Nicholas Flamel 2 - The Magician sotinf-2

by Michael Scott

  to finish this.

  The fallen Valkyrie climbed to her feet in front of Sophie. The front of her

  chain mail had taken the full force of the fire bolt, and the links had

  melted and run like softened wax. The warrior grabbed a handful of the mail

  and ripped it away from her body, flinging it aside. The plain white robe

  underneath was scorched and blackened, with sparkling chunks of metal melted

  into the cloth. Little girl, the Disir whispered, I am going to teach you

  never to play with fire.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  N idhogg s sticky tongue unfurled through the air toward Scathach, who was

  still pinned against the kitchen wall, wrapped tightly in the creature s

  claws. The Warrior fought in complete silence, struggling in the monster s

  grip, wrenching herself from side to side, boot heels scrambling for purchase

  on the slippery tiled floor. With her arms pinned to her sides, she was

  unable to use her short swords.

  Josh knew that if he even paused for thought, he was not going to be able to

  go through with what he meant to do. The smell of the creature was making him

  sick to his stomach, and his heart was thumping so hard he could barely catch

  his breath.

  The forked tongue brushed across the table, leaving a deep burn mark on the

  wood. It punched right through a wooden chair as it headed straight for the

  Warrior s head.

  All he had to do, Josh kept reminding himself, was to think of his sword as a

  football. Holding Clarent high above his head in the two-handed grip Joan had

  shown him earlier, he launched himself forward in a move that the coach at

  his last school had spent an entire season trying and failing to teach him.

  But even as he was jumping, he knew he d miscalculated. The tongue was moving

  too fast, and he was too far away. With a last desperate effort, he flung the

  sword from his hand.

  The flat of the blade struck the side of Nidhogg s meaty tongue. And stuck

  fast.

  Years of tae kwon do training took over as Josh crashed onto the tiled floor.

  He hit it hard but still managed to slap it with the palm of his hand,

  sending his body forward into a neat roll that brought him back to his

  feet within inches of the meaty acid-dripping tongue. And the sword.

  Catching hold of the hilt, he used all his strength to pull it away from the

  tongue it came free with a sticky Velcro sound, and the tongue sizzled and

  hissed as it snapped back into the monster s mouth. Josh knew that if he

  stopped, both he and Scatty were dead. He plunged Clarent point first into

  the serpent s arm just above the wrist joint. As the blade sank smoothly into

  the alligator-like hide, it began to vibrate, a high-pitched keening sound

  that set Josh s teeth on edge. He felt a rush of warmth flowing up his arm

  and into his chest. A heartbeat later, a surge of strength and energy wiped

  away his aches and pains. His aura blossomed bright blinding gold, and there

  was a tracery of light curling around the gray stone blade when he wrenched

  it out of the creature.

  The claws, Josh. Cut off a claw, Scathach grunted as Nidhogg shook her

  hard. The two swords fell from her hands and clattered to the floor.

  Josh lashed out at the monster, trying to cut off a claw, but the heavy stone

  blade turned at the last moment and bounced harmlessly off its foot. He tried

  again, and this time the sword struck sparks off the creature s armored hide.

  Hey! Be careful, Scathach yelped as the swinging blade came dangerously

  close to her head. That s one of the few weapons that really can kill me.

  Sorry, Josh muttered through clenched teeth. I ve never done anything like

  this before. He slashed out at the claw again. Sparks flew into the

  Warrior s face. Why do we want a claw? he grunted, hacking at the iron-hard

  skin.

  It can only be killed with one of its own claws, Scathach said, her voice

  surprisingly calm. Look out! Get back!

  Josh turned just as the thing s huge head lunged forward, pushing into the

  side of the ruined house, its white tongue darting forward again. It was

  coming for him. It was moving too fast; there was nowhere to go and if he did

  move, it would just hit Scatty. Planting his feet firmly, both hands wrapped

  tightly around Clarent s hilt, he held the sword before his face. He closed

  his eyes at the approaching horror and immediately opened them again. If he

  was going to die, he d do it with his eyes open.

  It was like playing a video game, he thought except that this game was

  deadly. Almost in slow motion, he saw the two ends of the forked tongue wrap

  around the blade as if it was going to wrench it from Josh s hand. He

  tightened his grip, determined not to let the sword go.

  When the flesh of the creature s tongue touched the stone blade, the effect

  was immediate.

  The creature froze, then convulsed and hissed, the sound like escaping steam.

  The acid from its tongue bubbled on the blade as the sword trembled in Josh s

  hand, vibrating like a tuning fork, growing warm, then hot, and started to

  glow with a stark white light. He squeezed his eyes shut

  and behind his closed eyes, Josh glimpsed a series of flickering images: a

  blasted and ruined landscape of black rock, pockmarked with pools of bubbling

  red lava, while overhead, the sky boiled with filthy clouds that rained ash

  and cinders. Spread across the sky, dangling from the clouds, were what

  looked like the roots of a huge tree. The roots were the source of the bitter

  white ash: they were dissolving, withering, dying .

  Nidhogg jerked its blackened tongue free.

  Josh gasped and opened his eyes just as his aura flared again,

  stronger brighter this time, blinding him. Panicked, waving the sword before

  him, he backed up until he felt the kitchen wall against his shoulder blades.

  He kept blinking furiously, wanting to rub his eyes, but he didn't dare

  loosen his grip on the sword. All around him, he heard stones fall, plaster

  split, wood creak and snap, and he hunched his shoulders, expecting something

  to come crashing down on his head. Scatty? he called.

  But there was no reply.

  His voice rose. Scatty!

  Squinting hard, blinking away the spots dancing before his eyes, he saw the

  monster dragging Scathach out of the house. Its tongue, now black and brown,

  was hanging loosely out of the side of its mouth. Holding the Warrior in a

  crushing grip, it turned on its own length and pushed through the devastated

  garden, its long tail slicing chunks out of the side of the house, smashing

  through the only unbroken window. Then the creature rose up on its two hind

  legs, like a collared lizard, and clattered down the alleyway, almost

  trampling underfoot the figure in white chain-mail armor standing guard.

  Without hesitation the figure disappeared after the creature.

  Josh stumbled through the gaping hole in the side of the house and stopped.

  He glanced over his shoulder. The once-neat kitchen was a shredded ruin. Then

  he looked at the sword in his hand and smiled. He d stopped the monster. His

  smile widened to a broad grin. He d fought it off and saved his sister and

  everyone else in the
house except Scatty.

  Taking a deep breath, Josh jumped down the steps and raced across the garden

  and out into the alley, following the monster. I can t believe I m doing

  this, he muttered. I don't even like Scatty. Well not that much, he

  amended.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  N iccol Machiavelli had always been a careful man.

  He had survived and even thrived in the dangerous and deadly Medici court in

  Florence in the fifteenth century, a time when intrigue was a way of life and

  violent death and assassination was commonplace. His most famous book, The

  Prince, was one of the first to suggest that the use of subterfuge, lies and

  deceit was perfectly acceptable for a ruler.

  Machiavelli was a survivor because he was subtle, cautious, clever and, above

  all else: cunning.

  So what had possessed him to call upon the Disir? The Valkyries had no word

  for subtle in their language and didn't know the meaning of the word caution.

  Their idea of clever and cunning was to bring Nidhogg an uncontrollable

  primeval monster into the heart of a modern city.

  And he had allowed them.

  Now the street echoed with the sounds of breaking glass, snapping wood and

  tumbling stone. Every car and house alarm in the district was blaring, and

  there were lights on in all the other houses lining the alleyway, though no

  one had ventured out yet.

  What is going on in there? Machiavelli wondered aloud.

  Nidhogg is feasting off Scathach? Dee suggested absently. His cell had

  started to buzz, distracting him.

  No, it s not! Machiavelli suddenly shouted. He pushed open the car door,

  leapt out, grabbed Dee by the collar and dragged him out into the night.

  Dagon! Out!

  Dee attempted to find his feet, but Machiavelli continued to drag him

  backward, away from the car. Are you out of your mind? the doctor shrieked.

  There was a sudden explosion of glass as Dagon threw himself through the

  windshield. He slithered off the hood and landed alongside Machiavelli and

  Dee, but the Magician didn't even glance in his direction. He saw what had

  startled the Italian.

  Nidhogg raced down the narrow alley toward them, standing tall on two

  powerful hind legs. A limp red-haired figure hung from its front claws.

  Back! Machiavelli shouted, flinging himself to the ground, dragging Dee

  with him.

  Nidhogg trampled over the long black German car. One hind paw landed directly

  in the center of the roof, crushing it to the pavement. Windows popped,

  spraying glass like shrapnel as the car buckled in the middle, the front and

  rear wheels lifting off the ground.

  The creature disappeared into the night.

  A heartbeat later, a white-clad Disir practically flew over the remains of

  the car, clearing it in a single leap, following the creature.

  Dagon? Machiavelli whispered, rolling over. Dagon, where are you?

  I m here. The driver came smoothly to his feet, brushing shards of

  sparkling glass from his black suit. He pulled off his cracked sunglasses and

  dropped them on the ground. Rainbow colors ran across round unblinking eyes.

  It was holding Scathach, he said, loosening his black tie and popping open

  the top button of his white shirt.

  Is she dead? Machiavelli asked.

  I ll not believe Scathach is dead until I see it for myself.

  Agreed. Over the years there have been too many reports of her death. And

  then she turns up! We need a body.

  Dee climbed out of a mud-filled puddle; he suspected Machiavelli might have

  deliberately pushed him into it. He shook water from his shoe. If Nidhogg

  has her, then the Shadow is dead. We ve succeeded.

  Dagon s fish eye swiveled down to look into the Magician s face. You

  blinkered, arrogant fool! Something in the house frightened away

  Nidhogg that s why it s running, and it can t be the Shadow because it s got

  her. And remember, this is a creature beyond fear. Three Disir went into that

  building and only one came out! Something terrible happened in there.

  Dagon is right: this is a disaster. We need to completely rethink our

  strategy. Machiavelli turned to his driver. I promised you that if the

  Disir failed, then Scathach was yours.

  Dagon nodded. And you have always kept your word.

  You have been with me now for close to four hundred years. You have always

  been loyal, and I owe you both my life and liberty. I free you from my

  service, Machiavelli said formally. Find the Shadow s body and if she is

  still alive, then do whatever you must do. Go now and be safe, old friend.

  Dagon turned away. Then he stopped suddenly and looked back at Machiavelli.

  What did you call me?

  Machiavelli smiled. Old friend. Be careful, he said gently. The Shadow is

  beyond dangerous, and she s killed too many of my friends.

  Dagon nodded. He pulled off his shoes and socks to reveal three-toed webbed

  feet. Nidhogg will head for the comfort of the river. Abruptly, Dagon s

  tooth-filled mouth opened in what might have been a smile. And the water is

  my home. Then he ran into the night, bare feet slapping the sidewalk.

  Machiavelli glanced back toward the house. Dagon was right; something had

  terrified Nidhogg. What had happened in there? And where were the other two

  Disir?

  Footsteps clattered on pavement and suddenly Josh Newman raced out of the

  alleyway, the stone sword in his hand streaming wisps of gold fire. Glancing

  neither left nor right, he ran around the destroyed car and followed the

  telltale trail of car alarms set off by the monster s passing.

  Machiavelli looked at Dee. I take it that was the American boy?

  Dee nodded.

  Did you see what he was holding? It looked like a sword, he said slowly. A

  stone sword? Surely not Excalibur?

  Not Excalibur, Dee said shortly.

  It was definitely a gray stone blade.

  It wasn't Excalibur.

  How do you know? Machiavelli demanded.

  Dee reached under his coat and pulled out a short stone sword, a match of the

  weapon Josh was carrying. The blade was trembling, vibrating almost

  imperceptibly. Because I have Excalibur, Dee said. The boy was holding its

  twin, Clarent. We always suspected Flamel had it.

  Machiavelli closed his eyes and raised his face to the sky. Clarent. No

  wonder Nidhogg fled from the house. He shook his head. Could this night get

  any worse?

  Dee s cell buzzed again and both men jumped. The Magician almost snapped the

  phone in two opening it. What? he snarled. He listened for a moment, then

  closed the phone very gently, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely

  above a whisper. Perenelle has escaped. She s free on Alcatraz.

  Shaking his head, Machiavelli turned and walked down the alleyway, heading

  back toward the Champs-Elys es. His question was answered. The night had just

  gotten worse much worse. Nicholas Flamel frightened Machiavelli, but

  Perenelle terrified him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  I m no little girl! Sophie Newman was furious. And I know more than just

  Fire magic. Disir. The name popped into her head, and suddenly Sophie knew

  everything the Witch of Endor knew about the creat
ures. The Witch despised

  them. I know who you are, she snapped, her eyes glowing an ugly silver.

  Valkyries.

  Even amongst the Elders, the Disir were different. They had never lived on

  Danu Talis but had kept to the frozen northlands at the top of the world, at

  home in the bitter winds and sleeting ice.

  In the terrible centuries after the Fall of Danu Talis, the world had shifted

  on its axis and the Great Cold had gripped most of the earth. From the north

  and south ice sheets flowed across the landscape, pushing humani into the

  thin unfrozen green belt that existed around the equator. Entire

  civilizations vanished, devastated by changing weather patterns, disease and

  famine. Sea levels rose, flooding the coastal cities, altering the landscape,

  while inland the encroaching ice wiped away all traces of towns and villages.

  The Disir soon discovered that their skills at surviving in the bitter

  northern climate gave them a special advantage over races and civilizations

  who could not cope with the deadly, never-ending winter. Gangs of savage

  female warriors quickly claimed most of the north, enslaving the cities that

  had escaped the ice. They ruthlessly destroyed anyone who stood against them,

  and soon the Disir had a second name: Valkyries, the Choosers of the Dead.

  Very quickly the Valkyries controlled a frozen empire that encompassed most

  of the Northern Hemisphere. They forced their humani slaves to worship them

  as gods and even demanded sacrifices. Uprisings were brutally suppressed. As

  the Ice Age gripped harder, the Disir began to look farther south, setting

  their sights on the struggling remnants of civilization.

  Images tumbling and dancing in her head, Sophie watched as the reign of the

  Disir was ended in a single night. She knew what had happened millennia past.

  The Witch of Endor had worked with the repulsive Elder, Chronos, who could

  move through time itself. It had been necessary to sacrifice her eyes in

  order to see the twisting strands of time, but it was a sacrifice she had

  never regretted. Scouring ten thousand years of time, she had chosen a single

  warrior from each millennium, and then Chronos had dipped into each era to

  pull the warriors back to the age of the Great Cold.

  Sophie knew that the Witch had especially requested that her own