Shadow Spell

by Caro King

  ‘Dunvice here will keep the thing caged until the moment that she knows all is lost. If that moment should come, which it will not. But then we are talking Ninevah Redstone here.’ Strood’s quartz eye glittered horribly. ‘If it does, however, then Dunvice’s dying act will be to release the skinkin. You understand, of course.’

  The last part was addressed to Dunvice along with a smile that made her want to run and scream, half-werewolf or not.

  ‘The skinkin has only one desire. It cannot stop or rest until it has killed the victim I choose for it.’ He chuckled. ‘I think you will find that even luck won’t stop a skinkin.’

  ‘Is clever,’ said Jibbit, but he inched away again. He was beginning to get a creepy feeling and he didn’t like it.

  By now Strood had arranged the bundle so the head of the hare skin was roughly placed over the cat skull. He paused, waiting, sensing the air.

  ‘Aha, here it comes. The Dead of Night is just arriving.’

  Nothing changed. The moon went on shining, the dark didn’t get any darker or any colder and yet …

  Jibbit whimpered and Dunvice shivered, her heart turning over with dread. Scribbins shuddered. His eyes went distant and his face paled to the colour of putty. Sweat broke out on his skin. He dropped his notebook, his hands fluttering over his heart.

  Leaning towards the bundle on the table Strood paused, then smiled. He breathed into the thing’s mouth the words:

  ‘The legendary Ninevah Redstone.’

  Dunvice gasped, her luminous eyes darted from Strood to the skinkin and back again. There was a sound like a drawn-out, strangled scream and for a moment she could have sworn that the Land shook beneath them.

  Then came a strange cracking sound like small bones breaking, rearranging. The bundle heaved and twisted, the hare-skin legs pushing out, the head settling on the neck, the whole thing sitting upright. It paused, then twitched its long ears and turned its head to look at Strood, the empty sockets showing through the eye holes. It gathered itself to leap, its thin flanks quivering.

  Strood slammed the cage lid over it and snapped the clips shut.

  The skinkin snarled at him, letting out a sound that made Dunvice’s blood tingle. A sound like screams in the night. Its empty sockets shone with a dark kind of light.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Strood.

  There was a soft thump. Both Strood and Dunvice turned to look.

  Strood sighed. ‘Has Scribbins fainted again? Really the man is becoming quite unreliable.’

  ‘I’m afraid he’s dead, sir,’ said Dunvice, who had gone to see. ‘Of terror, judging by the look on his face.’

  ‘Oh well, never mind. I think the time for note-taking is past eh?’ Strood beamed at her. ‘It’s all action from here on in. Better make sure everything is ready to leave at dawn, hmm?’

  Mrs Dunvice reached up for Jibbit, who didn’t object at all, gave a strangled ‘Yes, sir,’ and left the Sunatorium.

  Peace descended, or at least something pretending to be peace. Strood settled back in his armchair, checking over his plans while the crowsmorte quietly finished up the body of Secretary Scribbins.

  And in the cage, the skinkin waited.

  16

  Unexpected Help

  Floyd was running for his life. His breath came in gasps, the air raking in and out of his lungs like cold fire. His legs hurt. His chest hurt. In fact most of him hurt, but he kept on anyway. He was a goblin-Grimm and it was amazing how much a goblin-Grimm could endure when the chips were down and time was running away like sand in a glass.

  Because time was running away, the Drift’s days were numbered and that number was shrinking, hour by hour, minute by minute. The further Floyd got from the Terrible House, the more Land he passed that had gone to the Raw and the larger those stretches of Raw were. As far as Floyd could see, the Drift’s only hope lay in a small Quick girl and her friends. So, he was going to Hilfian to find her. If he could survive the horrors currently jumping and tumbling at his heels, that was.

  Under his heavy tread, cinders crunched into grey dust. On either side of him were blackened stumps that used to be trees, some of them still smouldering even so many hours later. The moonlight-silvered ruins were strangely quiet. No birds sang, no wolves howled and there was certainly no screaming from the Dark Thing. The only sound was the hissing of the ash-stoats as they tumbled along behind him in a wave of fire-seamed grey, their eyes glowing with ill will.

  A Quick would have been caught by now. A Quick would have been so much smouldering ash with maybe the odd bone left over to strike dread into the hearts of other travellers. But Floyd was a Grimm.

  Glancing up at the sky, Floyd saw a line of light run across the horizon, so bright he could easily see the glow of it through the drifting smoke overhead. A moment later, dawn ignited, racing across the sky in a tide of blood-red flames.

  Floyd risked a look back. Behind him the ash things raised their heads to the day, but not in welcome. With a long hiss, rising as one from many throats, they exploded, bursting into a flurry of ash, that spun and whirled across the ground, then fell still.

  ‘Thank Galig fer that,’ gasped Floyd.

  They were only night magic and would be back as soon as darkness fell, but he’d be well away from the forest by then.

  As he turned to face front again he saw something. A Quick kid, thin and gawky with a straggle of brown hair flopping over its face and wearing ash-covered, too-big clothes. At her feet, for it was a her he was certain, drooped a battered, pink rucksack. She was waving at him, jumping up and down with excitement or relief or something. Floyd had never had anyone be so pleased to see him before and found himself grinning back and running all the faster, even though his legs felt like burning stumps.

  ‘I never expected any help,’ she called as he covered the last few yards, ‘but I guess my luck came through again!’

  And then, through all the dirt and the old tear stains, Floyd recognised her.

  ‘Ninevah Redstone!’ he croaked and crashed to an exhausted heap at her feet.

  The scarlet dawn that had put an end to the ash-stoats, for now at least, washed around Dark’s Mansion like a sea of blood.

  On the shores of the lake below, a ragged pile lay huddled. Sparks crackled across its skin and winked out with a sizzle. A wisp or two of smoke drifted away from its burned remains. There was quiet for a while. Maybe a bird or two sang. A light breeze got up and ruffled the surface of the water.

  The ragged pile heaved and sat up. It shook itself into the figure of a boy, his face hollow and darkened with pain and his eyes flashing with white fire that burned in their depths like lightning in a stormy sky.

  Jonas grinned and it was a grin that would have made Nin shiver if she had been there to see it.

  ‘You shouldn’t have tried to kill me with lightning,’ he said to the empty air where Ava Vispilio had stood in Seth Carver’s body. ‘Lightning is something I know about.’

  He sat for a while, waiting for the Hound inside him to settle down. Once he would have been in danger of it taking him over, but he had won that battle long ago and against all the odds the Hound was tame. It had been an unexpected help and without its strength to fight the lightning raging through his body, Jonas would be dead.

  He looked down at his hands and the shadow of the magic bolt from the amulet flickered over his skin. It stung, a faint reminder of the night’s pain, but that was all.

  ‘Time to get moving,’ he said firmly.

  It took him a few goes, but finally he was back on his feet. He faced north-east and set off, heading towards Hilfian. It was where they had planned to go and if Nin could, he was sure she would get there somehow. And if she wasn’t there herself, then someone would have heard something about her. Bound to.

  He knew that with the travelling boots, Vispilio would catch up with Nin long before Jonas had even cleared the hills he could see on the horizon. Might have caught her up already, for that matter. But he had to try and w
arn her, there was nothing else he could do. Giving up was not an option.

  Staggering a little, but gaining speed, Jonas headed into the day.

  Elsewhere, others were facing the day too. It was a strange day, a day in which the balance tipped and the Drift was now more Raw than Land.

  Skerridge knew it, he could sense the change like a cold breath on his skin. It gave him a doomy feeling that wouldn’t go away. His bones could feel it, even when he was doing Evil Kid. He tried One-Eyed Hump-Backed Monster, Twisted Tree Man and even Mad Clown, but it was no good. He went on flicking dolefully through every shape he could think of until Hilary refused to go any further if he didn’t quit.

  Jik felt the same as Skerridge. The mudman’s glowing eyes had a hot, fevered look. He was of the Land and the Land was dying and Skerridge couldn’t help but wonder just how nasty that must feel.

  They kept on walking, Jik in the lead with Hilary next, her feet bleeding from the long, long trek. And Skerridge bringing up the rear, still feeling helpless in the face of all this doom.

  He just wished they would make it to Hilfian.

  Some miles to the east, Azork kept on walking too. Even when the few remaining members of his hive wanted to sleep. Even when they complained that their feet, unused to the hard earth, were aching with the journey.

  Even when the sun rose.

  ‘Indestructible, do you know what that means?’ he said to his cowering hive as the line of fire ran across the horizon. ‘In the air, in vapour form, we are vulnerable and the fires of dawn would burn us up like so much morning mist. But here, with our feet on the ground, we are strong. Our glamour is part of the night and so the light of day will show us up for what we are, but it cannot kill us, nothing can kill us. Walk on.’

  As dawn tore across the sky, their beauty vanished like the night it came from. One of the females, her long hair now just white and thin and her face little more than a skull with eyes, began to cry. The males, skeletal now, with skin stretched so tight over their bones that it hurt, sent nervous glances at their king.

  ‘Trust me,’ Azork said, ‘it will all be right again, soon.’ He smiled, and deep in their sockets his eyes flashed with dying stars. ‘When we make it to Hilfian and feed.’

  And back at the Terrible House, Strood’s army got on its way.

  Part Two

  A Tide of Golden Darkness

  17

  Raw

  It was still early morning. Nin had been riding on Floyd’s shoulders since they had set out at dawn around four hours ago. They could travel faster that way and to a goblin-Grimm the weight of a Quick was thistledown. Floyd’s sturdy legs had been eating up the miles at a terrific pace, and although they had seen a lot of Raw, luckily none of it had been in their way. They had also seen a horseman in the distance, heading in the opposite direction, towards the Heart. The dark shape had been riding along the top of a hill and had looked huge, a menacing hulk on the back of a black horse with hooves that flickered with red flames.

  ‘Gotta be Fabulous,’ said Floyd, ‘if ’e’s ridin’ a fiery steed. Only the Fabulous can do that. ’Ope ‘e’s not off t’ join Strood’s army!’

  Other than that the journey was uneventful and Nin was beginning to think they would make it to Hilfian by breakfast. She hoped her friends would turn up there too, and soon. She couldn’t afford to delay too long in her search for Simeon Dark, but she knew she would need their help in finding the last sorcerer. Lucky or not, she couldn’t search the Drift alone.

  It had been a comfortable trip so far because Floyd’s shoulders were broad, but now she wanted to stretch her legs, so he set her down and they walked on at a slower pace, following the ragged edge of a wood bordered by a field of daisies and clover. There was a smell of old iron in the air that Nin was sure came from the band of Raw just the other side of the trees. Shadows lay across the meadow grass, even though there was nothing to cast them. They seemed to shift too, stirring restlessly as if disturbed by the nearness of people. Even so, bees the size of Nin’s fist hummed from bloom to bloom. According to Floyd, Hilfian farmed bees and exchanged the honey for goods and food.

  Also according to Floyd, the town should be very near by now.

  ‘Y’know, we might even ’ave gone past,’ he said anxiously. ‘S ’ard t’ tell. The Land’s changin’ so fast.’

  Nin looked up at the cornflower-blue sky that was too peaceful to be hanging over a world on the edge of death. She was conscious of Dark’s shadowy spell twined about her forearm. Occasionally it moved, stirring against her skin as if getting more comfortable, and once or twice she caught it humming to itself. She could still see the colours in it, purples and midnight blues and iron greys all swirling together. Sometimes a touch of vivid rose would swim to the surface.

  ‘If we find Simeon Dark he might be able to do something about Strood,’ she said. ‘Then Strood will stop killing the last remains of the Seven and the Raw will stop spreading so quickly.’

  ‘Yew fink?’ Floyd didn’t sound convinced.

  ‘I do,’ said Nin firmly. ‘What do you think he did to stay alive? As a sorcerer, I mean.’ If he is alive, she added privately, remembering what the Dark Thing had said about the sorcerer having died of the plague and nobody knowing. She supposed it was possible, but she decided not to believe it anyway.

  Floyd shrugged. ‘My favourite story is that ’e lives in the woods as a great bear and ’unts Quick fer food.’

  ‘Jonas told me it was his favourite too! Only without the hunting Quick part. Enid thinks he’s disguised as a Quick, that he married one and had a family.’

  ‘So there might be some Quick kid runnin’ around wiv a bit o’ Dark in ’im? Or ’er?’ Floyd looked at Nin speculatively, wondering about her father. She didn’t notice.

  ‘They wouldn’t be Quick though, would they? They’d be Grimm. I mean, Dark’d only be pretending to be Quick, not really being Quick like Senta.’

  Floyd thought about it. ‘True, but magic is a funny thing. Sometimes it can be tricked, so if ‘e was pretendin’ to be a Quick so ‘ard that everyfin’ believed it, then ‘is kids might be … not Quick true, but not Grimm eiver.’

  Nin was still trying to puzzle it out, wondering if magic could be tricked enough to allow Dark to live in the Widdern, when the air began to tingle with something electric, like the feeling just before dawn. For a moment the iron smell grew stifling and all the birds stopped singing. In the eerie silence, Nin shivered and reached out to find Floyd’s hand. But before she could take it, something horrible happened.

  With an inner lurch, she saw the distant wall of Raw expand, exploding outwards, its thick white mass rushing towards them as swift and overwhelming as a slow-motion tidal wave. As it poured through the wood, trees began to twist and buckle, their trunks screaming as they split, the terrible shriek filling the air. In seconds they were gone, bursting into vapour and swallowed by the Raw as it swept on.

  It all happened so fast, and although Floyd was calling to her to run, Nin couldn’t help but stare for a second longer as a rabbit tumbled out of a clump of bushes, its eyes stark with fear and its ears laid back. It took one huge leap into the field and then stopped in its tracks, caught by a thin tendril of Raw running ahead of the flood. At once, the creature began to tear apart in front of her, its fur and flesh shredding away from its skeleton. Nin screamed, horror finally taking hold as the filigree of bones split and crumbled, dissolving into fine mist.

  Floyd grabbed her arm and pulled, jolting her into life. ‘I said run, kid. Run!’

  They ran, clover bursting into swirls of mist under their feet, but it was no use. The Raw flooded over and around them, drenching them in chill cloud that smothered sight and sound in a dense blanket of luminous white.

  Nin’s feet thudded on stones now, even the soil was turning to mist. The Raw was everywhere, surrounding them, filling up her vision until there was nothing left but the curling fog and the dark bulk of Floyd leading the way. She followed h
im until he stumbled to a halt.

  ‘Dunno where we are!’

  Nin’s heart sank at the sound of his voice. It was faint, threaded with panic.

  ‘What does the Raw do to Grimm?’ she asked, ‘I know it dissolves the Fabulous, but you are only part Fabulous.’

  The ex-guard’s bulk sagged. Nin grabbed his arm and shook as hard as she could. ‘Floyd!’

  ‘Dunno. Went froo the ‘Eart on the river an’ it was movin’ so fast the Raw didn’ get an ‘old. This is different. Feels like … somefin’ in me is … kinda … gettin’ lost.’ His voice slurred. He shook his head, as if the fog was trying to get into his mind, then sat down suddenly. ‘Legs don’ work no more.’

  ‘Get up, Floyd.’ Nin pulled, but she might as well try to move a mountain. ‘GET UP,’ she yelled. ‘Cos if you don’t move, then I don’t move and we’re both dead.’

  Floyd mumbled something like, ‘Nah, save yerself, kid,’ and slumped a little further. Nin hurled herself at him, pushing and heaving and pummelling until he staggered back to his feet. He had as good as saved her life once, when he had let her get away in Strood’s laboratory, and now she was going to repay him. Gathering her strength, she rammed him, pushing him on, and together they lurched further into the mist. She was shivering as the cold seeped steadily under her skin, her feet were going numb and her hands were frozen. She prayed they were going in the right direction, though there were no landmarks to see. For all she knew they could be wandering round in circles.

  Floyd stopped again, jerked into movement for a few steps and then crashed to the ground, sending coils of Raw spinning around him. Nin screamed and dropped to her knees, shaking him hard. He didn’t stir. She grabbed his jacket and tried dragging him, but it was hopeless. Sobbing, she leaned against the mound of his body and realised that the only way she could repay his kindness was to stay with him while he died.