Luke sees again cousin Rose on the causeway – motionless, not breathing. Sees his Aunt Nancy distraught. Sees the man with faded hair working a Needle to make the waters of Loughreagh rise and consume them – to try to destroy them.
‘Your father and my own came to blows by all accounts,’ says Findlater to Luke, ‘and his place in the Driochta was given to that other noble commoner – the farmer, Lawrence Devine. I think a little annoyance on my father’s part was rather justified.’
Coldest breeze rushes across the water, across the isle.
‘You let your father into Mountfathom,’ says Luke. ‘You are making excuses. You have betrayed us. It is your fault that Nanny Bogram was killed.’
‘My fault,’ says Findlater, softly. ‘But also no doubt your father’s fault. He knew what my father was and he chose to ignore it – he wanted to believe the best of people.’
‘He didn’t want anyone killed!’ cries Luke.
‘Indeed,’ says Findlater, as calm as ever. ‘And what did your father do afterwards? What ends did he go to when he knew who had broken into his House and murdered Mrs Bogram?’
‘He did what he thought was right,’ says Luke.
‘And now who is making excuses for the behaviour of their father?’ says Findlater. He looks to Killian, still lying bound on the deck. ‘I think we all do that at times, do we not?’
Clouds converge on the moon, cloak it.
‘You are banished from Mountfathom,’ says Luke. Wishes so badly to make a decision and Work a Spell that will have some permanency so can think only of this: ‘You shall not ever set foot again in the grounds!’ Attempts for the first time in his life a Spell of Expulsion: mutters the required words and weaves his hand in the air but –
‘That Spell will not take,’ says Findlater. ‘Or it will not last. All Magic is leaving Mountfathom – soon there shall be nothing left, not a single defence against what is coming.’
‘Don’t listen to him,’ says Killian. ‘He’s only looking after himself! Doesn’t care a damn about anyone!’
‘Not entirely true,’ says Findlater. ‘Although I very much do not give a damn about a Lagan Rat.’
And he kicks Killian from the barge –
Splash of dark water –
Findlater grabs the wheel of the barge and turns it from the isle –
A roar from the engine, a cloud of turf-smoke –
And Luke has no choice; abandons Magic and throws himself into the water –
Breath-stealing cold, no brightness to see by; thrashes through a distanceless dark, pointing himself downward to kick and reach … and feels as though he is fighting his way through the Gloaming, trying to find the way home. A sudden flare! Emerald light blazing in the murk and Luke battles his way towards it and finds Killian’s bound hands with the emerald key of Lord Mountfathom clasped between them. They take each other’s hands and kick for the surface – struggle together up and out and free of the dark.
LUKE & KILLIAN
‘Jaysus – the state of this place!’
‘Oh, be quiet – you are still shivering.’
In The Amazon, Luke adds his coat to the stack of blankets covering Killian – hands him a mug of tea he made in the kitchen.
‘No tea,’ says Killian. ‘I’m grand. Just gimme a minute to recover.’
He tries to sit up but fails – falls back on the pillows of Luke’s bed.
‘You need to try to sleep a bit,’ Luke tells him.
‘Nah,’ says Killian. ‘Something about the idea of those Gards from Dublin arriving, or maybe some Land Grabbers coming to burn the place down – isn’t the best when you’re trying to nod off.’
‘True enough,’ says Luke, thinking he might never find sleep again. But he tries: lies down on the bed beside Killian.
Only sound is the same drip-drip-drip from the ceiling.
‘None of those Traces about?’ asks Killian. ‘A lot quieter without their moaning!’
And only then does Luke wonder about this, and wonder why he hadn’t noticed. Only now remembers their warning: ‘It is when we, the past keepers and custodians of this ancient House, decide to leave it that you will begin to worry. When the past has no place in the world, that is when things begin to burn.’
Luke says, ‘They are gone. They have left Mountfathom.’
‘Just like that?’ asks Killian.
‘Yes,’ says Luke. ‘That is the way with Magic. They were the oldest ancestors of Mountfathom, experimented with Spells of Lasting and Transcendence, and so left some Trace of themselves behind. But if every Spell here is failing – if nothing new is going to take – then Mr Findlater was right, there is no hope.’
‘Enough of that,’ says Killian. ‘I don’t wanna hear about what that Findlater fella thinks about anything. Hopefully we’ve seen the last of him!’
Luke only feels uneasy. Thinks but doesn’t say, I would place a bet he’ll be back.
Killian hitches himself up on a pillow and says, ‘Cheer up! What I’ve learned: Magic is fair enough, but it looks to me to cause as much problems as cures them! And anyway – I prefer things solid. Wanna see something that lasted a long time without any Spell?’
And from his pocket he takes a sepia photograph.
‘Found this in my old house in the tenements,’ says Killian. Lays it on the bedspread, flattens it with his fingers. Morrigan goes close to investigate.
‘What is it?’ asks Luke. Picks it up, brings it close: two girls caught on a lane, trees on either side dark and robbed of their leaves. A moment in late autumn, he would guess. And in the distance a ghost of a large House – distant, faintly present.
‘It’s my mother,’ says Killian. ‘Would you believe my da told me she grew up in the grounds of a place like this, but I never believed him. Must’ve been one of the few times he was being honest enough!’
Luke thinks of his own mother – wonders where she is, whether she is on her way back to Mountfathom. Stops himself wondering whether she is still alive.
He returns the photo to Killian.
‘You should treasure it,’ he says. ‘You need to keep it safe.’
‘Will do,’ says Killian, and he tucks it into his shirt and shuts his eyes. ‘Don’t mind if I stay in this bed tonight, do you?’
‘No,’ says Luke. He closes his eyes, and finds to his surprise that he is ready to rest. ‘No – not at all.’
A minute passes, and before Killian allows himself to be tugged away by sleep, he whispers: ‘Don’t you worry. I’ll be here and waiting. I’m ready to fight if anything comes looking for trouble. I’m going nowhere.’
All Spells end – this is the inevitable thing.
Though, like all things given life, they do long to survive.
They will rarely be Dismissed without a fight.
The Power of Spell-Work
Joseph & Jane Halter
LUKE & KILLIAN
‘They are here. Mountfathom is being invaded.’
Luke half wakes.
He sees one of the Gyant Messengers looming by the bed: their expression is calm, melancholy.
And Luke does not move, not yet.
Only when Morrigan swipes a claw at his hand and starts to cry does Luke Dismiss the Messenger with a wave of his hand. Only now does he begin to fully wake, to worry – his heart starts its panic.
Drapes never drawn, moonlight is allowed to lie long on the carpet – Morrigan leaps onto its silver and follows it like a path, padding fast to the window and up onto the sill.
Killian is snoring – mouth open and arms outflung.
Luke kicks back the covers, pulls on his coat. Pauses – takes his father’s notebook from the nightstand and tucks it into his inside pocket. Moves fast on tiptoe to the window.
Below on the shingle drive, he sees the half-circle of Messengers. Looks closer and sees the gap where one departed to come and warn him. Luke waits, and finally sees: Gards are approaching the House, too many to make out but enough to be a
threat. They reach the Gyant Messengers and stop, wary until one looks brave enough (or perhaps has been told that the Messengers can cause no harm) to charge through onto the broken shell and shingle of the drive. The Gard stops, swearing at the noise it makes. And now turns his gaze to Mountfathom and sees Luke watching him from the window.
‘Get down!’
Killian drags Luke to the ground – is awake, already so alert.
In whispers to one another –
Luke: ‘Gards from the Castle. We need to wake the others. We need to get my father to safety.’
A voice from outside commands: ‘Break the front door down.’
Luke says, ‘That’s Major Fortflay.’
And another voice, a Gard, asks, ‘What if we can’t, sir? Might have Spells on it.’
And the Major replies easily, ‘Then we’ll have that Cailleach creature burn the place to the ground.’
Luke scoops Morrigan into his arms and tells Killian, ‘We need to go. Now!’
And together they run from The Amazon.
Along the first floor and up the staircase to the second and along, meeting nothing but shadows and marble statues, and they burst into Lord and Lady Mountfathom’s bedroom.
‘Father, wake up,’ says Luke. Lord Mountfathom does not stir. ‘Please wake up!’
‘We have to just lift him,’ says Killian, dragging back the bedcovers.
And now sudden sounds below: door slamming, or being booted open; shatter of broken glass –
Morrigan leaps free of Luke’s arms and onto the chest of Lord Mountfathom and swipes at his cheek.
‘Stop!’ says Luke, dragging the cat away.
‘Did the trick – look,’ whispers Killian.
Lord Mountfathom has awoken.
‘What is it, Luke?’ he asks. But he knows – hand is reaching for the Needle at his bedside. ‘Tell me.’
‘Gards,’ says Luke.
‘Where?’ asks his father, swinging his legs out from beneath the covers, feet finding the floor. ‘How close? In the grounds?’
‘Yes,’ says Luke. ‘And maybe now in the House too.’
Moments pass as Lord Mountfathom gazes into the darkness – to the near distance, to the open doorway, to the window. And Luke sees such tiredness in his father and would like nothing more than to tell the man to ease back into bed, to sleep: only to dream.
Lord Mountfathom looks at his son. ‘We must leave. It is not safe here now.’
‘Give up Mountfathom?’ says Luke.
‘We must,’ says Lord Mountfathom, perches on the edge of the bed. ‘It is for the best.’
‘Father,’ says Luke suddenly. ‘Let me try something. A Reclamation.’
Father and son watch one another.
‘I know I failed before,’ Luke tells him, ‘but let me try. We must give the House one more chance.’
A pause; Lord Mountfathom nods. ‘The library,’ he says. ‘Let us go.’
Killian and Luke take an arm each and heave Mountfathom to his feet.
‘Morrigan!’ calls Luke, but the cat with its own contrary mind slips away through the open door.
‘My Needle,’ says Lord Mountfathom. Luke takes it from the bedside and places it into the hand of his father – it hangs limp, and this sight makes Luke doubt just about everything. His father tells him, ‘We need to inform the others.’
Luke nods. Works a hand in the air and once more Summons a twist of vapour and shapes it, unthinkingly, into the appearance of a woman. He leans towards this new Messenger and whispers the words that he needs delivered: ‘We are under attack. Meet us in the library.’ Now whirls his hand once more and sends the Messenger off into the House to rouse the remaining members of the Driochta.
Out into the dark hallway and they encounter sure sounds of intrusion – wood splintering, raised voices and orders being thrown from one Gard to another. But quickly down the stairs to the first floor and then down again into the cold and moulder and damp of the entrance hall, and it is Killian who sees first the shadows at the front doors. The hall reverberates with the sounds of rifle butts beating at the doors.
‘Some of the Spells are holding up,’ says Lord Mountfathom. ‘Those oldest Spells set by my great-great-grandfather are keeping them out for now. Not for long though … hurry …’
Down cold marble stairs and into the shadows of the Gallery of Learning. Almost at the library – a single Gard stationed outside the doors. He turns and sees them standing in the shadows and raises his rifle and no Spell comes to Luke’s mind and his father cannot lift his Needle to act. Killian thinks: For feck sake! Leaves Lord Mountfathom’s side and charges at the Gard and knocks him off his feet – punches him hard in the face and snatches his rifle and uses the butt to strike him unconscious. Stands up and says, ‘Now look – we’ve a proper weapon!’
‘Do you even know how to fire that?’ asks Luke, supporting his father as they arrive at the door to the library.
‘No,’ says Killian. ‘But can’t be that difficult.’
Sound of front doors falling, Spells failing –
Killian says, ‘And maybe there’s a book in here about guns – quick!’
They hurry inside and Killian shuts and bolts the doors.
Storm of boots in the hallway and shouts from Major Fortflay.
‘Search the place! I want everyone caught and brought into custody! Any who fights back, you have my permission to show no mercy!’
Killian points the rifle at the double doors, like he’s seen in the films.
‘Draw the Reclamation,’ Lord Mountfathom tells his son. ‘Try to assert control over the House and grounds. It is the only way, son.’
Luke leaves his father with Killian and races along one of the wooden paths to his father’s desk – finds a pen loaded with ink, a clean sheet of paper – and brings all back with him.
‘Slowly,’ says his father, ‘and decisively.’
Luke kneels. He settles the page on the ground and crouches over it and tries to concentrate. Presses the nib to paper to see the slow bleed of black onto white, and starts to draw – small curl and down-stroke, blotting and retracing where needed and all the while muttering the names of Mountfathom’s long line of custodians and when he arrives at his own name … pauses, starts once more. And is there the tell-tale tremble beneath his feet? Shake of shelves as ancient volumes slip from their place and fall to the floor and Luke wonders, Could this work? Will the Spell actually take?
‘Keep going,’ says Lord Mountfathom. ‘Don’t stop, son.’
Once more Luke recites the names and the page is almost covered and the shape that has been sketched (almost without his conceiving of it) is of Mountfathom itself.
Tall window behind them is smashed in and Gards are pouring over the sill; at the same time the library doors explode and the page bearing the Reclamation is whipped from under Luke’s hands by the blast.
But not soldiers who enter. A chimpanzee and peacock and owl surge-speed-sweep into the room and attack the Gards at the window, driving them back. The peacock lands beside Luke and in a whirl becomes Helena Vane-Tempest.
Luke is wordless with relief.
Killian says, ‘Survived, then?’
‘Of course!’ says Lady Vane-Tempest. ‘I do hope you didn’t doubt my word, young man?’ A Gard sprints towards them and she slashes her Needle through the air and a sudden blast of wind kicks him backwards against a bookcase.
The chimpanzee transforms into Lawrence Devine and he grunts, ‘Any plan here?’
‘There is a passageway at the centre of the labyrinth,’ says Lord Mountfathom. ‘Beneath the statue of Cuchulain – we can make an escape that way.’
The eagle owl arrives beside them and in a moment Mogrifies into Jack Gorebooth. ‘Leave?’ he says. ‘Surely we cannot abandon the House to them?’
‘We are under siege,’ says Luke’s father. ‘We must. Our attempts at Reclamation have failed.’
A fresh brigade of Gards arrives at the doors to
raise their rifles.
And Lady Vane-Tempest Works a Spell with such speed that Luke is left breathless: all splinters and shards of the doors are called from wherever they were flung during the explosion and in an instant gather and reconstitute and rush to cover the doorway as they once did.
‘That was unbelievable!’ says Killian.
‘Such a show-off,’ says Gorebooth, smiling.
‘Jealous much?’ says Vane-Tempest.
But a fresh battery of noise at the doors –
‘Window is the best way out now, I’d say,’ suggests Devine.
‘Let us go,’ says Lord Mountfathom.
Across the library and Killian and Luke climb up onto the windowsill and together lift Lord Mountfathom through as the other members of the Driochta keep their eyes on the doors of the library.
‘Grounds looks quiet here,’ says Lady Vane-Tempest. ‘But we need to know how things appear from above. Jack?’
‘I shall take a look,’ says Gorebooth, and with a shiver Mogrifies back into an owl and leaves them in favour of the night sky. Mere seconds later –
‘More soldiers!’ Gorebooth alights beside them and becomes human again to report. ‘More coming from the western side, through the forest and down the driveway. And there are others approaching from Loughreagh. But not Gards.’
‘Land Grabbers,’ says Devine.
‘Yes,’ says Gorebooth, ‘I believe so.’
‘Everyone is bound for Mountfathom tonight,’ says Vane-Tempest. ‘Like one of the Midsummer parties from the old days!’
‘Could work to our advantage,’ says Devine. ‘They’ll be too busy fighting each other to bother with us!’
‘The passageway in the labyrinth will bring us out a mile away from the House,’ says Lord Mountfathom. ‘But we need to get the staff out too.’
‘I can do that,’ says Devine, and in a blink he retakes his chimpanzee form and is gone, bolting off into the dark.
The House of Mountfathom Page 23