by Rob Scott
Reunited with his Eldarni form, Nerak tried to move back towards Traver’s Notch. He would wipe out the entire valley, eradicate every last person, in one swift and decisive blow. He would teach them to harbour his enemy, whether they knew what they were doing or not.
But something was amiss and he couldn’t make the connection complete. It wasn’t physical, whatever kept him from rejoining the frayed ends of his spirit, but something intangible, a gap in who he was and who he had been moments before Steven slashed at him.
Whatever had happened, Nerak was forced to take time to mend the rift Steven had torn in his being. That boy was dangerous; he would be Nerak’s next target, no matter that it was earlier than he had planned. He had figured to use Hannah Sorenson – she was easier to reach – but the hickory staff changed things. It would be Steven Taylor, and he would provide the final pieces to a puzzle he had been trying to complete for over a thousand Twinmoons. And it would be soon.
Struggling – and failing – to reconcile the twin halves of himself in the forested hillside above Traver’s Notch, Nerak’s anger overwhelmed him. ‘Steven Taylor!’ he screamed and entered a broad walnut tree, exploding it outwards into thousands of jagged splinters. The blast was deafening, and knocked a frightened forester to the ground. As he swirled about between the trees, Nerak felt better. He chose another, an old maple that still boasted a few bright red leaves, and blew it apart from within, shattering the relative silence and knocking the forester down for a second time. The devastation felt good, but Nerak wanted to be back in Traver’s Notch, watching Steven Taylor’s face as he first killed the bowman and then took the ignorant South Coaster. ‘My prince,’ he whispered contemptuously as he flitted through the trees.
When Nerak came across the terrified woodsman, he took him effortlessly, as he had done to so many others, so many times over the Twinmoons. They were all there to serve him: children, horses, women, it didn’t make any difference. The last one’s leg had dragged, broken worthless cripple that he was, but he had worked the cart, enjoying a mouthful of good South Carolina tobacco while he waited for Fantus to lead his pathetic little company across the bridge. That one hadn’t screamed either; too shocked or too rutting sorry for himself – many of his victims forgot to scream. Too surprised that it could possibly be happening to them – proud trash, that’s what they were. The woodsman had been no exception: he had stiffened for a moment as the life drained from his body, his hopes and dreams and memories pooling in a puddle at his feet. Nerak picked up the man’s axe, wiped his bloody wrist on his leggings and started back towards town.
Nerak looked down on Traver’s Notch and contemplated the valley. He couldn’t detect Fantus or the others anywhere below. He considered wiping the Traver’s Notch slate clean, as he had in Port Denis – it wouldn’t take much: a simple gesture and a few key words to call up the web of mystical power he had woven over the Twinmoons and Traver’s Notch would be gone.
But the dark prince hesitated. ‘If you do, they’ll know you’re back,’ he rationalised. He needed Fantus to believe him gone, perhaps for ever, but certainly struggling to recover from Steven Taylor’s attack – but this time he had surprise on his side, and he wouldn’t hesitate. He knew where the key was hidden. Steven Taylor and Fantus – Fantus! – were his biggest problems, so he would take one of them first, quickly and without warning. His desire to see if Steven Taylor screamed in the moment before death was overwhelming. He strode down into the town, intent on finding the party and discovering the answer for himself.
Then he stopped. ‘They’re making for Sandcliff,’ he said out loud. ‘They have the key and they’re heading for Sandcliff Palace.’ He started laughing. ‘What a perfect tomb for you, Fantus.’ He cast a fast-moving spell out and over the ridge to the east. He would find them; it wouldn’t take long. ‘Enjoy your journey, Fantus,’ he shouted. ‘Be sure I’ll be back to perform your rites.’
‘You have to do it,’ Gilmour shouted as they forced their way through the forest along the base of the ridge.
Steven shook his head. No, I can’t. I don’t know how.’
‘But you do. You have to trust that you do.’
‘You know the spell. All right, you were a bit flustered back there and I don’t know what’s wrong, but you need to get your wits back, Gilmour. You didn’t feel him, but we’ll worry about that another time. Right now, you have to figure out a way to keep him from finding us.’ Steven was adamant.
‘That’s my point,’ Gilmour said. ‘Any spell I use right now, he’s going to find me. We’re too close. He’ll sniff me out in no time.’
‘I don’t know how,’ Steven stammered, looking to Garec and Mark for help. ‘Yes, you do,’ Garec said. ‘Think of the night you saved me. If you hadn’t been there, I would be dead.’ He still wore his bow over one shoulder, but except for Mark’s lessons, he hadn’t nocked an arrow since leaving Orindale.
‘I can’t just call it up,’ Steven argued. ‘It wells up when it wants to – I’m lucky to be able to manipulate it at all.’
‘That’s not true,’ Mark stopped. The others turned to wait. ‘Steven, that’s not true and I think you know it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Remember when you used the staff in the foothills? You broke it against that Seron’s back and it was obvious that it was more than broken, because it didn’t just break like a stick breaks, it damned near shattered in your hands. You decided that it shattered because you had used it in anger to wound that Seron maliciously and that there was something about the staff that refused to be used like that. Isn’t that right?’
Steven nodded. ‘It always feels most right when I use it in a – well, in a compassionate way. I know that sounds stupid, because I’m fighting, but when I use it to help our cause and I show mercy, it’s stronger – it’s at its most powerful when I am controlling a situation so that no one gets hurt or killed.’
‘But that’s when the staff responds to your needs, to our needs, and I believe it does, Steven, I agree with you. Sometimes the magic does come of its own volition, but I don’t think you realise what you are capable of doing. I’ve seen you call up the magic – Hell, Steven, I’ve seen you do it without the staff. That day when Lessek’s key kept knocking you down at the dump? I’d bet dollars to doughnuts you were calling the magic up there, too, all the way back at home.’
There was an explosion behind them that echoed along the ridge. Steven turned to continue riding, but the others stood fast. ‘That was him,’ Steven said. ‘He’s back.’
Mark ignored him. ‘Steven, tell me why the staff didn’t shatter that day in the hills when you got so angry with Garec, you two almost killed each other?’
Steven recalled the morning with embarrassment – it hadn’t been his finest hour in Eldarn. By the end of that day, his leg was bitten through and he was bleeding to death in the snow. If Lahp hadn’t been shadowing him, he would have died alone that night. ‘I don’t know why. You’re right, I did it in a rage and the staff should have broken against that tree.’ He shrugged. ‘Can we discuss this someplace else?’
‘No,’ Mark said, ‘Something else happened that morning and it happened again our first night in the cavern.’
Steven was sweating despite the chill.
‘I could see home, Steven. It took a while to figure out what it was, but when you slashed through that big pine, I could see the corner of Miner and Tenth. There was neon. At first, I couldn’t believe you had missed it. It was a clear view across the Fold. And then in the cavern, the little campfire went out the moment you fell asleep. It was as if the thing needed you to be awake to keep it burning. Garec and I woke you up and asked you to start another fire, a real fire, with one of the logs from the Capina Fair.’ Mark smirked recalling their awkward raft. And you did it.’
‘So?’ Steven was nervous, as he continued to glance back along the ridge he was only half-listening to his roommate. ‘So what’s your point? I’ve made fifty fires. They�
�re not that hard to do. The staff is always ready to get one going – they’re something this company needs.’
‘You’re not paying attention!’ Mark almost shouted.
‘Steven, that night you started a fire without the staff,’ Garec said. ‘You sat up, glanced at the fire-pit, called up a nice little blaze and went right back to sleep. The staff wasn’t anywhere near you.’
‘And that night, I saw home again,’ Mark said, ‘the 10-minute lube joint on the corner, that awful orange sign we can see from the driveway.’
Steven knew the sign – he had seen it as he ran towards Miner Street after realising Lessek’s key had been hauled away to the city dump. He looked at his friends. ‘So what? What do you want me to do? I’m telling you I can’t just turn it on like a faucet.’
‘And we’re telling you that you turn it on like a faucet all the time,’ Mark said. ‘I’m not trying to manipulate you. I’m telling you the truth. Why didn’t the staff shatter against that tree in the Blackstones?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Yes, you do, Steven and so do I. It wasn’t the staff’s magic that knocked the tree down.’ Mark stared at him, unblinking. ‘It was yours.’
‘Oh, good Christ, Mark,’ Steven was flustered. ‘Do you not get it? Nerak is coming here to kill us, right now. I don’t have any magic. I’m a bank teller, for shit’s sake, and a pretty poor bank teller at that. I don’t know where this magic is coming from. Maybe I have done from time to time without the staff, but I’m quite sure it’s the staff’s magic. Maybe it’s around me like a cloud. Maybe it works if the staff is nearby. Maybe-’
He was interrupted by another explosion, as devastating as the first, from somewhere on the ridge above them.
‘How did you know?’ Mark pressed, ‘just now, how did you know it was Nerak?’
‘I smelled tobacco juice on his breath.’
‘But there was more, wasn’t there? And it didn’t come from the staff.’
‘I… I don’t know. Maybe, yes.’
‘Yes,’ Mark said, ‘yes, because Gilmour didn’t feel him there and the staff didn’t feel him there. He was well hidden, Steven, but you felt him, didn’t you?’
Steven nodded, almost imperceptibly. It was true. He had felt Nerak, smelled him, even disguised as that broken little man. His hands had stiffened and he had balled up his fists in an effort to stretch them. He had thought he was tired, or cold, but he had felt something. The tobacco juice had simply confirmed his suspicions.
‘And you tagged the dog-piss out of him,’ Garec interjected. ‘Was that the staff, or was that you?’
Steven looked at Garec and then at Gilmour. The old man had said nothing. ‘It was both, I think,’ Steven answered. ‘I lashed out, and I know the staff’s magic was there, it just blew up in my hands, but there was some of the other in there as well.’
‘So you do it,’ Mark insisted. ‘You cloak us now, because anything Gilmour does to hide us will be like lighting a signal flare.’
‘Okay. I’ll try.’
‘No. Don’t try, Steven, just do it. When you came back through the Fold, you were certain you could take it over. We needed maths, magic and compassion. How in all Hell you’re going to do it, I have no idea, but you were confident. That’s what we need you to do right now, recapture whatever it was that had you believing so strongly.’
‘You said, “We can paint the damned thing yellow if we want to!”,’ Garec quoted.
‘That’s right,’ Mark slapped a hand hard against Garec’s back. ‘That’s what he said. Well, Steven, get painting.’
Steven took a deep breath. It was hard to concentrate, knowing Nerak was so close by; he didn’t know how to keep his mind focused. Turning to Gilmour, he asked, ‘Is there a spell I should try?’
Mark interrupted, ‘No. You don’t need one. In all the time we’ve been here, you haven’t uttered one spell. I want you to do just like you did in the cavern with that wall of fire or those flying rocks. You needed them. You imagined them and ka-blam!, they were there. I saw what was left of the grettan that attacked you. It looked like someone rammed a Tomahawk missile up its ass. And you did that after you lost consciousness – and while the ugly bastard was having your leg for a snack. Steven, you just gave Nerak the first beating he has taken in five generations. He had no idea what hit him.’
Steven nodded seriously, listening carefully now to what Mark was saying.
‘I’m almost sure of it now,’ Mark went on, ‘he has no clue what’s inside that stick of yours, and even less notion that you have found some hidden power inside yourself, or inside this world or between you and the staff or- well, shit, who knows? But as long as he can’t feel you, he has to fly blind. That gives you the upper hand.’
Steven looked again to Gilmour, ‘What do you think?’
‘I think for the time being, I can be of little help.’ His neck and his ribs had ached since the moment Steven slashed through Nerak’s disguise and he had a terrible suspicion that it was he who had allowed Nerak back into Eldarn, when he had opened the book of Lessek’s spells. In trying to learn what he needed to defeat his old nemesis, he had opened the gate for Nerak to come back: that rush of warm, humid air, that had been Nerak. Gilmour had failed again.
‘That doesn’t instil me with a lot of confidence,’ Steven replied.
‘Mark is right, though,’ the old man said, ‘remember the way you saved Garec that night on the beach.’
Steven tried to corral his thoughts and recall the energy he felt battling the wraith army, the power at his fingertips when he called up the wall of fire, the way his knowledge of physiology had transferred itself to the staff when he healed Garec’s injuries. He let all the images wash over him, bringing whatever insight they might have. He remembered the dump, the thin air that took his breath away when he climbed the fence, and then the thick air, dense with potential and power, that he had reached out and felt swallowing his hand. It had pressed back against him as he watched three tears open in the Fold. He concentrated: Nerak was close by and searching for them right now.
How could he create a cloaking spell without knowing what a cloaking spell ought to do? Did they need to be invisible? He was certain that was beyond his reach – but invisible to Nerak’s power? That might work… but how to think it? What to feel? Gilmour was supposed to be the sorcerer, not him.
Well, Steven, get painting. He heard Mark and Garec urging him on, could feel their eyes on him. He felt embarrassed… ‘This isn’t working,’ he sighed.
‘Why? What’s the matter?’
He looked around. ‘Let me try it over there. Maybe that’ll help.’ He dismounted and moved off a little way into the woods, away from where the others could watch him so closely. He heard something large and fast rush by overhead – at home, it would have been a low-flying jet, but here – here, he knew it was the dark prince, casting about for them. Hurry up, he told himself, Steven, you’d better hurry up.
He sat down on a moss-covered boulder and focused his attention inward: the wall of fire, Garec’s lung, the great pine in the Blackstone forest – but again he was derailed by his inability to think of how a cloaking device should work. ‘This isn’t going well,’ he called back to the others.
‘Take your time,’ Mark encouraged. ‘We’re fine. We’ll watch and listen. You don’t think about anything but keeping us hidden, protected from his sight.’
Protected from his sight. They needed camouflage. Camouflage, like the absurd head-to-toe drapings Howard used to wear for his annual trip to Nebraska during goose season. He remembered Myrna saying, ‘I can still see you, Howard. You’re still here? I can- oh wait, I almost lost you there for a minute, but there you are. I can still see you.’
Focus, Steven. You’re not focusing. Hidden from sight – how do we get hidden from sight? We need to be camouflaged but not invisible. Howard might have been invisible to the geese, but he was never invisible to Myrna. Myrna. Think, Steven.
Another
seeking spell rushed by overhead. Steven recoiled reflexively and opened his eyes. ‘He’s getting closer.’
‘Keep at it! I know you’ll get there.’ Mark’s confidence was infectious, but it didn’t help. It was cold. He wished he had put on the ski jacket from his saddlebag before moving into the brush. He would start wearing it beneath the cloak; that would be warm, as warm as a heavy blanket, a wool ‘That’s it,’ he cried, looking back at the others.
‘What’s it?’ Garec asked, but Steven didn’t answer. His friends had already begun to come more sharply into view, framed in front of the acrylic canvas of the forest as trees, shrubs, fallen leaves and scattered rocks all began slowly to melt together, to soften into a malleable whole. Reaching out, he could feel the air, that familiar sense that it had grown more dense, as heavy as the most humid day he could remember: Mexico, or New Orleans in the summertime. He wore the air like a glove, a perfect fit, and Steven turned his hand over and over, gaining a sense of how he could push and pull, manipulate and build from this perspective.
Well, Steven, get painting – yes, painting a woollen blanket, one with holes in the weave, holes he could see through, but that was fine, they needed to see where they were going. It was the perfect camouflage – was someone under there? Of course. No one could become invisible… but you couldn’t tell who was hiding beneath that old blanket. Mark had said something about a blanket, the comforting feeling of falling asleep on the floor or the couch and waking up later covered by his mother’s wool blanket. Why had Mark mentioned that? It had something to do with Karl Yasztremski and the Red Sox, with his father and Jones Beach out on Long Island.
Without realising what he was doing, Steven walked back to where his friends watched, thrilled that he had succeeded in calling up the magic, yet still dumbstruck at the breadth of his power. He held aloft the hickory staff and gestured with it from horizon to horizon, east to west, and then north to south. It glowed a faint red where his palms touched it, much as it had the night Gilmour rebuilt it from splinters he found scattered across the ground.
