The Magic of Endings, page 14
She played tricks. They’d play hide and seek in the woods. But my sister would not play fair, hiding within a dandelion head or a mouse’s nest. She’d hide items too, items which belonged to Jamie, she’d hide them in impossible places before returning them. He thought her marvellous fun.
They grew up together, here in Dor.
And, she fell in love.
How do I know all of this?
Because I watched. It was my job, my promise, to watch over seven generations of de Frobervilles and Troughtons and now Lockes. To be their faerie godmother.
It was my job and I failed.
She will forget him, I thought. She will come back home when her seventeen years end. She will come home and continue as Mabivissey, continue to bring endings at their proper time, to close and cut off, to unwind and wrap up, to stopper and shut.
But she did something I knew nothing of, which she went to great lengths to deceive me of. She set a plan to hold back death – the one thing she is charged with welcoming.
She took from your father a token he did not know he carried. A singular token, the coin that all humans carry, secret even to themselves, each one unique, each written with a name and an hour – the hour that death must come.
She hid that coin away. But at just the right time, she appeared, not to bring death but to force life.
She stole him away to a place you have seen, to that other world, my world, to a castle, Dinn Ainnhir, the House of the Nine.
I have not been able to speak to her since that day. None have. The place where she keeps him is well guarded by magics only the unraveller can unravel. And she will not.
And I imagine she believed that this would be the end of it. He was taken. Her deed was complete. But that act was not an ending but a beginning – the beginning of the ending.
The queen of death had fallen. She had broken her vow and so broke our world open. She broke apart the very fabric of all the magical contracts between the two worlds. And now, all magic, all power, all light and life is sinking away into the cracks she’s made.
And soon, like me, it will come to an end.
Unless...
As the end approaches, even the dark magics my sister wove begin to weaken. And one faerie, who had failed above all others, the guardian of remembrance, was able to wake memories across the worlds.
And now there is one in Elfhaeme who remembers, who is trying to come home.
As the end approaches, another guardian, one of dreams, saw what could be done. So together, dream and memory came to you. Managed to smuggle you, for just a moment, to that place. Gifted you what we could – memory and dream.
And here you are, the only one with the keys to free Jamie Locke. One with a magic more powerful. One who could change everything.
And here are my final gifts:
Courage, take hold of it.
The will to act, let it take hold of you.
Fire, deep inside, you will need it at the end.
It is up to you, Jojo Locke.
This is the final testimony of Mneme Thalia Penperro, guardian of memory, queen of Elfhaeme, the Third of Nine.
The Will to Act
The final words of Aunt Pen cast her final spell. A flash of light and Jojo Locke was alone in the field as thunder cracked and lightning flashed and one by one, huge drops of rain began to fall.
It is up to you, Jojo Locke, she’d written. Jojo played back other words, things said by his faerie godmother over the past few days. Memories he watched again. He tried to piece together wishes that had unravelled as he got wetter and the night got darker.
It was all a puzzle.
Something can be done about what you would ask. Those words seemed to come from long ago.
If his dad was where she said he was... If it was all real and true and he had to believe it was... What could he do? How could he even get there without...
Then a thought came to him, it dropped into his brain like a boulder – solid and certain.
Faerie mounds!
Jojo clicked on his phone. He huddled over it to shield it from the rain. He needed to know something and somehow, magically, his phone was working. He had full signal. He went online and typed in two words:
Thrice widdershins
Widdershins is a term meaning to go anticlockwise, one website told him.
And another, From Middle English, thrice means repeated three times.
‘OK, OK,’ said Jojo aloud to no one. ‘In a thunderstorm. So...’
With that he took a deep breath and pulled up his hood. Out of the darkness a yapping, farting dog came running.
‘Good boy,’ said Jojo. ‘You know, don’t you? I can’t do this alone.’
*
Once they walked the long trek into the village and into the park, it did not take Jojo and Trevor long to find the stony path to the faerie mounds. It did not take them long to be soaked to the skin either.
‘This way,’ Jojo said to Trevor.
Jojo did not try to send Trevor back. He was glad of the company. Even if it was just a dog. It kept his heart from leaping up into his throat every time the thunder struck. It stopped his teeth from chattering from the cold. It forced him to take each step forward.
‘Come on, Trevor.’
On they went along the path, shivering. Every so often Trevor stopped and shook himself, sending water spraying in all directions. It did not make Jojo wet though. He was already as wet as one could be.
They pressed on through the driving rain, keeping the loose stone of the path at their feet.
They almost missed the faerie mounds. If the storm had not thrown lightning across the sky at that precise moment then they would have walked on by. Instead they stopped and Jojo stared into the pitch-black night to the left of their path.
‘Was that... ? Did you see it, Trevor?’
Trevor did two things at once. He barked and he farted. Did this mean yes?
Jojo ignored the dog and continued to stare. There! The lightning struck again, light rebounding off a million raindrops. The low mounds sprung up before them.
‘OK,’ Jojo said. ‘Widdershins. Anticlockwise. That means we go... right. This way, Trevor.’ With that he set off into the dark again, cutting a path to the right of the faerie mounds. He continued on, curving slightly to the left until he felt the ground rise a little: the edge of one of the miniature hills. He needed to go round them.
‘Nope,’ he said. ‘A bit further.’
A bit further they went, boy and dog, cutting a path through the storm, round the faerie mounds, untangling themselves from bramble bushes, pulling a trainered foot from boggy mud. Each time the lightning struck, Jojo wiped the rain from his eyes and, sighting the mounds on their left, he realigned their course and set off again until they found themselves back on the stones of the path.
‘That’s once,’ said Jojo. He did not stop but set off again.
This time the path was easier. They could almost see where they’d stepped before. They avoided the brambles. Only sank a little into the bog. And found themselves back again on the path.
‘Twice.’
Trevor barked at this news.
Once more they stepped off the path, round the brambles, through the bog, through the driving rain.
Lightning struck as Jojo stopped. The path was but a few steps away. All he saw was the mounds to their left and the pebble path before them. But he knew, he felt it as a trickle of electricity down his spine, that far more lay ahead.
‘This is it,’ he whispered to the dog. ‘Don’t get scared now.’ These last words he said to himself. He took a deep breath. Took his asthma pump from his hoody pocket. Took a puff, thought of his dad and stepped on.
A foot on the path and like magic, the rain stopped. The lightning stopped. No longer was it dark. But it was not day either.
Elfhaeme
Jojo looked around in the dim, dusk light, under that purple and black sky that he’d seen over this land on the first day he’d met Aunt Pen. This was the place. He knew it. He knew it deep in his bones. He was no longer in his own world. He was in that other place.
‘We’re here, then,’ said Jojo quietly. ‘The Land of Faerie. It’s not nice, is it?’
To his right all was desolate, quiet wasteland.
To his left, where the faerie mounds had been, was something like a village. The houses were tall, and pointed, like cylindrical cans with witches’ hats propped on top. They were dotted with circular windows. None showed light or any other sign of life. The cobbled paths that ran between them were choked with weeds.
‘Hello?’ Jojo called. ‘Hello!’
No answer; the village was long abandoned.
In front of Jojo, where Trevor now shook the rain from his coat, was the sight which really drew the eyes though.
The ground was split. We are not speaking here of a slight crack. Not a gully. It was a vast canyon. The edge, ten metres away, was too close for Jojo’s liking. And he did not need to venture closer to see just how deep the chasm was. It stretched out before them, deep and wide. It was an abyss, dwindling away into darkness.
Where was the water? Jojo thought. Last time he’d been here, that chasm had held a stormy sea. Now it was nothing but nothingness.
Trevor barked, his nose pointing ahead.
Jojo followed his gaze. There, far out in the middle of the empty nothingness of the gulf was an island. And on it a tiny speck of a castle. The castle.
And once again, Jojo was struck by a certainty, deep inside. That was where his father was.
‘I see it,’ said Jojo. ‘But how can we... ?’
Courage.
Jojo took a step forward. Trevor farted loudly. ‘Come on,’ the boy said.
Another step. Trevor farted again but this time followed. Closer and closer they came to the edge. Each step an effort of will.
The will to act.
Jojo swallowed. Even as the rain chilled him, a sweat broke out on his forehead. He squeezed his hands tight together as he reached the edge of the huge ravine.
‘Well,’ he said, turning back to Trevor, who had stopped several paces back. ‘What now?’ Were they to step out into the dark? Step into nothing?
Trevor barked.
The only one with the keys . . .
The thought came to him on the wind, carried from his own world.
Keys. Jojo reached into his jeans pocket, expecting to find the feather and the pouch. Instead, he was struck by a strange tingling across the back of his hand. He quickly pulled it back and then screamed at what he saw.
His hand, which he was certain had gone into his pocket quite ordinary, had come out covered in feathers. Not a random scattering of feathers. These were arranged and preened as on a great bird’s wing.
Feathers?
Jojo recovered himself, remembering the wings from just a few days before, and reached in once more. The same tingle, the same feeling, but he groped with feathered fingers and pulled out the feather.
It was white and gold as he remembered. But now it glowed, somehow whiter than white. It burned bright. Jojo had to turn his eyes to one side.
He took a deep breath, passed it from his left hand to his right and watched as the back of this hand sprouted feathers too.
Jojo looked at his plumed hands, looked at the feather.
He pulled off his sodden hoody, making sure to retrieve the asthma pump and push it into the empty pocket of his jeans.
This would work. This had to work.
He held the feather by the shaft and slowly ran it from his left hand across his wrist, forearm, elbow. The same frisson of electricity. The buzzing tingle. Feathers, white and speckled with brown, sprang from his skin, sprouted and grew.
And grew.
And it was not just the feathers that grew. Jojo felt a shiver run the length of his arm. It juddered and shook and then with a jolt of pain his bones began to lengthen.
He let out a short cry. Trevor barked in reply.
But Jojo did not stop – the will to act. He continued with the feather, playing across his upper arm to his wet T-shirt and shoulder.
And still it grew. And grew and grew. Till it was no longer an arm. His limb was now vast and feathered. Jojo stretched out the fully formed wing. It was huge. Two metres, perhaps. Maybe more.
He’d not really looked at the wings the last time. It had all happened so quickly.
Somewhere in there was a hand. Jojo tried wiggling his fingers. There was a ruffling in the furthest feathers. Hmmmm... no hand?
Jojo looked from the feather in his right hand to the wing stretched out to his left. He tried pulling it in. It tucked into place if he pulled where his left hand should have been up toward his face.
Trevor barked.
‘I know, boy. I know,’ said Jojo. ‘Pretty freaky.’
Jojo looked back at Trevor.
If the dog was going to come with him...
‘OK, boy.’
Trevor yapped as Jojo approached.
‘Sit still.’
He sat still, letting out the smallest of whispered farts.
‘Let’s try this...’
Jojo did not run the feather down Trevor’s forelegs. Instead, he tickled it across Trevor’s back.
The dog yapped and wriggled.
‘Shhh... shhh... shhh,’ Jojo said and held him still under his feathered left arm.
Where the feather touched him, more feathers spread and grew, as on Jojo’s arm. They were brown and careworn, like Trevor’s fur. They seemed somehow to fit him.
Trevor yelped again and shifted under Jojo’s arm. From somewhere bones sprung from his back taking the feathers up with them. Jojo went on till Trevor had a full pair of wings protruding from his right shoulder blades.
Jojo stood and looked at the now-winged dog.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘that worked.’
Trevor barked and barked and did not now sit. He did not wait. He stretched the wings. He took a step, took a run and then leaped forward, beating his new limbs. Each little fart propelled him forward as Trevor’s paws left the ground, as he flew.
‘Hold on, Trevor,’ called Jojo, as the dog barked and glided above him. ‘Don’t go far.’ Trevor barked again in reply.
Jojo placed the spiny end of the feather carefully into his mouth. He ran the feather down his right arm – the same sprouting feathers, the same lengthening bones, the same tingling pain – till he too had a pair of wings.
As the feather reached his shoulder blade, the glow that had bathed everywhere it touched died. The feather withered in his mouth. It shrank and crumbled and then blew away as dust.
‘I guess that’s all we get then,’ Jojo said, frowning. He had half a thought that he would use the feather to remove the wings, in reverse somehow. That hope was gone.
Well, he thought, winged was better than gilled. At least he got to fly.
To fly...
Trevor now was flapping and barking like he’d been born to fly, like he’d always known how. And Jojo knew why. The white feather had brought not just wings but knowledge too.
Jojo stretched his own wings. He did not need to think what to do next. He stepped and beat and ran and beat again. He gasped as he rose over the canyon.
Jojo joined Trevor the barking, farting, flying dog.
‘Woooof!’ said Trevor.
Jojo did not wait to weigh up their next move. He acted. With a beat of his huge wings he set out for the House of the Nine.
Across the Abyss
Jojo tried not to look down, for when he did, the dark of the chasm seemed to swallow him. It was all he could do to drag his eyes away before he began to plummet, before he gave himself into the arms of that darkness.
‘Don’t look down, Trevor! Don’t look down.’
There was no fear of that. Trevor was paying little attention to the great opening below them. He had his little doggy eyes fixed firmly on the castle up ahead. With his tongue lolling out of his mouth to one side, wispy farts escaping in the breeze, Trevor was flapping forward as happily as he would have been running through the woods beside Grandad. His tail wagged and wagged.
‘Good dog,’ said Jojo, steering his own eyes to the castle, the house at the centre of all this. ‘Good dog.’
The castle. It grew now. It was a grey tooth erupting from a rocky gum. Grey and sheer, it went up and down, with no cavities, no gaps, no doors, no gates, no caverns, no ways in or out. It erupted with a cacophony of towers, each topped with a pointed fairytale black roof.
The purple and black clouds did not streak above these but circled them like halos of doom.
‘That’s where we’re going,’ Jojo said, swooping in beside Trevor, pushing down the question of how they would get in. Surely a door would present itself.
The dog barked and wagged his tail.
As the towering island of rock grew, so did Jojo’s certainty. This was their destination. This was where each moment of magic had been heading.
Jojo looked back for a moment to the abandoned village, which in his world had been simple mounds. It was grown small now. Minute. It was a collection of specks on the distant cliff.
His eyes swivelled back to the castle. Jojo began to see the scale of the great place. It was as tall as the tallest buildings in London. Taller. The cloud-wreathed tops seemed to stretch like fingers, reaching upwards even as he watched.
‘Nearly there,’ he whispered.
And as he did, he saw them. Jojo and Trevor were not the only figures flying in that strange sky.
He’d missed them before. Perhaps they’d been hidden behind the towers. Perhaps they’d been further away, just now swooping in towards the castle. But there they were. A boy and a girl. A boy with dark skin and a girl with red hair.
There was no doubting who they were.
They glided together, spiralled and plunged downward. They were birds, flying for the sake of flying.
They were angels, figures from the other side of death.
Was this it? Did he merely need to fly on, to reach out a hand and take his father back?
He could not stop himself; he opened his mouth and called out, ‘Dad! DAD!’
His boy-father turned. They were close enough that Jojo could read that young face. Surprise first, then recognition. His father opened his mouth. He reached out his own hand as if to wave. And then he was gone. Vanished.
