The Doomspell

by Cliff McNish

  The

  Doomspell

  ‘McNish creates a vivid world of magical possibilities in which children discover they have amazing powers.’

  The Times

  ‘High fantasy, richly imagined, and refreshingly well-written.’

  Financial Times

  ‘A magical read . . . a page-turner, and sometimes a stomach turner, The Doomspell never fails to enthral and captivate.’

  Amazon.co.uk

  ‘A terrific new fantasy novel . . . a gripping novel which will leave children desperate for the next installment.’

  Express Parent

  ‘This story is brilliant, breathless and filled with action from page one. If you want a book that you can’t stop reading this it it. Enough talk - just read!’

  Kids Out

  ‘The Doomspell is a perfect example of a great new voice in writing for children. This is a closely written and exciting fantasy novel that has all the elements to make it a bestseller . . . McNish has created an incredible world in which the reader will become totally absorbed.’

  The Bookseller

  By Cliff McNish

  The Doomspell Trilogy

  The Doomspell

  The Scent of Magic

  The Wizard’s Promise

  The Silver Sequence

  The Silver Child

  The Silver City

  The Silver World

  For older readers

  The Hunting Ground

  Savannah Grey

  Breathe: A Ghost Story

  Angel

  For younger readers

  Going Home

  My Friend Twigs

  The Winter Wolf

  The

  Doomspell

  Cliff McNish

  Doomspell Books

  For Rachel, of course

  Doomspell Books

  First published in Great Britain in 2000 by Orion Children’s Books.

  This eBook first published in 2010 by Orion Children’s Books. Reissued in 2017 by Doomspell Books.

  Text copyright © Cliff McNish 2000

  Illustrations copyright © Geoff Taylor 2000

  The right of Cliff McNish and Geoff Taylor to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the copyright, designs and patents act 1988.

  All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  This ebook produced by Jouve, France

  www.cliffmcnish.com

  Contents

  Cover

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Praise

  Also by Cliff McNish

  1 The Witch

  2 The Cellar

  3 Between the Worlds

  4 Arrival at the Palace

  5 Spells

  6 Journey in the Sky

  7 Rachel’s Trial

  8 The Council of Sarren

  9 The Child Army

  10 Awakening

  11 Magic

  12 The Kiss Breath

  13 Journey in the Snow

  14 Prapsies

  15 Wolves

  16 Latnap Deep

  17 Teeth

  18 Mawkmound

  19 Doomspell

  20 Manag

  21 The Choice

  A Chapter from The Scent of Magic

  The Camberwell Beauty

  1

  The Witch

  The Witch descended the dark steps of the Palace. It was a freezing night. Snow blew wildly in the sky and the wind howled like a starving wolf.

  ‘What a delightful evening,’ sighed the Witch happily.

  Despite the bitter cold she wore only a thin black dress and her feet were bare. A snake clung passionately to her neck, occasionally blinking ruby-red eyes through the snow flurries.

  The Witch walked effortlessly, relishing the crunch of ice against her toes, while a man alongside struggled to keep up. He was less than five feet tall and over five hundred years old. Bow-shaped creases either side of his eyes made them appear as if they had been gouged out and re-inserted many times. He shuffled down the steep Palace steps, only a big, flat nose and square chin exposed. His scraggy beard was neatly tucked under three scarves.

  ‘Well, how do I look, Morpeth?’ the Witch asked.

  She flashed a pretty-woman face.

  ‘It will convince the children,’ he muttered. ‘Why bother to make yourself look nice, Dragwena? You don’t normally care what they think.’

  The Witch reverted to her normal appearance: blood-red skin, tattooed eyes, the four sets of teeth, two inside and two outside the writhing snake-mouth. Morpeth watched as the rows of teeth snapped at each other, fighting for the best eating position. A few purple-eyed, armoured spiders swarmed between the jaws, cleaning the remains of her last meal.

  ‘Ah, but tonight a special child is arriving,’ the Witch said. ‘I don’t want to frighten it too soon.’

  Morpeth made his way down the remaining icy steps of the eye-tower. It was the highest point of the Palace, a thin column piercing the sky. Below, the other jagged Palace buildings huddled in the snow, their black stone poking up like beetle limbs. Morpeth placed one foot carefully in front of the next. He preferred not to slip – if he fell the Witch always waited until the last possible moment before rescuing him. Tonight he noticed Dragwena was unusually excited. She gently rolled the spiders on her tongue and laughed. It was an ugly laugh, shrill, inhuman – like the Witch herself. Through nostrils shaped like slashed tulip petals she sniffed the air eagerly.

  ‘A perfect evening,’ she said. ‘Cold, darkness, and the wolves are out. Can’t you smell them?’

  Morpeth grunted, stamping his feet to keep warm. He could not smell or see the wolves, but he did not doubt Dragwena’s word. Her bone-rimmed, triangular lids opened and stretched backwards under her cheekbones. Every detail of the night was always clear to the Witch.

  ‘And the best of the evening is yet to come,’ she sighed. ‘Soon new children will be arriving. No doubt they will be the same as always – a little puzzled, yet grateful to receive our care. What will we do with them this time?’ She grinned, and all four rows of teeth thrust forward menacingly. ‘Shall we frighten them to death? What do you think, Morpeth?’

  ‘Perhaps they’ll be useless,’ he replied. ‘It is a long time since a special child arrived.’

  ‘I think tonight will be different,’ said the Witch. ‘I have sensed this one for some time, growing in power on Earth. It is gifted.’

  Morpeth did not reply. Although it was painful to spend any time in the Witch’s company, tonight he wanted to be at her side. If a special child arrived he desired to know almost as much as she, but for different reasons.

  They continued to descend the eye-tower. At the bottom a carriage awaited, led by two nervous black horses. The Witch usually flew to greet new children, but on a whim she had decided against it this evening.

  Impatiently she watched Morpeth totter down the last few steps. So slow, she thought. So old. It would be enjoyable to kill him soon, when he was no longer useful.

  Pushing Morpeth inside the carriage, she whispered a spell of panic to each horse and they bolted in terror towards the Gateway.
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br />   2

  The Cellar

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Eric asked, munching his cornflakes.

  Rachel shrugged. ‘You know.’

  ‘The dream again?’

  ‘Mm.’ Rachel allowed her long black hair to dangle close to the breakfast milk, then flicked it at her brother.

  ‘Leave off,’ Eric said. He pressed his face close to Rachel, opened his mouth wide, and let milk and cornflakes dribble over his grinning lips.

  ‘Oh, grow up,’ said Rachel.

  Eric laughed. ‘Grow up like you? No thanks.’

  Rachel ignored him, staring at her untouched plate.

  ‘The dream changed last night,’ she said. ‘This time there were—’

  ‘Kids,’ Eric finished. ‘I know. I saw them. In the snow behind the woman.’

  Their mum stood nearby, stirring her coffee. ‘Not that again,’ she sighed. ‘Look Rachel, you began this dream rubbish. Now Eric’s at it too. I wish you’d just drop the joke. It’s not even funny.’

  ‘Why don’t you believe us?’ Eric asked. ‘We’re both having the same dreams. Exactly the same dreams.’

  ‘Last night,’ said Rachel, ‘the kids were shivering behind the woman. They had big creases around their eyes. They were covered in frost.’

  ‘They looked half dead,’ Eric said.

  ‘Oh, stop it, both of you,’ their mum warned. ‘I’m fed up with all this nonsense.’

  ‘I’m telling you, Mum,’ said Eric. ‘The woman in the dream’s weird. Dark snow falls around her head. And she’s got a snake-necklace. It looks right at you.’

  ‘It’s alive,’ said Rachel.

  ‘You’ve been practising this routine,’ their mum said impatiently. ‘I know you two. Do you think I’m daft? Get on with your breakfast.’

  Rachel and Eric fell silent, finished eating and left the table. It was Saturday, so they could do what they liked. Eric trotted down to the cellar to play with his model aeroplanes. Rachel, deep in thought, went to her room to read, hoping it might take her mind off the dream. How could she convince her mum they were telling the truth? After a while she glanced up to see her mum standing hesitantly in the doorway. She might have been standing there for some time.

  ‘Look, are you serious about this dream stuff?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  Her mum glared. ‘Really?’

  Rachel glared back. ‘Mum, I wouldn’t make anything like this up. They’re not like normal dreams.’

  ‘If you’re pulling my leg—’

  ‘I’m not. I’m telling the truth.’

  ‘Mm. All right.’ Her mum rattled a bag. ‘I’m going shopping. We’ll talk about these dreams properly later. Where’s your dad?’

  ‘Have a guess, mum.’

  ‘In the garage, fixing the car.’

  ‘Again,’ said Rachel.

  They both laughed.

  ‘Keep an eye on Eric for me, will you?’ her mum asked.

  Rachel nodded. ‘OK, I’ll check on him in a bit.’

  Her mum left and Rachel turned back to the book, feeling much happier that someone apart from Eric was starting to take her half-seriously about the dreams. Outside a few cars zoomed by on the street. Some giggling kids ran past the house, setting off next door’s dog. Dad cursed a couple of times from the garage – the typical Saturday morning sounds. Eventually Rachel yawned and went to find Eric. She made her way along the upstairs corridor – then stopped.

  What she heard was not a usual Saturday morning sound. It was a scream.

  Where from? Below her, yes. But not the kitchen, or the living room. ‘Eric?’ she called, listening carefully. There was definitely shouting. It came from the depths of the house. As she neared the cellar Rachel’s shadow flickered orange against the wall. A fire?

  ‘Get off!’ Eric’s voice roared. ‘Someone help! What’s holding me against . . . let go of me!’

  Rachel reached the wide-open cellar door. She sniffed the air cautiously, peering down the steep flight of steps.

  Inside there were no flames, but the entire cellar throbbed and blazed with crimson light. It was as if a great sunset had grown tired of the sky and burst into the house. Rachel shielded her eyes. On the wall at the back of the cellar a large black shape thrashed in mid air. She gasped, falling to her knees. Where was Eric? She could hear him panting. She followed the sounds and realized that the black shape was Eric. Both his feet flailed, his body pinned to the wall.

  ‘Rachel!’ he bawled, seeing her. ‘Something’s holding me. I can’t get loose!’

  She ran down the cellar steps. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I don’t know! I’m stuck! I can’t see it!’ He thumped the wall behind him. ‘C’mon, get me off!’

  She grabbed Eric’s wrists, pulling hard.

  Then Rachel saw the claw.

  It was an enormous black claw, the size of a dog. As Rachel watched it sliced through from the other side of the cellar wall. The claw gripped one of Eric’s knees. It spread across his leg and yanked it through the bricks, outside the cellar.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Eric wailed, noticing Rachel’s wild expression. ‘Can you see it? Don’t just stand there!’

  A second claw poked through the bricks. It encircled Eric’s neck with three ragged green fingernails, wrenching his head completely through the wall.

  Rachel leapt forward. She seized one of Eric’s arms and heaved, inch by inch drawing his neck and face back into the cellar.

  ‘Pull harder!’ Eric’s muffled voice yelled. ‘Find something to fight it with!’

  Rachel’s eyes darted about for anything sharp. But whatever lurked beyond the cellar was not about to let Eric escape. The black claws again smashed through the wall. This time they stretched towards Rachel. As she backed away, the bony fingers hovered in front of her face and slapped her hard.

  Rachel fell – and lost her grip on Eric.

  Instantly, both claws tightened around his waist. They dragged Eric completely inside the wall. For a moment one of his arms shot back into the cellar, his nails scratching the floor as he tried to hold onto something, anything – before that was ripped away too.

  Rachel staggered back, shaking violently. A loosened brick dropped near her feet, but there was no sign of the claws. She wiped a sleeve across her bleeding lip.

  Get . . . Dad!

  She retreated up the cellar steps, never taking her eyes off the wall. At the top she twisted and lunged for the door.

  It slammed shut in her face.

  Rachel reached for the handle, and yelped – it was too hot to touch.

  Then, behind her, there was a ferocious rasping noise. The back wall heaved and tore open. Bricks burst like splintered teeth on the floor.

  Rachel, shielding her hand with her jumper, tugged hard again.

  ‘It’s stuck tight!’ she screamed, banging against the door. ‘I can’t open it. Dad! Dad!’

  A blast of wind smashed her back. Rachel spun around. She saw that a new door was growing inside the back wall of the cellar. It was no ordinary door. It was luminous green, shaped like an eye, and slowly widening. A large black claw, the same giant fingers that had slapped her across the face, dragged it open.

  Rachel heard dull thuds above her head.

  ‘Dad!’

  ‘Who’s in there?’ he said. ‘What’s all the racket about?’

  ‘It’s us – me and Eric! We’re . . . something’s trying to get in!’

  ‘I can’t hear what you’re saying,’ he bawled. ‘What’s that noise in there? What kind of game are you—’

  ‘We’re shut in! Dad, help us!’

  He started pounding on the cellar door.

  Immediately, as if sensing his presence, the wind slicing through the eye-door became a raging storm. It tore at Rachel’s head, picking up all the cellar dirt, throwing it into her eyes. A wooden stool slithered across the floor. Eric’s model aeroplanes spun crazily in the air, smashing over and over into the ceiling.

&n
bsp; Rachel could barely breathe. The wind drove like fists, clogging her mouth and nose with dust. Dad could no longer be heard.

  ‘Where are you?’ she shrieked.

  Suddenly, there was a splintering sound – an axe tearing into wood.

  ‘Hold on!’ Dad bellowed. ‘I’m coming!’

  Rachel felt herself being dragged backwards. She pushed her feet against the cellar steps for grip, clinging to the door frame with her fingertips. Dad’s axe cut repeatedly through the door, but it was too solid to break down. He dropped the axe, thrusting his hand through a slash in the wood.

  ‘Hold onto me, Rachel. Don’t let go, no matter what happens!’

  She caught his wrist. Then, blinking away the grit hurting her eyes, Rachel made herself look back. She saw that the eye-door now covered almost the entire back wall. Two claws stretched it open, and between the claws, filling the space, was a vast black creature with triangular green eyes. Hair all over its body bristled in the wind. On the tip of each hair a tiny serpent’s head sprouted. The snake-heads seethed forward into the cellar, trying to bite Rachel’s legs. Rachel tucked her knees in, kicking out, still clutching Dad’s hand.

  The creature within the eye-door was trying to push its way inside, but it was still too large to enter the cellar fully. Then, for the first time, a gaping mouth opened in the middle of the creature’s head. Inside the mouth, between four sets of teeth, a dozen purple-eyed spiders rushed out. They crept along the body hairs towards her.

  The mouth whispered, ‘Rachel . . .’