by Vance Huxley
“Not a chance.” Abel sniggered. “Weren’t you tempted to be one? You know, like the Egyptian cat-goddess, Bastet.”
Ferryl cowered and actually looked over her shoulder. “Don’t say that! She might still be aware enough to hear you.”
Abel doubted it after five or six thousand years, or however long it had been, but cast around for something to divert her because the tattoo looked and sounded terrified. “Since you know so much about magic, how about helping with our new game? Not real glyphs, but to make sure the system makes sense.”
“Not real but making sense?” Ferryl sounded scornful but her tattoo cheered up. Abel read through his copy of the scenarios so far, and showed her the files on the computer, though it took a while. A whole afternoon passed just explaining the world of board games, and computer spinoffs, and why certain characters were expected. Ferryl found the characters really funny because she’d seen the real thing in a way. Certainly mages and barbarians, though she swore Elves and Dwarves weren’t really like the games portrayed them. The magical creatures that inspired both were wiped out long ago. Once she started Ferryl really threw herself into the design of both characters and the world.
Though she wasn’t so sure about one human character. “What is a Paladin supposed to be?”
“A holy knight, probably a crusader, very pure and usually handsome or in this case, Kelis insists on beautiful.” Abel put the two sketches side by side. Kelis’s drawing showed a severe, haughty woman with plate armour carrying a selection of lethal weaponry. The other, less skilful drawing showed a rather less well covered version with big lips, eye makeup and plenty of curves. “Kelis and Rob are arguing about beauty versus pure.”
“Like this?” Abel looked down to see a tattoo of a woman with a black eye, a missing tooth, scratched, dirty mismatched armour and a tankard in her hand. Behind her stood a scruffy, hairy horse festooned with dirty, notched weapons, two dead geese, a jewel-encrusted goblet, wineskins and a bag with bread and cheese peeking out. The woman staggered and sat down, scratched her backside and took a big swig.
“That’s a mercenary.” Abel looked closer at the tattoo. “We could use her, because that’s another character and Kelis keeps complaining there aren’t enough women.”
“That is a real Paladin, a crusader. Most women followed the armies in the baggage train, or hid when the knights came past.” Ferryl sounded serious now. “There were true knights, believers with proper armour, but those usually lived at court training to kill or praying. A few went on each crusade, but most of the army were like this or a lot worse.”
“Not in a game, there we have idealistic versions. We really can use the character though.”
“May I use your hand, please?” Ferryl tried much harder with her manners since the meeting with the dryad. She drew the woman and horse, much better than Abel would ever do even when his left hand recovered.
“That’s brilliant, thank you. When you leave, I’ll have to try and explain why I can’t draw any more.”
“You will improve after drawing enough glyphs. Every glyph must be created with firm lines, clearly showing intent.” Which, when Abel thought about it, was how Ferryl drew pictures. “Time to go to the crusade.” Abel glanced down and started chuckling as the tattoo began to get up and tripped over her sword. By the time she’d crammed on her helmet, backwards at first, and crawled onto the horse Abel had collapsed on his bed, howling with laughter.
The fist hammering on the door shut him up. “Who have you got in there, Abel? You are supposed to be grounded, young man.”
“Mum?” Abel stopped laughing. “I’m on my own.”
“Open up please.” Abel grimaced, because Mum didn’t usually insist. He opened the door after pulling on a jacket to cover Ferryl, because Mum scowled every time she saw the tattoo. “Move aside, Abel. I’m coming in.”
Abel stared because his mum left him his own space, on the clear understanding that Abel kept it reasonably clean and tidy. “But…” Abel stood aside, because the look on her face wasn’t going to be persuaded. In some sort of shock, he watched her actually look under the bed and in his wardrobe. “I’m on my own, I told you.”
Mum looked at the computer showing a picture of Saint Georgeous, the Kelis serious version. “That wasn’t making you laugh, and before that you were talking to someone.”
“To myself, Mum, I swear. It helps to make up dialogue for characters.” Inspiration struck. “I tried to get a different version of the Paladin, because Kelis and Rob can’t agree.” He held out the two versions. “I ended up drawing this, and I was laughing at what Kelis and Rob will say.” Fingers crossed he offered Ferryl’s sketch.
Mum stared at it for a few moments. “Who drew this?” She looked very pointedly at his left hand, still with two fingers strapped together.
Abel rolled his eyes. “I did. For some reason, I can draw better with my right hand than my left.” He held her eyes, “if I hadn’t bust my fingers, I’d never have known.” Abel tried for an innocent smile. “I can even write, look.” He pulled out the school project, not at all worried about that looking too good. Ferry couldn’t write anything like as well as she could draw.
At least the title and amount of schoolwork finally wiped away the suspicion in his mum’s eyes. “You did all this? I should ground you more often.” She read a bit of it. “I suppose your browsing history will be full of odd historical sites.”
Abel objected, with justification. “I do schoolwork even when I’m not grounded.” He did plenty and his grades were good enough to prove it.
His mum took a last glance around. “Since there’s no rude pictures on the back of the door, no magazines under the bed, and a complete lack of young ladies in the wardrobe I suppose I have to believe you.” Abel tried to suppress the sigh of relief because that had quite a bit of humour in it, though the next bit didn’t. “I hope the next time I see that picture it isn’t tattooed on your other arm?”
“No Mum, honest.”
“Good. It won’t be on Rob’s either, after I had a word with Mrs. Tyler. Though Mrs. Ventner didn’t seem very interested. Is Kelis all right?”
Abel stared. His mum wanted gossip about his friends? Kelis preferred not to talk about home, but let slip that her Dad frightened her. Rob and Abel both thought that explained why she spent her spare time with them. For a moment Abel debated telling his mum about the finger marks, bruises, on Kelis’s arm, but she’d sworn them to silence. “As far as I know Mum. She’s just shy.”
“And you three are thick as thieves and telling the adults nothing.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. It was just the voices, and laughing, and that…” She gestured at Abel’s arm, “but I suppose I’ll have to get used to the tattoo. Just try not to flaunt the thing where the rest of the village can see.” She mock-scowled. “Idiot.” Abel stood for a while after she left, then heaved a big sigh of relief.
“I think you are right. I must be more careful, we both must. If word of me spreads there are people and creatures who may be interested.”
“Moving tattoos are something people will recognise?”
“They might recognise a description of me though most who would are dead now. A tattoo is usually a bound creature and never has this amount of freedom. Such a bound creature is already dead, a Shade, captured and held as protection. Only a sorcerer can do that, and you are not nearly strong enough to stand against something powerful enough to investigate sorcerers.” The rustling noise of a sigh echoed in Abel’s head. “It has been too long since I just had fun, and I forgot. Perhaps we should concentrate on training for a while?”
Abel could only agree, but he still couldn’t make the gravel dance or the leaf float.
* * *
At least the episode seemed to have cleared the air a bit about the tattoo and Abel’s mum stopped frowning at his covered arm. On the last day of his grounding she actually asked him to uncover Ferryl to have a proper look, and agreed he’d gone to a decent artist. Rob’s mum
stared at his jacket arm the first time Abel went round, but didn’t ask to see the offending picture. Both of Rob’s sisters, Melanie and Samantha, were hanging around and trying to get a look so word had spread.
As soon as Rob’s bedroom door almost-closed behind him Abel took off his jacket, because he could see he’d get no sense out of Rob otherwise. “Bloody hell. Kelis said it was a bit like the anime ones, a person with cat features and ears and tail, and a bit sexy without going over the top. That’s a character? She’ll need clothes.”
“I can show him?” While Abel tried to concentrate to sub-vocalise no, Ferryl chuckled. “Just teasing. I will try to be good now.”
“It’s only like a onesie, no worse than Catwoman in a Batman film in fur instead of leather or rubber. I’ve got pictures with clothes, and another character, and I’ve been working on the rules for magic. We need a lot of other creatures in the world, Hobgoblins and that sort of thing. Annoying or disgusting rather than dangerous, and then a few really dangerous types.” Voices downstairs interrupted Abel and a few moments later Kelis came in, leaving the door ajar. Rob and Abel had negotiated the same deal for bedrooms, door ajar if a female is inside though so far only Kelis had visited either.
She came straight over to look at Ferryl. “I told you, Rob. Now give, Abel, was alcohol involved?”
“No, just a momentary rush of blood after coming up with her.” Eventually Rob and Kelis had finished cross-examining and teasing about Ferryl, so Abel went through the bit about extra creatures. Neither seemed convinced. “We have to make a rounded, believable world. Look, I’ve got another character. You’ve got to find a name.” He pulled out the sheaf of writing and sketches. “This is our mercenary, a sort of counterpoint to Saint Georgeous?” Abel sniggered. “We’ll have to sort out real names sometimes.”
“I like that name. Better than the real saints, either sanctimonious or drunken lechers.”
Rob stared at the pictures. “Did you draw these?” Abel explained the right hand drawing thing. He really had to learn how to do that before Ferryl left. Oddly, the thought of losing his voice and tattoo left a little pang of regret, quickly buried in apprehension because he’d have to replace her with a real tattoo. With the notes to show how it all fitted together, Abel finally persuaded the other two their game world needed these creatures and rules. The mercenary had to be called Robyn, but Rob’s suggestion, Rich, wasn’t quite right for a second name even if it sort of summed her up. Ferryl kept quiet and her tattoo stayed still all the way through, which must have been a strain.
Though once again she wanted to check the back fences. As soon as Abel climbed over Rob’s fence she started. “Why do you make the creatures less ugly?” Kelis had insisted the original drawings were gross, and had smoothed them out a bit.
“So they are less frightening. Kids will play this game if we get it right, and we don’t want to give them nightmares.”
“It will prepare them to meet the real ones.”
Actually, Ferryl would have been right except for one thing. “But most people will never see one, according to you. I hope not. Anyway, Kelis is right, we needed a few pretty ones as well to counter all the real ones.”
“Pretty ones are real. Not looking like that but there are what you call pretty fairies. I think there are?” Ferryl chuckled. “Unless they have all been eaten. Most of them are weak, and bright colours are hard to hide.”
“Can we let a few into the village, the pretty ones? Keep them safe?”
“You want a zoo? I saw a zoo in your mother’s head. A small space to keep creatures who should be roaming, so that your kind do not kill the last ones.” Abel couldn’t argue because that probably summed it up for some species. “Perhaps some would choose a zoo instead of death. You have decided to become a sorcerer?”
“What? No, not a chance. I’d rather not be a warlock either. I don’t fancy starving in a hovel any more than the witch’s apprentice did.” Abel picked his way through a patch of nettles, still thinking about that. “I just want to protect the village. Maybe we can find a witch to take over?”
“You can train Kelis? She likes the magic in your game, and she can already draw better than you. Charms and hexes would be easy.”
“I don’t want Kelis starving either, thanks. We might find a candidate in town, when school starts again. Someone must be keeping Stourton and Stourton Comprehensive clear of creatures.”
That distracted Ferryl from the lack of a witch. “Free learning without the church. I still don’t believe that. Can I use a hand, please?”
“Yes, why?” Even as he spoke, Abel’s hand wiggled and a pale shape flew out to hit one of the flying creatures. It crashed to the ground, bubbled and disappeared, and the rest gave Abel a lot more space.
“That fae has a really nasty sting.”
Abel waggled his hand to check he could control it again. All the way home he turned it over in his head. Would he, could he, become the local warlock and protect the village while earning a living at something else? Maybe, if he could find work through the internet, though Abel didn’t really fancy living in Brinsford all his life. He gave up in the end because he’d never decided what sort of career to aim for anyway.
As they came nearer to home Ferryl used his hand several more times to zap flying creatures, larger fae with particularly nasty stings. This trip she also popped a creature covered in spines, a thorny. It liked to rummage in rubbish bins or kitchens for spoiled food, which put it on Abel’s hit list. Able saw the vague shapes of several larger creatures in the field, ranging from cat to sheep size, but they all moved away as he came closer.
* * *
Whether Abel wanted to be a warlock or not, it wouldn’t happen until he could make a glyph work. Finally getting the strapping off his fingers meant he could switch hands while practicing, but still couldn’t make the gravel dance or the leaf stir, let alone float. Getting his strapping off also signalled an increase in Ferryl’s attempts to make him fitter, and did include a Rocky-style regime of running while carrying logs. Not big ones, nor did the larger logs he lifted up and down weigh much, but Abel found he could already run further. He still didn’t think he could run faster than the guardian, or further than the Bound Shade, which encouraged him to keep going.
“Can’t we help the trees to grow back or something? The grass and bushes at least, so it doesn’t look as bad. I’d fix the fence but I’d cut my hand off with the saw.” The broad swathe of destruction through Castle House gardens still worried Abel. Despite Ferryl’s confidence Abel still felt sure someone would eventually become curious enough to overcome their reluctance and investigate. There wasn’t anything to see, but Abel knew just how curious he would have been if he’d found that round carved slab without Cooch after him. According to Ferryl there would be bones under there if someone tunnelled under the edge and shone a light. That would definitely mean police, and someone either moving or breaking the stone.
Ferryl considered while they walked along the trampled path and out of sight of the road. The gardens were much larger, but Abel felt comfortable in this clearing so he used it for practice. “We can help the bushes. The trees will grow at those angles unless a dryad teaches them to straighten.” Unmistakable pride shone through the next part. “A dryad will not pass my barrier, not even an old, strong one such as Horse Chestnut.”
Abel suggested letting a dryad through to fix the trees. After a short verbal tussle in which Ferryl objected to anything getting inside as it might weaken the whole protection, Abel let it drop. He wasn’t confident enough to order Ferryl with her true-name, and tried not to anyway. The bit about creatures being bound into tattoos came too near to the truth for his peace of mind, because he’d trapped Ferryl in a way. Instead he concentrated on the bushes and grass. Abel knelt down as instructed, feeling grateful that the road running past only led out of the village so few people walked it and the occasional car drivers probably wouldn’t notice him.
* * *
An hour later Abel wished he’d kept quiet. Crawling around on the overgrown lawn and among the trampled bushes stopped being fun after three or four minutes, as did drawing lines in the dirt with his fingers. Connecting the whirls and loops and leading them to a tree at least raised his interest, and Abel tried hard to remember the glyph on the tree root to power the spell. It wasn’t easy, because nothing showed. Ferryl swore the glyph would be marked into the live-wood, the heart of the thick root, but assured Abel the tree didn’t feel it. Abel hoped not, he still remembered the pain when she connected into his bone.
“Is that it?” Abel straightened his aching back.
“That should speed recovery of the grass and bushes, though the bushes will grow more shoots rather than straighten. They will look better.”
“Good. Then the trees will look like old damage and not as interesting.” The council still hadn’t fixed the road but someone had filled in the holes and gouges with gravel, and shovelled earth into the hole where the Bound Shade had stood. Village rumour blamed gypsies, travellers, who had allegedly used a lorry to drag the dead tree down, causing the damage through the fence and into the gardens. They had then cut the tree up and probably sold it as firewood in town. A total lack of tyre marks or sawdust didn’t seem to make any difference.
“We can repair bushes along the rest of the path another day. I am enjoying this, helping something to grow for a change.” Abel opened his mouth to ask if that meant she usually damaged them, and shut it. He still skirted round just what his hitchhiker was.
“But not today, please? I’d rather practice.”
Abel didn’t have to look at the tattoo to know it was laughing, he could hear it in her voice. “You want to practice? We should repair plants more often.”
“Practice. Now. Please?”
* * *
Abel wore a happy smile when they finally set off home. He felt sure the leaf trembled, once, though Ferryl blamed his breath because he had his face too near. “Hello squeaky.” Henry came out of a doorway where he must have been lurking. “I saw you crawling about in that garden, and thought you’d be along soon.” He smacked his fist into the palm of the other hand. Abel felt definitely torn because he’d love Ferryl to do something awful to the nasty git, but not in the main street. Not that anybody seemed to be about to care either way.
