Hero Rising

Unfortunately, The Most Great Lives had a section on traitors.

“They want to write an entry even though you are not yet a proper Legend Hunter,” continued Lucien, unblinking. “There is such demand for your story. Everyone wants to hear it. But the rumour is they have not yet decided if you should be among the heroes at the front, or the traitors hidden under black pages at the back of the book.”

Lucien rubbed a palm over his few wisps of hair. “So I wonder, young man, why you look so satisfied for somebody on the verge of destroying his family’s legacy?”

Letting that thought sit, Lucien set off down the corridor so that he and Emmie were forced to walk alongside him.

“How many times do you have to be told to stay out of things in Darkmouth?”

“Dunno,” Finn answered, as insolent as he could manage. “How many times has it been so far, Emmie?”

“Quite a lot,” she said.

Lucien stopped, and even though he was neither tall nor imposing, he radiated a menace that made Finn bristle all the same. He felt the hair prickle on his neck, hoped it hadn’t been noticed.

“You are a cocky young man these days,” Lucien said, his breath as sour as his mood. “You weren’t always like that. I know this from previous reports. From everything Estravon told me.”

“That was before you kicked us out of our home.” It hurt Finn to know he was only visiting his own house. He missed every part of it, and it all seemed so much sharper to his senses now he was hardly in it. The distinctive must of the corridor, of metal and wood and peeling portraits. The vinegary odour of Desiccator fluid that had leaked into the walls over the years.

Lucien’s kids had filled much of this place with their toys and clothes and stench. It made Finn nauseous to even contemplate it. But he needed to keep his mind focused on one job right now. Which was being really obnoxious to Lucien.

“I have been very lenient on you and your family given what you have done,” Lucien told him with a wave of his hand while walking on again.

“We’ve lost everything because of you,” said Finn.

“I have allowed you to stay at home here in Darkmouth.”

“The other house is not my home,” said Finn, unable to stay patient, and stepping in front of Lucien.

There was a thud and a wail from way behind them at the library door, as Elektra or Tiberius succumbed to some inevitable stuffed-Minotaur-related accident.

Lucien did not flinch. “I have allowed you to stay in Darkmouth while we examine exactly what happened, how and – most importantly – who was involved. You forget that I could have sent you and your parents to Liechtenstein HQ to be imprisoned. Or far worse.”

“Like how you sent Steve away,” said Finn.

Emmie’s face tightened at that.

“As someone who was trapped between worlds, he is helping us understand the threat we all face, that is all,” said Lucien.

“Or you’re getting one more problem out of Darkmouth,” said Finn.

“There are many worse things we could have done to your family. Many, many things that are allowed by the Legend Hunter punishment book.” Lucien paused, then called out. “Estravon?”

Estravon stuck his head out of a small training room off the corridor. “In 1867, Jan the Intolerable was made to eat forty rotten boiled eggs in under three minutes as punishment for his cowardice at the Battle of Little Death.” Estravon retreated back into the room to finish whatever he was up to in there.

“Something’s going on,” Finn said. “You’ve sent the Half-Hunters home. You’ve sent Steve to Liechtenstein. It’s almost like you want them all out of the way.”

“That’s clever. Exactly the kind of quick thinking I would want if I was, say, a traitor working for the Legends,” said Lucien, pausing at the top of the corridor at the first, and oldest, portrait of one of Finn’s ancestors. The painting itself was so ancient it was merely a square of varying brown blobs. A worn plaque beside it declared it to be of long-dead Legend Hunter Aodh the Handsome.

“You’re doing something in the cave,” said Emmie.

“It’s a place where incredibly important and dangerous crystals grow,” explained Lucien. “The only place on Earth, in fact. Those crystals have the power to spontaneously open gateways to the Infested Side. Of course we’re doing something. We’re looking into that strange phenomenon.”

Finn felt cornered, trapped by Lucien’s logic.

“You’re looking a little annoyed now,” Lucien said to him. “Be careful. I know you haven’t exploded in a while but I’ve only just had this door painted and I wouldn’t want you ruining it.”

“You can’t keep doing this,” Finn told him.

“This is your final warning,” said Lucien. “The next time you look like you’re spying on behalf of the Legends, your family will have to go. You. Your mother. Your father. All gone. No more Darkmouth. No more home.”

“You’re framing us,” said Finn.

“Emmie will be gone too. And it will be your fault.” Lucien looked at her. “I don’t even have to ask how upset you would be about that.”

Finn retreated into silence.

Lucien eyed him, pushed his glasses up his nose. “It doesn’t need to be this way. Think about that. Think about your future.”

He casually closed the front door after Finn and Emmie.

They walked down the street a bit, quietly furious, until they were at the corner to the house they now shared.

“We’ll go and check out the cave later,” Finn said. “We know how to get into it now. They’re up to something else, for sure.”

“You heard him, right?” Emmie said, sympathetic but reluctant. “We’re in danger of getting into worse trouble than we’re already in.”

“I remember when you were the one pushing me into things,” Finn said to her.

“And I remember when you were the sensible one,” she said, but he was already jogging on down the street.

“Where are you going?” she called after him.

“To see Dad at work,” Finn called back over his shoulder. “He’ll know what to do.”

So it was that, five minutes later, Finn was in the back of a shop called Woofy Wash, looking at a very grumpy Hugo giving a labradoodle a bath.

The labradoodle was shiny, its tongue hanging loose, its eyes covered by wringing-wet black curls, while Hugo – still officially the last and greatest Legend Hunter on Earth – cursed as he pulled a large comb through its sopping coat.

“This morning was a real mess,” Finn explained to his dad.

“Stupid, hairy, knotted mutt,” hissed Hugo, the comb tangled in doggy curls. “Why people don’t just shave their dogs bald, I don’t know.”

“Something’s up,” Finn continued, wincing at the sight of his father’s struggles. “And just because I tried to find out what it is, Lucien threatened to kick us out of Darkmouth altogether.”

“You have no idea how long it took to clean this animal’s paws,” Hugo griped without pause. “I think it walked through wet tar to get here, or something. I had to use a toothbrush to get in the gaps.”

He pulled again at the dog’s coat. The labradoodle yelped.

“Brush it first, before washing it,” said Finn.

Hugo stopped – the comb snagged in the dog’s newly shampooed hair – and looked hard at his son in a way that suggested he didn’t want advice but might have to take some anyway.

“You should brush dogs before washing them,” repeated Finn. “It makes it easier to comb them afterwards.”

At another time in his life, Finn had wanted to be a vet instead of a Legend Hunter. It wasn’t that he’d given up on that dream; it was just that for a while now he’d had no choice.

Silently, Hugo seemed to accept the advice and began to calmly untangle the comb from the dog’s coat, as if he’d had his rant and let off the required steam.

Hugo’s boss, Mr Green, passed behind and, without stopping, without even looking at Hugo, said, “You should have had that labradoodle polished up and out by now, Hugo. You’ve two cats to primp and a guinea-pig haircut to do, all before mid-morning break.”

This kicked Hugo back into grumpiness and he pulled a little hard on the comb, causing the poor dog to yelp again.

“And next time you should brush the dog before you wash it,” said Mr Green, disappearing into the front of the shop.

“I was in school with that jumped-up fool,” Hugo murmured so that only Finn could hear. “He never liked me. He’s loving every minute of this. The second I’m done with this job, I’m going to give him a soaking so strong it’ll shrink him to a size no bigger than this dog’s—”

He stopped, glancing at Finn.

“We could have done with you out there this morning,” Finn said. “We could do with you out there every time this happens.”

“I know that,” his father hissed. “I want to be out there, not here, up to my elbows in dog fleas. But without access to our own house, this is the only way we can get enough of the chemicals to make our own Desiccator fluid. Without this, when an invasion happens again – and it will happen – we’ll be fighting off Legends with nothing but guinea-pig hair clips. I just wish the right combination of chemicals could be found in, I don’t know, the ice cream shop or somewhere. Not here, with these poodledors—”

“Labradoodles,” Finn corrected him.

“Whatever they’re called,” said Hugo, pulling at the dog’s coat. “Either way, these things have … Too … Many … Curls.”

The dog whimpered, but was finally free of the combing. Hugo let it down off the table to scamper to a basket and chew on a rubber bone.

Mr Green appeared once more in the washing area, again passing by without stopping. “A rabbit’s done its business on the shop counter,” he said. “Wipe it up before you move on to Killer.”

“Killer?” asked Hugo.

“The guinea pig.”

Hugo looked like he might swing a fist, or maybe an entire labradoodle, at his boss.

“But we had better get Darkmouth back soon,” Hugo said. “If I have to wash another mutt’s you-know-what, I’ll go insane. More insane than I am now anyway.”

Finn knew his father had sacrificed many things over the years in order to fulfil his duty as a Legend Hunter. He’d never holidayed. He’d never been able to relax during a rainstorm. He’d never stopped training, thinking, planning, day and night and next day again. But this seemed to be the greatest sacrifice of all. Swapping his dignity for a couple of bottles of doggy shampoo.

Hugo looked around to make sure Mr Green had gone, then pulled six small plastic bottles from under the table and pressed them into Finn’s schoolbag.

“That’s a couple of litres of Shampoodle,” he said. He then reached across for a box from the shelf. “And one packet of Fabulous Fish Fin Formula. They’ll shrink a jumbo jet when mixed right. Just don’t be seen leaving with them or I’ll lose my job.”

Hugo took a moment to contemplate that possibility, knowing being sacked would be a sweet release from the doggy drudgery.

“No,” he said. “I can’t think about losing my job. I must plough on. It’s the only way for now.”

“You keep saying that, Dad, but what’s changing?” said Finn, grabbing a towel and laying it over the labradoodle’s sodden back. “Nothing. It’s getting worse out there and you’re stuck in here.”

“Listen to me, Finn,” Hugo said. “Do you think I want to be here? Do you think my only plan is spending my life with pets whose toenails are out of control?”

“Then what is your plan?” Finn asked, frustration building. “Because I don’t see it.”

“I have it under control, Finn. You just need to be patient.”

“And while we wait,” Finn said, “we’re crammed into a small house, waiting for disaster, knowing they’re scheming something but we just can’t see what yet.” He was getting properly angry now.

His father stopped towelling the dog. “Please just go to school, play football, do whatever, but I need you to let me deal with this in case things really do get out of control.”

Mr Green shouted from outside the room, “Hugo! Rabbit poo! Now!”

Hugo gritted his teeth. Took a long, calming breath. “You need to understand, Finn,” he said before leaving. “The most effective way to grab victory is to first look like you’ve lost everything.”

“That makes no sense,” Finn muttered, alone now.

The labradoodle sneezed, covering Finn in flecks of water.

Wiping himself down, Finn stepped into the salty Darkmouth air. Things were definitely as bleak as they’d ever been. He could sense it. It was as if the world itself had darkened. Then Finn realised that it had. While he’d been in with his dad, a low, heavy cloud had dragged itself across the sky. The bright, cloudless blue of the day had given way to a near twilight.

A drop of rain splashed on to Finn’s shoulder. He put his hand out and caught two more.

It wasn’t supposed to rain today.

The rain fell heavier, stinging drops hopping off his head, bouncing off the road around him.

Rain meant Legends, breaking through.

Finn looked up, took a raindrop in the eye. He wiped it away, and when he did he realised that the ground around him was being lit by a growing golden glow.

Finn felt a tiny prick in his neck, like he’d been stung, smacked at his skin as he swung around to meet the chest of someone. Something. He looked up, saw an eye staring at him. One eye. No more.

“Sorry, kid,” the Legend said, voice deeper than hell. “You’re coming with us.”

The gateway opened for a few seconds.

About three minutes later, four panting assistants finally arrived at the scene, carrying Desiccators awkwardly. They’d been delayed by an argument about which alley to run down. Half of them had said they should go right. Half said they should go left. They ended up going straight ahead which, by sheer luck, was exactly where they should have gone in the first place.

They burst into the dead end near the back of Woofy Wash, where the gateway had torn its way into our world.

But there was no gateway.

There were no Legends.

Even the rain had gone, stopping so suddenly it was as if someone had turned off the shower tap.

The assistants looked at each other with some bemusement.

“There’s nothing here,” said one of them.

“I told you we should have gone right,” said another.

“You said we should have gone left. I said we should go right,” said a third.

A noise startled them and the assistants lifted the Desiccators they’d brought.

But it was only Hugo, throwing out a basin of dirty, rabbit-poo-filled water.

They kept their weapons raised. He paused, liquid slopping about the edge of the basin.

The assistants lowered their weapons. Hugo threw the water along the ground, so that it lapped and splashed at their gleaming shoes, then returned inside.

As if a single entity, the assistants turned to clatter and bump their way away from the dead end back towards the main street, still arguing about which direction they should have gone in.

But someone else remained unseen. Emmie had followed their movements, knowing they’d be so wrapped up in the thought of catching Legends that she could shadow them easily.

She crouched to the ground, found a patch of dust, exactly the sort created when something comes through a gateway. But there was only one smattering, as if a large foot had been placed in this world, and immediately withdrawn. Otherwise, there was no sign of scratch marks on walls, or bite marks on bins.

Nothing.

She was about to leave the scene when something else caught her eye. A small bottle of Shampoodle rolling across the ground, spilling a dull blue chemical from its open top.

Emmie walked to it, rolled it with her foot and glanced back at the door of Woofy Wash.

Something was wrong, although she couldn’t quite figure out what it was. Finn would know what to do, she decided.

She set off to find him.

Finn woke.

He was trapped in a small space, so dark he could see nothing at all, not even the hand in front of his face.

Hold on, he thought, maybe my hand is missing.

No. He wiggled his fingers and it felt like they were all present and correct. But he still had no sight. No light. Only a sandpapery surface at his back and a gooey, ribbed roof he could feel inches from his face.

Panic grabbed him, even as his mind was slow to get moving, heavy, dopey, unable to quite fix on where he was or how he had got here. He tried to stay composed, to figure it out.

The sharp sting on his neck. Passing out. He must have been drugged, Finn thought, and dragged here. Wherever here was.

The smell was so deeply terrible it was invading every pore in his body. He would need a change of skin if he ever got out of here. He tasted it on his tongue, wanted to pull his tongue out in disgust.

It would be pointless trying to find a way to describe the stench in Earthly terms, because there was nothing on Earth like it. It was a smell that belonged only to one place.

The Infested Side.

Finn’s breath quickened. He groped for a wall either side of him, and found bars of some sort, surrounding him on at least three sides. And those bars were wedged into a hard but slippery surface. The fourth side was narrow and soft and his hand couldn’t quite find the wall.

It made his stomach crawl. Or maybe that was the movement he now realised he was feeling in jolts. He was moving. In fact the whole room was moving.

Up. Drop.

Up. Drop.

A damp breeze blasted through each time it rose, heating his ears. There was also a deep, unnerving gurgle from somewhere terribly close.

Finn wriggled on to his tummy, feeling the roughness against his face, giving him the shudders as he reached out and pushed his hands through the bars, whose dark outlines he could just make out against the redness of the walls.

He prised open a gap in his prison, working it wider with his fingers, just enough for grey light to pour into the space and show him the bars were, in fact, large fangs.

He was lying on a tongue.

A pink tongue, rough and pulsating with each of the breaths pushing up from the throat at which his feet dangled.

A giant tongue, in a giant mouth.

Finn allowed himself to panic some more. It had been a bad day already but now he was something’s lunch. Could this day get any worse?

Pushing his face towards the crack in the mouth of whatever creature was carrying him, Finn saw water rushing past outside, a blur of dark waves, getting closer. And closer. He retreated just before the creature hit the sea, brine leaking through the mouth as Finn breathed hard and shallow.

Yes.

His day could get worse.

Up. They were out of the water.

Drop. Whooosh. Back into it.

A few seconds later, the creature hit something hard, slid to a sudden halt. Finn gripped on to a long tooth to stop himself being thrown back into the deep cavern of the creature’s gullet.

Blurpp. A rumble was building from deep within the throat, getting louder, closer.

Oh no, thought Finn, at the precise moment a belch hit him.

The mouth opened and he was propelled into the grey light of the Infested Side.

He looked around, dazed. He was lying on a shoreline, a beach of smashed rock in the shadow of a looming mountain, chunks missing from its slopes and most of it swallowed by heavy cloud.

The sea creature retreated into the waters before Finn could even get a proper look at it. He was instead distracted by a huge figure approaching up the beach, feet stuffed into boots with three clawed toes stabbing through. It had granite hands, muscles popping from the wide shoulders. Glancing up, Finn realised this was the single-eyed giant, the Cyclops that had grabbed him from Darkmouth in the first place. This must be one of Gantrua’s goons, out for revenge.

It snarled something at him.

Finn jumped to his feet, his skin sticky with sea-creature saliva, his hair flattened and damp, his legs numb from being trapped in such a small space for … well, he didn’t know how long. But they had enough feeling left to help him scramble across cutting stones among which were scattered splintered and broken tools – axes, knives, picks, hammers.

He stumbled, saw the nearing shadow of the Legend. He needed a plan. Perhaps he had an expert move learned over many hours at training. Maybe he could threaten to explode, just as he had done before in this world – draw himself up and stare even the mightiest of them down with his power. Even if he didn’t really have it any more.

Instead, Finn did what he had so often done best.

He ran.

He heard the roars and shouts of other Legends joining the Cyclops. He didn’t look back. He needed to keep pushing along the shifting rock and broken tools of this beach, which sloped upwards now, away from the sea towards the scarred mountain and, he hoped, some sort of shelter. The Legends were closing. His legs burned with adrenalin. He needed to keep climbing this slope, to get somewhere safe.

Finn reached the top of the slope and went straight over a cliff.

Finn held on to a blackened, blasted tree root, one foot dangling over a sheer drop that a quick and frightening glance told him went down far enough that there were dark angry waves where the floor should be.

The sea. On both sides. He was on some sort of narrow cliff jutting perilously out over the waves.

And he had come within a Manticore’s whisker of falling straight off, had thrown a hand out just quick enough to save himself. For now.

He wrapped his arms around this lone root and prayed it would not break. He never wanted to let go.

Above him was dark cloud. Below him was darker sea. And behind him on the cliff, he realised, was a pair of boots bigger than his head. Three claws were sticking through one of them. The Cyclops.

“Don’t be trying to fly out of here,” said the deep-voiced Legend, offering a hand.

Finn’s grip slipped a little on the slimy root. He grunted with the effort of holding on, but he wouldn’t be able to for much longer. He felt dead either way.

Then a more familiar voice intruded.

“Accept that helping hand,” it said.

Finn saw four paws on the ledge now. Beside them, the lime-green arrowhead of a snake dropped into his eyeline.

“We need your help,” said Hiss, “and you won’t be much use if you’re dead.”

“The number you have dialled is either unavailable or—”

Emmie didn’t wait to let the message finish but ended the call, put the phone back in her pocket and continued her search for Finn. She’d tried contacting him several times in the couple of hours since the gateway appeared. There had been no answer yet.