Mike Shevdon - The Eighth Court

“Again,” said Alex. Charles hit the door again, but with no greater effect. “Keep going,” said Alex.

“It’s not your shoulder,” said Charles.

“It’ll be more than your shoulder if we don’t get that door open,” said Alex.

“I read somewhere you’re not supposed to shoulder charged doors. You’re supposed to kick them down,” said Debbie.

“You want to try?” said Charles to her.

“I was just thinking of you,” said Debbie, resentfully.

Nevertheless, Charles changed tactic and stood in front of the door and kicked it with all his might. There was a bigger bang but no greater effect. “There’s something on the other side of it,” said Charles.

“Hold the lock open while he kicks it,” said Alex. A dull thump came from the other room. “Shit!” said Alex. “Get that door open. I don’t care how.”

Back in the first office, the door thumped again. The bookcase shook, and files fell out onto the floor. Splits appeared in the wood around the lock. Alex rushed to the door, putting both hands on it. “You’re a wall, not a door. You don’t open, you hear me!” The door thumped again, and this time it held.

“That was timely,” said Megan, trying to pull a desk across to bolster the bookcase. They watched the door lock flip open and closed, open and closed. Alex put her hand over it, and it stopped.

“It won’t be enough,” said Alex, helping her. She looked around the room. There were no ground level windows, but the stable had high angled roof-windows set between the black beams of the slanted ceiling to let daylight in. “Can you get up there?” asked Alex.

“How?” said Megan. “You want me to fly?”

“Can you?” asked Alex, hopefully.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Megan. “You think if I could fly I’d be trapped in here?”

“Good point,” said Alex. She flinched as the door thumped again.

“How long?” asked Megan.

“Not long enough,” said Alex. “Is that door open yet?” She went back to where Charles was repeatedly kicking the door.

“It’s not just the door,” he said. “There’s something blocking it.”

“We already know that,” said Alex. “Find a way to remove the block. Burn it down, I don’t care.”

“We can’t” said Debbie. “None of us is that strong. Are you?”

“Wrong element,” said Alex. There was a sudden sour smell, sharp and distinct. “Oh fuck!” She went back into the first room to find a spreading black stain on the door. “Don’t touch it,” she said to them. “We have three minutes. Think of something.”

“You got us in here,” said Debbie.

“That’s not helping,” said Megan, but Alex knew she was right.

There was another thump, this time from the wall. “Oh now they’re coming from both directions,” said Charles. “It’s just a matter of which lot gets us first.”

“We fight,” said Alex, looking at each of them in turn. “I don’t care what you can do, but do it. Throw everything you’ve got at them.”

“It’s not going to be enough,” said Megan.

“I know,” said Alex softly. “I know.”

The plaster in the wall began to crack. There was another thump and grit particles and chunks of plaster rained onto the carpet. At the same time, the smell of fungus and rot from the door intensified. Another thump from the wall sent clouds of dust into the room. They all stood back. Charles picked up an office chair to hurl at their attackers. In Debbie’s hand a paper knife glinted dull. Her knuckles were white on the handle.

A loud thump came from the door. A hand reached through the gaping hole, feeling for the lock. Charles whirled the chair into the door and it crashed through leaving a gaping hole.

The wall erupted in a blast of stone, plaster and wood, a huge figure burst through. Charles went for another office chair. “Wait!” said Alex.

Tate finally burst through into the room, bits of wall collapsing around him.

“Out!” he called, spitting grit and stones. “Everyone out!” He grabbed Charles and propelled him through the gaping hole in the wall. The others scrambled through after him. Behind them the bookcase was being pushed aside and eager hands were reaching through. Tate grabbed a large stone from the pile of rubble, weighed it in his hand and threw it through the hole in the door. There was a satisfying crunch and a scream from the other side. He guided Alex through the hole and then followed.

Outside Alex threw herself at him, her hands around his neck. “I knew you’d come back for me.”

“That was too close,” he said.

“We were trying to get out the back door,” said Alex. “We couldn’t get it open.”

“They will have sealed the windows and doors that weren’t guarded,” said Tate, “which is why I came through the wall. Come on, we’ll get you and the others to the Way-node and I’ll come back for more.”

“I’m not leaving you,” said Alex, following Tate as he trotted through the arranged beds of the formal garden.

“It wasn’t a suggestion,” said Tate.

They reached the hedge at the bottom of the garden. Beyond the hedge, Megan, Charles and Debbie were clustered into a tight group. Around them were arrayed a wide semi-circle of figures holding swords, outlined in ghostly white fire.

“Houston,” said Charles. “We have a problem.”

They could hear the commotion behind them as those in the stables pushed through the gaping hole in the wall. There was no going back.

“Behind me,” said Tate, adjusting the grip on his axe and moving out onto the clear grass sloping down towards the pond.

“Which direction is behind?” asked Charles as the wraithkin circled around them. Tate turned slowly to face the ghostly silhouettes, while the four of them stumbled around to remain roughly at his back. From back at the house there was a dull boom. Somewhere up on the roof, an explosion sent fragments of tiles tumbling and pattering into the flower beds. The smell of smoke drifted on the breeze.

The flickering fingers of light faded around one of the figures who returned to a more normal aspect, illuminated by the cold moonlight. He spoke, “Finally it comes to this.”

“Deefnir,” said Tate. “I might have known you’d be hanging around here somewhere.”

“Like fish in a trap,” he said, “we simply wait and they come to us. Why engage in all that tiresome running around?”

“You’ve caught more than you bargained for this time,” said Tate.

“What’s this?” said Deefnir. “A threat? An opening bid? Will you bargain for your skin, their lives for yours?” From the gap in the hedge, the other wraithkin joined them. The circle extended to accommodate the newcomers, so that interspersed with the dark figures outlined in pale fire were the Shades, grey women, their hair falling around their faces, their hands outstretched as if they would leech the warmth from their victims.

“I’m not leaving without all of them,” said Tate.

“You’re not leaving at all,” said Deefnir. “Oh, I’m sure you’d love to roar, and sweat, and swing that great axe of yours, but I don’t think there’ll be a need for that kind of histrionics.” The moonlight dimmed and dappled shade filtered across the grass, even though there was nothing shading the moonlight.

“What’s going on?” said Debbie.

“What’s happened to the moon?” said Charles.

“Gallowfyre,” said Alex. “They’re not going to stab us to death.”

“That’s good?” said Debbie.

“They’re going to drain our life from our bodies where we stand,” said Alex.

“Not so good, then,” said Charles.

Around the circle, each of them dimmed, spilling out shade onto the grass. Where the gallowfyre met between them, shimmering walls came into being where one wraith’s power pressed against another, flaring into a purple so deep it was barely visible. From around the woman a dark pool of blackness crept across the moonlit grass.