20

The Magician snapped his fingers and a werehound backed out from a rooftop doorway, dragging the sword behind him. It was so heavy he had trouble lifting it, and he laid it at Billy’s feet with a heavy clunk. Billy heard the Runners’ gasp – they must have realized the sword they’d read about in the old journal really did exist.

‘This is the miraculous weapon that legend says can destroy me. Me, the creator of this whole world, defeated by a rusty length of iron!’ The Magician roared, his power growing ever stronger as waves of fear radiated from the crowds of night-children. ‘Well, pick up the sword again, 5126. Pick it up and do your worst!’

Shamed in front of his friends, Billy stared at the ground, wishing it would swallow him up. He knew he had let them down. All his hopes of getting home were gone and his belief that he could destroy the Magician shown up as false arrogance. The memories of his mum and dad’s faces were now no more than a faint blur.

But his watch had become hot in his pocket again – hot enough to burn his thigh. He knew it was important, but in his petrified state he couldn’t remember why. Then as he stared at the sword on the ground, he noticed the shallow depression below its hilt.

From the depths of his confused mind, Billy remembered what he’d read in the Magician’s note. How he had smashed the sword on the ground and something had broken off that gave the weapon its energy. Suddenly, and with complete clarity, he knew how they were connected.

In the secrecy of his pocket, Billy popped the engraved back off the watch. He knelt down and pushed it into the recess on the sword’s blade. It fitted perfectly, and as it clicked into place the sword began to glow with a pure and intense light and Billy lifted it up as easily as a feather.

‘Brilliant!’ cried Ace from amongst the group of Runners, and the crowd of night-children murmured and jostled nervously.

‘No!’ the Magician croaked weakly. ‘Where did you get that?’

Suddenly Billy could remember everything, as clear as day – his dad had given him the watch for protection, and as soon as he remembered that, everything else came rushing back to him. He felt a confidence and bravery he’d never experienced before.

‘My name is Billy Jones and I don’t belong here,’ he said, swirling the weapon in the air like a master swordsman.

The Magician roared in fury.

‘Yes, your name’s Billy!’ shouted Lightning.

‘Go on, Billy, you can do it,’ cried Tom.

Some of the Runners started to chant, quietly at first, and then louder and louder: ‘Billy, Billy, Billy.’

‘Silence!’ screamed the Magician, and although his familiars growled and snapped, the rest of the night-children began to join in.

‘BILLY, BILLY, BILLY!’

FIZZ! The Magician suddenly launched an attack and the chanting stopped. He sent a ball of electricity whipping through the air, but without having to think Billy parried it with the sword. It was second nature to him, as if he’d been born a swordsman, and the ball of crackling energy ricocheted harmlessly across the rooftop. Full of his new strength, Billy charged at the Magician, yelling at the top of his voice and sweeping the sword before him. The Runners gaped in wonder as they watched the Magician take a step back. He looked scared, and the children began their chanting again.

‘BILLY, BILLY, BILLY!’

The Magician fought back with his ebony cane, but with a swipe of his sword Billy sliced a piece off his flapping black cloak. It blew away on the wind like a raggedy crow and the Magician seemed somehow frailer. Billy attacked again, and again the Magician fought back. The more confident Billy grew, the weaker the Magician became. He was on the verge of defeat, and in desperation he sent a jagged lightning bolt zipping towards Billy. It hit his sword, sending it flying from his hand, over the parapet wall and down to the ground below. Billy froze in horror.

‘Ha! You fool!’ the Magician exclaimed. ‘Even with the sword you can’t beat me. I AM INVINCIBLE. Now, go back to your cell, you pathetic upstart – all of you go back to your cells. The fun and games are over.’

But despite losing the legendary sword, Billy still felt full of confidence. He knew he had reached a moment of no return and that whatever happened next would decide his future. Was he going to be ruled by his fear for ever or was he going to stand up to it, sword or no sword?

‘I’m not scared of you,’ he shouted.

The whole of the crowd, Runners and night-children and creatures alike, held their breath as they wondered what would happen next. The silence seemed to go on for ages.

Then the Magician began to roar like the wind. His skin sparked with magic and he grew and grew until he towered over the crowd, his body spreading into a sheet of blackness filled with stars and spinning planets.

‘I am the night,’ boomed the Magician. ‘You will all bow before me.’

The night-children began to scream, and his familiars quaked and shook as the folds of the Magician’s cloak billowed and cracked and a hurricane whipped across the roof. It nearly lifted Billy off his feet, but he stood strong against the raging storm. Then the Magician was on him, his great expanse of darkness wrapping around him in a smothering embrace.

Billy gasped for breath. He felt he was being suffocated, but he was not going to give in. The clearest image of his dad formed in his mind.

Remember, Billy, no fear is too big to overcome, he had said, and Billy felt suddenly calm and in control.

‘I AM NOT SCARED OF YOU ANY MORE,’ he yelled.

The storm grew louder and wilder. It sounded as if the heavens might fall, but Billy stayed strong.

‘I AM NOT SCARED.’

CRACK! There was an explosive bolt of lightning … and then silence. Total silence.

The storm had blown itself out, and the Magician was left standing in the middle of the vast roof, looking as weak as water and as withered as a rotten apple. His power was gone.

Billy turned to the crowd of Magician’s familiars. They were trembling like jellies.

‘I am not scared of you!’ he yelled, and the crawlers, the creatures that haunted his worst nightmares, hissed and squealed and melted into a viscous pool that dribbled away down the drains.

Lightning stepped forward, emboldened by Billy.

‘I’m not scared!’ she cried – and her greatest nightmare, the giant, thick-necked shadowmen, began to evaporate into thin air, bellowing like tortured bulls. The Magician looked on helplessly, and soon it was as if they’d never existed.

‘We’re not scared!’ hollered the other Runners, joining in. Even the crowds of night-children who had lost all their memories of home, began to chant too, ‘We’re not scared; we’re not scared.’

One by one all the children’s fears vanished – the werehounds and collectors, the snufflers, witches and warlocks. Soon there were no nightmares left. Only the trembling Magician remained.

‘WE’RE NOT SCARED!’ roared the crowds of night-children.

‘Aaargggh!’ shrieked the Magician. It sounded like the cry of a lost soul, and he began to shrivel and squirm and got smaller … and smaller … and smaller. He shrank to the size of a wriggling maggot and crackled and fizzed like a sparkler. Soon all that was left of him was a scorch mark on the ground.

Billy hurried over to where the Magician had been standing, worried there might be some vestige of him left, but he couldn’t see anything. Not even a smut of ash.

‘It’s over!’ he whispered to himself, and smiled.