Kip swept his arm in a wide arc, sending the remaining liquid flying. Like paint strokes, each one filled in the form of the dining room until the world had returned to normal. The star-scape was contained by wood and books, a hearth and the stained-glass ceiling above.
There were non-reactive spots that his restoration liquid didn’t seem to effect, small holes in reality where the stars still peeked through. Kip looked down at his feet, their platform of wood now no different than the rest of the floor. He took one hesitant step forward, testing the reformed surface. It would hold.
He ran forward and grabbed a small metal box from the bookshelf. He weighed it in his hand and then threw it at the row of arc lights. The first one shattered in an explosion of sparks, and triggered a chain-reaction, destroying each in turn. The blazing light was cut off as hot pinpricks filled the room; stars replaced with burning embers.
The blaze of the arc lights still danced in Kip’s eyes as they stumbled into the street, throbbing circles of white. More than the arc lights was the memory of the star-scape, the way it yawned open, calling for them. Worlds had unfolded before them. They’d seen farther than any telescope.
Too far.
“The stars. Did Kip see all the stars?” Shadow asked.
“I saw them, Shadow.”
Kip turned his head, straining to see the empty lot behind Magic House. It was focused darkness. He squinted, trying to find any trace of Dark House. Was it still there? Lord Blackmoor had gone mad, surely the only explanation. Had the madness come from somewhere close by? A star glinted in the sky; a barely visible wink, before returning to normal.
Kip ran a comforting hand down his friend’s back, his body rippling under his palm.
“Lord Blackmoor knows, somehow he knows what I’ve done. We have to hurry back to Alchemy House. Are you up for it, my friend?”
In answer, Shadow raised his body up, standing on his hind legs, and smiled. His form melted into a dozen pieces, bouncing from shadow to shadow in the street. Kip could see a ripple of him moving up a lamppost, then across a windowsill; moving between cobblestones like dark rainwater, before snapping back together.
“Shadow wants to gnaw on Lord Blackmoor’s face,” he said proudly.
“So do I.”
The two ran side-by-side through abandoned streets, weaving their pattern through a sleeping London. Kip thought he could hear echoes of the drumbeat from his well, finding him even here. It was like a voice calling to him, but when he turned his head the sound vanished.
Kip thought of Fairfield and Britten, cast into the stars, their shades on a doomed vessel in the Atlantic. He imagined his own shade drowning in that shipwreck somewhere off the coast of England. Water rushing in, sinking tarred-timber and canvas sails, as they swirled to the bottom of the sea. What happened to a drowned shade? Did it vanish or remain, untouched and lifeless, in the depths? Some future ocean explorer would find a preserved boy sleeping through the decades on a bed of seaweed.
The drumbeat strengthened as they approached Aldgate Street. He felt the gnawing bite of anxiety as his secret spilled out into London, for all to see. The secret that he’d formed without skill or discipline, making it all the more shameful.
The tower of Alchemy House loomed in the distance, a black cut in a blacker sky.
Kip reached into his bag and pulled out the Sulfur Glass. It was already vibrating, like a crystal overloaded with sound. He looked through it, at the place that had been his home for so long, and saw a structure under assault. Black ribbons swirled around it like searching fingers, anchoring to cobblestones and railings.
The ashen branches had matured. No longer saplings, they had exploded with the force of springtime, breaking through windows and wrapping themselves around the tower. Thin blue light was woven into the branches, moving in constant flux, sometimes sparking into a deep and violent purple.
A figure approached, only a silhouette in the Sulfur Glass. Kip dropped the glass plate to his side.
“Hey, Magic Boy,” said the thing that had been Ragman. His skin was as gray as the tree limbs and looked like ancient paper wrapped over bone, pulled tight as a drum. His overcoat hung in shreds, the ribbons of fabric now turned black and moving around him, pulled by an invisible force.
Kip scanned the ground and saw the perimeter of the darkness. It was still limited by something, spilling into their world but not strong enough to escape the pull of Alchemy House and the well. There was still time.
“Your secrets, boy,” Ragman said, gesturing behind him. “All your toiling and waiting, your crying and longing; it bore fruit, black fruit.”
“You’re not yourself, Ragman,” Kip said.
“To be sure, boy. To be sure. My hunger is gone, for food at least. My need for the bottle has vanished like a breaking fever.
“An apparition came to me and whispered in my ear. Oh, the things it told me. It said it came from a dark place, but had finally seen the light. It said the master of the house was a golden boy, all the riches of alchemy wrapped in his flesh.”
“I have to get to my house, Ragman.”
Ragman sneered. He barred his rotten teeth. Kip thought the expression would tear his face in two.
“Maybe the gold is buried in your heart. Let’s rip it out and see.”
The beggar’s shape began to change. Muscle and bone turned to wood as his arms ripped through his clothes. His fingers fused into coiled vines as smaller branches sprouted from his body.
Shadow growled. Kip’s hand slipped into the pouch he kept in his pocket. He dusted it with the filament powder and then extended it towards the approaching beggar. It sparkled under the moonlight, a thousand grains of dust at his command.
Kip snapped his fingers together and ignited the powder. It sprang to life with a violent burst, showering Ragman’s face with light, showing every vein and wrinkle and glinting off his teeth.
The flame wove around Ragman’s face and lit the hair on his head like kindling. His battered top hat went up next, the flames rising like a candle.
A sound burst from Ragman that could have been a scream or a laugh, a hysterical bit of madness. It ran on and on. He flailed, trying to beat down the flames on his head, but only managed to light his tree-limb arms. Blue flame spread up the branches as they seethed in anger.
Kip turned and fled, Shadow at his side. They ran towards the house, the screams of Ragman in their ears.
Don’t look back, Kip thought.
Alchemy House was expanding and contracting, awakened by the disturbance. The tree limbs moved like roiling snakes, tightening their grip. Kip heard the wood creaking under the pressure and the high-pitched shattering of glass. The tower above them swayed against the stars, now fully absorbed by the forest around it.
The front door loomed ahead, wreathed in leaves. Kip extended his flaming palm, the blue light jumping from finger to finger. Its coolness had already given way to warmth and he wondered how long before it would start to burn.
The limbs recoiled, shivering and moving away from the door, leaving tracks of stripped paint behind. The door swung open, a dark cavern behind it. They heard Ragman roar. Kip turned to see him in full rage, his tree-limb arms grown longer, forming new branches, some with budding black flowers. He ran towards the house.
Kip crossed the doorframe, but could have crossed into a different world. The thick air seemed to carry no sound but dull echoes.
And drums.
Small filaments filled the air. They were illuminated by the fire in Kip’s palm, now a burning itch. He knew Ragman was close behind but time seemed to have slowed. Each step was deliberate, every movement planned, even the beating of his heart.
The foyer was a bird’s nest of tangled branches. Kip and Shadow wove through the maze, ducking here and climbing there, clawing their way towards the parlor and the hearth. The outstretched branches pulled at them, grabbing clothing and scraping flesh. A shadow cut off the light behind them.
“Your golden hea
rt, boy.” The words slurred and warped. “It belongs to me.”
Ragman came on, pulling at the snarl of branches, his hair and hat still smoking. He looked like he was swimming towards them.
Kip made it to the hearth and fell to his knees, the fire in his palm now burning sharply. He passed it onto the dry logs in the fireplace and watched as they came to life. The tree limbs shuddered as the fire crackled. He could hear a nervous inhalation of breath throughout the house.
Shadow looked back anxiously. “Shadow can fight him. Shadow can bite him.”
“No!” Kip snapped. “Transmutation, that’s the answer, the joining of one thing to another.”
Part congelation and part digestion.
Ragman howled, pushing and tearing and breaking. Some of the branches moved out of the way, and those that didn’t were reduced to splinters.
Shadow flattened himself against the wall.
“Is there time for Kip’s experiments?”
Kip didn’t answer but slipped his bag from his back. He dug through the ancient collection of vials and powders, searching for the proper ingredients. One by one, he added elements to the fire; a brown glass bottle emptied its contents, two pinches from a leather pouch, a thin liquid that moved like mercury. The fire took the ingredients greedily, sparking as it transformed them.
It would be crude, but hopefully effective.
“What is separated can be joined.”
Kip cupped his hands and brought them into the fire. The heat stayed back, but it was there, inching closer and closer. He scooped up a handful of the fire and turned to face Ragman.
His shadow filled their world as he reared up, demon eyes blazing. His branch-arms twisted into knots and rough wood. Bark spread to his face, carving out wooden features.
“Fool’s gold,” he sneered as he reached towards Kip.
Kip brought up his hands, the delicate flame moving there, and blew into his palms. The flame exploded into a blizzard of sparks. Kip’s face turned scarlet from the flash. Shadow melted farther into the wall, his body cut by the light.
It spread outward like flaming dust and sped towards Ragman. The particles covered his body, boring into wood and flesh, tiny blue and purple daggers of light. He screamed.
The branches in the parlor retracted as he tripped backwards, trying to escape, his limbs flailing. But it was too late. The Transmutation powder created some magnetism, drawing wood to wood. Green shoots sprang from the branches and found each other, tying themselves into knots. The new growth bound Ragman’s arms, slowly lifting him off the ground as he fused with the trees around him.
Kip saw the terrible strain on Ragman’s body, and realized he wasn’t just being held in place, but pulled in all directions. He heard the sharp pop of cracking wood, then looked away.
“I’m sorry, Ragman. I’m so sorry.”
Kip jumped through the fire in the hearth, pushing open the stone door to the basement, and hurried down the corridor. After a few paces he turned back.
“Don’t look, Shadow!” he called.
But his friend stood in the doorway of the fireplace. If Kip squinted he could see Shadow’s blue eyes shining through the back of his head. The creature stood stone-still and watched as a horrible scream filled the air. More wood splintering and then a final guttural sound.
The echo of the scream had barely faded when it was replaced by another, this one further down the tunnel. Kip spun around and hurried to the top of the wooden staircase. Shadow pattered along and joined him, resting his paws on the railing.
A silhouette hung in the air above the well, pitch-black except for a tuft of white hair. Lord Blackmoor’s arms hung at his side, his head lolled against his chest. He looked like a marionette put away for the night, suspended by his strings. A black haze moved around him, flowing clockwise around the room. The branches moved like snakes, but seemed hesitant to touch him.
Kip held up the Sulfur Glass.
The world he viewed through it was an explosion of color, violent in its hue. Slashes of red light cut into the stone, claw marks covered the floor.
The glass in his hand vibrated as the snaking lines of light coiled together. It looked like the splattering of luminescent blood, lighting a crime scene. The glass was a small earthquake now, shaking the image in its frame.
With a violent crack, it shattered. The slivers of glass caught the red light as it fractured and fell to the floor. Only a small piece remained, clutched in Kip’s hand. Without thinking, he put it in his pocket, then looked back to the well.
The haze pulsed, solidifying as a voice rose from it. It spoke in an alien tongue that sounded like speech running backwards. The ribbons of black drew into Lord Blackmoor. They found his eyes and mouth, searched out his nostrils, and flowed into his body. He twitched as they invaded him. The voice faded with the vapor, turning to a whisper.
The thing that had been Lord Blackmoor opened its eyes, two blue circles, and then lifted its head. There was a smile on its face, white teeth gleaming in a black frame.
“This is what it feels like,” it said.
Then it fell. The marionette’s strings were cut and it plummeted into the well, gone in a blur.
The moment the thing vanished, the circling boughs turned on Kip and Shadow. They formed bars of wood, blocking off the entrance back to the hearth. Some turned to searching tentacles, sniffing out their prey. Kip jumped down to the dirt floor, hoping to use the wooden staircase as a shelter, but they found him there, breaking through wood, then lifting the staircase from the ground with a grinding screech.
The beams of wood slid from the ground like pulled teeth, leaving gaping holes behind. Limbs wove around what remained of the structure then pulled it upward with a tremendous force, splintering it to pieces against the ceiling. Chips of wood rained down on them along with a fine cloud of sawdust.
Kip almost didn’t notice. He was filled with a covetous madness, watching the voice in the well take Blackmoor; his enemy going before him into a world that he’d brought forth. All sense left him, all the anxious restraint he’d shown for the last year, the feeble waiting. Whatever lay beneath that stone was his to explore, not Blackmoor’s.
Shadow split his form and ran into the writhing nest of branches as they wove across the floor. He gnawed at the bark, tore at the leaves, but it had no effect.
Kip backed up against the well, feeling the cold and familiar stone on his back. But its tranquilizing effect was gone. Now it was only a threat.
It was always a threat.
He reached into his bag and the maroon pouch within and grabbed a handful of the fixation dust. He knew fire was the only thing that would keep back wood. He struggled to light the powdered dust on his hand, small sparks falling to the floor.
Shadow returned to his side, breathing heavily.
“Shadow can’t cut down trees,” he panted.
The branches sped towards them now, all hunters closing for a kill. Kip’s palm ignited, a blaze in the dark. A heavy branch swung low along the floor and, at the last moment, rose up sharply, catching Kip in the chest. His breath was forced out of him and he tumbled backwards into the gaping mouth of the well. Shadow grabbed for him as he flew through the air and was pulled along.
They plummeted through darkness, spinning as they fell. There was no air in Kip’s lungs to muster a scream, just the total blackness surrounding them. The hissing of the tree limbs faded above until there was no noise at all.
Except the beating of drums.
9
Enos’s back was to him, the sheet falling just at his waist. He raised his hand towards the shaft of sunlight that streamed in the window, letting it move between his fingers.
Kip smiled and linked his fingers with Eno’s, capturing a small bit of light.
“The Academy said I can bring a guest, even a non-alchemist.”
Especially a non-alchemist.
He wanted someone there that came from the real world, not a student of academies and
houses. Not a cog in some antiquated wheel.
Kip’s initiation ceremony was tomorrow. People would come to Academy Tower from all the great houses of the world to see one of their own ascend.
Enos turned to face him.
What had he said?
I wouldn’t miss it.
Good.
Do I have to dress up?
Maybe a bit?
Do I get to learn any secrets?
Just a few.
Then they had stopped talking. Kip thought, I know things end. I know, in theory, nothing is permanent, but surely this. Surely this.
There was so much light now. The morning sun filled the window.
So much light.
The white light grew, and with it came a symphony.
It came out of the void. It grew steadily until it filled his field of vision. Even more than that, it was wider and bigger than anything he’d ever seen, like approaching the ocean for the first time. The music of the light was a chorus that crashed on him like waves. Closer and closer it came until it left his vision and filled his head, singing its sweet but overwhelming music.
Louder and louder and louder.
Kip opened his eyes.
The darkness was so complete he thought he’d been struck blind. He waved his hand in front of his face, looking for even a hint of light. There was the barest outline, so faint it was hard to be sure if it was there at all.
Tears stung his eyes.
He moved achingly, checking his body for injury in the darkness. If he’d fallen as far as it had seemed, surely he would have been killed. But he knew, without having to be told, that he had passed into another world. The ground he sat on was no more part of Alchemy House than the mountains on Mars.
Kip & Shadow Page 7