The Doomspell Page 3

  On impulse, the Witch kicked the driver from his seat. She held the reins and thrashed the horses mercilessly for several miles, her four sets of teeth flashing in the light of the enormous moon of Armath.

  Eventually, the Witch pulled the terrified horses to an abrupt halt at the bottom of the Palace steps. Several small people, who looked like Morpeth, waited.

  ‘Hurry, you fools!’ Dragwena snapped impatiently. ‘Take them up!’

  ‘B-but, my Queen,’ stammered one. ‘The chamber is not ready for guests.’ He glanced sharply at two others. They wrapped Rachel and Eric, both sleeping, in warm blankets and shuffled up the Palace stairway.

  ‘Not ready!’ snarled Dragwena. ‘Whose fault is this, Leifrim? Yours?’

  He gazed down.

  ‘No, it’s my fault,’ said another – a red-haired creature with the face of a girl and the wrinkled eyes of an old woman. ‘Punish me!’

  ‘Be quiet, Fenagel!’ Leifrim hissed.

  The Witch laughed. ‘Perhaps I should punish you both. Father and daughter. The father for idiocy, and the daughter for speaking at all.’ She lifted her throat towards the moon. Instantly, Leifrim shot into the dark sky, suspended several hundred feet above.

  ‘What should I do to your father?’ the Witch asked Fenagel. ‘Does this deserve a severe punishment or only a small one?’

  ‘Please don’t hurt him,’ Fenagel pleaded. ‘He was only trying to protect me. It was me who forgot. I’ll do anything you want.’

  ‘Child,’ said Dragwena, ‘you have nothing I want. In my kingdom only I am allowed to forget, and I never forget anything.’

  Leifrim was thrown hard against a nearby tree, his knees snapping as he hit the ground. For a few moments Dragwena enjoyed watching him struggle to untangle his smashed legs. Then she raised her arms and sprang from the icy ground, soaring toward the lights of the eye-tower.

  As soon as the Witch was out of sight Fenagel ran to her father. He lay at the bottom of the tree, moaning loudly.

  ‘Shush, Dad,’ she said. ‘It’s all right. She’s gone.’

  Another man, with a short pointed beard, immediately took charge. He inspected Leifrim’s injuries and ordered three others to take him to a small wooden hut, where they tended his cuts and made splints to support his broken legs.

  Fenagel glanced angrily at the bearded man. ‘Couldn’t you have done something to help him, Trimak? You’re supposed to be our leader! All you do is talk about how we must protect each other from the Witch. But you just stood by, like the others. How could you?’

  Trimak bowed his head. ‘A direct attack on Dragwena will never work,’ he said. ‘Your father understands that. If I had done anything to try to stop the Witch he knows she would have killed me.’

  Leifrim nodded and Fenagel tearfully held her father’s hands.

  Leifrim whispered through his pain, ‘We cannot harm the Witch, but perhaps someone else can. Morpeth managed to send a message using the eagle Ronnocoden, before they left the Gateway. He says this new child Rachel resisted Dragwena. She would not eat the sweets the Witch offered. Can you believe that! I was so excited by the news I forgot to check on preparations. Stupid – Dragwena never tolerates failure.’

  Fenagel stared at his ruined legs. ‘This is all my fault . . .’

  ‘Don’t blame yourself,’ said her father. ‘No one avoids Dragwena’s punishments for long.’

  Trimak stepped forward. ‘Are you saying this girl Rachel resisted, and Dragwena let her live?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Leifrim excitedly. ‘Apparently even the hag Witch herself was impressed. Rachel must be special.’ He turned to Fenagel. ‘Remember the child-hope I told you about?’

  ‘The one who will come from the other world?’ Fenagel asked. ‘The dark child who’ll take us back to Earth.’ She half-grinned. ‘Wasn’t that just a story?’

  ‘Shush!’ Trimak hissed. ‘Exactly. It’s just an old story. Watch over your father.’

  Trimak issued instructions for preparing a stretcher and left the hut.

  It was, as always, bitterly cold outside. A storm brewed over the entire northern sky. In the west a few lonely stars shone down. Trimak sighed, willing their twinkling light to hold off the storm. Southwards, the vast cold moon of Armath stared balefully down, its scarred surface offering no comfort. I wonder, Trimak thought, how many centuries that moon has looked down on our planet? Had it ever witnessed even one successful attack on the Witch? Never, he knew. Never.

  He took a path near the Palace steps and tramped back to his own home. Muranta, his wife, heated some soup over an open fire as he told her about the evening’s events.

  She shivered. ‘Do you think this Rachel could be the child-hope?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Trimak said dismissively. ‘We have seen so many girls come and go. They always seem promising, but Dragwena either destroys them or turns their strength to her own advantage.’ He caught Muranta’s eye and said menacingly, ‘I sense the Witch has waited a long time for this girl to arrive. Perhaps Rachel will turn out to be another Witch. Think about that! In any case, I hardly dare to believe this Rachel will be able to help us.’

  But secretly he wondered.

  5

  Spells

  Rachel awoke late the next morning. She yawned loudly and dug her toes into luxuriously inviting sheets.

  ‘Good morning, Rachel,’ said a gruff voice.

  She jumped up. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Morpeth.’

  Morpeth! Images crowded into Rachel’s mind – the black claws in the cellar, meeting the snake-woman, and the dwarf. What had happened after this?

  ‘Where am I?’ Rachel demanded, trying to think clearly. ‘Where is Eric? What have you done to him?’

  ‘Your brother is safe,’ said Morpeth. ‘He’s already had his breakfast and is playing nearby.’ He pinched Rachel’s toe. ‘You, on the other hand, have overslept, sleepy-head.’

  ‘Who is Eric playing with?’ Rachel asked. ‘Other children?’

  ‘Of course! You are not the only children here. Our world is full of children. He’s playing hide-and-seek, I think.’

  ‘In the snow?’

  ‘Where better?’ Morpeth laughed. ‘Everything looks the same. Fantastic places to hide.’

  Rachel stared at him. ‘A world full of children? Why? Where do they all come from? Aren’t there any . . . grown-ups?’

  ‘I’ll explain all that later,’ Morpeth said. ‘First let me welcome you again to the wonderful world of Ithrea.’ He smiled brightly. ‘You, our honoured visitor, are in Dragwena’s Palace. Only special guests are given these rooms.’

  Rachel studied the bed where she had slept. It was enormous, an ocean of scarlet sheets adorned with shimmering black serpents. Their ruby-red eyes all seemed to follow her.

  ‘I’m not special,’ said Rachel. ‘I’m just like anyone else.’ She examined the perfectly fitting pyjamas she wore. ‘These aren’t my pyjamas. Who—’

  ‘A maid undressed you last night,’ Morpeth told her.

  ‘A maid?’

  ‘You will have your own personal maid while you are with us. Her name is Fenagel.’

  He looked across the room where a girl hovered awkwardly. Rachel saw she had the same strange bow-shaped wrinkles marring her eyes as Morpeth, making it impossible to tell her age. Neatly plaited red hair framed her thoughtful face.

  Fenagel curtsied. ‘At your service, miss.’

  ‘I’m used to dressing myself,’ said Rachel awkwardly.

  ‘Dragwena says we should pamper you,’ Morpeth told her. ‘Fenagel will do anything you ask.’

  ‘Anything you want!’ gushed Fenagel. ‘I’m not important, miss. I’m only a maid. Tell me what you need.’

  Rachel did not know what to say. ‘I don’t . . . need anything. Don’t call me miss. My name’s Rachel.’

  ‘Of course, miss – I mean, Rachel.’

  ‘Time to get dressed,’ Morpeth said. ‘I’ll wait for you in the Breakfast Room.�
�

  ‘Do you know where my clothes are?’ Rachel asked Fenagel, after he had gone.

  ‘Oh Miss Rachel, you have lots to choose from. Come and have a look.’

  Fenagel took Rachel into an area adjoining the bedroom. It was a wardrobe, but one so large that you could walk into the middle of it and still not see the walls at the other end. Everywhere Rachel looked, hanging on rails hundreds of feet long, there were clothes, thousands of them. And, as Rachel feasted her eyes, she found that all the garments turned towards her. Enticing dresses twisted to get her attention. A skirt flapped, showing ever-changing colours, rippling with pleasure as Fenagel gently stroked its hem. Several jumpers nudged aside blouses and lines of shoes clumped into view. At a warning glance from Fenagel each pair stopped at a respectful distance and permitted dainty socks and tights and leggings to dance between them. Finally all the clothes surrounded Rachel, forming a neat circle, silently awaiting her decision.

  Rachel stepped back, gazing in wonder. One bold white dress studded with glittering gems suddenly launched itself through the air, pressing against her chest.

  ‘Get off me!’ Rachel shouted, throwing it down.

  ‘No. No. Try it on,’ Fenagel laughed, wagging a finger at a blouse trying to creep over Rachel’s foot. ‘The dress won’t hurt you!’

  ‘But how can clothes—’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know!’ said Fenagel. ‘Dragwena makes it all happen. Are you going to wear that dress or not?’

  ‘Am I . . . allowed to wear anything I like?’

  ‘Oh yes, Miss Rachel. They’re all for you.’

  Overcoming her nervousness, Rachel quickly tried on several outfits, dashing between the racks of clothing and the many huge mirrors in the room. Each item of clothing fitted perfectly. She was too excited to care how. The original white dress studded with gems had crept to a corner of the rack, pining, looking forlorn.

  ‘Shall I wear you?’ Rachel asked it, expecting the dress to say ‘Yes!’

  ‘It can’t talk, but it wants you to!’ cried Fenagel. ‘Isn’t it gorgeous?’

  Rachel was tempted. Instead, thinking she might need to go out into the snow, she picked a thick white pullover, some black trousers and a pair of sturdy grey flat shoes. She tiptoed from the wardrobe, wondering if the shoes would show her the way to the Breakfast Room. Instead, Fenagel took her, but would not go inside.

  ‘Aren’t you coming?’ asked Rachel.

  ‘I’m not allowed in,’ said Fenagel. ‘I mean, I’ve already eaten. I mean – I mean I’ll see you later, miss!’ She ran rapidly back down the corridor, as if she could not wait to get away from whatever lay behind the door of the Breakfast Room.

  Rachel composed herself and gently rapped on the entrance.

  ‘Come in, Rachel,’ said Morpeth.

  The Breakfast Room disappointed her. It was small, no bigger than her kitchen at home, containing only a plain round table set with two chairs. There were no eager spoons or tantalizing packets of cereal begging for her attention. Rachel sat down opposite Morpeth and attempted a smile.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ he said. ‘Are you?’

  ‘Mmm.’ Rachel realized she had not eaten for ages. This instantly reminded her of Eric. ‘Has Eric had breakfast? Where is he? He’ll be scared if he doesn’t know where I am.’

  Morpeth laughed. ‘I just checked on him. He’s having a great time building a snowman outside. Hasn’t mentioned you once! You can join him whenever you like. Let’s have some food first, eh? What would you like?’

  ‘Have you got any cereal?’

  ‘Yep. Every kind of cereal you can think of, plus toast, eggs, all that stuff, and things you probably rarely have for breakfast – like gigantic, mouth-watering chocolate sandwiches.’

  ‘Then I’ll have chocolate sandwiches!’

  ‘Well,’ said Morpeth, relaxing in the chair, ‘they’re not here as such. You see, in our world you just imagine what breakfast you want.’

  Rachel was suspicious, but recalled the wardrobe.

  ‘For example,’ he said, ‘today I want some eggs, and I’ll have sausages with them in the shape of, let’s see – in the shape of teapots.’

  The next instant a plate of steaming hot scrambled eggs and sausages appeared on the table. Each sausage looked exactly like a tiny teapot, with a spout, a handle and a fat belly.

  Rachel’s eyes widened as Morpeth picked one up. It had a little lid, like a real teapot. He popped it in his mouth.

  ‘Delicious,’ he said. ‘You have a try.’

  ‘I-I can’t do that,’ gasped Rachel. ‘How did you do it?’

  ‘Have you forgotten the magic you used between the worlds?’ said Morpeth. ‘This should be an easy trick for a clever girl like you.’ He gobbled the eggs with a fork appearing in his hand. ‘You see, this world is different from the one you come from. There’s magic everywhere.’

  ‘Everywhere?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Morpeth. ‘And it’s all waiting to be used. Magic can’t wait to be used! A bit of practice is all you need. All you have to do is know what you want and make it appear.’ He leaned towards Rachel. ‘Close your lids,’ he said, ‘and see those nice chocolate sandwiches on a plate in front of you. It will work. I promise.’

  Rachel shut her eyes and pictured the sandwiches. She saw them cut into little triangles, with lots of soft dark brown chocolate oozing out of the sides. But when she opened her eyes the table was empty.

  ‘I bet you thought of the sandwiches,’ said Morpeth, ‘but didn’t imagine them on the table in front of you. Am I right?’

  Rachel nodded.

  ‘Go on,’ he urged. ‘Try again.’

  Rachel did and blinked in amazement as a pair of chocolate butties waited to be eaten.

  Morpeth studied them. ‘Promising, but you forgot something.’

  She followed his gaze and saw that the bread was a fuzzy grey.

  ‘Ugh,’ she said. ‘They look horrible.’

  ‘They’re not bad,’ he grunted, biting into a fresh cream cake. ‘You forgot to decide what colour you wanted the bread. Do you want it to be white or brown – or even silver? You see, the magic doesn’t know what colour bread you want. Only you do. Have another go.’

  Rachel made the bread white and fluffy. No butter, she decided. Just lots of chocolate. This time the bread was appealing.

  ‘Don’t be nervous,’ said Morpeth, chewing on a big toffee-apple. ‘Try one.’

  Rachel gingerly picked up one of the sandwiches and took a small bite.

  ‘Yeuch!’ She threw it on the table. ‘It tastes disgusting!’

  Morpeth laughed out loud, big wrinkles creasing around his cheeks and mouth.

  ‘It’s not funny,’ Rachel said.

  ‘Ah, but you forgot something else!’

  ‘Did I? No, I’m sure—’

  ‘You forgot to imagine what the sandwiches would taste like!’

  ‘Oh.’ Rachel realized he was right. She quickly pictured the taste of mingled bread and chocolate and nibbled the edge. This time it was perfect.

  Morpeth picked up the other sandwich. ‘Can I have a munch?’

  Rachel nodded, wondering how he could eat so much.

  He took a great bite and chewed it slowly.

  ‘Lip-smackingly gorgeous,’ he sighed. ‘I couldn’t have done better myself. Try something else. How about some fruit?’

  Rachel put an orange in the middle of the table. She frowned, wondering what was odd about it.

  ‘Look closely,’ Morpeth said. ‘You know what’s wrong. You don’t need me to tell you.’

  Rachel stared at the orange. It was round. It was the proper colour. She made the orange revolve slowly, while Morpeth sat back watching her in fascination. Suddenly she knew what was wrong: it didn’t have the little dimples all oranges have. It was smooth, like an apple. A moment later she had made the dimples appear.

  Morpeth snatched the orange from the table and tried unsuccessfully to peel it.

  �
�Oh, I forget to make the skin real,’ said Rachel, annoyed with herself.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Morpeth. ‘Tell me what you think of my next trick.’

  An apple appeared, sitting on top of the orange. Rachel placed a banana above the apple. Morpeth added a peach. Rachel dumped a pineapple on the peach. They continued until the pile of fruit was impossibly high, nudging the ceiling.

  Rachel shook her head. ‘Why don’t they fall over?’

  ‘Because we don’t want them to!’

  Morpeth excitedly squeezed four more bananas into the pile, and together they built impossible towers of fruit growing upwards and sideways. On impulse, Rachel scattered the piles and made all the fruit float around their heads. Morpeth hid the bananas behind the pineapples and Rachel hurled the melons into the wall, splatting juices all over the floor.

  At last, she gazed at the mess. ‘I suppose we’ve got to clean this up.’

  ‘We could,’ said Morpeth. ‘Or we can imagine it cleaned up!’

  Rachel did. In an instant the room was exactly the way it had been when she entered it.

  ‘Can I change the room as well?’ asked Rachel, not wishing to stop.

  ‘Change what you like,’ Morpeth urged. ‘Change everything!’

  Rachel took her time. She imagined the bare room was a huge dining hall. She created cutlery and suspended chandelier lights from the ceiling. On the table she conjured up hundreds of plates, heaped with roast chicken and potatoes and sweet corn and Yorkshire pudding.

  What else? she wondered, trying to keep all the plates of food in her mind. She imagined the entire room made of glass filled with fish. What, exactly, should the fish look like? Goldfish tails or little puppy-dog tails? Ugly mouths or pretty ones? Rachel decided on slender rouge-lipped fish – with dainty green earrings hanging from their gills.

  When she glanced up the room was transformed. She sat in a transparent glasshouse where teeming fish swam through the air. But it was still a disappointment. The earrings of the fish had turned yellow. Rachel made them green again. A second later they turned back to yellow – as if something else was influencing them. Rachel sighed, noticing that all the lights and plates of food she wanted were missing. She had focused so hard on the fish that she had forgotten to keep them in her mind.