by Caro King
‘Jik!’ gasped Jonas.
The mudman burst out of the trees and kept going, overtaking them and plunging off to their left.
‘Jik tik yik!’
Jonas changed tack, hard on the heels of the mudman.
‘Follow,’ he gasped. ‘I think he knows the way.’
They ran on, chasing the twin beams of Jik’s eyes that lit up the way ahead with a reddish glow. The deeper in they went, the more the forest changed. The trees, which had been straight and heavy with leaves, became gaunt, their ghostly shapes twisted and thick with ivy.
The screaming thing screamed again and the air grew colder, the last scrap of moonlight vanishing, leaving only the red glow of Jik’s eyes.
‘It’s near,’ she wailed. ‘Whatever it is, IT’S NEAR!’
‘Keep going!’ cried Jonas and Nin heard something in his voice that made her look further ahead.
There the dark was not so dark. A faint hope uncurled in her heart and Nin forced herself to keep running, each breath like a hot knife in her lungs, blood pounding through her head so hard that flashes of light pricked her eyes. But now, right in front of them, the dark was giving way to a soft golden glow that grew as they hurtled towards it. She knew it wasn’t possible to run any faster, but somehow she did.
And then the golden glow was all around them and the horrible screaming stopped.
‘It’s OK,’ gasped Jonas, ‘we’ve made it!’
Breathless and exhausted, they sank to their knees in an open space of soft, green grass scattered with daisies, their petals curled in sleep. In the centre, its branches spreading out over the whole clearing, was a vast oak. The moonlight filtering through its leaves was strangely golden. It was wonderful and Nin knew that they were safe. She could have cried with relief. More than anything, the silence was beautiful. Wherever the screaming thing was, it wasn’t here.
‘Look at it,’ Jonas said staring up through the green roof of leaves, ‘I’ve never seen branches that … complicated. Or a trunk so … knobbly.’
‘This moss down here round the bottom, it’s really springy.’ Nin crawled over to it, dumping her rucksack next to her. ‘Smells nice.’
‘Here,’ called Jonas, pointing.
In the middle of the trunk, etched into it in a way that appeared to have happened naturally rather than been done with a knife, were the words:
NEMUS STURDY
‘We’ll be all right now, thanks to Jik.’ Jonas dropped his pack next to hers and settled on to the soft moss.
‘Yeah! Thanks, Jik. Aren’t you coming in?’
The mudman stood on the edge where the dark forest turned into moonlit grass, just outside the reach of the branches.
Jik sighed. ‘Jik, nik.’
‘I don’t think he’s allowed,’ said Jonas quietly. ‘I think this place is just for Quick.’
Jik drooped. Nin got up and went over to him. She bent down to pick him up. The mudman hopped back sharply just as Jonas said, ‘NO,’ very firmly.
‘Don’t try bringing him in! You don’t know what will happen. You might find yourself barred and if that happens you could be in real trouble!’
‘Yik.’
‘You’ll be all right out here, will you? Are you sure.’
Jik stared at her vacantly.
‘And don’t pretend you don’t understand.’
‘Nin,’ said Jonas gently. ‘There isn’t any choice. He’s not allowed in.’
Nin looked around. ‘Well, I guess nothing will want to eat you,’ she said at last, ‘’cos you’re not meat. But if that screaming thing comes, bury yourself just in case.’ She pointed to an earthy patch next to him. ‘I’ll dig it up for you. It’ll be the perfect hiding place.’
Jik watched her as she knelt on the edge of the protected place and leaned to break up the earth with a dead branch, turning it over so that it was loose. Then she went back to where Jonas had stretched out on the moss and sank down next to him. In seconds they were both asleep.
14
The Dark Thing that Lives in the Wood
t was pitch black. The moon might have been shining outside the forest, but it didn’t get a look-in here. Skerridge sighed.
Unknown Quantity heard him and turned to look.
‘S’all right fer Quicks,’ muttered Skerridge. ‘They’re safe enough. Don’ need t’ worry about them.’
‘Yik.’
‘Good fing ya knows yer way about,’ added Skerridge admiringly. ‘Still I reckon yer made of earf, so yer oughta know the lie of the Land all right. It was fun doin’ Wild Bear, too. S’a while since I’ve done Wild Bear. Not much opportunity fer it these days, what wiv the spread of urbanisation in the Widdern.’
Jik sent him a stern look.
‘Don’ complain! I kep’ the wolves off ’em didn’ I? An’ them bird fings what like to eat eyes!’
Skerridge sighed and looked up anxiously. Jik followed his gaze.
‘Dik fik wik lik ik tik wik?’
‘Yep, it’s out there somewhere. An’ we Fabulous ain’t got any protection in the Savage Forest. Not that a bitta Land magic like yew qualifies as Fabulous.’ He squinted at the mudman. ‘Though it’s up fer discussion, I’ll grant ya. I mean, yer ain’t exactly an av’rage mindless Land Magic neiver. Land Magic’s ain’t s’posed t’ be alive, an’ tha’s what Right Madam made ya, eh?’
‘Yik!’
Skerridge chuckled. ‘Not fer much longer, mind, if the Dark Fing gets a whiff o’ ya! Don’ kid yerself it eats Quick, neiver, cos it don’. It only plays wiv the Quick, what it likes ter eat is Fabulous. So stay quiet an’ keep still an’ ’ope it won’ find us. Not that it’s much of an ’ope. An’ if ya feel like makin’ a fuss jus’ remember that I can stomp on yer as easy as that!’
‘Yik yik.’
‘Right. We’ve got an understandin’ then.’
There was a faint scuffle from Unknown Quantity. Skerridge guessed the mudman was hiding himself in the earth.
‘S’all right fer some,’ he muttered.
Normally BMs liked darkness, but Skerridge knew what this darkness hid and so he wished he could light a fire to make the darkness not so dark. It would be a stupid thing to do, though, so he didn’t. His last, best hope was to stay utterly quiet.
Unknown Quantity was doing a good job of being a lump of earth. You wouldn’t know it was there. Even the glow of its eyes had gone, buried in the covering soil. Of course, it had an advantage over Skerridge in that it didn’t have to breathe. Skerridge tried to join in by slipping into Dark Shadow in the Forest shape (With Eyes), but changed back again straight away. The darkness all around was so very dark he was afraid he might lose himself in it and never get out.
The night stretched ahead of him. Long, long hours until dawn.
Something freakish stirred deep in Skerridge’s insides. He had a nasty feeling that it might be fear. It wasn’t very comfortable and he wished it would stop.
Nin was dreaming about Toby. The dream started that Wednesday morning when her brother disappeared and went on through everything that had happened to her since. Sometimes she was living it all again, and sometimes she was telling it all to somebody, like a story. At the end of the story she woke up. Sort of.
She was lying on the moss under the oak tree, but Jonas was nowhere to be seen. In his place was an old man with a long white beard and long hair, all tangled with oak leaves. His face was the same wrinkled brown as the bark of the tree and his eyes were moss green, the colour of the robe he was wearing. He smiled. Nin returned it nervously. There was something about him both wonderful and terrifying.
‘Where’s Jonas?’
‘Ahh. Your companion is asleep, as are you.’ The old man’s voice was deep and earthy. It made Nin’s skin prickle. ‘Thank you for telling me your story.’
‘Is it you, protecting us in here?’
‘It is. But there’s a price,’ the old man leaned close. ‘All you have to do is remember me.’
‘Shouldn’t b
e too hard. Who are you exactly?’
‘You know.’
She frowned, then her brow cleared. ‘Nemus Sturdy,’ she said firmly.
The old man chuckled. ‘Tell, me, do you know the story of the Seven Sorcerers?’
Nin shook her head. ‘I know they were the last Fabulous sorcerers ever to live and that they tried to cheat the plague by becoming something else, but Jonas never got time to tell me the rest.’
Nemus Sturdy smiled. ‘Then, since you’ve given me your story, I’ll give you ours,’ he said.
Above Skerridge the darkness swirled. It was something the bogeyman felt rather than saw. And then it was there.
‘So, what might you be?’ said a voice like black velvet.
Skerridge swallowed hard. ‘Erm … I’m jus’ an ordinary ole bogeyman.’
The Dark Thing settled around him.
‘Are you Fabulous? You don’t look very Fabulous.’
Skerridge cleared his throat. ‘Ahem. Erm … yeah, kind of Fabulous.’
‘You’re sure about that? I sometimes eat Fabulous, you know.’ The Dark Thing moved closer. It wasn’t something Skerridge could see, but it felt awful.
Skerridge came over all clammy. He took a deep breath. He could lie about it, but then again …
‘Um … yeah, I’m Fabulous,’ he said gloomily.
‘Good. Because I only sometimes eat Fabulous. I always eat liars.’
A trickle of sweat ran down Skerridge’s back. He cleared his throat again. ‘Um … might I arsk ’ow ya decide which Fabulous to eat?’
‘Oh, I don’t decide. It’s up to you.’
Skerridge sighed. He had a nasty feeling he knew what was coming next. He had to ask anyway, the Dark Thing obviously expected him to.
‘Um … ’ow does that work then?’
The Dark Thing laughed. ‘I get hungry when I’m bored,’ it said softly. ‘Keep me amused until morning and you might live.’
Skerridge sighed again. Dawn. Must be, what, three, four hours away? He could feel the Dark Thing watching him. Not that it had any eyes. Eyes he could deal with, but this kind of seeing without seeing business freaked him out.
‘Jus’ so’s I know, like,’ he asked humbly, ‘’ow d’ya eat wivout ’avin’ any mouf ?’
The Dark Thing chuckled. Or it might have been more of a snigger.
‘I can be anywhere, even inside you. And, because you are Fabulous, inside you is magic. Magic feeds me. So I will slip inside your heart and suck up every last ounce of magic. And it won’t help if you run away because I will be with you. And when I’ve done there will be nothing left but a husk. What remains of you might just make it to the edge of the wood before you go to the Raw. Possibly.’
Skerridge gave a small whimper. ‘An’ I’ll be gone forever?’
‘Forever. Like all Fabulous when they are unmade. So you had better be very amusing, hadn’t you?’
Skerridge gulped. ‘Um … jus’ so’s I know, like. ’Ow many Fabulous ’ave ever kept yer interested long enough t’ live?’
It sniggered again. ‘One,’ it said. ‘Just one.’
‘Crumbs! ’e must’ve been somefin’.’
‘Of course. He beat me, didn’t he?’
‘What was ’e then? Elf ? Them elves are good at talkin’.’
‘Oh, I’ve eaten plenty of elves,’ sneered the Dark Thing. ‘They can talk, but it’s all poetry and singing. Noble words might work on the Quick, but not me.’
‘A faerie, p’raps?’
‘Vain creatures,’ it said sniffily. ‘Beautiful, but so self-interested it’s unreal. Taste good though.’
‘Uh-huh. What about King Galig? ’e was brilliant! Warrior an’ wizard all in one. Gotta be.’
‘Nope.’
‘Hmm. Some great sorcerer then, I ’spect?’
‘One of the greatest,’ said the Dark Thing grandly.
‘Well, ’e’d ’ave t’ be.’
‘Quite.’ ‘So ’oo was ’e? No, no. ’Ang on, lemme guess.’ Skerridge thought hard for a moment. Then he grinned. ‘Was it ’im? Was it Merlin ’imself ? The greatest of ’em all.’
The Dark Thing sniggered. ‘Nope. Not him.’
‘So, not Merlin, but anovver powerful … Ooo, was it one of the Seven Sorcerers?’
‘One of the last great seven who tried to cheat the plague? Yes, it was one of them.’
‘Crumbs!’
‘I’ll give you two guesses.’
Skerridge thought fast. It was all very well wasting time, but it wouldn’t do him any good if the Dark Thing rumbled him and got annoyed. And after all, the answer was obvious.
‘I don’t fink I’m gonna need two,’ he said proudly. ‘There’s only one of ’em what really did it. I mean, the ovvers might’ve ’ad some success wiv the endurin’ fing, but it wasn’t what yer’d call livin’ now, was it?’ He chuckled. ‘I’m gonna guess Simeon Dark!’
There was a long silence. At least it was probably only a second or so, but it seemed like ages to Skerridge. He began to think he might have annoyed the Dark Thing anyway.
‘Right,’ it said lazily.
‘Tha’s nice. Do I get a reward? Like, to go?’
It laughed. ‘It’s not that easy, Bogeyman.’
Skerridge gave a heavy sigh. ‘Fort not. Wodja wan’ me t’ do then? I can sing?’ He broke into a verse of ‘She Was Only The Alchemist’s Daughter’.
‘Please! I have sensitive hearing, you know.’
‘Dance?’ He capered across the clearing and fell over.
The Dark Thing laughed.
‘It’s too dark in ’ere even fer me. I carn’ ’ardly see where I’m goin’,’ grumbled Skerridge.
‘Don’t worry. I’ve no interest in watching a bundle of bones like you prance about like a jack-in-the-box.’
‘Fanks,’ muttered Skerridge. ‘I’ll ’ave ya know I’m very ryvmic.’
The Dark Thing snorted. Which can’t have been easy without a nose.
‘Tricks?’ Skerridge crisped a nearby bush, which fell instantly into ash. Then he spat out short bursts of fire, lighting flame-candles on all the branches of a small tree.
‘Hmmm, pretty, but limited.’
‘Change shape?’ Skerridge did Manic Clown, Hunched-backed One-eyed Monster and Hairy Thing With Big Teeth, one after the other.
‘Interesting, but, again, limited.’
‘Or I can move as fast as lightning,’ he said craftily.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ said the Dark Thing smoothly. ‘No matter how fast you move, I’ll be there before you.’
‘OK, OK, just a thought.’
‘Well, don’t think.’
‘Nope, no worries.’
‘I’m getting bored.’
‘Wait! Stories! What about a nice story. We bogeymen get around y’know. We know all sortsa stuff.’
‘Mmmhmm?’
‘Like, oh, oh, um …’
‘There’s one you could tell me,’ it said. ‘Last chance, Bogeyman. Tell me this one story and who knows, I might let you go.’
Skerridge gulped. ‘Um … right …’ He said nervously. ‘An’ what story would that be?’
‘You said that there was only one of the Seven Sorcerers that really beat the plague. You said that although the others survived in one form or another, there was only one of them who actually STAYED A SORCERER.’
‘Ahh. Simeon Dark.’
‘That’s what you said, Bogeyman. So tell me the story of Simeon Dark and you might survive. Might. If you tell it well and if I believe you. Make it up and you’re gone. Got that?’
Skerridge let out a long, slow breath. ‘It’s tricky,’ he said.
‘But you do KNOW it? You do KNOW how the Seventh Sorcerer managed to go on being a sorcerer when the plague sent all the others to the Raw?’
Skerridge scratched his head. ‘It’s a long story. Y’see to appreciate it properly ya gotta know about the other six. Do ya know about the other six?’
‘Some,�
�� said the Dark Thing.
‘I ’ave t’ start at the beginnin’ then.’
It sighed. ‘Get on with it! Or I’ll eat you where you sit.’
‘But then yer’ll never know,’ said Skerridge quietly. ‘Will ya?’
15
Seven Sorcerers
ike ev’ryone knows,’ Skerridge began in his storytelling voice, ‘Celidon was doin’ jus’ fine until the plague came along an’ wiped out all the Fabulous, ’ceptin’ for some o’ the Dread ones. There was remains ev’rywhere and the sun rose in flames the colour of old blood.’
‘I know,’ said the Dark Thing gravely. ‘Terrible times.’
‘They were indeed,’ sighed Skerridge. ‘Anyway, the seven greatest sorcerers still livin’, which didn’ include Merlin who’d already gone t’ the Raw on account of ’im bein’ incredibly old, were determined not to let it get ’em. First of all they worked on a spell to put off deff. Ya know about that I ’spect? About ’ow it worked, but was so terrible that they didn’ wanna use it?’
‘Uh-huh. The Deathweave. I know all that.’
‘Right, I won’ go frew it again then. So, they ’ad to give up on that and fink of somefin’ else. Each one of ’em came up wiv their own solution.’
‘But none of them came up with a solution that meant they could actually stay being a sorcerer …’
‘… ’cept Simeon Dark. Right!’
‘He really was amazing,’ said the Dark Thing thoughtfully.
‘Remember what ’e looked like, do ya?’
‘Tall. Silver eyes, like many of his kind, but strangely flecked with gold. Thin. Fair hair.’
‘Crumbs! Still I s’pose ya would remember the only one ’oo ever got past ya.’
‘Get on with the story.’
‘OK, OK! Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah. So, the first sorcerer, the most powerful, was Nemus Sturdy.’
‘Do you know the real difference between you and a Fabulous? Apart from just the magical one.’
Nin shook her head.
‘In each Quick is a soul, the essence of their being, and when that Quick dies their soul goes on. When a Fabulous dies, the magic they were made of becomes one with the Raw again. In turn, that raw magic will be used to make something else. A rock, maybe. Or a bird or an animal. But their essence, all they were, is gone. In one sense you could say they never die, like a drop of rain does not die when it falls into the ocean. But that drop of rain will never come again, its singleness, its individuality, is … nothing.’