by S J Howland
Flint led them along past more houses, some larger with big gardens while others hugged the lane, until the road began to rise and the houses thinned out and then disappeared altogether. Glancing back, Xander realised that the place was bigger than he had assumed; it spread out to fill the small valley, cut in half by the little river. Flint strode on without looking back and turned down a narrow, tree-lined track at a pace that discouraged any conversation, until they reached a high, thick-leaved hedge blocking their way forward; set in it was a tall, grey wooden gate, with the name ‘Woodside’ across the top in wrought-iron letters. Without hesitation, Flint swung the gate open.
Before Xander stood a rambling grey stone house, set within wide gardens and embraced by thick forest, which appeared to curl around it protectively. The house was large, its many windows shining in the afternoon sun, and covered with wisteria and ivy, softening the high walls. At the front, a great door stood wide-open in a welcoming manner. Xander tensed as he saw movement around the abundant blooms in the front garden, but it was just brightly-coloured butterflies swirling between the flower beds. The air was filled with the drone of busy insects, the faint piping of birdsong from the woods, and the rich scent of growing things. Flint shut the gate behind them with a click of the latch and headed towards the open front door. A sharp chiming noise cut through the air and he paused, glancing at the stone on his wrist. He turned and gestured to the two boys.
‘Go on ahead,’ he said brusquely. ‘Tell Thea I’ll be there in a moment.’
Ollie didn’t hesitate, glancing sideways at Xander. ‘I live here,’ he said, breaking the awkward silence. ‘Come on, I’ll take you to meet Gran.’
Ollie walked through the wide front door, Xander trailing behind him. It was cooler inside, with a stone-flagged floor and a great wooden staircase rising to the next floor, while the hallway itself cut straight through the centre of the house. There were several doors opening out on both sides of the hall but Ollie headed straight for the heavy-looking wooden door at the end. It was closed, but from beyond it came a nasal, whiny-sounding voice, ranting away. Ollie pushed open the door without hesitation, but Xander hung back. He was not at all sure he wanted to meet the owner of that unpleasant voice and so hovered just behind the doorway, out of sight.
‘Hi, Gran,’ Ollie’s voice was cheerful, as if he couldn’t hear the furious tirade. The carping voice stopped mid-word.
‘Don’t you ‘hi, Gran’ me.’ A different voice answered, far more pleasant than the previous one, although with a distinct edge of annoyance. ‘Did you walk out of the academy in the middle of a class? Just listen to this message.’
The disagreeable voice started up again.
‘-graceful behaviour. I would have thought Oliver would appreciate the opportunity for further study, given his,’ there was the sound of a throat being cleared maliciously, ‘difficulties, rather than disappearing with that delinquent. I suppose that we should be grateful he bothered to turn up, which is more than can be said for his cousin who didn’t deign to grace us with her presence at all –’
The voice cut off again.
‘Well? Whilst I was thrilled to get this message from Primilla Pennicot, of all people, it would be nice to know just why you saw fit to give her another excuse to criticise you. And where, by the way, is Len?’ There was a slight pause and then – ‘Where are you going?’
Ollie’s face appeared around the doorframe and he gestured for Xander to come into the room. ‘Quick,’ he whispered, with a conspiratorial grin. ‘Before she really hits her stride.’
Still wary, Xander stepped through the door. The room beyond turned out to be a large kitchen, welcoming, sunny and reassuringly normal. His eyes were immediately drawn to a smooth, silvery panel set into the wall, showing a woman’s pinched, haughty-looking face. Her rabbity mouth was open and she was obviously mid-word. Given the unpleasantness of her expression, Xander guessed that she was the sender of the message that had so annoyed Ollie’s grandmother.
To one side of the room was a long wooden table and standing in front, dominating the space, was a slender lady. Her silver hair swept back elegantly from her aristocratic face and her apron was immaculate; not even the smear of flour across her nose diminished her air of distinction. She exuded exasperation.
‘Gran, meet Xander,’ said Ollie, clearly enjoying wrong-footing this formidable woman. ‘Xander, this is my grandmother, Althea Stanton.’
Mrs Stanton blinked, and then held out a welcoming hand, her innate good manners overriding her desire to demand an immediate explanation. ‘Hello, Xander,’ she said, taking his hand and drawing him further into the room. ‘Welcome to our home. I don’t think I’ve heard Oliver mention your name before?’ She glanced over at Ollie, her delicately arched eyebrows rising in a clear question.
‘He’s with Flint,’ Ollie explained, somewhat incoherently. ‘He said he’d be here in a moment to explain and he sent Ari to fetch me – I wasn’t bunking off.’
‘I see,’ said Mrs Stanton tartly. ‘So Ariel was your delinquent friend. I might have known. Is this why Len isn’t there?’ Her expression was sharp and Ollie flushed, looking uncomfortable.
‘Dunno,’ he said, avoiding his grandmother’s penetrating gaze. ‘Maybe.’
‘Hmm,’ she said, and then her attention swung back to Xander. ‘So, dear, where are you from? How do you know Ben Flint?’
Xander felt pinned to the spot and unsure of how he should respond. He met Mrs Stanton’s expectant look and swallowed.
‘Um, London. But not the one here –’
His voice trailed off as her eyes widened in sudden understanding. At that moment, the kitchen door swung open again and Flint walked in; Xander found that he was actually relieved to see him. Mrs Stanton swung around, an appalled expression on her face.
‘He said he’s not from Haven and that you brought him here,’ she said without any preliminaries. She looked as if she wanted Flint to contradict her but he didn’t answer her, instead turning that now familiar look of irritation on Xander.
‘Didn’t waste any time broadcasting it, then?’ he queried sarcastically.
Xander glared right back. ‘You didn’t tell me not to. In fact, you haven’t told me anything,’ he muttered.
‘An outlander? Really, Ben, what were you thinking?’ Mrs Stanton pulled out a chair and sat down, her hands lying limply on the table before her.
Flint just let out a huffing breath. ‘Don’t overreact, Thea.’ Yanking out a chair of his own, he gestured to Xander to sit. Xander complied reluctantly, cradling his injured hand under the table, while Ollie took the chair next to him.
‘There was another incident but it didn’t originate on our side, so we went over to deal with it. He saw us,’ Flint jerked his head towards Xander, without looking at him. ‘There was a breach, as we thought, and the place was crawling with shades. We were trying to tackle it but the kid seems to be a magnet for them.’
As Flint was outlining the events in the museum, Xander felt an elbow nudge his ribs. Ollie leant over to him.
‘Seriously? Did you actually see shades?’ he whispered, with evident fascination.
Xander nodded. ‘Saw them, was chased by them, nearly got caught by them,’ he muttered back. ‘Still don’t know what they are, though.’
‘Wow,’ said Ollie, looking impressed. ‘When I was little I used to think Gran invented them to scare us when we were playing her up. I’ve never seen any.’
Xander shook his head over Ollie’s enthusiasm. ‘Believe me, you don’t want to. They’re pretty horrifying.’ Just thinking about the rearing black shadows sent shivers running down his back.
‘So, are you a Traveller too, then?’ Ollie leant further forward in his interest. ‘I didn’t know they had them on your side, or are they called something different.’ He eyed Xander with eager curiosity but Xander was struck by the sudden silence in the room. Glancing up, he realised that Flint and Mrs Stanton were looking at him, both waiting fo
r the answer to this question.
‘How should I know?’ he asked, feeling helpless. ‘I was just on a school trip to the museum and that’s apparently when the world decided to go mad. I don’t know anything about glowing stones that break every law of physics, or terrifying black things that appear out of thin air, or Travellers, or any of the insane things that have happened to me in the last day. I just want everything to go back to normal.’ He finished out of breath and with a burning sensation in the back of his throat.
Mrs Stanton’s eyes softened but Flint leant back in his chair, his expression unmoved.
‘The world hasn’t gone mad – you’re just seeing it clearly for the first time,’ he said coolly. ‘As for the shades, people have always feared the dark but they’ve long forgotten what really lies within it, and so blinded themselves to the truth. Deep down, you know this. You have names for what you saw in the city square, don’t you? The things that sent you fleeing back into that alleyway.’
Under Flint’s intent stare, Xander gave a reluctant nod. The names burned through his mind; an insistent litany of lunatic words like ‘fairy’, ‘giant’, and ‘faun’.
Flint smiled grimly. ‘Ask yourself why you know those names, when according to your world, such things don’t exist.’
Xander was aware that his mouth was hanging open and he probably looked an idiot, but he couldn’t seem to string together the right words to ask the question that would make sense of this. He noticed that none of what Flint had said was a surprise to Ollie or his grandmother, so he supposed that either they both believed all of this, or else they were in on the joke. Xander tried hard to pull himself together. This all seemed a bit far-fetched for a joke but even so, it was still rather – far-fetched.
‘What are Travellers?’ he asked.
‘People like me and the others you saw at the museum,’ Flint replied. ‘We can cross over using the Stones, as you saw, and we’re responsible for keeping watch on the border between Haven and your side. We also have some other – abilities.’
‘Like using those things on your wrist to blast the Shades?’ A thought struck Xander and he looked over at Ollie’s band, just visible under his sleeve. ‘Can you do that too?’ he asked him.
Ollie just laughed, shaking his head.
‘No way.’
‘They are called orbs,’ corrected Flint. ‘They’re not just worn by Travellers, although ours are different.’ He did not elaborate any further on that and Xander got the sense that Flint was choosing his words with care, controlling how much information he was letting slip.
Xander finally asked the question that had haunted him since he had first seen the darkness shift and mount its terrifying pursuit of him.
‘What would have happened if those shadow-things had got me?’
‘Disfigurement, madness or death,’ replied Flint. ‘Depending on the type of exposure.’ He touched his cheek absently and Xander eyed the silvery scar there. ‘Just one of them can have a dire effect on you mentally or physically but when they mass, it’s usually game over for the unprotected.’
Xander swallowed. ‘Oh.’
‘Which makes it all the more curious,’ continued Flint, ‘that you blew one to smithereens using apparently only your bare hand.’ He gestured at Xander’s left hand, still concealed under the table. ‘That’s one reason we came here. Thea is a healer and we need to deal with that injury of yours without any awkward questions in the wrong places.’
‘He’s hurt?’ Mrs Stanton rose from the table with an awful majesty and hurried to Xander’s side, throwing an outraged look at Flint. ‘You didn’t see fit to mention that first, before launching into this little interrogation? For Haven’s sake, Ben, where are your wits?’
Even the obdurate Flint flinched under her withering look. ‘I was getting to it,’ he muttered but Mrs Stanton ignored him, leaning down next to Xander and reaching out her hand.
‘May I see?’ she asked him. Xander lifted his still-throbbing palm from where he had tucked it under the table and offered it to her, averting his eyes again as she took it in cool, gentle fingers. She examined it for only a moment. ‘I have a dispensary here, Xander. Is it all right if I treat this for you?’
When Xander nodded, Mrs Stanton led him over to the end of the kitchen, where a door led into a small room. It was lined with rows and rows of shelves full of bottles of bright-coloured liquids, crystalline phials and neatly-stacked tubs filled with more familiar medical supplies. A white work table stood in the middle of the room and Mrs Stanton sat Xander down at it, before busying herself with gathering what she needed and lining the things up along the table. Xander laid his hand, palm up, on the table and looked away from the raw, seeping wound. Mrs Stanton smiled at him over her shoulder, her eyes understanding, as she washed her hands in a little sink.
‘You don’t like blood?’ she asked as she returned. ‘Don’t worry, it isn’t as bad as it looks.’ Even as she spoke, her quick, gentle hands were at work and then Xander felt something cool being spread across his palm; the throbbing faded and then ceased entirely. Risking a glance, Xander saw a thick layer of pale gelatinous ointment covering his skin, before Mrs Stanton topped it with gauze and then swiftly bandaged his hand. She looked up at him with a reassuring smile. ‘All done,’ she said. ‘I’ll redress it tomorrow but, barring any complications, it should heal up well.’
‘Thank you,’ said Xander, tentatively flexing his fingers to test the efficacy of the apparently miraculous painkiller. He smiled in relief at Mrs Stanton, who was restoring the room to immaculate tidiness.
‘You’re very welcome,’ she replied with a warm smile, and then ushered him back out into the kitchen where Flint was pacing restlessly. He swung around as they re-entered the room, his gaze flicking to the pristine white bandage swathing Xander’s hand.
‘All right?’ he asked.
‘It is now,’ Mrs Stanton said tartly. ‘I’ll want to monitor it though; there’s a fair amount of abrading on his palm.’
‘Fine,’ said Flint. ‘I’ll just leave him here for the time being then.’
Without a glance at Xander’s wide-eyed face, Flint turned towards the kitchen door only to find himself impaled on Mrs Stanton’s accusing glare, her eyes narrowed ominously.
‘And?’ she demanded.
‘And – what?’ Flint said, but his tone was somewhat wary now. He was clearly not immune to the force of the Stantons’ formidable grandmother.
Instead of answering, Mrs Stanton turned to Ollie. ‘Please show Xander your room, Oliver.’ It was not a request and Flint winced as she added, ‘Don’t hurry.’
Ollie jumped to his feet and headed towards the exit – evidently he was well aware of the right time to make a break for it. Flint’s eyes followed him, looking as though he wished that he could leave as well, but Xander lagged behind. It was clear whatever they were going to argue about concerned him and his future, and he wanted to know what it was.
Once outside the heavy kitchen door, which Mrs Stanton closed after them with a foreboding thud, Ollie wasted no time in heading for the stairs.
‘Come on, quick,’ he threw over his shoulder. ‘Or we’ll miss it.’
Perplexed, Xander followed Ollie as he dived up the stairs, two at a time.
‘Miss what?’ he panted.
Ollie sent him a knowing grin as they reached the top of the stairs and turned off to the left.
‘Well, I assume that you want to hear what they are saying in there?’ he said. ‘Adults only ever throw you out when they are talking about something interesting, and probably about you.’
Despite his worry, Xander grinned back. Obviously some things did not change no matter what reality you found yourself in. Ollie led the way along a wide hallway and then down a short passage, to a large bathroom with antique-looking fixtures. Xander eyed him in confusion, but Ollie put his finger to his lips and pointed at a vent set into the wall by the floor. He beckoned Xander forwards.
‘Gran n
ever remembers you can hear every word from the kitchen through this old vent,’ he murmured. ‘But the sounds will go both ways, so don’t speak when it’s open.’
Xander nodded and crouched next to Ollie. With another warning glance, Ollie slid the vent open.
‘– need to prioritise this, Ben.’
The words rang out, appearing to come from the middle of the room. Xander jerked around and stared behind him, then saw Ollie shaking with silent laughter. Xander shot him an embarrassed smile.
‘I said that I’ll look into it, but there are other pressing issues right now. The boy’ll be fine here for a while. Just keep him out of sight until we find out what the deal is with these breaches – what’s causing them. When that’s fixed, he can go back and hopefully no-one the wiser.’ Flint’s voice was impatient.
‘And his ability to use the Stone, or hold off shade-strike with his bare hand?’ Mrs Stanton demanded. ‘Are you no longer curious about that? It seems pretty noteworthy to me.’
There was a pause.
‘Of course it’s strange but the kid is hardly a threat to us and these breaches certainly are. That has to be our main concern, not some oddity turned up by chance. I don’t have time for this right now, Thea.’
‘Make time,’ snapped Mrs Stanton. ‘Oddity, my eye! People are not just things, Ben, to pick up or discard when it’s convenient.’
‘Are we still talking about the boy, Thea?’ Flint asked coldly. There was another meaningful silence and then, ‘Fine, have it your way.’ Xander could almost see Flint rolling his eyes as he ground out the words. ‘We’ll get on it. Happy now?’
‘Ecstatic,’ replied Mrs Stanton, drily.
‘Just keep the kid out of trouble and don’t let him go wandering around. The less he sees, the better.’
