by Andrew Symon
Jack’s eyes opened wide. He had only twice seen the Stone: just after he had arrived under the castle, and once after the fight at Dunvik. The long winter shutdown had meant further visits had been out of the question.
Wordlessly, Grandpa Sandy led Jack to the castle’s War Memorial entrance, from where they could see the stairs leading to the Stone Room.
“We’ll just wait here a minute,” whispered Grandpa, pulling Jack into the darkened doorway. “They’ll be finished soon.”
Jack’s damp clothes clung uncomfortably to his skin. He shivered.
A short while later, a man emerged from the doorway. He turned the key with a flourish, walked smartly across the small square and disappeared into the castle’s Great Hall.
“We can go now.” Leading Jack by the hand, Grandpa walked up to the locked door. Placing his left hand against it, he whispered, “Perlignum!”
Jack felt a sudden lurch as he was pulled forward. Gasping slightly, he saw that he and his grandfather were at the foot of some stairs. They began to climb and soon reached the Stone Room’s large security door.
“This one is alarmed,” whispered Grandpa. “Stand back a minute.”
Grandpa Sandy took out his sceptre and aimed it at the solid steel door. The sceptre’s ruby glowed, and Jack was aware of a soft shimmering sound, like far-off thunder. He stared in astonishment as the door melted in front of his eyes. Once they were through, the door reappeared. Jack found that his clothes, suddenly, were dry and warm.
“You haven’t come in that way before, have you?” asked Grandpa.
“No. You’ve only ever brought me up from the square. How d’you make the door disappear?”
“Oh, ways and means. You’ll learn them as you get older. I’d better deal with the cameras.”
Grandpa Sandy held up his sceptre to the vaulted ceiling, putting the cameras on hold. Then he clicked his fingers, and two chairs appeared by the glass cabinet. Jack had seen the King’s Chalice in the cabinet once before, but the sight of it made him catch his breath.
“It does look good in there, doesn’t it?” said Grandpa. “The humans are delighted, even if they only get it for half the year.”
They settled down into the chairs, and Grandpa began.
“I’m sure you’re surprised to see Fenrig. Quite a lot changed at Dunvik: although the Brashat got suspended, there was an agreement that all Shian should have access to the Chalice and the Stone.”
“I still don’t see why we have to share them with the Brashat,” snorted Jack. “They wouldn’t share them if they’d won.”
“The power of Gosol, Jack, remember. It’s about the goodness of the creator force. We must do the right thing and for the right reason. Sharing the treasures was part of the agreement; even the Brashat, when the time comes, will be allowed access.”
“They were let off lightly. Three years suspended for all they did? They should never be allowed out.”
“The Chalice belongs to everyone, Jack. Fair shares. And part of the deal is to take care of Fenrig and his sister. Their whole family is suspended, so they’ve no one.”
“Rana said their mother’s dead. Is that right?”
“She died when Fenrig was very young. Like you, he grew up without a mother.”
“He still had his father!” Jack shouted.
“I’m sorry: I didn’t put that very well. I just meant he’s had to cope with loss, like you. I grant you he’s charmless, but sometimes there are reasons for these things.”
Jack said nothing.
“Anyway, the Congress has decided that we should keep an eye on Fenrig and Morrigan. They wintered with the Elle-folk, but they don’t really belong there, so they’ll stay in the square. Mawkit’s left, but Olbeg and his wife are moving into that house; they’ll look after them. Morrigan will work with Gregora the baker, so she’ll be with Purdy. Fenrig will continue at Gilmore’s.”
Jack stared at the contents of the cabinet. He didn’t like what he was hearing, and sought some comfort from the Stone and the Chalice.
“Are you getting the Stone’s buzz?” asked Grandpa softly.
Jack was feeling it: he couldn’t deny that the Stone made him feel warm. It was even stronger than when he’d first seen the Stone the previous summer. The Chalice being there seemed to double the effect.
“It’s a nice fuzzy feeling. But there’s still something missing. What are we going to do about the Sphere?”
“Well, now that winter’s coming to an end, we can start again. We couldn’t do much once the snows came. The manuscripts Fenrig stole – well, evidently his father took them. We should have established where they were before suspending him.”
“And what about my father?” Jack’s voice dropped low as he spoke.
“We keep looking. Never give up hope, Jack.”
“Can’t we go and interrogate Konan?” Jack’s mind flitted to the Brashat warrior, now merged with a large oak tree near the cave at Dunvik.
“I don’t think that will produce much, unless you can find a way of unlocking the charm that put him there. But you never know.” Grandpa Sandy stood up now. “We have the Oestre festival soon. We’ll go back to Rangie for that. And we could always consult Tamlina.”
Realising that his grandfather wanted to leave, Jack asked, “Can’t we stay a bit longer? We’ve only just got here.”
“Another time,” replied his grandfather. “We should get back; it’ll be supper time. Aren’t you hungry?”
Jack was hungry, but the prospect of Aunt Katie’s cooking was no match for time with the Stone. However, Jack could see that his grandfather was preparing to leave and, reluctantly, he stood up. With a click of his fingers, Grandpa Sandy made the chairs vanish. Holding his sceptre up to the vaulted ceiling, he switched the surveillance cameras on again.
Grandpa then wrapped his cloak around Jack, clutched his sceptre firmly and struck the floor. A red glow was followed by a rushing sense, and Jack found himself next to his grandfather back in the Shian square.
3
Oestre
Within two days the snow was disappearing, leaving behind damp streets and gardens that squelched deliciously: the Blue Hag had resumed her annual ritual. While Lizzie complained that they hadn’t got to see the cailleach transform, Jack consoled himself that the festival in Rangie was only three days away.
Midsummer was the highpoint of their year for most Shian, but for Jack it was Oestre. Seeing the world come to life again after the winter brought him hope; and this year, it was the hope that he would find his father. The warming air and the lengthening days gave Jack a sense of optimism. Fenrig being back was a drag, but for now he was determined to relish the prospect of the festival at Rangie.
When Jack heard that the Kildashie would be present, he was in two minds. He knew that many different groups had been invited along in recognition of the return of the King’s Chalice. The McCools from the west of Ireland had arrived, and the Inari, who had brought rare foods from Japan. But Unseelie? Did the Congress know what it was doing?
Grandpa wouldn’t be easily fooled, only …
Something gnawed away at Jack’s insides, something nameless and troubling.
“How was work today?” asked Aunt Katie brightly as Jack slouched back from his day at Gilmore’s.
“Not bad.” Jack reached for the jug of tayberry juice.
“Come on, there must be more to it than that,” pressed his aunt.
“Fenrig started back. He doesn’t look like he wants to be here at all.”
“Did you speak to him?” asked Aunt Katie anxiously.
“Not much. He doesn’t bother answering.”
“Did he tell you about Iceland, then? What were the Elle-folk like?”
Aunt Katie’s persistence irritated Jack.
“I don’t know,” he snapped. “I told you, Fenrig doesn’t say much. I don’t know why the Congress said he could come back here.”
“That’s a bit harsh, Jack. You know he has n
o family left, not since his father was … put away.”
“His father got off lightly. Three years, it’s a joke.”
“Jack, I just meant …”
But Aunt Katie’s words were left to trail in the air, as Jack picked up his satchel and stormed out. He had just determined to go out to the High Street when he saw Petros and his sisters on the other side of the square.
“Hiya Jack,” called Rana. “We’re just going to get some things for the festival. Want to come?”
Grateful that he had received his apprentice’s allowance the day before, Jack joined his cousins as they went to the shop at the top of the square. With the Chalice attracting even more Shian to Edinburgh, the shop had expanded hugely. Jack reached up and grabbed a firework wheel.
“We’ll spin it down the hill after the Blue Hag’s started spring – to mark the turning of the year.”
Petros smiled broadly as he pocketed some forget-me-aye powder.
“It’s brilliant,” he explained. “It works on Shian and humans: you just put some in their drink and they forget who they are. Boyce told me about it.”
“That’s dangerous,” pouted Lizzie. “People do silly things if they don’t know who they are. ’Specially humans. Grandpa said you must only pick someone who really deserves it.”
“I’ll find someone,” smirked Petros. “I can’t wait for the festival.”
“You’ve only just come back from Rangie,” pointed out Jack.
“Yes, and they’re really pulling out all the stops for this one,” said Rana. “You won’t believe how much it’s changed. It’s been charmed so it looks a lot bigger; they’re expecting hundreds.”
The youngsters’ expectation and excitement carried them through the necessary chores of the next three days. When the time came to leave Edinburgh, they all met up in the front room with Aunt Katie and Grandpa Sandy.
“Have you got everything you need?”
Aunt Katie, as ever, flustered around. Petros smiled back as Jack rolled his eyes.
“Come along, you lot.” Grandpa Sandy took control. “All ready? Right, off to the low road. Uncle Doonya’s gone ahead with the Congress.”
As he led them down towards the low road mound, Jack asked, “Grandpa, how come we can use the low road? I thought we had to walk, like we always do.”
“More low roads are opening up. The Chalice and the Stone are having some effect, I can tell you.”
When they reached the house down by the foot of the square, Jack saw to his surprise that it was no longer gloomy. Freshly painted and with clean curtains in the windows, it bore little resemblance to the ramshackle house it had been a few months earlier.
Linking arms on the mound, the six huddled in close.
“Wind-flock Rangie!” whispered Grandpa Sandy, and they all began the familiar spinning that announced their entrance onto the low road.
Within two or three minutes they found themselves by the hawthorn tree on the edge of Rangie wood. The air felt sweeter to Jack, and the well-known sounds of the woods were reassuring. But there was more: the hubbub of hundreds of people, music, laughter, chatter, all coming from just down the glen.
Grandpa Sandy led the way, striding purposefully towards the small field that lay between two hills. Naturally sheltered, local farmers favoured it as good pastureland. But Jack could see no trace of sheep or cattle today, and the field itself seemed much larger. Catching his eye, his grandfather said, “Looks different, doesn’t it? Well, that’s a special Oestre for you. The Congress has made a few adjustments, to make room for all the extra guests.”
Though not as many as had been at the previous midsummer’s festival at Falabray, the extra guests, as Grandpa called them, were numerous.
“Are we going to slow down time again tonight?” asked Jack breathlessly.
“There’s no need. Rangie is so sheltered there’s little chance of humans turning up. Just to make sure, we’ve got charms to keep them away. In fact, we move in the other direction tonight: we’ll use Fugitemp.”
“‘Fugitemp’?”
“Time speeder, Jack. Our time will go quickly: it makes things even better for us. For the humans it will pass as usual.” Grandpa moved off to talk to Atholmor. Next to them Jack saw Uncle Doonya in conversation with Armina the enchantress. Approaching them, Aunt Katie called out, “There you are. We’ll let the kids off to see what’s going on. How are you, Armina?”
As she and Armina engaged in conversation, Uncle Doonya turned to the youngsters.
“Here’s some spending money. Try and make it last longer than an hour, Rana. We’ve got ages yet.”
“Come on, I’ve heard there’s Phooka here,” said Petros. “Let’s see who can find them first.”
“Just a minute,” said Jack. “I’ll just give your mum my firework wheel to look after.”
Rana and Lizzie ran off excitedly into the crowd, while Petros steered Jack towards one of the many food stalls.
“Aren’t we going to find the Phooka?”
“Time for that later. Let’s get some heather wine first.”
Jack looked round cautiously, wondering if his aunt or uncle could see them.
“Don’t worry about Mum and Dad. They’ll never see us in this crowd.”
“Maybe later. I don’t feel like any now.”
“Suit yourself,” sniffed Petros. “I’ll catch up with you at the Phooka stall, yeah?”
Mumbling assent, Jack set off to investigate what the festival had to offer.
Rana came running up.
“There’s Flame spirits!” she announced breathlessly. “Come on! Lizzie’s keeping a space for you. She asked a Kildashie to do a sound trick, but he just walked away.”
The sky had already darkened, and the Flame spirits glimmered in the evening gloom. As the night darkened, they performed a series of tricks: floating, transforming into hares or rabbits, exploding into showers of light. Jack sat entranced as they performed one trick after another. After the disappointment of the Falabray festival, it was good to see what they could do.
Petros appeared after a while and tried to get Jack to come and see a Ghillie-Doo fire carnival, but Jack shrugged him away. Petros retreated sulkily, and later Jack saw him sitting alone with a goblet of what he suspected was heather wine.
Jack wandered among the different Shian. Almost everyone had been invited: there were korrigans and Phooka, pisgies and Elle-folk. And the Kildashie: about thirty of them, tall and wild-looking, a little apart from the main throng, but not excluded. Jack wasn’t surprised that Lizzie’s request had been rebuffed. They were making their own entertainment round a huge fire – They must’ve cut down at least three trees to make that! – wild dances, and songs that were both soothing and frightening. They used whistles and drums, and the polished horn of what must have been an enormous ram. Jack decided to steer clear of them.
They were creating quite a mess too. Jack heard Tig shouting at Boreus for throwing his rubbish into the stream. The word ‘poison’ – or was it ‘pollution’? – drifted over. Boreus was angry, but seemed reluctant to challenge his leader.
Unseelie, thought Jack. They don’t like humans; they don’t even like each other; and they certainly don’t respect this place.
The entertainment continued, though. The Inari, from Japan, played screeching, jangly music that made Jack’s spine tingle; the pisgies flew in formation, re-enacting battle scenes; and the McCools sang mournful songs of loss and parting.
“Their songs are beautiful,” said Grandpa, moving beside Jack. “They sailed here, you know. They conjure boats when they need them, and they sailed right round Scotland to get here. Look, one of them gave me a charm stone for calling the boats.”
He showed Jack a small emerald with a tiny flaw in it. Held up to the firelight, the flaw looked like a minute ship. Grandpa slipped the gemstone into his pouch.
The night passed quickly. Grandpa had been right: the fun was concentrated, but disappointingly it seemed no time a
t all before the first glimmers of daylight brightened the eastern horizon.
“Olwen’s coming,” whispered Aunt Katie to Jack as he sat watching the eastern sky.
Jack knew the story, but had never been present when the Blue Hag, in her new spring form, had arrived.
I didn’t get to see her transform, but this is the next best thing. Olwen at the Oestre festival means spring is finally here.
It was going to be a good year; Jack just knew that. He got his firework wheel ready.
As the sun crept above the skyline of the hill, the Blue Hag came into view, holding aloft her staff. Despite the sun being at her back, her face shone: Jack had never thought a face could change so much. And she began to sing: clear notes, a slow ascending scale that drifted over. The hairs on Jack’s neck stood on end, and as the scale ended and a peaceful stillness settled over the crowd, a glow enveloped the old woman. Jack’s whole scalp tingled as the transformation hit him: Olwen. He had never seen such a beautiful young woman before.
Without warning, there was an angry cry from behind him, and Jack saw Olwen point her staff directly towards him. Shian turned to look at him … no, not him, behind him. Jack turned round and saw the Kildashie group, all gathered together. They were standing, poised. Jack saw Boreus with his sceptre drawn, directing it up towards Olwen.
“No, Boreus!” commanded Tig.
But it was too late: a bolt flew up towards the woman on the hill. With a loud crack! the bolt hit her staff, and it exploded.
The next few minutes were pandemonium.
4
Fallout
With a screech, Olwen flew down to the field, her staff smouldering. Tig ordered two Kildashie to disarm Boreus, and he was quickly held, but this wasn’t enough. An angry crowd gathered around the Kildashie, brandishing their sceptres. Hexes started to fly, and two Kildashie fell, screaming in pain. Atholmor’s pleas for restraint fell on deaf ears as hexes and bolts were fired and returned.
Olwen tried to barge her way through to where Tig was attempting to keep order, but Donar had cast a protective charm around him. People were shouting, there were screams of pain as hexes found their mark, and a deafening peal of thunder echoed around the hills.
