Eden Chronicles Box Set Books 1-3

by James Erith

  ‘As I explained to the children, this is highly unsatisfactory.’

  ‘Rest assured,’ Old Man Wood began in his deep, soothing voice, ‘the children are in perfectly good health and are super safe here.’

  ‘Good health, yes, safe, yes – there’s no doubt about that – but can you give them the kind of assistance that should be expected if, and I hate to say this, if anything goes wrong.’

  ‘What kind of wrong, Headmaster?’

  ‘Well, if Archie was to break his arm again. How would you get him to hospital? And what if there’s a fire, are you capable of protecting yourselves? There’s no way a fire engine could negotiate that lane.’

  Old Man Wood burst out laughing, his rich, deep, joyful voice bouncing back off the walls. ‘They are strong children,’ he said, ‘and are quite capable of looking after themselves, with or without me.’

  It had the effect of making Mr Solomon feel rather idiotic. ‘With respect, Mr Wood,’ he fired back. ‘Archie’s appearance is repeatedly way below standard. Can you explain this? And can you give me your word that Isabella won’t disgrace the school by violently interfering with the officials during our remaining football matches as she has done in the previous two? I am in agreement with you that they are strong and capable, Mr Wood. Daisy shows this with her keen soccer skills, but she hasn’t done a stroke of work the entire time she’s been with us. She is on course to fail her exams – and then what?’

  Old Man Wood didn’t know what to say so he simply smiled back.

  Solomon wondered if the old man had listened to a word. ‘Mr Wood, I’ll be frank with you. I have no argument with your family, in fact I am very fond of the children, and Isabella shows exceptional academic promise.’ He removed his glasses and rubbed them on a cloth before setting them back on his nose.

  ‘The school exists on the legacy provided hundreds of years ago by the de Lowe family. Each successive headmaster has granted a generous bursary in favour of the family as set out in the original deeds. But I must tell you this: I am to retire at the end of the term, and I doubt my successor and his governors will be so generous.’ Solomon paused and took a sip of his apple juice.

  ‘In each of the examples, the children would have been severely reprimanded and perhaps even expelled.’ Now Solomon spoke a little slower. ‘And in each case, the bursaries would certainly cease. While they may look at the de Lowes as a special case, these are difficult times and there is every chance they won’t.’

  Old Man Wood nodded his head and scratched an imaginary beard. ‘I’ll make sure the children’s parents understand the situation entirely,’ he said.

  ‘Good, thank you,’ Mr Solomon replied. He cleared his throat. ‘Please don’t be offended, but are you fit and well enough to continue in the role as the children’s caretaker? I worked out you must be nearing the heady heights of 90 years—’

  ‘I may be old, Headmaster,’ Old Man Wood said, ‘but body and mind are going along just nicely, thank you.’

  ‘I ask these questions for the sake of the children.’

  ‘Mr Solomon,’ Old Man Wood chuckled. ‘When you are as old as I am, love, health and well-being are the things of importance. It is harder to remember things from one’s youth but we are lucky to be in possession of excellent health and are blessed that Mrs Pye feeds us and nurses us. You’re right to be checking up, though. We don’t have so many visitors up here in the hills.’ Old Man Wood decided to change the subject. ‘Have you plans for your retirement?’

  Solomon seemed to relax. Perhaps it was the apple juice. ‘Yes,’ he sighed. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m hoping to go to the Middle East to see some of the ancient tombs and archaeology – but otherwise, a little bit of amateur dramatics with the local theatre group should be in order.’ He exhaled loudly at the thought of the unknown life after his beloved school.

  They made their way to the door and heard the scuffling of shoes running off towards the kitchen. Old Man Wood and Solomon exchanged a smile.

  ‘Children,’ Solomon said loud enough so they could easily hear. ‘I have something to say to you, so you may as well come back here.’ The children appeared from around the corner, looking a little sheepish.

  ‘I am leaving Upsall School at the end of the term. I’ve decided the time has come to retire. Please keep this to yourselves until I have made the official announcement after half term.’ He looked each of the children in the eye. ‘I would be disappointed if any of you were to leave the school before me, so I suggest you work together to improve those areas that need addressing. For example, Archie and Daisy, as I mentioned before, learning the opening stages of the Bible story, the bits where Adam and Eve are ejected from the Garden of Eden.’ He gave them a knowing look over his half-moon glasses. ‘I have a suspicion that this may well be the main topic in one of your exams.’ He winked, knowingly.

  ‘And the other thing is that I would like very much to win the football trophy tomorrow. I don’t mean to put any additional pressure on you two, but it would be wonderful to leave the school knowing that we had reached the pinnacle in both sports and academics. So, the very best of luck.’

  ‘We’ll do our best,’ Daisy said enthusiastically.

  Isabella felt an opportunity. ‘But what about the storm, sir,’ she cut in. ‘If it breaks there’s going to be a disaster. I just know it.’

  Solomon’s friendly manner evaporated. ‘Isabella, we have already discussed this matter. There is no way I will let a little bit of rain ruin the chances of glory for the team and the school. Do you understand?’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No buts. After so many years of service, I cannot possibly see how a small, localised storm will make the slightest difference. The river has flooded once in the twenty-five years I have been with the school. They may just have to play in the rain and get a little wet. It’s as simple as that.’ He smiled at them and headed out of the oak door.

  Isabella wasn’t finished. ‘But, sir,’ she exclaimed, ‘I’ve looked at pressure charts and ...’

  The door closed in her face and Mr Solomon’s footsteps could be heard tapping over the big stone flags outside.

  Old Man Wood drew the bolt across the door. ‘What a nice man,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t worry too much about what he said. You’re doing well at school and you’re fit and healthy and you’re polite and you’ve got friends – what more could you want, eh? Talented littleuns, aren’t you. Now, off to bed, the lot of you.’

  A rumble of thunder boomed high up in the night sky. Old Man Wood sniffed the air. ‘Something tells me tomorrow is going to be a big, big day.’

  TWELVE

  THE DREAMSPINNERS

  If the three children had awoken and brushed the sleep out of their eyes and read the clock on the wall it would have told them that it was shortly after two in the morning. But they wouldn’t wake, not now, for their sleep was long and deep. It was the night-hour of dreaming.

  Four dreamspinners, like the one Archie had seen over Daisy, arrived in a pinprick of a flash. The flash they made wasn’t a flash any human could see, but to the dreamspinners it was a tiny, intense, burst of energy. They had come to see Genesis, the eldest dreamspinner, give the last part of the Prophecy of Eden – the Tripodean Dream – the final part of the most important dream ever created.

  Using their eight delicate legs banded with grey, each dreamspinner picked its way over an invisible grid on the air until they were suspended above the children. At a glance, dreamspinners are nothing more than huge spiders with four slender legs on each side and bulbous bodies. Look a moment longer and they are curiously like angels fashioned out of mist.

  But if you ever found yourself in the unlikely position of staring for longer, you’d find the body texture was clear – like a jellyfish – and from their middle, or maghole, tiny streaks of lightning radiated in wave after wave of blue and white forks. This maghole could expand and contract, making the dreamspinner larger or smaller as it wished. And it was through th
is that a dreamspinner could invert to any place it wished, almost instantly.

  Above the maghole, a wiry tubular neck connected the body to a small head the size of a clear, white orange. On each face were three jet black eyes the size of quails eggs and in the recess beneath the middle eye – in place of a nose – was a dent, as if a tiny scoop of ice cream had been cut out. There was no mouth, well certainly nothing the children or anyone else would call a mouth, just a tiny slit the size of the edge of a penny coin.

  If the children had woken, opened their eyes and looked up, they would have seen the old oak beams holding up the roof above and the dangling lamp with its musty-coloured lampshade and the curtains and drapes that hung across their sections: the dreamspinners would not exist. To human eyes – they are completely invisible.

  And neither can they be heard. The children would have caught only the gentle noises of the night outside; the rustle of leaves, or the scurrying of a mouse but never, ever, a dreamspinner.

  GENESIS WAS the largest and oldest dreamspinner. She had spun more dreams than she could remember, right back to the beginnings of modern humans, but she knew her time was up – death creeps up on a dreamspinner just as it does on every organism. When the moment arrived, it had taken her by surprise; she had flashed into human view in the midst of offering a dream. It was unthinkable. Her end was close at hand.

  How could this have happened? And why when she was delivering the most crucial dream in memory? Genesis could hardly bear to think about it. How had she grown so old and not noticed? Where had the time gone? Was this the cruel way in which old age announced itself; by failures in routines, failures of body parts – failures that could ruin everything?

  Genesis counted her blessings that it hadn’t happened a moment earlier, for she was the only one who knew how to spin the Tripodean Dream – the dream that showed the Prophecy of Eden. She touched the burn marks where the boy’s eyes had looked upon her. The pain was bearable. Now all that remained was the final part of the Tripodean Dream and then the Prophecy would be told. It was the last dream she would ever give.

  Genesis studied each of her eight delicate claws one by one, as if paying homage to them for their service. For the first time she noted the wear; the way so many had turned grey where once they were bright white, how her slender knuckles and joints were worn down to delicate slivers of hardened bone.

  As she seamlessly morphed each claw from needle to duster to holder and back to a claw, she was filled with a deep sense of foreboding. What if the Heirs don’t understand the dreams of the Prophecy, then what? She shivered at the thought. Nature would never allow them to survive, she knew that much. And what if Cain reappeared?

  Putting her thoughts aside, she sent out vibrations to the waiting dreamspinners, Gaia, Janana and Asgard. She felt them approach. ‘You are here to witness the last part of the Tripodean Dream, for there must be no doubting it. Their sleep pattern is deep and flowing. I am ready.’ Her communication was done through the tiny vibrations of her legs, as if she were signing like a deaf person: each movement having a meaning.

  Genesis moved her spidery frame deftly through the air as though walking on top of invisible threads. Dropping her head and two slender legs into her electrical middle – her maghole – she pulled out microscopic-sized granules of powder. Momentarily, she was mesmerised by them. Fragments that hold so much power, she thought, realising that power was the wrong word. They were far more than that; they were the opportunity of life itself.

  Taking one last deep breath, Genesis positioned herself so that four of her long opaque legs dangled down either side of Isabella’s sleeping head like anchors, holding her steady for the dream she was about to deliver. Her other four legs moved freely by Isabella’s lips, ready in anticipation.

  With her ovate jet-black eyes, Genesis stared at the girl. Instinctively she began to feel the rhythm of her breathing.

  ‘Child,’ she thought, ‘interpret this dream as best you can for all our sakes. Try to understand. Try to make the right choices.’

  Then, just as Isabella inhaled, two claws spun at amazing speeds, releasing a fine powder directly into her mouth, the dust being drawn deep into her lungs.

  Genesis plucked more blue, red and yellow powders from within her maghole and then, at exactly the right moment and in precisely the correct amounts, the dreamspinner lowered her silky legs towards the child’s mouth and once again filtered the dream powders to the sleeping girl.

  Years of experience had taught her to understand every slight frown and flicker, every twitch and groan. After every breath, Genesis stopped and gauged her reaction, making tiny adjustments to the rate of powder in proportion to the volume of air drawn in.

  So far, so good, thought Genesis. Already she tosses and turns; the dream powders must have entered her mind and now she begins her lucid and vivid journey. Nothing will wake her.

  With the dream complete, Genesis walked through the air across the dark room and settled above Daisy, where she repeated the procedure, scrutinising every movement, looking for signals, making sure that everything was perfect.

  Finally, it was Archie’s turn. Genesis had noted the strong, intense reactions of the boy, similar perhaps to those of the Ancient Woman. But his haunting, wailing cries were like those of someone else. Someone she’d hardly dared make the comparison with. Was it really so like Cain?

  Genesis studied the reaction of the children, noticing that the noises they made were not just the anguished, crazed cries of their previous dreams, although these might come later. These were sounds that exuded certainty and confidence; Daisy laughing, Archie smiling, Isabella’s face beaming with happiness.

  Maybe the final part of the Tripodean Dream was a reassurance that it would be worth the trouble ahead. She dipped a slender leg into her maghole. After all, she thought, there must be hope as well as fear.

  GENESIS, tired and aching, climbed into the middle of the room and addressed the dreamspinners, her legs flicking with subtle, silent vibrations.

  ‘As you also know,’ she said as she picked her way towards Isabella, ‘the Tripodean Dream comes with a gift – a special gift – for each Heir of Eden.’ She dipped two sylph-like legs into her maghole and withdrew them, studying the ends. ‘These crystals were passed to me before my mother died, as once they were handed to her. Their purpose? To help those who seek the rebirth of the Garden of Eden.’

  She noted a strong vibration from Asgard but ignored him. ‘If the Heirs of Eden succeed in the tasks set before them and open the Garden of Eden,’ she said, ‘the stock of spider web dream powders will be replenished and wondrous dreams may begin afresh for all life on Earth. However, if Eden is not reborn, the dreams of hope, wonder and creativity, the dreams that offer a spark of life, will vanish. Everything in the living worlds will alter—’

  ‘Why do we meddle?’ Asgard snapped, his legs moving quickly, the vibrations aggressive and powerful. ‘If the Tripodean Dream had not been spun, who is to say that life would not continue – and besides, your Tripodean Dream has been given to mere children of man. These riddles were made by Adam when he was strong and powerful, a wizard at the height of his powers. Children are not equipped to tackle what lies ahead; the storm will tear them to pieces, they will not survive. Furthermore I am sure they do not seek, or even know of, the Garden of Eden—’

  ‘This is not the time to argue the rights or wrongs of it,’ Genesis interrupted, her vibrations overriding his. ‘The time has come for change. These children are the Heirs of Eden whether they like it or not, marked by their blood and their birth.’ She stretched out two legs and slowly drew them in. ‘It is up to the Heirs of Eden alone to interpret the dreams that I have given them.

  ‘And when the sky bursts and the thunderbolts rain down upon them, our lives and the lives of every living thing are in their hands, whether they like it or not.’

  Genesis let her words sink in. ‘The Prophecy tells that if they fail, rain will fall for forty of the
ir days and forty of their nights. It will rain with such purpose that few on the planet will survive. The fabric of the planet will change.’

  Genesis shifted uneasily. ‘To succeed, the Heirs of Eden must outwit the storm and seek out the tablets of Eden. Using their minds, their strength and their skills they will prove that mankind is ready for a new time. It is our role to herald in this new cycle of life, whichever way it falls. It begins now with these gifts.’

  Genesis’ silvery-grey, ghost-like body now sat directly above Isabella’s sleeping face, her maghole emitting blue shards of light over Isabella’s pale face.

  There was a deep silence, broken only by the child’s gentle breathing.

  Quietly, Genesis began:

  ‘For the eldest, yellow spider web powder – for hands and feet. Hands that guide, heal and lead. With swift feet for running.’

  She transformed the claw-end of one of her legs into a needle so long it was like a slither of pure ice melting into nothing. With it she injected a tiny yellow speck into the soft flesh between thumb and finger on each of Isabella’s hands. Moving down Isabella’s body, she repeated the action on her ankles, the needle entering the tender skin by her Achilles’ heels.

  As she withdrew the needle, Genesis noted a buzz of electric-blue energy that flowed through and over the girl’s sleeping body. The gifts are undamaged by time, she thought.

  Without hesitating, Genesis walked across the night air and was above Daisy, moving directly over her face. As she extended her legs she signed again, the vibrations clear to the onlookers:

  ‘Blue spider web powder, for eyes to see when blackness falls and ears to hear the smallest of sounds. With eyes so sharp and ears so keen, she will understand what others do not hear or see.’

  A minuscule blue crystal fragment sat at the very tip of the needle. With astonishing precision she injected the tiny fragments through the delicate tissues of Daisy’s closed eyelids into the retinas of her eyeballs. Then, with two of her other legs anchoring her abdomen, she carefully slid two needles down Daisy’s ear canals and injected the crystals directly into her eardrums. On the withdrawal of the needle, Genesis noted again that Daisy fizzed momentarily with the strange electrical current.