Adam nodded. He ran ahead of Myrddin, as though attracted by the Viking boats in the river, and whispered to the Shade.
It immediately sent mindspeak to the Dark Being.
The ring eased on Adam’s finger.
Adam sighed with relief. He’d bought some time.
As Holly napped, she dreamed a dream that she had dreamed before. A dream she’d almost forgotten. This time the dream was clearer. Now it made sense.
Holly flew over a silver sea toward a castle on a small island. From the castle’s center rose a tall round tower. She recognized Pheric’s Isle and swooped over the castle walls.
A figure stood on the circular platform at the top of the round tower, a cloaked figure in a long green skirt. One arm was outstretched, and silver threads of magic spun from the fingers creating a delicate web of light that spiraled to the stars. The other hand clutched a glowing necklace.
“Who are you?” shouted Holly. “Pease tell me.” She dived down.
The figure looked up.
Holly felt the same flash of recognition she’d had in the earlier dream. She’d seen those eyes before. Now she knew why. Her own eyes looked back at her! She was seeing her future.
Holly woke from the dream with her heart pounding. She lay on the bed trying to figure out its significance. The image stayed clear in her mind, its details compelling.
“Earth Magic,” she muttered as she rose. “I’d better listen.” She opened her backpack and pulled out a garment that had been rolled up and thrust in the bottom—a dark green skirt.
Her mother had thrust it in at the last minute. “In case Mr. Smythe takes you to a posh restaurant.” Holly had laughed and protested, but her mother had insisted.
Holly unrolled the skirt. It looked like the one in her dream.
She slipped out of her jeans and put it on.
The full skirt had deep pockets. She filled them with what she needed.
Owen catnapped for about twenty minutes, then sneaked out of Castleview Inn to look for Mr. Cubbon.
The old fisherman was sitting at his usual table outside the pub, enjoying the sunshine and a pint of beer. He beamed and waved.
“Good afternoon, young man. ’Tis a fine afternoon and evening after all.”
Owen looked around with raised eyebrows. No one else seemed to be enjoying it. Raised voices were coming from a large group by the door. He slid into the seat farthest away from them and observed the old man.
Mr. Cubbon sipped his beer and leaned forward. “How’s the magic goin’, boy?” he whispered.
“Er, brilliant. I mean…” Owen was rattled. This Mr. Cubbon was a far cry from the man who had accused them in the castle. “That is…” Owen decided to be blunt. “Why did you accuse Holly of stealing?”
The beer mug slammed down, slopping half its contents onto the table. “I never did. Not in this life. What are yer talking about?”
Owen checked around. No one was near enough to overhear. He leaned across the table. “Did you go inside Peel castle this afternoon?”
The old man frowned and rubbed his forehead. “Well. I did and I didn’t.” He told a strange tale of feeling ill, having memory blanks, and finally coming to inside the castle and being shouted at by the ticket collector. “In a fine old paddy, she was. Saying I’d bin rude and caused trouble. So I left. Don’t know what made me go in the castle. Don’t know what trouble I caused.”
Owen grinned. “You caused a rumpus, but I don’t think it was your fault. Remember those strange shadows you saw when we arrived?”
Mr. Cubbon nodded.
“They’re called Shades. I think one possessed you, melded with you for a short time. You didn’t have the flu. It was the Shade. It made you do stuff.” He gestured to the group arguing. “I think it’s the Shades’ influence that’s making everyone so aggressive.”
The old fisherman blenched and pushed back his chair. “Well, I’m not having that ’appen again. There’s old Manx charms to fix that kind a thing. I’ll be going to set them up.”
Owen leaned forward. “Wait. I’ve an idea,” he whispered.
They talked quietly together.
Mr. Smythe looked uneasily at the three strange beings across from him. Never in his life had he imagined such a scene. Nothing he had learned, not even his years as a historian exploring wondrous things, had prepared him for this moment.
He sipped his tea and tried to pretend it was quite normal to be in the room with a mythical horse, a strangely beautiful Hawkwoman and a sorcerer.
“Forgive us. We are usually more careful about how we appear to humans.” It was Ava who spoke. “Would you rather we were just a presence you could sense?”
Mr. Smythe replaced his cup in the saucer with a clatter. “No, no,” he said quickly. “I’d rather see. There’s been too much going on I’ve not seen.”
Ava smiled. “You are a wise man.”
Mr. Smythe felt her approval. It eased his heart.
“You are worried about the child Chantel?” It was the horse who spoke this time.
Mr. Smythe’s throat tightened. He gave a sharp nod.
“Myrddin has protected her. She is the youngest and most vulnerable. He gave her a task that keeps her safe until the Dark comes. She is with the Cabbyl Ushtey, the white horses of the sea. Her affinity is horse magic. They will care for her, delight her and keep her out of danger until the last moment when they are needed. The child was grieving for her lost brother and could not take any more uncertainty. The Cabbyl Ushtey will bring her to Pheric’s Isle when they are called.”
“Thank you.” Mr. Smythe cleared his throat. “And when they are called, when the Dark comes?”
“When the Dark comes, none of us will be safe,” said Equus sadly.
Manannan bowed deeply. “Which is why we must take our leave and prepare. We are deeply grateful for your hospitality. But please excuse us.”
All three beings bowed.
Manannan’s cheeks puffed, and a great wind swirled through the room.
Mr. Smythe was alone again, feeling scared and inadequate.
He wandered over to the window and stared at his plane bobbing on the incoming tide. His skills were practical ones like flying, sorting through old manuscripts or sticking ancient pots together. They were of little use in this situation.
“Hey, Mr. Smythe…MR. SMYTHE!”
The call came from the street below.
Owen and Mr. Cubbon were staring up, beckoning him to join them.
CHAPTER TEN
________________________________
LIGHT AND DARK
The cavernous cellar under Castleview Inn was a mess, but there were no worries about someone hearing the children falling over things. A rock band was playing in the pub above them, and a fight had broken out.
BOOM, BOOM, BUBBA, BUBBA, BOOM, beat the drummer.
Beams shook, floorboards vibrated and a crash and scrape that sounded like a fallen chair made Holly jump. Dust motes filled the air so the one dim lightbulb became even dimmer.
Holly looked at the rubbish and rubble in dismay. No wonder Owen had been covered in cobwebs after his explorations. She wished she had kept her jeans on. She began to work her way across the floor to the dark hole in the far wall.
Owen and Mr. Cubbon clattered down the stairs behind her.
Both hauled sacks.
“It’s turning nasty up there,” said Owen. “We could have marched an army through and no one would have noticed.” He eyed her skirt. “Who are you trying to impress? The Shades?” He and Mr. Cubbon guffawed.
Holly ignored his comment. “What’s with the sacks? Isn’t there enough rubbish down here?”
Owen grinned and stuck his arm inside. “TAA-DAA.” He flung a fluorescent green bike helmet over to Holly. “Chosen to go with your skirt.”
She caught it. “Ooooh, good taste little bro’. Protection from the gulls?”
“Yup. Plus we don’t know how low the passage roof goes.”
&n
bsp; “Good idea.” Holly buckled it on.
“Am I what is known as ‘cool’?” enquired Mr. Cubbon through the visor of a purple bike helmet.
“Very cool.” Holly grinned, then laughed out loud as Owen produced a miner’s helmet, complete with lamp. “Where did you get this stuff?”
“I have connections,” said Mr. Cubbon.
Owen passed out flashlights. “Loop the string around your neck, so you can’t drop them. But don’t bang them on rocks, or the bulb will go.” He tied a knot in his sack and slung it over his shoulder. “Hey ho, hey ho, and off to work we go.” He switched on the helmet lamp and stepped into the secret passage.
It was dark and dusty but well made and wide enough for all three of them to walk together. Brickwork walls solidly arched above. Cobbled ground fell gently away.
“Definitely a smugglers’ passage,” grunted Mr. Cubbon. “Wide enough for a pony carrying barrels of brandy, see?” He stopped to cough. “Too much dust. I can’t talk and walk.”
“At least it’s dry,” said Holly. She’d had visions of slimy mud and seaweed.
Their flashlights created a wide beam that cut comfortingly through the dark, and they walked with increasing confidence. The tunnel dipped under the river estuary, then rose gently on the other side where the brick walls gave way to solid rock.
The passage suddenly turned to the left and began to slope down again.
“Listen,” said Holly. “I hear the sea.”
“Then it goes to the smugglers’ cave, way out beyond Fenella Beach. We don’t want that way,” said Mr. Cubbon.
Holly and Owen cast their light beams around.
“There isn’t another way,” Holly said at last.
“Aye, there is. The raven told me. Never been wrong yet.” Mr. Cubbon nudged Owen. “You magicked the passage last time. I reckon you better magic it again.”
“It might take a while.” Owen swung down his sack and balanced his helmet on top so the beam shone on the wall. He placed both hands on the rock face and leaned into it, his ear flat against the surface.
Owen closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to forget Holly’s and Mr. Cubbon’s anxious faces.
It took a few minutes, but he finally caught it.
The slow distant pulse came from deep in the ground. Deeper than he’d ever heard before. He listened until the heartbeat of the rock pulsed through him. His heartbeat slowed. He became part of it.
“Rock,” he whispered, “may I use your Earth Magic? Please show me the passage to the Round Tower. The Lady needs our help.”
He listened, then motioned to Holly and Mr. Cubbon.
“It wants to know your hearts too. Place your hands and cheek against the wall. Listen for a long slow heartbeat.”
“Like we did with the standing stones at Avebury?” said Holly, unbuckling her helmet. She pressed against the rock.
Mr. Cubbon copied their actions. “I’m a little deaf,” he said as he leaned into the rock.
“Use your Magic Ear,” said Owen.
They closed their eyes and listened.
At the same moment, all knew they could enter.
They exchanged shining glances and stroked their thanks on the surface of the wall.
It dissolved beneath their hands.
The flashlights revealed a narrow stone staircase that spiraled up into darkness.
“It’s ancient,” said Owen in awe. “Look how the center of each step has been worn away.” He placed one foot on the bottom step to demonstrate. It fitted the worn hollow. He looked up at the steps circling above him. “We’re going to need those helmets, and it will be a pain dragging up the sacks. You better go first, Holly.”
Round and round they climbed, losing track of time, unable to see ahead because of the curves, fumbling with feet and hands, taking breaks when Mr. Cubbon’s panting became too loud.
“Daylight!” yelled Holly.
One by one, they emerged from the shadows into the large circular room halfway up the tower. Sunlight slanting through slits in the walls illuminated the wooden door. The rope ladder lay at its base.
“Ready to face the gulls, Holly?”
Holly tightened her helmet and nodded.
“Then give us a minute.”
Owen squatted by the door and opened his sack.
He took out plastic bags full of smooth pebbles and two slingshots and laid them ready.
“You’re going to kill the gulls? Kill the Shades?” Holly was shocked.
Owen shook his head, “I don’t think that’s possible. They’re magical. So I’m using Earth Magic to stun them. Then Myrddin and the others can figure out what to do with them.”
Mr. Cubbon produced a bag full of green plants. “Tuck Bollan Bane in one pocket and rowan in the other,” he said. Next he handed out garlic cloves. “Rub these on the bottom of them shoes.” He rummaged again in the sack and found a plastic spray bottle full of water. “Charmed this, I did.” He sprayed both the children and the pebbles. “Fetched the water meself from Spooyt Vane, the magic white spout. Now if that lot doesn’t keep the nasties from melding I dunno what will.” He grinned. “And I got more charms for backup.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cubbon,” said Holly. She patted his arm and took a deep breath. “Now or never.”
Together they lifted the thick wooden bar and eased the door open.
They peered through.
The castle was closed and deserted. The evening sun cast long shadows from the ruined walls over the grass. Nothing stirred other than the circling gulls.
Holly eyed them nervously.
Owen pulled the door wide open.
Mr. Cubbon tossed down the rope ladder and helped Holly over the edge.
Owen sat in the doorway, slingshot poised. “Gull number one approaching,” he warned.
Holly tensed. Keeping her face to the wall, she concentrated on descending, rung by unsteady rung.
She felt the displacement of air as the gull swooped toward her.
THWACK. It fell to the ground stunned. The first of Owen’s stones had found its mark.
“Well done, boy.”
They watched carefully. The Shade possessing the gull didn’t seem to emerge.
“I knew charmed water would do the trick,” said Mr. Cubbon.
“Two gulls at two o’clock,” called Owen.
THWACK. THWACK. Subdued cheers.
“There’s a group coming in together,” warned Mr. Cubbon.
He was right. Three gulls slammed Holly with wings and beaks. Another fell to the ground, courtesy of the sharpshooters.
Holly doggedly felt for another rung on the swaying ladder.
“You’re nearly down,” Owen called to her.
Holly touched the grass as another group of gulls attacked, each from a different direction. She huddled against the wall. The attack was bad, but the helmet saved her.
“They’re getting smart,” said Owen.
Mr. Cubbon snorted and picked one off as it flew away.
“Five down. That’s a start.” Owen stuffed his pockets full of charmed pebbles and half swung, half slid down the ladder. “I’ll cover Holly, if you hold the fort, Mr. Cubbon.”
“That I will, I will.” Mr. Cubbon sat in the middle of the doorway, visor shining, legs dangling, slingshot armed. “I’ve not had this much fun in years.” He tossed down one of the sacks. “Don’t forget this.”
Owen thrust the sack at Holly. “Go on, leg it.”
They ran the gauntlet of the gulls, down the grassy slope, around a battlement, through an archway to the archaeologists’ hut. One gull fell to Mr. Cubbon, but the rest were too far away for his shots to reach.
“It’s locked. I should have known.” Holly thumped on the door in frustration.
Owen pulled out his Swiss pocketknife and opened the spike as the gulls mounted another attack. He passed it to Holly. “You do it. I’ll shoot.”
She picked frantically at the lock. It wouldn’t give.
Gul
ls bombarded the children in swift formation.
Owen, ducking as well as shooting, missed them all.
He changed his tactics. He stared without flinching until the first gull was almost upon them. Then he let fly.
“Bull’s-eye,” he crowed and ducked.
He couldn’t reload fast enough. He and Holly suffered the next few assaults cowering in the doorway.
“I’ll try that again. Yeah. Eight down!”
Holly rattled the padlock in frustration.
“Cool it, Sis.”
Taking deep breaths and clearing her mind of the fear and distractions, Holly held the lock in both hands, willing it to open. She envisaged the catch inside and mentally asked it to move.
The hasp sprang open.
Unlatching the door she leapt inside. Owen grabbed the sack and followed, slamming the door behind him.
“Only three psycho gulls left,” he said.
Holly was riveted by the beads.
Owen pulled two small prickly branches from Mr. Cubbon’s sack. He laid one on the window ledge, opened the door and slid one across the threshold.
“What are they?” said Holly without looking up.
“Holly boughs,” replied Owen. “Mr. Cubbon said to put them around the Lady’s grave. He knows a lot of Earth Magic. He says they’re Manx charms.”
Holly turned her head, eyes wide. “That’s tree magic: ‘Holly boughs strewn at entrances keep dark magic at bay.’ The Mother Tree told me that in the second adventure. I’d forgotten. Thanks.”
“Do you need to be on your own now?”
“Yes, please,” said Holly softly.
“Holler if you need me.” Owen slipped outside with the sack.
He sat in the doorway, picking off the psycho gulls, one by one. As the last one hit the dust, he left the doorway and ran until he could see Mr. Cubbon. He waved.
Mr. Cubbon returned the wave.
“We got the lot,” Owen bellowed.
“I’ll be headin’ back then.”
Owen watched as the old fisherman pushed the door of the round tower almost shut, wedging a rowan twig in the crack so it didn’t latch.
The castle was silent and full of beauty. The tips of the ruined walls were touched with gold sunlight; the shadows lay in interesting patterns.
Behind the Sorcerer's Cloak Page 15
