The Rules. Book 1; The End

by Jon Jacks

  ‘How very interesting Beth,’ Foley said. ‘How very, very interesting indeed!’

  Beth wasn’t sure why, but she felt that Foley’s dropping of ‘Annie’, his return to saying ‘Beth’, seemed to carry a hint of menace.

  His eyes lit up in wonder.

  ‘You really really don’t know who he is, do you?’

  Foley clicked his fingers, drawing the odrad’s attention. He pointed at Gerry.

  The odrad leapt towards a smashed, toppled cupboard. Merging into the wreckage, the beast used it as a jumping off point that took it into the wall.

  The window frame rippled as the odrad surged through the narrow band of wall above it. The dreamy Heddy was completely oblivious of its swift passing.

  Confused and bewildered, Gerry was no longer sure where to look.

  But Beth saw that the odrad was using the wall to curve around and come out from behind her.

  Hew! To me!

  As before, with a flash of highly burnished steel the sword slipped neatly into Beth’s waiting hand.

  She hopped and spun, smoothly curling around Gerry. As part of the same fluid movement, she brought up the sword.

  The odrad erupted from a wall cabinet it had temporarily mingled with. The blade curved up towards it, catching it in mid-flight.

  The steel effortlessly sliced through two of the demon’s tentacles, one of which was still mainly formed of wood.

  With a high-pitched shriek, the odrad immediately retreated back into the cabinet.

  Beth whirled and struck again. She carved off another brittle, wooden tentacle even as the odrad swam up the wall.

  ‘Bravo Beth, bravo!’

  Foley was enjoying himself immensely. He clapped as if he were watching a theatrical show.

  Foal ran around the room, excitedly barking, though she wasn’t quite sure what she was chasing, or why.

  The wall rose and fell as the odrad surged through it. First a row of pine cupboards momentarily sprouted tentacles, then the brick of the fireplace.

  Finally, the odrad slithered into the ancient and massive iron stove.

  Metal tentacles pushed hard against the stone floor. They pushed up, wrenching everything forward.

  The chimney pipe cracked under the strain. Thick, black smoke poured into the room.

  It was more iron octopus than iron stove, more smoothly moving praying mantis than solidly heavy block, that strode forth from the fireplace.

  Long tentacles stretched across the room. They whipped wildly around Beth’s head, trying to find a way past her swinging blade.

  They changed shape, transforming into razor-sharp blades themselves. Hot coals spat from the creature’s mouth, striking Beth’s face, her chest.

  Beth ducked and weaved, avoiding the worst of the rain of hot coals.

  For the moment, she had no choice but to ignore those landing around her, even though they were setting piles of splintered wood on fire.

  Foal, despite being terrified, rushed around the tentacles serving as the odrad’s feet, yapping, snapping.

  With a ringing clang, the sharpened end of a tentacle was severed. Yet even as it flew across the room, what remained of the tentacle sharpened into a new blade that continued to probe for weaknesses in Beth’s defences.

  The rain of hot coals abruptly ended, only to suddenly explode in Heddy’s direction.

  Beth had to dive and roll, bringing Heddy down to the floor with a one-armed flying tackle to her legs.

  The odrad sprang forward, its tentacles curving down towards the temporarily vulnerable Beth.

  Foal leapt for the beast’s clump of eyes. In mid-leap, she transformed into a small wolf.

  Her jaws rived viciously at the clustered eyes. The eyes spurted juice like squashed blackberries.

  The odrad shrieked and jerked backwards. The plumes of dark smoke spurting from the stovepipe immediately filled the room, like an octopus’s defensive cloud of ink.

  But even in its retreat, the demon struck out at Beth with its sharpened tentacles. They struck the stone flags with a clatter and shower of sparks as Beth rolled clear.

  A tentacle exploded from the stove’s furnace as a thick feeler of burning hot coals, coiling up towards Foal. Foal leapt away, only for the tentacle to immediately lash out once again.

  This time, the tentacle caught and painfully curled around Foal’s leg. She yelped in agony, the coals burning though to the bone.

  But now Beth was back on her feet, keeping low and rushing beneath the swaying tentacles.

  Gripping Hew in two hands, she raised the handle high above her head, the blade pointing down towards the odrad’s massed eyes.

  She brought it down hard, the blade sinking and sinking as if she were pushing it into soft cheese rather than ancient iron.

  The odrad’s shrieks were grinding and metallic, like fingernails drawn across a blackboard.

  Its tentacles shivered, shook, quivered uncontrollably.

  With a grateful whimper, Foal limped away.

  Beth twisted the sword, jerked it to change its angle, then violently wrenched it back.

  Slowly, she began to pull the screaming odrad from the stove, as if it were a snail being twisted out of its shell.

  The odrad slithered and writhed, lashing out weakly and uselessly.

  As Beth dragged the repulsively fleshy odrad clear of the stove, she sensed that she had to work quickly.

  The odrad began to take on the substance of the sword itself, hardening as it intermingled with it.

  It threatened to bend and mould the blade to its own will.

  Beth pushed hard on the sword again, her hand plunging into the gelatinous head. Her skin caught and split on odrad flesh that was already turning to steel.

  Her hand tingled as the odrad sought to seep into and fuse with her own substance.

  She pulled her hand clear, leaving the sword deeply embedded.

  With what was left of its eyes, the odrad stared at her in a mix of triumph and surprise at its unexpected reprieve.

  Its tentacles hardened as it drew on the strength of the sword’s steel.

  It began to straighten up, advancing on Beth once more.

   

   

  *

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  Chapter 45

   

  Parts of the transformed and rejuvenated odrad were now even lustrously beautiful, taking on the brilliance of the hilt’s rubies and gems.

  Hew! To me!

  In response to Beth’s call, the sword spun and wheeled.

  The odrad wailed in agony as it was sliced apart deep within its bowels.

  Hew leapt into Beth’s hand, the handle and blade greasy with severed flesh and an orange blood.

  Gutted in its fleshy part, severed where it was steel, shattered along flaws in the gemstone, the odrad crumbled to the floor.

  A hoard of roughly shaped jewels tumbled across the stone flags.

  Beth looked down at what remained of the odrad in astonishment.

  Had she done that?

   

   

  *

   

   

  Beth was brought out of her stupor by a slow handclap.

  ‘So so so theatrical Beth!’

  Foley languidly walked towards her, his hands raised before him as he mockingly applauded her. He casually leant against the weirdly mangled stove.

  ‘Admirable, in some ways, too. The way you passed that test with only a modicum of your powers.’

  ‘That was a test?’ Beth snapped angrily. ‘You risked Gerry’s life – and you’ve injured Foal! – for the sake of a test?’

  Foal had retired to a corner where, whimpering painfully, she was licking her badly burned leg.

  Beth wanted to help her, but Gerry was having difficulty trying to stamp out the fires started
by the hot coals. With a wave of her hand, Beth drew in spurts of water from the farmhouse’s blocked guttering.

  The jets of filthy water surged in through the smashed windows, curling around a still oblivious Heddy. They sprayed across the most persistent flames, the dying fires emitting streams of smoke that curled everywhere.

  They added to the thick spirals of steam belching from the stove as if it were a wrecked battleship.

  Beth rushed over to Foal. Her leg appeared semi-roasted, the skin and muscles charred and hardened, the bone visible in places.

  ‘Oh Foal, poor Foal! What have I done to you?’

  Foal was still a wolf. Recalling the wolf that had walked by her house, and the wolf that had chased away Galilee, Beth assumed she was somehow responsible for the transformation.

  But those had changed back into dogs, hadn’t they?

  Whereas Foal was still a medium-sized wolf, rather than a minute sausage dog.

   ‘Poor Foal?’

  Foley chuckled as he watched Beth tenderly stroke the injured wolf.

  ‘Poor, poor Annie more like!’

  Hadn’t Lynese claimed that she had been able to heal? And hadn’t Beth somehow managed to spare Heddy the worst of seeing what had happened to her father?

  She wanted Foal to be better. But nothing was happening.

  ‘Poor Annie,’ Foley gloated. ‘What’s happened to all your fabulous powers?’

  Beth sensed that Foley was backing away.

  Lifting her head, and turning a little, she saw that she had missed some of the flames.

  She called on fresh spouts of water, weaker ones this time as there was hardly anything left in the guttering.

  She sensed, too, that the farmhouse’s water pipes were dry, as water was no longer being pumped through them.

  She doused the flames, but more were erupting amongst a shattered cabinet and around the table.

  ‘Ah yes Annie; it always makes sense, doesn’t it, to use whatever’s to hand, rather than creating something out of nothing?’

   Foley sounded like he was glorying in Beth’s problems. He also seemed fully aware that there would soon be no more water nearby to draw on.

  ‘I’ll get Heddy!’ Gerry screamed from somewhere within the smoke filled room.

  Gerry had obviously seen that the flames were spreading. Through a gap in the thick smoke, Beth saw Gerry striding towards Heddy and reaching out for her.

  ‘You bring Foal!’ Gerry cried.

  To lift Foal, Beth had to drop her sword. She felt like it was a betrayal, leaving Hew to the flames when it had served her so well on two occasions now.

  Gerry was guiding Heddy out of the door, a line of soaring flames roaring after them.

  Although it was a struggle to keep Foal safe, Beth, with a wave of a hand, drenched the flames in a last, spluttering gush.

  ‘Tut tut, yes, it always saves energy, Annie. But what happens when there’s nothing there?’

  Beth whirled on Foley, wondering why the heck he wasn’t using his own powers to control the fire.

  With a start, she saw that he was – flames were pouring from his outstretched arms.

  And he was chuckling mischievously.

   

   

  *

   

   

  The flames rushed around Beth like circus animals responding to the whip and taunts of their trainer.

  They flickered and danced, forming a curved, impenetrable wall around her.

  Hew. To me!

  As the faithful sword once again spun towards Beth’s hand, Foley, with a satisfied chuckle, sent a fireball that struck it in mid-flight.

  Immediately behind the fireball there came a roaring jet of flame.

  The flailing sword, picked up in the jet’s powerful stream, was carried at colossal speed towards the stone wall.

  The blade struck stone that, already momentarily liquefied by the fireball’s impact, effortlessly parted.

  The sword sunk to its hilt, the point abruptly erupting on the other side of the wall.

  ‘A remarkable sword, Annie! I thought it would melt.’ Foley grinned wryly. ‘I didn’t think it could possibly be your original Hew.’

  Beth grinned sickly.

  She wasn’t sure how she would have used the sword against Foley anyway.

  She still cradled the injured Foal in her arms.

  It was strange seeing the sword so deeply embedded in the rapidly cooled stone. Its ruby hilt was a miniature sun, reflecting and refracting the red, orange and yellow glow of the flames.

   Hadn’t this whole thing begun when she had found a similar sword embedded in stone?

  Hadn’t her previous life ended when she had found the sword in the fire that had killed her mum?

  Was this what Lynese had meant when she had said Beth would meet her mother again?

  That she would die in the flames just as her mother had done?

   

   

  *

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  Chapter 46

   

  The flames flickered in the ruby.

  The way they had flickered when Beth had found the sword embedded in the floor of her mum’s house.

  Usually, one flame looks much like any other.

  The flames in her mum’s house looked just like these flames.

  Just like them.

  The flames about Beth were licking at white walls.

  In places, they were revealing medieval-style wallpaper underneath.

  No; the flames were covering the wallpaper in white paint.

  Because that’s the other strange thing about a flame; it looks the same no matter which way time is flowing. Whether time is flowing the way we’re used to, or whether it’s decided it’s – well, time – to flow backwards.

  The caressing flames were swiftly restoring the white paint that had covered the elaborate, brightly coloured patterns.

   

   

  *

   

   

  The flames also began to repair the charred wood. Holes in doorframes. Gaps in the ceilings.

  Piece by piece, the flames were rapidly restoring her mum’s house.

  When their job was almost done, they flickered and shrank, rushing back into carpets and curtains.

  They made final, delicate touches to the thread and stitching. Then they vanished in a puff of smoke.

  ‘Mum?’ Beth cried out unsurely as she wandered down the hall.

  ‘In here love!’ her mum’s reply came from the kitchen.

   

   

  *

   

   

  Beth walked through the door into the kitchen.

  The fire was still burning strongly here.

  As in the rest of the house, however, the flames were rapidly restoring everything.

  Tables and chairs sprang out of the fire.

  Huge, disordered piles of laundry appeared on the kitchen top, waiting to be washed.

  It was soon all back to the way it had been yesterday morning, when Beth had left for school.

  (Was it really only yesterday morning?)

  In the centre of the kitchen, a roaring column of fire extended outside through the cracked window.

  The flames quivered and shrivelled, forming the shadow of a human at the column’s core.

  Suddenly, the fire rushed back along the horizontal jet of flame. It repaired the broken window as it disappeared outside.

  And Beth’s mum was standing by the kitchen table.

   

   

  *

   

   

  ‘Mum! Is it you?’

  Beth wanted to run forward, to hug her mum.

  But she feared that it was all a cruel mirage. That her hands would clasp at nothing, dissipatin
g the illusion.

  Her mum turned, a curious smile on her face.

  ‘Course it’s me love. Who else would it be, eh?’

  Beth saw the laundry. Pile after pile of it.

  The laundry Beth had begged her mum to wash. Otherwise she would have to keep on washing it until Judgement Day.

  ‘The washing!’

  With a casual twist of her head, Beth’s mother stared at the piles of sheets and clothes as if she had only just noticed them.

  ‘What? That lot? I really would be here until Judgement Day doing this little lot, wouldn’t I, eh? ’Specially what with it being so close. It’s all just a myth, you ask me. Put about by men who just want a clean shirt waiting for them when they’re off down the pub, I’ll bet!’

  Beth couldn’t hold back any longer.

  She dashed forward, throwing her arms around her mum.

  Her arms clenched around warm, solid flesh.

  ‘Mum, mum. It’s really you!’

  Beth couldn’t believe how wonderful it felt to have her mum’s arms wrapped around her once more.

  How wonderful it was to have her mum’s cheek fondly resting against her head, like she used to do when Beth was a child.

  ‘But aren’t you the clever one, eh girl? You’ve called me back! Aren’t we the lucky ones, eh, with this special thing or whatever it is our family’s been carrying around all these years, eh?’

  ‘Lucky?’

  Beth pulled back from her mum, tears in her eyes.

  ‘Mum, how can say what’s happened to us is being lucky?’

  ‘Now now, no need to go getting so upset love! Come on, let me and you sit down and have a chat, eh, love? Like we should have a long time ago!’

  She gently led Beth to a seat at the table. A hot, steaming cup of tea was already waiting for each of them.

  ‘It’s nice to have this chance isn’t it, eh? Not many have a chance like this, do they?’

  As she sat down, Beth’s mum took a sip of her tea.

  ‘See, for one thing love, thankfully I died straight away. I figure it must’ve been that first jet of fire that hit me. Fancy, burning our poor house down for no reason!’

  She glances around the small room wistfully.

  ‘Thankfully! Mum, it must have been awful! An awful way to die!’

  ‘Well, I can’t see as how there’s a nice way to die, love. But, see, strangely it wasn’t the slightest bit painful – more like just nodding off to be truthful. I didn’t burn, see?’

  As if to prove her point, Beth’s mum held out an arm for inspection.

  ‘It just sucked the air out of my lungs, apparently. See, when it happened, I felt this thing inside me again. Like I haven’t felt it for years, Beth. Only now it was somehow comforting, protective. So you see, it was lucky that we’ve been a special family after all, eh?’