by Andrew Symon
Jack watched as Petros led Grandpa Sandy and Armina, both shuffling awkwardly, towards the side wall of the square. Once there, Grandpa Sandy placed his sceptre on the ground, and they all seemed to melt into the rock.
If I’ve got to leave, thought Jack, I’m taking my things with me.
He ran upstairs, grabbed his work satchel and stuffed a few clothes inside. Then he took the Sintura belt from his pocket and examined it briefly. With all the excitement of the match, and the party, he hadn’t given his birthday present another thought. Feather-light, it was almost a yard long and had a series of small pouches along the side. Quickly, he rummaged in the box under his bed and filled the pouches with the charms and hexes Finbogie had given him.
Finbogie: he was in the Congress. Has he been killed? Armina wasn’t sure.
“Jack! Get a move on! We have to leave now.” Aunt Katie’s voice was insistent.
Jack wound the Sintura belt around his waist and secured it. Despite being crammed, it weighed next to nothing. Then Jack remembered:
My vococorn!
Locating the prized ram’s horn Tamlina had given him, Jack realised instantly that it was much too big to take. Even the Sintura belt wouldn’t cope with that. Prising up a loose floorboard, Jack thrust the horn underneath it. Grabbing his satchel, he ran downstairs.
The square was packed. Shian were filing down towards the low road entrance; others milled around anxiously. Jack caught sight of his uncle.
“We must get you lot out of here. The Kildashie could be here any minute.”
“Will they get into the square then, Dad?” Petros had returned from his brief errand to the Stone Room.
“We’re not taking any chances: they obviously believe that with the Congress defeated they’ll have free rein. Grandpa and Armina aren’t fit to fight. We must get them away.”
“Are we going to Keldy?”
“We’ll be safe there. Once we’ve regrouped, we can work out how to get back. And don’t worry about the manuscripts – I’ve hidden them.”
Jack took his grandfather’s arm and gave it a squeeze.
“I’ll carry this, Grandpa,” he said simply, loosing his grandfather’s grip on the bag he was clutching.
“I’ll take Armina along to the low road. She’s grabbed a few things from her house. I’ll tell you about the Stone Room later,” Petros added with a grin.
The crowd had broken into small groups and was steadily disappearing along the low road. Petros led Armina along, helped by Lizzie and Aunt Katie.
“See you in Keldy,” declared Petros, as the four of them stepped onto the mound.
“We’ll come last,” announced Uncle Doonya, indicating the Darrig. “Make sure everyone else is away safely.”
Jack and Rana shepherded their grandfather up onto the mound of earth that marked the low road.
“I’ll do it,” announced Jack confidently. He stepped onto the mound and ushered Rana and Grandpa Sandy up beside him. Gripping both their waists, he called out, “Wind-flock Dunvik!”
It was like the time they’d gone up to Keldy two months earlier. The howling and moaning were loud and insistent. After the mild air of May, the wind that whipped around them was freezing and the spinning sensation was violent. The journey took nearly twenty minutes, and for the first time in many trips, Jack felt sick. He felt Rana grip his arm tightly.
At last the spinning slowed down, and they came to rest within the ruined hermit’s cell at Dunvik. Grandpa Sandy immediately collapsed onto the ground, gasping.
“Grandpa!” called Rana, her voice quavering.
“I’ll be all right. Need to rest for a while.”
Rana turned on Jack.
“We were supposed to go to Keldy,” she snapped. “Why d’you bring us here?”
“I … I don’t know. Something must’ve made me think this was better.” Jack felt confused. It was dark, an almost moonless night, and a steady drizzle fell.
“There’s nothing here,” shouted Rana angrily. “Just an old ruin. Mum’ll be worried sick when we don’t arrive in Keldy.”
Jack knelt down to attend to his grandfather, whose breathing had become laboured.
“Grandpa, can I get you anything?”
Grandpa Sandy’s breathing slowly eased, and he propped himself up against the rocks of the ancient cell wall.
“I can’t manage another low road trip tonight. We’ll have to stay here.” His voice croaked slightly.
“I’ve got your bag,” said Jack, unsure what else to say.
“Jack,” said Grandpa between gasps, “tell me: what made you bring us here?”
“The name just came out,” replied Jack unhappily. “I didn’t mean to. It just happened.”
Grandpa Sandy thought for a few moments. “Maybe later we’ll find out why. In the meantime, we can shelter in the old castle. Jack, can you get me that big stick there?” He pointed to part of a dead branch that lay on the ground.
Jack fetched the stick and helped his grandfather to his feet. Though unsteady, Grandpa Sandy started to shuffle through the forest towards the old castle, the scene of the great fight with the Brashat in the early hours of Hallows’ Day.
Jack and Rana followed on. The previous year they had run this distance, all the way from the prince’s cave to the clearing before the castle. Now it felt like they were going at a snail’s pace. The rain was getting heavier, and by the time they reached the clearing, they were all thoroughly wet.
“The scene of your great triumph,” said Grandpa Sandy quietly as they crossed the clearing. There was no evidence of the battle. The amphitheatre that had materialised to accommodate the Shian commonwealth had disappeared, and the clearing was flat once more.
The old castle was unchanged: although dilapidated, and positively dangerous in places, a few rooms were reasonably wind-and watertight.
Jack dragged a few dead branches from the forest floor and prepared them in the ancient hall’s fireplace. The fire’s glow brought flickering shadows to the room, but they were all grateful for the heat, and despite the smoke he and Grandpa Sandy crouched as near as they could to the flames. Rana returned from a short inspection of the castle and announced that she could find no food or bedding.
“It’s late,” announced Grandpa, looking and sounding exhausted. “I’ll put a bell hex around the castle so we’re not disturbed. We can use the low road when it gets light. I suggest we all try to get some rest.”
Using their bags as pillows, they curled up on the floor in the flickering light. It was strange being inside. Jack had only seen the castle from the outside before. What secrets does it hold? he wondered. From its evil human owner and the terror he’d brought to the local people to the Brashat camping in it while they hunted the King’s Chalice. If the walls could speak, what stories would they tell?
Jack’s thoughts got no further. A deep and dreamless sleep arrived, and it felt like only a few minutes before he was waking to bright sunshine that streamed in through the large ruined windows.
“Did you sleep well?” Grandpa Sandy was shaking him by the arm.
Jack rubbed his eyes and yawned. He sat up and peered around him.
“We’re at Dunvik Castle,” announced Grandpa Sandy helpfully, seeing his look of bewilderment. “You’ve had a good sleep. I wish I could say the same.”
“I’m hungry,” stated Jack. “Can we get some breakfast?”
“Let’s wake Rana, and we’ll go back to the low road. We can eat at Keldy.”
It took several minutes to rouse Rana. Having made sure that the fire had burnt itself out, Grandpa Sandy dissolved the bell hex that had protected the castle overnight, and they set off back to the hermit’s cell. Grandpa Sandy still limped, but managed to make reasonable progress with his walking stick.
They had only gone a few yards into the forest when Jack felt the muscles beside his eyes start to twitch.
“Something’s not right,” he announced, stopping dead in his tracks.
“What now?” complained Rana. “Let’s just get to Keldy.”
A cackling sound came from their right. Jack turned to look. Although the sun was up, it was still gloomy in the forest, and it took his eyes a few seconds to locate the source of the noise. A shiver ran up his spine. A Dunter.
The old man glared maliciously at the three of them, then took off his cap and threw it. Drops of blood sprayed out, one falling on Grandpa’s arm, sizzling as it landed.
“Absango!” Jack thrust out his right arm and flicked his wrist. There was a loud pop and the Dunter vanished, leaving behind only a sickly smell of blood.
“Where d’you learn that?” asked Rana, clearly impressed.
“We can discuss it later,” stated Grandpa. “If there’s more of his kind around, we need to get away.” A pungent smell arose from his arm.
They hurried as quickly as Grandpa Sandy’s condition allowed, and within a few minutes were at the hermit’s cell. Their relief at reaching their destination was short-lived, however: its low walls had been dislodged and scattered, the ground in the centre of the cell had been dug up, and there were signs of a fire.
Jack stared with disbelief, then looked at his grandfather. His worst fears were quickly confirmed.
“We can’t use the low road,” stated Grandpa Sandy. “It’s been sabotaged.”
17
Konan Arbormal
“What are we going to do?” asked Rana miserably. “I want to see Mum.”
“The low road’s out of action,” answered Grandpa Sandy flatly. He sagged a little, leaning more heavily on his crude walking stick.
“Can’t we get some breakfast?” said Jack. “I’m hungry.”
“I’m sure food would do us all good. What do you propose?”
“Fish. Last time we were here, Ossian said the dark loch has huge fish.”
“Dunters won’t go near salt water. Fish sounds like a good idea.”
“I’m good at fishing,” proclaimed Rana, brightening up. “Just get me a stick and some twine. You two can get a fire going.”
“The loch’s down this way,” announced Jack, setting off quickly towards the prince’s cave. He had just got past it when he came to a sudden halt. Rana caught up with him, panting, “Not so fast. Grandpa can’t keep up.”
Then she caught the look in Jack’s eyes.
“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Jack was staring at an oak tree not ten yards away. His face had gone pale, and he felt sweat break out on his forehead. His lips moved, but no more than a mumble emerged. Rana’s eyes followed his gaze, and reality dawned.
“Oh! Is that Konan’s tree?”
Jack’s mind was filled with the memory of the struggle they’d had on this very spot just a few months earlier, when Konan had threatened to break both their necks.
“Dad fused Konan into that oak,” whispered Rana.
Jack nodded. “We used the Aximon and broke free. We’d have been standing just here.”
As Rana went back to fetch their grandfather, Jack’s eye was caught by a twinkle on the ground. Stooping down, he found a small sand timer. Encased in a brass fitting, it had an emerald at either end. Whichever way Jack turned it, the glass remained vertical, the sands falling. He slipped the timer into his pocket.
Grandpa Sandy appeared with Rana and appraised the scene.
“So that’s why you brought us here,” he said quietly.
Jack’s mind was still racing. Had he brought them here because he wanted to see Konan again? No, not see him. Damage him, possibly. Or interrogate him.
“Can we get him to tell us …”
“I don’t think so, Jack.” His grandfather placed his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “He may well be able to hear. But we’d need to know what kind of counter-hex would make him speak.”
“Armina knows stuff about counter-hexes,” said Rana simply.
“Unfortunately,” replied her grandfather, wincing, “Armina is not here. I could do with her help myself. The low road journey was hard going, and my arm feels sore now.” A foul reek rose from his arm, which steamed gently. He grimaced as another spasm ran through him.
“I read some of the papers on her desk while we were visiting you, though. There wasn’t much to do when you were asleep.”
Grandpa Sandy turned to her.
“Do you mean to say you know how to make an Arbormal speak?”
“Arbormal?”
“A treeman – a Shian fused with a tree.”
“Well,” began Rana, suddenly less sure of herself, “I remember there was a charm called a Sylvox, but there’s something else too, something about the tree’s resistance. Once you fix that, you make the treeman speak.”
Grandpa Sandy thought for a few moments. “There’s different charms for different trees,” he mused. “For an oak, I guess it would be ‘Quercus’.”
“Let’s try it then,” urged Jack. “If he can speak, maybe he can tell us where my dad is.”
“We may only get one question, Jack, so we’ll need to plan this carefully. Let’s eat first and think about it.”
Secretly Jack would have liked to take an axe to the Konan oak to have something to burn, but he sensed this might be counterproductive. Aware that his grandfather was still weak, Jack did not pester him to help as he collected firewood.
Rana had quickly found a thin branch for a rod, and Grandpa had unravelled some thread from the bottom of his cloak, following which he had simply stretched himself out on the ground. Fashioning a crude hook out of a pin she had in her pocket, Rana went down to the loch side to dig for worms.
Her expertise soon paid off, and within half an hour two brown trout lay sizzling on the fire Jack had started. The smell was tantalising, and Jack took pleasure in watching the smoke curling around the two fish. The skin bubbled with the heat, and juices ran down into the fire, spitting and sizzling. Idly, Jack stuffed some dirt from the ground into the jomo bag on his Sintura belt.
Once they had all eaten, they returned to the plan for enabling the Quercus charm.
“My mind’s not thinking straight,” said Grandpa, rubbing his arm. “But I believe we’re here to find something out. So we need to get it right. What do we need to know?”
“Where my dad is,” said Jack simply.
“Or where the Sphere is,” pointed out Rana.
“When the Grey captured Konan, he was looking for the Chalice, not the Sphere,” pointed out Grandpa. “Jack’s right. We’ll ask him where Phineas is.”
“Or how he got away from being suspended,” added Rana.
“We’ll come to that if we’ve time,” answered her grandfather.
Jack stared at the oak. For a while he could see no trace of Konan. Slowly, his eyes became focussed on a particular part of the trunk, and he convinced himself that two knots in the wood were closed eyes and a gash in the bark below was a grimacing mouth. Further down the trunk were several long vertical slashes, an inch or so apart.
“So how d’you wake him up?” Jack asked.
Grandpa collected his thoughts for a moment, then pointed his sceptre at the oak.
“Quercus!”
A feeble ray emerged from the sceptre, and the tree glowed briefly.
“It’s not working. Or I’m not strong enough to make it work.”
Jack looked around in frustration. Spying a large dead branch nearby, he picked it up and ran at the tree. Reaching it, he hit the trunk hard.
The tree began to fizzle.
“I’ve remembered!” shouted Rana. “You wake the tree up first, then use the Quercus charm. And you shout ‘Mortogoon’.”
“Of course!” Grandpa Sandy held his forehead. “Just as well someone here is alert. First ‘Mortogoon’, then the Quercus charm.”
“Can’t I be the one to hit him?” Rana spoke up. “He tried to kill me too.”
“It’s my dad we’re trying to find,” stated Jack, gripping the branch tightly and thinking about where would be best to s
trike the tree trunk.
“The side of his head,” said his grandfather, reading his thoughts. “I’m ready now.”
Jack checked the grip on his branch and looked up at his grandfather.
“Mortogoon?”
Grandpa Sandy nodded.
Jack was filled with a certainty that in a few moments he would find out where his father was. He got set, retreated a few paces, then ran screaming at the tree. As he hit the side of the trunk, he yelled, “Mortogoon!”
Immediately his grandfather stepped forward with his sceptre and called out, “Quercus!”
As the bolt shot forward, Jack moved back, wondering what would happen next. To his surprise, he could see the two knots of wood moving … Yes, blinking. The gash in the wood below them shifted a little, and a rumbling came from within the tree.
“Konan, I am Sandy of the Stone. I command you to tell me where Phineas of Rangie is kept by the Grey.”
No further sound came from the tree.
“Konan, tell me where Phineas of Rangie is.”
Grandpa Sandy’s second command was no more effective than the first.
“The Kildashie have taken the Shian square.” Jack spoke firmly, facing the tree directly.
The knots of wood shifted again, and the gash began to move.
“A plague on both your houses.”
It was a strange sound. Dry and harsh, like someone whose mouth was a stranger to liquid.
“If you don’t tell us,” said Jack in exasperation, “we’ll … we’ll burn you. You’ll die slowly.”
“I do not fear death.”
“How’d you escape, then?” shouted Rana.
“I stopped time flying …”
We need to find this out, it’s important. It’s right. Jack’s mind raced. But something’s missing, something that helped us last year. Who had been around?
Suddenly his mind cleared, and he faced the tree again with a new determination, his right eye blazing. Holding out his right palm he shouted, “Gosol!”
A ray shot from his hand and engulfed the tree. It glowed for a few moments, and when this faded a low creaking sound came from within. The sound built slowly, increasing in pitch and volume until it was almost too loud to bear. Rana covered her ears and closed her eyes, trying to block it out. And then it stopped.
