Free Sacrament by Clive Barker Page A

he'd
managed to turn himself around, without realizing he'd done so, because after fifty yards the ground again
steepened beneath his feet - cascades of water surging over boulders a little way up the slope. The cold and
disorientation were bad enough, but what now began to trouble him more was a subtle darkening of the sky. It
was not the thunderclouds that were blotting out the light, it was dusk. In a few minutes it would be dark; far
darker than it ever got on the streets of Manchester.
    He was shivering violently, and his teeth had begun to chatter. His legs were aching, and his rain-pummelled
face was numb. He tried yelling for help, but he rapidly gave up in the attempt. Between the din of the storm
and the frailty of his voice, he knew after a few yells it was a lost cause. He had to preserve his energies, such as
they were. Wait until the storm cleared, when he could work out where he was. It wouldn't be difficult, once the
lights of the village started to reappear, as they surely would, sooner or later.
    And then, a shout, somewhere in the storm, and something broke cover, racing in front of him
    'Catch it!' he heard a raw voice say, and instinctively threw himself down to catch hold of whatever was
escaping. His quarry was even more exhausted and disoriented than he, apparently, because his hands caught
hold of something lean and furry, which squealed and struggled in his grip.
    'Hold it, m'lad! Hold it!'
    The speaker now appeared from higher up the slope. It was a woman, dressed entirely in black, carrying a
flickering lamp, which burned with a fat yellow-white flame. By its light he saw a face that was more beautiful
than any he had seen in his life, its pale perfection framed by a mass of dark red hair.
    'You are a treasure,' she said to Will, setting down the lamp. Her accent was not local, but tinged with a little
Cockney. 'You just hold that damn hare a minute longer, while I get my bag.'
    She set down the lamp, rummaged in the folds of her sleek coat and pulled out a small sack. Then she
approached Will and with lightning speed clawed the squealing hare from his arms. It was in the bag and the
bag sealed up in moments. 'You're as good as gold, you are,' she said. 'We would have gone hungry, Mr Steep
and me, if you hadn't been so quick.' She set down the bag. 'Oh my Lord, look at the state of you,' she said,
bending to examine Will more closely. 'What's your name?'
    'William.'
    'I had a William once,' the woman remarked. 'It's a lovely name.' Her face was close to Will's, and there was a
welcome heat in her breath. 'In fact I think I had two. Sweet children, both of 'em.' She reached out and touched
Will's cheek. 'Oh but you are cold.'
    'I got lost.'
    'That's terrible. Terrible,' she said, stroking his face. 'How could any self-respecting mother let you stray out of
sight? She should be ashamed, she should. Ashamed.' Will would have concurred, but the warmth seeping from
the woman's fingers into his face was curiously soporific.
    'Rosa?' somebody said.
    'Yes?' the woman replied, her voice suddenly flirty. 'I'm down here, Jacob.'
    'Who've you found now?'
    'I was just thanking this lad,' Rosa said, removing her hand from Will's face. He was suddenly freezing again.
'He caught us our dinner.'
    'Did he indeed?' said Jacob. 'Why don't you step aside, Mrs. McGee, and give me sight of the boy?'
    'Sight you want, sight you'll have,' Rosa replied, and getting to her feet she picked up the sack, and moved a
short way down the slope.
    In the two or three minutes since Will had caught hold of the hare, the sky had darkened considerably, and when
Will looked in the direction of Jacob Steep it was hard to see the man clearly. He was tall, that much was clear,
and was wearing a long coat with shiny buttons. His face was bearded, and his hair longer than Mrs. McGee's.
But his features were a blur to Will's weary eyes.
    'You should be at home,' he said. Will shuddered, but this time the cause was not