The Figment Wars: Shadows of the Worst

By David R. Lord

Thomas Llewellyn and his cousin Emily have returned to the Realm of Imagination, at the express invitation of Belactacus and the Council of Reality. They have been tasked with finding and defeating a dangerous and powerful young man, a human, just like them. Left to his own devices, he could devastate the world of the Figments. Thomas and Emily must master the powers they discovered on their first visit and use them to stop Magnus.

It seems, however, that the Realm of Imagination is not the same place they remember. Some consider the humans to be most unwelcome, and once again, there are things that Thomas and Emily are not being told. Can they find Magnus and bring him back to the human world? Can they trust the very people they have come to help? The Figment Wars have raged on since the beginning. Now it is time for them to end, one way or another.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Nov 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781398435087

David R. Lord

David Lord is a preschool teacher from South Gloucestershire and an avid science fiction and fantasy fan. He dabbled in fan fiction and small writing projects for years but was encouraged to take on something bigger by several good friends. ‘The Figment Wars' is his first novel.

Book preview

About the Author

David lives in South Gloucestershire with his partner of many years. When he isn’t writing, David works as a supply teacher. Recently, he also began working as an extra/supporting artist for television and film. David is a keen amateur actor, having appeared in several local plays and pantomimes. Shadows of the Worst is his third book and completes the Figment Wars trilogy.

Dedication

To my loving partner Jon, for all his support and for putting up with me disappearing into the box room for hours on end, tapping away at the keyboard. To all my talented and lovely friends in my local amateur theatre group, for welcoming me and helping me rediscover not only my love of performing but my confidence at a time when I needed it most.

Copyright Information ©

David R. Lord 2021

The right of David R. Lord to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398435070 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398435087 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2021

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

I would like to acknowledge and thank everyone at Austin Macauley for their support and hard work over the years in making the Figment Wars trilogy a reality. Thank you to Rob Creer and Ello Dave Media for creating my promotional material.

Prologue

Humans think it remarkably easy to trip over in the dark. You could almost say they take it for granted that it’s so simple. There are beings who would marvel at a feat so remarkable as tripping over in the dark. They would wonder how anyone could do it and might even come to the conclusion that it must require a great deal of practise. The more experienced and cynical of these beings would merely point out that it is clumsiness. The Bogeymen cannot afford to be clumsy. Should they trip and fall from the shadows, they would be stuck. Should they get stuck, they could be caught.

One such Bogeyman was coming close to losing his footing as he flitted through the shadows, sometimes travelling only a few feet, other times crossing miles. He was in a hurry and the large sack over his shoulder was throwing off his balance as he made the leap from one shadow to the next. It was heavy, cumbersome and all in all he didn’t want to be carrying it in the first place.

His low, rasping breaths were even worse than usual due to the haste of his departure. He risked stopping to catch his breath and get his bearings. He staggered, reaching out with one hand in a desperate bid to stop himself falling. His wet, wrinkled fingers found rough bark. A quick glance around told him he was in the shade of a number of trees. The forest. From the safety of the shadow, he squinted with his sunken grey eyes, looking into the distance. He could see the mountains, the setting sun painting the sky a murky red. What passed for his home was beyond those mountains. Once there, he could travel at ease.

He was about to flit again when he felt something tugging at his leg. Looking down, he saw that a small, green creature was clawing at his trousers. It looked up at him, malice in its beady eyes.

‘Wotcha got in the bag, ugly?’ it cackled.

‘Be gone, wretch!’ snarled the Bogeyman, kicking out at the creature. The diminutive pest tumbled backwards and then rolled away, its fat little legs flailing. The Bogeyman flitted away but could have sworn he heard an extremely rude noise before he left.

Two more jumps found him safely at his destination, the Barren Thought Lands. Here he was safe from the paralysing rays of the sun and could move freely. The dark grey rock that made up the ground felt right beneath his bare feet. He took a deep breath, dusty air filling his snot-encrusted nostrils. It was most refreshing after his ordeal. The enemy had almost caught him, and had they done so, they would not have been merciful.

The Bogeyman hitched the heavy sack further up his back and began to walk. He had only taken a few steps when he realised that although he was in the Barren Thought Lands, he was still very far from where he was supposed to be. For a moment, he considered walking the whole way, but that could take hours. Basrig had insisted that he should return as quickly as possible. He resented being ordered about, especially considering who all this grief and effort was in aid of. Still, Basrig was waiting. The Bogeyman sighed and prepared to flit again.

It only took one this time, seeing as how the Barren Thought Lands are bathed in shadows. In the blink of an eye, the Bogeyman found himself surrounded by other Monsters. The camp was beginning to settle down now after the latest retreat, but the Bogeyman still managed to materialise right in the path of an oncoming gargoyle.

‘Watch it!’ growled the winged Monster.

‘Sorry, so sorry!’ rasped the Bogeyman, scrambling to get out of the way and once again nearly losing his balance. He watched as the gargoyle passed on by, drool dripping from its jaws. The Bogeyman noticed that it had a fresh wound on its arm, but naturally said nothing. He was happy to give a Rude a good kick but knew better than to upset a Monster twice his size.

He made his way through the camp with haste, passing by many small groups of Monsters huddled around meagre bonfires. A few glanced at him as he snuck by, one troll with a pig-like face even deigned to grunt at him. He moved swiftly, not wishing to be stopped by anyone until he reached a row of large tents. They were heavily patched and utterly filthy, much like the occupants. When he reached the third one down the row, he went straight in. It was dark inside, naturally, for Bogeymen see through darkness better than any.

‘Is that you, Mud?’ came a deep voice from the back of the tent.

‘Yes, it’s me.’

‘Did you get it?’

‘I was nearly caught by two damn Heroes, but yes, I got it,’ replied Mud testily as he dumped the sack on the ground in the middle of the tent.

A figure emerged from the darkness. Another Bogeyman. He had the sunken eyes that were common to his kind, yet they were a vibrant green. His skin was not quite as slime-drenched as most other Bogeymen, nor was his voice quite as raspy. One thing Mud knew for sure was that Basrig was not like other Bogeymen.

‘You made good time,’ said Basrig as he opened the sack and began to look through the contents. ‘His condition worsens.’

‘Forgive me if I don’t weep for him,’ muttered Mud.

Basrig ignored this, pulling a corked bottle from the sack. He disappeared back to the far end of the tent with it, leaving Mud where he stood. There came the sound of the bottle being opened, and someone taking slow, steady sips. Out of morbid curiosity, Mud found himself rifling through the sack and pulling out another bottle. He turned it in his hands, hearing the contents swirling about inside.

‘How do they drink this foul stuff?’ he asked.

‘They need water to live,’ came Basrig’s terse reply from the darkness.

‘Another of their weaknesses,’ spat Mud.

‘We are paralysed by sunlight, Mud,’ said Basrig, a little more patience in his tone. ‘All things have their weaknesses.’

Finding he had nothing to say to this, Mud replaced the water bottle and glanced at the other supplies he had managed to snatch from the Heroes’ camp. Salted meats. Cheese. A loaf of bread. The very idea of bread made him want to retch. He strolled away from it, kicking at the dirt-strewn ground.

‘Heard from Grum or the others?’ he asked sullenly.

‘Not yet. The Crawlies haven’t reported back,’ replied Basrig.

‘Well, when they do get here, you make sure they know what I went through. Risked life and limb, I did. Barely made it out after being set upon by three Heroes. One of them was wielding a ruddy great sword that was bigger than me.’

‘There were only two of them a moment ago.’

‘It was a stressful situation. I miscounted.’

Suddenly Basrig was back in the middle of the tent, rummaging in the sack once again. Mud could see that the sleeves of Basrig’s grey, torn tunic were rolled up, revealing the scabs on his forearms. He held a damp cloth in one hand. He had actually been nursing the foul little beast. As Basrig stood up, he noted the look of disgust on Mud’s face.

‘You have something to say?’ he asked bluntly.

‘Are you sure he’s worth it?’ Mud blurted out, clearly having wanted to ask this for some time. ‘He’s one of them!’

‘And he’s the best hope we have.’

‘This plan is dangerous, Basrig. The other Monsters are bound to think the same.’

‘They aren’t the ones we need to convince,’ stated Basrig, looking Mud straight in the eye, the green into the grey. ‘If I have to do this alone, then I will, but either way, he needs to be fit to travel.’

‘We were lucky to get him in here without being seen!’ snarled Mud. ‘There are those out there who’d rip him apart if they knew he was here, and us along with him! I ask you again, Basrig, is he worth the risk?’

Just as Basrig was about to answer, there came a low groan from the back of the tent, catching the attention of both Bogeymen. Basrig crossed back to the makeshift bed with great haste, stooping at his patient’s side. Despite his revulsion and his reservations, Mud cautiously edged forward to join him, though he remained standing.

The boy was in bad shape. That much was clear. These were the first noises he’d made since they found him, and he was beginning to stir. Mud presumed these were good signs. Basrig seemed more certain, leaning forward to whisper to their guest.

‘Do not be afraid. You are safe.’ The boy’s eyes began to open slowly, but then they closed again. Mud couldn’t help but wish that he would make up his mind as to whether he was awake or not. Basrig was not discouraged and spoke again.

‘Can you tell me your name?’

The boy’s breathing seemed to become a little steadier. Indeed, he took several breaths before making another noise. These almost sounded like words. Basrig helped him to take a few more sips of water, then the boy managed to finally make himself heard.

‘M-Magnus…my name…is Magnus.’

Chapter 1

Trying to Help

Thomas Llewellyn was moving through the streets of the Impossible City, possessed with grim determination. Most fourteen-year-olds have never known the sense of dire purpose that currently gripped Thomas, but he had felt this way a number of times over the past few months. A crushing sense of responsibility, coupled with a fierce desire to punish someone.

From the moment he had looked through the gaping hole in the wall of the Tower of Realms and seen the devastation below, he had made up his mind. No matter what it took, no matter the cost, he was going to get the one who had done this. He hadn’t been listening while everyone else around him had been talking. The faces of the people dashing around the ruined chamber had been a blur. He could only see one face in his mind.

He recalled speaking up, insisting that they should waste no time in going after Magnus. An argument ensued that Thomas half remembered taking part in. It had ended when Emily had insisted that their first priority was to go and help the wounded down in the streets. She had been right, of course. Magnus had caused a great deal of destruction during his escape and it was certain that many had been injured.

Not wishing to argue further, Thomas had followed Emily, Clark and the others down the immense number of steps in the Tower of Realms until they reached the ground floor. The entrance chamber was empty, but a great many voices could be heard just outside the doors. As they crossed the chamber, the voices only got louder, more urgent. Somebody said something to Thomas, probably something comforting, but he was not listening.

Someone opened the main door and the voices became a cacophony. A huge crowd of Figments were trying to get into the Tower, with just a few trying to placate and organise them. Some were shouting, demanding answers, some had brought wounded. Many were themselves wounded, crying out for help.

The moment they were outside, Thomas took advantage of all the chaos and slipped away. He made his way across the walled courtyard through the crowd of survivors. Figments of the most extraordinary variety. They all ignored him, so desperate were they for help and answers. Dirty, bloodied and panicked. All because of him.

Somebody may have called out his name just after he managed to slip away. He did not stop to find out who. Once he had left the courtyard, he concentrated on following the path of destruction left by Magnus. As he got further into the city, the amount of Figments he passed began to thin. Debris littered the streets, huge sections of buildings were missing and it wasn’t long before Thomas came across a street that was entirely blocked. One of the larger buildings had collapsed across the road. He was just about to try and find a way around when he saw a crowd of Figments nearby. Panic-stricken voices reached his ears.

He did not know why, but Thomas found himself walking slowly towards them. As he got closer, it became clear that they were all trying their best to remove as much debris as they could.

‘Come on, come on, move!’ barked one of them, a young man.

‘I can see her, there she is!’ croaked a Figment with green skin and long, blue hair. Webbed fingers pointed at a small gap in the debris, underneath a large metal girder. Two of the Figments moved as though to keep digging, but a young woman held out her arm to stop them.

‘That could come right down on her,’ she said, her voice hoarse.

‘We take any more of this away and it probably will,’ admitted another Figment.

‘Molly…Molly! Can you hear me?’ called the young man who Thomas had first heard barking out orders. He leaned in close to the gap to peer inside. ‘I don’t think she’s moving.’

‘What can we do?’ asked the young woman.

‘Stand back.’

The Figments all did as they were told, more out of surprise than anything else. Thomas was now standing just a few feet away from the wreckage, his right hand stretched out in front of him. Closing his eyes for a moment, he did what he knew he would be able to do. Reaching out with the hands of his mind, he lifted the girder slowly into the air. The Figments staggered back further at this extra surprise.

Thomas was himself surprised at just how quickly this ability came back to him. Here, in the Realm of Imagination, he could theoretically give himself just about any power he wanted. Back in the human world, it had only been possible for him to do so when he had hold of the stone. The stone he had created with his imagination all those months ago. The stone had been stolen from him, but now that he was back here, he no longer needed it. Of course, he still planned to track down the thief. Taking the stone was just one of his crimes.

It was the young woman who first came to her senses and rushed forward to the aid of Molly. The others soon joined her and by the time they had pulled her out, Thomas had placed the girder safely on the ground. As it left his control, he felt a momentary dizziness. A mild wave of nausea. This was his body’s way of reminding him that the use of his imagination often took a toll. He took a deep breath and shook his head to steady himself, but still recoiled in shock when he felt someone touch his arm.

‘Thank you, oh, thank you!’ exclaimed the green Figment.

‘Don’t mention it,’ replied Thomas in a low, tired voice.

‘Hold on a moment…it’s you, isn’t it?’ said one of the other Figments as he approached Thomas. ‘You’re the human, aren’t you?’

Having just about managed to shake off the nausea, Thomas heard the question but felt no need to answer. Stopping to help had been the right thing to do, but now he had to get back to pursuing Magnus. He looked around and saw an alleyway that might lead into the next street, but for all he knew it could be blocked. The more time he wasted here, the further away Magnus could be.

An idea sprang to mind, which then literally sprang to his feet. Recalling the time he had suddenly been able to run extremely fast, he thought of the ability to jump. To leap. Boosted by his own imagination, he simply ran towards the fallen building and jumped over it. He could hear