Crowned (38 page)

“I can handle the boy. Have you told her you won’t be joining in the fun?”

She doesn’t answer him, and that silence frightens me more than anything I’ve experienced so far. I know it’s up to me and Rakwena to stop the Puppetmaster, but I was counting on the Ultima’s energy. She’ll help us. She has to. Her voice turns inward.

I’m not a gun for hire, Conyza. My duty is to maintain the energy balance. I have my limits, too.

She’s got to be kidding me. After all this, after I gave her full control, she’s going to leave me in the lurch?

You are missing the point. John imagines me to be more powerful than I am. I am merely an instrument. He can’t use me…but he can use you.

There’s a buzzing in my head, and then a bright light behind my eyes. I see them with my gift and her eyes – nine pulsing points in my head and a spiral of energy connecting them, then nine lines leading into the bright light in the centre. It takes me a moment to understand what this is. Markers. Not of rock, but of thought, buried deep in my subconscious. Son of a bitch. He planted markers in my head! When? Why? If he wanted to strip my gift he could have included me in his real Loosening… No, that’s not what this is about. This is about the Ultima.

I glance at Rakwena. It’s clear now. The Puppetmaster set up a Loosening in my mind not so he could strip my gift, but so he could strip the Ultima from my body and store her power inside Rakwena. Thanks to our connection she’ll still be able to work through me, but because she will be stored in a vessel she didn’t choose, she won’t be able to leave. She’ll be trapped as long as Rakwena lives, and if the Puppetmaster has his way, that could be for ever. He did it. He found a way to bind her and have his precious kingdom.

How can she leave now, knowing what’s about to happen? It’s not just our lives at risk. Her very existence is at stake. If the Puppetmaster wins, that’s the end of all three of us. Has she no sense of self-preservation?

Even if I wanted to intervene, I couldn’t.

That just makes me angrier.
So you don’t want to intervene?

I don’t
want
anything. Desire is a biological attribute. Outside of a vessel I have no identity, and no goals.

Her words sound like nonsense right now, and I’m too upset to pay attention.
But he’ll trap you!

Yes. It will be unfortunate for everyone if he does, but I have no power to stop him now that my mission is complete. I’m sorry.

Rakwena inches closer to me. “What’s going on?”

“He planted markers in my head.” My voice is an anguished whisper. “A Loosening. That’s how he plans to make this work. He strips me of the Ultima and stores her in you.”

He stares at me in horror. “How could he have put markers in your head without you knowing?”

“Good question.” I glare at the Puppetmaster.

He laughs. “As clever as you are, my dearest one, you didn’t see it coming. Not even after I gave you a clue. Three is the magic number. Remember?”

Oh, no. I do remember. “It was the meetings. That was why you wanted three meetings – during each one you planted three markers.”

“It was the most I could do in one sitting without you realising something was wrong,” he explains. “It was a challenge. You’re sharp. I couldn’t plant the usual way – even if you didn’t sense it, your anklet would get in the way. I had to disguise the markers very carefully. They had to be thoughts that wouldn’t seem out of place in your head.”

My throat is dry. I can’t believe it. Ntatemogolo was right. The Puppetmaster did something to me, after all. “You used words. You hid the spell within the words, then planted the words during our telepathic conversations.”

“Nine ordinary words,” he says, nodding. “Three words per meeting, each word spoken three times to bury it deep beneath the surface, where you’d never think to look. Even if you did look, all you would find was words. I had to plan everything I said to you. My responses were calculated to make sure I used the words the right number of times. During the first meeting the words were gift, meeting and three.” He smiles. “The magic number. During the second meeting the words were time, stories and Definitive. The last three words were rule, purpose and Loosening. Fitting, don’t you think?”

There are no words for what I’m feeling right now. He fooled me again. Despite my certainty, my growing gift, the help of the Ultima and my anklet, he got the best of me. Why didn’t I listen to my grandfather? Why did I go to those stupid meetings? For a moment panic threatens to overwhelm me.

Then I remember how far I’ve come. From the day I met John I knew this day would arrive. Long before there was an Ultima, in the days when my gift was new and I was still learning to wield it, I took him on. I didn’t win. I knew I’d have to fight him again and the only help I’d have would come from Rakwena. We’ve been working towards this day, and we are both the strongest we’ve ever been. It was always going to come down to the two of us against him.

Of course John fooled me – that’s what he does. Even if I hadn’t come to the meetings he would have found a way. He has been planning this longer than my grandfather has been alive. I didn’t fall into his trap because I’m an idiot. I fell into it because he pushed me. He pushed me and Rakwena, and now he thinks he has us cornered. He doesn’t.

We can do this. We have to. The Ultima came here to undo the Loosening and then go back to wherever she came from. This is not her fight. It’s mine, and I think deep down I always knew that. I take a deep breath. I’m not a rookie any more. I’m a master, and I’m finally ready to slay my dragon. I turn to Rakwena.

Now!

As one we launch our gifts at the Puppetmaster. He is, as always, prepared. I feel him slip into my mind, and my head buzzes as the mini-Loosening starts to take effect. I grit my teeth and keep up my attack, throwing my gift at the Puppetmaster’s barrier. I feel Rakwena’s fingers brush mine and I grab hold of his hand.

The Puppetmaster’s head turns ever so slightly, but that’s the only sign that he’s even aware of Rakwena’s telekinetic attack. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t lean or falter. It’s as though he’s made of rock, and nothing can touch him.

Rakwena’s grip on my hand tightens, and the energy spilling from his hand to mine escalates. He lets out a grunt of pain.

The Puppetmaster smiles. “Don’t worry, you can take it. In a few minutes you’ll be a prince.”

I let part of my consciousness slip away from my attack and slide down to the Puppetmaster’s outstretched hands. I see now that the thing he’s holding isn’t a stack of papers. It’s a sketchbook. Jafta’s sketchbook, the one he said he lost. That’s where the Puppetmaster has been keeping the gifts he stripped – inside Jafta’s drawings! A trail of blue energy runs from the sketchpad to the Puppetmaster’s fingers, then to Rakwena’s head. The Puppetmaster is pumping him full of stolen gifts – or at least the energy that made those gifts possible.

The energy enters Rakwena’s body and flows into mine. It’s one thing to absorb Rakwena’s energy in small doses; absorbing all this is something else entirely. The Ultima is no longer strong enough to help. My veins start to swell and throb. My skin is hot, too hot, as though I’m walking into a fire.

“Let go,” the Puppetmaster commands.

My hand is burning and my head is still buzzing. I hold onto Rakwena for dear life. There’s no way I’m letting go, even if it kills me. I reach into Rakwena’s head. His barrier is lowered, forced aside by the Puppetmaster.

We can’t wait any longer,
I tell him.

His eyes slide in my direction. They’re two blue lamps, like our crystals. His nod is almost imperceptible. His top lip curls in a snarl, he lets out a fierce cry, and the Puppetmaster gasps. His hold on us falters as he glances down at the gash Rakwena has opened up in his chest. It takes ages to bleed, as though his ancient body has forgotten standard procedure.

I throw myself in front of the sketchbook. The energy pours into my head like a needle rammed into my brain. I yelp and drop to my knees, but my diversion worked. Rakwena is now behind the Puppetmaster. The Puppetmaster starts to turn, but I scream into his head and his head snaps back to me. He doesn’t need to be able to see Rakwena to enter his head, which is good for him, but also for us.

Once again his consciousness worms its way into my head, which is still throbbing from the burst of energy from the sketchbook. The buzzing starts again.

Hurry
, says the Ultima.

I keep up my attack, trying to break through the Puppetmaster’s barrier.

Give up, my dear. You can’t win.

I can die trying.

Your death will serve no one. Just give in.

I glance at Rakwena. His features are twisted with anguish, but his gaze is steady. Any minute now. I increase the strength of my attack. The Puppetmaster sighs.

You’re only wasting your energy. You’re –
He frowns. He senses Rakwena’s energy, but feels no pain. I was counting on the possibility that he has long passed the point of noticing something as trivial as a pinprick. His eyes widen, proving me right.

Rakwena must have reached the base of the Puppetmaster’s head. I imagine his gift puncturing the aged, papery skin. The Puppetmaster croaks, stunned, and freezes. His energy snaps back into his head, releasing us. His eyes glaze over. His brain goes fuzzy, his fortress collapses, and I leap into his head.

It’s…incredible. It’s an intricate tapestry of thoughts, each linked to another in a seemingly endless thread. I have never seen so many complex thoughts in one place, each one small and compact, like countless compressed zip files on a full hard drive. Nearly two centuries’ worth of thoughts, plots, schemes, spells and counter-spells, all lying there, beckoning. But there’s no time for a tour.

I have the unlocked version of Ntatemogolo’s spell in my head. Now it’s just a matter of following the same principle I used when unlocking and reforming the spells in the objects he gave me to practise with.

I feel the Puppetmaster stir – my time is almost up. His barrier starts to build up again, pushing me out. Come on, Rakwena! A moment later there’s a burst of blue light somewhere ahead in the maze of thoughts, and I feel a thread of thoughts snap as Rakwena’s gift burns through it. There’s no time to waste. I let the unlocked spell roll out of my head along the bridge of energy connecting my mind to the Puppetmaster’s, and lay it down between two crumbling memories from his glory days.

The barrier starts to push me out again. I call up all my energy, letting it flow out of me, mimicking the pattern I saw in my grandfather’s head, and then thrust the key into the shining ball of thought threads. It’s only one word, one clear, solid thought.
Flood.

I’m ejected, spat out into the cold foyer of the Puppetmaster’s mind. I don’t know if I set the key properly, if my energy was exactly right, but there’s nothing I can do now.

His eyes narrow, and then he laughs.
A memory spell! You think you can beat me with a simple memory spell?

Not just any memory spell. Yours. The one you used on the people you kidnapped.

Oh, Conyza.
His disappointment is palpable.
What a weak attempt. You can’t beat me. I am the master of mind tricks.

Yes, you are. You always have been. I might be the Ultima’s vessel for this age, but
you’re
the true Definitive Gifted Soul.

His eyes narrow further. My head starts to pound. The mini-Loosening is building, and it’s only a matter of time before it begins its wicked work. I study his face, searching for signs that Ntatemogolo’s spell is working, but there’s nothing. The Puppetmaster is as sharp as ever.

Despair overruns me. We failed. Without the Ultima, we weren’t strong enough. I turn my head towards Rakwena. It’s a real effort, pain lancing through my neck with each tiny movement. He turns to me, and I can see by the throbbing in his temple and the set of his jaw that he’s in as much pain, if not more. His eyes burn blue as the accumulated energy floods his body. He stumbles over to me and reaches for my hand. His fingers brush mine, sending agonising jolts through my arm.

I can feel the Puppetmaster’s power growing in my head. It’s getting more and more difficult to control my thoughts. In a few seconds I’ll be too weak to fight him, and then… Well, then there’ll be no more Connie, and no more Rakwena. We’ll be replaced by clones that do what they’re told.

I struggle to grasp Rakwena’s hand, but I’ve lost all control of my body now. Tears run freely down my face, hot and hopeless. I wish I could wrap my arms around him. If we have to die, we should at least get to die in each other’s arms. But all we have are grazing fingertips and locked gazes. Rakwena’s head jerks under the power of the energy surge, and blood starts to leak from his nose.

Stop
, I want to tell John, but my mind can no longer form the words, and I don’t know where my gift has gone.

Dying is painful. But after the pain, when you reach that point where it hurts so much you can’t even feel it any more, there’s something like peace. My eyes close. The last thing I see is Rakwena’s eyes, blinding blue, tears spilling out of them to match mine.

Chapter Sixteen

My eyes open. Something has changed. Am I gone already? Am I the Puppetmaster’s puppet at last? No. I feel like Connie, and I feel his power waning. I turn towards him. I can move my head now! Why? His grip on my mind slips and the thread of consciousness springs back into his head. I crumple to the floor, exhausted.

“Connie!” Rakwena’s gift shoots forward suddenly, holding the Puppetmaster still, but it’s not long before he realises that there is no resistance.

The blue spark fizzles on John’s skin and evaporates. Rakwena sways slightly, then sinks to the ground beside me. We turn our attention to the Puppetmaster. The spell is finally kicking in.