by Caro King
The townsfolk had begun to gather, faces gawping at the sight of a real live fiery steed. Taggit raised his voice.
‘Right, you lot,’ he yelled. ‘Strood’s comin’ an’ it’s about time we got a plan. Cos if we’re not ready ‘e’s gonna eat us alive.’
More gathered.
‘So what we’re gonna do is this, we’re gonna start the fight now, see. Make sure that most of Strood’s army never reaches Hilfian. And then, maybe, we’ll be able to fight off those that are left.’
Already there was a different feel in the town. Hopeful. Purposeful.
‘By the way,’ whispered Nin to Hen while Taggit barked orders and the town got to work. ‘Where is Skerridge?’
The old woman winked. ‘Gone spying,’ she said. ‘Won’t that be fun for someone!’
19
A Tide of Golden Darkness
Jibbit had found a place in the first platoon, on top of Hathor’s helmet. Hathor was Strood’s giant-Grimm guard, an armour-coated mini-mountain, who stomped along at the head of the army, just in front of Dunvice and Stanley.
Turning around carefully on the helmet, Jibbit looked back the way they had come. It had turned into a beautiful day, clear as a bell and full of golden light. By now, the House was a distant smudge, its chimneys, towers and sloping roofs no more than a blur against the blue sky, and the sea was a line of deeper hue on the horizon. Between the House and Hathor flowed the tiger-men, a river of gold, the dark stripes on their backs like hurrying ripples.
Although the tiger-men had been fashioned from crowsmorte, they had been grown with Quick blood and so were a mixture of Quick and Fabulous. In Jibbit’s view that made them technically Grimm, though it was often hard to tell where Strood’s experiments were concerned. He thought their glowing eyes and strong, wiry bodies were certainly Grimm rather than Quick. Though definitely not Fabulous.
Jibbit’s eyes flicked to the two Fabulous goblins, at the left and right flank of the horde, looking like walking slabs of rock, bristling with axes, knives and spiked-balls-on-chains, and radiating physical power. And then to Lord Greyghast, the Fabulous werewolf, his yellow eyes like twin fires in his dark shape as he flowed along at the centre of the horde, leaving a stain of shadow on the air behind him. As far as Jibbit was concerned, the Fabulous were unmistakable.
There would have been Strood’s Fabulous bogeymen too, but it was daylight and no proper bogeyman would go out in the daylight. But then, they had superspeed and could catch up any time they pleased.
Studded throughout the horde of tiger-men, keeping the platoons in order and sticking out like so many sore thumbs, were Strood’s goblin-Grimm guards, like Stanley. Stanley had been promoted and was in charge of the whole army – he was now Commanding Officer Stanley – but Dunvice, the werewolf-Grimm, acted as back-up and was responsible for getting nasty if anyone didn’t immediately do as they were told. Except (of course) for the Fabulous members of the army who could do what they liked with no argument from anyone simply because they were Fabulous.
Jibbit’s eye settled on a figure he hadn’t seen about the House before. Which was odd because he was sure he would have noticed an insane, white-faced, glittery-eyed kid in a duffel coat, who might do nothing but watch you horribly till you were crazy with fear. But then again might do something else involving knives. And who almost certainly knew where you lived …
Oh well. Jibbit shrugged, shaking off the feeling of stealthy oppression that had crept over him. He went back to viewing the scene.
At the rear of the army, stacks of great wooden rafts were rolling along on beds of wheels, dragged by a platoon of tiger-men. Each pile was stacked up three or four deep. The army didn’t have time to go around the Heart of Celidon. It was going to go through it, travelling on the river so that the speeding water would carry them quickly through the deadly fog to bring them out the other side, hopefully alive.
Altogether it was an impressive sight, but all it did for Jibbit was to fill him with a kind of wobbling sensation in the area of his middle. The truth was that although he could kill people with his freezing rainwater spit, or split their heads open by falling on them, he didn’t really want to. Especially not the last thing because that meant travelling in a downwardly direction which meant he might end up on the gr … gr … really low. He sighed deeply, then realised that Commanding Officer Stanley was staring at him.
‘If it’s downphobic,’ said the CO heavily, ‘why don’ it sit on one o’ them goblins? They’re the ‘ighest it’s likely to get.’
Dunvice shrugged. ‘Ask it.’
‘Is not polite tooo talk about people when they are there,’ said Jibbit crossly.
‘Yew ain’t people,’ said Stanley in a reasonable tone. ‘Yore a carved lumpa stone wiv additions.’
The gargoyle hooted irritably. ‘In answer tooo your question what yoo didn’t ask me, I doesn’t want tooo go near Fabulous.’
Dunvice gave a short laugh. ‘It’s got some sense then.’
Jibbit glared at her, clenching his toes in anger and frustration. ‘You’re still doing it!’
‘Oy!’ Hathor thumped the side of his helmet with a metal fisted hand. ‘Stop wiv the claws or yer gravel.’
Jibbit squawked with fright, but managed to hang on.
Stanley chuckled. ‘It’s a bit of entertainment I s’pose. Least it don’ give me the creeps.’ He was silent for a moment, thinking about the tiger-men, who most certainly did give him the creeps. It was something about their eyes, bright and alert with a kind of concentrated desire to tear things apart. It was all they thought about. Blood. Meat. Tearing things. More blood.
‘And there are so many things here to give you the creeps,’ said a voice from about his elbow.
Stanley glanced, then glanced again. The speaker was someone he hadn’t seen about the House before. And he was sure he would have noticed someone who looked like that.
‘Yeah,’ he said feelingly. ‘And yore one of ‘em!’
The evil-looking kid in a duffel coat gave him a creepy smile. ‘I aim to please,’ he said.
Dunvice sent them an irritable glare. She was worrying about the silver cage and its occupant, currently strapped to the back of one of the tiger-men. Dunvice had made that particular tiger-man walk beside her because she wanted to keep an eye on the thing.
‘Not to mention that,’ she said to Stanley, nodding at the skinkin. She leaned closer to the CO. Evil Kid shuffled up a bit. Jibbit listened hard.
‘Thing is,’ she said softly, ‘he didn’t make it right.’
‘Nah! Mr Strood don’ do mistakes.’
Dunvice shrugged. ‘You are supposed to breathe a name into it, the name of the one you want dead. Only thing is …’ Dunvice shuddered, ‘he told it to kill the legendary Ninevah Redstone.’
Unseen by either of them, Evil Kid sent the skinkin a look of alarm.
‘And?’ asked Stanley.
‘How do you kill a legend?’
Jibbit was getting bored. The conversation seemed rather pointless as he had no idea what the half-werewolf was fussing about. Stanley fell silent, thinking. In its cage, the skinkin swivelled its head, the empty sockets fixing on Stanley and then Mrs Dunvice and then Jibbit. And then on the Evil Kid.
‘It does give me the creeps, tooo,’ muttered Jibbit.
‘Understood,’ put in Evil Kid. ‘The thing cannot go back to the death it came from until the task is fulfilled. And it wants to go back, so it will be relentless and merciless.’
‘Do I know yoo?’ asked Jibbit a trifle nervously.
‘’S easy,’ interrupted Stanley suddenly. ‘She’s famous fer bein’ lucky, right, so all it ‘as to do is kill ‘er in the normal physical way. If it kills ‘er then everyone’ll know that ‘er luck didn’ work, see? An’ so bofe she’s dead an’ ‘er legend is dead. They might tell stories about ‘ow there was this girl what nearly got away from Strood, but it ain’t the same. ‘E won in the end. So my point is, yer don’ need t’ worry. K
illin’ the girl an’ killin’ the legend are one an’ the same fing.’
Dunvice eyed him with something approaching respect. ‘You know, Stanley, for a goblin-Grimm you’re almost bright at times.’
Stanley cleared his throat loudly and looked embarrassed. In its cage, the skinkin switched its eyeless gaze in his direction.
‘Hmm,’ said Evil Kid. ‘One almost hopes you are right. Otherwise the skinkin would have a task it could never complete and Strood will have done what Ni—the Redstone girl did with that mudman. He will have made a new Fabulous.’
Dunvice nodded, her eyes serious. ‘I was wondering that very thing.’
Stanley went pale at the thought. He stared at the skinkin. So did Dunvice. So did Jibbit. So did Evil Kid.
The skinkin stared back.
Stanley sighed, watching another tiger-man as it started to make that horrible hacking sound in its throat that meant it was going to throw up.
When it came to water it seemed that the tiger-men were really just cats. They had barely loaded half on to the first of the rafts and the creatures were already in a miserable state. The raft shifted gently, rising and dipping with the current. It would get a lot worse as the river narrowed, growing deeper and rougher as it poured through the Heart.
Stanley gave an inner groan and got moving, picking his way carefully through the vomit-strewn pile of seasick tiger-men towards the head of the raft. There was a choking sound to his left and one of them threw up on his feet. Stanley kicked the creature. It bit him. Angrily he stomped off, smelling foul and with a sore leg.
At the front of the raft, he stopped and glanced up at the sky. It was still clear save for one white cloud hanging on the horizon like a lonely hawk. He looked ahead and his heart stopped. Just for an instant, but long enough to make its point.
Before him towered the Raw that was the Heart of Celidon. Cloudy snakes of mist coiled and twisted from its surface, groping towards anything nearby. Where it touched the trees, bushes, or the banks of the river, faint wraiths of mist rose into the air leaving dead bark and bare earth behind.
Stanley did not relish the thought of whatever lay behind that vast white curtain. It was beyond imagining.
‘Beyond imagining, isn’t it?’ said a voice at around the level of his elbow. He jumped.
‘Whatchoo doin’ ‘ere?’
‘Dunvice assigned me to your raft,’ said Evil Kid smoothly.
‘I might ‘ave somefin’ t’ say about that later,’ muttered Stanley. He gave Evil Kid a suspicious look, wondering if he could see a hint of fancy waistcoat in a gap between the toggles of the duffel coat.
Something heavy stood on his sick-free foot. He looked down.
‘Oh lor’ yew an’ all. Watcher doin’ down there? Fought yer didn’ like ter be low.’
‘I’m not,’ said Jibbit calmly. He inched forward until he was right on the very edge of the raft, stone claws dug deep into the planks. ‘There is lots and lots of downwards between me and the gr … gr … bottom of the river. Is just filled with water instead of air and that’s no bother.’
Stanley snorted. ‘It’s a big bovver to those of us wiv lungs!’
Jibbit yawned and settled down, opening his stubby wings so that they lay at right angles to his back. It helped with keeping his balance and judging by the foamy water dashing ahead, balance was going to be very necessary. Which was fine, because he was good at balance.
Evil Kid settled next to him, eyes glittering in the depths of its hood. ‘So, when are we going?’
Stanley looked back. His raft was filled to capacity, every square inch lined with rippled golden fur – currently rather foul-smelling and miserable. In some places they were lying two deep. Behind this raft was another, also filled to capacity and watched over by one of the other guards. Still further up-river, Dunvice and Lord Greyghast were busy shepherding the next batch of whining tiger-men on to the third raft. Beyond that, Hathor was Grimm-handling the fourth raft into position. And so on.
‘Now,’ said Stanley as calmly as he could, and cut the rope that tethered the raft to sanity.
20
Getting Ready
Trailing behind Hen and Jik as they walked across the town, Nin found herself lingering to stare. To her right, the view beyond the edge of Hilfian was masked by the wall of Raw, its chilly fingers reaching into the blue sky where they hung, unmoving in the still air. Horrible though it was, Nin knew that it gave Hilfian a protecting wall to hide behind. At least they knew Strood’s army wouldn’t come that way.
In the other direction were hills, rising in steep mounds of purple and green. At their foot, between them and the town, stretched fields of clover and buttercups. To the south the hills dipped and Nin could make out the green blur of a wood. This wood was the town’s weak spot, the point where Strood could break through. So this was where they needed to build their defences. Even now, pits were being dug in the fields. Set with stakes and covered with grass matting, they would make a fine trap.
Since Taggit’s arrival, the town had exploded with busy life. People ran to and fro carrying shovels, lengths of wood, water and food for the workers. A goblin-Grimm blacksmith had set up a sharpening service and was working his way through an armoury of knives, scythes, pitchforks and a few things Nin couldn’t name.
Right in front of the town hall was a stretch of open land, where (according to Hen) market stalls selling chickens, chestnut flour, honey and household goods usually stood. Now it was full of men shaping wood into rough stakes. They were laughing at a joke one of them was telling, something to do with why there were never any bogeymen-Grimm. Nin tried to listen. It sounded rude and she wasn’t sure she understood it anyway, so she gave up and hurried after Hen instead.
The town hall was the only wooden structure in Hilfian and even this had a grown-together look about it, with leaves sprouting from its walls and daisies nodding in the mud packed between rough-cut boards. Next to it was a bell tower, built of mud on a skeleton of branches and joined to the town hall roof by a rope bridge.
Inside, the large hall was being turned into a hospital by Doctor Mel, a dark-haired woman with a warm smile that Nin remembered from blurry images of early that morning. She was giving crisp orders to a group of older women as they put together makeshift beds, and gathered bandages, bottles of bee venom (a wonderful painkiller, said Hen) and pots of healing crowsmorte paste. Hilary was there too and she broke off long enough to come over and say hello.
The town hall had a cellar, a dug-out room of bare, packed earth. In it, around the walls and piled on top of an old table, was stacked a collection of magical devices, brought in by the townsfolk. Jik immediately set to rummaging through them, finding out what they did and how they worked. It was a job nobody else wanted because it could be dangerous and they would all rather keep as many of their body parts attached as they possibly could. For the present anyway.
Leaving him to work, Nin and Hen went back outside. Nin’s job, said Hen, was to help her make Land Magic. They settled outside on the green, close to the town hall and got to work.
Being busy helped because Nin was worried about Jonas. She didn’t doubt that he was still alive. He had to be, but she missed him and wondered where he was. She had decided to allow a day here in Hilfian before she went on with her search for Dark, partly to talk to Hen and see if she could help, but mainly to wait for Jonas. Also, she felt a kind of responsibility for the townsfolk of Hilfian. Strood was attacking them because of her, so maybe she should stay and help. And anyway, she had no idea where to look for Dark next. He could just as easily be here as anywhere else. So she would stay for a day, help the town prepare and find out anything useful that she could. Then move on tomorrow, hopefully with Jik if not with Jonas to help her.
Hen started her Land Magic with heaps of silvery dust – dried-out silt dredged up from the river bed. She organised it into mounds about four feet long, then used a stick to draw lines suggesting cat-like limbs and a head. She put a
cord around the neck of the first one and told it to guard the hills. The silt-cat sat up and yawned, the sketched outline suddenly very real. It looked at Nin with eyes that glowed yellow-white, then padded away to do its work. It moved like silk, flowing along in an almost liquid way.
Hen handed her more cords. ‘You heard what I said?’
Nin nodded dumbly.
‘Then send the others to join that one. I’m going to make smoke hawks to keep an eye out for the army.’
Nin had only just finished the cats, when she got a visit from the doctor.
‘How are you?’ asked Mel, with a warm smile. ‘Now, I’m just going to listen to your breathing for a minute. How’s the cough?’
‘Gone. I feel a bit wheezy though.’
‘Not surprising, with all that Raw cluttering up your lungs. It’ll clear soon.’ Mel smiled again, a twinkling smile from bright grey eyes. ‘Now let me see your fingers and toes. People have come out of the Raw with frostbite before now. Those that do come out – you’re lucky your friends found you.’ She laughed. ‘But then you’re the Redstone girl, so you would be, wouldn’t you?’
Nin made a rueful face. She had already heard a couple of people say things like ‘… but with Ninevah’s Luck we’ll make it,’ or ‘… they’ll hold – with Ninevah’s Luck …’ She was beginning to feel like some kind of fluffy mascot.
When the doctor had gone, Hen and Nin began piling up the boulders that Seth was bringing them. He was covered in dirt and sweat from digging pits and paused for a moment to give Nin a broad smile and a wink.
‘You look better. How’s the cough?’
‘Fine,’ said Nin, taking a deep breath to show him how clear her lungs were. She coughed hoarsely, put a hand over her mouth and gave him a look that made him laugh.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘come and find me later. I’ve got a present for you. A bit of magic – you’ll love it!’
