“Stop it!” shrieked Zorianna. “Stop the cries, stop the voices, stop the laughter.”
“I cannot stop it,” said the cat. “To thee as thou deservest. They are the voices you unleashed.”
The Moddy Dhoo threw back its head, and more terrible howls surrounded them.
Zorianna curled into a ball and stuffed her fingers in her ears. But the howls continued to stir up the cries of terror. Memories of the people she’d hurt filled her head.
Zorianna scrambled to her feet, hands over her ears. Shaking her head from side to side in agony, she stumbled blindly down the corridor.
The Moddy Dhoo bayed on and on.
The cat lifted one paw.
Two silver doorways appeared, one filled with the magical song and brilliant light, one gaping with silent darkness.
Weaving on her feet, Zorianna paused then stumbled into the dark silence.
The cat sighed as the doorways vanished. “She chose the dark.”
The Moddy Dhoo blinked and slunk back to his lair.
Remnants of the magical song drifted softly through the air.
Snatches of song floated across the water to Peel town.
In the cottage by the harbor, Mr. Cubbon’s deaf ears heard it. He jerked upright at the table, slopping his brew of tea.
“Somethin’ startle you?” asked his wife.
“Can yer not hear a maid keening?” said Mr. Cubbon.
“Nay. It’s your hearing aid playing its tricks.” His wife leaned over and eased it out of his ear. She shook it, gave it a smack and examined the battery.
Mr. Cubbon could still hear the voice.
He watched his wife. She did not hear the sad song. He must be hearing magic sounds. Mr. Cubbon smiled to himself. It was his special gift come back again. In childhood he’d heard things. Things no one else heard. “Me magic ear,” he’d called it to himself. He’d never spoken of it, and it had died away as he grew up. Now in his old age, his magic ear was back. He might be deaf to many everyday sounds, but his magic ear enriched his life. He was content to be called eccentric when folks heard him holding conversations with shadows on the beach, the raven, or the sprite that lived in Spooyt Vane. No one dreamed that he really did see spirits and understand animals and birds.
Mr. Cubbon supped his tea and made no further mention of the song. But he wondered what this new stirring of sad magic would bring.
The song drifted to and fro, up and down the narrow streets of Peel. No other person had ears that heard it. The notes crept into cracks and crevices, echoed down gratings and into the long forgotten smuggler’s passages that ran under the sea, linking Pheric’s Isle to Peel.
The song rippled through the still air in the passages, stirring centuries of dust that had collected on an old oak board leaning against the wall. The dust dropped away and revealed ancient scratchings on the wooden surface.
The song sighed into silence.
CHAPTER FIVE
________________________________
A CIRCLING OF SHADES
Ava’s flight toward the vortex was a struggle. She panted and gasped, and her tiny body trembled with effort.
I must not use magic. I must not use magic, she told herself. I must be as a speck of dust, unnoticed unless it irritates an eye!
Ava forced her wings to beat slowly and steadily, to disturb nothing, to draw no attention her way.
The constant swirling of the Shades made the pull of the vortex remorseless. It dragged at her, sucking her toward its center.
Ava tried to keep control, making her wings beat harder and deeper. Forcing her body to resist the force.
One more circle should be enough, she thought. One more…timed just right.
Her body began to shake uncontrollably.
The pull was almost more than she could bear.
NOW!
Ava opened her beak and dropped the feather and hair.
Almost invisible, they were swept toward the black center.
Ava didn’t stay to watch. She turned, beating her tiny wings as hard as she could.
The vortex held her fast. Her strength was gone.
Ava drifted toward the void.
PAIN. A bite of agonizing pain.
One wing tip had brushed the edge of the dark shadow.
In a last attempt to free herself, Ava folded her wings against her body and thrust her head down into a dive, away from the dark.
For a second, everything hung in balance. Ava’s body was held suspended.
She gave a massive jerk, broke the hold of the vortex and plummeted down through the stars toward the sunbeam shielding Equus.
The small floatplane circled several times above the Isle of Man as Mr. Smythe requested landing clearance from Peel harbor authorities.
Chantel stared in fascination at the waves breaking against the headland below.
Myrddin had said this was a magic island, and he was right. Among the white frothy wave tops she spotted tossing heads and the streaming manes of white horses. They reared up, exposing their forelegs, and sank back into the sea again. They were the horses from her dream. She laughed and nudged Owen. “Look at the white horses,” she shouted.
Owen smiled at her description of the waves. “Good job it’s sheltered in the bay,” he shouted back, “or we couldn’t land.”
Chantel subsided.
She watched the waves again. The horses were there, as plain as plain, dozens of them! She wasn’t dreaming, but Owen hadn’t seen them. Holly had said nothing about the horses either. She must be the only one who could see them. What did it mean?
Holly ignored the sea. She stared at the land. She’d spotted a road, a causeway, joining what must have been an islet to the main island. The islet contained a ruined castle and within its walls she’d glimpsed a tall round tower.
The castle seemed strangely familiar. With a jolt, Holly remembered a fragment of a dream…She’d seen this castle before. With a second jolt she recognized the tower, but it disappeared before she got a clear view.
Holly pressed her face to the window and crossed her fingers, willing the plane to circle over the headland again.
YES! It soared directly over the ruined castle, and there was the tower again. It was the round tower from her vision, with the strange door built high up in the wall and no steps to reach it.
Everything had changed. This was no longer the bleak rocky isle in the past, but she was sure it was the same place. She stared down.
Suddenly she felt Breesha.
Breesha pulled at her heart as surely as if her invisible hand was tugging on Holly’s arm.
The hair on the back of Holly’s neck prickled, and the bead in her pocket seemed hard and heavy. Breesha’s grave was down there, somewhere within the castle walls, and she must find it and somehow return the bead!
Cool place, thought Owen as he looked down. He liked ruined castles. He loved exploring them and imagining they belonged to him. He could see inside this one. There were walkways along the walls and even a row of cannons. Cool. In one area people seemed to be digging, but the plane flew past before he could see more.
Hundreds of birds wheeled in the air between the castle and the plane. Owen watched the nearest gull soaring effortlessly and was vividly reminded of flying with Ava the Hawkwoman, over the stone circle at Avebury. His mind flooded with anxiety. Something was wrong with Ava. He could sense it. She was scared! Why was a Wise One scared?
Owen looked over to Myrddin to see if he was picking up the same feeling.
Myrddin’s eyes were closed and his hands gripped the armrest. Owen couldn’t tell why.
Owen closed his eyes and sent mindspeak to his favorite Wise One. Ava, what’s wrong? Where are you? Do you need help?
The Dark Being stopped fingering her ring. With an impatient movement of her arm she gestured to the Shades to cease circling and close the vortex. There was no point wasting energy the Shades would need for the final confrontation.
“Gather along
the fringes of the Mists of Time,” she ordered. “It cannot repel forever. Others use the Mists and will wish to enter. Be poised, ready to slip through any break. Then go to Gaia and spy on the humans. Watch for magical activities that might lead us to Myrddin’s staff. Be silent. Be stealthy. Gather information and enjoy making the humans uncomfortable and angry. Once I have what I seek, I will join you with the rest of my forces. Then I will reward you.”
She was so intent on giving orders that she didn’t notice a tiny hair and feather drop into the gray stillness.
To and fro…to and fro…to and fro…the feather drifted… slowly the hair uncurled and separated.
The white hair floated down and caught in the Dark Being’s wild mane, causing a tiny spark of white light. There it lay, a single thread of white entangled in the black.
The Dark Being tossed her head and went on with her invasion plans. The movement made the tiny feather swirl again.
It circled lower and lower and touched the cheek of the sleeping child. Once again it gave off a minute spark.
Without waking, Adam brushed his face with his hand, trapping the feather between his palm and cheek. He turned over.
Equus tensed as, without warning, the vortex closed. Had it caught Ava?
He felt two tiny jolts and he knew the feather and hair had reached their destination. For good or bad they had forged a connection with the Dark Being.
Ava did not reappear.
Equus waited and waited, growing more anxious with each passing minute.
At last he spotted her.
Something was wrong. Ava wasn’t flying, she was tumbling, her wing beats jerky and ineffective.
Equus sent a cocoon of light to cushion her.
Ava managed a weak “thank you” and sprawled on his back.
Equus resumed the journey to Gaia, checking on Ava every few minutes. “The cost of your journey was great. Was it too great a price to pay?” he asked.
“The Darkness…,” Ava struggled to answer him. “The Darkness touched me.”
Equus shuddered. Ava had paid a price indeed. The dark touch would creep through her, in time freezing both mind and body.
“Ava, keep Light in your heart. We will heal you. I will take you straight to the Lady’s resting place, the most powerful place on Gaia,” called out Equus. “We will surround you with light, Earth Magic and Old Magic.”
Ava could not answer.
With a great leap Equus entered the edges of the Mists of Time. They pushed back against him, refusing entry.
“Newly charged Mists of Time, I welcome you back and request your help,” he called out. “We are Equus and Ava, two Wise Ones you once knew well. We require safe passage to Gaia. Myrddin will vouch for us.”
The Mists chattered amongst themselves, thinned for a moment, and thickened on Equus’s heels as he passed through.
They thickened fast, but not fast enough.
Several Shades slid through in Equus’s wake.
Mr. Smythe’s headphone crackled. He gave everyone a thumbs-up. The little plane darted through the gap in the clouds, toward the calm water in the bay.
The plane dropped lower and lower. Mr. Smythe throttled back and touched down gently. There was a great splash, then the Beaver coasted along the surface of the water. Turning in a wide circle she putted toward the harbor and turned into the river estuary. Mr. Smythe cut the engine. The plane drifted to a stop by a large orange buoy bobbing in a patch of brilliant sunshine.
“Our thanks, Manannan, for a safe arrival,” said Myrddin with a heartfelt sigh of relief.
Mr. Smythe snorted.
The children’s eyes danced. They hid giggles.
Mr. Smythe swung out of the cockpit door and stood on the float. He tied up to the buoy.
Holly raised her eyebrows.
“Er…it’s a long way to swim to the harbor steps,” shouted Owen.
Mr. Smythe pointed to the quay. “The harbor master’s sending a rowboat. Peel doesn’t have a floatplane dock, and we cannot tie up beside the harbor. We’d damage our wings.”
“Got it,” said Owen. He watched a rowboat leave the steps and approach them. The oarsman expertly maneuvered among the anchored pleasure boats and fishing boats.
“Afternoon, all. Mr. Cubbon at your service. I’ll take the kiddies first,” shouted the fisherman with confidence. He shipped the oars, pushed up the sleeves of his thick navy blue sweater and held the boat steady against the floats. “Come on. She’s quite safe.”
“You’re nearest the door. Climb out first, Owen,” instructed Mr. Smythe. “Come down the ladder to the float and hang on to a strut. Holly, you help Chantel down, and Owen and I will grab her. Myrddin, sit tight and balance the weight. We’ll go next with the luggage.”
It took some time for the three children to disembark from the plane, balance on the float and clamber into the rowboat, but everyone managed without falling into the water.
“Super cool,” said Owen as they left the rowboat and scrambled up the harbor steps. He stared around with interest.
The flapping corner of a poster caught his eye.
Peel Viking Festival it announced. WANTED: Volunteers for the role of Vikings to re-enact a raid on Peel castle.
Owen’s eyes shone. Now that was the sort of thing he would love to do. Pity they had other things on their minds. As he scanned the harbor he spotted replicas of the dragon-prowed Viking longboats, bobbing among the fishing vessels.
“Look at the Viking longboats. After this is over, do you think we’ll be able to cadge a ride in one?” he asked.
Chantel and Holly didn’t answer.
Holly stared at the castle at the end of the causeway.
Chantel leaned over the far side of the causeway wall, watching the breaking waves.
“I’d love to be part of the Viking raid,” said Owen. He stared wistfully at the longboats, then turned his attention to the fishing village of Peel on the other side of the estuary. “We must be staying over there,” he said, pointing at the rows of stone cottages that lined winding streets. “Which do you think is our hotel?”
Chantel joined him, but Holly never turned her head. She wasn’t interested in boats; she wasn’t interested in the town of Peel. She needed to find Breesha’s grave and she needed to find it soon.
AARCK.
A lone raven soared above her and disappeared over the castle walls.
I call upon the raven to guide her. Sigurd’s words at Breesha’s graveside echoed in Holly’s mind. If the raven was a guide, she should follow it. Holly began to run.
“Hey up, Holly. Wait for Mr. Smythe and Myrddin,” protested Owen.
“They’ll see us. It’s not far. Come on. Follow the raven,” Holly shouted.
Surprised, Owen and Chantel looked at each other, then across the water to the plane. Mr. Cubbon had rowed back out, and the adults were struggling to unloaded luggage from the rear of the plane into his boat.
“OY! Mr. Smythe!” hollered Owen.
Mr. Smythe turned. The rowboat wobbled, and he lunged forward and grabbed the float. He steadied himself, turned again and shook his fist.
Owen grinned. He cupped his hands to his mouth. “We’ll wait by the castle,” he yelled and pointed.
Mr. Smythe raised a hand in agreement and turned back to the plane.
“Right. Now we’re off the hook!” Owen said, grinning.
The two cousins raced down the causeway after Holly.
AARK, cried the raven. He stared down from the red sandstone battlements above the castle gatehouse.
Holly stared up. “What are you trying to tell me?” she called.
With a creak of wings, a second bird swooped down to join him. They rubbed beaks and watched the girl with two sets of beady eyes.
“Your mate is a white raven. That’s really rare!” Holly’s voice was full of awe. “Light and Dark, Dark and Light. You’re a pair of magical birds.”
The white raven hopped along the battlement to be close
r to the girl. The bird tilted her head to one side, then the other, spread her wings and flew back inside the castle.
AARK. The black raven followed.
“So? What’s the hurry? Why did you rush off?” panted Owen as he and Chantel caught up with Holly.
Holly pointed up the worn steps, through the gatehouse, to the castle’s pay booth. “Did you bring any money? We need it to go inside.”
“Hold on, Holly,” Owen protested. “We’ve only just arrived. What’s the big rush?”
Holly calmed down a little. “I recognize this place. It’s where Breesha’s buried. I must get inside. The round tower I saw in my vision is in the middle of the castle. So’s Breesha. I can feel her pulling me.”
“Magic’s pulling me too,” admitted Chantel softly. “Myrddin said we were coming to the most magical place on earth. He was right. The sea is full of white horses.”
Owen grinned and ruffled her hair. “You and your horses.”
Chantel moved out of reach, her face set.
“Nothing’s calling me,” said Owen. “But this is a brilliant place to visit. The only thing I feel is worried about Ava. I’m scared she’s in big trouble.”
Everyone fell silent. They had still heard nothing from the other two Wise Ones.
A white cat poked its head through a window slit in the gatehouse. It saw the children, jumped down and wound around their ankles.
Chantel stooped and stroked it. “Oh…a white cat…I dreamed about one like you… . What a nice welcome, pretty kitty.” She ran her hand along its body. “Ooops, you’ve no tail. You must be a Manx cat. That makes you special.” Chantel scooped the cat up and rubbed her cheek against the soft fur. “I’ll call you Manxie,” she crooned.
The cat purred.
“Ooooh, you like that name. Look at Manxie, everyone.”
Holly tickled behind the cat’s ears.
The cat stretched and turned in Chantel’s arms, offering up its soft belly.
Owen chuckled and joined in, stroking and petting the beautiful animal.
A voice began to sing.
The sound floated over the castle walls.
Behind the Sorcerer's Cloak Page 7
