Eden Chronicles Box Set Books 1-3

by James Erith

  So skilful was her technique that other than the gentle rise and fall of their chests, Isabella and Daisy did not flicker a muscle.

  Now it was the boy’s turn; the one she dreaded most. She sensed other spider legs vibrating nervously nearby. She stretched out a limb and drew it slowly back in.

  ‘Dreamspinners,’ she announced. ‘The first of his gifts is to his heart. When the needle leaves it will trigger a reaction that will herald the start of the quest to open the Garden of Eden. From this moment forth, the clouds will deepen and build with rain. We do not know what will happen.’

  Her vibrations were like a whisper. ‘There must be absolute quiet.’

  Genesis stood above Archie’s chest, which heaved in front of her with his every deep breath. A roll of thunder drummed high above them as she steadied herself and recalled the previous gifts.

  ‘Yellow for hands and feet,’ she said. ‘Blue to hear and see, but red is the one – for heart and mind – for strength – and understanding what may be.’

  With her limbs aching, Genesis galvanised herself for one final effort.

  ‘Red spider web powder, a gift of power, when strength is needed.’

  And, on the word “strength”, Genesis thrust her claw with the needle high into the air.

  She paused and steadied herself, marking the exact spot on his chest where she would thrust it in.

  She shut her eyes.

  The needle swept down and pierced the boy’s heart. His body fizzed with blue energy. Genesis held it as long as she dared, making sure every last little speck of spider web powder was injected. As she withdrew the needle, a terrific thunderbolt rattled the cottage.

  Genesis trembled. Nature had awoken.

  A sign from one of the other dreamspinners confirmed her suspicions that his sleep waves were changing. But a strange feeling filled her. A feeling of exposure, a feeling she had felt only once before. ‘No!’ she cried out, ‘not my invisibility!’

  She concentrated hard on the boy. I must finish this, she thought. She dipped her leg into her maghole and withdrew her final gift. ‘Red spider web powder,’ she vibrated quickly. ‘The first for strength – another for courage.’

  A minuscule red fragment flashed into the tender flesh beneath Archie’s chin. But before she could complete the task, she heard a gasp and felt a movement.

  A burning pain seared into her.

  Instantly her legs retracted as she looked up. In front of her, on a face contorted by fear, were Archie’s large brown eyes – staring directly back at her.

  A SHORT WHILE AFTER THIS, candlelight filtered in to the corridor and a soft light spread through the door into the attic room. In rushed Mrs Pye, out of breath, her flame-red hair hanging down to her waist, her small sharp eyes accentuated by the glow of the candle.

  ‘Goodness me! Oh my little Arch,’ she said rushing over to him, ‘I never heard such a terrible scream in all my life. I thought you might have died.’ She looked over him lovingly, wiping away the sweat on his brow.

  ‘I ... I had the strangest dream, Mrs P. I swear, I was about to be stabbed by ... by a terrible eyeless ghost—’

  ‘Is that right?’ Mrs Pye said softly, ‘and eyeless as well?’

  ‘It had a hole in its middle—’

  ‘Well, well, I never. Now, I think you’re old enough to know better than to be troubling yourself with all that bunkum,’ she continued as she helped him back to bed. ‘Come now. Time to get yourself back to sleep.’

  Mrs Pye sat on the edge of his bed and cradled him. She stroked his cheek tenderly as Archie closed his eyes. Then she lowered his head onto his pillow.

  A gentle, faraway tune that blended with the rhythmical sounds of sleep came to her – the song that had once been sung to her by Old Man Wood – and she hummed it quietly, the music soft and soothing.

  Before long, Archie’s breathing slowed and he returned to a deep slumber.

  Mrs Pye kissed the young boy on the forehead. What was it, she thought, about this funny young boy; so scruffy, so underrated, so sensitive.

  So utterly adorable.

  WATCHING FROM THE CEILING, her invisible status functioning once more, Genesis the dreamspinner was relieved that the final dream had run smoothly, even if Archie might have missed out on the final part of his Gift of Eden. If the children failed, would the blame be levelled at her?

  Only time would tell.

  Genesis drew her legs together and took comfort in the warm glow of electrical current that sprayed over her abdomen and nursed her burns where the boy’s eyes had seared into her.

  She wondered about the Tripodean Dream. Maybe Asgard was right; maybe the whole thing was foolish. And although she dared not admit it openly, she knew perfectly well this undertaking had never been designed for the children of man.

  She closed her eyes and recalled what she knew – what she remembered. Nature’s course must run as it always did. Nothing could stop The Prophecy now, for the Gifts of the Tripodean Dream had triggered the building of rainclouds and a great flood was almost upon them. Nature had called for a new time. A time to wash away the old and bring in the new.

  Would the children survive? Who could tell. It was impossible for them to have any idea of nature’s fury, but she knew the storm would only break when the Heirs of Eden were out in the open. She shivered and her old legs rattled together.

  If they succeeded, what price would the children pay? But failure; forty days and forty nights of devastation – for everyone – the planet wiped out.

  A feeling of dread built up in her. Even if the children survived the flood it would take nothing less than a miracle to find the stone tablets, let alone secure the key to the Garden of Eden.

  Asgard wasn’t stupid. Yes, perhaps she was the fool. At least she was wise enough to know that nature’s wishes cannot be resisted. Not at any cost.

  And what about the old man – there to guide and help? He had forgotten everything. Time had taken its toll – he was old, but was he now – in a curious twist of fate – a liability?

  She dipped her claws one by one into her maghole. She would make sure he was given a dream every night that would somehow, somehow – however hard, however shocking, however desperate – stir him into action. Something had to click, it just had to.

  Genesis stretched out a leg and held it still for several seconds. How could the dreamspinners remind the old man of the past so he could help the children?

  There had to be a way, but what it was, right now, she didn’t know.

  With these thoughts, she inverted into her maghole and vanished into thin air.

  THIRTEEN

  CAIN’S LUCK

  How could Genesis let it happen? Asgard fumed.

  Could she not see that the whole Tripodean Dream was doomed? These were children. Simple, pathetic children. They had no chance of success, none whatsoever. The world of man had slipped into the sort of decline that had been talked about from the outset. The species deserved to fail. Children to save the planet? Absurd. And what of Adam, Asgard thought. Useless – a bumbling old fool who had forgotten his mantra. It was laughable. Time really had got the better of him.

  There was only going to be one winner in this shambles, and that was Cain, the Master of Havilah. Cain would finish them off even if their trials didn’t. A ghost like Cain had enough tricks to see off these children one hundred times over. Asgard knew what he had to do. He had to find Cain and somehow transport him from Havilah to Earth. Then Cain would mop up this sorry affair once and for all. He had talent for this type of occasion. And anyway, what were the alternatives?

  The dreamspinner toyed with the thought and dipped a couple of legs in his maghole, feeling the warmth. Why did it sound so right, yet feel so horribly wrong?

  The world had changed so much; was there a need for inspirational, magical dreams from Eden? Was there a requirement for dreams that gave insight, or dreams that inspired change, or for dreams that solved puzzles or elicited love and joy?
Did dreams have a place in the world?

  Maybe – maybe not, Asgard thought as he cleaned a couple of legs by flicking and rubbing them rapidly. Did it matter? Not really. So long as dreamspinners kept spinning dreams, so long as they did not become extinct.

  After all, this was the great rule: if you can’t change, you die. It had applied to every species apart from them. And right here was their opportunity. There was a choice. A choice almost every other species had had to make at some point. Asgard remembered spinning dreams to creatures trying to show a route out of their crisis – and then watched as they failed – and died. Would dreamspinners fail and die out too?

  Did other dreamspinners see this? If they didn’t, he’d have to educate them, that was clear.

  Asgard worked out the chain of events: if the children were killed by the storm and Earth fell to the rains, he would be vindicated. Dreamspinners would harvest dreams from the spider webs across Havilah under Cain’s watchful eye until the Garden of Eden opened again. So what if dreams would only be nightmares. At least they would be alive.

  And then another thought came to him. A brilliant thought. What if one of the heirs was there – alongside Cain? Perhaps Archie. The boy heir might dilute Cain’s power.

  He toyed with the thought. Would it be possible to separate the boy from the other Heirs of Eden, especially when all three heirs needed to survive the storm?

  Asgard could see a plan forming. Yes, tricky – but the more he thought it through, the more excited and fearful he became. But he’d made his mind up. He would take sides and align with Cain.

  Asgard could feel his maghole expanding as the enormity of his action hit him. After thousands of years, the dreamspinners – the most ancient and lasting species of them all – would no longer be neutral. But it must be done – for the benefit of the dreamspinners. And he was running out of time.

  Asgard felt for Cain’s vibrational energy field. A short while later he was locked on, ready to invert directly to that old devil, Cain, across the universes in Havilah.

  IN NO TIME Asgard was in Havilah walking through the massive library in Cain’s palace. Asgard remembered how grand it once was; the golden ceiling, the diamond chandeliers that sparkled so brightly they could almost blind, the windows made from cut jewels and shining floors made from complex patterns of coloured stones. Now it was covered in thousands of years of dust, a veil of grey smothering it like a blanket.

  The dreamspinner walked through the air, wondering where the ghost might be. Cain’s vibration was strong but ghosts could be hard to find. He found himself facing a huge piece of furniture with hundreds upon hundreds of drawers lined out row after row in neat columns.

  Suddenly a drawer opened and its contents tumbled to the ground. It was Cain, searching as he always did for his branchwand.

  Asgard readied himself to inject the ghost of Cain with a substance that would enable them to communicate by translating his signing into words.

  Asgard jabbed at him, his leg shooting in and out so fast that Cain barely felt it.

  ‘Who’s there?’ Cain called out. ‘Which rapscallion of a rascal is it? Because I’ll have you. I’ll have you good and proper when I find my branchwand.’ Another drawer crashed over the floor.

  Asgard materialised into the air above Cain’s head.

  Cain sensed it. ‘Who are you and what do you want? I may be blind but I see things perfectly. Do not underestimate me.’

  ‘I am Asgard the dreamspinner.’

  Cain seemed to think about this. ‘A dreamspinner, is that right?’ he said at length. ‘Well, well, well. Then it is lucky I am blind so I cannot look upon your ugly body.’ Cain sniffed the air. ‘You want to tell me something, don’t you?’

  ‘I come with news and a proposition,’ Asgard began. ‘The Tripodean Dream has been given, Master—’

  Cain seemed to slip. ‘The Prophecy of Eden!’ he yelled. ‘The dreams! Can this be so? You lie!’

  ‘No. Clouds are building, the sky is preparing for rain—’

  ‘And the Gifts of Eden? Have they been given too?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  Cain roared. ‘While I am stuck here in this empty hole Eden will be reborn and will inflict more useless creations on the worlds. It is infernal.’

  Several drawers flew out at the same time and smashed onto the floor. ‘Who are the heirs, are they strong, are they blessed with power and magic? Huh, tell me, dreamspinner.’

  ‘They are children, weak sons and daughters of Adam. They have no magic and little sense of nature.’

  ‘Children? You jest. It cannot be. Are you sure?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  Cain seemed to mull this over. ‘Then they will not succeed. The tasks require immense strength and cunning. They may not make it past the storm.’ Cain’s voice petered off into the room. ‘And what of the old man?’

  ‘He wallows in self-pity and remembers nothing. His time on earth has mellowed him. He may prove more of a hindrance to the Heirs of Eden than a help.’

  Cain groaned, a noise of deep frustration. ‘So, ugly dreamspinner, why are you here?’

  ‘I may be able to help,’ Asgard answered.

  ‘You have my ear, dreamspinner, but there is the small problem of getting away from this damnable place.’

  ‘I believe I have found a way of transporting you to the Heirs of Eden,’ Asgard began.

  ‘Yes, yes – I understand what you say, dreamspinner,’ he said, his voice rising until it was booming. ‘Don’t you think I haven’t tried everything in my power for the last however many thousands of years? Now go away.’

  Asgard let the echo die down. He had some explaining to do. ‘Dreamspinners move freely throughout the universes – we go wherever we choose – on the feelings of vibrational energy. If a solid being goes through our maghole, our middle, we die.’

  ‘What’s your point?’ Cain shot back.

  ‘You are not a solid being,’ Asgard responded calmly. ‘You are a spirit, a ghost. Therefore it should be possible for you to travel anywhere I designate.’

  Cain instantly realised what it was saying. ‘Are you saying that I could go … through you, to other places?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘My word. It’s brilliant!’ Cain roared. But after a few moments his tone changed. ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Why would you do this for me? What benefit to you, dreamspinner?’

  Asgard paused and then signed rapidly, his claws flashing in the air. ‘Like all dreamspinners, I am concerned with giving dreams. I do not worry where they come from, only that there are dreams to spin and that dreamspinners survive. If you were to get to Earth, perhaps you might realign yourself with the Serpent. Perhaps, at length, you might find a way into the Garden of Eden? If you were to open the Garden of Eden in your own style,’ Asgard paused, ‘we will support you. In the meantime, no more dream powders remain from Eden so we can only spin dreams from Earth and Havilah.’

  ‘Clever, very clever,’ Cain said. ‘And this is on the understanding that the Heirs of Eden will fail?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Cain’s enthusiasm dampened. ‘But I am a ghost – I cannot do much with what is left of me. I have no eyes for magic or power, nor do I have a physical presence.’

  Asgard had been waiting for this. ‘Yes. But what if you were to absorb the body of a man.’

  ‘And tell me, how would this be possible?’

  ‘If a being were to freely and willingly offer its body to you, you may join with it – in partnership. It would give you ... substance. You would be able to move with more purpose and have strength.’

  Cain suddenly saw what he meant. ‘Get a human to blend into me? Is this possible?’

  ‘Of course. Though it cannot be forced. Perhaps, as the storm approaches, you might form an alliance with one of the Heirs of Eden.’

  ‘Even cleverer, you clever, vile, little dreamspinner,’ Cain replied, astonished by this huge stroke of luck. ‘But surely it would harm you in your mov
ements across the worlds, dreamspinner?’

  ‘I cannot say,’ Asgard said. ‘If it was a child of man, it might not dominate your spirit, so movement may be possible.’

  Cain chuckled. ‘An Heir of Eden with me in harmony. My, you have a seasoned plan, dreamspinner. It is an opportunity I cannot afford to miss. Hear me out though: if it fails, will I remain a spirit in another place?’

  ‘At least you would be on Earth.’

  ‘Yes. Perhaps it will be more interesting.’ Cain dropped his voice, ‘Do other dreamspinners know?’

  ‘I am alone, for now,’ Asgard said. ‘I believe others may join me when they learn what I have done.’

  ‘Indeed. You are bold coming here,’ Cain clapped his hands together, although being a ghost it made no noise. ‘Strange creature, I am willing to try your plan. You will be properly rewarded if this turns out as you suggest.’

  Asgard shifted uneasily. Rewards were not what he wanted. ‘Time is moving, Master,’ he replied. ‘On Earth the storm breaks in the morning when the sun is high in the sky and the heirs are in open ground. One of them is a boy named Archie. One of his Gifts of Eden ... failed.’ Asgard hesitated knowing he couldn’t be absolutely certain. ‘His “courage” will not be with him. Now, the boy sleeps, but he will wake shortly. He has seen the Prophecy of Eden in his dreams and he has seen the murder of your mother. You remember?’

  ‘It has preoccupied my time for too long,’ Cain replied. ‘What do you suggest, Asgard?’

  ‘Use her murder to manipulate the boy. He does not understand it. It confuses him – he is only a child.’

  Cain guffawed. ‘Excellent thinking. Hardly a stone unturned in your plan. But how will the boy believe a spirit? What if he does not comprehend the afterlife?’