Devastation

by Jane Dougherty

  Carla put her head around the door. Tully sighed happily and patted the bed next to him. Kat walked in behind her then took a chair, Jack took the other, Jim sat on the chest and Jeff lay on the floor. Dusty padded behind, lay down next to Jeff and went back to sleep.

  Tully sat up. “Well, what did you make of all that?”

  “You mean about being heroes and stars, and fighting the forces of evil?” Jim asked.

  Tully hesitated. “If all those fairy stories are true, maybe we could be heroes. Why not?”

  Carla chewed the end of her thumb, a deep frown across her forehead. “It’s true that when you look back on history, we—human beings, I mean—seem to have been hurtling down the wrong road since…since…forever!”

  “It’s a neat idea, though, isn’t it?” Tully said. “That the stories were what should have been reality.”

  “And all those places like Avalon and Atlantis really existed,” Jim said.

  “Or should have,” Kat added thoughtfully.

  “And Tír na nÓg, like Grandma Quinn told us about,” Jack added. “I wonder, is the bit about the horses true as well?”

  Jim put his head in his hands. “Ouch! This is doing my head in.”

  “It seems to me we have no choice but to believe the stories are true,” Carla said, with a look that forbade any more frivolity. “And we’ve certainly had enough paranormal experiences over the last few days to make anything seem possible. It’s the only way of getting my dad back. And I’d rather believe he’s been taken over by a powerful fiend from a parallel universe than that he burnt to death in an air crash. The only problem is that we have to accept all the rest.”

  “Like the Four Horsemen and their army, the destruction of the planet by war and famine,” Tully said, deadly serious. “And that they will follow us here because they think one of us is Eblis.”

  “It’s exciting, though, isn’t it?” Tully’s dad leaned forward on the edge of his chair. “I don’t know about you but I feel different. Something’s happened to us, definitely. It’s a question of finding out what. Take Carla, for example. She used to make the Quakers look like the Wild Bunch. Now look at her!”

  They did. She had golden flecks in her hazel eyes that glittered, and a determined set to her mouth. She held herself straight and didn’t flinch in embarrassment at the attention she was getting.

  “That one would stop Darth Vader with a broom handle! And Jeff can see straight now, backward and forward, and he can control his visions. They don’t control him anymore.” He rumpled Jeff’s hair and grinned.

  “Didn’t Yvain say they’d been expecting seven stars though?” Jim said. “Maybe it’s not us after all. I was never that good at maths, but whenever I count us, I only get six.”

  “Seven,” said Jeff and patted Dusty on the head.

  “That’s a dog,” said Kat.

  “I thought you said she wasn’t a dog!” Jeff snapped back.

  “Drac then. Whatever. It’s definitely not a star.”

  “She has changed though,” Jeff said, as Dusty licked his face affectionately.

  “Yeah,” said Jim with a grin, “she’s a real jewel in the firmament now. The original Dog Star.”

  “The rest of us just have to wait to find out what’s changed,” Jack went on.

  “Maybe not all of us.” Tully felt on the verge of a revelation. “If there is any power to be got out of the human voice, I think I can find it. I don’t know how yet, but I’m sure that one day, soon, I’ll crack it.”

  Carla took his hand and grinned. “The warrior and the bard. Who’d have thought a simple trip down a rabbit hole could turn the fount of verbal diarrhea into a poet and a violent pacifist into the Caped Crusader?”

  The others laughed. Even Dusty pricked up her ears and licked Jeff’s face again.

  “I wonder what the Dog Star’s talent will turn out to be?” Jack mused. “Now that she’s stopped behaving like something out of Jurassic Park.”

  Chapter Seven

  The Unfolding of Talents

  “Here is Lutecia, and the flat land to the north is either cultivated or pasture land.”

  Yvain was using objects from the dining table to create a map. “This”—he moved the bread basket—“is the forest of Retz. It covers a steeply scarped ridge, roughly thirty miles wide and sixty long. On the far side, the forest gives way to the Briga Mór, a wilderness of heath and moorland, rising sharply to arid mountains.”

  They were sitting in the same lofty room where they had eaten their first meal, this time to a supper of baked rabbit with mustard sauce and heaps of floury potatoes, washed down with a yeasty white wine. Their enjoyment of the meal was somewhat spoiled by Yvain’s explanation of the task in hand. He picked up a large table napkin and laid it out in a crumpled heap.

  “A ridge of wild hills cuts across the Briga Mór, separating Gaul from the Northlands, and its highest point, Mount Ardar, is the center of the world. At its summit grows the World Tree, whose roots link all worlds and all times, and whose boughs hang over a bottomless chasm known as Poll Ifrinn, the hole to Hell.” Yvain placed an upturned glass in the middle of the napkin hills and paused for effect, his bright blue eyes fixed on each of them in turn. “Wormwood is not in his place in this world, and his own world will not take him back. Promising them vast pasturelands of warm flesh, he has convinced the worms to create a way out of Pandemonium. The demons are leaving it now, like rats swarming from a sinking ship. The only way to stop them reaching and destroying all the worlds is to force Wormwood into the Poll Ifrinn and back to his rightful place.”

  “But he’s already got out of it once,” Tully objected. “What’s to stop him from taking the same route out again?”

  “The path of the Poll Ifrinn will take him back to another time, long ago, far away from the wormholes. The powers stored in the World Tree, that created the equilibrium at the birth of your world, will keep him enchained.”

  “And what makes you think he’ll go?” Tully asked. “He seems like an awkward cuss to me.”

  “He will obey the voice of Israfel. He must. The story says so.”

  “The plot thickens,” Jim said sarcastically. “Who’s Israfel when he’s washed?”

  “Israfel, my dear boy,” Yvain said, “is the antidote to Eblis. There is a hero to match every villain in all the stories.”

  “I hope you can lay your hands on him easier than you can this Eblis fella then.” Jack leaned forward and waved his fork at Yvain. “But what if the story is one of those with multiple endings? And one of the endings is that Wormwood shoves us into this Poll Ifrinn instead?”

  “That, my friend, is a chance we have to take.”

  “Not really,” Jack said. “We’ll be the ones taking the risks, not you lot.”

  Yvain sighed and shook his head. “No, my friend. We are all in this together. If the seven stars cannot rid this world of Wormwood and his companions, it will sink into the same chaos of destruction as your own world.”

  “Oh, pack it in with all that heroes and superstars stuff, Yvain,” Jim interrupted. “If Jack’s a hero, Dusty’s President of the IMF!”

  “It isn’t that we doubt your word,” Tully said in an appeasing tone, “we just—”

  “I know.” Yvain smiled benignly. “You can’t imagine how it can be done. Don’t worry. I will accompany you and explain as we travel.” He got up from table and crossed the room with his elastic step, to fetch a fresh pitcher of water.

  “Well, that makes all the difference,” Jim muttered with an angry frown. “An old man with a stick against the powers of darkness.”

  Jack nudged him. “What d’you bet that stick has a nuclear warhead?”

  Jim grinned, his bad humor fading. Kat whispered, “At least if Yvain comes with us, we won’t have to walk.”

  “Nobody ever suggested we travel on foot.” Yvain’s voice drifted over from the far side of the room.

  “Jaysus!” Jack gave an admiring whistle. “That fell
a has the hearing of a blind barn owl!”

  Yvain still halfway across the room, inclined his head in appreciation of the compliment, “Walking would take far too long. We will have to ride.”

  “No time traveling?”

  Yvain shook his head. “We must draw Wormwood to the place, and traveling leaves no trace. We must leave a trail for him to follow, and,” he added, suddenly serious, “prevent him lingering too long near our towns and cities, for reasons I am sure you can imagine.”

  There was no need for anyone to answer.

  “Fine,” Tully said, “whatever you say. Though I haven’t noticed any vehicles yet, I somehow thought you didn’t need them, that everything was sort of teleported.”

  “It is,” said Yvain. “But only travelers can open paths. Everyone else keeps horses for short journeys.”

  “Oh dear,” Kat said in a small voice. “I can see there might be a slight problem then.”

  Jeff nudged her playfully. “Dusty might let you ride her if you ask nicely.”

  Kat shot him a threatening look and changed the subject. “I think it’s about time this young man turned in. And I don’t recall him availing himself of the facilities this afternoon either. Bath! Jump to it!”

  Jeff started to bluster.

  “Now! And use the soap too, if you can remember what soap looks like. Come on. I’ll sort you out some pajamas. And tomorrow, that beast,” she glared at Dusty, “is going to get a hosing down too!”

  The others gave Jeff looks of commiseration as Kat frogmarched him in the direction of his own room, the hound trotting uncertainly in their wake.

  * * * *

  The daylight was almost gone when they decided to follow Jeff in the direction of bed, and as they rose from the table, they all realized how weary they were.

  “First of all sunshine, then proper food, a bath, and now sleep, in a bed, with clean sheets,” Carla said, already imagining the cool crispness of cotton against her freshly scrubbed skin. “My idea of bliss.”

  Tully stretched in anticipation.

  “It feels like years since I last slept in a proper bed.”

  “For some of us, it is years,” Jim reminded him. “You’d better come and prod me in the morning. It’s quite possible my metabolism will go into shock and won’t remember how to wake me up.”

  He made his way to the door and opened it. The fading daylight from Tully’s window was at his back, casting his shadow across the faint wedge of light that fell into the corridor. Beyond the doorway, shadows reigned, and the darkness was almost total. The east-facing window at the end of the corridor was dark, and the west window—the same deep turquoise blue as the sky—gave little light. Jim reached out and groped down the wall by the door.

  “You know what?” he said, his voice sharp and abrupt. “There’s no light switch! The great minds of this place obviously haven’t got around to inventing electricity yet.” He ducked back inside the room. “How are we supposed to get about at night then, by Braille?”

  “Your room’s just along the corridor. The bogey men won’t get you if you run,” Tully mocked. Jim darted a look into the corridor and took a deep breath. Carla noticed the pallor of his face and the slight trembling of his hands as they gripped the doorframe, unwilling to let go.

  “There are probably candles or oil lamps or something. I’ll have a look,” she said.

  “It’s okay. I’m going,” Jim snarled, but the anger in his voice betrayed his fear, a fear that still sat heavy on all their hearts. He stepped out into the dark corridor, and Carla’s eyes followed him. She understood Jim’s fears, and the last images of Earth gripped her too—the dead things in the darkness, their eyes fish-white, the awful sucking of black slime.

  She had a quick look around the room and found nothing, not even a candle.

  “Porca miseria!” she said to no one in particular. “I suppose I’d better go find someone who knows how to turn the power on.”

  She poked her head around the door to tell Jim. He was there, so close she could almost touch him, a dark shape, motionless and silent. She peered past him and gave a gasp of fear. At the east end of the corridor, at the head of the stairs, something moved, silently and stealthily. Smothering a cry, Jim turned back into the room, pushing Carla before him.

  A low voice came out of the gathering shadows. “Good evening, my friends!”

  The speaker was a small, slight woman with sparkling eyes. She trod lightly in soft slippers that made scarcely any sound, and in her hands she carried a tray.

  “I am Adelie Armellesdaughter, a modeler. I have come to bring light to see you to your rooms.”

  Adelie set down the tray, on which six glass bowls were set.

  “What is it, paraffin?” Jack asked. Adelie simply smiled and said, “Look closer. We call it water fire.”

  Kat bent down, a puzzled frown on her face. Tiny plants like flecks of gold dust were suspended in the water.

  “Phytoplankton?”

  “Water fire is a prettier name. Watch.” Adelie took one of the bowls in her hands and held it at arm’s length so they could all see the glow that rippled through the water, as each of the golden specks lit up. Within a couple of heartbeats, the entire bowl glowed with a golden light, within which they could just make out the individual plants as they twisted and turned like fiery sparks caught in a strange element. Kat’s jaw dropped in astonishment.

  “How did you do that,” she gasped. “How can you just make something bioluminescent?” Adelie smiled at her. “It’s a simple question of changing the genes. You create a little luciferase and nature does the rest. We modelers can do it.” She looked at each of the astonished faces in turn, her eyes full of golden shards. “You try.” She pointed at Jim.

  “Me?”

  Adelie smiled at his jumpy nerves. “Just warm the bowl in your hands and think about the elements the plants are built from. Add the catalyst to the chain—”

  “How? Where do I get it from?”

  “Just imagine it, and if you have the talent, the other elements in the chain will absorb it.”

  Carla watched in fascination as slowly, beneath Jim’s fingers, the dancing flecks, like dust motes caught in a sunbeam, began to glow. He set the bowl down and pulled his hand away as if he’d been burnt, but the light grew until the bowl was pulsating with liquid fire. Adelie just smiled.

  “I thought so,” she said. “Modelers recognize one another. It’s something about the shape of the hands.”

  Jim held out his hands, staring as if seeing them for the first time—the long, slender fingers, the prominent tendons and knuckles, the firm wrist bones. He flexed his fingers. Jack too was staring at them.

  “Like Glenn Gould’s,” he murmured. “I saw him once on TV. He had hands like that. Has anybody here got a piano? I’ll bet he can belt us out a rare concerto, can’t you, Jim?” He nudged Jim in the side. Jim blushed.

  “Shut up, you daft beggar! I don’t know how I did it. Here, you have a go. If I can do it, anybody can.”

  Jack obediently reached out and picked up a third bowl. He stared into it and addressed the tiny dancing plants.

  “Genes, enzymes and whatnot, get in that chain, and get yourselves lit up.”

  Nothing happened. With a sigh he set down the bowl and held out his large, calloused builder’s hands.

  “You’d think I’d be able to build a bloody cathedral with these, wouldn’t you?” He looked questioningly at Adelie. “Not the same as playing Rachmaninov, though. Is it?”

  “You have a different gift,” she replied. “Tomorrow, the modelers will teach Jim the first steps to open up his talent.” Her face clouded. “I fear there will not be time to do more than that.” She looked at Jim intently. “You must find your own way, my friend, but I think you’ll succeed. Now, light the rest of these lamps for your companions. Their power will fade with time, but cover them with a cloth if their light is too bright for you to sleep.”

  Adelie inclined her head in a sli
ght bow and left them. Jim, with trembling hands, brought all the lamps to life, and they each trooped off to their quarters in silence.

  When Jack closed the door behind him, Carla reached out and took Tully’s hand. “Do you think those things will glow for much longer?”

  Tully drew her to him and kissed her gently on the lips. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

  Carla laughed, a laugh so low it was like the breeze ambling through rushes on the riverbank. She pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it over the jars full of dancing golden motes.

  “There,” she said. “That’s stopped their gallop.”

  Tully laughed and took her in his arms, blowing her hair out of the way so he could kiss her ear. “You sound just like my dad. Can we leave him out of this, please? And don’t make me laugh. Not now.” He nuzzled her neck. In the almost darkness the room was filled with Carla’s scent, the smell of her skin, her hair—or perhaps he only imagined it, the memories of before pouring out from their confinement. Beneath his fingers her skin was the same, every inch of it familiar. His heart was so full, he thought he could die.

  “I want to make you laugh, Tully. Always,” Carla said quietly, taking his face in her hands and looking steadily into his eyes. “I never want to make you cry.”

  “You couldn’t,” he murmured, “even if you tried. Except with happiness.”