He clapped his hands twice to emphasise his point. "Between, back here! Otherwise, you wake up dead with a dagger in your throat."
John wanted to ask more, but Gai held up his hand for silence, his head tilted to one side, and his eyes shut. When he opened his eyes, John saw fear there.
"Move," said the noone, picking up his knapsack. He ran to a large oak and stood with his back against it, motioning John to do the same.
"Sing with me if you can," he said, "then stay absolutely still. And not a word, understand?"
Without any further explanation, he sang. The melody, although simple, was made discordant by the guttural accompaniment that came from another, deeper sound. The low pitch of this counter melody was surprising not just because of the way Gai sang it simultaneously with the first tune, but also because the timbre of the sound seemed impossible from such a small body. John's solar plexus vibrated as if he were standing next to a powerful bass speaker.
The air around them vibrated, and John's vision blurred. He tried singing with Gai. At first, he felt like someone trying to sing in a different language. Then, of its own accord, his body produced a second melody just as Gai's had. Within three seconds of their voices joining, the vibrating air snapped into solidity. John could see the open space, the leaves and stones on the ground, the fallen log and the surrounding trees, but no sound reached him. He moved his right hand forward and encountered resistance. It was like pushing on a trampoline.
Gai grabbed his wrist and squeezed. John looked back up at the clearing and froze.
From the north, something was coming. No, not something, somethings. John watched the first creature unfold, then refold itself as it moved closer, followed by a monster that slithered like a giant worm across the sun-warmed earth.
John stared in horror as more nightmare creatures entered the clearing. He recognised most of them. They weren't creatures from any old nightmare, they had crawled straight out of his mind. They were the monsters from the Charleston Hotel.
Thirty-Four
In horror films, monsters lurk in the darkness, so the viewer's imagination can conjure something scarier than the special effects department can come up with. Which should have made what John was looking at easier to deal with as the creatures entered the clearing. But it didn't. Daylight revealed his worst imaginings as real.
Even so, there was something inherent in the creatures that shunned the light, and the party making their way through the woods carried something of the night with them.
The hideous metallic mantis came first. When John had first seen it in the Bloomsbury Suite, it had given the impression that it grew taller with every step. Now he saw he had only witnessed part of its system of movement. For three long, jerky steps, it unfolded and grew in height, its many-jointed legs sliding together like pistons. Its blunt, shovel-shaped head was covered in dark dots, which John at first took to be markings. As the head swung from side to side, tilting, John saw that the dots were, in fact, hundreds of eyes. Over the course of a few more jerky steps, the mantis folded back into itself, halving its height until it stood about five feet tall, its thin limbs creased together. Then the process began again.
Not all the creatures John had seen that night were here. He recognised the cloven-heeled women, three of them this time, their features pinched and cruel, eyes positioned so far apart their faces looked more animal than human. After them came the horrible child-shaped thing in pyjamas, its blood-filled eyes swivelling left and right, its mouth closed, hiding its two sets of vicious teeth.
The man that wasn't a man was next, not in a business suit this time, but wrapped in a grey cloak, a hood keeping most of its face in shadow. John could still see the side of one cheek, the jawline and part of its neck. The skin looked wet. He was too far away to see clearly, but John knew it wasn't liquid he saw on the hooded figure's skin, because it had no skin. Such light that reached under the hood was reflected by the millions of ants crawling constantly around the 'body', maintaining the illusion of a walking man.
Gai had remained calm as the grotesquerie made their way through the clearing, but when the final figure appeared, his grip tightened on John's wrist.
The noone who had followed the beasts into the clearing was old, bald, and ugly, with yellow eyes.
Gai whispered something so faint it was barely audible. The air in front of their hiding place shimmered, and the old noone was gone. In his place was the dark-haired woman who had sat closest to John that night in the Charleston Hotel. It seemed like years since he'd seen her, but he'd never forget the moment she blew black dust into his face. She was even smaller than Gai.
After sniffing the fallen tree, she licked it, her tongue darting out like a lizard's. Her chin tilted back, and she shouted something. Whatever magical device Gai had constructed, no sound penetrated it. But the creatures heard and responded, turning and coming back to the centre of the clearing. John's breathing was becoming shallow. What if there was only limited air in their magic bubble? And what if it were running out already? His shirt was clammy where he'd begun to sweat. He gasped quietly and shifted his feet a fraction of an inch.
The reaction from the woman was instant. Her head snapped up, and she looked towards their side of the clearing. She spoke, and the three cloven-hoofed women trotted closer, nostrils flaring.
Their hands, John noticed, were human enough, hairy and large, the skin tough and weathered. The hair on their lower body became less coarse at their hips, thinned across their stomachs, and became a fine down on their breasts and shoulders. He had assumed their hair was cut short, but now he saw it was more like the fur of an animal, following the contours of their skulls.
Centaurs. Satyrs. Or fauns. Centaurs had four legs, didn't they? Fauns and satyrs were more human in appearance according to the myths and stories. John could see little he could relate to in those wide-set brown and yellow eyes. He settled on thinking of them as satyrs. The latent menace coming off these beings like a bad smell did not sit well with the cuddly image John associated with fauns.
Two of the creatures missed John and Gai's hiding place, but one came towards them. As she did so, Gai's grip on his wrist loosened marginally. As signals go, it was subtle, but John understood. He needed to calm down, breathe more deeply, not panic. He made himself take a slower, longer breath and hold it for a second before exhaling. Another breath, and his body relaxed, his teeth unclenched and his shoulders sagged. He told himself none of it was real, but he didn't believe it.
The satyr sniffed around them, looking at John's chest. This close, he could see—nestled in the fur on her head and close to the skull—two small horns, yellowed like ivory. The satyr moved closer but, seeing and smelling nothing, moved on to the next tree. As she did so, the worm-like creature passed by, missing their position by inches.
A minute later, the satyrs reconvened by the fallen tree. After a brief conference, and a last, long look from the dark-haired woman, they continued their journey.
Gai remained as still as a statue for another five minutes, then relaxed his grip on John's wrist and sang a two-note phrase. The sound of the woods returned, and John stepped forward without meeting any resistance.
Gai spat on the forest floor. "Pan," he said with rancour. "I might have known she'd want to be in on this."
"Who? I thought Pan was male. Like the faun in the Narnia books. Or is she a satyr?"
"Your ignorance about things any child knows amazes me," said Gai. "Pan is no satyr, although you named them correctly. And Pan is sometimes female, sometimes male." He caught the look on John's face. "The name Pan is more of a title carried by her family. When she dies, her daughter or son will take on the role. Pan is unpredictable. She might save you from drowning in the morning and stab you in the afternoon. It's all a game to her. She would love to see Ashtoreth come back and turn everything upside down again. No doubt, she thinks once the god is finished with her initial killing spree, and half of your realm lies in ashes, she might give P
an a piece of what's left. She's brought Astarte some of her old pets to greet her when she's free."
He spat again. "Pan."
John looked across the clearing to the spot where they'd disappeared. "Then who was the old man? The old noone, I mean."
Gai grunted. "That was her. You couldn't see through it?"
"See through what?"
"The Glamour."
John pictured the lined, warty, bestial features of the old yellow-eyed noone. "Glamour?"
"With a capital G. A charm used to disguise someone's true form. Particularly effective against the weak-minded."
"Oh. Thank you."
"Nothing personal. Humans don't even know to look for it. Visitors to your realm use it all the time. It's very useful, especially if it shows you what you..." His voice trailed off, he scowled and shook his head.
"I've seen her before," said John. "In a dream. Sort of a dream. It might have been real. I've lost track."
Gai pulled at his sleeve until he faced him. "Time to stop thinking of dreams as unreal. They are as real as this tree, this leaf, and this stick I'm poking in your side."
"Ow."
"We should be long past the point where you think reality happens when you're awake."
"I'm trying, Gai."
"Tell me about the dream."
"I was performing. Magic - conjuring, not real. She was there. So were those things. She was sitting with a massive man with a huge, messy beard, a guy with a shaved head who looked like a model, and a red-haired woman who dressed like a pole-dancer."
"The Green Man," said Gai. "She has always had a hold over him, but I am disappointed he is involved. I'm not surprised by Oberon and Titania. Power-hungry parasites."
"Oberon and Titania?" John continued without thinking. "But aren't they the king and queen of the fair—"
Gai waited for him to finish the word.
"Sorry," said John. "Force of habit."
"They were royalty once," said Gai, "and they'd like to be so again. But our realm overturned the feudal system about a thousand of your years ago. Not that you'd know it if you asked Tani and Obe. They act like they run the place and still expect us to behave like we're their inferiors. The present queen, which is how she chooses to style herself, is the niece of the Titania who was toppled from the throne. Oberon is a cousin of the last one, I believe."
John's mind was whirling. "What the hell were those other things? The foldy praying mantis, the pyjama monster?"
"Other than the satyrs, they are Remnants. In your realm, creatures are born out of other creatures, correct?"
John thought about plants, bacteria, and the articles he'd read about certain lizards, insects and fish that had reproduced without a mate, but said, "Yes, pretty much."
"We are the same, mostly, but there are also creatures born of magic. Travel between realms is dangerous, John. If a native of one stays too long in another, they become trapped there. We call them Remnants. What you saw are Remnants from more distant realms. A few magic-born still try to reach Earth, even now. Some live disguised among you. The Adepts, when they find them, destroy or banish them, but they cannot return to their own realms. They live in the Blurred Lands. For the most part, they keep themselves to themselves, but you wouldn't want to bump into one after dark. Or during the day."
Gai built another fire and lit it with a gesture. "Let's eat. "
"Hang on," said John, as Gai produced his wooden whistle and lifted it to his lips. "Earlier - when you told me about Glamour, there was something you weren't telling me."
Gai acted as if he hadn't heard him, blowing a few notes on the whistle, but they didn't have the same haunting quality of the first time John had heard him play. After a few seconds, he stopped. When he spoke, he didn't look at John, keeping his face turned towards the edge of the clearing.
"Glamour is a simple charm, but it can be very effective depending on who's looking, and on how they are looking."
John didn't prompt Gai when he fell silent, knowing there was more.
"For instance, if you were walking alongside a river in your realm at dusk, and, as you passed a bridge, you saw someone squatting there, would you think it was a troll? No. What would you expect to see there?" Gai tilted his head to indicate the question wasn't hypothetical.
"Um, someone fishing, maybe?"
"A reasonable supposition. But wrong. It's a troll. A troll in your realm needs a disguise, and it would use your assumptions to choose one. Glamour is most effective when it shows you what you want to see. Your expectations feed the charm. You see someone fishing rather than a semi-intelligent carnivorous killer on the hunt for trinkets."
Gai sighed. "But a noone should know better. We are the masters of Glamour. Stupid, stupid, stupid."
"Who is?'
"I am. Thinking my father would encourage me to come here after he'd always warned me off. I wanted him to trust me, I wanted him to believe I was capable of looking after myself. So when he said I was strong enough to resist the effects of the time cage, I was completely taken in by her."
"Her?"
"Pan." Gai spat again. "She sent me here, Glamoured to look like my father, And, like a fool, here I am. Which means Ashtoreth wants me here, a noone who is fascinated by humans. A noone who might teach a natural magician how to use his powers. She wants you to unlock your potential and become more powerful. We're both being used, John."
"So what do we do?"
Gai held the whistle to his lips again, then paused. "We do what she wants, and we hope she's underestimated you. What else can we do?"
Thirty-Five
"I have a theory," said Gai, walking up and down in front of the fallen trunk, one hand stroking his chin, like a lecturer in full flow. "But I need to hear it from you. Tell me what happened when you escaped the first time. I was there, you know."
"What? That was thirty-two years ago."
"Less than a moon ago for me. The cage distorts time for those in its field of influence."
John thought of the missing city and suspension bridge. He told Gai about it.
"Exactly my point," said the noone. "We could be anywhen."
"Before the bridge was built, you mean?" asked John.
"Yes - in the distant past. You said there was no trace of a settlement on the far bank of the river?"
"Nothing."
"But the trees were the same?"
John tried to remember. "More dense."
"Perhaps, then. But you may equally have been looking at the distant future."
"But there were no humans, no noones. No animals."
Gai shrugged. "One possible future. I do not know."
John stopped thinking about the implications. There were more pressing problems.
"You said you were there when I escaped from Ash the first time. What did you see?"
Gai had an odd look on his face, one John hadn't seen before. Was he embarrassed?
"Ah, you won't like it. I've heard how touchy humans can be about certain subjects."
"Touchy? About what?"
"Well, look, I heard you half a league away. It's not as if you were trying to be quiet. I followed you, then climbed the highest tree I could find. There were other creatures concealed around the clearing, which was a little like this one. There was wood piled up in the middle ready for a fire."
John realised what he was saying. "You mean, when I got there with Ash, we weren't alone? You were watching when she, when we...? When...?"
"Yes. Me, maybe Pan, and some Remnants. Nasty creatures."
"You watched us? Enjoy the show, did you?"
"Oh, don't be like that. I have no particular interest in your sticky-out bits and where you put them. You should be more annoyed that I didn't help you when she cursed you."
"I am. Excuse me? When she what?"
"Cursed you. While you slept, she prepared a powerful enchantment. At that stage, I could not know what it was. It was only when she delivered it that I realised. By then, it was too
late. If they had seen me, the Remnants would have ripped me apart. Still, you survived, against all my expectations. And here you are. Astarte calmed down quickly after you ran. She was confident you would be back, with your mind wiped clean."
John experienced an awful moment of cold clarity. "What was the curse supposed to do?"
Gai's eyes, usually impish and amused, were clouded and downcast as he remembered.
"It was a curse of unravelling. I heard her sing it. I never knew I could be so afraid and so helpless. When she sang, it was as if she sucked all the happiness out of the world. My body was heavy, I began to question the point of my existence. Then she drew it all together into a ball of pain, and she moulded it in the fire, using the agony of the flames on her skin to feed the curse she had brought back from the Between. When you woke, she sang it into you."
John remembered Ash turning from the fire that night. He thought he must have imagined her putting her arms into the flames because her skin was unmarked. As she had reached for him, mumbling something he did not understand, he had heard a roar in his head as if a hurricane had come from nowhere. He had slapped her away—his fingers burning where they touched her—and run.
Gai looked up at him. "It should have unravelled your mind, thought by thought, memory by memory, growing stronger as it fed on your consciousness. Even the strongest protective charms could only delay the inevitable. It should have been unstoppable, John Aviemore. A curse like that cannot be lifted. I do not know how you survived it."
John thought of the hospital, of the conversation he'd overheard between his mother, Augustus, and a stranger.
"Can someone else take on a curse?" he whispered.
Gai shook his head. "Unlikely. The god may be weaker, but she's still a god. In your realm, only an experienced Adept could absorb a curse that strong. Even then, the curse would still be alive. To destroy it once it had started its work, well... I don't think it's even possible. John? What is it?"
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