Page 12 of The Neverfear

She crossed to the telescope at the window. It took some time to angle and adjust. She worked deftly until it pointed across the water at the Palace of Glimt. For a long period she stood, watching.

Then for the first time in a long while Carla Venasque smiled, and the smile was like knives.

Teren

The following afternoon, Christopher and Anya were in the orchard helping Argus plant an apple tree.

‘I think there’s something wrong with this tree,’ said Anya. It had a twisted grey trunk and the apples were a strange shade of yellow. ‘The apples are so small.’

Jacques flew into the top branches and sniffed. ‘And it stinks of disinfectant.’

‘It’s supposed to – it’s a viburn,’ said Argus. ‘Powerful anti-venom: fabulous for dragon, snake and spider bites. Tastes disgusting though.’

‘Don’t tell Nighthand then,’ said Christopher, ‘or he’ll want to cook with it.’ Argus laughed, and left them to get fertiliser.

‘Did Nighthand tell you his plans for dinner tonight?’ Anya said. ‘He said he wants to see if it’s possible to make toffee from mackerel bones and enough sugar.’

‘I really, really hope it’s not,’ said Christopher.

‘He said he read it in a Berserker cookbook. One of the chapters was called “Entrails: Fried, Steamed and Fricasseed”.’

‘Then we need to steal that book.’ He wiped his hands and looked out past the orchard to the ocean. Then he stared harder. ‘Anya – what’s that, out there?’

Anya’s head went up, and the familiar hyper-alert look came over her face. ‘A boat? Who?’

‘I can’t tell. It’s coming straight for Glimt.’

Christopher scrambled up the orchard wall to see better. ‘White sail. There’s a woman. I can’t see her face.’ Then the sail swept about, revealing more of the deck, and he gasped. ‘There’s a sphinx!’

Anya clambered up alongside him. ‘I see it!’

‘I think it’s Naravirala,’ said Christopher.

‘It’s not!’ said Anya. ‘It’s her son – it’s Belhib!’

The boat approached the dock, the woman with a landing rope in hand. From the depths of the boat came a toddler, leaning to look out at the water.

Christopher gave a cry. ‘It’s Teren!’ The joy of it was of a force to shake his internal organs. The Immortal child had come. He turned to the house to shout. ‘Nighthand, Irian! It’s Teren!’

He dropped down from the wall and tore out of the orchard towards the water to welcome them.

‘Oh! The fendthorn!’ said Anya, scrambling after him.

It was too late. The nose of the boat edged towards the quay, and the sky suddenly erupted in a firework of red and yellow sparks. The air smelt static and sharp. The boat shook in the water, and the woman cried out.

Christopher sprinted to the dock. Nighthand had already barrelled out of the trees and was hauling aside the thorns, and Irian was holding out a hand to help Senan, the Immortal child’s mother, to shore.

Senan held her son tight in her arms, but as Christopher came running down the path Teren struggled to be put down. He began to run too, his toddler fists pumping stiffly at his sides, his jaw thrust out in concentration as he hurled himself at Christopher. But he was still unsteady – he tripped over his own foot and would have fallen had Christopher not thrown himself to catch him, both hands between the child and the stony ground.

‘Christopher!’ said Teren, as Christopher swung him into the air. He was surprisingly heavy.

‘Hello, little Immortal. Hello, Teren.’ The strangeness of it had never yet worn thin: here was the wisdom of all ages; here was the reincarnated life of his beloved friend Mal Arvorian; here was a small boy with a pointed chin, four small teeth and a blocked nose that made him huff as he breathed.

Teren threw his head back so that he could see Christopher’s face, and their eyes met. He laughed, and the laugh was full of ecstatic joy – magnificent and entirely new.

Christopher turned back to the dock, where Senan was unloading a case.

‘Senan! This is an honour! You’re most immensely welcome,’ said Nighthand.