The Fatal Strand

The woman’s voice trailed into nothing and she looked again at the wasted body upon the wellhead. ‘I regret that such ceremony is forever behind us,’ she admitted, ‘but still we will do what we can. Verdandi may indeed have to remain in this blessed place until the end of all things, but not for a moment shall she be alone. In this, her tomb, we shall take it in turns to sit beside her. However, on this grievous day, we shall all keep watch.’

‘Oh yes!’ Miss Celandine cooed. ‘And when it’s just her and myself, I shall bring down a plate of jam and pancakes to put at her side and tell her everything that happens – I shall, I shall.’

Under Miss Ursula’s instruction, they each took a torch from the carved walls and fixed them into the soil around the wellhead. Then, together, they knelt before Miss Veronica’s body and the long vigil commenced.

With her head to one side, and the torchlight sparkling in her bright eyes, Miss Celandine rocked backwards and forwards upon her knees, murmuring the snatches of old rhymes and songs she remembered from the ancient city of Askar and the days of her youth.

‘Oh see within that sylvan shade, the fairest city that e’er was made. A mighty tower roofed with gold, where dwells the Lady so I’m told. Queen of that ash land she may be, with daughters one, two and three.’

Turning to the old woman in the nightgown, Edie saw that large tears were trickling down her walnut-like face as she recited. But Miss Celandine’s memory soon failed her and the words trailed into nothing. Humming to herself, she twisted the end of her plaits around her knobbly fingers, whilst her whispering voice slowly began to chant another half-remembered rhyme:

‘… thus spurred by need she wove her doom. Then all were caught within that weave and from its threads none could cleave. The root was saved, but by the Loom all things are destined, from womb to tomb …’

At Edie’s side, the girl thought that she saw Miss Ursula flinch when these words were uttered and wondered what she was thinking.

‘… How fierce He roared, she cheated him of the ruling power hid within …’

Again the poem faltered, but Miss Celandine continued to drone the rhythm until a sad smile suddenly smoothed her crabbed lips when a different thought illuminated her muddled mind. Clumsily, she rose to her feet and, assuming a dramatic pose, pointed a big, grime-encrusted toe. Then, very carefully, she started to dance.

Edie shifted around to watch her. Swathed in her ragged nightgown, the old woman’s less than graceful movements were a peculiar sight. In other circumstances Edie would have laughed, but here in the midst of their grief, Miss Celandine’s shambling performance possessed an aching poignancy.

Around the Chamber of Nirinel Miss Celandine waltzed, twirling and revolving with her arms flung wide. At times she looked like a collection of tattered sheets torn from a washing line and caught in a buffeting gale, but there were moments when the crackling torch flames clothed her in an enchanted light and the endless years fell from her shoulders. In those brief moments Miss Celandine was beautiful; her hair burned golden and her supple limbs skipped the steps with dainty precision.

Then the vision was lost as she sailed out of the torchlight and reeled towards the entrance, where the metal gates formed a perfect backdrop for the rest of her display.

‘Oh what heavenly dancing there used to be,’ she pined, temporarily interrupting her tune. ‘What darling parties we had back then. Terpsichore, the gallants called me – Terpsichore, Terpsichore.’

Flitting behind Miss Celandine, a dozen shadows stretched high into the darkness above, magnifying her every move. Edie stared, enthralled by their grotesquely distorted, whirling shapes.

Even Miss Ursula had turned to watch her sister, yet the eyes which regarded her clumsy cavorting were filled with pity.

All their attention was diverted from the corpse which lay upon the wellhead, so not one of them noticed when the withered hand of Miss Veronica began to move.

With painful slowness, the arthritic fingers twitched and flexed, creeping across the bloodstained robe like the legs of a great, gnarled spider. Down to her side the hand inched, until the groping fingers closed about something metal and in that instant the old woman’s eyes snapped open.

‘Such is the demented doom which awaits me,’ Miss Ursula breathed, still following Miss Celandine’s ungainly prances. ‘As Nirinel rots, so too does her mind. That is the measure of how closely are we bound to it. Veronica was the first to fall victim. Then, piece by piece, Celandine followed until she became this witless fool. How many years are left unto me I wonder, before I too hitch up my skirts and join her in that abandoned madness?’

Edie chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. ‘I’ll look after both of you,’ she pledged.

‘I know, child. To you I entrust the care of the museum and the many secrets it holds.’

Over the carved beasts which crowded the chamber’s walls, Miss Celandine’s wild shadows continued to leap, and Edie narrowed her almond-shaped eyes as she watched them. Something was wrong.

Amongst those gyrating shapes was a disharmony that she could not place. Over that stone menagerie the fleeting silhouettes licked and bounced with the same deranged vigour as before, but now a new element mingled with them – an extra shadow which did not belong there.

At first it was difficult to distinguish this additional outline from the rest of the frenetic show. Confused, Edie peered at the strangely stilted shade with a puzzled expression upon her face. Then, with a sudden terror clutching her stomach, the awful truth dawned upon her.

Spinning round, the girl let out a yell of fright. The stretcher was empty. There – standing directly behind Miss Ursula, her raised hand clutching hold of the rusted blade and ready to strike – was Miss Veronica Webster.

CHAPTER 3 AN UNHOLY ABOMINATION

Down stabbed the spear, slicing a savage arc through the stagnant air. But Edie’s shout had been enough, and Miss Ursula moved aside a moment before the weapon plunged through the space where she had just been sitting.

Springing up, Edie pulled the eldest of the Fates to her feet and both stared in horror at the decrepit figure before them.

Orbs of darkness glared out from Miss Veronica’s haggard face in place of eyes. Like mirrors of polished jet they reflected the surrounding torchlight, but no hint of life gleamed within their inky depths.

About her hunched shoulders, her long, coal-coloured hair snaked and streamed as though an infernal breeze blew upon it. Then, taking a lurching step forward, the apparition once again slashed the scarlet-steeped weapon in front of her.

Edie dragged Miss Ursula clear of the sweeping blade. Then those dark eyes bent their power upon her and the girl shuddered, caught in the malevolence of their glance.

With jerking spasms, the lifeless limbs lashed out and Miss Ursula covered the stricken child’s sight as she hauled her out of range.

‘Do not look at her!’ she cried. ‘That is not my sister. A foulness is in possession of her body. Edith – come quickly!’

Avoiding the spiking blows they fled, but the animated cadaver darted in pursuit, furiously ripping and tearing the air behind them.

Around the well Edie and Miss Ursula ran, barely dodging the vicious thrusts until Miss Veronica’s shrivelled mouth gaped open and the malice-filled spirit which drove her let loose an unearthly, echoing howl.

At the gateway, Miss Celandine staggered to a standstill. With the folds of her nightgown swishing about her, she stared at the scene incredulously.

‘Veronica!’ she exclaimed, a wide grin splitting her face. ‘Veronica!’

Overcome with joy she bounded across the earthen floor towards the horror that awaited.

‘No!’ Miss Ursula shouted. ‘Celandine – that is not Veronica!’

But Miss Celandine did not heed her. All she saw was her young sister, alive once more, and she flung herself forward, squealing with wondrous exultation.

A hideous snarl twisted the dead lips as the corpse wheeled to meet her and the spear glinted ruddily in the firelight.

‘Celandine!’ Edie bawled. ‘Stop!’

Too late, Miss Celandine beheld those black, soulless eyes. She could not halt her blundering gait and went slithering to the ground at the very feet of her departed sister.

Screaming shrilly, she frantically rolled aside just as the spear come plummeting for her chest.

Deep into the soil the weapon bit, but the creature immediately tore it loose. Already Miss Celandine was scrambling away, but she was no match for the adamantine will which propelled that repellent carcass. From the bloodstained robe a cold hand came raking. Grasping fingers clawed at her hair, seizing one of the wildly swinging plaits.

In despair, Miss Celandine felt the violent wrenching of her scalp and she buckled backwards, torn off balance. Down she fell and up flew the spear once more. This time there was no escaping; the fingers which yanked her head to the floor owned an unnatural strength and no amount of squirming would loosen their malignant, murderous grip.

Up into Veronica’s withered face Miss Celandine was compelled to stare, and from that dead mouth came a rasping breath which filled her shrinking nostrils with the reek of lifeless lungs.

Wailing in terror, Miss Celandine’s exposed throat quivered and trembled. Then the slaughtering strike came rushing down.

‘Get away from her!’ a furious voice shrieked.

Before the blade could drink yet more Webster blood, Miss Ursula came running up and threw herself upon that scything arm, using all her might to shove it aside.

By a hair’s breadth, the killing blow missed Miss Celandine’s neck and at last she wriggled free.

A repugnant hiss issued from the corpse’s mouth as it leaped after her, but Miss Ursula jumped forward. Just as Edie Dorkins scurried to the nightmare’s heels upon her hands and knees, the woman gave an almighty push.

Backwards the abomination blundered, tumbling over the obstacle which lay in wait behind. A hellish screech ricocheted about the cavern and the creature fell heavily against the weed-wrapped stone of the wellhead.

In a second it had rallied and risen once more. Brandishing the lethal blade, it darted greedy glances at the waiting prey, selecting which would be its first victim.

‘We can’t stop her!’ Miss Celandine wept, scampering towards the gateway. ‘She’ll kill us all!’

It was then that Edie discovered she was completely alone. Miss Celandine’s mewling wails were already echoing through the adjoining chambers and, with a shock, she realised that Miss Ursula had also disappeared. With those glittering black eyes turned full upon her, the girl saw the corpse’s sepulchral flesh come prowling closer.

‘Get back, you!’ the girl growled. ‘I warns yer!’

Yet her threats sounded feeble and unfounded, for the unclean darkness which beat from those venomous eyes rooted the child to the spot. There was nothing she could do; her limbs were locked and still the monster advanced. The hairs on the back of Edie’s neck prickled when she saw how sharp the rusted blade now appeared and she swallowed helplessly.

Then it pounced.

Yet in that moment, Edie was whisked off the ground and a glimmering light streaked past her.

With unerring accuracy, Miss Ursula hurled the small oil lamp at her dead sister and it exploded at the corpse’s feet with a blinding burst of glass and liquid flame.

On to Veronica’s bloodstained robe the fuel fires splashed and an instant later the entire garment was ablaze.

‘Begone and burn!’ Miss Ursula commanded, setting Edie back down.

Vivid, crackling flames were now leaping over the possessed creature, wreathing it in bright, lapping tongues, and a hollow, squalling screech boiled out from the blackening lips.

The long dark hair, which had been Miss Veronica’s pride, crinkled, burning away in the devouring heat whilst the wrinkled skin began to roast and smoke.

Yet still the eyes glared out at Ursula and Edie and, though the flames raged about its face, it could see them well enough.

As a writhing pillar of fire, the fiend tottered a wavering zigzag towards the woman and child, fiercely flailing its wasted, fiery arms.

‘Quickly!’ Miss Ursula told the girl. ‘Back this way.’

To the wellhead they stumbled, with the burning body chasing after, like a pursuing demon cloaked in flame. From this roaring terror they fled and, shining brighter than ever in that scorching grasp, the spear slashed a crimson web of hellish light.

Columns of twisting, fuliginous smoke poured from the lumbering lantern that had once been Veronica, coiling high into the upper darkness, giving it a turgid, churning density and substance. Within the inferno of that blistering furnace only a charred outline could now be glimpsed. The old woman’s bones were tinder dry and the rapacious fires eagerly consumed them.

Glancing backwards, Edie suddenly stopped running.

The fiend’s steps were beginning to falter. Torrefied sinews withered and the marrow fluxed from cracked bones, spitting and sizzling in the flames.

‘Edith!’ Miss Ursula called anxiously.

But the child grinned impishly at her. ‘It’s finished!’ she cried. ‘Frazzled – all crispy like!’

The flaring glare in the cavern began to diminish. Like dying candles the bright, licking tongues sputtered as they were quenched. Yet the power which steered that cindered skeleton was not quite beaten.

Swaying from side to side, as though the very effort of binding those blackened bones together was a tremendous strain, the smoking remains reached out a sizzling arm towards the young girl and flung itself forward.

Edie squealed and leaped upon the stone dais to escape the unexpected onslaught. Over the tangled weeds she ran, and the nightmare bolted after her, screeching for her death. Through the woody growth the horror lunged and staggered, but the guttering flames which still sparked about those misshapen limbs leaped into the moss, and immediately the well ignited.

Her clothes singed and smouldering, Edie Dorkins jumped clear as this new blaze roared into existence, sending a sheet of searing, tumultuous fire high into the curling smoke above.

Every dry stem burst into livid life, forming a dazzling pinnacle of flame. High into the age-old darkness the flaring light blasted, banishing the ancient shadows. For the first time in many years the entire, straddling shape of Nirinel could be glimpsed above the towering beacon.

Shielding her face from that blistering funnel of fire, Edie saw, within its seething heart, the animated cadaver stumble and lurch as the mind which drove those charred bones finally wrenched itself free.

Caught in the cremating maelstrom, the blackened form teetered for a moment about the wellhead, then toppled down into the gaping shaft at its centre.

Into the chasm fell the clattering bones, down into the empty deeps.

Suddenly, a violent quaking shook the chamber and, from the echoing regions of that immeasurable gulf, a gigantic ball of boiling flame exploded. Up to the arching height of the World Tree’s last surviving root the rumbling cloud rushed, erupting with an ear-splitting discharge of scorching heat and fire-dripping vapour as it stormed against that massive bulk.

Then, abruptly, it was over.

The exiled shadows quickly engulfed their old realm and a hot, squalling wind gusted about the cavern, dispersing the curdling clouds. The air became a blizzard of ash.

Only two of the torches remained alight and a thick layer of soot obscured the wide stone ring of the well.

Moistening her parched lips, Edie darted forward.

A few cherry-glowing embers still hissed and snapped, but the child clambered back on to the dais and ploughed through the choking mantle of fine powder. The heated stone scalded her knees as she crawled over to the broad, round hole where she stared down into the empty darkness.

‘It’s gone,’ her morose voice resounded from the void’s brim.

Behind her, Miss Ursula steepled her forefingers and tried to quell the anguish and panic which had overthrown her usual cold, collected bearing.

‘How dare He!’ she spat with passion. ‘How dare He invade this hallowed place and make a puppet of my sister!’

Edie wrinkled her nose. ‘Smells ’orrid in ’ere now,’ she stated, swivelling around to disclose a soot-smeared face. ‘Like burned bangers – only worser!’

‘Ursula!’ a timid voice called as Miss Celandine padded back into the cavern, looking warily about her. ‘I can’t go up the stairs in the dark, not all on my own. Is Veronica gone? Why was she being so beastly?’

It was Edie who answered. ‘It were that Woden,’ she guessed.

Surveying the wreckage, Miss Ursula nodded tersely. ‘Indeed,’ she uttered in a voice quivering with barely checked anger. ‘The age-old enemy of the Fates was the force behind the peril we have just faced. Did He not manipulate her enough when she was living? At least the shell of her being is out of reach now. Poor Veronica – how we all used her.’

‘He’ll try again though, won’t He?’ Edie murmured.

The woman gave an affirming nod. ‘Of that there can be no doubt. This was merely His calling card, to let me know His endeavours are only beginning. None, save He and I, know just how long this contest has endured. He will balk at nothing to destroy us. That is His only wish.’

Edie gazed back down the ponderous well mouth. ‘In Glassenbury, Veronica an’ me found a undine. I thought he might’ve come here to be with us – I asked ’im to, so as the water’d fill up again. Do you think he’ll ever show?’

‘An undine!’ Miss Ursula snorted in disbelief. ‘I doubt that, Edith. Their like have long since departed this world.’

‘I did find him!’ the child asserted. But Miss Ursula was looking beyond her, to a mound of ash and cinders a little distance away.

‘Even if you had,’ she conceded, ‘it would not avail us. The well is dry, Edith, and will always remain so. The time of the sacred waters has passed into memory only. We must find other sources of protection to defend us from our enemy.’

Striding around the wellhead, she lifted a familiar object from the soot, only to drop it almost immediately. Edie stared at the thing and shivered. The spear blade had not fallen into the abyss with Veronica’s bones and the girl drew her breath sharply.

‘Should I throw it in?’ she suggested.

Miss Ursula shook her head. ‘It would do no good. Woden will still try to find a way of using it against us. I would feel more secure if this perfidious object were under my scrutiny in The Separate Collection.’

The old woman wrung her hands. ‘I have been careless,’ she said. ‘I had thought the defences of my museum could withstand all assaults. Yet His base arts were able to creep through my barriers and seize control of Veronica. How vain and stupid I have been. Better to have left Celandine in charge. What use all those exhibits in The Separate Collection? Powerful and dangerous I have always thought them but look at this – see what He has done. My fortress is weaker than I ever …’

Her despairing voice fell silent as her gaze fell upon Miss Celandine who was still standing by the gateway and yawning widely. Suddenly, Miss Ursula’s face lost all trace of her discouraged melancholy and she pulled herself up sharply.

‘Of course!’ she said with renewed hope. ‘After all these years locked away in the museum, the exhibits have become sluggish and inert. Their forces are sleeping. This ennui must cease and the stagnation purged. The enchantments which were once so vigilant must be roused and made strong once more.’

Infected by the old woman’s sudden excitement, Edie bounced to her feet. ‘How do we do that?’ she demanded.

Miss Ursula turned a secretive smile upon her. ‘We do not have to do anything, my dear. You shall see. Now come, bring the spear and let us return to the museum – I have a further commission for your obliging policeman.’

With Edie and Miss Celandine hurrying after, Miss Ursula Webster strode from the Chamber of Nirinel and the metal gateway clanged shut behind them.

Outside The Wyrd Museum, a river of grey mist poured into the alleyway. The early morning light was weak, and the squat building seemed flat and shapeless beneath the pale disc of the sun which hung low in the dim sky.

Over the cobbles the thick fog flowed, filling the narrow way with a dense, swirling cloud. Suddenly that smoking sea billowed and divided as a hooded figure, wrapped in a mouldering black cloak, drifted towards the entrance.

A thin, whispering laugh issued from the blank shadows beneath the heavy cowl when that hidden face looked upon the remaining bronze figures about the ornate doorway.

‘Oh Urdr,’ Woden’s mellifluous voice murmured. ‘This time I shall be the victor. The war will not cease until you and those you harbour are utterly defeated. Do what little you think you can. The All father will not be bested by your paltry tricks and somnolent enchantments.’

With ropes of mist winding tightly about him, the enemy of the Nornir sank back into the fog. But, before the blanketing vapour engulfed him, his foot dragged against a fragment of shattered bronze and his laughter sounded once more.

Upon the upturned face of the sculpted Verdandi, he brought his heel crashing down and the metal cracked – snapping in two beneath the callous violence. Then into the smoke his low chuckles melted, and he was gone.

CHAPTER 4 AN EARLY SUMMONING

Mrs Gloria Rosina focused a bleary eye upon her alarm clock and snorted in disgust to learn that it was only twenty-to-six in the morning. An impatient ringing had awoken her but the little clock was not to blame.

Someone was incessantly pressing her doorbell and brutal thoughts whisked through her mind as she hauled herself out of bed. Swearing, she thrust her podgy feet into an icy pair of slippers.

‘All right, all right!’ her gravelled voice ranted as she heaved herself into her worn dressing gown and bundled out of the bedroom, snatching up her cigarettes and lighter en route.

The landlady of The Bella Vista boarding house was a slovenly, fifty-three-year-old, overbearing widow who suffered no one gladly.

Instead of the familiar surroundings of her bedchamber, this morning her customary coughing fit was barked and expelled in the shabby hallway where cheap prints of London landmarks and exotic views cluttered the walls.

Still the bell rang its urgent summons, and the woman’s over-generous bosom heaved with annoyance as she regarded the wobbly outline showing through the frosted glass of the front door. Pulling the belt of her dressing gown to so tight a constriction that her ample figure ballooned around it, she padded down the shabby hallway with her arms formidably folded, an unlit cigarette twitching between her lips.

‘I hear you! I hear you!’ she bawled, angrily. ‘You’ll break the bleedin’ bell in a minute.’

The ringing ceased and the landlady grunted as she stooped to unbolt the door, wisely keeping the chain on.

‘Better have a flamin’ good reason to wake decent people up at this God forsaken …’

She left the sentence unfinished as she opened the door a fraction and saw the tall Chief Inspector upon the step.

‘Sorry if I woke you, Madam,’ Hargreaves apologised, ‘but it is important.’

Mrs Rosina shut the door again to slide the chain off, then opened it fully.