Simon Green - Spirits from Beyond

“But all the Druid priests, and the people responsible for your death. . they’re all long gone,” said Melody.

The blonde woman shrugged again. “It’s a lot easier to start something than it is to stop it. Revenge, like love, is blind. It wants what it wants.”

“What’s your name?” said JC, as kindly as he could.

“I don’t remember,” said the blonde woman. “That woman is gone, long gone. It doesn’t matter. It’s not as if I’m real. I’m only a small part of something much bigger. I’ve been here so long, held in this place, that I had to give up most of my memories to survive.”

“Are you a part of the storm, or is it the other way around?” said Happy. “It sounds like a living thing.”

“We’re. . connected,” said the blonde woman. “I’m the rage that drives the storm on; but it isn’t just a storm any longer. Hasn’t been for centuries. It took what it needed from me, to keep it strong. But. . I have no control over it. I’m only a part of this. . the part that has watched over this inn, and these people, and this town for so long. . that I have formed a fondness for them. This small part doesn’t want to see them all die. But that’s me speaking. Only a very small part of what’s happening.”

“What do you want with us?” Melody said bluntly.

“I would have thought that was obvious,” said the woman. “I want you to stop me. Stop the storm from returning and destroying everything. The storm is so big now, I think it could drown the whole world without getting tired. By removing the layers of ghosts and traps and Things from Outside from the King’s Arms, you’ve managed to remove some of the barriers that kept the storm out.”

“How do we stop it?” said JC.

“You don’t understand,” said the blonde woman. “I’m only the small rational part that’s left. My rage has taken on a power of its own. It drives the storm on. It is the storm. I have no control over it. That’s why I need you. I can speak to you, warn you, but that’s all. The greater part of me still wants its revenge, denied for centuries. All I can say to you is: remember what Brook told you, about the oldest part of the inn. Remember its significance.”

She’d barely finished speaking when a great bolt of lightning slammed down from the circling storm overhead. It grounded itself through the blonde woman, pinning her in place, like an iron spike to a tree-trunk. She faded away, becoming a ghost image of herself. The lightning bolt snapped off, and the faintly glowing human shape rose into the air and was pulled away backwards, faster and faster. The last expression JC could make out on her face was a terrible resignation. The figure flew across the clearing, still rising into the air, until it slammed into the massive curving chest of the Wicker Man and was absorbed.

They could all see her for a moment, looking out through the wicker bars of her cage, a prisoner in the Wicker Man along with all the other dead sacrificial victims. And then she faded slowly away, lost among all the other ghost candles.

The huge Wicker Man creaked loudly as its great blocky head slowly turned to look down on the Ghost Finders. Its whole enormous structure stretched and groaned, as the Wicker Man raised its great green arm, wooden fingers slowly clenching into a jagged fist. The Wicker Man was alive.

“Look on the bright side,” said Happy. “At least it isn’t on fire.”

Two dark yellow flames appeared, burning fiercely in the blank face-fiery eyes for the Wicker Man to see them with.

JC glared at Happy. “You had to say it, didn’t you?”

They all scattered, as the giant Wicker Man surged forward, its huge bulk moving with impossible speed. The massive wooden fist came sweeping down and hammered onto the bare ground with such force that the earth split open from one end of the clearing to the other. All of the Ghost Finders were sent sprawling. They heaved themselves back onto their feet again, and JC yelled for everyone to run in different directions, so the Wicker Man would find it harder to target them. But Kim stuck by his side, refusing to leave him, and Happy and Melody wouldn’t be separated. They did move quickly away from JC and Kim, as the Wicker Man raised its terrible hand again, glaring down with its flaming eyes. And then it stepped forward on its great stocky legs, making the ground jump and dance as it strode forward to stand between the Ghost Finders and the King’s Arms.

Melody produced her machine-pistol and opened fire. Cursed and blessed ammunition stitched long ragged rows of holes across the wide chest, blasting the green threads apart; but the Wicker Man didn’t even shudder under the impact. Melody kept on firing anyway, raking the head and chest until she ran out of bullets. She lowered her gun, breathing hard, and looked at Happy.

“I can’t reach it!” he said, his hands clenched into desperate fists. “I’m not even sure there’s anything in there to be reached! It’s not a living thing, it’s a construct! A memory of the Past given shape and form and malice by the local power source! JC! Tell me what to do!”

“To start with, keep its attention!” said JC. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Whatever this idea is, I love it!” Happy said immediately. “You have my full and total support! Go ahead and-Oh bloody hell, it’s moving again!”

The Wicker Man stooped forward, bending right over, its massive hands opening as they reached out to grab the Ghost Finders. Its huge feet stamped down hard as it moved, so that the bare earth jumped under JC’s feet as he ran for his life, Kim hovering at his side. Melody and Happy ran in the opposite direction, trying to distract the Wicker Man. The great jagged hands swept back and forth but couldn’t find anything. JC couldn’t help noticing that the Wicker Man’s movements were becoming more supple, more sure. As though it was leaning how to move, how to be alive. He stopped where he was, took a deep breath, and concentrated. Kim hovered at his side, smiling bravely, trying to be supportive. JC put his head back and addressed the heavens, trying very hard not to look at the storm circling overhead.

“Move, JC!” yelled Melody. “It’s coming your way!”

“I am calling for help!” said JC. “You said it was no coincidence that we were sent here; and I think you’re right. We’re here because of our experiences with old Druid ways, down in London Undertowen, and because we’re the only ones who can stop this. Because we have a trump card. Before the old god Lud left this reality, he said he owed us one last favour; and I’m thinking this is the time to call it in. So, Lud! Are you listening? We need your help, right now!”

“No need to shout,” said Lud. “I’m dead, not deaf. And I’ve been waiting for your call.”

He stood towering above them, facing off against the giant Wicker Man, who seemed frozen in place. If JC hadn’t known better, he’d have said it was shocked. The Wicker Man was huge; but Lud was massive. A great old god from when the land was young, Lud stood a hundred feet tall and more, looming over the Wicker Man; and he didn’t look like a fossilised statue any more. His dark, leathery skin gleamed with vitality, and his huge, horned head rose grandly into the night sky. His eyes glowed with the same golden gleam as JC’s. Lud looked down and smiled slowly, showing huge, blocky teeth.

“I knew you’d need me here, for this one last unfinished thing from my Time. Go to the inn. Do what needs to be done. And I will buy you some time.”

He strode forward and grabbed hold of the Wicker Man with his great clawed hands. The Wicker Man grabbed onto the god, and the two huge figures struggled together, staggering back and forth across the clearing, striking at each other with terrible blows that could have toppled hills. Lud was bigger and stronger, but every time he tore into the Wicker Man, its dark green body stitched itself back together again. They swayed back and forth, their great feet stamping on the bare earth with such force they cracked it apart. The old god Lud struck down the Wicker Man with savage force; but it always rose again, re-formed and remade by the power of the storm circling above it.