by Colin Forest
“We don’t think we are dealing with just a giant. He has too much power,” said the Ringmaster.
“Then what is he?” asked Eleanor.
“More than a mere mortal,” replied Christophe.
“A god?”
“Possibly, though it’s more likely that he’s just a demigod.”
“Just a demigod?” laughed Eleanor. “How easy do you think it is to defeat just a demigod? We can do nothing. It would take Lord Necronis himself to defeat the giant. Luckily, that should not be a problem for us here.”
“Do you expect that he will come?” asked Christophe.
“Of course he will. Aren’t we the most favoured of his disciples? You declared that your faith was much stronger than mine, Arcanus. He WILL come, and he WILL protect us.” Her eyes shone with her fervour. The Ringmaster settled back and sipped his cup of tea. He did not need to read her mind to feel the strength of her beliefs radiating from her.
What is it that inspires such depth of belief, such depth of feeling? he thought. He studied her more closely. On the surface, she was pretty, but her prettiness was bland. It was her passion and her intelligence which commanded attention: they burst with life in her eyes and in her speech. He thought that if Eleanor were a man, she would make a very commanding member of the clergy.
Felina could smell the soil and the leaves. It was cold here, so that she did not bother retracting her fur. She knew that she and Suresh were now far north from the circus, in a forest of spruce trees. In the blink of an eye, they had travelled across vast distances. She had suffered no injury from the giant’s attack on the circus. When they took her, she had expected the worst. But to her surprise, the giant had been nothing but polite. The man who accompanied the giant, although having an air of nervousness about him, had left her alone. He had spent most of his time reading the book he carried with him. When they arrived, she did not bother to try to escape, not wanting to leave Suresh’s side as he slept. Tumblety’s medicine had worked to a certain extent, for she had felt Suresh’s distress easing. However, it was still not strong enough to heal Suresh with the speed she had expected it to.
In the time she had spent in the forest, she had found herself most attracted to and disturbed by the cat. Being feline, she knew that it understood her, just as Suresh understood her. But it did not respond to any of her attempts at communication. There were times, however, when she thought that it looked at her with a deeper intelligence than that of an ordinary cat, that it looked at her in a way that a person would look at a horse or an ox: a look which gauged the value of a possession. When she peered into its eyes, she found them expressive but impenetrable.
It was now twilight. She could see the sky to the far north and west still bore the yellow vestiges of day. The giant, the man and the cat had disappeared again. A flutter of Suresh’s eyelids lifted her spirits.
“Oh, Suresh, you are awake.” She stroked the fur along his back and nuzzled his neck. He lifted his right forepaw and middle paw as if in play. His movements were still weak, but Felina was glad that his condition had improved.
“Stay here,” she said. “I’ll see if I can get you something to eat.”
She bounded off into the rich, verdant undergrowth but she did not get far. A tangle of ivy creepers slithered across the forest floor to bar her way. They moved with impossible speed: in a space of heartbeats, a barrier was formed. Even as she slashed at them, they replenished themselves before her eyes, seeming to grow out of nowhere. From behind, more vines wrapped themselves around her and pulled her back. She growled, pulling them off and shredding them. The forest air was filled with the sound of her rage. A badger, which had come out scurried off to find a hiding place.
Felina retreated; and the wall of ivy, which had become so interwoven that they blocked out the light, untangled themselves and the forest returned to its seemingly harmless appearance. She looked about her. The area was thick with the trunks of spruce trees. With a leap, she latched on to the trunk of the nearest tree. Her claws dug deep into the bark, and bits flaked to the ground. Up she scaled, grabbing hold of and stepping on top of branches. About halfway up the tree, she bounded to a neighbouring tree which stood about where she was when the vines appeared.
The sound of disturbed leaves reached her ears. It was like the earth was alive with the slithering of numerous snakes. Looking down, she saw the ivy at the base of the tree. They twirled around and up the trunk, clothing it with their mottled foliage. Felina bounded to the next tree. It shook when she landed against it. For a brief second, she lost her hold and slipped down its side. She planted her claws deep into the wood. Indented lines of lighter coloured wood trailed her fingers down the trunk. Splinters bit into her flesh. She screamed. Risking a look back, she saw that the ivy did not relent. They followed her in pursuit. The trunks of other trees were also now seething with ivy. But Felina did not give in. She pulled herself up, branch by branch until she neared the top where the trunk wobbled under her weight. In the distance, she could see a small bit of open land on which stood a cottage. A very faint smell of dead flesh reached her nostrils. All around, the ivy climbed in competition with her. To an owl which flew overhead, Felina looked like a lone patch of fur surrounded by pillars of ivy, all writhing in the twilight sky.
A roar resounded.
“Suresh!”
Felina made her way down as fast as she could. She did not care what she trampled on as she ran back to Suresh. Her whiskers quivered from the snarl of her lips as she launched herself onto the tangle of ivy which harassed Suresh, hacking at them with all her might. Only when she returned to his side did the ivy draw back. Just like before, they disappeared; a façade of ordinariness returned to the spruce forest, though Felina knew that the vines would return if she were to leave Suresh’s side.
“We are trapped,” she sighed.
Suresh drew in close and licked the wounds Felina suffered on her hands. She melted into his fur, and they huddled so, bracing against the cold of the coming night.
Christophe and Eleanor followed the Ringmaster’s line of sight to the window, to the sound of Delilah’s and Octavius’s nudging against the glass. The insistent rapping piqued their curiosity, and they crossed the room to stand before it. Outside, the brightness had disappeared. A layer of cloud had drifted across the sun. Christophe left the room, to be followed by Eleanor and the Ringmaster. He rushed to the front door, and when he opened it, Octavius very nearly rammed through the door frame. He had to push Octavius outside, who fought him all the way. Octavius’s eight eyes darted about with alarming frenzy. On the field, Delilah stamped her feet agitatedly and let escape a nervous neigh.
“They find this change of weather disturbing,” he announced.
“Lord Necronis,” Eleanor muttered under her breath.
“None of us summoned him,” said the Ringmaster. “Why would he come?”
“What does it matter,” said Eleanor. “He’s coming.”
“But why would he come here, unless – ”
A deeper shadow passed over them. Fanfer appeared from around the corner of the house. Oswald lingered a few steps behind him, with a new rucksack on his back. He cradled the Spindle Cat in his arms. The cat lay languidly, but its eyes were fixed upon the clouds in the sky.
“What have we here?” asked Fanfer. “The two who got away. And the friend.”
“Giant! Where are Felina and Suresh?” demanded the Ringmaster.
“They are safe. We would not harm them.”
“Then return them. They are of no use to you.”
To his side, Eleanor shouted at the sky. “Lord Necronis! Help us against these murderers and defilers!”
Fanfer took two steps and he was upon them. With his third step, he aimed at the three. Christophe leaped atop Octavius and urged him on, barely escaping Fanfer’s kick. It made impact with the wall of the house; the walls shook and several of the windows cracked. The Ringmaster and Eleanor got inside quickly. A puff of dirt rose into
the air in Octavius’s wake. Delilah trotted on one spot in fear. Her eyes were wide open. She whinnied loudly for the Ringmaster. Through the din, the Ringmaster could hear Gate’s voice wafting down from upstairs.
“What was that? Don’t any of you let this house fall apart around me.”
The walls of the house continued to shake. Bits of plaster and dust fell to the sound of the crystal chandeliers clinking.
“Adam,” said Eleanor. “With your help, we can surely hasten Lord Necronis’s arrival.”
The Ringmaster said nothing.
“Lord Necronis! Come to us. Help us!” she shouted. In addition to her voice, the Ringmaster could hear Gate’s voice, calling Necronis from her empty room. Her voice rose to a crescendo, rivalling Eleanor’s, the booming of the walls, and Fanfer’s roar from outside.
“Adam,” Eleanor said suddenly. “Why aren’t you joining us?” She looked at him with narrowed eyes, and when the Ringmaster still did not answer, pushed him away. “I knew it! You’re a charlatan! You’re with them!”
“The giant isn’t a friend of mine,” he said.
She slapped him. “When Lord Necronis arrives, he will deal with you just as surely as he deals with the giant.” She ran for the stairs. “Lord Necronis! I am your most devoted disciple! Answer my prayer and cleanse this place of your enemies!” As she was halfway up, a golden light filled the room and Fanfer materialised out of the air. He plummeted onto the stairway, breaking the marble banister and cracking the marble steps. Eleanor raised her arms in defence as Fanfer rolled over her. When he came to a stop at the foot of the stairs, the Ringmaster could see Eleanor’s lifeless body crumpled on the stairway. A soft meow called from the top of the stairs where the Spindle Cat perched on top of the banister.
Adam. I have Delilah, Christophe’s voice screamed in the Ringmaster’s head. The Ringmaster saw Christophe through the door frame, atop Octavius with Delilah’s reins in his hands. They rode in circles, swallowed by a billowing cloud of dust.
“Lord Necronis!” shouted Gate.
The windows rattled. A wind had picked up, and the clouds in the sky swirled in an angry pirouette. Vibrations travelled across the floor of the house, born from each of Fanfer’s steps. The Ringmaster ran out the door. He passed Oswald at the threshold, who hung on desperately to his rucksack. With the wind blowing, he took off his hat. He kept one hand on it and the other before his eyes, scanning for signs of Christophe amid the dust shroud.
Arcanus! he screamed in his mind. Through the sound of his flapping cloak, he heard Delilah and Octavius. They appeared out of the haze like ghosts. Christophe stopped before him and handed over Delilah’s reins.
“Eleanor is dead,” he said. And without another word, he mounted and gave Delilah’s flanks a slight kick. Delilah reared on her hind legs and dashed off. Octavius followed. They flew out of the vicinity of the Lonely House without looking back, plunging into the red haze.
Can you get us back? the Ringmaster sent his thoughts to Christophe.
Not in these conditions. We have to get out of this dust storm.
In front of them, the spiralling clouds funnelled down from the sky. The wind grew until its sound was all they could hear. They guided their mounts as best they could in their half-blind state. Dust and sand particles scoured their skin and flew about their faces. Christophe blinked furiously, hoping his tears would wash away some of the dust which entered his eyes. Octavius did not fare any better with his eight eyes. His temper soured under those conditions. Still, Christophe pressed on. The slightly darker red of Delilah’s form in front of him gave him some relief that at the very least, he was not separated from the Ringmaster.
Delilah suddenly neighed. It was then that Christophe realised that the wind had died. The world around them was still shrouded in red dust but it was eerily quiet. Octavius came to a halt. In that half-light, a dark form appeared in front of them. It was an indistinct splotch, looming menacingly above them. It moved ponderously, lumbering across the landscape, each of its footsteps giving birth to slight tremors. As the dust settled, another dark form appeared just to the side of them. Christophe’s heart sank when he realised it was the Lonely House, and that they had not escaped its surrounds at all. All that time, they had been moving in circles.
The Spindle Cat loped from the banister to the steps, over Eleanor’s body and past Oswald, who sheltered near the door to the drawing room. Fanfer hunched in the anteroom, looking out the front door at the approaching figure. With a push of his arms, he knocked his way through the door frame and a part of the wall. He took a couple of steps into the open; and the cat bounded onto his back and scampered up to lie on his shoulder. Fanfer cocked his head to one side and the cat sidled against it. From his position of safety, Oswald saw that the Spindle Cat had its ears pulled back – something he had not seen before.
Drawing up courage from somewhere deep within him, Oswald crept forward to the ruined doorway. The figure approaching out of the haze was much bigger than Fanfer. The low booming of his thunderous steps caused Oswald to feel great disquiet. Fanfer was silent as well. Oswald noticed Fanfer clenching and unclenching his hands a few times. He looked ahead, and pulled the straps of the rucksack close to his breastbone.
“You have trespassed for the last time, cat,” a voice boomed.
The figure emerged out of the veil of dust. He was a giant, like Fanfer, but where Fanfer’s skin was golden, the newcomer’s was a glassy black. It looked almost like living obsidian.
“Necronis,” gasped Oswald.
Chapter 8: Blood of a God
Necronis’s eyes burned with hatred at the sight of Fanfer, the Spindle Cat and Oswald.
“I am glad you remember who I am,” declared Necronis, “though your greeting lacked proper humility.”
Oswald stared awestruck at Necronis. This was not how he appeared the last time Oswald came to the Lonely House. It was also not how he was illustrated in the Noble Grimoire. But whatever form he wore, there was one feature which Oswald recognised: his frightful eyes. Oswald felt a need to prostrate himself but he held firm. He told himself that if need be Fanfer and the cat would be able to take them all back to the cottage and Necronis would not be able to follow. With that thought, his mind wandered to the two captives from the circus. He wondered if they would be able to escape the sentinels set to guard them.
Necronis took a few more steps and within seconds, he stood before Fanfer. The Spindle Cat hissed at him. Without warning, he charged at Fanfer and brought him to ground. The earth shook. Dust billowed up into the air. Necronis put his hands around Fanfer’s throat and squeezed. The Spindle Cat hopped into the air and moved its legs as if it ran on one spot; it was a sight Oswald had seen before when it conjured up food for him at their first meeting and also when the sentinels were set in the spruce forest. A spire of jagged rock shot up from the earth, puncturing Necronis’s torso. Necronis’s scream filled the air. Fanfer pulled Necronis’s arms away from his neck and pushed him off, where he was lifted aloft by the rock which continued to grow. Fanfer got to his feet. The wounds he suffered when he fell healed themselves.
“Oswald, get to safety,” said Fanfer. “I do not know if I can protect you.”
Oswald needed no more encouragement. He quickly ran inside and up the stairs, hopping over rubble along his way. He jumped over Eleanor’s body and raced into the empty room where Gate stared at him with barely concealed contempt.
“Gate,” he commanded, “eat me.”
Nothing happened.
“Eat me,” he repeated, but Gate’s mouth remained shut. “Gate, that’s the password. Do your duty.”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“You have no right to bar me!” Oswald scolded.
“I have every right. You’re a traitor. You forget: it is by Lord Necronis’s hand that I exist. I may have been commanded to allow his disciples passage to England and I may at times bend the rules, but I’m not so disloyal as to allow YOU passage to Engla
nd.”
Christophe and the Ringmaster watched as the jagged rock harpooned Necronis and carried him into the air. A few moments later, they heard a crack as the pointed end of the rock crumbled. Necronis fell to the earth, and the force of the impact brought a layer of dust into the air. Necronis emerged out of the small crater created from his fall. Fanfer leaped on top of him and the two of them tussled in the bowl of broken earth. The Spindle Cat hopped on top of the lip of the crater. Every once in a while, it danced and new spikes, spires and spears grew out of the earth to assail Necronis.
“Arcanus, we better go. We’ve overstayed,” said the Ringmaster.
“Agreed.”
As the word escaped his lips, he saw Fanfer’s body hurtling out of the crater. It crashed against the Lonely House, causing a large part of the upper storey wall to collapse.
Oswald cowered when the wall by his side and part of the floor collapsed. The room next door was completely obliterated. From his vantage point, he could see the sky and a small crater punched into the earth; and he could see Necronis climbing out of it. He tiptoed to the edge and peered over the gap. Fanfer lay on the floor below, cut and bleeding. A deep gash ran across his left chest, just above his nipple. Oswald also noticed the small and insignificant mounted forms of the Ringmaster and Christophe: spectators to the fight.
“Lord Necronis is coming for you, Oswald,” laughed Gate. “He’s unforgiving. Perhaps you should end it all, before he gets his hands on you. You could jump, or maybe … fall on a piece of splintered timber.”
“Shut up!”
Gate laughed some more.
The building shook with every of Necronis’s steps. Already unstable from the damage, it quavered unsteadily beneath Oswald’s feet. He sidled until his back was against the wall, facing Gate. He edged along the wall, moving inch by inch towards the door.
