by Simon Kewin
Fer's world turned to darkness, but this time she didn't pass out. She half-fell to the floor. The roaring of the crowd came back to her, washing over her. She had defeated it. The words had defeated it. She'd always known there was power in them. Because the family secret also whispered where the words had come from. Set down in antiquity by Ilminion and passed down the line, carried in a locket by a baby girl from the ruins of Angere. Some dire curse or death-spell. Fer hoped she'd never have to utter them again.
She crouched there, panting, waiting for the pain of what she'd done to overwhelm her. Instead a glorious rush of euphoria flooded through her body, lifting her up. She felt suddenly strong, invincible. What was happening? She felt she could do anything, defeat all the undain in the city. The sensation was glorious.
Johnny emerged from the shadows. It took her a moment to realise he looked like he really was. The tall, long-haired Johnny Electric. She'd let the glamours slip fighting the undain. Anyone looking at them would see them as they really were. It didn't matter now. She could destroy them all.
She was about to stand, preparing to unleash more magic, when something stopped her. This power she felt, it wasn't her power. It had rushed into her after defeating the undain, some hideous effect of the necromancy. It was corrupt, stolen magic. If she used it she was no better than any of them. The temptation was huge, she could do so much good with such power, but she knew it would change her, eat away at her.
She made the decision in a moment. She placed a hand to the stone ground and, with a wrenching effort, let the power ebb from her. She wouldn't have it. She would remain weak and scared. She would remain herself.
When she was sure it was all gone, she tried to place the illusions back over her and Johnny. It was too much for her. She was spent. Her weakness made her feel good about herself.
Johnny hauled her upright. “Come on. We've got to get out of this place.”
The effort of limping from the concert hall onto the cobbles outside nearly finished her. There were more guards there, but they appeared to be normal people, unaware of what had happened.
“Too much to drink,” Johnny said to them, as they staggered forward. The guards grinned their understanding.
She wouldn't be able to get far. Certainly not all the way across the city centre to the sanctuary beneath the Cathedral.
“You go,” she said to him. “Take the guitar to Andar. Only, tell Hellen. How I killed the undain. The family secret. Tell her that. It's important.”
Stooping, Johnny placed his shoulder under her arm and more or less carried her. “Tell her yourself when we get there.”
“No. I won't make it.”
“Blah, blah,” said Johnny. “Be quiet and put all your energy into walking, OK?”
They were nearly at the road that ran around the hall when a vehicle pulled up. An expensive, silver car with blacked-out windows. It had to be Genera. She knew she couldn't fight them.
The window of the car slid down and a man she recognized peered out. A man with tattoos on his hands, arms and neck. Images of chameleons and iguanas peeped at her. The wise man. The Lizard King who'd served them food in the Golden Palace the day they'd arrived.
“Get in,” he said. Johnny pulled the door open and pushed Fer inside. She lay on the back seat, panting like a wounded animal, holding her chest and stomach tight.
“I saw you,” the Lizard King said as he made the machine surge away from the concert hall. “Saw what you were doing. Are you mad? How did you think you were going to get away?”
“We figured we'd walk back to the Cathedral and hide out,” said Johnny.
“You thought the undain would just let the two of you stroll across the city?”
“I guess it does seem badly thought out if you put it like that.”
“We have to get the others,” said Fer. It was painful to breathe let alone talk. “Cait's mother and grandmother.”
“We're going there now,” said the Lizard King. “Then we have to leave. Get far away from Manchester.”
“Glastonbury,” said Johnny. “That's the plan.”
“I know. I told you, I see what other's see.”
“I thought you could only watch, not act?” said Johnny.
“I can't do any other magic. I can drive a getaway car as well as anyone.”
They streaked down a long, straight road, the one they'd walked down the day they'd jumped back to the city. It was late, but there were still plenty of cars about. The Lizard King weaved through the traffic. Weren't they supposed to stop at the red lights? Fer closed her eyes, shutting it all out.
“I've told the others to be ready,” he said. “Fiona and Catherine. We can't wait around. Genera will throw everything at us.”
At the Cathedral they barely even stopped. Cait's mother and grandmother climbed inside and they sped into the night, tyres screaming.
Fiona, in the front seat, turned to study them with concern on her face. “What happened? Did you have to fight?”
“There was an undain there,” said Johnny. “Looked like a lord. It caught Fer, but she killed it.”
“She killed it? How is that possible?” There was clear surprise in the older witch's eyes.
“Dunno,” said Johnny. “Worked some special move to defeat the end-of-level boss.”
Both Fiona and Catherine looked to Fer to explain. But now wasn't the time. She barely understood what she'd done herself.
“How far to this Glastonbury?” she asked.
The Lizard King glanced into his little square mirror at her. At the same moment, the tattooed lizard that curled around his neck like a scarf opened its eye to study her.
“Three, four hours if we take the motorways,” said the Lizard King. Lights flashed by the windows as they sped along the city streets.
“They'll follow us,” she said. “Come for us. They must know where we're going.”
“They'll only have a vague idea,” said Fiona. “They know Johnny disappeared the day after playing the Glastonbury festival but not where he was when the portal opened.”
The Lizard King swerved to avoid a slower-moving car. “They can't do much to us if we stick to the bigger roads.”
“But at the other end,” said Catherine. “We'll have to stop.”
“Let's worry about that then,” said Fiona.
Fer nodded, happy for the moment to succumb to sleep, despite the unpleasant lurching of the car as it swerved and veered.
“Have you seen anything of Cait?” Fiona asked the wise man. Her voice was as brittle as glass. “Is there any news from the other world at all?”
“I have been granted … glimpses,” said the Lizard King, pausing as he concentrated on the road. “Nothing more. The aether is turbulent at the moment, like trying to see through a storm. You will understand why.”
Fer knew well. The aethernal. She'd given it a home, let it consume the Tanglewood built in the aether. She still had nightmares about the creature's all-consuming hunger. She'd unleashed it, and it had swelled in moments to consume the clearing, the trees, presumably the whole of that island-world in the aether. She had given it that, fed it that. And who knew what the effects would be? But she'd had no choice.
“What have you seen?” asked Fiona. “Is Cait still alive?”
“I know she made it to the other world. There was a moment five days ago when I saw something through her eyes. A fleeting glimpse of her standing on a straight road between black trees. A flying monster attacked her, a terrible creature. Something like a dragon, perhaps, but broken and … undain. Cait fought back, but the vision stopped abruptly. I thought perhaps she'd died. But then three days ago, as I was about to seek you out to tell you, I caught sight of her again. Or the world through her eyes. She was riding at huge speed across a sea of mist and moonlight.”
“I don't understand,” said Catherine.
“I don't either. That was how it looked. She was rising up and down, as if on a boat. She was being pursued, I knew, but sh
e seemed calm in the moment, and there were others with her. Friends. I caught nothing else, and again the bond was lost. I know nothing more. Except…”
“What?” said Fiona. “Go on.”
“There is another in that world I sometimes connect with. There are few there, very few, who aren't of the undain, but he is one. An old man, living in the mountains of the high north. A group of renegades. I've been trying to reach him, converse with him, but it's been difficult. Except, early this morning, my mind touched his briefly. He was in a room with several others, studying a map. And I think … I'm sure … Cait was there with him. She collapsed and the old man went to help her.”
“Was she wounded? Or ill?”
“I couldn't tell. I'm sorry.”
“Would you be able to talk to them? To Cait or this man?”
“I can try. It's like throwing a message in a bottle into the ocean.”
There was silence in the car after that. The thought that Cait had still been alive that morning was welcome and wonderful. But it wasn't enough. Who knew what she'd faced? Whether she was still alive? If only there was something they could do. But there was nothing.
Dimly, Fer was aware of a wave of undain and Genera soldiers pursuing them, shadowing them. On the roads, in the air. She wasn't free. She hadn't escaped. But just for the moment she didn't care. Like Cait on her mysterious sea, Fer was glad simply to be safe for a time.
Gratefully, she let herself sink into the numbness of slumber.
17. Death of a Witch
Fer watched nervously as Johnny plucked at his guitar. He was holding it close to his ear, tuning its six strings.
“It's not very loud,” said Fer.
“It's an electric guitar. Not a lot of opportunity for massive amplification on top of a hill in Somerset.”
“So will it work?”
“Did last time. I can still play. Just quietly.”
“And you're sure this is the right spot?”
“I'm sure. Look at it. It's like Avalon down there.”
She didn't recognize the name, but she thought she understood what he meant. A sea of early-morning mist, delicate as a dream, washed over the flat, green land all around them. Here and there, the tops of round hills or the peaks of spires peeped through. The sun, rising in the east, touched everything to gold. They stood with their backs to a stone keep on top of a conical hill rising out of the flat landscape. Glastonbury Tor.
It barely looked natural to Fer. An ancient place, Fiona had said, one of the points where the worlds were close together and vision or passage was sometimes possible. Standing there she could believe it. It might have been early morning in Andar.
Apart, that was, from the flying machines clattering toward them, the ranks of soldiers she could sense without being able to see in the mists. The Lizard King had brought them to Glastonbury unassailed, helped in part by the archaeon doing its best to disrupt Genera's communications, send them off the trail. But the bookwyrm couldn't hide their progress completely. Unmanned flying machines like huge buzzing dragonflies had found them and trailed them.
“So hack into them,” Johnny had said. “Send them haywire. Tell them we've gone to Wales or something.”
“Not possible,” the archaeon had replied from Johnny's phone. “They're using private networks, high levels of encryption.”
“I thought you could do anything. I thought you, like, owned the internet now.”
“Yes, yes. But they aren't on the internet, didn't I just say? They must have realised their other communications were compromised. I've done all I can.”
“Great,” said Johnny.
“Thank you, noble archaeon,” said Fiona. “We appreciate it.”
They'd abandoned the car and climbed the hillside as quickly as they could, Cait's gran occasionally grumbling about her old knees and cups of tea. Fer had looked around every few steps, aware of the forces closing in on them, but they'd made it to the top unassailed. Now, they all stood over Johnny: Fer and Fiona and Catherine and the Lizard King.
“Take the book,” Fiona said to Johnny when he'd tuned Mr. Shankly to his satisfaction. “Don't let go of it, whatever happens.”
“Wait, wait,” said Johnny, translating for Fer's benefit once he'd spoken to Cait's mother and grandmother. “That's actually a good question. How do I even bring the evil tome with me? Last time I was obviously holding onto Mr. Shankly but I still left him behind.”
“You said there was a moment of decision,” said Fer. “A point when you consciously took the road to Andar. Do you recall thinking you'd leave the guitar behind?”
“I don't know. It's kinda weird when you slip through the cracks between the worlds like that. You get all spaced out. It was like my mind, everything I knew, was dissipating, fading away. I remember I didn't want to vanish completely from this world, felt bad about going without saying anything. Maybe leaving the guitar was a way of telling people I'd be back. Or maybe I just forgot to bring it.”
“Then, this time,” said Fiona, “when you get to that point, make sure you concentrate. And make sure you take the book. This is our only chance.”
Johnny nodded his head in consent. “I'll do what I can.”
“We'll hold them off while you play,” said Fiona. She glanced to Fer and Catherine, a questioning look on her face. “The three of us have combined before, at the refinery. I think we can work a circle to protect Johnny for a while.”
Catherine nodded, determination clear on her lined face. Fer, after a moment, nodded too. Do what has to be done. They would put everything into this. Fiona, Catherine and herself, although she was still so sore and weak from slaying the undain.
“And Johnny?” said Fiona.
“Huh?”
“When you get there, you tell Hellen to save my girl. Use the book, do whatever she damn well has to do, but save my girl. Or Hellen's no kind of witch worth the name.”
Johnny nodded for a second time.
Fiona turned to the Lizard King. “I know you won't be able to contribute to the circle. Your powers lie elsewhere. Will you try and reach Hellen, tell her what we are attempting?”
“I will.”
“And Cait in Angere? Or the man you mentioned?”
“I will do what I can.”
“Very well. Let's begin.”
Johnny strummed chords on Mr. Shankly, waiting for the moment of inspiration, the sensation of being picked up and carried away by the music. There was nothing. He ran through some simple twelve-bar blues, then the trickier chord progressions from Beyond The Veil, hoping something might kick off. Still nothing.
The three witches stood with their backs to him as he sat against the old stones of the tower. They would defend him to the death, sacrifice everything so he could do this thing. But what if he couldn't? More troublingly, what if he didn't want to?
Andar was going to be overrun. Did he really want to go back there? This world, his world, was broken and troubled but at least he might survive. If Genera let him live, he could rejoin the band, have a damn good time of it, even. He glanced down at the red leather book in his lap. If he handed that over to them, traded it, would they let him go? Would all this be over, for him at least?
He shook his head, flicking the hair from his eyes. Bad thoughts. Unworthy thoughts. He'd never live with himself. After what the girl had done, Cait, it was the least he could do to play his part. Cait and Danny and the whole lot of them.
The truth was he couldn't actually achieve very much. The others could zap baddies with their mind-powers or fight like Ran. All he could do was tag along and play guitar. He'd thought music mattered more than the world to him, but he'd come to understand that the world, the worlds, mattered more than anything. The undain had to be stopped. There was no song of Angere, he was willing to bet. That was the difference right there.
Problem was, what if his subconscious didn't want to play ball? What if some survival instinct kicked in and he simply couldn't get the damned Song of Andar
walking-between-the-worlds thing to work?
Angry with himself he played a little harder, a little faster, trying not to follow tunes he already knew, trying to let his fingers find their own way. He thought about the day he'd sat in the Songroom on Islagray, listening to the singers. The weird cadences had seemed random at first, endlessly variable. But as he'd listened he'd picked up patterns and melodies. Melodies he couldn't recall now, couldn't reduce to chord patterns. But if he could somehow get near them, resonate with them, the magic might work.
“They're coming,” he heard Fiona say. “Up the hillside, surrounding us. Lend me your strength. I will form the grey walls around us.”
The fear on the women's faces was clear as they glanced at each other. The Lizard King came to sit near Johnny. He buried his head in his hands as if lost to despair, but Johnny knew he was throwing everything he had into reaching the other world. This man, a restaurant waiter, had sacrificed everything, too. He probably knew he wasn't going to get out of this.
Johnny tried again, trying to set aside the buzzing fear in his brain. Everything else was right. A beautiful morning on Glastonbury Tor. Mr. Shankly. Even the slightly unreal sense of detachment that came from not getting enough sleep. But last time there'd been no pressure. Last time there'd been no army of slavering horrors coming to suck out his brains, no trio of women prepared to die to protect him. Stuff like that could put you right off.
He strummed, not looking at the guitar, not looking at anything. Had he shut his eyes last time? Maybe. Worth a try. If he could just find an echo of the tune he could follow it, coax it into life.
Still it wouldn't come.
A scream from Fer shook him from his thoughts. The girl was on her knees, hands held up as if fending off invisible blows. Beyond her was the wall of fog. Indistinct shapes moved in it. Hulking, inhuman shapes coming through, only yards away.
He shut his eyes again. Just play the damn guitar, Johnny. That's what you do. That's all you can do.