by Simon Kewin
There were many sorts of magic in the world, he'd come to understand. There wasn't just the hocus-pocus, eye-of-newt-and-wing-of-bat stuff. Put him in front of a crowd like the night before and something happened. To the people watching he become something else. Not just a person, but larger, glorious. It wasn't him of course. It was being on the stage, the lighting, the amplified sound, all of it. But he became, briefly, something transformed, divine. It was the only sort of magic he'd ever been able to work. Sounds in the air that had an effect on the world.
And there, he felt it. A thrill in his gut. A tingle in his fingers. The melody was like a series of shifting shapes in his mind, indistinct, hard to follow. His fingers made chord shapes he couldn't actually name as he tried to play along with the song. The Song of Andar. His fingers strummed and plucked, faster and faster, and he, Johnny Electric, became merely an onlooker. A part of the audience himself.
He lost himself in the music. Here was another of his superpowers. Everything else, the whole world, could fall away and there'd be just him and the song. A happy place. A place he reached now. His playing joined with the greater music. He was one of the countermelodies, part of the whole but separate, too. A new riff, a new theme he introduced to the song.
While his fingers worked he opened his eyes again.
He remembered the endless grey of this place. A universe of fog. He was between the worlds. His own private shadow path, like a ginnel between one land and the other. A tiny universe all of his own, details on the ground blurring to scribbles, to nothingness as they stretched away. Up ahead, a light awaited. He knew what it was. That was where the music was coming from. The music he'd picked up on, joined in with. Andar.
He stood. Behind him was something like a window or a door. A square, in any case. That was the way he'd come. No sounds reached him from back there, but he could see through, like looking through a telescope the wrong way. Two of the women lay on the ground, spent or dead. Fer and Cait's gran. Fiona, the last, stood alone, the grey closing around her. The undain emerged through the walls: claws and swords and fangs slashing into the clear light as they battered and battled through the magical fog. Fiona was weakening. She glanced back to him, a look of pain and alarm on her face. She shouted words he couldn't hear, telling him something, something hugely important. But what? He was already through, already safe.
By his feet, two items lay on the ground. Or two outlines of items. A guitar and a book. They were, he knew, really on the ground back on the Tor. These were only the ideas of the real objects. He could take them if he wanted. Here was the moment of decision. And the items were both important, weren't they? The guitar, especially. And now people back there, his bandmates, knew he was alive. This time he could take Mr. Shankly with him. He picked the guitar up, the outlines becoming smooth wood in his hand as he reached.
The book, too. Should he take that? He tried to remember. It was so hard to concentrate. The book was important. Terribly important. Was it important he left it behind or took it with him? He couldn't recall.
The window back to the old world was shrinking, as if moving away from him. Fiona was on her knees, still fighting, still struggling. Why was she defending him when he was safe? She shouted something again. One of the words on her lips, he thought, was Cait. Then Fiona threw her arms wide and worked some huge magic, the blaze of it blinding even to him in the aether. It burned red as if she'd unleashed some long-suppressed rage. A blaze of fury blasted from her, scattering the monsters who thronged around her, blowing them backward.
Fiona fell to the ground to join the other two. Her eyes, he saw, were closed even as she slumped.
More undain began to appear. There were too many of them. Fiona had bought him moments but no more than that.
He had to get away, let the portal close. He had to make sure the monsters couldn't follow him through to Andar.
The book still lay at his feet. Standing alone on the shadow path between the worlds, Johnny Electric tried to recall what it was he was supposed to do with it.
18. Wyrmfire
Angere
Cait crouched beside Phoenix, trying to understand his words. Who was dead? Fer was in the other world, of course, along with her mum and gran. “Who, Phoenix? Who has died?”
“I'm sorry,” said Phoenix. “She was fighting the undain, working magic to protect the others. But they were too strong for her. She blazed like a great light at the end, but they were too strong for her. She knew I was there and she shouted to me, shouted to you, telling you to race for the safety of Andar. Then she went. Your mother, Cait. Your mother is dead.”
For a moment Cait couldn't take in his words. “No. That can't be right. My mother's powerful. I mean she was lost, and broken, but she's back now. She's herself again. I saw what she did outside the factory.”
“I'm sorry. They were too much for her.”
“But … but you said yourself the visions are vague. How can you be sure?”
“I'm sure, Cait. I felt it. I felt her go.”
“And the others?”
“I don't know. Your grandmother was there at the start. And Fer and the singer. I saw it all through the eyes of the wise man of that world. Fer and your grandmother fell. But then the light was so bright I couldn't see anything properly any more. I didn't feel the others die, but I couldn't feel that they were alive either. Perhaps they made it through to Andar. I don't know.”
Cait looked at those around her. Even Nox looked sombre. The stones of the ground were sharp beneath her knees. She hadn't noticed the pain. She ignored it.
Her mother as well as her father. And Danny. She was losing everyone. Everyone and everything was falling away from her, slipping through her fingers. The old certainties of her life, the solid ground she'd walked on, had turned to shifting mud, sucking her down.
She stood, not knowing what to say. How did they ever think they could defeat the Witch King? Why had they even tried?
“Cait.” It was Nox, putting a hand on her shoulder.
She shrugged it off. “Leave me alone. I don't want to hear it.”
“Cait, look,” said Nox. “Over there.”
Tears had filled her eyes, blurring her vision. She wiped them clear and looked to where Nox was pointing.
The archway. A plume of dust or smoke billowed from it and a figure was staggering through. Smoke curled off him as he lurched forward a few steps then slumped to the ground. Ran. Ran had made it back after all.
The others sprinted for the archway, and Cait ran with them, overtaking them as they crossed the rough, stony ground. She was glad to escape into the moment, set aside thinking about her mother. She clung to the simple fact that somehow, impossibly, Ran had survived.
The dragonrider was climbing to his feet, his features twisted with pain. The closer she got the more clearly she could see how hurt he was. His clothes were singed through in places, revealing his tattooed flesh. Livid burns ran across his arms and one side of his face. Half his hair was gone, seared away. The smell of smoke and acrid chemicals coming from him was sharp, prickling the back of her throat.
He took a step forward and then collapsed again. The sight of it was terrible to see. Ran was always strong. Now he could barely stand.
When she reached him she kneeled beside him, too. His eyes were open, his gaze darting from side to side. She put a hand on his shoulder. He grimaced with pain at her touch.
“I'm sorry!” she said. “Ran, I'm sorry! What can I do? I…” The smoke in her throat made her words trail off into a rough cough.
Ran tried to rise again, panting heavily with the effort of it, teeth gritted. He refused to give in. He held out a blackened and blistered hand to her. Holding him as gently as she could, she helped him to his feet so he could face the others as they arrived.
Phoenix was at the back, coming as quickly as he could, walking with Demara's help. The others parted to let him through. “You lit the wyrmfire, Ran? You were so long we thought it had failed, or you'd
been caught in the blast.”
“I ignited it all,” said Ran. With Phoenix's gift of voices and Bethany's help Cait found she could understand his words perfectly. It took her a few moments to even notice Ran was speaking in the language of Andar. “There were many undain there. An army. Charis was among them. The moment I went through they came for me. They saw the wyrmfire and must have known what it was but still they attacked. I had to fight them off before I could light the fuse. Even as it exploded they had me. They very nearly held me back but I managed to break free and jump.”
“You're badly injured,” said Phoenix. “Can you walk?”
“If I have to,” Ran replied.
“Don't be insane, he can't go anywhere,” said Cait. “Look at him.”
“Cait, he has no choice. Whatever the cost he has to go back through the archway.” It was Nox, telling them all what to do. Again.
“Don't be ridiculous,” said Cait. “He's half dead. It's amazing he's even talking.”
“Cait, he's right.” This time it was Phoenix, his voice sadder. “He has to go back through, so you can go with him. Even if he can't make it much farther he has to do this one last thing. The undain will know what has happened. In moments they'll flood into Fiveways and only Ran can open the wyrm roads.”
Ran's legs were unsteady, but he turned back to the archway, ready to make the return journey. They were right, of course. They had to go now. She suddenly wasn't ready. She need to talk to Phoenix, go over what he'd seen back home. She needed to think. But there was no time.
Nox put an arm under one of Ran's shoulders, supporting him, and they limped their way to the archway, Ran grunting with the pain of it.
“Cait, come on,” Nox called back to her. “We're leaving now.”
She cast one final glance around the Smouldering Fire, at Phoenix, wondering if she would see any of them again. There was much she wanted to say and no chance to say it. Turning, she followed Nox and Ran.
Holding hands as they had in Iceland, Cait, Ran and Nox stepped together through the smoking ruins of the archway.
The devastation at Fiveways was absolute. The shattered remains of hundreds or thousands of the undain lay around, their remains scattered in a wide circle that stretched beyond the stone archways. There was no sign of the cart that had borne the wyrmfire; the explosion had completely incinerated it. Only a blackened circle on the ground, the only spot free of sundered body parts, marked the place. Even some of the ancient archways had succumbed to the blast, their stone pillars thrown outward by the force of the explosion. The smoke was thick, stinging Cait's eyes.
Incredibly, some of the undain were moving. All around, limbs flailed and writhed. Some of the creatures moaned or snarled as they tried to rise, even though their arms or legs were gone, torn off by the blast. Their programming compelled them. She watched as, only a few yards away, an undain soldier with two legs, a single arm, but no head, lurched itself upright and turned as if it could smell them. It carried a sword in its remaining hand.
“Run,” said Nox. Half hauling Ran along, he picked his way across the field of broken undain in the direction of the other archway they needed to take. The one that would throw them across Angere to the White City.
Cait followed, hopping over and around the mangled remains, trying to find ground rather than undain to step on. She didn't always succeed. In places the ground was a swamp of red and purple, the blood and entrails of the undain.
Ran fell again and again as he tripped or slipped. More than once he cried out but still he refused to give in. Each time they hauled him to his feet and the three of them set off again for the archway.
Horns blasts filled the air. More undain arriving. Cait didn't dare stop to see how close. The shattered stone archway was only a few yards away. Through it, the sea of ruined undain bodies continued. Once again it seemed impossible that crossing between the pillars would take Cait and the others anywhere. Surely the explosion had dealt the old stones too much damage? This one had been a complete archway, but now it was just two columns of stone, one noticeably higher than the other. The great rocks that had formed its arch lay on the ground on the other side where they'd been thrown, bodies of the undain crushed beneath them.
Cait tried to focus, concentrate on forming magic. If the wyrm road didn't open they would soon be surrounded. Something in the sickening smell of smoke made it hard to find the cold fury within her.
The horns sounded again, much nearer, their blaring sound angry. She thought she could hear footsteps, too, thundering across the ground, louder and louder.
She was a pace away from the archway when a hand seized her ankle, sending her sprawling. She landed in something wet and sticky. The hand on her shin tightened its grip, slithering her backward over the slippery earth. One of the undain soldiers had her. It was little more than an arm protruding from an unidentifiable mass of organs and guts, but its grasp was iron.
Shrieking with revulsion, Cait kicked and kicked at her captor. It was no use. She was aware of Ran trying to pull her to the archway, but he was too weak.
Without thinking, she unleashed a stream of cold magic at the creature who held her. Sharp pain prickled across her back, but she paid it no attention. It was nothing. She had to get away from this terrible place. She threw everything into the effort. A rain of cold blasted from her hand, freezing everything in its path. She kicked again, and this time the arm holding her shattered into icy shards.
She lurched to her feet and, before she could be caught again, dived for the remains of the archway. She still had Ran's hand in hers. She couldn't see if Nox had Ran's other hand. All she could think about was getting away. A horn blasted, suddenly very near, but then it cut abruptly out and was silent.
Twilight engulfed them and soft grass covered the ground where they landed. For a moment she thought she must have lost consciousness, lost more hours, but then she understood. They were farther east. Here, the night was already drawing on. They had escaped. For now.
Ran and Nox were with her. The dragonrider rolled on the ground in clear agony from this latest fall, but he pushed himself to his hands and knees and then to his feet. He drew his sword with a silvery metallic scrape. The tip of it wavered in the air, describing little circles, as he tried to hold it steady. Even now he would defend her. He looked like he could collapse at any moment.
Nox's gaze darted around in alarm as he tried to work out where in Angere they were, the fear in him burning clear.
There was no sign of the White City, or of any undain, or of anything other than trees. Once more they were in woods. A whispering hush filled the world. Some leaves lay strewn on the ground, but most were still on the trees. Winter had barely begun here. At least they hadn't landed in the middle of the Holy Court.
Whether they were in the middle of some endless forest, or a mere clump on top of a hill, she couldn't say. There was no sign of an archway, or anything to mark this end of the wyrm road. That was good. Very good. There was a chance the undain didn't know where they were.
The problem was, she didn't know either. The air was much warmer, so they must be farther south. Had they come far enough? Or perhaps the wyrm road, untethered by an archway, had brought them too far. How many miles away was the White City?
If only her phone worked. She could try using magic but didn't dare for fear of being spotted. She could feel something in the air, though. A deep, murmuring roar underneath the quiet, just beyond hearing. There was a sense of unstoppable power to it. The An. It had to be the An. Wherever they were, they had reached the river.
With a thump, saying nothing, Ran slumped to the ground behind her, the effort of standing finally too much. He was lucky not to land on his sword. When she got to him his eyes were closed, and he didn't respond when she called his name. Tendrils of smoke coiled from his clothes and hair. She stroked his face, careful to avoid the burns. His flesh felt hot, as if some of the wyrmfire still raged inside him. Perhaps he had inhaled too much smoke,
or too many fumes. His skin was greasy. Was it just the leaves overhead or did his face have a green tinge to it? It was incredible he had got this far, opened up the two wyrm roads so they could escape the north. The cost to him had been terrible.
Nox came to stand over her. “He doesn't look good.”
“He needs rest. I don't know, medicines and bandages.”
“Can't you work some healing magic? Or is it just the pretty lights and the snow thing?”
“It isn't that simple, you know.” In truth, she had no idea where to start. She knew such magic was possible; Fer had said there were witches in Andar who could mend broken bones and lift fevers. Cait had quizzed Bethany about it more than once, but the witch-girl had been no use. She'd been taught none of the healing arts as a girl, and, being dead, hadn't needed to learn any since.
Cait could at least try. Closing her eyes, she touch the exposed skin of Ran's shoulder with the tips of her fingers. She could sense the damage, the deep hurt, almost as if the wounds and burns were on her own body. Perhaps that was the key. She turned her attention to the raw, screaming pains down his back. Perhaps she could simply will his tissues to heal, visualize them healed as she visualized the ice before unleashing it. Was that what you did?
The sharp pain that flashed across her own back as she began to work the magic made her scream in agony. She stopped trying to work the spell. It felt like a flame had been taken to her flesh. As if she was healing his wounds by taking them on herself. Was that what they did, those witches back there in Andar? Was that how it worked? The thought filled her with horror.
The pain subsided in her back. She'd cut off the magic before doing any real damage. She looked up at Nox and shook her head.
“We should leave him here,” said Nox. “We have to keep moving. There must be undain everywhere.”
“What?”
“He can't walk and we can't carry him. Think, Cait.”