Myths and Magic

by Kevin Partner

  Chortley groaned. “We’ve made barely ten paces. How many more can you conjure?”

  Bill didn’t answer. Racked by a desperate thirst, as if he had been drained of his very life essence, he snorted as Chortley’s elbow connected with his gut.

  “I’m nearly finished,” he whispered.

  “Then so are we,” Chortley said. He looked ahead and saw that they’d covered barely a quarter of the distance to the top. It was hopeless.

  The mass of enemy suddenly moved as one.

  But they weren’t attacking the point of the wedge where he sat atop Percy. Chortley realised, with astonishment, that they were moving sideways as if they were a river channel whose banks had burst. Chortley kicked the horse forward and drove into the enemy, many of whom weren’t looking at him, they were looking to the west.

  Bill stirred, raised his head and tried to make his eyes focus. He rubbed them with the backs of his glowing hands and recoiled as he burned his eyelids. There was a smell of combusted hair, and he squinted. He thought he must be losing his mind or his eyesight because he could see the tops of several trees, their branches shaking in the distance. He felt a fresh wind on his cheeks, and there was the scent of rain in the air. Then he knew.

  “It’s them!” he shouted into Chortley’s ears. “Mother Hemlock and the others, they’re coming.”

  Chortley followed the line of enemy soldiers being sent to reinforce their western ranks. If he hadn’t seen fire pour out of a boy’s hands, let alone his own, he wouldn’t have believed his eyes but there, a few hundred paces away, were trees striding through the creatures, tossing them away in the air. And then, a dozen of the enemy were sucked into what must have been a vortex and launched hundreds of yards to smash into the ground. He saw a huge wave lift from the stream that ran away from the hill’s foot, rise like a tsunami, high above the enemy and then drop amongst them.

  “They can’t win,” Bill said, “the king’s army is too big, in the end, they will be overwhelmed as we are.”

  Chortley turned in the saddle.

  “Then this is our only chance, while his attention is out there.”

  He shook Bill, who was still looking west, his gaze so unfocused, the horizon seemed to shimmer.

  “Pull yourself together! We have this one chance. Do you hear me? You are my brother, now act like it!”

  This last statement roused Bill. He looked into Chortley’s face and saw, for an instant, his mother looking back at him. He drew a deep breath and nodded.

  “Forward!” screamed Chortley Fitzmichael and the garrison surged up the slope.

  Bill roared as he burned a path before them. The enemy was scattering, and Percy’s pace picked up. By Eric’s woollen balls, they were going to make it! They were nearing the top.

  And then a piercing cry rent the air and above them stood the Faerie King, bow in hand. The enemy soldiers stopped, turned and faced the remnant of the Crapplecreek garrison as it was forced to halt.

  Percy screamed, and Bill was thrown through the air, flames flying in all directions in his panic. He landed heavily in the mud, yards from the feet of the Fairy King who screeched for joy, his bow discarded, a long silver sword shining in his hand, and a look of murder in his eyes.

  So, it had come to this. Here at the crest of the hill, Bill pulled himself onto his knees, heard the triumph in the cries of the enemy and waited for death. He felt a bizarre sense of peace underpinned with sheer hatred of the King. He looked up to face his killer one last time.

  Then he heard the call echo up the hill: “Chickens are coming! Chickens are coming!”

  “Tally ho!”

  A wave of enraged poultry swept up the slope and poured into the stone circle. Black figures fell beneath the mass of feathers, and the air was filled with the sound of dying monsters and the smell of agitated chickens. Wing Commander Flaxbottom landed in the circle and began flailing about her with a rusty sword, and it seemed, for a moment, as if she might have turned the tide but, all too quickly, more and more dark soldiers spilled into the circle and rallied around their master who was now roaring in his rage.

  Bill despaired as this help unlooked for seemed to have been in vain. The Faerie King was untouched and now, unmasked like a sun-god in his fury, he was sweeping about himself, cutting a swathe through the birds as he headed for Flaxbottom. Bill fought against his exhaustion and the pain in his legs, arms and ribs. He desperately wanted to stand beside Flaxbottom and die with her, just as they had almost died in the Amelia when he’d set it alight.

  And then he had it. A hunch, a guess, a desperate ghost of an idea that he didn’t have time to think about. He pulled himself upright. Even at his strongest, he knew he didn’t have the firepower to destroy the Faerie King with a blast of flame but now, exhausted, he wouldn’t be able to produce even the flimsiest flicker. But that wasn’t his plan: he didn’t have a plan, just a series of images of himself when he and Brianna had been attacked, himself in the Amelia, and finally Chortley.

  No-one reacted to his movement. The bodyguard was still fighting off the chickens, and the king himself was single-mindedly approaching Flaxbottom who, by now, was tiring and wounded. So, Bill was able to run up behind him and bring the staff in a wide arc through the air, aimed at the back of the Faerie King’s head.

  The king spun around, gasped and threw up a hand to defend himself. Rather than deflect it, though, he reflexively grabbed the staff, ready to throw it and Bill down the slope and into the midst of the battle. But Bill was ready, their eyes met, and the laugh died on the lips of the Faerie King as, for the second time that day, he felt uncertain.

  Bill held onto his end of the staff and rolled the dice. He let the gift flow out of him and into the staff where it was drawn, like iron filings to a magnet, into the fingers of the Faerie King and then up his arm until it flowed like a river of lava into every part of his body.

  The King bellowed with laughter as his entire being became infused with power. He shouted for joy - who needed armies to do their bidding when they had the strength of the sun itself? He had merely to think it, and every living thing within reach of his eyes and hands would be incinerated. He pointed at Astria, and she was pulled, unwillingly, towards him.

  Bill watched in horror as the king let go of the staff and threw his arms to the heavens sending roaring pillars of white flame to scorch the clouds. His nostrils filling with the smell of burning air, Bill saw the mad delight on the face of the Faerie King as fire flowed through his body. Revealed in his majesty and rage, the king looked like a god demanding worship or death from all those who saw him.

  And then he gasped. His face contorted, lit from behind with a furnace-glow, his wrath became incandescence and his body began to shimmer as if hidden behind curtains of heat. But the fire was coming from within, not without, and the king cried as he expanded, cracks opening in his arms and legs to reveal licking white flames. The cracks became wider, and the agonised screams of the king became louder as he swelled, and it seemed as though a new sun would burst from within him.

  And then there was a pop and the king’s body shrunk in a moment to a tiny point of light before exploding windlessly into silence.

  Chapter 32

  Shadows moving across a red field. Bill shook his head then prised his eyes open. Squinted blurs became white clouds floating in a blue sky, flocks of birds scattering across his vision. He became aware of shouts echoing up the hill, cries of triumph, revenge and terror. And then a shape moved above him.

  “Bill!”

  Amongst the acrid stench, he recognised her smell and the simple presence of her soul. His eyes focused, and he returned to reality. “Brianna.”

  He could feel her hands on him.

  “Don’t get excited,” she said, “I’m just checking all your limbs and digits are still attached.”

  Clearly satisfied he was still whole, she helped Bill to sit up.

  Aside from himself and Brianna, there was not a living thing within the stone
circle. There were, however, plenty of clearly not-living things. The grass around the spot where the Faerie King had exploded was blackened, and Bill could see the sooty remains of everyone who’d been too close. Bill’s face felt hot, and he’d been yards away when the King had finally gone wherever malicious bastards went when they were defeated. Some sort of parliament probably.

  And then it hit him. “Mother!”

  He leapt to his feet, groaned as his knees gave way and crawled to where she’d been standing. Nothing remained but charcoal and bone and no way to know which had belonged to her and which were those of the King’s servants. In fact, the only recognisable object was the staff, which lay abandoned and unblemished in the ruin.

  Bill felt Brianna’s arms around his shoulders, restraining him, but he surged forward and stooped to pick up the staff. Somehow, Brianna got there first and grabbed it in her gloved hand, taking it out of his stumbling reach. “No, Bill. You’re not in the right state of mind.”

  “Give it to me!” he screamed, following her as she retreated to the edge of the circle.

  Brianna stood at the brink of the hill and shook her head. “There’s been enough killing today, Bill Strike. Though I don’t doubt there’s more to come, you’re not to be a part of it.”

  “They killed my mother!”

  He swept his arms across the scene below as the goblin army was scattered, pursued by the vengeful survivors of Crapplecreek, several oak trees, a tidal wave and a couple of dancing tornadoes. He wanted nothing more than to grab the staff and make the enemy burn.

  Except, he didn’t. Bill sagged, and his anger transformed into shame, not that he’d been prepared to take his revenge on a helpless, routed, enemy but because he wasn’t.

  “I’ll take that,” said a voice behind Brianna.

  Bill watched, stunned, as she stepped backwards into the circle, the staff held behind her back.

  “Vokes!” she shouted.

  The wizard’s head appeared above the rim of the hill, and Bill’s heart chilled as he recognised a look of triumph and longing in his grandfather’s eyes.

  “Give it to me,” Vokes said, raising a blood-stained curved sword in one hand and holding out the other. His scarlet robes were torn and filthy, his face betraying madness.

  Brianna edged backwards, both hands gripping the staff.

  Bill gasped as he saw, behind the wizard, three forms appearing to rise from the mist as they crested the hill. The tallest of them wore a faded grey kepi, in the centre of which sat a bright silver badge in the shape of a star. Beside him stood two figures Bill didn’t recognise, one hunched but with the glint of steel in his hand and the other, standing between them, had a hooded face.

  “Odius!” Brianna was now alongside Bill, who’d hauled himself to his feet.

  “Don’t touch the staff!” roared Vokes as Bill reached out for it and froze.

  Odius’ hand moved to grab the hood from the figure next to him.

  “No, indeed,” he said, “now hand over the staff before I lose patience.”

  He pulled the hood back and revealed the face of Blackjack Strike.

  Bill felt as though he’d fallen into a dark tunnel. He could hear nothing and see nothing but his father. Blackjack’s face was swollen, one eye enclosed in a purple wheal from which blood oozed, his other eye moving slowly and, seemingly, at random.

  “Dad,” Bill muttered.

  Odius laughed.

  “You recognise him, then? Good,” he said. “He has been my guest for quite some time, but he took some persuading when I told him where we were going. Indeed, he very nearly brought an end to Master Vokes here before I could restrain him.”

  “Traitor.”

  That one word was like the tolling of a bell. Blackjack looked up, his good eye focusing. “Hold firm son. Nothing he can do to me would be made better by giving him that staff.”

  Odius swung his sword-arm and brought the handle down onto Strike’s head, and Blackjack collapsed to the floor with a grunt.

  Bill stepped forward.

  “Hold still!” shrieked Vokes. “One more step and Bently here will finish your father off!”

  He pointed at the hunched figure standing over Blackjack. Although the man (if he could be described as such) looked about as naturally violent as a fetid blancmange, there was no missing the steel in his hand as he stood there, his gaze fixed on Brianna.

  “Why do you want your power back so badly?” Brianna asked, realising as she did so that this was possibly the most stupid question anyone had ever asked.

  Vokes stepped forward, his face reddening. “Because I am the master of fire, not some lanky apprentice!”

  Rain began to fall gently, dampening the sounds of battle in the valley below.

  Brianna pointed at Bill. “He didn’t do badly for an apprentice, and you were happy enough to use him when it suited your purpose.”

  “Yes, he had just about the wit needed to do the task I set him. But at what price?” Vokes snarled these last words, turning to face Bill. “My daughter was the only thing in this or the other world I cared about. And you killed her!”

  Bill shook his head and looked down, his tears mingling with the rain. “I know.”

  Vokes pointed at Brianna. “With the power in that staff, I will have my revenge!”

  “Give it to him,” said Bill, his voice barely audible above the sound of rain and battle. “I don’t want it. Let him have his revenge on me. You weren’t a part of it, Brianna, he won’t hurt you.”

  “Yes, you will pay, Bill Strike, for your foolishness. But that I could achieve without my powers. But the full strength of my fury is reserved for the foul bastard whose webs we all became entrapped in. I aim to find the Faerie King, wherever he’s gone, and destroy him.” Vokes stepped forward and held out his hand to Brianna.

  “The king is dead,” she said, moving back again. “I saw it.”

  Vokes laughed. “You fool! He is weakened, certainly, but I know him. He will have found a way to escape his doom, it’s in his nature. With the power of the staff and the return of my magic, I will find him.”

  “Give him the staff,” Bill said again.

  Brianna turned on him.

  “But he’s insane!” she shrieked.

  “I must save my father,” Bill said, “that’s all that matters to me.”

  “But…” Brianna began, and then gasped as she felt the staff being pulled from her hand.

  The stone circle filled with a maniacal laugh as Vokes swung the staff around. “I feel it! My magic returns at last! Now, Odius, we shall have our revenge on all those who have wronged us. What do you say? Shall we make them pay? I have a hankering for revenge today!”

  Bill collapsed back onto the turf, yelling as he scraped his back against a jagged piece of the portal. The wizard seemed suffused in a red light while, behind him, Odius raised his sword in triumph and cheered. Bill could see his father, still lying face down, and above him the figure of Bently trembling with excitement.

  “No!” there was a flash of white light and the wizard threw the staff down. “It can’t be. Not there! But if so, I shall destroy him!”

  Bill watched the wizard’s sanity unravel as his arms began to glow a dull red. Spits of flame were leaking from his hands as he staggered, causing orange sparks to land around them. One caught on Brianna’s breeches, and she fell to the ground and rolled over to put out the fire. Vokes steadied himself and pointed a glowing hand at Bill.

  “Now, my revenge begins,” he roared, and Bill watched as his arms became white hot.

  At that moment, out of the sky came a wave which whipped into a vortex, sending Odius and Bently sprawling.

  “You never did know when to stop, did you, Nomie Vokes?”

  The voice of Mother Hemlock carried over the crash of wind and wave.

  There was a creaking sound, and, over the crest of the hill, a tree loomed.

  “You daft apeth,” called a small figure from within its branches. “A
nd they say I ‘as the brains of a rockin’ ‘orse”

  Gramma jumped down with a “Bugger these bloody knees” and joined Mother Hemlock and Velicity as they emerged from the leaves of the oak tree that now sat on the lip of the hill, its roots submerged in the water running down the slope. A branch dropped on top of Odius who was pinned to the ground. Blackjack sat up and looked at the scene, a puzzled look on his face.

  Vokes turned to face them. He’d somehow managed to stay on his feet in the tumult, and his glowing hands now pointed at the three of them.

  “You stupid old women,” he snarled. “I always said magic was a man’s work. All your petty parlour tricks will do nothing against my fire. I dare say your tree there wouldn’t appreciate going up in flames!”

  He raised both hands to point at the oak, which seemed to shiver in fear. Then, with a shriek, he fell.

  Over him stood Bently, knife in one hand, the staff in the other. There was a moment’s complete silence, and then Bill leapt up and ran for Vokes. Bently sprung away with surprising speed and disappeared down the hillside.

  Mother Hemlock was kneeling beside Vokes, her hand on his chest, unable to stem the flow of blood. Velicity stood, gorgeous in her grief and Gramma simply shook her head. “…as a rockin’ ‘orse.”

  Bill dropped to his knees, tears forming again. The wizard’s face cleared, his hands cooled, and he was Bill’s old mentor and guardian again.

  “Master Vokes!”

  Vokes looked up at Bill, forcing a smile through the pain.

  “I was never going to hurt you, please believe me.” He said.

  Bill shook his head. He was, as it happened, pretty bloody certain he’d be little more than a smouldering pile of charcoal right now if the witches hadn’t arrived, but this was not the time to press the point. The truth could wait.

  The wizard lifted his arm and grabbed Bill’s hand.

  “Take it,” he said, and Bill sensed the warmth spread through his body again, so he could no longer feel the cold from his soaking clothes. “I am sorry.”