Acolyte (The Wildermoor Apocalypse Book 1) Read online

  As he walked heavily across the field, covering half the distance within quarter of an hour, his thoughts returned to Katrina, the one who had stolen his heart and clouded his mind. He gripped the shaft of the scythe tighter. He would bring justice down on the Council, at any cost to himself, but not Katrina. No, she must return to Tewke’s Range and carry on the work that they had promised they would carry together.

  He should not have been expected to be able to run from his past or that it would never find him.

  He had to move fast, there was much ground to cover that day; the same distance it had taken two battered bodies four days to cross when he and Ewan had fled the cave.

  This time was different though. He knew where to go. He knew these woods better than most and as he pictured Julius Archibald’s sneering face, his mind acted like a compass, leading him down the pathways and between the trees that would lead him to the Council.

  By nightfall they would all die. But not his Katrina.

  As he crossed the ground left between Tewke’s Range and the forest edging towards Harper Falls, he heard someone calling in the far distance back from home.

  They called a name but it was a name that he was steadily failing to recognise.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ewan was in the cellar of The Weary Traveller when he saw her. He had excused himself from the ensuing lunchtime rush upstairs, claiming a barrel-change as his reason. Since he had woken that morning, he had been battling a headache that had now become a relentless pounding, the pain increasing behind his eyes, impairing his vision with intermittent flashes of bright spots. He hadn’t suffered a migraine since he was a child and knew he needed the darkness and silence of the cellar to chase the pain away.

  He propped himself up on an upturned barrel and tried to will his body to relax. He closed his eyes unsure whether what he saw was real. The darkness in the space blanketed all light that filtered down from the lively bar upstairs. The dark felt heavy today.

  He forced his eyes open when a bright ethereal light started to creep from the cellar door at the top of the small wooden staircase. It seemed to float down the steps. Ewan was fixated on a figure, which grew closer.

  That entire side of the cellar shone silver. Then she appeared.

  Bathed in the warming light was a woman, sweet and slender, with an air of confidence and strength, her golden-brown hair hanging straight as diamonds to her waist. She walked slowly; her face at rest and peaceful.

  ‘Katrina…’ Ewan whispered, unable to comprehend that the figure resembled his sister. But there was no denying it; it was her.

  ‘Katrina!’ Ewan said the sound of his own voice startling him in the dark.

  As quickly as she had appeared she had disappeared back into the darkness that filled the damp cellar.

  The dark now felt heavier to Ewan and was starting to suffocate him.

  The weight of the shadows lifted as Ewan ran up the staircase, back into the bright light and humdrum of the bar, which had reached its usual lunchtime capacity. He rushed past the tables laden with half-empty tankards, ignoring the greetings that a few of the regulars sent his way. He needed to get out of this place; he needed to get back to Tewke’s Range. Something wasn’t right.

  He launched onto the back of his stallion that was tethered to its hitching post in the courtyard of the pub and it lurched into a gallop, the horse sensing its master’s apprehension. A short trek of two miles and they were home. Ewan stopped at the bordering fence at the rear of the property. He listened trying to hear the sound of voices that usually emanated from the house.

  Nothing. An eerie silence.

  Something glinted in the sunlight far into the range’s main fields. Ewan squinted against the glare of the sun that was beating down onto his face. The figure, shrouded in black from head to toe, moved swiftly in the direction of the trees. The glint came from the metal of the huge blade it carried in its left hand.

  He knew who the figure was. Only one man could stand that tall and walked slightly stooped, his right arm limply hanging by his side.

  The hulk had confided that his mother had given him another name.

  ‘Lucas!’ Ewan hollered. The figure did not stir, did not turn towards him, did not deter from his path and did not slow down. Ewan yelled again but the figure was moving with blistering speed for his size and was soon lost under the cover of the forest.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Katrina’s body trembled uncontrollably as she was dragged to the centre of the pit. The hooded figures all around her stared blankly and in between her tears she could see they were exchanging nods of agreement. One figure stood at the centre of the small group of hidden faces, in a heavy white robe, his hood hanging down his back, his head and face bared proudly.

  Although he towered over her where Katrina lay forced to the ground she could tell that he was not large in stature. But the way he held himself, shoulders back, head high, she knew he was in charge. His thick white hair cropped short. His eyes looked cold, his pupils the colour of icy pools. His face was thin, his cheekbones protruded and his mouth slight that broke into a grin of sadistic pleasure. Julius Archibald was a man who knew he was in control.

  ‘Bring her to me,’ he commanded one of the hooded figures, too important to bend down and touch her himself.

  Roughly Katrina was pulled to her feet. She groaned as she was forced to stand, struggling to bear weight on the leg that had been badly cut when she had tried to escape them at her home. The figures had appeared from nowhere whilst she tended to her morning household duties and everything since then had been a blur.

  Along with the shock of the intrusion, the pain from her leg had caused her to pass out whilst being hauled across the fields towards the trees. Now, she was being manhandled again and forced to stand before Julius who looked her up and down. He repulsively ran his tongue across his smile, as he began to speak.

  ‘Well, well,’ he said, addressing the remains of the Council, ‘It seems our boy has done alright for himself,’ he tittered menacingly towards the hooded figures that nodded again in agreement. ‘Shush, child,’ he patted her hair, holding his hand there much longer than necessary. Staring into his face she saw no flicker of life behind his eyes. No evidence of a soul.

  ‘This can go one of two ways,’ he warned.

  She struggled against his touch, resulting in the spectral figure holding her arms behind her back to twist a little more, showing how easily he could break her beautiful, sleek limbs if he was commanded to.

  ‘Whilst we wait for your boyfriend’ he spat the last word like it were an accusation or a sin, ‘When he decides to grace us with his presence, I need to know whether you’re worth the sacrifice for him, or even worth saving.’ He sneered. ‘I am a busy man and will not be kept waiting.’

  He moved towards her then bowed his head closer to her neck. She struggled to stifle her sobs as she felt his tongue slither on her neck, his mouth closing over it, trapping her flesh beneath his teeth, as his hands began to explore her body. The more she squirmed against his touch, the harder her arms were held back. The pain became too much to bear so closed her eyes and tried desperately to block out the image of the evil that touched her.

  Her eyes sprang open as Julius’s head jerked back from her skin. A heavy, thump echoed within the circle. A woman’s scream emerged from one of the dark hoods as they all stared at what had fallen from above into the centre of the pit. A crumpled, lifeless body, the black shroud glistening as the blood poured from an opening cut in its back. The head was missing. Katrina retched at the site of the mutilated body. All the hooded eyes and those of Julius Archibald trained towards the top of the pit walls, searching.

  There stood the culprit, the murderer – a massive black shadow, also hiding beneath a hood, stood with a six-foot weapon by his side, the blade dripping with fresh blood.

  Julius stared into the void of darkness that surrounded the upper wall of Devil’s Pit and realised that he was sta
ring into the night. The figure had evaporated into the shadows. The glimmer of light on the blade now dulled to darkness and the heat he had felt staring into those distant eyes – those red eyes – had cooled.

  Chaos reigned around him, the frantic voices of the fellow Council members mingling with Katrina’s hysterical cries as she tried in vain to pull away, to shield her eyes from the headless body that lay before her. Julius remained calm. It was his duty to reinstall order to the evening’s proceedings.

  He looked up and called into the night,

  ‘The more blood you spill the easier my decision will be, boy. This –‘, he growled as he grabbed Katrina by the neck and puller her in front of him, ‘She means nothing to me if you continue to fight us!’

  A heavy rustle emerged from within the trees at the base of the pit where they stood and startled everyone. The Council members could no longer conceal their fear behind the heavy fabric masks they hid behind. Their bodies were shrunken, shoulders hunched and hands clasped together in an attempt to comfort themselves. Their heads darted from left to right with every tiny sound that called from the forest around them.

  Julius held Katrina to him and stood behind her, his arm wrapped around her neck in a loose stranglehold ensuring she did not escape his clutches.

  The trees began to move as a powerful breeze slowly and deliberately blew through them. Then the figure emerged from the shadows once more. Julius’ eyes fell wide and his grip on Katrina slackened for a few moments, as he struggled to absorb the size of the figure moving towards him. He had not seen Stamwell since he was a teenager. His brother had always raved about the boy’s strength and size. The boy was now a man – more than a man for he moved like a god. He moved without fear. The black shroud he was draped in made his frame look even larger and more frightening and only his eyes could be seen from deep within the void. They were no longer the same eyes that had shone like gems when they looked at Katrina at Tewke’s Range. They shone fire-and-blood red.

  Julius heard Katrina gasp as she was forced to look inside the hood.

  ‘Not too close,’ Julius warned. ‘That’s far enough.’

  Still Stamwell proceeded forwards.

  ‘A son for a brother, remember?’ Julius quoted the note he had left Stamwell. Stamwell’s body was reacting to the rage that was coursing through it. Underneath the hooded cloak his body ran with sweat and his fever soared.

  Julius reached under his own robe, behind where Katrina’s body pressed against him and withdrew a knife, its blade crude and dangerously serrated. He reached into the waistband of Katrina’s skirt, pulled the tails of the blouse out and bared her stomach. He took time to run his cold fingers across her smooth, white flesh before resting the ugly blade of the knife against it.

  ‘Your son, Stamwell,’ said Julius coldly, ‘for my brother, if you will not give your life for his.’

  Stamwell took another stride towards Julius, his body trembling underneath the robe he wore. He ached, not just with the fever and infection setting in, but with blind rage and panic for the life of the woman he loved. Julius pressed the blade into Katrina’s flesh, instantly drawing a slither of blood. The cry of pain halted Stamwell in his tracks. He stood unmoving, staring Julius down and wanting to tear him apart.

  ‘This,’ said Julius signalling with his hand the arrangement of heavy wooden posts, adorned with lit flame torches, the trunk which stood in the centre of the clearing ‘is all for you, Stamwell. It’s for the good of humanity. You carry within you the seeds of evil, which you have passed on to your whore,’ he growled taking the opportunity to run his tongue once more against Katrina’s neck. ‘The child – this evil – belongs to us and we will reclaim it.’

  Stamwell move forward another step. He was ready to lunge at Julius and gut him with his own knife, spilling whatever insides he possessed before systematically taking him apart with the blade with which he had already silenced one Council member.

  But he couldn’t. He knew he mustn’t. He had reached the end of the line. Seeing Katrina cower against Julius, squirming at his touch with a look of horror on her face was killing him inside.

  He had to end it now, to save her.

  Stamwell relented, held out his arms wide to his side and let the scythe fall to the ground. He submitted himself to evil itself. He lowered his hood slowly finally looking Katrina in the eye. He wanted to tell her so much, to ask if she was indeed carrying his – their - child. But he knew it was true and somehow Julius knew it too.

  Stamwell’s eyes silently pleaded with Katrina for forgiveness. Katrina’s eyes were fixed on the side of Stamwell’s face that had succumbed to what was taking over his body. The skin had hardened forming a scaly armour around his eye-socket and had spread down across his cheek meeting the corner of his mouth. His eyes were bloodshot and dark-rimmed.

  ‘It’s already begun,’ Julius said in wonder staring at his face.

  All of Stamwell’s resolve was slowly dying and when Julius nodded to one of the two hooded figures behind the man-mountain, he neither moved nor fought against it as the man repeatedly sank a knife into his flesh. Stamwell’s shoulders and back opened up as he sank to his knees, his eyes never leaving Katrina’s face, never ceasing to ask for forgiveness.

  ‘Ready the pyre,’ Julius bellowed.

  *****

  ‘I arrived too late,’ The tears were welling and stinging Truman’s eyes.

  ‘You remember,’ Evelyn replied, more a statement than a question.

  Truman – Ewan – nodded his head slowly, his eyes closing and the first of the tears falling from his face. He sat on the floor in the white room holding his legs close to his chest.

  ‘What happened?’ Evelyn asked, ‘Tell me.’

  Truman knew that Evelyn was aware of how that night had ended and did not need to be told but Truman felt he owed her and himself to recall the memories, which for centuries had remained hidden.

  ‘It took my sister weeks before she could tell me. She was in shock, lived in silence, locked in mourning. She gave up on life but carried on breathing. I found her out by the lake one morning just staring at the water looking for answers. She told me that she was looking for a way out; a way back to Lucas.’

  Evelyn sat next to him, her hand on his spurring him on.

  ‘The white-haired man – the leader – believed that Lucas had been infected by the beast from the cave; that its evil was manifesting in him. He seemed obsessed by the idea that this saviour must be set free from Lucas’ body. They had pretty much taken his life before they tied him to the post. It had all been arranged – the logs situated at the bottom of the post, the lanterns lighting the Pit. They were doing what they had always done, rituals held in darkness, in secret in that Pit, hoping to raise their demonic saviour, at the cost of innocent lives. They had it all planned out.’

  The tears fell but Truman’s voice strengthened as he carried on, the painful memories finally flowing free as the dam broke down.

  ‘They tore off his robe and cut deep into his scars. Whatever it was that was taking over Lucas’s body was killing his flesh from within. They opened up more wounds to allow the demon to escape.’

  ‘When was that?’

  Truman’s head fell again into his hands. He sobbed into them as the past came to life.

  ‘When they lit the fire beneath him. They made my sister watch him burn. I heard Katrina’s cries before I reached the Pit. It killed me to hear it too. Every moment they tortured him, it tortured her.’

  A silence lay between them as Truman tried once more to fight his way through the images of his past.

  ‘I failed them both, Evelyn.’ He ignored the insistent shaking of her head. ‘I was not there to save either of them. The man saved my life once and saved my sister’s by giving her hope and I just let him die.’

  Evelyn tried reaching out for Truman’s hand but he shrugged her off violently, startling her. He turned away from her, brought his knees to his chest and lay in a foetal positi
on weeping on the warm, pulsing floor. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath in between his sobs. There was no end for his sorrow. The torture had begun again.

  He wept until his eyes were dry and they finally closed. The light disappeared leaving Truman again in darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Truman finally woke in the darkness. His shirt was dried to his skin, held there by a combination of endless tears, saliva, mucus and sweat. He felt as though he had woken from a deep sleep brought on by a fever. His head hurt as he tried to focus his eyes, looking to bring forth the light once more.

  He missed the warmth and safety of the white room. He had not woken up there since that day with Evelyn and every day since had found himself in the cool, damp walls of his stone cell. He had lost track of how many days, weeks or months had gone by in that place.

  But something was different this time. He no longer felt totally alone. Worse, he thought; he felt as though he was being watched.

  As he sat up on the thin mattress, his joints creaking as they adjusted with the cold, he could see two white spheres light up in the opposite corner of his tiny room. The shapes – eyes – moved closer to greet him, sparkling in the light. The spectacles covering them slipped forward slightly as they did so and were caught by the crooked end to the nose they rested on.

  ‘Welcome back, Mr Childs,’ the voice soothed, ‘we have been waiting a long time for you to return to us.’

  Truman stared into the darkness as the voice spoke trying to place it. He knew he recognised it. With the sound of the voice, his body grew colder. The voice was comforting, chilling and menacing all at once. There was only one other time Truman remembered having that feeling.