Brother Wulf, page 13
I retched, and tried not to look. Were they cannibals, this witch and the giant? It was certainly beginning to look that way.
I carefully inched my way towards the far wall of the crypt, trying to make as little noise as possible. I couldn’t see anyone, but I knew they must be nearby. Then, in front of me, I saw another trapdoor – also open. I peered down and saw a torch on a wall bracket at the foot of more steps.
I frowned. This was very unusual. In the County, even a small church might have a modest crypt to house the bones of the dead – mostly those of the more well-to-do families who could afford a large donation. But to have a level below that … what could be its purpose?
I reminded myself that this was not the world I had been born into. As Alice had told me, this was an underworld. Although it might look like mine, different rules applied, and they would be designed to help the witch who ruled this devilish realm.
To go down the new steps was a huge risk, and I was scared. I knew I might meet the giant and his accomplice coming back up. However, the spooks must be down there. I’d come this far; I couldn’t abandon them now. So I began my descent.
At the bottom there was a tunnel leading off into a distant dark. The floor, walls and ceiling were made of hard-packed earth. I could see no wooden props or overhead beams to support the ceiling, so what was holding it up? I wondered. I sensed the great weight of soil and rock above me, but steeled myself to my task, and walked on.
The further I went from the steps and the flickering torch, the darker it became. But then the tunnel curved to the left and I could see light ahead – from another torch, positioned at the point where the single tunnel divided into two.
I faced another problem. Which one should I take? As far as I knew, there was no pathfinder saint, so I muttered a quick prayer for guidance to St Anthony, the patron saint of lost things and lost causes. I’d prayed to that saint before, and sometimes he’d helped me. This proved to be the case again.
St Anthony was never visible to me, but his croaky voice whispered into my right ear. It was a voice that quavered with age:
‘Do not take the left-hand path of darkness. Keep always to the right!’
I did as he advised, and took the right-hand tunnel.
I wondered how far these tunnels extended. By now, I was surely well outside the boundary of the church and its grounds. There was another torch ahead, and once again the tunnel divided in two. I didn’t bother with a prayer this time – St Anthony had told me to ‘keep always to the right’, and I was only too happy to follow the saint’s guidance in this hellish place.
I went down the right-hand tunnel without hesitation. In fact, I was starting to walk faster. This was beginning to seem like a labyrinth, and there was a danger I might get lost. I hoped that, by taking the same fork each time on the way out, it would be easier to retrace my steps.
When I rounded the next corner, I noticed an open door to my left, a light shining from inside, and moved forward very slowly. This had to be the place. When I was almost at the door, I came to a halt and listened carefully. After a few minutes I was confident that there were no sounds coming from the other side, so I pushed it fully open and stepped into the room.
The first thing I noticed was the smell of fresh blood. The second was the figure sitting on a chair. It was the giant, and he was dead.
He’d been murdered. Someone had opened the top of his skull as if they were slicing off the top of an egg. Bile rising in my throat, I took a step nearer and saw that the skull was empty. Something had scooped out his brains. Despite this his face looked peaceful. His eyes were closed and his mouth was slack and open. No doubt he had been taken by surprise, his killer striking so swiftly that he’d had no time to feel fear or pain.
I backed away in panic. If something could do that to a giant, it could deal with me very easily. I considered my escape. I could leave the room and go back the way I’d come. Or I could use the feathers now, and escape this underworld. But then I thought of Tom Ward – Tom, who had always been kind to me. It was the memory of Tom rather than Johnson that halted me in my tracks.
And then there was my duty to Alice. How could I face her and admit that I had abandoned Tom?
So, very reluctantly, I checked the room for clues (making sure to avert my eyes from the murdered giant). Finding none – apart from drops of blood on a table, and a large empty bowl beside them – I returned to the tunnel and began to advance again.
Soon there was another branching of the tunnels, so again I selected the right-hand option. Immediately there was another open door to the left, again with light flickering from within. Was this where the two spooks were being held? I wondered.
Cautiously I crept forward, keeping out of sight as much as possible. I could hear what sounded like sucking and sipping noises. Someone or something was inside the room.
I peered in through the door – and saw three of the strange spider-like creatures feeding at a shallow wooden tray on the ground. It was full of dark blood and small pieces of meat.
For a moment I wasn’t sure what I was seeing … and then, in a moment of horrified realization, my mind flashed back to the open skull of the giant, and suddenly I knew what the creatures were. I had read about them in Spook Johnson’s library. They were a type of witch’s familiar from the highest and most deadly category of all: one of the most terrifying creatures that came from what Alice called the ‘dark’, but which I could see all too clearly was really Hell.
They were called ‘brain guzzlers’.
The Hierarchy of Familiars
I knew that not all witches used familiars – some preferred blood or bone magic. In fact, as Johnson had explained, spooks placed witches in three main categories according to the type of magic they used. There were bone witches, blood witches and familiar witches.
A familiar was a creature that served a witch. She would make a cut on her upper arm and let it feed on her blood. Eventually a small nipple would grow on her flesh, making the feeding much easier. In exchange for the blood of its mistress, the familiar served her by spying, or even killing her enemies. Poisonous toads, rats, crows and cats were common familiars, but the brain guzzlers feeding from the tray were a different thing altogether. They were right at the very top of the hierarchy of Hell’s familiars. They were born there.
I now recognized the fifth appendage I’d seen on the spider-creature – the one with the serrated edge. The book I’d read explained that the witch would send her chosen victim into a deep sleep, and then the creature would use its leg as a saw to slice through the top of the skull, exposing the brain, which it would then devour, taking up residence inside the skull. I realized that the giant must be such a victim. He was not dead, but he no longer had a mind or will of his own. He only came ‘alive’ when the familiar was in his head. It was a type of possession.
I watched the creatures drinking from the tray. Maybe the witch’s blood couldn’t provide enough food for so many familiars, so it had to be supplemented in this way?
I remembered what the ugly little creature had said:
You’re a runt! You’re far too small for me!
Then, indicating Tom Ward and Spook Johnson, it had added, But those two will do fine.
Was that what had happened here? The larger victims such as the giant were possessed, while the smaller, unsuitable ones such as me became food? Or were these foul beasts feasting on one of the spooks?
I had to act quickly. There were three familiars here, but there might well be others close by. Somewhere in this maze they might even now be sawing into the skulls of the two spooks and devouring their contents.
I crept away, trying my best not to make a noise. I needn’t have worried. The three familiars were still too busy slurping down the grisly contents of their tray to notice me. I continued onwards until I reached the next fork in the tunnel, and once more chose the right-hand path. The tunnels seemed to go on for ever. Perhaps they did. In this construct of dark magic, anything was possible.
Once again I saw a door on the left and heard sounds coming from the room behind it – terrible sounds that set my teeth on edge. It was the sound of sawing.
Knowing it could only mean one thing, I crept in.
I was right: the scene before me looked like something out of a butcher’s shop. Tom Ward and Spook Johnson were tightly bound to chairs. Johnson’s was right next to a table, and one of the weird little familiars was crouching on the tabletop, about to saw into the spook’s head with its little bone-saw.
Tom Ward was still unconscious, but to my horror I saw that Johnson’s eyes were open and his mouth was working frantically as if he were trying to speak; instead he was just making little whimpering sounds. Then he looked at me and his eyes widened. Despite what was being done to him, he seemed to know who I was.
As the familiar sawed into his head, blood flowed from the wound and ran down his face. It was a desperate situation, and desperate measures were called for. I acted without thought, drawing the silver-alloy dagger from my pocket. I lunged forward, and stabbed downwards fast and hard, pushing the creature away from Johnson’s head and pinning it to the tabletop.
It shrieked in agony, but that cry didn’t last long because I stabbed it again and again until it gave a final twitch and fell silent.
Then, with trembling hands, I used the blade to cut Spook Johnson free. It wasn’t easy. As I did so, I glanced at his head. There was so much blood that it was hard to see how much damage had been done. I knew head wounds always bled a lot, though; hopefully it was only shallow.
Once free, Johnson staggered to his feet, groaning and touching his palm gingerly to his bleeding head. He then put a heavy hand on my shoulder, as if seeking support, and limped after me as I went to free Tom.
I’d just finished cutting through the ropes that bound him when I heard steps approaching. We’d been discovered! The witch must have sensed that we were deep within her lair, and now her face slid into view in the doorway. It was like a horned moon drifting towards us out of the darkness. I knew I had to get us out now.
Johnson already had his hand on my shoulder to support himself. So I leaned forward, gripping Tom’s arm with my right hand so that all three of us were in contact, as Alice had instructed. I reached into my pocket with my left hand to separate the two feathers and activate the spell.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the witch filling the doorway, glaring at us malevolently, raising her clawed hand. Just as I separated the feathers, there was a flash of light and a force that threw me backwards.
I thought it was just the effects of Alice’s spell, but when I opened my eyes I was on my knees in the street outside the church. The red glow was gone from the sky; overhead the stars were dim but visible. The brightening to the east told me that it was almost dawn. We’d escaped from the underworld – I could have wept with relief.
I looked about me and saw that Johnson was on his knees too, dazed, and still bleeding badly from the head wound. However, to my dismay there was no sign of Tom Ward. The blast from the witch must have thrown us apart, breaking the contact. He was still in her clutches.
We staggered to our feet, crossed the street and silently began to climb the hill towards the trees. Alice walked down to meet us with her baby.
I will never forget the terrible look of anguish in her eyes when she saw that Tom wasn’t with us.
As we headed back into the trees, I explained what had happened. Alice listened in silence, and then gave me Tilda to hold while she tended to Spook Johnson.
She bathed his cut and then took leaves out of a pouch and bound them to the wound with strips of cloth that she’d cut from his shirtsleeves. As she worked, tears ran down her cheeks. They were for Tom. No doubt she believed that she’d lost him for ever. I shuddered at the thought, though it seemed likely, and so I had no words of hope for her. By now another of the familiars might well be sawing into his skull. I tried not to think about it.
‘I’ll go back into the underworld,’ I offered. ‘Could you make another spell so that I can get us both out? Have you enough magic left for that?’
She nodded, still silently weeping, and I handed her the two feathers. Alice sat down cross-legged on the grass, facing me. I glanced at Spook Johnson. He was staring at us both, his gaze quickly flicking from one to the other, but he didn’t speak. I wondered if the wicked little familiar had actually cut deep enough into his skull to damage his brain.
‘Those brain guzzlers are dangerous,’ Alice said, almost as though she’d read my mind. ‘I should know. Bony Lizzie, the witch who trained me, had one as her familiar. Nasty little thing it was. We didn’t get on. We both knew one of us was going to die eventually, so I killed it before it could kill me.’
There was something chilling about the calm way she said it. But how could I blame her? I’d just killed a guzzler to save Spook Johnson.
‘There’s something else, Wulf. I told you that my magic faded away as soon as I felt Tilda kick inside me,’ Alice said, and I nodded, remembering. ‘But since she was born it’s started to come back. I’m getting stronger by the day. And if that witch has harmed Tom, I’ll go in there and sort her, then kill every single one of her familiars. That ain’t no empty threat either. I’ll make her curse the day she was born!’
She said this so fiercely, I couldn’t doubt her.
‘I’ll go back now!’ I said, coming to my feet, aware that every second that passed reduced the chance of Tom being alive.
Alice gestured for me to sit down and shook her head. ‘I can do the spell to get you out, Wulf, but you won’t be able to enter that underworld until night falls again. That’s just the way things are. Need to wait till then.’
I almost blurted out that nightfall would be too late for Tom, but I bit my lip. Alice knew the situation. There was no need to say anything.
Suddenly Johnson gave a spluttering cough and started to speak. His voice was hoarse and his speech uneven.
‘You must be Alice,’ he said. ‘Me and Tom were imprisoned together for a long time and he mostly talked about you. He said he’d forbidden you to try and help him, but that you’d probably ignore him.’
‘He knows me so well,’ Alice said with a bitter smile.
Johnson suddenly frowned. ‘He also told me that you were a witch, but I had to learn that not all witches were evil. To be honest, I find that very hard to accept. But you helped this boy get me out of that hell-hole, so for now I’ll make a special effort to push it to the back of my mind.’
‘Yes, I’d do that if I was you,’ said Alice, smiling sweetly but with an edge of sarcasm to her voice. ‘You should try really hard to follow Tom’s advice.’
‘I’ll do more than just follow his advice, girl. At nightfall I’ll go back into that underworld with the boy and we’ll bring Tom safely back.’
Alice didn’t say anything, just gave Johnson the slightest of nods, but the tears started to trickle down her cheeks again. I felt a lump in my throat. We both knew that she was unlikely to see Tom again.
The Dancing Bear
We headed north for about a mile to put some distance between us and the village, and settled down in a clearing in a wood.
I got to hold Tilda again while Alice went hunting for rabbits. I would have offered, but I hadn’t a clue how to catch them. Spook Johnson didn’t offer either: by then he was lying on his back under a tree, snoring loud enough to bring on an early autumn.
Within less than an hour Alice had returned with four rabbits. Although I offered to help with the skinning and so on, she told me the best thing I could do was hold little Tilda while she got on with it.
‘Tilda likes you, she does.’ Alice smiled sadly. ‘You’d make a really good dad.’
I blushed at the thought, but Alice didn’t notice – she was too busy gutting the rabbits. It struck me that she was very resourceful. You’d never go hungry while Alice was around. I was starting to like her more and more.
She soon got a fire going and, after preparing the rabbits, cooked them on spits. Their juices bubbled and hissed in the flames, the tantalizing smell of cooking making my mouth water. I couldn’t wait to start eating.
The smell woke Johnson up, and soon he was staring at the rabbits with his mouth open, watching them cook with greedy eyes.
‘Give Tilda back to me, Wulf, and I’ll feed her while you two eat,’ said Alice.
I did as she asked, and she moved a little way from the fire to get some privacy while she fed the child. Johnson and I ate a rabbit each. Mine was delicious, and I could have eaten at least half another one. However, I didn’t get the chance: Johnson ate a second rabbit without offering me any, and of course the final rabbit belonged to Alice.
Soon Johnson was snoring again. Who could blame him for grabbing some sleep? He’d been through a terrible ordeal, and we had a difficult night ahead of us, to say the least.
‘I don’t like to ask this, Wulf, but I’m terribly sleepy. Would you mind holding Tilda again?’ Alice asked. ‘Wake me in about an hour and then you can sleep too.’
I nodded and took Tilda from her. Alice ate her rabbit and was soon asleep too. She kept her mouth closed and didn’t snore. I studied her face. There was no doubt about it: she was really pretty, with her high cheekbones and dark hair. Witch or no witch, no wonder Tom lived with her. I settled down with my back against a tree and supported the baby on my knee. I was very weary, and only meant to close my eyes for a second.
But, without even realizing it, I fell into a deep sleep.
I was awoken by someone tugging the baby from my arms. I realized what had happened, and was ashamed at having dropped asleep holding the child. I expected Alice to be angry – but then I realized that she would never have taken her child from me so roughly.
