Part 21 (1/2)
It was Brother Wilfrid.
”I have the stone and the book,” said the monk, his voice stronger than Sybil had heard it before.
”Then I'll take it from you as I did before,” cried Thorston, and he flung himself at the monk. Wilfrid met Thorston with equal force, the two coming together with a crush of bodies.
Feet braced among the grave markers, arms encircled around each other, they tried to hold their places in the mud even as they shuddered with exertion. Thorston strained to his fullest, his youthful muscles bulging as he struggled to hold the monk in his grip. Wilfrid shook with his own great effort. They stood trembling, locked in one another's grasp, caught in the tension of mutual strength.
Sybil, watching, held her breath.
Thorston's grip began to weaken. His fingers lost their hold. His legs sagged. ”Time!” cried Thorston, ”I must have Time!”
Abruptly, the monk threw his arms wide open. Thorston, no longer supported, fell. As he dropped, he tried to s.n.a.t.c.h at the monk to bring him down. With one blow, Wilfrid struck Thorston's hands away.
Thorston, on his hands and knees, turned to Sybil. The look upon his face was filled with dread and pain. He held out a shaking hand toward her. ”I'm dying,” he whimpered. ”Pity me. I only wanted to live.”
When a terrified Sybil made no move or reply, Thorston's begging hand dropped. He began to age, his body shrinking and shriveling rapidly. In a matter of moments he became old, older, older still, more ancient than he had ever been. His flesh loosened upon his bones. His muscles unhinged. His skin became a mottled blue and green and then turned to rot, collapsing. In moments, what had been a man became a mound of quivering flesh, fused into a foul lump of putrid muck, which quickly bled into the graveyard earth until not the slightest trace remained.
14.
Weak and sore, Sybil picked herself up from the mud. She looked around. Brother Wilfrid was standing still, not looking at her, but at the place on the ground where Thorston had been.
”Is ... is he gone?” she asked.
”He is. At last.”
”How did you know to come here?” she asked.
”The boy.”
”Is he all right?”
”He is.”
Sybil saw the book beneath his arm. ”Did he give you the book?”
”He did.”
”And Odo?”
”The raven? I don't know.”
”Do you have the stone?” asked Sybil.
”I took it,” said Wilfrid. ”I could not have resisted Thorston without. Time overwhelms all. Now I must return the book to where it belongs.”
”Where is that?”
”Saint Elfleda will guide me.”
”And then?”
”I shall have my rest.” That said, Wilfrid turned about and made his way out of the cemetery. As the fog wrapped around him, Sybil was sure she saw a white-clad figure by his side: Saint Elfleda. Now it was she who carried the Book Without Words.
15.
Sybil made her way into the church. Alfric was where she had left him, sitting before the altar. When he saw Sybil he jumped up. ”Brother Wilfrid came,” he cried.
”I know.”
”The stone,” he said. ”He took it. He said he would help you. Did he?”
”Yes.”
”Was I wrong to give it to him?”
”No, Alfric. Thorston is no more.”
”What happened?”
She told him.
”What about Odo?”
”We need to go back and find out.”
CHAPTER SIX.
1.
THE FIRST crowing of a c.o.c.k could be heard as Sybil and Alfric made their way back to the old house on Clutterbuck Lane. They went the same way they had come, along the outside of the old city wall. When they reached the house, they found a hole. crowing of a c.o.c.k could be heard as Sybil and Alfric made their way back to the old house on Clutterbuck Lane. They went the same way they had come, along the outside of the old city wall. When they reached the house, they found a hole.