Azrael's Twins and the Circle of Stone: Book Two of the Nearworld Tales

by Vincent Mortimer

  Niamh sat up and braked as hard as she could. Hegeline blew past as Niamh swung her broomstick around and headed back to where Eilidia lay motionless. A livid bruise was already rising on the side of the elf’s head and blood seeped from a cut above her left eye. Her broomstick lay in two pieces further up the track.

  Niamh knelt down beside her, unsure of what to touch or whether to move her. The bruise seemed to swell even as Niamh looked at it. The forest track was still and silent – the three girls had clearly put a great deal of distance between themselves and the rest of the field. There was no help in sight.

  ‘I can help.’

  ‘Not now!’ said Niamh in exasperation. ‘I’m busy here in case you hadn’t noticed.’

  ‘I can help her. You already have great healing powers. I have seen your gift. But this needs healing beyond your skill. You must give me control. I can’t teach you this yet.’

  ‘How did I know you were going to say that.’ A drop of blood rolled from Eilidia’s temple and splashed on the forest floor. Niamh knew there was only one option. ‘Okay. But if you try anything funny you’ll have my brother to deal with. I can tell you that’s no fun.’

  Niamh relaxed and felt the force of Persephone overwhelm her mind. In an instant she knew she was just a bystander in her own body. Persephone reached for Niamh’s wand and cast a golden glow from the tip of it towards the bruising on Eilidia. The elf convulsed as the spell took hold. Niamh watched, helpless, as the spell wove a web over the bruise and the wound before snaking down over the bent form and sinking into the elf’s body. Niamh felt another alien presence alongside her and knew immediately it was Hephaestus. The spell was being woven by more than one person. The strands of the spell contained Fire and Air, Earth and Water. And she understood in an instant what power lay at her fingertips with that combination.

  Another voice cut through the silence of the forest. Niamh tried to look around but had no control of her body. Persephone was totally, utterly in charge.

  ‘Niamh! What are you doing?’

  Niamh recognised the startled tones as those of Cory but could not turn to face her. Persephone was focused on the spell as it began to take hold. The centre of the wound began to change colour from a livid purple to a bright gold. The flow of blood ceased as did the swelling, and the lurid colouring around the outside of the wound faded to a dark blotch before disappearing completely.

  Niamh felt Persephone swing her head around to Cory as she released the spell from Eilidia. Cory flinched as she looked into Niamh’s face. The eyes were an alien colour with a scary, haunted look. Niamh felt her own mouth form words but she had no control over them. ‘Don’t stop – go! Bring help!’ Cory backed away from Niamh, leapt onto her broomstick and sped away up the forest path.

  Niamh felt Persephone vanish from her mind as Cory raced away. Control of her body returned without warning but as it did so she collapsed beside Eilidia, the restoration of her own powers feeling like a flush of adrenalin through her body. Her limbs were left shaky and her head cloudy. She looked down at Eilidia as the elf began to stir. Eyelids fluttered open and a hand feebly touched the wound over her eye.

  ‘How?’ was the only word the elf could say. She clearly expected to be in a worse state than she was.

  ‘Stay still. Help will be here soon,’ Niamh managed to say through the fog of exhaustion. As the two girls lay there more riders raced past. Aurelia was the next to arrive but Niamh waved her on. There would be time to talk about this later and a reckoning would come with Hegeline. Niamh was certain of that. If not today then soon. Very soon.

  Chapter 15

  Nature

  Niamh raged at the officials in the race tent. ‘What do you mean you can’t do anything about it! That … that … witch nearly killed Eilidia out there. If I hadn’t been there to help her she might have died!’

  Ms Maladicta stood to one side of Niamh with Ms Pussywillow to the other. Neither said a word as Niamh vented her fury.

  Scrabbler smiled condescendingly at Niamh. ‘Come now, Your Highness. We know you are certainly a talented witch yourself but there was barely a mark on Miss Ardghalia. The fall clearly was a little traumatic but, and pardon me for being presumptuous here, your skills as a healer could not at your age be at a level where the cuts and bruises you suggest she suffered could be healed so miraculously and in such a short space of time.’

  ‘Then how do you explain her broomstick in two pieces and the bruising on her head?’ said Niamh. She could not believe Hegeline was going to get away with this!

  ‘Your Highness, there is no bruising. See for yourself when next you see Miss Ardghalia. In fact, here she is!’ Scrabbler gestured towards the open tent flap. Eilidia walked in flanked by Murdock on one side and another elf she had not seen before on the other. ‘Even you must admit she is looking remarkably well despite her fall.’

  Niamh, in that moment, wanted to depart from magic completely and apply a good punch to Scrabbler’s snooty nose. But even she had to admit Eilidia seemed totally uninjured.

  ‘But … but …’ Niamh spluttered as her anger threatened to overwhelm her. ‘How do you explain what happened out there then? Cory can back up my story. She saw Eilidia on the ground!’

  Scrabbler smiled and sat back in his chair, placing his silver mechanical pencil on the table in front of him. Niamh had never trusted anyone who took the time to invest in such an implement. She always felt it smacked of a seriously over-organised mind. ‘Unfortunately Miss Carraig was somewhat flustered when she came for help. She was only able to tell us that Miss Ardghalia was prone on the forest floor with you kneeling beside her. She could see very little of Miss Ardghalia’s face.’

  ‘What!’ yelled Niamh. She was now seriously in danger of injuring someone as her rage built to boiling point.

  ‘We’re dreadfully sorry, of course,’ continued Scrabbler. ‘And unfortunately the … accident took place on a stretch of the track that could not be seen on any of our viewfinders.’

  Niamh noted the pause before the word accident. Scrabbler would simply not believe her. ‘So that’s it then?’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘That Baskerville bi…’ Niamh stopped herself as Ms Maladicta coughed pointedly. She cast the principal an angry scowl before continuing. ‘That Baskerville … witch wins after what she did out there?’

  ‘Well, in the absence of any evidence and no complaint from any other competitor we can do nothing. Miss Baskerville is the winner of today’s race.’ Scrabbler looked extremely satisfied at the outcome. A smug smile spread across his jowly face.

  Niamh’s gaze did not flinch. She stared Scrabbler down until he looked extremely uncomfortable and began shuffling papers on the desk.

  ‘Fine,’ said Niamh, her sarcastic tone making it clear that things were not and would never be “fine”. She swept away from the table, past Murdock and Eilidia, and out of the tent.

  ‘Niamh!’ said Murdock commandingly. Niamh felt her legs buckle. She hated the way the elf’s words seemed to be a magic all of their own. ‘My niece has something she would like to say to you,’ he said, guiding the slim elf towards Niamh.

  ‘Your niece?’ said Niamh, disbelief etched across her face.

  ‘Yes,’ said Eilidia. ‘Murdock is my uncle. And this is my father.’

  Niamh did a double take at how much the other elf looked like Murdock. The face was younger and the features less lined but the family resemblance was unmistakable.

  ‘Eilidia told me you were of some … assistance on the course today. For that I thank you,’ said the elf, bowing a little solemnly.

  Niamh bowed a little stiffly in response. ‘You’re welcome,’ she said. ‘I’m sure Eilidia would have done the same for me.’

  ‘I doubt even with our magic that she could have done the same as you did today. So again, thank you.’

  Niamh read the unspoken acknowledgment of what had happened on the course. She felt her anger simmering at the fact that Hegeline would simply walk away from t
he race with both the win and no consequences for her cheating behaviour. She turned her anger towards Murdock now as she recognised there was yet another secret kept from her. ‘You never mentioned you had a niece.’

  ‘Would it have made any difference to you?’

  Niamh knew the answer instantly. The decision to help the elf as she lay on the forest floor would have been the same, even if it had been Hegeline.

  ‘Probably not,’ she said a little disingenuously.

  Eilidia stepped forward and gave Niamh a hug. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. ‘Try not to stay angry. I know what you did out there and I know what Hegeline did. All things happen for a reason.’

  Niamh was stunned. The hug was the most demonstrative act she had seen from any elf during her time in Avalon. She managed to splutter out a clumsy acknowledgement to Eilidia, her anger seeming to melt away as she did. Niamh found the elf, and the acknowledgement, had a curiously calming effect on her. She turned back to Murdock. ‘And you are happy with this?’

  Murdock smiled. ‘There is a time and a place for all reckonings to be made. But it is not here. It is not today.’

  Niamh wanted to stay angry but the voice of Victor Vanderbilt cut through the air; ‘Ladies and Gentlemen! Please take your seats for the presentation of the trophies for the Broomstick Biathlon.’

  Ms Maladicta cast the friendly smile that seemed reserved for Murdock as she took Niamh by the shoulder. ‘Come. You need to rejoin the others on the royal stand. No time to change now so you will have to wear your racing costume. It will make you appear … dashing up there.’ She nodded her head to Murdock in acknowledgement as they walked away. Niamh felt sure she could see a blush in the principal’s cheeks but wondered if she was imagining things. Someday she would find out what little secrets those two shared …

  Grace and Merritt stood and watched the place getters head towards the royal stand.

  ‘Safe to say the experiment worked then,’ said Grace quietly as they waited for Hegeline, Cory and Aurelia.

  ‘Yes,’ said Merritt, letting out a sigh as he did so. ‘Her nature is too strong. She could have left the elf and won the race.’

  ‘That’s not her,’ said Grace, smiling. ‘I knew it would not be. But it’s always better to see it confirmed.’

  ‘She rode well today, and shot better than we could have dreamed. In fact, the way she rode looked a great deal like …’

  ‘I know who she rode like,’ snapped Grace. ‘But what she did showed she is not under the influence of that one. Not yet.’

  Merritt nodded. ‘We can’t let this go on too long. You know that.’

  ‘Of course I do,’ said Grace. ‘Now smile. Here they come.’

  The three competitors mounted the steps by the side of the podium. Each received a shining transparent globe mounted on a marble plinth. Inside each globe floated a small witch on a broomstick. Clouds appeared and disappeared within the globes making it seem as if the witch were flying. Each girl received their trophy along with a handshake from Merritt and a kind word from Grace – even Hegeline.

  Niamh cast an evil stare at Hegeline as she received the biggest of the three globes as well as another finely wrought silver cup. Hegeline held the cup high and received an enormous cheer from the Flamville fans but a restrained response from others. Rumours of what happened on the course had spread throughout the crowd. Niamh could see fingers being pointed not at Hegeline, but at her. She felt the eyes of the crowd drawn to her. But Niamh knew as she watched the girls leave the stage that nothing would change the outcome of today. It was Hegeline’s name on the cup.

  The mood as the royal party touched back down at the castle was muted. Niamh had communicated with little more than grunts since the trophies had been awarded.

  Grady laid a restraining hand on Quinn’s arm. ‘How good are your defensive spells?’

  Quinn hesitated. ‘Good,’ he said timidly. ‘Excellent in fact.’

  ‘Good enough to take her on right now?’ said Grady, nodding towards his sister, who was marching purposefully towards her room.

  Quinn watched her stalking off. ‘No. Not that good.’ Niamh was generating her own external anger field that in nature would normally be marked by a scary red and black pattern warning off any would-be predators.

  ‘I thought only the pixies were capable of getting that angry. I swear she could take on Fingal on a bad day right now.’ Quinn seemed to consider the idea. ‘Maybe that’s not such a bad plan.’

  ‘What plan?’ said Grady.

  ‘I think we should get Fingal to have a little chat with Niamh. If she doesn’t learn how to control that anger, she will end up getting herself into trouble.’

  ‘You think so?’ said Grady, watching his sister storming down the corridor ahead of them.

  A castle guard stepped out of a side corridor into Niamh’s path. Niamh turned on him, and while she did not point her wand in his direction, a spark from the tip of her wand hit a torch holder on the wall turning it into a large iron spider, which rattled away and onto the ceiling before clanking down another corridor. The guard hastily made his exit.

  Quinn turned to Grady. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ said Grady, wide-eyed.

  Quinn and Grady made their way to Quinn’s room. As they entered Quinn put a finger to his lips before turning in a circle, his homemade wand extended. A grey misty spell leached from the tip and swirled around the room. It wound itself around furniture and pictures and into cracks in the stonework. As it wrapped around a picture there was a flash of red, and a tiny lizard-like creature scuttled out from behind the frame. It ran for the doorway but before it could escape the grey mist swarmed over it and the tiny creature vanished with a little squeak and a puff of red smoke. The rest of the vapour in the room swirled into some other unexplored corners before flashing green in a latticework pattern and vanishing.

  ‘What was that?’ Grady said with amazement.

  ‘A spell to see if the room was bugged. That one didn’t make it out,’ said Quinn, gesturing to where the red vapour was dissipating.

  ‘Who would bug your room?’

  ‘Oh Grady. Who do you think?’ said Quinn, rolling his eyes. ‘Not many people trust me despite how things might look. Murdock and his friends constantly have their eyes on me so checking for bugs is a standard precaution.’

  Grady looked thoughtful as he considered Quinn’s revelation. ‘Should I be doing that in my room too?’ he asked.

  ‘I shouldn’t worry if I were you. There are more spells and spies watching over you two than there are over me, but you seem to have the measure of them. That invisibility spell is some trick. I’ve tried every which way to cast that spell myself but I can’t. I don’t suppose you want to tell me how you do it?’

  Grady smiled. ‘You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Quinn, shrugging his shoulders. He turned away from Grady and clapped his hands together. ‘Fingal,’ he whispered quietly. The room remained conspicuously empty of faeries. Quinn winked at Grady before raising his hand slowly towards his face, fingers ready to grasp. Fingal the pixie appeared in a flash of light at the tip of Quinn’s nose. Quinn did not hesitate. His fingers closed around the tiny creature. ‘Gotcha!’ he said triumphantly.

  ‘Oh yeah?’ said the pixie. Quinn found himself yanked off his feet as the creature flew backwards, dragging Quinn with him. Fingal laughed loudly as Quinn tripped over the foot of a chair and fell to the floor.

  ‘Ha! It’ll be a sad day when you manage to get away with that trick!’ said Fingal, flying over to the prone Quinn. He flicked him on the ear and turned his attention to Grady. ‘You again. Have you managed to work out that book yet?’

  Grady flinched as the pixie approached. The madness in Fingal’s eyes was a sight to behold. ‘Not yet,’ was all Grady could manage as he found himself going cross-eyed in an attempt to focus on the disturbingly close creature.

  ‘Well,
I’m told by those in the know that if you can’t work it out, no one can. Get reading,’ said the pixie pointedly while jabbing Grady in the nose with a tiny finger that seemed to have a great deal more force behind it than should have been possible.

  ‘Fingal,’ said Quinn, picking himself up. ‘Nice to see you.’

  ‘Nice, is it?’ said the pixie, turning his attention back to Quinn. ‘There’s not many would use that word to see me, but I’ll thank you for the politeness if nothing else. Now what do you want?’

  ‘Politeness?’ said Quinn. ‘Surprised you know the word,’ he said under his breath.

  ‘I heard that,’ said Fingal, hovering closer in a menacing manner.

  Quinn sat on the chair he had tripped over. ‘The young princess is having some anger issues right now. There is no one I know that understands anger the way you do. Do you think you could do me – all of us, actually – a favour and talk to her about ways to channel anger? She is going to hurt someone, or herself, if she isn’t careful.’

  ‘Anger, is it? Hmmm. Well I do know a little bit about that,’ said the pixie. A fly chose that unfortunate moment to sail a little too close to him. Fingal turned and threw a punch at it that sent the creature senseless to the floor.

  ‘Point proven,’ said Grady quietly.

  ‘Where is she?’ said Fingal.

  ‘Possibly in her room,’ said Grady. ‘Or if not there, then hurling boulders off a cliff.’

  ‘Boulders?’ said Fingal. ‘That’s easy enough to deal with. When it’s people off a cliff you know you have a problem. But boulders is easy. That’s level one anger for us.’

  ‘You must have interesting arguments in your world,’ said Grady, stepping back as the pixie drifted towards him.

  ‘We do,’ said Fingal. ‘And talking of my world – what were you doing in the stone circle?’