Just then, the doors are thrown open, voices and warmth spilling out. ‘Ah, they’re ready for us.’
Ethlet takes the lead, and when Lowri and Eli stride in, side by side, they are met with a vast, round hall. A chandelier winks overhead with a thousand colourscaptured in prisms. They create darting sparkles of light that dance over the white-washed walls, another small use of light magic in a grey world. And before them is an array of round tables. Seated at them are people of all ages, dressed in black and grey: old men with grey, spiked beards, young people with thick spectacles and obvious curiosity, middle-aged people with keen eyes and the most remarkable footwear, and all of them with tiny glass bells set before them. Silence falls like a blanket over the gathering of what must be around a hundred people, and Ethlet clears her throat, apparently suddenly nervous.
‘Esteemed members of the Society of Fallow, I present Elijah Tresillian – son of the recently deceased Isaiah Kellinick – and his cousin Lowri Tresillian. They have recently crossed over … from another world.’
There’s a murmuring and the gentle tinkling of several of the glass bells. They wink prettily, the light from the prisms above glittering over them, creating a strange, hypnotic kaleidoscope of colour. After the last few days of grey, Lowri finds it quite dazzling and wonders if this display of small light magic is rather like a display of wealth in this world. She notices a person close to her, a woman with short-bobbed hair, who holds her glass bell aloft, ringing it gently.
Ethlet holds up both hands. ‘There will soon be time for questions, but first we put forward a request. Lowri and Eli are from the world that the Rexilium brothers fled to. They bring news that the brothers have setthemselves up as rulers and have now turned their sights on the rest of their world. War is possibly inevitable, and Isaiah’s son would like to take any knowledge back that he can use to arm his allies against their schemes. Will a historian on the Shadow War take the time to supply them with information?’
The tinkling of the bells ceases as they all look to each other. Then one man rises, a man with a spiked beard and a long, pointy chin, who is wearing a waistcoat. ‘I will be your historian. Then they must submit to the Society’s questions.’
‘Of course,’ Eli says, inclining his head. ‘Many thanks for assisting us. We will answer what we can.’
The historian invites the three of them to sit at his table as drinks are brought in and a series of debates begins, speakers standing to talk, all punctuated by the ringing of the bells as the members take their turn to air their knowledge or opinion. In deference, it seems, to the speaker, no one talks in private conversations, instead ringing their glass bells in agreement or to indicate they would like to address the gathering. A hot drink is placed before Lowri, pale grey with an unfurling flower in the centre of the cup. She sips it and tastes springtime, the delicate floral notes perfuming the air around them. She wonders what colour it would have been before the Shadow War leached it of light.
Eli raises his eyebrows and she notes how he drums his fingers on the table. He’s restless, she realises. The matters being discussed around them are not what hehas come all this way to hear about. As a young woman stands to give a report on the state of the fog above her hometown, Holloway, some distance north of the city of Fallow, Lowri files away the information that this fog has spread over every settlement, it seems. Anywhere that magic has permeated the world, a fog hangs above. The historian looks at them as the young woman finishes her report and the meeting seems to adjourn, with conversations breaking out on individual tables. More drinks are brought in on trays and, finally, the historian can speak.
‘I’m Hellius, keeper of the history of the Shadow War,’ he says, smiling at Eli. ‘I was a good friend of your father. My condolences.’
‘Thank you,’ Eli says.
‘You’re a witch?’ Hellius asks, turning to Lowri. ‘Ethlet says you are like Eli’s mother. Isaiah spoke of her.’
‘She was my aunt,’ Lowri replies, ‘although I never knew her. But, yes, I’m a witch, rather than human.’
‘Interesting,’ Hellius murmurs, eyes boring into hers. ‘And your coven is against the Rexilium brothers?’
‘Well …’ Lowri begins. ‘It doesn’t quite work like that in our world. Covens stay out of politics; they do not question the ruling council, which is what the Rexilium brothers call themselves in our world.’
‘Here, they called themselves the Imperium,’ Hellius says softly.
A shiver runs down Lowri’s spine. ‘Meaning all powerful?’
He nods. ‘They swept through three territories before we beat them back here in Fallow, ending the war. But, as you have seen, the scars of that time remain. Shadow looms over every town and city. They bled the light magic from the world. And then they worked out how to open a portal and moved on to yours.’
‘Could you tell us how their magic works?’ Eli asks.
‘It works much like yours or mine,’ Hellius says with a crooked smile. ‘But amplify that by three. They somehow found a way to combine their shadow magic and to consume light magic, making everything they do much more powerful. It took all of us to defeat them. At the height of their power, they could blot out a sky, create portals within our world, travel vast distances with a finger snap. And their shadows had substance. They were working on creating a shadow army before we won and forced them from our world.’
‘A shadow army?’ Lowri asks faintly.
He nods. ‘A whole body of creatures, created by them, that they could direct at will. Almost unstoppable.’
‘Skies,’ Lowri utters. ‘And how long ago did they cross over to our world?’
‘Over a hundred years ago.’
Eli frowns. ‘Surely they would be dead by now?’
Hellius wags his finger. ‘Not with the light magic they consumed. Left alone, they could live several lifetimes. I’m afraid that if you don’t deal with them soon your world could end up like ours. You may not have long.’
‘What do you mean?’ Lowri asks.
‘Well, think of the fog like a sponge. It absorbs any light magic, but never enough for it to dissipate completely. You’re a walking source of light. But to create a portal—’
‘I need light as well as shadow,’ Eli says quietly. ‘Is that why my father … why he never came back?’
‘He tried. For many years. But in the end he exhausted himself trying to create a portal to get back to you and your mother. It took him to an early grave.’
