by Cliff McNish
Rachel leapt into a wolf prowling the Palace gardens. She took on its scent. She leapt into a frog, felt its slime and mingled that with the scent of wolf and other smells, always moving. For the first time she recognised the distinctive smell of her own magic, and removed it. Shifting many miles, she masked all the smells, becoming a wisp of odourless air, drifting aimlessly.
This time Dragwena did not find her for several minutes, and Rachel only knew when a ragged black claw ripped her from the sky.
‘Interesting,’ said Dragwena. ‘What next?’
Rachel imitated the Witch, and held her inside a larger claw. Dragwena followed until the giant black hands blotted out Armath, claw after claw building in the sky.
At last Dragwena herself pulled them both to the ground. ‘Is copying all you can think to do?’ she asked, looking bored. ‘I hoped for a more interesting battle than—’
Rachel leapt into the Witch’s soul-snake. She gripped its mind, held its fangs and made it bite Dragwena’s neck.
Dragwena screamed, then regained control, but Rachel already knew what she wanted to do next – the snake had been only a distraction. She made her body bright and created thousands of other Rachels, equally bright, in the air. For a moment the whole sky was so fierce with their incandescence that even on Mawkmound the Sarren saw it and wondered. Quickly, she made each pretend Rachel soar in several directions – into the earth, trees, rocks, water, and air. All the fake forms she kept in her mind, concentrating to make them as real as herself, giving them one scent, one weight, one pattern of breathing, one pulse, scattering them all to the corners of Ithrea.
From high in the sky above the Palace several Rachels glanced down. Amongst them, her true form saw the Witch, just for a moment, confused.
Then Dragwena appeared alongside her face, laughing loudly. Rachel screamed and it was this, only this, which gave her away. She noticed too late that Dragwena’s laughing form had appeared alongside all the other Rachels.
‘Oh, very good,’ said Dragwena. ‘Excellent! If only you had thought to make all the other Rachels scream it might have worked. But I suppose that’s too much to ask. It takes many years of training to become a real Witch, and you do not have that long, do you?’ She smiled. ‘Keep trying. I don’t wish to kill you just yet.’
Rachel shape-shifted all over Ithrea, trying to give herself time to consider something new. What else could she try? Come on, she told herself. Think! Something completely different . . .
Dragwena casually followed Rachel’s shape-shifting. She took her time, enjoying the game, hoping there would be a few more interesting surprises. Rachel had stopped, Dragwena realized, in of all places Dragwood. The Witch glided towards the earth, knowing exactly where Rachel had landed. But instead of the dark trees the Witch found a tropical forest waiting for her. Instead of dark earth between the trees she found sweet grasses bursting with life. And sitting cross-legged amongst the grass fronds was a Wizard with many-coloured eyes.
‘Larpskendya!’ gasped Dragwena.
‘I told you I would always protect this world,’ said Larpskendya. ‘Did you think I would allow you to hunt Rachel down?’
Dragwena collapsed to her knees, burying her head in her hands. ‘This can’t be true!’
The instant the Witch averted her eyes, Larpskendya’s body disappeared. Where it had been, a needle-sharp blade hovered in the air. Rachel controlled the blade, a combination of all the fast death spells she could muster. She launched it while Dragwena was confused, unprepared, and sliced into the Witch’s body, tearing it to shreds.
The wind blew the tatters of Dragwena’s remains across the snow, scattering them. Rachel transformed back into a girl. For some time she examined the shreds of bone and flesh and clothing, poking the remains gingerly with her feet, hardly daring to believe it had worked.
Then, behind her, Rachel heard a slow handclap.
Dragwena stood there, unharmed. ‘Oh, well done,’ she said. ‘Brilliant! What a fantastic Witch you would have made. What daring! To seek out what I feared most and use it. I only just managed to shape-shift into a tree at the last moment.’ She bowed elaborately. ‘It is an honour to fight you. Shall we continue?’
Rachel watched the Witch’s expression. There was no fear there, only pleasure and enjoyment of the battle. Rachel knew that Dragwena had not even started to fight seriously. At any moment Dragwena could launch an attack. Rachel ignored the spells clamouring in her mind and tried recalling Dragwena’s memories. There had to be something else she could use! What was Dragwena’s weakness? Where could the Witch never follow her? Of course!
Rachel transformed into a rocket, aiming for the edge of the sky. The clouds scudded over her face, the air growing thinner.
‘What are you trying now?’ asked Dragwena, taking the same form, following her upward.
Rachel focused on shutting out her thoughts, but Dragwena sensed she was doing exactly that and read her intention.
The Witch slammed them both into the ground below.
‘Idiot,’ Dragwena said. ‘If you had not shut your mind, I would not have bothered to read it until too late. You might have escaped! A wasted chance. Since you knew I cannot leave Ithrea, why didn’t you just imagine yourself already outside the planet? I could never have followed you. But you did the obvious thing: you made yourself just fly fast. You are still thinking like a child, Rachel.’
Rachel immediately tried to picture herself in space, outside the world. Her body hurtled upwards, then crumpled like paper – an invisible shield created by Dragwena held her in. Rachel recovered, flew across the sky, desperately hoping for a crack in the shield. There was none. The stars beckoned above, achingly close. Rachel clawed at their winking light, seeking a way through.
The Witch appeared alongside. ‘I think our little battle is almost over,’ she said. ‘I was wrong about being able to use you, but perhaps I should have concentrated on your brother from the beginning.’ She smiled, pulling Rachel’s face close. ‘Eric has much I can use. With training, I sense he might be able to remove the bonds of magic Larpskendya has wrapped around this world. It may be Eric, after all, who helps me fulfil the dark ver—’
Rachel breathed a blinding spell at Dragwena. Their heads were so close that Dragwena did not have time to shut her eyes. For a moment blades of emerald attacked her face; then they vanished, leaving the Witch unharmed.
‘I know defences against all your spells,’ the Witch whispered. ‘Eric will not fight like you. He is so young. He will be much easier to persuade.’
Rachel screamed and shifted again, but this time Dragwena did not follow. She simply ripped Rachel from the sky and dragged them both back to Mawkmound.
Rachel saw Morpeth and Trimak and the rest of the Sarren turn towards them expectantly. Eric lay in Morpeth’s arms, still unconscious.
‘See their anxious little faces?’ said Dragwena. ‘I want them all to see you crushed, to see the end of their child-hope. Then I will kill Morpeth and Trimak slowly, over a hundred years perhaps. Eric can help me. The others are not important.’ She laughed. ‘Where is your precious Larpskendya now? Where is the Wizard who promised to protect you?’
Rachel had one last desperate idea. She craned her neck, pointing towards Armath. She drew a deep breath – and shouted out the verse of hope.
For a moment the air rippled delicately. Everyone on Mawkmound felt it, even the Witch. Rachel and the Sarren waited hopefully, but something was missing. The words faded in the night breeze, and Armath shone coldly above.
Rachel bowed her head, completely defeated. Defiance, bravery, all of her magic – none of it seemed any use now. Where was Larpskendya? Where was he? Rachel glanced at the Sarren huddled across Mawkmound and the small face of Eric cradled in Morpeth’s arms, and could think of nothing left to try.
‘Prepare to die, girl,’ said Dragwena. ‘I am summoning the Doomspell.’
The Witch walked slowly to the centre of Mawkmound and raised her arms. She
incanted spells in the language of Ool, her home world. Rachel knew a few of the words from the death spells in her mind, but most she did not recognize. Here, she realised, was one of the deadliest spells Dragwena had never revealed – a killing spell of incalculable power. Rachel searched for something – anything – to defend herself.
The Doomspell arrived slowly. Dragwena knew there was no need for haste now. From the frozen wastes of the north a gigantic storm-whirl tore itself from a corner of the world. Rachel saw it from many miles away, an inferno of blasting rage. As she watched, the storm-whirl spread out to cover the entire sky. Its immense shadow bulged over the land, obliterating snow and stars. Over the Ragged Mountains the storm-shadow poured and Armath, shining there, was consumed by it. Mountains and streams were devoured and a wind rose that began to blow fiercely over Mawkmound.
The Sarren were terrified, but they did not scatter. Instead Trimak and a procession of Sarren solemnly crossed the snows of Mawkmound towards Rachel, their bodies bent against the wind. Morpeth hesitated for a moment, glancing first at Eric, then Rachel. Eventually, he carried Eric some distance away across the snows. Rachel saw him place his jacket under Eric’s head, lower him gently in the snow and mutter three words. Not a protection spell, Rachel realized – Morpeth knew his magic was too weak to protect Eric. It was simply an apology, one Eric would probably never hear. Morpeth kissed Eric on the forehead and quickly caught up with the others.
All the Sarren now surrounded Rachel. Those with swords pointed them at Dragwena.
The Witch laughed. ‘Swords? How touching.’
The vast storm-whirl finally reached Mawkmound. It hovered over Dragwena’s head, a mass of coiling black cloud as wide as the horizon. Dragwena traced a shape in the air. Instantly, the cloud changed shape, condensing into a single thin grinding tunnel of wind, the thickness of rope. Dragwena dislocated her jaw. It flopped onto her chin, and the tunnel leapt inside her mouth. She shuddered with ecstasy as it poured inside her throat.
The Witch closed her mouth and smiled at Rachel. ‘Ready?’
‘Yes!’ the Sarren closest to Dragwena bellowed.
Dragwena pointed her mouth at him and released the Doomspell.
A thick pillar of black smoke streamed at extraordinary speed from her lips. Inside the smoke a thousand teeth rushed to the surface.
Rachel placed several rings of protection around the Sarren, but it made no difference. The first Sarren hit by the smoke was torn apart. Knowing all the others would be killed, Rachel transported the remaining Sarren to safety at the edge of Mawkmound – and met the full force of the smoke and teeth alone.
She shielded her body with several spells, but the teeth inside gnawed relentlessly. Rachel fought them with everything she knew: with defensive spells, with killing spells, with incantations of paralysis and, finally, as the teeth burst through, even with her nails.
But it was no use. Dragwena cackled with joy as the teeth began to eat Rachel’s lips and eyes.
20
Manag
Rachel felt the teeth tearing lumps from her face. They shredded her arms and legs. They attacked her neck and heart, seeing the quickest way to kill her, chewing hungrily at her flesh, whispering the words of the Doomspell, willing her to die.
Rachel endured everything. Her whole mind was focused on a single spell to deaden her body to the pain. She waited and waited until all the teeth clung to her body. At last, when she could hear the whisper of the last jaw of the Doomspell, its meaning was fully revealed.
Rachel made fists of both her hands and unhinged her jaw. Her chin dropped and her mouth gaped wide. Through a gargle of blood and air she choked out the words she needed. Immediately, the teeth stopped biting. The black column of smoke and teeth rushed inside her throat, filling her.
Rachel’s torn and bloodied body gazed evenly at Dragwena. ‘Get ready,’ she muttered. ‘Larpskendya taught me in the dream-sleep that there is a spell of goodness for every spell of evil, Witch. You’d better start running before it catches you!’
She coughed. Blue smoke emerged from her mouth, moving slowly towards Dragwena.
‘What is this?’ asked Dragwena, backing away nervously. ‘You cannot use the Doomspell. It is mine alone.’
Rachel pressed her chest with both hands, continuing to cough, and the blue smoke advanced more thickly. She incanted words backwards in the Witch’s tongue. The spell flooded from her lips and followed the smoke.
A look of understanding suddenly gleamed in Dragwena’s eye. ‘A reversal,’ she whispered. ‘You are reversing the Doomspell. Bad to good: no, it cannot work.’
Dragwena continued to retreat. The first wisp of smoke touched her leg. She screamed in pain – and ran.
The words streamed from Rachel. Dragwena raised her arms and flew upward. A tendril of smoke yanked her back and fisted her into the ground. The rest of the blue column rapidly encircled Dragwena, pouring into her nose and throat and eyes. There were no teeth inside, but the Witch wailed and writhed under the onslaught as if inhaling fire.
Then, as suddenly as they had started, the words ceased. The reversal spell was at an end. As it finished Rachel’s wounds vanished. She closed her mouth and the last blue vapours disappeared.
Everyone looked at Dragwena.
She lay in torment on the ground, her whole body burning in a blue flame which still reached deep inside. But the Witch was not dead. With a huge effort she lifted her head into the air, and rasped: ‘Manag . . . Manag . . .’ The smoke poured back out of Dragwena’s throat like glue, flicked out by her tongue.
It rose into the air and formed into a clawed creature with green eyes and a mouth that spread across all Mawkmound.
The Sarren looked desperately to Rachel for an explanation, but she had no understanding or answer.
Dragwena sat up. A bright green light ran over her body, snuffing out the last of the blue flames. ‘Did you think the Doomspell is only a few flashing teeth?’ she scoffed. ‘It is countless spells, whatever I need it to be. This time a reversal will not work.’
Dragwena kissed the air. Rachel’s body stiffened, outlined by a ring of flickering green fire. Understanding, the Manag opened its great claws and dived to rip her apart . . .
Morpeth ran towards Eric, shaking him over and over.
‘Get up! Wake up!’ he pleaded.
At last Eric raised his head and got clumsily to his feet. He stumbled towards Rachel and stood in front of her, tiny against the Manag’s hugeness. Pointing with both hands, he punched holes in the creature’s frame, somehow holding it back. But the spell that formed the Manag kept changing, inching closer, defying him. At last its breath swotted Eric to the ground. He fell on top of Rachel, still wildly jabbing his fingers.
‘I can’t stop it!’ he cried. ‘I can’t stop it! It’s made up of millions of spells. There are too many. I can’t stop them all!’
‘Sing the verse of hope,’ Rachel told him. ‘Sing it! Sing it!’
Eric pressed both his hands into the face of the Manag. He twisted his head towards the Endellion Ocean and sang in a high voice:
‘Dark girl she will be,
Enemies to set free,
Sing in harmony,
From sleep and dawn-bright sea,
I will arise,
And behold you childish glee.’
The Manag warily opened its eyes.
‘Sing it again!’ Rachel shouted.
‘Dark girl . . .’ Eric began, and this time Rachel joined him, two voices singing in harmony. Over and over they sang, not stopping, louder and louder, until they heard an ancient sound rumble from its sleep – an immense heart thudding across the night.
The Manag stopped. It hovered over Rachel, rearing back, and turned uncertainly towards Dragwena.
‘Finish it!’ the Witch shrieked. ‘Kill her! Kill her!’
The Manag flexed its claws, still hesitating.
‘Destroy her!’ Dragwena commanded. ‘I created you. I demand it! Do it!’
Lunging forward, the Manag opened its great jaws within inches of Rachel’s head, but still withheld its attack.
The Witch raged wildly at the creature, and it groaned with the agony of her words, yet something else tugged at the Manag’s will. It continued to hover, glancing first at Dragwena, then at Rachel. Finally it ignored them both and turned its apprehensive eyes westward. And now every-one’s eyes followed it, for a remarkable transformation was taking place.
In the middle of the night, with Armath at its zenith high in the sky, a sunrise was beginning in the far reaches of the world.
At first there was only a dim orange glow over the western mountains. But soon the sun rose in all its glory and ascended at an impossible speed into the sky. It was not the meagre creamy sun that had shone for so long on Ithrea. This sun was wild and golden. Almost painfully bright, it heaved itself into the air, pouring through the clouds of Ithrea for the first time in thousands of years. The Sarren gaped in wonder as they followed it, incandescent beams flashing off their cheekbones. Dragwena staggered and uttered an agonised cry, unable to bear the touch of the sun’s rays. She called the Manag and cowered beneath it, hiding her head between her knees.
The Sarren continued to watch events unfold. High in the sky, beyond the rising sun, the night air was still dark – then something equally impossible happened: Armath, the great moon, fell from its place low over the Ragged Mountains, splashing with a mighty explosion into the Endellion Ocean.
‘What’s happening?’ cried Trimak.
‘I don’t know,’ Morpeth said, watching the tremendous plume of sizzling water thrown up by the moon.
The green ring of fire surrounding Rachel vanished. As she rushed across to the others Morpeth saw points of light plummeting in her eyes.
‘Look!’ Trimak cried. ‘Look at the stars!’
In the sky above Ithrea, one by one, and then in their hundreds, like points of light on wallpaper, the stars were falling from their appointed places, following Armath into the ocean. Meanwhile, the sun continued its galloping ascent until it stood high above their heads. Bright daylight now swept across Mawkmound.