Shadow Spell (31 page)

Right next to Strood's glittering eye a muscle began to twitch. ‘No matter how weary of life I become,' he went on quietly, ‘I will never reach the end of it. Never. And when the Drift has gone and even magic itself is dead, I will still be here. And then – if I can ask such a dull mind as yours to take a leap of imagination – think beyond that. When the Widdern has grown old and died, when the planet is a lump of boiling rock about to be swallowed by the sun, I will still be here. I will be here when the sun goes nova. I will burn for countless years until the sun goes cold again and dies in its turn. I will hang in the icy void of space and watch the stars go out …'

As Strood talked, Vispilio grew steadily paler. He licked his lips nervously.

‘So that's forever,' said Strood calmly. ‘Now, shall we discuss the word “alone”? Alone as in nothing else in the
universe but me?'

Vispilio edged closer to the door. Or at least, a little further away from Strood.

‘So you see, far from doing me a favour, you Seven Sorcerers committed a crime so horrible it doesn't bear thinking about. All things considered, it's amazing I've managed to stay sane!'

Strood gave his darkness-dripping Death a friendly pat. ‘But we'll come back to your crimes in a moment. First I want to try a little experiment of my own.'

The Maug licked him in a companionable way, its dark-within-dark eyes watching him attentively. After all, Strood was its master. More than that. The Maug was part of Strood. His Death, by now long overdue and yet unable to claim him because of a spell woven decades before that had driven a wedge between them.

Vispilio watched, a frown creasing Doctor Mel's creamy forehead.

‘You see,' Strood went on, ‘it occurred to me the other day, that maybe I could do more with the Maug. It is, after all,
my
Death. It's a pretty unique relationship and I don't feel that I have properly explored all the options.'

‘For example?' Vispilio sounded thoughtful, as if he too were thinking things through. A look came into his eyes, one of amazed realisation (quickly covered up) followed by one of cold calculation. ‘How much command do you have over it?' he asked softly. ‘Does it come when you call?'

‘Hmm?' Strood was barely paying attention. He
waved a hand dismissively. ‘Oh possibly. It's always here, so I've never had the need to try. No, I'm thinking of something more dramatic. Like … why a dog, do you think? Why not … something less … limited?'

Vispilio gasped as the Maug's great body shuddered and heaved. The creature opened its mouth in a silent howl, then leapt into the air. Its great shape hung for a moment, then twisted and tore apart, exploding soundlessly into a thousand smaller fragments that filled the air in a swirling mass. Each one began to re-shape itself, putting out beaks, spindly claw legs. Wings.

The Death birds rose, circling upwards to mill about just below the crystal roof of the Sunatorium. They hung there in a black cloud, dribbling shadows like rain that dissolved into the air as it fell.

‘Much more convenient,' said Strood, ‘for sweeping through the Drift, devouring every living thing they see. Don't you think?'

As if given a signal, the Death Flock veered and dipped, heading for the door. It burst open under the pressure of many small bodies and they streamed through into the hall and then out of the nearest smashed-in window. Through the crystal walls of the Sunatorium, Jibbit watched as they poured into the sky, a funnel of inky shadow that gathered above the Terrible House in a spreading and eerily quiet cloud. There were none of the normal bird sounds, no twittering or singing, just the whirr of thousands of small, darkness-dripping wings.

The Death Flock wheeled in the sky. Then it headed inland.

Strood went to the door and locked it, pocketing the key.

Vispilio cleared Doctor Mel's throat, feeling suddenly nervous. His plan had undergone a rapid rethink. Far from taking Strood over and ruling the Drift, it had become more like just getting out alive.

‘So, what? They'll finish off anyone still living?' he said, trying to buy time. ‘And what about the girl? Isn't that just a little dull? Giving her the same fate as everyone else!'

‘Oh, the Death Flock will head straight for Hilfian; it is intended only for those Quick and Grimm who survived my army. I have other plans for the girl, as I'm about to demonstrate. I'm going to deal with her personally.' Strood beamed. ‘Now here we need to backtrack a little. Remember that bungled experiment I referred to? The one that made me immortal? I'm sure you do remember, because I believe it was you, Ava, who established my immortality by throwing me to the wolves.'

Strood held out a hand. It was smooth with new skin and the only odd thing about it was a bluish-black tinge to the fingertips. ‘Hmm.' He held out the other one, also tipped with bluish-black, but this time seamed with so many scars it looked like miniature crazy paving.

‘As you can see, torn apart as I was, I healed up again.'

‘I remember,' said Vispilio, coldly.

Strood looked at the woman in front of him. He looked right through her skin to her heart where the once-sorcerer was crouching, like a spider at the heart of a web.

‘So do I,' he said. He smiled warmly. ‘And so, to make amends, you can help me test the fate I have in mind for young Ninevah.' He took a step forward.

Vispilio took a step back.

‘You may have noticed,' went on Strood, ‘the strange discolouration to my fingers?'

Vispilio nodded, his eyes darting anxiously this way and that. Jibbit could see that he wasn't used to being nervous and didn't know how to handle it.

‘Does it remind you of anything?'

In fact it was Doctor Mel who knew the answer, but Vispilio had already ransacked the contents of her captive mind.

‘Faerie pox?' he said. ‘A nasty disease visited on the Quick by the faerie race when they wanted to clear a village. It died out with the faeries.'

‘Funnily enough, not all of it. Mafig … remember him? He was the Quick apothecary who helped the Seven create the Deathweave … Well, he saved a man's life once by distilling the pox right out of him. Kept it as a memento. I discovered it in my laboratory, though I didn't think I'd find such an interesting use for it.'

Strood advanced on Vispilio, evil glittering in his quartz eye. It was doing pretty well in the other one too. Vispilio had backed right up against Jibbit's table, eyes
widening with horror.

‘I drank it,' went on Strood. ‘Of course, it can't kill me, because I'm immortal. Which means I'm just … a carrier …'

Vispilio went white, then drew Doctor Mel's body up to its full height. ‘Do your worst,' he hissed. ‘In my own way, I'm immortal too. It can only hurt for a while.'

‘True,' said Strood as his fingers touched the middle of Mel's forehead. ‘But it can hurt A LOT.'

Strood's finger left a pink mark. The pink deepened to red. A pimple appeared and became a spot which became a pustule surrounded by angry-looking skin. Another pimple, and another, both already swelling. Vispilio stopped glaring at Strood and reached up to scratch. The pustules burst, smearing sticky white goo over Doctor Mel's once smooth forehead. More pimples, spreading down around the eyes, nose and mouth. Vispilio scratched again. The itch was irresistible.

‘Ugh!' He looked with disgust at his fingers, which had already begun to swell. ‘Well, Strood, I don't think much of your fearful disease.'

His voice sounded thick, slurry, as if his tongue was too big. Which it was. The ends of his fingers were turning black and puffy. He coughed as his tongue, now too black and swollen to fit in his mouth, popped out and lolled. His eyes bulged and Strood smiled as he saw panic arrive in them.

‘Changed your mind?' he said. ‘I'm guessing the pain has begun, something like every inch of your skin splitting
open. Which it's going to do in just a few minutes. Oh and the struggling to breathe can't be fun.'

Vispilio gave a strangled gasping sound, his eyes now so swollen they bulged out of his sockets. His arms flailed as he sank to the ground.

Watching, Jibbit made a disgusted face as the smell, something like rotten fruit, reached him. Vispilio screamed as great rips began to appear in his skin. Ooze oozed out of them.

‘Just think, once you could have saved yourself. Once, when you were more than just a passenger in a Quick body. Only a sorcerer's touch can stop the faerie pox. No wonder the faeries hated them, they always had to be better at everything.'

There were more screams and rips, then a wet popping sound followed by a horrible slithering one as Vispilio descended into a pool of mush, some clothes and a nice, clean, leftover skeleton. The ring dropped off Doctor Mel's finger bone and Strood reached down to pick it up and clean it off on a handkerchief. He looked up to see Jibbit watching anxiously.

‘Not immortal,' he explained warmly. ‘An immortal cannot die. According to the story, Vispilio will only live again if his spell finds a Quick to wear the ring. I'm going to make sure it doesn't.'

Jibbit nodded, trying to make the gesture as humble as possible.

Strood beamed as he examined his blackened fingetips. ‘Well, that worked then. I shall enjoy using the
faerie pox on the girl even more now I know exactly what's coming to her.' He fished Vispilio's boots out of the pile of clothing and mush.

‘Hmm, a little ickier than I would have liked, but they'll do.'

Cautiously, Jibbit raised a claw. ‘Erm, but how will yoo know where she is?'

Strood's smile widened. ‘Oh I've got that covered too.' Out of his pocket he took a circle of metal, its rim etched with twisting symbols that made Jibbit's eyes water to look at. Balanced on the outer edge of the rim was a ruby.

‘Interesting thing about faeries, you know. Hopeless sense of direction. Made a lot of compasses. There are tons of them scattered about the Drift.'

He held it up.

‘Find me Ninevah Redstone,' he said, and the ruby rolled to point south-west.

Arafin Strood stepped out of the Terrible House for the first time in decades and snuffed the air. It felt cold in his throat and lungs, probably something to do with the stretches of Raw towering against the sky in all directions.

He was wearing Vispilio's boots strapped on over his usual black silk suit, he was holding the compass in one hand, and he had a rope strung around his neck. It was a strange rope, woven from freshly plucked stalks of crowsmorte twisted together in a complicated plait. Jibbit, tucked under Strood's arm, wondered what the rope did and was ready to bet it wasn't nice. He also wondered why Strood was taking him along on the trip and in particular why Strood had strapped Vispilio's ring to his back with twine, wound uncomfortably around his useless wings. Again, he was ready to bet that he wouldn't like the answer. So he didn't ask. Just to be on the safe side.

‘Hang on,' said Strood cheerfully.

Jibbit had never seen him in such a good mood, not
even when he was throwing people to the tigers or sending them to die horribly in the Engine.

Strood took a step forward and Jibbit hooted as the ground spun beneath them, whirling along in a blur. Coming to a stop, Strood turned to look back. Far behind them the House reared against the horizon. The boots had carried them so far with one single step that they had caught up with the Death Flock as it sailed through the morning sky, on its way to bring doom to Hilfian.

‘Well, well,' said Strood. ‘Though bear in mind that we will have to go the long way round.'

‘Because of all the Raw?' said Jibbit timidly.

‘Naturally.'

Strood set off again. Each step was like flying very low over the ground, but jerky because every time Strood's feet touched the earth there was a horrible jolt. The pace was dizzying and Jibbit closed his eyes, praying that the journey would soon be over.

Although Strood was carefully avoiding most of the patches of Raw he came across, even though it often took him well out of his way, there was one patch he was planning to visit.

‘You see,' he explained to Jibbit, ‘if I land right on the edge of the nothingness that you described to me, the nothingness at the heart of the Heart, then we should be able to stop for a while without our mode of transport
being eaten away entirely.'

‘But if we miss the edge and end up in the middle of the Raw …?'

‘Then I'll get out again quickly.'

‘And if we miss the other way and end up …'

‘Then we will fall forever into nothingness,' said Strood comfortably. ‘It's a gamble, but what is life without a little risk, eh?'

Jibbit was silent. He thought it best. He fixed his eyes on the mist walls of the Heart, looming against the sky.

‘Here we go,' said Strood, and took a step.