Chapter seventy-five

Ith’s chamber                                                                                              

 

The minutes crawled past. Viola kept her eyes fixed on the prime for the whole time; the petal tentacles waved gracefully in the air, but otherwise nothing seemed to be happening.

Her mind flocked with questions – which ones should she ask next? Should she ask about herself? Or about the function of the prime?  Or perhaps about the structure of their world? Every now and then she glanced at the naga, hoping that the snake-elf would signal the end of the cycle. When she did finally speak, however, it was for another reason.  

‘They are here’ she hissed, turning from Ith and making her way back to the rowing boat. She nodded back at the others. Viola wondered how she knew about the threat; she herself had heard nothing at all.

‘You must come’ she commanded, ‘it will not be safe here’

Viola felt a dread begin to stir in her bones.. She hadn’t had enough time and now they might come away with nothing.

‘I still have so many questions’ she said softly.

The naga smiled sadly. ‘I know. But, nonetheless, you must come. Even you are not permitted here without me...’

‘But...’ Viola began, but by then Dom had grabbed her gently by the arm. He steered her towards the rowing boat.

They clambered in. This time there was no pretence that they were in a boat on a water course – the vessel flew forward at many times its earlier speed. There was a brief pulse of darkness and then they arrived at the beach in the cave room. They scrambled out of the boat and forward towards the portal. They heard voices ahead of them, beyond the entrance.

 ‘Tell us what you know, elf’

It was a female voice, speaking perfect Visneorian with the faintest Rhylic accent.

‘I know nothing – and I won’t tell you any of it anyway’ responded another, very familiar, elven voice.  There was a beat.  The first voice spoke again, this time in a language that Viola had only heard in spells. She didn’t need to understand a word of it, though, to sense the mortal threat

 ‘Potentilla!’ shouted Viola and Dom together; facing each other in mutual fear. They both ran pell-mell towards the portal.

‘Stay’ hissed the naga, behind them, ‘you are protected here’

Dom spluttered, ‘I doubt it’ and ran back down the corridor. Viola did not hesitate, she chased down the corridor after him. The naga hesitated only a second longer, sighed deeply, and then transformed into her snake form. She slithered after them.

 

Vala had been holding Potentilla up, with her sword at her throat, but the shock of the sudden entrance of new enemies distracted her. She dropped Potentilla and turned towards the portal, brandishing her sword. The elf fell to the floor and rolled away. She scampered up to her feet, briefly assessed the newcomers and then grinned broadly.

‘Ma’am’ she shouted, ‘what are your orders?’

The naga had glided forward so that Viola and Dom were now behind her. Viola gestured wildly to her lieutenant, shouting.

‘Get behind the snake! Come over to us! Do it now!’

A moment and a few strides later she was with them again. This was easy enough; Bea and Vala were concentrating on the naga. Potentilla, however, seemed unconcerned by the huge python; it was clear that she had somehow already sorted the pools of friends and enemies accurately in her mind.   

Bea smiled sweetly at the intruders. She nodded at the humanoids and then at Vala.

‘You can kill them if you like. I now have what I need.’ She moved towards the naga.

Vala nodded and ran forward. Something inside Dom made him run forward too, even though he was the only one in the party who had no idea how to use a weapon. I need to protect the others he thought, although he had no idea how. Behind him Potentilla had drawn her sword.

‘Brydia’ shouted Vala, ecstatically, her eyes wild. A cube of fire appeared in the middle of the air, engulfing Dom and he erupted into flames. The light was incredibly bright but it dimmed very suddenly. Dom coughed and shook himself. Black soot fell from his body. His hair was singed black and his eyebrows burned away, otherwise he seemed unharmed. Vala stared at him in incomprehension.

‘Don’t ever underestimate my kind’ said Dom, smiling lopsidedly through the smoke, ‘it seems we’re surprisingly hard to kill’

‘Bastard mule’ Vala murmured, irritated; ‘why did you get in the way?’

She hesitated momentarily. Potentilla, already upon them and a beat ahead, stabbed at her, aiming for her heart, but Vala was still too quick. She dodged the blow and it struck her on the arm instead. The sword slashed through her leather jerkin, leaving a raw wound. She stared down at the gash, just below her elbow, shocked. Potentilla raised her sword again to finish her off. Again she was too late. Vala stumbled backwards, barking ‘amranta’. She blinked away. All that was left was a pool of blood on the floor, suddenly deprived of its tributary brook. 

Dom smiled a wild sort of smile, put his hand up to extinguish the last tiny lick of flame on the top of his head and then fainted. Potentilla ran forward to catch him; she had dropped her bloody sword and seemed to have lost track of everything else that was going on. She held him up, smelling the ash in his hair. Tears streaked her brown face.   

 

The naga sprang forward and coiled around Bea. The motion was so fast and the movement so agile that not even she could hope to dodge it or defend against it. The serpent began to constrict, the rows of muscles circling her body tautening. Bea’s face was calm, almost serene. With what remained of her breath she whispered ‘datrys’.

 Time seemed to run backwards. The python’s coils unwrapped themselves one by one. They fell with a long thump on to the ground. Bea looked down. Her voice was quiet and calm.

‘The simplest spells can be so useful... with the right modifications’.

The naga had no interest in talking. She pulled herself up and twisted to face her foe. She rocked backwards, opened her mouth and spat. A thin stream of green liquid erupted from her hollow fangs and flew towards the necromancer, arcing and spraying through the air. Bea’s eyes widened slightly but she neither flinched nor backed away. She waited a fraction of a second and then whispered ‘bolera’. The green venom fell useless against the spell’s pure white shield.  

‘So weak’ murmured Bea, laughing softly, ‘I’m always astonished at just how weak you fabricated creatures are. So much for your old magic; the magic that protects the world’

‘Go back’ commanded the naga, ‘you do not belong here’

‘That’s true – but it’s never stopped me before’

‘Why are you doing this?’

‘To steal the bones of the world and divine their secrets, old serpent. But, first, I’m afraid, you will have to die’

Bea began to chant, not in Rhylic but in Old Elven, the language of nagas, mages and the architects. The words appeared to be nonsense; it sounded like a mantra that had been pulled apart and reconstructed as a jumble. All that was left of it was its power. It was strangely beautiful but also clearly the sound of death.

The naga knew that the end was very close, but she could not retreat in the face of such a threat.  She lifted her head up and prepared to strike, but it was too late. The mantra wrapped round he like a noose. She felt the pressure build up on her muscles and bones. A force, far stronger than her own, was pressing down on her.  She struggled to break free of the pressure, but it was all around her and had no physical form to escape from. The snake-elf’s breath became ragged. She seemed in no real pain, but soon she would stop breathing.

‘Such a lovely, ironic, spell’ whispered Bea, ‘I stole it from your sister, you know, the one that you call number four... you’re being choked by your own noose, one might say’

The naga had no words left. She closed her eyes. Bea sighed, but her voice was triumphant.   

‘This is getting easier and easier, snake after snake, death after death’

She waited patiently for the naga’s end. She stood tense but ready; a paragon of her craft.   

‘After the first death, there is no other’ murmured three-of-nine. She shuddered once and then moved no more. Her physical form was no longer needed and she shrivelled away with a noise like a broken violin string. All that as left was a long green rod, indistinguishable from the spring sapling of a coppiced hazel.   

Bea didn’t linger for triumph or spoils. She was up and away, running on nimble feet passed the others and towards the portal. She slipped her hand into her jacket pocket and pulled out a blue ball. In a single fluid movement, during which she continued to run at the same speed, she tossed the ball into the portal. Zigzag lines spat out of the ball in all directions and proceeded to spread through the pink-orange magical field. The field didn’t flicker, it just went out. Bea leapt though the hole she ha created. A moment later Viola was through it too. There were another few seconds during which the portal was open but then the field flicked back on as rapidly as it had been forced out.

   Hardacre, Kath and the parrots appeared in the corridor, panting and terrified. They were all a few seconds too late. They had inched too slowly behind Bea and Vala and now they could do nothing to help their leader.