Bad Apple (The Warner Grimoire)

by Clay Held

  The wail rolled over the graveyard at them like a fast moving fog, until it threatened to surround and seize them with its unearthly sound. Simon’s ears throbbed from the noise. “Where did they come from?”

  Penny shook her head. “They’ve answered their master’s call,” she said, still wiping at her eyes. “Wherever they are, living or dead, they will always come when called, and their true form is always revealed.”

  Simon looked towards the sound of the moaning. “How many?”

  “All of them.”

  Dark shapes began to climb over the wall, scrambling shapes slipping madly over the twisted, howling statues. The moatlings swarmed over the stone figures without any resistance, dozens of the black shapes cresting over the statues and falling to the ground in thick black clumps. The black mass swelled towards them, a giant grasping hand snatching at them from the darkness. A second sound followed from far behind the wall--the unmistakeable howling of dogs.

  Penny grabbed Simon and awkwardly pulled him into a run. Simon pumped his legs hard--he was desperate to put the wall and the creatures far, far behind them. Tree branches lashed at his face like tiny corpse hands as they ran towards the next fence, the fourth one, or was it the third? There had been so many coming in, but now he could not recall how many fences there had been when he had first followed Boeman. The moaning never once faded behind them, only growing louder and closer. They ran over fallen, decaying trees, past crumbling tombstones, and mausoleums with weeping angels. They ran and ran and ran.

  Until they fell.

  The ground simply stopped under their feet, but it was gone too fast for either of them to react. Simon had no time to register that Penny had disappeared from his sight until he was falling too, dropping off an unseen embankment. Ice cold water splashed into his face. They had fallen into a creek.

  He thrashed in the water, a sudden fear of water overtaking him. He thrashed his way to the shore, then found Penny and helped her to her feet, tasting blood in his mouth. Above them the moaning seemed to fall back, getting lost for the moment in the air above them.

  They ran blindly now, stumbling over roots and rocks that threatened to send either of them tumbling again at any moment, leaving them at the complete mercy of what was chasing them. Miraculously, they seemed to be gaining distance on their pursuers. As they neared another row of mausoleums the moans and groaning had all but completely faded.

  He stumbled again, tasting dirt and more blood as he hit the ground. He had fallen in front of a very large mausoleum with a small stone gargoyle leering down at them from the pitched roof. It reminded him of the tiny gargoyle they kept on the cash register back at the Paw. He felt a twinge of pain as he found himself wondering if Little Sam had survived the fire.

  “They answer the master’s call,” said the Other Voice. “All of them.”

  An idea sprouted in his mind. “We have to go back,” he said, brushing himself off.

  Penny stared at him, her voice quavering. “We can’t. We need to get back to the house.”

  His words were bloody and muddled. “No. I know what I need to do.”

  “Then you’ll be killed.”

  “He needs me.”

  Penny touched Simon’s shoulder. “Sam needs you alive. This is not the right way to go.”

  The words were harder now, almost sour. “No. Boeman. He needs me,” he said more to himself than to her. “They won’t hurt me. He needs me.”

  Penny’s eyes went wide. “Are you saying--”

  “They’ll take me back to him.”

  Penny jerked back. “There is NO way of knowing--”

  “Penny!” Simon suddenly screamed, his voice cracking. “I don’t know what I’m doing! I know nothing about this place, about magic, about anything here, but I have to do something!” His hands were shaking. “Sam is still in there. I almost reached him before, I can do it again.” He spit blood on the ground. “I’m going back.”

  His words hung rotten in the air.

  Penny slowly backed away. “I can’t do this with you,” she said.

  He looked her dead in the eyes. “I’m not asking you to. Keep going. Get help.”

  “This is crazy.”

  “I know.”

  The moaning was closing in on them again. Penny continued backing away, her eyes growing wider with each step. “Don’t look at them,” she finally said. “No matter what, don’t look at them.” She bit her lip. “Please.”

  “Okay.”

  The moaning was almost upon them. Penny turned and ran, vanishing into a thicket of trees.

  Simon closed his eyes as the moatlings approached. The moaning filled his ears, and then, his mind. He could feel them now, closing in around him. They all come, he thought. All of them.

  “Well done,” whispered the Other Voice.

  The cold hands grabbed him, and it was over.

  * * *

  The moatlings were quiet now.

  They dragged Simon along the ground, the occasional rock stabbing into his back as they took him to what he could only hope was Boeman. Do moatlings eat? He wondered idly. At one point he hit his head on what had to have been a tombstone, and his eyes burst open involuntarily from the shock.

  The creature dragging him was almost human in the moonlight. It was certainly pressed into a human shape, but small differences revealed themselves under the moon. Its skin was gray, and its eyes glowed with a faint, silvery-green haze. It was gaunt, thinner than Simon had imagined, but also impossibly strong. Despite its appearance, it bounded over crumbled brick and fallen tombstones effortlessly, yet for all its unnatural grace, it moved without any care for Simon. More rocks stabbed into his back, and Simon kept spitting blood and dirt the entire time the creature dragged him. They were followed by the scores of more creatures, most no more than the outline of a person against the night sky. Simon’s eyes darted between what shapes he could make out, desperate to spot Sam.

  Finally the Maddening Wall came into sight. Simon had been right--they were taking him back to Boeman. Small murmurs rippled through the creatures as they reached the barrier, and for a moment Simon thought they were going to begin moaning again. However, they simply shuffled through the opening, their worn faces temporarily lit by the clear patch of sky overhead. Simon searched what faces he could again, and his heart leapt when he thought he saw him, but when the shadow cleared he saw the creature was missing half its face, and dread began to creep over him. Had this been the right choice?

  Simon felt the small pop again as they crossed the invisible barrier that permeated the Maddening Wall. They were close now. He swallowed his revulsion towards the creatures, forcing his disgust to the back of his mind. The obelisk still towered over the top of the hill, and next to it stood Boeman, who stared at him with a bemused smile. Off to the side stood Nathan and Kate, back to back, circled by a pack of hounds, all their eyes blazing green. The earthen wolf stood defiant against the pack, and Simon saw the hounds tear into it all at once, tearing and pulling and tugging it into pieces. He cringed at the wolf’s death howl. Nathan’s coat was torn right above the shoulder, and the brown fabric was soaked in blood. Kate gripped her hatchet tightly, its ethereal, almost silvery white light seemed to be holding the beasts at bay. Her eyes kept darting around, her mouth moving quickly but speaking too softly to be heard.

  “Simon!” Nathan screamed when he saw him. “Simon!”

  The growling grew louder, the sound of Streaker’s pack mixing with the renewed moaning of the ghouls. Something very large and very heavy hit Simon’s captor, causing it to release him, dropping him unceremoniously to the ground. Simon lifted his head, and directly in front of him was one of the new hounds, it’s muzzle thick with matted fur. Its eyes and fangs were trained on the ghoul. The ghoul lashed at the dog furiously, swiping dirty, clawed hands without any regard for its own safety. Behind him some of the ghouls began to groan, harder and harsher than earlier, and a small group of them broke off in a clump and headed straight fo
r the pack. Nathan took this in with extreme interest. “Seems they’re not getting along much these days,” he shouted to Boeman. “What’s happening out beyond the Moat to make a couple puppies get so bent out of shape?”

  Boeman’s eyes flared. With a flick of his wrist the wandering ghouls caught fire, a bright blue flame accompanied by shrieks and screams of agony, then they fell to the ground lifelessly. The errant hounds fell back just in time to avoid getting burned, then rejoined the pack around Nathan and Kate. Streaker growled at Boeman, who looked at the hound scornfully. “If you can’t control your stupid beasts, I will.” At this remark Streaker bared its teeth at Boeman. “Well, fine,” Boeman said, exasperated. “You do it then if it’s so damn easy. Oh wait, you can’t. So quiet down and let me work.”

  A new pair of cold hands grabbed Simon and lifted him back into the air, carrying him up the hill and throwing him onto the ground at Boeman’s feet. Simon tried to stand but a large, heavy weight came crushing down on his neck. The moatling was standing with one foot on him.

  “Simon!” Nathan shouted again. With a great heave of his good arm, Nathan threw his salt bag towards Simon, and a burst of green and purple sparks erupted as it flew through the air. Streaker glowered at Nathan, its eyes hot with anger.

  “Not this time,” Boeman said. “I’m afraid the time for your little parlor tricks is over, Mr. Tamerlane. You only have yourself to thank for that. Every time Streaker crosses the Moat he only grows stronger, and you, Ms. Merrimoth, what kind of company is this to keep? Honestly,” he said, dropping his shoulders. “If your father could see you now--”

  “You shut your mouth!” Kate snarled, and the silver light from her hatchet waned as she lost her concentration. The dogs immediately fell in as the light shrunk.

  “Stop it.” Simon struggled to breath from the weight of the ghoul on top of him. “Let them go.”

  “Why?” Boeman squatted down next to Simon. “What good would that do for me? No, I think my interests are better served if I keep them right here, right now, but the real question is, what will you do to free them?”

  Kate’s shield shrunk again. Her arms were starting to drop. “Don’t do it Simon!”

  “Don’t hurt them,” Simon said. “Please.”

  “What will you give me?” Boeman said.

  “Give him nothing,” whispered the Other Voice.

  Simon glared at Boeman. “Nothing,” he said through gritted teeth. “Let them go.”

  The dogs moved in again, a chorus of low growls beginning to form.

  Boeman smiled. “Time’s almost up, Mr. Warner. Do you really want to risk it?”

  “No,” Simon said. “I’m done making deals with you.”

  Kate’s shield winked out.

  “Pity,” Boeman said. He waved his arm towards Nathan and Kate. The dogs scattered as the Nathan and Kate were lifted suddenly into the air, blown back by the force of Boeman’s spell into the waiting arms of the Maddening Wall. The statues had made a spot for them already--one bare spot of the underlying iron gate was exposed, and they hit it with a sickening clang. Simon flinched at the noise, and when he looked back he could see the statues had already closed their arms around them, pinning them, trapping them under stone arms and with stone hands covering their mouths.

  “No!” Simon pounded his fist against the ground. A huge flash of light erupted out of him, blowing the ghoul off his back. It was a full second before Simon realized he was free, then he scrambled to his feet.

  “Won’t be long for them now,” Boeman said. “They’ll be fine if you can ever get them out.”

  Simon turned to face Boeman. Sparks flew wildly between his fingertips. He didn’t care anymore, didn’t care if he wasn’t trained, didn’t care if he was putting himself at risk. He couldn’t let this go on any further. His heart began to pump furiously as he tried to summon all his strength, all his anger, all his rage that slept deep inside him. His muscles tensed and ached from the effort. His teeth began to grind and his vision blurred as adrenaline coursed through him, firing wildly against every one of his nerves as he felt the power building, growing, boiling inside him as he prepared to give Boeman everything he got.

  “Destruo,” the Other Voice whispered.

  He hadn’t known then what he knew now, hadn’t understood the magic inside words, hadn’t understood the need to keep a buffer, or a sight through which to aim his anger and his magic. The word boiled inside his mind again--destruo. His shoulders burned, spreading like fire until he felt he was going to burst. Destruo. “Become the hand,” the Other Voice said. “Become the right hand of destruction. Fulfill your destiny.” The thoughts were confusing, cracking his concentration. He did his best to swallow his confusion and focus on Boeman, on the man who had torn the only family away from him he had ever known, his uncle, a secret he had never known. “Destruo, and the anger building. Destruo, and the fires burn. Destruo, and the fury is born.” Fury burned within Simon, seeping outwards until the air began to sizzle, and the grass around him turned brown and died.

  “Say it,” the Other Voice commanded. “Do it now.”

  He knew exactly what to do.

  “Impressive,” Boeman said, holding his hands up. “But before we let things get out of hand--”

  Simon moved fast, hawk-like, swinging his fist as hard as he could into Boeman’s jaw. Bone found bone, and Simon felt an ungodly pain erupt in his hand.

  Boeman stumbled back a few feet, thrown off balance by the force of the impact. Simon’s hand stung horribly, and when he tried to move his fingers pain shot up his arm. In the back of his mind he knew he had broken his hand.

  Boeman regained his footing, rubbing his jaw gingerly. “All right,” he said. “I thought we might amend our arrangement, but you,” Boeman worked his jaw, which made a terrible clicking noise, “you want to get down to it, I see.”

  The throbbing pain in Simon’s hand distracted him, washing over his anger. He held his hand to the side and hoped Boeman wouldn’t notice.

  “Tell you what,” Boeman said. “I could just force your hand back into the obelisk. I do have control over you heart and soul.” Simon’s left arm lifted up against his will, phantom pains pulling the strings. “But you’re such a baby you might go running off and crying that it wasn’t fair or some other nonsense. So let’s level the field, shall we?” His eyes flared with green and blue sparks. “Simon Warner, I release you from our agreement.” Instantly Simon’s arm dropped. It swung loosely at his side, and he was glad Boeman hadn’t lifted up his injured hand.

  “There now, is that better? Let’s make a new deal.” Something rustled in the bushes behind them. “I don’t think you can do much for your friends, and finding your parents again probably isn’t going to pan out all that well anyway, so I don’t think I can convince you that way. I don’t think you’d make a deal for any of that,” Boeman said. Behind him, a figure stepped out of the trees. The figure walked closer until Simon could see his face clearly. Sam. “But I think you might still make a deal for him.”

  “Are you insane?” Simon finally said. He turned so his injured side was hidden. “You think I will agree to anything you ask now?”

  “Tell you what,” Boeman said. “I’m feeling generous. Maybe I’ll make it a two-for-one deal, Sam and the little lovebirds over there. Final offer, and since you’re down to just one good hand,” he said, a wicked glint in his eye, “I suggest you take it.”

  Simon’s eyes dropped to the ground. He had been caught in his bluff. He stared at the base of the obelisk, then at the opening again. He could just barely make out the muffled noises of Nathan and Kate behind them. He glanced over his shoulder at them, unsure of what to do. Both of them stared at him with wide eyes, unable to move, their skin turning a sickly gray color as they joined the macabre collection of statues. They would be locked away, held prisoner there, forever.

  All because of him.

  “Stick your little hand in that little hole and I’ll free all of them
,” Boeman said. “Nothing hard doing about that. C’mon, then.” He placed his hand on Simon’s shoulder. “Be the hand that opens the door, apple of a good man.”

  Then there was Sam, standing there slack-jawed, his eyes staring dully into the distance, untouched by the same bluish gray glow of the other ghouls. Was there still time to save him? Could he be released from his agreement the same as Simon?

  “Tick tock Warner,” Boeman said. “The wall doesn’t take long to claim its victims, and I’m running severely low on patience.”

  “Fine,” Simon said slowly. “I’ll try, but let them go first.”

  “No.”

  There was anger building inside Simon again, but it was a useless anger, frustration he wouldn’t be able to work out in any meaningful way with a broken hand. Defeated, Simon returned to the obelisk and stuck his broken hand into the receptacle without another word. He jammed it in harder than he needed to, scrapping his knuckles on the stone and sending dull waves of pain up his arm.

  There was a cool trickling sensation of running water over his hand, and the ember which now lived in his hand was quiet. He wondered if it had broken too when he punched Boeman. There was this other feeling too, of freedom, like he could remove his hand at any time if he wanted, but he did not. He simply stood there and waited.

  Boeman was at his side now, chanting. “Apple of a good man, broken hearth, and bone--” he said, his voice so quiet it seemed unnatural. His eyes rolled back in his head. “Ab’zudog, N’ryleth mod k’ruzall. Brohk’h nngh un’galath...” The stone closed in around Simon, and Boeman’s chanting cut his skin like glass. “Ung J’bbah. Nok t’chah, the blade that cuts the darkness--” His words were wormwood in Simon’s ears--” Gru’n Pazog--the edge that’s never honed...” Streaker remained outside the circle of stones on the ground, pawing anxiously, his growl reduced to an unexpected whimper.

  Boeman continued, bowing his head. “Father of a dead man...” The air was frozen around him. “A dog without his bark...” He raised his hand slowly towards Streaker, who whined and laid down. The green light in Streaker’s eyes died away, and then Boeman’s eyes were blazing with emerald fire as he lifted his head to the gathering clouds over head. Lightning began to crackle within the churning sky, and thunder churned high overhead. The humming filled Simon’s ears again. “A broken crow in hiding, a doorway in the--”