Dark Waters of Hagwood (The Hagwood Trilogy Book 2) by Robin Jarvis

Author:Robin Jarvis [Jarvis, Robin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781453295243
Publisher: Open Road Media Teen & Tween
Published: 2013-06-04T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12 *

TO THE CRONE'S MAW

GRIMDITCH STUMBLED BACKWARD AND SAT down with a bump.

“The old skin swapper is slain?” he sniveled. “Deaded? Proper killed?”

Gamaliel could only nod in answer. He had never imagined anything could happen to Yoori Mattock.

What was he to do? He was too stunned to take it in.

All the malice and the horror of the elfin graves were forgotten, and the young werling boy shook his head slowly.

“Mr. Mattock,” he called softly. “Yoori.” And he closed his eyes to blot out the awful sight.

Grimditch’s matted beard was dripping with tears, and his bogle’s heart felt a loss as great as when the farmer and his wife were killed all those years ago.

But they could delay no longer.

The evil forces dwelling in that place had not been placated—they still ached for the golden key in Gamaliel’s wergle pouch. The roots of the trees that had tried to catch them withdrew back into the ground, and a hush more ominous and menacing than their frenzied clamor descended.

The hackles rose on the barn bogle’s neck, and then the sound of ripping turf and crashing soil broke into his grief.

Fearfully, he turned to see that the other mounds were splitting open, but his rolling eyes could not believe what happened next.

Rising from the rubble were shapes—horrific figures of death. From the disgorged earth they freed themselves, skeletal hands clawing away the clods and clay of the tomb as they stole forward.

Grimditch jumped up and hopped in front of Gamaliel so that the boy should not see.

“Must go! Must go!” he cried. “Quick, quick!”

Gamaliel looked up at him as one in a dream. “How can I?” he asked.

The bogle’s eyes rolled more feverishly than usual. Behind the boy a breath of stale tomb air was blowing across the high wall of rubble. The tattered cloth that clung to the bones fluttered, and the barn bogle thought he saw one of the exposed ribs tremble and quiver.

“You must!” Grimditch insisted in a shrill voice. And he hauled Gamaliel to his feet. “Do not forget your other friends; to cave and grot we must race—before candle sprite gnashes them to mince and breakfast dainties.”

“But Mr. Mattock!” the werling protested. “I’m not leaving him here in this foul place!”

The bogle tore at his beard and danced up and down. The advancing horrors were surely closing upon them. Grimditch was beside himself with despair at the sight of those terrifying figures, but Gamaliel had not seen them yet.

Seizing hold of Gamaliel’s jerkin, Grimditch spun him around and pushed him toward the mound of rubble that blocked the way.

“Climb!” he squealed. “Up and up, do not look back, not never. Use your eyes for finding sure footing. Go! Grimditch will carry the old one. He no lie in haunted hated spot.”

Gamaliel did as the bogle bid him. Scrambling up the slope, he avoided the elfin bones embedded in the dirt and, by refusing to even look at them, did not see the slight movements the ancient remains were making.

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