The Infernal Aether (First Draft)

Chapter 33 - A Hopeless Plea

The small boat bobbed beneath us as we rounded the cliff and entered the estuary. "Welcome to Scotland," grinned the man at the helm.

I looked around. Mist clung to every scrap of land and sea, such that I feared we had accidentally found ourselves back in the Aether. Or maybe the Aether was taking over our world; certainly we had witnessed enough strange happenings to throw into confusion any concept of our world which we had hitherto clung to. As well as the strange forms and sounds abroad at night, our dreams had taken on an increasingly disturbed quality, as though everything were one long nightmare. Matters did not improve even once we managed to charter a boat at Cockermouth; vast, beastly forms had shadowed our passage as we made our way up the River Derwent and out into the Irish Sea, visions from the saltiest sea dog's tales.

"There it is again," said Kate, pointing behind us and out to sea at a shadowy, faintly glowing form which loomed below the horizon.

"It really does look like a Galleon from Tudor times," I said.

"Prob'ly is," said the helmsman. "Legend says the Spanish Armada still sails these waters, in search of English blood to spill."

"I would say that that is not possible," I said. "But I think I have lost all sense of what is possible and what is not." With one last push on the oars we bumped into the deserted, makeshift jetty. While the helmsman secured the boat in place I looked over Maxwell's shoulder. "So where now?"

He pointed at the map spread over his knees. "I believe we are here. My estimates placed the centre of the Sensor's readings somewhere around there, so we should head for that spot."

"What do you think? Half a day's walk?"

"Probably. We could be there by late afternoon; although if there is nothing there then we may have a problem."

"Meaning?"

"If we cannot find shelter, then we would be at the mercy of all the creatures that seem to infest the night." As one, we shuddered. That was not a prospect any of us relished.

The helmsman glanced at the map. "If you're going there, you're as good as dead anyway. Them's haunted lands."

"Really?" said Maxwell. "Precisely here?" He pointed at the epicentre of his circle.

"Pretty much."

He grinned at us. "Then I believe our luck has finally turned."

* * *

"You have a very bizarre concept of luck," I noted as we trudged through the mud, rain lashing at our faces.

"Is that it?" asked Kate, pointing at a hut in the middle of the valley.

"It is the only place he could be for miles around here," said Maxwell. "If nothing else it would be a good place to sit out this storm, not to mention somewhere to rest for the night." This double benefit brooked no argument and we pressed on with renewed vigour. There was little doubt in our minds, after all that we had seen and heard over the past week or so, that being out of doors once the sun was down was a sure way to lose one's sanity or even life.

We reached the door to the hut and stood outside, wondering what to do next. Finally Kate shook her head and banged on the door.

"Go away!" shouted a voice from within.

Maxwell and I started to turn away without thinking. Kate glared at us, pushed open the door and marched inside. After a moment's hesitation, we followed her in.

The hut may have once been a homely little cottage, but such past glories were well hidden behind a facade which was well worn, if not downright neglected. The remains of furniture were scattered around the room, while the walls appeared to be only a few days away from caving in completely. The room was sparsely illuminated by a meagre fire spluttering within a broken down fireplace against the far wall. In the midst of this decay sat a huddled mass which wore N'yotsu's face.