Jack Brenin’s adventures continue in
Glasruhen Gate, the sequal to
Catherine Cooper’s award winning
The Golden Acorn
Pub date: 22 Feb 2011
Retail price: £7.99
Format: Paperback
Pages: 320
ISBN: 9781906821708
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For more information please visit www.infideas.com
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Born in Wellington, Shropshire, Catherine Cooper was a primary school teacher for 29 years before deciding she’d love to write for children. She has now self-published three books which she promoted and distributed herself. Catherine’s love of history, myths and legends and the Shropshire countryside shines through in her charming stories.
THE
GOLDEN
ACORN
CATHERINE COOPER
ILLUSTRATIONS BY
RON COOPER and CATHERINE COOPER
Copyright text © Catherine Cooper, 2009
Copyright illustrations and cover image © Ron Cooper
and Catherine Cooper 2009
The right of Catherine Cooper to be identified as the author
of this book has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in 2009 by Pengridion Books
This edition 2010
Infinite Ideas Limited
36 St Giles
Oxford
OX1 3LD
United Kingdom
www.infideas.com
All rights reserved. Except for the quotation of small passages for the purposes of criticism or review, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise, except under the terms of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 or under the terms of a licence issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency Ltd, 90 Tottenham Court Road, London W1T 4LP, UK,
without the permission in writing of the publisher. Requests to the publisher should be addressed to the Permissions Department,
Infinite Ideas Limited, 36 St Giles, Oxford, OX1 3LD, UK,
or faxed to +44 (0) 1865 514777.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978–1–906821–65–4
Brand and product names are trademarks or registered trademarks of their respective owners.
Cover designed by D.R.ink
For Ron
for being there
PROLOGUE
Nora tapped her wand impatiently on the kitchen table before speaking to Camelin.
‘I’m sure I’m right. Jack Brenin is The One.’
‘He can’t be, he’s so small and weedy; he’s supposed to be strong and brave.’
Nora thought for a while before she spoke again.
‘He’s a Brenin.’
‘Well, there has to be a better Brenin than this one.’
‘The prophecy’s quite clear and this Brenin was born on the right night, in the right place and at the right time. The trees have been watching him since he arrived, they seem satisfied he’s The One.’
‘The trees could be wrong,’ Camelin mumbled in case he was overheard. He knew how fast word could travel from one tree to another. If Arrana, the ancient Hamadryad, heard him he’d be in big trouble. She lived in the oldest oak tree in the heart of Glasruhen Forest and was always very well informed.
‘I’m sure he’ll help us. If he doesn’t all will be lost. He’s our last hope and we’re running out of time.’
‘If he’s our last hope we’re doomed.’
As Nora paced up and down the kitchen, the end of her wand began to splutter; red sparks erupted from the tip.
‘We need help. I’m going to write to Elan; she needs to be here.’
As Nora wrote Camelin hung his head. He knew she was right. Time was running out; Arrana was slowly dying. She was the only Hamadryad left on Earth and without her protection the tree spirits of the forest would eventually fade away and only hollow trees would remain. Unless they found someone willing to help them find a way to open the portal into the Otherworld and bring back new Hamadryad acorns, their own time on Earth would end too. As each year passed Arrana grew weaker. It would need a very special person to accept the challenges which lay ahead. Camelin continued to sulk. Jack Brenin had not impressed him.
‘He’s not the kind of boy who’s going to care if the spirit of an ancient oak tree lives or dies.’
‘If he passes the test he will.’
There was a long silence. Eventually Nora fished in her pocket and produced a beautiful golden acorn and placed it carefully on the table.
‘Put this where the boy will see it, it’s the only way to be sure.’
‘I bet he kicks it. I was watching him yesterday kicking cans and stones about. What kind of help could he possibly be? The journey we’ve got to make might be dangerous, too dangerous for the likes of Jack Brenin.’
‘Take the acorn. If he sees it and picks it up we’ll know he’s The One.’
Camelin scowled. He picked up the golden acorn and reluctantly left the kitchen to find a good place to hide and watch. He might have a long wait. He wasn’t happy: Nora was probably right but Jack Brenin was the furthest thing from a hero he’d ever seen.
THE GOLDEN ACORN
‘Oi, Pimple! Leave it!’ one of the boys from the middle of the field yelled as Jack went to kick the ball, ‘Don’t even think about it.’
Jack had been watching them play football for the past half hour. No one had asked him to join in. No one had taken any notice of him, until now. The size of the goalie running towards him should have made him think twice, but it was too late, his foot had already made contact with the ball.
‘What you do that for?’ snarled the keeper.
‘Only trying to help. Any chance of a game?’
‘No, clear off, you don’t belong here.’
‘I live here.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since yesterday.’
‘Well if I see you here again you’re gonna wish you didn’t.’
As the goalkeeper turned to rejoin the game he pushed Jack hard on the shoulder sending him to the ground. Tears welled up in Jack’s eyes; he wished he’d never come to the field. He thumped the grass with his fists. It wasn’t fair; he hadn’t asked to come and live with Grandad. He didn’t know anyone here.
Jack watched the boys from where he lay. He knew he ought to go. The game hadn’t restarted yet. There was a lot of shouting as everyone ran over to a tall boy who had blood gushing from his nose. Jack began to feel uncomfortable; the boys turned and looked in his direction. Someone pointed, another yelled, get him, then they all started yelling. The ball he’d kicked must have hit the tall boy in the face. For a moment Jack froze as they ran towards him. He managed to scramble to his feet and run as fast as he could towards the gate. Hot tears burned his cheeks. Half stumbling, half running he skidded into the back lane behind the field. He wished he’d got his bike but he’d not been able to bring it with him to Grandad’s. The boys were gaining on him, their voices growing louder and louder. He didn’t want to think about what might happen if they caught him. Jack knew he didn’t have enough time to make it back to the safety of Grandad’s house. As he rounded the corner he looked for somewhere to hide. In desperation he saw a gap in the hedge. Sometimes being small had its advantages. He flung himself into the undergrowth, wriggled through th
e long grass and squeezed under the bushes. He hoped they hadn’t seen him. He sat very still on the other side of the hedge. His heart pounded so loudly that he was sure they’d be able to hear it.
‘He’s got to be here somewhere.’
Jack recognised the keeper’s voice. The boys began searching the undergrowth. He could hear their footsteps getting closer and closer. They were nearly at the place where Jack had dived through the hedge.
‘Do you think he’s gone through there?’
Jack made himself as small as he could and held his breath.
‘He’s mad if he has. No one goes into Nutty Nora’s. She’ll have him if she finds him in her garden!’
Jack didn’t like the sound of Nutty Nora but he wasn’t going to leave his hiding place. They were so close now. One of them tried parting the branches but instead of exposing Jack he yelled and jumped back clutching his hands.
‘Ow! Now me hands are bleeding as well as me nose; them thorns are lethal.’
‘Come on, leave him for Nora. We’ll get him another time, let’s get on with the game.’
The others started agreeing with the goalkeeper but none of them moved. The tall boy with the bleeding nose and hands was still trying to peer through the leaves.
‘If he’s got through there he’ll be cut up good and proper. Maybe he’ll bleed to death.’
‘Serve him right too.’
The boys began to laugh and the goalkeeper yelled through the hedge.
‘Can you hear me pixie boy? Nutty Nora’s going to get you, don’t stay in there too long or you might not come out again.’
Jack put his hands over his ears but he could still hear the keeper’s voice.
‘The old witch turns people into stone.’
Jack held his breath; he didn’t dare move. The sooner he could go home the better. The boys walked away and the shouting eventually stopped. Jack strained to listen. He was scrunched up, uncomfortable and frightened. Jack didn’t want to meet Nutty Nora but he didn’t want to go back into the lane just yet either. He wasn’t sure if the boys had really gone. He decided to wait a while, at least until his heart stopped pounding. He looked back at the hedge he’d wriggled under; it was covered in long, sharp thorns. He made a quick check of his hands and legs. There wasn’t any blood, only a prickling sensation on his palms. As he scratched them small red spots began to appear; he must have nettled himself.
He looked around cautiously from his hiding place. He was at the bottom of a very large garden. There was an old house in the distance, a bit like Grandad’s, but the sun was in his eyes and he couldn’t see it too well. A sudden movement gave Jack a fright; someone was coming towards him. He backed further into the undergrowth and held his breath again. He wished his heart would stop pounding. He was desperate to scratch his hands. They wouldn’t stop itching but he didn’t dare move. Was this Nutty Nora? If he were found he’d be in trouble; he was obviously trespassing. Jack looked around for a means of escape. It was then he noticed the statues, lots of them, more than most people had in their gardens. His knees began to tremble as he remembered the keeper’s last words. The tall figure was definitely a woman. She was so close now that he could have reached out and touched the bottom of her long flowing dress. He shut his eyes and hoped she wouldn’t see him.
‘Come out Jack Brenin; I know you’re hiding underneath my blackthorn hedge.’
The woman’s voice was stern but she didn’t sound annoyed. He wondered how she knew his name. There wasn’t any point in trying to hide. He crawled out and tried to look sorry as he stood up. In front of him was a very tall lady. She looked a lot older than his Grandad. She had a lot of wispy silvery hairs interspersed amongst the brown. As Jack hung his head he could see she had beautiful hands with long tapering fingers. He hoped the tall woman looking down at him would know he was sorry for being in her garden.
‘Have you hurt yourself?’
‘Only my hands.’
‘Let me look.’
Jack showed her his palms.
‘I’m sorry…’ he began, but the woman interrupted him.
‘Follow me. I’ve got just the thing for nettle rash.’
Jack wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t want to be impolite but he had no idea who this woman was. He wasn’t sure if he should follow her. What if she was a witch?
‘I’m not going to hurt you and despite what those boys were shouting I can assure you these statues are not made from people.’
She smiled at Jack.
‘I’m Eleanor Ewell but everyone calls me Nora. Your Grandad won’t mind you being here.’
‘You know my Grandad?’
‘Of course I do, and your Dad. We’ve lived next door to each other all our lives.’
‘But you know my name?’
‘I know all about you Jack Brenin. Now follow me and let me see to your hands.’
Jack obediently followed her. As they made their way towards the house he had time to look around. The garden was immense. They were on a path which led them around vast flowerbeds. Jack could hear birds singing. They passed a pedestal birdbath in the shape of a large leaf, a small lawn, a picnic bench and a large bird table. The thick, prickly hedge appeared to surround the whole garden. Near the house was a white cylindrical dovecote; it was perched on top of a thick pole, with a tall thatched roof. Under the trees were carpets of bluebells and occasionally patches of white flowers. There was the distinct smell of garlic as they walked under a shady archway of trees.
Jack wondered what kind of things Nora knew about him. If she knew his Dad she’d know he was an archaeologist working in Athens; they’d lived in Greece since he was five. He didn’t remember Nora. He was sure that if he’d met her before he wouldn’t have forgotten her. He didn’t remember much about Grandad either. How could his Dad have sent him to England? He’d had to leave the school he loved and the little white house on the top of the hill. He’d probably never see his friends again. He didn’t want to live in Grandad’s creaky old house. He wasn’t sure Grandad really wanted him to be there either. His thoughts were interrupted when Nora stopped in front of a huge wooden door with an arched top.
‘This is my herborium.’
‘Herborium?’
The door creaked loudly as Nora pushed it open.
‘It’s where I prepare my lotions and medicines.’
The sunlit room smelt strange. There were shelves, filled with bottles and jars, which went from the uneven stone floor to the low-beamed ceiling. Everything had been labelled neatly in small flowing writing. Bunches of dried flowers and herbs hung down from hooks. By the door was a bookshelf filled with leather-bound books of all shapes and sizes. A large umbrella and broom stood in a huge plant pot on the other side of the door. Jack felt as if he’d stepped back in time. There wasn’t anything modern in the room at all, not even an electric light. Candleholders with half-burnt candles of all shapes and sizes were dotted around the room. Nora pointed to the long wooden table with four high-backed chairs on either side. It was covered in bowls and bottles.
‘Sit yourself down. I’ll have those hands sorted out in no time.’
In front of Jack, lying on the table was a large square book. It looked heavy. The edges of the pages were ragged, as if they’d been torn to size instead of being cut. On the outside, in between two moonlit trees, he could see the words Book of Shadows written in beautiful silver writing. Nora hurriedly picked it up and returned it to one of the bookshelves before taking a dark brown jar down from the top shelf. She spooned out two blobs of green goo onto two pieces of lint and brought them over to where Jack was sitting.
‘Hands out.’
Jack held out both palms and Nora strapped the pieces of lint onto them. The green goo felt wonderfully cool. Within seconds the prickling and burning sensation had stopped.
‘Is that any better?’
‘Yes, thanks.’
‘A compound of dock and rosemary leaves works every time.’
‘I
didn’t know that,’ Jack replied politely, trying to sound interested.
Nora laughed and smiled at Jack.
‘I’d be surprised if you did. Now, tell me, why were those boys chasing you?’
Jack explained and ended by apologising for coming through the hedge. Nora nodded and smiled when he’d finished.
‘You are always welcome here Jack. The hedge knows that, otherwise it wouldn’t have let you in.’
Jack had no idea what Nora was talking about. Maybe the boys were right and she was nutty after all.
‘I was sorry to hear about your mum,’ she continued.
A lot of people had said this to Jack since his mum had died. If she’d still been alive his life wouldn’t have changed so drastically. It wasn’t fair. He should have been spending his half term holiday in Greece with his friends. Instead it had been decided he was to live in England with Grandad. His Dad thought it would be a good idea for Jack to spend the last few weeks of term at the local school. It would give him chance to make some new friends before starting at the secondary school in September. He’d only arrived the day before and so far none of the boys he’d met had been very friendly. He hoped they weren’t going to be in the same class.
Nora was looking at Jack intently, as if she was reading his thoughts. He wasn’t quite sure what to say.
‘I think I’d better be going now.’
‘Yes, that’s probably quite enough for one day. The rash will go completely if you can manage to keep those bandages on for about an hour.’
Jack smiled gratefully.
‘Come on. I’ll show you a short cut home.’
Once more he followed Nora through the vast garden. They didn’t speak until they were opposite the statues.
The Golden Acorn Page 1
