Emerald Greene and the Witch Stones Page 19

  Jess took a step back and found herself pressed against the nearest of the immense bookshelves. She was sure she had never seen Emerald Greene so angry. ‘Calm down, Em,’ she muttered.

  Emerald scowled and tapped her forehead. ‘I am not a genius. I have had to work the mysteries out for myself. I watch for the invisible threads that bind this fragile life together, and sometimes, just sometimes, I see when they fray and break. That is all!’ Narrowing her eyes, she hefted the book in both hands. ‘So, do you want to try, if you think you are so clever?’

  ‘Em, be careful with that - ’

  Emerald lobbed the book at her. ‘Catch!’

  Jess caught it.

  Her right hand - the one which had touched the wraith - was seared with a harsh, burning cold unlike anything she had ever felt before. It ripped through the veins of her hand like liquid ice. As Jess stared in horror, she was sure she saw her hand draining of blood, turning alabaster-white as it reacted to whatever force was contained in the book.

  Emerald snatched the book back, and the pain began to recede.

  Shuddering, Jess rubbed her hand with her other sleeve, stared accusingly at her friend. ‘You knew that was going to happen!’

  ‘Yes!’ Emerald’s face was triumphant. ‘So, do you doubt the book’s power now?’

  ‘No... no, I suppose not.’

  ‘And what about me? You doubt me?’

  ‘I...’ Jess heard her dry throat croaking, aware that no words were coming out. ‘I know you’re not perfect.’

  Emerald’s face broke into a broad grin. ‘Excellent!’ she exclaimed. ‘Anyway...’ She glanced at the book. ‘I think I have the basis of the proper realignment spectrum. It’s just a matter of calibrating the interface... should be possible.’

  ‘What should be possible?’

  ‘Sealing the door to the Otherworld,’ said Emerald grimly, ‘and sending them all back where they came from.’

  Even from here, Richie could feel the intense heat. A pungent smell permeated the air, hot and metallic.

  There was a sudden bleeping noise from Mr Courtney’s wristwatch. He frowned, stared at it for a second.

  ‘But I set that to sound if...’ His eyes widened in horror. ‘Get down! Down!’

  Richie ducked behind the car door, feeling his knees squelch on the wet ground. An instant later, there was a booming, screeching noise like the eruption of a thousand fireworks. The smell of burning earth filled Richie’s nostrils. He peeked out from behind his hands, and his eyes widened in horror at what he saw.

  The wire barrier was starting to fragment.

  It burned like cotton-wool. A hole was appearing in it, glowing whitish-blue as if some kind of cutting equipment were slicing its way through the barrier. Richie could feel the heat, and after a second or two the brightness was too much to look at.

  ‘Sir!’ called Mr Odell in desperation.

  Mr Courtney was already there. ‘I can see it, Mr Odell. Any suggestions?’

  ‘Power’s up to max, sir.’

  Richie looked from one to the other, and over to the two operatives squatting by the junction-boxes. ‘Well, tell Max to whack it up a bit, whichever one he is.’

  ‘Max-imum,’ said Mr Odell long-sufferingly. ‘Are you still here?’ he added. ‘Not got a home to go to?’

  ‘Come on,’ said Richie. ‘You think I’m going home to tea and Blue Peter while this is happening?’

  The screeching noise grew steadily in volume, as if the sounds of some animal in pain were on a looped tape. It echoed around and above them, like a whirlpool of sound.

  ‘Where’s it getting the extra energy from?’ Mr Courtney growled. ‘And where’s your friend, eh? Vamoosed and left us in the lurch, like that spineless cretin Strickland!’

  ‘Emerald wouldn’t do that!’ Richie exclaimed angrily, and to his own astonishment he actually gave Mr Courtney a hard shove.

  Instantly, two operatives had their hands on his shoulders and were pulling him back through the mud, and Richie realised he might just have gone a little too far this time. He was dumped unceremoniously in the back of one of the cars, and peeped over the head-rest to see the bright, burning disc of blue flame had almost destroyed the structure of the wire-mesh fence.

  ‘Come on, Emerald,’ he murmured. ‘Whatever you’re doing, it had better be good...’

  Jess felt a twinge in her hand again. She stared down at its whiteness, felt the cold grip her bones. She was thinking about Xanthë and her memories of the lost scents of woodland flowers, of distant sunsets and of old love.

  She looked up, and met Emerald’s cool, hard gaze.

  ‘Tell me about Freygerd,’ she said.

  Emerald, consulting maps and charts, raised her eyebrows. ‘She was an ancient Norse witch. A sorceress of terrible power, some would say inhuman power. When she was finally defeated in England, the Viking men did not dare give her a traditional funeral. They laid her in the ground. In an ancient, pagan place. Somewhere from thousands of years before.’

  Jess’s eyes widened. ‘The stone circle.’ She tutted. ‘Em, how did you find all this out? I mean, I suppose some of it was in that Danish stuff? I spent about three hours on the Internet and that was all I got.’

  Emerald smiled, and waved a hand at the stacks of books around them. ‘Sometimes,’ she said, ‘the old ways are the best. Books, Jessica! Pamphlets, papers, journals, arcane writings, parish records and books!’ She snorted. ‘Internet, indeed... And yes, she would have been fine in that hallowed ground for thousands more years, had it not been for the interfering Professor and his desire for fame.’

  ‘But... look, she’s dead? Right?’

  Emerald Greene looked up, and in the dim light of the Library her pale, chiselled face was serious, almost frightening. Her green eyes, hard like gemstones, shone with mischief. ‘Oh, you think so? What is death? We understand so little about it. Some say it is not the opposite of life, but just a passing to the other side of a very thin door, one which divides the two existences. A door which can be very easily broken. The Professor made the hole. Xanthë and the others, who are at best misguided and at worst malicious, almost enlarged it. And Freygerd, believe me, will come through it. Ready to unleash a terrible revenge on the world which killed her.’

  Jess laughed, then folded her arms when she realised how hollow and false it sounded in the vaults of the Library. ‘Em, you’re not seriously talking about a Viking witch who’s been dead for over a thousand years coming back to life and... killing people?’

  Emerald Greene folded the map shut. ‘Yes,’ she said casually. ‘Is that a problem?’

  If Jess had ever doubted that Emerald was deadly serious, any doubt was cast aside now. ‘And... and what you were saying about sending them all back where they came from. You mean like... casting a spell?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Emerald snapped. ‘The application of an advanced, arcane branch of science, that is all...’ She began pacing up and down and muttering. ‘Evidently, they are using a wide-band sound transmission to stimulate the frequencies...’ She looked up at Jess, raising her eyebrows. ‘The singing, you see? It serves a purpose.’ She tapped a fingernail against her teeth. ‘I can distract them, but it would make it easier if I had a way of jamming the signal. Something oscillating on the same frequency.’

  Jess seized on the first words she understood properly. ‘Same frequency?’ she repeated excitedly, her heart skipping a beat. The dark library seemed to fall utterly silent, as if even the skittering mice and insects and whatever other creatures lived here were holding their breath to listen. For a second, even the numbing pain in her hand was forgotten. ‘So a recording of their voices would work? Like the one you made at the Darkwater?’

  ‘Yes, well, that would have been ideal,’ said Emerald Greene, scowling and folding her arms.r />
  A slow, cunning smile spread across Jessica’s face. She rummaged inside her coat pocket for a moment and pulled out a matt-black CD case, which she waved gleefully at Emerald Greene.

  Emerald’s astonishment was plain to see. She took the CD from Jess, flipped open the case and stared at the silver disc inside. ‘Jessica Mathieson,’ she murmured, ‘it seems I under-estimated you.’

  Jess shrugged. ‘Yeah. You could say that.’

  ‘So... what, if you do not mind my asking, did you give to our friend Mr Courtney?’

  Jess grinned. ‘Abba Gold,’ she said. ‘All their greatest hits on one fabulous album.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I hope he’s a fan,’ she added as an afterthought.

  ‘Jessica, you are brilliant! Now we have everything!’ Emerald, her eyes shining, pocketed the CD, tucked the book under her arm and marched towards the great oak doors of the Library. She stopped, turned round when she realised Jess was not following. ‘Well, come on!’

  ‘Where?’ Jess asked, confused.

  ‘Back outside, of course!’

  ‘But we’re safe in here!’ Jess wailed.

  ‘Safe? Your thinking is too safe, Jessica Mathieson!’ Emerald wagged a finger. ‘Here, we are protected - but also powerless! Even I do not know how to make this,’ Emerald hefted the book, ‘work across the Chronostatic Barrier. Now, come on - we must go!’

  Like a fountain of liquid light in slow motion, the blob of light grew - five, ten, twenty metres above the field, towering over them all. It was now a great, formless mass of swirling iridescence, swivelling this way and that as if searching for something to latch on to.

  Richie got out of the car to take a closer look, opening his mouth in an O of wonderment.

  The screeching grew louder still - it still sounded to Richie like the screams of a trapped, wounded animal, but now mixed with the sound of shearing metal. A hot wind howled, tearing Richie’s glasses from his face and pulling his hair back. He clung on to the door of the car. On the other side, Mr Courtney was doing the same. Richie shot him a desperate look.

  ‘Hang on, boy! Hang on!’ Mr Courtney mouthed at him, struggling to get a hold on his radio.

  The towering thing of light was growing bigger and bigger by the second, thrashing like a cat in a bag, crackling with raw energy. Richie was certain he could hear singing, now, the dark choir he had heard before. And it was getting louder.

  ‘What is it?’ Richie mouthed, scrabbling for his glasses. He found them hanging from his sleeve and replaced them on his nose.

  Mr Courtney was issuing instructions into his radio. ‘All units, fall back! Repeat, fall back!’ He shot a quick glance at Richie.

  Mr Odell was on the radio beside him. ‘The Professor’s Viking! Arossi says it’s disappeared from the tomb!’

  Richie stared open-mouthed at the thrashing tower of light. He tilted his head back to look at it, and his lenses reflected the luminescence.

  And then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  Richie spun round, and his feet squelched in the mud.

  It was Emerald Greene, sensibly clad in a cagoule and wellingtons. Anoushka was curled around her neck, his claws hanging on to her waterproof hood. Emerald was staring, transfixed, into the heart of the red maelstrom, and the ruby light gave her face an unearthly sheen.

  ‘How did you get past my men?’ Mr Courtney bellowed above the tumult.

  She shot him a withering look. ‘Easily. They see what they want to see.’ Anoushka, meanwhile, arched his back and hissed at Mr Courtney, making him recoil. ‘But I fear I may have miscalculated the parameters a little,’ said Emerald worriedly, shading her eyes and looking up at the thrashing vortex of light.

  ‘Mis-what?’ Richie asked. ‘You mean you got it wrong?’

  ‘It has been drawing energy from the barrier,’ said Emerald. ‘I had not expected it to manifest itself so soon.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Never mind. Here goes, as I believe you say.’

  She pulled out her blue glasses and put them on, and as Richie watched, they darkened from azure to aquamarine to a deep, velvety blue which was almost opaque.

  Jess hurried forward, squelching in the mud. ‘You all right?’ she asked Richie.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine - Jess, does Emerald know what she’s doing?’

  ‘I’m not entirely sure,’ Jess admitted.

  Emerald was looking past them, up and into the heart of the shining spectre, her high-cheekboned face pale and translucent, as if she was a ghost herself.

  And she was walking forward, into the heart of the tumult.

  Her unruly red hair streamed backwards in the hot wind, revealing her high forehead, where Richie could see a prominent blue vein throbbing as she frowned in concentration. She was holding an old book open in front of her, he noticed, the pages fluttering in the harsh gale.

  Mr Courtney grabbed Jess and Richie by the shoulders and bundled them towards the cover of the undergrowth. ‘Less of the touching reunions, kids - that thing is growing by the second!’

  Richie twisted angrily and broke free. Jess gave Mr Courtney an angry push, and he overbalanced into the mud with a bellow of rage.

  ‘Emerald!’ Richie shouted, and tried to run back to help her - but he was stuck firmly in the muddy ground.

  Emerald Greene, still with Anoushka clinging on to her neck, was holding the book in one hand and had the other hand out in front of her, palm flat. She was muttering some incomprehensible words. Richie wondered for a moment how he could hear the sounds above the bedlam, and then he realised that they were echoing in his head.

  He looked fearfully around for Jess - yes, she was there. For some reason she seemed to be rubbing her right hand, furiously, as if it was chafing with cold.

  And her eyes seemed strange - distant and unfocused.

  ‘Oh, no,’ he murmured. ‘Jess...’

  ‘Xanthë.’

  Jess waded through darkness visible, running in slow-motion as she called the witch’s name. Her feet felt as if they were dragging through treacle, just like in her dreams when she was running from unimaginable fiends.

  ‘Xanthë, are you there?’

  Nine columns of blue light blazed into being, forming a perfect circle around her. Nine witches, no longer leaning on their staffs, but holding them firmly like weapons.

  They were young, unblemished and beautiful. They had lissom, unbroken limbs and flowing hair - of raven-black, of spun gold, of auburn. Xanthë stood there, tall and proud, her blue eyes glowing triumphantly. She looked to Jessica like a young woman of twenty-five or thirty. Her hair, so brilliantly gold it was almost alabaster-white, streamed behind her like coronas of the sun, framing high cheekbones and flawless skin, while her mouth was bright and broad, a stripe of lurid red across her face. Xanthë and all the witches around her seemed to glow from within, incandescent with new power and new energy.

  ‘We are Becoming,’ Xanthë said, as if in answer to an unspoken question from Jess. Her mouth did not move in time with the words - instead, it just hung open and a tongue of light blazed from between her red lips. Her eyes, too, shone like dazzling searchlights.

  Jess held up a hand to shade her own eyes, not daring to look directly at the witch. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing!’ she snapped. ‘This other force - the one you know as the Viking - it’s using your powers for itself! It will just discard you when it’s finished breaking through into the physical world!’

  ‘Nonsense, Jessica. Together, we are magnificently powerful!’

  ‘If you say so. I’m just trying to warn you, that’s all!’

  ‘Look at my face,’ Xanthë commanded.

  ‘No, it’s wrong. I can’t!’

  ‘Jessica... Remember your mother.’

  ‘My mother is dead!’ Jess screamed angrily. ‘My mother is dead!�
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  ‘What barrier is death to an existence of eternity, beyond life, beyond death? To a life that transcends worlds now that the door has been opened?’ Xanthë hissed in delight, and the sound was echoed around her by the other witches. ‘I can be mother to you, child. I can be sister, companion or guardian angel. All you need is to join hands with us. Complete the circle.’

  Xanthë’s hand extended towards Jess. It was the same gesture as before, only this time the hand was slender and milky-white rather than blotched with the ravages of Time.

  Jess felt the pain in her own hand growing stronger again. She suddenly realised that this pain was there because the hand was unlike the rest of her body, out of tune with it. She only had to join with Xanthë, complete what they had started, and it would be good, be whole again -

  No! What was she thinking? Jess pulled her hand back as if she had been burnt. ‘I won’t do it!’ she shouted, cowering in the centre of the circle. ‘I won’t!’

  Xanthë towered over her. ‘Give me your hand, child!’

  Jess sat up, still not daring to meet the gaze of the witch. She could feel the diamond-hard eyes searching her, trying to compel her to look up. She wrapped her cold hand tightly in the sleeve of her coat and shook her head.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘No! And I’ve just realised something. You need me, don’t you? You always needed me - or someone like me. You need a tangible link to the Earthworld, otherwise you can’t be sure your crossover will be stable!’

  Xanthë hissed in anger.

  The witches raised their staffs above their heads.

  Nine towering, fearfully beautiful figures glowed in rage around the cowering form of Jessica Mathieson. Their mouths streamed with light and with their ancient song, now, which echoed its fearsome beauty through the invisible vaults of the Otherworld.

  ‘That’s why you had to break through into the school!’ Jess shouted, covering her eyes. ‘You were looking... searching for someone to use as a handle, a lever!’