The Scent of Magic

by Cliff McNish

  It was a girl, still badly injured: Heiki.

  She stumbled forward, hauling numerous pieces of wood and a length of rope across the snow.

  ‘What is it?’ Eric tried to make out the shapes.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Rachel strained to determine a purpose. ‘The parts are so heavy. She can hardly carry them, even using her magic.’

  Morpeth gazed around at the pinched, nervous faces of the children. ‘They’ve been told what’s going to happen,’ he said, suddenly understanding. ‘Each child has a perfect view.’

  Eric frowned. ‘A perfect view for what?’

  ‘To witness whatever’s planned for Heiki. To watch the spectacle.’

  Once or twice Heiki dropped her load or tried to rest. Each time Calen flew over and struck her ankles, forcing her to move on. Eventually she hoisted herself far enough away from the foot of the prison for all the children to have a clear view. Calen hissed instructions in her ear.

  Nodding, Heiki, piece by piece, erected a device.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Eric, recognizing it. ‘No, please.’

  It was a Hangman.

  Rachel shuddered, almost fell. She had prepared herself for many things, but not this. Pity for Heiki poured through her – and dread. At the same time her shifting spells automatically leapt forward – awaiting a command to leave.

  Heiki finished making the angular base and frame. Pausing a moment, she raised the length of rope from the snow and attached it to the Hangman. Calen tested the rope’s resistance by making Heiki jerk it several times. Then Calen folded the rope into the shape of a noose, picked Heiki up and used her head to measure the size needed. Rachel numbly tried devising a defence, but against five High Witches her spells offered nothing that would work.

  Get away! Get away! they screamed.

  The Hangman was complete. Heiki leaned heavily against the base, and as she stared up at the knotted rope any resolve she had left faded. She covered her face and wept. All this time she had still been trying to impress Calen. Knowing the Witches never respond to pity, she kept her chin up, hoping the defiant attitude Calen had once so liked might make a difference. But Calen gave her no encouragement, and, now that the Hangman was waiting for her, Heiki fell to her knees. She pressed her lips to the black hem of Calen’s dress and pleaded.

  ‘Please. Please don’t—’

  ‘No second chances,’ Calen reminded her. She lifted Heiki by the scalp, displaying her to the children in the ice building. When Heiki squirmed to pull away, Calen simply tightened her grip.

  Morpeth glanced at the rest of the children. From the windows all their haunted eyes were on Heiki, including the youngest. They were obviously being forced to watch. Paul and Marshall stood in adjacent rooms, their expressions petrified.

  ‘Stop this,’ Morpeth muttered. ‘Rachel, somehow … we must …’

  Rachel nodded wildly. She had no idea how.

  Calen raised Heiki’s thin neck towards the noose.

  ‘Listen to me,’ Eric whispered. ‘Calen is using two spells to control the rope. I’ve worked them out. I think I can destroy both. Rachel, if you try—’

  Morpeth tapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘Rachel,’ Eric went on, ‘if you attack Calen at the same time, I’ll—’

  Morpeth tapped him again.

  ‘What!’

  Eric felt the hairs on his neck tingle.

  Above them, winking from the sky, the Wizards had arrived.

  17

  The Trap

  They came in a great stately procession: twenty Wizards.

  Singly they came, unfolding from the clouds in majestic robes of crimson and turquoise and burnished gold. And as they came they announced their names in jubilation:

  ‘Areglion! Tournallat! Hensult! Serpantha! …’

  The names meant nothing to the children, but the Witches shrank back. A stupefied Calen stepped away from the Hangman.

  ‘Mother!’ she screamed at the sky. ‘You promised only Larpskendya!’

  Hensult and Serpantha took up positions at the epicentre of the sky. They were shaped like men but taller, as tall as the Witches. Impassively they waited, until the air sang in a manner that tortured the recessed ears of the Witches.

  A final cream-robed Wizard had arrived. His many-coloured eyes were untamed.

  ‘Larpskendya!’ Rachel cried joyfully, her heart lurching as she took in the sight of him.

  For a moment the Great Wizard acknowledged her gravely. Then he and the other Wizards shifted, unfurling in the snow beside Heiki.

  Larpskendya picked her shaking body from the Hangman. He wiped away her tears.

  Heiki had expected punishment. When Larpskendya simply took her in his strong arms she found herself unable to think clearly. He held her, without words, until she stopped trembling. He touched her injured arm, mending it. At last Heiki gazed up, but she could not meet his eyes. She could barely speak.

  ‘Why … are you helping me?’

  Larpskendya seemed surprised. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

  ‘After what I’ve done …’

  ‘Haven’t you been punished enough? Do you want more punishment?’

  ‘No,’ she murmured. ‘Oh … but I’ve done some terrible things.’

  ‘And you might have done worse,’ he answered firmly. ‘There is a harder trial ahead, because of you. Will you help me, Heiki?’

  Before she could say anything Calen’s voice rang out. She had recovered from the entrance of the Wizards, though Nylo still cowered against her throat.

  ‘Twenty Wizards,’ she shouted. ‘Twenty is not enough. What is the largest number of Witches you can defeat in personal combat, Larpskendya? Five? Fifty?’

  She raised a claw – and one hundred recently built eye-towers shimmered against the sky. Witches soared from them, drawing short curved daggers from their black dresses.

  If Larpskendya’s Wizards were afraid they did not show it.

  ‘Not impressed?’ said Calen. ‘A few more, then.’

  Exactly six hundred and fifty-six further towers appeared.

  Witches swarmed from the eye-windows, so many that their weaving bodies cast half the snow in shadow. Morpeth strained his neck. He could not see beyond the Witches. They crowded all around him, and above him, bathed in luminous green light.

  Eric gaped in despair at the sky. ‘I don’t think even Larpskendya can beat this many,’ he whispered, poking the prapsies deep inside his coat. ‘We’re going to have to fight, too.’

  ‘Wait for a sign,’ Rachel said, squeezing his hand. ‘Larpskendya will show us what to do.’

  The Witches took up rehearsed battle positions in the sky, coming together in packs that surrounded the Wizards. Each pack contained only blood-related sisters – the most ferocious fighting combination. When they were set, each Witch’s soul-snake licked diagonally across her face – the traditional signal of battle readiness.

  But they did not attack.

  Larpskendya was still calm. ‘Do your worst, Witch,’ he said to Calen, ‘as your kind always will. We are prepared.’

  He linked hands with the other Wizards, placing Heiki inside the circle they made.

  ‘Perhaps Rachel and her friends would like to join in,’ said Calen brightly.

  The cloaking spell was laid bare, exposing Rachel, Eric and Morpeth. The children in the building stared in amazement. The Witches merely seemed amused.

  ‘Stay where you are,’ Larpskendya warned Rachel.

  He consulted with his companion Wizards and said a few urgent words to Heiki. Briefly she argued with him. Then she sneaked a distraught glance at Rachel and started walking across the snow towards her.

  ‘I can’t believe it!’ Eric blasted. ‘Flipping heck, Larpskendya’s sent Heiki here. To us!’

  ‘Let her come,’ said Rachel, meeting Larpskendya’s steady gaze. ‘He obviously can’t protect her if he has to fight so many.’

  ‘Are we going to protect her?’ Eric asked defiantly. ‘Afte
r what she did!’

  Heiki shuffled across the snow. Her head was lowered. Unable to bring herself to stand alongside Rachel, she took a position instead awkwardly next to Morpeth. Rachel nodded curtly, showing that she tolerated Heiki’s presence, nothing more. Conflicting feelings flooded her. Larpskendya wanted this, but could she trust Heiki?

  The Wizards drew closer, standing back to back.

  ‘Are you sure you want this fight?’ Larpskendya thundered at Calen. ‘Most of your High Witches are here. Even if you defeat us, how many of you will be left to defend Ool against the Griddas? I cannot believe Heebra was foolish enough to let them loose.’

  Calen laughed. ‘Tell her that yourself. A final surprise!’

  All the Witches joined in her mirth, dispersing to leave a gap in the air.

  Inside Eric’s coat pockets the prapsies began whimpering. It was a sound they had never made before.

  ‘What is it?’ said Rachel, trying to decide how to aid the Wizards.

  Eric caught his breath. ‘Can’t you … can’t you feel it?’

  The whimpers of the prapsies rose in pitch, became screeches.

  Rachel could sense the reason clearly now – a huge outbulging of magic.

  ‘Here it comes,’ said Eric, clenching his teeth.

  In one movement everyone – Witches, Wizards and children – looked up.

  Across half the sky a new tower had appeared. It was so immense that all the children had to turn their heads to take in its scope. Rachel found her gaze drawn to the eye-window. A bulky shadow moved behind the glass. For a moment the shadow turned towards her. It moved – then stopped – then looked directly at Rachel. Under its detailed inspection Rachel could not breathe. She had faced Dragwena’s death-spells with more equanimity than she now faced this shadow. It could kill her effortlessly, she realized. And it wished to. How it wanted to harm her!

  She managed to turn her head.

  Slightly, almost imperceptibly, she saw Larpskendya’s whole body shiver. Rachel knew then that whatever owned this shadow, he had not anticipated it.

  Heebra, leader of the Sisterhood of Ool, burst from the tower. In a single leap she covered the distance to the Wizards. For a few seconds she merely stood by Larpskendya’s side, enjoying his discomfiture. Then she bowed and said, courteously:

  ‘Greetings, Larpskendya. Flesh to flesh at last. I have waited for this.’ She examined his shining robe and the other Wizards. ‘Shall we dispense with these illusions?’

  As she touched his shoulder all the other Wizards vanished. Larpskendya was alone in the snow, his robe shredded. Heebra sniffed. ‘Is this tattered mess, this rag, really the celebrated Larpskendya? I expected better. Did you hope to dazzle my Witches into submission with your trick? Or simply divert their attacks?’

  Larpskendya was silent. His shoulders slumped, and for the first time Rachel noticed the appalling nature of his real injuries. Three deep slashes crossed his throat. They had clearly been made by a Witch’s claws, though much bigger claws than any Rachel had seen before. The wounds were recent, still bleeding.

  ‘I see my Griddas occupied you well,’ Heebra said. ‘But I knew you would survive. You were always a worthy opponent, Larpskendya.’

  ‘I am not your enemy,’ he answered.

  ‘You have killed Witches,’ said Heebra. ‘Do you deny it?’

  ‘Only when they gave me no choice. I took no pleasure in it.’

  ‘A pity,’ said Heebra, laughing. ‘You should have done. I will certainly take pleasure in your death.’ She prodded his neck injury. ‘You took the life of my daughter. How long should I make you suffer for that?’

  Larpskendya said nothing, knowing no words would make a difference.

  ‘You will not retreat inside your silence,’ Heebra told him. ‘I have dawdled long enough on this world. I’ve a desire to commit some violence, and for you to witness it.’

  ‘It is my death you want,’ Larpskendya replied evenly. ‘Leave the children.’

  ‘It will take more than your death to satisfy me. I think I will kill all the children here. Their lives mean nothing to me.’

  ‘Spare them,’ Larpskendya said. ‘If you do, I will submit.’

  ‘You would surrender? Without a fight?’ She sounded amazed.

  ‘If you promise not to harm the children.’

  Eric screamed, ‘Don’t believe her! Larpskendya, what are you doing? She’ll kill us anyway!’

  ‘Trust him,’ Rachel whispered, never taking her gaze off Larpskendya.

  Heebra hesitated. Obviously Larpskendya was protecting the children, as she knew he would, but she had not expected such a simple surrender. She gazed curiously at him. Even in his weakened condition, she knew, Larpskendya could probably destroy hundreds of her best Witches before they overpowered him. The Witch-packs could not wait to fight, but it suited Heebra to avoid conflict. Test his resolve, she thought. If this is another trick like his fake Wizards, expose it.

  ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I agree to your terms. Dragwena’s blood-honour must be satisfied first, of course. So, I will spare all the children except two. Give me Eric and Rachel. That is my condition.’

  There was silence. Larpskendya’s expression was unreadable.

  ‘Yes,’ he murmured at last. ‘Do as you wish with Rachel and Eric.’

  Most children could not believe this answer. They gazed at him in shock. Several of those imprisoned in the ice prison wept. Eric began shouting insults at Larpskendya at the top of his voice, and the prapsies joined in. Morpeth was stunned, unable to accept what he had heard. Even Heiki shook her head, her emotions in turmoil. At least, if Heebra kept her promise, she might now live through this …

  Only Rachel kept her gaze on Larpskendya. She stared at him, her faith unwavering, and he stared back, his gaze filled with determination and asking for her courage.

  ‘Do you promise to obey my Witches?’ Heebra asked, a green nail under Larpskendya’s chin. ‘You will not resist?’

  ‘I will not resist.’

  Heebra gestured for the Witches guarding the imprisoned children to empty the ice-structure, and Larpskendya permitted himself to be led inside. Heebra warily surveyed the skies, prepared for a trap. Could she have missed something?

  ‘Take him to the top,’ she ordered. ‘Hurry. And bind him hard.’

  Over a third of the Witches escorted Larpskendya into the prison. At first, most were too nervous to touch him. When he continued to offer no resistance the Witches grew bolder. They bound his wrists and ankles. They fastened his mouth with spell-thread, preventing any utterance of spells. As soon as this was done the ecstatic Witches lost any fear they still had. Snarling with joy, they hauled Larpskendya up the stairway, dragging him against the ice steps to the summit. Faster and faster up the floors they rushed, and as they moved they tightened the spell-bindings until Larpskendya bled.

  Rachel was unable to watch.

  ‘Oh, Larpskendya,’ Eric said, his anger spent, replaced by a feeling of utter desolation and emptiness. ‘What have you done?’

  Calen flew up to the Great Wizard’s window and placed the edge of her curved dagger against his throat. She trembled with excitement.

  ‘Let me!’ she cried.

  ‘No,’ said Heebra. ‘Let him see his favourites die, first. Start with the girl.’

  Morpeth searched for anything with which to defend Eric and Rachel. He glanced at the assembled children. A ragged bunch, they huddled disconsolately in the snow. Morpeth appealed silently to Paul and Marshall. They saw him and averted their eyes. Ashamed, Morpeth realized, too afraid to risk the punishment of the Witches.

  ‘We have a Witch-slayer amongst us,’ said Heebra. ‘Who wants to fight Rachel?’

  Hundreds of Witches clamoured to be noticed. Heebra picked the first ten at random. Those chosen assembled in a semicircle, awaiting Heebra’s signal to begin.

  Morpeth immediately moved in front of Rachel. Eric took up a position behind, guarding her back. He tried
to shoo the prapsies away, but they remained in his pockets, thrusting their soft mouths at Heebra.

  ‘Come on then, you ugly hags!’ Eric bellowed. ‘As many as you like!’

  ‘Wait,’ said a voice.

  It was Heiki. Her ashen, thin face shook with fear as she walked the short distance across to Rachel. When she was by Rachel’s side, she turned to face Heebra – not calmly, but she faced her. She fumbled for a wrist, and Rachel clutched it.

  Morpeth brought their hands together, and drew all four close: a fragile shield.

  Heebra lifted a claw to start the attack, but a faint noise on the breeze distracted her. It was such an odd sound in that dread-filled atmosphere that everyone noticed it.

  The sound of giggling.

  Yemi had arrived. Floating between the Witch towers he swished back and forth as if nothing could be more entrancing. As he closed on the children guarded by the Witches he showed them a new dance he had learned: upright, jigging on his toes, waving his arms. His Camberwell Beauties jigged with him.

  ‘What’s he doing here?’ Heebra growled at her daughter.

  ‘I … don’t understand,’ Calen apologized. ‘I didn’t summon the boy. He should be with his family. I left countless spells to hold him there.’

  ‘Remove him!’ said Heebra, gazing suspiciously at Larpskendya.

  Calen flew from the prison to intercept Yemi, but she could not catch him. Each time she reached out her claws he squeezed away, teasing her.

  ‘No games,’ she insisted. ‘Come here.’

  Yemi continued to elude Calen. Over and over he slipped from her grasp.

  Heebra nodded appreciatively. ‘His flight has achieved a deftness and precision even you cannot master, Calen.’

  Rachel clung to Morpeth. She could barely control her feelings. Ever since Yemi arrived she had been deliberately ignoring him. While his greeting magic bathed her like a warm stream she sent it back with cold, definite rejections. How she yearned just to hold him, but when the Witches launched their assault on her he must not be near …