by Simon Kewin
Another man stood near the furnace, watching an array of dials. He was clad head-to-toe in heavy protective gear, like armour. His entire head was covered by a curved visor made of some dark material. Dim reflections of the three of them reflected in it as he turned to see who had come in.
The foreman waved him over. Faint coils of smoke drifted off him. He had to stoop as the foreman shouted into his ear and indicated Cait and Danny.
The furnaceman nodded once. Her dad's friend turned to them and grinned. “Big Billy here will commit the book to the flames for you.” He had to shout to make himself heard. “You make sure you stay well back, OK? Here, put these on.”
From a rack near the double doors he took two pairs of eye-protectors, like oversized sunglasses, and gave one to each of them. “I'll leave you in peace for a few minutes then come and get you. Then you'll have to go, I'm afraid.”
Cait smiled at him and nodded. He put his hand on her shoulder for a moment and left, a roar from the factory floor greeting him as he slipped through the double doors.
Cait put her glasses on. Everything went crimson, like looking at the world through red liquid. Details became more indistinct. The scene shimmered and shifted because of the glasses and the terrible heat. She could see the shape of the furnaceman as he picked something up off the floor. A pair of long, metal tongs. He came toward them, holding out one of his gauntleted hands.
He said something unclear, muffled by his mask. Distantly, Cait could see her own distorted features reflected in his visor.
She handed him the book, which he placed into the jaws of the tongs. With a practiced motion he heaved on a lever, throwing the furnace door open.
The blast of heat was incredible. Cait stepped backward involuntarily, hard against the far wall. Danny was next to her. The searing blaze, bright even through the glasses, felt as if it was right in front of her face. She wanted to be outside, somewhere cool, where there was water and fresh air. She had to resist the urge to run.
The furnaceman pushed the book deep into the furnace.
Exhaustion finally overwhelmed her. It had been a long, long day. The chase, the magic she had worked and now the terrible heat of the fire had drained her utterly. But they'd done what they set out to do. Whatever else was going to happen, the terrible book was destroyed.
The furnaceman stumbled backward, then seemed to trip. Puzzled, Cait took her glasses off to see what was happening. Squinting through narrowed eyes she saw him lying on the floor, not moving. His visor still covered his face.
But something in the flames did move. A trick of the heat, perhaps. It was impossible to be sure, the fire too intense to look at directly.
“What was that?” she said, her parched voice cracked.
“What?” said Danny.
She saw it again. This time it was clear, a flash of black within the roaring fury of the furnace. “There.”
She took a step closer. Walking toward the fire was a huge effort, like climbing a steep hill.
A flame shot out, a slash of orange-red. Not a flame: an arm. Then another, then a larger molten mass. Stepping slowly out of the furnace, an entire creature emerged. Its shape shifted and twisted as if it was trying to decide what form it should adopt. Finally, burning red, there stood the creature from the library basement. Smoke and flame coiled off its incandescent body. Its huge head was, as before, completely featureless.
It opened its mouth, splitting its empty face from side to side. Behind the white needle-teeth, like a great tongue, she could see the book. Undamaged.
She thought desperately of magic she could work. But there was no time. And she was spent. Her mind was all heat and fire, her thoughts wavering and unclear. The voice of the dead girl was there, but too remote to hear properly, a voice shouting from the grave.
The creature shambled toward her, in no hurry. Danny leaped at it but it brushed him aside, sending him flying across the room with a simple flick of a limb.
Then it had her, a grip like iron on her arm, burning her. She sensed magic. There was a rush of movement like falling and then they were no longer in the factory.
Darkness consumed her, save for the burning glow of the monster.
“Now,” it said.
17. Aethernal
The Aether
“So,” said the archaeon, “would it be fair to say things are not quite going to plan, little witch?”
Fer had resisted talking to the archaeon for as long as she could. Partly because she didn't want to be the one to tell it they were trapped, partly because she didn't want to face the mocking look in its eye. But they could think of nothing else to try.
“That would be a fair thing to say,” she replied.
They'd slept under the trees in the Tanglewood. Impossible to say for how long, but she at least felt rested. Ran and Johnny had been awake for hours while she slumbered, unable to do anything but scavenge for firewood without losing sight of their camp.
They'd talked about their options. Johnny had suggested she try to speak to the archaeon. When she'd explained she already had, they'd ended up shouting at each other. As if she'd arranged everything just to annoy him.
He was worried, of course. And perhaps she should have told them what she'd done. But then the undain might have found out about the book she carried and, one way or another, that could be important.
Once they'd calmed down, she'd consented to try the archaeon again. This time she'd found the tunnel quickly. And it was easier to push through the veils of cobwebs that tickled her face as she worked her way into the underground chamber. Soon she stood before the wyrm's huge head, waiting for it to open its eyes. All part of its tiresome act. It must know she was there.
“So, let me see,” it said, with relish in its voice. “How badly could it have gone? You are still alive so that is something. But perhaps others have been killed, hmm? Yes, I think so. But there is more. Let me see.”
It was hot down here, as if fire burned within the wyrm's body, heating the air around them. The whole chamber resonated with the deep boom of its voice. Fer refused to be impressed. The creature played this little game just to awe her. She had the impression it had already guessed what had happened.
“Ah. I have it! We must be trapped in the Tanglewood. Some terrible calamity has befallen us and now we are unable to return to An and unable to reach the other world, too. Yes? Is that about it?”
“Yes. That's about it.”
“So, tell me, little witch, who has been killed and who is still with us? Are you and I the only brave survivors?”
“A young witch was killed. Seleena. Still alive are a troubadour, Johnny Electric, originally from the other world and Ran, a dragonrider.”
“Dragonrider? Interesting. Tell me, what colour are his tattoos?”
“What? They're blue.”
“Does he have any of a different hue anywhere on his body? A black dragon, perhaps. Somewhere … not obvious?”
“How should I know, archaeon! What do you think I am?”
“I thought you were a witch. That you sought knowledge and understanding. Still, there we are. Times change. If you ever do have the opportunity, try and remember to check for me would you?”
“I may and I may not. It's none of your business, wyrm! Enough of these games. Can you help or not?”
“Perhaps. Let me think. Trapped between the worlds are we? There hasn't been a great deal written about this particular predicament. But now that I think about it, there was a brief mention of something similar in an obscure tract by an astromancer called Anson some six hundred years ago. Very difficult to read, let alone comprehend but I believe I followed it. Tell me, how are your summoning spells?”
“I don't have any. I mean, I don't dabble in anything so unnatural. I'm a witch, remember?”
“Yes, of course. An admirable calling. The problem is this. You're going to have to set aside your ethical stance and dabble in the mantic arts if we are to have any chance of escaping.”
>
Fer sighed. An evil act for the greater good. It wasn't an approach that had ever convinced her. Could anything but trouble come from such a thing?
“Tell me what it is you're suggesting,” she said.
The archaeon actually grinned, displaying its great teeth. They glinted in a light that wasn't really there. It was enjoying this.
“We are fortunate that this place is itself crafted, highly magical. There is power for you to draw upon. You need to use it to attract the attentions of an aethernal.”
“What is that? I've never heard of such a thing.”
“No. But fortunately, I have. A spirit of the aether; a dweller of the void, able to slip through the cracks between the worlds. Rare, but they exist. At least they did six centuries ago.”
“There is no way into this wood. It's sealed now.”
“Didn't I just say? An aethernal does not need doorways or portals. It goes where it will; it can pass through the walls between the worlds. Although it can only do so for a short time before it must return to the aether. Occasionally they are glimpsed in An, which accounts for most ghost stories, you might like to know.”
“You are suggesting that such a creature would help us? Why? Are they benign?”
“Another meaningless question. Sometimes they are and sometimes not. Rather like humans, in fact.” The archaeon shut its eyes for a moment, pleased with its observation. “But, although they are denizens of the void, they crave the life, the sensation, the colour they can glimpse when they visit one of the worlds. So Anson said. It is their doom that they can never stay for long. Material worlds leech them dry.”
“I see.”
“Do you? I doubt it. This Tanglewood is unique. It is a part of the aether but at the same time it is material. It is possible, likely even, that an aethernal could stay here permanently. After the emptiness of the void this place would be paradise for them.”
“So, in return for giving one this wood to inhabit, it might help us reach the other world?”
“Ah, you have it at last! I knew you could work it out.”
“It sounds dangerous.”
“Yes.”
“And sooner or later one will find us anyway won't it?”
“Eventually. Although the size of the aether makes that unlikely by chance for many of your lifetimes. It is limitless in extent, you know.”
She didn't like it. To use summoning magic was bad enough, but who knew what this creature would really do? What imbalances she'd be setting up by giving one a permanent home in the aether. Could they even trust it to do what it said? On the other hand, what choice did they have? And she was sick of being manipulated by Hellen, by the archaeon, by all of them. She'd do what she thought best and that was that.
“If I summon one here we'll have nothing left to bargain with,” she pointed out. “I mean, it'll already be inside the wood.”
“You really do know nothing of summoning magic do you?” replied the archaeon. “What is summoned and held in the circle may be banished.”
“So we hold it in a circle of power while we bargain?”
“Brilliant thinking! Yes, if you are able to learn the spell. And if we are able to attract the attentions of one. It will take time, depending upon how good you are at the magic.”
“I can learn the spell. I assume that you, oh ancient and wise archaeon, would be able to teach me the words?”
“I think I might.”
“Very well. And how do we converse with this being? Even wood and water spirits in Andar speak their own language. An inhabitant of the aether surely will, too.”
“Well, well, you are thinking at last. Fortunately I can save the day again. I can translate. Didn't I mention that I know all languages?”
“How very fortunate we are to have you,” said Fer.
“Indeed, so,” said the wyrm.
The spell took time to learn. The words the archaeon told her felt rough in her mouth. There was power, too: jagged and hard-edged, like a knife slashing the air.
Ran and Johnny watched in silence as she worked. She soon had a headache from the effort, but she persevered, refusing to admit defeat. In truth, the pain made her feel a little better about everything. She could understand magic you had to pay the price for. Really, there wasn't enough discomfort involved for her liking. Although that thought struck her as odd. She didn't enjoy the pain, of course. What did it say about her that she welcomed it? Felt the need for more?
She shook her head, trying to set aside such troubling questions. That was the argument of a mancer. She was doing what had to be done.
Eventually, she was ready.
They cleared a patch of ground between the trunks of towering pine trees. Fer marked a circle in the soil, her stomach churning as she did so. She found herself wondering what Hellen would have said. Although the thought that the old witch might not approve made her feel a little better about the whole thing.
She went round the circle three times, making sure there were no gaps, no way that the aethernal could escape. Then she stepped inside and drew the five-pointed star that would be the focus. Finally, when all was ready, she told Ran and Johnny to stay back. Ran, uselessly, drew his sword.
She walked three times around the circle, sealing it. Then she sat cross-legged on the ground, shut her eyes and began the incantation.
She stayed like that for a long time, hours it seemed, chanting the raw words of the summoning, channelling the magic from the woods. Her throat became dry and sore but she persevered. With her mind she reached farther and farther into the infinite, grey reaches of the aether, trying to find a tiny mote of life.
Eventually, she had to stop for a drink. Nobody spoke. Johnny sat some way off, practising his juggling with five, fist-sized pine cones. Ran looked around warily, always on guard.
She wanted to stop, give it up until tomorrow, but time was short. Who knew what the undain was doing in the other world? She forced herself to resume. Chanting the words was like chewing on spiked metal. More time passed where nothing happened. Her fatigue grew. She had to concentrate to stop herself from slurring the words. Did the archaeon have the summoning spell correct? Was some vital ingredient missing? If so, there was no hope. They were trapped forever.
She was half-asleep, or half in a daze, when she finally caught a glimpse of something. A tiny speck floating in a limitless volume of grey. It was like glimpsing something deep in a vast body of water. Or high, high in the air. Or both at once. She bent her mind toward it, willing more power into her words.
Slowly it grew, allowing itself to be drawn in. She sensed curiosity. It was little more than ragged tatters of grey. It changed shape constantly, as if billowing in a wind.
Closer it came, and clearer. Soon she saw it for real, there inside the summoning circle. It became more like a person in form, with distinct arms and legs, as if it had observed Fer and the others and shaped itself to fit. Perhaps that was what it always did that when it slipped into a world.
The aethernal's mind was vast but foggy. She sensed intelligence there, certainly, a bright core in the mist. It was intrigued. There was also a need, a great longing for sensation, for life. Wily, it kept that hidden. Fer's pleasure at her success faded, to be replaced by alarm, when she grasped the intensity of that hunger.
The aethernal spoke. At least, there were sounds: a low, slow moaning, like the winter wind through bare trees.
It wants to know who we are. What we are. The archaeon's voice spoke clearly in Fer's mind. As she'd suspected, the business with the tunnel and the cave was a charade. The archaeon was perfectly capable of conversing normally when it wished.
Tell it what we want and what we offer in return, instructed Fer.
The conversation lasted for some time. Finally, the archaeon reported back to Fer.
It says it will help us. In return for this wood, it will help. It says we can still reach the other side because we are partly through already. The door has gone but the doorway remains, it
keeps saying. But once we do leave, the doorway between the worlds will be closed to us forever.
Fer turned to Johnny and Ran. Johnny looked worried, afraid of what he might hear. The dragonrider remained as impassive as ever.
“We have a choice to make,” she said. “We must decide where to go. Back to Andar or on to the other world. Whichever we choose, we cannot use the portal again.”
“I will follow you,” said Ran. It was what she'd expected. As much as she disliked his devotion, his subservience, she found it reassuring just then. Two of them at least, three including the archaeon, would go where they had to go: on into the other world.
“If we go back to Andar,” she said, talking mainly to Johnny, “then we are lost. We could only sit and await destruction. We must go on.”
“There is a third way,” said Johnny. He looked uncomfortable as he spoke.
“What?” said Fer.
“We could stay here.”
“No,” said Fer.
“All I'm saying is, being here, it could be worse.”
“How? How could it be worse? We're trapped.”
“Yeah, I know. I spotted that. But there's an upside. I mean, I don't like being trapped either, but if the An does freeze over, if the undain army does cross and Andar is destroyed, then at least we'll be safe here, yes? We can't get out, but nothing can get in.”
“Others need us,” said Fer. “Andar needs us.”
“All I'm saying is, we could, OK? It's an option. We could, I don't know, build houses if we wanted. Must be plenty to eat. I mean, this is a rich woodland in perpetual summer. There may be animals to hunt, too. We've seen a rook already.”
“That rook,” said Fer, “was the undain watching us.”
“It was? Oh. OK. Still, all I'm saying is, we should consider all the possibilities, yeah?”
“And what of Smoke on the Water? What of your travels? What about the people you've left behind, in both worlds?” She was cross, too tired to bother restraining herself.
He was quiet for a moment. Then he smiled, his good humour returning like a light in the dark.
