Wings of Sorrow (A horror fantasy novel) Page 12

  They all looked around to see that Holtby was now lying on his back and taking short, ragged breaths. His leg was snapped sideways, and a mask of blood covered his face. The fight was over, and he had not won on points.

  The Saint marched towards them.

  “Where is he?” Chester urged. “Where’s Sorrow?”

  “I don’t know,” said Margaret, her voice betraying her nerves. “I called him, you heard me.”

  “No you didn’t,” said Scarlet. “You called Manah, not Sorrow.”

  Margaret cursed. “Oh, bloody well all right, then. Sorrow, come forth. With this totem I bind you, and with innocent blood I call you.”

  The Saint was on them, reaching down for Scarlet.

  She screamed.

  A blinding flash of light lit up the entire store and forced them to shield their eyes.

  The Saint growled. “Manah, you have returned.”

  “My name,” he said, “is Sorrow.”

  “You cannot defeat me, demon.”

  “I’ll find a way.”

  Sorrow leapt at The Saint, and the two began fighting—two supernatural wolverines ripping each other apart.

  “You three need to get out of here,” said Margaret.

  “And go where?” Scarlet’s dad grunted at her.

  “You need to go to the place where The Saint first appeared. That is where he will be weakest. You must banish him.”

  “The lake,” said Scarlet. “That’s where I found Sorrow. Maybe The Saint came from the same place.”

  Margaret nodded. “Chester, do you know how to perform a cleansing?”

  “I… Maybe. I’m not sure.”

  “Well, remember quickly! Go to the lake. The Saint will follow you there. Perform the cleansing.”

  “We should call the police.” Scarlet’s dad pointed at Indy’s body. “A boy has been killed.”

  Margaret nodded. “I’ll call the Council; they will sort everything out, but you all need to go.”

  Scarlet watched Sorrow taking a beating up against the shop’s counter. All around trinkets and antiques lay smashed, dented, and broken. The cute little chair that Scarlet had wanted to buy was a pile of splinters. “We need to help Sorrow.”

  “He can’t die. You can. Now go.”

  “Why are you helping me? You put a death sentence on me.”

  “I was trying to stop the end of the world. There’s no reason for The Saint to kill you now, other than pettiness. I must admit I’m disappointed in him.”

  “Mourn your idol later, Margaret,” said Chester. “Let’s go.”

  “Not me. I will buy you some time and help Manah. I can’t believe I’m saying that.”

  “Thank you,” said Scarlet. “Although you’re still a bitch.”

  Margaret squinted. “There’s no respect these days.”

  “Come on.” Scarlet’s dad pulled her up and dragged her towards the door. Before she left with him and Chester, she took one last look at Indy’s body. Her only friend had died helping her. She didn’t feel sad. She felt angry.

  ~ Chapter Fifteen ~

  Time rocketed by so quickly that the sun had already begun to nip at the horizon. Scarlet, her dad, and Chester beat it, on foot, away from the town centre and towards nearby Red Lake. Scarlet knew the way so well, but tonight it felt like she was racing towards a shadowy pit. The town had become a mystical battleground, and was no longer the picturesque hamlet she thought it was.

  When they finally reached the lake, the dawn was less than an hour away. The first dog walkers of the day would soon arrive. Witnesses.

  Scarlet led them around the water’s edge, trying to find the exact spot where The Saint might have emerged. Eventually, she found the muddy indentations left by Sorrow. “This is where I found Sorrow.”

  “He just climbed out of the water?” Chester asked.

  “No, he was just lying here.”

  Her dad sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me at the time, Scarlet?”

  “I have no idea. I should have.”

  “I very much doubt,” said Chester, “that the situation could have gone any differently than it has.”

  Scarlet looked at her boss, a man she had known for a year, yet had not known at all. “Thank you, Chester. You’ve gone against everything you believe in to help me.”

  He shook his head. “Actually, I remained true to everything I believe in. The White Order is a force of good, but sometimes they fail to see the grey—just look at The Saint. Are his actions righteous? I think not.”

  “Do you think Margaret will reverse her spell after all this?” her dad asked hopefully.

  “I doubt it. She is as loyal to the Order as anyone among its ranks, and the Order will not save the life of one girl and jeopardise existence.”

  “It’s better this way,” said Scarlet. “I don’t want to be responsible for hurting anybody.”

  Her dad pulled her close. “I won’t let you go. There’ll be a way, and we’ll find it.”

  “Yes,” said Chester. “I intend to help you in any way I can, Mr Thomas.”

  “Thank you. My daughter means everything to me.”

  “Of course. I may not have a place within the Order anymore, but I’ll do what I can.”

  “You’ve already done enough,” said Scarlet. “I don’t want to risk becoming a danger again.”

  “Scarlet, listen to me. I-“

  There was a popping sound, and the surface of the lake began to boil.

  “What’s going on?” her dad asked.

  Chester shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  The circle of boiling water began moving towards the bank.

  “It’s coming this way,” her dad shouted. “Scarlet, get back.”

  They edged backwards as something emerged from the water, retreating faster when they saw that it was a man.

  But it was no threat. It was Sorrow.

  He clambered up onto the shore, panting and bleeding like the first time Scarlet had met him, but this time, he was wearing her dad’s dirty trousers and shirt.

  Scarlet ran to his aid and helped him stand up. “Sorrow, how did you make it here?”

  “The woman with man’s hair sent me.”

  “Margaret? Why did she send you here? You were fighting The Saint.”

  “He defeated me and left to find you. The woman sent me here to protect you, but Scarlet, I have tried several times to defeat The Saint, but I cannot. You should run from here.”

  “No,” she said. “We end this now. Here.”

  “But The Saint is coming.”

  “How long do we have?” Chester asked.

  Sorrow looked at him. “Not long. He has only grown more furious since our last battle. I fear that he will murder all in sight. I beg you to flee. I will delay him as much as possible, but I cannot stop him.”

  Scarlet shook her head. “You can’t stop him alone, maybe, but this time we will all fight him. I’m dead anyway, so what do I have to lose?”

  Sorrow’s face fell. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that the woman with man’s hair drained my life force.”

  He began to tremble with rage. “Then I shall kill her.”

  “Later,” said Chester. “She’s not the priority.”

  “No,” Sorrow agreed.

  Scarlet reached into her pocket and pulled out the half-pendant. “I’ve been looking after it for you.”

  Sorrow took it from her like it was a delicate flower. “My talisman. Thank you, Scarlet.”

  She helped him place it around his neck. Their eyes met, and she found herself leaning forward to kiss him. At first, he acted like he didn’t know what she was doing, but then he returned the kiss.

  “Scarlet!” Her dad shouted.

  “Oh, sorry, dad.”

  “I knew he was your boyfriend.”

  “I am what?” asked Sorrow.

  Scarlet smiled at him. “Nevermind. We need to be ready.”

  “Yes,” said Chester, pointing his
hand. “Because The Saint is here.”

  Emerging from the shadowy woods, their unkillable enemy marched towards them like death approaching.

  ~ Chapter Sixteen ~

  “You need to delay him while I perform the cleansing,” Chester urged.

  Sorrow was in a bad way, but he stiffened up and marched towards The Saint to head the giant off.

  The Saint said nothing. His eyes were dark swirls, and he continued forward like a runaway lorry, grabbing Sorrow by his arm and snapping it at the elbow. He flung the injured demon to the ground and kept coming.

  Scarlet’s dad was next up. He snatched a rock from the embankment and hurled it. It hit The Saint in the chest, but bounced off like a rubber ball.

  “He’s not stopping!” Scarlet cried.

  Chester began his ritual. “St. Peter. St Paul. St Andrew.”

  Sorrow managed to fling himself at The Saint’s legs and tackle the giant to the ground. Scarlet’s dad ran to help him—jumping on top of him and raining down punches. Nothing damaged him, but at least they managed to keep him down on the ground.

  Chester continued with his chanting, his voice becoming background music to the battle. “From all evil, deliver us, O Lord. From all sin, deliver us, O Lord.”

  Scarlet was standing out in the open, doing nothing. The people she cared about—and who cared about her—were fighting to defend her, but she was doing nothing. It was wrong. This was her fight.

  She ran up and kicked The Saint in the back, hitting him between the shoulder blades. Her toes scrunched up in agony, and she ended up hopping on one foot.

  “Scarlet, get back,” her dad shouted.

  “We said we were going to work together,” she argued through the pain.

  “To protect you. Scarlet, get-”

  The Saint landed a punch, hard enough to cross his eyes. His head thudded back against the ground and he went to sleep.

  Sorrow rammed his thumbs into The Saint’s eyes, making the giant bellow, but the anger only made him stronger. He grabbed a hold of Sorrow and flung him aside.

  Scarlet tried to grab The Saint, but she found out how foolish it was when he spun around and grabbed her by the throat. Holding her in place, he slapped her face with the back of his other hand. Her teeth clacked together, catching her lower lip between them. Blood filled her mouth—hot and metallic.

  “You stinking, bottom-feeding vermin, allowing you to live this long has shamed me, but my humiliation ends now. I will defile all that you hold dear.”

  Scarlet’s vision blurred, and the pressure rose to her skull, making her eyes bulge. She tried to open her mouth to talk, but she couldn’t get any oxygen to form words. Every time she tried, she choked on her own blood. Chester was too far away to help her. The burning around her neck had started as The Saint’s fingertips spat fire.

  “Your soul will burn in Hell, child.”

  Scarlet could only spit.

  As before, The Saint reeled back, utterly horrified. He let go of her and wiped at his face. This time it was not purely disgust that had taken hold of him, though. He was in pain. The bloody saliva landed on his cheek below his left eye, which now steamed like a boiled egg. The Saint let out a high-pitched scream and threw out his arms in agony.

  Scarlet caught a glancing blow from one of his meaty fists and tumbled down the embankment. Her palm came down on something hard and jagged, and she squealed. Blood gushed from her hand, and she saw that it was pierced by a sharp rock. She yanked the stone free then tried to get up. She was sure she was about to be attacked, but when she looked up at the path, The Saint was still suffering.

  Chester saw that she was injured and started to come and help her, but she threw up her hands and stopped him. “Keep performing the ritual,” she shouted. “Don’t stop for anything.”

  Chester nodded.

  Scarlet got up and hurried over to Sorrow and her dad. Both of them were clambering to their feet, equally battered and bruised.

  “What did you do?” her dad asked, watching The Saint spin around in agony.

  “I don’t know. I think it was my blood.”

  Sorrow grabbed her shoulder and looked at her. “You are hurt.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Your blood is poison to The Saint,” he said.

  “Yes, but why?”

  “Because you’re on opposite sides,” her dad said, no longer a bewildered spectator, but an active participant in the madness. “If your mother’s magic really is evil, and if that son-of-a-bitch is what counts as good, then your blood and his just don’t mix.”

  “You mean, my blood is like a messed up version of flashing a cross at a vampire?”

  Her dad nodded.

  “You will die!” The Saint ran at them, the left side of his face was now a blackened mess.

  Scarlet swirled the inside of her mouth to gather saliva, but any blood remaining had gone down her throat. “I need more of my blood,” she said, then looked at her throbbing palm where she had fallen on the jagged rock. The wound was messy, and bleeding.

  Her dad grabbed her and pulled her back. “No, we just need to buy Chester some time. We’re not using any more of your blood.”

  Sorrow launched at The Saint on his blind side and managed to rock him. Scarlet’s dad went again to help, while Scarlet headed towards Chester, who was trembling as he continued his litany. He reached out and pulled her close to him in a hug—the first time he had ever done so. “This will all be over soon, Scarlet.”

  “I hope so.”

  The Saint was weakened since her blood had stained his cheek, but he was still stronger than Sorrow and her dad combined. Eventually, he would break free of their assault, and she wasn’t sure how many times more she could escape his grasp. Every part of her begged to give in and just end things now, but seeing her dad hurt made her resolute. The Saint had kicked him in the leg and doubled him over, then grabbed Sorrow by his stained, white shirt so forcefully that it tore open and ripped from his back. The gnarled torso it revealed was blackened with bruises and streaked with blood. The fact that Sorrow was still able to stand was a miracle, but he was a demon and miracles were not for him. The Saint slapped him down to the ground and stomped on his ribs.

  Her dad was back up, but this time he didn’t attack. He chose to beg. “Just leave her alone,” he said. “You have what you wanted. She won’t live to become a threat. Please, I’m begging you. Let me have the time left with my daughter.”

  The Saint sneered at him. “You fornicated with a witch—actions which led to the threat in the first place. Hell beckons to you also.” He swiped at her dad, but he ducked and dodged out of the way. Missing made The Saint angry, so he pursued doggedly. Every time he flung out his giant arms, he struck nothing but air and grew even more furious. Scarlet’s dad was desperate, but that made him fast.

  Sorrow was on his hands and knees, and somehow managed to keep going. How much could one body take, demon or not?

  She ran over to help him, and placed her hands on his shoulders and back. He flinched at her touch and tried to climb up. “I need to help your father.”

  “This isn’t working,” she said. “He’s going to kill you.”

  “That is acceptable.”

  “Not to me it’s not. Sorrow, I don’t want anyone else dead because of me.”

  “Then what do you suggest?”

  Scarlet shot a glance at her dad, who was still managing to elude the half-blind strikes of The Saint, but he was growing more tired with every dodge. Then she looked at Sorrow’s battered body, and realised that she had no ideas at all. She should have given herself to The Saint at the very beginning—before his mission became one of vengeance. “I’m so sorry,” she said, throwing herself at Sorrow and wrapping her arms around him, pulling him close. If it was all going to end, she didn’t want to see it coming. Let her die in the embrace of the creature sent to protect her.

  “Scarlet, let go. Something is… wrong.”

  She moved back a li
ttle and looked at him. “What is it?”

  “I… I do not know, it hurts.”

  Sorrow began to writhe, arching his back and wrenching his shoulders like he had an itch he couldn’t get to. He lurched forward and thrust his hands into the wet mud of the bank and yelled in pain. It allowed Scarlet to see his back, which was rippling and distorting like he had some kind of alien coming out of him. She also saw the long smears of blood.

  “My palm,” she muttered, holding up her injured hand in front of her and seeing that it was glistening with fresh blood. When she hugged Sorrow, her blood had smeared all over his back. But what did that mean?

  Sorrow looked up at her, his face changed again like it had at Little Treasures Emporium yesterday. He was a demon in the flesh, but in obvious pain. He reached out his hand and pointed. The Saint was coming.

  Her dad lay motionless on the path.

  “You’re a monster,” Scarlet shouted, bolting up to her feet and standing her ground. “You’re the one who should be in Hell. What is wrong with you?”

  The Saint reached her, but she did not run. She leapt at him and hammered his chest with all the strength she had left. Spots of blood flew from her injured hand and sizzled on his flesh, but most of it had congealed and was not enough to injure him gravely. He tolerated the drops of blood like a chef tolerating a spitting egg—blinking and flinching briefly, but not backing away. She carried on beating at him until her arms threatened to give out. The Saint had not yet sought to grab her, and simply observed her angry display with curiosity, seemingly content to wait until it was over. Once it was, he began to growl.

  “Get away from him,” her dad shouted from the ground.

  “To me, Scarlet!” Chester yelled.

  She looked at him and shook her head. “I can’t run anymore.” She looked The Saint in his one good eye. “Do your worst.”

  But The Saint never got the chance to do his worst. Something swooped from the sky and snatched him away before he raised a fist, and lifted him ten feet into the air before releasing him. He hurtled back down to the ground, body colliding with the cement pathway. The crunch of bones echoed across the lake.