The Dark Rider

CHAPTER Twenty-Three



Vicky listened by the open bedroom door. Her brother’s heavy breathing came from the bed on the other side of the room. The light in her parents’ room was off, and as far as she could tell they were asleep as well. She took one step forward and froze as the floorboard creaked alarmingly. She waited with racing heart for a light to snap on but after a few seconds nothing happened. Breathing out, she stepped gingerly over the offending board and went silently downstairs.

The dark lounge was full of shadows and Vicky picked her way through, careful to avoid the sharp corners of the coffee table. She reached the front door and pulled it open as slowly as she could, but the hinges still protested with a low squealing. The conservatory was full of moonlight and she slipped through, going quickly to the chair by the outer door half scared that the notebook would be gone. She pushed her hands down the side of the cushion and they closed reassuringly around the book and she pulled it out.

Turning, Vicky went back into the cottage and through to the kitchen. Sitting down she switched on the table light. The book lay in front of her. Its worn leather cover was scuffed around the edges, the corners dog-eared with use. Taking a deep breath she opened the cover. The first page was a mess of paragraphs written in pencil and then roughly crossed out so that she could hardly see any words. The only thing she could read was a single phrase at the bottom.

“The Rider is coming.”

Vicky flicked through the next pages with nervous excitement. They were all filled with notes, scribbled sketches, and detailed diagrams. A lot of the writing was in a language she could not understand although she guessed it might be Latin. She made out maps, pictures of swords and other weapons, drawings of chalices, amulets, and other jewelry.

Then she found what she was looking for and gasped. Staring back at her from one of the pages was a perfect drawing of the key. It showed the carvings on both sides and all the intricate detail of the dragon that was coiled around the shaft. Written in large letters at the top of the page was the word she had heard before.

“Arachar.”

With trembling fingers Vicky turned the page to find a map of Cornwall filling both sides. The map was covered with lots of small circles with crosses drawn through them. Then her eye was drawn to the one remaining circle without a cross. The circle was around Penwryn.

“Oh my,” exhaled Vicky staring down at the map. She turned the next page but it was empty. She flicked through the rest of the book but there were no more entries. As she closed the last page she noticed something wedged in a pocket on the inside of the back cover. Hesitantly she pulled it out, finding a small, thin notebook with a plain cover.

“What’s this?” she whispered as she opened the cover. Dates and scribbled paragraphs stared back at her, the beginnings of a rough diary. The first entry was from fifteen years ago. The words were faded and almost ineligible but she could still make most of them out. In the silence of the night time kitchen she began to read.

“He came again last night. The same dream. The dragon lies against my chest burning me. I am exhausted, so exhausted but it never lets up. I can’t control the compulsion. God help me, what choice do I have?”

The next lines were too faint to make out but she could read the last sentence clearly.

“I don’t dare to sleep anymore.”

Vicky turned the page. The entries were becoming longer, the writing more hurried. She could almost feel the pen scratching and stabbing at the page as the writer forced his chaotic thoughts into existence. A passage caught her eye and she began reading again.

“He came to me again last night. I never see his face but I can feel his eyes on me, boring into me, stripping away my soul. He demands more now. I am lost. I am lost.”

Shivers ran up and down Vicky’s spine. She turned more pages until an entry caught her eye and made her tremble as she read it.

“My brother is dead, both of them killed in a car accident. I don’t know if it was him. The pain is too much. I walk myself in disbelief, as if I am dead too. Perhaps soon I will be.”

Taking a deep breath Vicky looked up from the page. She felt suddenly scared sitting on her own. The light from the lamp was reflecting brightly off the clear glass of the window but beyond that was the pitch black of the night. A slow prickling sensation crawled up her spine. What if something was out there watching her?

Vicky tried to shake off the feeling, telling herself she was just scared because of the book. She looked down, turning more pages, but the diary entries abruptly stopped. She skimmed the last one which was from a few months ago. A fresh chill ran through her body as she read the last sentences at the bottom of the page.

“He says the time has come. He says I have to find the key. I have searched everywhere but I cannot find it.”

The next passage was ineligible but Vicky was able to read the last sentence.

“The Rider will come for me. The Rider is coming.”

A noise made her look up.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Vicky jumped out of her skin and turned, heart racing. Instinctively she jammed the diary into the notebook and slammed it shut.

“Dad,” she exclaimed. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Her father walked into the room and went over to the fridge, tightening his dressing gown as he went.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Just need some milk.” Reaching down he unsuccessfully suppressed a belch. “Phew. Bit of indigestion from this curry.”

He turned and took a gulp of milk, resting his back against the fridge as he did so.

“So, what keeps you up this time of night?”

He looked more closely at the book on the table.

“Nothing,” Vicky replied putting her arm across the book so he could not see it properly. “Just homework.”

“But you haven’t been to the school here yet. How can they give you homework?”

“It’s from my old school, Dad. Miss Warren said it would be good for me to do something over the summer.”

“Okay, but I don’t see any reason why you need to be doing it at midnight.”

“Well, I couldn’t sleep and I thought this would make me tired.”

“Hmmm,” muttered her dad before taking another sip of milk. “Why can’t you sleep?”

“I think you know why,” Vicky replied defensively.

“Let’s not start that again,” said her, dad rolling his eyes.

Vicky stared straight ahead and gritted her teeth.

Seeing this, he felt suddenly guilty. He knelt down next to her at the table.

“Look, I’m sorry Vicky. I know you were not sure about moving here but it will be great. Just think, you’ll be at your new school soon. You’ll have loads of new friends before you know it.”

“It’s not that easy, Dad.”

Sighing, he pushed himself up, too tired to go over the argument again.

“Let’s talk about it in the morning. Come on, time for bed.”

“I’ll be a few more minutes,” said Vicky still staring straight ahead.

“No Vicky, go to bed now.”

“But Dad,” Vicky protested.

“No buts. It’s past midnight.”

“But I’m nearly finished. I only need a few more minutes.”

“Then it won’t take you long to finish tomorrow. Now, go upstairs.”

Reluctantly she slipped off the chair and picked up the book.

“And you can leave the book here.”

“But I want to keep it with me.”

“I know you,” he replied. “You’ll just wake your brother up trying to read under the covers or something. Leave it here.”

Vicky hesitated. If she made more of a fuss her dad would only insist on looking at the book himself and then what?

“Okay.”

Vowing that she would come back down as soon as her dad was asleep she went to the nearest kitchen drawer and slipped the book inside. Closing the drawer shut she went past her dad and into the lounge.

Taking one last look round the kitchen her dad turned off the light and followed.

Climbing into bed Vicky lay still, listening to her dad moving around in the other bedroom across the small landing. Once everything was quiet she would wait a few minutes to make sure he was asleep and then go back downstairs. Fighting a yawn, she waited in the darkness, her brother’s breathing the only sound in the room. Unconsciously her hand closed around the key, its cool solidness reassuring. Passages from the book were replaying in her mind and she found herself wondering again just what it was that she had found. Who was the mysterious figure the man had mentioned? Could he really have killed the man’s brother or was that just coincidence? What was so important about the key? And what exactly had happened out on the moorland? As Vicky considered these questions a wave of tiredness washed over her and she yawned again. Before she knew it her eyes had closed and she had fallen into a deep sleep.


*****


Paul surrendered to Nicola’s kiss and then felt her body go limp as she fell into unconsciousness. He caught her gently and picked her up, one arm supporting her head and shoulders, the other under her knees, and like that he walked out of the alley and along the street. A couple was walking towards him and they glanced curiously at him as they passed. He met their gaze, their eyes dropping to the pavement, and then they were gone behind him.

He carried on, coming to the square which was now almost deserted. Following the edge of the square he came to a side street and he turned into it coming to a small hotel. Knocking on the door with his foot he saw the doorman, a thin teenage boy with several pimples, look up startled from behind the desk. Then recognition crossed his face and he came out and hurried towards the door unlocking it and opening it wide.

“Is everything alright sir, with the lady?”

“Sure, she’s just very tired,” replied Paul swinging his body so he could pass into the lobby.

“I’m glad you found her okay,” said the porter trying not to stare at Nicola. His eyes hid the several inquisitions that he knew he could not ask.

“Thanks,” said Paul. “Look, do you mind?” He nodded towards the lift.

The doorman looked confused for a moment, and then as he caught on grabbed the room key from a rack behind the desk and walked round to the lift to press the call button. The doors hissed slowly open and Paul stepped in, the doorman squeezing in behind him. As the doors slid shut the silence was immediate and uncomfortable.

With an alarming clang the lift jerked and then with more noise moved slowly upwards taking an almost unbearable time to travel two floors. Stopping with another jerk the doors slid open and the doorman stepped out waiting for Paul to follow. Walking down the corridor he went through a fire door and then turned left coming to room twenty-two. Unlocking the door he pushed it open and then stepped aside to allow Paul to pass through.

Paul laid Nicola gently on the bed before turning and pulling a twenty-pound note out of his pocket.

“Thanks,” said Paul offering the money, which the doorman discreetly took from his hands. “If anyone asks, you didn’t see her.”

He nodded.

“Of course, sir. Good night sir.”

Paul pushed the door closed as the doorman retreated back down the corridor, cutting out the light from the hallway. Letting out a deep breath he turned and leaned back against the door. In the darkness he could hear Nicola’s breathing and could make out her outline on the bed, her stomach slowly rising and falling with each breath.

Quietly he pushed himself from the wall and stepped to the bed to stand over her. He remained motionless for what seemed an eternity before his right hand slipped down into his coat pocket, his fingers curling around the hilt of the knife. His left hand traced the line of her face, feeling her smooth skin and the warmth of her breath on his fingers. In his mind he saw Gwen’s lifeless eyes staring back at him, her body crumpled over him, red blood staining the pure white of her clothing. Paul looked down at the knife now pressed against Nicola’s neck, the knife that he was holding in his own hand. He saw her pulse throbbing against the blade and she stirred, causing him to focus on her, on the present.

Paul ripped the knife away from her, his head spinning. What was this? What was he doing? For a moment he was back in the room with Myrkur, the man’s soft laugh ringing in his ears, his presence filling Paul’s mind. Paul shook his head, trying desperately to shake the vision from his consciousness. Slowly it dissipated into the darkness and he backed away from the bed, his heart hammering. He dropped the knife back in his pocket and stood there, his back pressed against the wall, eyes wide with fear. On the bed Nicola moaned softly and then was quiet, her breathing dropping back into a steady rhythm.

It was then that he sensed them coming, two disturbances, almost imperceptible. Still shaking he crossed the room and went over to the window, pulling the curtains aside a fraction. Outside the narrow street was empty, a letterbox section of the square just visible to the right. Opposite, darkened houses sat like empty tombs, devoid of light or movement. There, so subtle that anyone else would have missed it, a shadow flitted across the end of the street followed quickly by another.

The wolves were hunting her.