Author's note: Finally, an update. I would have done it sooner, but on Tuesday half of what I wrote was erased by a computer error. I had to rewrite it. Apologies to anyone who's been waiting (if there is even one) and please review.
Just a question, is Nathaniel in character, or is he too OOC -ish?
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Chapter Two
The Last Alliance
It was well for Nathaniel that he experienced what happened with the detachment of an observer, rather than as a helpless participant – if it had been otherwise, he would have immediately gone mad. As it was, the lack of bodily sensation gave what he saw a certain dreamlike quality. Curiosity was his main emotion.
He found himself in – well, in did not seem quite appropriate: he found himself part of a ceaseless swirl of movement, neither ending nor beginning, in which nothing was fixed or static. It was an infinite ocean of lights, colours and textures, perpetually forming, racing and dissolving in upon themselves, though the effect was neither as thick or solid as a liquid, nor as traceless as gas; if anything it was a combination of the two, in which fleeting wisps of substance endlessly parted and converged.
Scale and direction were impossible to determine, as was the passing of time – since nothing remained still and no patterns were ever repeated, the concept itself seemed blank and meaningless. This mattered little to Nathaniel, and it was only when he attempted to locate himself, with a view to establishing his position in his surroundings, that he grew slightly disconcerted. He had no fixed point, no singularity to call his own; indeed, he seemed often to be in several places at once, watching the whirling traces from multiple angles. The effect was most disorientating.
He tried to fix upon a particular fleck of colour and follow it, but found it no easier than following the motion of a single leaf in a distant windblown tree. As soon as it formed, each colour split, melted, merged with others; shrugged off the responsibility of being itself. Nathaniel grew dizzy with the looking.
To make matters worse he began to notice something else too, flicking in and out of existence within the general swirl – random images, so fleeting he could not pin them down – like photographs turned on and off by crackling electric light. He tried to work out what they were, but the movement was too fast. This filled him with frustration. He sensed they might have told him something.
After an unknown duration Nathaniel remembered that he had come here for a purpose, although what that purpose was he could not recall. He had no inclination to do anything particularly; his main impulse was to remain exactly as he was, moving among the rushing lights… he let himself melt into the raging chaos all around. It was a pleasurable feeling; he had hardly ever let himself relax like this: being a magician required an exhausting amount of self-control and detachment. Here, he was free to be himself – free to float around and do nothing, do everything –-
A rushing swirl of light raged about him – something about the ceaseless swirl of movement irritated him and kept him separate from it. He wanted to impose a little order, some solidity. But how could he do this when he lacked solidity himself?
Half-heartedly he willed himself to move towards a particular patch of orange and maroon swirling at an unknown distance. To his surprise, he moved all right, but in several discordant directions; when his vision stabilized, the patch of colour was no closer than before. He tried several times with the same result: his movements were veering and haphazard; it was impossible to predict the outcome.
For the first time Nathaniel felt a faint anxiety. He noted several patches of boiling darkness curling and uncurling among the lights; they stirred echoes of old earthbound fears – of nothingness and solitude, of being alone amid infinity.
This is no good, Nathaniel thought. I need a body.
With mounting disquiet, he watched the remorseless movement flowing all around, the images flickering near and far, the crackles of light and senseless trail of colour. One merry dancing blue-green coil caught his attention.
Stand STILL! he thought furiously.
Was it his imagination, or had a little portion of the flowing coil deviated from its course, slowing for an instant? The motion was so quick, he could not be sure.
Nathaniel spied another random wisp; he willed it to halt and attend to him. The results were immediate and satisfactory: a sizeable tendril of matter solidified into something resembling the rolled tip of a fern frond, colourless and glassy. When he relaxed his attention, the coil unfurled and vanished back into the general swirl.
Nathaniel tried again, this time willing a patch of matter to form into a thicker, more compact object. Once more he had success, and by concentrating further was able to mould the glassy lump into something approaching a block, unevenly squared. Again, when he desisted, the block dissolved into nothing.
The malleability of substance all around reminded Nathaniel of something he had seen before. What was it? With difficulty, his mind grasped at a memory: that of the djinni Bartimaeus, changing form. He needed to occupy a shape of some kind when he came to Earth, though the choices were always fluid. Perhaps, now that the positions were reversed, he should do the same.
He could make himself a shape... And with this inspiration the object of his visit came back to him. Yes, it was Bartimaeus he had come to find.
Nathaniel's anxiety faded; he was enthused. He set to work straight away, building himself a body.
Unfortunately this was easier thought than done. He had no difficulty, by applying his will once more, in forming a patch of the flowing energies into something approximating a human shape. It had a bulbous head of sorts,a stumpy torso and four uneven limbs, all duly see-through, so that the rushing colours and lights behind showed distorted on its surfaces. But when Nathaniel tried to improve this rough marionette into something more refined and accurate, he discovered that he was unable to concentrate on it all at once. While he shaped and evened out the legs, the head slumped like melted butter; when he hastened to repair this, the lower half sagged and began to dissipate. He eventually gave up on repairing it, and experimented with moving it instead. It proved overly complex to manouevre. Although he was able to direct it back and forth - it floated amongst the raging energies like a bird amid a storm - Nathaniel found he could not individually direct its limbs. While he struggled to do so, the body's substance dribbled away from its extremities, like thread unravelling from a spindle. After a time Nathaniel gave up in disgust and allowed the figure to dissolve.
An idea entered his mind. On Earth, magicians used pentacles - circles - to restrict spirits. Nathaniel had never quite figured out why - he had assumed that circles were used because of its completeness and balance. He tried making a simple ball of swirling matter. It was far stronger and easier to maintain: with it he progressed a considerable distance, floating serenely through the chaos.
Lack of limbs is the key, Nathaniel thought. A sphere is good. It imposes order.
The shape certainly had someeffects on his surroundings, since it was not long before Nathaniel began to notice a slight change in the fabric through which his ball was passing. Up until then the coils of colou, the shimmering lights, the intermittent images had all been entirely neutral and unresponsive, flowing randomly where they would. But now - perhaps because of the new decisiveness with which he maintained the sphere - they seemed to become more aware of his presence. He sensed it in the movement of the swirls, which suddenly became more definite, intentional. They began to change direction slightly, darting in close to the ball, then veering away as if in doubt. Time and again this happened, with the coils and flickers growing steadily in size and number. They seemed merely inquisitive, but it was an ominous kind of attention, like sharks gathering about a swimmer, and Nathaniel didn't like it. He slowed his ball's progress, and with a careful exertion of will - he was now gaining in confidence - imposed himself upon the whirling substance. Taking the static sphere as his centre, he drove outwards, pushing back the nearest intrepid coils, which dissolved and scattered.
The remission this provided was short-lived. Just as Nathaniel felt a surge of triumph on his strength of purpose, a sudden galssy coil extended out from the main mass like an amoeba's pseupodium and bit into the edge of his sphere, carrying off a chunk. As he strove to make good the damage, another coil darted in from the opposite side and took another slice. Furiously he beat the coils back. The main mass all about him pulsed and quivered. Lights flickered intently in random clusters. For the first time, Nathaniel felt afraid.
Bartimaeus, he thought. Where are you?
The words seemed to conjure a reaction in the substance; a sudden burst of static images fired and faded, stronger and more lingering than ever before. One or two lasted long enough for him to catch details: figures, faces, random snatches of sky, once a definite building - a roof with figures were human but wore unfamiliar styles of clothes. The fleeting pictures reminded Nathaniel of past occasions, when long-forgotten memories rose unbidden into his mind. But these were not his memories.
As if in response to this thought, a sudden burst of activity far out in the whirling confusion ended with an image that didlinger. It was fractured, as if seen through the lens of a broken camera, but what it showed was clear enough: the Underwoods, standing side by side. As he watched, Mrs Underwood beamed fondly at him, the way she used to when he had done or said something that pleased her. Her mouth opened; she said:
Nathaniel! Come back, dear.
Go away...Nathaniel reacted with confusion and dismay. It was a trick, obviously it was, but that didn't make it palatable, and it didn't mean he wasn't shocked and disorientated by the sight of her face, purposely buried and hidden in the depths of his mind. His concentration wavered; his hold over his sphere and its single area of cleared order lurched and trembled. The sphere slumped and sagged; coils of matter came in from every side.
We love you, dear.
Go away -- Leave me alone! With every ounce of effort he could muster, he drove the coils back again. The image winked out. With grim determination, Nathaniel returned his sphere to its proper shape. He was increasingly dependent on it for any semblance of control, for any semblance of being himself. More than anything he feared being adrift without it.
Other pictures flashed off and on, each one different, most too fast to fathom. Some, though barely, perceptible, must have been familiar to him - they awoke inarticulate feelings that he had tried to bury long ago, feelings of loss and despair. A flurry of lights; another picture, very far away. A lady of indeterminate age, sitting with a pen and a sketchbook in her hands. Behind her was a magnificent statue of a man with gigantic sideburns, looking imperious and powerful.
Well? said the lady's soothing voice. Are you going to put something, or is it going to draw itself?
Ms. Lutyens...
The figure looked at him, smiling... and the vision was gone. Almost immediately another image appeared - a house on fire; a jackal-headed creature rising in the flames..a flash of white. Nathaniel concentrated his energies on the sphere. Ignore them. They were nothing but phantasms, black and empty. They meant nothing.
Bartimaeus! Again he thought the name, beseechingly this time. Again it awoke activity among the floating lights and drifting spurs of colours. Close up, with crystal clarity, came the image of his erstwhile master Underwood, frowning severely.
You were always too impatient, boy. Just give up already, why don't you? Come and join us. It's better than the fate that awaits you on Earth.
What fate? he couldn't help but ask.
You shall see, foolish boy. You are not as you once were.
Another image appeared alongside, a tall man with dark skin standing on a grassy hill. His face was grave.
Why do you come here and molest us?
A woman wearing a high white head-dress, gathering water at a well.
You were a fool to come here. You are not welcome.
I came for help.
You will not get it. The woman's image scowled and vanished.
The man with dark skin turned to walk up his hill.
Why do you molest us? he asked again, over his shoulder. You wound us with your presence.A flicker of lights; he too was gone.
Arthur Underwood gave a rueful grin.
Give up, magician. Forget yourself. You cannot get home in any case.
I won't. I will get home.
No. You are nothing now. A dozen coils enveloped him; he crackled and fizzed into a multitude of whirling shards that floated far away.
Nothing... Nathaniel regarded his ball, which during his recent inattention had melted away like snow. Little flakes were fluttering off what remained off its surface; as if blown by a wind, they skipped and danced across to join the endless whirl about him. Well, it was true, of course - he really was nothing: a being without substance, without anchorage. There wasn't any point in pretending otherwise.
And they were right about another thing too: he didn't know how to get home.
Well, that was it, then. After all, since when had he ever regarded anything as his own home?There was only once: the Underwood's house, where he had been loved and cared for by Mrs Underwood. And maybe before that, with his own parents - though he could not remember them or anything related to them anymore; his birthname being the single reminder of an existence before Mandrake and young Underwood. Maybe he had been loved, maybe not. He did not remember, and so should not care.
His will faded. He allowed the sphere to dwindle; it spun like a top, streaming into nothing. Nobody would have any regrets about this - he would be just another casualty among the magicians, tose of whom had brought their own fates to themselves. He began to drift...
Another image flickered into view.
Why are you here?
Leave me alone.
Not a chance. I want to know exactly what you want, Mandrake.
To be continued...
And so ends what I'm sure you all regard as the dullest chapter.
As a note, anything I write within this week will probably be all you get until June - from me, that is. I have exams coming up and will thus be banned from touching the keyboard. So do me favour and make sure when I get back there'll be lots of updates - lots of them - and maybe some reviews for me? .. Hopefully...
Ggh. I never realized how much of a bore it is to type. Maybe this will be my last update in a very long while ( or posibbly forever ).
Then again, maybe not.
Remember what I asked about reviews?