The Shadow Blight
Chapter I - Cricket
If you happened to be flying over Wiltshire from Bristol airport, you might see a small cluster of buildings in the middle of the rolling downs. And if you were flying lower, you might see some figures playing on the fields. This is Sandroyd School.
On the ground, the boys of Sandroyd were engaged in a fierce battle against their deadliest rivals. The humiliation of being beaten by Port Regis earlier in the term was a pressing against them at every moment of the game. Every boy gave his all, whether it was in the field, at the bat, or with the ball. The Port Regis boys were less motivated and seemed to be fighting a losing battle. They wavered at 158-7 before declaring shortly before five in the evening. Sandroyd raced to this total in a short while, smashing the score, high as it was, 159-4. The game was over by seven. Sandroyd had beaten Port Regis for the last time.
The cricketers, with their white starched clothes not quite so stiff now, marched back into the school in fine Sandroydian style; their bats shoved jauntily under one arm. They had seen off the Port Regis boys, (who were surly and quiet) and were looking forward to relating the story to the other boys. The 1st XI was on top of the world that day. They had beaten their rivals and had regained the Wessex Boys Cricket Trophy for Sandroyd, reinstating a ten year long tradition. Sandroyd were winners all round.
The boys walked happily up to the Senior Wing, after having changed back into their school clothes, and resumed normal life. Many of the Year Eight’s swarmed to hear their tale, listening eagerly Charlie Goodwin, the Captain, hugely exaggerated the story. Port Regis would have done exactly the same thing.
Eventually, bed time came and the boys trundled off to bed gratefully, for it had been a long day and, although they did not admit it, they were shatteringly tired. Soft beds welcomed them; sleep embraced them. The day drew to a close.
Yet out there, beyond the range of hills between the school and Shaftesbury, the nearest town, something was awakening. Something that should have definitely been asleep. Something evil was coming to Sandroyd. For it had sensed the power of The Music was strong. And it was hungry.
The blackness arose out of the copse of oak trees where it had been resting and glided silently down to the river. There it found a fox, hunting. Soon the hunter became the hunted as the shadow leapt on it, devouring it and leaving only a small pile of ash at the rivers edge, to be blown away by the cool eastern wind.
The creature sniffed the wind and growled softly to itself. The fox’s blood dripped from its black hood as it rose silently. The wraith of the Night was content. For now.
Yet even now, in the creatures black heart, something was amiss. For it could remember that it had not always been a Wraith, but a creature of the sun and of the fields, a being similar to those it felt the need to devour. It paused, and entered its innermost core to locate the source of its discomfort. Somewhere, in the very central chamber of the creatures being, it was revolted at what it had become, a mere parasite, living off the life-blood of others so that it could continue to live, escaping the tug of the final tune, the Music of Death. The memory was locked away by dark ramparts and fortresses of evil, but it was there; it could still surface. It only needed a chance.
Silently the creature glided across the torpid waters. It sniffed the air. The Music of Life was disgustingly strong here. The tune of Evil could barely be felt. It was unprotected; the source of its power was weakened by the myriad of little animals all contributing in their way to the Life-music. But, albeit weakened, it was still a blight upon the landscape. A tool of evil.
Chapter II – The Music
Rupert Weaver opened his eyes, and in a practised motion lifted off his duvet, swung himself off the bed and into his dressing gown. The other three boys in the dorm continued to snore quietly, with Edmund murmuring something about doughnuts in his sleep.
Smiling slightly, Rupert walked over to the window. It was the beginning of another beautiful day, with the sky already beginning to turn an azure shade of blue. The last of the stars were gently fading from the sky, and yet it could not be more than five o’clock in the morning. Rupert sighed. He would never get bored of this view. The hills rolled gently away under their soft blankets of forest, finally sinking out of sight. In the distance, the mellow spire of Salisbury Cathedral could just be sighted about thirty miles away. The summer was at its peak, the glory of the world undimmed, the Music of Life was clear for all to see. Rupert relaxed, and let his mind drift. Soon, much sooner than he had expected, he came across the soft, lilting melody of the first of the layers of Power; the Music of Beauty. It was strong, much stronger than the others, a huge band of tune stretching as far as Ruperts’ mind could see. For it was 19th of June, the Day of Dawning, when both the Music of Life and of Beauty were at their strongest.
Somewhere in the valley, a greenfinch was beginning its morning song. Rupert knew that he should not be up, Sandroyd was strict about bed hours, but he just loved this time of day, the transition between the velvet cloak of Night and the blue gown of Day. It was a time of Magic, and Ruperts’ finely tuned mind revelled in the easiness with which he could reach the Music.
Sandroyd School was not a school devoted to magic, in all aspects it was an ordinary preparatory school in the heart of the Cranborne Chase in Wiltshire, but several of the boys were blessed with sensitivity to at least three of the seven layers of the Music, the Music of Beauty, the Music of Life and the Music of Love. Only Rupert had access to the fourth, the Music of Peace. These few boys had an extra class after games, called Music Appreciation. The other boys believed that it was preparation for Music Scholarships, for, having such contact with the seven layers of the Music, these boys were naturally gifted at all instruments and could enchant a nightingale with their voices. But they were in fact taught about what the Music could do, and how to control it. Rupert was the most highly magical of them all, having access to so many layers of the Music. But three still eluded him: The Music of War, The Music of Purity, and finally, the Music of Death. Rupert was fairly sure he did not want to know how to sing to of these, the Fifth and the Seventh. He wished the Music of Purity came before the fifth, for he would love to be able to sing the tune of the Indigo, the Sixth, and the most beloved of all the Seven.
But some things could not be. For it is the curse of the high Musicians that they must face corruption while singing the War-Music. This they must do to reach the Music of Purity. Only the most highly skilled can overcome this, and it is strongly discouraged unless you are gifted indeed at the Four. Many who had tried had been subverted, and had turned into the Black Wraiths that were part of myth and legend. It was said that there wee now fully forty of them. Rupert was definitely not going to try for at least another couple of years. He may be strong, but not nearly as strong as his teacher, Mr. Jones, who was also Head of Music at Sandroyd. Only the Headmaster (and the boys he taught) knew of his magical talent.
Chapter III – A Scream in the Copse
The heat of the day was unbearable to the Wraith. It huddled under the shadow of a small rock, its black, ragged robes steaming slightly in the hot June sun. The Day of Dawning was anathema to it, yet once again in its core it knew that, long ago, it had celebrated the 19th of June every year. The memory struggled to break out of the chains binding it. Somewhere, it knew that if he could do this it would be free to return to his old life. It remembered… a sorcerer… no, it was the sorcerer… there was something about corruption… it had been corrupted…
At this point the Wraith came closer to throwing off the dark mantle the Music of War had forced upon it than it had ever done before. But the War-Music felt this and rose again in a wall of fury, blocking out the Music of Love that pushed against its consciousness, threatening to attack the Music of War, to topple it from its throne.
The Wraith twitched as the forces within him battled each other furiously. The memory was eroding its walls of protection, and the War-Music was fighting back, building newer, stronger ones to defend. The memory was fighting a losing battle. It was slowly but surely being pushed back behind the innermost rampart of his soul by the Red; the Fifth and most Evil part of the Music.
The Wraith was writhing now. Suddenly it snapped. It could not control its feelings any more. An inhuman scream rent the sultry air and the peace of the copse was abruptly shattered. A few miles away, in Shaftesbury, men and women stopped what they were doing and milled around in confusion, and a little fear. What was it? No-one seemed to know.
Back in the copse, the sound of bubbling tears echoed around. The Wraith lay on its back behind the rock, no longer caring about the pain of the sun, but just wishing the pain of the War-Music would stop. It burned through him, a red fire of pain, destroying the remnants of the memory of what the wraith had been before it had been subverted.
An hour passed, and eventually the Wraith stopped crying. The Music of War had receded back behind its walls, and the Wraith had no memory of the pain it had caused. Silently, evilly, the Wraith reached up to the Black, the Seventh, the Music of Death. He saw a rabbit feeding in the meadow grass at the rivers bank not fifty metres away. He sent the music in a ripping shriek of harsh melody at the terrified creature. Seconds later the charred rabbit was lying on the grass under the shadow of the trees.
Swiftly the Wraith eased itself out of the copse and lowered its head to the creature. In one swift movement it sucked the lifeblood out of the creature before it was even cold. The Wraith seemed to swell, growing more powerful off the rabbit’s blood, sucking up and absorbing its little store of the Music of Life. It would now be able to escape the Sevenths call to him. It could use it now without the fear of its retribution, carrying it off to the final End.
Day was beginning to lower her blue gown now, the sun sinking lower and lower in the sky. It was still hot, however, and although the shadows had grown longer the Wraith was still unwilling to leave the rock. It watched, almost invisible to any eyes that would have been able to get close to it without being caught. Underneath the hood, two red sparks flashed. When night came, it would be ready.
Chapter IV- “Something is wrong”
The same Sun was lowering its rays over Sandroyd, but on a far more active scene. It was the Sports Day, and the boys had just finished the last of the events, and were hurrying to grab the best of the tea before the fat teachers came and ate it all, as was their wont.
Once in the dining room, they dived for the layered trestle tables and began the hard job of eating as much food as they could in as little time as possible.
But there was one boy who did not join in the spectacle. Rupert was worried. He could feel something was wrong. There was some form of swelling in the Music. The first three were very weak and the Fourth’s melody had all but disappeared. He could feel something pushing at the edge of his consciousness, some darker music. Every now and then he could catch a snatch of some dark melody, and with it a colour. Red. He knew what it was now. For some reason, he was becoming sensitive to the fifth, the red.
The first three layers of the Music were shimmering threads, their melodies shrinking. The fourth was worse still. Something was causing this to happen, some huge imbalance in the world nearby. Someone or something must be creating that imbalance. That meant something evil was out there, and it must be of great power. Greater than his, that was definite.
Rupert was never outwardly exuberant, but had always been a quiet boy. Now he was dark and moody; his eyes introspectively into himself. His thoughts, however, were crystal daggers just waiting to strike. A normally collected boy, he felt that he was on the edge of loosing control due to his worries. They mounted up and threatened to overcome him.
He left the Dining Room, and returned back to his dorm. Once again he returned to his beloved place by the window but this time it could not please him. The view shimmered under an imaginary haze of Danger. The birds seemed to be singing a song of Death. Already he could see that the grass in the meadow outside the dorm had begun to wither. For the Music of Life and the Music of Beauty were the sustainers of these things, and they were failing, buried under the earth by the power of the Fifth.
Rupert was shocked. The rate at which the Red was growing scared him. Something out there must be immensely powerful for it to be able to create such an imbalance in little under a day.
Edmund came in, obviously looking for him. Edmund had access to the first two layers of the Music, and was skilled with these. He made it a point not to be jealous of Rupert’s magical power, as he had often said that it was best to make do with what you have and learn to do it well. He was well liked in the school, but managed to stay relatively apart from many of the boys, dedicating himself to the Music Appreciation classes, throwing himself into them with his all. There was common ground between him and Rupert that fuelled their friendship: They were in the choir, the played the same instruments, they were both good academically, but, most of all, they were both in love with the magic of the Music.
“Something is wrong. You know it. I can feel my sense of the Green and the Purple fading; their melody is almost completely hushed. You have greater sensitivity than me. What is happening?”
Rupert sighed and looked at him sadly, when he spoke, his voice was melodic from use of the Music, but tinged with sorrow.
“Some evil is stirring near us. It imbalances the Music of War, making it stronger. As it gains power, the other layers fade into obscurity. If nothing is done, the whole of the country for at least twenty miles around will wither and die. Look.”
He pointed out of the window at the yellowing grass and the trees, which were losing some of their leaves.
Ordinary people would not notice this, but those followers of the layers felt every minute shift in Natures’ balance. The grass was not really that yellow, and there were not that many leaves on the ground, but to Rupert and Edmund it was a warning of things to come. Bad times were coming.
The two boys continued to talk for a short while, Edmund voicing his worries and fears, with Rupert countering them and replying as best he could.
Eventually they stood up. All of their combined fears had been talked about and analysed, and neither of them were quite so afraid any more. Of course, there was always Mr. Jones, one of the most powerful Musicians in the whole of the West-country.
That night Rupert lay awake in his bed for a long time. Across the dorm, he could here that Edmund was asleep from the slight snuffling noises coming from his bed. He had always made odd noises when asleep. Obviously his lessened sensitivity to The Music meant that he could still sleep without fear of dark shapes in the night. Rupert had always had an overactive imagination, but this time it was working overdrive, finally having some solid fact of evil to scare him with. He lay very still, listening for any sounds. But he heard none. The night continued on peacefully; to anyone without the sensitivity it would just be an ordinary summer’s night. But Rupert knew that there would be several boys and one teacher who would not be sleeping that night. How Edmund had managed to drift off he did not know.
What was happening? Rupert was unsure, but he knew that Sandroyd was probably the evil creatures’ destination. Because of Mr. Jones’ power, and the boys’ use of the first few layers, it would naturally want to come there.
Rupert realised.
It was coming for them.
Chapter V – It begins…
Once again, Night shed her dark mantle over the earth, and the Wraith resumed its journey. With the sun safely down, and the moon a mere sliver in the sky, it resumed its journey. For Rupert was right. It was going to Sandroyd. It did indeed intend to steal the boys’ power of the Music from them. But it would not do it in the many which he expected. For, subverted to evil doing as it might be, the ex-musician could still remember how to use stealth, and it realised that it might not be the best option for it to just come striding into the school. It realised that there were several powerful Musicians present, and they would do anything to prevent a Wraith just walking up and knocking on the door.
It would have to be careful. It was time to practise its art. Reaching into the Music, it came to War, and passed through its main use without activating it. For War, as did Purity, had a subliminal tune, which skilled Musicians, or the evil Wraiths, could activate and put to whatever strange task they needed it for. For the War-Music could cause the user to change shape into something else at will.
Slowly, quietly at first but gaining power and sound, the Wraith began to hum. The tune was a harsh, discordant sound, but there was a smooth, powerful, tune underlying the main one that could not normally be heard. The Wraith concentrated on this. Soon a black whirling cloud hovered in front of him, its shape vaguely humanoid. It had studied its victims shape long and hard, flying in his spirit form over its site of residence. Once it had assumed the humans shape, the Wraith would come to the mans’ house and dispose of him quickly and quietly. It knew that the man was not married, and there would be no-one to notice his departure if the Wraith acted quickly. It had been practising the art of Words and Laughter, and it thought it was ready. It stepped into the cloud, and the humming abruptly stopped. The cloud intensified, streamers of black heading out, into the night.
Back in Shaftesbury, the power caught a dog escaped from its kennel, and it immediately grew three feet in height and length. Red fire burned in its eyes. It would now serve the evil purpose of the subverted Musicians until it was destroyed.
In a small village on the other side of the river, the power caught a pub, and shortly after black cloaked shapes streamed out and into the houses nearby. Others ran into the woods, seeking blood; fresh blood.
The Wraith chuckled inwardly. It had not expected this to happen, and at first it had been deeply shocked, but now it was merely pleasantly surprised. He had caused more evil to enter the world, further shifting the imbalance. It had never shape-shifted before, but there was a first time for everything.
The creature strode out into the night, for all aspects now an ordinary human being. Its dark blue eyes sparkled with what appeared to be humour. Those who got close enough to discover that it wasn’t would never be able to tell anyone.
It covered the distance at speed, at one with the night, full of dark intent. It reached the beginning of the Westland downs shortly before dawn and, finding a convenient hollow, lay down to rest and wait out the day. It could wait. It had always been able to wait, no matter how close the victim, how tempting the power, it had always known Patience, and Patience had proved to be its ally. The Creature knew that it would serve no purpose, except to weaken him further, to journey in the Sun. Anyway, it was only another five miles to the mans’ house, and then only one mile to the School. And then it would feast on the blood of the boys. It could already taste the warm flow of the Music entering its body through the red liquid. Oh, yes, the Wraith could wait.
Chapter VI – Confusion…
Rupert finally drifted off to sleep at about three in the morning. He had Music Appreciation the next day and if he wasn’t rested than he would most likely not even be able to get past The Music of Life. Then again, maybe that would be a good thing. It would mean that he would not have to feel the pressure of the Fifth intruding upon his powers. It would mean that he could bury his fears in a pit of normality.
Once again he awoke at Dawn and went to the window. But today was not one of the halcyon days of the past week, but rather a day of rolling clouds and of dark desires. The birds were not singing. Never before had it been so depressing the day after the great celebrations of the 19th June. Yet this day was only celebrated in Music circles, which meant that Sandroyd did not really celebrate it at all. Rupert shuddered at this depressing thought. Today really was a day for the downtrodden and pessimistic. He barely cared any more. The weather matched his mood, dark and brooding, a prescience of storms to come.
Suddenly a wave of nausea rose to engulf him, as if his spirit was trying to shuck its skin and fly away. He resisted for a few seconds and then he allowed it to happen calmly. He flew over the woods and the playing fields, over the downs and the pastures full of sheep huddled against the biting wind, until he came to rest at a place not seven miles from the School. At first he noticed nothing special and was preparing to force his spirit to return to its body when he saw something stir in a hollow next to the hedge. He curiosity piqued, he walked, or rather floated, over and looked down into the dell. He stared. Mr. Jones was sitting there, mumbling to himself. Rupert gasped and his teachers head snapped up.
“Who’s there?” came the sharp riposte.
Rupert did not reply. Instead, he hurried backwards and tripped over a stone lying in the field, such was his hurry to leave. For some reason Mr. Jones scared him. What his teacher was doing unnerved the boy badly. It was not natural for him to be sitting in the middle of the field.
With a swishing sound his spirit flew on silver wings back over the wood and into his dorm. He saw as he descended into his body, in a moment of unreality, the eyes of his corporeal open and for a moment he was seeing the world from two angles.
Disorientated, he climbed back up onto his bed, mulling over what he had just seen. There was no question about the fact that it had been Mr. Jones he had seen sitting in the hollow, he could feel his power emanating as strongly as it always had. It had to be him. Yet that did not explain why he had been sitting in the middle of a field at six thirty in the morning. Rupert mulled over this fact as he lay in his bed, but eventually he dismissed it, reasoning that Mr. Jones was a Musician of the highest order, a follower of the Sixth, and he would have been out there for his own good reasons. Yet, deep inside himself, Rupert was not satisfied with his explanation. Why had his teacher spoken so sharply when he had looked up? Was it fear in his voice?
* * * * * *
Sitting in the dell, Mr. Jones laughed, a deep, rich, mellow laugh full of merriment. He was happy. Slowly he returned back to his house, unlocking the door and taking off his coat in one movement. He loved his life. He loved teaching the boys, he loved the power he felt; he was full of joy.
The sun finally broke through the clouds just as Mr. Jones left his house to begin the walk down to Sandroyd. The clouds were rolling apart, the sun a beacon of brightness fairly high in the sky. The day that had looked to be so unpromising to Rupert looked as if it was going to be a scorcher just like the one before.
Briskly the teacher set off through the tranquil woods, striding past all the little flowers and woodland creatures, the oaks and the ashes in their groves, the young beeches planted by the woodsman ten years ago. Life was everywhere.
“This will be the first to fall under the Evil. What can I do? All my senses are alert, ready for someone to combat me, but who will dare? For I was the one who turned down the High-Musicianship.”
Eventually, he reached the school and strode into the staff room. The teachers were soporific, barely looking up when he entered into the room. He sat down with a sigh. This room stifled him. The closeness of it all, the teachers all lying on the various easy chairs. He hated it. His body longed for the woods and the fields of his home. He longed for the day to be over, and yet it had barely begun.
“Mr. Jones, it’s time for the lessons to begin. Come on, man!”
Slowly, wearily, the music master lifted himself up and walked to the door. Slowly, wearily, he opened it. Slowly, wearily, he walked down the corridor and finally into the classroom where he was to begin his teaching.
Sitting in the classroom, Rupert saw his teacher enter and breathed a sigh of relief. It was obviously a dream, all that nonsense about sitting at the window and seeing the bad weather. “Look outside!” he thought inwardly. “The weather is just like yesterday!” And yet it had seemed so realistic. He put the thought behind him and concentrated on the lesson and the power of the Music.
As he touched the Music of Life, he gasped in amazement; it was pulsing as of old, the weakness and corruption gone from the first. Still breathing quickly, barely daring to hope, he arose through the next three layers, and they were also back to normal, their melodies strong and vibrant.
Mr. Jones spoke.
“Now I want you all to enter the Music of Beauty. Let yourselves revel in its sound, its melody.”
Rupert complied, feeling the cool wash of the magic over him. He was flying in a sea of stars, the sound an all-consuming wave. The music was strong, irresistible, reaching into the very depths of his soul, cleansing all in a blaze of green fire. Rupert urged himself on, staying for once in the first layer, amazed at the Music. It was so beautiful! As the music continued unerringly towards its greatest point, the intensity increased, until Rupert was almost crying. He could see the beauty.
Suddenly, the music reached its climax in a burst of green fire, the top note purging away all of Ruperts doubts. It carried him away, awash on its power. He was sobbing now, too immersed to care, too happy to notice everyone else was as well, except Mr. Jones, who was sitting unmoved.
But slowly, he felt his magic begin to drain in an unpleasant way, and he relinquished his hold on the Music. He came out of his trance, saw the other boys doing the same, and hastily sat up straight on his chair. He glanced up at the clock. The lesson was over anyway.
Mr. Jones stood up, his eyes sparkling again, the dimness and awkwardness of the beginning of the lesson disappeared. And yet, he hurried out of the room. Rupert walked after him and saw him wiping his eyes in a corner. He turned round immediately he saw his teacher composing himself and walked back up the corridor pretending he hadn’t seen anything. It was nice to know the Mr. Jones had human feelings as well, that he could not resist the power of the Music.
The rest of the day passed slowly, Rupert and Edmunds time taken up with games and ordinary lessons. But after that they were finally at a loose end, and they naturally did what they were best at. After collecting their friend Ben Fuller, another talented boy with use of the first two layers of the Music, they went down into the chapel and played on the organ. For the next hour, the chords of Bach, Handel and Mendelssohn echoed around the school, possibly for the last time before the tranquillity of the schools life was ruined by the evil, wherever it was now.
Chapter VII – Music and Magic
A week passed, and life at Sandroyd continued undeterred, the Music still strong, the weather perfect. Life was good. Rupert began to forget about his worries about the swelling of the fifth, it was still strong, but the other layers seemed to have risen to counter it.
Finally, it was the weekend, and Rupert decided to go for a walk in the woods around the school. He set off shortly after lunch, whistling softly to himself, at peace with the world. Small clouds scudded across the sky, picked up by the freshening breeze. Birds twittered in the hedgerows, and the day was warm. Rupert was happy out here in the open, his soul free of all the constraints of the average day at school. Here he was free to practise as much of the Melody of the Music as he wanted. He was free to do as he willed, he could fly like a bird, heal dying plants, and tame animals. Yet this was not his wont, the part of the controller. He was a sustainer, someone who would lend his Music when and where it was wanted.
He reached the wood, and began to walk more slowly, drinking in the delights of the day at its height. The sun dripped in dappled pools on the floor, the leaves swayed in the wind. Rupert strode on, humming softly part of an anthem he had sung in choir the previous day. All was at piece.
And then it happened. He broke out of the woods into a small field which he often frequented and had indeed been his destination from the start of the walk. He came here to think and occasionally to sing.
The meadow was no longer a meadow. The ground was barren and parched, and the only grass still clinging onto the bare earth by sheer stubbornness was withered and yellow. There were no animals in sight, and the birdsong that was in full swing only one hundred metres back was nowhere to be heard.
Rupert sat down on the edge of the destruction, shocked. To the casual observer it was only a small patch of devastation, maybe because of a tree being felled or something hitting the ground, but to Rupert it was like seeing his whole world go up in smoke. He remembered all of the little discoveries he had made in this place, the little tricks he had learnt with the music… The Music!! He remembered! He could turn it back with a combination of the First and the Second, Beauty and Life, Green and Purple. He could return it to its old state of verdant life!
Slowly, he began to reach into the Music. Soon he came across the Music of Beauty, and rose through it as usual, but this time he kept a grip on it, not letting its melody slip past his fingers as he normally did, but rather reaching for the next Layer with his other hand still in the First. This he did without trouble, and he combined the two.
Carefully he lowered his shining hands and expended his will, might, and his collection of the Music into the ground…
* * * * * *
Back at the school, the boys felt a tremor shake the ground. Over in the east, a little more than a mile away, birds flew squawking out of the trees to disperse in different directions, seeking a safe place. Boys left their lessons and walked to the windows, ignoring the teachers’ commands, and looked over the wood. All was still now. And yet some of the boys of keener hearing thought that, just for a second, they could here a lilting, insistent melody floating in the air. But when they tried to concentrate on it is was gone as quickly as it had been there, a wisp of smoke on the light zephyrs.
Mr. Jones sniffed the air and nodded to himself. Someone had given off a huge amount of Music, and had actually survived the blast, it seemed. He picked up his bag and strode out of the Staff Room. He had to be the first to get there. He had to confirm what was happening. If it really had been who he had thought it really was, then he was a far more powerful Musician than he had thought he was, possibly powerful enough to risk the power of the War-Music. He had to find out what had happened. Something had caused the person to let of a blast of two combined layers of the Music. Something that only a skilled Musician could do. Mr. Jones was anxious. It was imperative that he got there before anyone else, or else everything could go wrong.
Edmund ran through the wood, his heart pumping somewhere in the region of his eyes. Ben Fuller ran alongside him, both boys puffing for air. They had to get to the aid of their friend. They knew it was Rupert who had released the Music. It had to be. Only Rupert or Mr. Jones were powerful enough (in the vicinity of the school) to release a burst of such power, and Ben had seen Mr. Jones himself only seconds before the tremor. They dodged past trees and through the scrub, racing to get to Ruperts’ clearing, from whence the tremor had issued.
“How far away are we now?” Ben asked, panting.
“We cannot be more than half a mile. It was only half an hours walk, and we have been running for ten minutes flat out.” Edmund replied.
Ben nodded, lacking the breath to reply. He concentrated on the path ahead, saving his energy. Both the boys knew the danger to Rupert if he had been drained by the Music. Both of the boys had felt the spell itself leave his hands, and they had been staggered by its power.
* * * * * *
Mr. Jones pulled up sharply. Somewhere, just out of view, he had heard, distinctly, a twig snap. He exhaled silently. Someone was close. He knew it.
“Come out. I know you are there.” He shouted. No reply.
Slowly, he turned around a full circle, taking in the view. The trees were all about him, distorting his sense of distance. He could not see anyone, or anything, that could have been that near him. But then, had it been? The wood was notoriously easy to get lost in if one didn’t know his way, and he had been running heedless of the possible dangers. Maybe someone knew about him and his power and had been sent from one of the major cities, one of the seats of the Music. He had to be careful.
He waited for another half a minute before beginning to run again. He was close now, little more than half a mile. He could run fast and get there in five minutes. Mr. Jones ran, a speeding bullet in the woods.
* * * * * *
Edmund slowly ground to a halt, his breath rattling harshly in his throat. Just ahead lay the clearing, and yet he was strangely resistant to enter. Something seemed to pull him back, but he forged ahead, momentarily forgetting Ben at his side, and soon came to the edge of the trees. He gasped. Ben stopped too, utterly gobsmacked.
“How could he have managed such a thing?”
* * * * * *
Mr. Jones came to the edge of the wood. He strode into the clearing, and straight up to Edmund.
“What are you doing here? Who gave you permission to be here? It is dangerous. You should leave.” He said, sharply. Edmund stopped, startled. This was unlike the teacher he knew. What was wrong?
“I’m sorry. I was out of place. You must have come to look for the boy. He is your friend, it was right to do so.” The teacher admitted grudgingly. He had seen the shock and hurt in Edmunds’ eyes. Discarding the event, he walked over to Rupert, who was lying in the middle of the clearing, in a small hollow in the brown earth. Mr. Jones bent over him and lightly touched his brow. The boy started up; his eyes snapped open and he screamed. Yet he did not see the world and the man in front of him, rather looking at a different place, somewhere that no-one could enter without being changed.
Chapter VIII – The World of the Music
Rupert swam through a lake of stars, passing nebulae and solitary lights. The world was a tiny glimmer of consciousness. Somewhere inside himself he knew he was being lost in the shock of the Music. That small part of him tried desperately to return, but his body would not respond. It was as if it was paralysed by the Music coursing within his veins. He was lost; lost to his friends, his family, his Life.
Edmund walked slowly forward, looking over the body of his friend. His normally cheerful exterior was gone, replaced by something altogether more sombre. But inside him, many emotions were fighting to be released, wanting to rise up over his control and show themselves. The boy was not used to hiding his feelings in this manner. If he was cross he would show it, even in lessons or against the most formidable opponents.
But now, as he looked at Rupert lying in the middle of the burnt and shrivelled clearing, a strange feeling was stirring in him. It was almost as if he wanted Rupert to remain in the trance. It would mean that he would be the most powerful Musician among the boys. He would be the most admired among the little circle! Mr. Jones would devote all of his attention to him! Yes, Edmund did not want Rupert to get better. The boys’ face tightened, a muscle in the cheek twitching spasmodically, as Edmund struggled inwardly. He thought he had a way with which to make Rupert return, but he was being overpowered by the strange hatred that was consuming him, making his spirit shrivel within him.
Ben looked up, his innate knowledge of peoples’ thoughts rising within him. He could sense that Edmund was in trouble somehow, fighting something within him. Ben could feel a heat coming from him. He had to help! Slowly, trying not to attract Mr. Jones’ attention, lest he should be distracted from whatever he was doing to help Rupert, he walked over to where Edmund stood and laid his hand on his shoulder to better get a feeling of what was happening. He felt his friend shudder and sigh. Ben hummed a couple of notes of the Life-Music and sent it into Edmund. The hate was almost gone now, dispersed by Bens’ spell.
Edmund felt the odd emotion disappear as suddenly as it had come, and suddenly became aware that Ben was holding his shoulder, his eyes shut.
“That was a close one,” Bens’ voice echoed in his mind.
“I know. Hang on… how are we speaking like this?”
“What the hell are you doing in my head?!”
“I’m not – I could just feel you in mine!” Edmund retorted. Ben looked at him, surprised and vaguely excited about what they had just discovered without realising. But back to the task at hand: Rupert. He had not moved; he lay there on the ground, still staring into space; still lost.
“I have to go and get him. He is my friend.” Edmund said quickly, to show that all of that strange feeling he had fought earlier had gone. Ben acquiesced, knowing Edmund well enough not to fight him.
“Of course. But I think I had better come too – what if something happens to you?” Ben said.
A cloud crossed Edmunds’ face; on the one hand he would love to have his friend with him, but on the other hand what would happen if he was lost as well? What if Ben died?” These doubts flitted across Edmunds’ brain, tormenting him with their persistence.
“All right. You can come. But be careful.” He replied finally. Ben did not speak, but only nodded, knowing that Edmund had just had an extremely had decision to make. He could have already lost one of his best friends – what would happen if he lost the other one as well? But Ben was determined. He had to protect Edmunds’ back if he needed to do something with his command over The Music.
Together, they turned and faced the body. Ben closed his eyes and began to mutter under this breath. Edmund turned, surprised; he had been expecting to do this. But now that he was the spectator, instead of the spell-caster, he felt much better; for a brief moment the weight of responsibility rested on Bens’ shoulders, not his.
It could only have been a few seconds, but it seemed like an hour at least, before the Gate opened. It was a boy-sized swirling mass of grey and black. Mr. Jones, hearing the sound of the unearthly wind, spun round just as Ben and Edmund prepared to jump through.
“BEN! EDMUND! NO!” he yelled at the top of his voice. But it was too late. They ran through, Ben singing the magic command that would lead them to the place where Rupert was trapped. As Edmunds’ foot disappeared, the gate closed with a sharp retorted which echoed around the ruined clearing. They were gone, and the gate would not open again for another twelve hours. Anything could happen in that time; they could be attacked by monsters, and all of the teachers finely laid plans would be ruined. It was imperative that they survive at all costs.
* * * * *
In a burst of power and song, Ben and Edmund came sprinting into the world where Rupert was trapped. As Rupert had seen in his dazed state, the stars were nearer here, continuing their never ending dance that much closer to the human eye. Ben took a few tentative steps forward and stopped, gasping. Edmund felt it too; he could hear all of the layers of music at once, in a great swell of melody that reached from horizon to horizon. Even the fifth and seventh fitted in here, their normally discordant melodies slotting into the overall sound softly.
“Ben, I think we’re… in the … no, it can’t be… we’re in the Music itself! This must be where Rupert is!” Edmund said slowly.
“I know; we must be in the Music – look; there is no floor!” Ben replied nervously, half-joking.
Edmund looked down and almost fainted. They were standing in mid-air! He could see stars beneath him as well as above. As he looked, a shooting star passed not a mile below, and both of the boys felt a momentary warmth which added to that from the music. This was a strange place to be in; the heart of magic itself.
“We have to get going. Who knows where Rupert is now?” Ben said.
“Can you feel him like you could when you opened the gate?” Edmund queried hopefully.
“Yes, but it will be difficult to track him exactly. But I know he is not more than twenty miles from here. Let’s go.” He replied.
With Ben leading, they began to walk off in search of their missing friend.
* * * * * *
Mr. Jones sat in the staffroom, staring at the wall opposite him. What was happening in that world? Were they all right? They had to be. Otherwise everything would go wrong. He would be sacked, and then he would have to begin to search for another place. He hoped with all his might that they were still alive. There were so many possible dangers. They could have been killed by the shock of coming through the gate. They could have been killed by the Music itself. Anything could have happened to them. But there was nothing to be done. He would have to wait. Mr. Jones was a man of action, and all of this sitting around was torture. He needed to be doing something!
The Headmaster looked at the man cautiously. For an hour now, Mr. Jones had been sitting in the Staffroom staring at the wall. What was up with the man? He didn’t seem to be ill. He had responded when talked to. The Headmaster didn’t want to think what he might really be doing. When Mr. Jones had applied for the job of Head of Music and had told the Headmaster why he was there, the Head had politely ignored it, and offered him the job purely on the strength of his credidentials. He seemed to be a pleasant character, always with a smile. But that side of him had vanished several days ago, and he seemed lacklustre. His face was a wall of rock, smooth and indomitable.
Chapter IX –
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.
i really enjoyed reading your story, it was bloody fantastic (for a 13yr old or otherwise). the idea of music-magic while not entirely original (it has been used by Alison Croggon + Janny Wurts), is awesome especially given that it has your own unique take on the idea.
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