by Ben Galley
As soon as he was alone, Rhin slumped into a heap and took a long, slow breath. ‘By the bloody Roots,’ he wheezed to himself, when his lungs began to burn. Sift had used her old spells to keep him on the edge of consciousness, but with distance they were waning. She had healed, then destroyed, over and over. Sleep now clawed at him, but Rhin forced himself into a sitting position to check his many wounds.
His fingers examined the countless cuts and swollen lumps from fists and boots; the “S” carved into his ribs, in Fae tongue; the broken rib; the empty socket at the back of his mouth; another notch to his ear; the multiple burns from the pokers across his chest and shins; and the new hole or two in his left wing. Rhin focused on each and every one, pressing his fingers to them, willing them healed. There was no drama to Fae magick, no pomp nor ceremony. It was intrinsic, running through a faerie’s veins like tree-roots through the earth. Casting spells was simply a muscle to tense, a rhyme to remember and a lot of concentration.
Rhin sat like that for an hour, draining what little energy he had left to heal himself as best he could. He tried to clear his mind of the core-numbing fear; the chilling prospect of being trapped there for months, maybe years. He focused on simple emptiness. Only then did he let sleep take him.
He melted into the cold, rough floor, his mind chasing the memory of hot sun on his back.
*
Not too far away, under the streets and hidden away in the banks of the Thames, Merion and Lilain held their breath.
‘Will it work, Aunt?’
‘Not if you keep distracting me, Nephew.’
‘Sorry.’
The nimerigar blood waited patiently in a beaker. The purified leech shade hovered above it, the first drop teetering on the puckered lips of a pipette. All the work until this point had been to get the bloods on the same level, or so she put it. Two halves of each other, just waiting to combine. A slight miscalculation, and they would split, and Merion would have wasted three days.
All eyes followed the drip’s descent, making a brief crown within the nimerigar blood. Lilain leaned close, wincing as though the mixture would erupt at any moment. Nothing happened, and she tapped her nails on the table.
‘We’re in luck. It’s blended.’ Lilain swatted at Merion as he reached forward. She picked up a pocket watch as she began to stir the blood. ‘I’ll tell you when it’s ready, Nephew. Two more minutes.’
Merion nodded. That he could handle after the threat of days. Even so, he paced the narrow triangle of the room, making Lurker anxious.
‘Sit down, boy, ‘afore I put you outside.’
Merion sought a stool. A familiar tap at the door, one of a beak on wood, distracted him. Lurker moved to stand but the boy beat him to it. There was a squeak of hinges, a welcoming squawk, and in waddled Jake. He instantly flapped to Lurker’s waiting arm, chattering away.
Jake had visited twice in the space of a day now. Last night, he had brought news of Calidae losing Slickharbour Spit, Dizali’s plans to hang the Queen, and, most important of all, her induction into Dizali’s lamprey Order. Merion would not have admitted it aloud, but he was impressed. The girl knew what she was doing.
‘What now?’ he asked.
Lurker translated. ‘Witchazel will come.’
‘About time,’ said Gunderton behind him.
Merion clapped his hands. ‘All the more reason to stay on schedule. Aunt?’
‘Yes, Merion. We’re done,’ sighed Lilain, holding up two chunky vials, each filled to the brim with bright red blood.
The boy grinned. ‘Then it’s off to Jekyll Park.’
*
As they wound up the steps into the day—one full of patchwork sunlight and a brisk wind—they set a path north and slightly east, heading around the fringes of London’s core and the bustle of the midday rush.
It was clear that Merion wasn’t the only one simmering with emotion. Tensions seemed higher than usual on the streets of London. Constables stood at every other corner. Grim faces and wide eyes made up the crowds, shuffling a little slower today.
The paperboys swiftly informed them why; it was the death sentence of Queen Victorious. Dizali had announced it that very morning. Some it chilled, some it cheered, but it set all chattering. Merion caught talk of protests in the dockyards, of crowds gathering at the Crucible and Emerald House. The news had put the city on a low boil, ready to spill and spit or go dry and quiet. The other headlines of the day did nothing for distraction.
‘Red King Lincoln seeks peace with the frontier!’
‘Second Grand Fleet besieges Sevastapol!’
‘Lord Felcher dies in freak carriage incident! Family and constituents mourn!’
The closer they drew to Jekyll Park’s southwest corner, the more Merion’s trepidation grew. It wasn’t so much a fear of what lay beyond; it was the fear of not being able to meet it. The close call with the Sand Rabbits in Wyoming had always played heavy on the boy’s mind, and with the recent Gavisham failure, he was beginning to doubt his abilities.
He kept up his stride, not breaking for an instant, keen to keep his struggle hidden from the others. Doubt is a silent battle.
‘You’ll have worn yourself out by the time you get there,’ said Lilain, taking big strides to match his marching.
Merion pulled a wry face. ‘We’re almost there.’
‘Any idea where Rhin’s being held?’
‘He will be somewhere in the Coil, in Sift’s clutches.’
‘And you still have no idea how you’re going to break him out?’
‘Of course I do. Ingenuity and improvisation.’
There came a hoarse rasp of disapproval; the same as the first time he had told her.
‘I have to do this, Aunt. There is not a great deal of choice in the matter. We need the blood.’
‘And I s’pose trying some other letters, some of my old tuto—’
‘You said so yourself. The Fae shade is rarer than flaming ice. One of your top three, if I remember rightly? We don’t have the time.’
Lilain held up her hands. ‘I have to ask.’
Merion nodded. ‘That you do, and as I said before, I appreciate it. We’re here.’
He pointed to the copse of oak and elm that sat apart from the wall of trees lining Jekyll Park. It was like a strange child, bullied and cast out, all curled in on itself. A few clumps of people milled about, giving it a wide berth. They tossed balls or snoozed in the cloud-chased sunlight, escaping from the press of the city.
‘That’s it?’ Gunderton didn’t sound impressed.
‘The well is in there. Below it is Shanarh, capital of Undering. Did you expect more?’
‘A city inside a well,’ grunted Lurker. ‘Well I never.’
‘Madness, one might say,’ said Merion. The old prospector just nodded.
Merion set about getting ready, stretching his muscles and slowing his heartbeat. He didn’t want to boil his blood this time around. He cast sideways glances at the copse as he forced himself to breathe as slow as a sighing tree. ‘So what am I to expect? Bones breaking and cramps?’
‘No pain I hear, just a dizzyin’,’ said Lilain.
‘It’ll come strong and stick fast, so you have to be forceful with it,’ advised Gunderton.
Merion took that on board. ‘What about my clothes? Will they shrink too?’
Lilain chuckled. ‘I know this is magick, Nephew, but that’d be preposterous. The shade can only sink its teeth into you, not your clothes. Fear not, I’ve made some spares. I was up all night.’ She patted her pocket. ‘Got twine, too. Which will seem like rope.’
Merion wore a wry smile. ‘See? Useful.’
Lilain looked victorious as she produced two vials from her pocket. The boy stuck out a hand. ‘Right. It’s time for me to go.’ To his confusion, his aunt passed him just one of the vials. She gave Gunderton the other.
‘What’s this?’ Merion enquired.
His aunt had that look on her; the one that his father used
to wear when he was about to define some rules.
‘You don’t think you’re going alone, do you?’
‘That’s not the plan.’
‘I know. We’re making an addition.’
Merion scowled. ‘I can do this on my own.’
Gunderton stepped forward, looking down at him with his odd eyes, over his bushy beard. It was still difficult to look into them and not see Gile and Gavisham staring back.
‘You do realise you can’t rush whilst you’re down there? That you’ll have to rely on your hands and skills? You a fighter, Merion?’
The boy felt cold fingers around his neck. ‘Er… No.’
The Brother seemed almost boastful. ‘I’ve been in more fights than you’ve had hot dinners, Merion. I once punched a man so hard his eyeball popped right out of his skull. And besides, your father’s ghost might strangle me if I don’t go with you.’
‘Fine, you’ve made your case.’ Merion sighed, even though he knew Gunderton was right. He felt some of the weight lift from his chest, and turned to his aunt as he flicked the cork.
‘And you’re sure it’ll last?’ He didn’t fancy suddenly swelling up and getting trapped in a tunnel for faeries to jab at.
Lilain crossed her arms as if accepting a challenge. ‘Leech blood gives it strength, longevity. And both shades have been distilled as far as can be. Their power is now many times stronger. You’ll have an hour, maybe more.’
‘Plenty of time, right?’ Merion glanced at Gunderton. He was holding his open vial an inch from his lips. He rolled his eyes as though her couldn’t quite believe the words queuing on his tongue.
‘Let’s go rescue a faerie.’
Down, the crimson went; a bitter stream of fiery liquid that burned Merion’s throat and stomach. It wasn’t painful, just potent. Merion tensed his muscles, bending the blend to his will, dragging it out into his body and driving it into his skull. It was like manhandling a hay bale up a slope, but he got it there eventually.
If only he had a Bloodmoon to help him.
As soon as the magick took root, he felt the world sway around him. He threw out a hand to steady himself and Lurker caught it. He felt like his mind was tumbling over and over inside his head with nowhere to fall. There was a pounding noise. Merion looked down and saw the grass rising up to greet him. He felt his clothes become baggy and oversized. It was working!
He steeled himself and dragged his wits out of the nausea so he could watch himself shrink. Within a few seconds he had passed Lurker’s belt, then his thighs, until gradually the shrinking came to a stop just shy of the prospector’s knees.
‘Incredible!’ he said to himself, checking his hands and patting his chest. Everything about him was exactly the same, even though he was naked and wrapped in the crumpled fabric of his cloak. It was the world that had changed. He looked up at Lilain and Lurker, high above. They looked colossal, and as they bent down to peer at him, they seemed to move slower than usual. Merion now knew the secret behind a Fae’s nimbleness.
‘Feeling alright?’ Gunderton asked, flicking a nearby blade of grass. He was shameless in the way he stood there, legs wide and arms crossed, free of his huge clothes.
Merion could feel the magick bubbling in his veins, sticking fast as Gunderton had said; as though it had dug a claw deep into every one of his muscles and pinned them together. The dizziness had receded; now he just felt very warm. All of the energy of a thirteen-year-old human boy had been squeezed down into a smaller package. No wonder he was already sweating.
‘Hot, but fine. Clothes, Aunt?’
Two crudely cut and sewn outfits landed between them. Merion held his up, marvelling at its itchiness. The threads were like loops of twine. The fabric was grey and black, perfect for creeping around a Fae city. There were no pockets; just a thin lining of leather for protection. A small bundle of whip-cord followed, stout rope to them.
‘Wish I could come along,’ Lurker boomed. Merion’s ears were incredibly sensitive.
‘Sorry, old friend, not this time,’ replied the boy. His voice sounded small and lost.
‘And some weapons, too,’ said Lilain, passing them shards of metal or needles wrapped tightly with thread; crude swords to take on black Fae Steel. Merion stuffed both weapons under his makeshift belt, fashioned from a piece of cord.
‘Can you take us closer?’ Gunderton called up to the others, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder.
Being carried so effortlessly was a strange sensation when you’re the one used to doing the carrying. The high-born in Merion made him resentful, feeling as though he were a pet in his aunt’s hands. Rhin had never seemed to mind it. He was glad when they put him down.
He looked up at the trees of the copse, looming over them, and the darkness that hid between them. Merion felt that chill again, in the oppressive touch of their shadow, making him long to walk away and be done with this foolishness.
‘Feel it?’ he asked of Gunderton, who was also busy scowling at the trees.
‘I do,’ he said.
‘Fae magick.’
‘We’ll be waiting right here,’ Lilain said, face fighting not to frown. ‘Be safe.’
Jake squawked, making Merion flinch. The bird was terrifying up close. His beak was as long as the boy’s forearm.
‘Give ‘em hell,’ said Lurker.
Together, Merion and Gunderton moved forward into the woods, feet battling the grass stems while their minds fought heavy fear. It was like wading through a jungle that screamed incessantly.
The fear became more potent with every step they took through the dark cavern between the trees; roofed by interwoven branches, tiled by leaves. The darkness seemed to crowd around them like black smoke. And yet still they marched on, gritting teeth and clenching fists.
The climb to the top of the lonely well was the hardest part. Though every young boy has an inbuilt talent for climbing, the weight of the Fae spell made every handhold crumble, every reach a painful stretch. Gunderton fared no better.
The spell broke the moment their dusty hands had hauled them to the top. They stood with hands on knees and took long gulps of the humid air as they stared down into the satin darkness.
‘I was hoping for stairs,’ said Gunderton, eyeing the thin sliver of grey rope that hung from the wooden arch over the well.
‘It’s the perfect defence. Rhin told me. Imagine it as a tunnel on its end, a hundred feet deep and ringed with outposts and castles that constantly keep an eye on that rope. Only Fae have hands strong enough to climb down the whole thing. If not, then it’s splat! Right on Sift’s doorstep. They call this Undering’s Lonely Star. Hovers right above the Coil.’
Gunderton thumbed his moustache. ‘And what were you planning to do?’
‘Climb down the rope until the first outpost and sneak down that way.’
‘Won’t work. That’s a lot of time, not to mention a lot of eyes. The rope leads straight down to the palace, this Coil?’
‘That’s what Rhin said.’
The Brother blinked at the darkness for a moment before clicking his fingers. ‘You’re not going to like this one bit, but it’s the only way I can imagine we’ll make it down there in time and in one piece.’
‘That’s no way to introduce a proposition, but please, do continue.’
Gunderton was already cutting off long lengths of whip-cord. ‘We tie this in a certain manner, loop it around ourselves and then the rope, and jump.’
Merion was sure he hadn’t heard him right. ‘Jump?’
‘Jump. Straight down. When we can see the ground we pull the knots tight and come to a nice, slow stop. Friction, see?’
‘This blend has clearly rotted your brain, Gunderton.’
But the Brother was adamant, and to prove his plan he began to tie his knots; intricate things that formed a choker when slid together. The rest of the dubious contraption was formed by a big figure of eight for the arms and a knot for yanking.
‘That blend is slowly wasting a
way, so please, do suggest a better idea.’
Merion felt the fear rising up again, filling the back of his throat, making his forehead prickle.
‘Fine,’ he said, more to fill the silence than anything.
Gunderton finished Merion’s harness first before making one for himself. He edged his way up the curve of the well’s arch, where small pegs had been fashioned as rungs, and a groove cut for Fae hands. Once he’d reached the rope, he fastened his contraption around it and swung down from the arch. He yanked the cord tightly as he began to slide, and came to a complete stop, legs dangling in space.
‘See? Now put yours on.’
Merion followed suit, edging warily up the arch, using all his strength just to keep from falling, while Gunderton tied him on. When it was done, Merion took a deep breath, closed his eyes to the void below him, and tested his faith.
Down he swung, feeling his stomach lurch. Somewhere amid the panic, he yanked as hard as he could on the knot. The choker pinched the rope, holding him fast.
Madness.
‘Now we just have to let go and we’ll fly right past them,’ Gunderton said, nonchalantly. He might as well have been describing his breakfast. ‘Let it stay loose so it won’t burn. And whatever you do, don’t let go of that knot.’
‘If we aren’t bloody spatters on the Coil’s steps in the next minute, I’ll see you at the bottom.’
‘Your father was an optimist, you know,’ Gunderton said, before releasing his hold on the knot. He dropped like a stone, vanishing into the darkness hovering below them.
‘I bet my father never had to do this,’ Merion muttered to himself.
It took every scrap of concentration to relax his arms and let the knots slacken their bite. Even a twitch in his grip was enough to send him plummeting, as though the well was hungry for him. He fought off the burning, terror-driven desire to yank hard and save himself.
The rushing air became a roar in his ears. It felt as though his clothes would burst their stitches and rip free of him at any moment. He felt the rope nudge him as he tried to flap his arms, felt the burn of its kiss on his hand. Merion tucked in his limbs and felt his organs climb higher in his throat. The wind tore the tear-streaks from his eyes.
