Shadow Girl (25 page)

The eagles calling. He is trying to remember something. A little thought, huddled up like a mouse in a dusky corner.

Should he do something? Perhaps he should. But Jenny wouldn't want him to. And he must please her, she is so lovely, so beautiful and he loves her so. And she wants him to screw this bitch, she said, so isn't that what he should do? The slut deserves it, Jenny said, she needs to be punished. She has been bad, terribly bad. Yes, he can confirm that. She has been so crooked, so deviously villainous he does not know how he could ever, ever have loved her in the past.

She even seems to be enjoying her punishment. Is that punishment if you enjoy it? Does that count? He is not sure but he wants to please Jenny, bring a smile to her lips, so he must keep going.

He doesn't know if he can stop, really. The lubricious blonde is wrapped so tightly around him, drawing him in like a superb suction pad. It's hard to keep his concentration. There is such need in her, such infinite cravings. She is sucking the life from him.

Was she so desperate before, when they were together? Was she truly? He can't remember, for it's hard to think straight. Harder with every thrust. And now she is glowing hot with it all, literally. And the sword too is burning. And the stones, the stones out there are on fire. On fire, like him, because she is spurring him bonkers, pulling the pith out of him. Pulling, pumping with her juicy clam lips.

And the eagles, the eagles, he can't remember why they're here, he can't.

Pleasure is pounding in his belly and his eyes wander to the sky. He sees a battle raging there. Sees the grim shapes of warrior birds weaving volutes among the stars, soaring, swooping, dodging the spells hurled at them by a quartet of winged fairies.

He sees all this. Feels the little thought inside him trying to break free.

But the thought is struggling, singed and shrivelled by the fire in his core. It seems impossible to keep watching the sky with that nymphet clenched on him. Beyond his strength to care about the bolts fizzling past their targets. About the magic exploding in loud coloured splashes.

And that arse . . . Great balls of flame! That model arse is to die for! Swallowing him so divinely it does not matter when an eagle's wing gets clipped, when the bird spirals down to earth like a damaged plane. It does not matter when one of the fairies is grabbed by strong talons then released with a swing and sent spinning into a bush. When more eagles swoop down to scatter her sisters.

As he thumps away at this perfect butt, a bird skims past the roof with a piercing call and drops a bundle of squeals into the attic.

He hears the noise through the steam of pleasure and the small thought wiggles to get loose. There is something he should remember. There is something. The squeals are loud and unpleasant but the stench that falls like a pall on his head is even more unsettling.

He freezes mid-thrust and screws up his nose. Then watches in alarm as Jenny, the love of his life, crumples to the floor next to him. The blonde too has passed out. Her hands have dropped to the floor, releasing Excalibur, killing the flow of magic.

He stares at her, then looks at his love, disconcerted. Then thinks of that foul smell. Must be that pygmy pig, he growls to himself. Cheeky bugger! He
must
be taught proper manners.

His eyes dart around, searching for then finding the culprit.

But before he has time to serve up any spell or snap any digits, the creature has leaped up on the blonde's bottom and clapped jaws on his hand.

‘Cheeky bugger!' he swears again, out loud this time, then flicks out his arm to shake off the biter. One flick, two flicks. He winces in pain as the stubborn little beast clamps harder on his fingers. Then he goes for a frank swing and the boar is sent tumbling into a corner with something red and shiny between its teeth. His ring, as it turns out. The gift from his beloved, with the jewel that complements his skin tone to perfect . . .

A flash of light.

. . . tion, he concludes mentally.

He feels rather uncertain all of a sudden.

A weird popping noise. Another one, somewhere in his head. The little thought bursts open and everything comes flushing back — the rescue plan, the showgirls, the love spell. By the Vixen's Fur! The eagles! He sent his hawk to get them. To take out the fairies. Extract him if he was in trouble. Though he had not planned on the smelly addition. That was Karadeg's inspired touch.

He swivels round as guards come pouring out of the stairwell. Their swords are drawn, their faces grim.

‘Get the pig!' shouts one.

Yaouen unclasps himself from the unconscious Viviane.

‘If I were you, I wouldn't do that,' he warns.

‘Get the guy with a stiffy!' shouts another.

‘If I were you, I wouldn't do that either.'

The guards spread out but stay a few feet away. They seem wary.

‘You've been hexed,' says Yaouen. ‘I can fix that but it will take a moment. In the meantime, why don't you put down your swords?'

They look at each other, hesitant.

‘Don't listen to him,' says Gonval, whose head has popped out of the stairwell. ‘Why would we give away what we have? We get looked after. We get to screw. We get to bash a few people around. Who cares if we're hexed. Take him!'

The leather-plated knights turn their eyes back to him, menacing. Then raise their blades and pounce as one.

‘Why does everything have to be done the hard way?' complains Yaouen, catapulting them into the sky with a flick of his wrist.

Only Gonval has escaped the puppet toss. His head ducks out of view below the floor and his voice resonates in urgent tones.

‘Girls, get up here, quick!'

‘This could take forever,' sighs Yaouen.

He waves his forefinger like a mini wand and his favourite wizard's robe emerges from nowhere to unfurl over his skin. He holds out his arms to appraise the effect.

‘Much better.'

He scans around him.

‘I think this place needs a makeover.'

He extends his right hand. Excalibur snaps free from the frame where it was wedged then flies pummel-first to his palm. Raising the sword to the sky, he begins to chant.

With surprising speed, inky, ominous clouds billow out from the west to wipe away the stars. Then they start circling the moon like the currents of a dark brew.

This is a wondrous, if unnerving, sight, but the showgirls rushing up from below do not seem taken by its beauty. Like the guards before them, they close in on Yaouen, their wolf tattoos glowing.

‘Where is Gonval?' asks Yaouen.

Getting no answer, he waves his left hand and the girls bend sideways like windswept corn. Near the stairs, only Gonval is left standing. Looking noticeably less assured than before, he attempts to dive back down the hole he came from.

‘Gotcha!' says Yaouen, picking him up with a telekinetic finger curl.

‘Have you heard of Katch-and-Drop? It's a game played by sorcerers at the Solstice Mud Mask Festival. You'll love it. Two teams of eagles. Two pools of the very best liquid cow dung. And one ball. The ball gets tossed from eagle to eagle and must be dropped into the dung to score a point. First team to make it to twenty wins. And you, my friend, have just been declared Official Ball.'

He snaps his fingers. A screech, followed by a swish. A horrified-looking Gonval gets scooped up by a pair of talons.

‘Have fun!'

Yaouen looks at the vanishing shadows of the eagles, then turns to the showgirls. They are still leaning strangely before him.

‘Your captive audience is below deck, I presume?'

‘What do you think?' boasts one of the dancers. ‘Those poodles can't do without us.'

‘I thought they were stags.'

‘Whatever.'

‘You're quite right. This is an immaterial point. But they'll need repositioning.'

He traces a complicated manoeuvre in the air with his index finger.

‘Done. They'll wake up naked tomorrow in the village square. I suspect they'll have some explaining to do to their good wives — among others.'

He suppresses a chuckle.

‘When was the last time
you
girls were swept off your feet?'

He raises his hand, palm side up this time. The women float up to his head level like astronauts in zero gravity — though judging by their sooty scowls and the unladylike comments that pass their candy lips, they are finding the experience less than uplifting.

Yaouen glances at Viviane and Jenny. Both are still out for the count. He refocuses on the sword. The clouds are swirling much lower now, and picking up speed.

He mumbles something.

Light bursts from Excalibur — split beams that fan out like flares and explode the roof and walls of the attic. When the noise dies down and the smoke dispels, the view of the cromlech is unobstructed. It is an arresting sight.

The arcs have connected to each of the main stones and awakened their ancient power. The rocks are white-hot. Twelve towers of radiance, girdling the sacred ground like the points of a huge dial. Beyond them, the clouds are frothing by, and beyond those, the trees are only faintly visible.

A vortex. They are at the heart of a huge vortex. Of air and cloud and black magic.

The floating girls are casting bewildered looks about them. There is a deep rumble, growing quickly to a cacophony, and the whole place starts to wobble. To wobble, and roll, and pitch. Then the thunder ceases, leaving only the wind. Beyond the spinning walls of air, the silhouettes of the trees subside out of sight.

The cromlech and its occupants appear to be airborne.

‘What . . . what are you doing?'

Jenny has woken up, though still looking less than her usual sprightly self. She has raised herself on one elbow. Her bemused eyes flick back and forth. From the showgirls to the cloud rapids, from the trees sinking beyond the stones to the beams of light bending from the sword.

‘We're relocating,' says Yaouen. ‘I have to weaken the link between the cromlech and the alignments. Sever the head from the body, as it were.'

They stop rising. Then, like a ship leaving port, the circle of rocks and its old café float away towards the sea.

‘You wanted to get back your city in the bay. You'll get your wish. Less grandiose than the last one but cosy's best.'

‘You're not planning to leave me on this thing, are you? Stranded in the middle of nowhere?'

‘That's exactly what I have in mind. But don't look so miserable. Who wouldn't give their right arm to be queen of a cromlech in the bay? Especially an underwater one. I can just picture you with that pretty fish tail again and a trident sceptre.'

‘Please, Yaouen. I didn't know what I was doing. I was under a spell.' She looks genuinely scared. ‘Viviane, it was Viviane. She hexed me in Vannes.'

‘And she hexed you into wanting to enslave her I suppose? As well as me. That doesn't wash. That's no excuse.'

‘She twisted something in me.'

‘You mean she restored something in you. You were clearly enjoying what you were doing.'

She casts him a desperate look.

‘And you can't say the same for you? The love charm changed you too, didn't it? I saw the dark light in your eyes as you were having your way with her.'

Yaouen hesitates.

‘It's not the same.'

‘No, it never is, is it? It never is the same for men.'

He looks at her, annoyed.

‘Karadeg,' he calls, ‘can you oblige with one of your stellar stinkers? Someone needs putting back to sleep.'

‘It's all right,' says Jenny, lowering her eyes. ‘I'll shut up.'

The bay was not a mile away and they have already coasted over the black outline of a scraggy shore. The flying land stabilises over the sea, then drifts down. The wind is still raging around the glowing stones, insulating them from the outside world.

Jenny gives a yelp as the strange ark crashes into the sea, throwing up huge foamy waves. For a moment, the cromlech rolls and rocks like an old listing ship. Then it begins to sink, saved from instant flooding by the walls of air swirling around it.

The showgirls gasp in wonder. They seem too mesmerised by the spectacle around them to display any fear. The shapes of lone fish and the occasional shoal glitter through the vortex, coaxed out of the gloom by the light from the stones. Then, with a thud and a thump and a few slow wobbles, the cromlech and its building settle on the sea floor. High above the tavern, a patch of sky is visible.

‘Untie Viviane,' commands Yaouen, looking at Jenny.

She complies without a murmur and Viviane slides off the padded horse.

‘Take off her gag.'

He waits till she has done so. Then, without a word, he raises his free hand and Viviane's sleeping form levitates from the floor. With a slight wave, he positions her almost vertically, then draws her to him. Her hair is flowing around her in slow coils. She seems to be floating in water.

‘What are you going to do?'

‘Free her from herself. Give her a fresh start.'

He pauses, then adds, ‘Give the two of us a fresh start. Perhaps.'

He takes off the triskele wrapped around his neck and slips the cord over her head. As the pendant touches her skin, it too begins to glow, with the same radiance as the stones around them. Its bloom widens to a halo, which permeates her chest and filters down to her hips. Soon, her whole body is suffused with light. She has turned diaphanous.

Still holding Excalibur, he pulls her right against him and kisses her. A gentle kiss, light as a feather. She bends back into a tight arc, head thrown back, as though in deep ecstasy. In suspense, like a full moon corona.

Then she goes limp.

He releases her and she floats down to the floor. Slowly, her body recovers its texture, though it retains an after-tone. He turns to the little boar.

‘We have to hurry. The wind cannot hold back the sea for much longer. Besides, my arm is getting tired. It's been a long night.'

He says something under his breath. At once, a winged shape appears high above the cromlech, silhouetted against the sky. Not an eagle this time, for eagles do not neigh. And this creature does, with much gusto.

Morvarc'h goes into a swoop, deftly avoids the beams arcing from the sword and lands just outside the building.

‘Jump on the horse, Karadeg! The wind is weakening.'

The boar trots to the edge of the attic floor, looks down at Morvarc'h's rump, then back at Yaouen.
You must be out of your freaking mind
, his piglet face is saying.

The water has started to seep through the wall of wind. It comes in a fine spray, spinning in the air. Already, the ground around the tavern has turned soggy.

‘Will you jump, for Griffon's sake!' he shouts again, above the hiss of the spurting water. ‘When I withdraw the sword's energy, we have a minute at best.'

He snaps his fingers and Viviane is raised from the floor, then lowered onto Morvarc'h. A squeal from Karadeg, probably asking why
he
can't get the floating treatment. But the piglet finally musters the courage and throws himself down in a rather less elegant fashion than his predecessor.

‘Please, take me with you,' implores Jenny. She looks panicked. ‘I'll do anything you want!'

‘There is no place for you on Morvarc'h. There never was, you know that.'

‘I don't think I can take it. Not a second time. I'll go nuts. I'll kill myself, I swear!'

‘Last-minute qualms not accepted.'

Yaouen lowers the sword, breaking the flow to the stones.

He sheathes Excalibur in the scabbard tucked inside his robe, then glances at the liquid ramparts around him. Another few moments and they will come crashing down. Morvarc'h is flapping hard, and has risen level with the attic floor. Yaouen leaps on his back and places a hand on Viviane. She is slumped into the mane. Behind them, the little boar has spread itself across the rump — his eyes screaming he would much rather be digging up truffles in a secluded wood.

‘What about them?' begs Jenny, gesturing at the showgirls still floating above the attic floor. ‘You're leaving them here to die? They didn't deserve this!'

Yaouen looks back.

‘Didn't deserve?' He smiles. ‘No one, my dear, is truly innocent.'

Jenny is kneeling by the bondage horse, wet from the sea drizzle. She lowers her head and closes her eyes, perhaps in a silent prayer. There might be tears on her cheeks but they cannot be seen. Yaouen takes a last look at her, at the girls in stasis, at the stones losing their glow. Then he murmurs something inaudible and snaps his fingers.

‘Take us out of here, Morvarc'h.'

They power out of the giant funnel and soar into the night sky like a comet, seconds before the ocean crashes upon the cromlech to drown it in turbulences.

For a while, the sea under them is a cauldron of gurgling tumult.

Then, little by little, the foamy waters lose their bounce and everything returns to dark quiescence. Far below the surface, invisible to all but the fish, now lies the spectral form of a tavern. And right above its shattered roof, a tangle of eery silhouettes gleams in the last light of ancient stones.