B00JX4CVBU EBOK Page 8

  ‘Derek?’ said Turner as his friend passed their table.

  Derek stopped short and gaped at Turner with a mixture of horror and astonishment. ‘Turner? Turner! Turner, mate, you’re alive! Jesus Christ, mate your flat, the house!’

  Derek’s yelling and flapping his arms around had attracted attention. Turner grabbed his friend’s arm and pulled him down to a seat at their table. ‘Calm down, Derek. What’s happened?’

  ‘Bloody hell, Turner, you don’t know?’ I’ve just come from Chaucer Street. The house where you live is gone. Totally gone.’

  Turner’s heart pounded against his chest. ‘What do you mean, Derek? Gone. How?’

  ‘Some sort of sinkhole they’re saying. I couldn’t get close but a couple of guys on a roof nearby said it looked deep. Bloody deep. And the weird thing is it didn’t take any of the houses on either side. The hole is exactly the size of your house.’

  Turner stood up, bumped the table and spilt his coffee. ‘Damn!’ He mopped up the spilt coffee with a serviette. ‘I should get over there. Mr Holt, my landlord. His dog. My stuff. Jesus.’

  Ember looked at him, her eyes wide. ‘Oh Turner.’ She glanced at Derek before saying, ‘Can I speak to you for a moment?’

  Turner wanted to get going. Like now. But Ember looked insistent. Turner sighed. ‘Won’t be a second,’ he said to Derek.

  Derek frowned, and looked at Ember. ‘Sure, sure, but who is …’

  ‘Just a friend,’ said Turner, and remembered Ember’s current looks. ‘A business friend.’

  Turner and Ember walked a few feet way. With Derek out of earshot, Ember said, ‘I’m not sure, Turner. It was only your house. That’s kind of suspicious, don’t you think? It might be some kind of trap.’

  ‘Well if so, it’s a trap that’s already sprung. I want to … I need to see it, Ember.’

  She let out a breath and took his hand. ‘Well, what are we waiting for, you two? Let’s go!’

  *

  Ember was about to go back to get the car, but Derek pointed out the streets were full of emergency vehicles. So they decided to walk from the centre of town to Turner’s street.

  Ember didn’t say a word for the whole ten minute walk. Turner could tell she was worried but couldn’t bring it up because of Derek.

  His friend waved his arms around. ‘This is so awesome! Something like this will get Wilby on the map, that’s for certain. Sinkholes in the midlands. I can see the headlines now.’

  Turner gave a noncommittal grunt, and tuned out.

  A crowd of people were at the scene. It looked like half of Wilby had turned out to catch a glimpse of the incident. Turner shook his head. Nothing like a disaster to get people off their couches. The streets around Turner’s were swarming with emergency vehicles, and Chaucer Street was cordoned off with tape and police cars. Red and blue flashing lights bounced off any reflective surface, and the smell of diesel from the fire trucks hung in the air.

  The three stopped on the opposite side of the intersection behind the crowd. Turner couldn’t see anything from here, but he thought it best if they hung back. The last thing he wanted was to get stuck talking to the police again so soon after yesterday.

  ‘Derek. Where were those guys on the roofs?’

  ‘Up the hill a bit. Follow me.’

  They entered Pilgrim Way, the street that ran parallel to Chaucer Street. A few houses on this street now had people on their roofs. Derek spoke to the two men he’d talked to earlier at number 11, and within a minute Turner, Ember and Derek had climbed a long, wooden ladder to join them on the flat metal roof.

  Turner looked down the hill. Diagonally across two fences was where his house used to be. Now there was a pit. Even though Turner had no way of determining its depth, it looked deep. Its steep sides didn’t look as if they sloped inwards at all. Both the houses to either side were untouched. If it was a sinkhole it was the neatest rectangular sinkhole ever. Looking into the blackness of the hole, Turner had a rotten feeling in his stomach.

  He saw his Toyota still parked on the street, so at least he hadn’t lost everything. It was then he noticed the dog. He could tell by the black and white markings it was Carl. A policeman had him on a leash and was trying to pull him away, but the dog was scrabbling to stay by the pit.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Turner softly.

  ‘This… this is not good,’ said Ember weakly next to him.

  ‘I’ve seen enough, let’s get down,’ said Turner.

  ‘There’s the news crews now,’ said Derek, his eyes wide. ‘Reckon they’ll send a camera down there? Maybe a drone?’ When he noticed Turner and Ember had started to edge back down the roof he said, ‘Where’re you going? It’s getting interesting!’

  ‘Ah, I should probably take care of some things, Derek. I’ll see you later. OK mate?’ said Turner.

  But Derek had already turned back to the scene. ‘OK, Turner I’ll … oh look the BBC!’ he said to one of the other men on the roof.

  Turner kept his head down as he and Ember wound their way through the crowd, and headed back to the centre of town. Turner couldn’t get the image of Carl out of his head.

  ‘I think my landlord Mr Holt went down with the house, Ember.’ He told her about the dog.

  ‘Oh no. I’m so sorry, Turner.’ She took his hand in hers. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘If we hadn’t stopped to get coffee, we would have been at your place when it fell into the ground.’

  Turner shuddered. ‘I guess so. Do you think that was someone’s, or something’s plan?’

  Ember let out a breath. ‘I think so, yes. Let’s go home, Turner.’

  Turner thought for a moment about mentioning that his home was at the bottom of a bottomless bad hole, but thought better of it. It looked as though any decision about whether to join the sisters had just been made for him.

  ‘OK, Ember. Let’s go home.’

  Ember didn’t say anything, but squeezed his hand in understanding.

  *

  Turner stared out of the Jag’s window as Ember drove. Both lost in their own thoughts, neither had said a word since leaving Wilby. Turner couldn’t stop thinking about the pit. He knew that Mr Holt was such a homebody he’d probably been home when the house disappeared. If anything had happened to the old man, Turner knew he was partly responsible. This Vordene business was more dangerous than he had thought.

  The car rounded a long bend on the small country road, and they passed the ploughed fields they had driven by on their way to Wilby. He once again noticed the dead tree: a white, broken skeletal hand grasping at the sky. The crow or raven was still there. Turner frowned. That tree had been on the other side of the road as they were coming into town. The same tree, he was sure of it.

  He turned to Ember, but didn’t know what to say. When he looked again out of the window, it took a moment or two to register what he was looking at. For although the Jaguar had travelled a few hundred yards down the road, Turner was looking at exactly the same tree, with the same black bird sitting on its branch. He also noticed the field the tree stood in was devoid of all colour. A washed-out greyness where there should have been greens and browns. The tree and the bird moved out of his vision as the car moved on. He shivered.

  ‘Ember …’

  Ember looked at him, the worry on her face apparent. ‘Something’s wrong, isn’t it?’

  ‘It just … I saw this tree when I looked out the …’ He turned and looked as he spoke. Sure enough, another field with the same tree and the same bloody bird. ‘OK. Something’s definitely happening.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s a dead tree and a raven or something in the tree. And I keep seeing it—every time I look out of the window.’ He made sure he was looking at his hands as he spoke this time.

  ‘I’ve got no idea what that could mean, Turner. Let me know if you see it again, and I’ll have a look too.’

  Turner didn’t want to, but looked anyway. As they passed a bit of a marsh, there was
no tree. A bit further down the road however, another ploughed field came into view. And in the middle of the field was the dead tree. This time, there was no crow or raven—but a Scather wrapped around the branch, its glowing yellow eyes staring straight into Turner’s heart.

  Turner could hardly speak. ‘Do … do you see it?’

  Ember glanced out Turner’s window. ‘No. I feel something. But it may just be you … what you’re feeling.’

  Both of Ember’s hands were on the steering wheel. Turner placed his hand on her left hand, and although they had once again moved down the road, there was another field, tree and Scather. ‘Now. Now do you see it?’

  Ember looked across. Her eyes went wide and she slammed on the brakes. The car skidded to a halt.

  ‘Jesus, Turner! You said it was a raven!’

  ‘It was. It was. The last two have been Scathers. Sorry.’

  The bleached greyness leached outwards from the tree, the ploughed furrows looking like lines of pulped newspaper. A dark mist rose up from the ground as the Scather wound itself from one bone-white branch to another, faster and faster, all the while watching the occupants in the car.

  Ember’s phone rang. ‘Hi, Chloe. No, we’re OK. There’s some weird stuff happening though …’

  As Ember spoke, the black mist swirled and grew. The Scather on the tree stopped moving. It still watched the car.

  ‘Like … Turner’s house just fell into hell, and …’

  Turner’s breath came fast as he saw the black mist coalesce and become more solid. A murky darkness enveloped the field, creeping towards the road and the car. Within the dark mist a thousand glowing eyes watched him back. ‘Ember … ’

  ‘And now there is something in the …’

  ‘Ember!’

  Ember looked over at the swirling madness in the field, a black tide of withering, oily spaghetti only a stone’s throw from the car. She spoke fast, ‘Gotta go, Chloe,’ threw the phone into Turner’s lap and put the car into gear.

  Turner winced as he made a decision. ‘Wait.’

  She turned to him, panic in her eyes. ‘What?’

  He didn’t explain what he had in mind; he just opened the door and stepped out.

  ‘Turner!’ Ember screamed.

  But Turner had a feeling. He wasn’t sure but these Scathers felt wrong somehow. Not like last night—insubstantial almost. He stepped around the car to the edge of the road. There was six foot drop. Turner could easily see the whole heaving field of Scathers from where he stood.

  In a moment, Ember was out of the car and tugging at his arm. ‘Turner, please! Get back in the car. We can’t fight all these without a full Vordene!’

  He stared out at the Scathers.

  ‘We have to leave Turner!’

  Turner didn’t move.

  ‘God damn it! There’s too many!’ Ember yelled.

  Turner glanced at Ember and took a step back in shock. Her eyes were glowing, not their usual orange, but a deep fierce red. Her hair whipped like fire behind her. She faced the field and raised her hands. Sparks danced from her fingers, joined after a moment by small angry flames. Turner took another step back. This Ember was scary.

  A ball of flames appeared in her hands above her head: turning, burning with fire and yellow lightning. Ember screamed and hurled the fireball into the field, where it hit the mass of Scathers and exploded in a twenty foot circle of flames and plasmic energy.

  But still the Scathers stood. The fireball had done nothing.

  Ember screamed again, this time in frustration. She doubled over, her hands clenched. Her hair still blew in an invisible wind, and sparks now jumped up her forearms as well as her hands. Turner was afraid she could explode at any moment.

  ‘Ember!’ He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. God, the heat almost burnt his hand. Her head whipped around, her furious red eyes bore into him. ‘Ember! Listen to me! I know what’s happening here. They’re not real. Please calm down.’

  Whether it was his words or his hand, Ember sank to her knees, panting hard. The sparks died, her hair fell back, and after a moment or two, Turner could see her eyes had gone back to normal.

  Turner too was breathing heavily but tried to keep his voice calm. ‘It’s OK, Ember. They’re not real. The Scathers. It’s a giant fell.’

  Confusion crossed Ember’s face. But Turner knew he was right. These weren’t real Scathers. There was no sound coming from the field, as if these Scathers were a silent film version of the ones from last night.

  A feeling of serenity and growing power came over him. He stared back at all those Scather eyes. He knew now that he was really looking at one pair of eyes. He could feel it. Somebody was spying on him and using this swirling blackness of Scathers like a fell. He was sure of it.

  He raised his right hand, palm outwards. He felt the power in him rise. It became larger, and larger still, until finally he felt as if he held a mountain in his mind. He mentally grasped the mountain and calmly pushed it over the field. The swirling black mist of Scathers froze. Nothing in the field moved.

  ‘How? What?’ Ember’s words were far away.

  Turner looked directly into the eyes of a now immobile Scather on the dead tree. Ember took his hand in hers. Then with the girl of fire’s hand in his, sharing her energy with him, he thought a word. And the word became a flaming sword as bright as the sun, a searing red-hot blade which soared from his mind across the frozen black sea and pierced the Scather between the eyes. The word was: ‘LEAVE!’

  There was a dazzling flash which forced Turner’s eyes closed. A heavy thump followed which almost knocked him off his feet. As the whiteness faded from his eyes he saw there was nothing there. Just a field.

  They were both breathing heavily. The tree and the Scathers were gone and everything seemed normal again. Turner could smell the turned earth and drank in the wonderful commonplace white clouds against the blue sky.

  Ember was blinking hard. ‘Wow, that was bright. And what was that whacking great thump at the end?’

  He leant back on the car for support. ‘A shock wave maybe? I don’t know, but it was intense. All of it. Thanks for …’

  Without warning Turner felt an almost audible click in his mind. He had never had a premonition before but this was so strong, so immediate that he flung his arm around Ember and jumped from the edge of the road. They both tumbled down the grassy slope and came to rest in a damp ditch.

  Ember was already beginning to stand up, her face once again a mask of fury. She brushed dirt and grass from her jeans. ‘What the hell, Turner!’

  Without an answer Turner began to scramble back up the slope. His feet slipped a couple of times and he grabbed at tufts of grass for support. Whatever had made him jump down the slope was back up there. He was almost afraid to look. When his head crested the slope he saw … the car was gone. And …

  In its place was a pit.

  Turner heard Ember swearing as she climbed the slope, but as she reached the top she grew silent.

  ‘Oh no, no, no,’ she said at last.

  They both rose to their knees and looked down into the hole. It was black and cavernous, with fetid hot air rising from it carrying the stench of sulphur and cesspits. Turner threw his arm across his nose and mouth. There was no sign of the car.

  Ember turned to Turner, a look of terror in her eyes. Through her hand on her mouth she said, ‘The Jag … Oh my God, Celeste is going to kill me.’

  *

  Ember thought she’d lost her phone with the car but Turner produced it from his pocket. He couldn’t remember how it had gotten there, but they were both too relieved to question it.

  They rang home and waited a dozen feet away from the pit. If Turner didn’t look over his shoulder, he could imagine the world as a normal place, a pleasant world with the green rolling hills of the Midlands, a blue sky and a small country road. But every time a stray breeze blew the pit’s terrible stench over them, the little picture book he had constructed for himself
tore itself up and fluttered away.

  Before he saw or even heard the car, Turner knew it was coming. ‘Here she comes.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Ember. ‘Chloe?’

  Turner couldn’t help himself; he turned and gave Ember a big grin. ‘No. Celeste.’

  ‘Oh shit,’ said Ember.

  The Land Rover crested the rise and pulled to a halt beside the pair. Celeste jumped from the car and strode to the pit. She took one look and walked over to Turner and Ember. Turner expected fireworks. He didn’t expect to be pulled into a three-way embrace.

  ‘It’s going to be OK. Everything’s alright,’ said Celeste, her short blonde and blue hair against Turner’s cheek.

  Ember pulled back. ‘You’re … you’re not mad?’

  Celeste searched her sister’s face. ‘I’m just glad you’re alright, Em. And don’t worry about the car. Cars are replaceable. We have much bigger things to worry about.’

  On the trip back to Wickerwell, Ember filled Celeste in on what had happened at Turner’s house, and on the fields.

  ‘Damn,’ said Celeste.

  ‘What?’ asked Ember.

  Celeste turned the car into the manor’s driveway. ‘It seems to all tie in with what Mother Torhild has been talking about. She wants to meet Turner properly, and she has some … important things to share. So we’ll discuss it more when we get home.’

  In the back seat, Turner leaned back and closed his eyes. Just hours ago he had woken up determined to get out of there and back to his normal life. Now normal life had been ripped away from him. His flat, Mr Holt, the car and those bloody Scathers; he’d asked for none of it. But it looked like he didn’t have a choice in the matter. He couldn’t run away now. He had powers for Christ’s sake! Real powers his sixteen-year-old self would have sold his soul, or at least his computer, for. And there was Ember—a beautiful sorceress, who, amazingly, seemed to be interested in him. He clenched his fists. Plus he was angry. He wanted something … justice … revenge?

  Turner knew he had just made a big decision. He took a deep breath.