‘We shall stay here,’ says Helena. ‘We shall hold off the Gards and give the three of you time to escape.’
Luke and Killian protest, but –
‘Luke,’ says Lord Mountfathom, with sudden passion. ‘Please – your mother would want you safe and that is my priority. No book nor brick nor piece of mortar is more precious to me than your life.’
They stand together in the dark grounds, uneasy.
But Luke knows he can offer no more protest. And no time for more debate.
Gunfire from the western side of the House.
‘Go now,’ says Lady Vane-Tempest.
‘We shall keep them at bay as long as it takes to get the staff out,’ says Gorebooth. Both Mogrify and take to the sky as Luke and Killian support Lord Mountfathom past stagnant pond and rotting flowerbed and the pillars holding high the statues of the animal forms of the Driochta. And on: past walled garden whose walls have begun to crumble, and on into the labyrinth.
As they walk-run Luke keeps one hand poised in readiness to Cast whatever Spell he needs: expects with each moment and each turn to be shown someone waiting. And in his worry he must slow his step a little because Killian tells him, ‘Keep going, Luke! Faster!’ and his father says, ‘The Driochta will protect the rest of our family as best they can. We have to trust them.’
Into the heart of the labyrinth – familiar statue of the warrior Cuchulain.
‘Touch a hand to his hand,’ says Lord Mountfathom.
Luke hurries to the statue and for a moment peers into the ferocious and impassioned face. Now he and the statue touch, palm to palm. And at the feet of Cuchulain the earth groans and falls away to show a stone staircase descending into dark.
‘Easy enough,’ says Killian, supporting Lord Mountfathom, bringing him to the opening. ‘Now what are you waiting for?’
Luke hasn’t moved. Soon as he sees this escape route – soon as he knows they could so simply leave – he knows he cannot. He opens his mouth to tell his father but when he turns he sees two figures entering the centre of the labyrinth. From their dress he knows them as Land Grabbers, pistols raised.
Lord Mountfathom slumps against the statue as Killian swings the rifle from his shoulder but fumbles it –
Luke hurls a Spell –
Land Grabbers dodge it –
‘Go!’ Killian tells Luke. ‘Leave!’ And forgets the rifle and throws himself, fist and foot, into a fight with one of the Grabbers –
The other runs at Luke who flicks his hand at the final moment and mutters a Spell of Escape – Spell shifts him five feet to the left and the Grabber crashes into the wall. The other Grabber has his hands around Killian’s throat –
Lord Mountfathom presses the tip of his Needle to the statue –
A screaming note –
Cuchulain springs to life and takes two massive steps and swings one stone fist and sends the Grabber on top of Killian flying far into the dark.
Killian gets to his feet, massaging his throat and saying, ‘Now can we just bloody go?’
‘Impressive.’
A final shadow steps into the centre of the labyrinth. But not mere shadow – in the moonlight Luke sees faded hair and pale face and darkest eyes.
‘Stay back!’ says Killian, and he brandishes the rifle.
‘Look at you now,’ says the man they now know as Findlater Senior. ‘Look how far the Lagan Rat has come! Trying to play with the people in the Big House, that it? Look what it did for my son – got turfed out on his ear and for what? For having me as a father. Hardly his fault, is it? Hardly fair.’
‘Why don’t you just feck off and die!’ says Killian.
‘No chance,’ is all Findlater Senior says. Raises his pistol and points it at Killian’s head.
A sudden blow from behind fells him.
There stands Mr Hooker, rusty spade in hand.
‘Bartemius,’ says Lord Mountfathom.
‘Where are you heading to?’ asks Mr Hooker.
‘Escaping,’ says Killian, and immediately wishes he hadn’t said it.
‘I see,’ says the gardener. ‘Sounds sensible enough – you best get going.’ He pushes at Findlater’s insensible body with his foot – no sign of consciousness.
‘What about you, Mr Hooker?’ asks Luke.
‘Me,’ says the gardener. A grim smile arrives on his mouth. ‘I have been at Mountfathom for most of my life. I have been happy here – it is home. And with all due respect, I will not abandon it when it needs me most.’
From the House rises a sudden plume of fire; explosions of glass and stone and such screaming.
Luke turns to his father.
‘I cannot leave either,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry – I cannot abandon Mountfathom.’
‘No,’ says his father. ‘It does not seem as though we can.’
Mr Hooker takes the weight of Lord Mountfathom and leads him out of the centre of the labyrinth. There, they see the gardens at the back of Mountfathom become a battlefield: Land Grabbers fighting Gards, gunfire and fists, broken bottles holding Indigo Fire being hurled at the House. Luke spies the Cailleach, directing things from a distance. Scene reminds Killian of the riots in Belfast – blood and breaking bone as the Gards charge at the Grabbers, smell of smoke and burning harsh against his nostrils …
‘This way,’ says Mr Hooker, wielding his shovel with the fervour of any solider and Luke sees in the gardener such a will – a loyalty to this place that he has helped create and shape as much as any Lord or Lady of Mountfathom.
Now almost at the outside steps that lead to The World.
Screams from somewhere near the Temple of the Elements –
‘Stay sharp!’
Helena Vane-Tempest is back beside them, flicking and twitching her Needle, and Lawrence Devine, who seems less bothered with Spell-Work, thumping and pummelling anybody who approaches.
Luke feels a sudden squirm beneath his feet. He knows. ‘Ash-Dragons.’
Steps that lead to The World split and explode open.
Three Dragons burst through, spewing cinder and polluting the air so completely with ash that Luke and Killian lose sight of each other and the remaining Driochta. They cling to what they can – each other. And Luke remembers his mother’s inspired Conducting on their flight from the Castle: raises his hand and commands the water in the nearest pond to rise.
Sees through the dark an Ash-Dragon rear, and a serpent of water drowns the creature, sweeps it from sight.
Mr Gorebooth runs out of the dark and says, ‘Good idea – need to keep the fires doused!’ And uses his Needle to Conduct more water from the ponds, directs it to the fires of Mountfathom, to the sound of hiss and sight of steam.
Killian hears Mr Hooker shout, ‘Look out! Coming out of the ground!’
The two boys stand hand in hand, Luke Working to produce a gust to clear the atmosphere of dark. When they emerge from the cloud of cinder, when sight is returned, they see: on the borders of the gardens are more arriving Dragons, squirming dark from the earth with wings tucked tight and then twitching free to billow cinder whichever way they wish.
Killian says, ‘I thought they were shy enough creatures? Someone must be angering them – making them do this!’
‘Yes,’ says Luke.
He hears the cackle and cry of the Cailleach, sees her standing by the Temple of the Elements commanding, ‘Destroy them! Destroy the Driochta!’
‘And I think we can guess who is responsible,’ says Luke.
‘What Magic works against that old crone?’ asks Killian.
‘Well, I’ve no Magic of any kind, but I can wield a shovel well enough!’
Mr Hooker gives them a wink, then rushes forward with shovel in hand and swings it at the Cailleach.
‘Luke,’ says Lord Mountfathom. ‘We have only one plan left we can make use of. We must Raise Mountfathom.’
Helena Vane-Tempest is close enough to overhear. ‘You sure, William? Just as we talked about one night when we were so ve
ry drunk?’
‘Yes,’ says Lord Mountfathom. ‘Just as we discussed – not a bad plan, as I recall. Might be the only way to save the House.’
Helena smiles, then shouts. ‘Driochta! Prepare to Raise Mountfathom!’
Some looks from Devine and Gorebooth – sceptical would be to understate it. They look aghast! And then slowly, appear thrilled with the prospect. Luke wonders at the audacity of this plan; has heard of a Raising, but never thought that it could be possible.
‘I need to stand on my own,’ Luke’s father tells him.
So Killian and Luke stand back.
‘Ready?’ calls Helena.
Luke sees that she and the others have spaced themselves in a perfect semi-circle.
‘Now!’ cries Lord Mountfathom.
And Lord Mountfathom and the Driochta drive their Needles into the ground.
For some seconds, nothing – only sounds of continuing battle and the hiss and snarl of the Dragons. And then so many things – from each embedded Needle races a crack to split and topple and open a dark wound and all zigzagging towards Mountfathom –
Silence …
Moments of exquisite anticipation –
And now explosion!
Luke and Killian and all assembled – Driochta, Dragons, Land Grabbers and Gards – are thrown from their feet. And Luke watches: a fresh forest is sprouting fast beneath the foundations of the House, tearing it free. At first only saplings, then seconds later towering adults, a mass of boughs all straining to lift the House aloft – impaling it and ensnaring it as branches snake through walls and smash-erupt through roof and window –
The House of Mountfathom is leaving the ground and being raised skyward.
Devine is beside Luke suddenly and pulling him to his feet and shouting to everyone, ‘Don’t forget what all this spectacle is in aid of! Grab hold of something or it’ll go without us!’
‘This was worth leaving Belfast for,’ says Killian, smiling at Luke.
‘Quickly!’ shouts Helena.
‘Jump and grab hold!’ calls Gorebooth.
Needles retrieved from the ground, and Luke and Killian and Lord Mountfathom – who has discovered fresh energy, as though energised by the sight so no longer needs to be supported – and the other Driochta mount broken steps and leap and grab hold of whatever bough comes into their hands and hold tight.
The rising continues – accelerates! New trees burst from the earth and add themselves to the effort, straining and shielding the House too with knot and tangle and thicket. And Luke sees beyond now – further than forest and shore road, to Loughreagh and the Mountains of Mourne and a sky alive with so many stars!
He hears someone call, ‘Climb up!’
‘Follow me!’ says Killian.
Together they climb, have to squeeze through the lattice of branches but before long discover the glass doors of The World. Killian takes a handful of his shirt and smashes, reaches in and unlatches the door and they pull themselves inside, reaching out to help Lord Mountfathom. And once the rest of the Driochta joins them inside, Luke is the first to turn. First to see –
They are not the only people in The World.
Smoke, mist, pale vapour – a Magic brought from across the water, sanctioned by the Castle and taking the shape of hounds. A dozen pairs of blue-white eyes glittering and Luke has time only to shout, ‘No!’
But too late.
One of the Pall leaps at Helena Vane-Tempest and sinks teeth into her neck before she can cry out or scream. She drops, does not get up. Jack Gorebooth and Lawrence Devine are both caught too, consumed by the Pall, and for a moment stand only shivering, as though plunged into bitter cold, their faces drawn, eyes draining of colour and clothes withering on their bodies. Hair fading to white, skin as delicate as paper as they both fall soundlessly to the floor.
Lord Mountfathom backs away, Needle still in his hand – is forced to the glass doors by one of the Pall.
Killian forces Luke back into a corner and stands in front of him.
And the walls of The World are in turmoil – not static but storming, oceans rising to swallow continents, mountain ranges crumbling –
The creature before Lord Mountfathom prepares to pounce –
‘Enough now,’ comes a voice.
The Pall demurs – obediently retreats.
‘Slaughter is always a shame, though almost always a necessary thing.’ Major Fortflay steps free from the shadows. ‘And great shame and a loss and so on and so forth.’ Stops with his hands tucked behind his back.
‘You bastard!’ shouts Luke, and he moves towards the Major but Killian holds him back.
‘Not the kind of language I would expect from a boy of the Big House.’ Not the Major speaking now but another – Findlater Senior appears, bleeding from the blow Mr Hooker dealt him. ‘But as I see, you’ve been hanging about with some lower sorts, so it is only to be expected!’
Luke says nothing, is struggling to understand.
‘Strange alliances can be made,’ Fortflay explains. ‘Don’t worry yourself about the ways of the world, lad. Let me state things simply, as your mother once did for me: we cannot allow Magic to continue in this country. We cannot allow renegade Magicians any more than we can allow renegade Irishmen! We need to bring it all under control. We need to eliminate. Understand?’
‘Don’t forget the keys,’ says Findlater Senior. ‘I want those keys. The crimson and the emerald. That’s all I asked for in exchange, remember?’
‘Don’t give me orders,’ says Fortflay. ‘You do well to remember your place or I shall have you –’
Killian chooses this time to act; rushes forward but is stopped, held by a Spell of Inertia Cast from the hand of Findlater Senior.
‘Filthy Lagan Rat,’ says the Major. He approaches Killian, strikes him. Spits on him. ‘Not one on the face of this earth that will miss you, is there? However, these blue bloods here, these people of the Big House – we need to account for their deaths.’ He comes within feet of Luke. ‘Would it not be a shame if one of the servants turned on their master?’
A final figure appears beside Lord Mountfathom – the manservant, Findlater Junior. He snatches the Needle from the hand of Luke’s father and pushes him to the ground. Luke moves forward once more but the Pall closes in – forms a transparent barrier. And Luke is weeping now – with betrayal and grief and confusion. And Killian is weeping too, silently – in anguish and frustration but still unable to move, still held fast by the Spell.
‘Do it now!’ Findlater Senior tells his son.
Findlater Junior crouches by Lord Mountfathom, the Needle loose in his hand. Luke’s father does not move, does not raise a hand or protest at all. Though Luke knows his father could so easily Work a Spell to save himself – to save them all. And Luke sees that the manservant is weeping too – sobbing as he says, ‘I am sorry.’
‘Do it now, you fool!’ shouts Findlater Senior.
The manservant shuts his eyes and stabs the Needle into Lord Mountfathom’s throat.
Luke’s mouth opens with a scream that doesn’t come out.
But an unexpected attack –
Morrigan reappears, and leaps at Findlater Senior and tears at his face –
Killian is released and with a roar swings a powerful punch at the Major and knocks him off his feet. And the whole of Mountfathom lurches! Forest that lifted the House free of the battle is buckling, all Spells failing –
And Luke remains, cannot take his eyes from his father. Knows that if the Spells of the House are no more, then his father too must be –
‘We have to go!’ Killian grabs his hand – shouts the only place he can think of that might give them escape. ‘To the dark door and the Gloaming! We have to run!’
Luke knows they have only moments, and somehow he manages to uproot himself.
‘Stop them!’ shouts Fortflay as they reach the doors of The World.
But they are out into the corridor and running, Luke blinded by tears bu
t Killian leading him on.
Everywhere Mountfathom crumbling –
Walls splitting and folding –
Ceilings caving –
Down the Gallery of Learning –
Into the hexagonal entrance hall and up the marble steps –
A fissure follows them, races alongside to rend the staircase, and as Luke and Killian reach the first floor, the house lurches once more, is being split down its middle, the eastern wing sliding away from them.
They grab hold and pull themselves towards the next staircase.
‘Where do we go to when we get through the dark door?’ shouts Killian. ‘Where are we aiming for?’
‘Nowhere,’ is all Luke can say, remembering his father’s words. ‘Nowhere.’
To the second floor –
Furniture careening towards them –
A head-splitting crack as the green glass dome above is riven in two, shattering and sending myriad shards cascading into the stairwell. And still the two boys fight-climb-struggle.
Luke chances a glance behind – sees blue-white eyes, a gathering of pale smoke and shouts to Killian, ‘Quickly!’
Onto the third floor. Corridor that leads to the dark door is almost vertical and with hands on whatever doorjamb or pillar they can discover, the two boys have to climb towards it.
Portraits of the Driochta are leaving their frames in a dark tide.
Luke reaches the door first, crimson key already in hand and he forces it into the lock and twists it. Will it work now? Will this Magic hold if all else has fallen away?
A single, low note, hardly above hearing –
Luke snatches the key from the lock, turns the silver hand and it falls open like a hatch and he pulls himself inside, reaching back for Killian –
But jaws of the Pall close around Killian’s feet.
He cries out, ‘Go on!’
And a sudden and bone-freezing cold consumes Luke; feels his heart shiver and almost stop as the Pall moves over him, imagines his hair turning to white, the same as Mr Gorebooth and Mr Devine.
Killian cries, ‘Go! Leave me!’
But Luke will not abandon him; instead Works a Spell of Enclosing that tears the jaws of the Pall from Killian and almost tears Killian’s leg with it as Luke drags him through, and the door slams shut by itself to seal them in darkness.
The House of Mountfathom Page 24