by Paul Stewart
‘I am Twig,’ he reminded himself as he raised his sword in his gauntleted hand. ‘I must leave this place. I will not become like the sepia knight.’
‘… like the sepia knight…’ the woods whispered back.
Twig followed the unearthly music, picking his way through the trees and undergrowth, trying his best to ignore the cries of disbelief that echoed just out of earshot. Up ahead, a bright, silvery light gleamed from the shadows. Twig broke into a run. He slashed impatiently at the undergrowth with his sword. He held back the razor-sharp creepers with the gauntlet. Closer and closer he got. A sweet almond-like perfume wafted around him. The light intensified, the jangled music grew louder.
And then he saw it…
There, with one end buried deep in the ground and the other rising zig-zag high up into the air, was a tall and magnificent crystal. It was the bolt of lightning, now solid, which Twig had watched being discharged from the Great Storm.
Twig gasped. ‘Stormphrax,’ he whispered.
Close to, the lightning bolt was even more remarkable than he had imagined. Flawless, unblemished and as smooth as glass, it pulsed with a pure white glow. The noise, he realized, was coming from the top of the jagged bolt, far above his head.
‘It’s cracking,’ he murmured in alarm. ‘It’s … breaking up!’
At that moment, there came a loud sound, like bells tolling, and a huge chunk of the crystal hurtled down through the air towards him in a shower of tiny glittering particles. Twig leapt back, fell to the ground and stared in horror as it landed, with a heavy thud and a puff of sepia dust, exactly where he had been standing.
The bell-like ringing sounded again and two more, even larger pieces of stormphrax landed beside the first. They too embedded themselves in the ground, and all three promptly disappeared.
‘They’re burying themselves,’ Twig realized.
He remembered, of course, that in absolute darkness a thimbleful of stormphrax was as heavy as a thousand ironwood trees now he could see what this meant in practice. The dark and immeasurably heavy underside of each of the giant pieces of crystal was dragging the rest down.
Thud, thud, thud. Thud. Thud-thud. Several more blocks fell. Twig scuttered backwards on his hands and feet, terrified that one of them would land on him. Some were small. Some were very large. All of them buried themselves where they landed, deep down in the absolute darkness below.
Then, in a grinding symphony of noise, the lightning bolt gave a lurch, and Twig saw that it, too, was sinking beneath the surface. It was this downward movement which was causing the top to splinter and crack and the more crystal that disappeared into the darkness, the stronger the pull became.
Twig shook his head in dismay. Even if the Stormchaser had been anchored right there above the clearing, how difficult it would have been to retrieve the pieces of stormphrax. Suddenly, with a final shwooohk-POP the final section of stormphrax sank down out of sight.
‘Gone,’ he whispered.
He stood up and looked around the clearing. Apart from the burnt and broken branches, there was no sign that the bolt of stormphrax had ever been there. Distant laughter echoed.
‘Gone,’ he said again, hardly able to believe his eyes.
All those years of waiting for a Great Storm. And all the dangers that chasing the storm had involved. The broken mast. The abandoning of the sky ship. The loss of his father. And for what? For a bolt of lightning which had disappeared within hours of reaching its destination and almost killed him in the process!
Except, thought Twig with a shudder, it wouldn’t have killed me, would it? A piece could have broken my back or stoved in my skull but I wouldn’t have died. Icy fingers strummed up and down Twig’s back at the macabre thought of what might have happened.
‘And now, all that’s left is this,’ he said, kicking angrily at the sprinkling of crystals, too small to sink with the rest, which rested on every surface like frost. A cloud of glittering dust flew up into the glinting air. Twig felt sick. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. ‘Stormchasing!’ he cursed bitterly. ‘A fool’s errand, more like.’
‘Yet oddly appealing for all that,’ came a cracked, reedy voice from behind him.
Twig started, then raised his eyes impatiently to the sky. The sepia knight was the last person he wanted to meet again.
‘Twig,’ came the voice again. ‘It is Twig, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Twig snapped as he spun around. ‘It’s…’ He stopped short. It was not the sepia knight; neither was it a phantom, a ghoul, a trick of the light, ‘YOU!’ he exclaimed.
‘Indeed it is’ the Professor of Light said as he peered up at him awkwardly. ‘Though slightly the worse for wear, I fear. I couldn’t quite get the hang of those parawings’ he explained. ‘Had quite a tumble.’
Twig stared back at him in open-mouthed horror.
‘Do I really look that bad?’ he said, and sighed wearily. ‘I do, don’t I?’
Twig felt a lump coming into his throat. ‘Your neck’ he whispered. ‘It’s …’
‘Broken’ said the professor. ‘I know.’ He raised his hands, clamped them to either side of his head and pulled it up until his eyes met Twig’s. ‘Is that better?’ he asked, and smiled weakly.
Twig nodded. The next moment, however, the professor sneezed on the dust, and the whole lot flopped forward again. Twig tried hard to swallow away the rising feeling of nausea.
‘We need to fix it in place, somehow,’ he said, and turned round ostensibly to look for something that he might use, but actually to avoid eye-contact with the terrifying sight of the professor’s lolling head. ‘A stick,’ he muttered busily. ‘Hang on,’ and he dashed off into the trees.
The next minute he was back, carrying a long and for the ancient trees of the Twilight Woods straight branch, which he had broken off a nearby tree.
‘This ought to do the trick. If I place it against your back, like so. And bind it tightly with my rope like … so. That’s it.’
He stepped back to check his handiwork. From the back, it looked as though the professor had a young sapling growing out of his spine.
‘Now, for the head itself,’ he chattered on, as he pulled a length of bandage from a pocket. ‘That ought to be enough. Let’s just see.’
The professor, whose chin was resting against his chest, glanced up as far as he could. ‘What are you going to do?’ he asked.
‘I’ll show you,’ said Twig. ‘If you raise your head again then I’ll secure it to the branch at the back. To stop it falling forwards again.’
‘Excellent idea,’ said the professor enthusiastically. He lifted his head up for a second time, and rested it gently against the branch.
Twig wound the bandage round and round the professor’s forehead and the makeshift support, clamping the two together. When the bandage was all but used up, he tore the end in two and tied a double-knot. ‘There,’ he said at last.
The professor removed his hands. His head remained upright. Twig breathed a deep sigh of relief.
‘Outstanding piece of improvisation,’ the Professor of Light exclaimed. ‘I must say, that Tem Barkwater was right. You are indeed an ingenious young fellow.’
Twig started with surprise and delight. ‘Tem?’ he said. ‘Is Tem here or … ?’ The spectral air flickered gleefully and chimed with unpleasant laughter. Twig’s stomach sank as he realized his likely mistake. ‘Or were you talking to him on the Stormchaser?’ he said.
‘No, no,’ replied the professor. ‘We hardly exchanged a word on board ship. No, he is here, in the Twilight Woods …’ A look of bewilderment passed over his face. ‘We were together, only a moment ago. We … I was looking at…’ He turned round awkwardly and stared at Twig. ‘I can’t remember what I was looking at.’
Twig nodded, and glanced round uneasily at the shifting shadows. ‘This is a treacherous place,’ he said softly. ‘There’s something here … Or someone or maybe, many. I don’t know. But I see faces I can’t focus on, hear v
oices that fade away when I try to listen.’
‘That’s it,’ the professor said dreamily. ‘Questions searching for answers. Theorems looking for proof …’
‘Why’ Twig went on, and raised the sword high in his gauntleted hand, ‘if it weren’t for these … The sword reminds me of where I came from and who I am. The gauntlet, of what I must never become. Without them, I fear I would lose myself completely. Oh, Professor, we have to leave these woods as soon as we can.’
The professor sighed, but did not move. ‘Twig,’ he said softly. ‘My neck was broken in the fall. It was only because I landed in this place that I am still alive. I cannot leave the immortality of the Twilight Woods,’ he said. ‘I would die in an instant if I did.’
Twig shook his head miserably. The professor was right, of course.
‘But It’s not so bad. Now I can study stormphrax for ever.’ He smiled. ‘And what more could a Professor of Light ask for?’
Twig smiled back, but his heart chilled at the words. If the professor could not go, then where did that leave him? Alone again? Abandoned? The thought was more than he could bear.
‘Professor,’ he said tentatively. ‘You will help me find the others, won’t you?’
The professor turned and surveyed him gravely. ‘What type of a person do you take me for?’ he said. ‘We academics of Sanctaphrax are not all as rotten as that traitorous foulpox; that upstart knife-grinder, Vilnix Pompolnius no matter what you may have heard to the contrary’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean…’ said Twig. ‘It’s just … I couldn’t… I can’t…’
‘Hush now, Twig,’ said the professor.
‘I’ve got to leave!’ Twig cried out. ‘I’ve got to. Before It’s too late.’
‘… too late … too late …’ the woods taunted.
The professor wrapped his arm awkwardly round Twig’s shoulder. ‘I give you my word,’ he said. ‘I shall not abandon you. After all,’ he said, nodding back at the branch which was supporting his head, ‘one good turn deserves another.’
‘Thank you,’ Twig sniffed, and looked up. ‘I …’
The professor was staring into mid-air, a smile playing over his lips. Once again, his mind had been lured away by the treacherous spectres and phantasms that haunted the darkest corners of the woods. The crystals sparkled. ‘Light incarnate,’ he whispered dreamily. ‘Light made whole.’
‘Professor,’ Twig shouted, anxiously. ‘Professor! You gave me your word!’
•C H A P T E R S I X T E E N•
CAPTAIN TWIG
‘Professor!’ Twig screamed into his companion’s ear. ‘It’s me, Twig. You must help me.’
But the professor merely turned away, raised his arm and began scrutinizing the back of his hand. ‘See how the crystals cling to each individual hair,’ he marvelled. ‘And how the light illuminates its entire length, from follicle to split end.’
Twig nodded. The hairs were indeed shining. But, so what? ‘Professor,’ he tried again, ‘listen to me.’
‘You’re right, my old and trusty friend and rival,’ the professor said. ‘It does seem to soak up the light. Trust you to notice the particles of sepia dust in-between. Such a substance must indeed have purifying qualities …’
Shaking his head, Twig turned away. Just as the sepia knight had mistaken him for his old compatriot, Garlinius, so the professor was now seeing and hearing him as the Professor of Darkness. It was hopeless. Utterly hopeless.
Twig fought back his tears. ‘You come with me,’ he said, as he took the professor gently by the wrist and led him away. ‘Come on. Two heads are better than one even if one of them is broken and empty.’
They hadn’t gone more than a dozen paces when the Professor of Light stopped and turned on Twig. ‘What exactly do you mean by “broken and empty”?’ he demanded.
Twig burst out laughing. ‘Professor!’ he exclaimed. ‘Welcome back!’
‘Oh, Twig,’ the Professor of Light said softly. ‘What a remarkable place this is.’
Twig smiled uncertainly and, as the unlikely pair continued their search for the rest of the crew of the Stormchaser, he kept quiet as the professor rambled on and on about the stormphrax crystals.
‘Light in physical form,’ he enthused. ‘Solid energy. Can you imagine such a thing, Twig? Volatile in bright light, stable in the twilight glow, yet heavy beyond reason when cloaked in darkness. Stormphrax is a wondrous substance and no mistake.’
Twig nodded. That much, at least, he knew to be true.
‘But then weight, as Ferumix demonstrated so well, is relative,’ the professor went on. ‘x equals y + z over pi, where x represents weight, y, the surface area of the crystal and z, its translucency.’ He frowned. ‘Or do I mean radiance?’
Twig stared at him uneasily. Did the professor’s calculations prove that he still had his wits about him or was he simply uttering meaningless gibberish. ‘There’s certainly a lot of the stuff,’ he commented, as he glanced about him.
‘Indeed!’ the professor exclaimed. He turned stiffly round to look at Twig. His eyes glinted wildly. ‘And I intend to count it all every last particle thereby allowing me to establish just how many Great Storms it has taken to produce this number of crystals, and how long. Epochs. Millennia,’ he whispered reverently. ‘Aeons.’
Twig shook his head. All this talk of time spinning away endlessly troubled him. The air rippled, and voices whispered to him from the harlequin shadows. Gentle, soothing voices. Enticing voices.
‘You are Twig,’ they murmured. ‘You are sixteen years old. How much you have seen and done in that short space of time …’
And, as Twig continued to stare into the flashing diamonds of light and shade, he saw scenes he recognized, places and people he knew. Taghair, the oakelf, who had shown him his name. Hoddergruff, a woodtroll neighbour. On board the Stormchaser with the sky pirates. In the back room of the Bloodoak tavern. Mother Horsefeather, Forficule Cloud Wolf.
‘How much more has the eternity of the Twilight Woods to offer,’ the voices lulled.
Twig stared at the face before him. ‘Father?’ he murmured, and took a step forwards.
Cloud Wolf’s spectral form slipped back and hovered just out of reach. ‘Farther than you think,’ he replied, his voice low and resounding. ‘But stay awhile,’ he said. ‘Search and you will find me. One day, Twig. Just keep on searching, and one day …’
‘NO!’ screamed Twig. ‘You’re not my father. Not my real father.’ He gripped the gauntlet round the hilt of the sword and pulled it from its scabbard. ‘Leave me, whatever you are!’ he shouted, and began slashing frantically all round him.
The air crackled and curdled. The faces retreated. They jeered and gesticulated and poked out their tongues.
‘Stay awhile? I will not stay here!’ he cried out.
‘… stay here …’
‘Be gone, I say,’ roared Twig. ‘Be gone!’
‘… gone …’
And they were. Twig found himself staring into the troubled eyes of the Professor of Light. His gnarled fingers gripped him firmly by the shoulders.
‘Can you hear me, lad?’ he shouted. ‘Twig!’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I can hear you … Oh, Professor,’ he whimpered, ‘if I don’t leave the Twilight Woods soon, then I must surely stay here for ever.’ He tightened his gauntleted grip on the sword and brandished it in the air. ‘TEM!’ he bellowed, ‘SPIKER! STOPE! HUBBLE! WHERE ARE YOU?’
His words echoed and faded away to nothing. Twig hung his head. It was hopeless. It was … but wait. He cocked his head to one side.
‘What is it?’ asked the professor.
‘Sssshh!’ Twig hissed, and closed his eyes to concentrate all the harder. And there it was again. Low and plaintive the faint but unmistakable sound of a banderbear yodelling its greetings.
As a child, Twig had often lain in bed listening to the massive solitary creatures calling to one another across the vast distances of the Deepwoods. So far as he k
new, there were no banderbears in the Twilight Woods save one.
‘HUBBLE!’ he cried, and yodelled back as best he could. ‘Wa-ah-ah-ah!’
‘Wa-ah-ah-ah-ah!’ came the reply, closer now.
Gripping his sword just in case Twig broke into a run.
‘Wuh-wuh!’ he called excitedly.
‘Wuh-wuh!’ The voice was closer than ever. The next moment there came the sound of cracking and splintering wood, and Hubble himself the giant albino banderbear came crashing out of the shadowy trees towards him.
‘Hubble!’ Twig exclaimed.
‘T-wuh-g!’ roared the banderbear, and the pair of them fell into each other’s arms and hugged warmly.
‘I feared I would never see you again,’ said Twig at length, as he pulled himself away. As he did so, he realized they were not alone. Just as the Professor of Light had followed him, so the rest of the crew had followed Hubble. Twig wiped his tears away, and smiled round at the circle of grinning faces.
‘Tern,’ he said. ‘Spiker. Stope, Stone Pilot it is so good to see you all.’
‘And it warms my heart to discover that you, too, are safe, Master Twig,’ said Tern Barkwater. He paused. ‘I … that is, we hoped the captain might be with you.’
Twig shook his head. ‘Cloud Wolf refused to abandon the Stormchaser,’ he said. ‘The last I saw of him, he had regained control of the sky ship and had steered it to the very centre of the Great Storm.’
‘Good old cap’n Cloud Wolf,’ said Tern Barkwater. ‘The bravest sky pirate I ever met, and that’s a fact. He’ll be back to find us soon enough, you see if he isn’t.’
Twig nodded, but said nothing. Now was not the time to mention the ball of lightning he had seen surrounding the sky ship, nor the explosion that followed. There was no point in crushing the sky pirates’ hopes. On the other hand, waiting around for Cloud Wolf to return could prove fatal. In the event, it was the Professor of Light who came to his aid.
‘You must all leave here as soon as you can,’ he said.
