The Watching Wood (20 page)

20

Beneath the Glamour

Rachel cleared the forest before she knew she was running. She had sat there, on the pebble beach, the wicked water soaking into her clothes and sapping the energy from her limbs. She wasn’t sure how long she had stayed there, watching the horizon, hoping the ferry would turn back and collect her from the shore. The sensation of Delilah’s fingertips on hers plagued her and made her nose sting with tears. They were so close; an inch, one single inch more, and Rachel would be on that boat sailing for home.

She didn’t remember getting to her feet, or stumbling across the rounded pebbles to the woods. She didn’t remember the new sounds of the forest or the sunlight that streamed through the trees. She didn’t remember making the decision to return to the castle but, when she finally emerged on the
cracked, parched rock, she knew where she was, and why she was there.

She closed her eyes and raised her face to the sun, as if the rays could revitalise her tired body. When she opened them again, it was the first time she didn’t feel the need to squint against that green tint that drenched everything in this world. Wide-eyed and feeling stronger than she had in ages, she picked up her feet and jogged swiftly towards the castle grounds.

There was eerie quiet when she pushed open the studded oak door into the reception hall, and a quick glance at the floor told her why. She grimaced, turning away from the faery bodies that lay scattered across the stone. Blue skin, wiry hair, clawed hands; she couldn’t help snatching glances as she stepped gingerly between them. She wriggled her fingers, trying to erase the memory of sticky sap spilling over her hand and the dying hiss of the gremlin in the Hunters’ Mansion. It seemed childish now, that she had ever thought that life desirable.

The corridor wasn’t completely clear, but there were thankfully fewer bodies the further she went, though the occasional sight of a privateer’s shirt or sword sent a shiver up her spine. The Hunters had made it quite far into the castle before the faeries noticed the intrusion and began taking out those creatures that were attacking their own. The witches that lay slain in the passageway, she knew, were those that
dropped their glamour first. It wasn’t until she reached the entrance to the arena that she finally heard any sound – the sound of discontented muttering.

Creeping around the door jamb, she froze to the spot. The faeries were spread out across the bleachers and the playing field, staring and tense and wary. The atmosphere crackled with hostility. The Supremes stood frazzled and nervous on one side, guarded by gremlins, with several Hunters nearby, bound and kneeling. Rachel gasped when she noticed Alinda among them.

So few witches were caught, Rachel realized, because the Hunters were still hidden in the crowd. Faeries snarled and snapped at each other, and the air was thick with suspicion. If this went on for much longer, she was sure the faery army would tear itself apart. And maybe that was what the Hunters wanted.

The Fungi stood on the lower platform, his long bony hand extended and appealing for calm. He scrutinised the faces of those around him and, given time, Rachel thought he could probably discern the real faeries from the fakes. But time was not on his side. The arena smouldered like oil left on a hot pan, spitting and smoking, and ready to catch fire at any moment. Beside the Fungi, a goat-like beast lounged luxuriously on the wooden boards. He seemed unaffected by the drama. In fact, he seemed to be soaking it all in with amused interest. Rachel wondered what he had to be so happy about.

One of the ugly gremlins snapped at Alinda, making her jump. The gremlin laughed cruelly, but the woman simply shook her silver hair, the plaits loosening around her face, and stared at him defiantly. The situation was not going to resolve itself; not in any way that Rachel could bear to watch. So she swallowed hard and stepped forward – not glamouring, not protecting herself in any way – and walked into the arena towards the ancient faery on the platform.

Drops of spittle sprayed her cheek as the creatures hissed and slurped and growled at her. A guarding gremlin had lurched forward to pin her, but was stayed by a wave from the Fungi. His reaction made the crowd part in curiosity, allowing her to approach the platform. But all those tense muscles, full of spite and aggression, made her feel totally unsafe. She stood before the Fungi and his shaggy goat companion and spoke.

‘This can only end badly, for everyone.’ She gestured around the arena and ignored the wheezy laughter from the gruffer beasts. ‘I know that’s not what you all want.’

The Fungi watched her carefully.

‘What would you propose?’

‘A truce.’

More wheezy laughter.

‘And what about justice?’

‘You have the Three, don’t you?’ Rachel said, glancing to the Supremes still under guard. She felt guilty saying it, but she felt she had no choice. ‘Do what you want with them, and let the rest go.’

The Supremes were a sorry-looking spectacle. Lord Machlau’s tweed lapels drooped sadly towards the ground, his stooped frame rigid and uncomfortable-looking as always. Even if he felt the desire to look someone in the eye, he was incapable of doing it. Lady Hecate’s tightly bound hair was coming undone, and a few grey hairs were now visible. Despite her once-imposing height, she stood like a frightened child, head bowed and hands shaking. Whatever great power she had was long gone.

And Madame Three. Her clenched fists held handfuls of ash; she looked at them intermittently like she didn’t know what she was holding, then as if she suddenly remembered, would clasp them mournfully to her chest.

Rachel suspected the woman had already abandoned the elixir that kept her body going well beyond its lifetime. Her unnaturally plump face now sagged with the weight of so many years, her stout form was shrinking under the swathes of velvet cloak, and her blonde hair was thinner than Rachel remembered, losing its tight curls and falling in skinny waves down her neck.

Rachel watched the Fungi’s expression and understood his disappointment. What revenge could he wreak on the
Supremes that would be worse than what they had done to themselves?

‘And what of the others?’ he asked. ‘Those that stand amongst my kin with masks and disguises, waiting and watching. Ready to kill and maim.’

Rachel turned to the crowd.

‘Look around you,’ she called. ‘Look how many there are. I saw the faery bodies in the castle, but I saw the Hunters too. If you let this go on, it’ll just be carnage. You’ll all die here today, and for what? You won’t protect the witch-oags that need your help, you won’t live on to share the Hunters’ legacy with anyone, you’ll just end.’ She clasped her hands. ‘Why not a truce? Why would peace be so bad? There’s plenty of room on this island, isn’t there?
Isn’t there
?’

No-one responded, but there was silence. They were listening.

Rachel felt hope until she turned to Alinda and saw a small, ghostly boy kneeling next to the woman, curling a strand of her silver hair in his fingers.

‘Revenge,’ Alinda whispered.

‘There’s nothing to take revenge for,’ Rachel said gently. ‘He’s not a real child.’

Tormey Vause smiled at her, still twisting the lock of hair.

‘I see you.’ Rachel stared into his wicked face. ‘I see what you really are.’

She was telling the truth. The more she stared, the more
the dark circles under his eyes and around his mouth spread across his white skin. His big, soft eyes disappeared, his small childish limbs lengthened into shadowy claws. He was like a black hole. So dark and so deep that you could fall in and get lost.

‘You may see,’ the Fungi said. ‘But weaker minds are easily led.’

Rachel turned back to the crowd with tears in her eyes.

‘You’re good people, Hunters. You’re kind and brave, and you deserve more than this.’

She shuddered as more of the Lost Ones appeared in the congregation, taking the hands of glamoured Hunters; the fake faeries looked down at the children with glassy eyes. A few seconds more of this and there would be all out war.

‘Kill them.’

The voices were quiet and gentle and pushing.

‘Kill them.’

‘No!’ Rachel shouted. ‘Look at them.
Look
at them. Look deep into their eyes and see them for what they really are. There are NO Lost Ones, there is NO Tormey Vause. You’re stronger than this, Hunters, I know you are.
Please
!’

There was no sound, no agreement.

‘Please,’ Rachel said again, her voice cracking. ‘Please, trust me.’

More silence.

‘A shadow.’

It was barely a whisper, to her left. Rachel spun and watched Alinda’s pale eyes grow wide.

‘I see a shadow.’ The woman slowly got to her feet, making the gremlins behind her snarl and snap, but she didn’t heed them. She stared deep into the spirit of Tormey Vause and her breath quickened.

‘I see it.
I see
it!’

Tormy Vause’s form warped back into Rachel’s view, but his milk teeth were now pointed and long. He hissed angrily. To her right she saw a faery jump, and drop the hand of Lark Walden, and his own glamour. The Hunter beneath looked shocked and afraid. There was more scuffling in the crowd as Hunters backed away from the dark spirits beside them that now hissed and spat in anger.

She scanned the crowd for one faery in particular. If she didn’t find him, this could all be for nothing.

Behind her she could hear Alinda’s cries for a truce, and the Fungi’s call for calm.

Still she couldn’t find the creature she needed.

Until she spotted him. Deep in the crowd, still holding fast to the hand of Vela Romwood, stood Aruj, cloaked in glamour. Vela watched him, her expression encouraging, as he smiled down at her. Then the tall, wiry beast dropped her hand and sprinted for the platform.

His strong arms pushed through the mass, sending creatures flying left and right. He was nearly upon them. Rachel
had a couple of seconds and no longer. She kept her gaze fixed on his narrow, red eyes, the buzz playing up and down her fingers. She had to time this right. She had to catch him off guard.

He made one last push, leaping forward, and she leapt with him. The glamour swallowed Rachel’s appearance and she met him mid-air as the Fungi. A fleeting look of surprise, then he grinned and grabbed her shoulders. They hit the ground rolling as he reached for his chest, but she was quicker than him. She couldn’t see it, but she knew the nuke was there, lodged in the leather baldric strapped to his torso.

She felt it, oval and hot, and snatched it from the strap. He howled in surprise as she spun out of his grip, his glamour fading and three gremlin guards landing on him from behind. Rachel rolled to safety and hugged the orange-red jewel to her tummy. She stayed kneeling by the platform until the ruckus died down, one side urged by Alinda and the other by the real Fungi to keep from attacking.

Rachel closed her eyes against the noise and felt the shuddering power of the spessartine gem, wrapped in twists of orgonite, as her glamour faded. When she finally opened them, the quiet was uneasy, but it was there.

‘And the witch-oags?’ Alinda said to the Fungi, as if mid-conversation. ‘Have you–?’

‘In the dungeons, I think you’ll find.’ The big goat thing hadn’t moved from his spot on the platform. He still lounged
comfortably, leaning back on his elbows and grinning. ‘Clever little minxes hid underground.’

Alinda heaved a sigh of relief.

‘Then–’

‘Then of course they will remain safe,’ the Fungi interrupted. ‘As will my kin that remain standing here. Yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then let our peoples return to their homes, while you and I discuss the best and most mutual agreement.’

‘I think that sounds fair.’

Alinda traced her fingers down Aruj’s cheek as he was transferred from the custody of gremlins, to Hunter guards.

‘I’ll free you yet, cousin.’

He snarled at her betrayal, but Rachel was sure the silver-haired woman could make him see the shadows eventually. Even if she couldn’t, the dark spirits had already lost some of their power and would lose more in time. With a truce in place, there would be balance amongst the spirits of the island. Rachel smiled as she tried to imagine what the light spirits looked like.

‘I dread to ask what that object is,’ said an ancient, tired voice.

The Fungi stood over Rachel on his spindly, bent legs.

‘This?’ Rachel held fast to it and smiled. ‘This is mine.’

‘Very well, I’ll ask no more.’ He held out one long bony hand. ‘My thanks to you, little asrai.’

She shook it and nodded to Alinda behind him, who smiled sadly. Then, holding the magical nuke to her lips, Rachel whispered her greatest wish. The world shook and shattered, but she wasn’t afraid.

Grace stood outside the window of Mrs Quinlan’s front room. It was packed with junk and as messy as she remembered. Weird, stuffed animals leered with fixed, glassy eyes, an old piano sat smothered in dust and cobwebs, and there were trunks and boxes everywhere. Their contents had been tipped onto the floor in haste – ancient books and pages and scrolls – lying scattered amongst torn and crumpled bits of paper. Mrs Quinlan had been searching, searching for a way to bring them home.