by James Erith
Sue couldn’t help but admire his confidence, although she wasn’t entirely convinced. Wasn’t corrugated sheeting incredibly heavy? ‘So what do we do now?’
‘Well, let’s see. We could start by naming our boat. It’s definitely good luck before a maiden voyage. You got any ideas?’
‘Not really. You?’
‘Yeah,’ and he smiled his big smile again.
‘Oh no, what is it?’
Gus opened his eyes wide. ‘I think we should call it the “The Joan Of”.
‘That’s it?’ Sue said. She looked mystified. ‘The Joan of … what? What does that mean? It doesn’t make any sense. That’s not a name for a boat.’
Gus feigned a look of shock. ‘Now, come along, brainbox. This little teaser shouldn’t be difficult for a super-smart girl like you.’
THIRTY-TWO
TO THE RESCUE
Old Man Wood hadn’t taken his eyes off the panels. It was impossible. But increasingly he knew in his bones that he absolutely had to do something. More than anything, he was amazed and thrilled that the children were alive. He couldn’t fathom how they’d managed it. How could children so young survive the tumult out there? They’re only little, he kept thinking, as tears formed in his eyes.
He knew Daisy was tough and had a very high pain tolerance – the purple bruises she wore after football matches gave him the proof of that. But Isabella? Archie? No. No chance. They were soft – like all the children he’d ever known of that age.
What could he do? He felt helpless and, worse still, he wasn’t even sure if he could help. He viewed the screen; Daisy and Archie were sitting in each other’s arms up a tree. Now that was clever – keeping warm, out of the rain. He clapped his hands together. If they stay just as they are, they’ll be fine – he’d go and find them.
In a second it changed. He saw them shuffling up the branch as though something was coming to get them. He zoomed out. Was it a predator, a big cat or ... ? He scratched his chin. Suddenly a huge flash burst onto the screen. Old Man Wood fell back. Lightning? Sweet apples! His skin prickled with a cold sweat. Daisy lay on the branch as it crashed into the bank – where was Archie?
He watched the scene unfurl: Daisy hanging on for dear life – Archie being swept away. Archie held up by something and, as though in a huge panic, straining on the rope with all his might while Daisy lay on the branch. What was she doing? Screaming? He couldn’t take his eyes off the scene. Then another flash struck directly at Daisy. Old Man Wood shrieked and felt for his heart. He could hardly bear it. Then he watched as the entire branch of the tree hurtled down the makeshift drain towards the swollen river, Archie dragged behind, under the water.
Old Man Wood yelped and clasped his head in his hands. Much to his astonishment, Archie resurfaced and climbed onto the log. How did he have the strength? – he must be possessed.
Daisy lay still, just as she had before. She hadn’t moved since she’d screamed. Her screen flickered, as though it was faulty. Old Man Wood gave it a pat, as if that might restore it. But it flickered again, little lines cutting through the clear picture. A terrible feeling rushed over him and the colour drained from his face.
‘NO!’ he yelled out. ‘Don’t give up, Daisy. Whatever you do, DO NOT EVER GIVE UP!’
OLD MAN WOOD was spurred into action. He had to get down there and fast. What should he take? He turned on the torch and shot off towards the shed. His heart and mind racing, he grabbed a rope, a small axe and his hard helmet with a built-in torch on the front. He dashed into his cold room where he stored his huge variety of apples. He selected eight rather small ones from the special box he kept far from the door. These would fill them up. In the cloakroom, he found his long, waterproof coat and his walking boots, which he slipped on to his large feet as fast as he could.
He returned to the bedroom and stared at the screens.
Archie was cradling Daisy, he could see that. Tears were running down his face. ‘Oh you poor things,’ Old Man Wood cried. ‘Keep her warm and speak to her, little Arch – don’t let her drift off.’
At least they had found somewhere to disembark. It was on what looked like a huge pile of rocks. And Daisy’s monitor was back to normal, for the moment at least.
Now, where was Isabella? He furrowed his brow. Blimey, she’s in a funny place. Bang next to a rock face and surrounded by boulders. She’s shivering, crying. No wonder. How did she get there? He zoomed out and pressed the cloud button which cleared away the rain.
‘Apples alive!’ he said. ‘They’re on either side of the same great heap of rocks. With all that rain they’ll never discover one another, unless by chance!’
He zoomed out further on Isabella’s monitor. ‘I know exactly where it is!’ he exclaimed, his eyes almost bulging out of his head in excitement. He checked his watch. Ten minutes before four o’clock or thereabouts. Just over an hour before nightfall. He’d have to hurry.
He darted out of his room, bursting with an energy and purpose he hadn’t felt in years, when an idea shot into his head. He turned on his helmet light, made a detour and skipped down the cellar stairs. Now, which one was it? He headed along a very musty brick corridor that smelled of old wet rags and stopped outside a low, thick wooden door laced with metal studs right at the end. Cut into it were the markings “II” – Roman Numerals for cellar No. 2.
Now, he thought, how did the door open? There wasn’t a key, he was sure of that – it was something smarter; keys could be lost or discovered by nosey children or unwanted guests. He strained his brain trying to work out what it might be. ‘Aaarghh,’ he cried. ‘Why does my head always go blank at times like this?’ In his frustration he thumped his fist on the wall. One of the bricks shifted. His eyes darted up and he groped about, pushing the bricks to see if anything would happen.
Nothing.
He screwed his eyes up. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been down here. From the corner of his eye he spotted a piece of stone protruding from the wall. Maybe that was it. He pushed it.
Again, nothing.
He left his hand there as he tapped his forehead on the wall in utter frustration. The stone moved! He pulled it further and heard a soft click. He twisted the metal ring on the door and the latch came free. He was in.
Inside, it looked exactly like a room which had been forgotten about for centuries. It smelled of dust and linseed oil. Old Man Wood brushed past the cobwebs that drooped from the ceiling and shone his helmet torch around. There, lying on shelves surrounding the walls, were hundreds upon hundreds of glass bottles and jars filled with liquids, each one covered in a thick layer of dust.
Starting at one end, he picked each one up and blew the dust off to reveal the writing which was neatly etched into the glass. Names like, Spindle Sap, Ogre Blood, Wood Ox, Willow Potion and Oak Spit. He hoped like mad that when he saw it, he’d know.
A flood of memories rushed in, almost overwhelming him. These were his bottles. HIS! From a time … well, from a time he’d lost, a time he’d forgotten. He continued along the row, reading out the names as he went until he found what he was looking for. Three full bottles with the words “Resplendix Mix” pronounced in bold writing on each. He pulled one off the shelf and brushed it down. In the torchlight, the colour was like liquid gold, and as it moved, little sparkles of light, like diamonds, danced within it.
His heart was beating like mad. Maybe he really could save them. He shoved the bottle into his pocket and rushed out of the room.
OLD MAN WOOD closed the back door and was instantly set upon by the water. He breathed a sigh of relief that he’d found the hard hat with the light to protect his bald head.
Every step he took involved wading through shin-deep water. What was the best way to the bottom of the cliff, he wondered. He scratched his chin. The lane from the house was acting like a drain, so the road was impassable. Maybe he could lower a rope from the ruin and let himself down. He felt the coils bound around his torso. But he knew the rope wasn’
t long enough and what if he was swept off the top? No, it would have to be across country, though the woods and then somehow up and onto the ledge.
He’d need a lot of luck and he’d need to hurry.
THIRTY-THREE
CAIN RETURNS
After the euphoric sensation of the icy power sluicing through his every sinew, Kemp experienced a pain like he had never felt before. His whole body raged with fire, the burning excruciating but, as he dissolved into Cain, Kemp kept repeating his name and his birthday, and his mother’s and father’s names and his school and his favourite colours and everything happy that he could ever remember.
The last thing he remembered was diving head-first towards the electric body of a weird spidery creature and then being sucked into a void. He must have passed out.
When he opened his eyes it was as though he was seeing through a grey filter. He could see shapes and objects, but nothing clearly; no detail.
He sensed he was lying on a bed. He shut his eyes, and tried to see if he could lose the pain – a constant, driving, nagging ache. He could sense that he was in a body that was gently rising and falling – his body – but it was surrounded by something else. Ash? Soot?
Cain was sleeping. He was sure of it. Kemp felt woozy and weak, and utterly helpless. Nothing he did seemed to make any difference. He had no control, but maybe he could use this time to think – as himself – while Cain slept.
Now Cain was stirring. Suddenly Kemp felt his entire body taken over and his brain and eyes and everything seemed to be fading away, like a gas lamp being extinguished.
FOR THE FIRST time in ages, Cain woke feeling like a different person.
What a wonder, he thought, rubbing his non-existent eyes. Sleep. I had forgotten how invigorating it is. I feel marvellous and now I’m hungry. That boy inside me needs sustaining.
‘Food!’ he yelled out. ‘Schmerger, I require food. WHERE IS MY FOOD?’
From the door, Cain could make out a shape which stopped at a respectable distance and bowed. ‘Your Lordship,’ the bent figure of Schmerger said, ‘you haven’t eaten for thousands of years. Are you yourself today?’
Cain picked himself off the bed and marched up to the servant. ‘I require food, immediately; a huge feast.’
The servant had a look of shock and confusion on his usually featureless face. ‘There is no kitchen,’ he replied.
‘NO KITCHEN?! What kind of palace is this?’
Schmerger was completely taken by surprise. ‘May I be bold and say that ever since I was assigned to your highness, there has never been a kitchen. Your highness banned them.’
Cain thrust out his arm, picked the man up by the throat and threw him at a table which splintered over the floor. ‘Is that so?’
The servant held his throat and, in shock, wondered how Cain had acquired his new-found strength.
Cain drew up to him. ‘How and where do you eat, Schmerger? Show me.’
The servant bowed and led the ghost down the wide main staircase through a corridor and several doors before entering a small room.
Cain followed, delighted that for once he could see outlines of people and rooms and his bed and even his dim profile in the mirror. And though it was a shame he couldn’t see with any detail, it was a great deal better than nothing at all.
Schmerger picked up a wicker basket. ‘From Mrs Schmerger, Sire.’
‘Tell me,’ Cain quizzed, ‘what is in it?’
Schmerger thought this was quite ridiculous. ‘It was my lunch, Sire,’ he lied. ‘There is no more.’
‘Do you take me for a fool?’ Cain said as he thrust his hand into the basket. He pulled out something black and stodgy and, without hesitation, stuffed it in his mouth. For the first time in ages he chewed, although he had to admit it wasn’t really for him. Aside from a tingle in his mouth, it tasted like soot. But he was sure the boy found it favourable.
Schmerger backed out of the room, trembling, leaving it to Cain.
Cain pulled another piece of food and popped it in his mouth. This time, it crunched and splintered. Cain spat it out. ‘Schmerger,’ he yelled, ‘what is that?’
‘It is the leg of a bird,’ the servant said. ‘One does not ordinarily eat the bones.’
Cain crashed his fist down on the table. ‘What is there to drink?’
‘There is nothing but water, Sire,’ Schmerger said. ‘Your Majesty has never had a requirement for any.’
‘I do now. Bring me some this instant. I have a thirst.’ Cain marched out of the room. ‘Let me see this palace of mine. Bring the drink to me, and more food.’
Cain crashed through the doors and found himself at the foot of the grand staircase. Then he had an idea. ‘Dreamspinner, dreamspinner, dreamspinner,’ he called out. It was their agreed way of contact.
Moments later Asgard appeared, his maghole tingling as usual with electrical current.
For the first time, Cain could just about make out his outline. ‘Let us see how the Heirs of Eden are surviving. And let me try and persuade Archie to come with me.’
Asgard opened the hole and Cain bent down and dived through.
ASGARD TOOK him to the big log that straddled the track and, as he emerged, he surveyed the scene. Cain was frankly amazed that the Heirs of Eden were still hanging on to life.
They looked desperate, pathetic. He could tell their struggle was nearly over. Their bodies could not take much more of a pounding. And where was the old man? Ha! He didn’t even know what was going on. Sad. Truly.
Cain realised that this was possibly his last chance to tempt Archie to go with him. He could lose the one inside him and have Archie instead. In one easy step it would resolve this theatre, this charade, that these puny Heirs of Eden might survive.
He would put them out of their misery.
Everything would be resolved.
THIRTY-FOUR
HOLDING ON
Archie stared at his watch: gone four. When was sunset, five, half five?
He crawled over to Daisy and cradled her in his arms. ‘Come on, Daisy,’ he whispered as he sheltered her face. ‘Don’t give up on me. There’s only a little while to go, you know. And I’m going to keep you alive, if it’s the last thing I do.’ He put his cold hands on her face. He was cold but she was icy.
Gently, he massaged her heart, he didn’t know why, but it just seemed the right thing to do. ‘Please, Daisy, you’ve got to come back. Don’t you dare back out now; I don’t know what I’d do without you. And if you go, we’ve all had it; everyone, not just us.’ Her eyes flickered and he saw the corners of her cut lips turn up.
Thank goodness, he thought, a spark of life.
He’d keep talking and somehow he had to keep her listening. ‘Right, here’s what we’re going to do,’ he said, quite aware that there was probably no way she could hear him. ‘I’m going to pick you up and start carrying you over these rocks and stuff, OK?’
Very gently, he picked her up and tried to find a foothold in the debris. He took one step and then another, swaying each time to keep his balance. Every so often he studied her face to make sure she was still with him and carried on, leaping from one rock to the next, disregarding the rain, disregarding his own discomfort, worrying only about each step and the wellbeing of his sister.
As he climbed, he carried on talking. He talked about what was going to happen and how safe they were going to be in only a little while and anything else he could think of. When he ran out of things to say, he started singing. The first song that came into his head was a song their mother taught them when they were young. With chattering teeth, he sang it as best as he could. When he forgot the words, he hummed it, his voice shaking with cold.
After a few minutes of this, Daisy’s eyes flashed open. He looked down at her and smiled, trying to hold back his tears and continued his humming. But he could feel her tensing. Now her eyes were wide open, as though telling him something. What was it? Her eyes rolled back.
Archie tensed. Oh no. I
t can’t be.
NOT ANOTHER ONE!
Instantly, Archie threw Daisy over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift, which helped to centre his balance. He reached the top of a boulder and tried to see beyond it, but there was nothing but the steady veil of rain. ‘Daisy!’ he cried out, ‘I’ve got to jump and I don’t know where we’ll end up. If this goes badly, just remember that I love you.’ He had no more time.
Archie sucked in as much air as he could and closed his eyes. He bent his knees and jumped as high and as far as he possibly could – into the dark unknown.
ISABELLA COULD REMEMBER IT WELL. It was her first skiing trip, high up in the Alps a couple of years ago, and the day had been beautifully hot with a bright blue sky. At lunch, she stripped off her jacket, threw off her hat and ditched her long johns giving them all to her mother who crammed them into her rucksack. Then they’d jumped on a chairlift that headed right to the top of the mountain. Halfway up, it stopped and swung in the air. They stayed like that for ages – an hour, maybe more. Then the weather changed.
First the clouds blew in, followed by an icy, biting wind and after that, snow. She sat there freezing, with nothing but her father’s arm around her to protect her while, in the seat behind, her mother was holding the bag with her clothes in. An hour later as they skied off, every bone in her body, from the top of her head to the tip of her toes, ached with cold. She remembered how it took two hot chocolates before she could move her jaw enough to say anything. What she would give for a hot chocolate now.
What had her father said? Keep moving, girl. That was it. And if you can’t keep moving, hug someone. Hug them nice and tight. A warm feeling filled her as she remembered how Archie thought this was the perfect excuse to go round hugging people and everyone had thought him rather cute, even Daisy.
