The Music of Zombies

by Vivian French

  It was all but impossible for Marcus and Gracie to stay on their feet as the world rocked around them; Marcus was very pale, and Gracie’s face was washed of all color. She could feel evil heavy in the air, but there was nothing she could do as the enormous figure of the giantess hurtled past.

  A moment later the rising sun broke free of the early morning clouds. Sunlight beamed down, and a strange silver object moving among the thick scrub caught the first of the rays. The sharp reflected light dazzled Trunkly, temporarily blinding her. She shook her head, tripped, and fell headlong, sending shock waves for miles around. Marlon was tossed into a whirlwind and swept away, choking and fighting for breath. A swirling dust cloud engulfed Trunkly’s fallen body and floated high in the air above her, blotting out the sunlight and turning the immediate world gray. Moments later Greatover and Meggymould blundered into view. Crouching down beside Trunkly’s fallen mass, they began to murmur to her and stroke her hands and arms.

  As soon as the ground had stopped shaking, Gracie and Marcus hurried forward. It was obvious that neither Meggymould nor Greatover had eyes for anything other than Trunkly, but Gracie was desperate to try and speak to them. Even though they were so very large, she felt no fear; there was a deep feeling of rightness about them and a simple but unshakable goodness. They’re just like huge old trees, she thought.

  As Gracie came closer, Meggymould reached over to brush the matted hair away from Trunkly’s face, and the shadow shifted to crouch deeper. Gracie saw the movement and half saw, half felt the shadow’s presence. It was whispering again, exhorting Trunkly to get back on her feet, cursing and swearing and hissing insults. Trunkly, her simple mind battered and bruised, was whimpering with pain and distress. Gracie clenched her fists and took a step nearer, and as she did so, she crossed the thought line between Fiddleduster and his shadow. At once the words buried themselves in Gracie’s brain, and the shadow was left in silence. Trunkly stopped her whimpering and lay still.

  “OUCH!” Gracie rubbed at her ears, then swung around — and found herself looking directly at Fiddleduster Squint as he stood framed between two birch trees. He was as shocked as she was, and for a long second they stared at each other, Gracie’s head full of pain and swirling ugly words. With a sharp intake of breath, she put up all the resistance she was capable of and saw from Fiddleduster’s expression that he was the source of the evil, and that — for the moment — it had returned to him. His deep-set eyes were glittering, and he was staring at her with an unpleasant curl of his lip, revealing long, sharp teeth.

  “What is it?” Marcus asked urgently. “What is it?” His gaze followed Gracie’s, and he also saw Fiddleduster Squint. “Is he the one who’s making the giant mad?”

  Gracie nodded without speaking. She now knew that as long as she was between Fiddleduster and his shadow, there could be no communication, and Trunkly would be safe; Fiddleduster knew this, too, and was moving stealthily away from the trees. As he moved, so did Gracie, always keeping her eyes on him, and her body between him and Trunkly.

  “So,” Fiddleduster said softly, “one sees a Trueheart. Well, well, well. A Trueheart, outside the borders, and all alone.”

  “She’s not alone! I’m here!” Marcus, thinking to protect Gracie, stepped in front of her. Immediately he was flung to his knees by the intensity of the stream of corruption and evil. “Attack her, and you’ll have me to deal with!” He was still defiant.

  Neither Fiddleduster nor Gracie dropped their stare. The pain in Gracie’s head was excruciating, but she kept her eyes fixed on the zombie.

  “A mere boy?” Fiddleduster’s withering contempt made Marcus flush. “What can you do? Watch me . . . watch me as I destroy the Trueheart. After that it will give me extreme pleasure to tear you limb from limb. And then the giants will be entirely in my power —”

  “Ug,” said a voice.

  Gubble, a shining silver cup angled over one eye like a jaunty helmet, came stumping into view through the floating clouds of dust. Auntie Vera was fluttering beside him. Neither of them appeared to notice anything out of the usual. “Where Gracie?”

  Fiddleduster Squint wavered . . . and turned to look.

  Immediately Gracie seized her opportunity. She ran to Trunkly, and in front of the astonished Greatover and Meggymould hurled herself between the giantess’s ear and the shadow. “There!” She pointed back at Fiddleduster Squint. “Don’t let him near! He’s poisoning Trunkly’s mind! Help me — I can’t stop him for much longer.”

  Greatover and Meggymould blinked. Something was wrong. Very wrong. There was a girl. A little person. That was certain. And this girl was helping their Trunkly. But how? As their ponderous minds began to slowly process the information, Marcus ran at Fiddleduster. “Come on! Stop him!”

  At the same moment, the zombie darted toward Gracie. He and Marcus collided, and the zombie snarled and bit while Marcus shouted and punched and pummeled at the flailing arms and legs that seemed made of steel.

  “UFF . . . ug!” Gubble had reached them. He wrapped his long green arms around Fiddleduster Squint and hauled him away from the prince, while Auntie Vera fluttered around his head. The strength of the zombie was extraordinary; even the troll was straining to hold him.

  “Is badness!” Gubble muttered. “Bad badness!” His muscles were bulging as Fiddleduster writhed and squirmed, and sweat was trickling down his flat green face.

  Gracie could feel the shadow moving behind her, and a memory of how it had attacked Albion made her wonder how long she could protect Trunkly. She shut her eyes and concentrated as hard as she could on the web of power, imagining its silver cloth wrapping her in its protective folds.

  “Shadow!” Fiddleduster was screaming. “Shadow! Kill, Shadow, kill!”

  Gracie felt a deathly coldness behind her, and Gubble began to pant. “Gubble . . . Gubble can’t . . .”

  “Hang on, Gubble! Hang on . . .” Gracie pleaded. “Oh, please! Please! Won’t somebody help us?”

  Greatover leaned forward, picked up a sharp-edged boulder, and plunged it into the earth. A deep crack split the ground, a fissure so deep it was impossible to see the bottom.

  Gubble, gasping and purple with exertion, saw what had been done. With one last final effort, he lifted the zombie over his head and threw him into the gaping void. “Urf,” he said, then fell flat on his back.

  The shadow slithered out of Trunkly’s ear, irresistibly drawn toward its master. As it slid past Gracie, it hissed, “We will return . . . We will return . . .” before slipping over the edge of the crevasse and vanishing into the darkness.

  “Gone,” Gubble said. “Badness all gone.”

  Gracie rubbed her face and looked up at Greatover. “Thank you,” she shouted as loudly as she could. “Thank you so much! You saved us!”

  “Thank you!” Marcus echoed. He was crouched near the birch trees that had sheltered Fiddleduster.

  Greatover shook his heavy head. “YOU DID TRY TO SAVE OUR TRUNKLY.” An enormous tear rolled down his cheek and plopped onto the ground beside Gracie. “POOR TRUNKLY.”

  Gracie turned to look. Trunkly was lying very still, but Gracie could see the long grass stirring by her mouth. “She’s not dead,” she said. “I think she’s just exhausted. I can see her breathing.”

  Even as she spoke, Trunkly’s eyes flickered and opened. “IS I DEAD?” Seeing Gracie, her eyes grew wider. “IS LITTLE PERSON!” A hopeful smile curved her lips. “LITTLE PERSON WITH EGGSIES?”

  Gracie laughed in relief. “Eggs? Is that what you want? I’m sure we could find you some. Auntie Elsie’s got far too many.”

  Meggymould also began to smile. “EGGSIES FOR TRUNKLY! WE IS HAPPY! TRUNKLY CAN DANCE —”

  “NO!” Gracie’s heart beat faster at the thought. “No — please don’t dance! Well, not here. I’m so glad you’re happy, but you do make the ground shake quite dreadfully. Perhaps you could sing, instead? What do you think, Marcus?”

  There was no answer. Puzzled, Gracie look
ed around. “MARCUS!” She jumped to her feet and ran to where the prince sat clutching his leg. “What is it? OH! You’re hurt! You’re bleeding —”

  “That horrible thing bit me,” Marcus said. “I feel a bit odd.”

  Gracie put her hand on his forehead and found it was burning. “You’re boiling! I bet it’s poisonous, a bite like that. We must get you help . . . Where’s Marlon? Marlon!”

  There was a faint squeak, and Marlon came fluttering down. He also looked very much the worse for wear, his usually spruce and shining fur dull and matted. “Got blown away,” he explained. “Whirlwind. What’s up, kiddo?”

  “It’s Marcus,” Gracie said, doing her best not to let her voice shake. “We need to get him to the crones as soon as we can . . . It’s urgent!”

  “Urgent? What’s urgent? Never fear, Alfie’s here!” As Alf flew down, he was delighted to find so many eyes staring at him in astonishment. “Yeeha! And hello, all!” He flew a victory roll followed by a spiral and a double circle. “Oh! What’s up with Mr. Prince?”

  “Looks like a nasty case of zombie poisoning to me.” As the path swooped and came to rest, Elsie stepped down as calmly as if she traveled in such a manner every day of her life. “Best get him home. Fast.”

  Gracie burst into tears. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed as she fished in her pocket for a non-existent handkerchief. “Crying’s such a useless thing to do — but I’m so pleased to see you, Auntie Elsie! I’m so worried about Marcus!”

  Elsie smiled. “Hush, my love. Auntie Elsie’s here now, so let’s get busy. Gubble dear, you look dreadful! Do you feel you could lift young Marcus onto the path? Yes? That’s good. And who have we here? Well, well, well. I’d say you must be Trunkly, Greatover, and Meggymould.”

  The three giants rumbled quietly. Things were happening far too fast for them to fully comprehend, but they accepted that they were surrounded by small people of good intent and were happy.

  Gracie wiped her nose on her sleeve. “I said they could have some eggs, Auntie Elsie. Is that OK?”

  “They can have the hens and henhouse too,” Elsie said cheerfully. “I’m bored to death with the feeding and cleaning. We’ll let the hens loose where the giants can find them easily. Somewhere well away from the Five Kingdoms.” She paused to watch as Gubble lifted Marcus onto the path. “Well done, Gubble. You’ll be coming with us, of course. Now, what about that pony? Can’t leave it on its own out here.”

  Auntie Vera fluttered forward. “I can guide her back,” she offered. “As far as Cockenzie Rood Palace, anyway. I’m much too old for all this excitement. I need my shed.” She gave Gubble a cold look. “Even if it does have a nasty hole in it. A troll-shaped hole.”

  “Excellent!” Elsie rubbed her hands together. “I’m sure someone there will look after Hinny until Marcus is better. So that’s settled, and I think we’re just about ready to be off.” She peered around to make sure that she had sorted out everything and everyone. “Now, have I forgotten anything?”

  “Yup.” Marlon was flying low. “Gotta problem . . .”

  Even as he spoke, a thin bony hand rose out of the crevasse where Fiddleduster Squint had fallen. It stretched up and grasped at the roots of a thornbush. A second hand clutched a twisted branch, and the zombie’s head slowly emerged from the darkness.

  “Feel free to depart,” Fiddleduster sneered. “One has work to do here.” And he looked pointedly at Trunkly, who began to tremble.

  Gracie, sitting on the path beside the semiconscious Marcus, felt a cold chill sweep over her. What could she do? Even if she threw herself between Fiddleduster and the giants, how long could she hold out against him? “Think, Gracie,” she told herself, “think . . .”

  Fiddleduster was steadily hauling himself up hand over hand; one more minute and he would be slithering out onto the grass where the giants were sitting. The shadow was already shimmering beside them.

  Gracie took a quick breath. “Meggymould! Greatover!” she shouted. “Stand up! Stand up and STAMP! Stamp as hard as you can!”

  It was no use. The giants were still pondering the previous events. Fast action was not in their nature; Gracie might as well have called to the trees or the hills.

  “Miss Gracie!” It was Alf. “There’s a thread — a silver thread! On the path. By your hand!”

  Gracie looked down and saw the delicate silver thread shining brightly. With a gasp she snatched it up and ran toward Fiddleduster as he began to pull himself out onto the solid ground. The zombie threw his head back and snarled, showing sharp yellow teeth. As Gracie thrust the shining silver as close as she dared to his burning eyes, he was forced to hold up a hand to protect himself. The root in his other hand loosened, scattering earth, and with a muffled curse he lost his grip. Screaming a long, despairing scream, he fell down and down into the darkness.

  Instinct made Gracie throw the thread after him. There was a second scream, followed by silence. A puff of purplish smoke drifted up from the depths of the hole, twisted in the sunshine, then faded away into nothingness.

  “Goodness me!” It was Auntie Elsie. “If I hadn’t forgotten all about that thread! Well done, Alf !”

  “Alf to the rescue!” The little bat did his second victory roll of the day. “Hey! Look at Mr. Prince!”

  Gracie, who had been watching in fascination as the crumbling sides of the crevasse slowly moved toward each other, shook herself and ran back.

  Marcus was sitting bolt upright, looking extremely cheerful. “Hello, Gracie,” he said. “Isn’t it weird? I feel absolutely fine! Did we win? We did, didn’t we? Hooray!”

  “Are you really all right?” Gracie inspected Marcus doubtfully.

  The prince jumped off the path. “As soon as that purple smoke wafted about, I felt wonderful! Well, I could do with a good night’s sleep, but I bet you could too.” He glanced around. “Oh! That’s so odd . . . where’s the hole in the ground gone?” He tucked Gracie’s arm comfortably into his, and the two of them walked together across the grass. There was no sign of the crevasse; only the thornbush marked the spot where it had been and where Fiddleduster had fallen. “WOW!” Marcus exclaimed. “We didn’t dream it, did we?”

  Gracie shook her head. “No.”

  “Ug.” Gubble had come to join them. “No dream.”

  Marcus looked down. “Hello, Gubble. You’re a hero, you know. If it hadn’t been for you, we’d have—” He paused and bent to look more closely at the silver cup still firmly wedged on Gubble’s green head. “Gubble, where did you find this? Can I have a look?”

  “Not come off.” The troll peered up with his one visible eye. “Stuck. Fell on Gubble.”

  Marcus did his best not to laugh. “Here, I’ll pull it off for you.” He took hold of the cup and gave it a sharp tug. Gubble’s head came off. The cup didn’t.

  “OW!” said the head. “Still stuck.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Marcus apologized. “Maybe if Gracie holds your ears, and I pull?”

  This was more successful, and the cup came away with the pop! of a cork leaving a bottle. Gubble put his head back on with a satisfied “URF.”

  Marcus turned the cup around to look at the inscription. “I thought I recognized it! It’s the Five Kingdoms’ Challenge Cup — it belongs to Albion’s dad. Look, it says here: King Dowby! It’s his pride and joy. Where did you find it, Gubble?”

  Gubble shrugged. “Bad place. Howling place. Bag . . . Gubble walk over bag. Lots of shiny things fall out. Big man cross. VERY cross. Throw things at Gubble. POOR Gubble!”

  Marcus let out a long whistle. “The Howling Arms! You must have found someone’s stash from a robbery!”

  “Yoo-hoo!” Auntie Elsie was calling. “Come along! The path’s getting impatient!”

  Marcus was concentrating much too hard to hear her. He turned the cup over and over, still whistling as he worked something out in his mind. “You know what,” he said at last, “I reckon we should go back to Cockenzie Rood. Gubble, did you say there were l
ots of silver things?”

  Gubble nodded.

  “That’s it!” Marcus’s eyes were shining. “Gracie, do you think the path would take us? Or we could ride . . . Oh! Where’s Hinny?”

  “Auntie Vera’s taking her back,” Gracie said. “She left a while ago . . . You were much too sick to ride.” She pulled at the end of her braid, puzzled by the prince’s excitement. “What are you planning?”

  Marcus waved the cup in the air. “Don’t you see? If I can find the rest of this stuff, I can take it back to King Dowby, and I’ll be some kind of a hero, and Father won’t be angry with me anymore. And then, maybe, he’ll let me do what I want.”

  For a moment Gracie was so astonished that she could think of nothing to say. “But . . .” she began, “but you’ve already done so much! The giants! You’ve saved the kingdoms!”

  “Father’ll never believe that.” There was no bitterness in Marcus’s voice; he was merely stating a fact. “Honestly, Gracie.” He squeezed her hand. “It’s true. You know it is. Father won’t ever admit there’s anything strange outside the kingdoms. He never has, and he’s not going to change now.”

  Gracie’s experience of King Frank was limited, but she had seen enough to suspect that Marcus was right. “Yes,” she said. “Yes. Hang on a moment—” And she ran to where Auntie Elsie was waiting. “Auntie Elsie, do you trust me?”

  “Of course, my love.” The Oldest smiled fondly at Gracie. “You’re going to ask me to take you back to Gorebreath, aren’t you?”

  Gracie shook her head. “Not Gorebreath. Cockenzie Rood. Do you think we can?”

  “We can try.”

  The path gave an encouraging wriggle, and Gracie waved to Marcus to come and join her. He settled himself beside her, and Gubble climbed on behind. Slowly the path lifted, then sank, then lifted once more before lying still.

  “Are we too heavy?” Gracie asked.

  “You don’t weigh nothing, kiddo.” Marlon fluttered down. “Ask my opinion, it’s the troll.”

  Alf, who had appointed himself chief guardian of the path, squeaked crossly at his uncle. “It’s just tired, Unc! That silver thread was from the web of power! Weighed a ton, it did! If it managed that, it can carry anything!”