The Fatal Strand. Robin Jarvis

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СКАЧАТЬ into the severe blackness which filled the underground stairway and mocked the pitiful flame of the oil lamp, they slowly made their way. The plummeting path was perilous and progress was painfully slow. Inch by inch they bore Veronica’s body, avoiding the slippery patches where dripping water and the tread of countless ages had worn the steps treacherously smooth. Beneath lengths of mouldering pipework they ducked, until Edie suddenly called out and pressed her ear to the crumbling stone wall.

      ‘There’s summink behind it!’ she cried. ‘Listen – it’s gettin’ closer.’

      Miss Ursula tilted her head to one side and tutted with irritation. ‘Remember what I told you, Edith dear,’ she began, ‘how near this secret stair brushes against the advances of Mankind? A meagre few inches beyond this very wall runs one of their subterranean railways. Brace yourselves, both of you – the engine approaches.’

      All three could now hear the faint roaring noise which vibrated through the shaft, causing a tremor to ripple through the steps beneath their feet. Swiftly the sound soared, mounting to a trumpeting clamour that blared up the stairway. Edie fell back from the wall, expecting it to explode at any moment before the unstoppable force of the train which was surely about to cannon its way through.

      The steps were shuddering violently now and the body of Miss Veronica swayed unsteadily upon the stretcher as her sisters endeavoured to remain standing. The din was deafening, a screaming rumble which reverberated through Edie’s chest, and she opened her mouth to yell amidst this clangorous thunder.

      Then it was over. Beyond the narrow barrier of stone, the Underground train had passed and all that remained was a juddering echo, which flew up the spiralling stairs and vanished in the winding gloom above.

      Catching her breath, Edie lifted the oil lamp to peer around her. The surrounding masonry was crazed and fractured and, from the still quivering cracks, fine rivers of dust were pouring.

      ‘One day our sanctuary shall be unearthed and all our secrets laid bare – but not yet,’ Miss Ursula assured her. ‘Come, Celandine, there is still some distance to travel before we can lay our sister to rest.’

      In the wake of the train’s tumult, the ensuing silence was horribly oppressive. It made the pool of darkness, which constantly receded before them, seem resentful and full of invisible, unfriendly eyes.

      The overwhelming hush made Edie uneasy; she did not like silence. She had only recently been plucked from the time of the Blitz, with its constant din of exploding bombs and the crackle of the anti-aircraft guns. Not since the time when she had been imprisoned under the ruins of her home, with the bodies of her mortal family around her, had she known such deathly quiet. She started to make small noises to fend off this unwelcome absence of sound.

      At first she hummed tunelessly then, true to her feral nature, she tried a gentle, droning growl. After a short while, Edie was amused to find that her echoes sounded as though some little animal really was in there with them. Once she was almost certain that a snuffling bark had not stemmed from her at all, and she flourished the lamp behind her to check that nothing was hiding in the shadows. But before she could prove her suspicions, the descent was over. The staircase came to an abrupt halt and the space opened up around them, changing the nature of the echoes completely.

      ‘Edith,’ Miss Ursula instructed, ‘you must proceed in front and light the way. Nirinel is at hand.’

      Through a network of caverns the girl led the Websters, until at last they came to a large metal gateway which swung open before them.

      Immediately, the golden radiance of many flaming torches flared up to greet their straining sight. Edie ran forward to gaze up at the magnificent spectacle of the last surviving root of the World Tree – astounded afresh by its titanic majesty.

      Up into the lofty, vaulted shadows the massive shape stretched, where no leaping lights could reach. The child’s eyes traced an imagined arch down to where the momentous root plunged back into the flame glow and thrust through the chamber’s far wall. It was a monumental vision of permanence, the oldest of all living things, the most wondrous of secrets hidden in the forgotten deeps of the earth – Nirinel.

      From history’s cradle the Webster sisters had tended it, guarding their sacred charge against the relentless corruption of the marching years. It was only fitting that Miss Veronica would remain beneath its enchanted bulk for the rest of eternity.

      ‘Careful,’ Miss Ursula scolded Miss Celandine as they approached a large circular dais built in the centre of the cavern. ‘Lay her down gently.’

      The ancient wellhead, from which divine waters were once drawn to anoint the ravages of age afflicting the great root, was now choked with moss and a hay-like growth of dead weeds. Upon their dry, cushioning layers the stretcher was placed and Edie put the ebony cane in Miss Veronica’s lifeless hands.

      ‘And the blade,’ Miss Ursula directed. ‘It should be beside her.’

      The girl obeyed, carefully removing the deadly weapon from the bag. Then she caressed the dead woman’s cheek with her fingertips and whispered, ‘You can rest now.’

      Regarding the child keenly, a curious light glittered in Miss Ursula’s eyes and she returned her attention to her dead sister.

      ‘Are you in truth at peace?’ she asked, intently scanning the lined face. ‘Is your soul finally free? You were never content, Veronica. In our youth I denied you your happiness and to this unending existence you were irrevocably fettered.’

      Edie kissed the dead woman’s forehead then gave Miss Ursula a conciliatory smile. ‘At the end,’ she told her, ‘Veronica said as how she were sorry and didn’t blame you for what happened.’

      On hearing this, the eldest of the Fates squeezed her eyes shut. Then, when she had mastered herself, she took the oil lamp from Edie and leaned forward – holding it over that cold, expressionless face, as if the answer to what troubled her could be found amongst the countless wrinkles which mapped its aged contours.

      How different those familiar features now appeared. Without the inner spark to kindle that mottled flesh and fire it into life, it was like viewing some poorly executed sculpture of her sister. No trace of the character that had once burned within her could be glimpsed or guessed at. The absolute stillness was hideous to see and the pallid skin reflected the lamplight in a cadaverous ghastliness.

      Still searching that beloved face, Miss Ursula muttered in a voice which at times cracked with despair.

      ‘Of this world there is little I do not understand,’ she said huskily. ‘But to this plane alone, and of those who are bound unto it, does my wisdom extend. Beyond the frontiers of life, Urdr has no knowledge. Outside the immutable confines of this strangling reality, is there an end to care and suffering? Can there indeed be a paradise? Is that where you are now, my dearest little Verdandi? Is all your hurt now healed?’

      Listening to this, Miss Celandine snivelled into her handkerchief once more. It frightened her to hear Ursula so uncertain and questioning.

      ‘Is Veronica with Mother now, do you think?’ she spluttered.

      Her elder sister lowered the lamp and let out a long breath. ‘I do not know,’ she replied with a bitter edge in her voice. ‘And I doubt whether I shall ever discover the answer. For how may the immortals ever know the truth of that – the most hidden secret of all?’

      The woman lapsed into silence as she continued СКАЧАТЬ