The Whitby Witches 3: The Whitby Child (29 page)

"Look at us!" he bellowed. "This paltry few is all that's left of the many tribes which once thrived along this coast. Must every black boat be burned afore them nazards o' the brine see how cruel they've been? A foul damnation on 'em, ah says—an' ah'll bring that about if'n it's the last I do!"

Throughout this impassioned and volatile speech, the messenger said nothing, but when Tarr had finished and stood quaking with rage, comforted by Nelda and Miss Boston, the figure in the boat stirred.

"Verily", he intoned, "the time has indeed come for the grievances of thy race to be taken before the Lords of the Deep."

"Then do it!" Tarr roared. "Tell 'em of our sorrows and what'll happen if the curse isna lifted!"

The herald crouched forward and in a hushed voice answered, "No, I shall not."

"But you just..."

"I shall not take thy haughty and proud ultimatum before the thrones of my masters! If thou wishest to be heard, then thou must deliver the message thyself!"

The fisherfolk drew their breath and stared at one another in shocked amazement. No one since the days of Irl had ventured down to that cold and deadly realm.

"Dare you accompany me into the fathomless waters, Tarr Shrimp?" the messenger asked. "Hast thou the valour to face the dread powers of the world and speak as thou hast done to me?"

Tarr's face fell. He had not expected this and his spirit balked at the very thought.

"What sayest thou?" murmured the herald. "Is the leader of this meagre tribe as craven as he is overbold and rash?"

Disconcerted, Tarr lowered his eyes and gazed at Nelda. The contours of his granddaughter's face were graven with fear and dread.

"Don't listen to him," she said. "You mustn't go."

Tarr stroked her leathery cheek with his aged hands and the angry resolve returned to burn in his heart.

"Aye!" he snapped back at the herald. "Ah'll come! What new torture can them divils contrive we ain't already sufferin'?"

A low chuckle issued from beneath the seagreen cowl. "Much," it whispered. "As yet thou knowest naught of the torments my masters can devise. Yet forewarned of this, art thou still set on stepping into this vessel with me?"

"I am."

"No, Grandfather!" Nelda wept, flinging her arms about his neck and clinging to him despairingly. "I won't let you go! I won't! They'll destroy you!"

Tarr pulled away from her and placed her hands into Ben's. "Ah mun, lass," he said simply, "'tis the one chance we've looked fer down the years—what leader'd throw that aside?"

"Please don't leave me—you're all I have left!"

"And tha's all I've got," he said sadly, "and that's why it mun be done. Here—take the guardian and keep it safe. Ah'm not daft enough to take that down theer wi' me. If I dinna come back by dawn, smash the thing to bits. Swear now."

"I swear."

"Reet," Tarr announced, glaring back at the messenger and stepping towards the water's edge. "Ah'm ready."

"Stay a moment," the herald commanded. "Did I not say that thy voice alone would not be heard?"

Tarr's brow corrugated with irritation. "Nay!" he shouted. "Ah’ll not let Nelda to come!"

"And neither would I wish it," the voice snapped back from the hidden depths of the hood. "One of thy race is quite enough."

"Then who?" Tarr mumbled.

For an instant the light of the lantern was mirrored in the messenger's clustering eyes and everyone saw that they were staring straight at Miss Boston.

Astounded, the old lady clapped her hands. "Do you mean to say," she began hesitantly, "do you honestly mean that I too am to journey with you both—all the way down there to have an audience with the ruling Triad?"

Amusement was in the herald's voice when he replied, "Such is mine offer; travel the ancient paths and stand at the feet of the three thrones, Alice Boston."

Her face was a rapturous picture of elation and, leaning on the walking stick she gave an exhilarated jig of rejoicing.

"Happy day!" she grinned. "Oh Benjamin, isn't this exciting?"

But Ben was as unhappy at the prospect of her leaving as Nelda was about Tarr's departure. She seemed to have no regard for the terrible danger she was placing herself in and behaved as if she was simply going for a boat trip around the harbour. He tried to tell her not to go but Aunt Alice would not listen, her mind was made up.

"Use your intelligence, Benjamin dear," she said. "The Deep Ones wouldn't have asked to see me merely to keep me prisoner down there or something worse. Besides, they bear me no grudge, I've never had any dealings with them. This is a mighty honour. If I refused then I would regret the decision for the rest of my life and that would be intolerable."

The hooded figure of the herald called out impatiently. "Hurry," he said, "we have far to travel this night—far away is the realm of my masters. Step into the boat."

Miss Boston raised her eyebrows at Tarr and held out her hand to him. "Shall we go down to the water together?" she asked. "I should really have brought my Wellingtons."

Tarr glanced back at Nelda. "Remember thy promise," he told her. "Dawn tomorrow."

Tearfully she nodded and drew closer to Ben as both her grandfather and Aunt Alice waded out towards the boat and clambered aboard.

When they were seated opposite the strange messenger, the small wooden craft spun around and pulled away from the shore.

"Good fortune go with you!" Nelda shouted.

"Take care," Ben cried.

Tarr held up his staff in farewell and with a sudden notion Miss Boston cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, "Benjamin! Don't forget to feed Eurydice!"

Then the boat picked up speed and it sailed swiftly over the open sea.

"That's the last we'll see of them," Old Parry's spiteful voice mewled. "None of us'll ever see their faces again in this world. They've gone to meet their doom."

***

Over the immense cold sea the rowing boat flew, slicing through lazy waves—cleaving an ever-widening wake in the great grey waters.

The cliffs of Whitby and the lights of the harbour had long since vanished over the rolling horizon and Miss Boston settled down to enjoy this fascinating and rare opportunity to the utmost.

Beside her, with his staff placed across his lap, Tarr stared impassively past the crouching shape of the herald and out into the distance beyond.

No muscle twitched on his face to betray his thoughts or feelings and with his arms folded, he endured the journey without saying a word.

All around them, the bright moonlight shimmered and danced over the moving surface of the water. Wobbling stripes of milky light were reflected over and into the little craft and Miss Boston craned her neck from side to side in childish amusement. It was all so marvellous, she wanted to drink in and remember everything—she still couldn't believe what was happening and tiny chortles of pleasure quaked inside her bosom.

Suddenly Tarr stirred and he lifted his hand to his brow as he peered into the far horizon.

"Nine times bless me!" he murmured. "What be that yonder?"

The old lady followed his concerned gaze and her wrinkled eyes grew wide with delight and astonishment. "Stupendous!" she cried. "What a spectacle!"

Upon the rim of the wide salty world, a tremendous tumult was churning and thrashing the waters. As they watched in stunned silence, the sea erupted and enormous spouts burst high into the night, glittering beneath the moon like a blizzard of cascading frosty fire.

The ferocity of the explosions boomed over the rumbling ocean, and gigantic shock waves sped outwards in massive rings of foaming water that tossed the little boat like a cork in a storm.

Miss Boston and Tarr gripped the sides of the vessel desperately as freezing spray stung their faces and the aufwader yelled his fury at the herald. "We'll be drowned!" he raged. "Ah should 'ave reckoned theer'd be no parley wi' the Triad! Well, they'll not be laughing when the serpent is loosed."

"Fear not!" the cloaked figure shouted above the seething din. "The way is merely being prepared for us—we shall not be harmed."

"Does tha mean we're headin' straight fer yon tempest?"

"Into its very heart."

Towards the crashing waters the wooden craft sailed, smashing through the walls of froth that stampeded against them and riding the rampaging, tormented surf.

Miss Boston scrunched up her face as the salty deluge battered her, but keeping one eye half open she saw in the distance a most incredible and awesome sight.

Towering in the night sky, forming from the insane, lashing sea, was one colossal wave. Slowly and horribly the immense mountain of brine grew. The north wind raged against its horrendous and shimmering bulk, whipping the surrounding waters into the air and hurling them upon the vast glassy slopes of the monstrous, thundering vision.

Higher it soared, its terrible peak rearing into the starlit sky until the snowy, foam-capped crown vanished from sight.

Before its huge and deadly magnificence, the boat was like a minuscule insect. The titanic wave filled their entire vision and an icy gale blasted about them. Yet even as they watched in dread and disbelief, the incredible nightmare trembled and shook. With a deafening roar that ripped through the night, the sheer wall of water toppled and fell.

Tarr threw his hands before his face and Miss Boston prayed silently as they waited for their destruction.

The fierce thunder mounted and the freezing gale tore and plucked at them, but the violent doom that they expected failed to happen.

Cautiously, Tarr lowered his hands and stared. "By Gow!" he whispered incredulously.

The titanic wave had curled in upon itself and was even now spinning over the sea. But the spiralling, vertical whirlpool maintained its position in the water, diminishing neither in bulk nor height and as Tarr watched, a dark circle appeared directly in the rolling centre.

"Deeps take us!" he breathed as the wheeling fissure widened and became a huge black mouth.

The herald mocked him coldly. "That is exactly what will happen."

Miss Boston gazed at the great, churning vortex that loomed ever closer and the rush of the reeling waters beat against her ear-drums.

"Behold the gateway to their Majesties!" the herald laughed above the squall. "Now does the peril truly begin!"

Caught in the inescapable pull of the whirling nightmare, the little boat flew into its ominous shadow and the yawning cavern of the rumbling gateway reared high over their heads.

All other sounds were lost as the spiralling tunnel sucked the twisting gale into its throat. Up to the whirling threshold the boat sped, and the rolling curves of the monstrous wave closed around them.

The vessel rocked and jerked and the lantern swung madly at the prow, its light glimmering in sapphire streaks over the surrounding spinning gloom.

Then with a lurch the sea dropped and the boat teetered on the brink of oblivion. For an instant, Tarr and the old lady glimpsed only a black void, and then the craft shot down into the darkness beneath the waves.

Into the cold realm of the Triad the little boat travelled, the spiralling tunnel created by the limitless power of the Deep Ones drawing it swiftly further into the uncharted reaches of the sea.

It was a mad, bouncing ride. Miss Boston's stomach turned over a dozen times as they descended and though at first she had been mortally afraid, gradually she began to look curiously about her and actually started to relish the bone-jolting, nerve-jangling journey.

Beyond the twisting walls of the spiralling vortex, strange sights were momentarily illuminated by the boat's lantern and the old lady marvelled at the wonders that were revealed to her.

Dim wrecks of ancient ships flashed beyond the coiling water—old galleons teeming with colourful fish that glinted with rainbow brilliance as they darted into the sweeping beams of light.

Then they were lost far behind and beneath the wooden boat a bottomless chasm opened in the ocean floor.

In a great swooping arc, the swirling tunnel plunged downwards and the sides of the drowned canyon raced above them. Deeper the boat hurtled and in the gaping trench hideous creatures swam in the darkness. Within the crevices gnawed into the chasm wall, sickly green lights glowed and bulging eyes glared at the snaking pathway that frothed and boiled through their dismal territories.

Miss Boston clasped her hands before her—enchanted at the unfolding spectacle. Bloated, distorted shapes passed overheard; weird undiscovered monsters of the deep that no human eye had ever seen—ghastly submerged islands of coral-encrusted blubber, grown vast and terrifying in the absolute dark.

As the boat shot through the writhing channel, a huge barnacle-covered fin broke through the round churning walls, slicing the foaming water in half. Miss Boston and Tarr were drenched and glanced up at the immense calamitous shape uncertainly.

"Fear not," the herald assured them, "the watch-dogs of my masters are inquisitive—nothing more. We shall not be harmed."

The great, malformed fin withdrew into the blackness once more and the boat skimmed forward undamaged, although the old lady and the aufwader were soaked to the skin.

Abruptly the tunnel emerged from the chasm and the dim, deep green of a warm ocean now spiralled about them. Travelling parallel to the reefs below, the boat's jarring jolts subsided and swiftly but steadily it journeyed.

Miss Boston removed the sopping hat from her head and wrung it out over the side. About them she began to see broken fragments of ancient architecture lying amongst the coral, and corroded columns of marble rose upon either side of the churning passageway.

Between the great, stately archways of a forgotten civilisation they sped. Fallen statues of primeval gods sprawled on the ocean bed and ruined temples choked with waving weed reared in the distance. Throughout this decaying country wound majestic colonnades, high bronze towers speared from the murky verdigris of their crumbling desolation, and palaces that were once the residences of vengeful kings and proud princes now appeared grim and forbidding—the abodes of many-eyed monsters.