Tales From The Wyrd Museum 2: The Raven's Knot Read Online Free PDF Page A

trotted over to where Edie and her sister were sitting, then checked herself sharply and gazed at the circular dais in consternation.
    ‘But, the well!’ she gabbled in a flustered whine. ‘Such neglect. Ursula—what has happened? Why is nothing the same? First the loom was broken and now this!’
    Clambering up beside them, she feverishly dragged the dead moss away and Edie saw that the stone platform was embellished with a sumptuously moulded frieze overlaid in tarnished silver and small blue gems. But even as she admired the decoration, Miss Celandine's knobbly hands pulled away a great swathe of mouldering growth and there in the centre of the dais she uncovered a wide and precipitously deep hole.
    Over the brink Miss Celandine popped her head, casting handfuls of the dead lichen down into the darkness—waiting and listening for the resulting splashes. But no sound rose into the cavern and a look of comprehension slowly settled over the woman's wrinkled face.
    ‘I... I had forgotten,’ she whispered in a small, crestfallen voice. ‘The waters are gone, aren't they, Ursula? The well is dry, it is, isn't it?’
    Her sister nodded. ‘The sacred spring dried up many, many years ago,’ she said wearily, as if repeating this information was an hourly ritual. ‘And every last drop of the blessed water was drained fifty years ago in order to vanquish Belial.’
    ‘Oh, yes,’ Miss Celandine sighed in regret. ‘So we can never heal Nirinel's wounds. It makes me woefully sad to see it shrunken and spoiled. Oh, how lovely it was when we first arrived, how very, very lovely. Veronica, do you recall? Veronica?’
    She whirled about to look at the sister she had left by the gate, then gave a little yelp when she saw the expression on Miss Veronica's face.
    Resting heavily upon her cane, Miss Veronica was staring up at the tremendous root with a ferocious intensity that was alarming to witness. It had been an age since she had last been permitted to venture down here and now the sight of it was stirring up the muddied corners of her vague, rambling mind.
    ‘I see four white stags ahead of us,’ she uttered huskily, wiping a trembling hand over her brow and smearing the beauty cream which covered it.
    ‘I don't want to follow them,’ she wept, edging backwards. ‘Let me return, I must... I... there is something I have to do!’
    Lurching against the carved wall, Miss Veronica lifted her cane and waved wildly about her head as if trying to ward something away.
    ‘Urdr!’ she shrieked, staring at Miss Ursula with mounting panic. ‘Do not force me to go with you. I must go back—I am needed!’
    ‘Veronica!’ Miss Celandine called, hurrying back to her stricken sister. ‘You have nothing to fear. That time has ended. We are safe—you are safe.’
    Her sister's eyes grew round with terror and she threw her arms before her face. ‘Safe!’ she wailed hysterically. ‘We are old, ancient and haggard, accursed and afflicted from that very hour. Won't someone save me? The mist is rising. I beseech you—before it is too late. Please, I beg you my sister. Release me! Release me...’
    Her cries melted into sobs as she buried her anguished face into Miss Celandine's outstretched arms.
    ‘Hush,’ her sister comforted. ‘Come back, Veronica, it's over now—it is, it is.’ But as she soothed the crumpled, whimpering figure she shot a scornful glance at Miss Ursula.
    Still seated upon the edge of the well, Edie Dorkins watched the elderly woman at her side and was astonished to see the extent to which her sister's outburst had distressed her.
    Sitting stiff and as still as one of the stone images which swarmed over the walls, Miss Ursula's small, piercing eyes glistened with tears and Edie could sense her inner struggle as she battled to control her emotions.
    Then, mastering herself at last, Miss Ursula rose and, clenching her fists until they turned a horrible, bleached white, said, ‘Celandine, take Veronica back to