“Welcome, welcome! What a good idea, a visit with friends will help unseasonable weather pass unnoticed.” Mr. Smythe opened the door and waved them inside. He flattened his tall wiry frame against the wall so they could enter the cramped passageway and hang their dripping coats.
Adam was first into the familiar kitchen. He stepped onto the stone floor and took a deep breath—ah, the smell of old books! He gazed around the cluttered room with satisfaction. His mother never let him collect junk, and his few books were kept neatly on a shelf in alphabetical order. He gave a little shudder — who knew what would happen to them now.
Mr. Smythe’s kitchen wasn’t just where he cooked; it was where he lived. Books were piled on chairs, on the table and on the floor, creating a maze to edge through. Perched haphazardly among them were interesting archeological objects.
A plastic bowl full of sand supporting a glued pottery urn currently held pride of place on the large wooden table. Pieces of bone and geological samples were scattered along the edge of the kitchen dresser, jostling for space among the plates and cups. Cracked jugs and bits of metal from ancient bridles hung from hooks in the ceiling. The walls were covered with photos and maps, old maps, new maps and two giant aerial photos of the White Horse and the Red Horse that had started their adventures. Everywhere Adam looked there was something fascinating. This room was his idea of heaven.
Mr. Smythe gathered a scatter of papers together and tucked them between the pages of a reference book, clearing a space at the end of the table. Each child removed a pile of books from the nearest chair and placed them on the floor. Eventually everyone had a seat. They beamed at each other.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” asked Mr. Smythe, rubbing his hands together and stretching his fingers. “Are you in the middle of another interesting adventure?”
Owen did not beat about the bush. “We don’t know yet, Sir,” he said briskly. “We might be. We need to go to Glastonbury.”
“Ahh.” Mr. Smythe’s eyes twinkled. “Glastonbury is it? Don’t tell me … you are going to look for King Arthur’s Holy Grail.”
The kids shook their heads.
“Excalibur?”
They shook their heads even more vigorously.
Mr. Smythe sat back and waited.
Adam leaned forward over the table. “The truth is … well, we kind of don’t really know yet what we have to do … But, but … have you ever heard of … the Spiral Labyrinth?”
Mr. Smythe thought for a minute, then picked up a pencil and a scrap of paper and drew an elaborate shape. “You mean this? It’s a spiral that folds back on itself.”
All the children sucked in their breath, and a flare of excitement grew inside them. There it was. The same symbol that had appeared on the lawn that morning.
“That’s it,” said Adam. “What does it do?”
“Ah … what you call a spiral labyrinth, archeologists know as the Classic Cretan Maze! It unlocks secrets, hides things, baffles people, allows people to meditate while walking it, and the making of it can be considered an ancient spell,” said Mr. Smythe. “It’s one of the oldest magical symbols in the world. It’s been found carved on rocks, drawn in ancient manuscripts; it’s even sculpted around the side of Glastonbury Tor.” He walked over to his bookshelf, pulled out a book and riffled through until he found a photograph.
Adam sucked his breath. That was it! The photo showed the tower-topped hill of his dreams, complete with the elaborate path circling its sides.
The others pored over the photo with interest.
Holly ran her finger across part of the labyrinth.
“This is amazing. Who made it and why?”
Mr. Smythe shook his head. “No one knows, though we assume it has some sort of ceremonial significance.
We don’t even know how old it is, though we are guessing at several thousand years. There is no easy way of dating a path, and this wasn’t recognized as the classic labyrinth until thirty years ago when an archeologist called Geoffrey Ashe realized that the terraces around the hill were linked in a pattern and walked it. Here, let me teach you how to draw it.”
Mr. Smythe pointed toward a heap of scrap paper in the middle of the table and passed around pencils stored in a plastic skull with red glass eyes.
“Start with a cross and four dots making a square like this …”
“Place your pencil on the top of the cross, curve down and around the top right-hand dot, move back up over the top of the cross to drop down and touch the top left-hand dot.”
“Place your pencil on the end of the right-hand arm of the cross. Curve up past the right-hand lines, over the top, drop down under the top left-hand dot, come up between the lines and the top of the cross and then curve down to touch the right-hand dot.”
“Place your pencil on the end of the left-hand arm of the cross. Arc up over the top and drop down to just below the right-hand arm, turn in beneath the right-hand arm to curve down and around the bottom right dot. Making a wider path, sweep up, all around the outside, over the top and down to the bottom left dot.”
“Finally, place your pencil at the base of the cross.
Arc up around the outside to the right and over the top. Drop down left and inward and pass up between the bottom left dot and the base of the cross, loop up around to the left, between the wide lines. Sweep up and over to finish at the bottom right dot.”
Mr. Smythe finished and sat back happily as though he had just explained the easiest thing in the world.
Crumpled sheet after crumpled sheet of paper hit the floor as each child attempted to draw the spiral pattern.
Chantel sighed and gave up. “This is too hard.”
Owen followed suit, throwing down the pencil in frustration.
Holly persevered a little longer, then rubbed her eyes and shook her head. “It’s weird, it makes me dizzy,” she grumbled and quit.
Only Adam, his tongue poking from the corner of his mouth, persisted.
“Got it!” Adam triumphantly completed the labyrinth and waved it in the air.
Two blasts of mindspeak hit him at the same time.
First Vivienne’s voice: You can conquer the Labyrinth. COME!
Overlaying it, Myrddin roared: ADAM, time is running out. You must all come to the Tor.
Adam clapped his hands over his ears.
“What is it?” said Owen.
“Is something wrong?” asked Holly, noticing his white face.
Chantel touched his arm gently. “Is it mindspeak?” she whispered.
Adam nodded and removed his hands from his head. His eyes still mirrored distress. “I was blasted by mindspeak … way too loud … it hurt.” He turned to his cousins. “It was Myrddin and the Vivienne woman, both at the same time. We’re being called. We have to get to Glastonbury fast.” He looked across at Mr. Smythe. “Please, Sir, can you help make it happen? Like now? As soon as possible?”
The room was charged with tension as the children held their breath. Mr. Smythe had helped them before. He knew about mindspeak and the Wise Ones. And he’d believed their stories. Would he help them again?
Mr. Smythe gazed at the ceiling, tapping a finger thoughtfully. Giving a whoop, he leaped from his chair, riffled though a pile of papers on the dresser and pulled out a slim leaflet. Opening it he ran his finger down a list of dates. “How about tomorrow?”
“Perfect!” said Adam with relief.
“We can’t go until after my cast is off,” warned Chantel. “Besides, what will we tell Aunt Lynne and Uncle Ron?”
Mr. Smythe waved the leaflet. “The truth. This weekend is the Glastonbury Arts Festival. There are concerts, art displays, dancing, children’s shows, street theater and parades. Terrific fun! I’ll invite you to come with me!” He pushed papers around the table. “Where’s the phone? I have a friend in Glastonbury, Mervin Green. He’s a fellow historian. He rattles around in a large Victorian house on Wearyall Hill and might be glad of some company. Where’s the
blasted phone?”
CHAPTER FOUR
THE REMAINING LEGENDS
Despite being mid-summer, storms raged over southern England. The area around Glastonbury was hardest hit. Rain poured, thunder rolled and lightning danced. The silhouette of the Tor flashed in and out against the sky as the elements warred.
In the valley people scurried around, tightening guy ropes holding tents and marquees in place and swathing plastic sheets over the speakers on the outdoor stage set up for next day’s opening of the Glastonbury Arts Festival.
Many looked nervously at the sky and crossed their fingers, wishing for clear skies during the weekend. Others looked at the sodden fields and wondered how much water the drainage ditches could hold.
Inside the Portal, their voices concealed by the sound of the storm, Vivienne and Zorianna clashed.
“How dare you mislead me, Portal Keeper,” shouted the emissary. “Twice you have wasted my time. I will not allow you to do so a third time. This is not a game. If I wished to visit other worlds in this galaxy I have the power to do so without your tricks. How dare you. I demanded entry to Gaia.”
Vivienne refused. “You may not pass. I read your heart. You wish to bring destruction to Gaia.”
“LISTEN CAREFULLY, PORTAL KEEPER,” the emissary roared. Her voice rolled and echoed around the black tower, cloaked in the rumblings of thunder.
“I hear you,” said Vivienne from the inner darkness.
“I hear you whether you shout or not.”
“And I hear you, Portal Keeper,” hissed the voice. “I too read heart-thoughts, for I am Zorianna, deputy for the Dark Being. My skills equal yours, and I read desire! Your desire for freedom has seeped into the very rocks of this place. Give me entrance, and I will offer you escape.”
“You are willing to take my place?”
Zorianna smiled contemptuously. “I think not. But let me enter Gaia, and I will bring you a human child who will.”
Vivienne smirked. Zorianna did not know she had already reached a child’s mind, but it would be good to have a second child in reserve.
“I have been watching Gaia,” continued Zorianna. “I am learning about its inhabitants. They crave power. A human child will not be able to resist your offer once it tastes Old Magic.” She chuckled again. “Give me the freedom to roam Gaia, and soon you will be released.”
Vivienne considered. “I too sense desire. Yours, Zorianna! Your heart is filled with a desire for power. You will destroy anything in your path. As Portal Keeper, I am forbidden to allow entry to those who will destroy Gaia. You may not enter.”
“Look deeper, Portal Keeper. I have reconsidered. I will help the Dark Being destroy the Wise Ones, but I will save Gaia. I wish this place for myself. The Dark Being rewards her followers, and this intriguing corner of the galaxy shall be mine. I have been observing Gaia. Once the treasure I seek is found, exploiting the humans offers much more fun than destruction. That is allowed, is it not?”
Vivienne considered for a moment. “It is not disallowed,” she said. If the threat of Gaia’s destruction was removed, entry was at her discretion, but could she trust the emissary?
Vivienne probed Zorianna’s mind again.
Zorianna’s mind was deep and devious. It held a tremendous lust for power. It held jealousy. Vivienne mind-probed deeper and deeper and finally gave a little sigh of satisfaction. She’d found Zorianna’s secret weakness: Hidden deep in Zorianna’s heart was jealousy of her leader, the Dark Being. Zorianna would not destroy Gaia; she would use it as her base. Zorianna believed she could learn about Old Magic and Earth Magic from the humans and discover the means to destroy the Wise Ones herself. She dreamed of standing beside the Dark Being as an equal.
Vivienne smiled. Zorianna did not understand Gaia’s humans, but that was for her to discover. Besides, two could play at exploitation. Zorianna was powerful. She could be of use.
“Earn my trust, Zorianna. I will allow the magic of your mind to probe through the Portal to complete a task.”
“I am listening,” Zorianna murmured.
“You say you can reach a human child. Prove it. Draw a child into the Portal without harming either the child or Gaia. Then I will give you entrance.”
The children’s afternoon was full of activity as Lynne and Ron helped them pack for the unexpected weekend trip.
Holly organized herself quickly. She packed everything she could, loaded dirty clothes into the washing machine and wandered out to the garden.
At last the rain had stopped, and the sun was peeking through gaps in the clouds. Holly checked around. Everyone was busy. Good. All afternoon she’d fought a powerful urge to walk the labyrinth. She knew it was destroyed. She herself had raked it from the lawn that morning, but somehow the labyrinth was calling her. Had it reappeared?
The sun shone weakly through the clouds, and the grass sparkled with a million droplets of rain, but to Holly’s amazement only part of the lawn was wet. The place where the labyrinth had swirled was dry; the lawn held a ghost image of the loops, outlined by shimmering grass. The urge was more than she could resist. Besides, she was tired of waiting for the Lady. She wanted a part in this new adventure. Holly stepped inside the labyrinth’s pattern and began to walk along the curves.
The curves looped back and forth hypnotically, and as she neared the center Holly felt strangely dizzy! She had experienced the same feeling at Mr. Smythe’s when she had tried to draw the labyrinth. She rubbed her head and carried on. With each step the weird feeling grew stronger.
There … she’d done it! She had reached the labyrinth’s heart.
Come, said a voice in her head.
Holly jumped. It was mindspeak. She gathered her courage. “Who’s there?”
Come and see, murmured the voice.
The labyrinth whirled and sucked her inside.
Darkness surrounded Holly. She was floating in nothing — no sound, no feeling, just blackness. She closed her eyes, wishing for a floor and, with a small bump, found herself sitting on a smooth hard surface.
Her eyes strained in an effort to find a glimmer of light, but the darkness was complete. She lifted her arms and swung them from side to side. They touched nothing. She sensed a great space around her. “Maybe I’m in a cave,” she thought.
Immediately she became aware of cavernous walls and heard the distant sound of dripping water. She shifted her feet and stretched her legs. The tiny rustles made by the movement of her clothes and heels on the rock floor echoed.
Strangely, she wasn’t scared. I wish there was a bit of light, she thought. The darkness lifted, as though the remains of daylight had sneaked into the cavern.
Holly peered into the deep shadows. Something or someone was reacting to her thoughts, making things happen. “Hello,” she called out, her voice wavering.
“You are not the one,” a voice answered.
The voice enveloped her, surrounded her. She couldn’t tell if it was a real voice, or inside her head. It just was!
“Not which one?” asked Holly.
“The Magic Child whose dreams I entered.”
“I am a Magic Child,” said Holly crossly. “Who are you, and where am I?”
“A second Magic Child … How interesting… Has Zorianna succeeded already?” said the voice, as though talking to itself.
“Has who succeeded?” said Holly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
There was a pause, and the voice spoke again. “Where would you like to be?”
“What?” Holly was flustered.
“You asked where you were, so I am asking where you would like to be?”
“I’ve no idea. Who are you anyway?”
“Who would you like me to be?”
Holly didn’t answer right away. This was irritating magic. She must be careful. She tried another approach.
“Why am I here?”
“Why would you like to be here?”
Holly rephrased her next sentence. “I wa
lked the Spiral Labyrinth.”
“Ah,” said the voice. “A second Magic Child from the same place as the first. How interesting. You saw my sign and walked it? Walking the labyrinth opens up human minds. Yours drew you into the Portal. The Portal has many doors. Which would you like to enter?”
“None right now, thank you,” replied Holly firmly. “This was a mistake. Can you send me back home, please?”
“You have entered the Portal; you must go through a door. Choose. What is in your heart and mind?”
Holly’s mind whirred. What was in her heart and mind? Home was, but before she could speak she heard the voice again.
“Yes, you could go home, child, but other thoughts are stronger. The portal reacts to thoughts deep in your heart.”
Holly examined her thoughts carefully. The voice was right. Her sensible reaction was to go home, but something else told her this was Old Magic, and she should take advantage of it. She really wasn’t thinking about home; she was thinking about Glastonbury. They were being called to Glastonbury Tor and its Labyrinth. Why? The moment she asked herself that question, a shaft of light cleft the dimness of the Portal, illuminating the cavern and revealing an archway in the rock wall opposite.
Heart of the Hill Page 4
