by Lexi Rees
I recall the deep hollow the relic had been in, how it was wedged awkwardly into a corner.
‘So that’s why Sir Waldred couldn’t find it, even with Morgan’s map. It wasn’t in quite the right place,’ I say.
‘Yes, but that’s also why, when Sir Waldred learnt about you, he knew it would call to you as a blood-magic born Sea-Tamer, and it didn’t matter if the map wasn’t accurate. He had to get you to find it. He took me hostage to force Ragnar to get it, and to take you with him. Ragnar would never have agreed otherwise.’
‘I knew it was all connected,’ I say. ‘But Sir Waldred knows about me now, I’m not a secret. Why does Morgan still want to punish the elders? Why doesn’t she come to find me?’
‘The years have hardened her soul. I think she’s lost herself in the bitterness.’
‘Then I’ll find her, I’ll stop her feeling lost. She doesn’t mean to be bad; she’s just sad.’
‘Finn, that may be the truest thing you ever said. The Morgan I knew as a girl wasn’t a bad person. That little girl is still inside there somewhere. I hope you can find her.’ Isolda hugs me tight, and a solitary tear splashes onto the ground.
Each mile crossed off on the chart is a hard-won achievement.
We line up on deck as we approach the Island of Gylen. Battered by the sea, it’s a barren, ugly, brown lump of rock. A few brave trees hunch over against the wind, clinging onto life in this harsh environment. It’s immediately recognisable as the place in my vision.
Rising out of the rocky cliffs is the castle. The solid grey granite walls soar above us. Even in ruins, it oozes power. I shudder to think how terrifying it must have been to approach as an invading army in days gone by.
Six stone turrets still mark the corners of the castle, the irregular shape following the outline of the cliff. There are no windows, just hundreds of narrow slits for the archers, pointing in every direction. Stone funnels overhang the battlements, ready to pour boiling tar down on anyone who tries to attack the castle from the sea. This was a castle built for war, not for princesses.
Near the shore, Aria grabs her bow and arrow, poised for an attack. But we land without seeing a single soul. The emptiness of the beach echoes. Only the wind comes to greet us, filling our ears with its chilly breath.
‘Where do we go now?’ Aria asks.
‘Up there.’ I point at the castle.
Dad leads the way as we scramble up the rough path. The castle looms above us, growing larger and larger as we climb.
‘I don’t like it here. It’s creepy. Other than the wind, it’s too quiet. Not a soul, not a single bird. I haven’t even seen a seagull, and they get everywhere, like rats.’ Aria grimaces, her long white hair whipping around her face in the wind. She pulls the collar on her coat further up and hunches her shoulders, shivering.
A heavy portcullis blocks the entrance to the castle. Thick iron bars flaked with rust suggest it hasn’t been opened in years. Beyond the portcullis, under the archway, there’s a vast wooden door, studded with iron spikes, and firmly closed. Visitors are clearly not welcome.
From the shadows steps a figure. Sir Waldred. My heart sinks.
‘How did you know where to find us?’ I ask.
‘You are not the only one who knows how to find the elders,’ he sneers.
‘Although you are here, you still can’t get in,’ Lisana says. ‘You need a guardian to unseal the gate for you.’
Lisana and Sir Waldred eye each other up like two champion boxers preparing for a fight.
‘A small matter,’ he says. ‘Since you are here, we both know you’ll do what I want.’
‘In your dreams,’ she scoffs. ‘I’ll never fall for your tricks again.’
‘Have it your way, then.’ Sir Waldred raises his hands. The earth starts to shake, great clouds of dust rise from the soil. I watch in horror. A huge explosion rips the ground apart. Stranded, Aria is cut off from us by the chasm in the ground.
‘Aria, we can’t get to you!’ I cry.
I try to use my magic to pull the sea up the cliff, but it’s too far and the wave breaks.
Hands behind her back, I watch Aria shape a whirlwind. She flings it towards Sir Waldred. Instead of disappearing as I feared, the whirlwind expands. He staggers back from the unexpected attack.
Oblivious, Aria presses forward, casting another, and another blast. She can do it! All the practice was worthwhile. My heart bursts with pride at my little sister.
Sir Waldred shrinks into the ground. Seconds later he reappears next to Dad, hitting him with a powerful blast of energy and sending him flying through the air. Dad smashes against a rock and crumples to the ground.
Aria casts a small whirlwind under her feet and rises up into the air, all the time continuing to hit Sir Waldred with her energy bombs.
Isolda joins in.
Water splashes in the cracked earth. I tug at it but it doesn’t flow to me. I try again and finally, with an enormous heave, it erupts like a volcano. I throw the jet of water at Sir Waldred. He grabs Lisana and uses her as a shield.
Sir Waldred stamps his foot and a wall of rock shoots up behind him.
Lisana struggles free leaving Sir Waldred without a hostage. Exposed.
‘Aria,’ I yell. ‘Together.’
Aria attacks him from above. I hit him with a geyser of water. Sir Waldred tries to block and dodge.
‘Lisana, now. He’s tiring,’ I shout.
Lisana lifts her hands to attack his mind. Sir Waldred’s eyes start to glaze over. Distracted by our combined assaults, his defences are low and she gets inside. But then he shakes his head, and his eyes are clear and cruel.
He claps his hands together. With a boom, he vanishes leaving just a cloud of dust and a deep crevasse in the ground.
We stare into the bottomless crevasse.
‘Did he disappear into that?’ I ask.
‘Yes. He’s gone, for now,’ Lisana says. ‘But he’ll try again another day.’
‘Well done, Aria,’ Dad says. ‘You’re definitely ready for the next stage in your training.’
Aria beams. ‘Thanks,’ she says, blushing.
‘When did you learn how to do that?’ I ask.
‘I wasn’t sure I could. I’ve never managed before, but then I felt the power running through my veins,’ she says. ‘And I knew exactly what I needed to do.’
‘Let’s get inside this castle. It’s time we met the elders,’ Lisana says, stretching out her arms. The thick bear-skin coat floats around her, billowing in the wild wind as if it were made of gossamer. She looks strangely regal. She starts chanting in a language that I don’t know but seems vaguely familiar. After a while, a faint voice joins her. Then another, and another, until we have an unseen choir. The song rises and falls like a butterfly.
As the singing grows louder and clearer, I watch the iron portcullis start to move. It grinds its way upwards, pulled by some unseen power. Chunks of rust flake off as hinges, which must once have been well oiled, are forced into motion. Once it clears our heads, it clanks to a juddering halt. My feet do not want to budge, but inch-by-inch, I push myself forward. The others follow.
Crash. Behind us, the portcullis slams down. In front of us, the studded wooden door blocks the way. We’re trapped.
SEVENTEEN
Elders
‘I thought the elders wanted to meet us? What do we do now?’ Aria says, pushing on the door. It doesn’t budge. ‘Should we knock or something?’
Lisana stops chanting and snaps out of her trance, her eyes refocusing. ‘We wait,’ she says.
After a few minutes, the wooden door creaks open a fraction. I hesitate. It’s just wide enough for us to slip through, but do we really want to go inside? I look back. The portcullis is still firmly there; unyielding and unpassable. Do we have a choice? We can’t go back. The only way is f
orward. Aria grips Mum’s hand and, one-by-one, we cautiously edge past the door and step inside the castle.
As my eyes get used to the darkness, I see we’re in a great hall. A massive fireplace is hewn into the stone wall at the far end of the hall, but it’s empty. There is no comforting flicker and crackle from a log fire to warm this room. Faded tapestries hang limply from the cold, grey, stone walls telling long-forgotten tales. Shields and swords cover every other inch of wall space. Slashes and gashes indicate these swords and shields are very far from being decorative items, they are weapons that have seen battles and blood. Each shield is painted with a different coat of arms. I look at them, searching for one with a white cross on a blue background, the black pearl with dolphin fins on the sides. Yes, it’s there. I don’t know whether to be relieved or worried.
A dark wooden table sits in the middle of the hall, the polish giving it a soft sheen despite the gloom. Twelve tall wooden chairs are pulled around it, their upright backs intricately carved, the brown leather seats brittle and cracked with age.
Nine figures start to form on the seats around the table, shadowy and insubstantial at first, but becoming more solid. Three of the seats remain empty.
‘Excellent,’ Lisana says, looking around the table. ‘Now we have a proper gathering.’
A single voice echoes around the room. ‘Welcome. We have been expecting you. Have you brought the relic?’
‘Yes, he has it.’ Lisana says, nudging me forward.
I stumble. Am I doing the right thing? Should I trust these strangers? I glance at Aria. It’s as much her decision as mine. She nods. Reassured, I pull out the stone cube.
Aria unclasps a chain from around her neck and hands me the tiny key. I unlock the compartment where the pearl is safely nestled and lift it out. I haven’t touched it since the vision and am prepared for another image to smash into my head, but nothing. It’s strangely silent.
Three of the people around the table stand up and walk over to us. They must be the Sea-Tamer elders. One after another, they examine the pearl, the smooth surface contrasting with their gnarled hands. Their lips move but I hear no words. The air grows thick and heavy. They turn back to the table.
‘Is it true? Is it time?’ the other elders ask.
‘Yes. There is no doubt. The relic is genuine. It is time.’
‘Then do it.’
They walk to a cabinet in the corner of the room.
The first elder, a tall, thin, serious looking man with wiry grey hair opens a drawer. He reaches inside and pulls out a large clam shell. Cupping the shell in his hands, his arms outstretched, he waits.
The second elder, a delicate lady with fine oriental features and a kind smile, picks up a large marble urn. It looks far too heavy for such a tiny person to lift, but she shows no strain. She pours a thin stream of water into the shell. The room echoes as a few droplets splash onto the cold stone floor.
The third elder, a younger man with unkempt curly brown hair and a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, places the pearl in the shell. The water instantly fizzes and bubbles, multi-coloured puffs of steam rise from the shell. After a few minutes, the fizzing subsides.
The three elders turn to the rest of the gathering.
‘It’s done,’ they say.
The thin elder lifts the pearl out of the clam shell. It’s still beautiful, but it no longer shimmers. The flickering images have vanished. The magic is gone, it’s just a pearl. They drop it back into the little compartment in the cube and close the lid. The lock dissolves, leaving no trace that the compartment ever opened.
‘So, what happens to the relic now?’ I ask.
‘It has served its purpose.’
The elders hand the cube back to Aria. ‘You’ll be needing this,’ they say.
Aria opens her mouth to speak, but the thin elder raises a bony hand to silence her.
The sea clan elders turn to Lisana. ‘You are freed from your obligations as guardian of our relic. Thank you for your service. You may return to your old life.’
One after another, they swirl their fingertips through the water in the clam shell. Faster and faster they spin the water. A miniature whirlpool forms, like when you pull the plug out of a sink.
‘Now,’ announces the thin elder, lifting his hand from the shell. Lisana vanishes.
The room feels emptier without her presence.
‘What?’ I exclaim. ‘Where’s she gone? Where’s Lisana? What have you done to her?’ The force of my voice surprises me.
‘Fear not. She’s safe. She has returned to her family. Her life will continue as if she had never been a guardian.’
‘That’s good, right?’ Aria asks. ‘That’s what she wanted, isn’t it? To be home?’
‘Indeed,’ the elders say.
‘But how can she have gone back to her family?’ Aria continues. ‘She said she was 400 years old. They must all be long dead?’
‘Yes and no. Yes, in this time, you are right. They are all dead. But time is more flexible than you might think. It can be manipulated.’
‘I never got to say bye to her,’ I say. ‘But I’m glad she’s been forgiven for losing the relic. It wasn’t her fault. And it could have been worse. Sir Waldred would have stolen it, if Mum and Morgan hadn’t managed to hide it first. And she did try very hard to fix things.’
The air starts to crackle like static electricity. A shiver runs down my spine.
A flicker of movement catches my eye. The wooden carvings on the back of the chair in front of me start to bend and flex.
I glance around the table.
One, two, three, four.
Carvings on four of the chairs move as if they were alive. I rub my eyes and check again.
On one, I see a woman paddle a bamboo raft down a swollen river. Another shows a couple stroll barefoot along a beach, holding hands. Next, a fisherman casts his net from a rowing boat. Lastly, a small child pulls a bucket of water from a well and balances it on his head.
I stare at the other chairs. Nothing. They’re solid, carved wood.
I nudge Aria and point at the moving images, but she has already seen them, her mouth opening and closing as she gawps in amazement.
‘What happened to those chairs?’ I exclaim, pointing at the carvings. ‘How come they’re moving? They’re wooden. Wooden carvings. Carvings don’t move.’
The tall, thin man snorts.
‘Oh, just ignore him,’ the petite woman says, tutting at the man. ‘They’re screens, monitors. Whatever you want to call them.’
‘Like live TV?’ I ask.
‘Exactly. What you are watching is real. It’s happening now, somewhere in the world. The screens monitor all those with clan powers. My one,’ she says, pointing to her chair, ‘shows all the Sea-Tamers in Asia.’ Her face glows with pride.
‘But why are only some working?’ Aria asks.
‘It only works for the Sea-Tamers. Their powers are free now,’ I guess.
‘Exactly. Once the powers were hidden in the relics, there were no signals for the screens to monitor. The carvings you see on those chairs,’ she points around the room, ‘are simply the last images, frozen in time.’
‘Does that mean you’ll be able to see me from now on?’ I ask.
‘Yes. Wherever you are, I will be watching you,’ says the tall thin elder, his eyes narrowing.
But what if I don’t want to be watched?
The three elders return to the table and take their seats.
Dad steps forward. He hasn’t said a word since we entered the castle. He pulls me aside. ‘Finn, that man,’ he points at the third elder, ‘is Kallan.’
The likeness is unmistakable. I see my reflection in his dark, curly hair and sun-tanned skin. A stark contrast to the gleaming white hair and pale complexions of Mum, Dad and Aria.
Kallan walks
towards me and rests his hand on my shoulder. Such intimacy from a stranger, even if he is my birth father, is uncomfortable and I step back into Dad’s protective arms.
‘Hello Finn,’ Kallan says, tears welling up in his eyes. ‘It’s OK, I understand. I can’t believe it. I never thought I would see you again. Leaving you was the hardest thing we’ve ever had to do, but we had to keep you safe.’
He turns to Mum and Dad, embracing them as old friends. ‘Thank you, Ragnar and Isolda, from the very bottom of my heart for looking after Finn these past twelve years.’
EIGHTEEN
Prophecy
One of the elders who has not yet spoken beckons to Aria. She perches on the edge of her seat as if ready to take flight. ‘As you know, the other clan powers are still sealed in their relics. They have not been freed. Only the Sea-Tamer powers were in the pearl.’
‘But that’s not fair,’ Aria exclaims. ‘The other clans need to be freed too.’
‘I’m glad you feel like that,’ says the bird-like elder. ‘For I believe you can help.’
‘I’ll try,’ Aria says bravely, although her voice quivers.
‘There is a seat for you at this table, Aria,’ continues the bird-like elder. ‘But you must earn it. You must find the Air-Rider relic and free their powers.’ She glances at the thin elder, ‘But it will be your choice if you want to take your seat at the table. I will not force you.’
The bird-like elder offers Aria a leather-bound journal, tied up with string. ‘This belonged to their guardian. It may be of assistance in your quest.’ She lowers her voice to a whisper, ‘Your quest is for a glass feather.’
‘Silence,’ one of the elders screeches. ‘You know the conditions. It’s not for us to decide if the time is right. The relic itself must decide if it wants to be found. We cannot help the Relic Hunters.’
