by Anne Forbes
“And what about the lords?”
“It’s a bit dull now,” Rumblegudgeon confided. “Lord Rothlan and Lady Ellan have gone back to Jarishan and Prince Casimir looks sad all the time. He misses his son.”
“He’s going to Turkey next week,” Rumbletop confided.
“Turkey?” Shona looked surprised.
“To visit the Sultan,” Rumblegudgeon added.
“Oh, yes. Lewis told me about the Sultan. I’d love to meet him. He sounds fabulous.”
“He’s very fabulous,” Rumbletumble said, keeping a careful eye on the oven. His goat-like little face looked so anxious that Shona bit back a smile.
“The cakes smell lovely, don’t they,” she said seriously as Hughie put on oven gloves.
“Your favourites, Rumbletop,” he said with a knowing smile, taking two baking trays out of the oven. “Coconut surprises!”
Again there was a clatter of hooves as they crowded round, standing on tip-toe, their eyes appearing just above the level of the table.
Rumblegudgeon grasped Shona’s hand and pulled her to her feet so that she didn’t miss out on the treats. His endearing, ridiculous, goblin grin creased her up but she managed to keep a straight face so as not to hurt his feelings. Hughie dealt out the cakes on little plates, three on each and it was as she thanked him that her attention was caught by a sudden movement on the slopes of Morven.
“The stag!” she said, gazing out the window. “Dad said he’d seen a stag on the hill the other night but I didn’t know if it was Kalman’s or not.”
“I reckon Glenmorven is his home now,” Hughie said, turning to look out of the long, low windows that gave onto the slopes of Morven. “He likes the glen and feels safe here. The Lords of the North will always protect him and if the winter gets too bad, well, he can always shelter in the old stable.”
The hobgoblins, as usual, ate their cakes in little, delicate bites so that it took them a long, long time to get through each one.
“Have some more, Shona?” Hughie offered.
Shona shook her head. “They were delicious but I’d better not,” she said. “Mum’s cooking a stirfry and she says will seven o’clock suit you? Dad’s working late most nights but he thinks he’ll be home in time.”
“Jamie Robertson will be coming too, then,” Hughie said as she hugged the hobgoblins and made her way to the door.
Shona’s eyes sparkled. “Yes, of course. There’s just so much to talk about.”
“Aye, he’s pleased to be back. He told me that his son and daughter-in-law are coming over in a few months’ time.”
“We’ll have to persuade them to stay,” Shona said decisively. “Oh look! There’s the stag again.” She pointed to the skyline where the great stag with its magnificent head of antlers, stood outlined against the setting sun.
Shona heaved a sigh of great content. “Isn’t it wonderful, Hughie,” she said. “Glenmorven is back to normal again.”
Hughie nodded but once she had gone and the hobgoblins had departed, his eyes strayed once again to the window and the stag outlined against the setting sun. Kalman, he thought with a sigh. An unhappy prince if ever there was one. Where, he wondered, was he now and what was he doing? His eyes dropped sadly as he drew the curtains and turned to add some more logs to the fire.
Then he started in surprise. Prince Kalman sat in one of the armchairs beside the fire, looking at him with an unusual air of diffidence. “I hope I’m welcome, Hughie?” he said, rising to his feet, a touch of arrogance showing in the tilt of his head.
Hmmm, thought Hughie, with a wry smile. He was still as proud as the devil, ready to cast a hex and take off at the slightest hint of rejection. Nevertheless, his kind old eyes softened. “You’re always welcome, Prince Kalman,” he said, “and well you know it!”
Kalman relaxed and sat down again, reaching for some old newspapers that were full of stories about the giants. “So Rothlan managed to get rid of Malfior,” he remarked, turning the pages.
Hughie, who had had the whole story from the hobgoblins, retold what he could remember of their excited chatter. “I think it was the American that did it in the end,” he said. “According to Rumbletop, he was a real whiz with computers and even on the machine, seemed to know exactly what he was doing. He was the one that managed to pin Malfior down.”
Kalman frowned. “So,” he muttered, “it has been destroyed.”
“I thought you’d be pleased at the news,” Hughie ventured, looking at him oddly; puzzled at his expression. He noted, too, that Kalman seemed to have aged since he last saw him and wondered what was worrying him.
Kalman shrugged. “Of course I’m pleased,” he said. “Malfior would have destroyed us all without the slightest hesitation.” He paused and looking unusually grim, tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I felt its power, Hughie, when I was in Hell’s Glen and believe me, it was possessed of a vicious intelligence.”
He laid the newspaper down on a side table, looking troubled, for although Malfior had been destroyed, he nevertheless felt the bitter residue of Cri’achan Mòr’s hex. It was like a sickness within him but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to tell Hughie. Hughie would pass the news on to his father for sure and he shied at the thought of him knowing.
Seeing his frown, Hughie changed the subject in an effort to lighten the atmosphere. “There’s a bit in today’s paper that might interest you,” he said with a smile, “about the pop stars that brought you over from Argyle. The Jelly Beans! Remember them?”
“Making a hit, are they?” Kalman almost smiled.
“More than that,” Hughie grinned, “they made a big splash with their stories of the giants and … well, since then, they just seemed to have taken off. The publicity they’ve been given is phenomenal. You wouldn’t believe it! Their pictures are everywhere these days. In fact, I think it’s tonight that they’ll be playing at some massive pop festival.”
“Where?” queried the prince.
“Somewhere in England,” Hughie answered, turning the pages to find the article, “at a place called Glastonbury. They’ve made it to the big time,” he added, “for they’re appearing alongside some really big stars.”
Kalman sat up straight. “They can’t do that,” he said, frowning.
“What do you mean?” Hughie looked startled.
“Just that they’ll make total fools of themselves!”
“Aren’t … aren’t they any good, then?”
“As an act, they’re terrible!” Kalman looked upset. “Kenny can’t play more than a few chords and Larry’s voice is painful, to say the least.” He shook his head in frustration. “I can’t let them do this, Hughie. I’ve got to stop them somehow!”
Hughie looked at him in a mixture of approval and some surprise. The prince didn’t usually concern himself in the affairs of humans and he wondered what had happened in his travels with the Jelly Beans to put him in such a flap.
Muttering the words of a hex, Kalman turned to the wall of the cottage where a huge picture suddenly appeared. Hughie looked at it in astonishment and lifted his hands to cover his ears as the music of the Glastonbury Rock Festival roared through the cottage. Judging from the noise of the screaming fans, the current stage act was receiving a fantastic reception.
“Where are they?” muttered Kalman as he scanned the stage and the area around it. “Where – on – earth – are – they?”
“There,” pointed Hughie. “Over to the right! Look, you can see their hats!”
Sure enough, standing at the side of the stage, ready to go on, were Kenny and Larry. Kalman focused on them and then enlarged them until they filled the cottage wall.
“I think it’s just dawned on them that they should never have accepted the invitation,” he said exasperatedly as a chalk-faced Larry, his eyes as round as saucers, took in the full of glory of a real rock festival.
“I cannae go on, Kenny,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “We’re no’ good enough. They’ll …
they’ll laugh us off the stage!”
Kenny looked grim. “I know,” he muttered, “but we can’t not go on. They’ll make us! They’ve paid us a fortune to appear and you know as well as I do that everybody out there is waiting to see us. We’re the stars of the show, for goodness sake!!”
“What’ll we do? We’re on next!” whimpered Larry, grabbing at his sleeve as he saw one of the stage managers moving towards them. “Look, look, Kenny! Look at my hand!” He held out a trembling hand that was shaking violently. “I can’t play, the state I’m in.” Bleak despair shone in his eyes. “Kenny, what are we going to do?”
“I’ll tell you what you’re going to do,” Prince Kalman interrupted forcefully.
Kenny and Larry eyed one another in amazement as they heard the sound of the familiar voice in their heads. Their faces lit up like beacons as they stared around, half expecting to see the stag at their elbow.
“You made it, then,” Kenny said, “you made it to Morven!”
“You’re on next,” the stage manager broke in. Kenny and Larry paid him not a blind bit of notice.
“Are you okay?” Larry demanded.
“I’m fine,” answered Kalman and the stage manager together.
“Not you,” Larry looked at the stage manager in some disgust.
“Look, will you just get on to the stage,” the stage manager hustled them forward, hoping that they weren’t going to prove awkward. He’d heard them rehearsing and wasn’t surprised that they had cold feet but that wasn’t his problem. All he had to do was get them in front of the mikes.
The band onstage were bowing and waving to the fans, the noise was deafening and everyone standing in the wings was on a tremendous high. “And now,” the announcer said, “now we have what you might call the giant attraction of the evening, fans. The lads that faced death and lived through it! The fabulous, fantastic JELLY BEANS!”
Everyone standing in the wings was now aware of the problem. Kenny and Larry, suddenly jerked back to reality, were, once more, white-faced, rigid and more or less frozen to the ground. The band members coming off-stage took one look at them and went into action. “Hey, there,” their lead singer said, “don’t worry, just go on and you’ll be fine! I’ll tell you a secret — we all suffer from stage fright, don’t we, lads!” There was a murmur of agreement as they clustered round, nodding encouragingly.
“Do as the man says,” Kalman ordered. “Go on and you’ll be fine, I promise you!”
“Are you sure?” Kenny whispered through stiff lips.
“Positive,” the others said, slapping him on the back.
“You’ll perform as you’ve never done before,” Kalman assured them, watching as the announcer beckoned them forward. “Give them a great welcome, fans,” he roared, “the fantastic, crazy, wonderful — JELLY BEANS!!”
The wave of cheering died down as Kenny and Larry stood in front of the microphones, clutching their guitars nervously. Kalman, however, didn’t let the silence last. He muttered the words of a powerful hex and as it hit them, Kenny and Larry jerked in sudden amazement and automatically went into their routine.
And what a routine it proved to be! There was nothing remotely pathetic about it! It was heady, powerful stuff and as their voices rang out strongly, the audience screamed in response! Kenny looked at Larry and they grinned in rising elation as they belted out another song. The magician hadn’t let them down; he’d stood by them and paid his debt.
From then on, the audience went wild; screaming, shouting and yelling as Kenny and Larry dominated the stage. They were a sensation! When the near hysterical fans finally allowed them to leave, they looked at one another in a stupified daze of happiness for hit, had followed hit, had followed hit.
“Well, well,” Neil turned down the volume on the TV set as the Jelly Beans left the stage to gales of applause, “who do you reckon was responsible for that, then?”
“Prince Kalman, definitely,” Clara answered. “It couldn’t have been anyone else.”
Neil nodded. “He’s made them into stars,” he said a trifle enviously. “That was really some performance, you know! They were fabulous!”
Just then, his mobile bleeped imperatively. “It’s a text from Lewis,” he said, scanning the screen. “He thinks Kalman’s behind the Jelly Bean’s rise to fame — just like us, and,” Neil scrolled down further, “he says that what’s really surprising is that Kalman bothered to help them at all.”
“He’s right there. Kalman’s not a do-gooder at the best of times, is he?”
“Mind you,” Neil rejoined, his eyes on his mobile as he texted a reply, “anyone would feel grateful to them after what happened with the giants.”
“Kalman’s not exactly anyone,” Clara said, smiling ruefully, “but — well, give him his due, Neil. He’s done well this evening, hasn’t he?”
She looked thoughtfully at the Jelly Beans as, waving and smiling, they left the stage on a roaring wave of applause. Like everyone else watching, she knew they’d made history that evening and were destined for fame and fortune, stardom and glory.
From its rocky perch on the steep sides of Morven, the stag, outlined dramatically against the full moon, surveyed the gentle slopes of the glen, its eyes searching the hillside for a glimpse of the prince; although it sensed, instinctively, that he had already left — probably for some strange, magic land, far away.
Nevertheless, its heart swelled with pride and affection at the thought of the prince’s farewell; for there, on the rough, heather-clad slopes, he had talked of all they had been through together, the dangers they had faced and the hardships they had endured and had thanked him gratefully.
The stag’s brown eyes again swept the glen, resting momentarily on the moonlit turrets of the castle and the gleaming white walls of Glenmorven House, and softening as they saw the half-hidden outline of Hughie’s cottage, tucked in its little hollow. It knew that when the cold breath of winter covered the land that there, in the old stable, it would find food, warmth and shelter.
It tossed its head at the thought of everything that had happened, for memories of the giants hadn’t quite faded from its mind. But in the end, everything had turned out well; the giants had gone forever, Glenmorven was now its home and one day … one day, it knew, Prince Kalman would return.
Author’s Note
I would like to apologize most sincerely to the children of Ballatar, and the surrounding area, for altering the shape of their mountain to fit in with my tale of giants and dragons, hobgoblins and magicians, and hope that, despite this, they have enjoyed my story.
Read on for a sneak preview of Neil and Clara’s
next adventure in Witch Silver…
Lady Merial
The witch opened the door of the old, rambling, grey-stone house and closing it slowly behind her, caught a last glimpse of the familiar black and white tiles that chequered the hall floor. She sighed and a flicker of sadness crossed her face. Saying goodbye was never easy … even for witches. Not, mind you, that she looked anything like a witch. Indeed, had you been there, watching, you’d probably have found her a bit of a disappointment for, as witches go, there was really nothing at all remarkable about her — not so much as a trace of flowing black robes, far less the usual pointed hat and certainly nothing that looked even remotely like a broomstick.
No, to the casual observer, she was just a little old lady in a worn dark coat; rather ordinary, really. Except for her eyes, that is. They weren’t ordinary at all. They were sharp, black and fierce as they lifted to scan the far reaches of her garden.
A slight, somewhat rueful, smile curved her lips. The vicious gust of wind that swept across the lawn and the swirling mass of clouds that loomed over the trees beside the river told her that they were there already, waiting for her.
She could sense them and didn’t so much as bat an eyelid as they materialized before her in a sharp crack of sound. Although she’d become accustomed to their sudden appearances, she nevertheless st
iffened at the sight of them. Her hands clenched and her eyes narrowed. So many of them! They were obviously, she thought sourly, going to see her off in style.
These, by the way, were what you might call “proper” witches. Earth Witches, to be precise. You could tell that from the trailing roots and scabs of earth that clung to their shabby, black robes. Although there were a lot of old hags amongst them, most of them looked quite young; but they were fearsome creatures, nevertheless, their strong faces bold, wicked and cruel. She frowned. This, she hadn’t expected. There must be hundreds of them, moving like a rippling tide over her front lawn.
It was then that the Wind Witches appeared on their broomsticks, swooping overhead like evil, grey shadows. The Queen of the Wind Witches, taking in the situation at a glance, promptly sent a gust of wind through the ranks of the Earth Witches and hid a satisfied smile as it played havoc with their cloaks and sent them grabbing frantically for their hats.
Watching from the top of the steps, the witch almost smiled. Not a lot had changed over the years, she mused; still the same old rivalries. The Wind Witches, it would seem, were obviously determined not to be left out of the drama that was about to unfold and she’d bet a pound to a penny that the pushy Snow Witches, too, would want to be “in” on the action. They weren’t far off either and she smiled sourly as she caught a glimpse of them, slipping from the skirts of the thick, heavy clouds that rolled in livid shades of brown and purple over the house. Yes, they had all come … anxious, no doubt, to see the back of her.
Her death would, she supposed, be quite an event in the world of magic and as Maritza, the Queen of the Earth Witches approached, she wondered idly who else would be watching; her father, perhaps? She couldn’t tell and he’d given her no sign. It was hurtful, she thought sadly, but only to be expected. The Lords of the North, however, would certainly be watching, as would the MacArthurs, Lady Ellan and perhaps even Prince Kalman and Lord Rothlan. She smiled faintly as she thought of him for it had been Rothlan who had advised her against marrying a human: always headstrong, however, she’d brushed his arguments aside and given up her magic life without a second thought.
