Shadow Spell (29 page)

Skinkin bared its stained teeth at them, then raised its head and scented the air, breathing in the night. It sprang and its great leap took it over their heads, flying through the air to land on the bell tower. Trying again was not an option. Now, the one person in the Land that Skinkin
could never attack was Nin. Every Fabulous had its rules.

On the bell tower, outlined black against the moonlight, it threw back its head and let out a cry like many people screaming their last. The sound echoed through the night and everyone who heard it, Quick, Grimm or Fabulous, stopped what they were doing to listen. Then it sprang again and was gone.

Along the rim of the world, a seam of red fire exploded into life, burning away the long night and casting a doom-filled light across fields that were dark with crowsmorte, each purple flower splashed with scarlet that matched the dawn. Their scent made the air both heavy and sweet at the same time and they covered everything so thickly that it was hard to tell where the fields ended and Hilfian began.

Slowly people appeared from their hiding places. A couple from a hut here, more from another, and a whole gaggle from the cellars underneath the ruined mud building that had once served as a general store. Taggit was among them, and Jonas, white-faced with exhaustion. More townsfolk, Quick and Grimm, peered out through doors or collapsed walls, then grew bold and stepped into the cool air where a gentle breeze made the crowsmorte nod and blew away the smoke from the still smouldering barns.

It was a lovely day, if only because none of them had expected to see it.

Over the other side of the Heart, watching the dawn through the crystal walls of the Sunatorium, Mr Strood steepled his fingers and studied the row of three … beings … in front of him.

‘I was surrounded,' said Chief Bogeyman Pigwit. He was huddled up under a very large, very thick blanket with his back turned firmly against the early-morning light. He didn't look at all well after a horrible night, rounded off by the huge effort of superspeeding back to the House, finding a way around all the patches of Raw, with a bad-tempered stone in his pocket. It had grumbled all the way to the House and Pigwit wished he had left the stupid thing where he had found it, staggering across the battlefield in a daze.

‘I thought you said there were only two?'

Pigwit blinked. ‘More'n that. Four at least. There was no escapin'.'

‘But you're here,' pointed out Strood reasonably.

‘Barely. Only cos I managed t' make a break fer it when they was busy wiv the townsfolk. Six or seven there were, all big bogeymen wiv teef an' everyfin'.'

‘You're a bogeyman. With teeth. And everything.'

‘Yeah, but …'

‘They were REAL bogeymen,' snapped Jibbit.

Strood sighed and shook his head at Pigwit. ‘I sent you to oversee a mere two of your fellows in sorting out the town. A small task, I would have thought. A few mud huts, easily burned. A few Quick, easily fried. A little girl, easily picked up. Instead, what do you bring me?'
His quartz eye glittered. ‘A stone. An insignificant little stone.'

Jibbit thought about huffing indignantly, but decided against it. He was on the table opposite Strood, mainly so that Strood didn't have to look down at him all the time, but at least he was off the ground. Jibbit shuddered at the memory of the last few hours, used as a battering weapon in battle, dropped and trampled on, stamped into the mud like … like … a stone. He had survived though. His worst nightmare had come true and he had survived and now the thought of ground wasn't nearly as terrifying as it had been. But that didn't mean that his yearning for
high
had gone. If anything it was growing.

Sitting back in his chair, Strood eyed them thoughtfully. Pigwit's eyes were watering in the light and where he was holding on to the blanket, he had left one of his fingers out accidentally. It had begun to smoke.

‘So, Giblet, you are telling me that in spite of everything I have thrown against her – my terrible army, the deadly skinkin – she is still alive?'

Jibbit nodded. His stony paws clicked nervously against the table. There was a strangled squawk from Pigwit as his finger burst alight and he had to stamp on it to put the flames out.

There was a long silence. Strood's eyes, the quartz one by now glowing horribly, fixed on the third person in the group in front of him. The one standing with its arms folded as it leaned nonchalantly against the table. The figure yawned. It was a woman with dark hair and eyes
the colour of winter. She was wearing a pair of interesting boots.

‘I told you she would,' Doctor Mel said. ‘Even I couldn't get to her.'

A look of hatred twisted across Strood's face. ‘It was a stupid idea,' he said scathingly. ‘The luck belongs to her, not to her physical form. Trust a once-sorcerer to overlook something like that. You think that all the Quick are is a body, a lump of flesh to be … He stopped.

Jibbit glanced curiously from one to the other. There was something between these two, something big.

Pigwit was almost doubled up under his blanket, only his red eyes glowed in its shadow.

‘Go,' said Strood, switching his gaze to the bogeyman. A smile curled his thin lips. ‘And don't bother me again. Ever.' He leaned forward, his voice a soft hiss on the air. ‘You're. Sacked.'

Pigwit squeaked and trembled and it seemed to Jibbit that he shrank, growing smaller and thinner until instead of bony he looked spindly. A spindly thing with red eyes and bandy legs.

‘It's all a state of mind,' said Strood calmly as the once-bogeyman ran for the door. ‘He's no longer Dread, he doesn't have it in him any more. These Fabulous, they think they're so invincible.' He chuckled. ‘But then, you should know all about that.'

Mel glared.

‘Well, Ava …' went on Strood.

The once-sorcerer in the woman's body winced at the
familiar tone and bit back a sharp comment.

‘… things haven't gone quite as I would have liked, I'll admit, but it can still be saved. It seems to me that this is one job I shall just have to do myself.'

‘You've got a plan?'

‘Of course,' chuckled Strood. ‘When do I not have a plan?'

‘And it is …?' Vispilio sounded bored, though he wasn't. For possibly the first time in his horrible life he was very far from bored. It was a long time since he had seen Strood and the man had changed. He was no longer Gan Mafig's servant. He was pure insanity wrapped in a skin.

Outside the red fires of dawn were burning out on a clear day.

‘Simple,' answered Strood, ‘like all the best plans. Kill. Everything.'

‘Are you sure this is the only way?' asked Jonas.

They were back in Hen's hut and he was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking worried. Jik and Hilary were there too, watching anxiously as Hen tipped potion down the sleeping Nin's throat.

‘It's the only way I know,' said Hen. ‘Dissolved, crowsmorte is a potent healer, if used right. And she needs a lot of healing. Azork may have brought her back to life, but he couldn't repair the damage. Her heart is very weak.'

‘The sisters gave her crowsmorte potion too. I've never heard of anyone taking it twice before.'

Hen smiled. ‘Nothing venture, nothing have,' she said, patting Nin's hand. ‘Just let her sleep and we'll see. Only thing is, I had to make it strong, so she might have a few funny dreams.'

Nin was dreaming about music, a kind of soft singing. There was something familiar about it. She didn't know where it was coming from, because the rest of the dream was taking place in a city on a rainy day. She was standing in the middle of a broad street surrounded by buildings that soared above her, sweeping to a white sky, their spires and domes wreathed in mist. Everything was light grey or white stone, but even in such pale hues, lost against the blank clouds, the walls and towers looked magnificent. Fine drizzle veiled her hair with tiny drops and a chill breeze made her shiver.

Nin knew this had to be a dream, it had that unreal quality. Though it was getting more vivid every moment. Before this, the last thing she remembered clearly was going to find Seth. She had a feeling there was more, but that it was best if she didn't think about it for the moment.

The singing faded away, leaving only the soft patter of rain. Now it was gone, she remembered where she had
heard it before. In the Sanctuary, when Elinor had given her crowsmorte potion.

I'm hurt, she thought, and Hen is trying to heal me. But for now I'm dreaming, so I might as well enjoy it while I can.

A figure draped in a dark cloak and with a blood-red scarf twined about his neck paused at her side. Beneath the cloak he was wearing a black silk suit and a bright, embroidered waistcoat.

‘There you are,' he said, ‘come along then. Morgan wants to see you.'

In that moment Nin saw that she was not alone in the city. There were others, hurrying along the pavements, heads bowed against the weather. Not many, but enough to make her wonder why she had not seen them before. But it was the one at her side that commanded her attention most and she turned to look up at him.

He was tall and slender and the lines and planes of his face were as beautiful as the buildings around them. Nin recognised him at once from the Mansion, but there was more than that. A sense of familiarity about his teasing smile.

‘Simeon Dark!'

‘Of course.' He laughed and she saw that his eyes were gold. Not plain gold, but dappled with flecks of silver. ‘Come along, follow me and no dawdling.'

He set off and Nin started after him, hurrying to keep up. She didn't know what was going on, but then who did in dreams?

Dark turned down a street of stone walls, their grey broken by the shining squares of windows, lit against the dismal day. A woman passed them, going the other way, and Nin saw that her face was sad and her silver eyes held a fear that made them dark. Looking back as the woman walked on, Nin lagged behind her guide, then had to run to catch up. For the first time she noticed that the pavement was covered in a fine layer of dust. Mixed with the rain it made a paste that coated her boots and splashed her jeans. Its pale colour was striking against the dark material of the sorcerer's cloak.

Ahead, the street gave out into a vast square and as they came into the open space, Nin gasped. The building at its centre made the others look ordinary. It did more than merely soar, its spires and pinnacles reached up in layers of intricate stone until they pierced the sky.

‘What's that?' asked Nin.

‘That,' said Dark reverently, ‘is the Hall of Galig, built by the King in celebration of his victory over the Faerie. It sits here on the banks of the river, at the heart of our great city of Beorht Eardgeard, as a symbol of Fabulous power.'

A cart rattled by and Nin saw something that made her tear her gaze away from the Hall. This time she stared in horror.

The cart was laden with goblins and other creatures she couldn't name. All of them dead. They were piled up, their shapes not given the dignity of a covering, their heads lolling against one another, arms embracing the
stranger beside them.

Nin looked away, feeling cold in her stomach. Dark watched her with interest.

‘Plague victims,' he said.

‘It's happening now? I'm dreaming the past?'

‘It began slowly, but now death is coming faster and Fabulous numbers grow less every day.'

Nin felt her eyes fog with something other than rain. ‘I'm sorry,' she said.

‘Why should the Quick be sorry? We gave you nothing and took everything.'

‘You gave us magic,' said Nin. ‘We miss it. Honestly.'

Dark laughed and moved on. Nin fell into step behind him again.

‘All Fabulous die in different ways,' he told her. ‘And not all leave a body like the goblins. Tombfolk dissolve into air, bogeymen become their own funeral pyre. Sorcerers, like many others, turn to dust.'

‘Dust?'

‘What do you think you are walking in?' said Simeon Dark quietly.

Silent now, Nin followed him across the square and towards the river that ran past Galig's Hall. Crossing the bridge, Nin looked down at the swirling waters, stained with red and wearing a skin of broken wood and silver froth.

‘Sprites,' said Dark, even though she hadn't asked. ‘Wood sprites and water sprites.' He said no more, he didn't have to.

They left the river and the Hall behind them, turning down a broad street of tall, elegant houses, all of grey or white stone. At last Dark stopped before one of the front doors and spoke to it. It swung open on to a long hall, the arched ceiling cut by a twisting ribbon of flame that hung in the air above them. Dark led the way down it towards another door at the end. Behind it, Nin could hear singing, real singing this time, rich and warm. Dark walked on without changing his pace, and the door opened before him, leading into a room that made Nin gasp with amazement.