Chapter 3 – Infiltrating the Village
I start to become restless waiting for Connor to return. I pace back and forth, and Skye cleans, and the animals sense our anxiety and pace too. I want to leave as soon as possible before anything else can happen. We’ve been here too long as it is. It’s becoming too dangerous to stay.
I’m about to suggest to Skye that maybe we should just leave and scavenge food on the way when we hear some sort of horn sound. It’s loud enough to startle Rotter, who ruffles his feathers and flies through the open window in a huff. I look at Skye and run for the door. I open it a fraction and peek out, but I can’t see anything.
“What was it?” she whispers in my ear.
“I’m not sure,” I tell her. But I am curious. Perhaps investigating the source of the horn will keep me from becoming too restless?
I walk slowly, stealthily, from the house. Skye follows me, as quiet as I’ve ever heard her. It reminds of the time the two of us followed father at The Glass Palace when he went for his secret meeting with Harold Oldman, the man who’d provided Uncle Rooster with the location of the God Cannon. If only things were as simple as they were back then.
We pass the shed, where Brother Willow seems to be keeping silent. We skim around a long row of bushes, which are high enough so we don’t have to duck. When we reach the edge of the small plateau, which leads onto a small dirt road that goes further down the hill and bisects what was once a main road made from tarmac, an alarming sight greets us. Trundling along the road, still quite intact after centuries of non-maintenance, is a giant metal vehicle shaped like a box with some sort of long, tube like protuberance poking menacingly out of its front. Following along behind it like baby ducklings are four more of these vehicles, as well as three long red vehicles I know to be buses. Inside the buses I can see pale faces peering out like ghosts, eyes taking in the scenery.
“What are those things?” Skye whispers.
“Those are buses,” I tell her, pointing to the vehicles carrying the people. “There was one in the river next to The Glass Palace.”
Skye laughs. “So that’s what it was. I just thought it was some red rock growing out of the ground into the water.”
She points to the other more deadly looking vehicles. “What are those?”
“I wish I knew,” I answer.
I see something on the side of the box-like vehicles. I look carefully at the buses and see it is on there as well. It is the same symbol that is tattooed on Brother Willow’s head and all his Brothers and Sisters; the mark of the Order of Power.
“The reinforcements are here,” Skye screams. I latch my hand over her mouth to stop any further outbursts.
We continue to watch, spellbound, as the line of vehicles snakes its way towards a clearing at the side of the village of Fowl. With a lot of maneuvering and the odd near crash or two, the multitudes of transports park themselves in a neat row.
“We have to warn Connor,” Skye whispers.
“They’ll see us,” I whisper back. I consider for a moment. Connor took us in even at great danger to himself. We owe him. “Fine. We’ll go into the village and try and get to Connor.”
We are about to move again when some sort of hatch opens up on one of the giant box vehicles, followed by the other two. A Brother pokes his head out and gives a mighty whistle. This is obviously some sort of signal, as the collected Brothers and Sisters in the buses begin disembarking from their transports and, in single file, start to walk towards the village. There are at least a hundred of them all together.
“Why do they need so many?” I ask Skye.
“They have something on their backs,” she points out.
I look closer and see she is right. Each Brother and Sister seems to have some sort of pack clinging to his or her back like a parasite. It’s black and bulky like a beetle and seems to be made of metal. I have no idea what they could be, but they scare me. The Order of Power never does anything benign.
We watch for a bit longer as the other box vehicles open up. Three or four Brothers, no Sisters, emerge from each one. They all have the metal backpacks as well.
“Come on,” I whisper to Skye. “We need to sneak into the village and try to be as inconspicuous as possible. That means no animals.”
I look around. Albatross is nowhere to be seen, and neither is Rotter the parrot. Skye goes everywhere with that pig, carting the poor thing around like a comfort blanket.
“Where’s Albatross?” I ask.
Skye’s eyes widen with panic. “I can’t hear him in my head.”
“He has to be somewhere,” I tell her. “Just concentrate or whatever it is you do.”
I watch Skye scrunch her face up. It makes her look like a pig herself, but I can’t mock her. She has an enviable ability. No matter where it comes from, she is still remarkable.
She breathes out and says, “He’s gone back inside the house. He’s never been this frightened before.”
“Will he be alright on his own?” I ask.
She shrugs her shoulders. She is clearly concerned for the safety of her friend, and if I take her with me right now she will be a liability. So I tell her to stay with the animals and let me go and find Connor.
“Are you sure?” she says hesitantly.
I don’t give her time to change her mind. I pat her shoulder, smile, and make my way carefully down the hill.
Getting to the village is easy. Fowl rests in a sort of large depression in the hills, and it is surrounded by large, thick trees and cliffs and rock falls. I just make my way from one hiding spot to another until I make it to the edge of the village, which features a large stable next to a much bigger building. I look inside and see two skinny white horses, pacing around like they’re waiting for death. Their large eyes pierce me with desperate hunger. If these horses were owned by The Glass Palace, we would’ve eaten them ages ago.
I walk up to one, wary of being seen, and give it a pat on the head. It neighs pathetically and I feel sorry for it. I wish I could give it something to eat but I haven’t got anything.
A voice outside the stable reminds me I’m in enemy territory. I hide behind a withered, rotting pile of hay. I can smell damp and I can hear things scurrying behind me, but I don’t mind. It couldn’t be as bad as seeing people you love burned to death.
“Stay in here and don’t come out until they’ve gone,” a man’s voice is saying.
“But father, they said they wouldn’t...”
The child’s voice is cut off with a harsh slap. “Don’t ignore me, girl! I’ll bring you some food when I can, but just do as you’re told!”
I hear crying and sniveling, and footsteps walking away. I have this overwhelming urge to go out there and comfort the child, but I don’t want anyone to see me. These people live with the Order of Power. I can’t trust them, not like I do Connor.
The crying continues, and I’m starting to become impatient when I feel something tap against my shoulder. At first I assume it to be one of the horses seeking comfort.
“Who are you?” the child asks.
I look up into the face of a girl. She looks to be about my age, with dirty, matted blonde hair and a nose encrusted with dried snot. Her eyes are wide open with fear and she seems to be clutching some sort of stuffed animal. In the House of Casper she’d be classed as an adult by now. She’d have a job, be married, maybe even pregnant, but all I see is someone who’s so much a child. I realize now that the way the Houses do things is a lot better for preparing you for the world, even if it means taking away your childhood.
I don’t know what to say. She won’t give me away, will she? Then again can I really take that risk?
“Don’t worry,” she says, kneeling down on the floor with me behind the bale of hay. “I won’t tell anyone you’re here. My name’s Aimee.”
I still don’t say anything. I don’t trust her.
“Are you hiding from the Order of Power as well?” she asks.
<
br /> I nod.
“They’ve started rounding everyone up and taking them into the village hall for some meeting,” Aimee explains. Her lower lip quivers, belying the confidence in her voice. “My father was taking me out hunting for rabbits when we came back. My brothers and sisters are already at the meeting.”
“What’s the meeting about?” I ask, breaking my silence.
Aimee glances at the dagger tucked into my belt and says, "I don't know what it's about, but father thinks they plan to repurpose us."
I consider telling her about the crusade but decide she's upset enough. The reinforcements are here, and the villagers are being forcefully rounded up. It can only mean one thing, and it isn't some sort of cozy village meeting.
"Do you know Connor, the blacksmith?” I ask her.
"Yes. I saw him being taken into the town hall too," she says sadly. "I liked him. He always used to give me piggyback rides when I was younger."
Damn it. There's no way I can get to Connor when he's surrounded by so many people as well as Brothers and Sisters. I can't just leave him either. So what do I do? Do I run now and take Aimee with me, or try to sneak Connor out of the town hall before they can repurpose him?
"Is there another way to get into the town hall without being seen?" I ask her.
She considers for a moment before saying, "There's a back entrance we use on harvest day to bring in the wheat babies for the sacrifice."
I do hope the babies are made of wheat and not…well, best not to think about it.
"You stay here," I tell her. "I'm going to get Connor."
"What about my family?" Aimee squeals.
I hesitate. There is no way I can sneak that many people out and get away with it. We'd be caught for sure. Yet I have to give her hope. I may only have known her for five minutes but she deserves that much.
I put my hand on her shoulder and say, "I'll get them out for you."
"You promise?" she says.
The lie begins to stick in my throat like a thorn, but I say, "I promise."
"My father's got a white beard and a scar on his forehead," says Aimee. "You can't possibly miss him."
"I won't," I mumble. Aimee's face lights up with joy and, to my surprise, she hugs me. I feel nothing but shame for myself. I should be strung up for lying to her like this. Yet as I creep out of the stable, hearing the starving horses whinny behind me, I vow to at least try to save Aimee's family.
Fowl is a village of ghosts. I peer in through windows as I pass them, and peek into shops, and find there is not one soul around. All the villagers are in the town hall, but where are the Brothers and Sisters that arrived in the buses? Where have they gone? The aboveground headquarters are still smoldering away so they can't have gone underground. Come to think of it, where are the Brothers and Sisters that were busy repairing it?
I find my answer almost immediately. Behind the toppled headquarters lies a field, and in that field are lines and lines of black tents. There are several campfires dotted here and there, with grim faced Brothers and Sisters sitting by them. They're talking, eating. None of them so much as even attempts a smile. It’s like they’re already dead.
Several of them are reading quite neat looking paper books. The packs they all wore earlier aren't on their backs anymore. I presume they've left them in the tents.
I make my way to the town hall. My mind tells me that this is too easy, but everyone here seems to be far more interested in other things than worrying about security. That's good for me but bad for whatever the villagers have been rounded up for.
The back door of the town hall is unlocked. I open it quietly and enter, closing it just as quietly. I don't want my plan to be ruined because of cranky door hinges.
I'm in some sort of kitchen area. All the cupboard doors are open and empty. There is a large ceramic pot that seems to be filled with milk. I give it a sniff and smile. I haven't had milk in a while. I stick my little finger in and I'm about to have a taste when I hear screaming.
I head for the inside door, which is half open. I peer through and see the hall where all the villagers are being kept. They're on one side of the large room, terrified, and on the other stands the Order of Power, smug with dominance. A Brother and Sister are dragging a young girl of about my age forward. She screams and tries to pull herself away but the grips on her arms are too strong.
"What are you going to do with her?" a man, probably her father, demands.
A senior looking Brother steps forward. He has one of those packs on his back and severe looking frown lines across his forehead. He walks up to the struggling girl and smiles serenely down at her.
"Do you worship the gods?" he asks the girl.
The girl looks to her father and he nods.
"Yes," says the girl. I can tell she's trying to be brave but her bottom lip trembles. "I worship the gods."
The Brother says, "Would you do anything for the gods?"
"Yes," says the girl. "Yes I would, Brother Forest."
The Brother nods sagely. It's then that I notice that on his left hand he wears some sort of black glove. There is a small wire attached to the glove that snakes around his arm and links to the pack on his back. He reaches forward with his gloved hand and places it against the girl's face tenderly. She starts to cry; not with terror but with happiness that she's been spared. I want to scream and tell her everything is not going to be okay, that she's being lulled into a trap.
That's when it happens. A visible charge screams down the wire, through the glove and into the girl's body. She spasms with the shock and lets out a silent scream of agony as her entire body glows a furious orange. Her father runs to help her but a Sister I didn’t notice before has her own black-gloved hand on his neck before he can even blink.
The other villagers and myself can only watch in horror as father and daughter fall to the floor, seemingly dead after their ordeal. Brother Forest kneels down beside the girl and feels her pulse.
"She survives," he announces.
Then the girl's eyes flicker open. She slowly gets to her feet, slightly wobbly like a newborn kitten. She looks at Brother Forest, then at the other Brothers and Sisters, and with what looks to be great difficulty, she smiles.
"Where am I?" the girl asks.
The Sister feels the pulse of the girl's father but shakes her head.
"Where you are is unimportant," says Brother Forest. "What you are is paramount; you are a Sister of the Order of Power now."
That's not possible, I think. The Order of Power hasn’t got the technology to do such a thing. Brother Willow had said they had but it had been a lie just to torment me…yet here the evidence is that he wasn't lying. This is monstrous.
"Go outside through that door there and a Sister will be waiting to take you to a tent and to give you a name," Brother Forest explains.
The new Sister nods her head and walks to the main doors of the village hall. She gives one last look back, eyes overlooking the corpse of her father crumpled on the floor, and leaves.
There are twenty or so Brothers and Sisters in the village hall. Each of them has a pack and each of them is wearing a black glove. As they advance towards the cowering villagers there is a communal scream of terror.
I hear a voice scream no. The village hall turns deadly quiet and for a vast second I wonder which idiot has had the nerve to defy the Order of Power.
They're all looking at me.
Turn the page for the first chapter from “Fire”, the first book in the children’s fantasy series “The Book of Fire.”
Fire - Chapter 1 – Sea Tooth
Imagine a world ruled over by a single massive landmass. Continental drift, earthquakes, and volcano eruptions may have tried to prize the great chunks apart, but they were held back by forces more powerful than Mother Nature herself---magic forces. Quite why the land was held together nobody was sure, only that it must have been a spell that no one person had ever attempted since for f
ear of the repercussions. The people of the planet Earth lived on one gigantic continent, which they called Pangaea, and that was all that mattered; blissful ignorance.
Of course there were exceptions. Four thousand years ago the many warring tribes of the Elven race had banded together to break off a huge portion of land and drag it far away from Pangaea. They were evolving technologically and intellectually faster than the other races, and wanted to be as far away from their influence as possible. It took a total of two million Elves to move the land, pushing and heaving with their combined magical powers, and the process was so exhausting three quarters of them died. Yet they deemed the mass continental migration worth the price. They were isolated now, with only themselves to worry about.
So the humans developed much like they did on other alternative Earths. They built the pyramids, went through an industrial revolution and invented reality television. What with being one nation they had one religion, that of the Sun Goddess Rafreya. 99 per-cent of the population were born with the ability to perform magic. They were more commonly known as enchanters. Televisions, microwaves and satellites were powered by magic, not by batteries and electricity. Their most famous celebrities are the Elven royal family and a talentless magician who went on “Magic Idol”, and now is making millions from writing books about how wonderful he is.
In a county roughly where England should be, there was a city called Magefield. It was a city surrounded by green valleys, carpeted with gothic buildings, and smothered with dark storm clouds for most of the year. Yet it was a hub for magic. It had the most respected magic university in the whole of Pangaea and it was where the Emperor of the continent made his residence. It was a city of culture and class.
“I hate this town,” Cressida Widdershins moaned.
“Traffic jams are always common in the city center,” said Mr. Widdershins. “You just have to get used to them. Besides, it’s a lovely day! Just smell that crisp fresh air!”
She winded down the car window. She sniffed up. All she could smell was a faint trace of magically powered cars. But even that had an aroma of its own, something unidentifiable but unmistakable. Today she thought it was stronger than normal, maybe because of the large amount of traffic. It was Snow Day, after all.
Snow Day was a holiday celebrated once a year at the height of winter to commemorate the day, fourteen thousand years ago, when the ice serpent, Frostma, froze the world. Colossal glaciers of ice consumed half the planet, killing trees, plants, and many forms of life in the process. Some things were made extinct forever; others used magic to save their lives. In the end, Frostma could only be banished to another dimension; she was so powerful. So they celebrated her defeat, ever mindful of what she’d wrought and could again.
Cressida was eleven years old, a normal magic-free human, or the “misbegotten one per-cent” as more cruel enchanters mockingly referred them to. She had conspicuous white hair done up in a ponytail and silver eyes like small balls of mercury. Today she had on her favorite blue skirt, the kind she wore only when she went to the temple of Rafreya on Snow Day. She enjoyed Snow Day. The temple was a hub of activity; children playing games; enchanters creating images of Frostma that writhed around in the sky; tables of food, including her favorite, iced blue buns; and songs. She couldn’t sing. Her singing voice was rusty and embarrassing but she joined in nevertheless because Snow Day was a day to rejoice in being alive; and she also got the day off from school.
Cressida would never describe herself as an academic. She was an average student who didn’t really gel with any subject. Her teachers would tell her that she could improve her grades if only she applied herself more, but the fact of the matter was that Cressida knew she wasn’t that smart. Her mother was an applied magic teacher at her school and her father was an archaeologist who had written twenty books. She was sure they were ashamed of her, but there was nothing she could do about it. She found all of her school subjects difficult and extremely boring. So this rare day off from school was something of a boon for her.
“I read in one of my archaeology journals that they have a dragalodon at the Blueoak Museum,” said her father, Doctor Shanks Widdershins, the designated driver. Ginger Widdershins was in the passenger seat, head hunched over a pile of papers. Cressida was disappointed to see she was taking the time during the traffic jam to mark homework.
“What’s a dragalodon?” Cressida inquired. She fiddled idly with the Sun symbol necklace she wore. It was emblazoned with a stylish “R.” It had been presented to her, like all the people of Pangaea, at her fifth birthday. It represented her growth as a child and the love she had for the Goddess.
“It’s a prehistoric dragon,” he said. “It seems mighty interesting. Be sure to look at it tomorrow.”
Cressida was confused. “Why would I be going to the museum tomorrow?”
“Oh! I must have forgotten to tell you!” He laughed, feeling absent minded. “Miss Weber called while you were getting dressed. The school’s closed tomorrow because they’re doing repairs to the roof of the magic building. Some tiles got blown off during last night’s hurricane.”
“What hurricane?” she asked.
“You slept through it.”
Cressida mused for a moment. This dragalodon did sound interesting.
“I can’t wait,” she said.
Her father grinned as gentle flakes of snow began to simmer from the sky. He hoped this enthusiasm meant his daughter was finally interested in something. He hated to see the way she just didn’t care about anything. He knew she wasn’t a smart kid when it came to things like math or Pangaean, but he knew there was something out there she was good at. Something that really made her think, “I love this.” Maybe this dragalodon would lead to that something.
The next morning Cressida met her friend, Joe, in the school parking lot, which was buried in almost an inch of snow, to take them to the museum. She was immensely excited. This dragalodon was an unknown thing in her life, a mystery, so it was something she was looking forward to seeing. A prehistoric sea dragon, she thought. How thrilling!
She and Joe were best friends. Unlike herself he could perform magic but wasn’t very good at it. He had once turned his shaggy mop of curly brown hair into sludge, despite the fact he was actually reading about the history of magic in the dark ages at the time. To say he was hopeless would be cruel, so Cressida teased him that he was hopeless as often as she could. She didn’t mean it, of course; most of the time anyway.
Cressida rummaged in her backpack, finding the bag of jelly babes she’d hid there earlier. She pulled the bag of sweets out and offered Joe one. He loved jelly babes. He’d made himself sick often enough gorging on them. She had received a whole box full of them for Snow Day and had spent an hour last night sharing them all out into various bags, some to save for later, and some to eat now, some to give to Joe. When the two of them set forth on an adventure, they would chew jelly babes as they trekked or waded or foraged.
“Do you have any blackcurrant flavors?” Joe asked.
Cressida looked through the packet. “They’ve all gone.”
Joe sighed. “Oh. I think there might be a spell to change the flavor of something. I’m sure I can remember it.”
He recited the spell to the best of his ability. The jelly babe he had in his hands changed into a fly and exploded.
“I did it right!” Joe complained.
Cressida stifled a laugh. “Of course you did.”
“What do you know about this dragalodon?” Joe asked. He was eager to change the subject.
“My father was very enthusiastic about it,” said Cressida. “I think it might be exciting. At least it’s another day off school.”
Joe chewed a jelly babe thoughtfully. “I’m not sure whether I like museums enough to be excited. They’re a bit boring.”
“They don’t have to be boring.”
Joe agreed with her. Cressi
da could conjure up excitement and adventure from the dullest of things. He assumed today’s museum visit would be no exception.
The class filed through the tall, imposing museum doors with limited enthusiasm. Cressida didn’t understand them. They had a day off from school! Why would that make them miserable? Their teacher, Miss Weber, appeared genuinely hyper, almost tense. Was taking a group of students out for the day that nerve-wracking?
In spite of herself, Cressida was impressed. The foyer of the museum reminded her of the Rafreya temple in the town center only on a much larger scale. Engraved pillars of stone held up the ceiling, which appeared to stretch up into pure darkness, and all of the walls were hollowed out alcoves with exhibits inside. The floors were made of marble, black and shiny, and displayed on a plinth in the entrance was a statue of Rafreya herself, resplendent in her flowing robes and hair that crept and twisted around her body.
“Welcome to my museum!” said Mr. Blueoak with fake enthusiasm. He didn’t appear to enjoy welcoming them one bit. Cressida had the very distinct feeling he’d much rather chuck them out and lock the doors. “Enjoy everything this place has to offer. Hopefully you will all learn many wonderful things today. If I can help you with anything feel free to ask!”
He gave them a greasy look as if to say, “Feel free to ask but I’ll just ignore you.” What with his shifty black eyes, pouting lips and pronounced Elf ears he gave them all quite the shivers. Cressida knew a villain when she saw one, although that may have been down to his brown striped that looked like it’d just been unearthed in a Persian tomb. She ignored him. He wasn’t what she’d come to see.
“This place smells weird,” Joe whispered in her ear.
“I think it’s Mr. Blueoak, not the museum,” she whispered back. “There’s just something very shifty about him.”
Joe had already fixed his attention onto something else. In a glass cabinet, just a short distance away, was the mummified remains of a canter-troll. It had a piggy nose and was as small as a human toddler like all trolls but this one had horns; twisting, pointed horns. It was quite possibly the ugliest thing Cressida had ever seen.
“It looks like the school guard,” said Joe, examining the small plaque under the exhibit. It read ‘The Canter-troll is an extinct offshoot of the troll species. A Canter-troll was the first to spot and record the progress of The Dragon Comet, which passes by our planet once every 11,000 years.”
“Oh yeah!” she said. “Maybe they’re related.”
The museum owner had been talking while they’d been ogling the canter-troll. He appeared to be talking about “forgetting there was a school trip today and it was a tad inconvenient but never mind.” The place did appear to be deserted apart from Cressida’s class, who were all now getting a tad agitated. Mr. Blueoak appeared to enjoy telling them all how wonderful his museum was instead of showing it to them.
“So then...any questions?” Mr. Blueoak inquired. He looked at his watch, which hung from a chain clipped onto a buttonhole. It was made of wood and the hands were moved by a simple magic spell. It looked expensive.
“We’re really here to see the dragalodon,” said Miss Weber candidly, giving the man her best “annoyed teacher” look. “It should be ever so fascinating. I know my students and I are very looking forward to viewing it.”
“I knew there was something important I had to tell you! I’m afraid the dragalodon exhibit is out of bounds today,” Mr. Blueoak explained. “There was a...leak from a water pipe. It will be open...maybe next week, probably never.”
Joe sulked. “But we came to see the...”
“Next week,” Mr. Blueoak interrupted before stalking off. He peered at them from around a corner, his reflection caught on the glass of a display case, merging his image with that of some ancient old creature. Cressida stuck her tongue out at him and he walked away.
“Well then class it looks like we’ve been given the chance for a completely unobstructed tour of this museum!” Miss Weber declared enthusiastically. “Perhaps we could sneak down into the basement where they keep the really interesting and fragile exhibits?”
Emily Swine asked, “What’s the point of putting all the good stuff in the basement? Surely the point of a museum is to display things for people to actually see?”
Norman Baal dropped a 12,000-year-old Spiked Dragon cup on the floor. It shattered.
“That’s why,” said Miss Weber. She gently pulled a red faced Norman away from his expensive accident, whispering in his ear, “If anybody asks it was like that when we got here.”
Miss Weber began leading the group, single file, towards an archway with the banner “Magical Plankton.” Cressida guessed what that was all about; fancy magical holograms of the first forms of life as they squiggled about doing nothing much for about ten minutes while a voiceover told you how fascinating it all was.
“This is going to be a long day,” she moaned.
“There you can see the fossils of a Neanderthal Elf,” said Miss Weber, leading them past a pile of old bones in a glass display. “That was before they gained their use of earth magic and went on to form the great Elverica. Of course the Elves would have you believe they were never as primitive as this but, the proof is right here for us to see!”
Emily wrote down everything the teacher said on a small pink notebook in her hands. She stared at the Neanderthal Elf as if it was the most mesmerizing thing she had ever seen. Emily thought it was. She hoped to become an Elf surgeon when she was older. She even had an exiled Elf doctor as an occasional tutor. She knew what she wanted and she would get it. It’s a pity I have to be in the same class as those idiotic morons, Emily thought, glancing at Cressida and Joe. Quite how they survive with half a brain cell between them I have no idea.
Cressida envied Emily; she had ambitions. Cressida didn’t know what she wanted to be. Did she want to be a teacher like her mother, an archaeologist like her father, or maybe something completely different? I’m not even good at anything, she thought. I can’t do magic. I’m not athletic. I can’t even spell athletic.
“Elves have slightly larger brains than humans,” Emily suddenly blurted out. “They use this extra part to perform magic, which is why their magical powers are more advanced than ours.”
“How fascinating,” said Cressida. “I always wanted to know that.”
Emily looked at her crossly. “There’s no need to be sarcastic.”
“What’s so interesting back here?” Joe asked, trying to peek at Emily’s notes. She hid them in her pocket and scurried on to catch up with the rest of the class.
“Nothing,” said Cressida. “We were just having a nice chat.”
“You could at least pretend to be interested,” snapped Emily. “We’ve been granted quite a rare privilege here.”
“Hmm,” said Cressida.
They continued along a lengthy stretch of corridor in the museum. She wasn’t really that interested. There were examples of early Elf pottery; a diorama of Cleopatra’s war with the Moon Giants; the corpse of Napoleon, preserved forever in amber. Every moment in the history of her world was preserved and documented. Cressida had a feeling she should find the whole building creepy. With all the dead bodies stuffed, mummified, and frozen in magical spells, this place was more like a mausoleum than a museum.
“Time for lunch!” Miss Weber declared, taking out a flask of tea. “Follow me to the canteen, children! I do hope you’ve all brought something to eat. I don’t think there is actually any staff here today.”
The class obediently followed their teacher; all except Cressida and Joe that is. She wanted to see the dragalodon right now, no matter whether the exhibit was out of bounds. So she hid behind a massive ice sculpture of a Moon Giant, held in its frozen state by a spell. She waited for the class to walk out of sight, her breath coming out in mist she was so close to the ice.
“This disobedience of yours always gets us into trouble
,” muttered Joe. I knew this was going to happen, he thought.
“You want a quiet life?” she said, pulling her long-suffering friend after her.
The two of them dodged a doddery old cleaner with wild greasy red hair as they crept along corridor after corridor. The museum was a maze, designed to keep you trapped inside its twisting lanes until you’d seen every last thing the place had to offer. Joe started to become confused, his mind telling him they’d been away for too long and would get into trouble. He didn’t want to get into trouble, not with his grades so low.
Cressida was prepared. She knew the exact way to the dragalodon exhibit; she had downloaded a plan of the museum off the ether-web the night before. She had memorized every twist and turn in the corridors.
They came to a corridor with a low ceiling. Lining the sides of the huge archway were two marble pillars, looking like they’d been stripped straight from a Greek temple. Cressida knocked on one of them; it was hollow. They were made of plastic.
“This is it,” said Cressida, grinning. Hung across the doorway was a long strip of yellow tape that said, “Police line – illegal crossing may result in a curse.” She and Joe snuck under it and emerged the other side sans-curse.
“How do we know if we’re cursed or not?” Joe wondered.
“Can you feel your arms and legs falling off?” she asked him.
“No,” he answered. “But what if it’s a time delayed curse and...”
Cressida put her hand over Joe’s mouth to shut him up. Not because she was sick of him wittering on, which she was, but because she thought she’d heard talking coming from further ahead in the corridor. How unfortunate would it be if the work that Mr. Blueoak had been going on about was in the exact same place where they wanted to go?
“I think we better go,” she whispered.
She removed her hand just as Joe said, “Why?”
“I thought I heard talking,” she said. “I...”
This time Joe’s hand shot out to cover her mouth. He did it a tad too hard, almost knocking her onto the floor. She thought she felt a tooth come lose but ignored it. They could both hear something now.
“The eclipse is beginning,” they heard a voice saying. “The museum may have a class in but if I don’t do this now then I’ll have to wait another fifty years. If they dare to disturb me then I will deal with it.”
I didn’t know there was an eclipse today, Cressida thought. I bet that’s something to see!
They waited for a minute until they were sure that whoever had been babbling on about eclipses had gone. Cressida didn’t want to be caught out by the museum’s owner. She’d never live the embarrassment down.
They reached a sign by a huge door on the left that said “Dragalodon Exhibit.” In writing underneath the sign it read: “The dragalodon was a giant prehistoric sea dragon that probably lived about 3 million years ago. It is considered to be the largest predatory sea creature to have ever lived. (It is, however, eclipsed by the sheer size of the Sea Wyrm”). Cressida felt elated, and was about to step inside the room when Joe pulled her back. She turned to give him her cross look.
“It’s Mr. Blueoak,” he whispered. “Look!”
They peered around the corner into the huge room. Standing by the dragalodon bones, held together by a spell, was the museum’s owner. He was wearing a silk black cloak now and he stood in a circle of burning candles. In his hands was a huge leather bound book that he was reading from, chanting in a strange language that she recognized as ancient Elvish. On his face were Elvish symbols painted on with what looked like blood. A small knife covered in the same substance, discarded on the floor, proved her suspicion. She felt quite sick and had to turn away.
“What’s he doing?” she whispered.
“Whatever it is it’s not good,” said Joe.
“I’d say it was some sort of sacrifice but I don’t see a...well, a victim.”
Cressida had seen through this man the very instant she had met him. There had been something about him that just screamed out “I’m a villain!” Though seeing him in the middle of some arcane act was something she had not prepared for. They had to run and tell Miss Weber immediately.
“Come on, we have to go,” she whispered.
Joe couldn’t keep his eyes off the witch light that emanated from the candles. It was eerie, mesmerizing. He had never seen anything like it. It reminded him of the fireworks on New Year’s Day and the strange energies emitted during a magic storm. It was wonderful. If only he could just reach out and touch it then maybe he could absorb those energies, keep them for himself, play with them, and augment his own pathetic magical abilities, then...
Cressida slapped him. “The magic is hypnotizing you. Move it.”
Joe shook his head. “What happened?”
“You gave me an excuse to slap you,” she said. “We have to...”
There was a flash of light, a clap of thunder. Cressida and Joe were temporarily blinded. When their vision came back, only a few seconds later, they both wished it hadn’t. The dragalodon bones were glowing a bright sizzling orange, the color of the sun itself, like the bones were internally on fire. Cressida gasped as flesh started to knit and form around the remains of the ancient creature. As it slowly started to take shape before them Mr. Blueoak cackled evilly.
“He’s bringing it back to life,” said Cressida. “We have to stop him.”
“How do we do that?” Joe asked. “We’re hardly commandoes.”
She looked at the candles, glowing hotly, and the book in his hands. Maybe they could run and snatch away the book, or try to kick over the candles and snuff out their flames. Maybe if they could break the circle of candles, that would halt the spell. She just didn’t know. She didn’t have any magic in her, so she didn’t attend magic classes at school.
Joe didn’t know what to do either. He was magically inclined, a junior enchanter. Magic poured through his veins like blood. Yet he found himself to be quite useless when it came to casting the most basic of spells, and he always day dreamed when the teacher, Cressida’s mother, droned on about the subject. He had absolutely no idea what to do.
“What if we just punch him?” Cressida suggested. She liked that idea, even though she was not a fighter. Joe, however, didn’t think he was strong enough to punch a cat.
Mr. Blueoak placed his precious book inside a leather satchel on the floor. The candles that encircled him blew out from a wind that wasn’t there. He began to rub the blood off of his face with the sleeve of his shirt. He did all of this quite calmly, as if the sight of a dead animal coming back to life wasn’t really all that interesting.
To Cressida and Joe, this was something they would tell their grandchildren. They watched as the finishing touches were done to the aged, putrid hide of the 65 feet long prehistoric sea creature. Its eyes appeared, spiraling into existence as if from nowhere, and then it was finished. The dragalodon blinked a few times, looking utterly confused. It was probably wondering where it was and why it was floating in the air and not swimming in the sea.
Prehistoric creatures have small brains, she could hear Emily telling her. They were very stupid, primitive creatures.
“What shall I call you?” Mr. Blueoak mused. He still had a smidgen of blood smeared on his nose. “Hmm...”
The creature stirred, turning two baleful eyes upon the Elf that had summoned it. It blinked again, and Mr. Blueoak began to chew his fingernails in fright. Cressida was afraid too. She wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but she knew it was dangerous and that she was out of her depth. But she was scared that Mr. Blueoak and the dragalodon might hear her if she tried to move.
“I had a pet rock once called Lucifer,” pondered Mr. Blueoak, his eyes staring down hard at the floor. He dared not look at the creature. He was sure if he looked it in the eye then it would knock him down dead. He felt so stupid. How was he supposed to use this creature if he was
afraid of it?
“I will call you Lucifer, then,” said Mr. Blueoak. “It is a fitting name for a magnificent beast such as you.”
The dragalodon laughed, and then said, “I already have a name.”
Mr. Blueoak looked up in shock. He was obviously not expecting this. The museum owner took a step back, knocking over some candles. “What’s going on?” he asked, now more suspicious than terrified. “Dragalodons can’t talk...”
“The more advanced ones can,” said the creature.
“Advanced?” Mr. Blueoak queried. His hands were trembling. “All dragalodons were powerful enchanters, but the only one who could talk was...”
The dragalodon giggled. Mr. Blueoak now knew that he had made a terrible mistake.
“I am The Great Var, feared and respected leader of the ancient dragalodon tribes,” it said. Its voice was regal, loud and booming. It actually hurt Cressida’s ears. “And I thank you for bringing me back to life. You will be rewarded with something I deem fit for you. Once again the world will belong to me!”
“But I want you to help me take over the world!” Mr. Blueoak complained. “That’s why I brought you back in the first place!”
“An Elf cannot rule the world,” Var mocked. “Oh how ridiculous! Elves are far too weak and small to have the entire planet under their thumb. Besides, the world belongs to me. It did before and it will now.”
Mr. Blueoak stood his ground, impressing Cressida. The museum owner, shoulders raised, was facing this massive creature head on. She could only shiver.
“I raised you so that means that you belong to me, and you will do as I say!” Mr. Blueoak ordered.
“The Great Var takes orders from no one,” said the dragalodon. “Especially not from a race as pathetic as the Elves.”
Mr. Blueoak smirked. “I can make you obey me. I have great and powerful magic inside me!”
The dragalodon swam closer to the terrified elf, opened its huge, cavernous mouth and bit him in half. Cressida and Joe gasped in horror as the creature chewed its meal, swallowed, then licked up the other half of the museum owner and ate that too. Cressida wanted to be sick.
“Hmm, tasty,” said the Great Var. “I wonder if there are many more like him in the world. I might eat them all!”
Its eyes trained on Cressida and Joe, too scared to move as they continued to peer in. It spat out a piece of tattered clothing then burped.
“Tiny humans,” said the Great Var. “A bit stringy, but I am hungry.”
“Yes, very stringy,” said Cressida, mentally telling her legs to move but unable to. “We’re not worth the effort of eating!”
“Why am I able to float like a bee?” Var inquired.
The creature’s bewildered tone affected Cressida; she found her legs moving again. She stepped backwards, very slowly. Joe was doing the same.
“It must be the Elf’s magic,” said Var. “Oh well. I might as well use this newfound gift before it wears off. Humans! Come here!”
“Run!” screamed Cressida.
They ran, the high-pitched screeching of The Great Var rolling behind them like a battle cry. Joe slipped on the polished tiled floor and fell to his knees. Cressida turned back to help him up when the dragalodon smashed through the smaller doorway of the exhibit room into the larger corridor. Brick and plaster showered the two of them as they came face to face, literally, with the ancient creature. Its mouth was wide open, its eyes gleaming and its tongue was wet. There was nowhere for them to go to escape its jaws.
“What is going on?” a creaking voice asked.
The Great Var flipped around in the corridor, his tail leaving a huge gash in the wall, knocking over other exhibits that lined the corridor, including a case of medieval Elven weapons. Its eyes were now fixed on the elderly caretaker they had seen earlier while sneaking about. The poor man was only an inch away from the dragalodon now, his eyes watering in terror. Cressida and Joe were temporarily forgotten, as a juicier meal had become available.
“We have to help him,” said Cressida. “Use a spell or something.”
“I can no more make spells work than my socks can,” Joe snapped.
Cressida couldn’t just stand there, or run and hide, and leave this innocent man to get eaten. Yet what could she do? Something shiny caught her eye; one of the Elven weapons, fallen out of its case. It was a long golden spear with Elven runes engraved in its sides. It looked wickedly sharp. A cracked plaque on the floor read “The Elven Spear of Valor.”
The Great Var swiped at the caretaker with its tongue. The old man ducked and tried to run away back down the other end of the corridor but the dragalodon darted forward through the air like a giant bird of prey and lunged, mouth wide open to scoop up its dinner. That was when, with a roar she thought sounded very impressive indeed, Cressida stabbed the spear in the dragalodon’s tail. It let out an eardrum-bursting screech of pain; a scream so loud Cressida and Joe had to cover their ears and which caused hairline cracks to splinter up the sides of glass encased exhibits.
“Where are you?” the Great Var wailed.
Cressida pulled the spear out and thrust it in again for good measure. By now the dragalodon was starting to thrash madly, the spear still impaled in its tail, which was oozing a deep red blood. The two of them managed to crawl away as The Great Var’s convulsions began tearing down the walls and ceiling.
A piece of ceiling plaster hit Joe on the head as they proceeded, on hands and knees, to the exit from the taped-up section of the museum. He desperately shouted out but Cressida’s fatally dangerous curiosity had caused her to turn and watch as The Great Var tried to bite the spear and pull it out of its hide. Cressida you’re an idiot, she thought. Now that thing is going to bring down the whole museum on us!
He was about to tell Cressida to get a move on when she gave a shriek of surprise. She had been scooped up by the Great Var’s gray, sticky tongue! He scrambled to his feet, ready to confront the creature. He tried to think of all the spells he had learned at school but, maybe because of adrenaline or the simple fact he couldn’t memorize them, he hit a blank, and so his best friend was pulled rapidly towards the great gaping maw of the dragalodon.
“Not so fast!” screamed Miss Weber. She was standing in the archway, the torn police tape flapping by the walls. She blazed confidence and a fierce anger that made Joe shiver. Was this really the rather prim, tea obsessed teacher who had once fainted after finding a spider on her chair?
The Great Var dropped Cressida, who landed on her backside with a rather painful jolt. She clambered quickly to her feet, surveying the rather odd scene. The Great Var was edging closer to herself, Joe and Miss Weber. The creature was still floating a few inches off the floor like it was balanced on a cushion of air. Where the caretaker was she had no idea.
“Miss Weber, we have to run,” pleaded Cressida. Both she and Joe were slowly walking backwards to try and put as much distance between themselves and the dragalodon as possible.
“I’m not just a teacher you know, Cressida,” explained Miss Weber. Her amber eyes were sparkling with powerful earth magic now. “We’ll leave the exposition until later...”
The Great Var stopped and began to laugh, his snorts of laughter so loud it began to stir the already unstable walls and ceiling. Cressida looked upwards, afraid she would be buried alive. Yet she didn’t dare make a run for it. This creature was quick. Would he chase them until they couldn’t run anymore?
“You are merely a woman,” said Var, considering Miss Weber with a hungry curiosity. “Women cannot be a threat to me.”
Cressida was insulted.
Miss Weber smiled. The sparkle in her eyes became more pronounced, dazzling even, and she started chanting a spell under her breath. Cressida could tell it was in modern Elvish. Yet, as far as she knew, only Elves could wield Elf magic. Cressida was just about to ask what kind of person her teacher reall
y was when a giant globe of pastel blue light exploded out of Miss Weber’s head and hit the dragalodon. The prehistoric enchanter thrashed wildly as ice began to crystallize around its body.
“I will return!” the Great Var wailed as it froze completely, still floating in the air.
Miss Weber crossed her arms and gave Cressida and Joe a triumphant look. Her eyes were back to normal and she didn’t appear to be one bit ruffled despite the fact the ceiling above the corridor over the frozen dragalodon was groaning ominously. That was when the spell woven by Mr. Blueoak decided to fail, dropping the Great Var onto the ground. He cracked in half like an egg.
“Hmm,” Miss Weber mused. “I had heard that he was more powerful than that. He probably couldn’t access his magic out of the water. What a shame he was so intent on taking over the world. We could have learned a lot from him.”
“He tried to eat us!” Cressida shouted.
“I did gather that, yes.” She looked up at the ceiling, uttered an incantation under her breath, and watched as the ceiling tiles reformed. The belching noises that were indicating a complete collapse were now gone.
“That was awesome,” said Joe. “You were...awesome!”
“Oh I was okay.” Miss Weber blushed, and then grinned. “If you work hard and study hard you can do almost anything. Well, if you don’t carry the magic genes then you can’t do magic but you know what I mean.”
Cressida didn’t know what to say. Her teacher was a powerful enchanter. She should be working for the government, not at a local elementary school. Then it hit her...Miss Weber was working for the government. Was it just a coincidence that her class had come to the museum for a visit on the very day Mr. Blueoak had resurrected The Great Var?
“Are you a government enchanter spy?” Cressida asked.
“Don’t tell anyone, but yes,” Miss Weber confirmed. “It’s a very worthwhile profession. This country has a lot of enemies you know.”
“She’s my favorite teacher,” Joe whispered excitedly, his eyes awestruck. Cressida heartily agreed, even though she was a bit jealous. Miss Weber had a glamorous job and she could perform quite spectacular feats of magic. Cressida was good at nothing. She couldn’t even be an enchanter spy as she had no magic genes.
She looked once again at the frozen dragalodon, now in two pieces. Already it had started to melt, but it was no use now. The Great Var was dead and would never come back. Mr. Blueoak had died, they’d nearly all died, and for what? All because one stupid Elf had thought he could do magic from a stupid book.
The book; it was still in the dragalodon exhibit area.
The book; I can almost feel it in my hands...
The book; I have to have it...
She quickly pulled off her backpack and hid it behind a pillar while Miss Weber was telling Joe how if he had only actually listened in lessons he could be a powerful enchanter one day too. He nodded enthusiastically, and Cressida had the strangest feeling that their teacher was actually getting through to him.
“Can I fetch my backpack?” asked Cressida. “I dropped it in the dragalodon exhibit.”
“Hurry up,” said Miss Weber. “There’s a cleanup crew arriving any minute now, plus I’m sure the class is wondering why I’ve been in the toilet for so long!”
“They probably think you have the runs,” said Joe, grinning.
So Joe can be an enchanter spy and I can’t, she thought bitterly. The two of them were still chattering away as Cressida emerged from the exhibit area, the Elven book under her jumper, feeling its magical warmth soothing her skin. She grinned, knowing that somehow this book would change her life.
Turn over for a preview of Snow White and Trip, a fantasy romance serial.
Snow White and Trip – Part 1
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