The Wizard's Promise

by Cliff McNish

  Gultrathaca asked the question in such a casual, offhand way, that Eric understood its importance at once. He tried to read Gultrathaca’s expression. Was that a look of sadness? He couldn’t tell if the sadness was real or manufactured for his benefit. But he could see Gultrathaca trembling. There was no doubting that.

  He kept her waiting. Then he said, ‘Yes, I know where it is.’

  Gultrathaca held back her elation with difficulty. She had hoped – but not really believed – his gift could discover a place so distant. It had to be Orin Fen! No other world had such spells guarding it. Could the location of the Wizards’ planet actually be in her grasp?

  ‘How far is it … the … the prison world?’ she asked, her voice cracking with the effort to keep steady.

  ‘Why should I tell you?’

  ‘Will you … will you not tell me?’

  ‘No. Because if I do that you’ll kill me. You’ll just send in some animal with no magic to tear me to pieces.’

  ‘No, Eric, I won’t do that. I –’

  ‘Shut up!’ Eric said. ‘Let me think.’ He paced up and down the cell floor. He murmured to the prapsies. He lay down, put his hands behind his head, pretended to relax. Then he stood up, walked up to Gultrathaca and shouted at the top of his voice: ‘I won’t tell you, but I’ll show you where it is if you absolutely promise to keep your word about Rachel, Yemi, Fola and Serpantha!’

  ‘I will.’ Gultrathaca’s chest heaved.

  Eric glared at her. He could see how much she would give him now, anything he asked for. ‘Or maybe I won’t show you,’ he said. ‘I tell you what: I’ll agree to think about it, instead. That’s all. And while I do I want a better place to stay than this. I want somewhere nicer.’

  ‘Of course … of course, Eric. Whatever you want.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what I want, you ugly hag! I want you to warm this place up and give me and the prapsies a decent meal!’

  Gultrathaca nodded vigorously. ‘Will you help us then?’

  ‘I’ll give you my answer when I’m ready. Get out.’

  Gultrathaca had never been so insultingly treated. Her jaws ached to kill Eric, but that pleasure would have to be delayed. Not wanting to irritate him or give him any reason to change his mind, she held out her claw awkwardly in the human way of parting.

  ‘Just go away and leave me in peace,’ Eric said, turning away.

  Burning with rage, Gultrathaca held back her jaws and hurried from the cell.

  As soon as she left, Eric started to shake. The way he had spoken! He saw how much she wanted to kill him! How could he have done something so dangerous? But it proved how important he was to her. Eric walked around his cell for a while, his mind distracted, trying to calm down.

  The prapsies followed him.

  ‘We’ll be fed soon,’ Eric told them. ‘Good stuff. Get this place warmed up, too.’

  ‘Don’t trust Gultrathaca,’ one of the prapsies said, running to keep up with him.

  ‘Griddas, don’t believe them biters,’ the other whispered.

  ‘Shush,’ Eric said. ‘Shush now. I know.’ He stared at the walls, his mind far away. His plan might not be so impossible, after all. Gultrathaca had her own extensive hopes, but Eric’s were just as ambitious. He remained still for a considerable time, watched by the agitated prapsies.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ one enquired. ‘What are you craftily thinking?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Eric said. ‘Nothing at all.’

  It broke his heart not to tell the prapsies what he was planning, but how could he?

  ‘Eric, don’t do anything to make the Griddas angry,’ begged one. ‘We’re better now, better guarders. We will guard you better than before.’

  ‘I know you will,’ Eric whispered, gathering them up. ‘It’s all right. Gultrathaca won’t hurt me any more. She won’t hurt us at all.’

  As he stood there, staring at the walls, not for a moment did Eric believe anything Gultrathaca had said. He knew she wouldn’t free Yemi. And even if she freed Rachel, it would just be to murder her when she was no longer useful.

  But was Gultrathaca telling the truth about the planet of imprisoned Griddas?

  Possibly. As soon as she mentioned it, he had reached out for the magic of that distant world, and found it. There were protections around it, and invisibility spells. The magnificence of those spells! What else could they be concealing except Orin Fen? Eric penetrated the invisibility spells. Knowing that the Wizards had always hidden Orin Fen, he fully expected to find not Griddas but the magic of millions of Wizards on the world beneath. Surprisingly, there were none. Of course, the Wizards would probably hide their scent. But Eric knew with absolute certainty: if there were any Wizards he would be able to detect them – no matter what they did to try to hide themselves.

  The planet had no Wizards on it at all.

  So perhaps Gultrathaca really intended to take him to a world full of other Griddas.

  Eric hoped so. It was exactly what he wanted.

  18

  Tunnels

  Wreathed in the final snarl of the poison, Rachel did not notice. Only her information spells, clinging on and listening out for her still, heard the sound. It seemed to well up from the bottom of the world: a warm, scented, fierce wind.

  The breath of the Detaclyver.

  And on that breath, riding it, came the Essa.

  They did not need to beat their wings. The Detaclyver gave them all the speed they needed, boosting their little bodies along the capillaries. Would they be on time? Would they? They had helped before when Griddas tried to hurt the Detaclyver with such poisons, but this new being was far more delicate.

  Through the capillaries. Beyond the lungs, up, up, up.

  The Essa found Rachel lying on her side, the veins of her face turned black by the poison.

  Without considering the danger to themselves, they leaped inside her half-open mouth. ‘Quickly! Quickly! Only the youngest!’ Down her throat the smaller Essa flew, squeezing into her arteries. Their absorbent bodies took in the poisons. When they were filled nearly to bursting, the youngsters tottered unsteadily up Rachel’s windpipe. Flopping onto her suit, they spewed out the poison – and returned for more. Long waves of them went continuously in and out until the most harmful effects of the toxins were removed.

  Then, tired and woozy, and held proudly by their elders, the young Essa hovered a few feet from Rachel. They did not want to startle her.

  Gradually Rachel’s skin regained a healthier pallor. Her cold face twitched as the nerve-endings came back to life. When she was ready, the Essa helped her eyelids open. She blinked, and the Essa – diffidently – blinked back.

  Rachel recognized them. She half-lifted a hand – and that was all the invitation the Essa needed. All their lively voices crowded into her thoughts at once: greeting her, naming themselves, tenderly touching her face, inquisitive and anxious.

  ‘Hey, slow down, slow down!’ Rachel said, half-laughing. ‘Tell me – tell me what you are. About yourselves.’

  The Essa would not do so. They only wanted to speak about the Detaclyver. Rachel learned it had once roamed freely across all the world. Ool had been warmer then, and the Detaclyver had wandered wherever the fancy took him, his edges billowing, accompanied by the majestic storm-whirls and his constant companions, the Essa. The arrival of the High Witches changed all of that. Over centuries, they beat the Detaclyver back to the south of the world. They enslaved the storm-whirls, encased the fish in ice oceans, and set about building the eye-towered cities.

  But if the Witches expected the Detaclyver to forsake the storm-whirls, they were mistaken. The Detaclyver fought back. He heaved towards the cities, grappling with the foundations. The Witches tried to starve him. They tried to freeze him, ridding Ool of the warming sun altogether – replacing it with endless winter snow.

  Even that did not stop the Detaclyver. Or his wilful Essa. Against his wishes, against all his wishes, they had decided on a way to
fight back: to become like the snow themselves. The Essa did so, modified their bodies. For longer than they could remember they had hidden within the snow, defended and loved – defended the Detaclyver where they could, and loved the storm-whirls – whispering words of comfort through the long dark years, so the whirls knew the Detaclyver had never abandoned them.

  Briefly, when the Griddas toppled the High Witches, the Essa had hope. But nothing changed. The Griddas simply continued the agonies inflicted by the High Witches.

  While Rachel listened to the Essa, she remained still, allowing her healing spells to deal with the last of the poison. As soon as she felt capable she stood up – swaying.

  ‘You are not ready,’ the Essa said, holding her arm.

  ‘I have to be. My brother, Eric … I have to find him.’

  ‘Eric?’ The Essa made a shape with their bodies – an outline of Eric lying down, the little heads of the prapsies close by him.

  ‘You know where he is?’ Rachel asked. ‘You – you can find him?’

  ‘Yes, but not yet, not yet!’

  ‘We can’t wait,’ Rachel said. ‘We’ve got to find Eric straight away. He hasn’t got any magic. He won’t survive if –’

  ‘No! No!’ The Essa, caught between wanting to reassure Rachel and another purpose, became agitated.

  ‘What is it?’ Rachel asked.

  The Essa formed a new shape. The darker-hued ones gathered in places where brown would have dusted the wings. A few lined up as antennae: a butterfly.

  ‘Yemi!’ she gasped.

  The Essa milled excitedly in the air, telling her what they knew.

  ‘We’ll find him, of course we will,’ Rachel said. ‘But if Yemi’s survived this long against the Griddas, he can take care of himself. Eric needs –’

  ‘No, Yemi first! Yemi!’ the Essa insisted. ‘Whispers. We hear them all. Whispers in the tunnels, don’t you understand? He won’t live. He can’t. The Griddas won’t let him!’

  Rachel thought rapidly. Eric and Yemi were both captives under Thûn. How could she get there? ‘I can’t change shape, or shift,’ she told the Essa. ‘But I can fly. If I travel outside, in the air, could you hide me? Surround me, somehow?’

  The Essa pondered. ‘Yes,’ they said. ‘For a while.’ Several fluttered deep into the Detaclyver to convey their decision. When they returned all the Essa clung to Rachel’s body. ‘Whoosh!’ they told her. ‘Detaclyver will start us!’

  From the subterranean depths, many miles away, an immense diaphragm clenched and unclenched. Rachel felt her feet lift. Her magic steadied her, resisting. The Essa asked her not to, dancing ecstatically in the new wind.

  Rachel let go – and the mighty breath took her.

  Sideways she and the Essa travelled, gathering speed, then up and away, into the summits. A peak shattered and ice particles showered down. Rachel went to cover her face, but the Essa laughed as none of the particles touched her. Up, up, still further up. Finally: the pallid light of sky. Just before the Detaclyver propelled Rachel into it, she had a moment of direct contact with its mind.

  It offered her everything: passion, all its ardent wishes.

  Then she was in the sky. Trembling with feelings – and hidden by the packed, determined bodies of the Essa – Rachel streamed northwards towards Thûn.

  She passed over the storm-whirls. In their great stately way the whirls turned, giving no indication to the Griddas of what was coming. She skirted the edge of the Prag Sea, where fish peered up through the ice. When the breath of the Detaclyver petered out, Rachel’s flying spells took over. Enveloped by the Essa, she travelled in the highest skies where enemy eyes were least likely to look. It was not until she entered the clouds over the snow plains leading towards Thûn that the first Griddas started to appear. The wind also veered, so the Essa were flying in a contrary direction to the real snow.

  ‘Not safe to fly any more,’ warned the Essa.

  ‘But we’re still so far from Thûn! We must get closer than this.’

  ‘There is …’ The Essa stopped. Rachel felt them shiver. ‘Go down, go down,’ they said. Copying the natural motion of the falling snow, Rachel drifted to the ground. As she landed, she could tell the Essa were striving to lower their voices. They were worried for her. They had braved the tunnels of the huraks many times, but Rachel was too big to hide. The blue cats would surely find her. Their breaths would put her to sleep, like the Griddas’ spiders … Reluctantly, the Essa told Rachel about the hurak tunnels under the plains. Some of those tunnels led to Thûn itself.

  ‘Is there any other way?’ Rachel asked, seeing how anxious the Essa were.

  ‘No, but we will accompany you,’ they told her without hesitation.

  Rachel wanted to hold them when they said that, but how to hold something so small without injuring it?

  Rachel’s information spells searched beneath the snow. In one place a tunnel almost broke the surface. She hurried over the top. ‘Stay close to me,’ she said, using her magic to delve under the snow and grind through the rock beneath.

  When the first chink of tunnel-light struck her eyes, Rachel drew back. The tunnel was a dazzling ultramarine blue. ‘Why is it so bright?’

  ‘Griddas don’t like it,’ the Essa explained. ‘That is why.’ They floated in little bunches ahead of Rachel, to meet the dangers first.

  ‘No, you don’t,’ Rachel said. ‘Get behind me. I’ll use my spells.’

  Determined to look ahead, a few clambered onto her forehead. The remaining Essa guarded her back, or positioned themselves on her arms to see what might be coming from any side tunnels. Rachel’s body-suit felt strangely silky to them. They dug into the stitches, testing that their minute legs could pivot and turn on the material. When they were satisfied, Rachel used a spell to hush her footfall – and took her first step.

  She travelled roughly northwards, but the hurak tunnels never kept a single direction for long. They were full of traps intended for Griddas: snares, blind spots, innumerable pitfalls, kinks, silences. Sometimes there were dark patches – perfect places to lie in ambush. Rachel’s information spells guided her through. At every twist the Essa expected her to be put to sleep by sneaky hurak breaths, but there was no sign of the blue cats.

  Rachel crept forward, occasionally flying in straighter parts where she could see ahead. The Essa became increasingly perplexed as they approached the perimeter of the city. Where were the huraks? They never left their tunnels so unprotected! A group of the Essa flitted down a tributary connecting to the tunnels of the Griddas. ‘Empty! Empty, too!’ they reported back. ‘No Griddas!’

  They left the hurak tunnels behind and entered new spaces, the residential networks of the Griddas. There were wide tunnels here, and spacious caves. All of them were vacant. Rachel flew at will through cave after cave. Recent Gridda tracks led from them. All the tracks – hundreds of thousands of claw marks – headed in one direction, towards the heart of Thûn.

  ‘Listen,’ said an Essa. Rachel heard nothing. ‘Food traps,’ the Essa explained. ‘We should be able to hear them. Never silent, never quiet, always snapping creatures up for the infants. What does it mean?’

  Rachel sent out her information spells. For miles ahead and all around there was no living creature of any kind. ‘All the animals are gone, too,’ she said. ‘Everything.’

  ‘Many have no feet or wings,’ the Essa told her. ‘How can they be gone?’

  ‘Where do all these tracks lead?’

  ‘Deep, into the deep,’ the Essa said. ‘The Assessment Levels. Yemi is there!’

  ‘Hold on to me. As tightly as you can.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Trust me.’

  The Essa anchored their feet to Rachel’s clothes. They crept into her hair. Once they were firmly set, her eyes flashed blue. The colour was so intense it outshone even the hurak tunnels. Almost fearfully, the Essa stared at her.

  Giving total freedom to her flying spells, putting all her f
aith in her magic, Rachel followed the Gridda tracks into the depths.

  19

  Plans

  While Gultrathaca awaited Eric’s decision, she paid a visit to a former pack-member: the disowned and disgraced, the tainted Jarius.

  What had happened to her in that brief time alone with Yemi? At first, when Jarius was dragged from the Assessment Chamber, Gultrathaca thought that Yemi must have passed on some kind of human infection. In fact, Jarius had never been healthier. The old Jarius had been a wreck of fears. The latest version was more poised; she unsettled the guards; a few had even started to listen to her talk of concord and an end to war.

  As Gultrathaca arrived at her isolated cell, Jarius emerged with all her new-found serenity from the shadows.

  ‘Welcome, sister,’ she said.

  ‘You are no sister of mine.’ Gultrathaca circled her in frustration, humiliated by her continued existence. Naturally she had tried several times to kill Jarius, but it was impossible. Yemi – even from the distance of the Assessment Chamber – shielded her with the same fervour as Fola.

  Jarius shook her head sadly. ‘The mighty Gultrathaca! I see it shames you to see me standing here, defying you, companion to a boy whose happiness you cannot even dent. But think differently: I am not your enemy, sister.’

  ‘Oh, you are.’

  ‘No. Look around you. There’s open talk amongst the guards. Too many infants. The tunnels are overflowing. Skirmishes breaking out everywhere. Pack against pack scrambling for room. It’s unbearable. I’ve heard the infants myself. They fly about the tunnels, restless, jeering at the adults, trying to provoke a reaction. What happens when you lose control, Gultrathaca? What then?’

  Gultrathaca smiled. ‘Do not concern yourself for me. I still have control.’

  ‘Do you? You can hardly even control yourself. I know what you feel, Gultrathaca. It is the need for combat, for the violence of blood. You’ve been inactive too long. Like the rest of the Griddas, you can’t wait to fight. That is what is driving your ambitions against the Wizards and the children, nothing else. I understand, because I feel it, too. It was bred into us by the High Witches, after all, this longing. But we can escape its pull. Yemi has shown me another way to live.’