Warriors of the Realm

By Hannah Ross

Septimus Swift is not a normal boy. He is a possessor of the Sight, a trait he considers to be more a burden than a gift. Now, however, this extraordinary quality might be his only chance to save his best friend’s sister from mortal illness. Like his father Nicholas had done two decades before, Septimus finds himself crossing the border between the mundane and the magical as the Gates to the Other World open once more.

Meanwhile, the saga of Tilir continues. Savages threaten the stability of the realm, the king is facing pressure from allies across the sea, and a group of rebels stirs the kettle to make sure the proceedings don’t end with a peaceful outcome. Throw some intrigue and backstabbing into the mix, and you’ve got the makings of disaster. What will happen to Septimus when he is thrust headfirst into this mysterious foreign world?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hannah Ross
• Release date: Mar 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463230251

Book preview

Chapter 1

Septimus stared beyond the edge of the field, where the familiar house loomed in the distance. The end of summer was nearing, but the air was still filled with warm, sweet smells, grass and honeysuckle and late blossoms. He could faintly hear the buzzing of bees, slow and lazy in the golden afternoon, calling to stretch out on the grass and relax. He could do that soon, he thought to himself and smiled. Relaxing, after all, was what he did most of the time while visiting the house of Mr. and Mrs. Pennyfeather, the parents of his best friend Alan.

He lifted up his small suitcase and set off in a walk towards the small red brick house where he had known so many happy hours and days in his seventeen summers. He knew the Pennyfeathers were already expecting him, so he tried to walk swiftly, overcoming the languor that threatened to creep over him with the sunlight on the back of his neck and the air so still.

When Septimus made his way up the garden path and towards the dark oak front door, he intended to ring the bell, but Alan was already there to greet him, smiling from ear to ear. Septimus put his suitcase down on the floor, and the two boys grasped hands.

Hey, Sep, said Alan, I thought you would be here earlier.

Was held up at the train station, explained Septimus, someone thought something was wrong with my ticket; they had to double-check it at the exit.

Alan was of an age with Septimus. The two boys went to school together, and next year would be their final. After several years of sharing more than their dormitory – of sharing their secrets, their pains and sorrows and triumphs, the challenges and victories of boyhood – they were more than friends… more like brothers, in fact. They have known each other their entire lives – Septimus's father, Professor Swift, who was now the headmaster of their school, used to teach Alan's father back in his day. The teacher-student relationship blossomed into true friendship in the years that followed. Professor Swift married late and Mr. Pennyfeather early, and the Swift children were close in age to those of the Pennyfeathers. Anna Swift was three years older than her younger brother and his best friend, and Lillian Pennyfeather was two years younger than her brother Alan.

It seems you have grown over the summer, Al, remarked Septimus, "wait, yes, you have – how are you doing this? I think you must be at two inches taller than me now."

Alan Pennyfeather and Septimus Swift even looked a little alike. Both were small and skinny as boys, and grew rather tall and lean as they got older. Both had the same smooth, raven-black hair, though Septimus always left his a little longer, and thin, slightly pale faces. But where Alan's nose was small and straight, heritage of the pretty Mrs. Pennyfeather, Septimus had inherited the beaked nose of Professor Swift, and his black eyes. Alan's eyes were green, like his father's.

Come, said Alan, it's nearly tea time, I must tell Mum you're here. She's been fussing since morning, preparing the guest room for you.

She needn't have bothered, said Septimus, shaking his head, I could share your room, couldn't I? We're used to that.

I told her as much, said Alan, but she only shrugged me off and told me to go and fetch some clean sheets for you. When I said I don't have the faintest idea where they might be, she told me to go and tell Lily to do that.

When the two friends entered the hall, they were welcomed by Mrs. Pennyfeather, who rushed forward, all smiles, wiping her hands on her polka-dotted apron.

Septimus, dear boy! How wonderful to see you! Hope you had a smooth trip here. And how are Mr. and Mrs. Swift? Any news?

Nothing special, Mrs. Pennyfeather. There is, of course, Anna's upcoming wedding next summer, but I'm sure my mother already told you all about it.

Yes, yes, said Mrs. Pennyfeather, beaming at him. We were all so thrilled for dear Anna when we heard, I don't remember when I last saw Lily this excited. And John seems to be such a nice young man… they are so well-suited… well, I am sure your parents are absolutely delighted.

Mrs. Pennyfeather continued merrily in this venue for some minutes, but something was not quite the same. A sharp, attentive look on Septimus's part told him that both his best friend and his mother were wearing small frowns underneath the welcoming smiles they bestowed on him. He found this strange. Yes, Mrs. Pennyfeather seemed more tired than usual when he thought about it. He wanted to ask whether everything was alright, but somehow couldn't muster the words.

Well, said Mrs. Pennyfeather, clapping her hands together, I have a pie in the oven, so do excuse me, boys. Tea will be served in about an hour.

And, waving at them both, she hoisted her apron more tightly about her waist and hurried off into the kitchen.

We could come up to my room while we're waiting, suggested Alan, unless… I suppose you want to go and say hello to Lily? She's in the garden.

Septimus noticed that there was a certain knowing look on Alan's face as he said those last words, and a faint blush crept over his pale cheeks. They never talked about the subject, but Septimus knew, of course, that there is no way he can hide it from Alan for very long.

Sep didn't remember a time when Lillian Pennyfeather was not present in his life. He was only two years old when he first met her, after all, and she had just been born. As children, they played together from the time she was still too young to pronounce his last name properly, and called him instead Sep the Sweet, a nickname that Alan still jokingly stuck at him whenever he was in the mood. When she grew up a bit, Lily became shy in his presence, though for several years, at least until she started attending school along with the two boys, Septimus couldn't figure out why. Not that it mattered; Lily was his best friend's sister, and he would always look out for her like another brother, wouldn't he?

He didn't quite know exactly when these older-brotherly feelings gave way to something completely different, but now he was about to approach Lily with tremor in his heart. She was no longer the ten-year-old girl who blushed whenever they exchanged a simple hello. At fifteen years old, she was the very picture of loveliness, and Septimus was fully aware of the fact that next year in school was about to be their last year together. After next summer, their ways would part – unless he was prepared to do something about it. And he knew he just had to try.

Go on, Alan urged him, she'll be down by the pond. You know the way.

Septimus looked at him uncertainly. Al, he started, is everything alright?

Alan smiled at him, but his smile was somewhat strained. I think you had better talk to Lily, he replied.

When Septimus stepped back into the garden, he felt his heart fluttering against his ribs. Soon, he saw the overgrowth of trees and bushes that surrounded the pond, and Lily's slender back and the waves of dark red hair that tumbled down her shoulders. She was wearing a pale blue dress. The light sandals which she had chosen for the warm summer day were lying by her side in the tall grass.

Lily heard his steps behind her; she turned back and smiled, obviously happy at the sight of him; however, Septimus also noticed the dark circles under her eyes, and the unusual pallor of her face. She was cooling her feet in the shallow waters of the pond, and beckoned him to sit next to her. Obligingly, Septimus pulled off his shoes and socks and immersed his feet in the water, alarming a flock of little fish that took refuge, swimming quickly away from his toes.

Hi, Sep, said Lily, I'm glad you could come. Al told me you might not make it here this summer.

It's great to be here, nodded Septimus, of course, I would have seen you on the school train anyway –

He was startled to see Lily shaking her head, and even more startled to hear what she said next.

I'm not going back to school.

Septimus gaped at her. Was this some kind of weird joke? Brilliant, pretty and popular Lillian Pennyfeather, the star of her year, the model student, not going back to school?

What – what do you mean, Lily?

Her warm brown eyes found his, and it was obvious to him she hadn't slept in days. I'm ill, Sep.

Relief swept over him.

Oh – well, even if you aren't able to come back at the start of term, I'm sure it will only take a few more days and then you can take another train and –

With an ominous feeling, he saw her shaking her head.

You don't understand, Sep. I didn't mean I'm not coming back with you and Al. I meant I'm never coming back. At all.

Septimus looked at her, knowing at once this is something much more serious than he had imagined. Please explain, he asked. All kinds of horrible thoughts of all the terrible illnesses he had ever heard of swirled in his brain, and he did his best to push these thoughts away, so as not to give way to premature panic.

For a few moments, she hesitated, not knowing where to begin.

It all started a few weeks ago, she finally said, when Mum and Dad and Al and I went camping in that forest – well, you must know it, we went there loads of times when we were kids, with my parents and yours. The one a little south from here.

She paused, as though it was difficult for her to continue.

Yes, nodded Sep, prompting her to speak. She was silent for a long time.

I was bitten, she finally said.

Bitten? repeated Septimus, raising his eyebrows. What bit you?

I never saw. The bite wasn't painful, I didn't even pay attention to it until later, but…

Oh, I get it. It must have been some sort of animal, and you got an infection –

That's what my parents and Al told me at first, said Lily, but I knew straight away it's different. I was bitten in my sleep, and when I woke, I – I didn't feel right. I haven't felt right ever since, Sep. Especially at night. And I – I couldn't eat. I was hungry, and I tried to eat, but I simply couldn't keep anything down but water. It appeared I was about to die of starvation, the rate things kept going. Three days after we came back, Dad asked your father to come to our house.

Septimus found it hard to contain his surprise.

My Dad? He – he was here earlier in the summer? I didn't know, he never told me… and why would you want to talk to him? He's an historian, not a doctor…

Professor Swift, Septimus's father, was an expert on medieval history, and apart from his position as the school headmaster, gave guest lectures on folklore tales in universities up and down the country.

Of course he hasn't told you, said Lily, ignoring his last comment, we asked him not to, at least not then, even though I knew I would like to tell you eventually.

Tell me what? asked Septimus.

Your father told my mother to give me fresh chicken blood, said Lily in a tone of forced calm, though she couldn't keep a quiver out of her voice.

Septimus looked at her, not knowing whether he is supposed to laugh. Lily's face, however, was deadly serious, an expression that instantly became mirrored on his own face.

Chicken blood? he repeated, not knowing what else to say. Why would you want chicken blood?

To drink it, said Lily.

He looked at her as though he didn't know whether he ought to believe his ears, whether this isn't some sort of very unfortunate joke. "To drink it?"

I felt better when I did, said Lily.

All of a sudden, Septimus thought he knew where this was going, but this was so ludicrous, so unbelievable, surely she couldn't mean…

I'm a vampire, Septimus, she finally said and burst into tears. She cried for a long time, while he started into space, dumbstruck, not knowing what to say. When she finally looked at him again, her face was glazed with tears, and something painful was obscuring Septimus's throat.

A vampire. Hoping against hope, he wondered whether this cannot be some kind of grotesque prank. He knew his father was deadly serious about different sorts of medieval tales, and often pointed out to his wife and children how many things in the folklore could not be satisfactorily explained by modern science. And then there was this experience his father had many years ago, the evidence he presented to Septimus when he first told him about it – but it didn't matter right now, not when Lily –

This cannot be, he shook his head. This… Lily, I can't believe this, there must be some other explanation…

I said so too, at first, Lily told him, I told Professor Swift I can't believe something so – so far-fetched. But the fact remained that I had all the symptoms he told me vampires have, and even though now I can eat, you know, normal food, my hunger and thirst can't be really quenched by anything other than blood.

So what is going to happen now? asked Septimus in a hushed voice, finally realizing this isn't a joke.

Well, obviously, I won't go back to school, said Lily in a matter-of-fact voice, and from how she said it, Septimus knew she probably recited it numerous times as she prepared to tell him, I will always feel the need for fresh blood, I would be a danger to the other students. So I'm going to stay home.

But… Septimus's voice trailed off as he realized, with a horrible sinking feeling, that she is right – if – if this unbelievable hypothesis is correct. "Alright, forget about school. What is going to happen to you, Lily? Is there no cure?"

There is no cure that we know of, said Lily, though Professor Swift promised he would put his best efforts into searching old scrolls and books, our hopes aren't high. We know, however, that I can be kept alive and well by drinking very fresh human blood. I refused to do that, of course, she hastily added when Septimus looked at her in horror, I will never harm others, even if it means I'm going to die.

Septimus felt as though a bolt of lightning went through his body, pinning him to the place where he sat and not letting him move.

Die? his voice nearly faltered, But – but you just said you can drink chicken blood –

Now Lily looked away, her brown eyes fixed on a spot somewhere between the treetops on the other side of the pond, instead of meeting Septimus's searching gaze.

As Professor Swift explained, chickens' blood will keep me well and healthy for a while, she said, but it can't sustain me endlessly. Sometime, he cannot tell when, there will come a point when I must either drink the fresh blood of another human, or die. And I would choose death, rather than to kill someone else or turn them into a vampire like me, she said humbly, and Septimus felt a rush of fierce pride.

You will not die, he told her, I won't go back to school either. I will look for something to help you and I'll find a cure, I – I will keep you alive, with my own blood if I must.

Lily's hand found his, and he pressed his lips to her pale brow. The summer air was warm around them, but he felt a chill creep down his spine. He knew now that his year of coming of age was going to be vastly different from what he had planned.

Septimus and Lily heard steps behind them, and turned to look. It was Mrs. Pennyfeather. She was approaching them with a smile, but her face was pale, almost like her daughter's; and though she didn't say anything out of the ordinary, Septimus knew that she knew, that all of them knew – the ordinary for Lily – for them – was over.

There you are, Lily, Septimus, she said, You'd better come up to the dining room, dears. Tea is ready.

All in all, it was a very quiet tea, even though Mr. and Mrs. Pennyfeather made a few attempts at everyday conversation. It was obvious to everyone involved that Lily's secret is now shared among them, but none dared to say a word about it. Al, Lily and Septimus remained mostly silent, staring into their plates. Mrs. Pennyfeather’s strawberry tart, however, was gone in a surprisingly short time. Mrs. Pennyfeather was the best cook Septimus knew, though of course she always good-naturedly gave up this place of honor in favor of Mrs. Swift.

After tea was over, Mr. Pennyfeather retreated back to his study, Lily stayed behind to help Mrs. Pennyfeather clear the table, and Alan and Septimus made their way upstairs to Alan's room. It was cramped but cozy, with a bed, a closet and a desk squashed tightly between the wall and the window. The walls were plastered with posters of Al's favorite rock bands, and his possessions were scattered around the room, littering the floor, the desk, and the bed, which was haphazardly covered. Septimus was not surprised to see that Alan hadn't packed his school things; nor was he surprised to hear his friend's solemn declaration.

I'm not going back to school, said Al, his jaw set.

Septimus nodded grimly. I thought so, Al, he said, Do you have a plan?

Alan shrugged. Yes. No. Not really, I guess. I'm going to see your father once more, Sep, find out all I can about vampires. If it turns out he cannot help me, I'll go to Bulgaria. According to Professor Swift, Bulgarian villagers have the most recent recorded claims of vampire sightings. Perhaps I can find some sort of trail, something I can do for Lily. Maybe I'll succeed, maybe I won't, but one thing is certain – there is no way I can go back to school when I know that she – that she might –

The words stopped on their way out of Alan's mouth, and he made a queer gurgling noise. Then he hastily looked away, hiding his tears. Septimus made a point to stare at a bookshelf by Al's window. He still couldn't believe they were seriously discussing vampires. The entire thing sounded like a bizarre nightmare, yet deep in his heart, he knew he won't wake from it.

You won't do this alone, Al, he said, Wherever you are going, I'm coming with you. You… you know what Lily means to me. She was always like a sister to me, and… I couldn't rest until we've tried all we can possibly think of.

Al looked up at him, his green eyes still brimming with tears. Simultaneously, the two boys stepped forward and embraced. Brothers. More than brothers.

Chapter 2

Septimus stayed with the Pennyfeathers for several days, and even though Mr. and Mrs. Pennyfeather were as cordial as usual, even though he, Al and Lily spent their days as they normally would during the summer, lazing around, reading books, stretching out beneath trees in the garden and walking through the sunny fields surrounding the Pennyfeathers' cottage, this was not a summer like they ever had before. A dark shadow loomed over the three of them, and in a way, Sep was relieved when it was time to go home and announce to his parents that he and Al were about to embark on a year quite different from what was planned.

He scarcely remembered the train ride back home; it passed like a single moment, so immersed he was in his own thoughts. As determined as he and Al were to set out on a journey and find a cure for Lily, Sep had to admit he had not the faintest idea how they were to accomplish this. Any common illness would have been easier, he thought desperately, anything that can be explained by modern medicine, anything… normal. But this? How on earth were they supposed to figure out a cure for someone who was turned into a vampire?

At home, he was welcomed by his mother and the smells of her cooking, soup fragrant with herbs and the delicious aroma of roast beef. Professor Swift was out in town, and Anna was spending the last week of summer with the family of her fiancé, John.

Sep, Mrs. Swift smiled as he bent to give her a quick peck on the cheek, come in, dear. Your father will be here soon.

Despite the heat of the day, Mrs. Swift was, as always, the picture of immaculate elegance. A woman in her mid-forties, she looked at least ten years younger than she really was. She wore shoes with sleek pointed heels, and pearl earrings adorned her ears. Her hair was neatly pulled into a knot at the base of her neck. Silver threads already loomed in her soft chestnut locks and there were some feathery markings around her eyes, but her figure was as shapely and her eyes as astonishingly blue as they were over twenty years ago, when she first captured the heart of Professor Swift, a sworn bachelor nearing his fortieth birthday.

When Septimus became old enough to understand this, he marveled at what an unlikely match his parents were. Back in the day when they met, his father was widely known as the sullen, anti-social type, wary of people in general and women in particular. His mother was a young, lively beauty, scarcely twenty-five, a lover of music, dancing, fine dress and good company. If one thought about it, it was difficult to imagine two people less likely to end up married, yet their union was a surprisingly harmonious one. Professor Swift was softened and mellowed by his wife's liveliness and warmth of heart, and she in turn was made happy by his devotion to her. Gradually, over the years, she caused him to quit his solitude, and now the Swifts often hosted dinner parties and barbecues. Mrs. Swift also played a big part in forging the friendship between Professor Swift and Mr. Pennyfeather, thanks to which Septimus and Alan grew up the best of friends.

Septimus didn't say a word about his visit with the Pennyfeathers until they were nearing the end of dinner, but as his mother served them homemade blackberry ice cream, he could not keep it to himself any longer.

I spoke to Lily, he told his mother and father, she told me everything. But I… he looked at his father, hoping against hope it was some kind of mistake after all. I don't understand, he finally burst out. "A vampire? How could it be?"

I'm afraid there is no place for doubt, Sep, his father said gravely.

But Dad, paused Septimus, "vampires do not exist." He spoke forcefully, willing it to be so.

Professor Swift raised one black eyebrow. Indeed? How do you know that?

Everyone knows that, Septimus said stubbornly, Lily told me all about drinking chicken blood, and it sounds creepy, but it must be some – some coincidence, or… there must be an explanation! he burst out angrily, but his father took no offense. Professor Swift was quite calm.

For many centuries, people didn't believe that the earth revolves around the sun, or that our blood is composed of billions of tiny particles, he said, they didn't believe there are lands beyond Gibraltar, or that man will ever set foot on the moon. There's a great deal of things in our world, Sep, that cannot be satisfactorily explained, yet this is no reason to deny their existence.

Then how would you explain what is happening to Lily? demanded Septimus. His father sighed, as if he had expected this question, and feared it.

I'm afraid I have no satisfactory explanation, he said. I will investigate the matter further, as much as I can, but so far I have told the Pennyfeathers all I know… and you have heard it from Lillian herself, I am sure.

Sep took a deep breath. Al and I are going to do whatever we can to help her, Dad. We're not going back to school. We're going to set out and find a cure.

His mother and father exchanged nervous glances.

Sep, his mother started bracingly, but he cut across her.

Nothing you can say will change my mind, Mum –

Say something, Nicholas, said Mrs. Swift, turning to her husband instead.

Septimus, said Professor Swift.

I must, Dad, don't you see? I must do it, Al's going and there's no way I can let him do this on his own.

Let's go to the library, son, said Professor Swift, getting up, Cathy, I'm sorry, but I think it would be better if you put this back in the freezer. I wouldn't want your excellent ice-cream to go to waste.

Mrs. Swift nodded and rose to her feet, bustling with the serving dishes and plates, preparing to clear the table. Reluctantly, seeing that he has no choice, Sep got up to his feet, too, and followed his father.

The Swifts' library, which also served as Professor Swift's working space, was a vast, handsome room, with hundreds of rows of bookshelves covered entirely in volumes of many shapes and sizes, a large part of them historical works in English, French, German, Italian and Spanish. Professor Swift could fluently read, write and speak in all these languages, and a few more, and could besiege a guest for over an hour with an improvised lecture regarding the linguistic differences between Occitan and Catalan or Ligurian and Piedmontese. Apart from the bookshelves, there was also a rather cluttered desk of polished dark oak with a portable computer buried somewhere underneath all the files and scripts and scrolls, and a handsome fireplace which had remained without use all summer.

Professor Swift took a seat behind his desk and beckoned for Sep to sit in one of the leather armchairs. Septimus obeyed, not after throwing his father a defiant look, his black eyes boring into the pair that was so like his own.

I already know what you're going to say, Dad, began Septimus.

Professor Swift cocked his head.

Do you really? He asked, sounding cool and composed. Sep ignored this interjection and went on.

I'm the headmaster's son, I did so brilliantly in school until now, it would be such a shame to drop out in my final year… but Dad, his voice suddenly sounded different, not defiant but imploring, I can always complete my diploma later, but Lily – Lily cannot wait. Al and I, we've got to try and do something for her. I will never be able to forgive myself if she – you don't know what she means to me – whatever you say, I'm not going back to school, Dad, and even if we don't know exactly what we are going to do, we must –

Professor Swift looked tired, and older than his sixty years, as he shook his head and said:

I'm not saying you're going back to school this year, Sep.

Septimus gaped at his father, astonished at such unexpected compliance.

You're not? he repeated.

No, confirmed Professor Swift.

In that case… started Septimus, but his father cut across him.

I don't think, however, that you will be able to join Alan.

Septimus looked at him, dumbstruck. What was the meaning of this?

Please explain, he finally said.

For a few moments, his father remained silent, as though weighing every word.

I received a message, he finally said, from Tilir.

Tilir. The mere sound of this word put Lily's woes from Septimus's mind for a moment. Tilir, the subject of childhood tales. The enchanted land where dragon-shaped ships sailed across the golden sea, where warlocks still lived up in the mountains, practicing the darkest sorcery, where giants roamed the sandy realms on the maps hand-scribed by his father. The land he claimed to have visited once, many years ago, on a mission he would fully retell to no one, having sworn to secrecy. While Septimus was a child, it was easy to believe in Tilir, but it wasn't long before he started doubting. His father, after all, was a professor of medieval history, which meant (at least in Sep and Anna's eyes) that he had his head somewhere up in the clouds, refusing to come back to earth most of the time. However, the artifacts he showed to Septimus were… there could be no doubt they belonged to a foreign civilization, at least. And when Sep put his best efforts in trying to identify them as the makings of an earthly ancient culture, he failed. The carved tools and jewels presented to him by his father were clearly not Roman or Greek, or Phoenician or Hebrew, or Chinese, or Indian. Even more mysteriously, they were not ancient; yet they were able to withstand every theory of tricky forgery, after which Septimus was forced to admit there must be at least a grain of truth in his father's bizarre tale.

You will be surprised to know how many bizarre tales actually have a basis in truth, Septimus, his father said to him back then, take, for example, the Golem from Prague.

But that's a medieval myth, Septimus almost laughed out loud, everyone knows that.

A myth? His father raised an eyebrow, as he was apt to do, this occurrence was recorded by Jewish learners of the time in a most detailed way. And we know how accurate Jews always were with their records.

Still, even the Golem from Prague didn't sound as unbelievable as Professor Swift's supposed secret journey to Tilir, an enchanted trip beyond the realm of space and time.

You received a message from Tilir? repeated Septimus, privately thinking how silly this sounds.

Yes, Professor Swift repeated firmly.

Well, I expect the post office is working well, then, said Septimus, his voice ironic.

His father glared at him.

If you really want to know, he said waspishly, we are to have a guest from there, and as a matter of fact, he glanced at his watch, he should be here any moment now.

Before Septimus could reply, there was a knock on the door, and the troubled voice of Mrs. Swift could be heard on the other side:

Nicholas? Someone has come to see you.

Yes, yes, Cathy, send him in, Professor Swift called back, and told Septimus in an undertone, This must be him.

Mrs. Swift opened the door with a trembling hand, and a man like nobody Septimus has ever met before slouched in. He was tall and very thin; he wore a long, ragged grey cloak with a hood that was thrown back. He had dull red hair, a very freckled face and kind, feather-lined blue-grey eyes.

Good evening to you, sirs and lady, he said.

Good evening, said Professor Swift, getting up, I take it that it is you whom we have been awaiting.

The man nodded.

In that case, you weren't delayed, said Professor Swift, all to the better.

Trust me, good sir, I share your sentiments more fully than you can possibly imagine. I have done all in my power to come to you in time.

Would you like anything to drink? Asked Mrs. Swift, her complexion serene, though to Sep it was plain that his mother must feel a mixture of suspicion and incredulity. A cup of tea? Or something stronger? It is just the right time of day for after-dinner apperitive.

Thank you, my kind lady, said the man. His voice was flavored by a strange accent, though Septimus could not quite pinpoint which. A cup of strong wine would be very welcome. I have traveled from afar.

Mrs. Swift hurried off, and soon came back with a tray bearing a large brandy. The stranger took a careful sip and voiced his approval of the drink, which has been hitherto unfamiliar to him.

His eyes rested on Sep and an expression of utmost delight spread upon his face. Ah, and this must be the young one… Septimus Swift, I believe you are called? he asked politely.

Yes, Septimus said suspiciously, eyeing the strange appearance of the man in front of him, but who are you?

The man made a small, courteous bow.

True, I forgot to introduce myself. That was rather rude of me. Please accept my apologies. My name is Ned Kamtesir of Rhasket-Tharsanae. I am better known, however, as the Paladin.

Septimus stared at him, open-mouthed.

Ned what? He finally managed in a rather weak voice.

The stranger exchanged a glance with Professor Swift, upon which the latter said to his wife:

Cathy, our guest needs to have a private word with Septimus. We'll do them a favor if we retreat to the living room. I'll explain later.

And to Ned's profuse expressions of unbound gratitude, he swept Mrs. Swift out of the library and closed the door behind him, leaving Septimus alone with the strange man, who now cast off his well-worn traveling cloak and was frankly smacking his lips in obvious enjoyment of his brandy. Sep waited.

So, Septimus, Ned Kamtesir finally said, It is an honor and pleasure to finally meet you. We had better sit down; it is obvious many explanations are in order.

Does my father know you? Septimus blurted out.

I have never had the honor of meeting Professor Swift in person before, said Ned, but he knew someone was coming, and as he had been to Tilir once before, it was easy for him to recognize me as the one who was sent to him.

"So you mean there is a Tilir?" Septimus couldn't help but raise an eyebrow just like his father, although he was afraid he sounded rather rude.

Oh, yes, Ned nodded vigorously, though if you ask me to show it to you on a map of your world, I'm afraid I will fail, just as I will fail if someone from my land asks me to point out your lands on our maps. Yet both worlds exist, and the connection between them, though scarce and flitting, has existed since the dawn of time. Both were made by the same Power, and the historical parallels are utterly fascinating, though the stories of those are, perhaps, better saved for another time.

Right, said Sep, not sure what else he ought to say. A mad thought crossed his mind: he is surrounded by a bunch of lunatics and this is all some kind of weird joke. He knew better than to say it, though, and listened to what Ned had to say further.

We are, alas, facing dark and perilous times in our beloved land of Tilir, Ned continued, We are surrounded by many enemies who all seek our failing and subsequent destruction, and I'm afraid there is no escape from a great war which is about to break out, a war that threatens to drown Tilir in a sea of blood.

In its own way, this sounded very impressive, but Septimus couldn't understand what this has to do with him. Instead of asking this, however, he remarked on something entirely different.

Your English is really good, he said.

Oh, this is nothing, Ned waved a dismissive hand, I spent quite a few years in your world, Septimus, and besides, I've always been good with languages. You, however, will be much better in Tilirian than I can ever become in English. You will simply soak it up like a sponge soaks up water.

Will I? Asked Septimus. He wanted to ask a great deal more, but restrained himself.

Most certainly, Ned nodded vigorously, which brings me to the second part of my tale.

He made an impressive pause, then went on.

Although few know this, Septimus, it so happens that many prominent people of your world were actually Tilirians who were chosen to complete a mission beyond the Gates. Ever heard of Hannibal?

Of course, said Septimus, feeling slightly dismayed. He wasn't some kind of dimwit, after all, and his father was a professor of history.

One of our people, said Ned with satisfaction, same as Alexander the Great, Copernicus and Napoleon Bonaparte. They have taken names of your world, of course, because for a reason unknown to me your people usually cannot bear the knowledge of a world beyond their own. In our world, on the contrary, we know of yours, but people aren't in general overwhelmed by curiosity about it. In some instances, however, it is known to us that certain men from your world are chosen to come to ours and help us with what needs to be done.

Which is? Septimus was fascinated with the story even though he was still on his guard regarding this man's sanity.

Protect Tilir, said Ned, and win the war if it's unavoidable. That's the first part. There is, however, also the Quest of the Messenger.

The Quest?..

I notice, Septimus, that you have not asked why people call me the Paladin, remarked Ned.

I thought you might come to telling me yourself, said Septimus, smiling slightly at the strange man for the first time. He was weirdly pompous, but there was something nice about him all the same.

I am called the Paladin, said Ned, because I have dedicated my life to searching for the Messenger.

Slight impatience could now be noticed in his face at the sight of Sep's blank look.

"I can never grow accustomed to how few people in both our worlds have heard of the Messenger. You lot tend to call him the Savior, but in my eyes, that's funny, because he won't necessarily save. Yes, the Message he carries has an enormous potential of putting order in these fallen worlds, but it is not certain he will use it to save. He might destroy as well. And what actually happens depends, at least partly, on us. In fact, I would say that you are to play a significant part in what is to come."

I'm sorry, said Septimus, but I still don't understand what this has to do with me.

In each generation, there is hidden potential for the coming of the Messenger, said the Paladin, though the learned say, in no generation has the potential been as prominent as in our troubled times. He may appear in either world, yours or ours, though his Message will inevitably spread over both worlds. And wherever he comes, the Messenger will require a personal… attendant. His torchbearer, carrier of his armor, call it what you will. But this person will always come from the world parallel to the one where the Messenger appears, and he is going to have a tremendous impact on spreading of the Message and, some dare to say, even what the Message will actually be. It is a great honor to be chosen for such a mission, an honor that, sadly, I cannot hope to acquire any longer, as I am older than twenty years of age – youth and innocence are a necessary part of being the Messenger's squire. I used to hope and pray for it in my youth, even though, I must say, it has been quite silly of me to indulge in such dreams, as I have never possessed the powers required for this mission – the special powers that set apart some people, like you, for example, Septimus.

Finally, an understanding dawned upon Septimus. If only all of this wasn't some sort of prank, he was beginning to comprehend what it was about.

No, he shook his head, I'm very sorry about your country and your quest and all that, but I'm afraid you've marked the wrong person. I can't do this.

The Paladin stared at him incredulously.

My dear boy, do you realize…

Yes, Septimus said firmly, yes, I do. But there is something – something I must do here, in our world, and it won't wait. Someone – someone very important to me – needs my help, and I can't disappoint her.

The Paladin gave Sep a shrewd, calculating look, after which he said:

"And this thing… this thing you need to do… do you think it can be done in your world?"

Something flickered in Septimus's black eyes, and was extinguished.

I'm not sure, he finally whispered, she – she is ill – very ill… and we have got to try and find the cure…

If you aren't sure, Ned said, coming with me and trying to bring about the arrival of the Messenger is your best chance, Septimus. He has powers none can match, powers to solve any problem and cure any disease. If anyone can help in desperate circumstances, it is him.

For a long moment, Septimus remained silent, thinking long and hard. What Ned was saying made sense. Although he and Al were determined to drop out of school to put all their efforts into trying to help Lily, they never discussed what it is, exactly, that they are going to do. If there was a place, though… a place outside the borders of this world, a place where things he could scarcely imagine were possible… it was a chance as thin as straw, but it was perhaps the best he had.

Finally, slowly, he said:

Alright. I'll do it.

Excellent! Ned called out, apparently relieved, Do you think we will be able to set out on the morrow?

No, Septimus shook his head once more, I – I need a couple more days. There is no knowing how long this can take, is there? I can't leave without saying goodbye.

Chapter 3

Professor and Mrs. Swift made a thousand assurances that yes, they are indeed used to having strange guests from far-off lands stay in their homes over a week or two, and Ned gave his profuse thanks when he accepted Anna's vacant room for the time being. All judged it would be better if the strange visitor enjoys the sights of the English countryside as inconspicuously as possible, while Septimus makes his own arrangements.

Once again, Sep made the train journey that covered the distance separating him from Al and Lily, and this time, it felt longer than ever before. Thousands of thoughts were whirring inside his head as the train sped forth, and when he was finally with his friends, it took a long time to explain what he was about to do. He could tell Al is fighting the urge to laugh nervously at his face and declare everything he told to be impossible and downright ridiculous. However, the fact that his own sister was turned into a vampire renderd his friend mute.

You've got to stay, Al, Septimus said firmly when the two of them were alone, "let's