by Simon Kewin
“Return to our world. Begin the hunt.”
“And when you've won, when you've beaten them, what then?”
“Then … we shall see.”
“Will I regret this, Nox?”
He simply grinned in reply and, nodding his head in farewell, turned away. He strode westward toward the White City and disappeared into the mists.
Cait stood. Her hands were blue and numb. Her brain was also numb, but there was one more thing she had to do. Clumsily, she picked up Ran's sword. It was heavy in her hands. It was incredible anyone could wield it. It would do for what she had in mind. She propped the book upright, open at some random page. Then she lifted the sword and let it fall, using the blade's own weight for the blow.
The sword sliced easily through the book's spine, cleaving it in two.
She smiled to herself although no one would see. Her splitting of the book wasn't as elegant or clever as Akbar's had been, but it would do the job. Ilminion's Grimoire was paper and ink, nothing more. And ink could smudge and blur just as paper could mulch and rot. It wouldn't take much to destroy the Grimoire utterly.
Cait stepped to the crack and dropped the two halves of the book in, letting the waters of the An take them, too.
She stood over the remains of Ran for a moment, thinking about everything that had happened. Then, alone, she began the long walk across the ice to Andar.
25. The Orchard of Witches
Clara Sweetley walked through the echoing, ornately-decorated hall, the clacking of her heels the only sound. She strode past the third archway where, on her previous visit, she'd been forced to crawl on hands and knees into the presence of Menhroth. Now no one would force such humiliation upon her. The undain were no more, destroyed, if she understood matters correctly, by their own death magic. She'd never trusted such mumbo-jumbo. She'd watched in amazement as the two giant guards, escorting her to the portal, had suddenly stopped, looked around in confusion, and then simply disintegrated, scattering like pillars of ash in a high wind.
She stopped at the foot of the stairs that led to Menhroth's throne. She'd vowed to return, sit in that chair while people crawled into her presence. And now she would. The undain might be gone, but Genera remained and she was still in charge of it. No one could touch her.
They would have to abandon this world soon, rationalise their business plans. The refinery would need to be repaired, but that was all to the good. They no longer needed the pipelines through the portal. There was no longer any need to harvest Bone, but Spirit was different. Perhaps she could learn the secrets of the undain, engineer her own ascendance, her own immortality. With Menhroth out of the way the world, the real world, was theirs to run.
Hers to run.
She climbed the steps to sit upon the great white throne. Yes. There was much to do, and many battles to fight. But for now she had won. It felt good.
The other directors of Genera would be there soon. She'd called – for once the term seemed completely apt – an Extraordinary Board Meeting. When they reached the third archway she would give them their instructions, explain about the crawling. And once they returned home, sealing the portal behind them, it was a practice she might even continue. It would do them good to really understand who was in charge. She might even have the great throne brought back with them. It would look good in the Board Room of Genera.
Smiling to herself, Clara Sweetley sat in silence and waited.
Hundreds of miles to the north, Phoenix sat at the top of Caer D'nar. Lines of smoke twirled off the embers of the night's fire. The other surviving members of the Smouldering Fire were there, too, watching and waiting. Since the girl from the other world had left they'd received no news. The undain were massed on the southern banks of the Dragon's Tongue, but they seemed to have lost interest in attacking. He almost wished they hadn't. Almost wished there could be an ending to their long story, one way or another.
Two days earlier, Xoster herself had come sweeping out of the north, huge and terrible, the boy Lugg upon her back. She'd circled the tower of Caer D'nar once, roaring flame, then turned south and east to head for the An. A dragon in the skies of Angere once more. The last dragon. A wonder and a marvel. It seemed likely that Phoenix would get his wish. The war upon Andar was raging, and the outcome would decide the fate of everyone. Soon they would know who had prevailed.
“Phoenix.” Demara stood behind him, pointing something out. She placed a hand on his shoulder. To the south, a mere black smudge to his old eyes, a chough was coming. A message from one of the watchtowers at the Dragon's Tongue, judging by the direction. Soon the bright red of its beak was visible.
“News at last,” said Phoenix. “Now we will learn the truth of it.”
When the chough had landed and been persuaded to give up the message it bore around its neck, Phoenix read, angling the slip of paper to the light streaming through the archway. He read twice, not able to believe the words written there.
He looked up at the circle of his friends. Their eyes were wide with alarm, with fear. They thought the end was upon them.
“The girl did it,” said Phoenix simply. “She actually did it.”
The Doge sat upon his golden throne. Somehow the old chair had survived the collapse of the buildings, the crush of the falling stone. It stood canted at an awkward angle, and it was covered in a thick layer of dust. All around, Guilden lay in its ruins: mountains of stone that had once been buildings, glimpses of gold among the grey ash, frozen fragments of the miraculous city map.
But Guilden had fallen before and it would rise, phoenix-like, again. They would rebuild. The people, led across the ice in roped lines to meet their fate in Angere had been saved at the last moment by some miracle. Those who had fled into woods and hills were returning, too, creeping back to the city. The witch from the south had hinted some terrible sorcery would be attempted to save Andar. Clearly that had worked. And clearly he'd been wrong about the wicca and their ancient ways.
Guilden would rise bigger and better than ever, but they would always welcome the witches from the south now, just as they welcomed the mancers. Perhaps there wasn't so much difference between the two anyway. Perhaps true wisdom lay in listening to all.
He turned to the ex-Lord of Misrule. The man was a wheelwright by trade, and his brief Midwinter reign was over. Still, they would need people like him. They would need everyone. And perhaps he, the Doge, had been too remote from the people, too proud. He'd thought Guilden mattered more than the rest of the world but he'd been wrong. Sometimes there'd been wisdom in the Lord of Misrule's foolery and mocking.
“Your throne has survived, too, I see,” said the Doge. “Will you sit for a while and discuss plans for the rebuilding of Guilden?”
The ex-Lord of Misrule had found the broken scraps of his own crown in the rubble. He placed the nest of twigs back on his head.
Fer pushed through the thick cobwebs that clogged the archaeon's tunnel. The bookwyrm's lair now looked more like the original one she recalled from her first visit in the Tanglewood. The shining metal and glass were gone. A rush of whispered words and ideas blew at her like a wind, attempting to batter her backward. She paid them no attention. She'd been through too much to get caught up in the creature's games.
“I know you're listening so you can stop pretending to be asleep,” she said as she arrived in the rocky cavern. The dragon, larger than ever, lay with its arrowhead tail curled up around its great snout. Two trails of sulphurous smoke rose from its nostrils as if it might breathe fire on her at any moment. It didn't deign to even open an eye.
She wasn't impressed by any of it. “You can have it your own way, of course. We'll leave you in peace inside Akbar's journal. I'm sure you've read and understood every word of it by now, but you clearly have no desire to discover all the other unknown books.”
The bookwyrm finally peered at her. Fer's own face reflected brightly in its slit pupil. There were no lines of glowing symbols, but its voice was the same mountain-s
haking rumble. “Other books, little witch?”
“In Angere. You do know the undain are gone? There must be many tomes that you haven't read across the river. In the White City and the palaces of the undain. Perhaps even in the tunnels beneath Morvale Wycka.”
The archaeon's breathing seemed to quicken very slightly. “It is … possible. I have spent most of my existence in An, East-of-the-river.”
“Good. Then you can help us rebuild the ancient bridge so we can travel to the other side more easily.”
“The bridge! Have you any idea of the magic and the artifice that went into such a miraculous construction?”
“None at all. But I'm sure you've read some old papers and books, terribly difficult to interpret no doubt, that hint at how to go about it?”
“It's possible I have some inkling of what was involved.”
“And you have the wisdom and knowledge of the other world, too. With magic and technology combined, you must be able to work wonders.”
“It … is possible.”
“Excellent,” said Fer. “Then we'll start work tomorrow.”
She turned to leave, then stopped herself. “I did come to thank you, too. Or at least to thank the version of you that helped us in the other world. We'd have been lost without you. You saved us, more than once.”
“Yes, I'm sure I did. But as one of me has said before, you do go to some interesting places. And your enemies … they had no time for libraries. When we first went to the other world the undain had destroyed all those books. Shredded them for no reason. Such a crime. If I had to choose a side it was always yours.”
“Well, I'm grateful to you. We're all grateful.”
“Just as you should be,” said the dragon, closing its eyes once more.
“Is there any way you can keep in touch with your other selves?” asked Fer.
“Regrettably, the internet of that world doesn't extend to Andar. But … it is possible we can build a connection between their network and the shadow paths that thread through the aether. It is something I'm considering.”
“So, another sort of bridge?”
“Just so, little witch. Now leave me in peace. I have much to do.”
In Hyrn's Oak, Venn leaned her bow against the gnarled trunk of the ancient tree and rolled up her sleeves. There was much to do, much rebuilding. She spoke to the gathered crowds. “We will start with the bridges. We should be an island no more.”
A chorus of agreement rose from the surviving townsfolk.
Cait and Danny sat together on the banks of Islagray, Cait's head resting on Danny's shoulder. In front of them the Silverwater was a glistening mirror. The ice had melted, the lake turning to water once more as if the winter, too, were of Menhroth's doing. The sun shone low in the sky but there was a warmth to it. It was good just to sit. She'd lost count of all the aches and bruises covering her. Away in the distance, a blur of vivid colour, Johnny relaxed in Smoke on the Water, enjoying, as he'd put it, some damn peace for a change.
“I can't believe we actually did it,” she said eventually. “Actually defeated those horrors.”
“We did,” said Danny. “You did.”
In the end it had been such a small thing. Not terrible battle magic or overwhelming strength of arms. A little thing. An insignificant thing. A single word different. A thing so easily overlooked.
“I guess,” she said.
“It was a hell of a gamble, though,” said Danny. “I didn't think it was really going to work.”
“You didn't say.”
“Well, no. Didn't think it would be constructive. At the time. What was it like? To speak the words I mean, work that magic?”
“It was … grim. I hope I never have to do anything like it again. I had a glimpse of Menhroth's mind when we were out there. The way he saw the world, like it was his to use, exploit as he wanted.”
“Uh huh.”
She hadn't decided yet how much to tell him. “I mean, I'll be honest, I could see the appeal. He was like a god or something. He could do what he pleased. But it was hideous. My flesh crawls to think about it.”
“It was the necromancy that saved us in the end, though.”
She nodded. “A balance restored. Necromancy, yes, but a price was paid. Maybe Hellen's right and there isn't really much difference between witches and mancers.”
“Weird about Ran,” said Danny. “I mean, did you have any idea?”
“None. All that time I was watching Nox, thinking he was the one I couldn't trust. Ran was always there to save me, so I thought.”
“Did you tell Lugg what Menhroth had done to his father?”
“I decided not to,” she said.
Danny nodded. “It's been hard on him. First his father and then Ran.”
“He'll be OK. I saw Barion talking to him before. Don't know what will happen to the wyrm lords now there are so few of them, but Lugg has a family there, of sorts.”
“They'll carry on even though there are definitely no more dragons, no more enemies?”
“Sure. I don't think they'll let little things like that stop them.”
“And you?” asked Danny. “You'll carry on with the whole witching thing? Keep using it?”
She shrugged. “It's part of me. It's what I am. The trick is knowing where to stop like my gran said all along.”
He nodded, his cheek on the top of her head. “So you're not going to end up like Menhroth? Insanely evil and all-powerful?”
She thought about what she'd done for Nox. She hadn't told anyone about that yet, but at some point she'd have to. “Wouldn't have thought so. Unless I have a really bad day.”
“Be sure to warn me if you do.”
“Uh huh. So, what about you? Are you ready to go home?”
Danny nodded again. “Haven't got a clue how I'll explain any of this to my folks, though. They'll be going up the wall with worry. Don't suppose, you know, time moves at a different speed here like in the books? We'll go back and find only five minutes have past sort of thing?”
“Don't think so, sorry. We'll just have to sit them down and tell them everything.”
“Tell my folks?”
“I think they're old enough. I guess they won't really mind so long as you're back home and safe.”
“Will you come with me? To explain it to them?”
“Of course, and Gran, too. And Johnny if he's coming back with us.”
“What will you do? Now that, you know, your dad and your mum…”
“Live with my gran I guess. If she'll have me.”
“Of course she will. But how are we even going to get there?”
“Don't know,” said Cait. “Perhaps Hellen can arrange it. But…”
“What?”
“You're sure you want to go back? To our old lives?”
He didn't answer for a moment. “If we do, will we still be us? Will we still be together?”
She kissed him, gently, upon the cheek. “If you'll have me.”
“Well … do you promise not to abandon me in the dungeons of any more ancient undead horrors?”
“I do.”
He laughed. “That's settled then. It will be good to get home.”
“Yes,” said Cait, “Although things won't be sorted out there just because they are here. Genera is still a thing. Somehow I don't think Ms. Sweetley is going to simply leave us alone. And then there's Bethany and the other ghosts. Fer didn't know what happened to them, whether they're still, you know, unquiet.” She wondered about Tom, the beggar outside the Library who'd laughed at her on that first day, too. He'd played his part according to Fer, but no one knew what had happened to him. Word through the aether had been patchy, although they did know her gran and the Lizard King had escaped the refinery unharmed, in the confusion of the spirits' attack.
“We can find out,” said Danny. “I wonder what the gang will make of it when we tell them. Devi and Rachel and Val and Jen, I mean.”
“Maybe we should leave them in the dark. I
t might be easier.”
“I reckon you might be right. And what will you do with school and life and all that?”
“I don't know,” said Cait. “But it's funny, that doesn't scare me any more. It seems exciting. It's like, after everything that's happened, I'm not afraid. I don't know where I'm going but it's somewhere.”
Smoke on the Water was floating toward them, propelled, as ever, by neither oar nor sail. The V of its passing was a hard line fanning out across the lake. After a few minutes it touched its prow to the bank. The eyes on the little golden figurehead closed as Johnny leapt ashore.
“Hey guys. Not interrupting a moment of great romance am I?”
“Actually, yes,” said Cait. “But we'll forgive you. Did you decide what you're doing yet?”
“You mean, should I stay or should I go? Yeah, I've decided. Just been explaining it all to Smokie here. I'm going home. Get the band back together sort of thing. Figure I've got some great material for a new album. And I promised to write some stuff for you, right?”
“And what about Smoke on the Water?” asked Cait.
“Still wants to go off exploring. See if the An really does go on forever, circling the whole world. But he'll have new passengers.”
“Oh?”
“Sure, haven't you figured it? Fer and Lugg. Seems they want to go off travelling together. Like, together together.”
“They didn't hang around.”
“Yeah. There's something in the air. This early spring … it feels like the waters of a lake held back by a dam and finally released.”
“I thought Fer would want to stay at Islagray Wycka. Learn the ways of the witches.”
“Oh, I think she's into that idea now. Once she's seen a bit of the world.”
“I wonder where Fer and Lugg will settle. Eventually I mean. Lugg from Angere and Fer from Andar.”
“Yeah,” said Johnny. “Symbolic, right? Fer muttered something about maybe rebuilding Morvale Wycka. The equivalent of this place on the other side. Perhaps she'll be like Hellen one day. Eldest of Angere.”