Angel Isle

by Peter Dickinson

  On such a night as this Maja woke, vaguely ill at ease. She had been hoping that Jex would at last speak to her in her dreams again, but he hadn’t come, though she could tell from the greater sureness of his protection that he was already stronger. Something was amiss in the magical world, surely…but no, it wasn’t anything to do with Jex. There was something sickening about it, a bit like the nausea she felt coming from the Watchers, but otherwise different from anything else she’d come across, as different as a plant is from a stone, or a fish from a hammer—a kind of dull, throbbing beat, not a noise, but a feeling, like a pulsing sick headache. It came from somewhere up north, a little east of the Highway, more than a day’s journey away still, she decided. She fell asleep, but it persisted through her dreams and was still there when she woke.

  It was there all day. Usually, when she chose, she could now ignore whole swaths of the myriad magics that continually assailed her, in order to concentrate on particular ones, but with this she couldn’t. Unconsciously she had begun walking to the rhythm of its beat. By noon it was impossible to think about anything else. It seemed to be nothing that Jex could use or shield her from. She called to him in her mind but he did not answer. Not even thinking about it she groped for her amulet and shoved it right down to her wrist.

  Astonishingly, something happened. The appalling thud dwindled to a dull throb in the background. She could look around. She could think. She stared at the amulet, and saw that the strange black bead had changed. There was depth in its blackness, like that in the pupil of an eye. It was active. Doing something. Shielding her enough from the drumbeat for her to be able to think about something else. But not enough to let her break step unless she willed herself to do so.

  She stared around. Saranja and Benayu were walking a few paces ahead. No, not walking, marching. Marching in step, like her. Why wasn’t Benayu riding Pogo? A few days ago they had sent the ponies back to Larg with a merchant from the city whom they’d met at a way station, as Benayu was now physically recovered enough to ride a horse, though not yet to dismount and walk when the other three did. But he was on foot now, marching in step with Saranja, in time to that dull, implacable beat. So, she realized, was Ribek. With an effort she lengthened and slowed her stride, but he kept on as before, and as soon as she stopped concentrating on it she fell back into the same rhythm.

  But they couldn’t be hearing the beat. There wasn’t anything to hear. It came to Maja solely through her extra sense, the awful monotonous magical thump. The horses seemed a lot more restive than usual, but their twelve hooves clopped on the paving to no rhythm she could make out.

  Why were they walking at all? It was far too hot. They should all be…

  Hadn’t they passed a way station some while back? Why hadn’t they stopped to water the horses and rest out the heat of the day, as usual?

  And there was nobody else to be seen from horizon to horizon. The Highway hadn’t been busy since they’d joined it, and as most of the people going north went at much the same walking pace they seldom overtook anyone, or were overtaken, but there’d always been dribs and drabs of travelers coming in the other direction. There were none now. Not one.

  She couldn’t remember if they’d breakfasted at all.

  She had to say something. Nobody had spoken a word since they’d left last night’s way station. Only now did this seem strange. It seemed a huge effort to break the long silence. Her voice was a croak.

  “Why are you taking those silly little steps? Ribek! Listen to me! Why are you taking those silly little steps?”

  He answered as if from a dream.

  “Comfortable.”

  The silence closed round them again.

  “Jex! Jex! What’s happening?”

  No answer.

  At last, another way station. It was deserted. The food stalls were set up but unattended. The horses recognized it for what it was, or perhaps they could smell water, and tried to stop, but Saranja and Benayu strode on unnoticing.

  “Ribek! The horses! They must be dying of thirst! Ribek! Saranja!”

  “Let them go,” muttered Ribek. “Can’t stop.”

  With an even greater effort Maja forced herself to a halt, but her feet continued to stamp up and down to the implacable drumbeat. It was a heavy, continuous effort to prevent them from moving forward, so she let them go, lengthened her stride as far as she could and caught up, first with Ribek and then with the horses. She slowed enough to take one of the big water flasks from Levanter’s saddlebag, and then caught up with Rocky. Still marching, though now with the shortest paces the drumbeat would allow, she snatched his bridle and tried to heave him round.

  He halted and half turned. She slapped his rump as the rhythm swept her past. He hesitated. But Pogo had no doubts, and was already trotting back the way they’d come. She willed herself to stop, slapped him again and told him to go, and with a whicker of distress he gave in and led Levanter after Pogo. She let the rhythm sweep her away again and fell in beside Ribek and, still marching, managed to drink a few mouthfuls, slopping most of it down her front. The other three did the same, muttering their thanks. Nobody said anything else. The drumbeat was all there was.

  The sun sidled west and down the shadows stretched across the desert. Dusk came quickly, and was quickly night. The Highway climbed to cross a low rise. From beyond it, a little to the right, came a steady orange glow. This was the place to which the drum was calling them. Under a brilliant moon they left the Highway and started toward it. For a while the rough ground drove them apart, but then it became a strange upward slope, unnatural in its perfect smoothness. The glow came from just beyond it. This, she knew, was the end. She would never walk side by side with Ribek again.

  Her voice refused to work. She moved closer and put her hand into his. He twined his fingers into hers and with his free hand stroked her arm, downward from the elbow, in a gesture of pure, natural affection. His hand reached the amulet.

  He staggered and almost broke step, then stared at the amulet. She looked too. The single bead was glimmering now, as if with reflected firelight. She wouldn’t have been able to see the faint glow in the full glare of day. And once before, on the hill above Larg—something almost lost to her memory in the immense wash of magic that had then been flowing around her—it too had glinted as if with reflected firelight. But the fire had been embers. And it had been in the wrong place.

  Azarod. Only for a moment had she felt the full force of his demonic magic, forgotten till now amid the storm of other happenings that night. That too, she now remembered, had been utterly different from anything else that she had met. But not different from this. And it hadn’t been Jex shielding her from it as soon as she had picked him out of the cactus. It had been the ruined amulet, just as it was doing now.

  Ribek had already let go of her wrist and was marching on as if nothing had happened. As they reached the ridge she grabbed his hand and forced it against the bead.

  “Wake up!” she said. “It’s a demon doing this to us! Don’t let go of my wrist! We’ve got to get to Saranja! Zald!”

  His stride faltered.

  “Demon,” he muttered. “Zald. Saranja. Only hope.”

  “Come on! No, keep hold of my wrist. Tight. That’s right.”

  She lengthened her stride and dragged him forward. Now in front of them lay an immense conical pit, its lower half filled with a dense, murky, fiery cloud.

  “You go other side,” she gasped. “Get Zald. I’ll get her hand.”

  They reached Saranja and fell in step on either side of her, with their arms stretched behind her back so that Ribek could still grasp the amulet. Maja could feel her inner rage blazing helpless in the grip of her compulsion. When she grasped her finger the whole arm was as limp as soaked cloth. She lifted it up and waited for Ribek to ease Zald from under Saranja’s blouse and lay it against her chest.

  “Other way up,” she said, desperately patient with his dazed clumsiness as they started up the slope. “Turn
it over. That’s right.”

  No need to be told which stone was the demon-binder. One was already bright with the same orange glow that half filled the pit. It pulsed to the steady drumbeats. Awkwardly, stumbling to keep pace with the others’ downward march, Maja gripped Saranja’s forefinger. Using her thumb to keep the finger stiff, she circled it against the glowing jewel.

  Life flowed into the arm, into the whole body. Saranja halted in her tracks. The drumbeat faltered, failed and was replaced by an agonizing howl—real, ear-shattering sound in the ordinary world of the senses. Ribek had halted too, and Benayu, and they were staring dazedly around. The glow was fading, the mist thinning. There was something vaguely tree-shaped at the center of it.

  Saranja drew herself up, squaring her shoulders. She was glowing all over, as if her clothes and skin had become translucent to the anger-fires within. She pinched the fingers of her right hand against the surface of the jewel and drew forth a line of fire, which she began to coil, loop after loop, round the palm of her left hand.

  The thing at the center of the hollow screamed again. Something came hurtling out of the fading mist toward her. With a cat-like sideways leap Ribek caught it two-handed, and dropped it with a yell of disgust. It was a human arm, torn savagely from the body.

  “Wait here,” commanded Saranja. “Maja can hold the end of the cord. You two look after her. I’ll be all right—it can’t touch me.”

  Maja grasped the cord. It seemed to have neither weight nor heat, but the power of Zald throbbed through her, like a blaze that would have been glorious if she’d not been too close to it, until she felt Jex’s shield renew itself and close round her.

  “Demon magic. Poison to me in this universe. This thing is one of my own kind, poisoned long ago.”

  There was horror in the voice of stone.

  Saranja was already marching away across the slope, paying out the cord as she went. It didn’t then fall to the ground, but floated waist high behind her in a fiery line.

  The mist thinned further, and Maja could now see what the thing at its center was—a living creature, as tall as a fair-sized tree and standing on a single dark trunk. But it wasn’t a tree trunk. Its whole surface squirmed continually in response to the squirming, chewing motion of the screaming mouth, a kind of vertical gash near the top. Blood dribbled from its lower end. Above that, instead of branches, came dozens of writhing tentacles with crab-like claws at the end, and above them a crown of twenty or more shorter flexible stalks, each bearing a single huge red eye. Two of the tentacles ended not in claws but in hoof-like growths that flailed continually against the trunk, but now produced only the faintest magical pulse instead of the terrible drumbeat that had so mastered and overwhelmed them.

  A huddle of spellbound travelers was crowded against the base of the creature, some of them scrambling over each other as they struggled to get nearer, while others, loosened from the weakening enchantment, were beginning to break away and, still in the grip of the nightmare, stagger sobbing up the slope. For a last, awful moment, before everything changed, Maja caught a glimpse of what they were running from, as several of the tentacles closed around a man the monster had snatched from the pile, tore him, still living, limb from limb, and started to cram the pieces into its mouth. It continued to scream as it chewed.

  Only when the mist had almost cleared did it seem to wake fully to its danger. Its glaring red eyes craned toward Saranja like weed in a running stream. Several arms snatched victims from the pile, swung back and hurled them toward her. Any one of them, if it had reached her, would have knocked her flat, but instead some force seemed to slow them in their sprawling flight and swing them deftly aside and let them tumble gently onto the ground. One by one they picked themselves groggily up, stared around until they saw the monster, gave a yell of horror, and rushed away. If they had friends or loved ones still down in the pit they didn’t stay to look. By the time Saranja completed her circuit almost all of them were gone.

  She halted, took Maja’s end of the cord, knotted it round the length she was holding to form a noose and hauled it in hand over hand until it tightened around the creature’s stem. The clawed tentacles plucked violently at it, but it held firm.

  She drew herself up, threw back her head and gave a shout, in a voice Maja had never before heard from her.

  “Haddu! Ah! Haddu-haddu!”

  She turned, and with long, loping strides, dancer’s strides, she circled the pit again, drawing the flaming cord tight as she went. The creature was too stupid to recognize the new threat. While its tentacles heaved and picked at the first loop the second loop enclosed them and bound them tight.

  Twelve times she circled the pit, winding the cord steadily up the trunk. The monster continued to howl until the fiery spiral reached its mouth and bound it shut. By the twelfth circuit it was a writhing column of flame from the bole to the top, with only a cockade of eye-stalks waving frantically above.

  At the end of the twelfth circuit Saranja halted.

  “Up!” she said, and led the way back to the ridge, paying out the cord as she climbed. She turned to face the pit.

  “Haddu!” she called again. She twitched the cord.

  Immediately it streamed toward her, and hand over hand as it came she fed it back into the jewel she had drawn it from. The process seemed effortless, but the force was enough to twist the monster’s stem, faster and faster, through all twelve windings, until its released tentacles flailed helplessly out around it. By the time the end of the cord had disappeared into the fiery gem the creature had twisted itself free of its base, and, still spinning, still on fire, was rising into the air, higher and higher, until its howls started to fade into the sky.

  Saranja raised her arms above her head.

  “Haddu!” she cried for the third time, and brought them down in an imperious gesture of ending.

  Flame like a lightning strike plunged down, carrying the monster with it. In the bottom of the pit a vast, sulfur-reeking hole opened to receive it. Still howling, the monster vanished into the earth and the hole closed over it. The edges of the pit began to tumble down to seal it over and they backed away.

  “How did you know to do all that?” said Ribek in an awed voice. “You don’t even like magic.”

  “Not me,” said Saranja in her own voice. “Him.”

  She gestured at Zald.

  They crowded round to look. For a moment they saw, grinning out from the depths of the jewel, a little scarlet imp face. Its thin tongue licked its lips in remembered relish, and then there was nothing but the glow of the jewel.

  “Back to the road, I suppose,” said Ribek. “If nothing else as nasty as that happens to us on this journey I shan’t be sorry. Bless you, Maja, for remembering the water.”

  He was doing his best to speak lightly, but Maja could hear the deep shudder in his voice. It had been the kind of nightmare it’s no use waking up from—you only lie in the dark, remembering it, still too afraid to move a muscle. Benayu was staggering as if still half drowning in the dream. Ribek put an arm round him to help him along. In silence they began to trudge back toward the Highway. Before they had gone far Sponge came racing out of the dark to greet Benayu with puppyish ecstasy—a bit of the real world, a tiny step toward making everything sane again. It was going to take a long, long time.

  “Let’s hope the horses are all right,” said Saranja. She must be feeling the same, Maja realized, in spite of what she’d done.

  “Yes, they’ve loosed the demons,” said Benayu in a low, shuddering voice. “We haven’t yet seen the worst of them. The Watchers must be mad.”

  They walked on in silence. The rocks threw heavy moon-shadows, so black that they seemed solid. In that distorting light many of them had demon shapes. A man appeared, walking toward them, leading a mule. This was an ordinary trick of the moonlight, Maja knew, this sudden appearance—or would have been, back at Woodbourne. Not here. He halted and waited for them to reach him.

  “Let go, J
ex, for a moment.”

  No. Nothing unusual for miles around, except the residual throb of the buried pit behind them. And not even a glimmer from the black bead on her amulet.

  “I think he’s all right,” she whispered.

  Still, they stopped several paces from him. He stayed where he was, leaning on his staff.

  “Good evening,” he said in a mild, precise voice. “I take it you are returning from that extraordinary and dismaying event. Are you the last to leave?”

  “You’re not going back!” said Saranja.

  “Indeed, that was my intention. I would have stayed to watch, only my legs would not let me. But now I have mastered them, and found my mule….”

  “There’s nothing to see except desert,” said Ribek. “The thing vanished into the ground and the pit closed up over it.”

  “I can still take measurements and readings, perhaps.”

  He was mad, Maja decided. He mightn’t be any kind of magic worker, but perhaps there was something a little bit odd about his own individual magic. She couldn’t think about it, couldn’t think about anything. Now that they’d stopped walking she was swaying with exhaustion and hunger. Benayu looked even worse than she felt. He’d been walking all day when he shouldn’t have walked at all.

  “Please don’t go,” said Saranja.

  “I appreciate your concern, madam, but…One moment…forgive me…Yes. I remember being picked up by that thing and hurled through the air. It was difficult in the circumstances to pay close attention to my surroundings, but for an instant I saw—I am almost certain I saw, and that it was you I saw, for you hold yourself in exactly that manner—saw you striding across the slope with a line of fire trailing behind you. Forgive my impertinence, but is that the case?”

  Saranja’s mouth was open to answer but no voice emerged. She was not good at lying, leave alone inventing a lie on the spur of the moment. Ribek moved easily into the gap.

  “I’m afraid my sister is not at liberty to talk about it.”

  “I fully understand,” said the stranger. “It is dangerous to admit to the possession of any such powers, even when the authorities are fully occupied with events around Tarshu. But perhaps, since we are alone in this place, I may be permitted to assume that what I thought I saw was indeed the case, and that I and my fellow travelers have you to thank for rescuing us all from that terrible predicament. I do so from the very bottom of my heart.”