Wychetts and the Thunderstone

by William Holley

  Edwin’s vision clouded, and his eyeballs rolled in their sockets as the tentacle tightened around his body.

  Then he heard Inglenook’s voice again, the soft tones blocking out the Knucker’s exultant gurgle.

  “Believe, Young Master. Reach out for me with your mind and heart.”

  Edwin tried to focus on the blue light in front of him.

  “I am here for you, Young Master.”

  Using all his remaining strength and concentration, Edwin managed to raise his leaden right arm towards the light.

  The light flared brighter, and Edwin glimpsed Inglenook’s smiling features flashing in the murk.

  There was a spark from Edwin’s outstretched fingers, then a beam of light shot from his hand to strike the tentacle holding the Wychetts Key.

  The Knucker’s gurgling became shrill with pain, and the tentacle uncoiled from Edwin’s waist. He slipped from the Knuckler’s grasp, his body twisting slowly to the cavern floor.

  Another thunderous gurgle sounded, and as Edwin lay on his back he saw the giant claw lunging at him. Instinctively he raised his arm, just as the Wychetts Key floated down to rest in his hand.

  A beam of dazzling light lanced from the Key. There was another gurgle of pain, and the claw withdrew into a veil of murkiness.

  Then the darkness closed around Edwin, and he surrendered to the ice-cold numbness that enveloped his body…

  Chapter 15- Less Life Than a Damp Dishcloth

  “He’s breathing.” The voice sounded like an old woman. “He’s alive!”

  Edwin coughed, a fountain of water spewing from his lips.

  “Well I never,” said another voice, haughty in tone. “I was quite convinced he had perished. He was so pale and lifeless.”

  “He looks pale at the best of times,” said a third, squeakier voice. “And generally displays less life than a damp dishcloth.”

  Edwin took several deep breaths, then opened his eyes and looked around him. He was lying on a bed of moss in small cave, with a ceiling smothered in glowing green slime. And old lady wearing tortoise shell glasses sat by his side. On her shoulder rested a rusty weather vane in the shape of a cockerel, and there was a mouse with half a tail sitting next his bed.

  “Who… what… where…” Edwin frowned as he tried to work out where he was.

  “You are in the Nyx royal palace,” said the old lady. “The Queen’s very own private chamber.”

  “Nyx?” Edwin blinked at the old lady. Then suddenly all his memories came flooding back.

  “Stubby! Val!” Edwin sat bolt upright. “What happened in the Cavern of Death?”

  “You succeeded.” Val smiled. “Just as I knew you would.”

  “But how did I survive?” Edwin couldn’t recall how he got out of the cavern. “Last thing I remember, that Knucker monster had me in its grip…”

  “I may be able to answer that.” A deep, rich voice drew Edwin’s attention to a metal object lying on the moss beside him.

  A delighted Edwin scooped up the Key and smiled at Inglenook’s miniature metal face. “Am I glad to see you!”

  “Likewise, Young Master.” The Keeper of the Ancient Wisdom beamed back at Edwin. “For a while I thought I had lost you forever.”

  “We would all have been lost without you,” said Edwin. “But I don’t get it. I was at the mercy of the Knucker. I couldn’t reach you. Yet the magic…”

  “It was your belief that won the day,” explained Inglenook. “Although you could not touch the Key, your faith in the power of Wychetts was enough to form a psychic link between you and the magic signal. Once the link was formed I was able to save you and Master Stubby from the Knucker.”

  “It was a close thing,” said Stubby. “Luckily for me there was an airlock in your coat pocket. Unluckily I had to share it with one of your dirty handkerchiefs.”

  “What I’d like to know is what the monster looked like,” said the Weather Vane. “Did it have tentacles, as I theorised?”

  “We didn’t see any tentacles,” said Stubby. “Or a claw, for that matter. Good guess, but better luck next time.”

  Of course Edwin knew Stubby was fibbing, but didn’t want to get side-tracked into a debate about the Knucker’s appendages.

  “But how did I use Wychetts’ magic?” He frowned at Inglenook. “Normally the Key won’t work unless I‘m holding it.”

  “The use of magic is as much about belief as physical power,” said Inglenook.

  Edwin grinned as he realized what that meant. “So I don’t need the Key to use Wychetts’ magic anymore?”

  “A psychic link will drain a lot of Wychetts’ power,” advised Inglenook. “I would therefore advise its use only in emergencies.”

  “Oh, right.” Edwin felt a little disappointed.

  “But you should be proud of your achievement, Young Master. Generating a psychic link is a very rare talent. Few Guardians have been able to master it.”

  “Bet Bryony could,” muttered Edwin. “And better than me.” Then his stomach lurched as he thought about his stepsister. “Bryony! What’s happened to her, Inglenook?”

  “I failed her, Young Master.” The cheery expression fell from Inglenook’s face. “I could not protect the Young Mistress from the trap that was sprung to ensnare her.”

  Inglenook quickly recounted his visit with Bryony to Gutterly Great Gutters Head Office, how they had been tricked into the cage, and how he had fallen from Bryony’s grasp as the Storm Hags attacked.

  Edwin listened attentively, his jaw sagging open in horror. “So the Shadow Clan have Bryony and the Thunderstone!”

  “The Young Mistress is alive, of that I am certain.” Inglenook’s reassuring smile was brief. “I have traced her position to an altitude of approximately two thousand feet, about twelve miles from here in a south westerly direction. But she is in great peril.”

  “As are we all.”

  The gulping voice drew Edwin’s attention to a tall, golden scaled figure that entered the chamber.

  “The Shadow Clan have the Thunderstone,” said the Nyx Queen. “And now they have captured a Guardian of Wychetts.”

  Edwin thought he’d better introduce Inglenook to their royal host, but Val told him that formalities had already taken place whilst he’d been recovering from his watery ordeal. It turned out that Inglenook had also been briefed about the theft of the Thunderstone, and how Val had been tricked by the Shadow Clan.

  “So what’s going on?” Edwin looked expectantly at the Keeper of the Ancient Wisdom. “Why have the Shadow Clan stolen the Thunderstone, and what do they want with Bryony?”

  “That is obvious,” said the Weather Vane. “The girl is a hostage.”

  “No.” The Nyx Queen shook her scaly head. “The girl’s father was supposed to be the hostage. That is why they lured him to the Shield Maiden’s dwelling in the first place.”

  “To be kept as a bargaining chip.” Val tapped her walking stick on the stone floor. “A means of forcing Bryony to do something for them. But what, I wonder?”

  “It must have something to do with the Thunderstone,” ventured Stubby. “But we still don’t know why they stole it in the first place.”

  “To cause world-wide flooding,” said the Weather Vane. “I thought the fact was self-evident.”

  “That’s impossible.” Val shook her silvery head. “The High Priests of Asgard created the Thunderstone to maintain harmony, and so limited its magical power. The Shadow Clan must have something else in mind.”

  “Maybe it’s to do with those creatures that attacked us at the church.” Edwin looked at the Weather Vane. “What did you call them? Storm Hags.”

  “The Storm Hags are slaves to the Thunderstone,” said Val. “Whoever controls the stone controls them too. Though dangerous, the Storm Hags aren’t important in the grand scheme of things. It has to be something to do with the Thunderstone itself.”

  Now Edwin was more confused than ever. “But if the Thunderstone’s power is limited,” he
pondered, “then it will just stop soon, right?”

  “I would say very soon.” Val nodded, her lips twisting into a grim smile. “But that’s when our problems will really begin.”

  Chapter 16- No Respect for the Elderly

  “The Thunderstone will reach maximum strength in sixty seconds.” Captain Dawes’ voice crackled from a speaker as Bryony was marched along the metal walled corridor. “Preparing to shut off magic power feed.”

  “Why are you shutting down the Thunderstone?” Bryony looked quizzically at her escort. “Won’t it stop working?”

  “Remember what I told you earlier?” Katya Pauncefoot smiled at Bryony when they reached the door to the flight deck. “The Thunderstone is merely Phase One of our project.”

  Bryony reckoned she had been aboard Darkwing for over two hours, but was none the wiser about the Shadow Clan’s intentions. After her earlier tour of the ship she had been taken to a room where she’d been offered what Katya had described as ‘in-flight hospitality’, which consisted of having to sit in a cramped little chair whilst a toad faced imp elbowed her repeatedly in the ribs. She’d also been made to watch a dull movie (that she’d seen ten times already) on an annoyingly small TV screen, and been given the chance to buy a thimble of flat lemonade at five times the price she would have paid in a shop.

  Despite all this, Bryony couldn’t help but think she’d got off lightly. She was a prisoner of the Shadow Clan, surely they had something more horrible in store for her than an uncomfortable seat, a boring movie and overpriced drinks? She’d had worse experiences on holiday flights.

  All of which made Bryony even more worried about her captors’ plans.

  The door slid open with a low rumble, and a gentle shove from Katya propelled Bryony onto the flight deck. The place was more chaotic than before: lights flashed everywhere, alarms buzzed and bleeped, whilst Captain Dawes and Twisted Bough were arguing more loudly than ever.

  “But I want to do this bit,” shouted the ugly old tree.

  “You can’t,” said Dawes. “You can’t do anything except sit in a bucket.”

  “It’s not a bucket,” grumbled Twisted Bough. “It’s an ornamental display pot.”

  “It’s a bucket,” croaked Dawes. “I should know, as I’m the one who had to go to the local garden store to buy it. Although I’m now thinking it would have been a better use of petty cash to have purchased an electric wood chipper.”

  “Let’s focus, chaps.” Katya clapped her hands for attention as she strode onto the flight deck. “What is the current status of the Thunderstone?”

  “Reaching maximum power in twenty seconds.” Captain Dawes read off a flashing screen in front of him. “Ready to shut down magic power feed at your command.”

  Bryony peered into the hatch in the middle of the flight deck. The Thunderstone was trembling in its metal clamp, still spitting streaks of lightning whilst the storm clouds below churned more violently than ever.

  “I’m doing this bit,” said Twisted Bough. “Please let me do this bit.”

  Katya turned away from the tree. “We have reached the most critical phase of our mission. And as she has played such a vital role in our success, Miss Greengums shall be awarded the honour.”

  Bryony saw a large glass tank in the corner of the room. Grinny Greengums sat inside, pouring a jug of water over herself.

  “That’s not fair,” groaned Twisted Bough. “I’ve contributed as much as that oversized newt.”

  “You’ve been more of a hindrance than a help.” Captain Dawes sneered at the ugly tree. “At least Miss Greengums has the decency to water herself.”

  “I only need a little dribble now and again,” groaned Twisted Bough. “Which reminds me. My pot needs changing.”

  Captain Dawes shook his head. “You disgust me.”

  “Typical,” muttered Twisted Bough. “There’s no respect for the elderly.”

  “If you have quite finished, gentlemen.” Katya rolled her green eyes despairingly. “Miss Greengums will now deactivate the Thunderstone.”

  “I am privileged to have been chosen for this honour.” The dark Nyx emerged from the tank, flashing her gums at Katya in a gesture of gratitude.

  Whilst Twisted Bough grumbled on about not being appreciated, Grinny Greengums wrapped her webbed hands around a large lever. Then, with an ecstatic belch, she pulled…

  There was a loud grinding noise. The airship shuddered, and Bryony had to grab Katya to stop herself falling over. Through the opened hatch she saw the Thunderstone spit out a last stuttering burst of lightning before becoming still and lifeless.

  “The Thunderstone is deactivated,” announced Captain Dawes. “Phase One of our mission is complete.”

  “And now for Phase Two,” purred Katya.

  Bryony saw the clouds below the dormant Thunderstone dissipate, peeling back like curtains to reveal the flooded landscape beneath. The last rumble of thunder faded, and the chill wind calmed to a gentle breeze.

  “I still don’t get it.” Bryony looked up at Katya. “Why have you stopped?”

  “We haven’t stopped.” Katya’s green eyes twinkled. “We have only just begun.”

  Captain Dawes pressed a button on the control panel. There was a whirring noise as a section of wall slid away, flooding the flight deck with sunlight.

  Bryony squinted in the harsh glare. Grinny Greengums staggered back, raising a scaly arm to shield her face. Katya put on sunglasses, before offering a pair to the cowering Nyx.

  “Ow!” Twisted Bough’s gnarled face was caught in a beam of sunlight. “That’s hurting. Anyone got my shades?”

  “We didn’t bring any for you,” said Dawes, adjusting his own dark glasses. “You don’t have any ears to hold them up, and it’s not as if you’ll burn with your mildew.”

  “Is it happening?” Despite wearing sunglasses, Grinny Greengums stood cowering behind Katya. “Has Phase Two succeeded?”

  “It has.” Purring with triumph, Katya pointed at the opened wall. “Look, Guardian. See what we have created.”

  Bryony couldn’t see anything but sky, and wondered if her eyes had been affected by the dazzling sunlight. But then she saw something forming in the emptiness, and her lips parted in astonishment when she realised what it was…

  Chapter 17- Something Resembling a Plan

  “It’s stopped.” Edwin peered at the sky through the opened sewer hatch. “It’s actually stopped raining.”

  Stubby sighed as he popped his head out of Edwin’s top pocket. “If there was a competition for stating the obvious, you’d win every week.”

  “That in itself is stating the obvious,” said the Weather Vane. “Which would make you at least runner up.”

  Using the twisted reed ladder provided by the Nyx, Edwin carried the Weather Vane over his right shoulder as he climbed from the sewer into Val’s back garden. The wet shrubs and flowers glistened like silver in the sunlight that streamed through the fading clouds above. Standing on the soggy lawn, Edwin closed his eyes to savour the warmth on his face. There was no bellowing thunder or howling winds, no hammering rain or flashes of lightning.

  It felt like order had been restored, that the world was at peace again.

  But not everyone seemed happy with the change in weather.

  “This is bad,” grumbled an old lady’s voice. “Very bad indeed.”

  Opening his eyes, Edwin looked round to see Val clambering from the sewer. He offered to help, but she waved him away with her walking stick.

  “The storms have stopped.” Edwin gestured at the clearing sky. “It’s all nice and quiet again.”

  “Too quiet.” Having negotiated her way out of the sewer, Val limped to Edwin’s side. “Listen carefully. What do you hear?”

  Edwin listened. “Nothing,” he answered truthfully.

  “Exactly.” Val waved her walking stick. “No birdsong.”

  Edwin listened again to make sure, and realised Val was right.

  “Not a single twitte
r,” continued the old lady. “The storm might have finished, but the birds know the danger hasn’t passed. They can sense what’s coming next.”

  “And what is coming next?” Edwin wished Val would hurry up and tell him, but the old lady turned her head away.

  “It will form in the east,” she murmured, gazing at the horizon. “That’s what the old writings say.”