Jack Shian and the Mapa Mundi

by Andrew Symon

  “That’s Tamlina, I’m sure o’ it!” shouted Ossian. Disregarding his grandfather’s cautious approach, he charged forward.

  “Come on, Grandpa.” Jack gripped his grandfather’s cloak and urged him on.

  The five ran forward. The cracks had continued, but they were slower now.

  And suddenly they saw her: Tamlina, lying in a pool of blood. Propped up against a withered oak tree, she still held her sceptre up. But standing over her was a tall dark-haired woman in a flowing black cloak, cackling evilly. Next to the woman were two creatures: an emaciated old man with a long cap, which he was dipping into the blood; and a tiny demon, like the ones Jack had witnessed at Dunvik. Tamlina’s sceptre crackled feebly, but her power was gone. The tall woman stooped down and removed the ring from Tamlina’s finger.

  “Tamlina!” shouted Ossian. He darted forward and was met full on by the victorious enchantress. A bolt shot from her sceptre and hit Ossian square in the chest. He fell backwards, without a sound.

  “No!” Grandpa Sandy fired a hex at the enchantress, but it was like a fly bouncing off a windowpane. She seemed indestructible.

  “You dare to fire at me?” she growled, her voice both terrible and exciting. She brandished her own sceptre and fired a swift volley of hexes at Grandpa Sandy.

  It was an uneven contest. The hexes flew in too fast for him to respond. The first one hit him on the left shoulder. He spun round, a look of surprise on his face, and his sceptre flew out of his hand. The second (or was it the third?) glanced off his back, and another caught his leg as he fell.

  Jack’s eyes flashed. In a second he had darted down and scooped up his grandfather’s sceptre. Crouching low, he aimed it up at the tall woman.

  “Gosol!”

  A bolt shot from the sceptre, crackling as it flew. A look of amazement spread over the face of the tall enchantress. Jack kept the sceptre steady, although his arms ached; it was as if the bolts weighed a ton. Finally, with a loud crack! the woman disappeared. The tiny demon vanished too, but the thin old man was left. He sank to his knees, his hands outstretched as if pleading for mercy. Jack got uncertainly to his feet. The bolts had stopped flying, but it still took all his strength to hold the sceptre.

  Shivering, Jack advanced on the old man, who cowered as he approached. Then Jack made his mistake. He glanced round to see if Rana and Lizzie were all right, and in that instant the old man took his bloodstained cap and hurled it at the girls. With a shriek, he vanished.

  His screech was echoed by a loud scream from Lizzie as the gory cap narrowly missed her face. Spinning round, Jack could see that the old man had now disappeared, but was uncertain of where he might be hiding. He crouched low, until the sound of his grandfather moaning came to him. Satisfying himself that the creatures were indeed gone, he ran over to where Grandpa Sandy lay. Rana knelt down too and stroked her grandfather’s arm anxiously.

  “What do we do?” she asked plaintively.

  Looking round, Jack saw Tamlina slumped by the oak tree. He ran over to her.

  “Tamlina! Can you help Grandpa?”

  A thin smile spread across Tamlina’s face. Her lips moved, but for a moment there was no sound. Then a hoarse whisper emerged.

  “Give him these. On his forehead.” Clearly in pain, she indicated a small pouch beside her. Jack looked quickly inside and found three small pebbles. Extracting them, he ran back and carefully placed them on his grandfather’s brow.

  Lizzie and Rana watched apprehensively. With relief, they saw Grandpa Sandy’s eyes open. He blinked, turned to face Jack and mumbled inaudibly. Then, taking the stones from his brow, he levered himself painfully into a sitting position. His left shoulder was steaming gently, and his right leg gave off a bitter burning smell.

  “Where’s Ossian?” His voice was cracked.

  Ossian had not moved since being hit. Sprawling on the ground, his neck was twisted. Grandpa dragged himself over to where Ossian lay. Then, looking over to where Tamlina sat propped against the oak, he called over, “Can you help?”

  The thin smile reappeared on Tamlina’s face. With exquisite pain, she beckoned Jack over. As he neared, he saw that the pool of blood around Tamlina had grown.

  “Will you be all right?” His voice was quiet, uncertain.

  Tamlina reached out and took his hand.

  “Yer cousin was only bolted,” she whispered. “He’ll live.”

  Grandpa Sandy had dragged himself painstakingly over to where Tamlina lay.

  “What can we do to help you?” he asked anxiously.

  Tamlina shook her head sadly. With a painful gesture she indicated the sticky pool around her.

  “The blood is dark; I will die. She took my Raglan.”

  The Raglan again? She spoke of it last year too! But what does it mean?

  Lizzie began to sob, and Rana instinctively put her arm around her distraught sister.

  Coming to, Ossian rubbed his chest where the bolt had struck. Wincing, he first knelt, then stood slowly up. Lurching over to the others, he looked down at Tamlina’s pale face.

  “Who was that?” he demanded. “The other enchantress, who is she?”

  “Malevola,” croaked Tamlina. “She’s Unseelie – from Tula – the north island. She heard o’ my Raglan, then o’yer Chalice; now she wants the Sphere.” Her voice was almost inaudible.

  “What is your Raglan?” cried Jack.

  “Gosol …” Tamlina’s voice gave out.

  “Raglan is to do with Gosol?” Jack’s voice was almost a shout.

  “Tamlina, it is urgent.” Grandpa Sandy’s voice broke through. “The Sphere – where is it? Can you tell us?”

  Tamlina’s eyes were closing. With an effort, she fought to keep them open.

  “Seek ye the cave o’ the saint. The giant’s bridge … when columns awake …” She got no further. Her head slumped forward.

  “What cave? What bridge?” Jack’s voice was plaintive, but it was lost almost immediately in the sound of a loud wail echoing through the trees.

  “Jack.” His grandfather’s voice was little more than a croak. “She’s gone. She’s at peace now.”

  Lizzie’s sobs grew in intensity, merging with the wail that came from the trees around them.

  “Well, we can’t leave her here for the crows,” said Ossian.

  Now almost recovered from the bolt that had laid him out, Ossian began to clear a space between the trees. Jack joined in, brushing away the leaves and the deadwood that littered the ground. Within a few minutes they had cleared a big enough space for Tamlina’s body.

  “You’ll have to lift her over.” Grandpa indicated that he could not use his sceptre to raise Tamlina’s body from where it remained, slumped against the tree.

  Jack looked at Ossian.

  “I’ll tak’ her shoulders.” Ossian stooped down and reached his arms through Tamlina’s.

  Jack tried not to look as a dark stain spread over Ossian’s shirt. He shuffled over and gripped Tamlina’s legs. Awkwardly, the boys dragged the body over to the clearing they had created. Grandpa beckoned them away.

  “You’ve done well. I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”

  “Won’t your sceptre work?” Rana’s voice was worried.

  “For some things only.” Still gasping in pain, Grandpa grasped his sceptre and levelled it at Tamlina’s inert body.

  “May she rest at peace.” His voice was uneven.

  Jack looked and saw his grandfather sag to the left. With an effort, Grandpa Sandy steadied himself.

  “Pulviscin!”

  From his sceptre emerged a dim orange beam, which encased Tamlina’s body, making it glow. Gradually, it began to smoulder, then became a flame. The body and the clothes burned, but the surrounding ground was untouched by the fire. Within a minute or two there was only a small pile of ash.

  The wailing sound stopped.

  The sudden stillness unnerved Jack. He looked around nervously, unsure of what to expect.

  “It’s not s
afe here,” stated Grandpa. “Wherever Malevola went, she may decide to come back.” He forced himself onto his feet and began to limp painfully back the way they had come, indicating to the others to follow. Then, stopping, he turned around to Jack and put his hand on the youngster’s shoulder.

  “Once again, Jack, I have to thank you. You knew what to do.”

  Jack’s mind had been in a whirlwind. Now he paused as well, and thought.

  “I didn’t plan it,” he said. “It just sort of came out. It was a bit like Dunvik, wasn’t it? Gosol worked like a charm.”

  “Not a charm, Jack, you know that. The power to fight evil,” said Grandpa Sandy kindly. “But with Tamlina dead we’ve lost a powerful ally, and we’ve found an even more powerful enemy. I don’t think Keldy is safe. We must get back to the castle.”

  “But are you all right, Grandpa?” Rana indicated her grandfather’s right leg, which still smouldered. “What did Malevola use on you?”

  “A curse unknown to me,” admitted her grandfather, wincing in pain. “I need Armina. She may know how to heal these wounds.”

  Painfully, and painfully slowly, they moved cautiously through the woods back to Ossian’s house. Stopping only to wash their hands there and collect their belongings, they set off for the low road.

  8

  The Phosphan Curse

  The low road journey back was painful. Grandpa Sandy, barely able to stand, leant heavily on his grandsons’ shoulders. Jack gritted his teeth, but still felt that his shoulder would break under the weight. The acrid smell from Grandpa’s wounds was making Lizzie’s travel sickness worse, and by the time they emerged at the foot of the castle square, they were all feeling wretched. They were met at the house by a fretful Aunt Katie, who clasped a handkerchief to her mouth as she saw her father-in-law.

  “Quick, Rana,” she said after a moment. “Go and get Armina. Boys, get Grandpa into the front room.”

  Armina arrived, sniffed a couple of times and quickly demanded a bowl of hawthorn oil and some clean cloths. “It’s a Phosphan curse,” she announced. “The burn has gone deep. I wish you’d got him to me sooner.”

  Jack opened his mouth to explain, but was silenced by a look from Ossian. Jack left at Armina’s request to go and find his uncle, and Gilmore the tailor.

  How come we get the blame for things? he fumed. We got him here as fast as we could.

  The news had spread quickly. Within minutes neighbours and friends were gathering in the square, wanting to know if they could help. Armina took control, sending some out for supplies of cure-stones and jyoti paste, ordering more cloths and arranging for sandalwood scrapings to be burnt. When she decided that Grandpa was fit to be moved, she organised a litter party, and together they carried Grandpa to her house, at the top of the square. Here, as Armina explained, she could look after his wounds. But – and she made this abundantly clear – the recovery was going to take time. Phosphan curses were notoriously difficult to treat, especially when they had had a chance to burn so deeply.

  Jack and the others walked dejectedly home. When they got back, they met Petros, Uncle Hart and Aunt Dorcas, who had been out in the city and had missed all the commotion. Once Ossian had brought them up to date, Uncle Hart announced that they would have to go back to Keldy. There was no way he was leaving his home unattended if Malevola was around in the woods. Rejecting Aunt Katie’s suggestion that it would be safer to send grigs to find out what was happening, Uncle Hart got his family organised and soon they were heading down to the low road.

  “But what if those creatures are still there?” Lizzie couldn’t help feeling that Keldy was still too dangerous. “And what were they, anyway?”

  “The demon was like the ones at Dunvik,” pointed out Jack.

  “And the old man was a Dunter,” explained Ossian. “You know, a Red Cap.”

  “Grandpa told me about them last year,” said Jack thoughtfully. “They dip their caps in the victim’s blood. But he said they came from the border lands. If Malevola came from one of the north islands, maybe the Unseelie are joining up from all over.”

  It was three days before Armina would let Grandpa Sandy have any visitors. Requests to see him were met with the blunt assertion that he wasn’t well enough. When Jack and his cousins were finally allowed to enter Armina’s house, it was under strict instructions not to touch anything.

  As they passed into the hallway, Jack’s nostrils were assaulted by an assortment of odours. The sandalwood he recognised, but there were other, more pungent aromas. Lizzie wrinkled her nose as Rana cautiously pushed open the door to the darkened room where their grandfather lay. A fire was crackling in the grate, but it threw little light into the room.

  “Can we have a light on, please?” asked Rana timidly.

  Tutting, Armina stuck her sceptre in a holder by the fire.

  “Bright light is bad for his wounds. But moonlight is safe. Lunalumen!”

  The sceptre glowed and the room looked as if bright moonlight was flooding in. Now they could make out their grandfather, lying on a couch.

  “Five minutes only!” barked Armina. “He must rest!”

  With that she withdrew, and the youngsters shuffled awkwardly forward. Rana took hold of her grandfather’s hand. His eyes opened, but for a moment he appeared not to see her. Then recognition dawned, and he smiled. Patting her hand, he mumbled inaudibly. For once, Rana was unable to speak. Tears welled up in her eyes.

  “Are you all right, Grandpa?” whispered Lizzie.

  He nodded, a slight movement that seemed to take from him what little energy he had. His eyes closed again, and he gave a gentle sigh.

  Jack looked around the room nervously. His grandfather’s wounds smelt disgusting. Armina entered and moved swiftly over to the fire, throwing a handful of wood scrapings onto the flames. There was a hiss and crackle of sparks as the scented wood met the blaze.

  “The sandalwood cleans the air,” she said matter-of-factly. “Now, Sandy, can you speak?”

  Grandpa Sandy’s eyes opened again, and he looked over to Jack. With an effort, he cleared his throat.

  “Good boy.”

  Jack flushed, and blinked furiously to get rid of tears in the corner of his eyes.

  “You stepped in again,” continued Grandpa, his voice a little stronger. “You used Gosol. Never doubt its power, Jack. It’s banished demons twice.”

  Jack moved over to his grandfather.

  “You seemed all right up in Keldy. I thought you were just a bit wounded.”

  “It’s the way Phosphan curses work, boy,” stated Armina. “They burn slowly; at first the damage looks slight. That’s why they must be treated quickly, before they burn down to the bone. I can heal it, but it will take many weeks. And now your grandfather must rest. You can see him again in a few days.”

  The four youngsters made their way outside.

  “Poor Grandpa,” reflected Rana. “I thought he was all right. That Malevola’s an evil hag.”

  “Good job you got rid of her, then,” stated Petros, punching Jack lightly on the shoulder.

  “I don’t know,” said Jack. “I don’t think she’s gone for good somehow. She took something from Tamlina: did she still have her ring on?”

  “I never noticed,” admitted Rana.

  “I didn’t think Grandpa would be so badly hurt. What are we going to do without him?” asked Lizzie.

  “What did Tamlina say, before she died?” demanded Rana. “Something about a cave, and a saint. Who could help us find out about that?

  “There was a bridge too,” stated Jack. “‘The giant’s bridge,’ she said. And waking columns.”

  “It was to do with the Sphere, wasn’t it?” Lizzie spoke up now. “Tamlina said that Malevola’s come because she wants the Sphere. And something about the Kildashie.”

  There was a pause for a few moments.

  “I know you won’t like this,” said Rana slowly, “but if it’s Shian lore, your best bet is Murkle.”

  �
�Anything’s better than asking him,” blurted Petros. “He’s torture.”

  “There were manuscripts too,” asserted Jack. “I remember Grandpa talking about them last year. The ones Matthew left in the Stone Room.”

  “Matthew the Enchanter?” asked Lizzie.

  “He wasn’t an enchanter; at least, I don’t think he was. He taught about Gosol. Anyway, he said he’d left some manuscripts in the Stone Room. Then Fenrig stole them and gave them to his dad. Maybe we should look for them first. Murkle’s too much trouble.”

  “Honestly, boys.” Rana spoke to her sister, her tone openly scornful. “They’d rather wander around in circles than ask for help.”

  “All right, if you’re so smart, you go and ask him.” Jack threw down the gauntlet. “I bet you don’t get anywhere.”

  Rana and Lizzie looked at each other, then back at Jack. Both nodded.

  “What d’you bet us?” demanded Rana.

  “A silver sovereign,” stated Petros. “But you’ve got to get chapter and verse from him. Everything: where the Sphere is, where the cave is …”

  “And the bridge,” butted in Jack.

  “Nobody knows where the Sphere is, dimwit,” said Lizzie. “Don’t you think the Congress would have got it by now if Murkle knew where it was? But we’ll get everything else. Agreed?”

  The four shook hands on the deal.

  As Lizzie and Rana headed for the house, Jack whispered urgently, “We need to find out before they do. Let’s ask Daid. He must know something, especially if the Sphere is mixed up with the humans, like the Chalice was.”

  “Daid’s being ‘looked after’, remember? We’ll never get past Murkle.”

  “You’ll have to distract him,” said Jack. “Ask him about one of his stories. Or about how the Kildashie control sound. You get him out of the way, and I’ll speak to Daid.”

  Petros had little enthusiasm for tackling Murkle on his own. “We’ll both ask him,” he said. “Maybe we can get them apart for a minute or two.”

  Jack couldn’t think of a better plan, so the two made their way along to Murkle’s house. For a while Jack’s knock brought no answer; then they heard the sound of a bolt being drawn back.