Year of Darkness - Part 4 - 1286 by Vivien Teasdale

 

The battered box was flung high up on the shingle, tipping over.  A shrill wail mixed feebly with the raging of the wind, but somehow Wymon heard it. He turned, searching for the source until another jagged flash of lightning showed the outline of the container. As the waves began to drag it back into the sea, Wymon stumbled forward, tripping over the debris littering the beach, but succeeded in grabbing the chest and heaving it up onto his shoulder.

 

In the slight shelter given by the harbour wall, he opened the lid. Staring down into the dark eyes of a newborn baby, he knew that his wife’s prayers had been answered.

 

****

 

‘You mustn’t go out, Erica. They say tonight will be the worst we have ever known.’

‘But I love the storms, Mother. The sounds, the sea in its rage; so powerful. Something in me stirs when I hear it, when the rain lashes down on my skin and the sky is lit with fire.’

‘Aye, your father always says you’re like the storm that brought you to us. But tonight is dangerous, girl. Go to your cot and rest. Tomorrow you will need all your strength.’

They exchanged glances, each thinking of the strange birthmark on Erica’s thigh; of how its puncture-like shape thickened and throbbed at certain times. It had become more and more painful as the girl grew to maturity.

 

Erica went to bed as she was told, but only until she knew her mother was asleep. Then she rose, donning her thickest tunic and boots. By the door, she added her cape, fastening it with the intricately formed brooch, found in the box when Wymon had rescued her. For a moment she turned back, staring round the little kitchen. Something was pulling her to stay, but something stronger was pulling her outside into the fury of the storm. She spun back to the door, slipping out and latching the door firmly behind her. Deep down she knew she would never see her mother again.

 

Just ten minutes later, she stood by the rough stone wall that enclosed the Priory, home to those dark-robed friars who constantly admonished her to cast down her eyes and keep her devil’s temptations from decent folk. Watching the way, the sea crashed against the shallow cliffs, against the cottages at the edge of the village, she felt a shudder of fear and excitement. The sky was black with Thor’s anger, as it had been for months past, day and night. Hel had risen up to rule over Earth now. Her mind wandered as she stared up at the dim glow of the full moon, until she felt she could see each stone of the harbour wall toppling, each piece of timber splintering as the buildings tumbled and slid into the sea. The Priory seemed to move, retreating from the horror. It was almost as if the whole of Dunwich was crumbling around her and beneath her feet the ground shook in terror.

 

‘So there you are.’ Tor’s voice cut into her reverie, jerking her back to the present. ‘I’ve been watching the tempest coming, too. What you saw will come to pass. We can make good use of it. Many will die.’

 

Erica felt her birthmark swelling, stinging against her clothes. Her head began to pound. Though she felt sick, she felt hungry too.

 

Tor laughed. ‘It is beginning. Come, it is time to run.’

 

They ran, hand in hand, through the streets, along the cliff, relishing the whipping of the wind and rain. They ran until they found a young man running too, running for safety. They ran him to his death instead.

 

‘Tor? Tor, where are you?’ Erica woke, shivering in the cold of the thin, morning light. Clothes were scattered around her.  Some torn, some blood spattered. Only her cloak remained intact, draped over a nearby rock, the bronze brooch still clinging to the thick felt. She dressed as best she could, pulling the cloak closely around her.

‘Tor?’ she called again, but there was no answer.

 

Dimly, she remembered the events of the previous night. Part of her was sickened, part exhilarated. Looking down from the dunes, she could just make out the remains of the cottages that had formed the eastern part of the town. She knew, without looking further, that the storm had destroyed her home. She understood also that she must move on, away from those who knew her. Before they realised what she was and what had fathered the child that she could feel was beginning to grow inside her.