by Cliff McNish
Calen gasped, knowing how long the Witches had sought such a way to lead them to Larpskendya. ‘Can we use this to locate him directly?’ she asked.
‘No, Larpskendya obscures the path back to him. But if we use the link carefully we might be able to use it to draw him to us.’
‘Is Rachel calling for Larpskendya now?’ asked Calen. ‘We would not want him to arrive before we are prepared.’
‘She calls him, of course she does!’ laughed Heebra. ‘Bewildered, confused Rachel – she is frantically sending out her signal. However, Larpskendya hears nothing. I’ve placed about her a damping spell the girl will never find.’
‘When will you release it?’
‘When we have trained enough children. When we are settled and I have decided how to set a trap for Larpskendya. Until then he will get no warnings from Rachel. He will come when we are ready for him.’
Calen nodded. ‘When the time is right do you intend to kill Rachel yourself?’
‘She is hardly worth my attention,’ answered Heebra. ‘I have been thinking about a more interesting way to deal with her.’ She poked a claw at Calen. ‘You set much faith in the youngsters on this world, so I set you this task: find me another child capable of challenging Rachel. Find and train an executioner from her own species. Rachel’s death will be so much more satisfying that way.’
‘I may have already found such a child,’ said Calen brightly. ‘She is unusual in every way. I’ll show her to you soon. A surprise!’
While Calen left to give the other Witches their orders, Heebra drifted for a few minutes longer in the polar winds, opening up her jaws. The spiders within rolled around, delighting in the direct touch of snowflakes.
Heebra dropped to the ground. A nearby polar bear raised its muzzle from the snow, wandered across and licked her feet. Heebra rolled with it playfully, tumbling over and over, careful not to injure the bear’s thin hide with her claws.
Well, she thought; well now, Larpskendya. This world is your worst nightmare, isn’t it? How these children must fill you with dread. I see why you have enslaved their magic, kept this world such a carefully guarded secret. You are afraid, aren’t you? You are afraid because more than any other species these children are like us!
6
The Hairy Fly
Mum scooped porridge oats into Eric’s breakfast bowl.
‘More, please,’ he said.
She crammed on one more dollop. ‘Enough?’
‘A bit more.’
Somehow she balanced two more spoonfuls on top of the porridge mountain.
‘Surely that’s enough …’
‘Just a little bit more.’
Morpeth lounged nearby. ‘It’s already spilling over the plate,’ he muttered. ‘How are you going to eat all that?’
Eric picked up his spoon. ‘I’m growing. I need this food, unlike some with the appetite’ – he pulled a face at Rachel, sitting opposite – ‘of an ant.’
‘You want it for the prapsies,’ Rachel said matter-of-factly. ‘I’ve seen them slurping from your dish.’ She laughed and sucked in her lips. ‘They get it all over their faces.’
Mum sighed deeply. ‘Eric, is that true?’
‘Er …’
‘No, don’t tell me,’ Mum said. ‘I’d rather not know …’ She picked up her handbag and a light coat. ‘I’m popping out for about an hour – the mobile’s on if you need me.’ She stared at Eric. ‘There had better not be any porridge in unusual places in my kitchen when I get back. Understood?’ Eric nodded and she left the house.
A few minutes later Rachel noticed a commotion by the kitchen window.
‘What’s bothering the boys?’ she asked.
Both prapsies were jabbering wildly, flying in tight spirals, too excited to speak. When everyone rushed over one finally found its voice.
‘A big shaggy marvel!’ it cried, peering through the lace curtains.
‘A flying yowler!’ the other said.
‘Rubbish! A hairy fly!’
Eric blinked at the sun. ‘Blimey.’
High in the pure blue sky, flying over the rooftops, a black shape turned smooth circles. ‘Looks like a dog,’ Eric said. ‘That’s ridiculous. It must be a kite.’
‘No strings,’ Morpeth said. ‘And it’s barking!’
‘A Labrador,’ whispered Rachel.
Eric nudged her. ‘What’s going on? Are you doing this?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Then who is?’
The Labrador was suspended in mid-air over the centre of a playing field. It lay on its back, big paws paddling the sky. Then it yelped, spun around, and shot straight upwards. Some boys, kicking a football around the field, didn’t know whether to watch or run.
‘Flipping heck,’ Eric said. ‘It’s controlled by a spell. Magic, Rachel!’
She nodded, trembling slightly, trying to pinpoint the source, and calling to mind the defensive spells she had practised over the past couple of weeks.
The prapsies panted in Eric’s ears.
‘I could destroy the spell if you want,’ he said.
‘No,’ Rachel answered. ‘The dog’s too high up. We’d injure it.’
‘Why not use your own magic, Rach?’
‘Not yet,’ warned Morpeth. ‘Don’t reveal yourself until we understand what we’re up against. Let’s get to the field.’
They raced out of the house. The prapsies squeezed past Eric’s shoulder before he could shut the door.
‘Hey, come back, boys!’ he called. ‘You’re not allowed out!’
The prapsies flew jubilantly over the houses and soon caught the dog. Chatting excitedly, they copied its stormy movements across the sky.
‘Hey, come back!’ one prapsy wailed into the Labrador’s ear.
‘Naughty dog!’ the other cried. ‘Quiet down, you shaggy wonder!’
Rachel led the way up the steeply rising streets towards the field. As they approached, the dog’s body started making new patterns in the air – long rhythmical shapes – a mixture of loops and straight lines.
Eric struggled to keep up with Rachel’s long strides. ‘It’s flipping possessed!’
‘No,’ said Morpeth, tracing the dog’s movements. ‘It’s a name.’
‘What’s a name?’
They arrived at the bottom of the field.
‘That is.’ Morpeth pointed at the sky. ‘PAUL. Can’t you see? The dog’s writing the same name over and over again.’
They hurried to the top of the field, until they were directly under the frantic Labrador. The soccer boys had scarpered, leaving their ball behind.
‘We’re close enough,’ Rachel said. ‘Bring it down, Eric.’
Eric pointed his finger at the Labrador, putting an end to the flying spell, and the dog dropped from the sky. Just before it reached the ground Rachel spread a cushioning spell on the grass. The dog landed safely on all fours and fled down the hill, barking at the top of its voice. The prapsies pursued it gleefully, offering useless advice.
‘Paul,’ mused Eric. ‘That doesn’t sound like a dog’s name.’
‘No,’ said Rachel. ‘I think it belongs to him.’
She pointed to the bottom of the field. There, half-hidden in the thick grass, lay a plump spiky-haired boy about the same age as Eric. Propped on his elbows he was concentrating furiously on the dog, flicking his fingers, as if trying to send the Labrador back into the air.
Eric grinned. ‘He can’t do it. He doesn’t understand that after I destroy a spell he can never get it to work again.’
‘Stay back,’ Morpeth said. ‘Let him make the next move.’
Eric squinted. ‘What’s he doing now? He’s looking at that ball.’
The leather football rose a few inches in the air, then slid low across the grass. It moved much faster than it could ever have been kicked.
‘It’s heading for us,’ Morpeth remarked.
‘Actually,’ Rachel said, ‘it’s heading for me.’
T
he ball gathered pace, rising to the level of her head, a swift blur.
Eric jabbed his finger, destroying the spell, but the ball’s momentum was so great that it continued to aim straight at Rachel. She made it swerve harmlessly around her shoulders.
‘He did that deliberately,’ Eric fumed. ‘Let’s get him!’
Rachel shook her head. ‘No. Let’s see what he does next.’
The spiky-haired boy frowned. The next moment Rachel felt a new spell, this time working on her.
‘I can’t believe it,’ she said. ‘He’s trying to shove my face in the dirt.’
‘Let me squash the spell,’ Eric growled. Rachel gestured no, trying to understand something about the boy’s magic.
‘He seems inexperienced,’ Morpeth said to her. ‘Do you sense any real authority or subtlety about his spells?’
‘No,’ she replied, watching the boy anxiously repeat the same spell again. ‘Just raw ability, freshly awakened – and powerful.’
‘But why is he trying to hurt you, or that dog?’ Eric asked.
Rachel was uncertain. Had this boy really tried to harm her and the Labrador? Or was he merely testing his own magic, and hers, curious about what they could both do?
They tentatively stepped towards Paul. When Morpeth was close enough to see his face, he noticed how frightened the boy looked. He gasped and juddered, his body jerking first towards Rachel, then away. Finally he sprinted off down the path.
‘Come on,’ Eric said. ‘He can’t escape that way. Hey, Rach, you could fly after him.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to show him what I can do yet.’
They followed the path to the bottom of the hill, where it curved sharply into a large flat meadow. The meadow was empty.
‘Where is he?’ gasped Eric. ‘There’s nowhere to hide. How could he have run away that fast?’
‘He didn’t outrun us,’ said Morpeth. ‘He must have waited until he got out of sight, then found a different way out of the meadow. Could he have flown?’
‘No,’ said Rachel, her face pale. ‘It’s not that. Someone or something else whisked Paul away. I felt a brief trace of magic, unlike the boy’s. It was incredibly strong.’ She sent information spells out for over a mile. All signs of Paul had gone. ‘I can’t detect anything. The trail ends here.’ She dropped to her knees, where a single shoeprint of flattened grass marked the last place Paul had stood. Already the grass was springing back into place, as if he had never existed.
‘Do you think Paul could have performed this vanishing act himself?’ she asked Morpeth.
‘I doubt it,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Not so perfectly. It takes great skill to seal off tracks made by recent spells – and that boy was flustered. He must have had help – and from someone much more experienced.’
As they walked back home, Eric snarled, ‘Whatever’s going on I don’t like this Paul. You saw what he did. Deliberately scaring that dog, and enjoying it.’
Morpeth rubbed his chin. ‘Was he enjoying it? That’s not what I noticed. I saw a boy at odds, either with himself or an invisible companion. Something was scaring him.’
As they arrived at the front gate the prapsies landed on Eric’s shoulders. They noisily spat out dog hairs.
Rachel winced. ‘They didn’t bite the Labrador, did they?’
‘Nah.’ Eric pulled a face. ‘Probably got that way trying to kiss it.’
He tucked the prapsies into his shirt before anyone on the street could see their flushed happy faces.
Morpeth guided them into the living room, relieved that Mum had not yet returned. For a few minutes they scanned the doors and windows, half expecting a rage-filled Paul to smash his way through.
‘I thought you told us no kids could use their magic yet,’ Eric said to Rachel. ‘What’s going on?’
Rachel trembled slightly, turning to Morpeth. ‘Do you understand this?’
He shrugged. ‘Something must have sparked off Paul’s magic. Almost anything could have triggered it. An emotion, perhaps – anger or fear.’ He thought of Ithrea: a favourite tactic of Dragwena, he remembered, was to panic children into releasing their spells.
‘Do you think Paul’s the only kid out there using magic?’ Eric asked.
‘Possibly. I doubt it,’ Morpeth said. ‘Or not for long. Whatever’s caused this, we should assume that Paul is just the beginning. Hundreds of children may soon be spell-making.’ He glanced at Rachel. ‘Larpskendya never intended or wanted this, I’m sure. It confirms that he can’t be close.’
We are on our own, Rachel realized. She fought against that idea, and noticed her spells withdrawing deep within her.
‘I don’t much fancy the idea of kids with magic,’ Eric muttered. ‘Imagine a bully who could use a blinding spell!’
‘If enough children can use magic, we might have to prepare for worse than that,’ Morpeth said gravely. ‘On Ithrea, I saw all kinds of children arrive over the centuries. The strongest-minded resisted Dragwena’s influence for a while, but some’ – he paused – ‘well, let’s say some didn’t try hard. They willingly directed their magic against other children. A few didn’t even need Dragwena’s encouragement. They enjoyed it.’
Rachel shuddered. ‘Think of the damage a Witch could do here now.’ At the mention of the word Witch Eric drew a sharp breath. ‘It’s what we’ve been thinking, isn’t it?’ she said bluntly. ‘Whatever swiped that boy Paul away could have been a Witch. Let’s stop pretending it hasn’t crossed our minds. There was definitely something powerful with him.’
‘Dragwena is dead,’ said Morpeth. He came across and held her gaze. ‘She can’t harm you any more. And I see no evidence yet that there are other Witches here.’
Rachel nodded bleakly, wanting desperately to believe that.
‘We need more information,’ Morpeth said. ‘Rachel, could you attune your information spells to find only those children actually using their magic?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I suppose that would tell us how many there are, and where. But we need to find out how they’re using their magic as well. Are there other dog-tormentors like Paul out there? I want to get closer to them.’
‘Good idea,’ said Eric. ‘And me and the boys’ll come with you.’ He shot the prapsies a special look. ‘Extra protection.’
‘No, I’m going to have to travel long distances,’ Rachel told him. ‘It’s too difficult for me to do that with you hanging on.’ She stared at Morpeth, seeing that he was about to object. ‘I’ll go on my own,’ she insisted. ‘It’s safer that way.’
‘Is it?’ he asked, noticing her eyes glowing an almost painfully pure blue. ‘Or is that the advice your flying spells are whispering?’ Rachel hesitated, questioning herself. ‘We need to be careful,’ Morpeth said. ‘Something attracted Paul here. What else could it be except your magic, Rachel? He probably knows where you live; and, willingly or not, he did attack you.’ Morpeth glanced out of the window. ‘Perhaps he’s waiting for a second chance, when Eric and I aren’t close enough to protect you.’
Rachel sighed heavily. ‘I can’t leave Mum here alone with him out there,’ she said. ‘I need you both to stay with her. Please, Morpeth. At any sign of danger I’ll turn back. I promise.’
Morpeth wondered what to do. Was the boy Paul lurking patiently somewhere out there, preparing a better attack? And who was his invisible companion? A Witch, wanting Rachel dead? However, they did need to know more about this sudden use of magic – and sheer speed, unencumbered speed, was probably Rachel’s best defence against an unknown opponent. Finally, he assented.
Eric shook his head. ‘What do we say to Mum? She’ll freak out.’
‘Leave that to me,’ Morpeth told him, knowing Mum would never accept his decision to let Rachel leave the house.
Rachel quickly kissed Eric, hugged Morpeth and squeezed past him. Unbolting the front door she hurried into the garden, trying not to think too much about what might be waiting for her. Outside the sky was clear and
sunny.
A Witch could see me for miles, Rachel thought.
Feeling like a target standing in the porch, she quickly considered what shape to assume. Shape-changing was one of her special magical gifts. She had discovered it on Ithrea, improved it in her battles with Dragwena, and practised it repeatedly over the last couple of weeks. She didn’t want to make a mistake now. What form to choose? What would be the least conspicuous object in this wide-open sky?
A few swallows above swooped for insects. Carefully, making sure no one else was watching, Rachel transformed herself into one. Unfurling her sleek feathers, she flitted into the suddenly menacing skies.
7
The Blue-Sky
Rainbow
Rachel soared into the warm summer morning air. For a moment she saw Morpeth, Eric and the prapsies glancing up through the lounge window. Then their anxious faces vanished as she used her tough swallow wings to beat a path upwards.
As familiar houses and streets dwindled the spiky-haired image of Paul swam back into her mind.
Practise your magic, she told herself, trying to shrug off the fear.
Tucking in miniature claws, Rachel deliberately threw her feathered body about the skies. Despite recent practice at home some parts of her spell-making, especially her flying spells, were still rusty. Come on, she thought, inviting her magic forward: surprise me!
Countless manoeuvring spells eagerly offered themselves. They promised wonders. Rachel selected two, tracing a wonderfully extended arc across the sky – a trick no swallow had ever attempted.
She felt nervous about remaining one shape for too long. How fast can I change if I really push hard? she wondered. She plucked out another bird-shape at random: a kestrel.
Lengthening her wings, Rachel hovered in the air, the terror of mice!
Something else, she thought. Don’t stop to think.
In mid-flight, mid-flex-of-wing, she made herself alter again and again. A dove. A quick-darting hummingbird. A glorious swan, beating its ponderous wings. Rachel flew across the sky and up, up into its broad reaches, testing herself, transforming into every bird she knew.