Untitled Novel 3

by Justin Fisher

  “Err, Mum, have we stepped through time or something?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. The pinstripes use this place to keep an eye on your previous life, to make sure the Hidden stay hidden and there’s no unusual activity. We’ve had a tip-off that something’s out there and it’s heading for your old friends. He failed to get to you with his clowns and we think Barba might want to use Gummy and Archie as leverage against you.”

  Ned was devastated. The last time he had seen his friends, he’d used a de-rememberer on them. The device had completely wiped any notion of who he was from either of his old friends’ memories.

  “But they don’t even know who I am?!”

  “No, darling, they don’t – but you remember them.”

  His mum led Ned to his dad’s old bedroom. Like Ned’s room, it was almost completely unchanged, except for the mounting piles of surveillance equipment by the window. There was a telescope pointing through the curtains, and his mum immediately went to it.

  “Where are the pinstripes?” asked Ned, his heart now racing.

  “They went to investigate. We haven’t heard a word since.” She peered through the telescope carefully. “There, across the street – look.”

  Ned looked through the eyepiece. It was firmly focused on a sitting-room window on the other side of Oak Tree Lane. In the room sitting on a sofa were Gummy and Arch, a soft flickering of light playing on their faces, between them a large tub of freshly made popcorn. Mrs Johnston was always good at feeding up her boy, though you’d never know it by looking at him. They were laughing, no doubt at some terrible film. Gummy loved action flicks; the cheesier the better.

  “Movie night,” he mouthed and nearly every part of him wished again that he could be the younger Ned, the one that had lived in this house, had normal friends, eaten popcorn and watched movies. Except that then he wouldn’t have had the two parts of his life now standing beside him.

  “George, open the curtains. They won’t see us in this light,” said Ned’s mum.

  Movie night was always on a Friday and the rest of Oak Tree Lane was completely quiet. Happy families were in their sitting rooms talking, playing or just contentedly watching their favourite shows.

  That was, until they heard the first claw scraping along the lane’s tarmac outside.

  Scrrrr.

  Ned’s skin crawled. “What is that?”

  George peered through the telescope, his enormous eye against its lens.

  Scrrrrrr.

  “Nightmongers,” whispered the ape.

  Scrrrrrrrr.

  “How many?” seethed his mum.

  “Hard to tell in this light. Ten or more, I’d say.”

  “TEN OR—” yelped Ned.

  “Shh! Keep your voice down, darling. I should have waited for Bene and your dad! We’ll never be able to take them alone – oh, good God!”

  “What is it, Mum?! What have you seen?”

  Ned’s mum looked frantically about the room, opening closet doors and searching under the bed.

  “I forgot to bring any blasted weapons – tell me your dad kept a stash in here, somewhere, anywhere!”

  “I don’t know!” said Ned. “I had no idea we even needed them back then.”

  He looked through the telescope and his blood froze. Walking very slowly down the centre of the road and all along the kerb were more nightmongers than he’d ever seen. And he could make out others perched in the branches of the trees, each and every one with claws made for slicing. There weren’t ten or more, but at least thirty!

  “There’s nothing here. Oh, where is your father?”

  “Why would he have had weapons here?” said Ned, thinking it through. “He’s an Engineer, right? I mean, he could amplify anything he needed.”

  “Oh, Ned! So could you …?” Her voice trailed off.

  George began breathing heavily, nostrils flared, his face pressed to the glass.

  “Ned, old chum. Those boys, their mother … you care for them deeply, don’t you?”

  “Very much.”

  “They’re family to you, aren’t they? Like the circus, like—”

  “Like you, yes, George.”

  “Then they’re family to me. I’ll try and break through, at least warn them. Livvy, take Ned back to the Nest and get some help as quick as you can.”

  “George, stop!” tried Olivia.

  But Ned hardly heard either of their words, even as the ape’s fur ruffled and George prepared to charge downstairs and on to the street.

  “There isn’t time,” mumbled Ned.

  The road was filling and quickly. Ned stared at his two friends, and his throat dried. Mrs Johnston had just walked into the sitting room with another tray loaded with snacks. She’d never let the nightmongers touch either of the boys and they’d kill her for even trying to stop them. Dear Mrs Johnston, she was one of the kindest ladies he knew.

  “It’s not right, it’s not fair …” he said, his voice shaking. “They’ve never done anything to anyone!”

  He couldn’t just stand there. He threw open the window and one of the panes of glass shattered noisily.

  “Ned, what are you doing?” pleaded George, but Ned didn’t hear him.

  “STOP IT! THEY’RE INNOCENT!” he yelled into the night, and as he did so, something in the pit of his stomach began to smoulder, slowly at first, then as fast as lightning, it shot up from his belly and into his chest and arms, till it found its way to the ring at Ned’s finger.

  Ned held his hand up and his Amplification-Engine hummed. Second by second, it grew in force till his whole hand and then body trembled. The air around him whistled and blew and the road outside the house began to shake and then melt. This wasn’t like Amsterdam, or the taiga or even St Clotilde’s. There was a rage in him now so fine and focused that it coursed through him like a vengeful flame. He wouldn’t and couldn’t take any more.

  “STOP!”

  A surge of air poured out from around him, smashing through the glass of the window and down to the street below, where it knocked a path right through the nightmongers. With a flick of his wrist, another five were flung upwards violently, their twisted moans soaring into the air.

  The remaining Darklings turned as one to look at Ned, then fled as fast as they could, hoping to escape before Ned fired his ring again. Their hopes were not granted. The tarmac from one end of the street to the next erupted, splintering to metal and ice in a violent, crashing wave. The nightmongers were crushed and frozen where they ran.

  Next Ned turned his attention to the Johnstons’ home. He blinked and a hundred corkscrewing blades were formed on the road outside, hovering and waiting to fly; he nodded and they were hurled at the creatures on the roof and in the treetops. Six more stood frozen in terror by the front door and living-room French windows, their faces pictures of stretched and leathery fear. They bolted, Ned letting them run for a moment, clambering over their fallen comrades.

  “Stop,” he whispered, then parted his arms and brought them together again in front of him. As he did so, parked cars on either side of the fleeing nightmongers flew towards each other like magnets, violently crushing the remaining creatures between them. Ned had never known such control, such complete and focused power. He raised his arm again.

  “Stop!” But this time the voice was not his own.

  Standing next to him was Lucy Beaumont. Behind her were Benissimo, Ned’s dad and Mr Fox. They were all smiling.

  “I would say that puts you squarely back in the game, son!” grinned his dad, before flicking on the light switch.

  “Well done, darling. I’m so sorry we had to put you through that.”

  “What’s going on?” said Ned, looking at them.

  He glanced back to the world outside the window and, as he did so, Lucy closed her eyes, just for a second, and all the fallen nightmongers shimmered and were gone.

  “You tricked me!” Ned stood there in furious disbelief.

  Lucy had used her powers as a Far
seer to make him believe his friends were under attack. But the whole thing had been in his mind, except of course for what he’d done to the street. The road was still ruined, cars broken, their alarms mewling weakly, and from the water gushing up at the far end of the road Ned was fairly certain that he’d burst a major water pipe.

  “What …?”

  Lucy looked at him apologetically. “It was my idea, Ned.”

  “But why?”

  “It was what you said the other night in your room … about how maybe you and your dad deserved to die in training for bringing back the Darkening King. That’s when I finally understood why your powers only worked sometimes – why it worked to save me and George, but not yourself or your father. Because they only work to save innocents, and part of you thinks you and your father – the powers you share – are responsible for bringing back the Darkening King in the first place.”

  “Well, we are!” shouted Ned.

  “We’re not, son,” said his dad. “We did what we had to do. And we harmed him. He would have already risen by now if we hadn’t. We’ve got to finish the job we started, son, for everyone’s sake.”

  Lucy went over to Ned and took his hand. “We’re all innocent, Ned – not just your josser friends. We’re all fighting the Darkness, and what you thought you saw just now is only a taste of what will happen to everyone if we don’t win this fight. You know I’m right.”

  “I don’t know, I …” Ned was at a loss for words.

  “You have to believe me or your powers won’t work,” said Lucy, looking into his eyes. “It’s the guilt that’s holding you back, Ned.”

  Ned sighed and looked out of the window at the street that only moments ago had been teeming with nightmongers.

  “Now, want to try again?” asked Lucy.

  Ned looked back at her in shock. Half the street had already been destroyed and his old neighbours would be utterly bewildered once they stepped outside and saw all the damage.

  But Lucy was smiling, broad and bright, and he couldn’t help but join her.

  “Go on then.”

  His friend closed her eyes as Ned turned to the window once more. A moment later, a huge nightmonger appeared, climbing up a nearby tree, heading towards their window. Ned raised his ring hand and with just the smallest notion it fired, a burst of energy shot out of his Engine and the beast was turned to fire then ash, all in less than a second. It was a gruesome spectacle but had proved beyond doubt what they were all anxious to know.

  “I think it’s safe to say you’re cured!” said Lucy.

  The room erupted, Ned’s parents hugging each other, the Ringmaster and Mr Fox slapping each other on the back, before they all crowded round Ned.

  “Well, you had me going, Lucy!” said a bemused but beaming George.

  “Hang on, you mean you weren’t in on it?” asked Ned.

  “Absolutely not, old bean,” said the ape. “You know full well I would’ve tried to stop them if I’d known.”

  “Which is exactly why we didn’t tell you!” said Olivia Armstrong, throwing a fake punch at George, who fake-growled back at her.

  They were interrupted by a loud shout coming up from the street. The room grew quiet, and they went over together to peer out of the window.

  Faces were pressed up against every living-room window on the street, and the Johnstons’ door had been flung open. Mrs Johnston was standing in the middle of the road brandishing a large wooden rolling pin and staring up at their window.

  “I’ve called the police and they’re on their way! If I were you, I’d clear off immediately.”

  “Don’t worry, Ned,” whispered Mr Fox. “The BBB will have this cleared up in a jiffy.”

  Mrs Johnston blinked up at the window – was that the face of a giant gorilla staring back at her expectantly?

  George waved down at her.

  “What on earth …?” she said, then did the only sensible thing she could, and fainted.

  Lucy couldn’t help but laugh and Ned found a smile forming on his lips.

  “Lucy Beaumont, I cannot believe you tricked me!”

  “You’re welcome,” grinned Lucy. “It’s good to have you back, Ned.”

  Ready?

  efore returning to the Nest with the others, Ned asked if he could have a minute alone. His parents hadn’t been happy about leaving him there, but he’d been quite adamant – the Hidden and its world of shadows could wait. Ned wanted a moment in the real world, or at least the world he’d left behind.

  Half the street was outside now, along with the fire brigade, an ambulance crew and a local news team. There were expressions of shock and excitement on all his old neighbours’ faces. Their road had been torn to shreds, a water pipe burst and apparently Mrs Johnston, who was being fanned by Mr Johnston, had seen a giant ape and a group of weirdos in the old empty house opposite. It didn’t matter – Ned would be long gone before anyone came over to investigate.

  Children often see adventure where adults see distress. A toddler four doors down was playing in the new “fountain” made by the burst pipe, and another one was trying to build a snowman from a block of ice that had turned to slush. No one, however, could have been more excited than Gummy and Arch. Their faces lit up as they examined the wreckage of their street. There would be at least a dozen conspiracy theories from each of them before the night was out and not a single one would come anywhere near the truth because they didn’t even know who Ned was any more – he’d seen to that months ago.

  Ned looked down at his ring and allowed himself a small smile – just by his finger, a globe of liquid glass hovered in the air changing shape playfully, and all at his command. It felt good to be “back”, as Lucy had put it, and he’d enjoy the feeling while it lasted.

  “You ready, Gorrn?”

  The floor rippled oozily. “Arr.”

  “Me too.”

  The Forest Darkens

  ial and Aman had hunted in this part of the forest for their whole lives. Their father and father’s father had proudly watched its borders and until recently so had the young bucks. They were not yet full stag-men, but their numbers were dwindling and food was scarce. Everyone had to hunt.

  Ahead Aman stopped, stooping low to the ground on his haunches, hand closed to a fist – “stop”.

  Tial notched an arrow to his bow and sniffed at the air. He knew every pine tree by the river, every oak and yew. They had, until the metal ones came, always spoken to him, not in words but in their own way, through the rustling of their leaves and the yawn of their bark.

  Aman flattened his hand again, like a sheet to the ground – “slow”.

  They moved side by side, deeper into the forest and away from the river.

  “What did you see?” whispered Tial.

  “Not see, brother. Smell.”

  Tial drew in through his nostrils again. Nothing. Aman was always more heightened in his senses, though Tial faster of hoof and bow. The herd had once been powerful shamans, humans that took the form of their animals so they could run with them in the forests and green places of the world. They had forgotten how to change themselves back long ago, but magic still coursed through their veins.

  “Magic?”

  Aman shook his head.

  “Different.”

  Tial stopped by a yew tree, pushing the fingers of his still human hand into the earth by its roots. Cold and soft – too soft. It had started not long after the metal ones had come, not long after the fortress had been built in the heart of their forest. That land was protected by the wolf-pack and the weirs had grown more bold because of it. A sickness was spreading and even the herd’s old magic could not hold it. Tial took the tip of his arrow and stabbed it into the yew tree’s bark. Black sap seeped from the wound, pouring like rotten blood down the shaft of the arrow. A smell of iron and sulphur filled the air.

  “Sickness. The sickness has spread even to here, brother!”

  Ahead, something moved amongst the gloom of the trees. Not a
weir or Darkling, but something else. The brothers stood now, ready for fight or flight. Their father had taught them well – always watch and listen. Too big or too many a beast and you must run – these days there was only running. Wordlessly, Tial and Aman paced backwards, but the gloom had started to thicken, to grow darker. Tial looked to the yew tree. From the small hole his arrowhead had made and from the ground where its roots tried to feed, a blackness started to grow. Oily and slick, reeking now of sulphur, the sickness flowed, till the tree in its entirety became an oozing, tarry mess of decay and illness. They had seen it before, where the wolf-pack roamed, but never so quick or sudden.

  “Run!” spat Aman from deep in his chest.

  And the two brothers flew, breaking now at a gallop of hoof on ground. Behind them the forest roared, with its darkening leaves and branches. It was the roar of a dying thing, a thing that is becoming something else. Over boulders, then crashing through the waters, the two brothers sped, behind them a rushing wall of black and angry branches. Vines had come alive and snared at their legs, with great thorns gouging at their skin.

  “Tial!” shouted Aman.

  And as Tial turned, he saw that his brother had been struck by a flailing branch. His arms and ribs were broken, the strength knocked from his chest. All around him, knotted roots laden with thorns the size of daggers grew up from the ground.

  “Aman!” Tial leapt to his brother, drawing his flint knife from his side. He struck at the roots, again and again, till their thorns broke his skin and bruised the bones of his fingers.

  “Get away, go to the mountain. Warn them – we’ve lost the forest …” cried Aman.