Faerie Lord

Forty-Nine

In the old days, Brimstone would have wrung its neck, ‘In fair and pleasing form!’ he snapped, using the formula he learned in demonology school. ‘Preferably your proper shape.’

The chicken transformed at once into a motleyed clown who cartwheeled the remaining distance and whispered, grinning, into Brimstone’s ear, ‘You sure you really want to do this, Silas?’

Brimstone jerked back. ‘You’re not Bartzabel!’ he hissed.

‘Is that Bartzabel?’ asked Chalkhill from his station in the north.

‘I’m not Bartzabel!’ the clown roared delightedly and threw himself into a bewildering series of cartwheels that ended with him sitting on the makeshift altar. He spread his hands in the manner of an entertainer searching for applause and said, ‘Ta-rah!’

‘Don’t move!’ Brimstone called urgently to Chalkhill. He had a horrid suspicion he knew who this buffoon was, and if he was right, it was trouble.

‘No, don’t move,’ echoed the clown. He made a small gesture with his left hand and Chalkhill froze into immobility.

‘I can’t move!’ Chalkhill gasped. He seemed to have difficulty even breathing.

The clown jumped down from the altar, ran like a ballet dancer towards Brimstone and stroked his face affectionately with both hands. ‘Sooo sweet of you to let me out.’ He grinned.

Brimstone scowled. His suspicion was crystallising into certainty. ‘How did I do that?’ he asked.

‘I booby-trapped the Bartzabel ritual!’ the clown told him. ‘What a jape, eh? What a joke!’ He pushed his face forward so his nose was no more than an inch from Brimstone’s own. ‘On you!’

‘Who… is… this idiot?’ Chalkhill asked with considerable difficulty, and bravely, Brimstone thought, considering his captive circumstances.

‘This is Loki, the Trickster,’ Brimstone said sourly. He glared into the clown’s eyes, as if daring it to contradict him.

But the creature drew back, smiling. ‘You know me! How flattering! I’ve always so much wanted to be famous.’

‘What’s… he… doing… here?’ This from Chalkhill again, who seemed determined to interfere with everything that was none of his business.

‘He’s the Jormungand’s father,’ Brimstone told him shortly.

The shock of the news must have eased the paralysis around Chalkhill’s chest, for he managed to say clearly, ‘He’s what?’

‘His mother was rather large,’ Loki said across one shoulder. ‘And odd.’ But his attention was clearly elsewhere. He began to walk round Brimstone in a tight, slow circle. The broad smile slowly faded as he leaned forward to murmur in Brimstone’s ear. ‘I ask you again, Silas: do you want to do this? Do you really want to call my son?’

‘Yes,’ said Brimstone stiffly.

‘Just a minute,’ Chalkhill put in. ‘He may have a point. Do we really, really, really want -?’

‘Shut up, Jasper,’ Brimstone said. ‘I’ve been threatened by scarier things than this.’

‘So you have!’ exclaimed Loki delightedly. ‘And so you will again! But what makes you think I’m threatening you? I simply want to make sure your mind is made up – ’ the smile vanished abruptly ’ – and that you know the price!’

‘I know the price,’ snarled Brimstone. With an effort he stopped himself glancing towards Chalkhill.

‘What’s the price?’ asked Chalkhill anxiously.

Fortunately Loki ignored him. Even more fortunately he dropped his voice even further to whisper mischievously in Brimstone’s ear. ‘The blood price, Silas – now or later!’

‘I know the price,’ Brimstone repeated stolidly.

Loki took a step back, his face benign. ‘I’ll go and get him, shall I? My dear, sweet Jormungand? He’s with Angrboda, I believe. She spoils him rotten, but then mothers do, don’t they?’ He began to walk backwards, grinning at Brimstone. ‘You’re absolutely, positively, sure

…?’ he asked lightly.

‘Yes!’ Brimstone snapped.

‘Just checking,’ Loki said, and vanished.

The cavern suddenly felt empty and very, very silent.

‘What was all that about?’ asked Chalkhill after a moment.

‘Nothing,’ Brimstone told him.

‘Silas…?’

‘What? What is it now?’

‘I still can’t move.’

Good, Brimstone thought. That will make the sacrifice a whole lot easier. Good old Loki. Aloud he said, ‘It’ll wear off in a minute.’ He was wondering if there was anything else he needed to do. Call the Jormungand directly, for example. Or start making the wild promises one used to intrigue these creatures. Or There was a straining in the dank atmosphere of the cavern.

‘What’s happening?’ Chalkhill asked at once.

Brimstone caught sight of a curious shimmering above the altar and took a cautious step backwards. The Jormungand was big. And indiscriminating. No sense in being too close when it materialised.

The shimmering began to take a solid shape. The air was abruptly filled with the scent of the sea, a pungent overlay of fish, salt and rotting weed. From the direction of the cage inside the inner cavern an unearthly wailing began. Closer to hand a curious crackling whispered above their heads.

‘I don’t like this,’ Chalkhill said.

The Jormungand serpent was beginning to form. Brimstone could see it clearly now, coil upon glistening coil. The creature was far larger than anything he had ever called from Hael. It was the perfect guardian for his treasure. But best show it who was boss at the earliest opportunity. ‘Get a move on!’ Brimstone called.

The serpent snapped into existence with an audible pop. It slammed down on the altar, smashing it completely. The huge head with its dragon teeth swung round, eyes glowing, in search of its sacrifice.

‘Over there!’ Brimstone shouted excitedly, pointing at Chalkhill.

But Chalkhill was no longer in the north. Fear had snapped his paralysis and he was racing towards the exit tunnels as fast as his chubby legs would carry him. The serpent lunged after him, but missed, jaws closing with a vicious snap. Chalkhill plunged into the tunnel. The beast was far too big to follow. It swung round to glare at Brimstone.

‘Oh, no you don’t!’ said Brimstone firmly, ‘I’m the one who called you.’ He thought quickly. ‘Tell you what: you can have the next person who enters this cavern. Slow death, fast death, it’s entirely up to you. What do you say to that, then?’

‘Aaaaaarrr!’ roared the Midgard Serpent.