‘Which one’s the leader?’ Mella II murmured.
‘I’ll take you to him,’ said their guide. ‘Just follow me.’ Aboventoun strode forward and the edge of the herd parted to allow him through.
‘I’m not going in there,’ Mella said decisively. Following a single manticore was scary enough, but walking into a herd of thousands took courage of a whole different kind.
‘We have to,’ Mella II told her.
‘Why? Why do we have to?’ Aboventoun might be able to talk (by special dispensation) but these were wild beasts, dangerous and unpredictable.
‘Because we don’t know what else to do,’ Mella II said firmly (as firmly as Mella herself might have said if she had anything to be firm about). ‘We have to get to the Palace and we don’t know how and Aboventoun is the only creature who’s volunteered to help us.’ She glanced at the waiting Aboventoun. ‘Sorry to call you a “creature”,’ she added.
‘That’s all right,’ said Aboventoun. ‘It’s exactly what I am. Now, are you coming before our leader gets impatient?’
Mella hesitated a second longer, then moved forward with her sister. Mella II was right: they simply didn’t know what else to do.
The herd opened a pathway to allow them through. Aboventoun ambled along it without looking back. The smell of the great beasts enveloped them. It was by no means unpleasant and after a few paces became actively comforting, as if they too had become part of a protective herd. A few of the creatures stretched out their heads to sniff them as they walked past. None showed any sign of aggression.
With the manticores all around them, they could see nothing but Aboventoun’s great swinging scorpion tail. Mella was beginning to wonder how long it was going to take to meet the leader when, without warning, the manticores scattered, leaving a large circular open space in the middle of which stood…
Aboventoun lowered his head, then slowly, carefully, bent his forelegs. Mella wondered what on earth he was trying to do, then realised he was kneeling. She stared, open-mouthed, at the thing he was kneeling to.
If she’d thought about it at all, Mella must have assumed that the leader of the manticores would be a manticore himself. Or possibly herself. But she should perhaps have thought to ask herself how one dumb beast, however dominant, could persuade another of its kind to talk. What she was looking at was big and strong and fierce all right, but it was no manticore. It was huge and fanged and humanoid and feathered, with fiery saucer eyes and strangler’s hands. It rose to tower above her as it towered above Aboventoun and every other nearby creature. She could see it, she could smell it – it had a heavy spice scent – yet in some peculiar way it did not seem to be really there at all.
It sniffed her scent through twitching nostrils, then smiled a smile of recognition. ‘I knew your mother once,’ it told her in a voice that reverberated through her head.
Mella opened her mouth then closed it again. It seemed impossible for her to speak. If the manticores were frightening, this thing was positively terrifying. I knew your mother once? Mella tried again to speak and failed.
‘I am Yidam,’ said the creature. ‘But thou may call me George.’
Forty-Six
There was no way Mella was going to call this creature George. The way it shimmered on the edge of existence made her wonder if it somehow permitted her to see it, permitted the manticores to see it. They seemed respectful, but at ease, although this thing, this Yidam, was even bigger than they were and radiated an aura of power that was almost overwhelming. She knew what she was looking at, even though she had never seen anything like it before or heard the name. I knew your mother once. If that was true, it was something her mother had never spoken about.
Mella felt Mella II move to her side. ‘What is it?’ Mella II whispered.
‘It’s one of the Old Gods,’ Mella whispered back without taking her eyes off the creature: it was impossible to take her eyes off the creature. ‘They sometimes intervene in faerie affairs.’ That was something she did know about from her mother. Blue had often told the story of how Henry rescued her from the dragon, and while Mella always thought it had to be grossly exaggerated – both her parents assumed she was positively naive – there was one detail that had lodged firmly in her mind. Another of the Old Gods – his name was Loki – had intervened big time in the whole affair. But it wasn’t the intervention that impressed Mella. After all, there were loads of ancient legends about the Gods appearing when they were least expected. No, what impressed Mella was the reason Blue gave for the intervention. She could still hear the words sounding in her mind:
‘A priest once told me the Old Gods believe that mortal lives are lived to act out certain stories. Sometimes they intervene to make sure the stories turn out the way they should – they way they were fated to.’ Then the coy little smile. ‘So I suppose your father and I were fated to get married and have you.’
The sentimentality of the fated to get married and have you bit usually made Mella want to puke, but while she would have died rather than admit it, there was something fascinating about the idea of acting out your own story, your own heroic story, with the help of the Gods. Was she too wrapped up in a story, the way her mother had been once? Other words of Blue’s slid into her mind:
‘Never get the idea the dangers aren’t real. The stories aren’t made up: they’re the patterns of the ways we lead our lives. Some of them end in tragedy. Your father could have been eaten by the dragon – we both could. He was brave and he was strong and it didn’t happen… but it could have. There are no guarantees.’
Mella wondered if she had the courage and the strength to live the sort of story her parents had once faced. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to, but surely the very fact that the Yidam was standing before her showed she had some important, heroic, story to live? The question was, what? Actually, the question was, could she survive it? As her mother said, there were no guarantees.
At her side, as if reading her mind, Mella II murmured, ‘We can get through this together.’
Mella felt a flooding of courage. ‘Lord Yidam,’ she said, ‘how did you know my mother?’ Was it permitted to question a god? Too late – she’d just done it.
If the Yidam disapproved, he gave no sign. ‘She called me to ask a question about war and peace.’
‘She never told me that,’ Mella murmured. Her mother had never ever mentioned the Yidam at all. Not once. Which was seriously weird. Surely if you met an Old God, you’d boast about it for years?
‘Nor should she. It was part of her burden of shame.’ The Yidam leaned forward and held Mella’s eye. ‘There are echoes in thy story.’
Mella licked her lips. ‘What do you mean, Lord Yidam?’ She was aware the Old Gods were dangerous, far more dangerous than any manticore, yet somehow she felt no fear of this one. Respect and caution certainly, but no real fear. Having Mella II at her side made a difference. It was as if all her courage had been doubled.
‘Is there not the threat of war?’ the Yidam asked.
‘Yes,’ Mella II said promptly. She turned to Mella and whispered, ‘What I was telling you – the Haleklinders and the manticores and Lord Hairstreak and everything.’
‘Yes, yes, I know!’ Mella hissed back impatiently.
‘And art thou not the only ones who can stop it?’ asked the Yidam.
Mella blinked.
They held a conference, all three of them, squatting cross-legged on the earth, surrounded by the manticore herd. The Yidam’s head remained higher than a manticore’s back and the Old God still towered over the two Mellas, yet their little circle seemed somehow… friendly. What they discussed, by contrast, was terrifying.