‘But nothing like you can do,’ Steven said softly. ‘The way you pounded away at Nerak: I was terrified. I couldn’t have called up the staff’s power that night; I just couldn’t keep my thoughts straight. And now – how much ground are we covering? Are we really travelling four or five times faster than normal?’
Gilmour nodded. ‘It’s an old trick – a fairly simple one, actually. Nerak taught it to me when we were hurrying to get from Gorsk to a harvest festival outside Capehill in the south.’ He broke off and sighed. ‘We were still friends at the time – we were going for the wine, the music, the food and the women. Nerak created the spell for that trip. The last time he used this spell that I know of was when he went to Port Denis.’
Steven sat up straight. ‘You mentioned Port Denis to him that night on the Prince Marek.’
‘That’s right. He rode there, ten or twelve days of hard riding, in a matter of avens.’ Now Gilmour sounded despondent. ‘His power is tremendous, and terrifying.’
‘What happened when he got there?’ Steven was still, almost frozen in place. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to his question.
‘Nerak wiped Port Denis clean of every living thing with a wave of one hand.’
‘Sonofabitch,’ Steven muttered, falling back into English. ‘Where did he learn all this? How did he get to be so powerful – and so singularly destructive?’
‘It probably helped that no one ever challenged him, especially early on. I certainly didn’t, not after my embarrassing debacle that night at Sandcliff Palace. It was never in me. Kantu was always much more adept at magic and sorcery than I, but he was wrestling demons of his own at the time and when he was finally ready to take on Nerak, the Nerak we had known all our lives, that man was already gone and the demon servant of the great evil lying dormant in the Fold had taken over.’
‘How much did he get from that book? He was certain that was what we were after – have you read it? Will it teach you what you need to be ready for him?’
Gilmour swallowed hard and tucked his shaking hands beneath his thighs, hoping to still them.
Steven, misinterpreting Gilmour’s silence, retrieved the spell book from the pack beside them and said, ‘I’ve been paging through it a bit myself.’
Gilmour started. ‘You have? When?’
‘Sorry – I didn’t think you’d mind.’ A little abashed, Steven closed the book and tried to hand it over. ‘You know, that night on the Prince Marek, it was different. When I touched the book, it was like I had fallen into a pit and couldn’t get out – maybe didn’t want to get out; there was light and colour, and things made sense, even things I had never imagined, things I never knew existed. Everything seemed logical, like there was an order to what was and what could or couldn’t be.
‘But since then, something’s happened – maybe because the book isn’t on the ship anymore – but I can touch it now, open it, read the text, whatever. But I didn’t realise you wanted me to stay away from it, so I’ll leave it to you. I’m really sorry.’
Gilmour ignored the spell book Steven was still holding out towards him. ‘No, no, that’s fine – of course you can read it if you wish.’ He gestured for Steven to take it back, then said casually, ‘Can you understand the text?’
‘Nope, almost none of it – although I can make out a few words here and there. What language is this, anyway?’ He turned a few pages idly.
‘It is a very old, very dead form of Malakasian.’ Gilmour was sweating now.
‘So Nerak was from Malakasia?’
The old man struggled to hear over his pounding heart; it was getting harder to stay focused on their conversation.
No, I guess Lessek had to be from Malakasia.’ Steven answered his own question as he mouthed a word or two, and then snapped the book shut. ‘Well, this is all yours, Gilmour – I’m afraid it won’t do any good in my hands.’ He held it out once again and this time, hesitantly, Gilmour took it.
In the moment before Steven closed the book, Gilmour had read the same words, the ash dream. He tried to hide the fact that he was in a state: he was panting as if a great weight had landed on his chest, and his ribs burned where they had cracked that night along the fjord.
For the first time since Gilmour had joined him, Steven noticed something was wrong. ‘Are you okay? What do you think? Can you do it?’
‘To answer your earlier question, yes, I have opened it. And can I use it? Honestly? No.’ Gilmour retreated to the comforting idea that had kept him going. ‘We have the key, and I know there is something in the third Windscroll that I am supposed to find, and that’s a place to begin. We have to get to Sandcliff as quickly as possible, preferably before Nerak finds a way back from Colorado, because I shall need as much time as possible to find the scroll, open the spell table and work out how the two must work together if we’re to banish him and seal the Fold for ever. I know something about your trip back home has made you confident we’ll be able to do this, but I must admit, my own confidence has been waning somewhat since that night on the harbour.’ He massaged his ribs again.
‘But why? Because of the book? Maybe the book doesn’t enter into the equation,’ Steven cajoled him. ‘Look, the key opened the Fold, Gilmour. I saw it. The whole world stopped and melted into a canvas with three rips in it. I saw right through one of them to where the far portal was buried beneath two tons of rotting meat and disposable diapers. That key is formidable. If it can give us the Fold’s mystical dimensions – and it must have worked once, because Lessek was able to open the portal gates and keep them opened at will – then we can shut them, I know we can. You can do it, Gilmour, because we will have the same power Lessek had when he created the far portal in the first place.’
Gilmour sighed. ‘I wish I had your confidence, my friend.’
‘You do have my confidence,’ Steven said, ‘because closing the damned Fold for ever is only the first thing we need to do for Eldarn – and I know it can be done. I’ve seen it.’
‘And then?’
‘Then, we revolt.’
‘All right.’ Gilmour, looking tired, nodded more emphatically. ‘All right. The third Windscroll. Gods grant it’s still there.’
‘It will be.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because if Nerak knew his weaknesses were documented in that scroll, he would have destroyed it by now, or he would have-’
‘Put it in your bank.’
‘Put it in my bank, right.’
‘The third Windscroll.’ Gilmour held out his hand.
Steven clasped it and felt the sinewy strength of the old fisherman’s grip. ‘The third Windscroll. When can we get there?’
‘It will only be a few more days.’
‘Let’s get on with it, as soon as Mark and Garec get back.’
Nerak slammed on the brakes, throwing the pick-up into a tailspin and causing several cars behind him to take to the shoulder in an effort to avoid a multi-car pile-up.
‘Hey asshole!’ someone shouted, ‘play with it later in the bathroom, huh? Give us a break!’
The dark prince, cloaked now in Jennifer Sorenson’s postman, a forty-six-year-old listed as missing with the Denver Police, glared at the passing motorist and noted the car, a white Ford driven by a woman with a comical hairstyle and three silver rings in her left earlobe. ‘I will deal with you later,’ he said, then, ignoring the horns and shouted abuse of the townsfolk and tourists making their way into Silverthorn, he rested his head against the rear window of the cab and closed his eyes.
It was the book; Fantus had opened the book again. How could the snivelling sap be that stupid? ‘Did you not believe me, Fantus?’ he muttered.
Almost as quickly as it had come, the sensation was gone; the book was closed, but Nerak wasn’t concerned. ‘I’ll be waiting next time,’ he promised, putting the car back into drive and pressing the accelerator. Though the tyres spun on the snow-packed highway, he picked up speed down the slope into Silverthorn. He had a sense of where he would find Jennifer and his far portal, but if Fantus and that irritating foreigner continued to experiment with Lessek’s spell book, he wouldn’t need her at all.