John Connolly - The Infernals aka Hell's Bells

He shook his head. Where had that thought come from? It wasn’t true. Nurd was his friend. How could he think such a thing of a friend? But if Nurd was his friend, then where was he? Samuel had called out to him, but still he had not come. Perhaps Nurd didn’t care, and was just like all the rest. Even his father had abandoned him, and his mother had done nothing to prevent it, nothing. What was the point in continuing if even your own parents couldn’t be bothered to behave as they should?

He stopped walking. Ahead of him was a vast expanse of pure nothingness, a void that appeared to open blackly before him but was not really black at all, because at least “black” was something. 33The hole in time and space into which he and Boswell now stared was a relic of nonexistence, the last trace of all that had not been before the Multiverse was created. Looking into it made Samuel’s head hurt, because it had no length, or width, or depth. It had no gravity, nor could energy be transmitted through it. What Samuel and Boswell were seeing was not just the end of this dimension, and this universe, but the beginning and end of all universes, and as they gazed upon it they felt a great sense of loss overcome them, their spirits fell, and their will to continue was finally sapped, for clever young boys and smart, loyal dogs were never meant to face the bleakness of absolute nothingness. Slowly Samuel sank down, Boswell beside him, and together they looked into the Void, and the Void began to enter them.

MRS. ABERNATHY’S VOICE ROSE to a shriek. Even the Watcher was taken aback at its volume and intensity.

“Nurd?” screamed Mrs. Abernathy. “Nurd? You’re telling me that that imbecile, that miserable excuse for a demon, is responsible for all this? But I banished him. I sent him to the Wasteland with his idiot servant, where he couldn’t be a nuisance anymore. How could-? How did-? I mean-”

Probably for the first time ever, words failed Mrs. Abernathy. Nurd? But he was so inconsequential, so inept, or so it had seemed. How could she have misjudged him so badly? She began to feel what might almost have been admiration for him, even if it was the kind that came before you began inflicting serious pain on the object of said admiration. The scale of what he had achieved, the great enterprise that he had managed to undo, was almost inconceivable. For a moment the revelation of Nurd’s involvement drove the Watcher’s second piece of news-the message from Old Ram that he had Samuel Johnson nearby-from her mind, but it quickly returned.

“I’ll deal with Nurd later,” she said. “For now, Samuel Johnson is our priority. You should have come to me before now, Watcher. I am disappointed in you.”

Had the Watcher been an entity of a different stripe, it might have felt obliged to protest at the unfairness of this, if only to obscure its other reason for remaining silent. After all, Mrs. Abernathy had been variously unconscious, overconcerned with her own vanity, and too keen on finding out the identities of those who were plotting against her to even allow the Watcher into her presence. It wasn’t entirely its fault that it had taken so long to relay Old Ram’s news to her. But the Watcher was not the kind of entity to complain, and had it done so, Mrs. Abernathy would not have listened, so it forced such thoughts from its mind, even as it wondered if thinking them was enough to make it a complainer after all.

Mrs. Abernathy spun on her heel, and the Watcher followed. Behind her lair was a stone courtyard, and in the courtyard a massive crested basilisk 34stood, saddled and ready. It hissed a greeting at its mistress as she climbed into the saddle. Spurs of bone emerged from Mrs. Abernathy’s heels, and she urged the creature toward the Forest of Broken Forms, the Watcher shadowing her from above.

Samuel was no longer angry at his mother. In fact, Samuel could no longer remember what his mother looked like. He knew that he had a mother, once, but he could not picture her in his mind. Likewise his father was a blur, but it didn’t matter. Nothing really mattered. The void coursed through him, emptying him of all feelings and memories, turning him into a husk, a hollow being. Beside Samuel, Boswell whined and tried to lick his master’s hand, but his strength was seeping from him. The sound caused Samuel to turn. He stared down at the dog and struggled to recall his name. Bos-something? Was that it?

And then even that was gone as the light in his eyes began to die.

Mrs. Abernathy’s basilisk stopped at the edge of the Forest of Broken Forms, beside the ruins of Old Ram’s home. She searched among the stones, half expecting to see Samuel Johnson buried in the rubble, but there was no sign of the boy, or of Old Ram. She examined the ground, and saw the tracks left by the Great Oak, and she knew what had happened there. With the Watcher at her heels, she entered the forest, the trees recoiling in terror, clearing a path for her until she and the basilisk reached the Great Oak. Unlike its smaller brethren, it showed no fear of her. If anything, it was Mrs. Abernathy who seemed wary of the massive tree, with its coiling roots and its twisted branches. Mrs. Abernathy might have been evil incarnate, and capable of acts of immense cruelty and harm, but the Great Oak was ancient, and strong, and dangerous. The vestiges of its humanity made it so.

The Great Oak was also insane, the result of millennia of misery and painful, crooked growth. Its madness rendered it unpredictable, and Mrs. Abernathy knew that it would not be beyond the Great Oak’s capabilities to try to hurt her, or trap her with its roots and keep her here for its own amusement, torturing her as it had been tortured for so long, avenging some of its pain by visiting pain on another. She knew she was especially vulnerable now that she was no longer under the protection of the Great Malevolence, and she was glad of the Watcher’s presence beside her.

“It has been a long time since last you set foot here,” said the Great Oak. “You were not welcome then, and you are not welcome now.”

“What have you done with Old Ram?”

“No more than he deserved,” said the Great Oak, and its trunk split open beneath its gaping mouth like a vertical wound, revealing a hollow interior in which Old Ram hung suspended by ivy, moaning softly as branches tugged and tore at him, and roots dug into his flesh.

“There was a boy with him,” said Mrs. Abernathy.

“Boy?” said the Great Oak. “I saw no boy.”

And Mrs. Abernathy heard the surrounding trees laugh.

“Don’t lie to me. Do you have the boy?”

“There is no boy here,” said the Great Oak, and Mrs. Abernathy sensed that it spoke the truth.

“Then let Old Ram go,” she said.

“And why should I do that, when I enjoy toying with him so much?”

“I must talk with him, and I can’t do that while you’re hurting him.”

The ivy uncurled, the roots and branches retreated, and Old Ram was released from bondage. He climbed through the gap in the tree and knelt before Mrs. Abernathy.

“Thank you,” he said, stroking her feet with his clawed upper hooves. “Thank you, kind mistress, thank you.”

“The boy,” said Mrs. Abernathy. “Tell me about the boy.”

“Old Ram was holding him for you, him and his dog. He was sleeping, and he trusted Old Ram. Then Great Oak came and tore Old Ram’s home apart, and the boy escaped. Old Ram saw him crawl away, but Old Ram could do nothing to stop him. It is all the fault of the Great Oak. Punish him! Punish him!”

Mrs. Abernathy turned to the Great Oak.