Stormchaser (25 page)

‘And now, all that's left is this,’ he said, kicking angrily at the sprinkling of crystals, too small to sink with the rest, which rested on every surface like frost. A cloud of glittering dust flew up into the glinting air. Twig felt sick. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. ‘Stormchasing!’ he cursed bitterly. ‘A fool's errand, more like.’

‘Yet oddly appealing for all that,’ came a cracked, reedy voice from behind him.

Twig started, then raised his eyes impatiently to the sky. The sepia knight was the last person he wanted to meet again.

‘Twig,’ came the voice again. ‘It is Twig, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Twig snapped as he spun around. ‘It's…’ He stopped short. It was not the sepia knight; neither was it a phantom, a ghoul, a trick of the light. ‘
YOU
!’ he exclaimed.

‘Indeed it is,’ the Professor of Light said as he peered up at him awkwardly. ‘Though slightly the worse for wear, I fear. I couldn’t quite get the hang of those parawings,’ he explained. ‘Had quite a tumble.’

Twig stared back at him in open-mouthed horror.

‘Do I really look that bad?’ he said, and sighed wearily. ‘I do, don’t I?’

Twig felt a lump coming into his throat. ‘Your neck,’ he whispered. ‘It's…’

‘Broken,’ said the professor. ‘I know.’ He raised his hands, clamped them to either side of his head and pulled it up until his eyes met Twig's. ‘Is that better?’ he asked, and smiled weakly.

Twig nodded. The next moment, however, the professor sneezed on the dust, and the whole lot flopped forward again. Twig tried hard to swallow away the rising feeling of nausea.

‘We need to fix it in place, somehow,’ he said, and turned round – ostensibly to look for something that he might use, but actually to avoid eye-contact with the terrifying sight of the professor's lolling head. ‘A stick,’ he muttered busily. ‘Hang on,’ and he dashed off into the trees.

The next minute he was back, carrying a long and – for the ancient trees of the Twilight Woods – straight branch, which he had broken off a nearby tree.

‘This ought to do the trick. If I place it against your back, like so. And bind it tightly with my rope like … so. That's it.’

He stepped back to check his handiwork. From the back, it looked as though the professor had a young sapling growing out of his spine.

‘Now, for the head itself,’ he chattered on, as he pulled a length of bandage from a pocket. ‘That ought to be enough. Let's just see.’

The professor, whose chin was resting against his chest, glanced up as far as he could. ‘What are you going to do?’ he asked.

‘I’ll show you,’ said Twig. ‘If you raise your head again then I’ll secure it to the branch at the back. To stop it falling forwards again.’

‘Excellent idea,’ said the professor enthusiastically. He lifted his head up for a second time, and rested it gently against the branch.

Twig wound the bandage round and round the professor's forehead and the makeshift support, clamping the two together. When the bandage was all but used up, he tore the end in two and tied a double-knot. ‘There,’ he said at last.

The professor removed his hands. His head remained upright. Twig breathed a deep sigh of relief.

‘Outstanding piece of improvisation,’ the Professor of Light exclaimed. ‘I must say, that Tem Barkwater was right. You are indeed an ingenious young fellow.’

Twig started with surprise and delight. ‘Tem?’ he said. ‘Is Tem here or…?’ The spectral air flickered gleefully and chimed with unpleasant laughter. Twig's stomach sank as he realized his likely mistake. ‘Or were you talking to him on the
Stormchaser
?’ he said.

‘No, no,’ replied the professor. ‘We hardly exchanged a word on board ship. No, he is here, in the Twilight Woods…’ A look of bewilderment passed over his face. ‘We were together, only a moment ago. We … I was looking at…’ He turned round awkwardly and stared at Twig. ‘I can’t remember what I was looking at.’

Twig nodded, and glanced round uneasily at the shifting shadows. ‘This is a treacherous place,’ he said softly. ‘There's something here … Or someone – or maybe, many. I don’t know. But I see faces I can’t focus on, hear voices that fade away when I try to listen.’

‘That's it,’ the professor said dreamily. ‘Questions searching for answers. Theorems looking for proof…’

‘Why,’ Twig went on, and raised the sword high in his gauntleted hand, ‘if it weren’t for these … The sword reminds me of where I came from and who I am. The gauntlet, of what I must never become. Without them, I fear I would lose myself completely. Oh, Professor, we have to leave these woods as soon as we can.’

The professor sighed, but did not move. ‘Twig,’ he said softly. ‘My neck was broken in the fall. It was only because I landed in this place that I am still alive. I cannot leave the immortality of the Twilight Woods,’ he said. ‘I would die in an instant if I did.’

Twig shook his head miserably. The professor was right, of course.

‘But it's not so bad. Now I can study stormphrax for ever.’ He smiled. ‘And what more could a Professor of Light ask for?’

Twig smiled back, but his heart chilled at the words. If the professor could not go, then where did that leave him? Alone again? Abandoned? The thought was more than he could bear.

‘Professor,’ he said tentatively. ‘You will help me find the others, won’t you?’

The professor turned and surveyed him gravely.
‘What type of a person do you take me for?’ he said. ‘We academics of Sanctaphrax are not all as rotten as that traitorous foulpox; that upstart knife-grinder, Vilnix Pompolnius – no matter what you may have heard to the contrary.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean…’ said Twig. ‘It's just … I couldn’t … I can’t…’

‘Hush now, Twig,’ said the professor.

‘I’ve got to leave!’ Twig cried out. ‘I’ve got to. Before it's too late.’

‘… too late … too late…’ the woods taunted.

The professor wrapped his arm awkwardly round Twig's shoulder. ‘I give you my word,’ he said. ‘I shall not abandon you. After all,’ he said, nodding back at the branch which was supporting his head, ‘one good turn deserves another.’

‘Thank you,’ Twig sniffed, and looked up. ‘I…’

The professor was staring into mid-air, a smile playing over his lips. Once again, his mind had been lured away by the treacherous spectres and phantasms that haunted the darkest corners of the woods. The crystals sparkled. ‘Light incarnate,’ he whispered dreamily. ‘Light made whole.’

‘Professor,’ Twig shouted, anxiously. ‘Professor! You gave me your word!’

• CHAPTER SIXTEEN •
C
APTAIN
T
WIG

‘P
rofessor!’ Twig screamed into his companion's ear. ‘It's me, Twig. You must help me.’

But the professor merely turned away, raised his arm and began scrutinizing the back of his hand. ‘See how the crystals cling to each individual hair,’ he marvelled. ‘And how the light illuminates its entire length, from follicle to split end.’

Twig nodded. The hairs were indeed shining. But, so what? ‘Professor,’ he tried again, ‘listen to me.’

‘You’re right, my old and trusty friend and rival,’ the professor said. ‘It does seem to soak up the light. Trust you to notice the particles of sepia dust in-between. Such a substance must indeed have purifying qualities…’

Shaking his head, Twig turned away. Just as the sepia knight had mistaken him for his old compatriot, Garlinius, so the professor was now seeing and hearing
him as the Professor of Darkness. It was hopeless. Utterly hopeless.

Twig fought back his tears. ‘You come with me,’ he said, as he took the professor gently by the wrist and led him away. ‘Come on. Two heads are better than one – even if one of them
is
broken and empty.’

They hadn’t gone more than a dozen paces when the Professor of Light stopped and turned on Twig. ‘What exactly do you mean by “broken and empty”?’ he demanded.

Twig burst out laughing. ‘Professor!’ he exclaimed. ‘Welcome back!’

‘Oh, Twig,’ the Professor of Light said softly. ‘What a remarkable place this is.’

Twig smiled uncertainly and, as the unlikely pair continued their search for the rest of the crew of the
Stormchaser
, he kept quiet as the professor rambled on and on about the stormphrax crystals.

‘Light in physical form,’ he enthused. ‘Solid energy. Can you imagine such a thing, Twig? Volatile in bright light, stable in the twilight glow, yet heavy beyond reason when cloaked in darkness. Stormphrax is a wondrous substance and no mistake.’

Twig nodded. That much, at least, he knew to be true.

‘But then weight, as Ferumix demonstrated so well, is relative,’ the professor went on. ‘x equals y + z over pi, where x represents weight, y, the surface area of the crystal and z, its translucency.’ He frowned. ‘Or do I mean radiance?’

Twig stared at him uneasily. Did the professor's
calculations prove that he still had his wits about him – or was he simply uttering meaningless gibberish. ‘There's certainly a lot of the stuff,’ he commented, as he glanced about him.

‘Indeed!’ the professor exclaimed. He turned stiffly round to look at Twig. His eyes glinted wildly. ‘And I intend to count it all – every last particle – thereby allowing me to establish just how many Great Storms it has taken to produce this number of crystals, and how long. Epochs. Millennia,’ he whispered reverently. ‘Aeons.’

Twig shook his head. All this talk of time spinning away endlessly troubled him. The air rippled, and voices whispered to him from the harlequin shadows. Gentle, soothing voices. Enticing voices.

‘You are Twig,’ they murmured. ‘You are sixteen years old. How much you have seen and done in that short space of time…’

And, as Twig continued to stare into the flashing diamonds of light and shade, he saw scenes he recognized, places and people he knew. Taghair, the oakelf, who had shown him his name. Hoddergruff, a woodtroll neighbour. On board the
Stormchaser
with the sky pirates. In the back room of the Bloodoak tavern. Mother Horsefeather, Forficule – Cloud Wolf.

‘How much more has the eternity of the Twilight Woods to offer,’ the voices lulled.

Twig stared at the face before him. ‘Father?’ he murmured, and took a step forwards.

Cloud Wolf's spectral form slipped back and hovered
just out of reach. ‘Farther than you think,’ he replied, his voice low and resounding. ‘But stay awhile,’ he said. ‘Search and you will find me. One day, Twig. Just keep on searching, and one day…’