"You have?" Lyle caught his breath and held it as the implications of her latest bombshell notched into place. If Clem could reverse the flow of power from the collar, then he could gain his old abilities back and draw magic without suffering. He'd no longer be dependent on Ben—or anybody else. It wouldn't solve all his problems, but it'd be a start.
"I thought that might interest you." She shuffled closer, flashing blunted yellowing fangs. "So, this is my new deal—the release of power from the collar doesn't work on my dragon, basically because the collar's too damned big for me. However, I can restore your old magic abilities, no problem, and give you answers about Clewell. In return, you can either find a way to get me out of this mewling little dragon and back into a decent body or kill me. Right now, I hardly care which."
He cringed away from the sour blast of her breath. He still ought to hate her… yet Clem's life had sucked, much like his once had. He'd once been so lonely and lost that death seemed the best option. Still, he didn't turn his face back till he could meet her icy gaze with one of equal virulence. Compassion was all well and good, but he wasn't naïve enough to reveal a bleeding heart to somebody he trusted so little.
"It's a deal," he said, "although I'm not going to kill you. We'll find another way."
Clem's jaw, which was similar in size and proportion to a lapdog's, tightened petulantly. She offered a terse nod of agreement.
"Tell me about Clewell and what happened to the sword," said Lyle, leaning back against the tunnel wall and draping an arm across his knees. "It'd better be the truth, or else."
"I can do better than tell you," said Clem. "I can show you. The answers are hidden in the dark places that your sister never found. Not that she delved particularly deep, the flighty fool."
Clem pattered off down the passage, prompting Lyle to haul himself up and make chase. At first, her footfalls guided him through a midnight blackness, forcing him to feel the way ahead of himself with his fins. Then, to his relief, they reached a brazier and she lit a torch. After negotiating a baffling doorway that looked like a dead end, she led him into the main chamber of Clewell's palace.
Lyle struggled not to be overwhelmed by the horrors he'd experienced here previously. Avoiding the blank gazes of the grotesques, he was relieved when she hurried straight through. Beyond, though, the tunnels grew narrower, winding ever downward. He started to tell Clem about Ben's changed behaviour, which she listened to with some interest, but he soon trailed off. Clem's torchlight glanced off more disturbing sights than mere statues—off whips and rusting chains dangling from festering damp walls; off spiked rods and probes, clamps and screws, objects of torture far worse than the collar she'd used on him. A couple of times, the light passed over sad little scatterings of rags and bones.
By the time the tunnel sloped up again, Lyle's senses reeled dizzily, so shaken by what he'd seen he was glad he'd not fainted. The air, though less foul than in the dungeons, remained thick and musty. Clem halted in a small cavern heaped with slates and dusty scrolls, some fastened to the walls with chains. A pile of dried weed in the corner was arranged into a nest, around the right size for a tiny dragon.
"The official family archive that rests in Bella's care reveals little of who Clewell really was and what he knew." Clem clumsily placed her torch in a halter. "This collection contains the truth, the stuff he didn't want anybody else to learn, not even his descendants. The magic texts are the most revealing, mind, because Clewell's true character is inscribed in the archaeology of this palace. You don't need a book to tell you he was a cruel tyrant who destroyed anybody who stood against him."
Lyle nodded mutely, hooking his arms tight about his ribs. He'd long known Clewell to be a sinister figure, ever since Bella had sung him a ballad about Clewell's bloodthirsty triumphs in battle. The reality of Clewell's dungeons still shocked.
"But the most interesting answers are found in what I haven't been able to discover here," said Clem. "Although a few of the histories were written after Clewell's reign, there's no account of his death. He simply… disappeared. What's more, that's exactly what his sword did, on a dark night last November. One moment I had it in this very room, trying to decode its secrets. The next, it was gone."
Lyle blinked. "You're claiming that the sword just vanished. In other words, it transported itself to my wedding suite?"
Clem gestured down her body with her three-fingered dragon hands. "It took me an age to drag the thing here from the main chamber. Do you honestly think my puny fire-breather could carry it half the length of the southern coast to plant it? As for the magic?" She leered with disgust. "Gods and Goddesses, I only wish I had that ability. I'm telling you—a very powerful enchantment sent that sword after Ben, one even more complex than the curse that landlocked you. Ben, or somebody like him, was supposed to find the sword, and the sword clearly needs to stick with him."
"But why?" asked Lyle.
"I don't exactly know," said Clem. "But it's Clewell's sword. It’s highly likely Clewell placed the enchantment on it. We don't know how he died, remember. He could've hidden his very life-force in the sword, casting spells to lure a susceptible being. That might explain why your husband has changed into a nasty bastard… unless that's just the way Ben is."
"Don't you start," sniped Lyle. "My Ben is lovely."
"If you say so." She flattened her little ears back and twitched her snout ruminatively. "Transferring one’s mind to another vessel is relatively simple, as I've shown you, though if there's already a mind in residence, like your husband's, I'd imagine the process is harder. Transferring magical powers or abilities, however, would be a more complicated task again. It's possible Clewell used his sword to store huge swathes of power, harvested from the oceans throughout his lifetime and ready to pass on to his new form."
"If so, it's as I feared." Lyle swallowed a dry lump from his throat. "I have to get the sword away from Ben before it's too late."
"It's probably already too late," said Clem. "Magic many times as powerful as yours is working through that sword, and that magic has taken over your husband's mind. He'll die before he'll give it up."
Lyle felt sick because she was right. Ben was most likely lost, and if he grew as powerful and mean as Clewell once was, Lyle doubted even Cully could take the sword from him. They'd need two of her, at least, and Lyle would never match up, unless….
He inhaled sharply then choked on the dust as a plan flew into his mind, as outrageous as it was fully formed. He cleared his throat. "I need to do exactly what you've done," he croaked.
Clem looked puzzled for a moment before cocking her head sideways like a meerkat. "You want to separate out your dragon self?" Her features tightened again. "Your dragon is a little larger than mine, I suppose."
"Yes he is, actually. But like this, I'm damaged goods." The confession made, he flopped back against the rocky wall, at last taking the weight off his wobbly legs. "Cully believes I never recovered from being landlocked, even before you stole my powers. I fear she's right. But if my dragon self is somehow separate, there's a chance he survived Shanty Wood relatively unscathed. So, if you return my old powers via the collar, and divide my dragon out from the merman part of me that's the most damaged—"
"You might even be able to kick your sister's scaly behind. For some reason, I'd like to see that." Clem batted her few remaining eyelashes up at him. "Ah Lyle, of all my loathed offspring, I definitely hate you the least."
"If that's supposed to be funny, it's not." Lyle found himself sniggering anyway. The last thing he'd set out to do was to grow fond of his treacherous mother, although the excitement of the plan perked him up.
"You'd better tell me what to do." Mustering the energy to stand straight again, he crossed his arms belligerently. "Then I may choose not reduce you to a second pile of ashes. Or then again, I might."
"I'd like to see you try, dearie," she said. "You'd better trust I don't eat your helpless merman body while your dragon's off fighting for his sappy
husband's life."
"You wouldn't dare. And if you ever call my husband a sap again, I'll rip your head off."
Her beaky snout formed a baby crocodile's grin. Lyle wondered if they were the first mother-and-son combo to have bonded over mutual death threats following a brief guided tour of a torture chamber. He beamed down at her, equally carnivorous.
"Alright, mother. Fetch that nasty collar of yours. Then let's get out of this hellhole so you can tool me up."
*~*~*
"Maliof a llewl!"
Memorizing the mantra was simple. The nasty sensation of having his guts and brains scooped out, pulverised, and dumped in a heap on the floor beside him was a little harder for Lyle to endure, especially after having suffered the agonies of wearing the collar again. Yet soon, an invigorating sense of power rippled through him. He lifted a clear head, worked out a crick from his long dragon's neck, and swished his slender forked tail.
"Who's a pretty boy then," cooed Clem. Viewed from a height of at least seven feet, she seemed teenier than ever. Lyle would have blessed her with a sardonic comeback had he not caught sight of his other self. His unconscious body was slumped in the long grasses near the entrance to the mine, where they'd relocated to have more space to perform magic.
His usual body's complexion matched Clem's pallid little dragon's, and he looked frailer than he'd believed himself to be, despite the sustenance of Ben and the sword. He had to stop himself gawping—not least because he'd a sudden urge to comb his own hair, which the clifftop breeze was doing few favours.
What mattered was if the dragon self he now occupied was as powerful and undamaged as he prayed. He grabbed a hissing, hopeful breath, and then reached out from his core toward the ocean. For the first time in what felt like an age, the tides answered—but rather than pain, or the invigorating flow of magic he'd once been used to, a sparkling power filled him immediately, saturating his every fibre to the tip of his tail.
He casually wondered if his dragon could shapeshift into something more suitable for everyday living, unlike Clem's tiny beastie, who evidently could not. Even as the question arose, the change into Lyle's favoured shape was instantaneous. Planted on two feet and with four fins dancing, he clad himself in figure-hugging maroon PVC because it was the first outfit that popped into his head.
"It's worked," he said, relishing how the muscles of his torso moulded to the snug fit of the fabric. Even his fins felt stronger, more sinewy. He bet his arse looked fantastic, too. "This is me. The merman I should've been if I'd never been landlocked, and I'm fabulous!" He bounced on his toes, feeling as if he could fly even without his dragon's wings. "I could do anything—anything."
For the fun of it, he plucked a lightning bolt from the brooding sky, striking and shattering a piece of rusted mine machinery. Yup, his aim was definitely better than before. A shard of metal shot inches from Clem's snout and she emitted a shrill squeak. The effort didn't weaken him, as in the past it always would've. If anything, his success fired him with a yet more potent strength.
"So what will your first move be?" Clem sounded genuinely awed.
He stared out to sea, fixing on the next bank of rainclouds that scudded towards them. Naturally, he was going to go find a way to wrestle Ben from the sword's grasp, destroy it, and then return to his everyday life.
Yet why should he want that, when he could soar through the air as a dragon, when he could sweep the high seas as a merman? Now, he didn't need anybody, let alone a grumpy husband who'd spend the next six months whining for forgiveness. He didn't even need Cully's support. For the first time in his life, he could choose to be absolutely free, without commitment, without ties.
He kneaded his eyelids with his fingertips, and then turned to Clem. "I'm going to help my sister and family, and then I'm going to rescue the man I love."
She nodded toward his prone other form. "What are you going to do about that? You'll need to leap back into it before long, or it'll wither and die."
"I'll transport, er, me back into the caves." Seeing as he could shapeshift effortlessly in his dragon form, he wasn't sure he'd have much use for his other body, but the idea of letting himself die proved unsettling. He wiggled his fingers, and transported his limp other body back into the mine, as far from Clewell's torture chamber as he could aim for. "You can watch me till I come back." He pursed his lips. "You'd really better not eat me or anything."
"I wouldn't dream of it." Clem's sarcastic tones grew disarmingly familiar. "After all, if I made a meal of you, you might hesitate to keep your side of our deal."
Lyle had all but forgotten about that. If he failed to find a way to help her, she'd asked him to kill her. "Fixing you shouldn't be a problem now," he said. "We just need to find the right spell somewhere. If I can't help you, I'll find somebody who can." With so much power at his disposal, he could almost trust his own words.
Chapter Ten
"Is this everyone?" asked Ben.
"Yup," replied Cully, as close as she'd ever come to being exhausted.
It had taken several hours and eight separate flights to get Bella, the elders, and then all the children to the barrow Ben had identified as the portal. They waited, a bedraggled bunch, muttering fretfully to one another. None of them had ever been so far from the sea before, although this verdant dell, canopied with dripping leaves and shimmering with birdsong, held little to fear in itself.
The light of the fading day filtered through the trees onto the mound, which was a good six yards in diameter. The bluebells, their petals frayed like the rags of paupers, clad every inch of the slopes, save an entrance at one end. This was framed by three stone slabs, time-weathered and blotched with moss and rusty lichen.
It still might've passed for an entrance to paradise, had not Ben stood in front of it, sword in hand, as if defending against all comers. He wore that ridiculous suit of armour, which shone like buffed brass, right down to his pointed-toed sabatons. He'd added some embellishments since earlier, notably a plume of orange feathers that sprouted from the comb atop the helmet. His visor was down, his face obscured save a slit for him to peep through.
Cully shifted from her dragon and planted herself firmly between Ben and the rest of her tribe. "You can stand down now, Sir Peacock," she said. "We're very grateful you found the portal, but we’d like to go inside now, please."
"Before you enter, know this." Ben's headgear muffled his sonorous voice. "For most, this is a journey of no return. Only they who shed the blood of a dragon can ever—"
"Yes, yes, we know." Cully clasped Ben's arm and dragged him aside before dropping to a whisper. "Can we skip the grand speech, especially the part about bloodletting? Let's get this done without too much trauma, and then I want to know where Lyle has got to."
"He is not required," cried Ben. "You and I, Cully. We are all who are needed to fulfil my destiny, and it shall be glorious."
"Of course it will be." Cully patted his gauntleted hand, appropriating the conciliatory tones she'd honed over decades of jettisoning dates who'd turned out to be boring. Ben, to be honest, was acting more interestingly than usual. Given his recent treatment of Lyle, she was genuinely looking forward to showing him what she thought of him, magical influence or otherwise, but that must wait. "Let's get this show on the road, eh?"
The passage to the centre of the barrow, although short, was very dark. Cully led the way, stooping so not to bang her head. She was about to conjure a torch when she entered an airy chamber, too large for the barrow to physically contain without enchantment. A gentle light rose from what appeared at first glance to be a glistening pool.
She edged closer, until she teetered on its brink. Bella, who'd followed close behind, gasped in delight. Through a surface that curved toward them like the bulge of a crystal ball, they gazed down on an island. Their viewpoint might've been that of a gull soaring high above, apart from even the beadiest-eyed fowl couldn't have seen all that Cully absorbed in a single heartbeat.
At once, she
saw white beaches lapped by frothy white horses; she saw merfolk combing their hair as they sat together, singing, on pink granite rocks. Lush forests filled the island's interior, where fairies frolicked, giggling as they tied one another up in daisy-chains. Green-skinned piskies fished in shady pools, using gnarled wooden rods and hooks made of thorns. The island spread out like a kaleidoscope, the lack of symmetry overruled by an aura of perfect synchronicity. The view could only be explained by a blast of magic, which saturated the lens of Cully's eye.
"It's beautiful," murmured Bella. "So this is where the fairies have gone, and plenty of merfolk among them, so it seems. They look so happy. I definitely want to go through."
"Seriously?" Cully's stomach heaved as if she'd gorged herself on a barrel of super-sweet cupcakes. She rounded on Bella, and then cut off any admission that the island resembled her idea of hell. Tears glistened in Bella's eyes, and she flung her arms around Cully's waist. It took longer than it'd taken Cully to view the whole island for it to dawn that this was a hug of farewell.
"Say goodbye to Lyle for me," said Bella. "I hate to go without seeing him, but I don't want to miss this chance. The bluebells mightn't raise their heads again tomorrow, and if so, the portal will close again."
"I-I understand," said Cully, overcome by a sudden sadness. She'd expected finding the sanctuary to feel like a yoke lifted from her shoulders. She hadn't been prepared for it to hurt this damned much.
Bella went first, diving through the portal with a heroic fearlessness. Cully held her breath and prayed it wasn't some dark trick or illusion. Yet Bella plopped into the silver sea, and soon she waved her tiny hand up at Cully. Other merfolk were already jumping from the rocks, swimming out to greet Bella. It proved easy then for the rest of the family to follow her, the elders taking the children with them, so they plunged to safety in pairs.
After the rush of embraces and farewells ended, Cully stood alone, her vision blurred by tears. Apart from looking after Lyle, she was footloose and fancy-free again. She ought to be ecstatic, and yet…
The Isle of Eternal Happiness Page 7
