A Change In The Weather

To the casual observer, first impressions would suggest that the book was covered in fine leather, although in actual fact if you had examined it a little closer you would have found that the ancient book was, in fact, bound in human skin. It was older than the oldest book in existence and even though its name had long since been forgotten, its contents had been revered ever since the dawning of the magic age. The clasp that bound the book had been cast in bronze, and inscribed with incredibly detailed engravings of emblems, diagrams and pictograms, which would later turn out to pre-date much of western civilization.

Augustus reverently laid the book on the table and prized open the clasp. The velum parchment that filled the book was fragile and yellow with age. The text had been written in Talistese - a dead language that hadn’t been uttered by humans for more than a millennium. The words on the page – if you could call them that - were dark brown in colour, and would turn out to be the dried remnants of the human blood that been used to ink the pages.

A lot of people had died for this book, including its previous keeper (for no-one could be said to truly own a book like this in the everyday sense). The person in question - a rich and powerful collector of rare esoterica – had discovered it whilst financing a private archaeological dig in Egypt at the site of the ancient library of Alexandria. The Fiery Brand had tracked him down when news of the curious find had surfaced in the media.

Unfortunately, not long after the discovery, he’d committed suicide. At least that was what the authorities claimed. Augustus allowed himself a little smile as he remembered.

He lit the candles and rolled out the black cloth. The tiny sprites from the flames danced eerily about the walls again, leaping and jumping with wild abandon, just as they had before in the underground chamber when the Cockatrice had been resurrected.

Tracing his fingers over the pages, he finally found the passage, and looked up at everyone with a serious expression.

‘You realise that this incantation will most probably end magic forever? There will be no going back. Do we all still wish to carry on with this?’

No sooner had he said the words than the sprites faltered in their merry dance. They stood as shadows of light against the wall, nodding their heads occasionally, as if whispering to each other. Did he say something about ending magic forever?

Godfrey looked at the sprites suspiciously for a moment - they continued to dance again, albeit in a contrived manner, as they carried on listening to the conversation. He eventually turned back to face Augustus.

‘Yes, we’ve talked about this in length.’ he said. ‘We all know what to expect.’

Ichabod nodded, and walked towards Augustus.

‘Yes, end it now. I for one have no wish to carry on in this pathetic shell. Much better to live out the rest of our lives as mortals.’

Gideon smiled and looked up at Augustus.

‘There you have it. I have no love of magic anymore. This world of man is beyond saving as it is. What do I care for it?’

Augustus turned his attention back to the book.

‘Very well. As you wish.’

He laid the eggs out in a line in front of the book. Now, all that he needed to do was smash them up whilst saying a few words in a language that hadn’t been uttered aloud in over a thousand years. It sounded simple, but it was anything but. As well as the eggs, a few other sundry items needed to be included.

‘The gossamer wings of a fairy?’

Godfrey took a key and unlocked his butterfly case. He reached inside and took out a few of the items.

‘There,’ he said, placing the filigree wings on the table. ‘From our little friends in Bracken Wood courtesy of Toadflax.’

Godfrey picked up a wooden box and opened it.

‘And now,’ continued Augustus, ‘the tongue of a liar ripped from his still living head.’

Godfrey turned the box over and emptied the contents out. A package covered in a cotton cloth plopped out onto the table. Godfrey unwrapped it, pulling the muslin covers off it to reveal a human tongue, covered in dried blood.

‘I suppose the mayor won’t be needing this anymore.’ he smirked.

Augustus took the item and laid it next to the others.

‘And now the song of a nightingale.’

Godfrey dropped a tape onto the table - as well as the dead body of a bird.

‘There. I suppose that will do.’

Gideon carefully laid three mirrors on the table.

‘At the end of the recitation of the passage I will signal you with a nod, and you will smash the mirrors in this order: one mirror smashed in the reflection of a second mirror, that is itself smashed in the reflection of a third.’

Gideon nodded.

‘I think I can do that.’

And with that confirmation, Augustus began uttering the eldritch pronunciations of the bizarre letters; words that hadn’t been heard for an aeon; words that would ultimately fracture reality and bring on the end of magic for the world of man.

As he continued to recite the passage from the book, he took the Wyvern egg and smashed it with one hand as he traced the words on the page with the other. As the egg was destroyed, the temperature of the air dropped tens of degrees in a fraction of a second and the windowpane began to frost over with ice crystals.

His breath condensed out of his mouth with each exhalation and as he spoke the words, the shape of a glyph formed out of his breath and floated there, lingering for a moment in the air in front of him before fading away completely.

After a few minutes he held the black Cockatrice egg in one hand, and crushed the shell completely into pure powder. No sooner had he done this than the room went completely quiet. No sound was heard except for Augustus as he continued to mutter the passages of the book. The silence didn’t seem to faze him, and he carried on mouthing the strange words, until eventually he centred his attention on the remaining Fire Drake egg that lay before him.

And then Augustus finished his recitation. The room had become as cold as ice and as quiet as a tomb. With one silent and determined action, he brought his fist down hard on top of the egg.

A tiny crack appeared running from the top to the bottom of the egg. And then nothing. Augustus waited patiently, whilst Godfrey, Gideon and Ichabod looked on in awkward silence, powerless to do anything.

And then the light went out.

Darkness, cold and silence seemed to entomb the room, as the candles extinguished themselves. Godfrey fumbled about in the dark for the matches again, and began to relight the candles.

In the middle of the room, the dragon egg had turned into a pile of precious stones. They lay there glittering on the table, whilst Augustus looked expectantly towards Gideon.
Gideon held one mirror in front of each other, breaking them in turn as the reflection of one mirror was broken in the reflection of the one after it.

When he’d finished, he looked at Augustus expectantly.

Augustus just shrugged his shoulders.

‘That’s it. It’s done.’ he said, looking out of the window at the newly falling snowflakes outside.

Godfrey took his ring off and placed it on the table, followed by the rest of the Fiery Brand.

They waited, sitting around the table, expecting their hideous appearances to return.

But, instead, the spell had been successful, their faces grew younger and younger as the fifteen hundred year old curse was reversed, until at last they fully regained their former appearances.

Ichabod picked up a shard of mirror and looked at the reflection of himself. Gone was the putrefying appearance of his undead self that he expected. Instead, staring back at him was a face that he hadn’t seen in over fifteen hundred years.

A tear rolled down his cheek and he smiled, as they all filed out of the room.

 

* * * * *

In the quiet of the room, something was happening.

A deep cracking sound, heard by no-one in particular, preceded a deep black line that appeared as if from nowhere, scything through the air giving the illusion of cleaving the room in two.

The crack continued to grow in length and width, eventually disappearing into the wall and through into the adjoining room.

A deep frost instantly froze the windowpanes, cracking the glass and splintering the wooden table with a deep penetrating cold as it spread outward from the expanding rift…

* * * * *

 

When he was sure they were safe from the monster, Hillary found enough courage to turn his head to look back. He was surprised to see, not the monster chasing, but something else equally as strange spreading up the river following in the wake of the boat.

Hillary blinked and looked again, although he couldn’t quite let himself believe it: Against all probability the river was freezing solid!

As it raced along, the freezing water formed beautiful swirling patterns that reflected the light from the moon.

What concerned him more was the speed at which the ice was spreading: it was traveling at the same speed as The Persephone and freezing the water solid where it stood, even if it surged to the banks from the boat’s wake, it froze the water no matter what. It was almost mesmerising to watch.

Desperately he looked down at the throttle, but it was already fully open, and there was nothing more to give. He hoped the boat would make it back to Ketton Marsh and the windmill before the ice reached them, but the weather was changing so drastically with flakes of snow falling lazily all around, that all he could do was try his best and hope.
With an expression of grim determination he faced ahead into the wind and piloted The Persephone as best he could.

* * * * *

Tobias, used to the bobbing motion of the boat in the water, was the only one who had noticed that the boat had suddenly stopped moving up and down.

‘Can you feel that?’ he said.

Thomas, who seemed to be in a daydream, looked up.

‘Hmm? Feel what?’ he said.

‘The boat’s not moving up and down anymore…’

Thomas frowned.

‘So?’

There was a faint groan and then the engines stopped.

‘Did you hear that?’ whispered Tobias, looking upwards.

‘Hear what?’ replied Thomas.

Tobias put a finger against his lips. ‘Shhh… Listen…’

As they sat there in silence, the wooden hull creaked and groaned once more, now much louder than before.

‘That…’ he said, and placed a hand against the hull, and then quickly withdrew it, along with a sharp intake of breath.

‘What! What is it?’ Thomas asked half-shouting.

‘Almost burnt my hand…’

‘What?’

Tobias nodded. ‘From the cold. It’s coming through the walls.’

Thomas shrugged his shoulders and sniffed knowingly. ‘Well, it is cold outside… stands to reason.’

Tobias looked at them both and shook his head. In the end he sat down and rummaged around in his pocket for something and pulled out a Dictaphone and re-wound the recording he’d made earlier of Hillary releasing the Djinn. Instead a terrible wail filled the interior of the boat.

‘What’s that?’ Thomas asked finally.

‘It’s a recording of the cry of the Cockatrice. The record button must have been pressed as we were running away.’

He pressed the play button again, and filled the boat once more with the melancholy sound of the Cockatrice’s cry, but it was unnerving Scarlet, who couldn’t stop reliving the last moments of Eliza.

‘Stop it! Stop it!’ she cried. ‘Poor Eliza! Didn’t you see her turn to stone by that thing?’

Tobias quickly turned the Dictaphone off and put it back in his pocket.

‘No, I didn’t see what happened, she was behind me I think. All I know is that she didn’t make it back with the rest of us.’

Scarlet continued.

‘For a second, she turned to look at that thing and then she screamed this terrible scream, and then that’s when it happened! It was horrible! After that I never looked back. I just kept on running.’

Hillary stood by the stairs, listening.

‘We’re back at the windmill. Just.’

Scarlet looked up at him with eyes full of tears.

‘Is she ok? Is Eliza alive?’

Hillary walked over to Scarlet and sat down beside her.

‘When I went to the undertaker’s there was a statue that we found in the basement. The real owner had been turned to stone using magic. And the person who’d petrified him had no doubt assumed his identity. But the petrified person wasn’t dead. When I touched the stone it was warm and I swear I felt something that can only be described as a….’

‘What? What was it?’ she urged.

‘A heartbeat…’

Scarlet wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

‘There must be something we can do then…’ she sniffed. ‘She’s still alive. And Torfang must still be alive. There must be a way of turning them back. We need to go back Hillary!’

‘I don’t know Scarlet. It’s not as simple as that. I wish it were of-course.’

‘Why? Why can’t we go back and rescue them?’ she said with a scowl.

‘We will go back, or-course we will. But I was out on deck just now, and I fear that the Fiery Brand have done what they set out to do. I fear that the spell that they’ve spent so long in finding has been cast. And now I feel that we have little choice but to try to stop the magic before it gets completely out of hand. And for that, our last hope lies far away from here.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘No time to explain now. We need to get inside before it gets too cold out here, and believe me, it will get as cold as hell soon…’

And with that, Hillary turned and walked up the stairs and out of the boat, into a bitter winter’s night, across the frozen waterway and towards the snow-laden windmill.

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