Chapter IX – A Revival, and a Revelation.
Ben and Edmund were flagging. For an hour now, the walk had been extremely heavy going. It was as if they had been trying to walk through custard, which clung onto their bodies and tried to capture them. Suddenly Ben fell, the work of moving his tired muscles too much for him. Edmund walked over to him and with a huge effort sang some words to put him into a sleep:
“Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi. Benedictus salus dormire missus sum.”
This was combining part of a well known religious service with some of his own words which carried most of the command for sending Ben to sleep, and it did the trick. Ben slowly rose of the ground (or middle of the air, as there was no ground,) and began to float at chest height. Edmund struggled on, with Bens’ prone body following behind. Once again, his pace had begun to pick up speed, and he was now making good ground. Ruperts’ trail of magic could now be easily felt, a warm trail that drifted here and there through the nebulae. They were catching up.
* * * * * *
Rupert still floated among the stars, seemingly dead to the world around him, but deep inside himself his personality still struggled, a dim flicker of life in the dark void of the Music. From somewhere deep within himself, he could sense his friends coming closer with every passing second. Soon he would be free! He rejoiced; he couldn’t wait to be out of the shackles of the Music and be able to control his body once more.
But oh! They approached so slowly! Every footstep seemed to last as long as a lifetime, the echo twice that. The melodies of the Music had slowed to a drawl, seeming to loose all colour and texture.
* * * * * *
Ben stirred even as he floated along, moaning fitfully. Edmund stopped, and sang a brief snatch of song which lowered his friend to the non-ground gently. Bens’ eyelids flickered, and he rose uncertainly, his eyes scanning the surrounding area.
“I’ve seen him.”
Edmund stared. He knew that their friend was close, but to have seen him? How could it be possible, even in a dream?
“How? Where? When?”
“In my dreams. He is trapped not a mile from here. He can feel us coming, and his spirit must have been calling out to me as I roved.”
“Where were you? Why did you collapse?” Edmund countered.
“That I don’t know. It’s weird, but I feel I have changed somehow, become different. I saw part of the Music and it changed me; I’m not even sure if I like it!” Ben said.
Edmund was stumped for a reply at this, and so he turned and picked up the pace to a gentle jog. Ben matched it without trouble.
“Which way do we go to find him?” Edmund asked.
“We need to go a little left.”
Edmund nodded, and they altered their course slightly to the left. The North Star glimmered brightly to their right. Soon Rupert would be free, and everything would be alright again. They would be able to leave the world of the Music and go back to the Sandroyd, their friends, and their laughter. They would already be missed, Edmund realised.
“Who knows how long we have been gone?” He thought to himself.
“I know.” Ben said out loud, without thinking. He stopped as the realisation hit him. They had used telepathy again.
“Well that proves it.” Edmund said.
“What?”
“You’re in my head!”
Ben smiled in spite of himself, and began to jog again. However, no sooner had the boys settled into a comfortable pace than Ben saw a shape bobbing in mid-air not fifty metres in front of them. The light mists drew back, revealing it to be their missing friend. Both of the boys broke out into a headlong sprint, no thoughts of competition in their heads, only a wish to see their friends face.
He lay there, floating in the middle of the air, a serene expression on his face. Ben whispered a word and he came down to their knee-level. Edmund and Ben looked at each other, smiled briefly and began to sing the Second, the Life-Music.
On and on they sang, and time seemed to pass unbearably slowly. At first, there were no apparent signs of change, but, after a long time, colour began to filter back into Ruperts face.
Ben and Edmund were sweating now with the effort of continuing to sing. Originally they had been consumed by the Music, not noticing nor caring at the amount of magic they were giving off, but now it was beginning to drain them both emotionally and physically. Soon the magic would dry up altogether and they would merely be singing a pretty tune that had a strange, haunting melody. All musicians, no matter how powerful, must rest for a while after big spells. This was the biggest spell the two boys had ever done, and it was taking to long to have an effect; yet if they stopped now all of their good work could be undone. In fact, Rupert could even regress, becoming more imprisoned in his own body. The huge amount of magic they were pouring into him could completely overpower him if it was left untended. Even if everything went according to plan, Rupert might still be horribly weak.
* * * * * *
Rupert could feel the wash of the Music that raged in his body begin to recede. In its place, a cooling wave healed his emotional wounds. He relaxed inwardly, and let it happen. He knew he was going to be free. His spirit began to rise, and he became fully aware of his surroundings. He could hear Edmund and Ben singing, feel their weariness and determination to carry on and free him. He could feel the power of the Music. He could feel…. Something terrible…
He opened his eyes, gasping. The first thing he saw was Edmund and Ben standing over him, their faces chalk white. The spell must have taken more out of them than Rupert cared to imagine. But there was no time for that. Just as he had risen out of the cocoon his spirit had made for itself, he had suddenly felt a sharp pang of pain in his chest that he had traced back to Sandroyd. Something awful was about to happen.
“Ben! Edmund! We have to get going! Something monstrous is about to happen at Sandroyd; we don’t have much time! Hurry up and create the gate.” Rupert began.
But there was no reply. Edmund had passed out, and was lying on the non-ground, his chest rising and falling evenly. His natural supply of magic had been all but exhausted, and he would need at least an hour to recover it. Ben was little better, barely standing, his eyes half open and unfocused, staring into the distance.
Rupert struggled to his feet, ignoring the nausea that rose to engulf him. He walked over and shook Ben by the shoulder. The boys’ eyes flickered, and there was a trace of recognition there.
“R…r….Rupert?” Ben murmured quietly, blinking away the sleep from his eyes. He was feeling better already, a little colour had returned to his cheeks. Obviously his magic could return fast. Or maybe scientists had been wrong about the time it could take to regain spent energy.
But after this victory in bringing Ben round, Edmund proved to be impossible to rouse; perhaps he had given too much in the spell-casting. Whatever it was, he would not wake.
Rupert slumped down, his exultation turning to despair. He had to do something! What had happened to Mr. Jones? He was the Head of Music, and yet there had been no evidence of him trying to save the school. What was happening?
Chapter X – The Horror of Death.
Toms’ eyes snapped open. What was that? A sound; a creaking of the trees in the wind. What wind? There was no wind, it was a calm night. But that creaking continued, a grating and a squeaking that jarred against the boys’ teeth. Tom sat up, listening hard. The sound was stronger now, gradually building up in intensity. Oh, how he wished Rupert was here. He would have known what to do.
Tom sat there for several minutes before he got up and padded to the door of the dormitory. Nervously he opened the door. And screamed.
* * * * * *
It must have been at least ten hours before Edmund began to stir, and by then Rupert was nearly frantic. To his dismay, Ben had gone to sleep again shortly after their brief conversation.
“What happened? Rupert! How are you?” Edmund said sleepily.
Rupert jumped to his feet.
“Now that both of you are awake, we have to hurry; we must open the gate back to Sandroyd. Something terrible is about to happen there. I will not hide what I know from you; we have waited here for many hours, and it could be even longer in our own world. The danger that I sensed was imminent, and there is a good chance it will have already happened. I want both of you to prepared,” he said.
Ben and Edmund nodded. There was no trace of sleep in their eyes now, and the Music was obviously present; it had taken its’ time, however. “We must open the gate immediately; are you ready?” Rupert continued.
“I think we’re as ready as we’ll ever be,” said Ben quietly. He seemed to have been affected by the spell, and his normally out-going self had been replaced by a quieter, more introspective individual. Rupert had changed as well, almost going to the other extreme. Where he had been inward-looking and calm, he was now charismatic and took on the mantle of leadership without complaint. In fact, it was almost as if he had been born to it.
Together, all three of the boys turned to fact the East, from whence Edmund and Ben had followed Ruperts’ trail of magic. They could open the Gate here. As one, they began to chant. The strange words sounded harsh and echoes eerily around in the space. Almost immediately, a dark mass appeared and quickly took shape as the Gate. Without a word, Edmund, Ben and Rupert stepped through together. They did not look back.
The magic of the Gate eventually stopped, and they were back in their world. The sky was leaden grey, but with glimpses of blue through gaps in the clouds. The wind gusted around them, threatening to pluck them from the hill-top. Barely two miles away, they could see Sandroyd glistening in a patch of sun, the grey stone lit up to look almost honey-coloured. Nothing had changed; obviously the disaster had not happened yet, whatever it was.
It took at least twenty minutes to walk the tiny distance, for all three of the boys were tired from their exertions in opening the Gate, and they had to stop about every hundred metres for a couple of minutes to regain their breath. As they approached the school through the paddock, their hearts beat in their throats; the blood pounded in their temples. The tension was tangible; it followed behind them, waiting for a chance to strike.
The first whiff caught them as they walked up to the front door. As they got closer, the sickly-sweet smell intensified. When they reached the door, Edmund stopped.
“Look! It’s rotten!” He said, pushing lightly against the door. It disintegrated at his touch, breaking down into a light powder. The hinges followed, the gold plate peeling off to reveal the rusted steel underneath.
It was little better inside, the stench so strong that it could be smelt even when the boys tried to breathe through their mouths. They entered the hall, and more of the decay that they had seen was waiting to greet them. Part of the ceiling had collapsed, and several of the panes of glass in the windows had collapsed. The marble fireplace was intact, but it was evident that there could not have been a fire in there for hundreds of years.
At the end of the Hall, they found the first body. It was decaying, an arm missing, the eyes gouged out. Yet it was obviously Mr. Jones. He had been running when something had caught him. He had been dead for at least three days, his back against a rotting picture that had fallen off the wall. Edmund peered down the Yellow Corridor that lead to the rest of the school and looked quickly away. But there was no way of erasing what he had just seen; at least two dozen bodies strewn around as if chucked there by some hurricane of tremendous power.
“Hang on,” said Edmund, “these bodies have only been dead for about three days, and yet the school is decaying as if it hasn’t been lived in for three hundred years! There must be something odd going here.”
“Yes, there is. Or hadn’t you noticed? All of our friends are dead!” said Ben bitterly. Edmund looked at him slowly.
“I’d noticed.”
Ben looked remorseful and was about to speak. “No, it’s alright,” said Edmund softly. Ben smiled and looked away.
Meanwhile Rupert had been looking around the nearest classrooms and came back shaking his head. Both of the other boys knew that he meant. There were more bodies in there. Neither of them bothered to go and look, they knew what it would be like. Damp and decay on the walls, bodies strewn on the floor, the glass of the windows missing.
Silently, all three of them began the most horrific day of their lives. They had to see whether anyone was alive, and that meant walking through the whole of the school. The same scenes of slow decay met them, bodies sometimes still lying in their beds, their eyes gouged out, blood splattering the ruined bedclothes. The boys footsteps echoes softly around the building, and the occasional whisper was magnified tens of time, making the three wince painfully. For some reason, they were fearful of being overheard.
Finally, they came to the last place they needed to check; the Chapel. This was always going to be the most painful of the areas for the boys. It was where they had spent many happy hours on the organ, or playing their instruments together, rejoicing in the beautiful echoes.
Slowly, Edmund pushed open the rotting door, and walked into the Chapel. It was as he remembered it, bar the decay. The organ was a pile of rubble, the chairs little heaps of dust. He turned to face the altar, and screamed. On the wall behind it was a message. In blood.
“IT DID IT TO US; IT MADE THE SCHOOL LOOK AS IF A LONG TIME HAD PASSED. IT HAS GONE TO ANOTHER WORLD; IT TOOK MR. JONES’ SHAPE. IT KILLED US ALL.”
“AVENGE US.”
Beneath this was a body. It was Tom Onslow.
He lay there in the dry pool of his own blood, his arm still stretched out, the blood on the finger evidently used to write the message. He must have had a small amount of time here in the chapel to write the message before the monster found him. Who knows what horrors he must have experienced, waiting in the magically altered Chapel. Waiting for his fate. Seeing the Wraith that had taken the teachers’ shape enter through the doors and creep towards him, the last of the Sandroydians. No, not the last; there were still three who would avenge their friends who had been so mercilessly butchered.
Rupert had gone into the vestry, past the rotting remains of the cassocks and surplices. He called out to the other two boys.
“Come here! I think I’ve found where he went to the other world. He must have left Tom to die slowly, even after he had gone.”
Ben and Edmund walked into the vestry. In the far corner was a small burnt patch on the floor. “This is where he left,” Rupert said.
“Not he; It,” said Edmund, his face white. “The teacher we all knew must have died many days ago. Do you remember the odd things he said? And the way his personality changed? No, it must have been planning this for several days at least. Rupert, when was it you felt the Fifth swell?” Edmund said.
“The 20th June, the day after Dawning-Day.”
“That must have been when he first came amongst us now; nearly two weeks ago, and we never even noticed! We are three fools. We should have known better. It’s all our fault.”
“No, it isn’t. How were we, or anyone for that matter, supposed to know that Mr. Jones had been killed by a Wraith that had taken his shape? It is not our fault, nor anybody else’s. Don’t blame yourself for what happened, Edmund. There was nothing we could do.” Ben said soothingly, although he voice was hoarse and wavered several times. Obviously he was thinking of the times he had spent at Sandroyd, singing in the choir or playing with his friends. They were all dead now.
“Our friends have gone to a better place.” Rupert sighed.
“Yes, but now it is us alone who will have to face the Wraith. How are we to do this? We are alone, we are tired, and we have no-one to help us. Rupert is an orphan, and our parents are miles away. Anyway, none of them have any command of the Music. No, we are alone in this fight. We will have to go into another world, find a Wraith that is practically invincible, and kill it,” said Edmund brokenly. “Why did this have to happen to this school? Can you remember the days when the sun was just rising in the winter, the frost glimmering on the plants, little icicles that would melt at the touch? The rosiness of the sun at first light, on our Music trips with Mr. Jones, when we had to be up before dawn. The winters’ chill on those days in March, when we were on the Salisbury Plains, practising with the First. All of those boys’ lives, wasted. Everything is lost.”
“No, it is not lost,” Rupert said emphatically. “You remember those times of happiness, and yet, although they may seem so far away and unattainable now, those memories are still there, and the dawn will come again! Don’t you see? This evil cannot affect Nature; the Sun will still rise, the flowers will still bloom. Don’t you remember only earlier, when we were walking up through the paddock; the sun shone through the clouds and lit up Sandroyd, turning it almost gold? And yet inside there is all the death. Who would have been able to know that, seeing only the outside? Those frosty mornings will come again. The rosiness will come again. And we will be there to see it and to remember our friends. Nothing is ever lost.
“Come,” he continued, “we must open the gate. Ben, and you Edmund, stand alongside me. I have found the Wraiths’ trail, and we will follow it.”
Once again, they sang, and, once again, the gate began to open. Only this time, it would open upon another world; a world where a Wraith would be waiting for them.
Chapter XI – The World of the Wraith.
Eventually the whirling stopped and the boys found themselves sitting on a blanket of pine needles. The trees reared their heads far above them, and the grey light filtered in shafts through the bare trees, looking almost opaque. They looked at each other, apprehension in their eyes. For it seemed as if the Wraith had chosen a world of death for the hunting ground. It was not surprising.
The boys stood up slowly, eyes scanning the woods around them. The pine trees grew so close together that it was almost impossible to see more than a dozen feet in any direction.
“I’ll go and get some wood for a fire,” Rupert said. He got up and stalked up, casting nervous glances around him as he walked off. What made him go off alone, neither of the other boys knew. They were left sitting in the clearing, looking at each other periodically. The wood had a melancholy atmosphere, the total absence of birdsong lending it an almost dreamlike quality.
Edmund could not sit there any longer. He got up and began pacing around the clearing restlessly, although he still glanced into the woods occasionally.
“What did we do to deserve this, Ben? What did we do wrong? What did Sandroyd do wrong? We don’t deserve this.” Edmund said sadly.
“You say that now. But so does every convicted murderer or lunatic. So does every general who loses on the battlefield. So does every scholar who fails their scholarship. We can sit here and say we don’t deserve it, but remember that everyone we judge as being evil will be sitting in their cell, back in our world, and saying exactly the same thing. No-one is ever wholly good. No-one can claim purity. We have all lied and cheated at some point; we have all been cruel to another. No-one is so God-like as to be pure,” the other boy replied softly.
Edmund said nothing in reply, but only continued to stare into the wood. A tear trickled slowly down his cheek as he remembered those days in Wiltshire. And where was he now? He was sitting in a pine forest in a world seemingly devoid of life. Surely he could never go back to being the person he had been before this had all happened.
“It is alright to cry, Edmund. Don’t be afraid to let your emotions show themselves. For it is there that we have the advantage over the Wraith. It is working for itself alone, but we have the bonds of our friendship, you, me and Rupert, and it will take a lot to break those. And I would like to see it try.” Ben said. Edmund turned, smiling through the tears, and to his surprise saw that Ben was crying too. All of the emotions that had been pent up through that long, horrific day at Sandroyd were being released. Ben began to laugh, and Edmund joined him, the tears still flowing, but happy tears now, the tears of joy that came from knowing that it would pass. If they died, they would be with their friends. If they survived, they would remember those who died in everything they did.
Rupert returned with the wood, and the boys lit a small fire in the middle of the clearing. The wood was dry, with no smoke, and the flames were blocked from the sight of any malevolent being by the thick ranks of trees. None of them talked, and they curled up near the fire before the light had faded, wriggling as close as possible to the heat without being scorched. One by one, they dozed off. Who knew what tomorrow would bring?
* * * * * *
Bens’ eyes snapped open. The fire was a mere red glow now, yet the night was still dark. He listened for a minute, but could hear no sound. But something must have awoken him. He remembered hearing a sharp crack. However after another minute of listening he decided that it was merely his overactive imagination and returned to the fireside. He did not wake the others.
* * * * * *
Edmund was awakened from his dream by the sound of a twig snapping. As he sat up, squinting into the dark, a shadow leapt upon him. Caught completely by surprise, he was almost certainly doomed when Rupert sprung up from his place by the fire, a song of Death on his lips. The black magic sprung from his fingers, narrowly missed Edmunds’ ear, and reduced the black creature into dust.
“Where the hell did you learn to do that? I thought you only had access to the Four. That was the Seventh, and a damn powerful spell it was too!” Edmund said half-jokingly, hiding his fear and shock that had set in with the realisation of his mortality, and the fact that he had almost been killed. Had it not been for Rupert, he would have been lying in his own blood by now, or facing excruciating pain at the hands of the creature.
“I don’t know. I never could do it. It must have been when I was trapped in the world of the Music. I knew I had been changed. I hate it – why does it have to happen to me?” Rupert said, his face heavily shadowed, the smallest amount of light hitting it from the near-dead fire. But it was almost dawn now, the light seeping through the trees. Rupert looked up at the sky, but it was still grey and overcast, like molten lead suspended in the sky. Dawn came without warmth; there was no sun to cheer the boys’ thoughts. It remained grey, the light still streamed through the trees, grey and cold.
“We have to get moving,” Ben said eventually. They had been sitting there too long. Obviously the world was not a deserted as they had thought it to be, and the Wraith would probably know that they were there by now. It was time to leave.
“I can follow the Wraiths’ trail. It leads west, away from the wood. We have to follow it before it turns cold; if that happens then we are truly lost,” Rupert said as he began to get up. There was nothing to pack; no strings tied them to the forlorn clearing. It was time to leave.
The three boys left the clearing; not one of them looked back at the place into which they had been hurled, not knowing what was going to happen to them. They still didn’t know what was going to happen to them. Apart from their use of the Music, they were just ordinary boys, who wanted to laugh and play; this world was too big for them, and every experience was a new one. Before this, the Music had seemed almost like a toy, but now with the creature of last night and Ruperts sudden developing of the Black, they were all too aware that they were very alone, and very vulnerable in a world of death.
* * * * * *
It was about the middle of the afternoon when the boys reached the edge of the pine wood. Before them the ground dropped sharply down into a landscape of rolling downs and little valleys. With the addition of the sun shining brightly and a few little villages, it would have been beautiful. But still there was no sky to be seen, only the all-encompassing greyness that so dampened their determination. They strode off down the hill, and reached the lower ground just as the light began to fade. This time they were out in the open and could not light a fire, and so they huddled up near each other out of the wind, which was gusting all around them. It took a long time to get to sleep.
The next morning they packed up camp and set off. The morning was grey and overcast again, but still no rain fell. Wearied by fatigue and lack of sleep, the boys were walking much slower now, but not one of them fell. Frequently they turned their thoughts back to the world they had left. A week ago they had been at Sandroyd, and their life had been happy. Then Rupert had been lost, and it had gone from there. Mr. Jones had been overcome by the Wraith, and it had butchered all of their friends and teachers. By now the story would have got out. What would their parents think when their bodies were not found among the dead? What would they do when they found Toms’ message?
The three companions breasted a hill, and Rupert stopped.
“Look! There’s a city!” He said excitedly, pointing into the distance. There could be clearly seen a circular city, with four huge walls, made of some sort of grey stone. In the middle, on the highest ground, for the city was built on a small rise, was a Tower, rising up to tear at the clouds above. “The Wraith must be there,” Rupert said suddenly. The boys’ exultation faded as quickly as it had come, replaced by a faint feeling of dread. Now that they could see the first place where the Wraith could attack, the realisation was striking home; they could all die, and no-one would be there to pick up their bodies. They would be left to rot, if the Wraith did not feed off them. But still they wanted to get there, to see the signs of civilisation close up, to be in a place where other humans had once been, if they were not there still.
They ran down the slope, eager to get there. It was about thirty miles distant, and they could cover about fifteen miles in a day; they could get there the day after next. When night came, Ben was still awake, and – after their experience in the wood – he agreed to stand watch for a while. He stalked off into the darkness, and before the light completely failed Rupert and Edmund could just make him out sitting on a rock about ten metres away.
* * * * * *
The mist descended about an hour later, when Rupert and Edmund were fast asleep. It crept insidiously into the camp, hugging the ground and completely fogging Bens’ vision. He sat there nervously, eyes watering as he scanned the night desperately, trying to see something, anything. He was barely breathing, instinctively trying to keep as quiet as possible, trying to minimize the hammering of his heart and the panting of his lungs.
A slow rattling of breath hissed around the camp, and Ben stiffened immediately. He knew immediately what was coming, and leapt up from the rock, dropping into a fighting stance. The mist curled up in front of him, streamers of barely-seen smoke. Images and shapes swirled in the mist, and Ben could feel the sweat dripping off his brow. Where was the Wraith? He knew that it had come for them, but he would not drag the others into this fight; he had dreamt about what was going to happen the night before, and he had seen the consequences of his calling to the others. No, he was truly alone, facing an unimaginable terror. The mist thickened, becoming real fog now, twisting around his feet as if to trip him up. Suddenly a shape appeared, coming ever closer.
Mr. Jones walked out of the mist, and smiled at Ben, and icy smile dripping with evil. He looked over at the other two boys, huddled shapes on the edge of his vision.
“So, you would sacrifice yourself that your friends might live?” he said quietly.
“Yes; I would,” Ben replied without hesitating.
“Such nobility! And for such a stupid purpose! What is to stop me from attacking them as soon as you are dead? No, bring them into your fight; let them help you! Let the powerful boy use his command of the Death-music against me, and turn me into a pile of ash.”
“No. I read the books of Musical lore under the real Mr. Jones, and I understand that if someone sacrifices themselves for a friend or friends, those people cannot be attacked or killed for forty-eight hours. My death will ensure them safe passage into the City. I will not listen to your entreaties.”
“Then your death will be slow and painful,” the Wraith replied in a snarl.
“I have seen my end already, and I know what is going to happen. In approximately thirty seconds you will loose a bolt of the Death-Music. It will strike me in the heart, but it will take another minute for the poison to reach me. By then you will have fled in fear of the others awakening,” Ben said.
The bolt issued from the creatures fingers, striking Ben in the heart. He crumpled without a sound, gasping as his lungs slowly filled with blood. The Wraith fled into the mist swiftly, afraid for the consequences of awakening the other boys.
Ben lay on the ground where he had fallen. The poison was almost finished in its’ terrible work now, his breathing was laboured and his was beginning to choke on the bloody froth in his mouth.
“For you, Edmund.”
Bens’ eyes clouded over, staring into the mist above him. He was dead.
Gender:
Points: 890
Reviews: 18