Shadow Spell (21 page)

In Skerridge's head everything went into slow motion. A weird feeling swept over him, as if he were only a bit player in a much bigger story.

This is it, he thought, this is the moment when
everything
hangs in the balance.

He could let the two of them go and the army would
be less its commanding officer and one small and probably not very significant stone.

Or he could save them.

Any normal bogeyman wouldn't think twice. In fact he wouldn't think once. It wasn't bogeyman nature to worry about other people. But Skerridge had already chucked out the rule book, so he had options. And for some reason the decision seemed
really important
.

So he made it.

His shape burst and split into something so weird it was barely recognisable as any one thing. A long, suckered tentacle shot out in the direction of Jibbit, a manyjointed arm-cum-leg shot out in the direction of Stanley, and a whole barrage of claw-tipped bits and pieces dug deeply into the raft and hung on tight.

At last the raft surfaced and bobbed, turning gently on the water.

‘That was fun,' said Jibbit, cheerfully, dangling from Skerridge's left tentacle. ‘I liked the rushing into nothing bit, and the falling bit and the swirling in water bit, tooo.'

‘Weren't you afraid we'd hit the bottom?' slurred Stanley, trying to get his nerves back under control. It was just entering his brain that he was pinned to the edge of the raft by a long black arm with spiky bits. In the time it took for him to register the fact that Evil Kid was now Unspeakable Thing, he had been dragged safely on to the raft and Evil Kid was back again, staring at him innocently.

‘No. The bottom was so far down we would never get there. Is a lot of water in this lake.'

Ignoring the gargoyle, Stanley frowned. ‘Bogeyman Skerridge,' he snapped.

Evil Kid's eyes glittered at him even more innocently.

Stanley sighed, decided not to deal with the problem, shook himself and took stock.

The Raw was back, but only in thin spirals that hung over the water, giving off a grey-white glow. The raft was in a kind of rocky basin, bobbing about on water that looked like ruffled black silk. They could still hear the roar of the waterfall, but it was receding. The force of the fall must have pushed the raft under and then up, into a swift flowing current that was dragging them on through the Heart. They couldn't see the banks of the river either to the left or to the right.

Surreptitiously, Evil Kid counted the tiger-men. There were fewer of them. But even without the ones lost on the journey, there were enough on this one raft to cause the people of Hilfian serious problems.

‘He counted on it, I expect,' said Evil Kid out loud. ‘He knew he would lose a lot of them on the way. That's why he made so many.'

‘Eh?' Stanley gave him a look. ‘Now see ‘ere, bogeym—Evil Kid or whatever yer name is, I'm appreciatin' that yew saved my life, but yer gotta see that I'm in a tricky position ‘ere, what wiv yer bein' on the ovver side an' all.'

‘Oh, don't worry, I'll be gone soon enough!' Evil Kid
smiled at him. It might have been meant to be reassuring. It wasn't.

The raft sped on, full of bedraggled and battered tiger-men. They hissed and spat at each other every time one of them moved and their yellow eyes glowed with hate and rage.

‘It's not so bad,' muttered Stanley. ‘An' at least they don' pong of sick any more.'

‘They are getting used tooo it, I think.'

Jibbit was right. Even though the raft was bobbing and twisting as it rushed along, the tiger-men were not throwing up any more. One or two of them were even leaning over the edge to dabble inquisitive paws into the water.

Something hot and wet ran up Evil Kid's leg. Startled, he looked down to see one of the tiger-men licking the blood off his clawed calves. It looked up at him speculatively.

He glared a glare. ‘Don't even think about it,' he hissed, ‘not if you want to stay whole.'

The tiger-man yawned and settled down for a nap on top of one of his comrades. Most of the others were doing the same.

After a while they came to a stretch of the river with banks that towered around them, broken and jagged and half eroded away by the Raw.

Then they came to a stretch with sunlight.

Then they were out.

‘There yer go,' said Stanley cheerfully. ‘We made it!'

‘Is true!'

The air fizzed. Guard and gargoyle looked around startled, but there was nobody there. Evil Kid was gone.

When they had been carried far enough downriver that they were within a couple of hours' march of Hilfian, Stanley commanded the tiger-men to paddle to the bank. Dunvice and her party joined them shortly after, to be followed by the other rafts. Stanley watched as the horde gathered itself together.

‘Reckon we've lost about a third o' the tiger-men in total. Plus two guards. No Fabulous, fank Galig. Coulda been worse.'

Dunvice looked pale, her yellow eyes narrowed to anxious slits.

‘I don't care about them,' she said, dropping an empty silver cage in front of him. ‘But take a look at this. When we went over the waterfall the catches were knocked open.'

A chill ran up Stanley's spine as he took in what she was saying.

‘It's gone,' she went on miserably, ‘the skinkin got out and now it's gone to kill Ninevah Redstone.'

‘Then yer'd better ‘ope we get there first,' said Stanley, his face grim. ‘Cos if we don' then it'll be yew tells Mr Strood why we failed t' get ‘er alive.'

Having found out enough about Strood's army to give the folk of Hilfian nightmares for a lifetime, Skerridge superspeeded back to the town. He found Taggit in charge and passed on his news to the goblin.

‘They'll be ‘ere by tea-time, count on it,' he said warningly. ‘Once they've got themselves together and got movin'. Two hours, tops, even goin' all the way round the Raw on the edge o' town to come at us froo the wood. The plan is to demolish the town and take the kid alive, then the BMs'll turn up after dark an' mop up any survivors.'

Taggit was looking grim. ‘Not likely to be any survivors if they've got the werewolf. ‘E'll be on the Quick like a dog on its favourite bone.'

‘Don' worry,' said Skerridge gloomily. ‘I'll be back by the time they get ‘ere an' I'll make sure I keep ‘im occupied.' He sighed heavily. ‘In fact I'm ready t' bet Strood ‘as already told ‘im t' take me out, so if I'm not around, ‘e'll come lookin' fer me anyway.'

Taggit nodded. Werewolves could match a bogeyman strength for strength and speed for speed. It would be a pretty even fight. He just hoped the bogeyman would win.

‘Better be off then,' said Skerridge, cheerfully. ‘Time t' find Jonas. Dead or alive.'

According to Seth, Jonas had died at the entrance to Dark's Mansion. So that was where Skerridge looked first.

He found nothing. No burned body. No Jonas. Dead or otherwise. He grinned savagely. Nin was right, somehow the boy had survived. Plus, Seth Carver had lied, which was interesting.

Skerridge got going again, heading in the direction of Hilfian because if Jonas was alive, that was the way he would be travelling. Moving at sub-superspeed so that he was travelling fast, but not so fast the countryside was a blur, he soon found the boy standing on a hilltop and staring at the sky.

Jonas was watching a bank of dark cloud as it raced along the rim of the world and he was thinking. The problem was this. With each second that ticked by, disaster drew closer to Nin. But Jonas was more than a hundred miles away and however fast he ran, he could never cover the ground in time to warn her. It might already be too late.

His nose twitched at the smell of scorched ozone as
Skerridge popped into view.

‘Found ya,' the bogeyman said cheerfully, ‘still alive an' all, which'll please the kid no end.'

Jonas ignored him and went on staring at the sky.

‘Wassup?'

‘Seth Carver is Ava Vispilio. He wants to be Nin because he wants her luck.'

Skerridge drew in a sharp breath.

‘I know how it will go,' went on Jonas. ‘He'll try to win her confidence. He's already got a head start because of the whole glass lions thing. He probably caught her up, maybe at Hilfian, maybe before. Maybe even saving her life or something on the way.'

Skerridge cleared his throat noisily.

‘Then he'll tell her that I'm dead, being gentle about it of course, but inside he'll be relishing Nin's pain.' Jonas clenched his fists and deep in his eyes, lightning flickered. ‘Then he'll try and get her alone. He'll spin her some story. Something about the ring being a protection charm or whatever. And she'll believe him because he's Seth. And then she'll put it on.'

Skerridge gulped.

‘And then Nin will be trapped forever in some tiny corner of her own mind, watching helplessly while Vispilio kills and tortures his way through life, relying on her luck to save him from Strood.' Jonas clenched his fists tighter. His grey eyes grew darker, storm-cloud dark, and the lightning in their depths grew brighter.

‘Look, yer upsettin' yerself. I'll …'

‘I want to be angry,' snarled Jonas, ‘because I need to be angry to do this.' And then he tipped back his head and howled.

Skerridge backed off.

Far on the horizon the storm clouds wheeled in the sky, changing direction. They moved swiftly. They were so high up, they didn't have to avoid the Raw. And soon they were close enough for Jonas and Skerridge to hear them.

What they heard was a clamour of baying and howling mingled with the distant thunder. This was the sound of the Hounds as they tore across the sky, hunting for any Quick souls foolish enough not to run for cover.

But underneath the terrible baying there were voices that called and sobbed. These were the voices of the Quick souls that the Storm had swallowed. It had turned them into Hounds, but in each one a tiny shred of humanity was left, grieving over the life it had lost and would never have again.

And underneath the cries of pain there was another sound. The sound of one voice. The voice of the Storm.

Skerridge shivered, shrinking back into a huddle on the ground. The Land had many voices, and this was only one. But the Land was the greatest Fabulous of all and it made him feel afraid and awed all in one big uncomfortable bundle.

Jonas blocked out the cold wind, the darkening sky, the hillside with the trees tossing their branches before the gale. He focused on that one voice, trying to hear
what the Storm was saying. And what it was saying was this:

DON'T. WANT. YOU.

‘It won' work!' yelled Skerridge, over the thunder and the howling wind. ‘Ya was up there an' then yer escaped. An' once a Quick's escaped the Storm, it'll never ‘ave ‘im back.'

‘I don't want to go back,' howled Jonas, ‘I want HELP!'

By now the sky was filled with boiling clouds. Lightning lanced towards the hillside and a tree exploded into crackling flames. Skerridge tried to scrunch up even smaller, just in case. This was nothing to do with him, it was between a Quick soul and the Storm, Skerridge was just an innocent bystander.

‘Without Nin, the Drift will die!' Jonas cried over another roll of thunder.

The wind whipped about him, nearly knocking him off his feet as he drew in a deep breath. He tried to hold in his head everything he needed to say. He filled himself with the need to get to Nin, to save her, so that she could stop Strood. And then he flung his arms wide, threw back his head and let out the breath in a howl that matched the Storm. The answering blast of icy gale nearly flattened him.

WHY? CARE?

Jonas held in his head a picture of Strood's army, streaming over the Land like a golden tide. Then of the last trace of the Seven wiped from existence. The Raw
exploding outwards, ever outwards, each swathe joining with others until there was nothing left. And then of the Storm, blowing over empty mist that sent tendrils up into the sky, growing higher, devouring even the clouds, even the dawn fires. Even the Storm.