Acolyte (The Wildermoor Apocalypse Book 1) Read online

  ‘Leave us!’ Archibald hissed at his henchman and for the first time Evelyn could see his eyes, wild and hungry, his mouth pulled to the sides in a sickening and sadistic smile.

  Stamwell sighed and reluctantly headed for the door as the light faded from around Evelyn and she descended back into the darkness once more.

  Only this time she was not alone.

  She could feel his breath getting closer to her. She wondered if somehow he could see in the dark as he found her with no effort. She could feel his skin touch hers, her body convulsed in attempt to repel him; the instinct was to somehow – anyhow - get him away from her.

  But it was no use. Her strength was no match for his. Even though the figure he cast in the shadows appeared slender and frail he surprised her with his strength. Evelyn tried to hit out at him but if her hand managed to touch him at all it was with all the weight of a feather in a summer breeze. She heard him snigger as she did so, mocking her as he grabbed her arm and forced it back, putting all of his weight behind it so that within a few moments he had overcome her completely. She was on her back under him on the damp earth.

  His hands grabbed and tore at her. She began to shake now as her senses returned. Her body was slowly giving in to the shock. She could not let it for she knew she would not see out the night if she succumbed.

  Archibald grabbed hold of her left wrist but was caught off guard when she managed to summon enough strength to flail her other arm at him. He hesitated for a second but long enough for her to reach down into her soul and push all of her remaining strength up into her right arm. Before the demented clergyman could force his weight down even more, her arm flew up and forced her closed fist forward, connecting with Archibald’s cheek. She heard a faint crack as her fist made contact. He gasped as the pain took hold.

  The surprise of the blow left his body limp for a second and he fell off of Evelyn, flopping onto the ground next to her, for just long enough to allow her to take a few deep breaths. The spinning in her head started to slow as the oxygen returned to her body. However the body next to her was already beginning to stir. Her heart sank knowing that she did not have the strength to capitalise on an attempt to escape.

  She could hear him return to his feet, his breathing laboured. She decided that she managed to hurt him more than she initially realised. She may have time yet.

  However, the sound that accompanied them in that blind cave chilled her blood and stopped the breath in her throat. It was a sound so guttural; she thought it must have come from the centre of the earth. It had the strength of a thousand cannons sounding at once in a single blast and sounded pained. It was a cry for help. Then it sounded again, louder, closer. She was breathing so fast that she thought her lungs would shred themselves within her.

  The darkness then began to move around her. She feared her head was spinning again. But she had not moved in the last few moments in a way that would injure herself. Yet she could see and feel the room around her move.

  She heard a scraping along the dirt walls followed by a sound similar to a roll of wet leather being dragged along a stone floor. A glistening mass was moving. It was not the room moving but something inside it as big as the cell itself.

  The scraping continued. She followed the sounds all around her head. Then something moist fell onto her forehead with force, something that stuck to her skin and dried instantly, stretching her flesh in the warmth. That was when she realised it for sure; something was in there with her and the man that had attacked her. Something of such a size she scarcely imagined it was real. It certainly was not human.

  The darkness was moving, for sure, but it was made of more than air. It was breathing, growling slowly, plotting. The thing moved quickly and in an instant she felt pain like no other as it took hold of her shoulder.

  She could feel the shadows of the beast pressing down on her, her breathing becoming impossible and burning coursing through her body. Her bones started to ache under the pressure until she heard a couple crack. Her ribs. The shock of pain left her unable to breathe and something warm build up in her throat, causing her to violently splutter, feeling the liquid from within spill onto her lips. It was warm and salty. Her own blood.

  The weight continued to bear down, her body unable to cope with any more. Once more, searing pain gripped her entirely as the feeling of a thousand knives scraped down both sides of her torso. Then she felt a sense of warmth cover her body, trickling down and dripping onto the ground as her skin tore open. The pain started to fade for a moment before returning and shocking her into consciousness so that she could go through it all again. Each time it lasted for fewer seconds.

  She was going to die and she knew it.

  The knives carried on tearing. Then the weight started crushing her legs, her limbs were moving independent of her body and what was left of her mind as she felt her pelvis being torn open.

  Then the darkness took hold again and the pain faded until it existed no more. The consumed her shadows before giving away to a blinding white light.

  *****

  Archibald exited the cell through the same door he had entered, back into the unlit passageway, feeling his way down the length of the walls. His legs were weak, trembling. In desperation, he tried to breathe deeply enough to replenish his lungs. The corridor seemed to go on forever and soon he grew uncertain he was going the right way.

  What possessed him to send away his protector? He truly was going insane. He must be. He had to make his way back to his quarters alone, and fast. His only stroke of luck, as he followed one of the walls that turned a corner to the left, he saw a glimmer of light up ahead, suspended in mid-air. Stamwell was waiting patiently at the entrance to the cavern still holding the flaming torch.

  Archibald managed no more than ten paces more before his legs gave out from under him. He groaned with the effort. Stamwell heard the faint cry from further down the tunnel and started towards it knowing there were only three people who stepped foot beyond the cavern door; all of whom meant the world to him. Archibald had provided a home and a family for him as well as an outlet for his anger and lust for brutality. If anything were to happen to him he would become a lost cause once again.

  As he drew closer, shining the torch before him to light the way, he saw the figure half-slumped against the earth wall barely propped up with one knee on the ground. He was covered in blood but did not seem to be suffering any wounds himself. He saw the gaunt, drawn face and shock of silver hair and, recognising Archibald, he rushed over to offer his body as a crutch for the old man.

  ‘My God, Father what has happened?’ cried Stamwell. It was a rare occasion that he softened enough to show emotion.

  ‘Too much…I’ve done too much,’ stammered Archibald, struggling to make any sense. ‘My abomination..will…kill us all,’ he continued, in between breaths.

  ‘Don’t talk now. Save yourself,’ ordered Stamwell, picking up the almost-lifeless frame. Stamwell rushed back towards the light that was starting to fall outside of the cavern entrance. The moon stood high and naked in the night sky. As soon as they reached the opening both breathed in the fresh air deeply. It hurt Archibald’s lungs but he needed every drop of breath.

  Stamwell provided an arm for Archibald to lean on as they crossed the clearing and found another entrance inside the pit walls and descended down into darkness again. Stamwell had catlike eyes; he could navigate his way anywhere throughout the caverns under Devil’s Pit and within minutes they were back at the door leading to Archibald’s private quarters.

  In the light, Archibald could see the mess he had become. His gown was drenched in blood and specked with pink, white and grey; signs of bodily parts and fluids that had been spilled in that room. His stomach contracted and he vomited violently on the floor, disgusted at the state he was in.

  ‘Help me bathe,’ he told Stamwell, ‘Get me out of these clothes and help me get clean again. Then leave until I call for you.’

  Stamwell fulfilled those orders a
nd once the preacher was safely in bed, a night lamp beside him offering a break from the darkness, Stamwell took his leave. He paused at the door and looked back, ashamed at asking.

  ‘Sir, I know I shouldn’t, but…the girl?’

  ‘She was The One,’ smiled Archibald, bringing colour back to his drained face. He looked a different man than the fearful wreck that had been brought back to his room an hour ago. ‘His very presence there tonight proved it.’ His sunken eyes glanced up towards his henchman.

  ‘Well done,’ he congratulated Stamwell. ‘Is she still alive?’ Stamwell asked again, regretting it instantly.

  Archibald looked at him with pity, mocking him for his weakness for caring about someone who was merely a subject.

  ‘That would be impossible. I heard her being torn apart before me, in the shadows. She will have served her purpose.’

  The man-mountain allowed a brief smile to cross his lips before guilt chased it away. ‘What now?’ He asked with remorse in his eyes.

  ‘We wait to be saved,’ beamed Archibald, ‘He is finally here.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Franklin kept a pace in front of the others, as he had done for the previous day’s travelling. Edward and Ewan had tried their best to keep up with him but it was evident after they crossed the bordering woods into Harper Falls that he wanted to be left alone. They held their horses back in a gentle trot whilst Franklin cantered on ahead. They both felt they had betrayed his trust back at the cottage and were hoping to make amends along the way.

  Franklin needed to be alone. He was trying to prepare himself knowing he was hurtling towards an inevitable truth he could not bear; his daughter was gone.

  ‘We will meet up with him at the riverside,’ Edward called to his son as their horses strode twenty feet abreast along the woodland track, avoiding the frequent gaps in the road to prevent injuring their steeds.

  Ewan nodded but was not optimistic. He had seen a change in Franklin since he had spoken about Devil’s Pit. Something else was playing on the old man’s mind.

  ‘He knows where we are camping tonight. He won’t have the energy to carry on past nightfall, don’t worry,’ Edward continued.

  Ewan was still fighting a hidden guilt of his own. He felt as if he had given up on Evelyn whom he loved enough to devote his life to her. Had he given his all in finding her? He was still breathing, which proved he hadn’t.

  Franklin opened up an hour’s gap ahead of Edward and Ewan and was starting to feel weary. He knew that he wasn’t well enough to be out alone in this place for too much longer. His chest was still riddled with small but suffocating shooting pains, which he had been trying to ignore. He was getting close to the spot agreed by the river where they were going to rest tonight. The same spot that Ewan had found himself a few nights ago.

  His horse was losing pace too. Franklin decided it was best for both that they stop away from the track, even for half an hour. He didn’t want Edward and Ewan to be alerted to his weakness. At least that way he would still have a lead on them. Franklin turned his horse away from the road and disappeared amongst the army of oak trees. Some of the trees stood skeletal by the side of the road, their leaves not yet returned after a harsh winter. The dead leaves cracked under the hooves. As man and horse disappeared deeper within the forest, signs of the promising spring growth appeared in the heads of the trees that provided a canopy against the world above them. It was still a few hours before nightfall but the light was starting to fail within the woodland retreat.

  Franklin’s eyes were becoming heavy. His vision became distorted as the effort to hold them open grew too much. But then he saw it; a flash of green. Enough to widen his eyes and refresh his senses like he had slept for days.

  He looked around but could see no sign of what had emitted the glow. His horse carried on forward a few more paces and he saw it again out of the very corner of his eye, to the left. He quickly turned his head. Nothing.

  Then his horse jolted violently to its side knocking Franklin off and onto the cushion of dried leaves beneath them. Franklin looked up to see the massive frame of his stallion heading down towards him. He threw his body over in a log roll twice and heard the horse’s bulk hit the floor with a screeching cry.

  Three figures appeared on top of the toppled horse, glowing as green as an emerald fire. Franklin stared in horror as two heads lunged towards the horse’s right flank, sank their jaws deep into its flesh and tore away skin, exposing the glistening red muscle beneath. The horse whinnied and screamed and tried to use its strength to roll over onto her injured side in a feeble attempt to crush the scavengers. The third figure stood hunched on all fours looking straight at Franklin. Its body glowed green but it’s eyes were burning red, boring a hole through him as it lowered his head readying itself to pounce.

  Franklin scrambled to his feet, not taking his eye off the Faerie dog, and struggled to breathe. His legs were lead weights crying out for rest. Franklin turned and did his best to run. As he managed to put together the first couple of strides, he could feel his legs beginning to wake up and managed to pick up pace. He afforded a frenzied look behind him and could see the dog still gaining on him. Franklin ran through the trees looking for any cover he could disappear into but the dog kept coming. It did not seem to experience fatigue and was driven purely by hunger.

  A frustrated growl told him that the dog was only ten paces behind. He quickly changed direction and bolted to the left, deeper into another portion of the woods. He hoped that the dog’s night vision was not strong but suspected that with eyes like that they were powerful.

  The undergrowth grew thicker now and Franklin could see the green flash was getting smaller. He could afford himself a few moments to try and catch his breath. Franklin let one of the nearby trunks take his weight as he breathed deeper and deeper, taking in all of the air around him. The pain started again in his chest, catching him unaware this time. He clutched at his left arm and groaned. This one was not ceasing as quickly as before.

  He stumbled forward knowing he still had to find cover. Then he saw it twenty yards ahead. The trees that supported the canopy ahead and the dried leaves that carpeted the ground stopped dead ahead of him, a vast void lying behind them as if he had reached the edge of the world. There must be a way around it, he pleaded with himself and any powers that could hear him, or else he was trapped, providing easy bait for the pursuing Faerie dog.

  As he reached the edge and peered over he convinced himself he was done for. There was no way to avoid the fall that lay below. The fifty feet between him and the bottom of the pit would be enough to snatch the life of a much younger man; he may even die before hitting the floor.

  As the distant snarls grew louder, he knew the creature would soon be upon him, its blood red eyes fixed solely on tearing his flesh. He had no choice but to try and descend. He noticed to the far right side that the ground fell away in a more gradual decline. Franklin proceeded and tenderly started stepping forward. Agonising seconds passed like hours until he was satisfied that his head was no longer above ground level, meaning it would take the dog longer to find him. Maybe only for a matter of seconds, but they would prove precious to him.

  After a few more steps down, the path started dropping away at an alarming rate. Franklin could now clearly see the bottom of the pit but at this height he would still not survive a fall.

  Just then he heard a rumble of earth as clumps fell down and scattered on his left shoulder. His heart jumped as he looked up to see the glowing green head above him on the ridge looking straight down with a deadly stare. Franklin’s body naturally started to turn and bolt away from the inevitable death he faced and in doing so, his right foot slipped over the edge of the dirt track, giving way to rain-soaked mud, which started to crumble fast underneath the old man’s weight.

  Franklin flailed his arms, grabbing at anything around him. Nothing offered any support and Franklin’s weight pulled his body further over the edge, until his remaining foot had
left the ground and he began falling. He fell backwards and immediately felt the claws of the undergrowth slice away his shirt, then at the exposed flesh that came their way. The body of a slimmer, younger tree caught him on the back of the head as the world rushed away above him.

  The falling stopped eventually but moments before he hit the ground, Franklin succumbed to the darkness; his right leg bent up to meet his waist, his knee completely shattered. Blood pooled under him as it seeped out through the gash on the back of his head, finding its way out of his body through his ears and nose. His skull had cracked upon impact with the ground.

  His lungs tirelessly continued to work and his heart carried on pumping the blood, desperately trying to keep him alive. His body was broken, his mind was possibly already dead but his heart continued to fight even though it was slowly killing him as it did so.

  As his life seemed to ebb away, a shadow appeared over his limp body. Franklin managed to muster a final effort and his eyes flickered open. Three hooded figures looked back down at him. Their heads turned and their bodies parted. A monster of a man appeared between them, battle-scarred and bruised from years of tireless loyalty.

  One massive hand grabbed hold of Franklin’s chest and he was dragged away, into one of the cavern entrances carved into the walls of Devil’s Pit, deep down into the earth below.

  *****

  Ewan and Edward reached the rendezvous by the river but Franklin was nowhere to be seen. Nor was there any evidence that he had been there. No horse tethered to the post, no remains of a campfire. Surely the poor man could not have survived for these hours without some warmth.

  The night was drawing in, the light disappearing beyond the tops of the trees and soon they would not be able to see their hand in front of their own faces. They needed to press on and hope that Franklin had already made it ahead to the Pit.

  They both marched their horses forward for another mile without a hint of Franklin or his steed and were approaching a new disturbing truth; they would have to choose between finding the Pit and Evelyn or launching a new search for her father. The decision was made for them as Ewan spotted Franklin’s shoulder pack, hanging like a rag in the sharp thorns ahead. Or what was left of it. Upon inspection Ewan found it had been ravaged; sharp teeth marks had torn the fabric to shreds.