Prophesy: The Immortal Witch (26)

Part 25 at: https://www.abctales.com/story/marandina/prophesy-immortal-witch-25

Night closed in like a phantom wrapping its ebony cape around an unsuspecting victim, dark skies sonorous with crows cawing and wings beating. Grimacing, Billy put his fingers to his ears to block out the din. Unseen on the horizon, banks of fog had formed, rolling inland from the Bristol Channel. It looked for all the world like a brewing sandstorm blooming outwards towards a dormant desert.

A tall, skinny man with fine wind-blown hair wearing half-hitched cargo pants stared blankly at the brooding scene with indifference. Spinning around, dog lead in hand, he marched his golden retriever in the direction of home on the other side of grass-topped dunes. As he turned, he stopped to take in a bizarre image. Further down the beach, a teenage boy who he had noticed looking out at the estuary was now surrounded by what looked like hundreds of corvids. Unusual in itself, what happened next led him to gape open-mouthed, jaw dropping in amazement.

With swirling mist sweeping in and engulfing all in its wake, the teenager was summarily swamped by the hovering avian horde then lifted into the air and, somehow, carried off into the distance. He watched on as the teen got smaller and smaller, dragged away like a macabre marionette held up by living, breathing strings.

The beachcomber groped in his pocket for a phone. Pausing, he pondered as to who to call to report the incident. The Coastguard, the Police, North Somerset Council? It was a conundrum. By the time the abductee had been consumed by the murk, the reluctant witness decided to do nothing at all. With a shake of his scalp, he muttered to his retriever and wandered off along the strand, pondering what his wife would say when he recounted this bizarre event. If he recounted this bizarre event. He had only had a quick pint whilst out. Just the one. Nobody would believe him.   

It was difficult to see anything at all with so many birds swarming around. The smell was of must and oil, damp infused bodies excreting a noxious odour that made Billy want to gag. Sensing he was no longer on the ground, he could feel the forward motion transporting him across water. It was an odd sensation, like being in a balloon above land. There seemed little he could do about it other than go with the flow after a brief initial struggle. He knew it was the witch’s work but as to what he end he wasn’t sure.

The feathered entourage rounded a headland, caves in cliffs, fallen scree witness to times gone by. Brean Fort stood sentry high above as it had done since the Victorian era. Through the veiled film, part submerged black limestone was barely visible, promontories striking out like the worn digits of mythical subterranean giants.

Billy spied foam below, waves cascading with a rhythm that went with deeper brine. Brean Down had been left behind, his captors carrying him far from shore. Despite the impromptu nature of this kidnapping, he felt weirdly calm, stoical under the circumstances. By now there was a realisation of the destination – the mysterious island with the gravestones. Again.

His mind wandered: he recalled the adventure shared with Danielle not long after they had first met. The journey in the waterspout, falling out and into ocean. Being on empty sands with wet clothes and feeling embarrassed at undressing to dry out. The more dramatic elements of that day had lost significance.

Instead, he thought of those moments that felt intimate, new and exciting. The girl had been a welcome intervention in his life, someone he could connect with. But she was gone. Two years since. And yet he knew where he might see her again.

 Perhaps fate played a role in this. Perhaps fate was destined to bring the saga of his latent powers to a poetic culmination of some sort. All he knew was that there was a sense of inevitability about what was happening to him now. With his arms splayed out wide, there was almost a messianic aspect to what was unfolding. Numerous talons on his cranium and digging into his clothes his crown of thorns.  

Despite the sheer number involved, it still defied logic that his weight could be supported like this by mere birds. He should have cuts everywhere with blood pouring from wounds. Instead, progress was serene suggesting that the supernatural was at work.

Billy closed his eyes and allowed himself to float, to detach from the world and focus only on the present. Mindfulness.

And then he saw her again. A woman dressed in a cowl hunched over a mortar and pestle, reading from a book. A book of spells. She was beautiful once. But he could see the toll taken on her, the ravage of centuries making the witch an archaic crone. Crenulations on her face, contours and channels, creases and lines. Her conjurations an established modus operandi. An MO that he was a part of, unsure as to whether he could possibly defy her. To beat her. To stop her. To save Danielle.

With the image trailing away like sand in an hour glass, he felt a sudden falling motion. No longer suspended, he was tumbling to earth. A splash, under water, a seabed of boulders and plants, fish circling. Composing himself, Billy struck out for the surface, legs propelling his body upwards, arms performing breaststroke.

Breaking the waterline, he vigorously shook his head. Now standing, he realised these were shallow depths. Ahead was indeed the enigma that was the lost isle. The last time it had been a gloriously sunny day. Not this time. Light was fading, temperature cooling as he waded onto a familiar shore. 

They could have taken me a little further, he lamented.

Wet through, there would be no opportunity to dry out. There were dark shadows in the soft surface, something moving. Nearing, he could see small burrows exploding, tiny turtles emerging to start life by making their way to the sea.

Slopping past bladder wrack seaweed, as well as evidence of life buried in hidden silos, he sensed a skittering in the air. Something small was flying around, careering close by. It was bats doing their nocturnal rounds, navigating without sight. This was all a far cry from the absence of anything sentient encountered at the beginning of the previous visit. 

Billy shambled over to familiar rocks, fumbling into a seating position to take stock of what was going on. It was semi-dark now, dusk, only half-light available. Peering hard with eyesight that was adjusting with every passing minute, he spotted the jetty silhouetted against the backdrop of an orange sun vanishing into the vista. There didn’t appear to be a rowing boat bobbing next to it. His heart sank. Without the responsibility of protecting someone else, the plan was to jump in the craft and take a chance out in the blue expanse. It seemed his only option was to wander inland again.

Stooping, he untied his soggy trainers, theatrically tipping them upside down to drain away unwelcome aqua.

So why had he been brought to this apparently magical place that didn’t appear on any map?

Before he could mull things over in any detail, something caught the corner of his eye. Something large probably a couple of hundred metres away. Red eyes, piercing the gloom. Stealthily moving towards him. The menace was all too obvious. It was the guardians, the blood soaked wolves from the forest. Its presence was reinforced by a low growl. Growls. More than one wolf. The pack had been waiting for his return. 

Part 27 at: https://www.abctales.com/story/marandina/prophesy-immortal-witch-27

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