tentatively. Fighting down his fear, he helped Bill lift Inara. With a familiar heave, they got her up onto the wolf’s back.

Noticing Inara’s penetrating stare fixed across the blue stones, Jack saw Krimble standing back looking more uncomfortable than at any other time he had known him, alive or as an animated corpse.

Pencil thin lips cracked open as Inara spoke in a whisper that reminded Jack of little boys pulling legs off spiders. ‘Come here,’ she said. ‘Walk slowly across the line.’

The zombie on stiff legs stumbled up to the line, his yellow tinted eyes wide with terror. His mouth hung open revealing the root of his decayed tongue.

‘I said come here,’ she repeated, ignoring the expression of panic painted on his face.

As soon as he reached the line, Krimble gripped his head, pushing his half-eaten fingers into the flesh of his cheeks. Blood coursed in thick streams down his front, colouring his grey flesh crimson. Beneath the blood, shapes began to move in a jittering dance. Flesh bubbled across his chest, pulsating with hidden shapes. Black faces, with wide golden eyes, peered out through Krimble’s ravaged body. Fingers spread through the decayed flesh, only for Krimble to push them back with a horrified cry. More strove against their prison walls. Little impressions pushed against the soft belly. Even Krimble’s arms convulsed with trapped Narmacils.

‘Have mercy, how many Narmacils has he got,’ said Bill taking a step back.

‘He brought this on himself,’ replied Inara. ‘Every one of those came from someone Krimble tortured and killed. How do you like them now?’ she shouted at Krimble. ‘Who died so that one could writhe inside your leg? Huir? Remember how you cut off his arms and legs? Do you remember cutting off mine! I screamed, just as loud as you are now, but you didn’t care, after you were done, you went back downstairs and drank tea. I heard the whistle of the kettle!’

Krimble had fallen to the ground, his back bubbling from the encased demons.

Jack turned, unable to watch.

Only Yang moved closer, holding out his shadowed hand to the struggling Narmacils.

‘I should order you through the line a hundred more times.’ Inara’s voice was as dry as a snapping twig.

With his back to them, Jack faced the hedge. The branches that made up the walls of the tunnel moved, writhing together like a nest of snakes. Large branches as thick as his leg rubbed up against smaller wood, scraping off bark in long strips. The sound reminded him of the faulty step outside his bedroom door, only a thousand times louder.

With the sound drowning out Krimble’s screams, the others faced the moving tunnel. The sun sank behind them, and in the dying red light, their elongated shadows touched the dark mouth.

‘
The wood’s moving
.
’
Bill removed his glasses, wiped the lens, and replaced them back on the bridge of his nose. ‘How’s it doing that?’

If anything, the wood moved faster, splintering the limbs in furious rushing strokes. Broken branches and stripped bark littered the ground, adding to the continuous shower of leaves from above.

‘It’s only moving at the tunnel entrance.’ Inara peered down the length of the hedge. ‘I can’t see another way through the hedge.’

Jack let some of his tension into his voice. ‘Well there’s not. You don’t want to go back across the beads do you? We have to go through the Wold, and this is the only place we can do it.’ He pointed a trembling finger toward the tunnel. ‘Look, we can walk inside without going close to the hedge walls. An army could. Just stay to the centre and we’ll be fine.’

Swaying, Inara rode forward. ‘Can you promise our safety now Jack?’ She looked down at him, and shook her head. ‘No, you can’t. The truth is you don’t know what’s happening.’

‘We have no other choice.’ Looking up at the girl, whose imprisonment had aged her, Jack felt the air drain from his lungs. He hated himself for adding to her misery. ‘Tell me Inara.’ Waving his arms around, he took in the rest of the countryside. ‘Please, tell me, what else can we do? If there’s an easier way, one without danger, then I need you to tell me.’

‘Our path was set the moment you learnt about the Narmacil. Knell is all that matters now. Getting to her, so you can rid yourself of Yang.’

Her words alarmed him more than the tunnel. Reflecting on his choice brought a second, more powerful bout of shame. Her gratitude for her rescue from the Marsh House was the only reason she agreed to travel with him. ‘I’m sorry Inara,’ he replied. ‘It’s too late to turn back.’ With his mouth set in a grim line, he took a step toward the tunnel, and its moving wall.

‘It’s moving faster,’ cried Bill. ‘It reacted to your approach.’

Without its bark, the wood appeared to be a nest of flailing white worms.

‘The mouth of the tunnel is still as wide as before,’ answered Jack. ‘Stay to the middle.’ His fingers crept to the instrument hidden inside his shirt. Hoping to find courage, he explored the Syll, touching the holes as though they were magical incantations of protection.

The twigs, carpeting the floor, crunched underfoot.

‘Yin, hold on,’ said Bill, fumbling with the lantern. ‘There’s no way I’m following you into the dark.’

‘Don’t be in such a rush all the time,’ warned Inara. ‘Just because we have to go this way, doesn’t mean we’ve got to stumble blindly forward.’

Feeling his cheeks burn, Jack relented, and then saw his shadow in the gloom. A peculiarity concerning Yang. Another abnormality, Jack corrected the singular, was his shadow’s ability to be present on a cloud heavy day. One lone shadow amongst a world made up of none. True, rather than the fully formed entity presented on a sunny day, the demon appeared as a faint outline, like a drawing faded by time. How about the night, he mused, did the darkness hide Yang? On those rare occasions he could not sleep, he pondered what happened to Yang in the dark. Did the shadow cease to be, only for the morning to make him whole? Questions such as these had plagued him. Turning on his bedside lamp would make Yang reappear. Yang always looked as though he expected the sudden light, as though he kept watch in the dark. Jack shivered at the thought. Bill lit the lantern, focusing Yang in stark relief against the backdrop of the hedge. Let him watch, thought Jack, whatever nefarious activity occupied the demon’s time in the dark could remain hidden. Despite his conviction, a seed of doubt remained to trouble him. Did the darkness dispel Yang, or not?

Holding the lantern aloft, Bill watched the rustling hedge with wide roving eyes. Cracks followed snaps, and splinters clouded the air as they stepped into the entrance. The vibrating wood settled into the pits of their stomach. Feeling like he had eaten a hive of bees, Bill wanted to vomit. The world lost all other sound; they jammed their fingers into their ears to block the deafening clamour of breaking wood.

Hurrying their steps, the group passed under the entrance. Bill, having kept his face upturned, was black from the falling dust before they had entered the tunnel proper. Once away from the entrance, the tunnel walls shook with less force. Here foliage rustled, yet the bark remained on the branches. The tunnel muted a lot of the sound, allowing them to lower their hands.

‘I’m deaf in one ear,’ complained Bill, digging his finger into his right ear.

‘If you had waited to light the lamp you could’ve used both of your hands,’ said Jack.

If Bill heard him, he didn’t reply. Most likely, the black flowers shielding the tunnel walls kept him quiet. Like the others, Jack disliked the look of the flower. A flower with black petals went against everything he knew. His mother had grown all sorts of plants, his house looked more like a garden than a home; he had never seen anything like these before. Even Inara, who had remained calm in the Lindre Clearing, looked anxiously about. The thrashing wood made the flowers shimmer, reminding him of little talking heads, as though he were the one under inspection.

‘Let’s keep moving,’ shouted Inara. ‘We’re still too close to the entrance.’

The tunnel remained straight, and they had no trouble in keeping away from the hedge as they forged ahead. The sooner they were away from the dark blossoms the better. Pitch-black spaces shared the tunnel with the flowers, and the sense of something watching them flooded through Jack, turning his blood to water.

The wolves tucked in close, treading the same ground as the boys. Only Krimble walked close to the flowers, stroking them with his fingers. They rustled under his teasing touch. The red stems, which Krimble’s fingers uncovered, reminded Jack of veins; he shivered at the comparison. Yang stayed close, twisting his entire agitated length to look back at the entrance whenever the plants rustled. Jack had never seen his shadow so nervous.

‘I’d wish he’d stop doing that.’ Bill watched Krimble with mounting unease.

‘Ignore him,’ said Inara. ‘The more we take notice of him the more he likes it. As far as you’re concerned, Krimble is not here. He’s nothing more than a shadow.’ She looked around. ‘Sorry Yang, I didn’t mean that we’d ignore you, just a poor choice of words.’ Yang dismissed her anxiety with a wave of an arm. ‘He’ll be with us until his punishment is done.’

‘When will that be?’ asked Bill.

‘I suppose when his rotting legs no longer hold him up.’

Wiping the grime from his face, Bill said, ‘Remind me not to get on your bad side...and I thought my grandmother held a grudge.’

How could they ignore Krimble, at any time the zombie could bring death upon them? Even here, perceived Jack, he threatened them by stroking the flowers. When they got to the Red Wood, Krimble would give away their location the first chance he got. Krimble’s rotting stench combined with the sick perfume of the flowers, each threatening to suffocate him. Scratching his nose with an absent finger, he bit his tongue from telling Inara to make Krimble go back, or die, or whatever else she wanted, just as long as he didn’t have to worry about him any longer. Appraising Bill, he was aware of his friend’s shared opinion. Wanting Bill to voice his objections did not make it right; Jack forced them down this path, not Bill, and as such, he couldn’t expect anyone else to speak for him. Swallowing his protestation, he marched on, keeping his attention on both the tunnel and their sly companion.

How could things have changed so much in a week? Hard to believe, only a few days ago his biggest concern was whether his mother would again rearrange the furniture. Now, far from home, having survived meeting ancient statues and packs of wolves, he wondered what else waited ahead. No one else from the village had witnessed such sights, and for that, his chest swelled with pride. Such emotion passed like an errant leaf caught in a sudden cold updraft. His mother would be frantic. Wanting to cry he pictured her forced into stepping outside to raise the alarm; something she hated to do because of her burns. The plants in the house were her way to bring the outside world to her. Not doubting the tracking skill of the village hunters, he knew they would find where he and Bill had met the wolves. Finding only wolf tracks leading away from the path, they’d conclude the wolves had eaten them. A cold sweat broke out. Oh, he wished Knell lived close; he had to get back and tell his mother he was all right.

The air within the tunnel thinned.

‘Are the walls getting closer?’ asked Bill, moving the lantern from one side to the other.

The beam of light had shortened.

‘Jack!’ cried Inara.

Turned by Inara’s frightened tone, Jack glimpsed a shape clinging to the roof of the Blackthorn Tunnel. It hung in view for only a moment before scurrying into the wood. The leather strap bit into his neck as he pulled the Syll from his shirt. Clutching the instrument, he looked around for the figure.

‘What’d you see?’ asked Bill, spinning around.

‘I’m not sure.’ Her eyes shifted between the walls. ‘I thought I saw something watching us from above. I didn’t get a good look at it. How about you Jack? I saw your face when I called out. You saw it didn’t you.’

‘There was something,’ agreed Jack. ‘It went into the wood. Let’s group up, we don’t want any stragglers whilst we’re in here.’

‘Get ready to play the flute,’ said Inara. ‘Remember what Llast told us.’

‘I haven’t forgotten.’ Jack waved the Syll.

‘How about blowing a note,’ urged Bill.

Shaking his head, Jack said, ‘We don’t know how long this tunnel goes on for. When Llast asked me to try it my mouth grew numb, I’m not sure how long I can play it.’ In readiness, he placed his finger atop the square and the largest hole. ‘Shout if you see the Vestai, and I’ll start.’

‘With the flowers shivering it’ll be hard for us to see them coming,’ said Inara. ‘It’s as though the Blackthorn is the gullet of some immense monster.’

Bill nodded his agreement. ‘Yeah and we’re marching to its stomach.’

‘Stop trying to scare each other. Keep the lantern high,’ instructed Jack. ‘It’s the only thing in this forsaken place that isn’t painted in shades of black.’

Only Yang saw the Vestai sneak forward from the tunnel wall. Large wings, covered in black feathers, shielded its pale body. Jack’s shadow grew large, transforming into a bear. Yang rushed the Vestai, who let a shriek escape ruby lips.

Following the rushing bear, Jack spotted a girl in a bloodied dress standing to one side of the tunnel. Black wings spread out, stirring the air with a smell that reminded him of old attics. Yang launched himself, knocking the frightful girl to the ground.

‘Its one of them,’ shouted Bill.

Shadow and Vestai wrestled on the ground. Although Yang’s bear form covered the Vestai, through his body, the party could see the shrieking woman. Ferocious beating wings drove them back to the opposite side of the Blackthorn. The human face of the Vestai stared through Yang, holding Jack prisoner with colourless eyes. They appeared so large, so frantic to him that Jack believed the woman had no eyelids. Her slender nose came to a snub end before a nightmare mouth filled with wooden stakes.

Yang’s heavy paws kept her imprisoned beneath him. Her brown hair whipped across her cut cheeks in untidy swirls. Repeatedly she plunged her wooden teeth into Yang, but each bite met with empty air. Blood gushed from her gums as the stakes splintered apart in her mouth.

‘The Syll, Jack,’ shouted Inara.

‘Yes, of course,’ he said dumbly, breaking his connection with the Vestai.

The taste of lemons filled his mouth as he wrapped his lips around the flute, making saliva collect beneath his tongue. The tune, which was both melodic and harsh, broke through the Vestai’s screams, silencing her. Under Yang, she grew limp, and her eyes sunk deep into her skeletal face, until only pools of inky blackness remained.

Yang slowly withdrew from the Vestai.

Silver sniffed the wings splayed out on the floor. Snarling, the brave wolf retreated. The others encroached closer to the prone Vestai as the music played.

‘She looks almost human,’ said Inara.

‘With vulture wings and a garden fence for a mouth,’ replied Bill.

‘I said almost human.’

‘Make sure you keep playing,’ Bill cautioned Jack as he knelt down. His fingers shook as he touched the dress. ‘I wonder whose blood this belongs to? It looks old. Now that her wings have stopped flapping, she looks smaller. About as large as Liza Manfry, and about as ugly,’ he added.