Mocklore Box Set (Mocklore Chronicles)

by Tansy Rayner Roberts

  Kassa sang. Her voice was awful and beautiful and relentless. No one could quite make out what words she was singing, but after half a minute of her song, the palace stopped shaking.

  The glowing light drained from Quillsmith’s face, body, self. He struggled for a moment, not quite understanding what she was doing to him. By the time he did understand, it was far too late to do anything about it. Kassa was draining him.

  Her song continued. Every note drained more light from Quillsmith. Kassa swelled with the new power she had taken upon herself, glowing pink and white as Ladybird once had. She fell to her knees.

  Aragon made his way to her side. “What’s wrong with her?” he demanded, his voice the first sound in the ballroom since Kassa’s song had begun.

  Egg lifted his head, troubled. “Too much. All of Ladybird’s power is in there as well as Quillsmith’s, that’s two-fifths of that elemental storm we lived through. Maybe more, those two were the most powerful of the five. I don’t think Kassa can drain it all by herself.”

  “Can you help her?” Aragon asked.

  Egg nodded painfully. He raised a hand, and lifted Quillsmith’s white quill pen from where it lay on the floor some distance away.

  The quill pen flew to Quillsmith, who was immobilised by Kassa’s power-draining song. He raised a hopeful hand to the pen as it circled around him, but at Egg’s command the quill ducked neatly away from the hand of Quillsmith, plunging instead between his shoulder blades in the centre of his back.

  Quillsmith yelled in pain and anger, his magic now being sucked away by two sources. He swayed, but did not fall.

  Egg crouched beside Kassa, taking her hand in his. They could do this, together. He had not thought he could ever do such a thing again, raise his magic against another living person, drain their power until they ceased to exist, but if Kassa had chosen to do it, perhaps it was not so very wrong. Quillsmith had to be stopped, didn’t he?

  Will she do the same to me if I let my power get out of control? Egg was suddenly dizzy, sick with grief for what he had done and was about to do.

  Kassa’s song ended. For a moment, Egg did not realise the significance, and continued to drain Quillsmith’s magic into himself.

  “Egg, stop,” she said softly. Then, in a more dangerous voice, “Stop now.”

  He felt a sharp crack across his face, and jolted as if waking up from a tormented night’s sleep. The shock made him release his hold on the quill pen, and on Quillsmith. A wild sea of power and magic filled Egg’s skin, singing to him, but it was nothing to the intensity he saw in Kassa’s golden eyes. “He’s not dead,” he gasped.

  Quillsmith still stood in the centre of the ballroom, swaying.

  “Of course not,” said Kassa gently. “Did you think I meant to kill him? Only a power-drunk fool like Quillsmith himself would drain someone to death. That’s why control is so very important.”

  Egg shivered. His body was so full of magic and conflicting emotions that he thought he might explode.

  Kassa lay a cool hand on his face. “Be calm. It’s a strange sensation, holding so much of someone’s magic inside you, but it will pass. The power will ebb away into the cosmos, where it belongs. You’ll be back to your old self in a few days.”

  Egg cracked. A tear slid down his face, then another. “Do you promise?”

  “What have you done to me?” demanded an equally shaky voice. Quillsmith stood alone, human-height, unglowing. He looked like a normal mortal. “What have you done to me?” he howled.

  Kassa stood up. “Congratulations, Quillsmith. We turned you into a real boy.”

  “He has no magic at all?” Lord Sinistre asked.

  “Not a smidgen,” said Kassa. “Well, maybe a smidgen. I’m not entirely sure how to measure a smidgen.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” said Lord Sinistre, sounding back to his old self. He raised his voice slightly. “Guards!”

  There was a rattling sound and several dozen fully-armoured guards trotted into the ballroom. At Lord Sinistre’s imperious direction, they surrounded Quillsmith, drawing their swords.

  “Cold iron,” Aragon muttered. “You know, we could have used those guards earlier.”

  “Take him to the dungeons!” Lord Sinistre commanded delightedly.

  “Do you really think that will help?” said Kassa.

  “It will help me,” crowed the Lordling, back his element. “To the dungeons!”

  The guards firmly escorted Quillsmith out of the ballroom.

  Kassa sighed. “I suppose it’s as safe a place as any, for the time being.”

  “You have other plans for him?” Aragon said.

  “Thinking about it. I’ll have to speak to the other three Light Lords first. I think I have a plan to send them all home. Ladybird said they were redeemable. Let’s see if we can prove her right.”

  Egg turned away so that neither Kassa or Aragon could see the expression on his face. Clio stood in front of him, though her eyes bright blue and accusing. “Well?” she demanded.

  “Well, what?”

  “You obviously haven’t told them what you did. Why not? Are you ashamed, or just biding your time until you can do the same to the others?”

  “I didn’t mean it,” he insisted, wondering if he sounded as unconvincing as he felt.

  Clio placed a hand on his arm, her voice more gentle than he deserved. “You have to tell Kassa.”

  “Leave me alone,” Egg growled, pushing her away. The power welled up inside him, the magic of the draklight and Lord Kloakor and Ladybird and Quillsmith. It was all too much. Any part of it could come crashing free at any moment and incinerate Clio, or anyone else who happened to be in the way. “Stay away from me!”

  Sean saw what was going on and came over in a hurry, pushing himself firmly between Clio and Egg. “What do you think you’re doing, mate?”

  Egg laughed, a disturbingly similar laugh to that of Quillsmith. “You think Clio needs protection from me?”

  “I think a lot of people might,” Sean said steadily.

  “Sean, stop it,” said Clio. “You’re making things worse.”

  “And that would make you a hero, would it?” said Egg, ignoring her to face down Sean. “Protecting people from me?”

  “I don’t care what it makes me,” said Sean. “What does it make you?”

  Egg’s eyes flashed black, and then white. His hand rose slightly to hit Sean, or worse. Slowly, he lowered his hand and walked away.

  Clio let her breath out in one big rush. She turned on Sean, angry. “Do you really think that was helpful?”

  “We’re not dead, are we?”

  “Egg wouldn’t hurt us.” She hesitated, biting her lip.

  “Not so sure about that, huh?” said Sean. “We’d better get Kassa after him.”

  It was unnecessary. Kassa had seen their little exchange, although she had been too far away to hear much of what had been said. As Egg opened the huge double doors to leave the ballroom, Kassa went after him. Aragon and Singespitter exchanged a brief glance and then went after her.

  Clio closed her eyes, exhausted. “Do you think anyone would notice if we just went home?”

  Egg climbed the main staircase with steady, even steps. He barely knew where he was going.

  “Egg.” Kassa hurried up behind him. “I know everything is chaotic at the moment. Too much magical intake can make you a little crazy.”

  “You think I’m crazy?” he said in a dull voice, swinging around to face her.

  “Maybe,” she said, concerned. “Confused, certainly. I know how you feel.”

  Egg laughed. “You know how I feel? Do you know how it felt to drain Lord Kloakor until he dissolved into nothing? Do you know what it feels like to have a whole city’s worth of draklight creeping about in your skin? Do you know how it feels to realise you’re the villain?”

  Kassa gazed at him, her golden eyes sad as she took in everything he had told her. “Egg, I can help you.”

  “I don’t
think so.” He punched her in the stomach with all the magic he had readily to hand. It was a lot. Kassa’s body was flung backwards, then dropped like a stone to the distant floor below.

  Without waiting to see if she survived the fall, Egg turned and continued his climb up, up to the very top of the palace of Drak. A high place was exactly what he needed right now.

  Kassa caught herself a foot from the ground, and lowered herself to lie flat on the gleaming floor of the entrance hall to the Palace. “Damn it,” she whispered. “Damn it, damn it, damn it.”

  “Are you hurt?” demanded Singespitter, running up to her.

  “Of course she’s hurt,” said Aragon, reaching them a second later. “Can you move?”

  “I’m fine, help me up,” she said.

  They both supported her with their strong arms, dragging her to her feet. “He won’t listen to me,” she said in frustration. “Why should he? I did everything wrong.”

  “You weren’t the one pushing people off staircases,” Aragon grated.

  Kassa gripped his arm, then Singespitter’s. “You have to go after him, both of you. You have to save him.”

  “The kid looks kind of all-powerful to me right now,” said Singespitter. “Save him from what?”

  “Himself,” said Aragon, understanding.

  Kassa nodded. “If you can keep him alive, I may be able to find a solution to all this. But I need time.”

  “It’s going to have to be a really good solution,” Singespitter warned. “What makes you think he’ll listen to us?”

  “Neither of you has magic, and neither of you is afraid of it.”

  Aragon raised a hand. “I dispute that.”

  “Me, too,” said Singespitter. “Hello, five years as a sheep?”

  Kassa growled at them both. “If either of you have any desire to see that boy survive to his next birthday, get going.”

  Egg discovered the sorcerer’s tower, the tallest and pointiest part of the palace of Drak. With a thought, he unfurled the roof like the petals of a flower and stood at the very edge of one of those petals, gazing down at the city below.

  This was a very high place.

  There was so much magic under his skin, so much power. Flight would be easy. It was falling that would take effort. He would need forcible control of his motley magic to prevent it from snaking out a tendril to save his life.

  Did he have enough control to rein those powers in, to step from the edge of the open roof and fall like any normal mortal? There was only one way to find out.

  As he moved a fraction further towards the edge, Egg heard voices nearby. One was loud and huffy: “So many bloody stairs, my legs are so numb they feel like they’ve been stung by spiders!”

  “Hush,” said the other voice, cool and clinical. “He can hear us.”

  “Don’t come any closer!” Egg yelled down.

  Singespitter crawled into view, collapsing on the floor of the sorcerer’s tower among the various demonic instruments and ingredients. “I don’t see why not,” he wheezed. “We’re not much danger to you now. The stairs just about did us in.”

  Aragon Silversword emerged next. “Singespitter’s right,” he said calmly. “We’re hardly a threat. We didn’t even bring any iron with us.”

  “We didn’t?” said Singespitter. “That was careless. Big scary powerful warlock versus us, without even a bit of iron to protect us. We are not the brains of this outfit.”

  “We can go all the way back down to the kitchens and get some if you like,” said Aragon. “Of course, it means climbing back up the stairs again…”

  “Ugh,” groaned Singespitter. “Don’t even suggest it.”

  “You can forget the clown act,” Egg said sharply, his footing beginning to waver a little. “I know Kassa sent you.”

  “Of course she sent us,” said Aragon. “If ever I get into as desperate a situation as you did today, I hope Kassa would care enough to send someone after me.”

  “Do you think you can help me?” Egg demanded.

  “Dunno about help,” said Singespitter. “She didn’t say anything about help, did she?”

  “She said to save him, not help him,” Aragon agreed. “Although ‘help’ could be implied.”

  “I tried to kill her!” Egg shouted.

  “I noticed that,” said Aragon. “You and I might need to have a duel about that one of these days.”

  “Very helpful,” said Singespitter. “Can’t you go five minutes without challenging someone to a duel? Classic attention-seeking behavior, Silversword.”

  “Listen, Fleecy, if you can’t contribute to the conversation, why don’t you go and knit something?”

  “Lovely riposte, very witty with the sheep theme and everything. You should be on the stage.” Singespitter turned serious. “Egg, what Mister Sword-up-his-butt meant to say is that Kassa is very forgiving when her favourite people try to kill her. This one here has done it hundreds of times.”

  “Once,” corrected Aragon.

  Singespitter lifted his eyebrows. “Oh, come on.”

  “Maybe twice.”

  “Didn’t stop her hopping into a hammock with you, did it?” Singespitter frowned. “Actually, that’s a bit disturbing, when you think about it.”

  “We’re getting off-topic,” Aragon growled.

  “Oh, yeah. Point is, Egg, Kassa is your cousin and your teacher and she cares about you and she’s already forgiven what you tried to do to her otherwise she wouldn’t have bothered sending us up here, would she?”

  Egg stared at the city below his feet, wondering how fast he would fall, and how hard he would hit the ground. “What about Lord Kloakor?” he yelled down to his bizarre rescue party. “Who’s going to forgive me for that?”

  “It was an accident, wasn’t it?” Aragon called up.

  Egg hesitated. “I don’t think so.”

  “Oh, boy,” muttered Singespitter. He glanced at Aragon. “What do we say to that? It doesn’t matter that he killed someone? Of course it freaking matters.”

  “I’ve run out of ideas,” admitted Aragon. “We need Kassa, she’s the one who’s best at talking people into submission.”

  “I can still hear you!” Egg yelled down.

  “We know!” said Singespitter. “Shut up for a minute, will you? We’re trying to figure out what to say next.”

  “May I try?” asked a soft, almost-familiar voice.

  Aragon and Singespitter turned, half-expecting to see Clio. It was only her in a manner of speaking.

  Lord Dreamer, a diminished mortal version of Lord Dreamer in a soft white dress, stepped into the room at the top of the sorcerer’s tower. Without the glow of a Light Lord, her resemblance to Clio was even more pronounced, down to the bright blue eyes and fair hair.

  “How did you get out of the salt circle?” Aragon asked.

  “We stepped through,” she said with a smile. “It was easy once we chose to leave our magic behind.”

  “So you’re ordinary,” said Singespitter. “Mortal?”

  “For now,” said Lord Dreamer. She raised her voice slightly. “Egg, would you come with me for a moment? There is something I would like you to see.”

  Egg hesitated, gazing down at her.

  Lord Dreamer held a pale hand out to him. “Please, Egg. You may return here afterwards, if you wish. None of us will hinder you.”

  Quietly, Egg climbed down from the open roof, and took Lord Dreamer’s hand. Together, they left the tower.

  “Girls are so much better at this sort of thing,” said Singespitter.

  “Don’t they know it,” agreed Aragon.

  Lord Dreamer led Egg to the ruined remains of the observatory. Broken glass hung from every window-frame. A cool wind blew in through the missing wall. In the centre of the room was a large circle of salt. Hovering in the centre of that salt was a sphere, a little larger than a watermelon, glowing brightly white.

  “My magic, and that of Lord Invisiblus,” said Lord Dreamer.

 
“Where is he?” Egg asked.

  “Fetching Quillsmith from the dungeons. We are taking him home.”

  Egg stared at her in wonder. “Home?”

  “We have spoken with your friend Kassa,” said Lord Dreamer. “She believes that we can recreate our world, or something like it. All we need is the magic the five of us held, the harmonylight. Kassa has already poured into the sphere what she took from Quillsmith, and that which belonged to Ladybird. I would like you to do the same with the magic you hold that once belonged to Quillsmith, Ladybird and Kloakor.”

  Egg pulled his gaze away from her bright blue eyes. “You know about that?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, letting the misery spill out of him. “I didn’t mean…I don’t know what I meant to do, but I am sorry that I did it.”

  Lord Dreamer’s eyes softened. “Our attempt to invade this land caused the deaths of many. We behaved as enemies to you. It is a wonder that your people let any of us live, let alone gave us the means to recreate our world. Kloakor cannot be a part of our new world, but his magic can. Will you relinquish it to us?”

  “I have the draklight as well,” Egg admitted.

  Lord Dreamer looked surprised. “So much power within one boy’s skin,” she wondered. “It is good. We should take the dark magic as well as the light. This time, we will build a balanced world, a sustainable world of many shades and colours.”

  “Will you take my magic?” Egg blurted out. “The magic I was born with?”

  Dreamer shook her head slowly. “That is yours to keep.”

  “But I can’t be trusted with it!”

  “You are young,” she told him. “You will learn. I believe you have learned much already.” She leaned forward, and kissed him.

  Egg felt the walls fall down, releasing the layers and layers of magic he had held for so long. He had expected their loss to be painful, as it had been for Kloakor and Quillsmith, but Lord Dreamer was gentle with him. The magic drained out of him like rain trickling off a roof. He felt an incredible lightness as the draklight left him, and an unfamiliar realness as the last of the harmonylight was taken.

  It’s over. It’s really over.