Shadowmagic

by John Lenahan

  ‘Wow, it sounds like a heck of a tree.’

  She looked me in the eyes–hers were wet. ‘Your grandfather died trying to defend it–so did my brother.’

  Her eyelids could hold back the tears no longer. I reached for her and she collapsed in my arms, shaking with sobs. I cried a bit too. Together we mourned a grandfather I had never known and a brother that she would always remember with the emotions of a little girl.

  I don’t know how long we knelt there. Being brave only postpones the inevitable–sooner or later you have to mourn your dead with all of your being, and that was what Essa was finally doing. When her sobs subsided, I picked up my staff and used it as support to help us both to our feet. The hazel staff slid into the ground like it was sand and then stuck there. Essa stumbled. I let go of the stick and held her with both arms. She leaned on me until we cleared the courtyard, then she stopped, wiped her eyes and put on her brave face before we joined the others. I forgot all about my staff.

  Essa was fine the next morning. We exchanged knowing glances at breakfast. After that, nothing was said. We packed our horses. Acorn had gotten used to the place and was his old self again. Lorcan rode with us to the end of the castle’s lands. As we said our goodbyes, I remembered that I had left my staff in the courtyard. Lorcan gave me his blackthorn banta and promised to look after my hazel stick until I returned.

  Before he rode off, Lorcan said, ‘The Reedlands are more treacherous now than ever before.’

  ‘Who said we are going to the Reedlands?’ Araf said.

  ‘There is nothing else in the direction you go. It is a bad place. This land may be dead, but that place is foul. The last two scouts I sent there have not returned. Be careful.’

  I was looking forward to getting out of the Hazellands. I needed to see something growing again. I promised myself that I would hug the next living plant I saw. It was a promise I did not keep. If I had hugged the first living plant I saw–it probably would have killed me.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Reedlands

  I could see the border of the Fililands a mile away. The sight of green in the distance made us all quicken our pace. I couldn’t wait to be among living, breathing plants again. I fantasised about galloping straight into the forest. Thank God I didn’t. As we approached I saw that the woods were sealed off by a tall, dark hedge. Huge blackthorn trees stretched for as far as the eye could see, and these weren’t the kind of thorns that gave you inconvenient scratches–one look at the forearm-length, needle-sharp thorns was enough to make me realise we were not getting into the forest from here. I remembered once seeing razor-wire on top of a fence at an airport. It was barbed wire with razorblades stuck in it. It was the nastiest barrier I had ever seen–not any more.

  ‘My gods!’ Fergal said. ‘Don’t tell me we’re going in here.’

  ‘That is where we are going,’ Essa said, ‘but not through there.’

  ‘Is this the Fililands?’

  ‘Yes, Ona sealed it off with the blackthorns after the Fili war.’

  ‘Do we have to go around? Can’t we hack our way through?’ I said. ‘You would be dead before your sword touched them. They can fire those thorns.’

  ‘How about if I asked nicely?’

  ‘Go ahead,’ she said, with a knowing smile I didn’t like.

  I dismounted. I had gotten pretty good at getting on and off Acorn–I wasn’t Robin Hood or anything but I didn’t look like a giraffe on an escalator any more. As I approached the blackthorns I could hear the wood creaking as they pointed their very sharp thorns at me. I instantly felt this was a bad idea. I found one place where I could reach through the thorns and touch a branch. Before I could say a thing a command shot straight into my brain. ‘You have until the count often to back off and go away!‘ the plant told me.

  ‘But my mom is in there.’ As soon as I said that I realised how pathetic it sounded.

  ‘Five.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Three…two…’

  I backed off fast. This bush was not one for negotiation. I looked up and saw my three companions smiling at me. I straightened my shirt and regained a little composure. ‘He said that he would let me through but not you guys, so I thought I might as well stay with the group.’

  ‘How nice of you,’ Essa said.

  We travelled north along the thorn wall. On the other side of the spikes we could hear sounds of life–birds chirping and an occasional running deer. When a breeze came from the east, we were blessed with fresh, plant-cleansed air that was scented with wildflowers. It made me hate this living barbed-wire fence even more.

  I fell in next to Fergal, who was quieter than usual. I asked him what was bothering him.

  ‘It’s the way Lorcan said Banshee–hell, it’s the way everyone feels about Banshees, like we’re scum.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I was raised by Imps, remember? I guess it’s because people are afraid of us. Banshees are the undertakers in The Land and nobody likes death. More than that it seems they can sense death approach, so every time someone sees a Banshee they think they are going to die.’

  ‘Can you do that?’

  ‘Sometimes I think I can, but I never learned all of that Banshee magic stuff

  ‘I can see how that would make you guys a bit spooky.’

  ‘It’s also what makes us–them, such good warriors. Banshee armies can sense if an enemy will die, they almost know if they will win a battle before it begins.’

  ‘So Banshees are warriors?’

  ‘That’s their primary role, to defend the western shore from invasion.’

  ‘Men of war always make people nervous in peacetime,’ I said.

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Well, I like you, Fergal, no matter what anybody says.’

  That brought a smile that seemed to bring him out of his funk. He babbled on for the rest of the afternoon. I almost regretted cheering him up.

  We camped that night still in the Hazellands. We were all exhausted. We had been teased all day with the promise of life but were doomed to be stuck in this land of death. Tomorrow we would reach the Ngetal–the Reedlands–no matter how bad it was there, it had to be better than this. We went to sleep without much chat, in the hopes of a better tomorrow.

  I dreamt I crested a hill and saw an army of Banshees. When they spotted me they all pointed, as if to say, You soon will die. I ran to escape but every place I turned blackthorn trees sprouted and blocked my path. Eventually I was encased by a blackthorn cage, surrounded by screaming Banshees. The huge thorns closed in on me. I awoke with a scream in my throat.

  We smelt the Reedlands before we saw them. Just one whiff of the sulphur and decay dashed any hopes of our landscape getting better. Our only consolation was that we were just going to nip the Reedlands. The plan was to enter it just enough to find an opening to the Fililands, but this was not to be. When we got to the border, all we found was swamp. Murky water choked with black vegetation that bubbled with a smell so bad it put rotten eggs to shame. It was like a disease. You could see in places where it had started encroaching upon the Hazellands. There was no way we could walk in that stuff, let alone the horses, so we followed the unholy border west in hopes of finding some sort of a path. This meant that inevitably we would have to trek through a large part of this foul place.

  After fifteen minutes the swamp gave way to reed-covered bogs. It was still too soft to travel through but it was an improvement–at least it smelt a bit better. Ten minutes later Essa called a stop.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  ‘Someone has been here,’ she said, in a low voice that made me look over my shoulder.

  She pointed to tracks that I could hardly make out. We followed them until they turned into the Reedlands. The footing was dry and solid where the trail led.

  ‘We enter here,’ Essa said. ‘Be careful–I don’t think we will be alone in there.’

  The life in the Reedlands made me
miss the desolation of the Hazellands. If this was life–it was a corruption of it. Plants of tan and black grew in odd shapes without the symmetry that nature usually provides. The Land had struck me as being so wholesome–this place was the opposite. It was just plain wrong.

  Instinctively we travelled as quietly as we could. We didn’t want to meet anyone that would choose to live in a place like this, and I didn’t like the look of the vegetation–I didn’t trust it. A snake slithered quickly across my path. I grabbed on tight to the pommel of my saddle. I don’t know much about riding but I had watched a lot of cowboy movies and I knew that horses freak when they see a snake. Surprisingly, Acorn took no notice, but everyone else did.

  ‘What was that?’ came a girly cry from Araf that made me laugh.

  ‘What’s the matter,’ I said, ‘haven’t you ever seen a snake before?’

  ‘That’s impossible,’ Essa said, ‘there are no snakes in The Land.’

  ‘Well, it looks to me like there are now.’

  ‘I don’t like this place,’ Fergal said.

  I was just about to make some sarcastic quip to Fergal about the obviousness of his statement, but then I saw his face–this place was really stressing him out.

  ‘None of us does, Fergal,’ I said. ‘We’ll be out of here soon.’ I hoped that wasn’t a lie.

  The path here was easier to follow and obviously well used. Fergal took the lead, anxious to have this stretch over with. He was a good three lengths ahead of us when he reached a stretch of the path that was black instead of brown. As soon as his horse’s foot touched it, the black surface seemed to lift off the ground. The path had been covered with flies. Fergal was instantly surrounded by a swarm of black insects. He flailed his arms and kicked his horse into a gallop, trying to outrun them.

  We sped after him. It was a terrifying sight. Fergal tried to keep his mount in control while swatting uselessly at his own personal black cloud. It must have been maddening. The sound of incessant buzzing from those oversized bugs was loud from behind–where Fergal was it must have been deafening.

  The road ahead forked–we needed to go right if we wanted to get to the border of the Fililands, but Fergal in his panic kept going straight. We followed, not daring to shout. Fergal’s breakneck speed was finally working–the swarm was diminishing. The flies couldn’t keep up. When his vision cleared, Fergal slowed to a halt. I was quite impressed by the fact that during the whole ordeal, he had never shouted out. It didn’t make any difference though–they had seen us.

  Fergal and the rest of us were in plain view of a major camp of Banshees. A handful of them were standing around a small fire in front of about fifty tents. They were obviously surprised that the four of us would just gallop into view, but their confusion didn’t last long. One of them let loose a scream and, not unlike the flies, the camp suddenly came alive. Hundreds of black-haired Banshees poured out of their tents. All of them armed, many with bows.

  ‘I’m not an expert or anything,’ I said as calmly as I could, ‘but I think we should–get the hell out of here.’

  ‘Good plan,’ Fergal said, and we took off like four mice in a cathouse.

  Luckily they were on foot, or we would have been dead meat. As it was, they covered a lot of ground for guys that had just gotten out of bed. We pulled ahead of them, but not as much as I would have liked–these guys were quick as well as handy with the old bows and arrows. I have never been shot at with a gun but I think I would prefer it to being the target of an archer. This was the third time this week someone had fired an arrow at me and I knew it was going to produce nightmares. At least with a gun you can’t see the bullet come at you–arrows you see all the way until they either hit you or miss. It only takes a second but it’s the most frightening second in your life. The other problem is that the relief you feel when one misses you is short-lived, because there are usually more arrows following. After seeing three shafts over my shoulder just narrowly miss me as I galloped at full speed, I turned my attention straight ahead and waited for one to plant itself in my back.

  We got to the fork where Fergal had taken the wrong route, and went left. The Banshees were out of bow range and falling behind but we could see that they were not giving up. They let loose an ominous yell when we took the left fork.

  Essa slowed down. ‘This path seems to be going in the right direction. If we can get into the Fililands, we can lose them in the forest.’

  ‘If?’ I said. ‘Can we get a bit more positive here?’

  ‘I can’t be sure that there is no blackthorn fence bordering the Reedlands,’ she said, ‘it’s just a guess.’

  ‘At the moment it’s very important that you are right.’

  Our pursuers were out of sight but we could still hear them scream periodically. On either side of the path was a deep, foul-smelling swamp–there was no turning off this road. If the path ended in blackthorns–we were done for. I remembered the Banshees’ yell when we took this route and wondered if they knew something that we didn’t. We rode in silence, straining our eyes and trying not to let the others see how scared we were.

  We rounded a hill and saw it. The path led straight into–a wall of blackthorns.

  ‘This is not a good thing,’ I said.

  Araf and Essa sped ahead, Fergal and I followed.

  ‘You won’t be too bad with that snap spell protecting you,’ Fergal said.

  ‘It only works with relatives,’ I said, without thinking.

  ‘What?’

  Me and my big mouth–ah, what the hell, we’d probably be dead soon anyway. ‘My mother told me that my protective spell only works with relatives. So, Fergal, I guess that means you and I are related somehow. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before but I wanted to talk to my parents about it.’

  ‘So you and I are blood relatives?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Like cousins?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I never had a cousin,’ he said.

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘I’d like it, Conor, if you really were my cousin,’ he said, flashing me one of his famous Fergal smiles.

  ‘Me too.’

  The closer we got, the worse it looked. These thorns were more menacing that the ones bordering the Hazellands. Araf and Essa had dismounted by the time we caught up.

  ‘This is not a good thing,’ I repeated.

  ‘There are only two options,’ Araf said. ‘We try to make it through the swamp or we stand and fight.’

  Fergal got down and went to the edge of the path. It was definitely not a pretty swamp. The water was black, and choked with unhealthy-looking white roots and reeds, pale imitations of real vegetation. Fergal took a rope out of his pack, tied it around his waist and handed the other end to me.

  ‘This is not a good thing,’ he said and smiled.

  ‘I’ll keep a good hold on this end–cousin.’

  He didn’t hesitate, he just jumped right in. I thought it was the bravest thing I had ever seen. I had an instant vision of him disappearing under the black ooze and never being seen again, but the water only came up to his waist. The stench that wafted up from the disturbed water almost made me retch–how Fergal didn’t lose his lunch I will never know.

  ‘The footing on the bottom seems pretty solid,’ he shouted. ‘If you can stand the smell I think it might work.’

  So my choice was: fight to almost certain death, or go in there. It smelt so bad I was still leaning towards stand and fight when my mind was made up for me. All of the vines and roots in the water were converging on Fergal.

  ‘Fergal, get out!’ I yelled.

  I didn’t have to ask him twice, I think he could sense that something was wrong. He got to the bank before the vegetation took hold. The vines that had been creeping up on him seemed to realise that he was trying to escape. They wrapped around him with the speed of a striking snake. He was dragged back into the water with such force, I was almost pulled from my saddle. Araf and Essa ran to the edge of the
swamp. Fergal went under. I wrapped the rope around the pommel of my saddle and told Acorn to pull. Sometimes Acorn could give me a hard time, but when the chips were down, I had no better friend. Acorn pulled and Fergal broke the surface with his Banshee blade in hand. He hacked and scrambled onto the road, spluttering, sore and stinky—but unharmed. I jumped off Acorn.

  ‘Are you alright?’

  He nodded, trying to get back his breath.

  ‘I thought I lost you there,’ I said and hugged him. Boy, did he stink.

  Araf and Essa started digging a shallow gutter. For a moment I wondered if it was our graves. They ripped buttons off their clothes and threw them into the trench.

  ‘Do either of you have any gold?’ Essa asked.

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘my mother gave me an amulet but I used it.’

  ‘I have some,’ Fergal said, getting to his feet.

  He took off his shirt and removed the gold wire that held his Banshee blade in place and handed it to Essa. Her eyes lit up.

  ‘Perfect!’ she exclaimed, and kissed Fergal on the cheek. From the look on her face you could tell that she instantly regretted it. Other than not dying, getting Fergal into a bath was our top priority.

  Essa and Araf stretched the gold wire along the trench along with the gold buttons. Essa dropped to one knee and incanted a spell that caused the gold to glow and then hum. She stood up, sighed and then she and Araf covered the gold over with earth.

  ‘This should take care of the arrows for a time,’ she said.

  ‘And then what?’ I said, and instantly regretted it. We weren’t going to make it through this. ‘There has to be a way through these blackthorns,’ I said, drawing my sword.

  Araf was on me in a second. I am always amazed at how fast that Imp can move. He took the sword out of my hand. ‘Don’t,’ he said, ‘you would not last a heartbeat.’