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CHAPTER 15: Home Again, Home Again

ARTEMIS was hauling the bomb when the big shift came. The magical overspill hit him like a rugby tackle, driving him to his knees. For a moment his senses were completely overloaded and he was left gasping in a vacuum. Sight was first to return, distorted by tears and stars.

He checked the bomb’s timer. Three minutes to go, providing the pattern did not disintegrate. He glanced to his left where Qwan and N°l were returning to the business of conjuring, while over his right shoulder Holly was holding whatever demons were left. All around, the world was vibrating itself out of this existence. The noise was hellacious and the smell coated the inside of his nostrils. The bomb was heavy enough to make Artemis’s knuckles crack, and not for the first time, he wished Butler was at his side to take the strain. But he wasn’t at his side, and wouldn’t be again if Artemis did not get going. It was a simple plan: move the box to the plateau. Object A to point B. There was no sense in thinking about it.

Then Holly got stabbed and the plan got a lot more complicated.

Artemis saw the blade going in out of the corner of his eye. And worse still he heard the sound it made. A clean snick, like a key going into a lock.

This can’t be real, he thought. We have been through too much together for Holly to be taken so quickly.

The sound the sword made coming out of Holly was hideous beyond imagination. Artemis knew that he would take that sound to his own grave.

Abbot was gloating now. ‘Magic cannot help you, elf. I’ve been working on this sword for a long time.’

Artemis sank to his haunches, fighting the urge to crawl to Holly’s side. Magic could not help Holly, but perhaps a combination of magic and science could. He forced himself to ignore the spurts of deep red blood seeping from her wound. There was nothing in Holly Short’s future but death.

Her current future. But the future could be changed.

No.l and Qwan had not seen the assault. They were deep in concentration, building the blue rings. Abbot was moving towards them now. The tip of his sword dripped blood on the ash like a leaky pen joining the dots to his next victims.

Holly spoke her last. ‘Artemis,’ she said. ‘Artemis, help me.’

Artemis glanced at her. Once. Briefly. He shouldn’t have. The sight of his friend dying almost threw off his count. And right now, the count was the most important thing.

Holly died without a friend to hold her hand. Artemis felt her go — another gift of the magic. He kept on counting, brushing away the tears on his cheeks.

Keep counting. That’s all that matters.

Artemis rose, walking swiftly to his fallen friend. Abbot saw him go. He pointed the sword in Artemis’s direction.

‘You’re next, Mud Boy. First the warlocks, then you. Once you are gone, things will return to how they were.’

Artemis ignored him, nodding along with the count in his head, making sure not to rush. The count must be accurate or all was lost.

Abbot elbowed his way between Qwan and No.l. They were so focused that they barely realized that he was there. With two strokes of his cursed sword, the job was done. No.l fell backwards, blue magic trailing from his fingers. Qwan did not fall, because the tip of Abbot’s sword was keeping him upright.

Artemis did not look into Holly’s eyes. He could not. Instead he prised the handgun from her hand and pointed it away from him.

Be careful now. Timing is everything.

Abbot yanked his sword from Qwan’s chest, and the small body slumped lifelessly to the ground. Three dead in less time than it would take to tie a shoelace.

Artemis ignored the last breaths and the rhythmic crunching of ash that told him Abbot was coming. Not that the demon was trying to hide it.

‘I’m back here, human. Why don’t you see if you can turn round in time.’

Artemis searched the volcano floor around Holly for footprints. There were many, but only two side by side, where Abbot had stood as he struck. All the while, he counted, remembering his own calculations.

An hour per second for a count of forty, followed by a deceleration to thirty minutes per second for a count of eighteen, then a slight jump backwards in time, one minute per second back for a count of two. Then it repeats.

‘Maybe I’ll keep you,’ chuckled Abbot, prodding Artemis’s back with his sword. ‘It’d be nice to have a pet human around. I could teach you tricks.’

‘I have a trick for you,’ said Artemis, and he fired a single blast from the gun.

The blast exited the barrel, and then was whipped one minute into the past, just as Artemis had calculated it would be. It faded from the present and emerged just in time to strike the ghostly image of Abbot as he drew back his sword to thrust it into Holly.

The Abbot of one minute ago was lifted and tossed against the crater wall.

The present-time Abbot had barely time to say, ‘What happened?’ before he winked out of existence, no longer flesh, merely unrealized possibility.

‘You didn’t kill my friends,’ replied Artemis, though he was talking to himself. ‘That never happened.’

Artemis glanced down nervously. Holly was no longer there. Thank God.

Another quick glance told him that Qwan and No.l were back building their magic circle, as if nothing had happened.

Of course not. Nothing did happen.

Artemis concentrated on the memory. Picturing Abbot spinning through the air. He wrapped the incident in magic to preserve it.

Remember, he told himself. What he had just done, now never had to be done, and so wasn’t done. Except, of course, he had done it. Time quandaries such as these should be forgotten for the sake of sanity, but Artemis was loathe to surrender any of his memories.

‘Hey,’ said a familiar voice. ‘Don’t you have a job to do, Artemis?’

It was Holly. She was hog-tying Abbot with his own bootlaces.

Artemis could only stare at her and smile. He still felt the pain of her death, but that would heal quickly now that she was alive again.

Holly caught him smiling. ‘Artemis, could you get that box on to the plateau? It’s a simple plan.’

Artemis smiled some more, then shook himself. ‘Yes. Of course. Put the box on the plateau.’

Holly had been dead and now she was alive.

Artemis’s hand tingled with the phantom memory of a gun it may or may not have held moments before.

There will be consequences for this, he thought. You can’t alter events in time and be unaffected. But whatever the consequences are, I will bear them, because the alternative is too terrible.

He returned to his mission, dragging the bomb the final metres to the plateau. He kneeled, then put his shoulder into the casing, slotting the bomb between Qwan and No.l’s legs. No.l didn’t even notice that Artemis was there. The little apprentice warlock’s eyes were solid blue now, flush with magic. The runes on his chest glowed, then began to move, swirling like snakes, slithering upwards to his neck and swirling on his forehead like an enchanted Catherine wheel.

‘Artemis! Give me a hand with this!’

It was Holly, struggling to roll Abbot’s unconscious body across the bumpy crater. With each revolution, the demon’s horns got snagged in the earth, ploughing a small furrow.

Artemis plodded across to her, legs aching from the climb and descent. He grabbed one horn and heaved. Holly took the other.

‘Did you shoot him?’ Artemis asked.

Holly shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. It got a bit hazy there for a minute. Must be the time spell.’

‘Must be,’ said Artemis, relieved that Holly didn’t remember what had happened. Nobody should have to remember dying, though he would be interested to find out what exactly came next.

Time was running every which way, including out. One way or another, the island of Hybras was not going to be here much longer. Either the time spell would take it in pieces, or Qwan would get a grip of the bomb’s energy and transport them back to Earth. Artemis and Holly dragged Abbot into the circle, dumping him at Qwan’s feet.

‘Sorry he’s out,’ said Holly. ‘It was that or dead.’

‘Difficult choice with this one,’ said Qwan, grabbing one of Abbot’s horns.

Artemis took the other, and between them they pulled Abbot into a kneeling position. There were now five in the circle.

‘I had been hoping for five warlocks,’ grumbled Qwan. ‘One warlock, one apprentice, an elf, a human and a snoring egomaniac were not exactly what I had in mind. This makes things a little more complicated.’

‘What can we do?’ asked Artemis.

Qwan shuddered and a blue film passed across his eyes.

‘D’Arvit,’ he swore. ‘This young one is powerful. I can’t hold him in much longer. Two more minutes of this and he’s going to melt our brains inside our skulls. I saw that once. Fluid boiling right out of the ears. Horrible.’

‘Qwan! What can we do?’

‘Sorry. I’m a little stressed here. OK. Here’s how it’s supposed to work. I’m going to lift us off, with junior’s help. When the device explodes, I’ll convert the energy to magic. Captain Short, you’re in charge of the where. Artemis, you’re in charge of the when.’

‘Where?’ said Holly.

‘When?’ said Artemis simultaneously.

Qwan gripped Abbot’s horn so tightly it creaked. ‘You know where this island goes, Holly — picture the spot. Artemis, let your time call to you. Allow it to reel you in. We cannot go back to our time. That would cause so many quandaries that the planet would probably just drop into a lower orbit and fry everything on it.’

‘I accept that,’ said Artemis. ‘But allow it to reel me in? I prefer some facts and figures. How about trajectories? Spatial addresses?’

Qwan was on his way into a trance. ‘No science. Just magic. Feel your way home, Artemis Fowl.’

Artemis frowned, disgruntled. Feeling his way was not how he generally did things. People who felt their way without hard scientific facts generally wound up broke or dead. But what choice did he have?

It was easier for Holly. Magic had always been a part of her life. It had been her minor in college and all LEP officers had to take regular in-service courses. In seconds her eyes were clouded with blue sparks and her inner magic had added a blue ring to the pulsing circles around them.

Visualize it, thought Artemis. See where you want to go, or rather when you want to arrive.

He tried, but even though the magic was in him, it was not of him. The fairies were lost in the spell casting, but Artemis Fowl could only gaze at the huge bomb at their feet, and marvel that they were waiting for it to explode.

A bit late for doubts now. After all, the whole ‘harness the bomb’s power’ notion was your idea.

It was true he had conjured a few sparks earlier. But that was different; he had done it without thinking. The sparks had been a flourish to make his point. Here, his magic could be what kept everyone on this island alive.

Artemis studied each member of the circle in turn. Qwan and No.l vibrated with unnatural speed. Their eyes were blue, and markings spun on their foreheads like mini-cyclones. Holly’s magic vented through her fingers, coating her hand in an almost liquid blue light. Abbot, of course, was unconscious, but his horns glowed blue and continuous streams of sparks shot from them, cascading over the group like a rock band’s special effect. In fact, this entire episode would not look out of place in a music video.

Around them, the island was suffering its own trauma. The time tunnel’s continued meltdown snatched up increasingly larger plots, whisking them off to other dimensions. The crackling hoops of power round them fused to form a magical hemisphere. It was not perfect though — gaps flowed across its surface, threatening the integrity of the entire structure.

I’m the problem, thought Artemis. I am not contributing.

Artemis felt himself on the verge of panic. Whenever this feeling claimed him, he ordered his mind to change gear and slip into a meditative mood. He did this now, feeling his heart slow and the impossible craziness around him slip away.

He concentrated on one thing. Holly’s hand in his. Clutching his fingers with life and energy. Holly’s fingers twitched, sending magical tendrils along Artemis’s arm. In his relaxed state, he was receptive, and her magic sparked his own, drawing it from his brain. He felt the magic ignite in his nerve endings, filling him up, elevating his consciousness to another place. It was a euphoric experience. Artemis realized there were sections of his brain opening up that hadn’t been used by humans for millennia. He also realized that humans must have had their own magic once, but had forgotten how to use it.

Ready? asked Qwan, but not aloud. They were sharing consciousness now, as they had been in the tunnel. But this was a clearer experience, like digital compared to radio waves.

Ready, replied the others, thought waves overlapping in a kind of mental harmony. But there was disharmony too, and struggle.

It’s not enough, thought Qwan. I can’t seal the hemisphere. I need more from Abbot.

The others pushed as hard as they could, but none of them had any more magic to give. Abbot would kill them all in his sleep.

Hello? Who’s there? said a new voice, which was something you don’t expect in a closed magic circle, even if it is your first one.

Along with the voice came a series of memories. Great battles, betrayal and a plunge into a fiery volcano.

Qweffor? said Qwan. Is that you, boy?

Qwan? Can it be you? Are you trapped here too?

Qweffor. The apprentice hauled into the volcano by Abbot back on Earth. Qwan instantly understood what must have happened.

No. We’re in the magic circle once more. I need your power. Now!

Oh gods, Master Qwan. It’s been so long. You wouldn’t believe what this demon eats.

Power, Qweffor! Now! We can talk at the other end.

Oh, OK. Sorry. Nice to hear a warlock’s thoughts again. After so long, I thought — Power!

Sorry. On the way.

Moments later a strong pulse of power hummed through the circle. The magical hemisphere sealed, becoming a solid shield of light. Qwan redirected a small chunk of magic down to encircle the bomb itself. A high-pitched whistle emanated from the little golden sphere.

High C, thought Artemis absently.

Focus! admonished Qwan. Take us to your time.

Artemis focused on the important things he had left behind, and realized that they were all people. Mother, Father, Butler, Foaly and Mulch. Possessions that he had believed important, now meant nothing. Except maybe his collection of Impressionist art.

Leave out the art, Artemis, warned Holly. Or we’ll end up in the twentieth century.

Nineteenth, replied Artemis. But I take your point.

It may seem that all this bickering was a waste of valuable time, but it took place instantaneously. A million multi-sensory messages were exchanged along magical pathways, which made fibre-optic cables look about as efficient as two cans and a piece of string. Memories, opinions and secrets were laid bare for all to see.

Interesting, noted Artemis. If I could recreate this, I could revolutionize the communications business.

You were a statue? said Qweffor. Am I reading this right?

At the circle’s centre, the bomb’s timer was clicking towards zero. In a single second, the timer swept through the final hour on the clock. When the timer hit zero, a charge was sent to various detonators, including three dummies, to a block of plastic explosive the size of a small television set.

Here it comes, sent Qwan.

The bomb exploded, transforming the casing from a metal box into a million supersonic darts. The inner shield stopped the darts dead, but absorbed their kinetic energy, adding it to the outer shield.

I saw that, thought Artemis, impressed. Very clever.

And he had seen it somehow. Some kind of lateral vision that allowed everyone to view events at their own pace, and from whatever point of view they preferred. It also allowed his mind to concentrate fully on his home time, while also appreciating the spectacle. Artemis decided to move his third eye outside the circle. Whatever happened to this island was certain to be pretty spectacular.

The explosion released the power of an electrical storm into a space the size of a four-man tent. Everything inside the space should have been vaporized but the flame and shock waves were contained by the small golden sphere. They roiled about in there, punching through in several places. Wherever this happened, the errant force was attracted to the blue rings of power and stuck to them like flashes of cloud-to-ground lightning.

Artemis watched some of these flashes shoot straight through his body and out the other side. But he was not injured; on the contrary, he felt energized, stronger.

Qwan’s spell is keeping me safe, he thought. It’s simple physics — energy cannot be destroyed, so he’s converting it to another form: magic.

It was a spectacular sight. The bomb’s energy fuelled the magic inside the circle, until the rolling orange flames were tamed by blue ones. Gradually the bomb’s power was consumed and transformed by sorcery. The rings glowed with a blinding blue light, and the figures inside the circle seemed to be composed from pure power. They shimmered insubstantially as the reverse time spell took hold of them.

Suddenly the blue rings pulsed, injecting a shock wave of magic into the island itself. Transparency spread like water on the surface and below. Pulse followed pulse until the transparency spread beyond the crater. To the demons in their village, it must have seemed like the volcano was being eaten by the magic. The nothingness spread with each pulse, leaving only shimmering golden sparks where solid land was moments before.

The dematerialization reached the shore, and beyond to the ten metres of ocean carried here with the island. Soon, there was nothing left but the circle of magic, floating blue in the red rippled space of Limbo.

Qwan reached out to them.

Concentrate now. Artemis and Holly, take us home.

Artemis squeezed Holly’s hand tightly. This was as close as they could ever be. Their minds were one.

Artemis turned and stared at his friend with blue eyes. Holly was staring back, and she was smiling.

‘I remember,’ she said aloud. ‘You saved me.’

Artemis smiled back. ‘It never happened,’ he said.

And then their minds and bodies were split right down to subatomic level and whisked across galaxies and millennia.

Space and time did not have any recognizable form. It was not like flying in a balloon over a timeline and saying, ‘Look, there’s the twenty-first century. Take us down there.’

Everything was impressions and feelings. Artemis had to shut out the desires of the hundreds of demons around him and concentrate on his own internal compass. His mind would feel a longing for its own natural time, and he would just have to follow it.

The longing felt vaguely like a light warming his mind when he turned in its direction.

Good, thought Qwan. Head towards the light.

Is that a joke? Artemis asked.

No, replied Qwan. I don’t make jokes when there are hundreds of lives in the balance.

Good policy, thought Artemis, and turned towards the light.

Holly was concentrating on where to land the island. She was finding this incredibly easy. She had always treasured her above-ground memories, and now could call them up with amazing clarity. She remembered a school tour to the site where Hybras had been. In her mind’s eye, she could see the undulating beach, gold and shining in the summer sunlight. She could see the blue-grey glint on a dolphin’s back as it breached the waves to greet its fairy visitors. She could see the silver-flecked blackness of the water in what humans called Saint George’s Channel. The light of all these memories warmed her face.

Good, sent Qwan. Move . . .

I know. Move towards the light.

Artemis was trying to put this experience into words, for his diary. But he was finding it difficult — a novel experience for him.

I think I’ll just concentrate on finding my own time, he thought.

Good idea, thought Qwan.

So you turned yourself into a statue? That was Qweffor again, dying to catch up.

Oh, for heaven’s sake, grumbled Qwan. See for yourself. And he sent the relevant memories across to his old apprentice.

Everyone in the tunnel was treated to a cinematic rendering of the initial creation of the time tunnel, ten thousand years ago.

In their minds’ eye, seven warlocks hovered above the very mouth of an active volcano, protected from the heat by a magical circle. This was an altogether more impressive affair than the improvised magic circle Artemis had previously witnessed. These warlocks were a confident, impressive crowd, swathed in elaborate robes. Their magical circle was actually a sphere of multicoloured light. What’s more they did not need to get their boots dirty in the ash — they hovered seven metres above the volcano mouth. Chanting in deep bass tones, they poured bolt after bolt of magic into the magma until it began bubbling and convulsing. As the warlocks concentrated on inducing the volcano, Abbot and his partner Bludwin crept out from behind a rocky outcrop further up. And even though demon hides can endure great heat, both were sweating profusely.

With barely a pause to realize how moronic and shortsighted their plan was, the saboteurs leaped from the outcrop down towards the circle below. Bludwin, who was blessed with the twin gifts of idiocy and misfortune, missed every warlock in the circle and plunged flailing into the hissing lava. His body slightly raised the temperature of the surface lava, not significantly, but enough to taint the spell. Abbot connected with Qweffor, dragging him out of the circle and to the lip of the volcano. Abbot’s hide immediately began steaming, and poor Qweffor, still in a magical stupor, was as helpless as a newborn under his weight.

All of this happened at the worst possible time. The spell was loose in the volcano now, and the warlocks could no more stop it than a mouse could hold back the sea.

A magically enhanced pillar of solid lava spewed red, orange and magnificent from the volcano, straight into the inverted cauldron of blue magic. Grimacing and in obvious distress, the warlocks converted the molten rock into pure power, pumping the energy back into the ground.

Abbot and Qweffor were caught simultaneously by the lava and the magical backwash. Qweffor, already in an insubstantial magical state, collapsed into a body-shaped cluster of stars, which were then absorbed into Abbot’s body. Abbot twisted in agony, tearing at his own skin for a brief moment, then he was smothered in a deluge of magic and disappeared.

The warlocks maintained the spell for as long as they could, until most of the island had been transported to another dimension. But the lava kept coming from deep beneath the earth, and with the circle broken, they could not contain its savage might. It swatted them aside like a bear would swat annoying insects.

The stricken warlocks spiralled through the air in a rough line, smoke trailing behind them from their flaming robes. Their island was gone, their magic was spent and the ocean below was ready to crush their bones. There was only one chance for survival. Qwan called on his last sparks of magic and cast a gargoyle spell. The most basic of all warlock talents. In mid-air, the warlocks were petrified, and they fell in a tumbling line into the bubbling ocean far below. One died instantly when his head snapped off, two more lost arms and legs, and shock killed the rest. All except Qwan, who had known what was coming. They sank to the bottom of Saint George’s Channel, where they would shelter generations of spider crabs for several thousand years.

For several thousand years, thought Qweffor. Maybe being stuck inside Abbot wasn’t so bad.

Where is Abbot now? asked Artemis.

He’s inside me, replied the apprentice. Trying to get out.

Good, thought Qwan. I want a word with him.