by Cliff McNish
‘See the no-go zones?’ Eric indicated the gaps between the buildings, the invisible places where no children flew. The atmosphere was uneasy, with few adults about. As Eric watched, a baby – flying solo – cut across the various invisible territories. The gangs jeered as he passed, mocking the baby’s jerky progress across the sky.
Eric blew on his forefinger. As if it was a smoking gun he pointed it at the gang children, smiling thinly. ‘Zap, zap,’ he said, under his breath. ‘Want me to teach those gang kids a lesson, Rach? Knock them right out of the sky?’
Rachel glanced at him as he lowered his finger resignedly. ‘Are you tempted?’
‘I’m always tempted. Especially with kids like these.’
Eric’s special gift was that of a destroyer of spells. The Wizard leader, Larpskendya, had himself been puzzled by this ability. In all the Wizards’ experience across many worlds they had never come across a similar gift. After the Awakening, Larpskendya had expected other children on Earth like Eric to emerge. That had not happened.
Eric was unique.
Rachel understood how much he wanted to practise his anti-magic, but how could he? Each time Eric focused on a child’s spell it killed that particular spell forever. It could never be used again. Spells were precious; even the most modest had its worth and value. No child would willingly give one up.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Eric said, then added in an undertone, ‘I’m improving anyway. Even without practising, I’m getting better all the time.’
‘Better at what?’
‘I can detect distant spells. I mean really faint spells, out a long way.’
‘How far away?’
‘Do you know where the prapsies are?’
The magical scent of the prapsies was always hard to follow because they flew so swiftly. At last, more than a thousand miles to the north-west, Rachel’s information spells tracked them down. ‘They’re over the Gobi desert,’ she said. ‘Flying south.’
‘How close together are they?’
Rachel stared blankly at Eric. ‘I can’t tell that from this distance. I can barely trace them at all.’
‘No?’ Eric raised his eyebrows. ‘Then I’ll tell you. They’re very close, no more than a foot apart. And one is flying slightly above the other, piggy-back style. They’re cold, too. They must be because their speed’s six percent down on normal. And,’ he added jauntily, ‘they’re flying at over twelve thousand feet. They like being way up high like that. It reminds them of all those centuries they spent in the skies of Ithrea.’
Rachel gazed at him, shocked. ‘Eric, how long have you been able to detect so accurately? You’ve never mentioned it before.’
He shrugged. ‘It’s been happening gradually.’
‘We need to tell Larpskendya straightaway.’
‘Sure, I suppose.’
‘Eric, you can’t just keep something this important to yourself. You know that. If –’
‘All right, lay off, will you? I was going to tell Larpskendya tomorrow, actually, when he takes us to visit Yemi. And – er – talking of Yemi,’ Eric said, ‘here come his little Beauties.’
A shadow had spread over the Tokyo skyline. It was composed entirely of yellow Camberwell Beauty butterflies. There were billions of them, the flock so enormous that for several minutes it entirely hid the early stars as it steadily moved across the city. The sight was such a familiar occurrence that most of the children did not even bother to look up.
‘I still don’t understand why Yemi sends them everywhere,’ Eric said.
‘I think I do.’ Rachel pictured Yemi, the two-year-old Nigerian boy, and smiled. Even her remarkable spells were in awe of Yemi’s magic. Like her, he could shift and transform his shape, but he could do much more. And his magic was maturing all the time. No one had any idea what its limits might be.
As Rachel stared up, she said, ‘These lovely butterflies. They’re a gift. Yemi’s trying to bring a bit of extra happiness to the world. But there’s more to it than that. The animals – have you seen how interested they become when the butterflies are overhead? I’ve no idea what’s going on, but their behaviour definitely changes.’
‘It’s their magic,’ Eric said.
‘What – the animals?’
‘Yeah. They’re not like us, but they’ve got a trace. It responds to Yemi and his butterflies.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Dead sure.’
The Camberwell Beauties gradually passed beyond the city. There were hundreds of such flocks, wheeling in great endless migrations. By day and night they flew, their wings ceaselessly charting paths that would take them over every part of the world.
‘Let’s get away from the gangs,’ Rachel said as the last of the butterflies melted inside the sunset glow. ‘I still want to shop. Fancy anywhere in particular?’
‘Not really, but I’m hungry.’
‘Me, too.’
She shifted them to one of the world’s premier shopping districts: Tokyo’s Ginza-chrome crossroads. For a while, with Rachel disguising them as typical Japanese children, they strolled amongst the neon-splashed bars and sushi stalls. There was an even mixture of adults and children here running the entertainment centres and food outlets. Rachel and Eric bought some yakitari chicken and ice cream and sauntered up the wide streets. As they turned up the Chou-dori road, Eric whispered, ‘Stop.’
‘A holding spell,’ Rachel said. ‘Yeah. And whoever it’s being used on isn’t fighting back.’
‘Must be an adult, then.’
‘Do you want me to destroy the spell?’
‘No,’ Rachel said. ‘Let’s check it out, first.’ She picked Eric up and flew along a network of side-streets until they reached a murky alley. Half-concealed by some bins a girl around seven years old stood over an old man. Without being touched the man’s body was being held down, while the girl used a searching spell to check his pockets for money, or whatever she was after.
‘Stop it!’ Rachel shouted in Japanese – and then realized the girl was not Japanese at all. She switched to English. ‘Leave him alone!’ When the girl still showed no comprehension, Rachel’s linguistic spells stated the same message in various languages.
Finally the girl understood. She spat on the ground near Rachel, defiant.
‘She’ll fight you if she can,’ Eric said. ‘She’s preparing to.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Rachel answered. ‘She knows she’s outmatched. This one’s smart.’
‘Who he?’ the girl asked, in laboured English. She pressed her toe against the man’s chest. ‘Your dada? Your da?’
‘No,’ Rachel said. ‘Of course not.’
‘Then … why you help?’ The girl seemed genuinely puzzled.
‘I –’ Rachel halted. If this girl couldn’t understand that it was wrong to terrorize an adult, what could she say to persuade her?
The girl turned away. Calling a mangy cat from the shadows, she cradled it in her arms and swaggered to the back of the alley, her head held high.
The old man got up shakily, shuffling off in the opposite direction.
‘Wait,’ Rachel said to him. ‘Are you all right? Are you hurt?’
The man clearly wanted to get away from her. Rachel was a child, and he was alone, and afraid of her even though she had helped him. He clung to the wall, edging past Rachel and Eric, bowing several times, but not lifting his eyes.
‘You don’t usually find adults on their own at night these days in the big cities,’ Eric said. ‘I can’t believe he hasn’t got his kids with him in a busy place like this.’
‘Not everyone has children of their own,’ Rachel said. ‘Does that mean they have to stay indoors? Never go out?’
‘Either that or accept the risk. You know the rule in the cities: adults indoors by ten p.m., or take the consequences.’
‘That’s a gang rule,’ Rachel said angrily. ‘You sound like one of them.’
Eric shrugged. ‘Parents made up enough of their own
rules before, Rach.’
‘So it’s time to even things up, is that what you’re saying?’
‘No, I’m not saying that. I don’t like it any more than you, but adults have to be careful, don’t they? Stay inside unless they know they’ve got a child escort, and –’
‘That man could be our dad,’ Rachel said.
Eric looked alarmed. ‘Have you protected our house?’
‘Of course. The point is that some adults haven’t got any special protection. They shouldn’t need it.’
She gazed up. The slot of sky between the alley walls teemed with children. To Rachel they suddenly appeared mildly sinister. The old man was still running down the alley, trying to reach safety. He seemed to belong to a different world. She kept an eye on him until he reached a side door. His hands shook as he fumbled with the lock. Perhaps he would be safe inside, perhaps not. Rachel knew that while most parts of the world were safe for adults, juveniles were taking control in the largest cities. Street gangs had always existed, but now they were armed with magic. Generally adults could go about their business freely, but in certain areas after dark menacing children strutted around, behaving unpredictably. A few specialized in taunting grown-ups just for the hell of it.
The old man’s hands were shaking so much he could not undo the lock. He kept glancing at Rachel as if she might be about to do horrible things to him. Rachel could have used a spell to disengage the lock, but she knew that would only frighten the old man more. To make him feel less threatened, she moved down the alley – though staying close enough to make sure he got inside safely.
The whole world’s turned upside down, she thought.
Nearly all of the changes were for the better. Parents rarely had to go to work any longer, unless they wished to. Their children, using magic, could perform routine chores, freeing most adults for the first time ever from drudgery. But it was still difficult for the adults, and not just because of the child gangs. Many parents had always judged their worth by how they brought up their children, by how much their children needed them. Children didn’t need taking care of in quite the same way any longer. By and large they still shared the same loving relationships, but many children now spent more time exploring their magic than with their parents. And, of course, there was also jealousy. Some parents were envious of their own children. Why should only children have magic? Adults wanted to be masters of their own trajectories. They wanted to be able to fly, too…
The old man had at last dealt with the door lock. He slipped inside. Rachel wondered what kind of life he led. He seemed so frail. I hope he’s not alone, she thought. Alone in a city of child gangs. What could be worse? Overhead a baby chuckled, pursuing a night bird across the sky. Where is your mother? Rachel found herself silently asking. Where is she? How does she feel about you being so far from her?
Suddenly Rachel wanted to return home and make sure Mum and Dad were safe.
The Griddas are out there somewhere, she thought. Since the High Witches know where our world is, the Griddas must know as well. And I bet they don’t waste time on games or joining stupid gangs, or fleecing adults. When the Griddas finally decide to come, she thought, how are we ever going to be ready?
‘Let’s get back, Eric,’ she said. ‘Let’s go home.’
5
Fire
Without Heat
‘He’s late,’ Rachel said.
Mum squeezed her hand. ‘He won’t be much longer now, I’m sure.’
Rachel nodded tensely and hugged her knees, rocking back and forth on one of the kitchen chairs. A few sandwiches lay untouched on a plate next to her. She could never eat before she saw Larpskendya. She was too filled with anticipation.
Eric was more relaxed. He lounged nearby, flipping through a comic. The prapsies were in a tree a few gardens down, arguing with a family of crows.
‘What are the boys up to?’ Mum asked Eric, not really caring.
‘They’re telling the crows to stop messing about and grow some proper faces.’
As Mum rolled her eyes, Rachel whispered to her, ‘Are you nervous? You know, when Larpskendya comes, do you feel like’ – she pressed her heart – ‘like this as well?’
‘Yes, every time,’ Mum replied. ‘Oh, but it’s a nice kind of nervous, isn’t it?’
They grinned at one another.
A few minutes passed. Rachel smoothed out her skirt. Mum made some tea and nobody drank it except Eric. Bored with the crows the prapsies squashed their noses against the window, wanting to be back inside. Mum automatically checked they weren’t carrying anything disgusting before letting them fly over to Eric.
‘How’d you get on, boys?’ he asked, as they alighted on his shoulders.
‘They won’t listen,’ one prapsy said forlornly. ‘They won’t grow faces.’
‘Did you tell them off?’
‘We did, Eric. They just flew away. They always do.’
Eric leaned towards the prapsies. ‘I’ll tell you why they do that, boys. It’s because they’re ashamed. They’re only crows, after all. You two can fly like geniuses, talk, everything. When you’re beside them, the crows are embarrassed. They know they’re nowhere near as good as either of you.’
Both prapsies beamed happily. This explanation had never occurred to them.
The patio door opened and Dad came in from the garage, wiping car grease from his hands. He was a tall, rangy man with greying hair.
‘Nearly done it,’ he said with satisfaction, going over to the sink to clean up. ‘Almost fixed that engine. A couple more hours’ work, that’s all.’
Rachel could have fixed the car, but she knew better. Dad liked doing it.
Dad stood with his hands under the tap, methodically removing traces of oil. Then he came to sit near everyone else on one of the kitchen chairs, and in a hoarse voice said, ‘He’s overdue, isn’t he?’
Mum nodded. No one needed to say who he meant. Dad sat forward to pour himself a cup of tea, then stopped. He forgot about the tea. Everyone in the room broke out into the same broad smile as they sensed it: a thrill in the sky, an ache. The clouds seemed to know; eagles halted their flight.
Rachel whispered, ‘He’s coming. He’s coming.’
Dad straightened up to steady himself. The prapsies bounced up and down on the radiator. Eric, forgetting his cool, rushed into the living room, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Wizard bursting through the clouds.
But he was too late – Larpskendya had already shifted into the hallway.
The prapsies were there first. Searching for a gift, they found a bit of dirt on the carpet. After Larpskendya accepted this graciously, he turned to the girl dashing along the hall – and she did not need to ask his permission. He opened out his arms and Rachel ran into them. She pressed her face against his chest and held him.
‘Oh, Larpskendya!’ she cried out.
Her spells rushed crazily into her eyes, all wanting to see him first. Larpskendya threw back his head and laughed, kissing her and Eric and both parents in a completely informal way.
Dad, as always, was unable to take his gaze off the Wizard. What was it about him? Not the Wizard’s features – they were like those of any impressive man. It was the eyes: human-shaped, but more vibrantly passionate than any man’s.
Rachel clung to Larpskendya’s cream robe as she told him about recent magical developments. As usual he seemed to know already, though he did not interrupt her. Finally, after speaking with Mum and Dad in private, Larpskendya held hands with Rachel and Eric. The prapsies buzzed around his head like flies, knowing something was about to happen. With a movement too swift to see, Larpskendya caught them and tucked each prapsy inside Eric’s shirt.
‘Keep them close to you today,’ Larpskendya advised Eric.
‘Why?’
‘In the place we’re visiting, they might lose their hearts to another. Yemi has changed since the last time you saw him.’ Eric shared a quizzical look with Rachel. ‘Are you ready?’ Larpskendya said
. Eric did up the buttons of his jacket, pressing the heads of the prapsies down.
‘Where’s Larpy taking us?’ one prapsy asked.
‘Shush. Don’t call him that,’ Eric said.
‘Why not, Eric?’
‘It’s just not a good idea, that’s all.’
‘Oh, I have been called worse names,’ Larpskendya remarked. He laughed – and shifted. There was no sensation of flight or movement. Rachel’s own spells could never grasp the silky ease with which Larpskendya shifted. The next instant – and thousands of miles – later, Rachel and Eric found themselves letting go of his hands, blinking in semi-darkness.
They were underground, in a cave. Once it might have been an ordinary cave, but Yemi’s magic had transformed it. Inside there were no windows, but endless views. To Rachel’s right a fire raged, without heat. Over Eric’s head a waterfall cascaded, without wetting him. Howler monkeys appeared from nowhere, screeched, vanished – and reappeared. And all around were the sights, sounds and fragrances Yemi treasured most, those of his old African home, Fiditi. And that meant warmth; it meant humidity; it meant smells of good home cooking, burning fuel and the noise of lonely night birds calling. One sound dominated all the others: the murmur of rainforest leaves.
That sound, beautifully rich, was everywhere.
‘This is only one of Yemi’s residences,’ Larpskendya said, leading them further in. ‘He creates new ones wherever he goes, an infinite number.’
They turned a corner, into the main part of the cave and there – bursting with life – was a small boy.
‘Yemi!’ Rachel cried, rushing over to him.
As soon as he heard her Yemi shifted into Rachel’s arms. For a while he simply lay there, gazing at her in a way that asked nothing and everything. It had been three months since Rachel last visited him, and in outward appearance Yemi had hardly changed at all – still a toddler, with short-cropped curly hair, ebony skin and soft brown eyes. Characteristically, he chose for himself the least fussy clothes, a pair of wrinkled blue shorts and a plain orange T-shirt. But Rachel did not even notice what he wore. What she noticed were the animals. Dozens surrounded him, every kind of creature: mice, dogs, a marmoset, an elk, and cats, big cats – fully-grown Siberian tigers.