‘You’ve always supported me,’ said Archie gently. ‘Always pushed me along to do the right thing, made me see sense. You know this isn’t your fault. Preen, the Mirk – they were controlling you.’
‘But this is like what happened to Belle. She faced the Mirk with just one dragon, and look what happened! I don’t want to lose Blossom!’
‘You won’t! There’s a team of us here and no one is going to die.’ Archie pulled her to her feet. ‘Don’t be sad, Fliss. Don’t be scared – be angry! Proper, Felicity Fairbairn angry!’
She looked at him and grinned.
‘You’re completely bonkers, Archie McBudge,’ she said. Then a cry echoed from across the water.
‘We’re wasting time!’ snapped Mrs Puddingham-Pye. The children climbed back into the coffins and they rose once more into the air, speeding towards the old forest.
There was no mistaking the Wyrdie Tree itself. Towering over everything else, with its bright red foliage, it stood out like a beacon ablaze. But there were bare patches visible up and down its length, as leaves fell and were cast about in the breeze. The moment of Renewal was approaching.
They raced over the treetops towards it, spiralling around the Tree’s vast crown as they carefully descended on to the circle of grass beneath, now carpeted with crimson leaves. The leaves were falling faster, revealing more of the Tree underneath. There were little windows in parts of its aged and cracked trunk, perhaps the home of the brownies or other magical folk. The brownies themselves were waiting on the ground, their eyes fearful. They had been in this situation before, hundreds of years earlier.
‘The Mirk is upon us!’ cried Dubbeljøk, as Archie jumped out of the coffin. The squirrel sat on the brownie’s head, squeaking in agitation. ‘Its cries get ever closer. It’s destroying everything in its path! Do you have the Treeheart?’
‘I … did,’ said Archie. ‘The Mirk stole it from us. But we’ll get it back, I promise.’
The brownies clasped their hands together and looked at each other in despair.
‘We’re doomed!’ said Jøkchip. ‘The Tree will be infested with darkness! All magic shall be controlled by the Mirk. And we shall be devoured by the monster.’
‘Cheer up!’ said Billy, popping a Fizzfire into his mouth. ‘It’s not over yet – try one of these. And we brought reinforcements.’
The brownies viewed Mrs Puddingham-Pye and Garstigan with distrust.
‘You shall rue the day you made a pact with this dark-hearted harridan and her sky-rat,’ grumbled Jøknut. Mrs Puddingham-Pye rolled her eyes and Garstigan glared at the man’s robin like it was a potential snack.
‘Magical types are always so overdramatic,’ Mrs Puddingham-Pye yawned. ‘And less of the “harridan”, if you please, mud-pixie. You need all the help you can get, like it or lump it, and you’ll need it very soon or you’ll all be garden ornaments.’
The Mirk’s choking fog was seeping into the clearing and coiling around the stone circle. Then, with a noise of sawing and grinding, a cluster of trees suddenly crashed to the forest floor at the circle’s edge, their leaves shrivelling and dropping to the ground as their trunks ruptured and turned black. The Mirk was rotting everything it touched.
Billy and Fliss – with Sherbet and Blossom – took up position on either side of Archie on the leaf-strewn slope, whilst Mrs Puddingham-Pye whispered to Garstigan behind them. The Fjurge Brownies kept close to the Tree, protective of their charge, as its last leaves rained down around them. Under a cloud of gloom, the Mirk’s monstrous form slunk out of the forest, surrounded by its clockwork army.
‘The Tree is mine,’ it growled, its voice full of hunger. It held the Treeheart up in a spiny claw, laughing at its victory. ‘You cannot stop me.’
‘I am still the Guardian and I will stop you,’ called Archie defiantly. His mind was churning with anger, and fear. He needed to concentrate but it was too hard: he hadn’t a clue what he was doing. Why did he have to be the Guardian? Why couldn’t someone smart like Fliss do it? Or someone knowledgeable, like Billy? He wasn’t up to the job. Doubt seeped in. The dread began to overwhelm him again.
Archie felt a stab of warmth at his chest, coming from his bag of Fizzfire. There was a scent of ginger in the air, just like when he had stood by Belle’s portrait. Maybe Belle was still looking out for him. Again, he felt his senses sharpen. His dread left him.
It’s a trick of the Mirk, he thought, sapping my confidence and making me question myself, just like Preen bewitched everybody. He ate a Fizzfire and felt its warmth flowing through him.
He silently called to the forest to help him. The leaves at his feet leaped into the air and flew at the approaching monster. Like a flock of birds, they raced around the Mirk, enclosing it in a tornado of red and gold, urged on by Archie’s willpower. The Mirk sneered, piercing the column of leaves with its claw and turning them to dust. But the distraction was working.
‘Blossom,’ Archie said. ‘Let’s give the toys a little heat.’
He threw the dragon another Fizzfire, which it happily gulped down. With a deep breath, Blossom sent an explosion of blue flame straight at the wooden toys, which were crawling like ants at the Mirk’s feet. The fire swamped them and they burned brightly, trapping the monster in a circle of flame. It snarled angrily.
‘You won’t stop me!’ it roared. Fingers of fog reached forward to dampen the bonfire of toys.
‘What can we do?’ yelled Billy, over the noise. Fliss grabbed a handful of Fizzfires from her bag.
‘Maybe these can help keep the fire going,’ she said. She hurled the sweets into the flames. They instantly exploded with an orange crackle and the fire burst back to life, stronger than before. Billy threw another handful of sweets, and the flames rose higher and brighter.
‘The Fizzfires really are weapons!’ he said with delight.
Archie glanced back at Mrs Puddingham-Pye.
‘How are we going to get the Treeheart?’ he said. ‘We can’t hold the Mirk off forever.’ The woman’s eyes glittered.
‘All is in hand, boy,’ she said. Archie noticed Garstigan had disappeared from her shoulder. He looked overhead and saw the bat-like creature silhouetted against the sky. It swooped over the wall of fire, as fast as a hawk, ripping the jewel from the distracted Mirk’s claw. The monster roared in fury, but Garstigan was gone, his ringlets slightly singed, back to his mistress’s outstretched hand. He dropped the green stone into her palm.
‘Pretty shiny thing for the mistress!’ he said.
Mrs Puddingham-Pye’s eyes coldly studied the Treeheart.
‘At last,’ she said. ‘I was beginning to think it would never happen. The power of the Wyrdie Tree is now in my grasp.’
There was a sharp intake of breath from the brownies.
‘We told you not to trust her!’ said Dubbeljøk.
‘You can’t be serious!’ said Archie, staring at the woman in disbelief.
‘Why not?’ Mrs Puddingham-Pye clutched the jewel tightly. ‘I should be the Guardian of the Wyrdie Tree, not you. I should have access to all its power. I could use the jewel to strip the Tree if its magic and bind it to me. Think of what I could do!’
‘We are,’ muttered Billy. ‘But whatever you do decide to do, do it quick – the Mirk isn’t going to wait around for you.’
The monster had almost quenched the blaze, despite the combined efforts of Archie, Billy and Fliss’s Fizzfires, and the supportive barks of Sherbet. It clambered through the smoke and fog, over the ashes of its army, and angrily lumbered towards the tree.
‘I’m the Guardian, and I can’t change that,’ said Archie to Mrs Puddingham-Pye, thinking fast. ‘You could take the jewel for yourself, take all the magic, but then what? Eventually the magic will run out. You don’t have access to its source, deep in the earth, like the Tree does. The Mirk will come for you and what will save you then? I won’t be able to help. We must work together. There’s no way either of us can destroy the Mirk alone – we need each ot
her, you said that yourself, or else there’ll be no magic for anyone. Please – give me the Treeheart. I’m the Guardian and it’s my job to do this.’
Mrs Puddingham-Pye was silent for a few agonising milliseconds. Then she tossed the jewel in Archie’s direction.
‘I wasn’t really serious,’ she said, with a casual sigh, though Archie had caught her shiver at the idea of the Mirk coming after her, ‘but it was amusing to wonder at what might have been.’
Archie ran – the Treeheart in one hand, Fizzfires in the other – up the slope to the Wyrdie Tree. Its branches were now completely bare, with the exception of one lonely red leaf. Any second now, that leaf would fall and the Tree would be a skeleton of itself, vulnerable, unable to renew until the Treeheart was in place. The Mirk knew this as well.
It was the monster’s last chance. With a horrible growl, the Mirk charged at Archie, trying to cut him off before he could reach the Tree. Archie was almost there, but the monster was easily gaining on him. It leaped at the boy, its black, bony claws stretching out to seize him. A bolt of blue lightning shot from Mrs Puddingham-Pye’s broom and knocked the Mirk out of the air, sending it crashing into the earth with a terrible howl, just as the last leaf gently floated to the ground.
For a moment, there was silence. The Tree stood starkly against the sky. It did look sad and defenceless for something so huge. Archie knew he had to protect it. He took a deep breath and slammed the jewel into the notch in the bark.
‘I’ve done it,’ he gasped with relief.
The Tree shuddered, as a green light spread from the jewel through the cracks in its bark, like blood through veins. As it flowed up the Tree and streamed around its many branches, buds appeared, which instantly burst into leaf. On and on the light went, further up to the topmost boughs. Soon, the Wyrdie Tree was covered once more in a vibrant, vital green that shone in the evening sun.
Archie could feel the Tree’s magic growing with it. All his fears and doubts disappeared – it was as if he were recharging along with the Tree. The Mirk hissed and spat angrily, looking at Archie with a boiling hatred.
‘You may have beaten me,’ it growled, ‘but I’m not finished! I will return in another five hundred years, then again and again until the end of all things!’
It planted a claw on the ground, sending black toadstools and fungus crawling towards Archie, killing all the grass as it surged forward. Mrs Puddingham-Pye fired her broom at the Mirk, but whilst it held the monster back, it wasn’t enough to stop it.
A thought appeared from nowhere in Archie’s mind. Fight darkness and decay with light and life. Was the Tree talking to him? Or another voice – was it Belle McBudge, giving him one last piece of help? He raised his hand, pointing at the Mirk. A tree root erupted from the earth in front of him, driving through the fungus and wrapping itself around the Mirk like a snake, squeezing and holding it tight.
‘He’s properly wyrdworking!’ said Billy delightedly.
‘Archie!’ said Fliss. ‘Are you making that happen?’
‘Me and the Tree and Belle McBudge!’ said Archie, frowning in concentration.
‘You heard what the boy said earlier,’ called Jøkchip to Mrs Puddingham-Pye, who stood watching Archie with surprise. ‘It’ll take both of you to destroy it.’ She nodded and sent lightning from her broom into the Mirk’s body. Then Blossom joined in, breathing flames at the monster, as Billy and Fliss hurled more Fizzfires at it. The Mirk writhed and howled under the united attack, and began to shrink before their eyes.
‘It’s working!’ shouted Billy. ‘Go on, Archie!’
The root coiled tighter and tighter, trying to crush the darkness. The Mirk fought back but shrank more and more, its body gradually weakening and fading.
‘I may fade,’ it shrieked at them, ‘but you cannot destroy me! Not whilst the last piece of Mirkthorn remains.’
‘Oh, yes we can,’ said Fliss. Calmly reaching into her tatty, fire-scorched bag she pulled out a toy – a black, thorn-covered puppet. She dangled it in front of the Mirk, the monster’s face distorted in horror. ‘I brought this with us from the shop. Thank you for reminding me.’
Blossom unleashed her furious fire on the puppet, instantly turning it to a cinder.
‘That was for Belle,’ said Fliss, treading the puppet’s ashes into the earth. ‘And for Corignis.’
With a final, desperate cry, the Mirk shrivelled to nothing. Without a host for its spirit, it was gone forever.
Archie dropped to his knees in exhaustion, and wiped the sweat from his brow.
‘You did it!’ said Fliss, running up to him and giving him a hug.
‘We did it,’ said Archie.
Billy kicked at the black fungus.
‘Thank goodness that’s over,’ he said. ‘I never want to eat another mushroom again.’
The Fjurge Brownies gently picked Archie off the ground. Their faces were beaming with joy.
‘The Wyrdie Tree is saved,’ said Jøknut. ‘And the Mirk utterly destroyed. The forest’s wounds will heal and all will be green once more. This is an Unquiet Night to be remembered!’
‘You have proved you are worthy to be Guardian,’ Dubbeljøk added. ‘We’re sorry we ever doubted you.’
‘And you’ve learned to wyrdwork,’ said Jøkchip. ‘We can help train you to be better at it. But you used reason and the common good to convince others to help you.’ He looked at Mrs Puddingham-Pye, who was picking up a Fizzfire from a number that had dropped from Archie’s bag. ‘The Mirk had to use magic to get others to do its bidding – your humanity, your care for others, is one power that it could never understand.’
‘I also had friends,’ said Archie, grinning at Billy and Fliss. Blossom snorted a contented cloud of smoke, whilst Sherbet almost wagged his tail off with happiness.
‘This is a delightful scene,’ said Mrs Puddingham-Pye, sauntering up to Archie. ‘But I must be on my way – my job here is finished.’
‘Thank you for helping us,’ said Archie. ‘Maybe we don’t have to be enemies, after all.’
Mrs Puddingham-Pye gave him a hard stare for a moment. Then, taking the Fizzfire she had picked up, she crushed it in front of his face and let its dust trickle to the ground.
‘You are unbearably, sickeningly good-hearted, Urchin,’ she said. ‘We will always be enemies, you fool. The truce is over.’
She threw the broom into the air and jumped expertly on to it as it began to soar into the sky.
‘Come, Garstigan,’ she commanded. The mobgoblin grumbled to himself, then grabbed some Fizzfires and stuffed them in his greedy mouth before following his keeper. As they flew over the treetops and out of sight, Garstigan burped a little blue flame that caught, unnoticed, on the end of the broom.
‘The broom could burn up just when she’s flying over the loch,’ observed Billy. ‘If we’re lucky.’
More lights appeared in the early evening sky, moving rapidly. Blossom gave a burst of happy fire and soared up into the air to meet them.
‘The honey dragons!’ said Fliss. ‘They’re free!’
A swarm of the little creatures, including Old Jings, landed gracefully on the grass. The brownies bowed low in greeting. The elderly dragon explained that the net trapping them in the cavern had disintegrated into black dust and blown away on the breeze.
‘We knew immediately you must have vanquished the Mirk, and flew straight here!’ said Old Jings. ‘The McBudges would be proud of you, young Guardian. Belle can rest in peace.’
‘And Corignis,’ said Archie. He told them how the Treeheart had been hidden in the statue in the painting. ‘He played his part in defeating the Mirk, too.’
‘Now we must get you home,’ said Old Jings. ‘Before the Dance of the Wyrd takes place.’
‘I want to see it!’ complained Billy. ‘And I don’t want to get in that coffin again.’
‘The wyrdie-folk are shy,’ said Jøknut, ‘and won’t be needing you humans present at their festivities. Perhaps the dragons and
my brothers can provide an alternative means of transport.’
The Fjurge Brownies ran back to the Wyrdie Tree and produced a large blanket from a nook in its trunk that, like their cloaks, was made from hundreds of woven leaves. The children and Sherbet stepped on to the surprisingly soft cloth as the dragons picked up its edges, lifting it off the grass like a magic carpet.
‘We can use the coffins to grow vegetables in,’ said Dubbeljøk, scratching his beard thoughtfully, as Archie and the others were carried away over the loch. ‘As long as they don’t get up and run off with my turnips.’
The journey back to Dundoodle was much more relaxed. Archie realised how hungry he was. He’d barely eaten all day. Billy was quiet, remembering all the wyrdiness he had witnessed, so he could write about the experiences later. Fliss had dozed off in the blanket’s warmth, exhausted by everything they had been through.
Archie looked down on the town of Dundoodle below, its lights starting to appear, a mirror to the stars emerging above them. The dragons’ scales sparkled as they flew, reflecting the fire-bursts from their mouths, and surrounding the children in a warm light.
There were still questions that needed answering.
‘What is the Dance of the Wyrd?’ Archie asked Old Jings. ‘The Mirk didn’t want it to happen. Preen said he wanted the town to be quiet, with no music or singing.’
‘On Unquiet Night, the dark magic of the universe is let out to play and the Unpeople make mischief,’ said the dragon. ‘But they cannot be allowed out for long or there would be chaos. The Dance is the ceremony the good wyrdie-folk perform that locks it back in the earth for another year. If there was no Dance then the dark magic would be freed for good, food for the insatiable appetite of the Mirk. And the Dance needs music.’
The Dentist of Darkness Page 10