Michael Scott - The Magician

“Tell me how I can help you,” de Ayala said formally.

“You have done enough for me already. Because of you I escaped the Sphinx.”

“This is my island. And you are under my protection now.” He smiled ruefully. “However, I’m not sure the birds will be frightened by a few banging doors. And there’s not a lot else I can do.”

Perenelle carefully picked her way from one side of the ruined house to the other. Standing in one of the tall rectangular windows, she stared back at the prison. Now that night had fallen, it was little more than a vague and ominous outline against the purple sky. She took stock of her situation: she was trapped on an island crawling with spiders, there was a sphinx wandering loose in the corridors below, and the cells were filled with creatures from some of the darkest myths she had ever encountered. Plus, her powers were incredibly diminished and the Morrigan was coming. She’d told de Ayala that she’d been in trickier situations, but right now she couldn’t remember one.

The ghost appeared alongside Perenelle, its outline distorting the shape of the building beyond. “What can I do to help?”

“How well do you know this island?” she asked.

“Ha! I know every inch. I know the secret places, the half-completed tunnels dug by the prisoners, hidden corridors, walled-up rooms, the old Indian caves cut deep into the rock below. I could hide you and no one would ever find you.”

“The Morrigan is resourceful…and then there are the spiders. They’d find me.”

The ghost floated around to place himself directly in front of her again. Only his eyes-a deep rich brown-were visible in the night. “Oh, the spiders are not under Dee’s control.”

Perenelle took a step back in surprise. “They’re not?”

“They only began to appear a couple of weeks ago. I started to notice the webs over the doors, coating the stairs. Every morning, there were more and more spiders. They’d float in on the wind, carried by strands of thread. There were humanlike guards on the island then…though they were not human,” he added quickly. “Terrible blank-faced creatures.”

“Homunculi,” Perenelle said with a shudder. “Creatures Dee grows in bubbling vats of fat. What happened to them?”

“They were given the task of sweeping clean the spiders’ webs, keeping the doors clear. One stumbled and fell into a web,” de Ayala said, his teeth appearing out of the gloom in a quick smile. “All that was left of it were scraps of cloth. Not even bones,” he told her in a horrified whisper.

“That’s because homunculi have no bones,” she said absently. “So what is calling the spiders here?”

De Ayala turned to look at the prison. “I’m not sure…”

“I thought you knew all there was to know about this island?” Perenelle said with a smile.

“Far below the prison, cut deep into the bedrock by the waves, is a series of subterranean caves. I believe the first native inhabitants of the island used them for storage. About a month ago, the small Englishman-”

“Dee?”

“Yes, Dee, brought something to the island in the dead of night. It was sealed away in those caves, and then he blanketed the entire area with magical sigils and Wards. Even I cannot penetrate the layers of protection. But I am convinced that whatever is drawing the spiders to the island is locked in those caves.”

“Can you get me to the caves?” Perenelle asked urgently. She could hear the rasp and clatter of thousands of birds’ wings, drawing ever closer.

“No,” de Ayala snapped. “The corridor is thick with spiders, and who knows what other traps Dee has put into place.”

Perenelle automatically reached for the sailor’s arm, but her hand passed right through him, leaving a swirl of water droplets in her wake. “If Dee has buried something in Alcatraz’s hidden dungeons, and then protected it with magic so potent that even an insubstantial spirit cannot get through it, then we need to know what it is.” She smiled. “Have you never heard the saying ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’?”

“No, but I have heard ‘fools rush in where angels fear to tread.’”

“Come, then-quickly, before the Morrigan arrives. Take me back into Alcatraz.”

T he Disir’s sword flashed toward Josh’s head.

Everything was happening so fast, he didn’t have time to be afraid. Josh saw the flicker of movement and reacted instinctively, bringing Clarent up and around, holding it horizontally over his head. The Disir’s broadsword struck the short stone blade and screamed along it in an explosion of sparks. They rained down over Josh’s hair, stinging where they touched his face. The pain made him angry, but the force of the blow drove him to his knees, and then the Disir stepped back and brought her weapon around in a wide sweeping cut. It whined as it sliced through the air toward him…and Josh knew with a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach that he would not be able to avoid it.

Clarent trembled in Josh’s palm.

Twitched.

And moved.

A surge of tingling heat shot into his hand, shocking him, the spasm tightening his fingers around the hilt. Then the sword jerked, shooting out to meet the Disir’s metal blade, turning it aside at the last moment in another explosion of sparks.

Blue eyes wide with shock, the Disir danced away. “No humani possesses such skill,” she wondered aloud, her voice barely above a whisper. “Who are you?”

Josh got shakily to his feet, not entirely sure what had just happened, knowing only that it was something to do with the sword. It had taken control; it had saved him. His eyes went to the terrifying warrior maid, flickering between her masked face and her gleaming silver sword. He held Clarent before him in both hands, trying to mimic the stance he’d seen Joan and Scatty use, but the sword kept shifting in his grip, moving and shivering of its own accord. “I am Josh Newman,” he said simply.

“Never heard of you,” the woman said dismissively. She snapped a quick look over her shoulder to where Nidhogg was crawling toward the water. Its tail was now so heavily encrusted with black stone that it could barely move.

“Maybe you’ve never heard of me,” Josh said, “but this”-he tilted the sword blade upward-“is Clarent.” He watched the woman’s bright blue eyes widen slightly. “And I see you have heard of it!”

Spinning her sword loosely in one hand, the Disir began to edge around Josh. He kept turning to face her. He knew what she was doing-moving him so that his back would be to the monster-but he didn’t know how to prevent it from happening. When his back was almost touching Nidhogg’s stone skin, the Disir stopped.

“In the hands of a master, the sword might be dangerous,” the Disir said.

“I’m no master,” Josh said loudly, delighted that his voice didn’t tremble. “But I don’t need to be. Scathach told me that this weapon really could kill her. I didn’t understand what she meant, but now I do. And if it could kill her, then I’m guessing it could do the same to you.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Look what I did to this monster with just a single cut. All I have to do is to scratch you with it.” The blade actually shivered in his hands, humming in what almost sounded like agreement.

“You could not even get close to me,” the Disir mocked, swooping in, the broadsword weaving before her in a mesmerizing pattern. She suddenly attacked with a quick flurry of blows.

Josh didn’t even have time to catch his breath. He managed to stop three of them, Clarent moving to intercept each strike, the Disir’s metal blade slamming off his stone sword in a shower of sparks, each blow driving him back, the force vibrating through his entire body. The Disir was just too fast. The next swipe struck his bare arm between the shoulder and elbow. Clarent managed to nudge the sword at the last instant, so it was only the flat of the blade, rather than the razor-sharp edge, that hit him. Instantly, his entire arm went numb from shoulder to fingertips and he felt a sudden wash of nausea from the pain, the fear and the sudden realization that he was going to die. Clarent fell from his grasp and clattered to the ground.