The Jack Brenin Collection

by Catherine Cooper

  Jack knew he was dreaming. He could see himself, in his pyjamas, standing inside Nora’s dimly lit library. He couldn’t feel the cold stone floor under his bare feet, nor could he smell the leather-bound books that filled the bookshelves. He watched himself cup his palms together and make a ball of light. Once it was glowing brightly he released it. The room slowly lit up. He saw himself walk over to one of the tall bookshelves, next to which stood a wide cylindrical pot. There were rolls of parchment inside the pot and, without hesitation, he lifted one out and took it over to the table. As soon as the long scroll touched the flat surface, it unfurled.

  Although Jack was watching himself he could very clearly hear his own thoughts. He could see his name had been written, in Nora’s neat capital letters, at the bottom of the scroll. Above that she’d written ARTHUR, his dad’s name, and SAMUEL above that. The long list of names that preceded Grandad’s had to be those of his ancestors. It wasn’t the usual kind of family tree. Jack had never seen anything like it before. He followed the long list of names upwards. At the top of the parchment a large heading had been written.

  THE BRENIN LINEAGE TREE

  A lineage tree?

  As soon as he’d asked himself the question, he knew the answer. The names on the list, above his own, were of all the Brenins who had ever lived. Every one had been a potential king, yet he’d been the one to find the torc. In a few days’ time he was to be crowned King of Annwn. Jack looked at the first name.

  ALINDYNE

  He could hear himself reading it aloud. It wasn’t a name he’d ever heard before. It sounded unfamiliar but he somehow knew this was his ancestor who was buried inside the Mound on Glasruhen Hill. This was the King of the Festivals, the one who’d chosen mortality to enable the lost torc to be found. Jack’s gaze travelled down the long list of names again until he reached his own. His finger reached out and touched the scroll. He felt a sudden jolt and seemed to leap into his own body. He was no longer watching himself; now he could smell the leather books, feel the cold floor beneath his feet and his heart pounding in his chest. The sudden realisation of how many Brenins had lived before him made him catch his breath. He exhaled slowly as the enormity of everything he’d been through struck him. His head filled with questions. Did he have the qualities to be a good king? Would the people of Annwn accept him? When he’d agreed to help Arrana, he’d had no idea where his journey would lead. A lot of people had put their trust in him. Could he face Velindur and be strong? He wished he knew the answers and he wished he could speak with Alindyne and ask his advice.

  Jack suddenly felt dizzy. The room spun and the soft glowing light grew brighter. He gripped the table to steady himself and closed his eyes. To his relief, the dizziness subsided quickly. He opened his eyes a fraction but there was only blackness. He tried opening them fully but it didn’t help; he was in total darkness.

  He couldn’t make out any familiar shapes. Was he in his bedroom? He didn’t think so. Jack cupped his hands and made the ball of light again. When he released it, he could see he was no longer inside the library, nor was he back in his room.

  The light glowed and hovered before him. There was darkness ahead, but the arched walls that surrounded him were unmistakably those of a tunnel, one he’d never been in before. He could feel soft earth beneath his bare feet and when he reached out and touched the walls they felt cold. In the soft light he could see carvings on either side of the passage. His fingers traced one of the designs. It was similar to something he’d seen inside Silver Hill. Was that where he was? Was he in danger? A sudden rush of realisation gave Jack his answer… seconds ago, he’d wished he could speak to Alindyne. He wasn’t anywhere near Silver Hill. Somehow he’d managed to transport himself to Glasruhen, to the Mound of his ancestor. Should he go on or should he wish himself back in bed?

  THE MOUND

  Jack took a deep breath and decided that he would follow the passage and enter the tomb. If at any time he felt he’d made the wrong choice, he knew he could wish himself back to the safety of his bed. He suddenly remembered what he was wearing and, before taking another step, he visualised his black tracksuit and trainers. He didn’t think it would be appropriate to enter the tomb of his ancestor in his pyjamas.

  The light he’d created floated a little way ahead of him, illuminating the carvings on either side of the tunnel. It wasn’t long before the intricate designs were replaced by images of a dense forest. Dryads in flowing robes flitted in and around the stone trees. Jack was able to identify the slender birch, the smooth trunk of the beech and, behind them all, tall ash trees. Finally he found himself walking between majestic oaks. When Jack stopped in front of the last tree, the light stopped too. There was something strange about the carving to his right. He felt as if he were being watched. When he peered more closely at the branches, he could see the face of a man looking back at him. It wasn’t like anything Jack had ever seen before. The expressionless carved face had leaves for hair and seemed to be breathing long leafy stems out of its mouth, each of which bore curled tendrils. Jack felt the urge to touch one. He traced one of the coils back to the main stem, which formed an intricate pattern, similar to the one at the entrance. It twisted and turned under his fingertips. Apart from the soft glowing light, the rest of the passage was shrouded in darkness. Jack had no sense of time passing. Even though he was sure what was happening was real, it also felt dreamlike.

  The tendril Jack was tracing ended at a large wooden door. The light rose upwards towards the tunnel roof. Jack could see the door was arched. In the stone above it, words had been carved:

  No one may ever pass through here,

  Except at Samhain every year.

  There were four more days to go before this door would be opened for his coronation, but Jack didn’t want to pass through the tomb into Annwn, he only wanted to enter and speak with his ancestor. There seemed no point in crystal magic bringing him here unless the door would open for him. He tried a gentle push, then a harder one, but the door remained closed. Should he wish to go inside or try to open it with magic? He decided on the latter. Jack raised both arms and spoke the word that he knew opened the hedge at Ewell House:

  ‘Cardea.’

  Soundlessly the door swung inwards. The light flitted through the opening and Jack followed. He was still in a passage but this one didn’t have carved walls or an earthen floor. Huge oblong blocks of cut stone lined the walls, while more slabs rested on top of them to create a low ceiling. Jack could see that smaller blocks of the same stone formed the floor. This had to be the final passage that led inside the mound to Alindyne’s tomb. Jack had never been inside any kind of tomb or burial mound before. The space inside the passage seemed to envelop him. His heartbeat quickened, not through fear but from anticipation. He felt solemn rather than scared. Would he really be able to speak with Alindyne? Stranger things had already happened to Jack since he’d come to live at Brenin House. He straightened his back, stood as tall as he could and followed the light.

  When Jack stepped out of the passage, he knew he was inside a larger space, even though he couldn’t see much. It felt airy and strangely still. Jack wished he could see the whole chamber. As soon as this thought formed, the light before him grew brighter. It rose higher and higher and illuminated a circular chamber. A tunnel entrance, like the one he’d just come through, was directly opposite him. The walls curved upwards to a domed roof. In the centre was a simple stone coffin. The base was oblong but the top had two curved ends. The carved figure of a man lay on top, his head resting on one rounded end and his feet on the other. Jack approached slowly. The closer he got to the tomb, the smaller he felt. What should he say? He remembered the conversation he’d had with Arrana when he’d first met her. She’d told him to speak with his heart and not to be afraid. Jack wasn’t frightened, he knew nothing was going to harm him, but he’d no idea how he should address Alindyne. He climbed up the small step onto the plinth that surrounded the tomb, stood on tiptoe and peeped at t
he carved figure. He had a kind face and his hair flowed over his shoulders onto a tunic that was similar to those Jack had worn the last time he’d been in Annwn. Most of the man’s clothes were hidden by a shield, which had been placed on top of the carving. It was a real shield, made of metal with rounded corners. It had a knotwork design embossed on its surface and there was a raised dome in the middle. Jack could see his distorted reflection in the polished metal. He walked slowly around the plinth. On the other side, by the figure’s left arm, lay a long sword. This too was real. It was in a scabbard, which had been imprinted with the same interlaced designs as were used on the shield. As Jack turned the corner, he glanced at the curved stone where his ancestor’s head lay. Jack was left in no doubt as to who was inside the tomb when he read the inscription:

  ALINDYNE BRENIN

  RESTS HERE

  WORTHY MORTAL

  BUT NEVER CROWNED

  ‘Who speaks my name?’

  Jack slipped off the plinth as a deep voice boomed inside his head. He stood up straight and climbed back onto it, but before he could reply the voice spoke again.

  ‘Who has woken me from my rest and speaks my name?’

  ‘Jack Brenin, Raven-Boy, Friend to All, Freeman of Annwn…’ Jack hesitated. He didn’t know if it would be polite to complete the names he’d already been given. The decision was made for him when the voice completed the list.

  ‘… King of the Forest and the Rightful King of Annwn. Am I correct?’

  Jack nodded and then realised his action might not have been seen.

  ‘Yes, you are right… and you are my ancestor, Alindyne, King of the Festival, Uncrowned King of Annwn.’

  ‘You missed out Worthy Mortal, which is why I lie here. Long have I awaited this moment, when my descendant would stand before my tomb and seek my counsel.’

  ‘I have questions and concerns.’

  ‘But what you really want to know is… are you worthy to wear the crown of Annwn?’

  ‘I am only a boy. I’m not a man and I’m not tall or strong.’

  ‘And yet I feel the qualities of kingship are already within you.’

  ‘I don’t know what they are. I don’t want to disappoint those who have put their faith in me.’

  ‘If you have come this far, Jack Brenin, and hold the fine array of titles bestowed upon you, that alone makes you worthy. If you stand before me you must be on the eve of your coronation, you must have found the lost treasure of Annwn and remade the torc of kingship. Anyone who has travelled that journey is worthy to wear the torc and be called King.’

  ‘This isn’t the eve of my coronation, there are four more days left before I should have entered the Mound.’

  ‘Then something pressing must be troubling you.’

  ‘It is. There is someone who would take the torc from me, someone who believes they should be King. He now has a weapon, but I don’t know how he intends to use it. I’m afraid he will do everything in his power to prevent me from being crowned.’

  ‘And who would this someone be?’

  ‘His name is Velindur.’

  ‘Ah! I know the man of whom you speak. As I remember, he was an ambitious man who enjoyed wielding power. He sought to have authority over this fair land but was never worthy to be its king.’

  ‘It’s a long story, but he thinks the torc is his rightful inheritance. He has the Book of Sorrows in his possession.’

  ‘You are certain he has the Druid’s book?’

  ‘I’m certain. I was shown Velindur brandishing a book when I looked into the Stone of Destiny and since then everyone has been searching to discover which book he has. It’s definitely the Book of Sorrows.’

  ‘I expect you know this book contains all the trials and tribulations, sorrows and sufferings, endured by generations of Druids.’

  ‘Yes, but we don’t know what he’s going to do with it.’

  ‘Whatever he has in mind won’t be for the benefit of anyone other than himself.’

  Jack didn’t answer and Alindyne remained silent. Jack wondered if Alindyne could see him. A sudden booming laugh erupted in Jack’s head.

  ‘No, I can’t see you, but I can read your thoughts and the troubles within your heart. Tell me everything, from the very beginning. There is no need to speak, just reach out to me with your heart and mind. I will both hear and feel your words.’

  ‘It will take too long.’

  ‘Time is one thing I have plenty of, but you have the power to transfer the knowledge to me.’

  Jack didn’t understand, but no sooner had he wondered what Alindyne meant, than his ancestor spoke again.

  ‘Touch the dome of metal in the centre of my shield. It’s a boss with special powers, for it was forged in Annwn. On the eve of your coronation you would have been directed to this very place and told to touch the dome. It opens a direct line of communication between us. Upon feeling your touch, I would have recognised you as the rightful heir and would then have imparted all my knowledge to you. I can do that now, for if you had not been my heir, you could not have awakened me. However, before I give you my gift, I must know everything that has preceded your visit. Place both hands around the boss and open your heart and mind.’

  Jack leant over and cupped his hands around the shiny dome. He closed his eyes and visualised the back lane behind Grandad’s house. He felt the bump on his head again. He searched the grass and recreated the moment he discovered the golden acorn. As he bent over and touched the acorn, a rushing sensation coursed through his body. He felt hot and dizzy. The events of the past few months flashed through his mind; the images sped faster and faster. Colours and words mingled together until he couldn’t see any one image or distinguish any single word. In seconds, he experienced every emotion possible. Then everything stopped. His mind cleared only to find that his head and heart were being filled with Alindyne’s thoughts and feelings. It was like the book rush he’d experienced at Falconrock. The inpouring of images and emotions came so quickly it was impossible for Jack to make any sense of the information he was receiving. Sweat trickled down his back, his eyesight blurred, but he kept his hands firmly around the boss. He was relieved when everything stopped and he heard Alindyne’s voice once more inside his head. His words were almost whispered.

  ‘You’ve had a long and difficult journey for one so young. You must never doubt you are worthy, for I have seen all the qualities of kingship within you. Trust your own judgement, for you have Arrana’s power, crystal magic, and now my experience to call upon. You will be a good king, Jack Brenin, and your immortality will bring stability to Annwn. Never again will they want for a king.’

  ‘Immortality…? I don’t understand.’

  ‘You drank the juice from the Crochan leaves. Once that coursed through your veins you were no longer mortal.’

  Jack felt confused.

  ‘I’ve never drunk the elixir of life.’

  ‘You may not have realised it at the time but I have just watched one of your memories. Do you remember taking the stalks from the Crochan leaves?’

  Jack thought back to the first time he’d entered Annwn. He could see himself, as a raven, sitting next to Camelin, who had been transformed into a boy. They were in Gwillam’s garden with a pile of rhubarb and Crochan leaves. He’d been de-stringing the rhubarb and Camelin had been de-stalking the leaves. It had been a sort of punishment for all the trouble they’d caused. Jack remembered the strange taste of the leaves when he’d helped to de-stalk them.

  ‘I didn’t have the elixir, I only had some juice from the stems.’

  Alindyne laughed.

  ‘That juice was a thousand times more potent than the elixir. It hadn’t been brewed, it was concentrated. A few drops could harm a man, but you weren’t completely human when you swallowed it. Like Camelin, by a twist of fate you have achieved immortality.’

  Jack swallowed hard. He’d only just got used to being a Raven-Boy and being able to perform magic. The implications of being immortal w
ere huge.

  ‘Does that mean I’m never going to die?’

  ‘It does.’

  Jack couldn’t speak. This revelation raised more unanswered questions. Alindyne’s voice sounded soft inside his head.

  ‘Hush. This is not the time or place to contemplate your immortality. You’ve got a long life ahead of you to work it all out. I saw in your heart your concern for your friends.’

  ‘I wasn’t able to help with the evacuation, but I still have friends inside Newton Gill who cannot be evacuated.’

  ‘The Gnarles?’

  ‘The trees cannot be uprooted and moved.’

  ‘But you have it within you to ensure their safety.’

  ‘I do? But how?’

  ‘By appointing an Oak Lord.’

  ‘But I can’t do that until my coronation and by then it might be too late.’

  ‘You are already King of the Forest. You have the power of the Hamadryad within you; there is no need for you to wait until you are crowned King of Annwn to appoint someone to be the guardian of the oaks. The protection the Oak Lord can give is for all oak trees both young and old, living or hollow. He will tend to the needs of the Hamadryads and those who dwell within the trees.’

  Jack remembered the conversation he’d had with Nora. She’d said the Oak Lord needed to be a mortal man, trustworthy and knowledgeable in the ways of the forests, an honorable man. Jack looked at the tomb before him. Inside lay a man who was once mortal and who was now at rest. A rush of excitement flooded his body. He forgot about being polite or dignified and blurted out his words.

  ‘You could be my Oak Lord, couldn’t you?’

  ‘If you would bestow that honour upon me, I would gladly do your bidding.’