Alia, who’d been keeping a low profile since Underath had reached them, stepped forward. “What do you have there?” she asked.
“Everything I might need!” said Underath. He gave her a long uneasy stare. “You have a touch of sorcery about you,” he said.
Alia almost laughed. “Yes, you could say that,” she said. “A touch.”
Underath’s eyes widened. “Are you the one who tried to break Wren’s curse with that morphic deflector?”
“Morphic deflector?” she said. It took her a moment to realize what he was talking about. “Ah, her bracelet! I am. What of it?”
Underath shook his head. “Just, well, it was…clever.” Alia didn’t really know what to say, while Underath seemed almost taken aback, as if complimenting someone else’s skill was entirely alien to him.
Which it was.
Barver gave Tobias instructions for tying the heavy sack of equipment to his harness, so that it rested just behind where Patch would sit. Tobias heaved it up, and it clinked and rattled as he fastened ropes around it.
“Try to be gentle with that,” called Underath. “It’s not very explosive, but best be on the safe side, eh?”
Tobias paused, then tied with a degree more care.
Patch stared at it. Barver, though, seemed entirely unconcerned. “Don’t worry,” he told Patch, with a mischievous smile. “I’ll fly really smoothly.”
The townsfolk of Pardissan cheered as the group approached over the water. “Four griffins!” some cried out, astonished, although as they flew closer there was a good deal of arguing over what the fourth shape in the sky actually was, before they settled on, “Three griffins, and possibly a dragon!” Even after landing at the docks, the crowd still weren’t quite certain, but Barver was used to that and didn’t take it to heart.
Cramber Hoon was clearly much loved by the people. Children who’d been anxious when he’d left gave him hugs; adults welcomed him home. He waited for the clamour to subside, then spread his arms and addressed them.
“My friends,” he said. “I promised I would hurry back with help, and I have! There is nothing to fear now. Tend to your nets, and mend your sails, for tomorrow our boats will be back at sea!”
They gave a loud cheer in return. Cramber led the group away from the townsfolk, onto a rock-and-sand beach at the edge of the docks, then towards a large rickety-looking building at the far end of the beach. The townsfolk, anxious faces all, watched them go.
“They’re scared,” said Cramber, sorrow in his voice – he clearly felt deeply about his people. “Pulling a stranger’s corpse from the sea is dreaded by all fisherfolk. A terrible omen. But two corpses? Unimaginable! And then to find that the griffin was still alive, against all natural order? They put a brave face on it, but they’re more afraid than they have ever been. Until this situation is resolved, they won’t dare sail again.”
The ramshackle wooden building had large doors that took up the whole of the front; an old man stood there, and greeted Cramber with a nod. “Good to have you back, Cramber!” said the man.
“Good to be back, Ned!” said Cramber. “Anything from our guest?”
The man shook his head. “No change,” he said.
“We’ll take things from here,” said Cramber, and the man hurried off, a quick nod to each of the new arrivals. Cramber stepped over to the doors. “We put them in here when we found them,” he said. “It was a boatwright’s shed, many years ago, before the new docks were built.” He pushed the doors inwards. Underath let out a gasp.
There was Alkeran, flat on his back, wings spread. The griffin was dark grey; many of his feathers stuck out at angles, broken. His eyes were closed. Barver stared, as did Merta and Wintel, and Patch could understand why – Alkeran was horribly still. From where they stood, he didn’t seem to be breathing at all.
“Stay here for a moment,” Underath said, his voice faltering with the shock of seeing his friend in such an awful state. He walked into the building.
Cramber looked at Merta. “What should we do?” he said.
Merta took a deep breath. “The hardest part comes now, Cramber,” she said. “We must stand aside, and wait.” She nodded to Alia. “The griffin’s fate is in the hands of your friend,” she said.
“Friend is a bit strong,” said Alia. “But, yes. Where is the woman’s body?”
“Over there,” said Cramber in a low voice, pointing. In the far corner of the building lay a shape with white canvas draped over it.
Alia scratched at her chin, thinking. “She can wait for the time being,” she said. “I’ll speak to Underath and see what he makes of the situation. I don’t know how long this could take, or how dangerous it will be. This is dark magic, so the risks are very high indeed. All of you should keep some distance. If I need you, I’ll call. Or scream, if it’s really urgent. Tobias, bring that sack and follow me.”
She walked into the building. With an anxious glance to Patch, Tobias untied the sack from Barver’s harness and followed her.
As the doors behind them closed, Alia and Tobias stood quietly. There was plenty of light; the roof was a patchwork of rotting timber and sky. Ahead of them, Underath stood by Alkeran, studying the wooden box that was tied around the griffin’s neck. Eventually he noticed them watching, and left Alkeran’s side to join them.
He took the sack from Tobias and began to rummage inside, taking items out one at a time and setting them on the floor next to the wall: a variety of metal and earthenware containers, several small wooden cases, and tied bundles of sticks that Alia recognized at once – among them tansy, burdock and lavender. He opened up each of the cases, revealing a tight-packed collection of glass phials. He selected some of the little bottles, each a vivid colour. Then he turned to Alia, speaking with some reluctance: “I could use your help.”
“Gladly,” said Alia. She nodded to Tobias. “Wait outside,” she told him. “Stay ready. We might need your Healing Songs at any time.”
“I’ll be at the door,” said Tobias. “Be careful.”
Alia gave him a reassuring smile. Once he was gone, though, the smile dropped from her lips. She was worried. “Tell me you have a plan,” she said to Underath, looking at the heart-box around the griffin’s neck. “I can feel the dark currents of that spell from here, and I don’t like it.”
“Strong, isn’t it?” said Underath. “A challenge! What little magic I have is taken up by staying alive, but with your help, we can break the bonds of the spell.” He paused. “The danger is great, though. I think I might be able to manage the final part alone. Why risk both our lives?”
Alia smiled again. “If you don’t mind me saying, I think the loss of magic has done you some good.”
“How so?”
“You seem to actually care about people other than yourself. From how Wren described you, that’s a welcome change.”
“It’s not the loss of magic that’s changed me,” said Underath, looking at Alkeran. “I’d taken my friend for granted. Losing him…it hurt more than I could have imagined.”
“Wren told me he’d been a prisoner before you met him,” said Alia. “You freed him, then? From some awful captivity?”
“I didn’t free him,” said Underath. “I found him, yes, years ago, in circumstances very similar to this – on a shoreline, exhausted, his feathers sand-caked. He’d been trapped on a sandbar in the Great Grey Ocean for days, his flight to the mainland a last desperate act, weighed down by his chain. For the first time in my life, I realized I could help someone. Yes, I saved his life, but if anything, it was Alkeran who saved me. Darker sorcery had always called to me, but Alkeran steered me away from that path. No matter what I did, he didn’t give up on me. He always believed I was better than I thought. With him gone…” He shook his head, miserable. “Perhaps you wouldn’t understand.”
“I can sympathize,” said Alia, and her eyes drifted to the door, where Tobias waited on the other side. “Right, enough of this. Show me the box with your heart, an
d explain how you plan to untangle the spell!”
The box had a beat of its own. That was the most unnerving thing, for Alia.
It was carved from a single piece of hard, dark wood – probably red birch, she thought, a tree whose blood-like sap gave it its name and made it a favourite among a certain kind of Sorcerer. A silver clasp on the top kept a hinged lid in place; Underath told her not to look inside, yet, and she was happy to oblige. The box was slightly larger than her hand, tightly bound to Alkeran’s neck with leather straps.
Underath asked her to place a hand on either end of it, and tell him what she thought. That’s when she felt it beat, a regular pulse.
“The heart itself doesn’t beat,” said Underath. “I already looked. It is the wood of the box that beats. Fascinating, isn’t it?”
She let go of the box, glad to be free of its pulsing rhythm. “You’ve had plenty of time to plan for this,” she said. “Do you know what ritual she used?”
“No,” said Underath. “But I’ve studied many dark Sorcerers in my time. Some of this feels…familiar.” He looked to the canvas-covered shape in the corner. “Alkeran’s bond to her keeps him close to death; his bond to me stops him from succumbing. Even so, it’s lucky for us that she’s dead. Without her, the spell is ready to collapse. All it needs is a little encouragement.” He unfastened the silver clasp and opened the box. “Take a look at what’s left.”
Alia looked. The heart inside was shrivelled and black. “She may have set traps for us.”
Underath shook his head. “To do that, she would have had to plan for defeat! She didn’t expect this outcome.”
“So what do you intend to do?”
“We will prepare a fire,” he said. “I will take the heart. I will burn it.”
Alia’s eyes widened. “Bold move,” she said. “I expected you to reclaim your heart somehow, not destroy it. What about…” She gestured towards his chest. “Well, what about that?”
Underath unbuttoned his shirt and showed what lay beneath: scarring encircled the middle of his chest, the skin dark red, and in the centre the flesh was uneven, forming an outline that was unmistakably shoe-like. “It’s doing quite nicely,” he said. “Part of me is trapped in my old heart. Burning the heart will release it, and it should find its way back home. Once I am whole, my powers will return in full. My shoe-heart will be complete, and Alkeran will be free from the spell.” He closed the box lid again. “We must prepare,” he said.
Alia’s task was to create a Volsan Flame, a magical fire hot enough to melt copper or, as was needed here, to destroy an object that was the foundation for a powerful spell. It was a risk, certainly – destroying the main component of a hex or curse could have unexpected consequences.
Among Underath’s equipment was a thick clay bowl – a crucible – into which Alia arranged clippings of the stick bundles. The preparation was painstakingly precise, as the weave pattern of the sticks had to be exactly right. Into that went the contents of the phials Underath had selected. Finally, Underath carefully removed the dried-out heart from the red-birch box and placed it in the centre. The Flame itself would be triggered by Alia, requiring a tightly focused outpouring of magical energy that Underath couldn’t manage in his weakened state.
With everything ready, Alia flexed both hands, generating purple flecks of light that wove around her fingers. She looked at Underath. “Are you sure about this?” she said.
“Oh, my dear lady…” he replied. “You’re a Sorcerer, just as I am. We pretend we’re wise, but are we ever truly sure about anything?”
“Then here goes,” she said, and she released a stream of power at the contents of the crucible. The air around it began to shimmer, forming a column that climbed six feet high. The first signs of fire appeared among rich blue smoke within the crucible, and with a sudden whoosh the Volsan Flame appeared: a swirling vortex of heat that filled the column perfectly.
Underath began to chant, and the heart started to glow: green first, then white, so bright that Alia had to look away. The heat coming from it was astonishing – both Sorcerers stepped back, as the fire roared even higher, then suddenly faded to nothing.
The only sound now was a regular clink as the crucible cooled down. Underath took a wary step closer, and used a brass rod to poke around in the ashes. “Nothing of the heart remains,” he said. “The task is done.”
“Do you feel any different?” asked Alia.
He shook his head. “I thought it would be immediate,” he said. “Nothing yet, though.” He frowned suddenly. “No, wait, I can feel something… It’s working.” The frown deepened and became a look of alarm. “Oh,” he said. “Oh dear. I was afraid of this. All a bit much, not sure I can keep it contained…” He grabbed Alia’s shoulder, urgency and fear in his voice. “Alkeran is free of the spell, but he is still on the very edge of death.” He stepped back: away from Alia, and away from Alkeran. “Save him, whatever happens to me.”
“Of course,” said Alia. “But there’s no need to…” Panic, she’d been about to add, but then she fell silent, staring. She’d noticed Underath’s hair.
It had started to glow.
At the shoreline, the waves were breaking in a way that should have been relaxing, but Patch had never felt more tense in his life.
Barver was also nervous; he was biting his nails, which was new for him, and very distracting. His nails were huge and incredibly strong, as were his teeth. Each chomp sounded like an iron door being hit by a cannonball.
Wren was the worst, naturally. With the path of her entire life depending on the outcome, she was perched on Patch’s shoulder, trembling slightly, not taking her eyes off the doors of the boatwright’s building. All Patch could do was give her the occasional reassuring stroke.
Outside the building, Tobias paced back and forth. From time to time he would stop and turn to the doorway as if he’d heard something absolutely crucial, but then he would simply start pacing again.
The griffins were largely silent, watching with patience.
This had gone on for almost an hour, when the roaring sound of the Volsan Flame reached them. They all looked to the building, expectant. What they did not expect was a Sorcerer suddenly hurtling out of one of the many gaps in the roof, leaving a trail of green-and-red sparks in his wake.
Wren squeaked in terror. Patch stared.
Barver crunched on one last nail. “Uh oh,” he said.
Cramber pointed up at Underath. “Oooh!” he said. “He can fly!”
“No, Cramber,” said Merta. “I really don’t think that’s good.”
Wintel, though, seemed to have snapped into a different gear altogether. “He must be unconscious, going at that speed!” she said. “And look at how he’s flopping around. That is not controlled flight!”
Alia ran out of the building and came towards them, screaming: “Do something! Please do something!”
Merta looked to Wintel; Wintel nodded, and launched herself into the air.
Cramber readied to leap after her.
“No,” Merta told him. “Let her work! She’s the most agile of us all. She knows what she can do.”
“She’s going to catch him?” cried Patch.
“Yes,” said Merta, and they watched as Wintel gathered height and speed. Far above, the ascent of Underath, the human firework, began to slow; the bright trail of sparks subsided, then failed completely. He started to fall.
Wren dug her claws into Patch’s shoulder.
Wintel flew higher and higher, and even from this distance they could see how much effort she was putting in to gain height. She was closing on Underath with every moment that passed, and then…
“She missed him!” yelled Patch, horrified.
Merta shook her head. “Wintel has to get above him, then swoop down. She must match his speed if she wants to avoid injuring him. Humans are so fragile, you see.”
They watched as Wintel turned and dived, hurtling down after the falling Sorcerer: closer, closer, and
then – yes! She seized the wizard!
But the ground was coming up quickly.
“She’s too low,” cried Cramber.
She did look low, to Patch.
“Fly, Wintel!” shouted Merta. “Fly!”
Barver said nothing, his hands over his mouth.
And then, impact seeming a certainty, Wintel managed to catch the air, flaring the feathers on her wings and pulling out of her dive – flying over their heads and out to sea as all of them cheered with relief.
Merta looked at them with a sly smile. “You see?” she said. “She knows what she can do!”
Wintel made a slow turn and brought Underath back to shore, laying him gently on the sand. He opened his eyes and looked around at the faces above him, settling on Alia. “I…I didn’t explode?”
“It seems not,” said Alia, smiling. “Although it was rather spectacular.”
Underath looked at his hands as green sparks danced around his fingers. “It worked,” he said, then sat up suddenly, his face filled with worry. “Alkeran!” He tried to stand, but was still too weak and fell back to his knees.
“Don’t worry,” said Alia. “Alkeran is in good hands. Listen!”
And from the building, the sound of gentle Piping drifted out to them. Patch smiled. In the commotion, he’d not noticed that Tobias had gone into the building to be with Alkeran.
It was a Healing Song. Tobias had started his work.
At first, they left Tobias to get on with it, as they listened outside. Later, when Underath was steady on his feet, he and Alia went into the building to join him.
Cramber left to tell the people of Pardissan that everything was well, in spite of the spectacle of a Sorcerer exploding through the roof.
The early evening sun had kept the day pleasantly warm. Patch was sitting on the sand; Wren was on his shoulder, keeping a close eye on the building behind them. The Song Tobias was playing had a soothing effect, and Patch could have happily slept right where he was. Wren, though, was understandably agitated, desperate to find out if Underath could undo the curse that had made her a rat. Underath had created the curse in the first place – if he couldn’t reverse it, that would surely mean she was condemned for ever.
A Vanishing of Griffins Page 11