Fury of the Seventh Son

  DEDICATION

  FOR MARIE

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Chapter I - Another Way

  Chapter II - The Spook’s Legacy

  Chapter III - The First Lamia

  Chapter IV - The Unexplained

  Chapter V - The Wardstone

  Chapter VI - The Doomdryte

  Chapter VII - A Terrible Scene

  Chapter VIII - Only You Can Do It

  Chapter IX - The Ambush

  Chapter X - The Pursuit

  Chapter XI - The Dark Tower

  Chapter XII - The Coffin

  Chapter XIII - The Vast, Dark Tide

  Chapter XIV - The Spook’s Boggart

  Chapter XV - The Battle on the Steps

  Chapter XVI - A Tide of Blood

  Chapter XVII - The Dark Rider

  Chapter XVIII - The Last Apprentice

  Chapter XIX - A Price to Be Paid

  Chapter XX - Tendrils of Green Mist

  Chapter XXI - A Scrawny Boy

  Chapter XXII - A Fierce, Warlike Race

  Chapter XXIII - The Abhumans

  Chapter XXIV - A Plague of Skelts

  Chapter XXV - Brewer’s Farm

  Chapter XXVI - Nobody Will Be Safe

  Chapter XXVII - The Clash of Witch Assassins

  Chapter XXVIII - The Battle of the Wardstone

  Chapter XXIX - A Question of Time

  Chapter XXX - A Terrible Hunger

  Chapter XXXI - The Tower of Time

  Chapter XXXII - Draw Your Sword

  Chapter XXXIII - Lamia Blood

  Chapter XXXIV - The Last Lesson

  Chapter XXXV - The Chipenden Spook

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  CHAPTER I

  ANOTHER WAY

  I awoke from a nightmare, my heart pounding, and sat up in bed feeling sick. For a few moments I thought I was going to vomit, but gradually my stomach settled down.

  In my dream I had been killing Alice—cutting away her thumb bones.

  At Halloween, now barely a month away, I would have to carry out this terrible ritual in the real world. It was what was expected of me. My mam wished it, for it was the only way to end the threat of the Fiend forever.

  But how could I do it? How could I kill Alice?

  I lay awake, fearful of going back to sleep lest the nightmare resume. Painful thoughts continued to swirl through my head. Alice was a willing victim. She was prepared to be sacrificed. Not only that, but she had bravely ventured into the dark to retrieve the Blade of Sorrow. This was one of the hero swords—three sacred weapons to be used to destroy the Fiend . . . weapons that would kill her in the process.

  The hero swords had been forged by the Old God Hephaestus; the first of these was the Destiny Blade, given to me by Cuchulain in Ireland. The second was called Bone Cutter, and now, if Alice had succeeded in her quest into the dark, I would possess all three.

  At the moment the Fiend was bound to his dead flesh—his body impaled with silver spears in the Irish countryside, his head in a leather sack in the possession of Grimalkin, the witch assassin. She was on the run, fighting desperately to keep it from the Fiend’s servants. If they got hold of it, they would reunite head and body, and the Fiend would walk the earth once more, and the ritual could not take place.

  But Alice had still not returned from the dark. Perhaps something had happened, I thought. Maybe she would never come back. . . .

  I was also worried about my brother James, who had gone missing. The fiend had said that his servants had cut his throat and thrown him into a ditch. I desperately hoped he was lying, but I couldn’t keep the terrible thought of it out of my head for long.

  I tried to sleep again, without success, and the night dragged on. Then, just before dawn, the mirror on my bedside table suddenly began to glow. Alice was the only one who ever contacted me using a mirror. I sat up and grabbed it, looking into the glass, hardly daring to hope. For weeks and weeks I had been waiting for word from her. I had thought that perhaps I would see her just stroll happily into the garden, the Dolorous Blade in hand. But now Alice would be able to tell me that all was well immediately.

  My heart soared with happiness as she stared out of the glass at me, a faint smile on her lips. She mouthed a sentence: “I’m on the edge of the western garden.”

  In the past I used to communicate with Alice by breathing on the glass and writing, but I had grown skilled at reading her lips. She had no difficulty at all in reading mine.

  “Wait there!” I told her. “I’ll be down right away.”

  I dressed quickly, then went downstairs as quietly as possible, trying not to wake the Spook. As I headed out through the back door, a thought struck me: Why hadn’t Alice come into the garden?

  The sky was growing lighter in the east, and as I passed the bench where my master sometimes gave me lessons, I saw Alice waiting at the edge of the trees.

  She was dressed as I had last seen her—in a dark dress that just came down below her knees, and her pointy shoes. But what cheered me most of all was the smile on her pretty face. I ran toward her and she opened her arms, her smile broadening. We hugged each other tight and rocked back and forth.

  “You’re safe! You’re safe!” I cried. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

  At last we broke apart and stared at each other silently for a moment or two.

  “There were times when I thought I’d never escape from the dark,” Alice said. “But I did it, Tom. I got in and out safely, and I have the blade. Glad to see you, I am.”

  She pulled it from a pocket and held it out to me. I turned it over and over in my hands, looking at it closely. It looked just like its twin, Bone Cutter: the same skelt with ruby eyes adorned the hilt, staring up at me. The skelt was a killer that hid in crevices near water before scuttling out on its eight legs to pierce its victims with its bone tube and drain their blood.

  I forced my eyes away from the blade and looked again at Alice, feeling a surge of happiness. I’d missed her so much. How could I ever have considered sacrificing her? Even the destruction of the Fiend surely couldn’t justify it. It was clear to me now that I couldn’t go through with it. Tears came to my eyes and a lump to my throat.

  “You’re brave, Alice. Nobody else could have succeeded. But I’m sorry—you did it all for nothing. I can’t go through with the ritual. I won’t sacrifice you. I wouldn’t hurt you for anything. We’ll have to find another way to put an end to the Fiend.”

  “It’s funny, Tom, but you’re the second person to tell me that my going into the dark was unnecessary. Grimalkin thinks so, too.”

  “You’ve talked to Grimalkin? I haven’t seen her in over a month.”

  “Grimalkin’s been helping me. She’s found another way to destroy the Fiend—we’re working on it together. I’m hopeful, Tom. I really believe we can do it without the need for such a sacrifice. Had to come and see you and tell you, I did, but I’ve got to get back now. There’s work to do.”

  I couldn’t believe that Alice was already going off again.

  We’d been apart for so long, and now all we’d had was a couple of minutes together. It was so disappointing. I wanted to know more about Grimalkin’s plan. How had she discovered a method that Mam had not been aware of?

  “Come back to the house for a while, please,” I begged her. “Tell me what’s going on. And I’d like to know how you coped in the dark—I’m sure the Spook will have all sorts of questions to ask you, too.”

  But Alice shook her head firmly. “That ain’t possible, Tom. You see, Grimalkin’s plan makes use of seriously dark magi
c. It’s the only thing that’ll work. Old Gregory wouldn’t approve, you know that. He’s bound to ask me questions about what I’m up to, and I’d have to lie to him. He’s good at telling when people are lying. It’s best that I go.”

  “Then when will I see you again, Alice?”

  “Ain’t sure, but Grimalkin and I will return for sure. . . . See you when we’ve succeeded.”

  Alice looked just as I remembered her, but as she spoke now, she sounded different—completely confident of success. Was she being overconfident?

  “Is it dangerous?” I asked nervously.

  “I won’t lie to you, Tom. Of course it’s dangerous. But we’ve been in danger from the dark from the moment we met, and we’ve always come through safely. Don’t see why this shouldn’t be the same.”

  Suddenly she rushed into my arms and kissed me fiercely on the lips. Before I could respond, it was over; she broke away from me and began to walk off.

  I stared after her in shock. I was stunned. Why had she kissed me? Could it really be that she cared for me as much as I cared for her? I had never known. I desperately wanted to hold her in my arms again.

  Alice turned, looked back, and called out over her shoulder, “Take care, Tom! Don’t tell Old Gregory you’ve seen me. It’s best that way.”

  And then she was gone. There was so much I hadn’t had time to ask her. What had it been like in the dark? How had she managed to survive and retrieve the blade I now held in my hand?

  I walked back toward the house sadly. I was very relieved that Alice had returned safely, but now I had something else to worry about. What were Alice and Grimalkin about to attempt? No doubt there were great risks involved.

  She’d asked me not to tell my master that I’d met her. One part of me agreed with her; it was probably for the best to keep it from him—he’d only ask questions. But I’d kept too many things from him in the past. I’d have to hide the blade to make sure he didn’t see it.

  I’d been feeling increasingly guilty about such deceptions. Each had seemed very necessary at the time, but they had accumulated, and the more there were, the worse I’d felt. This was one more to add to the list, and I didn’t like it.

  CHAPTER II

  THE SPOOK’S LEGACY

  THE following day, late in the morning, the Spook and I were sitting at a table in his new Chipenden library. Opposite us sat a small thin man dressed in a black three-piece suit and a white shirt with a dark gray tie. He was a lawyer, a Mr. Timothy Potts, who had made the journey south from Caster. He was taking notes as my master spoke.

  The Spook was making his will. Or, to be more accurate, he was updating it.

  As he did so, I looked around, only half listening. The house had burned down and had been rebuilt, and now almost everything within it was new. The library smelled of fresh wood. The shelves were still mostly empty and probably contained fewer than three dozen books. It would take a long time to restore it, and much of what had burned was irreplaceable—especially the legacy of books written by former spooks, with their personal accounts of how they’d practiced their trade. We dealt with ghosts, ghasts, boggarts, and witches—all manner of things from the dark. So we relied on books and notebooks a lot. Our careful records were vital; we looked to the past in order to prepare for the future.

  “So those are my wishes,” ended the Spook very firmly.

  Mr. Potts adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose and coughed to clear his throat. “I’ll read it back to you, Mr. Gregory. Please interrupt if you have anything to add or feel that I have not accurately recorded those wishes.”

  The Spook nodded, and Mr. Potts began to read very slowly, with hardly a trace of a County accent. He sounded really posh. He was obviously an “incomer” who had been born and educated down south.

  “‘I leave my two main houses, at Chipenden and Anglezarke, to my apprentice, Thomas Ward, including all fixtures, fittings, books, and tools of the trade. They remain his, as long as he lives, on condition that he practices the trade of spook for as long as he is able. In his own will, he may only leave them to another spook, and on these same conditions.’”

  I was sad to hear those words. It made me feel as if my time as the Spook’s apprentice was almost over. But I took a deep breath and tried to think positively. Our time together might be drawing to a close, but surely we had another couple of years—time to complete my apprenticeship properly, and then perhaps continue when I was a fully trained spook, so that I could take some of the burden off his shoulders.

  “‘I grant the use of my third house, north of Caster, which I inherited from William Arkwright, to Judd Brinscall, for as long as he practices as a spook in that location. In the event of his death or early retirement from the trade, that property, with its library, will revert to the ownership of Thomas Ward on the same terms stipulated for my other properties.”

  Bill Arkwright had died fighting the dark in Greece. Now Judd Brinscall, a previous apprentice of the Spook, had taken up residence in Bill’s old water mill and was attempting to deal with the water witches there.

  Mr. Potts gave a little cough. “Is that correct, Mr. Gregory?”

  “Aye, it’s correct,” my master confirmed.

  “What about your other financial affairs? Have you any income to dispose of?”

  The Spook shook his head. “There is nothing significant, Mr. Potts. This is not a trade that makes a man rich. But if money is in my possession at my death, I leave that to my apprentice, Master Ward.”

  “Very well.” Potts made a further short note before packing up his papers, pushing back his chair, and rising to his feet. He took his pocket watch from his waistcoat and glanced at the time before tucking it away again. “I will write this up in the proper manner and return here next week so that you may sign the document.”

  The two men shook hands, and then it was my duty to escort the lawyer through the garden and off the premises—otherwise, he would have been in danger from the Spook’s pet boggart, which guarded against intruders, both human and otherwise.

  After setting Mr. Potts safely on his way, I returned to the library to find my master still sitting in the same position. He was slumped in his chair, staring down at the tabletop. He had aged a lot during the past two years; his beard was now totally white and his face gaunt. He probably felt that his life was drawing to a close. That, no doubt, was why he wanted to put his affairs in order. He certainly did not look happy.

  In a few moments he was going to feel a lot worse.

  Alice had asked me to keep her return and work with Grimalkin secret. But I’d been feeling guilty about it. My master was planning to entrust me with his property and his work after his death, whenever that might be. There were important things that I had to confess, things that would anger and dismay him. And I felt that now was the right time.

  “Well, lad, that’s one more thing sorted out,” he said, giving me a weary smile.

  “There’s something I’ve not told you,” I blurted before I could change my mind. “I already know the details of the ritual for destroying the Fiend.”

  My master stared at me for a few moments without speaking, looking far from pleased. “In that case, you’ve lied to me, lad. You told me that the details would only be revealed to you when Alice returned with the third blade.”

  “I’m sorry. Yes, I did lie, but I did so for good reason. I didn’t want to worry you until Alice got back and we knew we had the third weapon. And I needed time to think, to find a way of avoiding what’s supposed to be done . . . because it’s bad—really bad.”

  “Lying to your master is also bad. I’m disappointed, lad. I’ve left you my property because I want you to follow in my footsteps after I’ve gone. And how do you repay me? Yes, I’m disappointed, and hurt, too. After years of working together in mutual trust, speaking the truth to each other should be second only to breathing. And time’s running out. Halloween is approaching. Is there any news about the girl yet, or have you been hiding t
hat from me too?”

  “No.” I shook my head, telling a new lie.

  “Well, lad, I’m waiting. Get it off your chest. Spit it out. Tell me about the ritual, and don’t leave anything out.”

  “I won’t be carrying out the ritual,” I told him. “I can’t. There has to be a sacrifice. To make it work, I have to kill Alice.”

  “Why does it have to be her?” the Spook demanded.

  The next words were very hard to utter. My master had always mistrusted Alice because she had been trained as a witch. He also thought that a spook should devote his entire life to the trade and not marry. To get too close to a girl was, in his eyes, a dangerous distraction.

  “To carry out the ritual, I have to sacrifice the person I most love on this earth. That’s what Mam told me. So it has to be Alice.”

  The Spook closed his eyes and gave a deep sigh. There was a long silence. At last he spoke, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

  “Does the girl know?”

  I nodded. “The victim has to be a willing sacrifice. Alice is willing to die in order to destroy the Fiend. But it’s too horrible—I won’t do it. Here!” I said bitterly, reaching into my pocket and pulling out the piece of paper that gave the details of the ritual. I held it out. I’d been carrying it around, waiting for the right time to reveal all this to my master.

  He shook his head. “My eyes are tired. Each day I’m finding it more and more difficult to read. So do it for me, lad. Read it aloud slowly.”

  So I did as he said, but just read out the most important sentences:

  “The destruction of the Fiend may be achieved by the following means. First, the three sacred objects must be at hand. They are the hero swords forged by Hephaestus. The greatest of these is the Destiny Blade; the second is the dagger called Bone Cutter. . . . The third is the dagger named Dolorous, sometimes also called the Blade of Sorrow. . . .

  “The place is also important: it must be one especially conducive to the use of magic. Thus the ritual must be carried out on a high hill east of Caster, which is known as the Wardstone.