Into the Infested Side

by Shane Hegarty

  Dim light trickled into the room through a high, simple window punched out of the bones. Finn dug a foot in a narrow crevice in the wall and hoisted himself up. Carefully, he swung round until he was sitting on a window ledge jagged with finger bones, wings, claws, and facing back into the room.

  When Niall Blacktongue eventually arrived, his mantra came first, a murmured stream of words. Then the barrel of the Desiccator held straight out. Then Niall himself, cloak dragging on the steps, almost dutiful in his approach.

  Finn reached out of the window to the exterior wall and found a firm grip to carefully pull himself up so that his feet were on the ledge and the rest of him in the frigid air outside the tower. He had hoped to find its roof, but there wasn’t one. Instead, the tower tapered for another few metres to the top, and from the bare ledge there was no way to get to it safely.

  That was Finn’s first mistake. His second was to look down.

  Through shreds of cloud, the tower plunged away beneath him. There was nothing between him and the ground but a horrible chasm of empty air. The trees were terribly small below. The hint of a breeze sent a shudder through his body and he gripped on tight, so that it didn’t even bother him that he was pressing a cheek against a dead-eyed and freezing-cold skull. It felt like he was clinging on to the edge of the world.

  In the room, Niall was urging him to come back in. “You must be careful,” he said. “I don’t want you to fall.”

  Finn’s knuckles were white against the tower wall. He felt panic rushing through him, looked for the energy to ignite, but couldn’t find any sign that he could light that fuse.

  “There’s no way down or up,” said his grandfather. “Come back in.”

  “I’ll only come in if you promise you won’t hurt me!” Finn shouted, his face pressed hard against the prickling bones.

  “It won’t hurt,” said Niall, which was not exactly the answer Finn needed.

  Finn worked up the courage to quickly glance down the wall again. His grandfather was right: there was no way down other than to fall. The climb up was far too perilous. There was no way out of this but back inside.

  He looked for a firm hold, something to lever him back through the window, but instead his eye caught sight of something far below. The sight so utterly baffled him that it briefly distracted him from the desperation of his situation.

  It was a dog. A basset hound.

  “Yappy?” muttered Finn.

  As if hearing him, the dog looked up and, even at this height, Finn could see its great drooping eyes, its body sagging between a dumpy front and stumpy rear. There was no doubt it was Mrs Bright’s pet snuffling its way across the scrub, cocking a leg to pee, as if it was taking just another journey between Darkmouth lamp-posts.

  Finn felt his fingers loosen their grip on the wall, forcing him to concentrate again on the matter of his survival. His grandfather was at the window now, leaning into the void, reaching out a hand. “Take it,” he ordered. Finn didn’t want to, but he had nowhere else to go. It was death or desiccation.

  Out of options, Finn took his grandfather’s hand and allowed himself to be carefully manoeuvred back down on to the ledge, where he again sat facing Niall Blacktongue, who was pointing the Desiccator straight at him.

  But there was someone else in the room.

  “Dog,” said Finn.

  “Yes, I saw that below.” Niall’s finger tightened on the trigger. “But I really have to desiccate you now. I’m so sorry.”

  “No,” said Finn, insistent, his eyes motioning beyond his grandfather’s shoulder. “There’s a dog behind you.”

  Niall turned his head a little and was greeted by the sight of a muscular canine and the vibrant green snake-tail of a pretty fierce-looking Orthrus.

  “Sausages,” said Cornelius and swiped at Niall with a great paw.

  With the reactions and strength of a true Legend Hunter, Niall blocked the blow, but the force was still enough to send him reeling across the room. The blood crystal in his arm was dislodged and bounced across the floor.

  Mouth wide, fangs bared, Hiss lunged at him from the rear. Niall rolled away from his bite at the last possible moment.

  Reaching the entrance to the stairwell, Niall jumped to his feet, getting hold of his Desiccator.

  “Don’t let him shoot!” Finn warned as he backed against the far wall. Cornelius clawed the weapon from Niall’s hand and it spun against the ceiling to land on its long muzzle. It fired.

  A blast of blue shot through its barrel, splintering the weapon while spreading a desiccating wave across the room. It quickly chewed up the pulverised bone of the floor as it pooled towards the wall, towards the crystal.

  “No!” Niall tried to reach for it, but it was too late. The desiccating wave swallowed the crystal, and it gulped and shrank to a mere grain of sand. “I’m lost,” he said, before belatedly realising the danger of the spreading wave and springing back towards the stairs, his cloak riding high behind him.

  Far heavier, Cornelius laboured to leap and grip the tower wall with his paws while Hiss screamed at him, “Higher! Higher!”

  Finn jumped for the window ledge, pulling himself up as a long, rippling whoooop sucked the bones into rock and the Desiccator wave bit a wound out of the tower beneath him. It crumpled the wall, opening up a great hole on to the outside. Finn dropped to the yawning edge, saving himself only by grabbing desperately at a protruding leg bone as a large white ball of desiccated tower rolled past him and plunged into the gloom below.

  He clung on, feet dangling into nothing, the ground far below him. The leg bone he was holding creaked alarmingly.

  Niall’s face appeared across the new chasm in the tower. He reached out for his grandson.

  Finn jolted downwards, away from him, his weight straining the bone’s hold in the wall, and he found himself hanging even further out into emptiness. The sweat on his palms greasing his grip. His flailing legs searching for a hold. Unable to let go to reach for his grandfather’s hand.

  The bone bent. Finn swung his legs. Swung them again. Higher. Gaining momentum. Getting closer to the open edge of the tower. One more go, he willed himself. One more go.

  He swung his legs again and knew immediately it would be enough to reach safety.

  The bone snapped.

  The ground spun into view, then the trees, then the face of his grandfather. It was a moment when everything seemed to hold in place, as if he could stay where he was, stop the world, climb up.

  But, when he grabbed at the air, there was nothing to hold on to.

  Finn fell.

  The air rushed in Finn’s ears, the wall blurred past. The tower of bleached bones was stained by Finn’s flailing, falling shadow. But then a larger shadow appeared, deep black, and consumed his. It spread, quickly sharpening, finding shape, swooping down on him, enveloping him in immense spiked wings.

  What Finn saw first was that it was a great flying serpent. The same flying serpent, or at least the same species, that had flown off with Emmie.

  What he saw next were the serpent’s teeth. The Legend used them to pluck him from the air and, almost immediately, he was flopping, helpless and trapped, in the curved spindles of its jaws.

  A second ago he’d been falling towards certain death. Now an enormous flying monster had caught him in its mouth to carry him to a completely different certain death.

  It was a mixed blessing.

  Heart racing, Finn fought instinctively, pounded at the creature, trying to make it let him go. But it wasn’t biting him yet, nor was it crushing him. Finn had the bizarre thought that it may even have caught him in such a way that he was being protected by its teeth. He saw the ground racing past as the creature flew away from the tower.

  There was a jolt and the creature dropped as it was hit by something from above. Its teeth tightened round Finn’s body and again he felt awful vulnerability mixed with the horrible sensation of his stomach going one way and his body the other.

  Finn lean
ed out from between the teeth, craned his head to look up, trying to see what was going on.

  A cloak dropped into view, wrapping round the serpent’s head.

  The creature went into a tailspin, while Finn flailed in its jaws, and Niall Blacktongue, having apparently jumped from the tower to wrestle it mid-air, shouted, “We have to stop it! Before it’s too late.”

  Finn had only a moment to appreciate just how crazed his grandfather was. He braced himself as they crashed to the ground, winced at the thudding impact as the serpent slid violently across the scrub and briars. When they finally skidded to a stop, Finn was still held tight and puncture-free in the serpent’s jaws, its damp breath heaving about him.

  But Niall was gone, flung away across the ground, where he lay face down, stunned.

  The serpent beat its wings again, pushing itself away across the ground, Finn still in its mouth. Finn saw his grandfather look up, push himself to his feet and watch. Even as the distance grew greater between them, the look on his grandfather’s face was clear. It was of crushing loss.

  Then Niall dropped his head, appearing to breathe deeply, seek calm.

  Finding its strength, the serpent gained speed across the ground, rose into the sky just before almost scraping the scalp of the only witness to the whole fight: an ancient, eyeless woman, sitting alone on the edge of the forest.

  The serpent passed within a metre of her, beating its mighty leather wings as it passed, Finn still hanging upside down from its jaws. She gasped in bewilderment, and her single tooth shook free and dropped to the ground at her feet.

  On the other side of the clearing, where the damaged tower of the dead stood, an army of Legends burst from the trees.

  Finn’s last sight of his grandfather was of him fleeing across the dead earth.

  Those who couldn’t search Darkmouth brought lasagne. There had been a lot of lasagne in the hours since the children had gone missing. Plates of lasagne. Trays of lasagne. Overcooked lasagne. Undercooked lasagne. Vegetarian lasagne. Frozen lasagne. Fresh lasagne. Lots and lots of lasagne, and every portion a sincere sign of pasta-layered support for Clara.

  She shut the door on another generous donation of dinner, left it on the hall table with the rest and stood motionless for a short while as, not for the first time, the gravity of events took hold of her. It had only been a matter of hours, but Finn’s disappearance had knocked away all the faith and optimism she’d held for Hugo’s return.

  They were both gone, and it was the first time she’d allowed hopelessness to seep into her thoughts.

  Clara shook her head, to wake herself from that dark daydream, and dragged her resolve back to the surface. Strength was needed, she thought. Focus. Belief.

  She began the long journey to the library, past the paintings, the generations lined up one after another. This wasn’t her family, but the one she had brought her son into. She ignored their stares, resisted the urge to curse the vicious Gerald the Disappointed or throw a plate of lasagne at Niall Blacktongue and his poisoned legacy.

  The Long Hall, like so much of the house, was still a mess, half buried under the detritus of the search for the map. She almost tripped on a tin box covered in switches, an egg whisk at the end of it, which lay propped up by the library door.

  Inside, Steve was at the desk. His mood had been unwaveringly intense in the hours since he realised Emmie was missing too, utterly focused but edged with an anger he could barely contain. Clara wasn’t entirely sure if he was angry with himself, with Emmie, with everyone, or with something else unmentioned.

  In the last few hours, they had co-ordinated the search effort, stayed in contact with the remaining volunteers, occasionally leaving to drive to town, get updates and suggest to the temporary sergeant that he might want to leave his station for once because it was unlikely the kids were going to pop out of a desk drawer.

  Clara had grudgingly accepted Steve’s presence in the house because the library was better equipped than the spare bedroom at his rented house. Steve in return had grudgingly accepted her hand in the search because he had also spent a great deal of time in whispered conversation with the Council of Twelve, glued to the computer monitor yet frequently animated in his reactions to whoever he was talking with.

  “I have this under control,” Clara heard Steve insist to an unseen figure on the screen.

  “Is a rescue team on its way?” she asked as he abruptly ended the conversation.

  “You know how it is. Rules. Regulations. All that,” he said, clearly irked by something else, although not enough that he didn’t wince at Clara’s suggestion for where she wanted to shove those rules and regulations.

  At one point, looking over his shoulder, she saw a one-line query from the Twelve on the screen. “Please advise on your current situational awareness of the location of official Assessor.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  “It means, do we know where Estravon is?”

  Steve typed a response. “Have established a blue force tracking situation in order to fully establish the critical information and carry out all appropriate action as necessary, in accordance with established protocols 96 and 176c.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Clara.

  “‘No.’”

  He leaned back, hands behind his head, feet up on the adjacent chair. “Normally, I’d reckon Estravon was just off somewhere polishing his shoes, but it’s a bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

  “Are you saying Finn and Emmie are with that office joker?”

  “Maybe, although it doesn’t seem right,” said Steve. “Emmie would never let that happen.”

  “And Finn would?”

  “No. Well, it’s possible. Look, let’s be honest, he’s not the most strong-willed of boys.”

  “Be very careful what you say next because I’m standing beside a large...” Clara threw a glance at the giant Reanimator in the centre of the library, still surrounded by balls of Legends. “...device thingy that is rigged to desiccate any living being in this room.”

  Steve sighed. “Look, Clara, all I’m saying is that training Emmie was just a duty, a tradition really. I presumed she’d be part of a new generation, the sort that would be happy as a Half-Hunter, without the massive psychological damage that comes from growing up in a town like this.”

  “Massive psychological damage?” spluttered Clara.

  “Don’t pretend it’s not true,” he said. “Legend Hunters are not a balanced lot. Trust me. I had an uncle who was literally called Dave the Unbalanced, and it wasn’t because he kept falling over. Well, not only because of that.”

  “Get to the point of your insult so I can get on with kicking you out of my house.”

  “I’m just saying that Finn is clearly different. All that actual Legend Hunting has left him a bit vulnerable. He’s a lovely kid, don’t get me wrong, but he’s a little more reserved than other kids his age and somewhat easy to manipulate. I’m sure you’d acknowledge that yourself.”

  Clara kicked the empty chair away from under Steve’s feet, causing him to wobble and desperately grab on to the table to stay upright. She stared at him. “I’ll acknowledge nothing to a man who doesn’t know anything about my family other than what he spied down a long-lens camera, and so little about this house that he’s hardly capable of walking to the bathroom without taking a wrong turn into the broom cupboard. By the way, I’ve noticed you’re getting very comfortable in here for someone who’s only passing through.”

  “That still remains to be decided,” he said, swivelling the chair back towards the desk.

  Clara swung the chair back round so she could glare at him properly. “No. It really does not.”

  The computer went ping.

  After establishing that he could safely manoeuvre the chair to face the computer, Steve did so. On the screen, a little icon of a phone flashed green, begging to be pressed.

  “I have to take this call,” he said, looking at Clara in a way that cle
arly demanded privacy.

  “Then take it,” she said, not moving.

  “I’m prohibited while you’re—”

  Clara grabbed the mouse and answered the call.

  As Steve complained, a person appeared on the screen. A woman, half in shadow, in what seemed to be an office somewhere. Behind her, a faded poster of a screaming Legend bursting through a wall above the lines Always Be Vigilant. Always Be Valiant.

  Steve fell silent immediately.

  Clara stared into the screen. “Right,” she said. “I’ve lived by your rules long enough. I haven’t been on a family holiday for twelve years. I told my parents Hugo was a management consultant for the first year we were together and prayed they asked no follow-up questions because even now I have no idea what a management consultant does. And, most importantly, I let you lot have my son. Now you owe me. You will help me get him back.”

  “Clara,” said the woman, friendly, warm, but still largely hidden in shadow. “It is so lovely to finally meet you, even if it is across a screen.”

  Clara said nothing, a bit taken aback at this kindness. The woman continued. “I can assure you there are a great many Half-Hunters on the way to Darkmouth as we speak. They’ll be with you very soon and I know every one of them is eager to get involved, almost as eager as Steven there.”

  Steve was sporting a sullen look of embarrassment.

  “Help is on its way?” asked Clara, her aggression waning.

  “If I could be there myself, I would,” said the woman.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name,” said Clara.

  Steve slid up to the keyboard. “Thank you for your assistance and please pass on our gratitude to the Council of Twelve.” His teeth were so gritted the words escaped like air from a punctured tyre. “Over and out.”

  He ended the call, then sat isolated in his own thoughts.

  “Now that’s how you get things done,” said Clara.

  At the back of the room, a section of shelves rattled, a gust of wind perhaps from the door to the street hidden behind. Steve stood up from his chair and walked towards it, stopping to pick up a map on the way and examine it.