The Wanderers of the Water-Realm (68 page)

The party advanced in single file to the mouth of the cave and for the first time they viewed the open sea that seethed, roared and flung itself against the rocks below like a mad beast, they also felt the rip of the screaming gale and the beat of the rain that poured from the dark sky in torrents.

Slowly, the wanderers followed their guide out of the mouth of the cave and began carefully ascending the narrow pathway leading torturously upwards to the relative safety of the cliff-top. As they climbed, they kept tight against the rock-face in order to escape the worst effects of the howling gale that sought to tear them away from the path and send them spinning into the seething cauldron of water lying far below them. Gradually, they worked their way upwards, grasping at each crack in the rock that gave them support and making full use of the pegs and loops of rope that Angus had previously driven into the rock-face to aid them in their dangerous climb.

On one occasion, the young wisewoman slipped on a patch of moss and would have been flung into the abyss, had her twin brother not caught her by the shoulder and dragged her away from imminent disaster. Minutes later, a tremendous gust of wind tore the lantern from Angus’s grasp and tossed it into the sea like a discarded toy. Finally, after what seemed like hours, they breasted the head of the path and fell exhausted upon the rain-soaked heather that grew in abundance at the cliffs-edge.

The travellers rested for a few moments, in order to regain a little strength, then, led by the young witch, they quickly made their way to the circle of great stones situated in the centre of the Island. And the returning wanderers were struck temporarily dumb by the terrible sight that met their eyes.

Hetty Littlewood. The Wisewoman of Elfencot. Lay dead upon the alter slab that was situated inside the stone circle. Within her lifeless hand she still grasped the empty vial of poison that she used to end her life.

Myra was the first member of the group to fully regain their senses. After closing her mother’s eyes, she took hold of the remaining lantern and shone its light upon the ancient symbols that had been carved, long ago, upon the sides of the alter slab.

After a while, she lowered the lantern to the wet earth and began sobbing out the reason for their sad bereavement.

“Long, long ago,” she explained with difficulty and with many pauses. “Those evil beings whom we call ‘The Ancient Dead,’ used their vast knowledge to create this portal allowing their servants to reach our home reality and pillage its resources. The fiends must have placed great value upon this portal, for they created the ‘Forest of Oblivion’ to keep unwanted strangers away from the entrance to the world they so mercilessly plundered.”

She paused for a moment to wipe away the rivulets of tears and rainwater coursing down her face.

“But that precaution, alone, did not serve to allay their jealous fears. So the evil ones drew upon their immense occult knowledge and placed a terrible curse upon all who sought to tread their portal without receiving their expressed permission. The half mad Rose Littlewood knew this and the last poem in her grimoire carried a dreadful warning.”

The young witch paused and recited the verse from memory.

The old ones came and cast a span
Across the vale where terrors vie
So they, alone, could tread the path
To the lands beyond the rolling sky
But venture forth and love will die
.

Once again, the young witch brushed the tears from her eyes and looked directly towards her twin brother.

“Any stranger who sought to pass through the portal would pay a terrible price, the swift and inevitable death of a loved one. It was Whiteflower who paid the dreadful toll, the very moment we crossed the ‘Forest of Oblivion’ and drew near to the base of the great metal spire guarding the entrance to the portal exiting the Water-Realm!”

Myra choked back her sobs before continuing.

“Mother read the warning carved upon this very alter-stone and she knew that a second life would also be forfeit, once she had completed the opening ritual within this ring of standing stones. And the victim would have been selected from amongst our number as we cleared the mouth of the portal. Yet she loved us all dearly and she cheated the curse by offering up her own life instead!”

Darryl stripped the tattered narr-skin tunic from his shoulders and used it as a shroud to cover his mother’s body.

“Come!” He said, to his three companions. “We must hold our grief in check ‘awhile, for we must ensure no other living being makes use of this portal, the source of so much sorrow and suffering.

Come, my friends!” He said, turning his back upon the Alter with its sad burden.

“We have much to do before we can dream of rebuilding our own lives!”

E
xactly one year later, to the very day. George, the former boat hand and the Littlewood twins, stood motionless upon the deck of a small fishing boat and from a safe distance they watched the detonation of the huge gunpowder charges obliterating every last trace of the cave that had once acted as their return route from the terribleWater-Realm.

A few hundred yards from their stern lay another small craft. Angus Smith was standing by its mast and he watched grimly as the last broken fragments of what had been the circle of great stones, were taken from the vessel’s hold and flung over the side, together with the finely powdered remnants of the inscribed alter-stone.

The dust from the explosion gradually settled and nothing could be seen of the old cottage that had once stood by the shore, the dwelling that had sheltered Angus Smith and his old grandmother, for its walls had been levelled to the ground by order of the three wanderers. For the wealthy trio had recently purchased the Island to ensure that it remained totally bereft of human habitation and strictly forbidden to all mankind.

Yet one human being still remained upon that fay isle. Buried deep in the rocky soil, in the exact centre of the Island, lay the body of Hetty Littlewood, the wisewoman of Elfencot. By her left side lay the burnt remains of a witch’s grimoire that had once belonged to an equally wise ancestor, together with a spoon that had the power to detect poison. To her right hand, wrapped in a soft narr-skin tunic, rested ‘Kingslayer’the peerless sword that had successfully guarded the life of her fearless son.

Presently, the wind freshened and the two boats disappeared over the horizon, abandoning the Island to the seals, the screaming birds and the ever present sound of the unquiet sea.