Fury of the Seventh Son (Book 13) (27 page)

“What about you, Alice? You have power.”

She shook her head. “What I have belongs to Lukrasta. He'll need most of my strength if we're to fight Talkus and the Kobalos, so I've offered it to him. He'll know how best to use it.”

Anger surged through me at the way Alice was completely in thrall to him. I preferred Grimalkin's stance on Talkus. We had removed the Fiend—that had been our most urgent task. Now we would find a way to deal with Talkus and the Kobalos. And as for Lukrasta, why did we need him? I would deal with the mage, and then Alice would help us with her magic.

“Where is Lukrasta now?” I demanded.

“He's in the tower.” She gestured toward it. “He's waiting to talk to you. Once the Fiend was destroyed, he brought the rock here so that you could meet. But you've made him angry, Tom—I know it. He's got a terrible temper, and he's dangerous when he's angry. So don't go. Climb back onto that big stone and I'll send it back to the County.”

“I'll do that, Alice, if you'll come with me.”

She stared at me for a moment, and I saw something flicker in her eyes. This was my last chance to win her from the dark. I held my breath. But then her expression changed, and I knew that I had lost.

“Ain't coming back with you, Tom. Not now. Not ever. I belong here with Lukrasta. He needs my strength. There's nothing for me in the County. I feel different. I feel cold, and I don't care about people anymore—not even you.”

“I don't believe that, Alice.”

I listened to words tumble from my mouth, but I didn't really believe what I had just said. I felt only pain, and I was desperate, clutching at straws.

“Think what you like. You ain't me. How can you know how I feel inside?”

“Well, even if you do feel that now, you can change. We all change—all the time. Don't you remember saying that to me? With help, you can change back to what you once were. Surely that isn't impossible? I can help you to do that, Alice. Please, let me help you.”

“No, Tom. Climb back onto that rock and I'll send you back.”

I shook my head and set off toward the tower. Alice stepped into my path, trying to stop me. Our shoulders collided with some force, and she went spinning down onto her knees.

“No, Tom! No! Come back! Come back!” she cried.

But I just carried on walking.

Lukrasta wanted to talk to me, did he? And he was easily roused to anger. Well, I would make him very angry, and then I would kill him.

I was tired of being walked over. I was going to make him pay for what he had done. I wanted revenge, and I was determined to achieve it.

Only one of us would leave that tower.

CHAPTER XXXI

T
HE
T
OWER OF
T
IME

T
HE nearer I got, the more certain I was that this tower was identical to the one in Cymru, where the boggart had killed the witches. It was very high, square, and constructed from gray stone blocks.

There was the same long narrow flight of steps leading up to the big iron door; the same arrow slits in the walls; the same high balcony where Lukrasta had stood with Alice, his arm round her shoulders. He had hurled something against me there, some form of dark magic. Would he do so again? This time I did not have the boggart with me. I wondered if it had survived the battle on the Wardstone and returned to Chipenden. . . .

But I had something else to aid me. I now carried the starblade; I hoped I would no longer be vulnerable to his magic.

But I guessed Lukrasta would not want to attack me from afar. He would prefer to look me in the eye as he killed me. Perhaps he wanted me to die in pain. What sort of a man was he? Power changed people; in time it might corrupt those who had started out with the very best of intentions. How might it affect an ambitious mage who had successfully completed the
Doomdryte
ritual?

By now he was probably more god than a man; an amoral god who considered the rights and desires of human beings unimportant. Lukrasta had lived a very long time—at least a thousand years, maybe longer. . . . He might have evolved into something terrible.

I was soon approaching the tower, and I began the long climb to the top of the steps. The stones were slippery with ice, and I had to be cautious. At one point I paused and glanced back at the surrounding land. It was mostly flat, unlike the mountainous region in Cymru. But the most alien feature was the sun. It still sat on the horizon, large, orange, and bloated, and seemed to be in the same position as when I'd arrived. Was it early morning or late evening? I wondered. It had moved neither upward nor downward . . . but had perhaps shifted along a little? Was this another domain within the dark? Or maybe, on this occasion, the Wardstone had carried me through time.

I continued my careful ascent to the iron door. Last time I had hammered upon it with the hilt of my sword until the witches had opened it. I saw that it was now ajar. Slowly it began to move, grating on the stone, opening wide as if pulled by some invisible hand. Of course. Lukrasta wanted to trap me inside his tower so that he could put an end to me at his leisure.

I stepped inside; immediately the door slammed shut behind me. I didn't bother to try it—I knew that it would now be locked.

Before taking another step, I looked about me. Although the outside of the tower resembled the one in Cymru, the inside was very different.

I found myself in a small circular room with a single wooden door leading from it. This door had a silver handle and, at head height, a strange symbol, also of silver, shaped a little like a horseshoe. I recognized it.

It was omega, a letter from the Greek alphabet.

Ω

My mam had taught me Latin and Greek, which had come in useful when learning my trade as a spook. When we bound a boggart, we carved on the stone the Greek letter beta. But the letter on the door was one we never used. Omega was the last letter in the Greek alphabet.

Why was it carved here? I wondered. Could it possibly mean . . . the end of something?

I was nervous about what I would find on the other side of that mysterious omega door, but to find Lukrasta I had to go forward. Glancing back, I now realized that I couldn't retrace my steps even if I'd wanted to. The metal door behind me had vanished.

I had no choice but to advance farther into the tower. It was an early demonstration of the powerful dark magic that Lukrasta had at his disposal. He was deciding and controlling my movements.

I grasped the handle firmly, twisted it, and pushed. The door opened without resistance. Beyond was only darkness. I couldn't see a thing.

Apart from the sword that Grimalkin had given to me and my silver chain, I had no weapons; I'd lost my staff on the battlefield.

But I did have two things that might help me—the small tinderbox that my dad had given me, and the candle stub I always carried in my breeches pocket.

It was the work of moments to light the candle. With that held high in my right hand, and with my left hand on the hilt of my sword, I brought a yellow glow to that dark place.

To my surprise, I found myself in what appeared to be the kitchen at the Spook's Chipenden house. But it was greatly changed. There were cobwebs everywhere; a thick coating of dust and grime lay on the floor and on the table and chairs. Disturbed by the flickering light of the candle and the soft tread of my boots, a rat scampered away into a gloomy corner.

I looked about me. The fire was cold in the grate, and the glass of one of the windows was cracked. The house looked as if it had been abandoned for many years. It was as if there were no more spooks to carry on the work of fighting the dark.

The Wardstone could travel through time . . . but were we back in the past or in the future? Perhaps I was correct about the meaning of omega. Was I being shown the end of something?

I reflected that in the domain of a powerful mage I could not truly trust my eyes. Dark magic could create powerful illusions—not least the spell dread. I recalled how the demon's house in Todmorden had changed at nightfall from a warm, comfortable abode into a ruin.

I could trust nothing here. Of course I was not really in the Spook's house. Although it
seemed
real, this was an illusion created by the magic of Lukrasta. I turned to leave, but again, the door I'd entered by had vanished. I felt a surge of anger. He was playing games with me, feeding me untruths. I was trapped within his illusory world.

I wondered about the starblade. Grimalkin had said that it would protect me against dark magic that was intended to harm me. But right now I wasn't actually being harmed, just shown what the mage wished me to see.

What now? How long would I have to wander through this maze before Lukrasta finally confronted me?

I had a sudden hunch that I should go upstairs. Was it my instinct, telling me the right thing to do? Or was it Mam's latest gift, showing me where to find Lukrasta? If this was indeed the case, there was no flash of light inside my head to confirm it.

Of course, it might simply be more of Lukrasta's magic. I began to climb the stairs anyway.

As I headed for my bedroom, the candle began to flicker violently in the draft from a broken pane of glass and almost went out. I shielded it with my cupped hand. The room was damp; there was mildew on the blankets. The bed hadn't been slept in for a long time.

Only one thing in that room had survived the fire—that wall where each of the Spook's apprentices had scrawled his name. I stared at it. Something was different. I could see my own name, almost lost among the others. But another name had been added to the original thirty.

Jenny

But Jenny was surely a girl's name. How could a girl be the apprentice to a spook? What madness was this? What game was Lukrasta playing?

Angrily, I turned to leave the bedroom, and descended the stairs. I went through the kitchen again and out through the back door. But this was more trickery. Instead of the Spook's garden, I found myself in a wood, and darkness had suddenly changed to daylight. Not that there was much of it left. The sun had set, and light was rapidly being leached from the sky.

I was being controlled by Lukrasta.

He was showing me what he wished me to see.

Soon, I resolved, there would be a reckoning.

CHAPTER XXXII

D
RAW
Y
OUR
S
WORD

T
HERE was still enough light to make out the shapes of buildings through the trees ahead. A light breeze was blowing toward me, and it carried an unpleasant smell—something fetid and unclean—in the air.

I emerged from the wood to find myself on the edge of a ruined village. The roofs had collapsed; some of the houses were just heaps of rubble, and blackened beams lay everywhere.

This sight reminded me of the aftermath of the war that had swept through the County. The same enemy patrol that had burned down the Spook's house had attacked the village. They'd killed, burned, and looted. But the devastation here looked much worse.

It was then that I came upon the first of the dead bodies. It was that of a man; he had clearly been dead for a number of days, and decomposition was well under way. I soon saw others. Some were children; all were male. Had the women escaped? I wondered.

The next person I found lying in the rubble was still alive, though badly injured. He was lying on his back, with a heavy stone lintel lying across his left leg. His trousers were soaked with blood—the leg was badly crushed. To give him any hope of life, it should have been amputated, but it was now too late for that. The leg was already gangrenous. I could smell it from ten paces. The poison would already have spread through his body.

He groaned, opened his eyes, and stared at me.

I suddenly recognized him: It was the village blacksmith.

With a shock, I realized that the ruined village was indeed Chipenden.

But this couldn't be real. It was just a magical illusion, surely?