Hero Rising

Finn woke on a stone beach, while being pecked at by a seagull.

It ate a touch of the dust that surrounded him, immediately regretted it, gagged as it flew away.

Shocked, Finn jumped to his feet, saw the outline of his body in dust on the shingle. The sea lapped at his feet, washed the dust away. He slapped the rest of it from himself, felt his head to make sure his mind was still there and briefly wondered if he had been in a dream.

But that smell couldn’t be imagined. He stank very badly – the stench of the Infested Side. Of sweat. Of the breath of a belching sea monster. He briefly considered jumping in the water to be free of it, and only then realised it was raining. Heavy drops, but already easing off.

The dust was also evidence that he had been on the Infested Side. He remembered one other thing, patted around his pocket until he found the shell tube attached to his leg. This was the Gatemaker, the way back to the Infested Side when he wanted it. Scaldgrubs squirmed inside. Finn’s stomach squirmed with them.

The task they’d given him was a crazy one. Should he do it? He reckoned he could pull it off. After all he’d done before, everything he’d been through, he thought he’d find a way. Somehow. He just wasn’t sure he should.

Finn started to move on up the beach, the loose shingle giving way beneath his feet, adding to his general exhaustion. He reached the grass between the beach and the road just as, from further up the coastline, he saw the arrival of three assistants. They must have been alerted by the brief flickering of the gateway that had released him back home.

He hid out of sight, crouched behind a wall as they passed. And once they were gone, he darted low across the road to an alleyway to start back to the house he still refused to call home.

“Where have you been all day, Finn?” said Emmie, appearing around a turn behind him. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. And Lucien was acting very weird, and he’s talking about kicking you out if there’s any more trouble, and me too, and what on Earth is that smell?” She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

Finn didn’t quite know where to start.

The hours in the mouth of the Leviathan. The boiling sea. The mountain. Cornelius and Hiss. The Legends. The destruction. The attack. The kind-of-Cyclops. The Gatemaker hidden in his sopping jacket.

Being asked to steal Gantrua.

Any of these on their own was enough to have him banished from Darkmouth for good. And Emmie too.

“I just went for a big walk to clear my head but fell into the sea,” he told her. “Seaweed. Crabs. Fish heads, and all that.”

She looked at the back pocket of his trousers, saw a shell sticking from it, and seemed stuck between suspicion and trust.

“Fish heads?” she asked.

“And all that.”

He walked on, the lie burning in his throat.

Finn sat over his bowl of Chocky-Flakes, spoon halfway to his mouth, the crazy request from the Infested Side running around his brain like a hamster on a wheel, and watched the business of the household. He surveyed the boxes of ornaments, clothes, books, stuff brought from their old home, still scattered about the small house. Two families living together, neither really wanting to believe they’d need to stay here for ever.

“Please think about Smoofyland some more,” Clara said to Finn. “Slotterton isn’t that far away, really. And it’s better than sitting around here. We haven’t been anywhere in so long.”

Finn looked at her, brown milk dribbling from his spoon. If only she knew how far away he had just been. “No Smoofyland. Anywhere but Smoofyland,” he groaned.

Clara turned the tap, which spluttered and spat out sludgy, undrinkable water into her glass. She grimaced as she held it up to the light from the window. “That keeps happening,” she said. “I went to rinse Mrs Walsh’s teeth yesterday and almost made them blacker than when she came in. They were black enough to begin with.”

Emmie arrived down the stairs. Finn remembered when she had first arrived in Darkmouth: she had hardly been able to contain her excitement at being in the infamous Blighted Village, fizzing like the human version of a mint dropped into a bottle of cola. She’d been so eager for the life he led, even when he hadn’t wanted it. She would talk at one hundred kilometres an hour, and rush into trouble twice as fast.

She wasn’t like that so much any more. Instead, she was more often subdued, cautious and, he felt, suspicious.

Finn tried to shake off the idea that she was suspicious of him. They’d been through so much together, he wanted her to trust him. Even when he was lying to her. Even when he was holding on to a secret so big he could still smell it despite showering for so long last night his mother had banged on the door fearing he’d slipped and knocked himself out.

In his schoolbag, he had a half-living device that would open gateways to the Legends.

Of course Emmie should doubt him. He was beginning to doubt himself.

“Hey,” he said, Chocky-Flakes milk dribbling down his chin.

“Hey,” she replied, and popped two slices of bread into the toaster.

“Tell him Smoofyland will be great,” Clara asked her.

“That place in Slotterton with the sparkliest rollercoaster in the world?” asked Emmie.

“You’d think he doesn’t want to go on a holiday,” Clara said. “That he just wants to sit here waiting for whatever disaster lurks around the next corner.”

Finn felt a rush of panic, a tightening of his chest, an implosion. He caught his breath, blew out, drew in air steadily, calmed himself.

“You OK?” Emmie asked him.

He nodded and kept eating, watching the goldfish picking at the stones in its bowl, the silence broken only by the sound of toast springing up.

“Gotta go,” he said. “See you at school.”

He didn’t go straight to school, though. Instead he went to find his dad, who was already at work at Woofy Wash. Finn hurried, propelled by a rush of honesty. It was wrong to keep this secret. No matter the consequences, it would all have to come out. He should tell his dad everything. About the kidnapping. About going to the Infested Side. About the assistants being up to something strange in the remnants of the cave and what the Legends had said about people on this side trying to open gateways. About how dangerous it could be. About the flashes of light. About the Legends. About the request that he steal Gantrua. About the Orthrus. About everything.

“Dad—” he started as he walked into the shop.

“Good morning,” said Lucien, standing by the counter.

Hugo was behind it, apparently deeply unimpressed by Lucien’s mere presence.

Through the back, they could hear the sounds of cats, dogs, possibly a parrot, plus something that sounded like it was coughing up a squeaky toy.

Finn felt himself clam up again, the lid slamming shut on his honesty. He did his best to give Lucien a look that said he hated every single molecule in his body. Lucien, though, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction and instead addressed Hugo.

“I don’t want to delay you from whatever sort of emergency dog-washing scenario you might have going on,” he said, as if he meant it sincerely. He didn’t.

Finn fervently wanted to grab a bottle of Shampoodle off the shelf and make him drink it down until foam began to pour from his ears.

“Then make it quick, Lucien,” Hugo said, framed by wall posters of a cat having its teeth brushed and a gerbil being taken for a walk.

“It is clear that things are getting a little … how best to put it? Chaotic. Yes, chaotic.”

“Gateways?” guessed Hugo.

“Two of them. Only yesterday. One outside here, as it happens.” He looked at Finn, who instinctively looked away.

Finn didn’t want to reveal what he knew: that he had been pulled through one of those gateways, and pushed back home through the other.

“Not my place to interfere, right, Lucien?” said Hugo.

“Nothing came through that we could find,” Lucien continued, “but we have to believe the Legends are poised to return. Maybe your old enemy Mr Glad isn’t quite gone yet. These are great and mysterious worlds we deal with.”

Finn’s secret screamed in his head. He kept his mouth shut in case it escaped. In the back room, an animal squealed, so like a child that Finn wondered if it actually was a child.

“We may have stirred a viper’s nest,” Lucien continued. “Just because we have captured one of their leaders—”

“Just because Finn captured one of their leaders,” interjected Hugo.

Lucien barrelled on regardless. “… It does not mean this is the end. For all we know this is only the beginning. We have grown complacent and lazy over the years, as each Blighted Village has gone quiet. What happens when the Legends come back? What if that’s been their plan all along? These creatures live for many more years than us. What if they decided to use that to their advantage, to withdraw for a decade or three? That’s hardly the length of a lunch break as far as they’re concerned.”

The general noise of upset animals from the rear of the shop grew louder. Finn wished they’d quieten down so he could properly concentrate on figuring out what Lucien was building to. He fiddled with the bell on the desk.

“Hugo,” continued Lucien, “I’m not so blind that I can’t see how difficult this is for you to be stuck here, working this job, watching while all these out-of-towners come in and try and run Darkmouth for you.”

“Great,” said Finn. “Just give us the keys to our house and we’ll get things sorted again.”

“Finn,” said Hugo, with a hand out to quieten him. “Not now.”

“Not now?” asked Finn.

“It’s fine, Hugo,” said Lucien. “I understand the young man’s frustration. He was destined for great things and now here he is, as are you, watching while others decide when this ordeal must end.”

“Others?” said Hugo, sceptical. “You’re the only one making decisions.”

Lucien considered his response a moment. “Hugo, I want to get you involved with us again.”

Finn straightened up, wary but interested.

Hugo was silent, curious.

“It’s not right to have someone of your experience sitting here on the sidelines waiting for a result of the investigation,” said Lucien, “when it’s clear that we could use your knowledge of Darkmouth at times of difficulty.”

“Me too?” enquired Finn.

“Yes, why not?” Lucien said, like that was a fine idea. “Next time there is an invasion, or a gateway, or some enemy running through our streets we’d like you both there.”

Hugo’s face lifted.

“To direct the traffic,” concluded Lucien.

Hugo’s face fell.

“Traffic?” spluttered Finn, red rage coming over him. How could Lucien do this? How could his father sit there and take it?

“Not only to direct traffic, of course,” Lucien said brightly. “Crowd control too, if necessary. Reassuring the locals, the shopkeepers who own places such as—” he picked up a small clump of fur sitting on the counter, examined it before clapping it from his hands, “—this establishment.”

“Maybe we can give the Legends speeding tickets,” said Finn. “Ask them to wait at traffic lights while we desiccate them.”

Hugo didn’t quieten him this time.

“The Most Great Lives of the Legend Hunters is such an important book,” said Lucien, the change of focus abrupt and pointed. He folded his arms, ignoring the sounds of animals rising at the back of the shop. “It is the one they will look at for many generations to come. It is the book that defines a Legend Hunter’s reputation. Or a traitor’s. All they want to do is print a new version. Finn, you must know that if you don’t act properly, if you refuse to help, suspicions will grow. The Most Great Lives writer is due here any day now. You don’t want the black paper to fall over your family’s name.”

Woofy Wash’s owner, Mr Green, stuck his head from his office door. “It sounds like a zoo out back, Hugo. What’s going on?”

“Think about it, Hugo,” Lucien said, tapping his fingers on the counter. “That’s all I ask.”

“Oh, I’m thinking about it all right,” said Hugo.

Lucien was enjoying this. Finn knew it. He knew his father knew it. It was as clear as the shine on Lucien’s wispy-haired scalp that he had come simply to humiliate them under the guise of friendliness.

“Elektra! Tiberius!” Lucien called out.

His children appeared from the back of the shop, pushing rudely past a perplexed Mr Green. Elektra had a parrot feather in her hair. Tiberius had a writhing lump down his jumper.

“Hand it back,” Lucien ordered his son.

Tiberius reached down his sweater, pulled free a shivering gerbil and handed it to Mr Green before leaving with his sister and Lucien. Mr Green shook his head, drew a whistling breath through his clenched teeth and – with a writhing, slippery gerbil in hand – returned to his office.

Hugo had his head down. He took a long breath. When he spoke, it was with enormous control.

“You might think I’m doing nothing, Finn, but you would be very wrong,” he said. “I know what Lucien was up to. But I also know we have to be very careful and not give him any excuse to kick us out entirely. There’s no Council of Twelve to help us. No other Legend Hunters. The Half-Hunters are gone. But I do have some friends left. And I do have a plan, son.” He lifted his head. “So you’re not to do anything stupid, do you understand?”

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