The Lost Colony (Artemis Fowl 5)

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 fueled 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 yards 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. They were as close as they could ever be. Their minds were one.

Artemis turned and stared at his friend with the 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 the 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 toward 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 toward the light.

Holly was concentrating on where to land the island. She was finding this incredibly easy. She had always treasured her aboveground 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-gray 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 toward 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 crowd, swathed in elaborate robes. Their magical circle was actually a sphere of multicolored light. What’s more, they did not need to get their boots dirty in the ash; they hovered twenty feet 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 farther 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 an outcrop down toward 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 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 spiraled 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 midair, 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.

CHAPTER 16

POINT OF IMPACT

This time, the materialization was a painful process. Being separated from a thousand consciousnesses left Artemis with a deep sense of loss. For the first time in his life, he had completely belonged. He knew everyone, and they knew him. There would always be a bond between them all, though the specifics of others’ memories were already fading.

Artemis felt like an oversize Band-Aid that had been ripped off an enormous limb and flung on the ground. He lay on the earth shivering. Sharing consciousness had felt so right, that now it was as if he had just lost the use of several senses, including balance.

He opened his eyes, squinting through the sunlight. Sunlight! They were on Earth! Though where and when remained to be seen.

Artemis rolled onto his stomach, then struggled slowly to all fours. The others lay in the crater, disorientated like him, but alive, judging by the moans and groans. He himself felt fine, except for a darting pain in his left eye. His vision was sharp but slightly yellowed, as though he were wearing pale sunglasses. Holly, the soldier, was already up, coughing the ash from her lungs. When her airwaves were clear, she helped Artemis to his feet.

She winked at Artemis. “Blue sky. We did it.”

Artemis nodded. “Perhaps.” The wink drew his attention to her left eye. It seemed that they hadn’t made it through the tunnel unaltered.

“Look at me, Holly. Do you notice anything different?”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with puberty, does it?” said Holly, smiling. Then she noticed . . . “Your eyes. They’ve changed. One blue and one hazel.”

Artemis smiled. “You too. We swapped in transit. Just the eye, as far as I can make out.”

Holly thought about this for a moment, then ran her hands over her head and body.

“Everything’s in place, thank goodness. Except now I have a human eye.”

“It could have been a lot worse,” said Artemis. “You could have been traveling with Mulch.”

Holly winced. “Now that you mention it.”

A solitary blue dot of magic sparkled inside Holly’s new eyeball, reducing it in size slightly.

“That’s better,” she sighed. “I had a blinder of a headache. Your new eye must be too small; why don’t you use your ill-gotten magic to fix it.”

Artemis tried, closed his eyes and concentrated. But nothing happened.

“It seems as though the transplant did not take. I must have used all I had in the tunnel.”

Holly punched his shoulder lightly. “Maybe you passed it on to me. I feel great. That time tunnel was like a magical mud bath. Maybe it’s just as well that you lost your magic. The last thing the People need is a magical criminal mastermind running around aboveground.”

“A pity,” sighed Artemis. “The possibilities were endless.”

“Here,” said Holly, taking his head in her hands. “Let me fix you up.”