The Keep

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 42Heart racing and scarcely aware of what she was doing, Esyal swung out of bed and began dressing quickly, both her female and her fighting instincts ensuring that whatever was about to happen she would not face it half naked.

The banging continued with increased urgency and now the latch was rattling.

She pulled her belt tight and comforting then drew her knife. Hiding it behind her back, she moved to the door.

“Who is it? Who’s there?”

There was no reply, just more banging.

She put a hand on the door. Then, leaning forward cautiously, she brought her ear close to it.

“Who is it?” she demanded again.

A vaguely familiar voice seeped faintly through the thick timber.

“For pity’s sake, let me in!”

Henk? she mouthed silently as the familiarity became recognition. Curiosity began to vie with her alarm. What the devil was he doing?

Not trying to make a silent romantic tryst, for sure. Despite the circumstances, she smiled at the thought. But wasn’t there desperation, if not outright fear, in his voice, muffled as it was?

It was not in her nature to do anything gratuitously reckless, but neither was it in her nature to stand by and do nothing. She sheathed her knife and seized a chair — a good blow to the legs would be unavoidable and would almost certainly bring Henk down, if necessary. Safer, on the whole, than using her knife — it was unlikely to do as much serious injury, she wouldn’t have to close with him and it should give her an opportunity to escape.

She took a deep breath, reminded herself grimly that no plan survives first contact with the enemy, then quietly unlocked the door and eased the bolt.

Stepping to on side she shouted, “It’s not locked.”

It was needless information. The door crashed open and Henk tumbled into the room.

Esyal, chair drawn back to strike, quickly positioned herself between the staggering man and the door with a view to fleeing and seeking help if she had to. All such thoughts left her however, as she glanced down the passage. For some way she could see the stone walls and ceiling typical of the Keep, but beyond this was a bubbling confusion of movement and light. She hesitated, momentarily fearful that a fire had broken out. But almost immediately came her own scornful reassurance — not in a stone building! — and the realization that this... apparition... was not smoke but something else...

Something unspeakable...

Then, without seeming to move, it was directly in front of her, filling the doorway, a swirling mass, livid and tormented, like a long stagnant river suddenly in spate, and lit from the inside by a flickering, baleful light. And with it came a foul stench and a high-pitched chorus of jibbering voices — part animal, part human and part something she could not begin to identify, save that it was manic and menacing — and directed towards her!

As she stared into it, aghast, the voices faltered.

Am I still dreaming?

And, as though drawn by the thought itself and carried on a screaming wind, the voices rose up again, full of recognition and intent. The only thing that stopped Esyal moving backwards, away from this horror, was the fact that her legs would not move — not move purposefully, that is — they were trembling violently, as was the rest of her.

The voices swirled and shrieked triumphantly and chattering fragments of them began to merge and become coherent until, amid the din, she heard:

{“Warrior...”}

Slithering through her mind, the voice, if voice it could be called, was acid with scorn and contempt. And it was vile. It shrivelled Esyal’s stern intention to defend herself and involuntarily she flinched away from it. As she did so, and again as if drawn by her very thoughts, reaching hands shaped themselves out of the tumult and stretched towards her, at once both beckoning and grasping.

{“Warrior...”}

Esyal felt the hands and the voice closing about her... luring her forward...

All sense and feeling was draining from her.

She could do nothing... nothing...

She must... she must go with this...

She swayed unsteadily and ancient reflexes closed her hand about the back of the chair to restore her balance.

The touch of the smooth polished wood — crafted, solid, real — formed a sharp and clear focus for her.

She gasped, like a long-submerged swimmer breaching the surface, as she was drawn abruptly back to who she was and where she was.

Then, scarcely realizing what she was doing, she was swinging the chair, one-handed, at the swirling confusion now seemingly surrounding her.

She felt no physical impact as the impromptu weapon passed through the shimmering mass but she sensed a change, and what had been the voice became a venomous hiss of... anger? fear?

It made no difference. Whichever it was, the response provoked a renewed effort from Esyal and she began swinging the chair in a wide arcing figure-of-eight while her other hand drew her knife.

Then there was a frenzied interlude, not measurable in normal time, as chair and slashing knife swung to and fro wildly, powered by Esyal’s dark will.

...it seemed to her that she was in some other place — some other time? — the chair a hard-edged shield, the knife a sword, enemies about her, pressing and dying...

Slowly, through the chaos, like a rock gathering pace down a mountainside, a low note began to rise. It increased in intensity until it was a booming roar, over-topping all else and filling Esyal’s entire world.

And it was over...

Esyal was staggering backwards, her legs buckling. She landed incongruously on her backside, still clutching the chair and the knife. In front of her, leaning with his back to the door, was Henk, wide-eyed and deathly pale, his face alive with fear. In her heightened awareness, Esyal could hear the dying reverberations of the slamming of the door still echoing about the room. All semblance of the disturbance had gone and Esyal knew that she could safely open the door and that she would see only the passageway.

She opened her mouth to speak, but for a moment her rasping breath and pounding heart would not allow her.

Her legs still shaking, she levered herself upright using the chair for support.

“What was that?” she managed eventually, waving her knife at Henk like an admonishing finger.

Henk’s eyes widened further and he extended a hand fearfully as if to protect himself.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Esyal said hastily as she realized what she was doing. The apology was sincere, but a small, cold part of her noted that Henk was not a threat before she sheathed the knife. It gave her a brief frisson of unease.

“What was that?” she repeated.

But Henk was in no state to reply. He was slowly sliding down the door. Esyal quickly pulled him forward and managed to swing the chair underneath him before he collapsed completely. Then she put her hands on his shoulders both to support herself and to prevent him from slumping forward, and looked earnestly into his face.

“Henk — it’s gone. Whatever it was, it’s gone. We’re... safe.”

She hesitated over the last word, far from certain whether she was correct or not, and not even clear about what she meant.

Recognition slowly spread over Henk’s face. He struck straight to her doubt.

“You’re sure?”

Ironically, his doubt dispelled Esyal’s. “Yes I am,” she replied. “There’s nothing in here and there’s nothing on the other side of that door. I told you, it’s gone.”

“It’ll be back,” Henk said.

With a bravado she did not truly feel, Esyal announced, “And we’ll see it off again,” before bursting out, “What the hell is happening, Henk?”

Henk quailed and Esyal was briefly torn between cradling the man’s head and furiously boxing his ears. She did neither, but took her hands away from him and sat down on the end of the bed.

More quietly she repeated her question. “What was that, Henk? What’s happening?”

Henk too was gradually regaining control but his voice was unsteady as he replied. “It’s the Keep. It’s waking up. We should’ve left — snow or no snow. We should go now.”

But he made no move to leave.

Still quietly, Esyal said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Henk. How can a building wake up, for pity’s sake? Anyway, what we should and shouldn’t have done is irrelevant now — we’re trapped in this place, if you recall.”

“I recall well enough,” Henk replied, briefly his surly self again. “But I can’t answer your questions. I don’t know how a building can wake up — but it is. It’s always been an odd place. Now things are moving, changing... have been for a while.” His eyes widened again as he spoke and he pointed a nervous finger over his shoulder at the door. Esyal leaned forward and laid a hand on his arm, repeating her assurance.

“It’s gone. It’s truly gone.” She wanted to question him further, not least about how he had come to be pursued by... whatever it was... but she judged it might only plunge him back into stark terror. She glanced at the window. “It’ll be dawn soon. We can stay here until then. Things are never as bad in the daylight. We can go and find the others. See if they saw or felt anything.”

Henk followed her gaze towards the greying window, but did not reply.

They both sat silent for some time; Henk, motionless, staring at his feet, Esyal, subtly restless, her mind buzzing with ever more questions...

And concerns. The memory of Josyff’s outburst in her dream returned to trouble her.

“Ye gods! You were going to do it anyway! Your memory’s fine. You’re... you’re one of the Rhanen...”

That couldn’t really have happened, surely. It was just a reflection of her own fears bubbling to the surface...

Wasn’t it?

But it had not felt like that then, nor did it now. It had felt real — very real. No less real than the clutching monstrosity she had just taken a chair to.

“You looked like something else when you were fighting that... thing... just now.”

Esyal was snapped out of her reverie by Henk’s announcement.

“What!”

“I said, you looked like something else just now — when you were fighting that thing.”

“Something else? What do you mean?”

“Someone else, then. Like someone out of an old book, a soldier, surrounded on the battlefield — swinging a sword and shield.”

Esyal just grunted and ran her hands through her hair to disguise any outward response she might have made to this peculiar revelation. Her imagining such a thing in the heat of the moment was odd enough, but Henk actually seeing it brought even more questions, none of which seemed to be remotely answerable.

“Just your imagination, probably. You were very agitated when you arrived.”

This time Henk grunted. “You needn’t spare my feelings,” he said. “I wasn’t agitated, I was scared to death — and still am. But I saw what I saw, just like we both saw what was chasing me.”

Esyal decided to risk pressing him. If nothing else it would give her own tumbling thoughts something to occupy them.

“Can you tell me exactly what happened? How did this all... come about? When did it start? Where were you? And why did it come after you?”

Even as she was speaking, Henk was shaking his head. For a moment Esyal thought her earlier fears were about to be fulfilled and that he was about to lapse into terrified incoherence. But he was merely answering her questions.

“I don’t know. After that business in the Gatehouse, I was wide awake.” He digressed briefly. “I don’t sleep well when my routine’s disturbed at the best of times, and... there’s been a lot lately... disturbance...” He looked at Esyal, but she made no response and he continued. “Anyway, I thought I’d start getting some things together — our emergency store, start putting them by the...”

There was a knock on the door.