The children shuffled uneasily but shook their heads.
Lynne shrugged. “Sorry, I thought you’d enjoy it, so we’ve already accepted the invitation. It would be rude to change our minds now.” She pointed to the backpacks. “Pack enough clothes for seven days. Oh, Holly, find three bike helmets. Dad’s strapping bikes on the back of the car since you won’t be able to ride around on the ponies like you do here.” She smiled down at Chantel. “We’ll figure out something else for you, Poppet.”
Chantel sighed and withdrew her hand.
“Breakfast in fifteen minutes,” said Lynne brightly and left.
* * *
Owen kicked the chair. “I can’t believe Mum and Dad organized that without asking us. How could they? How can we leave when something magic’s about to happen?” He looked across at Chantel. “What if you break your other leg? That would fix it.”
“Break your own leg,” Chantel retorted.
“I’ll push you down the stairs if you like,” offered Adam.
“You and whose army?” Owen hunkered down into a sumo wrestler stance and beckoned. “Come on. Come on. Try it. Try it!”
“Give over, you two,” Holly muttered. “Stop being ten-year-old brats. I’m trying to think.”
“Huh. Being eleven means you’re not a brat, does it?”
“Oh, do shut up, Owen, I’m trying to remember. Avebury . . . what do I know about Avebury?”
“Who cares?” said Owen. “It’s a stupid name for a stupid place.” He swung up on his bunk. “I’m on strike. I’m not going anywhere.” He disappeared under his duvet.
Chantel giggled.
Holly picked up two backpacks. “He’s crazy. Come on, Chantel, let’s get out of here,” she said and led the way back to her room.
Adam eyed the mound that was Owen. He wasn’t sure what to do. He wanted to support his cousin, but didn’t want to anger his aunt and uncle. “Are you really on strike?” he asked.
The mound heaved and Owen stuck out his head. “Fat chance.” He grinned. “I’ve got a better idea. ‘Don’t get mad, get even!’ Let’s make them so sorry they’ve taken us away, we’ll be brought home faster than a speeding bullet.”
“You mean Operation Irritation?” Adam laughed. “I’m good at that.”
Owen jumped off the bunk with a thud and ran over to the laundry hamper.
“What are you doing?” Adam asked as dirty laundry flew through the air.
“Packing,” retorted Owen. “First find smelly socks, preferably odd ones. Dad won’t notice, but it gets Mum really choked.”
* * *
Dawn Magic coursed through the stones, growing stronger as the day progressed.
Outwardly still gray monoliths, inwardly the stones were stirring. First a spreading warmth at their centers.
Then a flutter as light as the beat of a butterfly wing. The flutter became a pulse. The magic coursed faster and the stones shimmered with energy. Deep inside each one, a heart began to beat.
* * *
The journey in the station wagon was tense.
Uncle Ron and Aunt Lynne kept up a stream of cheerful chatter. The four cousins slumped in their seats and answered in monosyllables.
Finally, Uncle Ron pulled to the side of the road and switched off the engine. He swung around and glared.
“That’s it, you four! Now, what’s up?”
The children dropped their eyes.
“Look at me,” he roared.
Four sets of eyes widened and flicked upward.
“We are going to Avebury. We are going for a week. I’m working there. Mope if you like, but I expect politeness to me, your mum and our hosts, the Prendergasts. Understood?”
Four heads nodded.
Ron Maxwell fixed a steely eye on the two girls hunched in the back seat. “Holly and Chantel, stop the ‘go slow’! Chantel has been whizzing around, despite the cast on her leg, until this morning.”
Chantel flushed and Holly bit her lip.
Ron turned his attention to the middle seat. “Owen, spare me your idea of humor. If you wish to wear the odoriferous clothing you’ve stuffed in your backpack, that’s your choice. But stay outside and don’t inflict yourself on anyone else. Rain or shine, you eat all your meals on the back step until you find a washing machine.”
Adam gave a snort of laughter that he changed into a cough as his uncle frowned.
“Turn off your watch alarm, Adam. I will not be subjected to bleeps every five minutes. Or, of course, you can hand it over.”
Adam frantically started reprogramming.
“And the next person who sings ‘Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall’ will get out and walk,” Lynne interjected.
The kids smothered grins.
Lynne pushed the hair out of her eyes and sighed. “I don’t get it. Why are you all so angry? We thought you would enjoy seeing the Stone Circle at Avebury.”
There was a sharp intake of breath. “What? Where are you and Dad taking us?” Owen asked.
“The Avebury Stone Circle . . . you must have heard of it?”
Holly leaned forward and poked Owen. “That’s it! I remember,” she said urgently. “Avebury’s a Stone Circle that’s older than Stonehenge.” She took a breath. “And guess what? The old name for a circle of stones is a dance!”
The cousins exchanged looks.
“A circle,” said Owen. He leaned forward and hung over the front seat between his parents. His voice wobbled. “You and Dad are taking us to . . . to see a Stone Circle?”
Lynne nodded. “We are going to stay at Manor Cottage, right in the middle of the Circle.”
“How soon before we get there?” said Owen.
Holly, Adam and Chantel leaned back in their seats and laughed until tears poured down their cheeks.
“I give up.” Lynne threw up her hands. “Ron, ignore them. Just drive to Avebury.”
2.
FOREST MAGIC
“They’re on their way,” said Ava. “Soon the children will be able to perform the ritual and I will reclaim my circlet.”
Myrddin frowned. “We need more than the ritual to help us. Each day the Dark Being moves closer. Already her influence is felt the length and breadth of the Milky Way. Dark things grow stronger. Her supporters are legion. We are few.” He shook his cloak restlessly. “We erred when we removed our tools of power from the Place Beyond Morning and hid them on Gaia.”
“The tools have been safe for aeons,” said Equus.
Myrddin moved edgily. “I know, I know, but I am fearful. It will take the human children time to recover Ava’s circlet. Then there is still my staff to find and the Lady to waken.”
Ava laid a wingtip on his arm. “‘Traa dy liooar,’ the Lady said. ‘Time enough.’ Remember?”
“I remember,” said Myrddin. “I remember a time when the Silver Citadel and the Place Beyond Morning were the symbols of all that was good. I remember when Gaia was young and the human people innocent. I remember when we were honored and first named Wise Ones for giving up our tools of power. I remember when we believed that hiding our tools would make the Dark Being leave us in peace.” Myrddin spread his arms wide. “All for naught. Now she threatens to destroy everything, and the humans have forgotten us.” He shook his head. “Only four children hear us. How can we tell children of the horror that the Dark Being has become.”
“We will tell them gently, bit by bit,” said Equus.
“They have hidden strength,” said Ava. “They helped Equus regain his talisman. Rejoice, Myrddin. The first task is completed and the second has begun. The dark things stir as the Dark Being approaches, but followers of light stir also. The stones turned, Myrddin! The dawn light woke them to help us. Dark and Light, Light and Dark. Step by step we will balance the darkness, but only if we keep faith with the light.”
* * *
The Maxwell family’s station wagon sped across country, cresting the downs, then dipping into wide green valleys. The day became hot and oppressi
ve. The children wound down the windows and let the air stream past their faces. Suddenly the terrain changed. They drove through a cool green tunnel formed by branches meeting overhead.
“Look at the trees,” gasped Holly. “That one’s gigantic.” She pointed to a gnarled, moss-covered oak. Its twisted trunk leaned out over a high bank and overhung the road.
Her father slowed the car. “We’re driving through Savernake Forest, one of the oldest stretches of oak forest in England. This is a royal forest where kings and queens used to hunt for deer. That tree was probably growing in the Middle Ages, five or six hundred years ago.”
“Cool,” said Adam. “We’ve got some old trees on the West Coast of Canada. They’re called Douglas firs.” He looked at some of the oaks. “They’re way taller.”
“Why is everything bigger and better in Canada?” said Owen.
His mother turned and glared. Owen rolled his eyes.
Adam subsided, a hurt look on his face.
Ron drove into a small car park. “We’ve been sitting too long. Let’s look at the oaks and run off some energy.”
“Yes.” Owen and Adam tumbled out of the car.
Owen punched Adam’s arm in an unspoken apology. “Beat you to that tree over there.” The two boys raced across the car park and leaped into the undergrowth. Bulldozing their way through ferns and deadfall, they argued at the top of their lungs about which tree looked the oldest.
Holly paused in a patch of green light filtering through the branches above her. The forest was beautiful, so much bigger and more mysterious than the woods near her house. She sniffed, pulling the heady smell of loamy soil, damp mossy banks and the sharp odor of acorns deep into her lungs. Inside her a feeling grew. This place was special. Holly plunged into the tangle of bracken.
* * *
Chantel sighed. It wasn’t fair. Everyone was leaving her behind again. When she first broke her leg, they had all helped her. Even her brother had been nice to her. But now they expected her to do everything for herself. She gave a little sniff while struggling to extract her crutches from the car.
“I’m sorry. This isn’t an easy place for you to explore,”
Uncle Ron said as he came round to help her.
“It’s okay,” Chantel said without conviction.
“We can use the trail,” Aunt Lynne suggested.
Chantel nodded. “I’m good on crutches but not in this.”
She poked one crutch into a mass of undergrowth beside the car park. “I’d be tangled up forever.”
Uncle Ron patted her shoulder and strode vigorously ahead.
Lynne chuckled. “Your uncle always needs to speed walk to work out driving kinks.” She laughed. “He hates sitting for any length of time. Owen is just like him.” She looked quizzically at Chantel. “That leaves you and me. Shall we walk up the path together?”
“Sure, if you think you can keep up with me.” Chantel grinned and set off, swinging her crutches at a great pace.
“Hey, look at us,” Owen and Adam hollered and waved from their perch on a giant branch.
Chantel and Lynne waved back.
Holly never turned her head.
* * *
For once, practical Holly was in a world all her own. The ancient forest captivated her. She closed her ears to the distant sounds of traffic and her family and imagined she was walking alone. The bracken and brambles were waist high, but she thrust them aside in a swimming motion. The green light enveloped her, dragging her onward as though she was caught in the current of a deep, green river. The first tree she had spotted, the twisted oak overhanging the road, drew her like a magnet. Finally, breathless and scratched, she washed up on its tangle of roots and gazed at the bulky black trunk.
I was right, you’re really, really old, thought Holly as she clambered over the thick tracery of roots. She reached the trunk and fingered the fissures etched deep in the bark. Small ferns and clumps of grass sprouted from the hollows, miniature hanging gardens that gave the tree a festive air as though it had pinned on jewelry. Just above her head, the trunk split into three massive limbs. From them sprang a web of branches holding up a dense umbrella of greenery.
I could hide up there, Holly thought. No one would ever find me. The branches are so big there must be lots of places to sit.
She swung up and straddled a branch.
Greenery enclosed her, branches embraced her and Holly became part of the tree. The leaves whispered to each other, small birds hopped around unafraid and a continuous buzz of insects hung in the air.
She gazed upward. High above hung a pale green ball of leaves that seemed to glow. It was a bunch of magical mistletoe. Holly gazed at it in awe.
Suddenly a breeze blew and a flutter of red caught her eye. Someone had tied a piece of plastic tape to a lower branch. “Ugh,” said Holly. She edged along her branch, stretched and tugged. The tape snapped off. She rolled it up and stowed it in her jeans pocket.
Holly crawled back and leaned forward against the main trunk. She stretched her arms as wide as she could. They circled only a fraction of the tree’s width. “You’re amazing,” she whispered, her cheek against the bark. “You must be the oldest tree here.”
“I am,” the tree whispered back.
Startled, Holly drew back, then grinned and looked around. “Good one,” she chuckled. “Show yourself, Owen, wherever you are!”
No answer. Her smile faded.
“Come on,” she called sharply. “Stop trying to scare me. It’s not funny.”
Still no one answered.
Puzzled, Holly checked below the oak but saw no one. She climbed farther up the trunk, slithered out on the branch that leaned over the road, and peeped through the leaves. Nobody was hiding below the bank.
Then she heard Owen and Adam calling each other, way back in the forest.
Holly edged back to the massive trunk and leaned against it.
She shook her head to clear it. “Trees can’t speak,” she muttered.
“They speak.” The whisper hung in the air. “But humans never hear.”
“Then why can I hear you?” replied Holly, hesitantly.
She looked around to try and identify where the voice was coming from.
“You have walked in the Place Beyond Morning.” The whisper surrounded her.
Holly gasped. “How do you know?”
“Stardust shines in your hair.”
Holly grabbed a handful of dark curls. She pulled them in front of her face and squinted. They looked perfectly normal. She let go. “Who are you?”
“The oldest oak. The Mother Tree. And you?”
“Holly.”
The tree gave a deep chuckle, and Holly felt the branch tremble.
“No wonder you hear Treespeak. You are named for one of the Great Trees. Oak, Ash, Yew, Beech, Hawthorn, Holly and Ivy, magic trees all.”
“I thought I was named for Christmas. My birthday’s in December.” Holly stroked the trunk as she spoke.
“Holly is older than Christmas. In the beginning was the Old Magic. Holly boughs strewn at entrances celebrate the Greenwood and keep Dark Magic at bay.”
“Goodness!” said Holly in awe.
“Holly, HOLLY. Time to go.” Her father’s voice echoed through the forest.
“My dad’s calling.”
“One moment, child. Dark things stir. My forest labors under siege. Will you help me?”
“If I can,” said Holly, not sure how she could help a tree miles away from anywhere.
“Thank you. In return for your kindness I offer gifts. Hold out your hand, child.”
Holly obeyed. An acorn dropped into her palm.
“Keep safe this acorn, young Holly Berry. It holds the power of the Greenwood. So does my mistletoe. In times of need you may take some.”
“Thank you,” said Holly politely.
“I also offer words of power, for protection against wickedness.”
“Okay,” said Holly, mystified. She tucked the aco
rn in the bottom of her pocket, beneath the tape.
“Bend your ear to my trunk, for words of power must never be uttered lest needed.”
Holly leaned into the trunk.
The whisper came from deep within the tree. She had to strain to hear, and what she heard made no sense.
“Lhiat myr hoilloo.”
“Pardon?” said Holly.
“Lhiat myr hoilloo.”
“Lee-at mur hoylew,” repeated Holly under her breath. “What does it mean?”
“’Tis Oldspeak for ‘to thee as thou deservest.’ Treasure the words deep in your heart.”
“HOLLY!”
“Coming,” Holly shouted. She patted the tree trunk. “I have to go . . . but I will look after your acorn and . . . and remember the words. Thank you for your gifts.”
“May your leaves be ever green,” the oak rustled.
Bemused, Holly swung down to the ground and picked her way across the maze of roots. Her mind racing, she retraced her trail through the forest.
* * *
Ron drove the final miles toward Avebury. The hot air was thick and heavy. He rubbed his forehead. “There’s a storm hanging around.”
“Hurry up rain, freshen the air,” joked Lynne. As she spoke, heavy drops of rain spattered on the windscreen.
“Well done, Mum,” said Owen. “The weather was listening.”
With the rain came relief from the heat. Irritations forgotten, everyone except Holly chatted happily about the forest and the size of the trees.
Holly gazed unseeing out the window.
“Holly, where did you get to?” Owen asked eventually.
“To the Mother Tree,” Holly replied.
“The Mother Tree?” repeated Lynne. “What’s that, the oldest tree in the forest?”
“Yes,” Holly muttered, looking uncomfortable.
“How did you know? Was there a plaque?” her mum continued.
Holly flushed. “No. I . . . er . . . just guessed.”
“No way,” Owen crowed. “I think our tree was the oldest, don’t you, Adam?”
Dance of the Stones Page 2
