by Vance Huxley
“Henry rang me, because it’s time to squeak. No running away or tricks this time.” Abel turned to see Tyson behind him, climbing over the fence from a garden. “No sucker punch.” Tyson copied his brother’s thump, fist against palm with a distinct smack. “After all the stories about how you beat us up, we’ve been looking forward to this.”
“Let me use your hands, please.”
Abel heard the eagerness in Ferryl’s voice, which worried him as much as the Copples did. “What did you have in mind?”
“I can crush them, or burn them, or throw them along the road? Would you like them as Bound Shades?”
“No!”
“No? Yes, little squeak. Come on, put up your hands and make it interesting.” The brothers closed in from each side. Tyson spat on the pavement. “You ruined Cooch. He won’t come into the village now.”
Damaging both his hands again, even if he knocked the pair down, wasn’t really a good idea. Worse, if they got up again Ferryl didn’t seem to understand the consequences of mayhem. “Can you frighten them? Something discreet.” Abel wondered if Ferryl understood discreet.
“Frightened? You should be.” Abel’s sub-vocalisation needed work because Henry had heard some of it.
“A show of power? Hit them with a car?” Ferryl giggled and then a wicked edge came into her voice. “If they hit you, I am allowed to take over.”
That sounded like a blood-bath in waiting, which made broken hands seem a better option. “Please?”
“Begging, squeak? It’ll have to be louder, and you’ve got to bleed a little bit.” Henry grinned and his brother laughed. Abel started to wonder why he cared, the pair of them flying down the street bouncing off cars suddenly seemed appealing.
“Tell them to watch your left hand, then let me have control. Please.” Abel considered asking why because of the anticipation in that, but the pair were too close to speak.
“Watch my left hand, please.” He held it up, trying not to laugh at the puzzled look on Henry’s face.
Even as Tyson said “I’ll break it again if you…” Ferryl brought the hand down and Abel felt his fingers wiggle. The tip of his second finger tapped a brick in the garden wall next to him. Abel felt a little surge down along his hand and the brick blew out into the garden in dust and gravel!
Both brothers stared, until Tyson found his voice. “What the hell was that?”
“I told you, just leave me alone, all right?” Abel backed against the low wall so he could keep an eye on both of them. “Unless you fancy a tap like that?”
“That wasn’t Kung Fu or karate, I’ve seen them. When did you learn that? Where?” Tyson looked at the oblong hole in the wall. “You picked a rotten brick.” Though he didn’t come any closer, neither of them did.
“Choose another one? Not the whole wall, unless you pay to get it fixed.” Abel watched as both of them considered it and looked at the brick-shaped hole.
“We’ll leave it this time.” Tyson looked up the street. “Too many witnesses.” Abel glanced up the street, still empty but he could recognise an excuse. He’d made plenty.
“That’s why it’s just one brick. Next time it could be ribs. Then my teacher would be annoyed because I’m not supposed to hurt anyone unless I have to.” There, a clear warning without a challenge to a fight. Neither of these two could resist a real challenge.
Abel still didn’t trust Ferryl if she got control because his teacher actually thought hurting both brothers would be a lot of fun. “One rib? Now? One each?” He doubted Ferryl would stick to one rib, not without careful instructions.
“Come on Henry.” Tyson scowled at Abel. “I’ll be asking around at the club. Someone will recognise a trick like that.” Abel didn’t think so because even if Henry’s club had all sorts of martial arts types, he doubted they’d seen a Ferryl Shayde move. He kept his smart mouth shut and watched Tyson walk out into the road to pass before the pair of them left.
“They did not learn so you will have to break a rib eventually. One rib? Maybe I can push it through his heart and out the back?”
Being right about Ferryl’s tendency to violence didn’t make Abel feel better, so he tried to explain. “No. Do not kill humans because there will be a really big investigation and I’ll end up in jail.”
“I can get you out. A prison wall is just more bricks.”
“Then my picture will be on the TV and everyone in the country will be looking for me. If I’m attacked, just hurt whoever it is so they stop.”
“I will be discreet.” Abel didn’t trust her tone but just had to hope nobody threw a punch. Instead of worrying about that, he set off home thinking about how Ferryl had pulverised the brick. He’d felt the something, the magic, as it went through his finger and he’d felt the same swoosh when Ferryl threw the fire glyph at the Bound Shade. With mounting excitement Abel realised he’d felt a low-level version as Ferryl drew the lines in the dirt and activated them with the glyph. If he could copy that, get the feeling, the gravel should dance!
Abel heard the hissing and screech from two houses away. “The guardian is under attack. Quickly!” Abel didn’t need encouragement, even if Mrs. Tabitha being a guardian came as a surprise. He started running, cutting across the front lawn to go round into the back garden. Mrs. Tabitha crouched in the middle of the grass at the back, slowly retreating towards the house. Three somethings were stalking her, two of them trying to outflank her with fangs bared.
Mrs. Tabitha bared her own impressive fangs, but she wasn’t stopping the trio. “What are they Ferryl? Get them!” His hand wrenched up, a swirly glyph smoked across and into the first, and the furred shape crumpled. Even as Ferryl moved Abel’s hand, Mrs. Tabitha ran towards him before turning to defend herself again. Both the low, slim creatures had closed rapidly as she ran and as the cat leapt back and forth, threatening them, Abel’s hand hesitated.
“I may hit her.”
Abel pulled up a garden cane, wincing as a Chrysanthemum flopped over. “Can you do the Cooch thing?”
“Yes.” Abel threw, right handed because Ferryl had his left, so the cane spun uselessly across the garden. Abel’s left hand moved and, just like the stick thrown at Cooch, the cane straightened and arrowed in. Not a kill, despite the creature being pinned to the ground it writhed and snapped at the thin shaft. Abel looked around for something tougher. He ran the few steps to Mum’s pride and joy, her Japanese Maple with the pink-edged leaves, and ripped out the stake holding it upright. Abel spun round, throwing in the general direction of the last creature which turned and started to run.
Too late, the stake nailed it firmly to the ground but the other one splintered its cane and lurched to its feet. With a burbling hiss it scurried under the fruit bushes and Abel saw it wriggle up and over the fence, a bit of cane still stuck out of one side. “Get it!”
“It’s gone. It will be too frightened to come near here again.”
“It might get someone else’s cat. Burn it, Ferryl!” Though Abel thought she’d be too late because he could barely see the shadow scurrying through the stubble in the field. His hand came up of its own accord and once again Abel felt that flow, out through his palm this time. After a pause, a spark of light appeared in the field. “Did you get it?”
“Of course. A glyph cannot miss while you are looking at the target. I keep telling you, intent is what matters.” Abel looked down as Mrs. Tabitha rubbed round his ankles and bent to stroke her, but Ferryl continued, “I would like to question that one.”
Abel stared at the third creature, still firmly pinned despite clawing and chewing at the stake. “You can talk to it?” He moved closer, getting a proper look now he wasn’t busy reacting. The thing’s body, covered in long, matted dirty brown fur, looked only a little longer than Mrs. Tabitha but lower to the ground. At one end a bald tail nearly the length of Abel’s forearm lashed at the ground, while the head and snout at the other end were nearly as long. Tiny, red eyes glared from an almost bald skull but most of its hea
d consisted of a thin pointed snout, now showing several rows of sharp teeth. As Abel came nearer he gave up trying to count the little legs with wicked claws still scratching at the grass and stake.
“It cannot talk, but I will understand the Skurrit once it is bound.”
“Bound? How?”
“To you, to serve and protect you. It will be more powerful than a live Skurrit, but completely obedient. We can wait until it dies or I can kill and bind it now.”
“Whoa, not another tattoo and burning. I don’t fancy that thing in me anyway, dead or alive, and it might not be keen.”
“A tattoo, but no burning into the bone, because giving it access to all that power might be dangerous. Bound Shade will be better for the Skurrit than dying completely.”
Abel thought about that, and looked into those glaring red dots. The screeching had died down, as had its struggling, and the Skurrit’s tail finally gave up as well. “Can you ask it? If it prefers that, and will be useful, I’ll go for it but only with a very small, innocent looking tattoo.”
“I can try.” Abel knew the answer as soon as Ferryl spoke because the creature began to struggle again, weakly but the fire in its eyes blazed bright. “It recognises intent and does not wish to be bound. Few wild creatures do.”
“So kill it clean, please.” Abel concentrated this time, waiting, and felt the flow into his hand before a dim swirly glyph struck the Skurrit. It stilled, quickly turning to a bubbling mess that started evaporating.
“What are you playing at out here? What’s the matter with Mrs. Tabitha?” Mum had heard!
Abel moved in front of the stake and mess, though a glance confirmed the last scraps were almost gone. “A fox tried to get her, but I frightened it off.”
“Foxes usually have more sense than to tackle a grown cat. What did you do to my tree?”
“Sorry. I needed something to throw. I’ll put it back.” Abel found himself speaking to his mum’s behind as she bent over to inspect her plant.
“It’s split. If it dies you will be buying a new one, young man. Give me that stake. I’ll do it or you’ll snap the poor thing in half.” Abel retrieved the stake and passed it to her, keeping his big mouth shut. He still hadn’t enough money to pay for the library book, let alone a new tree, and the library van would be back in a couple of days. “Go and get the gaffer tape. If I bind it up you might get lucky.”
Abel went to the shed, which gave him a chance to ask one burning question. “Why did you want to ask why that Skurrit thing came here? I thought creatures like that just wandered about?”
“There have been more large fae, flying stingers, coming into your garden lately. I have also killed several hoplins and similar minor hunters while patrolling when you are practicing. Worse, the guardians report more in the village and there is evidence of persistent efforts to breach the barrier around Castle House. They are being attracted by the release of magic when the Bound Shade and guardian were destroyed at the same time, but I hoped nothing stronger felt it. Hunters like packs of skurrits usually prey on the creatures out in the fields and prefer not to come near human habitation. I wanted to check if something stronger had sent them. If a strong magic user comes here before you are ready, my glyphs may not be able to stop them.” A wind lifted dust in the shed as Ferryl sighed. “You must learn to use your magic.”
“But you can use it through my fingers.” Abel wiggled a few.
“I am only tapping your magic. If you form the glyph, it will be more powerful.”
Abel thought of a glaring discrepancy in that. “But my fingers make the glyph anyway.”
“But not with intent. I keep telling you that.” Abel could hear her annoyance now. “This is why I never wanted to teach anyone.”
Abel looked through the heap on the bench in the shed, finally spotting a roll of tape. “What did you use to kill the first Skurrit, and the last? It wasn’t burning.”
“Someone nearby might have seen a flame. There are many glyphs.” The humour this time came as a welcome relief to Abel. “You will wish there were fewer.”
“How many?”
“I do not know because they can be combined, though only a sorcerer would risk it. A strong sorcerer, preferably using a captive as a buffer, perhaps a witless Ferryl Shayde.”
Abel skipped round what had to be a bad memory from her bitter tone. “So wind and flame as a flamethrower.”
“Possibly. The result is not exact because intent as well as the relative strength of each aspect in the glyph matters. Do not try it while I am trapped in here, please.” Her sigh blew dust again. “I knew some combined glyphs but they are trapped in my wits. If you do not experiment, I will teach you once I have them.”
“I promise.” Abel shut up as he returned to the garden because he couldn’t talk silently yet. He stood by and took his ear-bashing while Mum taped up the tree and set up the stake, then in a fit of remorse made her a cuppa and gave her a hand fixing tea.
* * *
Eventually, after washing up, Abel finally headed for his room. He immediately took out his saucer with the handful of gravel, and after drawing the glyph on his palm with a finger, spread half the gravel on his hand.
“I thought you had done enough practicing?”
“Hush please. No help.” Abel tried to empty his mind of everything but that flowing feeling. After a while he thought he had a hint of it, then lost it by trying to sort of grab it. The next time he sneaked up on it, mentally, and directed it towards where he’d drawn the glyph. The picture, the position and shape of the invisible glyph, had burned into his memory by now. He felt a flow down his arm and Abel got behind it, pushing and encouraging. He jumped a mile when the gravel shot off his palm and smacked into the ceiling! “Yes!”
“No. You threw it instead of lifting gently. No control.” Though Abel could feel the excitement in Ferryl’s voice.
“That gravel was definitely lifted. I didn’t know what to do with the flow, whatever it’s called so I just pushed it.” Abel looked up at the ceiling where three bits of gravel were stuck in the plaster. The rest must be scattered everywhere. “Blimey. Good job I’m not under the light. We’ll need more gravel.”
“Give me your hand, please, and I will show you control.” Abel agreed, intrigued. His hand twisted and the fingers moved, but too fast for him to follow, then stopped with the palm cupped. A cloud of tiny glyphs spread out. Bits of gravel began to float in from every direction until the last three pulled out of the ceiling with a distinct grinding noise. His hand tipped the gravel back into the saucer followed by a distinctly smug, “That is control.”
“What was that? It looked like more than one glyph and you sort of gestured.” Abel waved his other hand about, then found he’d regained control of both.
“Just a combination of wind glyphs, with control and intent. You must learn to control one glyph first. That sort of combination takes many years to learn.” Ferryl couldn’t hide the distinct pride in that. With that as example Abel kept practicing the same old move for a good hour without complaint. Bashing skurrits looked impressive, but that last demonstration really hooked him.
Since Ferryl seemed to be in a happy mood, he asked about some sort of protection around the garden. If there were more and stronger creatures coming, and they seemed to like his garden, Abel didn’t want to rely on Mrs. Tabitha. What Ferryl had said about the trees feeding the barrier around Castle House led to him suggesting drawing lines in the dirt and using the fruit bushes. According to the expert that wouldn’t work without a big tree to provide more raw magic. At least Ferryl agreed to think of ways to knit the fruit bushes into a magical barrier, even a relatively weak one.
* * *
A couple of days later Abel stood up and straightened his aching back. He picked up the bucket of weeds, the excuse for crawling about the end of the garden, and headed for the green wheelie bin. “We should have left the weeds. They are strong plants, and could have helped.”
“Try explai
ning that to anyone else.” Abel stopped by the Japanese Maple. “I really hope this recovers because I can’t afford a new one. I should have asked for some riches after all.”
“Pick up a stone and let me use your hands, please.” Abel did and Ferryl giggled. “Riches, Lord.”
Abel looked at the now faceted, shiny stone. “What is that?”
“A diamond.”
“A big one. Can I sell it?”
“Yes, but quickly.”
Abel sighed in resignation. “It doesn’t last.”
“Not for long. To do that needs a glyph inscribed in the centre of the stone. That is slow, skilled work, and doesn’t work for diamonds because it shows. I could do that with a piece of rock and make it into gold? If we trap enough magic in there it will not revert.” The giggle gave her away.
“You mean like the guardian? Though that lasted for a very long time so what’s the snag?” Abel wasn’t against fool’s gold if it didn’t turn to dust in his lifetime.
“When a goldsmith tries to work the gold, he will destroy the glyph and the stone will revert.”
“So how were you going to give me riches?”
“Steal them. If you take me to a place where riches are stored, I will remove them and place them in your treasury.”
“The crown jewels won’t fit in my piggy bank. Can I get money legally?”
“Fortune telling and selling charms? Sorcerers are not known for caring about human laws.” Ferryl sniggered, then her voice sobered. “Perhaps I can find old money, precious metal that has been hidden?”
“A treasure hunt? Then I’d have to wait for years while some old duffers in a museum decided what I was entitled to.” Abel tossed the stone down, then picked it back up. “Mum would have a fit if she found this. I’ll have to think about money. I’d get a job, but there aren’t any in the village.”