Part One is here

Note: Another wonderful entry to the cover competition in this week’s post, this time from Kayleigh Fulbrook.

Underground. Why was she surprised? You’d figure if you could afford to hire some crazy, knife-wielding freak to collect people for you, you’d live in some fancy penthouse in Chelsea. But oh no, it had to be underground. They were bustled through the chained up gates on Shepherd’s Bush green and down the wet stone steps.

She tried to step over the leaf mulch that clogged the bottom, but there was nowhere else to put her feet, and within moments her converse were soaked through. She sighed. The one item of clothing mum got right, and this was a second pair ruined in six months.

The thin man was in front of them for a moment, muttering something before he shoved the rickety doors inward, and they swung smoothly open, belying the impression given by the knackered rusty hinges. Then she felt the knife in her back again and with a whimper, stepped forward into the darkness.

Martin nudged her as the lights of the green faded behind them. ‘We’ve come to the right place.’

She looked at him, just making out the silhouette of his profile. ‘Huh?’

‘This is the Underworld. I haven’t used this entrance before, but it is all linked. I am intrigued to know who wishes to see us.’

‘Intrigued? Is that like, frightened, wet and angry?’

His chuckle got lost in the gloom, before lights appeared before them, and the darkness crept quietly away as they walked closer.

(c) Kayleigh Fulbrook

Minutes later, the tunnel opened up and they were in a place that reminded her of the Winter wonderland in Hyde Park. A corridor of stalls, on both sides, lit by hanging bulbs and candles, random lamps and fairy lights. From above, she could hear the snickering of what she thought, or hoped, were bats.

The floor was covered in a sort of hessian mat thing, and every footstep squelched as the water escaped from her shoes. Their guide was talking to a man stood at the junction, and Scarlet took a moment to look around.

The nearest stall was covered in wooden cabinets, each filled with tiny drawers. She opened one at random, and found a dark, pungent-smelling weed, that made her eyes water.

‘Are you buying, or just trying to steal something?’

She jumped, shoving the drawer closed. ‘Sorry, just looking, I didn’t know what was in there, my bad.’

She looked up, over the cabinets, and gasped, mouth dropping open. The owner of the voice, and she assumed, the stall, was green, and suspiciously warty, and was, quite possibly, a goblin. An actual goblin.

He was glaring at her, and she gave him a smile. ‘Are these, like, spell ingredients?’

He continued to glare for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. ‘Finest in London, excellent prices. You need anything?’

‘Well…’ she checked her pockets. She had a few quid, and hauled her spell book out, flicking through it. She’d been wanting to try this levitation spell for ages, only Martin didn’t have any… where was it, oh yeah, ‘avrid root.’

‘Um, yeah, have you got ‘Avrid root please?’

The goblin nodded knowingly. ‘Fancy having a fly, do you? Popular this one, here you go.’

He leaned over the stall, pulling out one of the drawers and she took out a small chunk of spongy root, so dark it was almost black. ‘Um, how much?’

The goblin looked at what she held, rocked his head back and forth, and sniffed. ‘Say, half a pint.’

‘I’m sorry, half a pint of what?’ She knew before she asked, but she really wasn’t willing to even entertain it. Maybe it was beer, maybe. Nah, not a chance.

The goblin gave her a look. ‘Blood.’

She sighed. Always with the gross, always. ‘Look, I’ve got like, three pound, fifty, will that do?’

Another look, then he stuck his hand out and she dropped the coins in. She couldn’t help noticing the long, ragged finger nails and browny-red stuff stuck beneath them. With a shudder, she thanked him, and stuffed the root into one pocket, before the thin man appeared beside her.

‘No time for shopping.’

‘Oh, but time for you to have a natter, right?’

That earned her a glare, and she noticed the knife was out again, back and forth, back and forth. He motioned with his head and they set out, moving slower now as they wound their way through the shoppers. The market was busy, and it wasn’t just the sellers who were weird. They passed all sorts, from more goblins, to tiny creatures travelling in groups on these sort of trolley things that got them up to the right height, to people who looked like trees, towering above the stalls.

They were stuck in the press for a moment, and she watched one of the tree guys bend over, his head coming in close to the stall. His voice was deep, and growling, and she shook her head in wonder as he chatted about the weather to the woman behind the counter. The woman was as wide as Scarlet was tall, and it took her longer than it should to spot the third eye, nestled amongst wispy hair on her forehead.

They moved on, Scarlet staring in every direction at once, her fear momentarily displaced by the wonders they were passing. Martin nudged her again. ‘This stall, on the left? Anything look familiar?’

She paused, eyes lighting up as she saw hundreds of necklaces draped over cushions covered in velvet. It looked like a typical jewelers, until she looked closer, and noticed that many of the chains supported pieces of bone, or miniature demon charms, or even teeth. Uh.

Martin had moved ahead, tapping the thin man on the shoulder, and the two of them began talking. Scarlet stared at the necklaces, trying to check them one at a time, until a cough made her glance up. The man who ran the stall was disappointingly normal, but he was holding a necklace up, the faintest of smiles on his face.

She stared at it, making sure. It was the right one. ‘How did you know?’

His smile widened. ‘It is my job to know.’

She waited for something more, but that was it, apparently, end of explanation. There was something refreshing about the simplicity of it. A bit creepy, too.

‘How much is it?’

The man rocked his head to one side, far further than normal, and smiled. ‘What is your name?’

It came naturally this time. ‘Joanna Slater, how about you?’

‘Call me Howard, for now. Well, Joanna. There is nothing I need right now, but how about if I needed something in the future? Perhaps I could call on you?’

Her skin was crawling, something about the way he was looking at her, like her cat stared at his dinner. It sounded like a deal, but that was like believing when a teacher told you the lesson was going to be fun. She glanced back, and saw Martin and the thin man finish their discussion, both turning to look at her.

‘Yeah, sure fine, whatever, sounds like a deal.’

The smile stayed fixed as he passed her the necklace, and as it touched her hand, it hissed, like her skin was hot and the chain, freezing. She held it up, staring at it as it spun slowly before her eyes. She slipped it over her head, and as the jewel touched the skin of her chest, voices leapt into her mind.

‘We are nearly there, soon we shall have him.’

‘Be not too eager, accolyte, there is work to be done still.’

‘Does anyone want a cup of tea?’

‘She needs to be found, this Slater girl, before she discovers the charms of Undoing.’

‘But what will we do when we find her?’

‘What will we do? We will kill her of course.’

Next Instalment Wednesday 12th February

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