This corridor had doors all along both sides. Each was black and firmly shut. The walls were painted the same storm-blue as the ballroom. As I passed the first door, I noticed a faint trace of silver on the wood, like the five-point star on the main entrance.
“More spells. I hope they’re more effective than the star, for the sake of whoever cast them.”
I didn’t try any of the doors, but continued down the candle-lit corridor. Given the length of the corridor, I must have ventured deep into the heart of the castle. Although when I tried to remember what the castle had looked like from the outside, I found myself unable to picture its structure.
Twisted. Yes, it had been twisted in some way.
As soon as I thought it, the corridor curled to the right, sharply doubling back on itself and ending in another door. This one was made of pure silver, with filigree trees and stars surrounding a horned demon with a wicked grin on her face. Only fools would open a door with a demon on the front, yet the door was beautiful. The silver was flawless, like spun starlight. My fingers reached out to touch it.
I’ll never own anything so fine. No one will ever give me a silver wedding ring, or let me live anywhere but the cottage where I was born.
As my fingers neared the silver, the tips turned ice-cold.
“This is wrong,” I said loudly. “I will not touch this door.”
But perhaps it was a bluff; perhaps I was meant to choose the door that looked most dangerous. I had nowhere to go but through a door, or all the way back to the western corridor. And if there were demons in this castle, I felt sure they would be lurking in the darkness. The demon on the silver door didn’t look so bad. She had horns, yes, but they were small and curved, like half-moons. Her smile was wicked, yes, but wickedness came in many different forms. Perhaps she was more playfully wicked, not intent on causing real damage.
And perhaps the man with green eyes was behind the door. I wanted to find him. It was only fair I made his acquaintance, after all my wretched luck.
I touched the door.
The silver melted to the ground, pooling around my feet. In the doorway stood a black monster with razor-sharp horns and four curling fangs.
This monster was definitely the bad kind of wicked.
CHAPTER FOUR
Of course I screamed. What else could I do in the circumstances? And then I ran. Except I tripped over my own boots and crashed headlong into the hard carpet. I screamed again, born of frustration more than fear. Behind me, the monster roared. Fangs sliced together like knives.
I clambered to my feet and faced the monster. The beast was huge, with black leathery skin, covered in scars and coarse hairs. Its eyes were red jewels; its breath was warm and putrid.
“Please don’t hurt me!”
The jaw snapped, ravenous. I somewhat doubted the beast had understood my request. So I ran again, successfully staying on my feet this time. I pelted past the doors and the popping candles, through the door I’d left open, past the abandoned ballroom, and down to the central hallway, haring towards the exit.
Behind me, the monster pursued on massive clawed feet. It did not run. And then I realised it didn’t need to: the castle door was locked shut.
I backtracked and headed for the dark western corridor. The cold shocked my skin, but when a monster is pursuing you, you don’t care so much for little things like temperature. I barrelled blindly into the black. The corridor went on and on, but I didn’t stop. Perhaps the monster would forget about me and return to its silver door. Or perhaps – and this scenario was more likely – it would pin me to the ground and rip out my innards with its terrible claws and feast on my heart and my brain.
I ran faster, even though I couldn’t see a thing, even though my legs screamed in pain. If only I were fit like Jeannie Goldings. If only, if only.
The air warmed from the breath of the monster. Despite its relaxed approach to hunting, it was still gaining on me.
“This is hopeless!” I cried out. “I don’t want to be eaten alive! Not on my birthday!”
A bright blue archway opened up on my left-hand side and I leapt through without a second thought.
I found myself outside, on a lovely summer’s day. Or rather, it would have been lovely had I not been high in the sky and unable to fly.
Only one option remained, and so I fell through the rushing clouds. My skirt whipped up and flapped in my face, revealing my knobbly knees and unflattering knickers to anyone watching. The heat of the sun cooked the top of my head. I couldn’t even scream, I was falling so fast. I lifted my arms and wrestled with my skirt so I could see. My eyes slipped down; I expected jagged mountain tops rushing upwards to slice me to shreds. But there was only blue sky.
“I’d rather be eaten!” I screamed at the world. Being eaten would take much less time than falling and falling until I starved.
Something bashed into me from behind, and I recognised the shape of the something to be a someone. A mouth by my ear: “Hold tight.”
An arm around my waist, securing my skirt in its upward position, clad in black fabric. I couldn’t turn my head to see who was holding me.
We fell faster, now plummeting down like a hand was pushing us.
“Stop screaming,” he said.
“But this is horrible!”
“And so is that noise.”
“Well do somethi—”
We abruptly changed direction, now zooming to the side. Clouds whooshed into my face, leaving me cold and shivering in their wake. Not even the sun could reverse the chill in my bones. I pawed at the arm around my waist, in a bid to release my skirt to its proper position, but the arm was iron-tight around me.
“Excuse—”
Suddenly we were whizzing towards a double-door, painted red, black and silver. The doors flapped open just as we were about to hit the wood. As soon as we were through, our momentum died and we crashed to the floor. I landed awkwardly on my front, bashing my cheek.
“Fool,” said the voice behind me.
“How dare you, sir!” I elbowed him and grasped for my skirt. To think: this man had seen my underwear before any formal introductions! I managed to yank my skirt down and get to my knees.
My ‘rescuer’ walked around me, his heeled boots clipping on the wooden floor. I looked up. His eyes were green.
I wasn’t surprised.
“Look at you,” he said, “dressed so ill for the conditions. Where is your cloak? You would freeze in the wood. That skimpy shirt would have left you dead by the dawn.”
“I will be fine, thank you. I’d rather freeze in the cold than spend another moment here in this castle.”
“You shouldn’t even be here. How did you get in? You’re not with Moranda, are you?”
Making sure my legs were covered again, I got to my feet. My eyes levelled with the tip of his nose. “I don’t even know Moranda. And I got in quite easily, by opening the door.”
He frowned. “There is a spell on the door.”
“I know. It’s not a very good one.”
“You baited the Night Mage,” he said. “Why did you do that?”
“I didn’t know what I was doing. And I thought mages were people, not monsters. Are you a mage?”
“Student,” he said shortly. “And yes, mages are people, usually. But the Night Mage is a mage with a capital M. A monster Mage. Why are you here?”
“I only came to investigate after you rudely interrupted my walk in the wood. I have done that, and now I will leave.”
“Go on then,” he replied. “Let’s see you try.” He folded his arms. Beneath his long black cloak he wore dark grey trousers, a matching shirt, and an emerald waistcoat. His hair was green too, but a lot darker than the waistcoat. It fell into his eyes.
“Why do you have green hair?” I found myself asking.
“Why do you have brown hair? I thought you were leaving.”
“I was. Good day to you.”
I looked around my new surroundings. Unlike the rest
of the castle, this room felt well-used. The floor was a rich mahogany, and a fire crackled in the hearth. There were two armchairs around the fire, both plush red, and a large four-poster bed. I realised with a blush that I was standing in his bedroom. There was a single door, by the fireplace. I marched towards it and turned the silver handle.
The blasted door would not open.
I sniffed. “Could you open it please?”
“I can’t,” he said.
“What do you mean? You can’t keep me here like a prisoner.”
The floorboards creaked as he joined me by the door. “I’m not the one keeping you,” he said.
I glanced up at him. There was no hint of jest in his expression.
“The monster?” I asked.
“The Night Mage. You entered its castle, and now you’re trapped here, just like me.”
“I can’t be trapped here, with you, in this castle…” I yanked the handle again. He placed his hand on mine and gently – yet firmly – removed it.
“Don’t do that,” he said. “It’s fine silverware, and I don’t have much to my name. This room is safe until morning. The Mage won’t find you here. There’s food too, and a fire. My name is Faol. What’s yours?”
“Aideen,” I whispered. “It’s my birthday.”
“Happy Birthday. I’m afraid I don’t have a cake.”
“No need,” I replied. His hand still covered mine. “You can let go now.”
He let go abruptly, and my hand fell to my side. “Would you like some wine instead?” he asked. “I have red. It’s quite good. Well, it’s better than water.”
“Wine would be most appreciated.” I wobbled to one of the armchairs and sank down by the fire. “My parents will be missing me.”
“I can send them a message,” said Faol. He made his way to a silver cabinet and brought out two silver goblets and a bottle of red wine. “In the morning, when the Mage is asleep.”
“Thank you. They will endure one night of terror.” As I will too.
“One night is not much to bear.” Faol handed me a goblet of wine.
“I doubt they’ll see it that way. I’ll be in awful trouble.”
“How old are you?”
“My age does not matter,” I replied. “Parents will always worry about their children.”
“I know. But I thought you looked too old to be still living with yours.”
My cheeks burned. “And where else would I go? There’s not much point me buying a cottage next to my parents’, sharing a wall, even if I could afford it. Which I can’t.”
Faol shrugged. “Only a suggestion. You go on living with your mother and father. They’ll die eventually.”
I stared at him, aghast. “What a terrible thing to say!”
“The truth is often terrible.” He settled into the other armchair and crossed one long leg over the other. His foot bobbed up and down, the silver of his boot buckle catching in the firelight. “I have questions for you, Aideen.”
“I have a few for you too, Faol.”
Something scratched at the door – the door to the endless blue sky. Slowly, Faol put down his goblet and unfolded his legs.
“I’m afraid our questions will have to wait,” he said. “I’m afraid something terrible has happened.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The scratching persisted. Faol examined the door.
“Impossible,” he muttered under his breath.
“It’s the Night Mage, isn’t it?” I stepped closer to the door but he put a hand out to stop me.
“Have you not learned your lesson?” he snarled.
I was too ashamed to protest.
“It should never have made it this far,” Faol continued, speaking more to himself than to me. “What has changed?” He turned his green eyes on me. “You. You are new.” He grabbed my arms. “Tell me you’re not with Moranda!”
“I told you already! I don’t even know who she is.”
“She is my master. And she sent you here to test me!”
“You, sir, are testing my patience. Now let go of me at once.”
He threw his hands down. “But if you’re not with her then why are you here, and why is the Mage now crossing the endless sky? Answer me, Aideen of the wood!”
“Firstly, I’m not of the wood. Second—”
The door shook. The Night Mage roared.
“You!” cried Faol. “Under the bed! Unless you want to die this night.”
“Un— Under the bed? Do you take me for a child? Only moments ago you were calling me old and past it, and now—”
“Stop your blathering and do as I say. And do it now!”
Well, I guessed he’d already seen me with my skirt up around my neck, and he must have heard me scream my way through the castle. And he knew I still lived with my parents. How much worse could it get?
I lifted up the sheets and peered underneath the bed. There was nothing else but dust.
“I’m going to need a long bath after this,” I said, as I crawled under the space, feet first. I sneezed with the dust; imagined things skittering over the backs of my calves. I strained my eyes as I peeked up at Faol. He’d taken several steps back from the sky door and was making some elaborate motions with his hands.
The Night Mage scrabbled at the door, howling in frustration. Was I really responsible for its change in behaviour? I found that very hard to believe. How could I influence a monster? Faol was blaming me for his own shortcomings. I would make sure he did not make the same mistake again.
“What are you doing?” I asked under my breath.
His cloak swept up behind him on an invisible wind. It lifted his hair too, in all its greenery. Honestly, what kind of man turned his hair the colour of cooked spinach?
His hands moved as if cupping an imaginary ball. His eyes were closed, removing some of the green from the room, and his lips issued a stream of words too low and fast for me to understand.
“I think he’s doing magic,” I said to myself. Winnie would have been impressed. We both used to dream about meeting a real mage, but our village never entertained the wielders of magic.
A strip of emerald flame burst along the floor between Faol and the door. His legs straddled the fire, and it licked up his lean legs, though it did not seem to cause him any pain. The flames pawed at the sky door, creeping up and up.
“Faol!” I cried out, as a black claw broke through the door and swiped at the fire.
He ignored me; didn’t even open his eyes.
“There’s a claw! It’s coming through!”
I thought his jaw twitched, but with his hair flapping all around him, it was hard to say for sure.
“Well, I did warn you,” I added in a mutter. “And I don’t think this bed will help me very much against the Night Mage.”
Faol’s fire pushed against the terrible claw. His whole body seemed to burn, garish green. He lunged onto his front foot and threw a wave of fire against the sky door. The Night Mage screamed and the claw disappeared. The flames covered every inch of the door and burned and burned until the last of the light went out.
Without opening his eyes, Faol collapsed to the floor.
“Faol?” I eased forward an inch on my elbows. “Faol? Is it safe to come out now?”
He didn’t move.
“I guess it is then,” I said, and wriggled my way out from under the bed so I could assess the patient.
Faol’s head was turned to one side, exposing the side of his neck. I watched the pulse of his blood beneath his skin.
“Not dead then,” I said, feeling quite relieved. He had managed to stop the Night Mage after all.
A groan escaped Faol’s lips. His long eyelashes fluttered.
“What can I do?” I asked. “More wine?” I made towards the armchairs and our half-empty goblets, but his hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. His fingers were ice-cold. The rest of him was perfectly still.
“Water,” he breathed between his lips. His fingers fell slack.
I hurried to the cabinet in the corner; found an old jug of water. There were no other goblets or glasses, so I took the jug itself and lifted its heavy rim to his mouth. He spluttered as the water slipped down his throat.
His eyes opened.
His hand lifted, and nudged the jug aside.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Thank you. For stopping the Night Mage.”
The softness in his face disappeared. His mouth pulled into a hard line. “It was all your fault! It should never have come this far. And now look at me!”
I did look at him, at his long outstretched legs, the emerald waistcoat and the charcoal shirt underneath, the narrow chin, sunken cheeks, and long, ludicrously-coloured hair.
“Well?” he demanded. “I’m sprawled on the floor, too weak to stand. Moranda is laughing and you are laughing too!”
“I’m not laughing,” I said calmly. “I don’t have anything to laugh about.”
“Of course you do. This is all a joke to you and her, to see me struggle. I needed the sky to practise my most powerful magic. Moranda is determined to see me suffer!”
“Faol, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He winced as he pushed himself up to sitting. I collected the jug and replaced it on the silver cabinet. My stomach rumbled with hunger.
“You mentioned food?” I said.
“There is nothing to eat. Not now. Go to sleep. I have to think without you asking me question after question.”
“But we had questions for each other. Don’t you remember?”
“Of course I remember! That’s all changed now. I don’t trust any answer you give me anyway. I know you’re an agent of Moranda’s. I’m not stupid.”
He was being impossible, so I sighed and said, “Can I at least finish my wine?” It was not often I got to drink wine, and I couldn’t let my goblet go to waste.
“Drink it. You’ll sleep quicker.” He moved on shaky legs towards the fire, and collapsed into his chair. “Not here,” he said, when I collected my silver goblet. “Over there. But don’t spill it on the sheets.”
The Night Mage Page 2
