Shadowmancer by G. P. Taylor

From Barnes & Noble

The Barnes & Noble Review
British author G. P. Taylor arrives on U.S. shores with an epic fantasy of good versus evil, having already garnered critical acclaim and bestsellerdom across the pond. In this harrowing tale, readers are transported back to the 18th century, where a black-hearted parson, Obadiah Demurral, has designs on world domination by controlling two sacred items called the Keruvim -- and he quickly gets one in his possession. Standing in his way are three youngsters: Thomas, Kate, and mysterious Raphah, who has the ability to call on Riathamus, the power of good. Ultimately, the major players come face to face with the power of darkness, and after a dramatically surprising turn of events, Taylor delivers a shocking ending that'll leave you gasping.

A vicar himself, Taylor skillfully uses characters and themes that lean heavily on Christian teachings while weaving in elements of English folklore. The result is an atypical novel that will delight lovers of religion-based fiction and also appeal to diehard fantasy fans. Combining the atmospheres of classic books by Philip Pullman, C. S. Lewis, and other renowned authors of the genre, Taylor creates a dynamic world of polarized forces in which you'll rapturously immerse yourself. Matt Warner

From the Publisher

In this spine-chilling tale set on the 1700's Yorkshire coast, Obadiah Demurral is a vicar set on gaining control of the highest power in the universe. The only people in his way are two children, Kate and Thomas, and their mysterious friend Raphah, a shipwrecked sailor who has come from his home in Africa to reclaim a stolen icon and who offers a tantalizing glimpse of another culture. Their struggle against Demurral ultimately brings them face-to-face with the powers of darkness in an epic battle packed with suspense.

Publishers Weekly

PW said of this debut novel set in 18th-century England about a black-hearted vicar with plans to overthrow God, "there are enough surprises to keep readers madly turning the pages." Ages 12-up. (May) Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.

Laura Ruttig - Children's Literature

Taylor invokes images from legend in this compelling fantasy set along the ghostly coastline of Yorkshire. The villain of the tale is the parson, Demurral, an evil man who has stolen a priceless statue, Keruvim. With this statue, Demurral intends to become more powerful than God himself. Determined to stop him is Raphah, a young African boy who has been the Keeper of the Keruvim. Along the way, he also recruits two locals, both very young themselves, Thomas and Kate. For them, it begins as a simple task to help a new friend—to steal back the Keruvim, but as the adventure grows they are drawn into a far larger battle between the fallen angels and heaven itself. Both Thomas and Kate must grapple with issues of faith as they try to defeat the various monsters that Demurral has awakened. Concepts of spirituality infuse the novel with allegorical meaning, while Taylor's vivid use of detail makes it easy for the reader to get lost in this cosmic tale of the battle between good and evil. 2003, GP Putnam Sons/Penguin Young Readers Group, Ages 12 up.

Elaine J. O'Quinn - VOYA

This novel is a different kind of fantasy, partly because of the allegorical elements of the Christian faith and partly because the book manages to provide a strong critique of the shortcomings of organized religion, exposing the deception of power and forcing the issue of true faith. It is not typical to find a story that works at both these levels while never losing track of the adventure that drives it. This reviewer found herself swept up in the story of Kate, Thomas, and the angel Raphah as they attempt to retrieve a grail-like artifact and restore it to its rightful place. Along the way they must battle authoritative leaders—unpredictable "boggles" and fearsome "hobs"—and at one point, even the devil himself. Such effort is required if the light of the world is to be kept bright against the impending darkness signifying the end of time. Taylor produces a solid book. It is well written and highly imaginative in how it recasts the story of good versus evil. Young readers will like its pace, and adults will enjoy its complexity. The author clearly did a good deal of research, and readers will be especially impressed with the attention paid to setting. The challenge of this setting was actually to take something a bit familiar and make it unfamiliar—in many ways, a more daunting task than creating the purely imaginative settings of many fantasy stories. The readers of this text will come to it for different reasons—a high compliment to any author. VOYA Codes: 5Q 4P S (Hard to imagine it being any better written; Broad general YA appeal; Senior High, defined as grades 10 to 12). 2004, G. P. Putnam's Sons, 304p., Ages 15 to 18.

Michele Winship - KLIATT

Taylor, a Yorkshire parson himself, tells a tale of a small-town vicar with ambitious aspirations who ultimately sells his soul for power. Parson Demurral, the vicar of Whitby, is consumed by greed and procures through deception the Keruvim, an ancient relic that, when joined with its mate, bestows supernatural ability upon the one who wields it. Demurral has stolen, cheated, and lied in his efforts to increase his wealth and status at the expense of others. So, when the dark stranger Raphah comes ashore to reclaim the Keruvim and take it back to its rightful place across the sea, Demurral sinks to new depths, torturing and murdering those who stand in his way. The protagonists are a pair of young teens, Thomas and Kate, who join forces with Raphah to recover the Keruvim and stop the vicar's reign of terror. A few other colorful characters, including a miller and his family and a good-hearted smuggler, pop in and out of the plot to help Kate and Thomas battle the vicar. More Hawthorne than Dickens, the good vs. evil theme is heavily laden with fundamentalist Christian dogma. The traditional religions of early Britain as well as modern divination practices come into Taylor's line of fire. However, his message is clear—evil is always punished and only the faithful will be saved in the end. KLIATT Codes: JS—Recommended for junior and senior high school students. 2003, Penguin Putnam, 300p., Ages 12 to 18.

Library Journal

If he can get his hands on a missing artifact, the evil vicar Obadiah Demurral is convinced that he can usurp God himself and rule the world. Rapha, a shipwrecked traveler who has journeyed from Africa to reclaim this artifact for his homeland, enlists the aid of young, homeless Thomas Barrick and his friend, the spirited Kate Coglan, to prevent Demurral from triumphing. Steeped in English folklore, Vicar Taylor's debut fantasy novel features heroes who must battle the thulak, invisible beings that fill people's minds with horrible nightmares for the rest of their lives, and choirs of seloth, flowing creatures whose piercing cries come out of the sea to take men to their deaths. There are obvious similarities to the Harry Potter books here, but this title is good enough to garner its own following and will appeal to Tolkien fans as well. Although aimed at young adult readers, it is complex enough to hold the interest of adults. Conservative Christians who are uncomfortable with Harry Potter may find this tale of good and evil more palatable. With a 250,000-copy first printing and a strong publicity campaign in the works, this British best seller will surely find an American audience. Highly recommended for all collections. [The author will appear on the Today show during the second week of May.Ed.] Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.

School Library Journal

Gr 7 Up-The atmospheric Yorkshire coast is the setting for this good versus evil fantasy. Local vicar Obadiah Demurral desires the power to command God. To do this, he needs an angelic figurine called the Keruvim and its human equivalent. As he uses his considerable powers to acquire the Keruvim, a young man named Raphah comes seeking an object stolen from his African kingdom. It is soon obvious that Demurral's angel and Raphah's stolen prize are one and the same. Once Demurral has it and Raphah under his control, he believes he will be master of the universe. Thomas and Kate, two local children, are inadvertently drawn into the struggle. Soon their lives are in jeopardy. The plot twists and turns, revealing that Demurral is not the ultimate evil but merely a tool in the hands of a fallen angel. The book is rich with detailed descriptions that sometimes threaten to overwhelm the story. There are a number of fantastic creatures warring on the side of evil, but at bottom this is a seriously religious story clothed in the trappings of high fantasy. Biblical allusions abound, sometimes bordering on direct quotes. The theme of the triumph of love and light over pure evil reflects the Christian gospel message, with overtones from Paradise Lost. Thomas has dreams or visions of someone who can only be Jesus. Raphah heals a deaf boy and casts out demons. He is also brought back from death. Whether teen readers will understand all this is a matter of conjecture.-Bruce Anne Shook, Mendenhall Middle School, Greensboro, NC Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.

Kirkus Reviews

The Great Adversary makes another bid to overthrow God in this Pullmanesque fantasy, set on the haunted Yorkshire coast. In a bid for supreme earthly power, vicar-gone-to-the-bad Obadiah Demurral receives a stolen golden figurine, one of two conduits to control of all Nature. The arrival of Raphah to reclaim it sets in motion a succession of sneaks and chases, involving two young local folk, ruthless, but not irredeemable smuggler Jacob Crane, and a host of supernatural thugs. Taylor changes names, but the major players are still recognizable: Raphah prays to "Riathamus," who puts in several appearances in various guises to utter such familiar lines as "I will be with you always, even to the end of time," and dispatches angelic Seruvim at need, while, preceded by fallen angels called Glashan, the radiant Dark Lord Pyratheon appears in time for a climactic but indecisive showdown. Loaded down with meditations on inner faith, and diatribes against human society (particularly organized religion), this doesn't quite achieve the cosmic sweep for which the author is plainly reaching-but that may come in the sequels. (Fiction. 12-15)

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Product Details

• ISBN: 1591856655
  
• ISBN-13: 9781591856658
• Format: Paperback, 288pp
• Publisher: Strang Communications Company
• Pub. Date: May 2005
• Sales Rank: 193,440
• Age Range: Young Adult

• Table of Contents
• Interviews & Essays
• Read an Excerpt

Table of Contents

Interviews & Essays

Shadowmancer is such a dark, absorbing fantasy that pulls you in from the first page. What inspired you to write it?

GPT: Too much cheese -- or so Dickens would say. I was literally downloaded with the book during a perilous journey across the moors during a violent storm at night during Lent in March 2001. On a high peak I looked out and through the flashes of lightning saw a lighthouse beacon on the horizon. My mind suddenly lurched into a world of smugglers, boggles, and demons, and Shadowmancer was born.

In the introduction to your novel, you talk about the characters and setting for Shadowmancer. Can you explain a bit about where some of the main personalities originated?

GPT: As for the demonic forces...well I believe in the power of angels, both godly and fallen ones. In my work as a priest I have experienced spiritual entities of both a positive and negative nature. As for Hobbs and Boggles, well they are part of the folklore of the area in which I live. Are they real? I'm not too sure.

Which character in the book is your favorite, and why?

GPT: Jacob Crane...because he is neither good nor evil and often doesn't know how to react to situations. He always follows his heart and never his brain and he doesn't mind how he gets things done.

Especially in the past few years -- since Harry Potter became popular and the Lord of the Rings films -- fantasy as a genre has surged in popularity. What makes Shadowmancer such a standout?

GPT: I think there is a glut of fantasy at the moment, and some of it is pretty dire. Dragons and different worlds have been overdone, and I think that they are a bit of a fad. Pullman and I are going in a different direction. Shadowmancer is based in the here and now, a real world where the supernatural invades at its will.

Shadowmancer is your debut novel, and it's been a huge success in Britain already. How does it feel to be described as "hotter than Potter"?

GPT: I can't believe the success -- I have just been told the Spanish version sold out in Argentina in two days and that the Shadowmancer movie deal is immense for a first-time author. There are great expectations that it will be a popular story in the States. I know there has been a thriving black market, and the book has already gained a cult status.

Read an Excerpt

It was a still October night. On the cliff top the harvest was gathered in and sheaves of corn were stacked together to form peculiar straw houses. A bright silver moon shone down on a calm sea. In the distance the silhouette of the Friendship, a collier brig, could be seen picked out against the waves. The sails of the ship looked like the flags of a small army preparing for war.

The brilliance of the full moon penetrated the darkest depths of the wood that gripped the tops of the cliffs. A small, darkly clad figure in a frock coat and knee boots stumbled along, carrying a long black leather case, timidly following a tall, confident man with long flowing white hair.

Nearby, a fox lay hidden in the undergrowth, dreaming of fresh rabbit, when suddenly it was woken by the panic of a deer bolting from the cover of a holly bush and running deeper into the darkness of Wyke Woods.

"What was that?" The small man was startled and his voice jumped and quivered. He dropped the leather case in fright and clutched at the cloaked figure that he had followed so closely through the autumn night. "It's there," he squealed. "I can see it, it's in the trees."

His companion grabbed him by the ear. "Keep quiet, Beadle. The world doesn't need to hear your voice."

The small man pinched his eyelids together as he tried to peer into the darkness and hide in his companion's cloak at the same time. Beadle didn't like the darkness and he hated the night. Bravery was for other people, and the night was to be spent by the fire of the inn, listening to stories of faraway places, the news of war in other lands and of smuggling, while drinking warm, frothy beer.

Here in the wood on the top of the cliff was a different world for Beadle, a world where he did not belong. The wood was the place of boggles, hedge witches, hobs and thulak. Beadle feared the thulak more than anything. They were strange, invisible creatures of the dark. They could steal upon you at night, smother you in a dark mist and take from you the will to live. There were stories that they would creep through open windows and come into houses to cover an unsuspecting sleeping victim like a dark blanket. Once the victim was seized, he couldn't move. They would take his strength and fill his mind with horrifying, hideous thoughts. These were the thulakian dreams that would be with him for the rest of his life. They would leave their victims listless and heavy-limbed, with sunken eyes from the sleepless nights spent fearing their return.

Beadle grasped his companion's cloak even tighter as a gentle breeze rustled the brown, crisp leaves in the trees.

"Is it a man or is it...them?" He could hardly say the words; his right leg shook, his eyelids twitched, his mouth went dry and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

"Them?" hissed his companion in his face. "Who are them? Can't you say the word? What are you frightened of?"

Beadle hunched his shoulders and buried his face in the musty black cloak of his tall, angry companion. "Thulak," he whispered feebly, trying to muffle his voice so they would not hear him.

His companion raised both his hands and cupped his mouth like the bell of a trumpet; he took in a deep breath and with a voice that came from the depths of his soul, he bellowed: "Thulak. Thulak. Thulak." The voice echoed around the woods; the fox scurried from the brush and ran deeper into the undergrowth.

A roost of the blackest rooks lifted from the trees above their heads and their caw-caw-caw filled the night sky as they circled above the branches, dancing in the moonlight.

"...No," whispered the now terrified Beadle. "Please, Parson Demurral, don't say that word, they will hear and they will come and get us, my mother said --"

He was hastily interrupted.

"Us, Beadle? Did you say us?" Demurral towered over the cowering, frightened form of his servant. "I fear nothing and no one, and they have every reason in the world to fear me. Tonight, my little friend, you will see who I really am and you will not say a word to anyone. I control creatures that are far more frightening than the thulak. One word of what you see tonight and you will never dare to close your eyes again, or want to see the sun go down on another day. Now, come on, we have work to do; a ship awaits its fate and I await mine."

Demurral took Beadle by the collar and lifted him to his feet, dragging him down the path towards the sea. Beadle could not refuse. He had been servant to the Vicar of Thorpe for twenty years. On his eleventh birthday he had been sent to work for a penny a week, a bed in the barn, fresh straw, and a Sabbath rest once a month. People said he was lucky-stunted, one leg withered, he was not much use to anybody. Demurral was a harsh master: He had a harsh tongue and an even harsher hand. Sometimes Beadle would creep into the back of the church and listen to his ranting from the pulpit. Hellfire, damnation, boiling cauldrons of molten blood, serpents and all things horrible that would await the unbeliever.

Beadle muttered to himself: "Blast, bother, boiling blood, this isn't a job; too dark, too cold, too many --"

Demurral butted in. "Stop your mumbling; there are things to be done. Drag that leg of yours a little faster. Maybe then we'll get to the stone before the ship passes." Beadle slipped in the mud as he tried to obey his master's command. "Be careful with the box, it took me a long time and a lot of my money to find what I've been looking for. Now be careful: We have to get down the waterfall before we find the stone."

Beadle knew that it had not been Demurral's money that had been used to buy the black box. Sunday by Sunday he had stolen from the villagers in rents and tithes.

He thought back to the night when the long black leather case had arrived at the Vicarage. Beadle had peered through the open crack of the study door, which hung very slightly ajar. For the first time in his life he had seen a man with a skin so black that it shone. Never before had such a trader been in these parts. The landlord of the Hart Inn had said that he had come from Whitby by carriage, the sole passenger on the brig Whitehall, which had docked the day before from Spain.

Beadle had watched carefully as the man opened the case and in the glimmering candlelight brought forth a long, shining pole as tall as Beadle himself. From the case the man then took a solid jet-black stone hand in the shape of a clenched fist. Into the grip of the fist he placed a silver dagger encrusted with two pieces of darkest jet.

It was then that Beadle saw something so beautiful that its image was impressed on his soul forever. The man brought out a black velvet bag from beneath his cloak and placed it gently on the desk. As the trader opened the bag, Beadle could make out two gold wings stretching back over a small statue. Before Beadle could see any more, Demurral quickly got up from the desk and slammed the door shut. He and his guest spoke in hushed tones. Beadle pressed his left ear to the door and listened.

The visitor spoke to Demurral in fluent English. "I have risked many things and come many miles to bring you this. It has powerful magic and they will stop at nothing to get it back. You are a brave man, Demurral. Either that or a rich fool."

Beadle heard his master laugh. "What I am, is what I am. Now take your money and go, and not a word to anyone. Fear not that which can destroy the body, but that which can destroy the soul." Demurral paused and then continued. "When does the other Keruvim arrive?"

Demurral's guest spoke softly. "It will not be long; they cannot be separated. The Keruvim will find you." Beadle heard footsteps coming to the door and hid himself behind the large curtain of the hall window.

Now, many nights later, Beadle and Demurral came out of the wood that covered the cliff path. The noise of the waterfall and the smell of the sea filled Beadle with a sense of excitement tinged with trepidation. Demurral lowered himself down the rope ladder at the side of the waterfall and then onto the shingle beach. Beadle tied a length of hemp cord onto the case and gently lowered it down to his master.

"Yes," cried Demurral. "It is almost time. Hurry, I can see her sails."

Beadle almost dropped the twenty feet to the shingle beach; he did not want to be left behind on the edge of the wood. A shudder ran up and through his spine and the hairs on his head stood on end. Thulak could be anywhere.

Demurral made his way to a large flat rock only a few feet away from the gently breaking waves. In the full light of the moon everything had a dark blue and silver glow; everything looked so cold.

He noticed that the rock was in the shape of an open palm, cupped to receive the sea. In the centre was a small carved hole. Three steps were cut into the side of the rock. The steps were too small for his feet, so he scrabbled up the stone on hands and knees.

"Come on, man!" shouted Demurral. "We have only minutes, then it will be too late." For the first time he allowed Beadle to see all that was in the case. "Stand back, Beadle, this is holy work...."

Demurral took out the golden staff and placed the shaft into the hole in the centre of the rock. It was a pole made from the finest acacia wood and wrapped in bands of beaten gold. He quickly screwed in the black stone hand and placed the silver dagger in it. He knelt down and opened a long, narrow, concealed lid within the case. From the baize he took out a solid gold winged figure. Beadle giggled with excitement. In the light of the full moon the figure glowed with a ghostly radiance.

Demurral looked at Beadle and lifted the gold statue from the box. "This is a Keruvim. There are only two in the whole world. Now I have one and tonight I will have the other."

Beadle gazed at the beautiful creature as Demurral held it in his hand. It was the size of a barn owl, and had golden wings folded back along the length of its body and the head of a beautiful child with eyes of purest pearl.

"Stand aside, Beadle. Our work begins," Demurral said. He took hold of the golden staff and placed his left hand on the stone fist. He raised the Keruvim with his right hand, pointing it towards the sailing ship that silently cut through the night in full sail. Beadle saw the red and green lanterns for port and starboard bobbing up and down as the ship dipped and peaked in the gently rolling sea.

Demurral shouted out into the night. "Waves and wind, fire and water. Thunder, lightning and hail, hearken to my desire, hearken to my words. Come forth from the north and from deep below. Tempest, storm and ravaging wind, crash this boat to this shore, bring the Keruvim to me."

A single flash of the brightest, whitest light appeared to shoot out of the mouth of the Keruvim. It hit the sea and then deflected upwards until it touched the sky, making a loud crack like a bolt of lightning crashing to Earth.

Beadle jumped back in fear, lost his footing and fell from the stone to the shingle beach, landing on his back with a thud and a crunch.

For a moment he lay motionless. "What are you doing, Beadle? There is no time for resting. Get up, get up," Demurral snapped angrily.

Beadle lay on the shingle and quietly moaned. He placed his hand in the pocket of his frock coat and felt the broken shards and soft mess of the cold boiled egg that he had been going to eat for his supper.

All was silent. At first there was nothing. No movement, just the same calm as before. The sailing ship moved majestically through the rolling waves, cutting further and further to the north.

Then it began. First quietly, then louder and louder, from the depths of the sea a shrill and piercing singing was heard. At first it was faint like a whisper and then it grew stronger and stronger, heard not through the ears, but through the soul. From the deep black sea came a choir of Seloth. Graceful, flowing, feminine creatures that sang and swirled around the ship, woken from their sleep by the call of the priest.

Through the rigging, the sails and ropes, they swept around and around, singing louder and louder. Their sea-green hair trailed out behind them, long and billowing; their sightless eyes stared into the darkening night.

From behind the stone Beadle could hear their voices as they chanted and sang over and over again in ever more frightening tones. Beadle was too scared to look out from the safety of his hiding place and covered his ears, trying to stop the singing of the Seloth from driving him mad.

"What are they singing? It's piercing my brain like a hot knife. Tell them to stop."

Beadle pushed his face into a pile of damp seaweed, hoping to hide himself in its depths.

"It is the song of the deep. They are calling the dead to come to the feast. The Seloth will not stop until the ship is broken on the rocks. They want a sacrifice, not mercy," Demurral shouted above the wind and the waves, his eyes devouring the spectacle set before him. As they sang, the sea whipped higher and higher. Waves washed back and forth against the cliffs of Baytown, three miles to the north. Thick black clouds grew in the night sky and lightning exploded into the swell.

As the storm grew, the fishing boats anchored in the bay were dashed against the rocks that jutted out of the surf below the high cliff. The slipway of the town was awash; high into the main street the waves beat against the doors of the houses like the fists of the press-gang searching for menfolk to drag off to sea.

As the sea smashed against the steep rock, the cliff suddenly gave way and tons of mud and rock fell into the raging water. With the pounding of the storm the houses and shops of King Street crumbled and tumbled into the sea. As the buildings slid and toppled into the maelstrom, men, women and children were thrown from their sleep. In the dark of the night they cried out to be saved, but their screams for mercy could not be heard over the terrible thundering of the German Ocean.

Wisps of grey and blue fire broke through the swelling surf. Ghostly figures like giant white horses leapt from the waves that began to crash upon the shore.

The sky grew darker and darker and the full moon was blotted out by thick black cloud as streaks of lightning flashed from sky to sea, exploding in the water. A lightning sword hit the ship. The mainsail cracked, then crashed to the deck, sending startled crewmen bolting from their hammocks.

As they rushed on deck, another sail crashed down, splitting the deck in half and sending shafts of splintered wood into the air. The ship lifted and dropped with each wave; a crewman was thrown through the air and into the cold sea, never to be seen again.

"A direct hit," shouted Demurral, laughing and rubbing his hands together in glee at the sight. "One more strike and the Keruvim will be mine."

He raised the statue into the air and chanted more magic. "Wind, hail, lightning, thunder and wave." The sea rose at his command, each surge growing higher and higher. Breakers like black fists smashed against the ship, almost engulfing the vessel.

On the ship, the captain shouted to the crew: "Tie on. Tie on. We'll run for the beach. It's the only chance we have." He spun the ship's wheel and the brig lurched towards the shore.

The first mate struggled through the waves breaking on the deck. He grappled with the broken rigging, pulled himself along the deck to the rear hatch and pushed it open. He looked down into the darkness. There, staring back at him was a young man with dark skin and bright white eyes.

"Take the empty barrels and tie yourself on, we're going down." He could just be heard over the roaring of the sea and the screaming of the Seloth.

As he spoke, a wave hit the stern of the ship, throwing the first mate crashing down into the hold. His head smashed against the floor. A large beam of wood slid the length of the hold and pressed him against a locker. As he lost consciousness, his face was submerged in the water. The youth took the barrels and with discarded rope from the sail-mender's locker tied them to the first mate. Thick salt water splashed against his feet as gallons of spray showered down through the open hatch.

"You all right down there?" the captain yelled into the hold. Then he turned to see a large wave looming above him. The sea was rising like a large mountain, higher and higher, coming closer and closer.

The biggest wave he had ever seen lifted the ship from the stern and tipped it over, end upon end, ripping out its very heart and spinning it through the spray towards the beach. It crashed the ship upon the rocks, splintering it like matchwood. The vessel cracked in two as the keel snapped. The sound of the breaking beam cut above the noise of the waves, echoing into the heart of the wood.

Seeing the ship in such distress, Demurral jumped up and down on the hand stone: "It's mine, all mine, I will have it tonight. Tonight, Beadle...tonight, I will have the Keruvim." Beadle looked up at Demurral and saw his face change. His eyes began to glow as wisps of green mist swirled around him.

"I will have both the Keruvim. They will be mine," Demurral repeated over and over. The black hand on the acacia pole began to glow brighter and brighter.

He thrust the pole towards Beadle. "See. The hand tells me the Keruvim is coming closer. When I have it in my grasp, then the power of God will be mine. No more begging for a favour, clucking like a chicken at his altar. When I have the Keruvim, then he will have to listen to me."

Demurral shouted into the sky and jumped down from the stone to the gravel beach. In his hand he held the acacia pole. "Come on, Beadle, let us await the arrival of the Keruvim!" With that he grabbed Beadle by the ear and pulled him along the beach. In the distance the Friendship lay broken on the rocks. The masts had snapped off. The sails and the rigging were torn from them, hanging like a gallows in the calming waters. The ship was broken open, exposing every deck to the torture of the sea.

The captain floated facedown in the water, gently buffeted by the waves. He was dead, like all the crew, including the first mate, although he had been kept afloat by the barrels. Their broken bodies bobbed in the ebbing tide as the Seloth gathered their souls, taking them back into the deep. The storm faded into the night, the dark clouds parted and the moon dulled as it set behind the hills to the west.

In the bay, pieces of the Friendship were washed ashore by the now gentle waves. Demurral walked up and down the beach, becoming ever angrier.

He screamed at the sea, "Come to me, my pretty, come to me." In his hands he held the acacia pole. The glow of the divining hand was beginning to fade.

Beadle followed his every step. "How do you know it was on the ship? How do you know it will be here?"

"It has to be here. It has to be tonight. There are only two Keruvim in the whole universe and they must be together. They will always find each other, that is the Law." Demurral looked out to the ship.

"What if it's gone down with the wreck? Gold doesn't float," Beadle asked.

"Then you, my friend, will have to learn to swim or you will go the same way as they have and the Seloth will feast on your soul as well." He pointed a long bony finger to the ship lying slaughtered on the rocks.

"Where are you? Come to me, come to me!" the priest shouted at the waves. The sea gave no reply. The wind was silent and the waves babbled over the shingle. Beadle followed Demurral along the beach, both men searching the tide for the Keruvim. It was nowhere to be found.