The mechanized claws spun crazily, threatening to crush whatever got in their way. It was heartening to see the goddess weathervanes still standing on the turrets, although they seemed to Zoé more fragile than ever.
Dark ragged shapes swept in circles over the Harshlands, shrieking madly. Scravens! She could see the Defenders patroling the wall, their faces bleak and weary, the barkers looking even scrawnier and hungrier than last time.
“Let’s get the heck out of here,” said Ian, pulling Zoé and Pippin to their feet.
Dusting themselves off, the three tramped off into the smoke-filled gloom, passing uprooted trees and charred vegetation. Through scorched leaves Zoé glimpsed the Wythernsea Retreat for the Rescued, the Lost and the Shipwrecked. Feeling strangely nervous, she raced ahead, heart thumping.
The arched windows were now gaping holes, with most of the roof torn away and the goddess weathervanes nowhere to be seen. At the top of the staircase, Zoé found Miss Glyndower’s black and gold sign lying in pieces on the ground. The front door was splintered and cracked, with deep gouges in the wood, most likely from claws and teeth. The image of the goddess had been totally obliterated.
“We’re wasting our time,” said Pippin. “The Retreat’s dead empty.”
“Let’s try the cloister,” said Ian.
Blinking back tears, Zoé set off, her anxiety mounting, hearing shouts and screams and explosions coming from the direction of the town wall, where smoke seemed to be thickest. She tried to keep alert, scouting around corners, listening for footfalls or the flapping of wings overhead, checking behind them at every turn. It seemed as if overnight her idyllic Wythernsea had turned into a place of treachery.
Down by the wharves, they passed empty market stalls, boarded-up warehouses and ramshackle dwellings. Zoé breathed in the clammy air, inhaling the reek of mackerel and eels. Aside from the Defenders, she saw no one. The townspeople must still be hiding, she thought, waiting for the next attack. She longed for the old Wythernsea, a bustling seaport in another world, where people had webs between their fingers and toes—and, oh yeah, magical eyes on their foreheads.
“Over there!” shouted Ian, pointing. “That looks like it!”
They climbed a steep cobbled hill toward a multi-chimneyed building of dark granite, with narrow windows spaced wide apart and a Celtic cross on the roof. As Zoé drew closer she saw letters carved into the lintel over two red timber doors: SOLITARIES OF WYTHERNSEA.
“What do you think Solitaries of Wythernsea means?” she puffed, hoping this was the cloister, because she suddenly felt exhausted.
“Hermits,” said Pippin. “They never come out, like.”
“Oh great,” said Ian. “Does that mean they won’t answer the door?”
But, without warning, the doors swung slowly open on brass hinges. Instead of a silent nun in white robes, whom Zoé half expected to see, there stood Miss Glyndower in the entranceway, as if she’d known the exact moment of their arrival.
“Hurry, children, come inside,” she said, towering over them like some elegant rare tree, her eyes a vibrant gold. Zoé sensed an anxiety in her voice.
“Are nuns living here?” asked Pippin as they filed into a dark hall.
“Oh no, they died out centuries ago,” replied Miss Glyndower. “The Solitaries were a contemplative sect who worked with the orphaned and homeless. The Retreat took over their work and only the building remains—austere, yet strong and stalwart. As you will soon see, however, the cloister lacks the ambiance of our Retreat.”
Zoé could hear the longing in her voice. Hiraeth, she thought, recalling the Welsh word for nostalgia, and wondering if Miss Glyndower knew that her beloved Retreat had been ravaged by the Scravens. She was tempted to say something, then decided that now might not be the best time. They needed to focus their energy on the positive, and not be sad or lose heart.
“I trust your journey here was less eventful than the last,” Miss Glyndower continued.
“We landed on the right side of the wall, if that’s what you mean,” said Ian.
“No one was at the Retreat, so we came here,” said Zoé, ceremoniously handing the runestone to Miss Glyndower. “Here you go. The stone is fixed!”
“Bron’s done a brilliant job,” added Pippin. “Took her all night to lift the spell. You should be able to read the incantation now.”
Miss Glyndower pressed the runestone to her heart. Odd, but she seemed even taller than Zoé remembered.
“You’ve no idea what this means for Wythernsea. The incantation is our last hope,” she said quietly. “Come, they wait for us in the great hall.”
Zoé followed, noting the brick walls and slate floors, and the way everything in the cloister was clean yet unadorned, without distractions—the way nuns preferred their surroundings, she supposed.
“When the sun is at its zenith, the Messengers will make their way to the Wythernsea wall,” explained Miss Glyndower. “There are dangers, but the Messengers are brave and quick-witted, and they know every corner of Wythernsea: the shortcuts, the underground passages, the gaps in the fortifications. They’ll move through the town undetected, eluding any Scravens that might find their way over the wall.”
“The Messengers are going to fight the Scravens?” said Zoé, sharing a look of bewilderment with Ian and Pippin.
Why wasn’t Miss Glyndower using her ancient magic instead of sending the Retreat kids to defeat the Scravens? Sure, the orphans were tough and scrappy, even the little ones, and they had plenty of survival skills—but how could they defeat such a ferocious enemy?
“Never underestimate the strength of sacred words, my child: the incantation is extremely powerful,” said Miss Glyndower. “I cannot win this battle alone; I can only strategize. The Messengers will not fail, for they have the goddess on their side.”
Her words set Zoé’s bones tingling. She had a hundred questions to ask, but Miss Glyndower was rushing down a narrow flight of steps.
“I bet in the old days they shot arrows through those windows,” whispered Ian as they entered a gloomy hall with a high domed ceiling. “This cloister’s built like a fortress.”
The great hall looked to Zoé like a vast cathedral. Watery light fell through windows of leaded glass, each no more than a hand’s width, but most of the hall was lost in shadow. She could see rows of rough wooden benches and tables, and primitive statues—Celtic goddesses, she guessed, or maybe famous Solitaries—set into niches along the walls, candles burning next to them.
She suddenly realized that the room was filled with children, their shallows giving off a soft ethereal light. The orphans!
“Where’s Gwyn Griffiths?” she asked, looking wildly around. “Do you see Tegan?”
“Too shadowy,” said Ian, shaking his head. “I can’t make out any faces.”
A hush fell over the room as Miss Glyndower stepped forward, her quartz-colored shallow glowing. Zoé could see this imposing woman had earned the Messengers’ undying loyalty: they were like old-time knights, ready to do battle for their queen.
“All this year you’ve learned the ancient poems and enchantments, in readiness for this day,” began Miss Glyndower. “Our friends Zoé, Ian and Pippin have delivered the Runestone of Arianrhod. The incantation will set us on a new path and free Wythernsea from the scourge of Scravens.” She lifted the runestone into the air. “Now, Messengers, close your eyes, keeping only your shallows open. Let the words of the goddess melt into your hearts and into the farthest reaches of your souls. And remember. Remember.”
Entranced by the scene before her, Zoé watched as the children held hands and huddled together, their shallows glowing. Miss Glyndower began reading from the stone, hesitatingly at first, her lyrical voice deepening with each word.
The archaic sounds whirled through Zoé’s head like smoke, like firelight, like the spells of mystics, without beginning or end, flowing ceaselessly like the sea.
And, with eyes closed, the children listened.
&n
bsp; After Miss Glyndower had finished, Zoé could see the Messengers’ shallows burning with intense light.
“Amazing,” whispered Ian. “That’s how they absorb knowledge: through their third eyes!”
Silence fell, followed by a bustling at the back of the hall. Kids in aprons appeared, putting tureens of vegetable soup on the tables and plates of boiled eggs, potatoes and lentils, bowls of endive-and-radish salad, small rounds of cheese and loaves of brown bread, all looking quite delicious, in Zoé’s opinion.
She sat at a table with Ian and Pippin, the leonine-haired Miss Glyndower explaining what would happen next: “When the sun is highest, the Messengers will spread out through town, into the fields and farmlands, heading for the Wythernsea wall, taking turns reciting the incantation beneath the weathervanes. Remember all that you see here, and the order in which things happen, for when you return to Tenby you must make the incantation work for you.”
Unsure of what Miss Glyndower was saying, Zoé threw a sidelong glance at Ian. He looked confused, too.
“But we don’t have goddess weathervanes on the walls of Tenby,” said Ian. “So how can we—”
“Ah,” Miss Glyndower cut in, “but there is one such goddess, is there not? On the roof of your grandfather’s cottage. This will be your vantage point. And the seeress will help you, of that I’ve no doubt.”
Their conversation ended abruptly as Miss Glyndower gave a signal and all the children stood up, filing down a passageway that opened onto a cobbled courtyard. Grouped in small clusters, the Messengers milled about, heads bent as they quietly conversed. Zoé wondered if they were frightened, though their expressions gave away little emotion.
Overhead the sun was a golden disc in the sky, and her heart skipped a beat as she realized that the moment of attack was quickly coming. Hearing Ian shout Gwyn’s name, she whirled around to see the shaggy-haired boy come barging out of the cloister, followed by a girl whose pale dress seemed to float around her.
Zoé raced over, a lump in her throat, hugging both Gwyn and Tegan. “I was afraid I wouldn’t see you again!” she said, trying not to burst into tears. She hadn’t realized until now how much she’d missed them.
“Tegan and I, we’ve been readying for today,” said Gwyn. She noticed he was blushing, he was so pleased to see her.
Ian shook hands with Gwyn while Zoé introduced Pippin and Tegan shyly offered handfuls of boiled sweets. Ordinarily they’d be joking around, Zoé realized, or playing Caldey Ghost Pirates, but the mood here was too somber, the future too uncertain.
“It’s right good to see ye again,” said Gwyn, his voice quaking the tiniest bit. Zoé suspected he was more nervous than he was letting on. “Hard times here in Wythernsea, eh? Truth be told, we need friends like you at a time like this, to beat back the Scravens once and for all.”
“We will, Gwyn. We’ll crush them,” said Zoé fiercely. The words tumbled out: “We’re going with you to the wall, to fight the Scravens. Right, Ian? We’ll go, yeah, Pippin?”
Seeing their startled expressions and panicky eyes, she realized that Ian and Pippin hadn’t expected her to offer them up as warriors.
“We’re coming,” said Pippin, and Zoé smiled with relief.
“We’ll make sure Scravens never attack Wythernsea again,” said Ian. “Take no prisoners! Solidarity handshake, yeah?”
They grasped each other’s hands, webbed and non-webbed, in a five-way shake. As her friends’ fingers entwined with hers, Zoé felt a rush of affection, followed by a burst of courage. Guess I’ll be needing all the courage I can get, she thought, gazing at the sun high above the cloister roof.
Zoé, Ian and Pippin stood at the gateway watching the Messengers prepare to head out.
“If we had more weathervanes in Tenby, we could put them on the Old Town wall,” said Zoé. “Then we’d defeat the Scravens the way you’re doing.”
“You’ve just the one goddess, so your strategy for Tenby will be of a different nature. Once you’ve sealed the puzzle, remain in the cottage, where the goddess will protect you,” Miss Glyndower instructed. “Inevitably The First will appear, seeking the puzzle—and with intentions to destroy you. This is why you must hold fast to the runestone. The moment you see The First, begin the incantation.”
“But we don’t know how to read runes!” argued Ian.
“Have faith in the seeress,” said Miss Glyndower with a cryptic smile. “She will see you through this. And have faith in yourselves.”
“I guess,” murmured Ian, exchanging a worried look with Zoé.
“And the Afflicted?” said Pippin. “What happens to them?”
“She means the people taken over by Scravens,” said Zoé. “Oh, but you don’t know about the Afflicted, do you?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” said Miss Glyndower. “It was I who warned the Astercôtes what would happen if Scravens escaped into their world.”
“But … why didn’t you tell us?” said Ian.
“We’re getting fed up with adults not telling us things,” seethed Pippin. “It’s really annoying.”
Zoé nodded in agreement, recalling how Dr. Marriott had neglected to inform them that Scravens might fly out of the puzzle.
“Please forgive me, children. You have every right to be angry. I withheld the information because I didn’t wish to frighten you too much.”
“We don’t frighten easily,” said Zoé. “You really should’ve told us.”
“I see now that I was wrong. You are all very brave.” Miss Glyndower looked almost humble. “If the goddess awakens and you succeed, the Afflicted will become human again, transforming back to their true selves. The incantation will cast out the Scravens and, like parasites without a host, they will become hollow shells, spinning off into the ether, until they vanish completely.”
“Sounds like a kind of exorcism,” murmured Ian.
Zoé frowned, trying to imagine the Scravens coming apart, unraveling like the neck of Stokes’s wool sweater.
“Are ye coming, then?” asked Gwyn, tapping her on the shoulder. “Me and Tegan, we’s heading out now. It’s up to you kids, like.”
“I’m with you,” said Zoé. No way was she staying behind.
“Count me in,” said Ian.
Pippin nodded.
“Me too,” said a scratchy voice. “I’m coming with you to the wall.”
Zoé whirled around, startled to see Miss Glyndower’s nephew step forward. Wide-eyed and round-faced, Jasper Morgan looked every bit as angry as the first time she’d seen him.
“Very well,” said Gwyn. “The six of us it is.”
They said farewell, Miss Glyndower tearing up when she saw her nephew among them, and the six ran through the open gate and into the town. Zoé, Ian and Pippin stuck close to Gwyn, creeping through gardens and along cobbled streets, weaving between factories, market stalls and warehouses. Once Gwyn swung back in alarm at the sound of frantic barking, and they all dove behind a ring of hawthorn bushes, concealing themselves.
Zoé held her breath, listening to the Defenders’ boots as they marched over the rocky path. Through the branches she could see three of them, crossbows hitched over their shoulders, leading three wolfhounds.
“Er, I have a question,” said Ian once the Defenders were out of sight. “Why are we hiding? Aren’t those guys supposed to be on our side?”
“Aye, the Defenders are here to protect us,” said Gwyn. “It’s the barkers I worry about.”
“Sharp teeth,” whispered Tegan in a small, frightened voice. “I’m scared of the barkers.”
“We’re all wary and that’s a fact. Most barkers are okay, but a few of ’em are erratic, being so high-strung and all,” continued Gwyn as they started running again. “I don’t take chances.”
Lungs bursting, Zoé did her best to keep up with the others, all the while thinking about the barkers, starving and unkempt. It didn’t surprise her that some of the dogs had gone a little barmy, as Granddad would say. At times she n
oticed Ian and Jasper lagging behind, while Pippin seemed to exude boundless energy. As she ran, Zoé’s thoughts turned to the warrior goddess Arianrhod and she sent out silent pleas: short snappy requests like Keep me brave! and Make this happen fast!
By the time they reached the wall, she was breathless and disoriented. Gwyn and Tegan stood beneath a turret, gazing up at a goddess weathervane that was in complete shambles; leaning to one side, it threatened to snap off at a moment’s notice and crash into one of the mechanical claws.
Standing before the ancient wall, breathing in smoke and the acrid smells of the Harshlands, Zoé thought with despair, This is crazy, kids can’t fight Scravens! Her gaze traveled to the utter darkness on the other side, and she felt a nameless fear twisting deep inside her.
She imagined this was all a dream and she’d wake up to find sun streaming into her room at Granddad’s cottage, with its lace curtains and iron bed, the bureau with brass handles tucked under the eaves. She longed more than anything to be back there sorting through her trilobite collection or having tea by the fire with Granddad.
“Don’t stand there, you’re fair game for Scravens!” shouted Jasper, pulling her toward a niche in the wall, and they both began to run.
“Thanks, Jasper,” she said once they were safe, and a smile flickered across the boy’s face.
Huddled with the others, eyes bright with anticipation, Zoé thought, These Messengers aren’t afraid; they’re kids, but guess what—they’re warriors, they’re brave.
“Right, then,” said Gwyn, “we’ve no time to lose.”
“What about us?” asked Pippin. “What should we do?”
“We didn’t memorize the incantation,” said Ian.
Gwyn thought a moment. “Keep an eye out for Scravens, chase ’em off if you have to.”
“We’ll stand guard,” promised Zoé.
“No interrupting, mind,” added Gwyn. “Ending an incantation before it’s finished could be fatal.”
The Glass Puzzle Page 19
