The Tower of Bones Page 10

  Hear me, child! The Night Hag is harvesting a library of lost souls. When she extracts their experience from them, all of their hopes and fears, their loves and pains, their spirits are extinguished, like ash. All that they were is lost for eternity. Beware you do not become ash to her gathering.

  ‘I will not wake up!’

  She felt strong fingers remove her right hand from her clenched shut eye, her hand prised open. She crabbed her fingers shut again around something hard and rounded and heavy, something cool as marble. Almost immediately she sensed light out there beyond her closed eyelids. Light invading the coffin-cell. And the pain was gone.

  The pain is gone!

  Wake, now – Kate Shaunessy! Take strength from what, once taken, is now restored to you.

  Somebody was calling her out of her dream. A voice, powerful and persistent. But her mind still resisted. Even in the dark silence of the grave, cocooned within her dream, terror could still reach in and clutch at her. She couldn’t take the risk. And yet her instincts insisted that something important was happening. Had Alan arrived? She knew – she had always known – that his arrival would herald death for her, her purpose, as far as the Witch was concerned, now spent. But she had consoled her self that at least the torment would end …

  Wake, child!

  It was hardly a voice at all but a rattle inside the walls of her skull. Yet there was a powerful sense of something up close … a shadowy being … a triangular shadow, looming over her. Perhaps it was Faltana, come to begin another hour of torment? But the voice wasn’t that of the succubus. This voice was within her mind rather than in her ears, a voice so deep and full of foreboding it sounded like gravel pouring into an old tin bath.

  Wake!

  Cracking open her matted eyelids she saw multicoloured rays of light splaying out between the fingers of her right hand. She opened her hand a little more to stare at it, seeing something familiar in the green matrix, the soft alluring green of spring, speckled with the metamorphosing, whorling specks of gold.

  ‘It’s … my beautiful crystal!’

  I am here, child! Your time has come.

  She gazed at it in wonderment, letting it dazzle her dark-adapted eyes. So brilliant was the light coming from the crystal it was illuminating the entire cell. Then she blinked, slowly, rubbing at her eyes to try to clean them. She licked her lips, which felt fissured and dry as ashes.

  ‘What … who are you?’

  All she heard was a growling and mumbling, as the figure materialised in the strange half-light within the cell, something dark and substantial, like the pyramidal cap of a mountain. On top of the figure a heavy head swivelled to examine her, revealing an incredible face, wrinkled as a prune, with a tangle of white hair that flowed down like a cataract about the squat triangular body, and a great long nose between two all-black eyes that peered into her own, as fierce as an eagle’s. When the broad, purplish lips parted, she glimpsed teeth green as moss.

  ‘Granny Dew,’ she murmured. ‘I’m still dreaming!’

  Cha-teh-teh-teh!

  From her distant memories she recalled that expression – it was hardly a word at all, but something like the underlying meaning of something. With a start, she remembered what it meant. Danger! That was the meaning of the sound still pattering in her mind. Kate blinked her eyes again. The word was like a familiar knock against the shutters of her bewildered mind. She tried to open her eyes wider but she could not. The lids were too swollen, their lashes matted together.

  ‘Danger?’

  Daaannngggerrr!

  Strong hands brushed her brow. Grimy fingers, moistened with spittle, wiped the caking of pus from her eyelashes, and her eyes now fluttered fully open. At first there was nothing to see. Her cell was very small and bare, nothing in it other than herself and the chains that bound her. She offered no resistance to those grimy hands as they moved down over her body. She could smell them, loamy and moist, like the earthy smell of the mulch that Uncle Fergal cultivated for his insects in the cellars back home.

  The hands paused over her heart. They enfolded her right hand, where the crystal, as large as a pullet’s egg, throbbed against her palm. A surge of strength rushed through her, tingling when it reached her lips and the tips of her fingers and toes. Then, whether she heard it through her mind or her ears, she didn’t know, but the voice was clearer now, like a shovel digging into shards of gravel.

  Stand, child!

  She did her best, tottering to her feet. The manacles clanked and held her rigidly to the wall. But suddenly she felt different, lighter. Lifting first one foot and then the other, she understood. She was free. The clanking was the manacles falling away onto the echoing floor of her cell.

  ‘Thank you!’ she stammered, rubbing at the raw skin where the hard iron had chafed. Tears filled her eyes as if taps had burst open.

  A shiver of outrage shook the hands that rubbed at Kate’s frozen thighs and calves.

  Arrrhhhggh – food and warmth you need. But there is no time even to boil up a pot of gruel!

  A crooning chant filled the tiny cell, quavering in rhythm with the rocking of the old woman, as she reached into a fold in her dress and withdrew a purse woven from grasses.

  Here!

  Into Kate’s mouth she pressed a nut-sized tidbit, taken from the purse.

  Hold it against your cheek and suck. It will provide sustenance for several hours. The rest you must save to use again, when hunger threatens. There is enough in the purse to sustain you for a day or two – three at the most. If a morsel is but held in the tongue, it will cloak your presence and scent in times of danger.

  Kate moved the bitter-tasting food against her cheek and she sucked on it with her tongue. There were hidden flavours beyond the bitterness, perhaps cloves and menthol, and a powerful burning sensation that diffused into her cheeks and palate and made her head throb and spin. She suppressed the urge to gag. There was a peculiar sensation on her tongue and down her throat, as if with each morsel of saliva she swallowed a mouthful of food had entered her stomach.

  Arrrhhhggh – time we have not. We are close to malice that even I cannot control. The occasion demands cunning rather than power.

  With a crooning gentleness, the old woman hugged Kate’s emaciated body to her breast, her hands stroking her matted hair. Then she took Kate’s hand, with her fingers still wrapped around the glowing gemstone, and pressed the stone to Kate’s dirt-grimed brow. A sparkle of light danced in the centre of those all-black eyes, then whirled, like a spinning sycamore seed, as it entered Kate’s entranced mind. A lance of pain impaled her forehead and entered her skull like the sharpest auger.

  Kate felt the force of the gemstone invade her mind. The magic of it expanded into her blood, invading her heart, which beat powerfully and rapidly, and from there it suffused every nook and cranny of her being. A sense of exhilaration so overwhelmed her that, had Granny Dew not held her steady, Kate would have fainted onto the grimy floor.

  Your heart has been weakened, child, through privation and starvation. But the crystal will restore strength of flesh and spirit. In the meantime, remove this dress of rags and let me cover your bones with a cloak of spiders’ weave, which will protect you against the chill of this accursed place as well as confusing your scent with that of a scurrying mouse.

  Kate allowed the rags to fall from her shoulders to her bare feet, and felt the prickly weave of the spiders close around her limbs. The power of the crystal continued to surge and expand through her bloodstream, until her whole body throbbed so vigorously she felt she would explode.

  Granny Dew reached deep into the folds of her dress and removed a second grassy purse, larger than the first, handing it to Kate and instructing her to conceal it within her freshly woven mantle.

  ‘What is it?’

  A handful of life – the beginnings of things.

  ‘What am I to do with it?’

  Granny Dew ignored Kate’s question. There was more rocking and grumbling, the
n a crooning call; it took Kate a moment or two to understand that the strange figure was beckoning for her to follow. Let us depart, quickly now, whilst a bane of sleep still cloaks eyes and senses. You must resist all impulse to draw on your crystal until you are far beyond the eyes and teeth of this accursed place.

  ‘We can’t just walk out of here. The cell is locked.’

  The door was thrown open and Granny Dew was silhouetted against the open doorway, a triangular shadow against the lurid red glow.

  Kate looked with awe at her rescuer in the crimson light – a glimpse of the implacable determination in that doughty face, as weighted with folds and darkness as the dress that trailed across the dirt floor. In the depths of its shadow the tiny pinpoints of spiders’ eyes flickered, their spinnerets forever knitting.

  About them, as they ascended long tunnels of bone, the succubi lay scattered, deep in sleep … seemingly enchanted. Kate could hardly breathe with terror. She prayed that they wouldn’t encounter Gargs. She also prayed that whatever power Granny Dew possessed, it would be enough to let them walk out of the Witch’s lair without anybody noticing their passing.

  After what seemed an eternity of patient progress they arrived at the great portal of the Tower, which comprised the gaping jaws of the gigantic skull. Here Granny Dew hesitated, as if confronted by some invisible danger. Through her bare feet, Kate felt a rising vibration moments before she heard the growl that caused it. She sensed a new shudder of alertness invade the fangs.

  Arrrggghhh! The slumberer has awoken!

  In her panic, Kate went to bite on a morsel from the first of the two purses. But Granny Dew raised a cautionary finger. Kate trembled within her cowl of spidersweb as the old woman held still, the black eyes pensive, as if gathering her thoughts.

  The seed purse, child!

  Kate handed back the mysterious second purse and watched the wrinkled face gaze into its contents, then tip something into her palm before returning the purse to her.

  Place the purse back in your mantle for safekeeping, then take what I am holding – grasp it firmly in your right hand!

  Kate picked it up and saw it was a fresh green acorn. Granny Dew’s hand enfolded hers, so between them they held the acorn doubly tight. Her raised finger still cautioned Kate to absolute stillness and silence – not a word was to be spoken. Kate felt a swelling within her palm.

  Granny Dew mimicked a movement, as if casting the seed.

  With a sweep of her hand, Kate cast the sprouting acorn into the dirt within the jaws of the Beast. The tension had become unbearable. But Granny Dew bade Kate to remain still for a few more moments, as a young oak tree expanded, roots pressing down against the Beast’s lower jaw while the trunks and branches strained against the upper.

  Kate shrieked as, with a thunderous crash, the jaws of the Beast closed, any escape now blocked by the enormous interlocking fangs.

  Cha-teh-teh-teh! So powerful has it become already, though only half awoken from the slumber of aeons!

  Already the red glare was intensifying about them. Kate saw that the succubi were stirring and stretching, shaking off the enchantment. Faltana’s single sleep-swollen eye was blinking, as if struggling to break open.

  ‘Quickly, Granny Dew!’

  Grow, mighty oak of the wildwoods, whose roots have caused castle walls to crumble, whose limbs have withstood the storms of ages!

  With an almighty creaking and groaning, the oak tree spread and thickened, its roots cracking open bone fossilised to stone, branches thickening until they were feet in diameter, holding the terrible jaws apart, and the great trunk, already thirty feet or more across, forcing apart the clasp of fang on fang.

  From deep under her feet Kate heard a roar that rattled the Tower of Bones at its roots. I sense you, Witch of the Morning. I will break your thrall. Then shall I devour the brat, and possess the trinket you sought to awaken.

  Fire exploded within the foliage. The oak tree was ablaze.

  The triangular shadow battled its way deep into the tangle of roots, trunk and boughs, the body of Granny Dew growing and swelling until its base filled the entire floor of the entrance and its brow pressed against the roof.

  Quickly now – between my legs!

  Kate pressed her body into the entanglement of fangs. She shrieked. ‘I can’t squeeze through. The jaws are closed!’

  The triangular shadow expanded further still, provoking fractures in the roof, showering rock and bone over Kate. From the chamber behind her she heard the cries of the awakening succubi. The old woman’s spidersweb dress burst asunder. Kate saw an ocean of spiders emerge to fill the space between the jaws, then, like a tidal wave, they deluged into the chamber. The screams of the succubi rose to a new crescendo as the biting mandibles found them.

  With a splintering crack the jaws ruptured. Kate tumbled out between the monstrous fangs, falling onto the dirt outside as the first flicker of dawn permeated a leaden sky.

  Run!

  ‘Where – where can I run?’ Kate had never been beyond the jaws of the Tower. She was terrified of what she would discover outside.

  You will discover one both ancient and wise enough to understand your need. In the trial to come, you must trust your heart – let your heart alone guide you!

  Kate ran, while about her the dawn sky turned red, like the hinterland of an erupting volcano. She fled, bewildered and directionless, anywhere that took her away from the Tower of Bones and the malignancy that brooded there.

  Unwelcome News

  In his dream Alan was fighting for his life on the plaza of Ossierel. Green fire and acrid smoke fanned the ruins of the city all around him as he held the Spear of Lug, with its blazing runes, aloft. His mind was filled with foreboding at the imminent approach of the Legun incarnate.

  No! Not that!

  He was missing something here. Something Milish had said to him – something important. Instinctively he turned to the oraculum, as if to discover what he was looking for through its illumination. The power woke in him, suddenly, explosively – it erupted out from his brow to every cell of his body.

  He woke up, tossing and turning inside a circular tent. There was only a single source of light, an oil lamp, somewhere in the background. He had no idea where he was or how he had got here.

  ‘Rest now, Mage Lord! You are safely returned to us!’

  It sounded like the voice of an Aides. He tried to sit up but lacked the strength. Judging from the pallid light, he figured it must be night outside but approaching dawn. He lay on a camp bed. The Aides was seated cross-legged by his side, the same woman who had been cooling his brow with the cloth.

  He called out: ‘Milish – are you nearby?’

  ‘I’m here.’ The bronze-skinned hand of the Ambassador emerged from the background gloom. She took the towel from the Aides to wipe the sweat from his brow.

  ‘Where am I?’

  ‘You are back in the shoreside encampment – protected by Shee.’

  ‘How the heck …?’

  ‘Hush now! You need to rest.’ Milish’s voice was low, reassuring. ‘Aides!’ She spoke urgently to the bedside nurse. Murmuring to one another, the two women worked as a team, lifting Alan’s head and shoulders from the sweat-soaked pillow. ‘Now you’re awake, we can assist your recovery with a draught of healwell.’

  ‘What happened? I need to know.’

  ‘If you cannot answer that question, then none other is likely to do so. Contrary to prudence you foraged alone within the labyrinth of the ancient city. We thought you lost. Then … Alarm bells everywhere. Bedlam!’

  ‘Bedlam?’

  Milish’s eyes turned heavenwards, as if appealing to the powers.

  ‘You owe your safe return to the Temple Ship.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It was the Ship that found you. Don’t expect me to explain such extraordinary events. Speak to your friend, Mo, and the dwarf mage, who appear to have had something to do with it. It is enough for me to thank the Trídédana
that you were returned to us alive and, it appears, without serious injury.’

  Alan was stunned by what Milish had just said. It was difficult to think clearly with his head spinning with the smallest movement. But some of his more recent memories were returning to him. He recalled the Tyrant, in his guise of Leonardo da Vinci. The golden robot, the great spiked ball …

  ‘The Ship, you say? Qwenqwo …? And Mo?’

  ‘Please drink the healwell!’

  He accepted two sips of the honey-coloured elixir from the turquoise flask. It burned in his mouth. Almost immediately he could feel its reviving properties. It penetrated the tissues of his throat and gut like powerful alcohol, entering his bloodstream and further, discovering his exhausted limbs. A new sweat erupted over his face and body as more snatches of memory returned.

  ‘You’re right, Milish. When the Council refused to help me I looked for the portal on my own. A young sister … she pretended to help me. But she was a succubus. It was all a conspiracy of the Tyrant’s. She led me into his trap.’

  ‘Then you are fortunate indeed to be alive!’

  Alan shuddered, causing the Ambassador to grasp his hand, hold it reassuringly between her two. ‘Hey, Milish – something extraordinary happened. I … I heard Mark’s voice.’

  She squeezed his hand tighter.

  ‘You’re very weak. You’ve consumed little but water for these two days of tossing and turning. Now you must accept food and rest.’

  Alan shook his head with disbelief. ‘Two days? Is that how long I’ve been out of things? Oh, man!’

  ‘Rest!’

  ‘I don’t have time for resting. I need to know more of what happened.’

  Milish sighed. ‘We know nothing other than the fact your friend, Mo, sensed you were in danger.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I know not. Only that she had the dwarf mage take her to the Temple Ship. And there …’ Milish hesitated, shook her head at him. She exclaimed, ‘Thank goodness!’ A second Aides had just entered the tent with a bowl of steaming broth. ‘Keep him abed, at dagger-point if necessary.’