The Book. That was our link with Agnes and Sebastian. They had been hardly older than we were when they had stood on this very spot, in Lord Charles’s fantastical grotto, and searched its pages, looking for truths and powers and new ways of living. The Book. It was the storehouse of wisdom about the Mystic Way, and it had never failed us, not yet….
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I knew what I needed now, but I had no idea where to find it. Sarah usually kept the Book hidden in the stables, but she’d taken it to the caverns on the night of the new moon. Had Kundar been able to escape with it in the confusion that had followed the Priestess’s arrival? Or had he dropped it in those narrow, lightless tunnels, losing it forever?
If only I had more time! The evening would soon be closing in, and the Priestess would come back to carry out her threats. Even if I traveled through the air straight to the heart of the underground kingdom to question Kundar, I wasn’t sure whether he and his Kinsfolk would answer my call in time. They were Sarah’s people, not mine. Again, I saw so clearly how we had all needed one another. We had different gifts, which together made a whole world of possibilities. We had crossed one another’s paths for a purpose, to defeat the evil that had festered for so long in Wyldcliffe. And we had come so far—we couldn’t fail now, not now—I just needed more time—
If I were ever in trouble—if ever I needed time—this is where I would come. The voice rang in my head like the clear call of a bell. It was Lynton who had said that, so long ago it seemed now. Had he known something? Was it just a chance remark? I felt for the gold ring on my finger and twisted it around. If ever I needed time…I remembered our visit to the waterfall, on that perfect autumn day, and how in a quick flurry of confusion, he had saved me from falling. Was he trying to save me now? Now…and now…and now…what did I truly believe? Was Lynton just a student who had taken an interest in a lonely girl, or was there something more?
My heart was beating so hard that it seemed to be bursting out of my chest as I tried to decide what was best—to seek out Kundar, or Cal, or to take this last wild journey to the place that Lynton had wanted to show me. You have to see the waterfall, he had said. It’s a perfect miracle.
I took a deep breath. I had made my choice. Crazy though it seemed, I would trust my beautiful stranger and go to see his miracle.
The next moment I drew the cold air of the grotto around me and sank into its embrace, then flew on the back of the wind far above Wyldcliffe, through time and space and stars. Dazzling light and speed threatened to overwhelm me, and just as I felt I would burn up in a vortex of boundless power and energy, I stepped out of the hidden paths and fell to my knees on the sweet damp earth of Thornton Moor.
Ahead of me, glimmering in the fading light, the waterfall poured itself down the face of the cliffs; ever changing, ever constant. I got up and ran over to it, slipping in my eagerness not to waste a second. The water fell noisily to the deep pool at the foot of the cliff, and on either side of the pool, dark rocks rose up like silent guards. I began to climb the rocks, scrambling up the rough steps, telling myself not to look down. Soon I was standing in the secret space that Lynton had showed me, on the slippery ledge between the curtain of water and the rock face. The ledge faced west, and the glitter of the setting sun was like a thousand fireflies on the sparkling water as it fell in front of my eyes, but I turned my back on its beauty and cautiously began to explore. There was no one here to grab me if I stumbled now. I had to be careful, and I didn’t even know what I was looking for. I just knew I would recognize it when I saw it. I began to grope along the rock, feeling it with my fingers, like exploring a face in the dark…and then it was there. A perfect, tiny circle, a shallow groove in the ancient stone, without beginning or end, and it was waiting to be found, now, at this very moment. Without thinking I slipped Lynton’s ring from my finger and pressed it into the circle. The ring clicked into place, and with a rumbling, scraping sound, a door opened in the side of the cliff.
I stepped inside. In the heart of the rock was a shallow cave, and there on the ground was the Book, with a sheet of paper tucked loosely inside it. I snatched at the paper with trembling hands. You are not alone, it said, and the Book fell open for me. Forcing myself to concentrate, I read the following words:
The Powers do live in the Hearts of the faithful servants of the Mystic Way and cannot be given or bequeathed to another, except through Love. If a Daemon or other Dark Spirit makes the attempt by Force, they can shatter the Powers and thereby Destroye themselves too, dragging themselves down into the maelstrom of Chaos from which all Sinne came and to which it will return….
It made sense to me. So Evie had been able to share in Agnes’s powers of fire because of the love between them as sisters, but the Priestess wouldn’t dare to attempt to wrench our powers from us, in case they were destroyed in the process. And I remembered something else: that she hadn’t been able even to touch the Talisman without feeling pain, in that first term when Evie had arrived and Mrs. Hartle had tried to steal her necklace and its powers. That was why the Priestess had to keep the Keys in that cage—because she couldn’t bear to touch them. That was why I had to give them freely in exchange for Evie’s and Sarah’s lives, and the lives of the other girls at the Abbey. But if I didn’t do this, they would all become victims of Wyldcliffe’s dark history. It was an impossible choice…. I needed to know more, so I read on, devouring every word.
There are many Secret and Sacred ways to harness this Love and bequeath the Powers to another worthy Being. Let the follower of the Mystic Way who wishes to tread this Path be sure that they are well advised, as there can be no turning back. This is what must be done, with all due Ceremony and Solemnity….
And there it all was, step by step, the instructions for how to do what the Priestess had commanded. I was being shown what to do. How to abandon the Keys and give our elemental powers to Celia Hartle. And then she would leave, and we would be safe. It was a sign, this finding of the Book. It was meant to be.
Feverishly, I began to memorize the instructions, going through them again and again in my head, practicing the incantations. I tried to ignore the little voice of doubt that whispered that even if the Priestess took her poisoned powers far away from Wyldcliffe, there would always be someone else suffering because of her. But it wouldn’t be my friends, I argued with myself, it wouldn’t be Sarah, or Evie…and besides, this was the only chance I had. Someone had left the Book here. Someone had wanted me to see these pages, these instructions. And so I crouched over the crabbed writing and the strange symbols until I had memorized every word.
Finally I sat up and stretched my aching limbs. I realized that I was light-headed with hunger and lack of sleep, but all that would have to wait. I had to hurry back to Wyldcliffe and face her—the woman who had been my mother—for the last time.
I closed the Book, pressing it shut. I would never look at it again, I thought. After tonight, my mystic powers would have left me. This part of my life would be over. But as my hand touched the shabby green cover, it left some kind of imprint on the worn leather binding. I quickly drew my hand away as though I had been burned, and stared at the strange X-ray-like image on the outside of the Book. The image faded, and in its place, wavering lines of writing appeared on the surface of the leather: Mysteriorum liber libri…sigillum magnum…signum dei vivi…I began to read, and understand. The Book of Mysteries…the Great Seal…the sign of the Living One…Then I heard a voice speaking to me:
“The Seal is a powerful amulet, a sign of the covenant between the Creator and his beloved children. For all power comes from the One, and this power lives not in the precious metals, jewels, or carvings that may be the Seal’s outward form, but it dwells in the true heart of the faithful servant, who is thus marked and set apart….”
The voice called to me, like the wind calling to the birds over the moors, and it was telling a great and beautiful story that had no beginning or end, but was the heart of all truth. That
truth called to me, and I understood. At last, I knew how to follow the sign. I had found my miracle.
Thirty
FROM THE DIARY OF HELEN BLACK
EVENING—THORNTON FALLS—THE LAST DAY
The sound of the waterfall is all around me. I’m glad I had this little notebook in my pocket, because I know that whatever happens tonight I need to say good-bye to you, my Wanderer. You helped me so much, but I have found myself at last, and I can let you go now. I can let go of all my past, and my future too. The time that was, as well as the time that might have been…
I am going back to the Abbey now, to make an end, one way or another. Now I know what to do.
It was time to make an end. Dusk had fallen. It was a cold, damp evening by the time I got back to the Abbey. The wind moaned in the leafless trees as I walked down the drive, and the school lay shrouded in soft shadows like an enchanted castle. The Priestess would be back this night. There was no point in trying to hide now. I had to walk straight into whatever was waiting for me.
I turned the heavy iron ring on the front door and stepped inside the hallway. Instead of the usual bright fire and stately welcome, the place felt deserted. The flowers in the heavy vase on the table were dead. A solitary lamp gave off a dim glow. As I closed the door behind me, half a dozen women sprang out and grabbed hold of me. I struggled, but there were too many of them. A distant bell began to sound, like a note of dreadful doom. It was the bell of the village church, not striking the hour as it had done faithfully for so many years, but calling out with harsh, tuneless mockery. It was summoning the living to judgment, and bidding the dead rise from their tombs.
Miss Dalrymple was carrying a heavy stick, and she began to use it. I staggered under her blows as the Dark Sisters jeered. “That’s the last time—you will ever—walk freely—again!” she gasped, and each time she paused for breath she hit me again, until I thought my ribs would break. “How dare you interfere with our mistress’s prisoner? But we’ll soon get him back.”
Despite the pain, a fierce delight shot through me. She must be talking about Josh…he really had escaped, he was with Agnes, and Cal would find him…. I closed my eyes and thought only of that until Rowena Dalrymple had finished at last.
She threw her stick down and grabbed me by the hair, thrusting her quivering red face into mine. “The moment of your final defeat is near,” she said gloatingly. “The Priestess will then reward us, her faithful followers.” The women laughed as Miss Dalrymple began to drag me up the cold white marble stairs. As I stumbled along on unsteady feet, a long line of neat, orderly students marched down the stairs, led by Miss Schofield. One of the girls glanced up at me. It was Velvet. I thought a glint of recognition flashed in her dark eyes. But she turned away and followed the others, as the bell tolled on and on….
When we reached the second floor, Miss Dalrymple forced me down the corridor until we reached the turret room that had been used for detentions. She pushed me into the middle of the room and I collapsed, nursing my bruises and trying to get my breath back. But as I looked up, I saw in amazement that the room had been transformed from the school’s usual style of bare white walls and plain furniture. It had been turned into a dark, suffocating lair, draped in black silk, and hung with hideous carved masks and grinning gargoyles. Piles of leather-bound books were heaped on the table, as well as scrolls and parchments, all decorated with skulls and demons and signs of death. A scarlet pentangle had been painted on the floor, and at the window, someone had hung a sign. It seemed to be made of stained glass, in the design of a single, staring eye, wreathed in serpents.
“You are admiring our master’s arrangements?” Miss Dalrymple said with a simpering, cruel smile. “Maybe they will help to focus your thoughts until you are summoned by the Great Priestess.”
I didn’t bother to reply. She was mad, like the rest of them, poisoned by a crazy dream about living forever and seeking power rather than love. I looked into her flushed face, and saw that behind the cruelty and the violence, there was a desperate, sad woman, who was terrified of growing old and lonely, and clinging on to something that could never give her what she really needed. At that moment I felt nothing but pity for her and the rest of the Dark Sisters. And the Priestess, and her lover, Dr. Franzen—they were both eaten up by fear. They had even been frightened of me, an abandoned child, and that’s why they had tried to destroy me. I began to laugh.
Miss Dalrymple hit me across the face with furious strength, then said coldly, “Your time has come, Helen Black. Prepare yourself for your doom.” Then she swept out of the room, locking the door behind her.
I ran to the window and looked out. Everything in the school grounds below seemed quiet. But when I glanced through the piece of colored glass with its staring eye, a different sight met me. Things that were far away appeared in sharp, brilliant detail. When I looked in the direction of the village church, I could actually see its stone sides and the bell tower and the surrounding graveyard as clearly as I could see the back of my hand. I saw Agnes’s simple grave and the statue of the angel that guarded it. There were many people gathering there—women in long black robes with hoods covering their faces. They were surrounded by the nightmare skeletons of the coven’s dead, called from their graves once more, trailing the stench of evil from their rotting shrouds. The women jumped up onto Agnes’s tomb and began to paw at the statue of the angel, rocking it back and forward until it toppled over. The head and the wings broke off as it smashed into pieces. Another beautiful thing that the coven had destroyed.
I tore myself away and crouched under the window, waiting. My time had come. I had to be ready. There was one thing left for me to do. I fumbled in my pocket and found my diary, and scribbled my last words in it.
Evie and Sarah, my beloved sisters. I hope you will read this one day and understand. I hope I get a chance to give this to you.
But if not, if this gets cast away and forgotten, maybe one day a stranger will come along and find it. And this is what I want to say. I was crazy Helen Black, but I saw the truth at last, and I believed. So whoever finds this—whoever reads this—whoever you are—you have to know that I did my best. Don’t judge me too harshly.
Beautiful stranger, pray for me.
Thirty-one
THE WITNESS OF EVELYN JOHNSON
All I could do was pray. There was a part of my mind that was still me—still feeling and thinking like myself—even though the rest of me was being controlled by the Priestess. And what I felt was pain. Every thought was agony. I thought Josh was dead, or worse. Sarah was by my side, but I couldn’t even talk to her, except in words that Celia Hartle put in my mouth. Helen, Cal, and Agnes seemed so far away. The Priestess felt horribly close, though, as if she had invaded my being, even in my sleep. Soon she would complete her savage promise and feed on our souls, dragging us into eternal bondage….
Only Helen could stop it.
It’s hard to remember everything clearly from that night. I was sleepwalking to a dreadful end, like walking over a cliff with my eyes wide open. But I remember that we were summoned by the bell, ringing louder and louder in my head, and every girl in the school moved as one, marching through the dark corridors to gather in the ballroom. We would have done anything we were told to do just then; we would have danced all night until we dropped with exhaustion; we would have climbed to Wyldcliffe’s battlements and thrown ourselves onto the cobblestones below, or plunged into the icy lake and sunk into its dark depths if she had commanded us. And if she wanted our youth, our life force, our souls—she only had to give the word and it would be done.
Yes, I remember standing in the ballroom, part of the silent mass of Wyldcliffe students who were meekly waiting for the Priestess and her companions to arrive. Sarah was at my side, but she was staring ahead, unable to protest. And was that Velvet’s straight back and dark hair a little way in front of me? Yes…perhaps…I was losing the ability to see the other girls as individuals. More than any individual…
Wyldcliffe girls…like soldiers…one body, one aim, one identity…We all belong…we all belong to the Priestess…And so we stood in that airy, quiet space that dreamed of the past, and waited.
And then she was there, our High Mistress, with Dr. Franzen by her side, blazing with pride and power. They both wore long robes and crowns decorated with pentangles and serpents. The globe of dark energy that held the Talisman, the Crown, and the Seal hovered above their heads. The women of the coven gathered around them, wearing black hoods and holding flaming torches burning with heavy smoke that filled the room with bittersweet fumes. Next to each living member of the coven there stood the hideous figure of a shrouded corpse—a dead Dark Sister brought lifeless from the grave to add to the Priestess’s army of terror and despair.
Dr. Franzen banged his cane on the floor, and the drapes fell from the tall French windows. Dancing reflections of the flames from the torches glittered in their glass panes. The Master’s voice boomed out, “The Priestess is ready to receive your homage! Tonight she will complete her great work, here in Wyldcliffe. You are the fortunate witnesses of her triumph. Let us behold her victory!”
The double doors at the end of the room flew open. Two women of the coven, dressed in crimson robes, brought Helen into the ballroom. She was our last hope, and I tried to call her name, but I couldn’t move my lips.
Helen was dragged to the front and forced to kneel in front of her mother. The Dark Sisters jeered and whistled in mockery. But Helen knelt there in uncomplaining silence, like a saint in the wilderness, and a corner of my frozen heart stirred with pity.