So I set off upstream toward the sound. I came to a wide, grassy clearing that edged the river, where I saw an astonishing sight. It was full of hundreds of animals—mostly rabbits and hares, but there were a few foxes and a couple of badgers, all staring toward the source of the music, their eyes wide and unblinking, as if they’d been hypnotized. Additionally, the trees were full of birds of all types.
A young boy was sitting on a rock playing a pipe. It appeared to be made from a simple reed, but the music he made was exquisite. His hair was long, his face very pale, and he was clothed in a garment that seemed to be fashioned out of leaves and grass. The face was fully human, but for his ears, which were elongated and a little pointy. His feet were bare, and his toenails were so long that each curled up into a spiral.
From my reading of the Spook’s Bestiary, I knew that this must be Pan. He sometimes took the form of a boy; this was his least threatening shape. In this form the god was sometimes considered benign, the life force of nature itself.
The boy looked up at me and stopped playing. Immediately the creatures of the forest fled, the spell of the music broken. In a few seconds there were only the two of us left.
“Where am I?” I asked. I felt very calm and not in the least afraid.
“Does it matter where you are?” the boy said. He smiled pleasantly, but his next words filled me with sudden terror. “I’ve brought you to the region where I dwell. This is what you call the dark, the place you fear the most!”
CHAPTER XIII
A PACT
I looked up at the trees, which still shimmered with silver light. Could this really be the dark? I wondered. It certainly wasn’t what I’d anticipated.
But Pan was right. This had been my biggest fear of all—to be dragged off to the dark after my death. But I had expected the Fiend to do that.
“I didn’t expect the dark to be like this,” I said, my voice hardly more than a whisper.
“That’s because it isn’t the dark,” Pan replied sweetly.
“But you just said it was…”
“Listen to me carefully, boy. I said it’s a place that you call the dark. In truth, this is a shadow world that lies between limbo and the dark itself. It is a resting place. To me it is the Hollow Hills, but is called Tech Duinn by the people of Ireland—or sometimes the Otherworld. Their gods like this place, as do their dead heroes. But most humans can’t stay here for long—their memories bleed away into the silver light, and they are lost forever. Only heroes can endure. But you needn’t fear that now, because only your soul is here. Your body is back on the platform with that reeking animal.”
“The Morrigan? Is she here too?” I asked, glancing nervously up into the trees.
“She comes here on occasion, but not just now.”
“Am I dead?” I wanted to know.
“Not yet,” Pan replied, “but if you stay too long, you certainly will be. Your body is barely breathing. You need to get back as quickly as possible, so let’s not waste any time. I brought you here so that we could talk. It took all my strength; I keep being drawn back into the body of the goat, and it’s getting harder to resist the mages’ dark magic. Being in your world drives me insane—then I infect others with that same madness.”
“What do you want to talk about?” I asked. Was he actually going to return me to the world again?
“I need you to do something for me. In return, you get to keep your sanity.”
I nodded cautiously. What could one of the Old Gods want of me? What could I do that he couldn’t manage himself?
“All you have to do is release the hooves of the goat from the silver chains that bind them.”
“How can I do that? My hands are tied,” I reminded him.
“You’ll think of something, I’m certain of that,” Pan said with a smile. “Then, once you have freed me, I will do the rest.”
“The rest? What will you do then?”
“I will leave the goat’s body and escape the control of the mages. To be summoned in that way is abhorrent to me.”
“I thought the Old Gods wanted to be worshipped….” I said.
“The mages don’t truly worship me, not respectfully; they just use me to their own advantage. Employing those arcane rituals, they force me into the body of the goat and draw forth my power bit by bit. It weakens me and strengthens them.”
“Have they gained power already?” I asked.
“Some—their dark magic will be strong for a while,” he told me.
“I’ll do my best,” I agreed. “But there’s something else that I’d like from you….”
Pan raised his eyebrows.
“I have a friend called Alice, who was brought alive into the dark. Could you find her for me and release her, too?”
“Who brought her here?”
“The Fiend,” I replied.
“Then it’s hopeless,” said the god. “In the dark there are many different domains. I have one there, too. Each being has his own domain, which is generated by his power. The Fiend is a law unto himself and owns the largest domain of all. It is a terrible place for a mortal to be, living or dead. If I could, I would help. But I am powerless. We must go back now. I’m not strong enough to keep us both here for much longer.”
I nodded, and Pan began to play his pipe again. All around us there was a rustling and a beating of wings as the creatures entered the clearing, summoned by his compelling music.
Suddenly the sound of pipes ceased; everything began to fade, and my sight darkened once more.
I found myself lying on the platform. I struggled up into a sitting position and looked down onto the marketplace to be sure that no one was watching. I stared at the goat. It gave a bleat, so I turned my back on it and thrust my hands toward its mouth. I had thought of a way to release my bonds.
The goat sniffed at the rope and then began to chew with relish. Once or twice it nipped my skin and I flinched away, but it took the animal only a few minutes to release me.
I rubbed my hands to restore the circulation. Then I turned my attention to the problem of freeing the goat. The silver chains that tethered it were designed to hold captive a being from the dark as well as an earthly animal. There was no way that I could force the links apart with my bare hands. In my possession was the special key that could open most locks. Never knowing when I might need it again, I decided that, although it might just be possible to use it to break a link, it wasn’t worth damaging the key unless I had to.
I turned my attention to the fastenings that secured the chains to the wooden boards. The moon was bright, and I was able to see the situation clearly. The wood itself was new and strong, and there was no way I could pull the chains free. But then I saw that they were attached to two small iron rings, which were fastened to the wood by screws. Could I undo them? The mages had evidently never imagined that anyone would try. Maybe they hadn’t tightened them very hard?
I thought for a moment before searching in my pocket again and finding a coin. I inserted the edge into the head of the screw and turned. It wouldn’t budge. I pressed down as hard as I could; finally it began to move. Soon I was removing the screw with just my fingers.
The second screw proved much more difficult. I almost despaired of moving it, and the groove in the head started to shear away, but at last the screw turned. Eventually the iron ring came away from the boards, and the goat was free.
The creature looked at me and bleated once. It seemed to tense its body; then, to my astonishment, it leaped off the platform.
I watched, horrified, as the goat plunged toward the ground and hit the cobbles with a dull thump. It didn’t cry out on impact, but its legs twitched a few times and a puddle of blood began to form beneath it. The crown fell off its head and rolled away across the marketplace. Now I realized that it was through the goat’s death that Pan had intended to free himself.
The god didn’t leave our world quietly. A howling gale sprang up from nowhere, which blew out all the windows facing
the marketplace and hurled down tiles from the roofs to smash on the cobbles. Doors blew off their hinges, and shouts rent the night air.
Fearing that it might topple over at any moment, I began to climb down from the platform, my feet seeking out the struts of the wooden shaft. I needn’t have worried—the wind was directed at the mages, who’d taken rooms facing the market; the tower, right in the calm eye of the storm, barely moved.
Moonlight lit up the whole area, giving me no place to hide, and by the time I reached the ground I could see mages heading toward the wooden structure. One gave a cry of anguish as he reached the body of the goat. I started sprinting down the triangle toward the street at the bottom, but someone holding a long-bladed, curved knife blocked my path. I swerved around him and headed for the river, which lay like a silver ribbon in the distance. There were trees beyond it; dark, shadowy areas. Once across the bridge, I’d have a good chance of escaping.
I glanced back and saw that I was being followed. I tried to hurry, but my body didn’t respond, still weak after spending long days and nights on the platform, exposed to the elements and eating little. When I looked back again, my pursuers were catching up fast. But I was approaching the bridge now. There was still just a slim chance that I could cross it and escape into the trees.
That hope was short-lived. I heard the sound of galloping hooves and knew that I was just moments from recapture or death. The first rider came at me from the right. I saw the glint of a sword in the moonlight, and ducked to my left as it swept down toward my head. Whether the blow was intended to kill me or the rider had just been using the flat of his sword, I couldn’t tell, but other horsemen quickly surrounded me, pointing their weapons at me, waiting until the runners caught up.
Moments later, rough hands seized me, and I was dragged back up the slope toward the marketplace. Magister Doolan was waiting beside the tower, grim faced.
“You have a lot to answer for, boy!” he said, cuffing me twice about the head, making my ears sing. “I’d love to slice you up slowly myself, but I’ll give you to the witch. She’ll know best how to make you suffer.”
With that, my hands and feet were tied and I was thrown over the back of a horse. All around me I heard a bustle as the mages and their followers prepared to leave Killorglin. Soon we were off, heading south in a long convoy. No doubt the mages feared that the Alliance would take this opportunity to attack, and we hurried along so quickly that those on foot had to jog to keep up with the horses.
I’d had a brief taste of freedom. Now it seemed that we were bound for the refuge of the mages, the Staigue ring fort. According to Shey, its defenses were impregnable. Once inside, I’d be as good as dead. They’d hand me over to the witch.
Despite everything, I allowed myself the small satisfaction of reflecting that the mages had been forced to abandon their ceremony. It had failed, and I had been the one to stop it.
CHAPTER XIV
THE HEAD OF THE WITCH
BY dawn we were deep in the southern hills. It was now raining hard, and I was soaked to the skin. I hung facedown against the horse’s flank, bouncing up and down uncomfortably, so my main view was of the boggy ground.
My first glimpse of the Staigue fort came when I was dragged off the horse and my feet were freed. I looked up at what appeared to be a gigantic drystone wall towering over us, the stones skillfully positioned one upon the other without the use of mud or mortar to bind them together. Ring fort was a good name for it, because that’s exactly what it was—a huge defensive circle of stones. Everyone was dismounting, and I soon found out why. The fort could only be entered by a very narrow gate, which was far too small for a horse.
Once through that gap in the wall, I got my first sight of the inside of the mages’ fortification. It had no roof, but the walls were very high, with nine separate flights of stone steps leading up to ramparts from which attackers could be repelled. The ground within it was churned to soft mud, but dotted about were a number of timber buildings. The stone fort was clearly very old, but these wooden constructions looked relatively recent. Some appeared to be dwellings, but the central one, which was round in shape, probably had a different purpose; it was toward this building that I was dragged.
We didn’t enter right away. I was forced to sit down in the mud and surrounded by four guards armed with swords. While we waited, the narrow gap through which we’d entered the fort was sealed with stones. The job was done so expertly that there was no sign at all of where the entrance had been. I assumed that someone had remained outside to take the horses away to shelter.
At last I was hauled to my feet, and the Butcher led the way into the large building. Inside stood a circular, elevated dais. It was stained and polished, and marked upon its surface was a large pentacle of the type mages used to summon a demon or other supernatural entity. A number of chairs and a table were set out at the center. Around the dais, the floor was mud, and there must have been at least nine armed guards standing up to their ankles in it. Upon the dais stood seven barefoot mages, and near its edge was Thin Shaun. He was cradling his son, Konal, who was still wrapped in a blanket. Thin Shaun’s hood was pulled forward, his head bowed and in shadow.
Doolan approached the edge of the wooden structure to address him. “Where is Scarabek?” he snapped.
“I failed—despite my best efforts she is still a prisoner. But her enemy is prepared to exchange her for the boy. I advise you to let him go.” Thin Shaun nodded at me. “Then you’ll have Scarabek to sacrifice next time we attempt the ritual.”
“Who is this enemy?” demanded the chief mage angrily.
Thin Shaun lifted his head, and with his left hand pulled back his hood so that his face was visible. Even before he spoke, I knew the identity of the enemy who had bested him. Her sign was carved into his forehead, and it was still weeping blood.
“Her name is Grimalkin—she’s an assassin and has come from a powerful witch clan over the water. Never have I encountered someone with such skill. All my strength and magic proved useless against her. I was completely at her mercy,” Thin Shaun admitted.
Suddenly I was filled with new hope. Grimalkin was here.
“Is she alone,” demanded Doolan, “or supported by other clan members?”
“She is alone.”
“Then she can be dealt with.”
Thin Shaun looked away.
“Although we failed to raise the god, the attempt did bear some fruit.” The Butcher’s voice was full with confidence. “It has made our magic stronger. She is only one; if we fill a mage with our combined strength, just one of our number will be enough to kill her. I will be her executioner!”
Doolan bowed his head and started to mutter to himself. The words he spoke were in the Old Tongue—he was using dark magic. As he did so, the seven other mages knelt in a huddle at the edge of the dais and chanted for a minute or so before suddenly falling silent.
Then they moved close to Doolan and stretched out their arms, laying their hands on his head, shoulders, upper back, and chest. They began to chant again, and in response, the man they called the Butcher closed his eyes and began to shudder.
I remembered how they had performed a similar ritual with the gunners at the siege of Ballycarbery Castle. Before the mages had invested them with power, they had been ineffectual; afterward, they had become devastatingly accurate and had breached the castle wall. Doolan was formidable already. How much more dangerous would he become? Could he pose a real threat to Grimalkin?
At last the mages fell silent and withdrew their hands. “I go now!” the Butcher told them, showing his teeth. “I’ll bring back the head of our enemy!”
He left the hall, and I was dragged out after him. I wondered how he was going to get out of the fort. Surely they wouldn’t have to remove the stones that now blocked the entrance? The mage headed for the nearest set of steps that led up to the ramparts at the top of the wall. Beside them stood an iron pillar. Fastened to it and coiled beneath it was a long le
ngth of strong rope. The Butcher seized the end and dragged the rope after him as he ascended. I watched him throw it down outside the wall. Then he clambered across the top and disappeared from view. He was climbing down the rope to reach the ground.
After a few moments he gave a shout, and one of the guards ran to the pillar and began to haul on the rope. The end appeared over the wall and slithered down the steps like a snake. At that point, I was forced to squat in the wet mud again. Then we waited.
We waited all day; nothing happened. They changed my guard twice. I was wet through again, shivering from the cold and damp, and close to starvation.
Then, at dusk, I heard a distant cry. It sounded like something in great pain.
One of the guards spat in the mud. “Just an animal,” he said. However, my experience as an apprentice spook told me that it was more likely to be human.
From time to time a mage climbed the ramparts and peered out into the night. By now, even allowing for the elevation of the land, the moon should have been visible to the east. But the thick clouds promised more rain, and the night grew darker. Lanterns were hung from hooks on the wall, but for some reason the light they cast was weak, as if the darkness itself was viscous and thick. I could hear the voices of the mages, but they were muffled and indistinct.
Then a voice called loudly and clearly from beyond the wall. “Lower the rope!”
I recognized that deep, gruff voice. It was the Butcher. Had he been successful? I wondered.
A guard threw down the end of the rope, and moments later Doolan was standing on the ramparts; the soldier held a lantern close to his face. Doolan led the way down the steps again. When he reached the mud at the bottom and approached the first wall lantern, I realized that he was carrying something in his left hand. By now Thin Shaun had emerged from the round hut, half a dozen mages following close behind.
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