Jack Shian and the Mapa Mundi (10 page)

“I used Gosol to banish Amadan last year. And it worked again with Malevola when she attacked Grandpa,” Jack replied testily, but he had to admit to himself that he didn’t really understand how Gosol worked. He knew it only worked when it
felt
right, and he couldn’t just make that happen whenever he wanted. It was about really
believing
it, but he couldn’t explain it, to himself or to Finbogie.

“I heard you used a sceptre on both occasions,” said Finbogie quietly. “As you’re not yet fourteen you’re not supposed to use one.”

“Would you rather I let Amadan and Malevola win, then?” demanded Jack.

“Of course not,” snapped Finbogie, whose patience was clearly not endless. “But you might not always have access to a sceptre: what will you do then?”

Jack was stumped for an answer. He looked down, avoiding Finbogie’s piercing stare.

“There are dangerous Shian around us, Jack. The Kildashie may be quiet at present, but they pose a very real threat. Some of them are barbarians. And you already know of many other dangerous creatures. You have to learn how to look after yourself.” Finbogie paused, and his tone became easier. “You’re a bright lad, Jack. But don’t think you’ve nothing to learn. That’s the surest way to end up dead.”

Jack’s eyes opened wide at the severity of this comment. He looked at Finbogie, trying to work out how to reply. Finbogie saved him the trouble.

“I’m going to teach you some basic techniques,” said Finbogie. “But you can’t do it without knowing
why
things work. You may think that learning charms and hexes is a waste of time, but one day it could save your life. Now, we’ll start with the Dunters.”

“You mean Red Caps? One threw his cap at Lizzie, and it was all covered in Tamlina’s blood. Then he just vanished.”

“So you don’t know how he got away, then?”

Jack shook his head. Finbogie picked up
Morven’s Book of Defence
again and leafed through until he came to a page about Dunters.

“There,” he said, indicating a paragraph. “How to hex a Red Cap away. If you let him disappear, he can reappear whenever he wants.”

Jack looked at the page. Sure enough, there was a hex that would have got rid of the Dunter up in Keldy.

“Absango.” Jack mouthed the word.

“But you have to twist your right palm at him at the same time,” explained Finbogie. “Just saying the word isn’t enough. You have to show the Dunter what you’re doing.”

Jack felt a mixture of emotions. Finbogie’s lessons had always been a form of torture, but that was because all they’d done was write out charms and try to learn hexes off by heart. This was explaining
why
; suddenly it started to make sense.

They practised the hex, using the wall as an imaginary Dunter. Jack soon learnt how to twist his hand and say the hex word at the right speed, and a small patch of the wall began to smoulder.

“That’s enough for now,” announced Finbogie after a while. “On Monday we’ll continue with self-defence, then we’ll start on how to recognise a shape-shifter. Many Shian have come to grief because they didn’t know what to do with an evil shape-shifter. And Jack,” continued Finbogie, “I wouldn’t tell the other apprentices what you’re doing just yet. I’ll have to make arrangements if they’re all going to learn practical hexes.” He looked with a frown at the side wall, which smouldered slightly. “My house isn’t designed for this.”

Jack felt curiously pleased with himself as he went home. If he was going to learn real-life hexes and charms, maybe this punishment wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

Jack presented himself at Finbogie's house on Monday morning and was shown a series of demonstrations of self-defence. His confidence grew: he learnt how to disarm pucks, how to remain immune to the charms of a glastig and how to cast a hex that would stun any creature with a sword.

Negladius
. He'd liked the sound of that one.

As Jack was led through each charm and hex, he felt his sore hand throb, a reminder of why he was there. It was a curious thing: his hand hurt like anything, and these lessons were a punishment, but he knew he was learning crucial skills. He was even starting to enjoy himself.

That evening, Jack's session with Finbogie moved up a gear.

“I'm going to teach you something that very few apprentices of your age will know,” began Finbogie. “Living among humans all the time, there's nothing to test them – except the humans.”

“You said something about shape-shifters,” said Jack helpfully.

“You do get shape-shifters here. City Shian have adapted – they go for animals the humans expect to see. Dogs and cats mostly, foxes too, and birds are popular, especially blackbirds and ravens. We'll start with learning how creatures shape-shift,” he continued. “What do you know about this?”

Jack thought. “My grandpa told me only some Shian can do this, and only at certain times.”

“That's correct. You've had a good tutor there.” Finbogie paused. “Terrible shame what happened to your grandfather.”

Jack pondered this. It should be his grandfather teaching him now; he was happy to be learning, but he felt a bit guilty.

“This works best at the full moon,” continued Finbogie. “Many shape-shifters transform themselves with a yucca hoop. What you need is yucca fibre, treated with oil and vinegar.”

“You mean it's all wet?”

“Only up to a point. What do the vinegar and the oil do?”

Jack knew that the two didn't mix easily, but what this meant for plant fibres he couldn't imagine.

“The oil gets into the fibres – the vinegar keeps it there,” pointed out Finbogie patiently. “But if they're near other yucca fibres, the oil oozes out. So to know if there's a shape-shifter around, carry a yucca loop.”

“Is that all it is?” It didn't seem very complicated.

“Two other things you need to know,” went on Finbogie. “Firstly, keep an eye out. Many shape-shifters use twelve sticks or knives arranged in a circle. If you ever see that, take care. And feel for the yucca in your pocket.”

“But that doesn't teach me what to do about shape-shifters.”

“In most cases, you get yourself out of there. This jomo bag charm works for most creatures, not just shape-shifters. You'd do well to keep it with you all the time. You must mix some dirt from three different places in the bag.”

Finbogie pulled from his pocket a small red cloth bag.

“How'ds it work?” asked Jack. He had the feeling he'd seen a bag like that in Gilmore's workshop.

“The cloth is charmed,” explained Finbogie. “The three dirts confuse your attacker and allow you to escape.”

“You mean you don't deal with the shape-shifter?” Jack had expected to be taught how to disarm or overpower another creature. Running away didn't seem very brave. For the moment, he'd forgotten how useful the Aximon charm had been in escaping from Konan the previous year.

“Jack, until you're a lot older, you'll find that getting away safely is your best option. What you have to do is throw the mixed dirt at the feet of whoever – or whatever – is attacking you, and shout ‘Asafetid'. But as you're so keen, we'll make a start on tackling certain creatures. Cats are usually easy; so are dogs, unless it's really fierce, then you have to stun it. Have you ever seen a stun hex?”

Jack thought back to his most recent trip to Keldy.

“Malevola used one against my cousin. But she used a sceptre.”

“We're assuming that you won't have a sceptre,” pointed out Finbogie. “What you need is something from the creature that's threatening you. Dogs are likely to be the fiercest, so we'll start with that.”

“I can handle dogs,” stated Jack. “My uncle Doonya taught me how to calm a dog down with a ‘Kynos' hex. But I've never trusted cats. They're revolting.”

“We can cover both. You need to get hold of some strands of different animals' hair and braid them into a wristlet with one strand of silverweed. It's called a devil's shoestring. If you're threatened, put it on. It's like you tie the animal's legs together. Then use your jomo bag and get away.”

It reminded Jack of something and he tried to concentrate. Suddenly his eyes blazed. “So it's like an Aximon, then? You just keep it in your pocket?”

Catching his drift, Finbogie said, “You can get weighed down carrying every charm you might ever need. That's where a Sintura belt comes in. It'll carry all sorts, and you'll not even know you're wearing it.”

Striding over to a cupboard, Finbogie pulled open one of the doors. From a hanger he drew a dull green piece of cloth, which he cradled gently in both hands.

“Doesn't look like much, does it?” he asked with a look of satisfaction.

Jack inspected the cloth. It had several small pouches, and a buckle at one end. Deftly, Finbogie flicked the cloth, spinning one end around his waist. Tying the buckle, Jack was astonished to see the cloth disappear in front of his eyes.

“How'ds it do that?” he asked incredulously.

“I can see that Gilmore hasn't got round to teaching you about this, then,” stated Finbogie. “Well, that's not surprising. They're expensive. The cloth comes from Ireland. But the stitching thread – that's a closely guarded secret. I've heard it's Japanese, or possibly Chinese. But I do know it works.”

“So how can I get one?” Jack was filled with a new respect for Gilmore, guessing correctly that he had made this belt for Finbogie.

“Well, you're working with Gilmore. I imagine that if you show aptitude and keenness, he may agree to make you one. For a fee.”

Jack's heart sank. His lessons with Gilmore hadn't been going so well recently; he couldn't see the tailor doing him any favours. Seeing his disconsolate look, Finbogie went on, “Don't take it so hard. Just remember, if you're dealing with a shape-shifter, you need to get the wristlet – and one with all the common hairs. Animals – and people.”

“You mean I just put the wristlet on?”

“You need to know what you're dealing with and say the right hex. For a cat it would be ‘Felavert'. And remember, the same hex works for animals that are like cats. So use ‘Felavert' for lynx and cougars as well. Any animal with a cleft foot it's ‘Divisungulam.' For a dog it's ‘Abcanidæ'.”

As he drifted off to sleep that night, Jack rehearsed these hex names and thought about the ways in which he would defend himself if the need arose. The one problem he couldn't resolve was how to get hold of a Sintura belt. He was going to need one to keep all the various charms and wristlets he was starting to collect.

Jack had reason to start worrying about how to carry all his self-defence equipment. Over the next week Finbogie taught him several more charms and hexes to detect and ward off a whole host of shape-shifters, from ravens and seagulls to goats and bulls. Finbogie had embraced his new role as personal coach and teacher with an enthusiasm for which he was not famed. Only in these one-to-one sessions did Finbogie find that he could teach effectively, and his regular donations to Jack's collection meant Jack was forced to keep his charms and hexes in a box under his bed.

And more good news: Grandpa Sandy was finally on the mend. He would be fit enough to go home at the weekend, and could be seen taking short strolls in the square, always under Armina's watchful gaze.

Jack's poisoned hand was the only dampener. When he restarted his sessions in Gilmore's workshop, his hand was getting better, but it was still painful, and Jack found he couldn't achieve anything like the results he was trying for. At the back of his mind was the thought that he had to win Gilmore over if he wanted to ask for a Sintura belt. It was an added annoyance that Fenrig, to everyone's surprise, was starting to take his apprenticeship seriously. He turned up on time, was rarely insolent, and tidied up without complaint. Even the first session back with Daid – which started back that week – found the young Brashat polite and attentive. Fenrig's change of behaviour slightly unnerved Jack.

Maybe Fenrig's not so bad after all
… Jack mused as he wandered home from the workshop on Friday afternoon.
No, that's not true. Fenrig's concealing his true nature, that's all. He can't stay well behaved forever
. Jack smiled to himself.
Fenrig doesn't fool me
.

Then Jack saw him: a small, wizened old man near the foot of the square. And in his hands, a grubby red cap.

Jack’s heart raced. He blinked and stared hard. There was no doubt about it: it was the Dunter from the woods at Keldy. The old man watched Jack with wry amusement as the youngster froze on the spot. Then he held up his right forefinger so that Jack focussed on it, and with a slow and deliberate movement, drew the finger across his throat.

Jack gulped. There was no mistaking the meaning of the Dunter’s action, but Jack had no time to respond, for the old man simply vanished. Jack hadn’t even had time to think about the hex Finbogie had taught him.

He hurried back to the house, desperate to tell someone – anyone – what he had just seen. Running into the kitchen, he found his aunt kneading dough on the table. Flour was liberally dusted around the table, and Aunt Katie’s hair was grey where the flour had wafted up.

“There’s a Dunter in the square!”

Aunt Katie stopped and wiped a floury hand across her face.

“A Dunter? Here?” Her voice wavered.

“He was at the foot of the square. It was the one we saw in Keldy, I’m sure.”

Hearing the commotion, Rana, Lizzie and Uncle Doonya entered the kitchen.

“Who did you see?” demanded Rana.

“The Dunter from Keldy. But he disappeared again.”

“Are you sure it was him? It could have been another one.”

Jack had to admit that he couldn’t be absolutely sure. He had only ever seen one Dunter; maybe they all looked pretty much the same.