‘And Betty … Will he kill her?’
‘The Executioner does not kill people. He will drink her soul,’ the teacher replied. ‘She will become indifferent to everything, like a straw doll.’
‘She’s not so very passionate as it is …’ the boy muttered.
They had run almost a mile away from the manor house when they were overtaken by the sound of a woman’s piercing scream that broke off almost immediately.
‘We didn’t know that the prophecy had to be heard by a human, not an Other,’ I said. ‘Gesar tried to persuade Kesha to prophesy in his presence …’
‘Kesha?’ Erasmus asked, baffled.
‘Yes, a boy-Prophet – he was discovered in Moscow just recently. Actually, that’s what prompted us to disturb you …’
Erasmus shook his head. ‘Your Great One is taking a great risk. If only he hears the prophecy, then the Tiger will switch from the boy to him … and the Tiger is more powerful than any of us. What is the situation now? Is the Tiger on the trail?’
‘No, we’ve already dealt with the situation.’
‘And what was the prophecy?’
‘We don’t know. Nobody heard it. The boy was alone in a room in our offices. We managed to delay the Tiger, and the boy spoke his prophecy.’
‘When he was entirely alone in a room?’ said Erasmus, shaking his head incredulously. ‘That’s strange. Very strange. It is very rare indeed for a Prophet to be so well prepared that he can prophesy into empty space. It’s difficult – usually the Tiger gets there first, or the prophecy reaches human ears …’
‘But you managed it!’
‘I’m a special case. For me there has never been any great difference between a man, a dog and … an oak, for instance,’ Erasmus said, with a smile.
The Executioner overtook them at the edge of the forest. He seemed to be walking at an unhurried pace, but the distance between his dark silhouette and the Others who were running as fast as their legs could carry them narrowed with every second.
‘Run, boy!’ said the teacher, halting in the dust of the country road that ran along the edge of the forest. ‘Run … try to find someone and say what you have to say … Run!’
There was no hope in his voice. He was simply doing what he believed had to be done. Not out of high moral principles – he was a Dark One. Perhaps he would have found it abhorrent to live in a world where he had allowed the Executioner to take his pupil. Or perhaps he was simply not used to losing.
The motivations of Dark Ones could be very hard to understand sometimes.
‘Hey, Twilight Creature!’ he called out. ‘I am a Higher Magician of the Darkness! You shall not pass me! Go back!’
The Executioner didn’t even slow his stride. Erasmus saw rustling vines of blue fire sprout from his teacher’s hands and settle on the ground. The vines shuddered, as if preparing to pounce at the enemy.
The Executioner still didn’t slow his stride.
Erasmus realised that there was nothing his teacher could do. That he would struggle for a minute or two, or three, that the vines of dark fire would tear at the ground and the air, lash impotently at the Executioner’s body. And then the moment would come when the Executioner would grab his teacher, crush him, toss him aside – and carry on walking. To reach the Prophet.
He didn’t just understand this. He saw it, almost as if it was real.
Erasmus already knew what this was. It was not simply a prediction that might not happen. It was a harbinger of the prophecy … he was seeing the fate of an Other, which meant that was how it would be … for certain … almost for certain – if he did not utter a prophecy, his genuine First Prophecy, which would change the world and alter fate …
He swallowed hard to force down the lump in his throat and looked round. There was an old hollow oak growing only three paces away from him. Erasmus dashed to the tree, stood on tiptoe and pulled himself up – the hole in the trunk was a bit too high for him. He thrust his head into the shadowy opening that smelled of mouldy leaves and rotten wood. Something inside it rustled – a woodmouse that was settling down inside the hollow oak went darting into a dark crevice in a panic.
That didn’t bother Erasmus at all. He really didn’t believe that people, animals and plants were different from each other in any way.
He closed his eyes. He would have stopped his ears, but he had to cling on to the edge of the hole. And so he simply tried not to hear anything – not his teacher’s voice, nor the whistling of the fiery lashes, nor the menacing sound made by the Executioner, which sounded like a tiger growling. (Erasmus had never seen any tigers, but he assumed that they must growl exactly like that.)
Get away from everything.
From the past.
From the present.
From the future.
The past is not important. The present is inconsequential. The future is indeterminate.
He was not just some common clairvoyant, he was a Prophet. He was the voice of fate. What he uttered would become the truth.
Only someone had to hear him. They absolutely had to.
Then why not this old oak?
The boy imagined his shadow, lying on the bottom of the hollow. And he lowered his head towards it.
… Erasmus opened his eyes. His teacher was sitting beside him, cradling his limp left arm. The arm looked crumpled, almost chewed.
‘The Executioner …’ Erasmus whispered.
‘You managed it, boy,’ the teacher said with bewilderment in his voice. ‘I can’t imagine how, but you spoke your prophecy into empty space. And the Executioner has gone. In another moment he would have killed me.’
‘I didn’t speak into empty space,’ Erasmus replied. ‘I … I told the oak tree.’
A faint smile appeared on his teacher’s face.
‘Ah, so that’s it … Well then, there is probably some purpose to your love of trees. Probably it is a part of your gift. A prevision of the fact that you would only escape if you loved oaks and aspen trees.’
He started chuckling and laughed for a long time, until he cried. Then he got up and shook the dust and mud off his clothes. Dark patches remained on them, but that did not worry the teacher.
‘It is time for us to say goodbye, young Erasmus. You know your own abilities, you will be able to stand up for yourself. If you wish for power – you will achieve it. On your own, or in the Day Watch.’
‘In Dublin?’
‘In Dublin, Edinburgh, London. In any city of the world that is now or shall be.’
He even slapped Erasmus on the shoulder before turning and walking off along the road into the distance. He probably was truly fond of this pupil. But, of course, he didn’t look round.
Erasmus sat there in the dust for a while, thinking. His strange enemy had disappeared. It was getting light.
Life promised a multitude of interesting things, and Erasmus had always had a zest for life.
He decided to go back to the manor house and see what had happened to Betty. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if she had become indifferent to everything. Perhaps now she would allow him to do certain things that she had previously rejected with a giggle.
I said nothing for a while. Then I remarked: ‘In the book it said it was an elm tree.’
‘An oak,’ Erasmus responded immediately. ‘I’m not very fond of elms. Oaks are far more profound and substantial.’
‘And what was your teacher called?’
‘I assumed that you knew,’ Erasmus said briefly.
‘I think I have a good idea already, but …’
‘His name was Zabulon. We have never met again, but I know he has been the head of the Day Watch in Moscow for a long time already. You two are acquainted, I believe?’