Blood and Fire (Book 3)

by Marcus Alexander

  ‘Why, you filthy little Human piece of meat …’ jeered the head chef, clearly disgusted that she could do such a thing in his kitchen. ‘You’re good for nothing. I wouldn’t even want to turn you into pâté! You’re going straight into the slops bin!’

  He swung his cleaver at her, then followed up with a thunderous blow from his rolling pin. Charlie, still dizzy with disbelief and revulsion, fell back before his onslaught. Tripping over an unconscious pastry chef, she landed on her backside and was forced to scrabble backwards as the head chef repeatedly slammed his rolling pin into the floor. He pursued her down one aisle and into the next, leaving a trail of broken tiles. Charlie was about to spring back to her feet when one of the kitchen porters revived enough to open his eyes, clamp his fingers round Charlie’s shin and pin her to the floor.

  ‘Good!’ smirked the head chef. ‘Hold her fast!’

  He brought the cleaver whistling down.

  59

  Appetite

  Time seemed to slow as the blade fell towards her.

  The head chef’s face was pulled into a grimace, the ribbon in his beard fluttered and clouds of disturbed flour swirled around his feet. Charlie could hear the high-pitched whistle of some unattended kettle, the excited chuckle of the kitchen porter as he held her fast and beneath all of this the tha-thud, tha-thud of her beating heart.

  Time sped up.

  The cleaver, edge glinting with reflected light, sheared towards her at terrifying speed.

  Grunting with effort, and still trapped by the kitchen porter, Charlie did her best to parry the blade.

  K-CHUNKK!

  The blade buried itself in the floor, next to her supporting hand and right in the gap where Charlie’s little finger used to be.

  Kitchen porter, head chef and Charlie stared at the still-quivering cleaver in a shared moment of disbelief.

  Charlie’s eyes narrowed. She raised her free leg and slammed her heel against the kitchen porter until he slumped into an unconscious heap. The head chef rushed to free his blade but Charlie held it fast with one hand and grabbed his beard with the other. The head chef’s eyes bulged when he realized that, as big as he was, he wasn’t able to free himself from her grasp. In a final bid for freedom he swiped at her with the rolling pin but she blocked it with her shin.

  ‘No, no,’ protested Charlie, ‘we won’t be having any of that.’ To underline her point she tugged his beard. ‘Now, if you don’t want me to stuff that rolling pin in your ear I’d strongly suggest that you let it go.’ He did as he was told. ‘And take your fingers off that big knife too.’

  ‘It’s a cleaver,’ said the head chef, then shrieked as Charlie gave his beard another painful tug.

  ‘Does it look like I care what the correct culinary term is?’ said Charlie. ‘Let it go and show me where your larder is.’

  Disarmed, he pointed past the pastry section. ‘That way.’

  Charlie grunted and marched over with him in tow.

  ‘Open it.’ She thrust her chin towards the door.

  The head chef staggered forward and, still bent double, unlocked the door with clumsy fingers.

  They were greeted by rows of tear-stained faces. The larder was crowded with Human and Treman children.

  ‘Oh no …’ muttered Charlie as she felt something shatter inside her heart. ‘How could you …?’ The chef groaned and the small children shied away as Charlie’s Will flickered higher and higher, pushing back the shadows and causing the ground beneath her feet to crack and splinter.

  ‘You!’ snarled Charlie. She kicked the head chef’s feet from beneath him, then dragged him deep into the larder. The room was long, almost a corridor. Children sat on the floor and several listless adults were held in cages that lined both sides of the chilly chamber.

  ‘Get those cages open!’

  The head chef, daunted by her aura of Will, pulled keys from his pocket with shaky fingers. He dropped them several times but did, eventually, manage to free all the adults.

  ‘Get in,’ commanded Charlie.

  The head chef eyed the cages uncertainly. ‘I won’t fit,’ he protested.

  Charlie fixed him with her blazing eyes. ‘You’d better make sure you fit or else …’

  The huge Stoman scrambled into one of the cages and pulled the door shut with a satisfactory clang. Charlie picked up a dropped padlock and secured his cage. But she wasn’t done. Reaching in, she yanked the ribbon from his beard. ‘Open your mouth.’

  The head chef stared back at her with a look of incomprehension.

  ‘It’s not rocket science,’ said Charlie. ‘Open your mouth.’

  He hesitantly did as he was told. Charlie stuck the ribbon between his teeth. ‘Now chew on this.’

  Clearly feeling like an idiot, he chewed.

  ‘Good,’ said Charlie. ‘Now swallow.’

  The chef’s eyes bulged. Alarmed at the idea, he shook his head from side to side.

  ‘You better eat that ribbon,’ growled Charlie, ‘or I’ll rip that beard off your chin and glue it to your eyebrows. Now eat the ribbon!’

  Coughing, gagging and whimpering, the chef did as he was told.

  ‘Well done. Now stay here and wait for the Winged Ones to arrive. Oh, and if you get bored just think about all the kids that you cooked and count your lucky stars I’m not putting you in one of your own stew pots.’

  She turned to look at the people gathered around her. She guessed there were forty to fifty of them, many too shell-shocked or too emotionally broken to display much excitement. A couple of the adults stood out from the rest. They held themselves upright and seemed better equipped at managing their fear.

  ‘What are your names?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘I’m Paila of the Low Cedar,’ said the Treman woman. She pointed to the Human next to her. ‘He’s Ottokar from Alavis and we owe ya our thanks.’

  ‘You can earn my thanks by getting these kids out of here,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Out?’ Ottokar chuckled with dark humour. ‘Do you know where we are? It’s going to take more than us two to shepherd this lot out of the Western Mountains.’

  Charlie gestured for them to follow her into the kitchen; several of the kids, not wanting to be left alone, trailed after them. She pointed towards the entrance with the torn door. ‘Go that way, follow the corridor and keep heading down. I’ve cleared the way and so long as you keep coming across unconscious bodies you’ll know you’re on the right path and still safe. Take weapons from the bodies and find a place to hold up and hide. Either I or the Winged Ones will come and get you when it’s over.’

  ‘The Winged Ones are here?’ asked Paila.

  ‘Yes,’ said Charlie. ‘Listen.’

  Paila and Ottokar shared a look, then cocked their heads to one side.

  ‘I can’t hear anything,’ said Ottokar after a couple of seconds.

  ‘Ssh,’ said Charlie and was rewarded moments later by the faint sound of a distant boom.

  The smiles on Paila and Ottokar’s faces were a welcome sight.

  ‘OK?’ asked Charlie.

  The two adults nodded.

  ‘Good,’ continued Charlie. ‘Get those kids out of here and with a bit of luck I’ll see you guys later.’

  ‘Which way are you headed?’ asked Ottokar.

  ‘I’m finding Bane,’ said Charlie. ‘And I don’t think you want to be around to see that.’

  Ottokar sucked in a sharp breath. ‘Yeah, yer probably right about that.’

  Charlie nodded one last time, then walked off, feeling confident that if she had found Bane’s kitchen, then his Throne Room couldn’t be too far away.

  ‘Wait!’ urged Paila. ‘Wot’s yer name?’

  ‘Charlie.’ And although the gesture wasn’t necessary she showed them her still-flaming hands. ‘Charlie Keeper.’

  As the children crowded round the adults, Paila and Ottokar gave her a grateful nod.

  Charlie waved, then made her exit.

  60

  Fal
len Wings

  Stones leaned over and gently nudged his brother. Putting finger to lips, he pointed down the corridor. A long scaly tail was disappearing round the corner.

  The two brothers shared a predatory glance. It looked like they had made it back to the Western Mountains in time to join the party. They nudged their Stowyrms forward with masterful ease. The beasts slinked quietly down the corridor and, rounding the corner, they found their prey silhouetted against a wide entrance that opened into a vast shaft. Weapons at the ready, the Delightful Brothers moved forward, then stopped. Stix looked to Stones, and Stones nodded back.

  ‘Hey, Winged One!’ called Stix. ‘We thought about stabbing you in the back but that would have been too easy. If we’re going to do this –’

  ‘And we are,’ interjected Stones.

  ‘– then we want this to be memorable,’ concluded Stix. ‘We’re hunters, the best at the game, and we want a conquest worthy of our reputation.’

  The Winged One shook its tail like an angered tiger, then turned round. It was Last Laugh.

  ‘The Delightful Brothers,’ he said. ‘Your reputation does precede you. But I will not fight you. I have more pressing concerns. Leave me and I’ll pretend you were never so arrogant as to think that you could challenge a Winged One.’

  Stones let loose an arrow. Last Laugh burned it to ash. Both parties knew the shot was easy to parry but that was not the point. It raised the stakes and underlined the Delightful Brothers’ deadly intent.

  ‘Ancient and beyond your years I might be,’ snarled Last Laugh, ‘but I’m not impervious to rage! Leave me now or I will turn you to cinder and ash!’

  ‘Good!’ cried Stix. ‘That’s the spirit!’

  ‘Yes!’ roared Stones. ‘Show us your fire! Let us dance as only the mighty should!’

  Last Laugh let loose a mighty howl that eclipsed Stix and Stones’s shouts of encouragement. Sucking in a deep lungful of air, he spat out a great wave of crackling fire that engulfed the corridor. The Stowyrms reared and the Delightful Brothers, quick as a flash, ducked beneath their mounts to use their rocky sides as a barrier to Last Laugh’s attack.

  Realizing that his fire was not up to the task, Last Laugh unleashed a barrage of lightning. The sound of the Delightful Brothers’ laughter floated towards him.

  ‘More!’ cackled Stix. ‘It’ll take more than that!’

  Last Laugh snarled and lashed his tail against the walls. As the smoke cleared, the first thing he saw was Stix and Stones’s strange cat’s eyes staring back at him. With an even louder snarl than before, he surged down the tunnel towards his tenacious foes.

  Stix and Stones roared with delight and urged their mounts forward. With bow and sword in hand, they lunged into combat.

  It was a fierce, bloody fight. But when it was done, it was Last Laugh who lay still and the Delightful Brothers who stood victorious.

  Stix looked to Stones, and Stones looked back.

  ‘We are the best,’ said Stix.

  ‘Brothers like none other,’ agreed Stones.

  ‘Hunters,’ said Stix.

  ‘Predators,’ said Stones.

  ‘The most feared.’

  ‘The mightiest.’

  The two slapped hands and pulled the other into a hard embrace.

  ‘To success!’ shouted Stones.

  ‘Success!’ echoed his brother.

  Grinning wickedly, Stones peeled back Last Laugh’s lips and helped himself to one of his teeth. He would add this to his necklace that carried proof of all his previous victories. Then, smirking like two children locked in a sweet shop, the brothers pushed Last Laugh over the edge to fall like discarded garbage into the shaft.

  Mr Crow flinched as he watched Bane’s god continue its work. Its long fingers, blackened skin and mouthless face sickened and terrified him in equal measure. Unable to understand how such a thing could exist, he had secretly taken to calling it the ‘charcoal monster’. As he continued to watch from a safe distance the charcoal monster dipped its hands into the bridge and, after a few seconds’ manipulation, pulled free four more eggs. They squatted there like inanimate objects until the charcoal monster teased them into life with odd stroking motions. Bit by bit the eggs grew, they elongated and stretched into the disgusting maggot shape that Crow was now all too familiar with. And in less than a couple of minutes the job was done and another four of Bane’s new Stowyrms lay coiled upon the ground. With an abrupt lurch, they shook free their wings, lifted themselves off the floor and threw themselves from the bridge. Crow rushed to the side to see them briefly hover before disappearing down a lava-laden tunnel.

  Rubbing his head to dispel the headache that had been continuously pounding at the inside of his skull, the lawyer returned to his former position only to freeze when he realized that the charcoal monster was looking directly at him.

  Mr Crow shivered as he stared at the multifaceted eyes of Bane’s god. His shivers turned to spasms as he felt the thing try to dig once more through his thoughts.

  ‘Get out! Get out!’ he screamed.

  He couldn’t stand the sensation of its weird presence inside his head. Covering his eyes with his hands, he huddled into a ball and rolled back and forth until he felt the charcoal monster’s presence recede. When he dared to open his eyes he saw it had resumed its work, shaping a new batch of Stowyrms.

  Uncertain if he was sobbing out of pain or humiliation, he stumbled to his feet. He was too scared to disobey Bane’s command to remain but too frightened to loiter within the charcoal monster’s reach, so he chose to wander some distance down the seemingly never-ending bridge.

  As he stumbled along on numb feet, his mind tangled itself into a state of flux. Memories of the things he treasured – gold, money, fat bank accounts – got snarled with bitter images of the people he despised the most: Elias and Mya Keeper, that senile grandma and their brat of a girl, Charlie.

  ‘Spoilt, pampered and undeserving good-for-nothings,’ he muttered as his brain continued to whirl with what-ifs and what-could-have-beens. ‘And that house … that house! That whelp of a girl didn’t deserve it. No, she didn’t! Did she work as hard as me? Pah! Never done a scrap of work in her life. Her life has been all honey and syrup, not like mine. Not like mine at all! Does she have to deal with Bane or the charcoal monster? No, I bet she doesn’t. All me! Always poor Crow that has to suffer and … what’s this?’

  The skinny lawyer staggered to a stop. There was a glowing wire, a bit thinner than a hosepipe, lying on the bridge. Blinking in consternation, he bent over to better investigate it. It really was glowing, like a piece of molten silver, and when he picked it up it felt soft, like playdough in his hands. He rocked back on to his heels and rubbed his angular nose in surprise. Looking ahead, he could see that it disappeared into the distance. Looking back the way he had come, he could see that it ended somewhere amidst the glow that surrounded Bane’s god.

  Eager for a distraction and desperate for any excuse to avoid the god’s plucking fingers, Mr Crow stopped rubbing his sore head and made his way down the bridge, keen to see where the wire would lead him.

  Charlie knocked the dagger from the footman’s hand, then slammed him against the wall. ‘Throne Room. Which way?’

  The footman lifted a shaking finger. ‘Down the corridor, across the courtyard, through the next two doors and you’re there.’

  Charlie released her grip from round his robes and allowed him to slump to the ground.

  As she walked down the corridor and past the paintings, sculptures and beautifully carved doors that lined either side, her mind was awash with turbulent thoughts. She couldn’t get over what she had seen in that kitchen. The images of the meat on hooks and the fleshy lumps simmering in pots was something that would stay with her for life. Would haunt her for life. That awful evidence and the tragedy of seeing the terrified children forced her to re-evaluate her outlook.

  All this time she had been fighting to free her parents with the intention of returning
her life to some measure of normality. Sure, she had been fighting on the just side, the right side, but in reality she had been fighting for her own selfish reasons. That had to change now and so too did her priorities. There was no way she could put herself first, not any more, not when Bane was about to eclipse thousands upon thousands of people with his shadow. And certainly not when young children were at risk of being eaten.

  ‘Never again,’ she muttered.

  The jigsaw of her soul revolved and rearranged itself. Gone were the fear and the anger, and in their place pulsed a fist of determination. Her Will changed with it. The gold of its colour intensified and sparks of bright light fizzed and spluttered around her.

  Reaching the end of the corridor, she opened a door and stepped into the courtyard beyond. Large moss-covered rocks protruded from the ground and around these was a fine layer of pebbles combed into swirls and circles, which looked to Charlie not unlike a Japanese Zen garden. Glancing overhead, she saw there was no ceiling, only a perfectly square shaft that opened hundreds of metres above to reveal the welcome sight of daylight. Before she looked away she noted that there were windows and passageways that opened above at differing levels, but seeing no movement or threat Charlie disregarded these and made her way to the far side.

  THHHHHHHHHHHUDD!

  The sudden sound of a heavy impact caused her to jump. Whipping round, she faltered and felt her knees go weak.

  ‘No … no, no, no, no, no.’

  It was Last Laugh. He stared back at her with unseeing eyes. His mighty wings fluttered slightly, then stilled. He moved no more.

  Horrified, she glanced upward but saw no friend, no foe, no other Winged One or Stowyrm. The shaft was empty and other than the churning of distant clouds there was no movement. On weak legs she shuffled towards the fallen Winged One, then stopped when blood began to pool over the pebbles. Grabbing hold of her senses, she staggered over to him with squelching footsteps and rested her hands gently on his muzzle.