Pog, page 13
Pog looked at Mouse, and Mouse looked at Pog.
Without thinking he went into his nest and grabbed Grandfa’s staff. He strapped it to his back, sheathed his sword, then up he climbed, until he was on one of the rafters looking down at Mouse.
‘Pog has to do something, Mouse.’
Mouse didn’t seem too bothered, but Pog nodded at him anyway, and up he went and slipped out through the roof and into the night.
It was warm and dark, and he could smell grass on the breeze. Pog took in a deep satisfied breath, then he slid down the roof, grabbed a drainpipe, and slithered down quick and silent as you like.
Away out the gate he went and along the road. Bats circled above him, and something white and swift and silent flew past him at one point. An owl, no doubt, but Pog didn’t tarry to check. He had only one thing on his mind.
He scurried into the forest, and he didn’t stop until he felt something give ever so slightly in his chest. It was like a click, or the snap of a twig, like moving from cold to inner warmth. It was like fording a river and knowing your legs were just the right strength for the current, and all you had to do was hold your concentration right here and now and you would be across to the other side in no time.
Here, right here, thought Pog. Right here seems to be best. Ask the world. See what it says.
The wind rattled the leaves, and he heard the low creak of branches. Pog looked around him and saw the perfect candidate and walked towards it.
The oak tree was old, and its trunk was the broadest thing Pog had ever seen. Pog knelt by it and he placed one hand on a root, and the other in the warm wet soil beside it. Pog closed his eyes. Pog did as Grandfa had once taught him all those years ago. Pog pushed.
Pog listened.
Pog asked the world how things were.
The tree spoke to him, the roots spoke to him, the soil spoke to him: Pog and the earth were as one. He felt his mind’s eye rush back through the darkness, rush back through time. He felt a jolt and a quick shudder as he realized he had gone far, far back. He saw the Necessary open, lightning forking inside it, shadows gathering within it, ready to infect the world. There was a gust of wind and he felt the sting and slap of poisoned earth and foul air. He saw the Burrows, the soft rolling mounds of grass and earth that were people’s homes. Figures walking among the mounds, oblivious to the oncoming threat. Pog felt like screaming at them. Then he was overwhelmed by a sudden vision of flame as the Burrows started to burn.
Pog pulled back from it, and he urged his mind on forward. There were distant screams, and Pog felt the tears come to his eyes. They were hot and scalding, but he tried to ignore them, and instead he listened to the world, this world, the green world – and gradually, slowly, the stinging sensation dissipated, the stench left his nostrils, and he found he was breathing pure air where once there had just been rot and filth, and there were birds singing, sunlight flashing, the world bubbling like a stream as it went on its way, and something . . .
No, he thought.
Something had changed.
Something had shifted slightly, and now the world was different, and for a brief horrifying moment he smelt the stench of rotten meat again.
Pog gasped and his eyes flew open. ‘No!’ he shouted. ‘Stupid Pog. Stupid stupidest Pog!’ he roared.
The storm was nothing. Something had happened before then. It had happened not long after the Cresswells had arrived.
Something broke through the brush to his left, and Pog whipped out his staff. ‘Who’s that now?’
The figure was grey and wraith-like in the gloom.
‘Pog?’ it said.
‘David,’ Pog replied, exhaling with relief.
‘I was out for a walk,’ David said.
Pog looked at him. The boy looked thinner. His eyes were dark and lined, and there was a glittering in them that Pog recognized as the fire of someone who was pushing themselves to the brink of exhaustion. Pog felt a terrible pity for him. He wanted to go to him, to tell him that all would be all right. But that would be a lie, wouldn’t it? Especially now. Especially after what the world had told him.
David’s eyes darted from side to side, as if he was struggling with something.
‘Pog . . .’ he said.
‘Yes?’ said Pog.
There was a silence as David took his hands in and out of his jeans pockets and shuffled from one foot to the other. He looked lost.
‘Pog, do you think . . . do you think it’s possible to talk to someone . . . someone who’s gone?’
Pog nodded in understanding. The boy was talking about his mother.
‘Yes. Pog talks to Grandfa. All things be possible.’
David nodded and bit his upper lip. ‘But when that person is gone . . . I mean, really . . .’
David turned his head away. When he turned back, tears were welling in his eyes and his voice was hoarse. ‘If you knew you could get Grandfa back, what would you do?’
Pog felt tears prickle his own eyes now, but he straightened up and looked fiercely at David. ‘Pog would do anything. Pog would move the world.’
David nodded in gratitude and clamped his hand over his mouth. Pog smiled encouragingly, but David shook his head and let out a sob.
‘I’m sorry, Pog.’
Pog frowned. ‘Sorry? What fo—’
A root, blackened and twisted, whipped out from under the soil and wrapped itself around Pog’s ankle. Pog was thrown off balance, but he reached for his sword, only for another root to unfurl from the forest floor and knock the sword from his hand and wrap itself around his wrist. Pog was pulled off his feet and the air whooshed out of him as he hit the ground.
He could see a dark figure crouched behind David, its clawed hands dug into the soil as it poisoned the earth and commanded it to do its bidding. Two more roots broke through the soil and curled tight around Pog’s other leg. More still erupted and laced themselves around Pog’s chest. Pog fought, but the roots just held him tighter and tighter. As he struggled he tried to focus on the shadowy figure, but it was deep in darkness, a gnarled silhouette with amber eyes, trembling as it moved the roots against him.
Couldn’t be, Pog thought. Not possible.
Pog hissed, ‘Villain! Murderer!’
The shadow gave a low cackle. Pog felt as if his veins were filled with ice. He strained against his bonds, but he couldn’t move. Roots moved languidly across him like snakes.
David stood over him and reached down and picked up Pog’s staff.
‘Well done, young David. Well done,’ whispered the shadowy figure.
Pog glared upwards, willing David to look at him. David’s tear-filled eyes flicked over him briefly, and then he turned away in shame. He was murmuring something over and over again to himself agitatedly, like someone lost in a night terror:
‘I had to, I had to . . .’
Pog turned to see David and the spindly shadow leave. David gave him one last distraught look before disappearing into the trees.
30
The house was quiet, not even giving vent to its usual creaks and moans, as if it were waiting for something.
The front door opened, and David entered carrying the staff. Kipwik sidled around the door and rubbed his hands together.
David felt dazed, as if he’d been punched. He could still see the look in Pog’s eyes, and he swallowed hard, fighting the urge to be sick.
Is this the right thing to do? he wondered.
This was followed immediately by a second thought that brought with it a buzzing sensation, as if a bee was trapped inside his skull.
Of course it is, sweetling.
David rubbed his eyes. The buzzing sensation faded.
‘First things first, David,’ Kipwik whispered. ‘We must make sure not to be disturbed.’
David nodded. He headed to the kitchen where he’d hidden Bill Boggart’s bottle of sleeping draught according to Pog’s instructions. The bottle was buried far back under the kitchen sink beneath a pile of rags. David looked at it. Kipwik had told him it was needed: ‘It will ensure we are not disturbed when the door opens.’
‘But what about Penny?’ David had asked.
Kipwik had gently touched his forearm and smiled. ‘It will be safer for her and your father this way.’
David had nodded, suddenly seeing the sense in it. David went up the stairs, pausing at the top step. He looked down at Kipwik.
Kipwik gave him an encouraging smile and waved him on. ‘Go on, David. It must be done. They must sleep to ensure that we are not disturbed. I will go to the portal and meet you there.’
David held the staff out. ‘Do you want to take the staff?’
Kipwik smiled and shook his head. ‘No, no, you must keep it. It is your responsibility. Your quest.’
David nodded. He took a deep breath and headed towards the back of the landing. He would start with Dad. His legs felt leaden, and there was a gnawing inside himself that he tried to ignore.
It’s for the best, he thought. We can’t risk being interrupted. Then once this is over and we’re—
He didn’t dare complete the thought. He didn’t want to hope too much for fear he might be disappointed, but it was enough to harden his resolve.
He made his way to his father’s room and crept in. He felt strange, as if he was somehow separate from the rest of the world, as if he were wearing one of those old Victorian deep-sea diving suits. He laid the staff on the floor.
He stood over his sleeping father, and he uncorked the bottle.
He was too busy looking at the vapour seeping out of the bottle to pay attention. He didn’t see his father’s eyes flicker behind his lids, and he wasn’t prepared when his father’s hand suddenly jerked upwards and knocked the bottle from his hand.
David tried to grab the bottle, but it squeezed between both his hands and landed on the blanket. More vapour escaped, and David’s heart pounded in his chest. He saw his father’s face twitch and slacken. He was almost smiling. David held his breath. There was no movement from his father, and he was snoring slightly. David picked up the bottle, while being careful to clamp a hand over his mouth and nose. He shook it. It was empty.
He picked the staff up and made his way back to the landing and stood for a moment, paralysed with guilt and terror. Kipwik was nowhere to be seen.
David looked at Penny’s bedroom. Without the draught there was no hope of making sure she slept through the next few minutes. He would just have to hope the portal opened quickly and that it would be too late for her to stop them. Afterwards, she’d understand why he had to do it.
The four of them would be together again.
31
‘Stupid Pog. Should have known,’ Pog hissed.
He struggled against his bonds. Without Kipwik’s influence they were inert, but they were still fixed fast.
‘Stupid,’ Pog said again, tears of frustration rolling down his cheeks.
He pushed again.
A tiny shadow suddenly darted into the space just outside his field of vision. There was a soft thump, and something landed on his chest and thrust its face into his.
‘Mouse!’ Pog shouted. ‘You followed Pog!’
Mouse raised himself up on his hind legs and squeaked as loud as he could, his head moving back and forth.
Pog heard them before he saw them. The patter of dozens of feet on earth. The bobbing silhouettes that slipped through the gaps in the trees. ‘Squirrels!’ he cried, laughing so hard tears sprang to his eyes.
Squirrels hopped up on to the roots binding him, squeaking to each other. A stocky shape waddled into view, snuffling and chittering. It was a badger, and she was followed by three others. Along with the squirrels and Mouse they set to work gnawing at the roots. The roots had been diseased by Kipwik’s touch, so they made swift work of them. Pog pulled himself up and out of the remains of the roots and picked up his sword. He bowed before the badgers and the squirrels.
‘Pog thanks you from the bottom of his heart.’ He bent down and patted Mouse on the head. ‘And Pog thanks you most of all, Mouse. But Mouse must stay here now. Pog has something dangerous to do.’
Pog stood up and smiled at his rescuers, then he turned and started to run.
32
Kipwik was by the cellar door as promised when David made his way back downstairs. He was busy studying it, his long fingers working gleefully together.
‘They sleep deeply, yes?’
David nodded.
Kipwik smiled. ‘Well done, David. So very well done.’
David stepped forward and thrust the staff towards him. He wanted to get rid of it as soon as possible, as if surrendering it might absolve him of his betrayal of Pog.
Kipwik’s face twitched and he shook his head vigorously. ‘No, no, you must wield it.’ David frowned. Kipwik licked his lips and took half a step back, keeping his eyes on the staff.
‘What’s wrong? Why won’t you touch it?’
Kipwik’s lips trembled, and his amber eyes filled with tears. ‘Dear, dear David. I simply can’t.’
‘Why can’t you?’
Kipwik shook his head. Tears streamed down his face.
‘Please take it,’ David begged.
He thrust the staff towards Kipwik. Kipwik’s eyes widened, and he screamed as the staff touched him and a sudden gout of green flame erupted from his chest.
David dropped the staff and started beating at the flames on Kipwik’s chest as he rolled around on the floor. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’ he wailed.
The flames were extinguished, and Kipwik lay trembling on the floor, his chest going in and out as he gasped and wept.
‘I’m sorry,’ said David once more, holding his friend by the head, rocking him back and forth.
Kipwik pushed him gently away and looked up at him and smiled. The smile became a wince as he held a hand to his chest. ‘I forgive you, David. You weren’t to know.’
‘Know what?’
Kipwik pointed at the staff. ‘This abomination is the work of those monsters I told you about.’
David’s stomach lurched. ‘What? I don’t understand.’
‘The one who wielded it was the one who banished me into the tree. He was an evil sort, Lumpkin-born. He went by the name of Lemuel. He was the grandparent of your little friend. Fancied himself as a sage, a wise man, but like all First Folk he was a monster at heart.’
David felt as if the world was tilting. ‘Pog . . . Pog is his grandson?’
Kipwik shook his head sorrowfully. ‘Like many of his kind your friend was misguided. What you haven’t been told is that I and those like me sought refuge in this world long ago. Our land was blighted by a terrible evil, and yet the First Folk would not allow us passage.’ Kipwik looked at David with pity. ‘Sometimes a mere matter of perspective is all that separates us from the monsters.’
David thought about the bloodworms. His head felt fuzzy. He thought about the worm heading for his mum’s urn. ‘But . . . but . . .’
And now there was a sound, as if something was screeching in the distance. He heard something like claws scraping at wood. He looked at the door of the Necessary. The cracks around it seemed to be widening. The door itself almost looked as if it were bulging. David took a step back.
Kipwik touched him on the arm. ‘We must hurry, David. Your mother. Think of your mother.’
An image entered David’s head. A torn blackness in white gauze, screaming in the dark. David felt a sudden surge of anger and terror. He stood up with the staff in his hands.
Kipwik urged him on. ‘Now, David. Now is the time.’
David looked at the Necessary, and he felt the warm wood between his hands. He held the staff parallel with the floor. As Kipwik smiled, David remembered what Pog had done and he took a deep breath.
‘David, what are you doing?’
Both David and Kipwik turned to see Penny at the end of the hallway.
David smiled, and tears sprang to his eyes. ‘Pen. I’m going to bring Mum back.’
Penny looked stunned. ‘David? Whatever it is you’re doing, please stop.’
David wiped a hand across his eyes, and he gave a manic, desperate grin. ‘I’m opening the Necessary, Pen. Mum’s trapped on the other side. I’ve seen her.’
‘Mum’s gone, David. Mum’s dead.’
David felt an iciness squeeze his heart. ‘No,’ he moaned.
Kipwik showed his palms in a gesture of supplication. ‘Don’t listen to her, David. Her mind has been turned by the Lumpkin.’
‘I don’t know who or what you are,’ Penny snarled, ‘but you need to step away from my brother.’
Kipwik grabbed David’s hand and squeezed. David felt a wave of nausea so strong that it almost made him retch. He heard the voice.
Help me. Save me.
‘Listen to her, David. Listen to your mother,’ Kipwik whispered.
‘She’s gone!’ Penny shouted.
Kipwik squealed, his squeals quickly becoming snarls as Penny walked towards them. ‘No closer!’ he roared.
‘Murderer!’
The shout came from behind Penny. She stood aside to reveal Pog standing behind her.
‘Kipwik Sterndel!’ Pog roared. ‘Fiend! Murderer!’
Kipwik gave a bow and a flourish with his hand. ‘At your service. So nice to meet another Lumpkin after all these years.’
Pog growled.
‘The last I met was your grandfather – Lemuel. A fine fellow indeed. He imprisoned me in a tree with this very staff, which is why I can’t touch it. What’s that term you First Folk are so fond of using?’
‘Baned,’ Pog hissed.
Kipwik nodded. ‘But I have my friend David to help me now. Isn’t that right, David?’
David was weeping quietly. Every part of him felt heavy.
Kipwik’s face twitched. ‘David?’
David started to shake his head. ‘I don’t know . . . I don’t know . . .’ He could hear the wretched cries behind the door, the thud of slithering coils against wood. Kipwik touched his hand lightly and David straightened up and squeezed the staff.
