Compared to the crystalline cave with its sunlight beam, the outer cavern was gloomy, but not entirely dark since quite a lot of light shone through. Water filtered through as well, a rare commodity in this parched country, leaving the cavern dripping and dank. In many ways a perfect home for the Jormungand.
Chalkhill was still whingeing, of course. Are you sure about this, Silas? Do you realise how dangerous this is, Silas? Couldn’t you try something less adventurous, Silas? Adventurous! The man wouldn’t recognise an adventure if it bit him in the backside. There was no two ways about it, Chalkhill had long outlived his usefulness. Realistically, his mother should have thrown him away at birth. Except that there was one small use for him now. The raising of the Jormungand required a sentient sacrifice.
Brimstone pasted on his most reassuring smile. ‘It really is a very simple operation, Jasper,’ he said kindly. ‘But if it makes you feel any better, you can be gone before the Jormungand actually gets here.’ Gone. That was a good one. Chalkhill would be gone all right, ‘I just need your help with the initial preparations.’ He jacked his smile up a notch, then jacked it down again at once. Overdo the smiles and Chalkhill was bound to get suspicious. With good reason, of course.
‘What sort of help?’ asked Chalkhill suspiciously.
‘Oh, just setting things up,’ Brimstone told him vaguely. ‘I’il do the actual work.’
Chalkhill licked his lips, ‘I thought the Jormungand came from Hael. I mean, won’t that be the same as using demons now? I mean, won’t Queen Blue’s new position…?’ He swallowed and trailed off, looking at Brimstone imploringly.
It was worth being patient. A little patience would reassure the idiot, make him much more tractable when the time came. ‘Not exactly from Hael, Jasper,’ Brimstone said patiently. ‘Although many highly intelligent people have made that mistake. Actually, the Jormungand comes through Hael, but its natural home is Midgard, another level of reality altogether.’ The nether regions of Midgard, but no sense worrying the poor soul with that little piece of information. ‘So you see, Queen Blue has no jurisdiction in the matter whatsoever.’
‘But won’t her demons interfere?’
‘Why would they? It’s none of their business and the creature passes through their world very quickly.’ It was a half-truth, of course and a slippery one. Since the Jormungand was a water creature and Hael a fire region Blue’s newly liberated demons would experience considerable disruption as the thing passed through. But there was nothing they could do about it except send a diplomatic protest that would end up in Midgard anyway. Meanwhile – Brimstone risked another innocent smile – Chalkhill would be reassured.
Chalkhill wasn’t reassured. ‘Won’t it disrupt the Realm?’
‘The Hael Realm or the Faerie Realm?’ Brimstone asked blandly.
‘The Faerie Realm,’ Chalkhill said. ‘Who cares about the Hael Realm?’ He plucked at Brimstone’s sleeve. ‘Look here, Silas. I really think this is getting much too dangerous, even to protect something like – ’ He nodded towards the entrance of the inner, crystal cavern, ‘I’m sure I read somewhere that the reason nobody calls the Jormungand any more is because it has such a disruptive influence.’
It would be pleasant to kill him now and stop this endless prattle, but that would hardly be a sacrifice. Brimstone made a monumental effort. ‘Only at a local level,’ he said smoothly. ‘Usually just an earthquake or two, rivers drying up, the occasional hurricane
… that sort of thing. In a godsforsaken country like this, who’s going to notice? Or give a toss?’
‘Will we be able to get away? Before the earthquakes and the hurricanes?’
‘Oh, it’s not immediate!’ Brimstone exclaimed. ‘The effect builds up over a period of several days – something to do with the strain on the fabric of reality.’ He smiled thinly. ‘You’ll be a distant memory, Jasper, long before anything unpleasant happens.’
To his relief, Chalkhill seemed reassured, for he said, ‘All right, Silas, what do you want me to do?’
The preparations took three quarters of an hour. When they were finished, the gloomy cavern was furnished with a temporary altar set with unlit spell cones at each corner, a circle of free-standing black-light candles and a series of tortuous glyphs painted freehand on the floor by Brimstone.
‘Is that it?’ Chalkhill asked. ‘Is that all you need to call up the Jormungand?’
‘Actually this calls up Bartzabel, the Jormungand’s keeper. But if you keep him sweet, he’ll lead in the Jormungand. The whole thing’s not as easy as it looks. It needs a lot of concentration.’ And blood, Brimstone thought, but pointless upsetting the sacrifice. ‘Now, I want you to stand over there in the north and don’t move unless I tell you. That’s very important. If you wander about it can disturb the energies with unforeseen consequences.’
‘Yes, all right,’ Chalkhill said and walked to the northern wall of the cavern. ‘Here okay?’
‘Perfect,’ Brimstone said. ‘Now stand still and shut up while I perform the orison.’
Most of it was in a language Chalkhill didn’t understand, but at the climax of the orison, things got a little clearer. ‘Thou House of Idleness wherein I shall set up the Throne of Justice,’ Brimstone intoned. ‘Thou cold body that I shall fashion into a living flame. Thou dull ox that I shall turn into the Bull of Earth. Bartzabel! Bartzabel! Bartzabel!’
As usual, it was the name that did it. There was a shimmering in the air before the altar as something small and compact began to manifest. Chalkhill leaned forward for a better view. He’d seen several of Brimstone’s demon evocations in the good old days, but this seemed to be something of a different order.
‘I unbind thee from thy chains,’ called Brimstone loudly. ‘Come forth and manifest! Come now, in fair and pleasing form, from thy palace of seraphic stars! Come, be my slave, thou spirit Bartzabel!’
Chalkhill wasn’t sure what he was expecting – something creepy with horns, no doubt – but what he got was a chicken. He stared in utter astonishment as the bird materialised a few feet from the ground, dropped to the floor of the cavern, then strutted towards Brimstone.
‘Cluck!’ said the chicken fiercely.