by Carl Purcell
“Well, I guess if you could stop him from focusing on casting a spell then you'd just have to deal with that stick. But how are you going to do that? Tickle him?”
“That could work.” A thought struck Roland and he grinned a bright-eyed grin. “But I think I have something else that'll work just as well.”
“But we still have to get through the door.”
“No we don't. Okay, I know exactly what we're going to do. Are you ready?”
“No! I have no idea what's going on or what is about to happen!”
“That's fine. Just do as I say and follow me. Can you manage that?” Roland waited for confirmation but all he got was a long stare from Griffith. He looked like a junkie begging for a confidence fix. “Griffith, can you manage that?” Roland repeated, doing his best not to shout.
“All right.” Griffith nodded slowly. “I trust you. What do you need me to do?”
“Cast a spell.”
“What spell?”
Roland took a can from the shelf. “Open this.” Griffith's anxious expression changed to one of confusion. He looked at the can in Roland's hand and then back to Roland.
“Beans?”
“You can do that, can't you?”
“Just open it?”
“Open the can and follow my lead. Okay?”
“Okay” Griffith nodded, closed his eyes and began to work the spell. A second later, Roland heard the bolt shift and the tumblers in the lock click.
“Quickly!” Roland glanced over his shoulder at the turning door handle
Griffith didn't answer.
“Get it open or we're screwed!” A crack appeared in the door frame.
“I was worried I wouldn't get to do this,” The man in tweed said.
“Shit, too late.” Roland spun around. He lifted his leg and kicked the door. The flimsy door jammed against something heavy and rattled back and forth. Roland kicked it again. This time it knocked the man in tweed clean off his feet and slammed against the kitchen wall.
“Done!” Griffith exclaimed. Roland swept up the can and launched it out the door. The brick in tweed sat up just in time to get a face full of cold beans and gravy.
“What the hell!” The Brick wiped the mess off his face, dumbfounded and furious. Roland charged and kicked. The brick's jaw cracked and his head hit the floor.
“Is he all right?” Griffith asked from the pantry when everything was still.
“You tell me.” Roland didn't wait and relieved the unconscious sorcerer of his jewelled ring and staff. “These will come in handy.” Griffith came out and knelt by the body. He began prodding at the neck. “Anything broken?”
“I don't know. How do I check?”
“Wouldn't have a clue.”
The kitchen they found themselves standing in was a rectangular room with benches and cupboards on one side and a sink on the other, bookended by shining silver appliances. The decor was right out of the 1970s and it hadn't aged well. The cupboard doors looked as if they'd fall off in a strong breeze. Years of messy cooking had stained the linoleum floor. Roland gave the room a momentary look and then slammed the only door closed.
“No lock.” He said. “I guess we better get out of here.”
“How?”
“This way.” A row of windows lined the wall above the benches opposite the door. Roland raised his staff and began smashing until he'd made a clean exit, then he wiped the broken glass away with a dish cloth.
“Someone's coming. They must have heard you.” Griffith said. Roland stopped moving and listened. Griffith was right. He could hear talking and footsteps.
“Let's go, then.” He climbed onto the bench and took a long look out the window. His limbs froze. A cool breeze began to whip at his hair. Roland heard the door handle move. The noise snapped him back into focus. He dropped back from the bench and flung his body against the door.
“What are you doing!” Griffith shouted in surprise. Roland sunk to the ground and pushed against the door. He answered:
“We're in the air.”
“What?”
“We're in the air!” Somebody tried to force the door open. Roland strained against them. “Help me! We need a new plan.”
Griffith gave him a long, confused stare before getting to his feet and looking out the window. The sky was dark. He couldn't see anything around the house. Then he looked down. Somewhere in the shadows below, probably fifteen metres or so by his guess, Griffith saw a lamp hanging over a dirt road. In that dim illumination he could see that between the house and the ground there was nothing but empty air. Griffith traced the road with his eyes as far as he could before it faded into the darkness. Far off, in the distance below them, he could see more twinkling lights and what looked like car headlights. Griffith leapt back from the window and rested his weight against the door, beside Roland.
“Let me in!” Somebody shouted from the other side.
“Go fuck yourself!” Roland answered.
“We're in the air.” Griffith sighed the words more than he spoke them.
“Yeah, we are. And it's only a matter of time before one of these guys has the bright idea to just melt the door with magic or something.”
“What do we do now?” Griffith asked. Roland could hear the panic rising in his voice. He had that pleading, junkie look again. Roland wanted to smack him but he didn't dare take his weight off the door.
“Unless there's a ladder in that pantry, I don't know. It's all on you, kid.”
“What? Me? What can I do?”
“You're the fucking sorcerer in this room, Griffith. The only sorcerer I can be certain isn't dead and won't try to kill us if he gets up. We need some magic right about now if we're going to get out of this shit-storm.”
“What kind of magic?”
“How about teleport? Can you teleport us out of here?”
“Are you kidding? That's about as hard as magic gets! Why not ask me to move the moon while we're at it?” Griffith's voice was rising and cracking. His body was quaking, hardly helping keep the door closed.
“Then do something else.” Roland doubled his efforts against the door, straining each word through clenched teeth.
“But I don't know what to do! This isn't what I'm good at.”
“That's fine, kid. You just need to get good at it in the next few minutes.” There was a moment of quiet. The door stopped shaking and Roland relaxed, waiting uneasily.
Suddenly a violent force hit the door. The door frame cracked and splinters rained down around Roland. Griffith almost squealed when the door rocked. He stared, transfixed, at the door as if it was about to crush him.
“Or seconds.” Roland added. “Seconds would be better.”
“That's not possible! I can't just make a new spell in a few seconds with all this noise!”
“Okay. You're scared. I understand.”
“They're going to kill us, Roland! Oh jeez, how did—”
“Griffith, shut up!” Roland barked. The command was punctuated by another wave of force blasting the door. Roland could feel the wood warping around the shape of his back.
Griffith shut up.
“I need you to stop being scared. Any second now those fuckers are going to come in here and kill us. Our only way out is through that window. So you need to stop having a panic attack and figure out a way to get us safely to the ground.”
“All right.” Griffith nodded. He stared at Roland a few seconds without saying anything. Roland's unflinching resolve reassured him. “All right. I just need a minute to make the spell. I think I can do it.” He stepped away from the door, towards the windows. Roland braced himself. Another shock hit the door. Looking up, Roland could see the hinges about to snap.
“That's a minute you might not have, Griffith.”
There was no answer. Griffith had closed his eyes and placed his palms over his navel. His body stopped shaking and he sat stone still. Griffith's ability to focus was impressive if nothing else. Roland watched him, readyi
ng himself against the next blow. It would only take one or two more hits for the door to break and then there'd be no holding them back. Roland counted himself lucky that Pentdragon's goons were no better at teleporting than Griffith. Roland turned around and placed his hands on the door. He drove his heels back hard against the ground and waited. Another blast shook the door. Splinters and broken screws fell out of the door frame. Roland was now the only thing holding it in place. He looked back over his shoulder; there were still shards of broken glass on the floor and in the sink, as well as the staff he'd been beaten with earlier. He hoped it wouldn't come to that. It would be him against two pissed off sorcerers and he didn't have the element of surprise any more.
Griffith hadn't moved.
“Are you still holding that door? Give it up!” Whoever was on the other side of the door said. Time was just about up. Roland waited, both hands on the door and his eyes on the staff lying next to him. Somebody knocked on the door. Roland gritted his teeth. He wouldn't let the taunt get to him. He couldn't let himself be baited into doing something stupid. Not unless stupidity was the only option left.
Then Griffith placed his hand on Roland's arm and wrapped his fingers around his wrist. Roland turned to him, keeping his weight on the door. Instead of the panicking Griffith he expected to see, the kid was smiling.
“I've got it. Come on!” Griffith said. Roland didn't question. Griffith jerked him away and ran to the window. He jumped up on the counter, squatted at the window and grabbed Roland's other arm. The door fell in. Griffith, still smiling, kicked back, dragging Roland with him. The air rushed over them as they plummeted. Griffith let one hand go and turned himself over to face the ground. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, held it a second, then began to blow. All the air in Griffith's lungs rushed out of him in a torrent of wind. In the lamp light, Roland saw dust and weeds whip and shake back and forth. The fierce gale blew back against them and caught them before they hit the ground. As Griffith finally expended the last of his breath, the wind lowered him and Roland gently to the ground. Their feet touched the dirt and Griffith began panting like a dog.
“Incredible! Well done, Griffith. Your magic actually came through for us.” Roland gave him an approving slap on the back and Griffith nearly collapsed. “Now let's go.”
“I just need another minute.” Griffith heaved out through deep breaths.
“Yeah, let me just tell that to Pentdragon and his friends. Come on, you can rest when we're clear of them.”
Roland grabbed him and dragged him down the road. Griffith took one look back up and saw the house, barely visible in the night. He could still hear shouting from the kitchen windows. In that moment he heard the voices, he found both his breath and his legs in a second wind and he started running as fast as he could. Roland ran beside him and together they headed for the lights of civilisation.
They hadn't gone that far when they spotted a car's headlights on the road coming towards them.
“It must be one of Pentdragon's guests.” Griffith said.
“Get off the road!” Roland grabbed his friend and lunged off the road. They sprinted through long grass and over uneven ground as far from the road as they could manage. From behind them came the sounds of shouting. A bright spotlight swept beside them. Roland grabbed Griffith and drove him downwards, burying them both in the long grass before the light hit them. Roland wrapped a hand over Griffith's mouth and held the sorcerer still. The spotlight swept past them, the bright light barely missing their bodies. The illuminating beam hovered beside them a minute then moved on. Roland lifted his head up and watched the light drift away, then ducked back beneath the grass and rummaged through the dirt until he found a hefty rock. He peered above the grass again, watching the light scan over a nearby tree. Roland threw the rock as hard as he could, sending it towards the tree. The stone clattered among the high tree branches, then tumbled to the ground. The light flicked down suddenly, following the rock and searching for more movement.
“Go!” Roland whispered and pulled Griffith to his feet. He held the young sorcerer close to him and low to the ground, forcing him to run as fast he could. He kept one eye ahead and one eye on the light, expecting Pentdragon's men to realise, any second now, that they were looking in the wrong direction.
He was still looking behind him when he heard Griffith shout:
“Look out!” His warning came too late and they both stumbled over an embankment and dropped out of view of Pentdragon's house. The embankment fell onto a dirt road – Roland assumed it was a driveway. Picking himself up, he could see a black, house-shaped silhouette cast against the star-lit horizon. He finally let go of Griffith and dusted himself off.
“Is that a house?” Griffith asked, noticing the same silhouette in the distance.
“Let's go find out, before they catch up with us.”
Chapter 6
The dead of night brought a chill to the air and Roland's jacket - old and worn, like everything else he owned, including his body - felt flimsy and ineffective against the breeze. Between bad weather and bat-shit crazy sorcerer kings, the whole idea of finding Salem was losing its appeal. Cold, hungry and stripped of every provision save the clothes on their back, he marched on. He didn't say a word to Griffith. He didn't want to verbalise, and in doing so, validate his fear that what lay ahead was not a house at all but a vaguely house-shaped cluster of trees. Nothing would be more demoralising than a night out in the wilderness. Griffith didn't dare break the silence, either. Good. Roland wasn't quite sure how, yet, but he was sure this was all his fault.
But what awaited them was, as he'd hoped, an old farm house. Through the cracks between curtains, he could see a light on inside. Without hesitation Griffith rapped his knuckles on the front door. Moments later the porch light came on and the door opened just enough for somebody to peer out at them. Roland could discern an eye through the gap between the door and its frame but nothing else. He'd probably be worried too if strangers knocked on his door late at night.
“Hi,” Griffith said. “We're sorry to knock on your door this late but we we're a little lost. And cold. And hungry.”
“Did your car break down?” The voice belonged to a woman.
“Something like that,” Roland answered.
“We'd really appreciate it if you would let us stay here the night. We won't be any trouble,” Griffith added. Before the woman behind the door gave them an answer, a man came around the house and made the decision for her:
“Well 'course you blokes can stay here!” Roland and Griffith turned to greet him. The newcomer stood at the edge of the porch. He was a broad man dressed in a short-sleeved flannel shirt and a grey slouch hat, pushed back to reveal a receding widow’s peak. What he lacked in hair on his head, he made up for in the thicket of orange hair across his bare arms. He had a rifle resting on his shoulder but stood unimposing. “We've even got some leftovers from dinner, if you're hungry. Georgia, go fix them something to eat.”
“Thank you. We'd love that.” Griffith grinned and approached him, arm outstretched to shake the man's hand.
“No worries.” The newcomer met Griffith's hand and shook with a friendly vigour. “We've got a guest room upstairs you can take. Name's Thomas, by the by.”
“It's nice to meet you, Thomas. I'm Griffith and that's Roland.”
“Good to meet you both. Come on inside.” Thomas opened the door and ushered them inside. He brought them through the house to a kitchen. Windows overlooked the fields behind the house. Georgia was already there pushing a pot pie into the oven.
“I hope you don't mind leftovers,” she said.
“'Course they don't. Especially not when they taste as good as your steak and gravy pie,” Thomas answered for them as he took a seat at a humble white table in the centre of the kitchen and rested his gun and his hat in front of him. Griffith joined him and Roland followed.
“Where did you say you were going?” Georgia asked.
“Salem,” Griffith answe
red.
“I've never heard of it. Is it around here?”
“No, it's further north. Just on the border.”
“Oh that's not too far. Shame about your car.” All the time she spoke, Georgia busied herself checking the oven, getting out plates and fishing for cutlery in a drawer.
“Yeah. We really appreciate you letting us stay.”
“Aw heck, boys, think nothing of it. I was up, anyway. If you like, I'll take a look at your car in the morning,” Thomas said.
“Oh, you don't have to do anything like that. If we could just use your phone in the morning, I can sort it out,” Griffith said.
“Well, you boys suit yourselves.”
When the pie was hot, Georgia served it up. She put what was left back in the fridge, handed Thomas a beer and left them. Roland and Griffith dug straight into their dinner while Thomas sat, sipping his beer.
“What were you doing?” Griffith asked.
“Eh?”
“You said you were already up.” Griffith paused to chew and swallow. “What were you doing?”
“Keeping watch.”
“What for?”
“We've been having a few troubles lately.” Thomas glanced at Roland, stood up and stepped over to the fridge. He took out another beer, opened it and set it down in front of Roland.
“Thanks,” Roland said and immediately took a long sip of his beer.
Thomas looked at Griffith. “Want one?”
“No thanks. What kind of troubles?” Griffith shook his head.
“Dog troubles.” Thomas sat down. “I've lost three cows to wild dogs around here in the last fortnight alone. So tonight I've put the whole herd into one field and fenced them in together. Then I set up a flood light on the roof to shine on the whole lot of them. As soon as I hear anything out in the field I'll flood the field with light and find the bastards.”
“Oh,” Griffith muttered and said no more.