The Templar's Curse Sarwat Chadda (top books of all time TXT) 📖

How could he be this heavy? Her arms were being pulled from their sockets. He needed to do something because her hold wasn’t going to last more than a few more seconds. “Climb up, Faustus!”

He must have heard the near-panic in her voice because a second later his free hand was back up on the ledge, his fingers pushing into the stone. Billi pressed her forehead into the rock and concentrated on nothing but her hold on Faustus’s arm.

He swung side to side, and Billi almost let go. Then Faustus got his free hand up on the ledge and then, miraculously, swung his leg up, hooking his foot onto the surface and Billi grabbed his leg. They huffed and wheezed but a moment later Faustus rolled up and collapsed beside her.

“What… took… you?” Billi asked between gasps.

“I was admiring the view.”

It was a poor joke but that’s what they needed right now. It was easy to be crushed by the weight of their responsibility so they needed to laugh, even if it was more a sob. One moment of levity against the encroaching darkness. You needed to look into the void sometimes, and laugh.

Faustus was still holding her hand and they lay as close as lovers, their faces turned to each other, noses almost touching.

A wicked smile crossed Faustus’s lips. “This is cosy.”

“No, it ain’t. Get up.”

That smile wasn’t going anywhere. “No snuggles?”

“You’re feeling hysterical, Faustus. A near-death experience has you desperate for some life-affirming contact. It happens. You know what’s best for that?”

Wow, he was looking thrilled. “You think there’s room? I’m happy to give —”

“Buy yourself a dog.” And with that Billi sat herself up, reluctantly, but they still had places to go. Like another thirty metres up.

She tried not to dwell too much on what still lay ahead. Reggie FitzRoy was running the show now and he was on a deadline. The guy had been a ruthless bastard in life and he wasn’t going to have mellowed after spending a few generations in Hell. He wanted to be back into the real, mortal world and would sacrifice, literally, anyone and anything to stay here, permanently, in the body of Ivan Tsarevich Romanov.

And Ivan? What would happen to his soul? Nothing good.

Faustus was up and leaning against the cliff face, trying not to look down. He was breathing slowly, deeply, getting a hold on his fear. He met her gaze. “Why aren’t you scared?”

“I’m terrified. But the longer we wait, the worse it’ll get.” Billi searched out the first handholds. “We’re almost there. Just stick with the plan and we’ll be having tea and cakes tomorrow morning. Job done.”

“You promise?” Faustus couldn’t quite hide the little-boy tremble in his question. He wasn’t like the others she’d worked with. He would never have made it as a Templar and, once, that would have been enough for her to dismiss him. But he didn’t need to be here. She wasn’t so naïve not to realise he was here for her. He wanted to keep her safe. The very least she could do was return the favour.

“Yeah. I do. We’re gonna get through this Faustus. Whatever it takes. Alright?”

He nodded and she started climbing.

She almost cheered when she saw it, a cleft in the cliff face. It was further around over the water, you couldn’t see it from the land, but it looked like it went all the way up. She shuffled sideways, scanning ahead. Just some seagull nests in the way but then the climb would ease up.

The cleft was a huge vertical crack that had split the cliff from top all the way down to the tumultuous sea frothing below. It also kept them out of the wind. Faustus sighed as he joined her on a ledge. “It’s practically a ladder.”

He was right. Broken ledges, boulders and slivers of granite filled the crack and all those jagged edges meant handholds and foot-rests.

Then Faustus nudged her, and she followed his gaze to a rock some five metres above.

A limp, pale foot hung over the edge. The toenails were painted purple.

“You wait here,” said Billi.

“No.” Faustus was already climbing.

Brigid’s body lay smashed upon the granite. There was little left of her face, that was now just a bloody pulp, skull splinters tangled her bloody hair. She wore a velvet dress and it had been embroidered with cuneiform and ancient Sumerian pictograms. Her hands were tied behind her back.

“Shit,” said Faustus.

“Yeah.” It was hard to tell, her limbs were a mass of blue and purple bruises from the fall, but she looked like she’d been painted. Billi could imagine her, all excited at taking part in this game, playing witches, not realising what she was being used for. “An offering.”

Faustus nodded. “Erin is doing this old school.”

“It’s not Erin. Reggie’s running the show tonight. We’re here to save her as well as Ivan. That’s the deal, Faustus. That’s why I brought you along.”

Faustus gazed down at the broken body. “It’s funny how your opinion changes when a person dies. Brigid was a nasty bitch and now all I want to do is cry for her. She didn’t ask for this.”

“Who would?” Billi touched his hand. “You okay?”

“No. She’s still screaming. She’s… never mind.”

Billi hated herself, but she had to ask. “Can she help us?”

“You’re joking. She was tied up and thrown off a cliff by her best mates and you want to ask her how her day went?”

“It’s messed up, I know it is, but we’re clutching at straws.” Billi gazed up the remainder of the climb. “We need to know what we’re up against. Can you try?”

“I don’t know. She could take me down with her. She needs to pass on, Billi, not be dragged back here. I could end up trapping her here and then what have you got? Her ghost haunting these cliff-tops, forever replaying those last few moments of horror. She doesn’t deserve it.”

“I hear all that, but we need an