But Tom couldn’t. The crowd had stopped chanting. They were cheering now. Someone was climbing onto the fountain. They held in their hands a straw effigy with a picture of his face stuck on it. He stopped to watch, transfixed by the accuracy of the picture.
“BURN, BURN, BURN.”
“BURN, BURN, BURN.”
And it did.
Flames rose from its feet and burned up. The face attached to the figure suddenly came alive. Its face contorted, its mouth opened in a blood-curdling scream. The crowd went wild.
“Let’s go, Tom,” Jenna whispered in his ear.
She had his hand in hers as she led him through the crowd. He bumped into many as he passed. And then someone shoved into him roughly, knocking him to the ground, separating his hand from Jenna’s.
The person moved on without acknowledging him. But Tom got a glance of her before she disappeared amongst the crowd. Jenna had his hand again. She pulled him up and through the crowd.
It was only when they reached the other side of the square did Tom stop to look back. The person who had knocked him to ground, she had black hair. But he was sure that wasn’t her natural colour.
Chapter 29
Once back in the tree house they didn’t have the most productive of conversations. There were only so many times you could hear Saafir say “But the Zarlocks are alive!” before it became a little annoying.
Tom was tired. He’d had an eventful evening. All he wanted was to sleep. They let him eventually, agreeing to come back the next morning. He woke up wishing they had been more specific about the time. He was asleep when the twins turned up and let themselves in.
He sat on his bed now, arms folded across his chest, staring down sulkily as they waited for Saafir. The twins sat opposite him on the sofa. He glanced up at them occasionally to glower and every time he caught Gemma glaring back at him.
The sun rose and, what felt like hours later, Saafir finally stepped through the door looking scruffier than usual.
“What happened to you?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” he grumbled.
That much was evident. He had dark circles under his eyes.
“The seer’s teeth,” Saafir shuddered. “The two on either side were dirty. What did he do? Brush only the one in the middle?”
Tom had wondered that too. No-one’s teeth could naturally be that way. There was effort there. They hadn’t spoken of his dream at the seer’s. No-one had cared to ask. Now that they knew the Zarlocks were alive it didn’t seem important. He decided to tell them anyway.
“I think they want me to have the wand,” he said as he finished.
“Why?”
Tom shrugged. Like most things of late, he just didn’t know.
“What’s so special about it?”
“It’s the wand of Zarlock,” Saafir said. All eyes turned on him and he too shrugged, before adding, “Everything Zarlock is different, isn’t it? Like their house.”
“What about it?” Gemma asked blankly.
“I don’t know any other house that closed up and became a tomb.”
Silence followed and Tom guessed that to mean neither had the twins.
“Maybe it’s a weapon,” Jenna said. “To fight the beast and rescue the Zarlocks.” She slashed the air with her hand in an imaginary battle with the beast.
And rescue the Zarlocks...
That was what the seer had said: the only reason for the dreams to hurt was if the person whom the dreams came from wasn’t dead. They had discussed that plenty last night. Once they had left, he had thought about it some more. He had been tired, but sleep did not come easily.
Tom’s brow creased as he glanced at the twins. He had eventually fallen asleep only to be rudely awoken by those two.
“Is that what I have to do?” he asked quietly. “Get the wand and save the Zarlocks?”
He hadn’t thought of it as a weapon but now that Jenna mentioned it, it did make sense. The Zarlocks were alive but possibly injured and trapped. That was why the beast was still lurking outside the house. It was waiting for them. He had to rescue them, and the only way the wand fitted in was for it to be a weapon.
Did that make sense?
“How can we get the wand?” Jenna interrupted his thoughts. “Any ideas that don’t suggest sneaking past the beast would be most welcome,” she added cheerfully.
“We could try the meat marinated in poison,” Saafir said reluctantly and Jenna smiled brightly. “I still think it’s a horrible idea,” he sulked.
And it probably was. But Tom much preferred it over trying to sneak past the thing. That did raise another question though – why did he need the wand if they could just poison the beast to death?
“I don’t know...” was the response he got when he asked.
The topic of conversation changed to meats, potions and the best way to lure the beast into their trap. Tom didn’t know anything about the first two, but the third seemed obvious – approach the island with caution, stay back on their brooms, have the meat float towards the house, and wait.
It was like fishing.
Sort of.
It wasn’t often everyone agreed with him, but they did then. Tom leaned back against the wall, satisfied, only to remember he had something important to share with the group. He reached into his pocket and felt for the note. He found it last night left inside his cloak; it was a piece of paper, written on it scruffily was a simple message – a warning.
“You have been shadowed. They are watching.”
“Who’s watching?” Gemma asked.
Tom had thought that bit to be obvious. But he wasn’t so sure anymore. It couldn’t be that simple if Gemma was asking, could it?
“Who do you think is watching?” Saafir asked scornfully. “It’s the Le Fays.”
“Oh, shut up,” Gemma said moodily. She turned to Tom and asked aggressively, “Did you see who gave you the note?”
He hadn’t seen the person who gave him the note. But he did see someone else.
“Cindy?” Saafir asked doubtfully.
Tom nodded.
“She was there? Chanting with the crowd?”
He hadn’t seen her chanting, but why else would she be there?
“But, she’s an Other Sider.”
“So?”
“The Cauldron only chooses the good.”
“What cauldron?”
So they explained. Merlin enchanted the Cauldron to choose who to let through the Great Barrier. Every wizard and witch, on their eighteenth birthday, would have their name written on a piece of paper signed in their blood which would be dropped into the Cauldron. Almost all the papers the Cauldron spits right out. The few that it doesn’t, the ones that dissolve within, those become the Other Siders.
Over the years, patterns began to emerge showing common traits amongst the Other Siders. They were always the best of the witches and wizards: the honest, the brave, the trustworthy.
That didn’t sound like the Cindy he knew...
“She lied to me,” he said. “She told me I would fit in,” he added quietly. That wasn’t all. It wasn’t the first time he had seen her since she left him at the headmaster’s door. “She was there,” he turned to Saafir, “in the house by the lake.”
“That was her?”
“What lake house?” Jenna asked.
“There was blood,” Saafir said.
“Lake house, blood – what are you two talking about?” Jenna frowned.
Tom told her how he and Saafir had entered the forest the morning they flew to the House of Zarlock to explore an abandoned house. Just as they were about to step out from the trees and into the open, they spotted someone walking out of the house, carrying a bloodied body.
“You’re sure that was her?”
He hadn’t been at the time but, after seeing her last night, he was now. It had to be. She was following him, watching him. The note had to be a warning about her.
“We can’t go to the House of Zarlock...” Jenna s
aid.
“Why?”
“What if she follows us? We can’t let her know the Zarlocks are alive,” Jenna said. “We need help.” She turned to Saafir. “Can’t you do anything?”
“Me? What can I do?”
“She means House of Malik, idiot,” Gemma said viciously.
“Oh.” Saafir looked down dejectedly and added, “I’m sure they would help if they believed me.”
“Why wouldn’t they believe you?”
“Because I read a lot, and I write too,” Saafir said flatly. “They might think I made it up.”
“So, do you,” Jenna paused, looking for the right words to say, the words that would cause the least offence, “tell them really good tales that they might think you believe to be true?”
Saafir glared at her. “No.”
Gemma opened her mouth to say something but Jenna gently nudged her and she closed her mouth again. They waited for Saafir to talk, because it did seem like he had more to say.
“They don’t take me seriously,” he finally said. “They think I have a vivid imagination.” Gemma opened her mouth again and this time there was nothing gentle about Jenna’s nudge. Saafir’s face lit up. “They might not believe me,” he said, “but they would have no reason to doubt you, Tom.”
***
Two weeks later, Tom and Saafir sat in the main hall having supper. They’d arrived late again. Madam Sue had frowned but said nothing. She seemed resigned to the fact that if they couldn’t get the times right after so many months, they never would.
“I spoke to my brother,” Saafir said as he poked the red jelly on his plate.
“What did he say? Is he going to meet me?”
“At first he thought I was bored.” He separated parts of the jelly with his fork and shaped it into a face with eyes, nose, mouth and all. “Because that’s what they think I do when I’m bored,” he added crossly, now stabbing the jelly face with his knife.
Tom stared at the butchered remains on Saafir’s plate. Stabbed into little pieces it looked creepy, still somewhat resembling a face.
“Oh, did you want some?” Saafir asked, mistaking Tom’s stare of disgust as one of want. “There is plenty more, but I guess I shouldn’t really waste food,” he added quietly.
Tom shook his head vigorously. The red jelly was dripping juices now and reminded him of a horror film he had seen. There was a reason for that age restriction on the movie. If only he had cared before he watched it.
“So umm...” What were they talking about? “Your brother, will he meet me?”
Saafir nodded. “Four days from now, he’ll be in the Queen’s Head.”
“That’s not in school, is it?”
“No.” Saafir looked up from his plate slowly. “You wanted him to come here?”
“Would have been nice.”
He didn’t fancy going out to town again so soon. Watching volatile crowds chanting for his death was overrated in his opinion.
“Sorry,” Saafir said.
“What did you tell him about me?”
“Not much. Just that you were having dreams and you needed help.”
“That’s it?”
“Didn’t want to say too much,” Saafir said.
Tom nodded. It was better that way. They were being watched, they knew, but how, they did not. The less they spoke of what was happening, the better.
“Four days,” Tom said. “That’s Friday night, isn’t it?”
Saafir stabbed the jelly face one last time before he looked up and nodded.
“Great.”
Chapter 30
Lord Dragunov never liked this room much. It did not hold any fond memories for him. It was small, completely empty of furniture and had no windows. He didn’t normally care for such things. But, under the circumstances, a little sun shining in would have been nice.
He paced the room nervously, muttering to himself. It was his room, his house, his land. He was a lord. Why should he be nervous? But he always was when he waited for him.
Even the very first time he had met him, before he truly knew him, knew what he was capable of, he had been nervous. And now that he knew him, he was a little afraid too. He had done something wrong. He didn’t know what it was yet, but there was always something with him.
He should have killed the boy. He should have had his head the minute he stepped into that school. So what if it was on neutral land? The other lords could go to hell with what they thought. They would all soon be dead anyway. War was coming.
But he had said no. Watch the boy, he had said, see what he is, what this is. Lord Dragunov had done as asked. And many months later, after many unexpected occurrences, he was here, waiting for him.
He knew enough about the Zarlocks to know the Malik boy was right. Everything Zarlock or Le Fay was steeped in magic beyond the understanding of most, his own even. And were the children right? Were the Zarlocks really alive? Why would they stay hidden for so long?
He couldn’t kill the boy anymore. It wasn’t his curiosity that was stopping him. It was his fear of him. It wouldn’t please him to know he had made a decision on something so important without knowing, without asking.
And now he would have to tell him everything he had done since the Breeder stepped foot in Atlantis. It didn’t matter how hard he tried, in his eyes he always made mistakes.
The flames on the torches suddenly dipped and the room darkened. It filled with smoke. Dark grey and swirling, it surrounded him completely, engulfing him. Lord Dragunov knew the signs. It didn’t matter that he was a lord.
He dropped to his knees and bowed before him.
“My lord,” he said and he waited, his eyes downcast.
“What do you want?” The voice came from all corners of the room. It was loud and clear, and it sounded bored.
“The Breeder, my lord-”
“I am here because of a boy?” the voice thundered, no longer bored but annoyed. “A simple enough task – watch over a boy. Somehow, even that is too much to ask of you.”
Lord Dragunov gritted his teeth. How dare this thing talk to him as if he were an insolent child? He was a Law Lord. He looked up to see the thing, to see what it was.
The smoke was there, thick, dark and circling him. But within the smoke there was something else. An area of black that moved with the grey. It had eyes, dark yet visible, and it wore a cloak that spun behind it.
Lord Dragunov quickly lowered his eyes. The thing had a humanlike form. It had appeared out of thin air into his house. That should have been impossible. Charms protected his house. No-one should be able to jump through those, if that was what it had done.
“What of this boy?”
“He is dreaming of the Zarlocks.”
“Of whom?”
“The Zarlocks,” Lord Dragunov repeated smugly. It was the first time he had ever surprised the thing.
“What do they want with the Breeder?” The voice was quiet now, but still clear.
“They wish to give him their wand.”
Lord Dragunov was still staring at the ground, but he could see the smoke moving around him. It froze just then.
“The wand of Zarlock...” the thing whispered.
“What does it mean?” Lord Dragunov asked, before reluctantly adding the words, “my lord.”
The thing did not reply. But the smoke started to move around him again, slowly, almost lazily. It wasn’t sure. The thing didn’t know. Lord Dragunov looked up. The smoke was still there, but it wasn’t thick and it moved barely.
He saw it.
It was a man, or at least had the shape of a man. It wore a black cloak, the hood drawn over its head, locks of golden hair hung loose from within. It turned then, and Lord Dragunov saw those eyes again, dark blue eyes that focused on him for a split second.
It disappeared amongst the now thickening smoke.
“The boy must die.” The voice came from all corners of the room. “You can manage that, can’t you?”
“Yes, my lo
rd.”
“Have it done and soon,” the voice said. The smoke began to disappear into the walls. “The Zarlocks shall have no heirs.”
And then it was gone.
The room was empty of smoke. It was also empty of the thing. Lord Dragunov stood up slowly, looking around, wondering how it did it. If it had jumped, there should have been a portal to follow through, not that he wanted to follow it, but there should have been one.
There wasn’t.
The Zarlocks shall have no heirs, it had said. The Breeder was to be their heir? How was that possible? He smiled. It didn’t matter. He could finally kill the boy.
***
Of late, Lord Dragunov spent most of his time watching his men train new recruits for his burgeoning army. It was one of his favourite pastimes, and he stood at the edge of the balcony as an especially large brute was being put through his paces. He wasn’t particularly skilful, and there was nothing graceful about the way he moved, but he could swing a staff and take a beating.
Marcus Ferrell brushed aside the long strips of cloth that hung from the ceiling and stepped out onto the balcony. A man wearing a grey cloak stepped out with him. He had shoulder-length grey hair that covered half his face. The other half was decorated by a scar that ran down his forehead, through his eye and ended near the edges of his upper lip.
“My lord,” Marcus bowed.
“Antonio, is it?”
“My lord,” he bowed.
“Thomas Skinner,” Lord Dragunov said. “Do you know of him?”
Antonio shook his head slowly. “No.”
“The Breeder, the Boy from the Other Side, the Wanderer,” Lord Dragunov snapped, annoyed by the man’s attitude, his casualness. “Know him now?”
“Stories,” was all Antonio said.
“What do you mean stories?” Lord Dragunov fumed. Maybe he should have his tongue cut out. He didn’t seem to need it much. “Do you doubt he exists?”
“No.”
Lord Dragunov took a deep breath. It wouldn’t do to lose his temper now. He needed this dumb animal for a job. However, once that was over... “I need you to collect his head.”
The Other Side (Thomas Skinner Book 1) Page 16