by Roger Hurn
She reached inside the bag she was carrying over her shoulder and pulled out a blonde wig and a small mirror. Celandine slipped the wig onto her head and admired her reflection. ‘They say that blondes have more fun,’ she mused. ‘Well, let’s see if it’s true.’
She skipped down to the water’s edge, put two fingers into her mouth and whistled loudly. Immediately, Loki let go of the steering wheel. The motorboat lurched slightly but continued on its journey away from the coast. The raven stretched its glossy black wings and flew back to his mistress. It made a slightly ungainly landing on the pebbles and stared up her with its head on one side.
Celandine struck a pose. The Raven opened its beak and cawed. ‘Yes I know I’m gorgeous,’ said Celandine pouting like a model in a magazine. ‘But do I still look like me?’
The raven blinked its hard little eyes and cawed again. It was a harsh mocking sound. Celandine put her hands on her hips and glared at the bird. ‘This wig was made specially for me in Elfhame. It’s real human hair, you know. It cost me an arm and a leg.’ She snorted with laughter. ‘Well, actually, it cost the human girl her head but then what did she need a head for when I’ve got all her hair?’
Loki fluttered up onto Celandine’s shoulder and she graciously allowed him to peck her gently on the lips. She stoked his head with her long, slim fingers. ‘You’re forgiven, my petal,’ she murmured. ‘But you’re the only one I’m forgiving.’ Then Celandine smiled a smile as thin and deadly as a razor blade. ‘Now let’s get off this beach. I want to be a long way from here by morning.’
The Raven croaked its agreement and so the pair made their way inland and vanished into the gathering dusk.
***
Chapter Forty-One
One day, when Lizzie was six, her brother and his friend Chris had taken her to the recreation ground by the Estate, put her on the roundabout and spun it as fast as they could. She had screamed and begged them to stop but the more she begged the more they spun it. When they finally tired of their bullying game they dragged the roundabout to a halt and Lizzie stumbled off. She had staggered like a drunk, fallen to her knees and retched until she was sick. Lizzie felt just like that now.
The whirlpool of darkness that had swallowed her when she played the Piper’s flute to save herself from drowning, had spewed her out into a place where the air on her tongue tasted like metal and the air reeked of electricity. A jagged flash of silver lightning slashed the purple sky like the blade of a stiletto and thunder rumbled ominously like a disgruntled ogre. The ground was covered in long coarse grass and, about three hundred metres in front of her, stood a creature she had last seen loping towards the Piper. The creature’s head was swaying from side to side and its fleshy nostrils were snuffling the air. Then, like a compass needle inevitably swinging to point north, the animal fixed on Lizzie.
‘Oh terrific,’ she muttered. ‘Talk about out of the frying pan into the fire.’
As she stood transfixed watching the beast most of her brain was screaming in terror but one tiny part of it was calmly analysing why she’d ended up in the same place as Bogan.
It must be the pipe, she thought. It’s linked to him in some way. Perhaps it’s in tune with his vibrations. Who knows? Who cares? I just want out of here!
The flute had saved her once so, in desperation, Lizzie played the tune again but this time nothing happened. She remained standing in the path of the charging beast. Now every part of her brain was screaming. She turned to run but, rising up from the grass behind her, a dozen warriors appeared clutching spears and throwing thongs.
They jogged past her and divided themselves into two lines. Each warrior stood about two metres from the man next to him. As the creature careered towards them the warriors in the first row used their throwing thongs to hurl their spears at it. Several bounced harmlessly off its thick hide but two hit it in the mouth and throat and one pierced its eye. A warrior raced forward and leapt up onto the beast’s back. He held a long, slim bladed knife high above his head and then he drove it down into the creature’s neck. The beast fell to its knees roaring in agony while the knifeman dived to safety. He hit the ground hard but rolled nimbly up onto his feet.
The warriors from the second row darted forward. They plunged their spears into the animal’s exposed belly and then leapt back as the creature thrashed and writhed in its death throes. At last, its body shuddered and it lay still.
The men raced their fists to the skies and whooped in exultation. Lizzie stood open mouthed and shaking violently. Her long dress was wet and Lizzie flushed with embarrassment as she realised it wasn’t from the seawater.
‘Oh, cut yourself some slack, girl,’ she told herself sternly. ‘You’ve cheated death twice in the last hour and you’re still here to tell the tale. Who cares if you lost it for a moment?’ Lizzie was forcing herself to be brave but her spirit was as brittle as old bones.
The hunters soon finished their victory dance and now they stared at Lizzie. She had no idea if these men would befriend her or if they would turn out to be as evil as everything else on this world so far. Her legs shook with fear but she straightened her apron and, fixing a bright smile on her face, she strode up to them.
‘Hi guys,’ she said. ‘I’m Lizzie and I guess I owe you my life.’
The men grinned back at her. They were all tall and rangy with blueish black skins. Their faces were painted with white stripes.
‘There’s no guesswork involved here,’ said the knifeman. ‘You definitely do owe us your life.’
Lizzie was amazed. ‘You speak English!’ she exclaimed.
The man frowned. ‘No, I speak Kraal,’ he replied. ‘As do you.’
Lizzie didn’t hesitate for a second. ‘Of course I do – and that’s what we’re speaking now, isn’t it?’
The warrior agreed that it was. The men exchanged glances and a few raised their eyebrows.
‘It’s the shock,’ said Lizzie. You know of being attacked by a …a…er…’
‘A grasken,’ said the knifeman.
‘That’s it,’ said Lizzie. ‘A grasken. Vicious beasts aren’t they?’
The warriors agreed that of all the creatures on the Plain of Marl, the grasken were probably the nastiest.
‘Though the ripclaws can give them a run for their money,’ said one of the warriors.’
‘Yes, but only because they hunt in packs. An adult grasken is more than a match for any single ripclaw,’ put in another man.
A heated debate followed on the qualities of the various predators who stalked the plain with every man trying to outdo the others with boasts about their encounters with these beasts. As a result, Lizzie heard far more than was good for her peace of mind about snaregaggles, drigmares, flayspawn and harspites. All of these it seemed had their own unpleasant ways of capturing and dismembering the prey they caught.
Snaregaggles were apelike creatures with enormously strong arms and a liking for crushing things - particularly humans; drigmares were fast moving, scaly reptiles with wide mouths that contained rows of serrated teeth; flayspawn were a kind of flying stag beetle the size of a large horse, while harspites were giant centipedes that spat a poison that paralysed its victims - which the harspite would then eat alive.
This discussion was cut short by a hideous clanking sound. As one the group looked up to see a flayspawn descending on them. Its massive pincers were gnashing and snapping as it swooped down.
The flayspawn landed clumsily and the nearest warrior sprang at it, frantically thrusting his spear at the monstrosity. The spear shattered on the insect’s pincers as they clamped around the warrior’s chest. The flayspawn dragged the warrior towards its gaping mouth and bit off the terrified man’s head.
The rest of the band attacked it with their spears and managed to drive it off without incurring any more injuries to themselves. The huge insect dropped the dead warrior’s body as it launched itself up into the stormy air. It flew low over the men but a couple of well-aimed spears discourag
ed it from continuing the battle and it swept off into the distance.
Swiftly the warrior band wrapped up the body of their fallen comrade in a dun coloured cloak and two men carried it between them as they all hurried off towards a ridge of low hills.
‘You must come with us, Lizzie,‘ said the knifeman. ‘Flayspawn rarely hunt alone and now it’s tasted blood it’ll return with its swarm for the rest of us.’
Lizzie tried to run after the warriors but, in her panic, her legs became tangled up in her long, heavy dress and she stumbled and fell. The knifeman saw her plight and raced back to her. He drew his dagger from its sheath. Lizzie shrank back but the warrior grabbed her dress and cut the material so that it ended just above Lizzie’s knees.
‘Now you can move without falling over,’ he said gravely. ‘And do try to keep up because, as we say in our village, “she who runs slowest is quickest to be eaten.”’
***
Chapter Forty-Two
As the group approached the hills, a village of huts with thatched roofs and walls made with sticks and mud came into view. It was surrounded by a wooden stockade with a watchtower guarding the gateway. The knifeman, whose name was Naj, pointed to the village and told Lizzie that was where they were going. Lizzie was so out of breath from running that she could only nod in reply.
Suddenly, the sound of a horn blasted out from the watchtower. The warriors looked back over their shoulders at the sky. A buzzing, whirring noise filled the air as dozens of flayspawn flew towards them. Lizzie tried to sprint to the safety of the village but it seemed to her that she was caught up in one of those nightmares where, no matter how hard you try to run, you just can’t make any progress. Her lungs were bursting and a stitch dug into her side like a needle yet the village remained impossibly far away.
Lizzie reached deep inside herself and summoned up the will to make one last effort. She pressed on but her foot caught against a rock concealed in the long grass, pain exploded in her ankle and she tumbled face down onto the ground. The force of the fall knocked the last of her breath from her body. She twisted herself round onto her back and saw a flayspawn hurtling out of the sky towards her.
Lizzie felt as if an icy hand was gripping her heart. She shuddered but couldn’t make herself shut her eyes as the thing closed in on her. Then, out of nowhere, a ball of fire swooshed through the air and smashed into the creature. An inferno of flames enveloped it and it veered crazily over her head before crashing to earth where it burned to a crisp in seconds.
Lizzie propped herself up on her elbow and watched as fireball after fireball smashed into the flying insects. The burning flayspawn careered into other members of the swarm setting them alight. Oily black smoke poured from their bodies as the bright red flames crackled and danced along their wings before engulfing them.
She could see that the fireballs were being thrown from large wooden catapults that the villagers had wheeled out from behind the stockade. Lizzie guessed from their quick and practised movements as they loaded the burning pitch into the catapults and the accuracy with which they fired them that this wasn’t the first time the people of the village had used the machines to repel the swarm. Indeed, it only took a few more moments of this furious bombardment for the handful of surviving flayspawn to scatter and flee.
Lizzie sank back into the grass and closed her eyes. Apart from the ache in her ankle she felt numb. ‘You’re alive, Lizzie,’ she told herself. But somehow it didn’t seem to mean anything to her. Then, without warning, a wave of homesickness swept through her. She wanted to be with her family. She wanted to squabble with Ritchie. She wanted to wind her mother up. She even missed her Dad and his obsession with cars. She detested this world with its purple skies and weird monsters. She’d seen too many horrors and she couldn’t cope with it anymore. She screwed her knuckles into her temples and she sobbed ‘til a voice she thought she’d never hear again said, ‘Hello Lizzie. You know we really must stop meeting like this.’
Lizzie opened her eyes and looked up into the smirking face of the Piper.
***
Chapter Forty-Three
Lizzie tried to force herself up onto her feet but Bogan pushed her back down. Then, before she could react, he snatched the pipe out from her apron pocket.
‘Good girl, Lizzie,’ he sneered. ‘You brought me the flute like a dog fetching a stick to its master. What happened? Couldn’t you resist playing it? Did you think it would take you on a magic trip to see your pals Will and Alice in Elfhame?‘
Lizzie nodded wearily. ‘Yeah, that’s right. Ezra and the Bloods were so busy arresting Celandine that they forgot I had the pipe. I was going to hand it over but I thought before I did I’d just use it to nip back to Elfhame to bring Alice and Will up-to-date with everything that had happened. I didn’t think it could do any harm.’
Bogan shook his head. ‘You’re a typical half life, Lizzie. Your kind never learn that meddling with magic is a very bad idea. Still, that’s a bonus for me. Thanks to your stupidity I can leave this accursed place and go home.’
He glanced over his shoulder. Naj and the other warriors were watching them from the entrance to the village.
‘Handy bunch of lads those hunters,’ he said. ‘They rescued me just like they rescued you. The only problem was, without the flute, we couldn’t communicate. But now you’ve popped up out of thin air just like me they’ve got it into their heads that we must be related so they’ve sent me over to welcome you.’ Bogan grinned a gap toothed grin. ‘That’s the problem when you don’t speak the language. Misunderstandings happen. You see, I’m not going to put your mind at rest - I’m going to kill you and then disappear.’
Lizzie felt a tidal wave of fury sweep through her. There was no way she was going to survive an attack of hideous giant insects just to be swatted casually out of existence by the Piper. So, although she was boiling with anger her brain remained ice cool.
‘You really are as stupid as Celandine says,’ she snapped. ‘If you go back to Elfhame without me the Bloods will pick up your time scent and hunt you down. And when they do you’ll end up in the Wraith Pits for sure. But, if you take me with you, we can go to Ezra, you can truthfully say you rescued me and I’ll back you up. It might just be enough to save your miserable skin.’ She looked at him contemptuously.
A look of indecision passed over Bogan’s face. ‘Why would you help me?’
Lizzie gave him a withering glance. ‘Duh. Because, like you, I’ve got a score to settle with Celandine and I can’t do it if I’m dead. I need you to tell the Bloods everything you know about that vicious slapper.’
Bogan shook his head. ‘I’ll be dead if I grass up the lovely lady Celandine.’
‘No way. The Bloods have got Celandine banged up and all they need is your evidence to put her away for life. No offence, Bogan, but you’re small fry. The Bloods don’t care about you, it’s Celandine they want. And between us we can finish Celandine once and for all.’
Lizzie paused and stared at the Piper. ‘Don’t you owe the nasty, scheming little cow that, Bogan? After all, she was the one who sent you to this hell hole. She wanted you dead because she knew you could sink her. Think about it. It’s a no brainer. The Bloods will give you protection and a new identity while Celandine rots in the Wraith Pits. Believe me, it couldn’t happen to a nicer girl. And, although it means you get to walk free, it’s a price I’m prepared to pay to make sure that Celandine gets exactly what she deserves.’
Bogan swallowed hard. ‘You’re sure of this are you? Celandine is a prisoner of the Bloods?’
Lizzie chuckled mirthlessly. ‘Oh, she’s a prisoner all right. I saw them march her off with my own eyes. There was no way they were going to let that little madam go free.’ The lie slid smoothly off her tongue. ‘The only question is, Bogan, which side are you on – the winners or the losers?’
‘I should kill you,’ replied Bogan. ‘You deserve to die.’
Lizzie shrugged. ‘So Celandine was right. She sai
d you were a loser. She was laughing when she told Ezra how she’d sent you off to die so you couldn’t cut a deal with the Bloods. She boasted of how she’d tricked you. She said her pet raven was smarter than you. “I’ve killed your star witness”, she said. “He’ll never testify against me now – he’s dead meat.”’
Bogan jerked his head back as if Lizzie had struck him in the face. ‘Did she now? Well, I’ll show her who the loser is. It’s going to be a pleasure to ram those words back down her throat. So her pet raven is more intelligent than me is he? Well, the lady Celandine will be spitting feathers when she finds out that I survived and that I’m going to send her to hell.’
Bogan put the flute to his mouth and played and once again Lizzie found herself moving between the worlds. This time the vortex spewed her out onto a cobbled street right outside a large imposing building. She staggered forward but Bogan grabbed her arm before she could fall.
‘Steady,’ he said. ‘I can’t have you hurting yourself. The Bloods will only say I did it.’
Lizzie glared up at him. ‘Where are we?’
‘Chronomage HQ in Elfhame.’ The Piper smiled ruefully. ‘You know, I never thought the day would come when I walked into this place of my own free will. But, hey, life’s full of things you don’t expect isn’t it, Lizzie?’
He swaggered into the building and demanded to see
Ezra Silverspear. He was grinning confidently at Lizzie when he was seized by two Bloods and thrown into a cell. It was something else that Bogan didn’t expect. Then things went from bad to worse when Ezra arrived.
‘Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Bogan, but, far from being safely under lock and key, Celandine is still on the loose.’