She was going to crash into it.
Tom began to run after her. It was instinct that made him do it. He wouldn’t be able to catch up with her, and even if somehow he did there was nothing he could do. He was about to close his eyes, unable to watch as it happened, when she swerved to the right, missing the tree house by inches.
He stopped running and dropped to his knees, exhausted and relieved. Behind him he heard laughter. He looked back to see Saafir clutching his stomach with one hand, pointing up with the other. Jenna had come to a stop just behind the tree. Her hands and legs were wrapped around the broom. She was stuck in mid-air. And she was hanging on, upside down.
“Help,” she squeaked.
Saafir began to laugh even louder. “Oh, it hurts,” he howled through tears as he dropped to the ground, now clutching his stomach with both hands.
Tom got up and ran towards her. Gemma was already there. Standing underneath and breathing heavily, he stared up, bemused. He had no idea how to help. But he did know a fall from that height wouldn’t be so good.
“The blood’s rushing to my head,” Jenna informed them. “And I think I’m slipping.”
She was right. She was slipping. Although her whole body was wrapped around it, the broom was tilted towards the ground. And she was inching down it.
“Have you tried flipping over?”
Saafir stood next to them now, grinning.
“No you idiot!” Jenna snapped. “That was not the first thing I tried.”
His grin grew wider. “Well, maybe you should try that.”
“Go away!” Jenna shouted. “Someone please make him go away,” she seethed.
“OK, OK.” Saafir raised his hands. “Gently pull the handle downwards,” he advised.
Jenna did. And she almost fell off the broom as it jolted forward.
“I said gently!”
“Because I did that on purpose, didn’t I?”
Saafir opened his mouth, but closed it again without saying anything. He took a deep breath. “You’re closer to the ground,” he said. “Try again, gently if you can.”
Jenna did as he asked, and again the broom jolted forward. But she was better prepared this time and she kept going until the broom came within inches of the ground. She let go and dropped on her back where she remained, looking thoroughly exhausted.
“Are you OK?” Gemma asked.
“Well, my stomach hurts a-” Saafir began.
Jenna jumped up off the ground. “You’re turn,” she growled and held out her broom for him.
Saafir held his hands out and backed away from her. “I’m going last.”
Gemma gave him a disgusted look before snatching the broom out of Jenna’s hand. “Might as well get it over with,” she muttered.
She walked up to the top of the hill, mounted the broom and kicked off the ground. For a moment she flew perfectly before tilting a little to one side and then a little to the other. And then it happened. Hanging upside down on her broom, she froze in mid-air.
It was Tom’s turn next and he was afraid. Not of hanging upside down, but of not being able to take off at all. He mounted the broom and kicked with both feet as he had seen the twins do. The broom lurched forward, almost knocking him off. But he managed to hold on and steady himself before it shot into the sky.
He was flying.
The speed, flying against the wind, the adrenaline rush – it felt amazing. But the broom began to wobble. He felt himself slipping on his left. To compensate, he tilted to his right, accidently moving the handle that way too. The broom reeled, sending him over on his back. Much like the twins had, he was holding on upside down. But unlike them, he was still flying, heading down. He was going to crash.
“Lift the handle up!”
The ground was only a few feet away when Tom lifted the handle up. He still did crash into the ground but it wasn’t headfirst. The broom dragged him along the rough surface until he let go of it. He lay on the ground awhile before wearily picking himself up. It could have been worse, he told himself. He could have died.
It was Saafir’s turn next. The twins didn’t bother to hide their excitement. They had huge smiles on their faces. They both held their brooms out for him but he didn’t need theirs; his own one flew off the ground and into his outstretched hand.
Saafir mounted the broom and kicked off, heading straight for the tree house. He leaned forward. His broom sped up and Tom opened his mouth in horror, sure that he was going to crash. But he didn’t. He swerved up at the last minute, going higher and higher until he was but a little speck in the sky.
The speck was growing now, and it was flying straight at them. Tom stayed rooted to the spot. Not out of choice. Possibly out of fear. The twins bolted from his side. But the speck – now no longer a speck – followed. Saafir pulled up as he neared, to avoid hitting them. But he need not have as the twins dived to the ground in anticipation. He stopped over them, floating the right way up, grinning.
Jenna cautiously raised her head. “Y-You-” she struggled for words. “You’ve flown before?”
“I’m a natural,” Saafir boasted.
They each practised a few more times before calling it a night. They hadn’t improved much. They still couldn’t fly the right way up. It might be for the better Saafir said. They would be looking up as they flew. They wouldn’t notice how high they were. Tom hadn’t even thought of heights until then...
They stored the brooms in the tree house. In the weeks that followed they practised almost every night. As they put the brooms away after another night's flying, they decided the following week they would make the trip to the House of Zarlock.
Not for the first time, Tom had doubts about what they were going to do. There were dead bodies in the house. He had seen his fair share of horror movies to know what they were doing wasn’t very original or clever.
The thing had killed the Zarlocks. What if it was still there?
Chapter 22
Lord Dragunov sat at the table alone. His hands moved rhythmically as the knife sliced through the chunky meat. Cutting it into large pieces, he shoved them into his mouth. As his plate cleared he looked up, wondering what next to eat. He reached for the roasted chicken.
A thin man wearing a grey cloak stood by the door. He had been there awhile, waiting to be addressed. Lord Dragunov bit into a chicken leg as he gazed at him. “What do you want?”
“My lord, a Marcus Ferrell wishes to speak with you.”
The thin man seemed vaguely familiar. He briefly wondered what his name was, what he did. But he did not bother to ask. He was just a commoner. It was better to not know their names.
“Can you not see I am busy?”
“He says it’s urgent, my lord. He says he has been seeking to speak with you for many weeks. He insisted I come to you now, my lord.”
“He insisted, did he?” Lord Dragunov pushed his plate away. “Send him in.”
The thin man bowed again before he scampered off. They didn’t even know how to walk properly, commoners. They were like rats, comfortable hidden away, scurrying about when in view. He returned moments later with Marcus Ferrell.
“My lord-” Marcus began.
“This...” Lord Dragunov interrupted. He paused as he stared at the thin man. “...thing says you insisted on speaking with me now?”
“Yes my lord, but-”
“How is it that a commoner dares to insist anything of a lord?” Lord Dragunov’s voice remained measured. “Do you know what happens when lines are crossed?”
“My lord, I have urgent-”
“Answer me!”
Marcus lowered his head. “I apologise, my lord.”
“You have not answered my question,” Lord Dragunov said, his voice calm again, measured again. “Are you defying me, or are you just that stupid?”
It was another question and Marcus hesitated, visibly deliberating before he spoke. “Your generosity towards me makes me forget my place, my lord,” he said. “When lines a
re crossed, they are redrawn with blades upon necks. And it was not defiance, my lord, but stupidity that led my mind astray from answering your questions.”
It was a good answer. He expected as much from Marcus. He was a commoner, but one of the better ones – one with an ounce of intelligence. Lord Dragunov’s eyes shifted to the thin man standing to the side, trying to look innocuous as he stared at the ground.
“If you ever disturb me again while I eat, I’ll have you for dinner,” he said. “Now get out of here.”
He chuckled as the thin man jumped, startled. He quickly bowed and hurried out. Commoners, so easily scared. He needed not worry. If he ever did turn to cannibalism, he wouldn’t eat that thin thing. Lord Dragunov’s eyes turned to the table and the many dishes he had yet to try. He sighed. This had better be good.
“What business are you here for?”
Marcus, who had also been staring at the ground, raised his head. “It is about the boy, my lord.”
“What of him?”
“He has been dreaming, my lo-”
“Hah! I knew it – a fraud. Wizard’s do not dream.”
He had been waiting for this day. The games played by the other lords made no sense to him. What did they hope to achieve by this ploy? A wizard born to Breeders – the mere thought was insulting.
“My lord, there is more.”
“More?”
“He sees the Zarlocks, my lord.”
Zarlocks – the name left a bitter taste in his mouth. Even as a child he had hated them. Dead for over a dozen years, gone and forgotten, their family legacy slowly being torn apart – it was only a matter of time before the Great Barrier would be brought down. Wizards would finally take their rightful place in the world as the superior race.
And now the Zarlocks make a return? And they choose the Breeder of all wizards?
“They say dreams are ways for the unjustly killed to communicate with the living,” Marcus said.
Unjustly killed – it was such an inaccurate term. The Zarlocks deserved death for their blind belief in their ancestors’ ways. The only injustice was that their deaths did not come at his hands.
“Tell me of these dreams.”
“My lord, we cannot see the dreams ourselves; we can only see what he sees with his eyes open, what he says when his eyes are open.”
“Treat me like an idiot one more time and I shall have your eyes,” Lord Dragunov said. “Tell me what you know.”
“Of course, my lord,” Marcus said. “In one dream, Lord Zarlock is walking through the House of Zarlock, walking towards something, something that terrifies him, but still he walks. In another, the boy is in the house. He is led to the bedroom of Lord and Lady Zarlock. They are there, lying in bed, dead it would seem. There is blood everywhere.”
Was that how it happened? Was that how they died? Murdered in their beds by him? If the Zarlocks wanted to be avenged, why had they waited so long? What did they want with the Breeder? What was he missing?
“They plan to fly to the House of Zarlock,” Marcus interrupted his thoughts. “They think that because the boy is being called, the house might open for them.”
Was that possible? Was it possible for wizards to be born to Breeders? Was it possible for the Zarlocks to resurface after so many years?
“What should I do, my lord?”
What did he want him to do? Were it up to him, the boy would already be dead. It mattered not to him if he were killed in the School of Merlin. The Land of the Free was an insult to all the lords. What right did commoners have to be free?
He would have that boy's head on a spike, were it up to him. But alas, it was someone else’s decision to make – something else’s. And that something else had told him to wait. It was curious to know more of this boy.
“They are to fly to the House of Zarlock, you say?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Fly how?”
“Brooms.”
Lord Dragunov had never flown on a broom. He hadn’t needed to. Brooms were for the common – or the foolhardy who thought they were brave.
“Have them followed. Once they are near the House of Zarlock-” He paused, looking for the right words.
There was none here but himself and the commoner. What did it matter what words he used? But still, he hesitated. His eyes glanced around the room, searching. It hadn’t asked for the boy to be killed. What if it could hear him? It wasn’t an irrational fear. He wasn’t easily spooked, but sometimes he did wonder if he worked for the devil himself.
“My lord?” Marcus interrupted his thoughts.
“Accidents happen...”
“To all of them?”
“It would be a tragedy,” Lord Dragunov said. Better not to leave any witnesses.
“Even the Malik boy?"
That could be trouble. His death wouldn’t go quietly. But how would they know otherwise? The boy fell off his broom near the House of Zarlock. His father would only have himself to blame for raising a son so curious.
“Even the Malik boy.”
Chapter 23
Cindy hugged her cloak tightly as she walked through the forest. It was dark, cold, muddy, and it had been all night, but it had only just begun to irritate her. Every step she took irritated her now.
Thomas Skinner was to fly to the House of Zarlock the following night. She planned to fly behind them to make sure Lord Dragunov’s ‘accident’ didn’t happen. But first, she would secure the area. The forest was littered with abandoned buildings. She had already been through four. They were empty. She was on her way to the fifth and final one for the night.
Cindy stepped out of the trees and into the clearing. The house sat by the lake, looking as terrifying as ever. She remembered this one from her days as a student. She had never been inside it before and even now she wasn’t exactly thrilled by the idea.
She didn’t know what she would do if she did find someone in one of the buildings. She hadn’t had much time to prepare. It had been two nights since she had watched Marcus Ferrell tell Lord Dragunov of Thomas’s dreams.
She didn’t know any dreamers. She always thought it a myth that the unjustly killed communicated with the living. But Thomas was dreaming of the Zarlocks. She had watched that scene over and over. The way Lord Dragunov had behaved, he knew something.
Was it possible? Could someone have murdered the Zarlocks? She wanted to tell someone. But who could she tell? Would anyone believe her? If they did, they would ask for proof. She didn’t have any, none she cared to share anyway.
Two nights later, she was here, with a plan of sorts. The Zarlocks would have to wait. Thomas’s life was her priority. If this last house was empty she would stay here for the day, and tomorrow night she would follow them from a safe distance and come to their aid when they needed it.
Cindy reached into her cloak and pulled her staff out as she approached the front door. She knew how these things worked. It was battle first, talk later – if you weren’t dead.
She pushed the door open. It was dark inside. A straight corridor led to the stairs at the end. There were doors on either side of the passage. Tiptoeing, Cindy stepped in. With her body pressed against the wall she slid across, opening the doors with one hand and holding her staff ready with the other.
Empty – all of them.
If she didn’t find anything on the floor above it would be time to call it a night and find a room to sleep in. She walked up the stairs clumsily, her initial fear and cautiousness now replaced by a drowsy tiredness. It had been a very long night.
The stairs led to an open door and a single large room. It was dark and mostly empty. She could sleep up here. Cindy walked in. Suddenly, the room was dark no more. A candle burned at the far end – a candle next to which a man slept.
She had passed the whole night without error. And now she made two within seconds of each other. She should have noticed the bubbly edges pouring out of the door, keeping the room dark to outsiders. And she shouldn’t have gasped wh
en she spotted the man.
It was enough to wake him. His eyes opened. He looked towards the door, towards her. His hand reached for his staff. For someone who had just been asleep, he was remarkably alert. But Cindy still had the advantage. Her staff was already in her hand.
She ended it before it even began.
She pointed the staff at him and released her magic. His staff flew out of his hand. She struck him again, harder this time. His body crashed into the wall behind him and he dropped to the ground lifelessly.
He would be up soon. She needed to secure him. And then be ready to interrogate.
***
The sun rose long before he showed any signs of regaining consciousness. It was his head that moved first. Cindy helped him along by poking him some with her staff. His eyes opened and he stared at her blankly. They widened as realisation hit and his head turned frantically.
It was his body that tried to move next. But she had him tightly bound to the chair. He soon realised that. His eyes returned to her. There was a sudden calm about them.
“Hello,” he smiled.
She was a little unnerved by his demeanour. He was in a house in the middle of a forest, tied to a chair by a stranger holding a staff pointed at him threateningly. Why wasn’t he scared?
“What are you doing here?” Cindy asked.
She hoped her voice came out harsh and at the same time casual – like she didn’t care, like she would cut him up if he lied to her.
“I’m an herbalist. The School of Merlin said I could stay here while I did some research.”
He spoke so confidently she almost believed him. But then she remembered he had used a magical bubble to hide himself. He had reached for his staff the second he saw her. He was lying.
They had trained her to torture. And like most things she had done it well. But that had been training. And even then she hated the sight of blood. She would try her own methods first. If they didn’t work... then may god help him...
A rope of air and mist formed tightly around his neck and lifted him in the air. He stayed still at first, defiant. As his face began to turn blue he started to squirm, trying to free himself. But his bindings left little room for movement.
The Other Side (Thomas Skinner Book 1) Page 11
