The Shadowmagic Trilogy. John Lenahan

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СКАЧАТЬ lying is you have to remember what you said, and since it seemed like I was going to be doing a lot of lying in the near future, I decided to tell the truth as much as I could.

      Fergal noticed my hesitancy. ‘Hey, mate, you don’t have to tell me nothing. I talk too much and ask too many questions. Just tell me to shut up, that’s what all my friends do.’

      ‘No, it’s alright. My protection spell was a gift from my mother.’

      ‘Phew. Nice gift. Must have cost her weight in gold.’

      ‘Don’t know. Never asked.’

      ‘Well, I’m glad she gave it to you. I never stabbed anybody before, it would have been a shame for you to be the first. There’s something about you, I don’t know what it is but it seems like we are old friends already, or should be. You know what I mean?’ Then he slapped me on the back – again.

      ‘I do,’ I said, and meant it. We were definitely related. Fergal didn’t know what this feeling was, but I did, my mother’s spell confirmed it – we were kin. I slapped Fergal on the back, hard, so he would know what it felt like. It hurt my hand.

      ‘That sword of yours appeared like it was magic,’ I said.

      ‘What, this little thing?’ he clicked his wrist and the long knife popped into his hand with frightening speed. ‘My Banshee blade.’

      ‘You’re a Banshee?’ I blurted.

      ‘No,’ he said sarcastically. ‘What gave it away? Was it the bit of white hair? Or was it the bit of white hair?’

      ‘I think it must have been the bit of white hair.’ I smiled and replied as casually as I could. Banshees have a tuft of white hair. I stored that piece of information away.

      ‘So how do you get it to pop out so fast?’

      ‘Ah well, that’s the magic part. Here, let me show you.’ He stopped and took off his shirt. His right arm was strapped with leather in three places. Entwined in the straps was a gold wire that seemed to be on some sort of pulley system. The wire was attached to the blade, so as to propel it in and out of his sleeve. ‘The magic is in the gold wire,’ he said. ‘It cost me a packet. When I need the blade, I do this motion and this half of the wire straightens and expands – poof – instant sword. The spell doesn’t use much gold. The wire’s supposed to work for years.’

      ‘Cool.’

      ‘No, it doesn’t get hot or anything.’

      ‘I mean, nice.’

      ‘Oh, I could set you up with a guy to make you one if you like. It isn’t cheap though.’

      ‘I am afraid I’m a bit broke at the moment.’

      ‘Me too. You and I have got so much in common,’ he said with another slap.

      As we followed the stream Fergal waxed on about the intricacies of Banshee blade manufacture but I didn’t take much in. His voice was increasingly drowned out by the bass drum solo that began playing in my head. After I don’t know how long (by which time the pounding in my head had graduated into a full-blown marching band), Fergal turned to me and said, ‘You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said, have you?’

      ‘Huh? Oh, sure I have.’

      Fergal looked me in the eyes and I had a scary moment when I thought he was going to quiz me. Then he broke into an ear-to-ear smile and said, ‘I like you, Conor, it usually takes friends ages to learn to ignore my babbling – you figured it out right away.’ He went to slap me on the back but then stopped when he saw me flinch. ‘You know, you look awful rough. We’re in no hurry; how ’bout we make camp here?’

      We found the remnants of an old campfire under a tall, broadleaved tree that had roots creeping into the stream. Fergal said it should be OK to camp under an alder this far away from the Fearnlands. I wanted to ask him what that meant but I had a feeling asking too many questions would arouse suspicion, and anyway I was too tired. Fergal took some kindling out of his bag and piled it within the ring of stones.

      ‘You wouldn’t have a decent fire-coin, would you? Mine’s practically silver.’

      ‘No. I’ve lost everything except my sword,’ I said, which was pretty much the truth.

      Fergal produced a half-dollar-sized disc out of his pocket and placed it beneath the little bits of wood.

      ‘I think this thing has one more fire in it.’

      He mumbled under his breath, there was a faint glow and then smoke appeared under the wood. He blew it into a small flame. ‘Keep an eye on this and I’ll beg for some wood.’

      Fergal climbed the alder as I lay on my side and blew on the tiny flame. Just this was enough to make me feel light-headed. I was still in pretty bad shape after that damn rothlú thing. Whether I fell asleep or passed out I don’t know, but the next thing I remember, Fergal was shaking me awake and handing me a stick with a fish on it that he had just cooked on a roaring fire.

      ‘Is there anything else I can do for you, Prince Conor?’ For a second I thought he had figured out who I was. I sat bolt upright expecting his Banshee blade to fly out of his sleeve, but then he smiled and said, ‘You’re a fat lot of good around here. Next time I’m nursing a hangover, you wait on me.’

      ‘Deal,’ I said with a nervous laugh, and took the fish. ‘Thanks.’

      We ate in silence. I’m not a big fan of food that can stare at me but I was too hungry to complain. I apologised to the trout’s face and wolfed the rest of it down.

      After dinner Fergal put a couple of logs on the fire and said that even though he would love to talk all night, he was beat. He touched the alder, put his pack under his head and closed his eyes. My short nap had done little to ease my overall body pain. I put my head on the ground and moaned. Just before I went out, I thought I saw some strange movement in the branches above. I sat up and had a good look but then decided I was just spooking myself.

      I dreamt I was back in the Real World in a super-posh shoe store where I didn’t even have to put the shoes on myself. Sales clerks actually knelt down and placed all kinds of really cool footwear directly on my feet.

      Dawn, as it always does, came too early. I find that going to sleep under the stars is lovely but waking up outside is a drag. It leaves me itchy, damp and with terminal bed hair. It wasn’t until I stood that I realised my shoes were missing. Well, that explained the theme of my dream. I walked over to the still-sleeping Fergal and lightly kicked him with my bare foot. He shot straight up.

      ‘What?’ he sputtered.

      ‘Ha ha, Fergal, very funny. What did you do with my shoes?’

      ‘What are you talking about?’ he said, getting his bearings.

      ‘My shoes, I don’t know how you did it without waking me up but I want my shoes back.’

      ‘I don’t have your shoes,’ he said, confused.

      ‘Quit mucking around, Fergal, I had them on when I went to sleep.’

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