The Curse of Deadman's Forest

by Victoria Laurie

  Ian blinked. He had absolutely no idea what this man was talking about. But at the mention of Laodamia, he asked, “You know about the great Oracle of Delphi?”

  The stranger nodded. “She is the one who bound me, lad. And she is also the one who first told me about you.”

  Carl held up his hand. “Wait a moment,” he said. “How could she have told you anything? She died three thousand years ago!”

  But the man ignored Carl’s question and continued. “I am meant to hide what only you can find, Ian. I keep your secrets, you see. Yours and Laodamia’s.” Ian stared at him with no small amount of wonder. He felt he knew this man, even though he was fairly certain they had never met. Still, if he could just think about it for a few more moments, he might be able to figure out who this man was, but the stranger sat back with a sigh and said, “I would tell you more, lad, but I cannot reveal too much. It would alter your destiny. I will say only that I am relieved the Star has been found and your quest has finally begun. May Zeus himself guide you, Theo, and the others so that your mission can succeed.”

  Ian’s jaw fell open. This man knew about Theo, their quest, and the Star of Lixus? But how could he know? How could he possibly know about their quest in Morocco, unless … Ian’s heart began to hammer as an idea entered his mind. “You’ve been to Morocco,” he said.

  The stranger said not a word, but his eyes revealed the truth.

  “You know what we found in that cave,” Ian added, and again he was able to read the truth in the man’s eyes. “And the only way you could know that is if you were the one to place the Star in the cavern for us to find!”

  Carl gasped beside him and his head pivoted back and forth between Ian and the stranger. “What?”

  Ian turned to Carl. “Don’t you see, mate?” he said excitedly. “He’s got to be the one who’s been hiding the trea—” But the rest of Ian’s sentence was cut off as the man placed a hand over Ian’s mouth and shook his own head vigorously.

  “Do not say one more word,” he cautioned, looking about suspiciously.

  Ian stared at him wide-eyed and Carl didn’t seem to know what to do. He’d even left his breakfast roll only partially eaten. Finally, Ian nodded. He would be quiet. The stranger let him go and sat back in his chair again. “You must get back to England,” he advised. “Spain is not safe for you.” And then the man reached into his shirt pocket and retrieved a pen and a small piece of paper. He scribbled something onto the paper, folded it carefully several times, and handed it to Ian before his gaze darted to the street and his eyes narrowed angrily. “Now go!” he said as Ian held the folded paper and stared up at him in confusion.

  “Sorry?” Ian said.

  “There is a man on the corner over there who is an associate of Frau Van Schuft. She will be searching the streets for you, lad, and she will comb this city until she finds you unless you make haste.” The man said all this in a whisper before reaching into his trouser pocket and pulling out several coins. He handed these to Carl, then turned back to Ian, closing his own palm around Ian’s hand holding the message. “Read that later and it will explain much. For now, you and your companion must hurry out of the city and make haste in your journey back to your homeland. I will delay Van Schuft and her associates as long as possible.” And with that, the man laid several more coins on the table and darted away.

  Carl stood blinking dumbly after their benefactor, then at the coins in his hands. “What’re we supposed to buy?” he asked Ian.

  “I believe we’re to take a taxi back to Señora Castillo’s,” Ian said, motioning for Carl to follow him out of the café.

  Carl grabbed the rest of his breakfast roll and hurried after Ian. “But we don’t even know where she lives,” he complained.

  “I do,” Ian said, remembering the street name from the signpost next to Señora Castillo’s house. He also remembered the address from the brass plate near the door. “Come on,” he said once they’d made it to the sidewalk. “Let’s get farther away from the café before we worry about nabbing a taxicab.”

  Hailing a taxi proved quite difficult for the two boys, as no driver seemed willing to stop and pick up two dirt-stained lads who looked very much worse for wear. “That’s the sixth taxi to pass us by!” Carl whined. “At this rate we’ll never get back.”

  “Perhaps we can find one that’s already parked and show the driver that we’ve got money to pay him,” Ian suggested.

  “I suppose it’s worth a try.” Carl shrugged, and the boys began to walk along the now bustling streets, searching out a parked cab. They’d gone only three blocks when Ian was sure he heard his name being called. He picked his head up and looked about, but through the throng of people, he couldn’t make out a familiar face. “Did you hear that?” Carl asked, looking about too.

  “I thought I heard someone call my name,” Ian said.

  “Carl! Ian!” they both heard more clearly, and Ian would have sworn it was Theo’s voice.

  “Where is she?” he asked as he swiveled his head to and fro.

  “There!” Carl said suddenly, pointing across the street to a blond head bobbing up and down through the pedestrian traffic.

  “Theo!” Ian shouted, and nearly darted right into traffic in his haste to reach her.

  Carl grabbed his arm just in time, which Ian thought ironic, given Carl’s earlier dash into oncoming traffic, and the boys waited impatiently for the cars to clear. By the time they made it across, they could see that the earl was hurrying after Theo, and just behind him was the professor. “How did you find us?” Ian asked after hugging Theo.

  She proudly held out the small sundial. “With this, of course,” she sang.

  Ian laughed with relief. Theo was a very clever girl and he was quite relieved she’d thought of using the dial to find them. But his good humor was short lived when he took in the expressions of the earl and the professor. “I say,” said the professor, eyeing the boys reproachfully. “You’ve put us through quite a fright this morning!”

  “Sorry, sir,” they mumbled in unison as Ian cast his eyes to the pavement.

  “Ian, are you injured?” the earl asked with concern.

  Ian touched the top of his swollen ear. “Just a nick,” he assured the earl. “And Carl twisted his ankle a bit.”

  “It’s fine, really,” Carl said. “Just a bit stiff is all.”

  The earl bent to inspect Ian’s ear, his eyes pinched with a mixture of worry and anger. He then bent to feel Carl’s ankle before standing again. “Very well. You’ll both recover from your injuries.”

  “We’re most sorry to have caused you any upset,” Ian added, wanting more than anything to remove that disapproving look from the earl’s face.

  Beside him Carl nodded vigorously. “Yes, most sorry,” he agreed. “But we did manage to get Sir Barnaby’s diary back.”

  The professor’s bushy white eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Did you really?”

  “Well, some of it was lost, I’m afraid,” Ian admitted. “But we were able to retain most of it.” Ian reached into his waistband for the journal. As he pulled it out, he dropped the folded piece of paper the stranger had handed him.

  “What’s that?” Theo asked as he bent to pick it up.

  Ian took a big breath before he explained. “Carmina gave the diary to Antolin, the taxi driver who switched his motorcar for a lorry when he came to Señora Castillo’s to get the diary. Carl and I managed to stow away in the back of the lorry, and he drove us to the city, where we discovered that Antolin was working for none other than Frau Van Schuft! But she and he got into an argument and it all went terribly wrong. Antolin ended up tossing the journal out the window and we had to jump out of the lorry to get it before Frau Van Schuft could. Then she cornered me in a doorway and nearly shot me, but a mysterious man who calls himself the Secret Keeper saved me, but more about him later. The thing of it is, the Secret Keeper wrote something down on this paper, which he said would explain a few things.”

 
“I say, you lads have had quite the morning!” said the professor, looking rather amazed by Ian’s tale. “And I shall want to hear more about this mysterious stranger who helped you, but might I ask, what does your note say?”

  “Dunno,” Ian admitted. “I haven’t had a chance to look at it till now.”

  The professor held out his hand and Ian obliged by letting him have the paper. The old man carefully unfolded it and gasped yet again when he took note of what was written there.

  “What’s it say, Professor?” Carl asked.

  The professor looked up at Ian with large eyes, then over at the earl, his expression stunned. “It’s written in ancient Greek,” he explained. “And it says, ‘Young boy Wigby, come this way.’”

  THE TIES THAT BIND

  Caphiera the Cold paced back and forth impatiently in front of the hearth she rarely used. Periodically she would scowl at the fire now filling her ice fortress with wretched heat and foul-smelling smoke. Her sister Atroposa stood nearby, fueling the embers with the soft wind that was ever present with the sorceress.

  “Must you fan the flames?” Caphiera spat, irritated, even though she knew full well Atroposa could still the air around her about as easily as Caphiera could warm it.

  Atroposa turned her hollow eyes to her sister, her hair whipping round her head with increasing velocity. “Must you be so impatient?”

  Caphiera snarled at Atroposa and glared hard at her. The effect was disappointing. Atroposa seemed to be the only creature on earth capable of returning Caphiera’s gaze without turning into solid ice. “My fortress is melting!” Caphiera grumbled, returning to her pacing.

  Atroposa did not reply; instead, she turned back to peer intently into the embers, searching for the first sign of their father, which came very shortly thereafter. “He is here,” she announced a moment later in her mournful voice, and sure enough, there came a horrific ripping sound and out from the hearth poured soot, smoke, and a sulfuric smell so offensive that Caphiera took a step back.

  She recovered herself quickly, however, and forced her blue lips into a smile. “Welcome, Sire,” she said, bowing low.

  Her sister also bowed demurely, her ragged clothing sweeping in tatters along the icy floor.

  “Daughters,” said the voice, the sound like giant boulders grinding together. “What news have you to share?”

  “Magus has gone east, Sire, in search of our beloved sister.”

  Smoke billowed from the hearth as the great underworld god considered that. “And have you killed the orphans?” he said at last.

  Neither Caphiera nor Atroposa spoke at first, but finally, the sorceress of wind confessed, “We were not successful, Sire. I sent a most terrible cyclone after them, but they managed to evade it in the end.”

  The embers in the fireplace exploded in a shower of sparks that sizzled and hissed as they bounced about the ice floor and off the frozen walls. Caphiera winced when one ember hit her beautiful silver coat and burned a hole right through it. She was so irritated that for a moment she did not notice the sucking noises coming from the other side of the room. The sorceress of ice looked up belatedly to see something she had never witnessed before in all her life.

  For the first time since Atroposa had donned clothing of any kind, it fell limply about her, and her long translucent hair hung still and lifeless. More worrisome was that she appeared to be choking. Atroposa’s hands clutched at her neck, and her mouth opened and closed as she gasped for air. Her hollow eyes stared in shock at Caphiera as she sank first to her knees, then to a crumpled heap on the floor, where she began to twitch and convulse.

  Caphiera turned to the hearth and addressed her father. “Sire,” she began carefully, “I know my sister has undoubtedly disappointed you, but might I suggest that her skills may yet be useful to our cause?”

  Heat erupted all along Caphiera’s skin and she recoiled from the hearth. “You dare question me?” Demogorgon roared.

  “No!” Caphiera gasped, sinking to her knees like her sister while a searing heat crept along every inch of her body. “Of course not, Sire! It’s simply that we might both be of service to you as our cause advances!”

  In the next instant both Caphiera and Atroposa were released from the underworld god’s torturous wrath and the pair lay sprawled on the cold floor, Caphiera’s coat and hair smoking and Atroposa gasping for breath. “There is a mission,” said their sire into the silence that followed. “One that I cannot spare your brother for.”

  “Anything.” Atroposa coughed, the sound even more hollow than usual. “Send us on any mission you choose, Sire!”

  “There are rumors that the Secret Keeper lives.”

  “Adrastus?” said Caphiera, attempting to put out a small flame at the hem of her coat. “Surely no mortal could live so many centuries.”

  “And yet the rumors continue to reach me that he is alive and well,” Demogorgon insisted. “You two must discover the truth of this talk. And if the Secret Keeper is yet alive, force him to reveal the location of the rest of Laodamia’s treasures. The One cannot fulfill the prophecy without the boxes.”

  “As you wish,” said Caphiera, bowing her head low and hoping the visit from her father was at an end.

  “We will not fail you again,” promised her sister.

  “If you do,” warned Demogorgon, “it will be the last thing you two ever do.” And with that there was another horrible ripping sound and the remaining embers in the hearth flared before dying out completely.

  Caphiera wasted no time getting up and staggering outside, where she flung off her ruined coat and lay down in the snow. Her skin sizzled against the cold flakes as she worked to bury herself in a nearby snowdrift. It was a long time before she felt well enough to sit up.

  When at last she regained her feet, she saw Atroposa standing high on a nearby ledge, her hollow eyes staring into the face of a fierce northern wind, which whipped her hair and tattered clothing, rejuvenating the sorceress. Of all her siblings, Caphiera had always felt a certain kinship with Atroposa, but Caphiera vowed that should something go wrong along the way of this newest quest, she would make sure Atroposa would be left solely to blame.

  OCÉANNE

  I an stared at the bit of paper and the writing on it as he sat in the cab speeding along to Señora Castillo’s. His memory drifted back to the first time he’d seen those lines and squiggles, on a cavern wall near his home in Dover.

  The script was identical to the writing on the wall, and he knew of only one other place where that sentence had been written—Morocco.

  “But who was he, do you think?” asked Carl, and Ian realized that his friend was having an intense discussion with the professor and the earl.

  The professor sighed heavily. “I’ve no idea, my young Master Lawson, but I’m very curious to find out.”

  “I know who he was,” said Ian quietly, and immediately all eyes in the back of the motorcar turned to him.

  “Who?” asked Theo.

  “General Adrastus of Lixus,” said Ian, absolutely convinced it was the very Phoenician general who had hidden a vast treasure that included the Star of Lixus for Ian to find in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains. A year earlier, before things had gone terribly wrong in Morocco, the professor had first told him the story of the famed general and how he’d hidden his treasure somewhere near the ancient city of Lixus before it was invaded by the Carthaginians. Ian, Theo, and Jaaved had discovered the treasure in a cave at the foot of the Atlas Mountains, and on the wall leading to the trove had been a message identical to the one scribbled on the paper in his hand. “He knew about Laodamia,” Ian told them. “In fact, he claimed to have met her.”

  The professor made a derisive sound. “Met Laodamia? Poppycock! The Oracle died a full thousand years before the general was even born.”

  But beside him Theo gasped, “The portal! Remember last year—we were in Morocco for nearly ten days, but in Dover only a few hours had passed. I’d wager that if the man’s claims
are true, he could have used the portal to go back in time to Phoenicia and meet Laodamia.”

  The professor scowled. “That would be a pretty trick indeed, Miss Fields,” he said. “To be able to connect three worlds spanning so many millennia seems quite extraordinary indeed.”

  But Ian was convinced they were on the right track. “He also knew about the Star, Professor,” he explained. “He knew that we had recovered it without us having to tell him, and he even knew how it worked. Only someone with firsthand experience would know about its power.”

  “He knew about the Star of Lixus?” the earl asked, his eyes intent.

  Ian nodded enthusiastically.

  “But I thought that General Adrastus was lost at sea when he was chased out of Lixus by the Carthaginians,” Carl said.

  Ian, however, was not to be dissuaded from his convictions. “Don’t you remember, Carl, what the man said to us about keeping secrets? Secrets of the past and the future. He had to be talking about the prophecies! We also know that Adrastus himself hid the Star, which was found with Laodamia’s treasure box. How did he get them if not from her? And the writing on the wall back in Dover—Professor, you were the one to date it to an ancient Greek script roughly two thousand years old, correct?”

  The professor crossed his arms and sighed deeply. “Yes,” he said, as if giving in grudgingly to Ian’s notion.

  “Which would have been during the time that Adrastus ruled over Lixus.” He stared at all the doubtful expressions, wanting very much to convince the group. “All the clues point to one man. It was the general,” Ian repeated. “I simply know it.”

  “But how could it be, Ian?” Carl asked him reasonably. “He’d have to be immortal to have lived so long.”