Hiraeth: Book II in the Podwitch Sequence

By N J Poulton

"It's cleverly written, and draws heavily on the fascinating history and famous landmarks of London. Fans of the Harry Potter books will really enjoy this."  - Amazon Review for Podwitch  
London has become a place of riots and anger, driven by the influence of shadow creatures known as the Severals. England’s Aldhelm, Jeb Wainwright, the guardian of something old and very powerful, asks his sixteen-year-old son, Cal, to undertake a journey to find help. But is that the whole truth? Or is there something Jeb isn’t telling Cal? 
Cal is about to face his biggest test yet. And, as he has not spoken to his ferocious best friend Janey in three years, he may have to face that test alone. 
Unless he can forgive her.  

"This book is a masterpiece of fantasy writing."  - Amazon Review for Podwitch

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Release date: Aug 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9781800469792

N J Poulton

N J Poulton has spent his career working in television production, including roles at Sky and the BBC. He has always been an avid reader of fiction across all genres, but particularly stories where fantastical worlds overlap our own. He lives in Oxfordshire, with his wife and son, and their cat and dog, and frequently wishes there were more hours in the day. www.njpoulton.co.uk. 

Book preview

Prologue

Yekaterinburg

Russia July 1918

The princess had never run further in her life, and yet the sound of gunshots still rang loudly in her ears. Her soft leather boots were in tatters, leaving her feet bloodied and bruised. Twigs and brambles snatched at her hair and clothes, as if trying to stop her, but she brushed them away. Nothing would stop her.

She had no idea where her rescuer was leading her, but her eyes never left his back. Kamenev was young, and quite handsome in his way. In recent weeks, she had looked forward to seeing him around the house. With little to do, she had often wished they could spend time alone together. But she had mentioned nothing of this to her sisters or her brother. Never spoken of it to anyone. Not after her father had forbidden it.

‘Kamenev is here to help us, but the others must not know, Ana,’ he had said. ‘This is just between you and I.’

‘Not even Mama?’ she asked.

‘Not even your mother.’

After that, the princess had often acted as a go-between for her father and Kamenev, passing notes from one to the other when the coast was clear.

‘My little spy,’ her father had joked once, winking at her.

*

Ipatiev House made noises at night, especially in the colder spring months. The clangs of pipes and thuds of settling wood had often kept her awake, along with the dull booms of distant artillery that seemed to draw ever closer.

But there had been no mistaking the sound of

heavy-booted footsteps in the early hours. After all, those responsible had not cared about shielding their approach.

Woken quickly, the royal family had been led downstairs. The princess and her sisters barely had time to strap on the underclothes they had carefully made to hide their jewellery.

Her sisters. Her brother.

She faltered and stopped in her tracks as her eyes grew hot.

An involuntary cry left her lips before she found herself sobbing uncontrollably. Dropping to her knees, gasping for breath, she tugged at her hair. They had killed them. All of them. They had wanted to kill her too, and would have done, if not for Kamenev.

A hand covered her mouth and she was hauled up in a tight embrace. It felt violent at first, and then tender.

‘You mustn’t, Ana,’ he said, his lips almost brushing against her ear. ‘There is no time.’

She buried her face in his shirt. Its material was coarse and scratched her cheek. So different from the silks and velvets she had known in the palaces of Moscow and St Petersburg.

He stroked her hair, uncertain at first. As her body relaxed, he continued.

‘We are almost there. But must keep moving or they could intercept us.’

‘Bolsheviks?’ she asked.

‘No, not them.’

Standing in silence, she leaned against him.

‘You are the one, aren’t you? Papa called you the Strazha.’

‘Yes.’

‘When you first came to the house, I noticed that you and Papa recognised each other, even though you were careful.’

‘I love your…’ he hesitated. ‘… loved your father. And did what I could to save him.’ He pulled back and looked at her, trying to take in her face in the gloom. ‘He always said that you had perception beyond your years.’

The compliment made her feel nice. Nicer than she had felt in a long time. She smiled sadly.

‘That is a good thing,’ he continued. ‘You will need it.’

The hush of the forest was broken by a distant howl.

The princess shivered. ‘Wolves.’

‘Don’t worry, they are far from here,’ Kamenev whispered. ‘But we have to go.’

As he spoke, purple-tinged light began to permeate the clearing. Dull at first, it grew quickly stronger. The girl’s eyes widened as he reached inside his shirt and pulled out a chain, at the end of which hung a small orb, glowing brightly.

‘They’re close.’ The Strazha’s voice was urgent and he took her hand in his. ‘Do not let go. Whatever happens.’

She nodded.

They were away, running even faster than before, despite the miles they had already covered. With every step, the orb grew brighter, lighting up pine trees about them as it was tossed around in the Strazha’s grip.

The princess became aware of something hovering at the edge of the light. Or some things. They weren’t static, like the trees, but appeared to move. She blinked and rubbed her tired eyes.

‘The Teni are here,’ Kamenev called over his shoulder. ‘Do not look at them.’

He scoured the forest ahead as the sound of snorting grew in the trees around them. They were being surrounded.

And suddenly they burst into a clearing where no trees grew. At its centre was a low concrete square, with a metal grille in its surface, hinged on one side. Kamenev knelt by it and placed his hand on the metal.

‘What is it?’ asked the girl.

‘Mineshaft. A gateway.’

Purple light filled the clearing, making it easier to see the immediate space. The floor was a soft bed of moss.

Leaving Kamenev by the grille, the princess stepped towards the clearing’s edge. Tree trunks, the uneven grooves and knots in their bark highlighted in purple, stood proud of the darkness behind. She peered beyond them, unsure of what she had seen during their flight. It was almost impossible to distinguish much outside the clearing, but somehow she could discern movement, constant and restless. Turning in a slow circle, she took in the ring of darkness about them. The Teni were there, just out of reach. Their snorting was growing louder, building to a low hiss.

‘Strazha?’ she called as loudly as she dared.

He didn’t react but remained kneeling by the shaft, mumbling to himself, the orb in his hand.

It was then that a man stepped out from the trees, directly in front of her, so close she jumped. Stopping just short of the light, he let her see him against the darkness.

It was the monk.

‘Ana,’ he said, smiling. ‘It is good to see you.’

His hair hung well below his shoulders, and his beard had grown. Both were matted and dirty. His long robe, stained and torn, was tied at the waist with a thick leather belt, and ended just above the top of his knee-length leather boots, which were encrusted with mud. His skin was lined and papery, and his cheeks sunken. Those eyes were just as she remembered them; without colour and cruel.

For so long, she had thought of all the things she would like to say to him, all the hatred she wanted to spew forth. But now, facing him, she was lost for words.

‘Let me firstly offer you my condolences,’ the monk continued. ‘What happened tonight is a terrible thing. I was fond of your father. Your mother and I were closer than anyone could possibly understand. Of all the women I have met and spent time with, she was the finest, and most beguiling. As for your dear siblings, I loved them as if they were my own, especially your brother.’

The edges of his mouth twitched.

‘You are nothing but a monster,’ the princess hissed. ‘And we all knew it in the end.’

The monk put a hand to his heart. ‘Ana, your words hurt me. Why do you say this?’

Beyond him, the Teni were moving quickly. Their agitation was growing.

‘Stand back, Ana.’ Kamenev stepped in front of her, the Podlight forcing the monk back behind the treeline. ‘It’s too late, Nephilim.’

The monk smiled. ‘For someone who has failed so spectacularly, you remain quite the optimist. But there is nothing you can do to prevent what must take place.’

‘You may have brought Russia to its knees,’ Kamenev responded, ‘but I will not allow you to take her, not while my heart still beats.’

The monk threw back his head and laughed as the Teni throbbed behind him.

‘There is nothing you can do to stop me, Kamenev. Tuman podnimayetsya.’

‘Mist rises. What does he mean?’ the princess asked quietly.

‘Your naïvety is astounding,’ sneered the monk. ‘What do you think has been happening over the last decade? The world at war and millions dead is just the beginning. There is much more fun yet to be had.’

He turned his gaze to Kamenev.

‘Strazha, you and I have waltzed together these past few years and what a dance it has been. What a pity our time is almost over.’

The Teni surged forward, throbbing wildly. The monk giggled as they swarmed over him, his arms outstretched.

‘Make your way to the shaft, while he’s distracted,’ Kamenev whispered, leaning back to the princess.

‘But what if he notices, and, what about… them?’

‘Neither the Nephilim nor the Teni can touch us while we are protected by the Podlight.’

‘And then?’

‘Then we climb, and we hide. For as long as we need to.’

‘Will it be safe?’

‘Safer than out here. Now go.’

The princess turned and stumbled towards the concrete square. The metal grille was open and propped up on one side. A ladder descended the shaft, disappearing from view. She grabbed it and lowered herself down.

She was almost below the level of the opening when a scream pierced the night air.

Kamenev was running towards her across the clearing. After him came the monk, outside the reach of the purple light, but only just. His was a look of pure rage.

‘Ana,’ Kamenev said as he reached her, ‘you must take the Pod and go.’

As he reached for the clasp on the necklace and took it from around his neck, his hands shook.

‘What about you?’

‘Getting you here is beyond anything I felt possible just days ago. You have to go on alone. The Pod is yours, by right.’

She glanced at the little orb he held out to her.

‘Mine?’

‘Yes. You must take it to the Labyrinth. They cannot follow you there. But hide, please hide.’

He removed his canvas sack, passing the strap over her head.

The monk was speaking in strange riddles now, striding forward. Behind him, the Teni swarmed, trying to find a chink in the light.

‘In this bag is food and water,’ continued Kamenev, ‘but more importantly, it contains a book. You must read it. It will tell you all you need to know.’

‘But—’

‘But nothing, Ana. Go now, for the sake of your family, Russia and the world.’

Tears trickled down her face.

‘Kamenev, I’m scared.’

‘You cannot be. The Strazha must be strong. You need to be strong now. Do you understand?’

As she nodded, something small dashed out of the trees and leapt up at Kamenev, landing softly on his shoulders. A cat, wiry and covered in thick grey fur, nuzzled his cheek.

‘Veter,’ said Kamenev, reaching up to it tenderly. ‘You are just in time.’

The cat purred; its eyes golden in the gloom.

‘Strazha,’ the princess said. ‘What is your first name?’

‘Victor,’ he replied.

She wiped a hand across her eyes. ‘Thank you, Victor.’

He smiled at her grimly. ‘Serving you has been the greatest honour of my life, Ana. Now go. Please.’

He swung the grille shut and it clattered into place. Speaking under his breath, he handed the Pod down to her.

The princess grabbed it, looping it over her head and around her neck. As the purple light shone even brighter, her eyes widened. Looking up, she noticed that Victor Kamenev had gone. A moment later, a cry split the night before falling abruptly silent.

Beyond the metal bars, stars twinkled in the heavens. She watched as they disappeared, erased by the Teni, who were swarming over the grille, obscuring any view of the sky above.

Cocooned in purple light, the princess descended as quickly as she could. She did not look up again.

Part One

SOMETIME SOON

One

Oracle

Jeb Wainwright’s funeral took place on a Wednesday. The weather was cold and it rained, but his son Cal didn’t care; it helped to hide what tears he had left.

The Severals had kept their distance, as if respecting the passing of the Aldhelm. Cal knew that wasn’t really the case. They had simply chosen to do damage elsewhere, while he mourned. It was just a matter of time.

Gripping the Pod in his pocket, he willed it to give him a sign, to comfort him. But it was neither hot nor cold. Indifferent.

Janey squeezed his hand. Cal knew Jeb’s passing had hit her hard too, but she had stayed strong for him. He glanced across and wished he hadn’t. Her face was pale and wet, and snot was running from her nose, betraying the grief she had worked so hard to conceal.

Twilight lay next to the headstone. Cal had barely seen her since Jeb’s death. He wanted to help, to take her back to Podwitch, but she wouldn’t let him near and refused to leave the graveyard. She looked unwell. Her coat was dull and unkempt, and patches of her fur were thin. Cal didn’t know how much time she had left. He wasn’t sure how it worked.

‘Cal… Cal?’ Janey was looking at him, wiping away her tears.

‘What?’

‘You need to do something. What’s happened isn’t right. You need to deal with it now. You can’t keep waiting.’

Her words blended into one another and Cal struggled to make them out. How dare she challenge him. Today of all days. Couldn’t she give him a break?

He was about to tell her to back off when a sudden movement over her shoulder caught his eye. In the distance, just beyond the graveyard gates. He raised a hand in warning and she fell silent. Instinctively, he grabbed the Pod.

Three Severals eased through the cemetery gates, moving swiftly between the headstones. Coming directly for them.

Cal pushed Janey.

‘Run!’

Janey didn’t hesitate, and sprinted away to his left. Cal ran in the opposite direction, stumbling between graves. Glancing backwards to see how many Severals he had managed to distract, he gasped as he realised all three were still pursuing Janey. Their excited snorts indicated they had caught her scent as they skimmed the ground, bearing down on her quickly.

‘No!’ he shouted. But it was pointless; they could neither hear, nor see.

He tripped over a freshly dug grave and fell headlong onto the grass. Briefly stunned, he raised his head and watched as the Severals clawed at Janey, grabbing hold of her arms and legs. One tugged her hair, yanking her face upwards. She screamed as it plunged its arm down her throat, choking her cries. Her body convulsed and went limp.

‘Janey,’ Cal cried out. ‘JANEY!’

*

Cal woke, his heart racing. He sat up quickly, hitting his head on a haunch of venison hanging from the ceiling. He swore, holding his hand to the egg that had already started to emerge on his forehead. He reached for the wick of the oil lamp and turned it, bathing the cabin in yellow. Relief increased with the light. He sighed and steadied his breathing.

Two

Stars Will Appear

Anne-Marie Legard crouched behind a low wall that flanked the riverfront close to Notre-Dame. It was set back behind a long wooden jetty, at which riverboats were moored. Not yet dawn, a diamond-encrusted sky reigned. The Baudouin’s breath plumed and she shivered. It had been a long, cold wait.

Despite noticing a small group of moving shadows

at the end of the street when she left her apartment, Anne-Marie had not seen the Severals, or les Ombres, as she knew them in her native tongue, on her short journey to the Seine. Their absence made her nervous.

Behind her, the ancient cathedral wore the scars of its burning. Although proud of its heritage and history, and devastated by what had happened, she was uncomfortable that the struggles of others had been largely ignored. Countless instances of sinister attacks on mosques, synagogues and churches across the city had happened, but few had heard of them; they had been deemed too insignificant to be newsworthy. All were symptoms of the Severals’ twisted influence though, she thought bitterly to herself.

Resentment often rose in her at the unfairness of things, but she recognised the importance of controlling such feelings, especially considering her responsibilities.

Squatting next to her Chattan, Sabre, arms wrapped tightly around herself, Anne-Marie surveyed the night sky, gaining comfort from the shimmering starlight. There was a symmetry between stars and Guardians, she believed, with each offering hope against different types of darkness. As her thoughts roamed the pinpricks of light, she found herself recalling a memory.

She had been young, perhaps no more than five years old, the first time her father had taken her on one of his mysterious night-time outings. He had woken her gently in the early hours and carried her from her bed to the back of a large car that was waiting for them in the street. Its seats were made of leather, and it had a strange odour, musty with a hint of polish. The smell came to her as the recollection grew, and she clung to it, using it to help her unravel the strands of memory that lingered in her mind.

As a child, she was terrified of the dark and had crouched down under a blanket in the back seat, sniffling as the car navigated the streets of Paris. Her father had apologised for waking her, but said it was of the utmost importance and could not be avoided. He held her close, stroking her hair and speaking gently, telling her stories, reciting poetry, anything to comfort her. It was then that he said something that had never left her.

‘Chérie,’ he had said gently, ‘ne perds jamais espoir. Lorsque le soleil se couche, les étoiles apparraissent.’

Anne-Marie spoke the words out loud as she sat by the jetty at Notre-Dame. ‘Never lose hope. When the sun goes down, the stars will appear.’

Reciting them was like wrapping a soft blanket around her as the associated memories of that long-ago night flooded back. Of how they had left Paris behind them and travelled far into the countryside.

Three

Drifting

Cal glanced at his watch. It was three o’clock in the morning. The same dream again. At the same time.

The rumble of engines, combined with the tilt of the boat, first one way then the other, beat a slow and familiar rhythm. He pulled a blanket over his shoulders and shuffled to the door, opened it and stepped out. Almost immediately he was buffeted as a figure scurried past.

‘Master Wainwright,’ grunted the passer-by in greeting. Cal thought it was a woman, but he couldn’t really tell. Sometimes it was difficult with river pirates.

The corridor smelt of fish and pipe smoke, and something else, something bad. Cal tried not to think about it. Of all the things on the boat, the odour was the worst. From unwashed bodies to overflowing slop buckets, he would never get used to it.

Hooks and chains hung from the ceiling, and roughly woven baskets sat in puddles of water along the corridor. Jaws of sea creatures, bleached white, lined the walls. At the end, a human skull sat between two candle sconces. Only one was lit. He moved past it, climbing the stairs.

Emerging onto the deck, Cal hit a wall of icy air. He glanced at the watch portal and thought of Mathilde up there, alone. Next to him, an oil drum was propped above a small fire, its contents bubbling. Smoke belched from the funnel at the centre of the boat. He tightened the blanket around his shoulders.

Standing at the rail towards the bow was a man. He was bent over under the weight of a giant hunchback. Tattoos covered the back of his bald head, and a large sword hung at his side. Cal approached and stood alongside him, staring out at the view. The outline of an iceberg, silhouetted by moonlight, floated in the distance.

‘Can’t sleep?’ asked Baron.

‘No,’ answered Cal.

‘Same dream?’

‘Same nightmare. Yes.’

There was a pause.

‘It don’t mean nothing, Cal. Your dad’ll be fine, I reckon.’

Cal thought carefully before he responded, weighing up the risk.

‘What do you care?’ he said, and turned away.

‘Wait!’ growled Baron. His single eye flashed in anger.

Cal hesitated.

‘While you’re a guest on my ship, you’ll show me respect. If you know what’s good for you.’

Attempting a smile, Baron continued in the softest voice he could manage. ‘Look, it’s not my fault, is it? We need to stay tight, you and me. So, let’s just try and get along. Okay?’

Cal felt the cold and shivered. He nodded and made for the door.

Darting across the deck to intercept him, Twilight leapt up onto his shoulders and nuzzled his cheek. Cal raised a hand to the Chattan and stroked her.

‘Thanks, Twilight,’ he said, ‘but I need some space.’

He placed her on the deck and headed through the door. Twilight mewed quietly and lay down, curling into a ball to shield herself against the chill.

Baron, watching the exchange, frowned.

Four

Memories Of Night

Anne-Marie recalled how the headlights of the car swept first over city streets before, eventually, leaf-clad lanes. She had repeated her father’s words over and over again, considering their meaning as he had become lost in thought on the seat next to her. Staring at the sky through the window, she eventually started to feel much better.

She watched as they drew up next to a deserted barn, nestled amongst fields. Dairy cows grazed in a meadow on the opposite side of the lane and a large stone cross stood at a parting in the road a little further ahead. Other than that, there was nothing but trees and the outline of distant hills. The driver of the vehicle sat with his back to her, not speaking, as he had done for the whole journey. He was separated from her by a small glass window; its handle suggested it could be opened. Anne-Marie considered trying it but contented herself that it was something she