The Society of Thirteen (21 page)

Chapter 63

Esther stopped under a streetlamp and gazed out at the river, trying to find some comfort from its power, but nothing could erase from her mind the image of the lifeblood bursting out of Brewer's tortured body. She shuddered as she wondered if the same fate awaited her. When the time came, would the Infected blood that rushed through her veins return to the great underground rivers of the Earthsoul? Or would the same instinct that had caused her to perform the Creation Spell in the first place push her to choose an animal existence like that of Mondriat or Olwyn, rather than death?

When she started walking again she became aware of a presence behind her. She gripped her staff and turned around. Kiyaya stood there.

‘You must come,' he said. ‘Your friend needs you.'

‘Tom? What's wrong?'

‘He is being tricked by the magpie.'

‘What's Mondriat making him do?'

‘The boy is performing shaded magic far beyond his reach,' replied Kiyaya. ‘He is creating a potion so complex, it will take a great deal of his spirit. He will be very weak once it's finished. I fear he may not recover at all.' Kiyaya offered his left hand. ‘Come. I can take you. You must place your hand in mine.'

Esther went to take it.

‘No. Your right hand,' said Kiyaya. ‘It will only work if it is your right hand.'

Esther hesitated, knowing that to move her staff into the other hand would leave her vulnerable and unable to use Conjury to defend herself.

‘Quickly. There is not much time,' said the Indian.

‘How do I know I can trust you?'

‘We are beyond the point of trusting now,' he replied simply.

Esther moved her staff into her left hand and took his. His skin was soft and warm. She watched him move his staff slowly. As he brought it heavily down on the ground, it was as though he was smashing a mirror, except that it was not glass that broke but the world around them. They fell like shards of glass.

Chapter 64

As Tom worked away on the spell, Mondriat fluttered around the tunnel with the book in his beak, so that Tom could see the picture. Mondriat could see the boy was getting tired, but he was so close now.

‘There are only three strokes left,' said Mondriat, dropping the book from his beak as he spoke.

‘What strokes?' panted Tom.

‘This spell has a triangular cauldron at its heart,' said Mondriat. ‘It draws on deeply shaded magic.'

Tom drew the final three lines and created a large cauldron in the tunnel floor. Finally, he lowered his staff, exhausted.

‘Well done, Tom.' Mondriat clapped his wings, excitedly. ‘Masterfully done.'

Sir Tyrrell and Mr G. Hayman gathered around Lord Ringmore, who had barely blinked since Tom had begun.

‘Is it done?' asked Sir Tyrrell.

‘Of course it's not done, you old fool,' snapped Mondriat.

‘Wait.' Tom held up his hand, head bowed, too tired to say any more. Slowly he rolled up his shirt sleeve and held an arm over the centre of the cauldron. Mondriat fluttered up and landed on his arm.

‘You are weak from the rigours of the spell,' said Mondriat. ‘The loss of blood will weaken you further.'

‘Do it,' said Tom.

‘Very well.' Mondriat jabbed his beak into the soft skin of his palm and Tom closed his fist around the broken skin before allowing a couple of drops to fall.

‘What is this black magic that calls for the boy's blood?' demanded Sir Tyrrell.

‘It is a potion,' whispered Mr G. Hayman.

The Society members watched in silent astonishment as Tom's blood sunk into the ground and the red liquid oozed out of the earth's pores, filling up the cauldron.

‘It's ready.' Tom staggered back and would have fallen had Lord Ringmore not been there to catch him.

‘What's wrong with him?' asked Sir Tyrrell.

‘This is powerful magic, you half-witted buffoon,' said Mondriat. ‘Creating a spell such as this would take its toll on the most experienced Conjuror.'

Even though Lord Ringmore could not understand Mondriat's words, he could see Tom needed rest so he dragged him to the side of the tunnel and placed him down gently before joining the others.

‘I can't see,' said Tom.

‘Your senses will recover,' said Mondriat.

‘What are they doing?' Tom asked.

‘Preparing to drink,' replied the magpie. ‘And look, they even remembered to bring glasses.'

Sir Tyrrell opened a case and pulled out three silver goblets, one for each of the Society members.

Mr G. Hayman held up one to inspect it. ‘These are rather grand, aren't they?'

‘They were sold to me by one who swore them exact replicas of the Holy Grail itself,' said Sir Tyrrell. ‘I thought they would be appropriate for an occasion such as this.'

‘I daresay the price reflected the boldness of the claim,' said Mr G. Hayman.

‘They are fine pieces and should do well for our purposes,' said Lord Ringmore, keen get on with it.

‘They stoop to fill their cups now,' said Mondriat, excitedly.

‘How should we do this?' asked Sir Tyrrell.

‘As one,' said Lord Ringmore. ‘We are in this together.'

‘Should someone say something?' asked Sir Tyrrell, holding his cup in both hands. ‘You know, to mark the occasion.'

‘Honestly,' remarked Mondriat impatiently. ‘Even a short time with these fools would feel like an eternity.'

‘I think a simple toast,' said Lord Ringmore.

‘To the Society of Thirteen?' asked Mr G. Hayman.

‘To the rest of our lives,' stated Lord Ringmore.

The others repeated the toast and touched goblets before downing the contents.

‘They're drinking  …  they're drinking,' said Mondriat, but Tom was too weak to respond.

With their goblets drained, the Society members looked at each other uncertainly. Mondriat hopped up and down on Tom's shoulder.

‘Is that it then?' asked Sir Tyrrell. ‘Are we immortal?'

‘I don't feel any different,' said Mr G. Hayman.

‘I feel rather lightheaded,' said Sir Tyrrell.

‘What's happening?' asked Tom weakly.

‘The lifeblood is within them,' said Mondriat, watching with great interest. Never having seen this potion before he was also keen to know what would happen.

‘My eyes,' said Sir Tyrrell. ‘My sight has gone.'

‘Mine too,' said Lord Ringmore.

‘The lifeblood has blinded us so that we may see the true nature of the world,' said Mr G. Hayman.

‘Hold on, I see something,' said Sir Tyrrell. ‘It is London, but it burns. Fires rage everywhere. People run through the streets, pillaging and looting like invaders and yet these are the city's very inhabitants.'

‘My vision is unlike yours,' said Mr G. Hayman. ‘I see a girl in a graveyard. Is this the future, the past? What?'

‘What about you, Ringmore? What can you see?' asked Sir Tyrrell.

‘Father,' said Lord Ringmore. ‘I see my father. He is young again.'

‘The past, present and future are as one within the Earthsoul,' said Mondriat.

‘What does this mean?' demanded Sir Tyrrell.

Mondriat became aware of the black cat by his side. He turned to see her bright green eyes watching intently.

‘Olwyn. Something has gone wrong,' he said.

‘Not at all,' replied Olwyn. ‘They are looking directly into the Earthsoul. Their spirits are being torn from their bodies.'

Suddenly all three dropped to the ground, heaving and retching as though about to vomit.

‘Help me  … ' cried Lord Ringmore, reaching out a hand, his eyes wide with fear.

His words were lost as he and the other Society members opened their mouths, but it was not the contents of their stomachs that spilt out. It was the white light of three human spirits evacuating their helpless bodies. The spirits sunk into the ground, leaving behind the three bodies, empty and lifeless.

Chapter 65

Tom was lost inside the shifting clouds that filled his head. The fog swam through his brain as Mondriat's laughter echoed off the tunnel walls.

‘Olwyn, you clever, clever Conjuress, you,' proclaimed Mondriat.

‘So you understand, do you?' said the female voice.

‘Understand what?' yelled Tom.

‘Calm yourself,' urged Mondriat. ‘You knew this would happen, didn't you, Olwyn?'

‘It's the only way to get that which we desire,' replied Olwyn.

‘What's happened to Ringmore and the others?' shouted Tom.

‘The Society of Thirteen is no more,' said Mondriat.

‘And yet they will rise again,' purred Olwyn.

‘Well, two of them, at least,' added Mondriat, bursting with excitement.

It was too much for Tom to take in. He felt exhausted and distanced by the clouds in his mind.

‘So, let's see,' said Mondriat. ‘The potion purified their spirits, drawing them down into the heart of the Earthsoul without harming the bodies.'

‘You've killed them,' said Tom.

‘No. They chose to drink and their spirits will now live forever within the Earthsoul,' said Olwyn.

‘Why?' shouted Tom. ‘Why have you done this?'

‘Is it not obvious?' said Mondriat. ‘These bodies are perfectly preserved. So let us say we know a pair of Conjurors in search of new bodies; there would be nothing to stop them from slipping inside one of these fine specimens. There would be nothing to prevent them from returning to human form. Oh, Olwyn, you glorious Conjuress.'

‘I was thinking Lord Ringmore would suit you best,' she replied. ‘The politician, as powerful as he is, carries too much weight with too weak a heart. I'll take the female, of course. I don't think I'm quite ready for male anatomy.'

‘So you knew all along. Why did you not tell me?' said Mondriat.

‘Because I enjoy toying with you, my dear,' said Olwyn. ‘I always did.'

‘But this is marvellous. We can return, you and I. We can be as we were before.'

Tom's head swam with confusion. In amongst the shifting shapes of the fog he tried to make sense of it all. There were strange sounds and a light so bright that it even shone through the fog in his mind. When Mondriat and Olwyn next spoke their voices had changed. They now used the vocal chords of Lord Ringmore and Mr G. Hayman.

‘I'm back,' cried Mondriat. ‘I'm back and it's all thanks to you, my wonderful Conjuress, Olwyn.'

‘My darling husband,' replied Olwyn.

Chapter 66

When the broken fragments of the world reformed, Esther found herself standing in a tunnel in front of Lord Ringmore and Mr G. Hayman. Sir Tyrrell's unconscious body was lying on a train track. To the side sat Tom. He looked lost and bewildered. Esther tried to run to him but Kiyaya held her hand tightly and prevented her from moving.

‘Please,' she begged.

‘Esther?' shouted Tom, hearing her voice. ‘Esther?'

‘Tom!' she called.

Kiyaya did not look at her, instead addressing Mr G. Hayman. ‘I have her for you,' he said. When Mr G. Hayman turned, Esther could see there was something odd about her. Lord Ringmore looked different too. Esther spotted the lifeless magpie and cat by Sir Tyrrell's body. Lord Ringmore moved his stick across the ground, and the lamplights lifted into the air.

‘Mondriat?' asked Esther.

‘Indeed. 'Tis I,' Lord Ringmore's body replied. He turned to Mr G. Hayman. ‘This is wonderful, Olwyn, wonderful.'

‘I can't tell you how much it pleases me to see you so happy,' replied Olwyn, in the body of Mr G. Hayman.

‘And it pleases me to see you so exquisitely, deliciously  …  human,' replied Mondriat. The lamps grew brighter. ‘You planned this whole thing, didn't you? Everything from the beginning.'

‘All for you.' Olwyn smiled.

Mondriat sent the lanterns spinning around. ‘The book was the bait,' he said. ‘Tom was the fisherman and these splendidly wealthy, unInfected people were your fish. I have so missed all this.' Mondriat slipped an arm around her waist. ‘But why didn't you tell me?'

‘I wanted it to be a surprise, my love,' said Olwyn. She tenderly stroked the side of Mondriat's face with the back of her hand.

‘And all that stuff about you not trusting me?'

‘Never confuse trust with love.'

‘You've killed them,' exclaimed Esther, horrified.

‘They have purified these bodies and now they wear their scalps,' said Kiyaya.

Mondriat turned to face the huge man. ‘And I see we have another Conjuror amongst us. How this mystery deepens,' said Mondriat. ‘I take it this has something to do with you, Olwyn.'

‘He is no ordinary Conjuror, are you, Kiyaya?' replied Olwyn.

‘I have walked in many forms,' he replied.

‘An old soul,' said Mondriat with wonder. ‘I feel like such a fool. Olwyn, you always could make a fool of me.'

Olwyn reached out her right hand. ‘Now please my love, I wonder if I could borrow this staff for a moment. It has been so long since I felt its power.'

Mondriat handed her Lord Ringmore's stick. ‘You know I'd do anything to watch you Conjure again.'

Olwyn inspected the walking stick then moved it in a series of elegant shapes across the ground. The lamplights sparkled and fizzled with energy.

‘Always such beautiful Conjury.' Mondriat sighed. ‘But if you discovered all this back then, why did it take so long to use it? Why have you waited all this time? What were the complications you spoke of?'

Olwyn continued to move the staff while she answered. ‘As you know, an animal's spirit may be pushed aside and its body manipulated by a Conjuror, but a human's body is more complex, more intricate. The potion separates the body without harming it but one cannot control such complex machinery while a part of oneself resides elsewhere. It takes a complete spirit to control a human form.'

‘You are talking about our True Reflections?' said Mondriat.

‘Yes. That which anchors us to this world is precisely that which prevents human immortality. While an image of you remains in your True Reflection, you cannot take on a new human form. No man can have more than one reflection. Is that not so, Kiyaya?'

‘Where I am from we have no Mirror Spell,' responded the Indian. ‘Here in your cold continent you Conjurors were vain. You wanted to hang onto your birth skins. Where I am from, the Infected shed these skins and find new forms as early as possible. Removed from the body which cast the Creation Spell, our second skins are protected from the pull of the Earthsoul.'

As he spoke Esther felt herself transported back again to the night beneath the stars in the wilderness. She saw the man with the painted face, clutching his staff. He looked exhausted. She noticed the patterns on the ground beneath the bodies of Kiyaya's murdered family.

‘The man who showed me how to Conjure also taught me how it was possible to step from body to body, never dying,' said Kiyaya. ‘He only asked for one thing in exchange for his knowledge: a sacrifice. My family. That night I convinced them to drink and he took my uncle's skin while I took the hide of my cousin. It was the first of many hides I was to wear over the years.'

Esther returned to the tunnel with a jolt and saw the spell scratched on the ground around the train tracks. It was the same one as she had seen in the vision. She tried to wriggle free but Kiyaya's grip was strong.

‘Then we must get to our mirrors and extract our True Reflection,' said Mondriat. ‘How long do we have?'

‘That depends,' replied Olwyn calmly. ‘It could be minutes, hours, maybe longer. Can't you already feel the itch of Lord Ringmore's body, trying to reject your incomplete spirit?'

A panicked expression appeared on the face of Lord Ringmore as Mondriat realised Olwyn was speaking the truth.

‘Let me have the staff,' said Mondriat. ‘I can get myself there at once.'

‘Ah,' replied Olwyn. With a small flick of her wrist, she made Sir Tyrrell's cold hand came to life and grip Mondriat's leg.

‘My love?' said Mondriat, eyes wide with fear and confusion.

Olwyn smiled. ‘Always so untrustworthy and yet yourself so trusting. You even trusted me when I planted the idea in your head that mirror theft held the secret of immortality. I always knew it wouldn't work but it helped cleanse a world so overpopulated by Conjurors.'

‘That was not my purpose.'

‘Yet it was mine. There were too many Infected souls. It was time for an overhaul. When power becomes too commonplace it ceases to be power. You see, you were right. I am always playing games and you, Mondriat, are always my unwitting pawn.'

‘I don't understand.'

‘I wouldn't expect you to, but I did always enjoy watching you scrabble around desperately for the answer, so I will give you a chance. If you can reach your reflection across the streets of London with an overweight politician's body attached to your leg then you have earned your right to this human form. Perhaps you'll be able to find something to use as a staff. If not you had better hope you can find some other animal skin to take refuge in.' She stood on the magpie's neck and snapped it, then did the same to the cat. ‘I think a rat might suit you next. There must be plenty of those around.'

‘Please, Olwyn  … ' Mondriat tried hopelessly to prize Sir Tyrrell's fingers from his leg.

‘You can waste your time here or you can get moving,' she said coolly.

He looked up at her and saw the look of unswerving determination in her eyes. ‘Always such a fascinating woman,' he said wistfully. ‘Olwyn, I will pass your test and return to you.'

Mondriat began making his way down the tunnel, as fast as he could while dragging Sir Tyrrell's ungainly dead body along the railway track.

‘Let him go,' protested Esther.

Olwyn turned to face her. Although Olwyn no longer wore the cat's skin, there was still something feline about the way she prowled towards Esther.

‘Now, Esther, I think it is time you learnt the truth too. You see, I look at you and I see myself.'

Olwyn laughed. Esther had heard that laughter somewhere before. It was the same laughter as that of the dark-haired woman she had seen inside her mirror. ‘I don't know what you mean.'

‘I must extract my True Reflection in order to become immortal. That's why I needed Kiyaya to bring you here.'

‘What has that to do with me?'

‘All this time, dear Esther, it was you. You were my mirror, all this time.'

With her right hand, Olwyn sketched out a spell. She placed her left on Esther's forehead, pushing her back into the mist of memory.

Here in the past, a dark-haired woman stands over Esther. It is Olwyn. They are in a small, sparsely furnished cottage. It is dark outside. On the floor lies a fair-haired woman. Unmoving. Esther knows this is her mother from the screaming agony her infant mind feels when she looks at her. This memory, tucked so deep inside her for so long, stretches back to a time before she had the power of speech. Olwyn crouches down beside Esther's mother, as a creature might inspect its prey. The bright light of her spirit spews out of her mouth and the dark-haired woman's body drops to the ground. Esther's mother blinks and stands, and yet it is not her mother. It is Olwyn in her body. She picks up her book and staff. Outside, fists pound on the door. Angry voices shout through the window. Torches burn. The woman throws her head back and laughs. But the laughter turns to a cough. She splutters and wretches as the body rejects her. Her spirit spills out once more and seeks refuge in her original body. Confused and scared, Esther crawls to her mother. Olwyn has the staff again. The screaming and pounding grows louder. Olwyn points her left hand at Esther's mother. Esther closes her eyes. Then all is gone.

Back in the tunnel, Olwyn released Esther. She stumbled backwards, as she was finally released by Kiyaya. She felt strange, as though something inside her had been removed. She landed hard on the ground. ‘You killed her,' she said. ‘You killed my mother.'

‘If you're going to weep for a woman who died centuries ago there are plenty more,' replied Olwyn.

‘Who was she?' demanded Esther.

‘As I said before, she was no one,' said Olwyn, dismissively. ‘She was the most ordinary peasant girl that ever lived. She only became relevant when I chose her.'

‘Why her?'

‘Because she was foolish enough and desperate enough to believe a Conjuress when she told her she could make a potion that would bring her untold wealth and happiness. She was nothing more than an unInfected fool who believed that there was an easy solution to the suffering of life and that she deserved it. Vanity and idiocy killed your mother. Not I.'

‘Her body rejected you,' said Esther. ‘Your spirit was incomplete.'

‘Because of you.'

‘What could I have done? I was a child.'

‘I drew out my True Reflection from my mirror before entering the new host body. It should have worked. It took me a long time to understand what had happened. When I drew it out, it retreated to another's reflection. A child was watching. The reflection of your eye stole my True Reflection. I knew I had to hide the evidence from the barbaric hoards so I sent your mother's body where no one would look, into the folds of time. Unfortunately, in my hurry, I failed to see the book in her hand or the orphaned child weeping on her chest. By the time I realised the truth, it was too late.'

‘So you had to wait all this time before you could draw your True Reflection from within me?' said Esther.

‘Yes. I waited and waited, carefully considering how, this time, I would return, but in something better than the body of some peasant girl. I'll always be grateful for Mother Agnes for taking you in, despite all that talk of the devil being inside you. She didn't know how right she was, did she, Esther?'

Esther stared back in horror at the bewitched body of Mr G. Hayman. This, she realised, was the truth. Her mother had been murdered and Esther had grown up with the True Reflection of her murderer inside of her. Strangest of all, now that Olwyn had reclaimed her True Reflection, Esther felt its loss. She felt alone. She felt empty.