The Wizard's Promise

by Cliff McNish

The Essa flew joyfully around Serpantha, wanting to go into his body, but afraid that he was so fragile they might hurt him in doing so.

  All the lovely inner radiance had left Serpantha’s features. His face, petrified by the poisons and spells of the Griddas, was grey. His eyes were shut; his hands were clenched, the fingers bound many times over with spell-thread. As Rachel removed the thread, she caught the scent of the latest attacks on the Wizard. They came from the infants she had just chased off. In the end, Gultrathaca had simply laid Serpantha out on a platform of stone for the newborns to practise on.

  Rachel wondered: did she dare lift him? She placed her ear against his chest, against his heart. Slow and uneven, it still murmured. And something else was alive within him – as soon as they felt Rachel’s touch, Serpantha’s spells knew she was there. In their elation, they called out, ‘Heal him! Help us! Help us!’

  The Essa did not wait for Rachel. They fluttered inside Serpantha’s mouth. There was so much damage they had no idea where to start. Quietly, listening, they started work, letting Serpantha’s spells advise them. Eventually they re-emerged. ‘He can be moved now,’ they told Rachel. ‘But carefully.’

  Serpantha’s aquamarine robe was covered in filth. Rachel placed her left arm under his body, preparing to lift him. She gasped as she felt how light he was – virtually no weight at all. It was as if the only thing that had held the Wizard together all this time was the grandeur of his magic.

  How should she carry him? It seemed wrong to do anything except hold him in both her arms, but Rachel needed to be more practical. In the end, she pulled him to her waist, clasping him there easily with one hand.

  ‘You need both arms,’ the Essa said. ‘We will carry him. Allow us!’

  Rachel started to hand Serpantha to them. The Essa stopped her. They started jerking in the air, holding each other up. ‘What is it? What is it?’ they cried.

  Never in her life had Rachel felt anything like this: spells; thousands of them; spells everywhere, a deadly Gridda assault. She staggered, barely able to take in the scope. This was not an attack by one Gridda on another, or pack against pack. It was a concentration of spells on an unimaginable scale.

  All the spells were focused on a single being.

  Yemi.

  Rachel felt him. The greatness of his magic, brought to sudden desperateness, pulsed like a generator amid the lesser scents of the Griddas. But there were thousands of Griddas; there were too many. Rachel pulled Serpantha close and flew out of the birthing caves. She did not need to use her magic to trace Yemi; the battle-cries of the Griddas were enough. They led her upwards – Yemi was trying to escape.

  ‘Hold onto me!’ Rachel told the Essa.

  Her flying spells gave her all their speed up the winding tunnels. As she rose, she swerved past Griddas aching to get to the land above. Higher still, the tunnels breaching the surface were so full of Griddas that even Rachel’s magic could not plot a way around. She had to slow down – enough for the Griddas to sense her, and turn.

  ‘Don’t try to fly past them,’ her information spells advised. ‘The quickest way is not through the tunnels.’

  ‘Which way, then?’

  ‘Directly up.’

  The rock overhead was hard, but not hard enough to withstand Rachel’s magic. She smashed through. Shielding Serpantha’s head with her hands, she broke out to the surface. The Essa followed. For a few moments they shut their eyes against the suddenness of light.

  Then they saw the number of Griddas.

  ‘Quickly! Quickly!’ Some of the Essa hammered at Rachel’s lips. They wanted to be inside her now, where they could assist her best if she became injured. Rachel let them in her mouth, hardly noticing the light tickles on her throat. The remaining Essa formed a defence in front of her, calling out fierce words of encouragement.

  At a lower pitch, Rachel heard another voice. It was faint, muffled, a human voice: Yemi’s.

  The Essa looked frantically for him. Rachel knew where he was. High up in the metal-grey sky. Yemi could not be seen because he was engulfed by Griddas. Hundreds of them, in well-organized packs, were attacking him.

  There were noises from the ground. When Rachel stared down she could not believe what she was seeing. Wherever a Gridda tried to leave a tunnel, it was under siege. Animals that were feline and immense had taken up positions around each tunnel exit: the huraks. Wherever Griddas emerged, the blue cats fought them, cutting great swathes through their ranks.

  Then a separate movement caught Rachel’s eye, and another.

  She shook her head, striving to understand.

  It was not only the huraks who had come to Yemi’s aid. Standing alongside them were rodents. Biting the clawed feet of the Griddas were insects. Trying to confuse them were burrowers. Even the slime mosses had dragged themselves from the depths. These shy creatures, who never normally left the darkness of the tunnels, in their devotion to Yemi came now. Facing the agony of the light, they threw their little bodies at the Griddas. The creatures of Ool wriggled through cracks; they slid from the snows; and they came from the air. From the south, Essa had arrived, fanned by the breath of the Detaclyver.

  Despite this punishment, the Griddas continued to harry Yemi. With Essa clinging to their jaws, time after time they smashed into him, varying their spells, attacking in long persistent waves without respite.

  Rachel soared towards them. When the Griddas detected her, two packs – over a hundred Griddas – detached themselves from the main group to confront her. Understanding at once what they must do, the Essa took Serpantha from Rachel – and carried him to safety across the sky.

  Rachel did not stop to think. As soon as Serpantha was out of her arms she dived towards the main group surrounding Yemi. She struck with unwavering force and all the capability of her magic. She could not break through – but she caused a moment of uncertainty.

  And that was enough. Yemi took his chance. He broke free.

  Magnificently, he rose above the Griddas.

  Rachel’s heart leapt as first she saw his head, then his bright orange T-shirt and baggy shorts. With a bent arm he fended off several infants; with the other he held onto Fola. The Griddas dwarfed Yemi, following him up, trying to separate him from his sister. At first Rachel thought Yemi might get away. The next moment her information spells reported back how little strength he had left. After so many attacks, even Yemi’s extraordinary magic was faltering.

  ‘Yemi, shift! Why don’t you shift?’ she shouted. Then she understood – he couldn’t. ‘Come to me!’ she called out, racing towards him. ‘Oh, Yemi, come towards me!’

  He heard her. Even amidst the shrieking Griddas, Yemi heard her voice. He turned his imperturbable eyes towards her, and as he did so Rachel sensed new spells. Protection spells. Yemi was sending them. Thinking that Rachel needed his assistance, he was using the last of his strength to guard her.

  ‘No! No!’ Rachel screamed at him. ‘I didn’t … stop it! I didn’t mean that!’

  Yemi was confused. Rachel was coming too close to the Griddas. Why? Why didn’t she fly away? He held her back, while continuing to send out magic to shield her.

  ‘No, don’t do this! Don’t!’ Rachel wailed. ‘Yemi!’ A pack of Griddas launched a massive combination of spells against her. Rachel was thrown back, and would never have survived without Yemi’s assistance.

  But the attack drained him. Yemi could not sustain his shield. Finally he had to choose between protecting Rachel or Fola. He could not make this choice. It was too much.

  He wavered – and the Griddas broke him.

  Roaring in triumph, they tugged and jarred Yemi across the sky. Two infants took their chance. They snatched Fola, dragging her to the Griddas on the surface.

  Yemi cried out – a feeble, lost voice. In disbelief he stared at the hand that had held Fola. Then he came after his sister. Still keeping his protections around Rachel, he entered the Gridda packs on the ground. The huraks tried to reach him, but could not. Rac
hel was held back by the Griddas. It took all her strength to simply survive their attacks. On the horizon the tiring Essa who carried Serpantha had almost been caught by a group of infants.

  Then Yemi re-emerged. Clutching Fola, Griddas scraping at his legs, he rose into the sky. But it had cost him everything to retrieve his sister. One more ripple of attacks, a minor one, was all it took to shatter his last defence. And when that happened the protection around Rachel crumbled. Yemi gazed forlornly at her. He whispered an apology. He stared at Fola, letting out a moan. He kissed her, slow despair creeping over his face.

  And then Yemi’s features suddenly hardened. Facing the Griddas, he thundered: ‘Iro!’

  He turned. He looked southwards. He looked in the direction of the Detaclyver.

  And a sound came from there. No Gridda living under the cities of Ool had ever heard it before.

  In Yemi’s final desperation he had called the storm-whirls.

  And they came. First they were a shadow on the southern horizon; then a great scouring of wind that obliterated all in its path. Freed at last from their long servitude, the whirls burst the ice over the Prag Sea. Snow plains became turmoil; defences were shattered; Griddas ran and could not escape; the last shards of the eye-towers were annihilated. Nothing could slow the storm-whirls down. A group of infant Griddas, urged on by their pack-leader, flew to confront them, and were swallowed like scraps.

  As the storm-whirls approached the heart of Thûn, the disarrayed Griddas broke off their attacks on Rachel and Yemi. Where it was possible, they fled to tunnels.

  A single immense storm-whirl was the first to reach Yemi. As it neared him it slowed down. Its winds calmed. Yemi put out his arms, and he and Fola were drawn inside. Once they saw he was safe, the remaining storm-whirls took up new positions to hunt down any Griddas they could find. Yemi, without a word, drew their attention to him. He shook his head, no.

  The storm-whirls stopped.

  Yemi’s concerned gaze took in everything. He understood the danger. He knew that in his damaged condition, with thousands of Griddas still wanting to kill him, he could not risk staying. But that meant leaving all his friends behind. Tearfully he glanced over them: the majestic storm-whirls, the timid rodents, the magicless insects, the slime mosses no one else cared about at all. He thought of Jarius, and wondered what more he might have done for her. On the ground, his loyal and bloodied huraks raised their muzzles. Wreathed in frost, they bayed at him, over and over.

  Wanting to let him know she was not badly harmed, Rachel lifted a hand. He smiled, waved to her. Fola took her brother’s other hand. She raised it for them all to see. A silence followed as every creature knew what would happen next.

  With a long sob, Yemi pressed his face against Fola’s dress. His storm-whirl ascended, thrusting beyond the outer rust-tinted clouds. At the edge of space it could go no further. It waited. Yemi blinked at the darkness beyond Ool. The anti-shifting spell of Gultrathaca still lay on him. He did not know how to conquer it yet, but he would soon. Until then he could fly. No one understood how fast Yemi could fly. Even he did not fully understand. Holding Fola’s hand, he pushed out into the coldness of stars.

  For a while everyone watched the mighty storm-whirl as it returned to the ground. Then the Essa, who had kept Serpantha safe, asked Rachel to take him while they tended to their own battered companions.

  ‘Is there still hope for us? For Detaclyver?’ they questioned timidly.

  ‘Yes. While Yemi’s alive, there will always be hope,’ Rachel said.

  She turned to look out over the world. In the aftermath of the battle, Thûn lay desolate. The last standing eye-tower, Heebra’s, had been atomized by the storm-whirls. Uncanny winds stirred the skies. So much snow had been lifted into the air by the passage of the storm-whirls that clouds of Essa wheeled in great aimless swarms, having difficulty finding their way back over the Prag Sea. On the surface, huraks roamed in small groups; they pawed the snow longingly. The storm-whirl that had transported Yemi to the refuge of space turned solemnly on one spot, not wishing to leave.

  Griddas were scattered everywhere. Still stunned by the impact of the storm-whirls, they flew raggedly about the sky or wandered in a daze amongst the snows, searching for missing pack-members.

  Gazing at them, Rachel sensed something was wrong. She sent her information spells beyond Thûn, to the cities of Gaffilex and Tamretis. ‘They’ve left,’ she said. ‘All the Griddas have gone. That feeling I had earlier … the Griddas here are the only ones still on Ool.’ Eric? She trembled, searching for his scent, not a magical one, but his real human scent, or the tell-tale rhythm of his heart. They were missing. Without her needing to ask them, Rachel’s information spells sought with all their skilful brilliance for any trace of the magical signals of the prapsies. Nothing. They tried to disguise this knowledge from Rachel, but she knew them too well. Tears poured down her face, wetting the Essa.

  ‘Where…where have the Griddas gone?’ she murmured.

  ‘Your world,’ the Essa said, catching the tears. ‘We think so. A few Essa heard in the tunnels. The Griddas spoke of it.’

  Rachel stared at the sky. ‘I’ve got to get back home,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to warn them what’s coming.’

  ‘We will accompany you,’ the Essa said. ‘Detaclyver has asked us, and we wish it even if he did not. We are resolute.’

  ‘No,’ Rachel said. ‘You’ve done enough already. I –’

  ‘It is not enough! Not enough!’ The Essa’s voices were fierce. ‘Take us!’ They dug themselves into her clothes, and feeling their conviction Rachel did not argue.

  The Griddas had begun to reconvene their packs. Rachel wasted no more time. She flew with the Essa into the clouds. But before she left her breath caught in her throat, for a beautiful thing was taking place in the south: the storm-whirls were on the move. Travelling at great speed Rachel saw the first ones reach the Detaclyver and wander in half-crazed joy across its body.

  Whatever happens, Rachel realized, Ool will never be the same again. She turned away, tears of happiness mingled with sorrow in her eyes and heart.

  ‘Oh Eric,’ she whispered. ‘Where are you?’

  21

  Departure

  With Eric indicating the way, Gultrathaca led the main army towards Orin Fen. It was the largest force of Griddas ever assembled. Gultrathaca could not see the extent of it: wave after wave, pack upon pack, millions of Griddas making their way across the permanent nightfall of space.

  Only a limited number of Griddas could shift, so Gultrathaca had to be content with the lesser speed of flight spells. But the pace was not too slow, because the weakest flyers who could not keep up were left behind. There were Griddas who lost their minds amid the maze of stars. These were also abandoned. Such minor losses meant nothing given the size of the army.

  And it showed all the packs there was no going back to Ool – no slinking back to the comfort of tunnels.

  There was constant friction between the younger and older Griddas. As soon as they became familiar with the peculiarities of space, the infants again started flouting the authority of the pack-leaders. They were loud, excitable, full of aggression. Gultrathaca tolerated such indiscipline, knowing that she would need all their energy to have any chance of defeating the Wizards. The pack-leaders kept a rough order. Often it was the adult Griddas who needed most support. Many had never learned to enjoy flight. And the flight demanded of them now was without respite, into emptiness.

  One Gridda, however, seemed calm enough: a guest who had invited herself – Jarius. At first Gultrathaca had refused her last-minute request, but just before they set off she changed her mind. There was no more unforgivable crime amongst Griddas than to turn against your own pack-members. Gultrathaca wanted Jarius in the first line of assault troops. If she refused to fight, or fought ineffectually, her pack-sisters would kill her. It was fitting. Gultrathaca noticed that Jarius did not seem concerned for her own welfare. She paid no attention t
o the nearest Griddas, even when they bit her. She appeared more concerned about someone else: her eyes were always on Eric.

  Eric! The enigmatic Eric!

  What, Gultrathaca wondered, was she to make of him? He showed the way to Orin Fen without complaint, yet he gave her as little information as possible. On the journey she kept up the lie about the Gridda prison world, and Eric seemed satisfied, but he asked no more questions about it. Perhaps he did not really believe her. Gultrathaca was troubled about that, though she had little enough time to worry about it. Keeping the army on the move required all of her effort. There were no rests, no rocky places to hide in. The Griddas fed on the move. By threatening and coaxing the pack-leaders somehow kept them in motion between the constellations.

  Finally, Eric said, ‘We’re getting close.’

  ‘How much further?’ Gultrathaca asked.

  He looked up at her. ‘You can’t tell yet?’

  ‘No. I do not have your gifts, Eric.’

  His gaze held her for a moment; then he turned back to the prapsies, resuming his customary silence.

  Gultrathaca passed the new information to the pack-leaders. Her heart pounded as she thought about the great train of events she had started. What opposition would they find on the Wizards’ world? Larpskendya was awesomely powerful, and there were others of similar strength, such as Serpantha. It was remarkable how that Wizard had held out for so long against her; no Gridda could have done it.

  How many more like Serpantha would there be on Orin Fen?

  Yet there was no choice other than to go on. Nothing less than a quest of this greatness would keep the fragmenting Gridda packs together. And there was a personal reason, too. Jarius was right about her; Gultrathaca felt born for this time. All her instincts drove her towards blood and the clarity of battle.

  But everything, everything depended on Eric.

  How best to make him comfortable? Gultrathaca encircled him in her arms, in the same odd way she had seen Fola encircle Yemi. She let him rest. He did not seem to want to talk at all, so she rarely spoke, either. She could not properly imitate the parent-figures of Earth, but occasionally she whispered nonsense into Eric’s ear in that private way she had seen Fola do with Yemi.