Book 1, page 23
“Why am I the one who had to grow up without parents?”
The image began to reform itself again.
“With this spell, I can see everywhere you go and everything you do. But I can also see those who share your blood. I’ve seen your parents, Maggie. I know where they are.”
“Tell me…tell me!!” Maggie yelled.
The powder in front of her swirled around, then began to take shape again. It solidified into a picture and Maggie couldn’t breathe.
It was a cemetery. The viewpoint moved in to two tombstones sitting out on the edge of a small churchyard.
“No….no…..” Maggie said.
“Yes, Ms Bentwater. See the truth for yourself. Your quest is in vain.”
“Noooo!!” Maggie screamed, feeling the tears on her face.
The powder around her began to turn grey and lose its shape and she felt gravity begin to return to her cocoon. As the star dissolved, sheets of grey powder fell to the ground and brought Maggie down with them. She felt the ground come up and meet her and she was back in the mud.
But Maggie barely noticed her descent. The news of her parents was too much and she felt a lifetime of anguish gush from her tear ducts. Everything else around her just faded away.
Nigella approached her quietly. “There is a way out. Away from this pain, away from the heartbreak. Away from this empty life that no longer has any meaning.”
Maggie couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a good cry and, once the floodgates opened, it was hard to keep it all back. She saw Nigella wrap her hand around a small black bottle with a red rose in the corner of the label. Red roses meant the spell had the power to kill.
“Pass your turn, Ms Bentwater. Let me cast my final spell and this all goes away. What do you say? Do you pass?”
Maggie looked up at Nigella and had never felt so defeated. She knew she was powerless to keep going. Nigella could destroy her physically and emotionally. What was left?
Maggie nodded yes.
39
Timir tried to peer through the spaces between the pile of giant arrows he and Anibi were hiding behind, looking for any sign of Glooscap.
“I don’t see him,” he whispered.
“How can you not see him? He’s a twenty-foot-tall god of all creation. He’s hard to miss,” Anibi whispered back.
“I’m telling you, I don’t see him. Maybe he gave up.”
“Glooscap does not give up,” Anibi declared.
“How do you know?”
“I just know.”
“Yeah, but how do you know?” Timir asked. “You’ve never met him before. You’re assuming that because your elders said so. But you said they never met him either, so how do they know?”
“Because they’re elders, it’s their job to know this stuff,” Anibi said.
“So they were trained by people who knew him?”
“Um, no. Maybe. I don’t know. Do we have to have this conversation now?”
“What? I’m just asking. There are just a lot of people assuming a lot of things here. How do we know he’s even a god? Maybe he’s just some guy with a thyroid problem who…” Timir said, but stopped when he noticed the giant arrows made of tree trunks they were hiding behind were moving. Not quite moving, though. More like squirming.
“What’s happening?” Anibi asked.
“I don’t know…” Timir said. The trunks began to thrust their midsections about like earthworms, twisting their way out from under each other. The giant sharpened boulders that were lashed to one end then aimed their pointy tips toward Timir and Anibi as cracks formed along the sharpened edges. Then, the boulders split into two halves and opened like a pair of jaws. Teeth grew in the newly-formed mouths, and slits opened to form large black eyes glaring at them, making them all resemble hideous snakes.
Glooscap’s voice returned, and the arrow-snakes moved their mouths in unison.
“You insult our beliefs, white man, yet you fail to understand them,” Glooscap said through the arrow-snakes. “It is because of our beliefs that we survived those long, cold winters when our children were starving because we could no longer hunt on our own lands. It is those beliefs that allow us to persevere, to teach our children to carry on our traditions, and to resist your people’s attempts to stamp us out like roaches. We will not be stamped out, white man. For today, it is you that is the roach.”
“For Vishnu’s sake, stop calling me a white man!” Timir yelled. “I’m from India, okay? Mumbai. In India! If you’re going to kill me, at least do it for the right reason!”
“Timir…” Anibi said.
“What?! He’s the only god I know who’s never seen an atlas! My sixth form geography teacher knew more about the world than this joker!”
“Be that as it may,” Anibi said. “I still think we should run.”
“It just pisses me off when people assume things, you know? Oh, and about that running thing–good plan.”
Timir and Anibi bolted for the door to the longhouse and could hear the arrow-snakes scuttling along the ground after them, snapping their rocky jaws and hissing as they went.
The sound of Glooscap’s laughter filled the longhouse as Timir and Anibi raced through the door and back outside.
“The river! We can lose them there!” Timir yelled, pointing toward the raging river a short distance away. The two flew down the trail leading back towards the river at full speed. They could hear the arrow-snakes just behind them, slithering through the tall grasses.
Halfway down the trail, Timir stopped. Anibi came up behind to find the deer that Azeban had killed standing in their way on the trail, staring at them. It smiled at them, baring its teeth.
“Why do you run from me?” the deer asked. “I am the creator of these lands. There is nowhere you can hide to get away from…ow!!” the deer cried. It looked behind to find Azeban, still a chicken, pecking at its hind leg. “Stop that! Stop that!” the deer yelled as Azeban aggressively hacked and pecked at the deer, tearing up fur and squawking.
Timir and Anibi took their cue and raced past the scene toward the river. The trail narrowed here, with long grasses growing out over the path on both sides. As they ran past, Timir and Anibi felt the grasses reach out for them and attempt to wrap their leaves around their arms. They both yanked their arms to break free, but the grasses and shrubs kept coming.
“Timir!” Anibi yelled as one root proved too strong to break. Timir grabbed hold and quickly broke her free, then the two ran off before more plants had time to grab them.
They reached the banks of the river and gasped.
The river was dry. Not a drop of water ran past as it had when they’d entered the valley. On the opposite side, the tree moved and shifted their branches, as if beckoning them to come across. There was nowhere on the bank the trees couldn’t reach.
Timir and Anibi then noticed they were being threatened by every manner of tree and plant and animal. All the life forms in the valley were now working in unison, encircling them, giving them nowhere to run. They were threatened on every side by a vast array of fangs, claws, stingers, and thorns of every size and shape.
“Look…” Timir whispered, nodding toward a large elm tree just beyond. “That tree doesn’t seem to be moving too much. We might be able to get past before it…”
“No,” Anibi said, shaking her head. “No, no more running.”
“What?” Timir asked.
“He’s right, Timir. He’s the creator of all life here. Of these lands and everything that lives in them. Where can we run where he won’t find us?”
“What, so that’s it? We just give up? Give ourselves over to the whims of some sadistic tyrant who’s gone crackers from living out in the woods too long?” Timir yelled.
Anibi ignored him and turned her attention to the arrow-snakes. “Please forgive us, mighty Glooscap. We are frightened. We know not what we do. Please have mercy on us! We believe in your greatness, for you are the creator of all things, including my people. But there is much turmoil in your lands and we need your help.”
“You have brought the white man to my lands, you speak his tongue,” Glooscap said through the arrow-snakes. “You are no creation of mine.”
“But…but I am! I am a Missisquoi, first daughter of Chief Bernard, future bride to prince Lobal of the Penobscot. Please…” Anibi cried.
The creatures that surrounded them moved in closer.
“…Sadistic tyrant…right…” Timir mumbled.
“Please! You are known for being good and all-forgiving! We tell your stories to our children and teach them of your ways! I hope to teach my own children of you someday!” Anibi cried.
The creatures moved in closer still, some growling, others hissing and spitting. But Timir’s mind was elsewhere. The words ‘sadistic tyrant’ echoed in his brain, setting off, sending a flood of memories to him from his days with Mr “Ronnie” Moorhouse. He replayed every day of those three long years back in his mind, but this time without the fog of the How To Be A Winner In Business malarkey he had swallowed for so long. He felt he could look upon Moorhouse for who he truly was now, without all the intimidation and desperate need for approval.
For the first time, Timir saw Moorhouse for what he was: just a normal, flawed man dealing with fear of things he couldn’t understand. His reaction to that fear was being a manipulative megalomaniac because it was the only way he knew of being able to control the world around him. Anything he couldn’t immediately control he either hated, or dismissed altogether. It was why Timir had lasted longer than any previous assistant: Moorhouse had control over every minute of his life. And any time he’d gotten the sense that that control was slipping he would use the same technique over and over again to re-assert it. The last time he’d used it, after Timir had fallen asleep at the pub, Timir had become so inured he’d stopped taking it personally.
And now here was a god, incalculably more powerful than Moorhouse, but dealing with the same fear and control issues, and reacting to it in the same way.
Timir suddenly had a thought he didn’t have very often–he knew what to do.
“You don’t understand! Our people are in great danger!” Anibi pleaded to the arrow-snakes. “We are threatened with extinction!”
“Indeed you are,” the arrow-snakes said back. “But it is from the man who you foolishly believe is your friend! The white man is no one’s friend!”
“Wait!” Timir yelled. “Mr Glooscap, sir? Can I just have a quick word before you kill us?”
“What are you doing?” Anibi whispered to him.
“What I do better than anyone else,” Timir said to her.
“I’m listening,” the arrow-snakes said.
“No! Not to your little snake intercom. This is too important. I want to say it to your face. Man to…er…creator.” Timir yelled.
The snakes didn’t move, but a few moments later, footsteps could be felt in the ground beneath their feet. Glooscap emerged from the longhouse and with just a few steps of his massive stride approached them looking annoyed.
Timir had never felt so intimidated in his entire life. Glooscap seemed to have gotten taller and more fierce-looking. It didn’t help that the arrow-snakes moved in closer, hissing and spitting at him with their stony jaws.
“Speak your last words, white man,” Glooscap thundered at him from above. Small blue sparks formed at Glooscap’s fingertips.
Timir looked to Anibi, who nodded at him to show her support.
Timir gulped and looked up at Glooscap. “I’m sorry.”
Nebi Valley had never been so silent.
“It is all our fault,” Timir continued. “Me, and the white men I apparently represent, take full responsibility for the damage we have wrought to your lands. We were greedy, we were selfish, and we were ignorant. We raped the land, killed all the animals, and whatever else we did, we take upon ourselves all the blame there is to be had. We are two giant scoops of sorry and we throw ourselves at your mercy. We will take whatever consequences there are for our crimes and will show our complete submission to whatever punishment you deem necessary.”
Glooscap glared at Timir suspiciously.
Anibi stared at Timir, then back to Glooscap, then back to Timir. She knew she was about a hair’s breadth away from watching Timir get crushed like a bug in the most gruesome fashion possible and held her breath.
“You are obviously much wiser, and stronger, and braver than we, the white men, will ever be. We should have known that from the beginning and will sing your praises around the offic…er…around the world at every opportunity. We can make it an annual holiday if you want. You know, the usual day off work, getting pissed in the pub all day, then lighting off dangerous fireworks all night. I mean, if that’s the sort of thing you want. But the point is, it is entirely our fault.”
Glooscap looked off into the horizon for a moment. Then the arrow-snakes around them lowered their heads, straightened out their bodies, and went back to being just solid arrows made of tree trunks. The plants and animals that circled around them skipped away and returned to their normal business.
Anibi realised she hadn’t been breathing for the past few minutes and took a few gulps of air.
“Come with me…Indian,” Glooscap said, and stomped back toward his longhouse.
“What just happened?” Anibi asked.
“Grovelling, that’s what happened. And it’s not the first time its saved my life,” Timir responded.
“You are so different than any man I’ve ever met,” Anibi said smiling. “And the bravest.”
Timir and Anibi followed Glooscap back to the longhouse, stopping only to pick up Azeban, who was pecking at the ground for food nearby.
40
Winston felt the giant weight on his chest lift and he could breathe again. He opened his eyes in time to see Moolsem, with the teapot firmly in his mouth, leap from the broken piece of the ice island onto the bridge above and go running into the manor house.
Underneath him, Winston heard the sound of ice cubes shifting and could see the edges of the island slipping into the lake as they melted. The island was dissolving from under his feet as the spell wore off, yet he couldn’t reach the bridge or the shore from where he was. He took a step towards the bridge to jump for it, but the island only began to tip over again.
An idea popped into his head.
Winston ran to one side of the island, getting it to tip over. As it did, he ran back to the opposite side, getting it to tip the other way. Back and forth he ran, always waiting just long enough for the island to flip before heading back to the other side.
As he did so, the island began flipping more and more vertical, reaching high up in the air as Winston scrambled up to the outer edge to shift the weight again. Finally, the island flipped nearly ninety degrees and Winston scrambled up the loose ice cubes towards the edge. Planting his foot along the edge, he thrust his body into the air towards the bridge and managed to catch the edge of it with one hand. His fingers screamed in pain, but held on. Below him, the ice island broke apart and dissolved completely into the lake beneath his dangling feet.
Winston scrambled back onto the bridge where the Abenaki’s struggle against the Chenoo raged on. Winston could see the Chenoo had managed to turn a handful of the Abenaki into their own and the numbers were tipping in their favour. Susep had ordered his warriors to focus their efforts on the Chenoo behind them in an effort to fight their way off the bridge, where the Chenoo continued to pound them from both sides.
Winston could see Susep behind a blur of hatchet swings as he buried his weapon deep in the neck of his opponent and tossed their icy body off the bridge. Winston and Susep’s eyes met for a moment as they exchanged looks that said they both knew the fight was far from over.
Winston turned toward the Stonebridge replica and ran in through the front door made of birch bark. Inside, he found the house was made up of bare stone, with only small tables and bundles of straw as furniture but little else. Winston recognised that the floor plan was exactly the same as Stonebridge Manor in Dorset, but this version was far creepier.
On every wall there were crude cave paintings drawn in blood. Winston recognised various objects that had been represented, including the horned serpent, the Chenoo, and the Lolol roots in the lake outside.
There were also paintings of more recognisable figures. He could see murals of great battles with various Abenaki tribes, and along the back wall he could see one of Haldermann holding the teapot with a grin and a cigarette.
The murals were lit by candles that stuck out from the walls wherever cracks large enough were found. There was little furniture in the rooms beyond a few tables made of branches and birch bark where offerings of flowers and roots had been made to small shrines that each had a symbol of a twisting storm cloud with some writing above it. The writing appeared to be a name, listed in many different languages. The English version of the name stuck out to Winston–Malsumis. These were all offerings to Malsumis. The entire manor was purpose-built as a temple to him.
With the floor plan being the same Winston knew where to go. He moved through the foyer with the giant staircase and into what had been the back kitchen with the caterers before. This version of the kitchen, however, was only a bare stone room with a small metal cabinet in the corner. It was surrounded by drying racks over which the rotting carcasses of various luckless waterfowl that had wandered into the lake were now drying.
Winston pushed his way through and found himself in the long corridor that had led to the study. This corridor was dark, with just a few dying candles lighting the way. It too was lined with portraits of ancestors, but these were far more sinister. They were Chenoo, drawn directly onto the stone like cave paintings, and each in some terrifying attack stance meant to instil the fear and awe of those who had come before.
At the end of the corridor, hidden in the shadows, was a large oak door, behind which Winston could hear movement as light spilled out from underneath. The distinct sound of growling and splashing could be heard, as if something were eating inside. He now had little doubt this was where Moolsem had taken the teapot.
