Part One is here

‘The entire world, are you sure? ‘Cause, like, if they wanted to wipe out West London, I don’t think it’d be that much of a loss, you know, as long as I wasn’t still here.’

Martin shook his head. ‘It doesn’t work like that. The grave is a place of great power. Anyone discovering it no longer thinks for themselves. It isn’t about destroying a particular place, it’s about welcoming the Undying back to the world. His coming will destroy everything.’

‘Why now, couldn’t they at least wait ‘til after new year?’

He smiled. ‘It happens on Christmas eve, just before the sunrise. I’m sure if they’d known you were bothered, they’d have changed his birthday.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Was that your sass showing?’

Martin looked sheepish, and turned back to his desk, rooting through the debris until he emerged, waving a thin book triumphantly. He leafed through it, found what he wanted, and passed it over to Scarlet.

She looked at the page, and threw it on the floor, face scrunched up. ‘Eww, do you really think I want to see that? You’re supposed to be, like, a responsible adult.’

He looked affronted. ‘That’s the Undying.’

‘Huh?’

She picked the book up and stared at it. She turned it around, looking at it from a different angle. Nope, still looked the same, still gross. ‘That’s really a guy?’

Martin chuckled. ‘It’s the ghost of a person, really, he never had a body.’

‘Who was he?’

‘He was Jesus’s twin.’

‘I’m sorry?’

Martin cleared his throat and Scarlet sighed, leaning back and mentally picturing herself on a beach. Lecture time.

‘When Jesus was born, which did happen by the way, he had a twin. Only the twin wasn’t corporeal.’ He hurried on, seeing the confusion on her face. ‘He didn’t have a physical form. Mary and Joseph had no knowledge of him. If legend is to be believed, he was left in the cowshed, a baby left to fend for itself.’

He sighed, and she realised he felt sorry for it. ‘Had he been physical, he would have died, but being incorporeal, he needed no sustenance. He grew, slowly, until he could travel, and then went out into the world.’

She waved a hand. ‘And everywhere he went he caused great suffering, blah blah blah. Am I right?’

Martin looked surprised. ‘That’s exactly right. Until he was trapped. They thought at the time they’d killed him, but he can’t be killed—’

‘You’d think with a name like the Undying, they’d have figured that out.’

Martin frowned at the interruption, but nodded anyway. ‘He wasn’t called that then. It was only when the grave was disturbed, and he almost ended the world, that he earned the moniker he now bears.’

‘’The moniker he now bears?’’

Martin frowned again, and she smiled at him, showing some teeth. He ignored her and rose from his chair, beginning to pace across the room. He got across and back before he seemed to realise there was barely room to swing a cat, and sat back down.

‘This is bad news.’

‘World ending, no Christmas, no Christmas pudding? Yeah, I’d say it doesn’t sound too good.’

‘What I don’t understand…’ he stopped, frowning. ‘You said there was a comment with the poem. What was it?’

She unlocked her phone, the photo springing back up. She zoomed in and read it carefully. ‘On Christmas night, the Underworld will rise. Why does it say Christmas night, isn’t it Christmas eve?’

Martin nodded. ‘That’s very true. Odd. Why would someone send you the poem, but give you a warning at the same time?’

‘Warning?’

‘Well, anyone could have found the grave, but this person is telling us that the threat comes from the Underworld. It doesn’t narrow it down all that much, but it does help a little. I’m confused also by the pictures.’

He thumped his leg and she sat up, eyes widening. It was the strongest display of emotion she seen from him in, like, ever. ‘So, what, you think whoever posted this stuff is trying to help us?’

Martin shrugged. ‘I think they must be. Why else tell you what is occurring, if not to suggest you should help in some way?’

It took her a moment to decipher the sentence, then she shook her head. ‘But why me? I mean, no offence to your teaching and that, but I’m not exactly the best person to help stop the end of the world.’

He smiled. ‘I’m not sure anyone would feel entirely qualified for that job.’

He stood, and she sat back, looking up at him. He gestured for her to get up, and she grumbled. ‘Come on, my apprentice, we will learn nothing more sitting here. It is time we went visiting.’

‘Really? But it’s cold outside. And dark. And cold.’

‘We have three days until Christmas eve, and only three pictures and a cryptic comment to help us stop the end of the world. I think we might need a little more information.’

She stood, wrinkling up her nose. ‘Fine, fine, where are we going?’

‘Well, I thought the Underworld would be a good start.’

‘The Underwor— aww, forget it, just kill me now.’

They donned jackets and stepped out into the estate. They had gone no more than three steps, when a quiet voice from behind made them both spin around.

‘My master wishes to see you.’

He was short, and thin, and looked like a strong wind would blow him down. Between his hands he was tossing a knife, almost too quickly for her to see. Watching it made her a little dizzy. And scared too. She wasn’t keen on knives these days.

He stepped forward, the long coat he wore scraping across the leaf-strewn concrete. He could have been taller, but his shoulders were hunched, screwed up inside his jacket.

Martin stuck his chest out. ‘We have somewhere we need to be.’

The knife stopped, the point aimed straight at Martin. ‘It wasn’t a request, not at all.’

She felt something sharp slip through the gap beneath her coat and spun round. The thin man stood behind her, his knife inches from her chest. She screamed and leapt back. Beside her, Martin went from standing to sitting on his butt, without any warning, or time for him to respond.

The thin man was stood, a few feet away, the knife once more moving from hand to hand. ‘You will come with me now.’

A Brief Note: This post sees the first entry from our cover competition. It’s so exciting to have someone draw a character I’ve seen only in my head, and do such a good job as well! This one comes from Sheila Bacai.

Part One is here

The poem was still there, the URL the same, but the blank screen now had four posts, three pictures and a poem, set neatly across the top of her blog.

The pictures were OK. One was a horse, sort of white and grey, with big hair between its eyes. It looked kinda sad, like no one wanted to talk to it. She could relate. The next was a necklace, and actually, it was really lovely. It was gold, which wasn’t cool, but it was really simple, a red jewel in the shape of an eye, set on a fine chain.

The third was a book, which was just fine, one of the old leather bound ones that probably contained lots of unnecessary words, but some quite good stories.

So, a book, a necklace, and a horse. What was weird, was that none of them had any comments, like they’d been made and put straight on her blog. She was used enough to the world of magic that the actual act of someone else posting to her blog just wasn’t that freaky.

She moved to the poem, mentally clearing her throat:

The year is dying, fading fast,

The sun goes down on all you know

The end is coming, this one last,

No crops to reap from what you sow

The world beneath us, rising fast

Come to feast and slake their thirst

The year is over, time has passed,

What once was last is now the first.

Oh. Well, that was a bit…ordinary. Not much by way of beautiful, or mysterious. Well, sort of mysterious, but mostly creepy. And what was with all the rhyming, like, totally over the top?

This one had a comment:

On Christmas night, The Underworld will rise.

The Underworld was capitalised, as though the commenter knew what she did, knew about the world beneath the real one. She shook her head, abruptly shoving the computer away and folding her arms. She felt sick. She’d eaten dinner too fast.

She stood, and paced the room a couple of times. She needed Disney, this was all a bit too much. She chose Aladdin, just for the hot princess, and settled down to watch, closing the lid of the lap top absently, as though it wasn’t bothering her, as though it was watching, and might think it was bothering her. She grinned sheepishly at her room.

(c) Sheila Bacai

The genie was just transforming into some sort of power tool when she hit pause and yanked open her lap top. The posts were still there, and were, she now decided, definitely trying to tell her something.

Something was going to happen, at Christmas, something that involved the Underworld, and people ‘slaking their thirst’ which, had she known what slaking meant, would almost certainly have been a bad thing. What the pictures were about, she had no idea though, or why it had all appeared on her wall.

There was, probably, some kind of magical connection, so maybe that was it, but if the blogger was looking for some kind of help, they’d come to the wrong girl. She was an apprentice of five months training, and, yeah, she could float things now, and create gates, and even make fire, but the last one gave her a head ache, and made her want to wee, which didn’t really seem to be the stuff of magical legends.

She needed to talk to Martin. That was the simple truth she’d been skirting around for the last half hour. She sighed, and looked at the ceiling. Life was never simple. It was almost certainly someone’s fault, and definitely not hers, but there was nothing she could do about it, so she grabbed her spell book, jacket and oyster, sidled downstairs, and was out the front door before mum could spot her.

Up through the estate, in through the bin doors and she was standing outside Martin’s ‘door’. She knocked, and seconds later he hauled it open, as if he’d been waiting for her. She looked at him, eyebrows raised, and he returned the look, equally serious.

‘Um, hi?’

He replied with a nod, and stepped back, ushering her in. They’d tidied the place after the watchers trashed it. She’d got to know him better in that one afternoon than in all their lessons, as they talked about normal, non magic stuff. She’s wanted to ask about his wife, but hadn’t been able to summon up the courage.

Now it was back to being a familiar, comfortable mess, and she sunk into the sofa with a grateful sigh. He folded his arms, and stared down at her, until she squirmed. ‘Uh, yes?’

He shook his head. ‘It is normally customary to apologise when you’ve insulted someone.’

‘Well, go on then.’

He sniffed, and tapped one foot against the floor. They waited. This was boring. ‘OK, fine, I’m sorry, OK?’

He smiled, nodding. ‘Thank you. That wasn’t too hard now, was it?’

‘You know, I don’t think I should have to apologise if you actually are being a dick.’

He sat in his chair, still smiling, and leaned back, crossing his hands over his stomach. He’d neatened up a bit since the Council thing, though his hair was still a mess. She glanced around, letting out a breath, a smile playing across her face. She’d missed it here.

‘So, my apprentice, are you here for a lesson, or do you have some other matter you wish to discuss?’

‘How do you know that? Really, like, how do you know?’

He spread his hands apart, palms up. ‘I’m a magician, Scarlet, what do you expect?’

‘But it doesn’t work like that, I mean, you have to do spells and stuff, you don’t just know things.’

He laughed. ‘We are linked, you and I, as a master and apprentice should be. I know when your mood is not as it usually is. What is it?’

She told him about the Tumblr thing. It took a while as she had to explain what Tumblr was, then what a blog was, then what social media was. She thought she was going to have to go over what a computer was, when he finally got it, and let her go into the details.

When she pulled out her phone, and recited the poem, he shook his head, face going pale, and put his hands up as though she were pointing a gun at him.

‘What is it?’

‘The poem. Do you know who sent it?’

‘Um, no. Well, there’s a comment on it, so I could look at that person, but all I’d know is their Tumblr account, which could be anything.’

‘But isn’t it social media? So, you socialise with people?’

‘Well, yeah, but only through the computer.’

‘So is there a photo of them?’

Scarlet shrugged. ‘Could be, but who’s to say it’s actually them?’

Martin looked at her as though she had three heads, brows creased fiercely together. ‘I’m not sure I fully understand Tumblr.’

‘Yeah, or, like, anything in the world, at all.’

He sniffed, and turned to his table. She stared at his back for a moment. ‘So come on, what is it, what’s so wrong?’

He sighed. ‘The poem is ancient. The words have changed, been updated somewhat, but the meaning is still the same. Someone has discovered the grave of the Undying, and that means they intend to end the world.’

‘Huh?’

Next Instalment Friday 7th February

Part One can be found here

They hadn’t invited her back, but she knew how to find them. If Scarlet was desperate to join the Council, she could always head back down under the Gallery and bang on the door. She was fairly certain they’d remember her.

Mum had gone biccies, completely ballistic for a minute, or five, then hugged her and cried a bit, and made her some tea, and pizza, so that was alright. Martin had stayed, at least long enough for a shower and for mum to dig out some of dad’s old clothes, before sneaking out. He was remarkably good at that, for a big guy.

Now the computer screen was shining brightly in the dark of the room, her hands poised over the keys as she tried to find the words to describe what had turned out to be only twelve hours. She slept for another twelve, which made it the weekend. Tumblr time, yay.
Nothing. She couldn’t even think of where to start, let alone all the words that would come before the end. It was fine, maybe the world wasn’t supposed to know, but somehow, the Harry Potter pics and glorious poems felt just a little less important. How could something so amazing and frightening and crazy happen to her and she not tell everyone?
Martin had said she shouldn’t tell people about the magic. She’d seen enough to know he was right, completely right. Maybe, she could tell a story, like, pretend it wasn’t her. That would work.

It began when I got home from school and mum was missing…

That was as far as she got before her in-box pinged, and the little message appeared in the corner of the screen. She got maybe one email a year that didn’t come from Amazon, or a band mailing list, so she clicked on it, story forgotten.

“From: Martin
Subject: Why

Dear Scarlet
I am proud of you. We have spent little time together but already I see the makings of a powerful magician. Well done.”

God, he wrote even more awkwardly than he spoke. This must have been agony for him.

“I also need to thank you, properly. I thought perhaps I could begin to do that by telling you, truthfully, why I was down with the Council, and why they saw fit to torture me.”

She rubbed her hands together, eyes lighting up, then glanced guiltily around the room.

“I was married for seven years. We fell in love when we met, at the Council. Her name was Arpita, and she was everything.”

Scarlet took a deep breath, throat closing up.

“Three years ago, Arpita disappeared. I came home from my work at the Council, and she was gone. I searched. I talked to people, I did everything I could to find her, but there was nothing, no trace. After eighteen months, I gave up my main efforts. I hated myself for it, but it was destroying me. Instead, I dedicated myself to helping others. I left the Council and gave away everything, determined to strip away everything I had been, and focus only on what I could be.”

That explains the smelly homeless thing.

“But I couldn’t forget. I kept my ears and eyes open, and a few months ago, I heard a rumour that the Council had something to do with her disappearance. I broke in, and stole the minutes of their meetings, the information that would tell me. Within them, I found a discussion, in which Arpita was described as ‘dangerous’, and ‘potentially traitorous’.

Yours
Martin”

Scarlet leapt off the bed, dumping the computer to one side and grabbed her coat. She wasn’t ever going out without her coat, and wallet, and phone, and oyster, and maybe a knife of some sort, ever again. She scurried down stairs and pulled open the front door.
Two men were there, one broad and smiling, the other with a ratty face. She shrieked and slammed the door closed…

Part One can be found here

There were no other rules, they had promised her. She could do nothing that would get her a fail mark. The spell didn’t matter, really, except if she made the fire big enough, she’d get the all-important seconds she needed.

She stepped close to the apprentices, giving them all her biggest smile. They sneered, one and all, so she stared long enough for them to drop their eyes, and fidget. This was going to be so much fun. If it worked. If it didn’t, she was going to regret it more than anything else, like, ever.

She waited the requisite ten minutes, checking through the spell, ensuring she knew it as well as she could. It was short, and simple, and she barely looked at the book as she recited, loud and clear and bold.

Flames sprung up from the floor. They flickered as a thought ran through her mind. What if they countered with water? What if they just dumped loads of water on it? She wouldn’t have time to do anything.

Sweat broke across her brow, and she blinked as it trickled into the corners of her eyes. This was stupid, this was just the sort of thing she thought of, and did, and realised afterward how utterly stupid it was.

Then she felt it. The wind, building slowly as it blew through the hall. Yes! It swept her hair from her face, and dried the sweat and she side stepped, looking past the fire. Two of the apprentices were stood slightly back, staring at the other, who stood, hands held before him, (bloody amateur), face creased in concentration.

She watched him, the wind whipping at her clothes, and the fire. The flames were guttering, struggling to stay alight and she shook her head, making herself move. This was it, now or never.

She stepped forward, unseen for the moment. Everyone’s eyes were on the fire. She focused on it for a moment, head throbbing worse, so bad her eyes twitched, and she blinked, hard. She had to hold it, just for a few more seconds. She pushed, sighing in relief as the flames jumped up again, stronger and surer.

The wind reacted, so strong she staggered, planting her foot to stay upright. The row opposite her were watching through slitted eyes, hands over their faces to block out some of the wind. Time was up.

She took another three steps, coming to stand directly before the apprentice. He finally saw her, his look of fierce concentration slipping, for just a moment, before he gave her the smallest of smiles. Smug. That made it so much easier.

She hated violence. Always had. Oh well. She took a step back, wound up, and kicked him between the legs, as hard as she knew how. Truth was, she struggled to kick a ball that wasn’t moving, but his legs was braced apart, and for one reason or another, she was bang on target.

Like a switch had been flicked, the wind vanished, and the flames roared up, lapping against the ceiling. There was a group gasp of astonishment, but all Scarlet could look at was the face of the man on the floor in front of her, twisted in pain and surprise. His hands was clutching his bits, probably checking they were all still there.

The cymbals clashed for the third and final time, and she let the flames die. The voice was no different. ‘Joanna Slater, you have been victorious in the third conflict.’ A pause followed this statement, though anything else he might have said was lost as she shouted ‘YES!’ and ran over to Martin.

He was leaning back against the wall, the broadest smile on his face she’d ever seen. She slouched onto one leg, putting her hand on her hip. ‘Not bad, huh?’
He chuckled, wincing. ‘Not bad at all, apprentice. We need to work a little on your finesse, I think, but all in all, a very satisfactory outcome.’
‘A satisfactory outcome? That was amazing. That was godlike, bow before me oh puny mortal.’

She turned back to the room. The audience were talking again, too loud for anyone to be heard over the din, so she walked back across the circle, carefully sidestepping the still-prone apprentice.

The masters were staring at her. One was smiling, and trying not to. The other two were storm-faced, like a teacher just before they exploded. She gave them a beaming smile, feeling, for the first time since she’d left home, in control of things. ‘So, any chance of a lift home, please?’

Final Installment Monday 30th December