Briardark, page 18
Mama Ouspenskaya collapsed back into her seat, visibly exhausted by the ordeal. When she reached to her face and found blood streaming from her nose, she turned an angry eye towards the sitters. Whatever the spirit-speaker had expected, it was obvious that the séance hadn’t gone as she’d intended.
‘Begone,’ she rasped, flicking beads of blood from her fingers. Her ancient body shivered as though suffering a palsy. Her eyes were wide, the anger receding into raw terror. She slumped down against the table, her head thumping against it. ‘Leave my house, accursed wretches,’ she groaned. ‘You would challenge an evil even Great Nagash could not fathom! I want no part in the damnation that pursues you.’
A bestial, animal smell filled Samuel’s nose. He spun around to see the medium’s servant standing behind him. She made an impatient gesture towards the doorway. Quickly, the visitors left the table.
‘Do not come here again,’ Mama Ouspenskaya called after them, her voice a thin groan. ‘Abomination has attached itself to you. If you try to bring it into my house again…’
Samuel didn’t hear the rest of the spirit-speaker’s threat. At that moment, his eyes had dropped to catch a glimpse of her servant’s feet.
They were hooved. The feet of something as inhuman as anything conjured up within the séance parlour.
The servant leaned close to them as they were shown to the door. As they crossed the threshold, she spoke a single word. Her voice was melodious and vibrant, more so than any human voice, but there was an air of unspeakable evil in what she said.
‘Mhurghast.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘Some of the items detailed by Hephzibah’s spirit I’ve acquired from Felstein’s herbalist… or by other means.’ Aaric’s pause told of his reluctance to resort to what he considered criminal methods. Cicely could tell from the awkwardness of his tone.
She sat in her room, having retired there after the séance. It was easy enough to convince her father that she was sick. But instead of resting, she kept her door cracked open and listened to the two men as they discussed what they were going to do. She needed to know their plans before making her own.
‘The fell bat hairs will be the problem,’ Aaric stated.
‘There are always a few to be found in Briardark,’ Samuel told the scholar. ‘I regularly have to go in and cull them when they start straying from the forest.’ Cicely could picture her father shaking his head. She thought she heard a faint sigh. ‘Try as I might, more always show up and I have to go hunting the new ones.’
‘Let’s just hope that some are there now and that we can find them,’ Aaric said. ‘We must act upon this warning.’
‘If only I’d been able to get through to Emelda,’ Samuel groaned. By the sound of his voice, Cicely thought there must be tears in his eyes. ‘You don’t think she’s suffering?’
Cicely felt as though her heart would crack to hear that question. Bad enough to know she’d caused her mother’s death, but to think that Emelda’s spirit had been sent to some torturous underworld was too horrible to bear.
‘No,’ Aaric replied. ‘I think her distress was provoked by the séance. Once she departed from the circle, there’d be no further harm done to her.’ Cicely felt there was something duplicitous in her uncle’s voice. He was making claims he couldn’t confirm in hopes of easing Samuel’s mind. Clearly her father wasn’t showing signs of being convinced, because Aaric continued to elaborate. ‘You saw that the sitting was peculiar, shocking even Mama Ouspenskaya. Some force was trying to disrupt the ritual. Afraid we’d learn too much.’
‘But we’ve learned nothing.’ Cicely heard the impact of Samuel’s fist against the table as he struck it in frustration. ‘We’ve no more idea who or what killed Emelda than before.’
‘We do know something,’ Aaric said. ‘We now know how we can protect ourselves. When I have the fell bat hairs, I’ll make the talismans at once. Then, at least, we’ll be protected from this malefic power. Nor, I will add, can such protection come too soon. The enemy might strike at any time, and we cannot be certain who will be its victim.’
Cicely winced at her uncle’s words, guilt and fear uniting in equal measure. She was the enemy, the unknown they were hunting. The power they sought protection from was that of the onyx needle. But what else could she do? Submit to her affliction? She imagined the phantasmal spirit guide at the séance parlour, that vicious shadow enslaved to the medium’s will. An existence of that sort was far worse than death. To wander Shyish as a malignant, a nighthaunt. No! While she yet lived, she had to fight against becoming such a monster. Whatever it demanded of her, she had to fight.
‘…we’ll hunt the fell bats,’ Samuel was saying when Cicely refocused her attention on the men. ‘It’ll be easier to deal with them by day, but they’ll be easier to find at night. Maybe too easy.’
‘The bats, at least, are foes that can be fought openly,’ Aaric commented. ‘You’ve dealt with them before and come back alive. The evil that menaces our family is a different matter.’
‘Our family?’ Samuel asked, having caught Aaric’s choice of words.
‘I think our enemy casts a wide net. The list of victims shows that.’ Aaric hesitated a moment. When his speech continued, there was an edge to it. ‘I might as well confess to you that I do know something of this enemy. Little that is of benefit to us, but I’ve encountered the name Mhurghast before.’
Mhurghast. The name evoked a feeling of revulsion in Cicely. It was as if she were again in Briardark with the wolf’s hungry gaze fastened upon her. A sense of immediate menace more pronounced than ever before seized her and set her limbs shaking.
Cicely quietly closed the door, blocking off the men’s voices. She looked over to the chair where she’d set the tapestry. The carved wolf was there again, sitting on the floor.
‘My life is yours.’ There was little of Marden now in that phantasmal voice. It was now almost entirely that other. The one she’d never heard but which she knew.
There was only one thing to do, but it took her some moments before she could quash her own reluctance. She was not yet so inured to murder that she was able to resign herself easily to the deed. Yet she could see no other way.
She was Aaric’s quarry, and if she were to protect herself, her uncle had to die. Die before he gained the means to protect himself from her. Then she could go farther afield. She could leave Felstein, go to Gothghul Hollow, where Aaric’s family lived. A fresh hunting ground.
Cicely retched at the thought. Another place where she’d sow death and destruction to sustain herself. But otherwise she’d die, and there was that within her that refused to accept death. She’d be betraying something that wouldn’t be denied.
‘My life is yours,’ the spectral voice moaned.
The tapestry was soon resting across her lap and the onyx needle again in her hand. Cicely fixed Aaric’s image in her mind. How fortuitous that he was a relation, someone that the occult laws of the needle put within her power to destroy. There was a sardonic sense of fortune that events should have contrived to make things so. Not for Aaric would there be the arcane misdirection that had allowed Thayer to escape destruction.
Intent upon her work, Cicely failed to note the sound of footsteps in the hall until they were nearly at her door. Panic seized her when she realised her father was certain to check on her before starting out on a hunt. She heard a rapping against the portal and realised with a start that she’d failed to bolt the door.
Her father was certain to hear her if she dashed over and locked it now. That course was lost to Cicely. She glanced down at the tapestry. Thus far she’d only sewn a single foot of her uncle’s image, but even this made her anxious. The foot blazed accusation back at her, like the bloodied dagger of a murderess. Folding the tapestry back, she used the onyx needle to pin the guilty image back so that it was hidden.
Another knock. Cicely knew that next Samuel would try the door. Quickly, she sprang from the chair and dropped onto her bed. She’d just covered herself with a blanket when she heard the door open.
‘Cicely?’ Samuel called out. She kept her eyes closed, feigning sleep as she listened to him step into the room. His footfalls were followed by another’s, and she knew Aaric was with him. She sensed her father standing over the bed, looking down at her. She could feel his concerned gaze searching for any sign of illness.
‘Asleep,’ Samuel told Aaric. A pained sigh followed the declaration. ‘She sleeps much too much these days. Ever since the wolf attack, her constitution has been weak. Some days I can barely make her take food.’
‘Her complexion is pale,’ Aaric said. ‘You should have a physician see her. Nagash knows there are enough pestilent miasmas in the land to test even the hardiest.’
‘I’ve considered it,’ Samuel confessed, ‘but sometimes she seems to improve and I think this malady has passed. Then it will come stealing over her again.’ A note of guilt entered the hunter’s voice. ‘Maybe I’m just afraid to hear what a healer might say. I keep remembering my cousin Anya’s face when she learned there was no hope for little Barnabus.’
Cicely dug her nails into her palms, trying to use the pain to mitigate the sorrow that rippled through her. She’d never meant to hurt anyone, only to save herself. She’d accepted the suffering of others in an abstract fashion, but now she was listening to her father describe the awful turmoil these losses brought upon the survivors. Adding to her wretchedness was to hear him express his fears for her welfare. If Samuel knew the truth, she was certain he’d suffer no agonies about her. But to confess what she’d done by accident… what she’d done by design… was a horror Cicely couldn’t face.
Still feigning sleep, Cicely heard the tapestry rustle. A moment later, Aaric was commenting on it. Icy dread filled her heart to know that the investigator held the key to everything in his hands… if he only recognised it for what it was. How extensive were his occult studies? Enough to discern the tapestry’s importance? Enough to expose her crimes and denounce her? Hardly daring to breathe, she listened to her uncle’s observations.
‘Your daughter does remarkable work,’ Aaric said, admiration in his voice. The tapestry continued to rustle as he adjusted his grip.
‘She’s been earning extra for the household with her sewing,’ Samuel explained. ‘That’s something different. Something for herself. A family portrait.’ Cicely noted the sadness in his voice and could picture him looking at the tapestry and seeing her mother’s image.
‘This man doesn’t resemble anyone I know,’ Aaric stated. Cicely’s blood seemed to freeze. She knew he was looking at Alastair, rightly questioning why his image would be present. When she’d folded the tapestry, she’d managed to hide Anya’s picture, but not that of the hanged youth.
Samuel’s voice was heavy when he answered. ‘That’s Alastair Greimhalt.’
Cicely dreaded to hear the inevitable question her uncle would ask. It was the key that could expose everything.
‘Why would your daughter depict him in a family portrait?’ Aaric wondered.
A low sigh rose from her father before he replied. ‘Thayer was putting pressure on me to be replaced as beasthunter. At the same time, Alastair was trying to court Cicely. He offered to mitigate Thayer’s activities if they were wed.’ The tapestry rustled once more. Cicely sensed that it was now her father, not her uncle, holding it. ‘She had no love for the boy but must have resigned herself to the marriage in order to help me.’ Samuel’s words cracked with emotion. There was a heavy thud as he dropped the tapestry to the floor.
‘Evidence,’ Aaric pronounced. Cicely bit down on her lip to keep from crying out. He’d fitted the key to the lock! Her uncle knew!
Terror held Cicely for only a heartbeat.
‘If Alastair was intent on the marriage and Cicely resigned to it,’ Aaric said, ‘then that may have been enough for the occult force being used against your family. Without any connection to your cousin, Alastair’s aspirations may have been enough to expose him to the same enemy. The laws of magic are not so rigidly bound by the limitations of space and time. If he were to become part of the family in the future, then that could also make him such in the present. At least within the auspices of this curse.’
Cicely felt flush with relief. Aaric had come to the wrong conclusion with his evidence.
‘We have to get the protection of these talismans,’ Samuel said, his voice dripping with fear.
‘Then let’s start,’ Aaric stated. Cicely heard him walk to the door. ‘The sooner we find a fell bat, the sooner we can guard ourselves.’
She listened as the two men stepped out into the hall. Cicely waited until she could pick out the faint sound of them leaving the house before stirring from her bed.
She picked the tapestry up off the floor. The needle was still in place, hiding where she’d started to work on Aaric’s image. The urge to hurry and complete the picture gripped her. She withdrew the needle and held it between her fingers, staring down at the work she’d barely started.
Guilt surged up within her. She thought of the anguish she’d already brought to so many. Broken families left to grieve their murdered dead. She couldn’t cause more suffering. It was better to let Aaric discover her, force a revelation of her crimes. If she couldn’t do it herself, then he’d have to. Once he had what he needed to make the talismans, he’d be safe from her power.
The tapestry lay draped across Cicely’s knees, her hands smoothing out the cloth. She noted how pale they’d grown, the underlying veins visible through the translucent skin. She was losing substance, growing more ethereal.
Her fingers tightened around the onyx needle. Cicely tried not to imagine the hideous fate ahead of her, to fade into a spectral malignant. Worse than death, an afterlife existence of torment.
Cicely closed her eyes, trying to will herself to her resolution. No more lives to sustain her own. She wouldn’t do it!
Yet the urge for self-preservation was already whispering to her, chipping away at her determination. ‘My life is yours,’ the phantom voice echoed in the depths of her soul.
How long could she endure, watching herself gradually fade when escape, however abominable the price, was within her grasp?
‘I won’t,’ Cicely vowed. Even as she said it, she knew the words were a lie. It was only a matter of hours before she’d resort to the onyx needle’s magic. She’d kill again to preserve herself, and when she did, Uncle Aaric would be her next victim.
The gloom of Briardark engulfed them like the suffocating waters of a mire. Samuel couldn’t recall a time when the forest had felt so sinister and overwhelming.
‘What we’re looking for will be roosting in the trees,’ he reminded Aaric. ‘But don’t ignore what’s around you either. Never forget that while we’re hunting our prey, other things will be hunting us.’ His mind turned back to the wolf that had killed Marden and how it had stalked his son even while he was tracking it.
‘You’re the expert,’ Aaric said. ‘In this arena I bow to your judgement.’ His hand slapped the bag slung over his shoulder. ‘Finding a fell bat will be your task. Putting it to use once we’ve got it is my job.’
‘Just keep quiet and follow my lead,’ Samuel instructed. He kept his boar spear held up at his side, its barbed head poised so that it was above his own. He’d seen fell bats strike at prey from above and hoped to thwart such a strategy by the threat of being skewered. To get around the spear, a bat would have to swoop low and come directly at him, thereby giving him more warning. Enough warning that he’d have time to react, he prayed. Usually when he went looking for fell bats, he’d have the spear held across his body and protect himself from a murderous dive by wearing a spiked helm. That piece of gear, however, had been given over to Aaric along with a spare spear. Inexperienced as he was, Samuel felt the scholar needed the better outfit for their hunt.
Furtive sounds crackled through the forest as small creatures scurried through the underbrush. Once, Samuel caught sight of a thorncat creeping away with some rodent in its mouth, but otherwise none of the forest’s denizens revealed themselves. The trees, with their craggy bark and skeletal branches, were utterly devoid of either life or the gruesome unlife that permeated the lands of Shyish.
A spot of white at the base of a tree caught Samuel’s eye. He drew Aaric’s attention to it and motioned for silence. The object was a skull, that of a ram or goat. Other bones were littered around it, evidence that something had been scavenging meat from the carcass. The situation of the bones was suggestive to the beasthunter. He studied the trunk, looking for any traces of discolouration left by dripping blood. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought there were some suggestive streaks running down the side.
Holding his spear fast, Samuel lifted his gaze, following the possible streaks upwards. He caught Aaric’s shoulder with his free hand and arrested the scholar’s attention. He pointed at a spot very near the top of the tree.
‘I don’t…’ Aaric started to whisper. His voice trailed off when he finally saw what Samuel wanted him to see.
Clinging to the trunk, its leather wings furled and the hooks of its fingers digging into the bark, was an enormous bat. It had a charcoal colouring that blended well with the wood, but Samuel’s practised eye had noticed the white tufts of fur on its ears, and having spotted them, he was soon able to pick out the animal’s outline. The creature’s body was as large as that of a gryph-hound and its wingspread would be somewhere between twelve and twenty feet. A true monster beside the small bats that pestered people in Felstein. It was poised so that its head was facing down towards the ground. Samuel could see the crusted blood around its fanged mouth.
