by Andrew Symon
“Please, can I ask who you are?” he managed.
“I am Marco.”The old man’s tone was even.
“We heard you were a cat. I didn’t realise you were a shape-shifter.”
“I have been many things. My lion is how some people know me.”
“And please,” Jack continued, “your book. It’s like Matthew’s. D’you know him?”
“My brother,” replied Marco. Then, seeing the look of puzzlement on Jack’s face, he continued, “Not my blood brother. We are four of many who echo the word.” He leant forward and showed Jack the front of the book. In very faint letters Jack could just make out the word “Gosol” on the cover.
“You have the power of Gosol?” asked Jack breathlessly.
Grandpa Sandy tried to sit up at the sound of the word.
“We teach it. And you have clearly learned it, for you used it just now.”
“I was taught that Gosol was the key to three treasures linked to the creator force,” said Jack excitedly, “and that it has to do with believing in what’s right.”
“And acting on that belief lets in the light,” added Marco. “Gosol will let light in, even through the tiniest crack. You’d be amazed what it can do.”
“My grandfather taught me some of that … And there was someone else – but she’s dead,” added Jack.
“One of our followers, I know.” Marco sounded sorrowful.
“You knew Tamlina?” asked Rana. “How?”
“I have been around for a long time,” replied Marco. “I travel, and I teach. She came to us late, but she learnt well.”
“A Brashat told us you were here,” said Jack. “He didn’t want to, but I made him. I’m looking for my father.”
And with that, Jack told Marco the story of his father and Konan, and their imprisonment by the Grey; and how Konan had managed to escape, though his father was still suspended somewhere. He talked of how they had recovered the King’s Chalice the previous year, after a battle with the Brashat, when the longship warriors and the monks had sailed through the forest. Marco smiled as Jack related the story of Comgall the monk and his leniency when the Brashat leader Briannan was defeated. Jack told of how the Kildashie had moved from their islands far out in the western ocean and had now overrun the Shian square in Edinburgh.
“And now you seek the Sphere to help you recover your homes?” Marco concluded Jack’s tale.
“And find my father,” added Jack quietly. “The two are together, I’m sure of it: where we find one, we find the other.”
“And finish off the Kildashie – they’re bad,” added Rana. “It always got really cold when they were around. Like a winter that didn’t stop.”
Marco pondered for a moment.
“We had heard rumours of infama happenings on the mainland. It appears that they were true.”
Grandpa Sandy had been lying silently on the sofa, listening intently. Now his head rolled to one side, and his reeking arm steamed gently.
That smells foul!
“I fear that knock to your grandfather’s head has done more harm than we realised,” announced Marco. “I will summon my brother Luka: he is a physician and will know what to do.”
With that, he stood up and moved to the front door. Tapping the stone lintel again, he muttered under his breath.
“Luka, referfrat.”
Marco walked silently back to the sofa and knelt down. Eyes closed, he muttered inaudibly, then paused.
“Your grandfather has been ill already, I fear.”
“Malevola poisoned him with a Phosphan curse,” explained Jack. “Armina took care of him, and he’d almost recovered.”
“Is he going to be all right?” enquired Rana anxiously.
“We may need to summon Armina as well. These illnesses may not be within Luka’s knowledge.”
“We tried to get back to Keldy: that’s where the rest of our family are,” stated Jack. “But the low road was sabotaged, we couldn’t use it.”
“It is some time since we used the low road here,” said Marco thoughtfully. “I fear it will not be any use if the rest of the network is damaged.”
“Couldn’t we try it anyway?” asked Rana plaintively. “I want to see my mum and dad.”
“The most pressing matter is to ensure your grandfather is all right,” stated Marco emphatically. Then, relaxing, he continued, “But I’m sure we can see if the low road can be made to work.”
Jack and Rana looked at each other. For several minutes, nobody spoke. Jack looked over at his grandfather. He looks like he’s sleeping, thought Jack. So peaceful.
“Marco,” began Rana, “where are we?”
“You’re on Ilanbeg, by Loch na Keal.”
“But why would Konan send us here?” demanded Jack. “I asked him where my father was, and Gosol made him reply. Is my father on this island?”
Marco looked thoughtfully at the youngster.
“You have courage; something tells me that you do not fear much. But you should respect real danger.” Seeing the look of incomprehension on Jack’s face, he continued, “Your father is not on this island, young man. But there may be ways to find him, if you prove yourself worthy.”
“He’s alive then?” Jack’s voice rose as excitement and trepidation welled up inside him. “If he can be found, I’ll find him. Where is he?”
“First, you must prove yourself. And the time for that has not yet come. But we can make preparations, so that we are ready.”
Jack thumped the chair in exasperation. “But when’s that?”
“When the moon rises after midsummer.”
“That’s a month away!” exclaimed Rana.
“We have plenty we can do in the meantime,” answered Marco evenly. “I believe there is some more firewood outside, if you would be so good as to fetch it.”
Jack stood up nervously. “I … I’m sorry I shouted,” he mumbled. “I just want to find my father.”
He moved uncomfortably towards the front door. Passing through, he glanced back at the room and saw the walls and the furnishings disappear. True to Marco’s word, there was an untidy stack of kindling and small logs at the side of the house. Grasping several pieces, Jack went back through the front door. As he did so, the room materialised again.
“It keeps unwanted visitors away,” said Marco, who had been watching Jack closely.
Jack set the logs down by the fireplace and arranged a couple on top of the dying fire.
“I hope you like fishing, because you can get some practice in,” stated Marco.
“I’m good at fishing,” announced Rana cheerily. “We do it all the time in Rangie.”
“Not sea fishing, then?” asked Marco kindly.
Rana looked at Marco. “Is it very different?”
“Certainly. But you can show me what you know tomorrow. And now, I think we can eat a little.”
Grandpa Sandy had not woken up by the time supper was finished. Rana, unsure whether this was a good sign or not, indicated to Marco that she would sit with her grandfather until he woke up.
“That may be a long wait, young lady.” Marco’s tone was even. “Luka will be here tonight; he will know what to do. You can dry your clothes by the fire.”
Jack and Rana climbed upstairs to a small, furnished twin bedroom and settled down to sleep. So much had happened in the last couple of days. Attacks and unplanned journeys, Dunters and Aquines. But it was disconcerting that Grandpa was unwell again.
“D’you trust Marco?” asked Rana, snuggling down under the bedclothes.
“I think so. He seems kind.”
“But he’s a lion; couldn’t he be dangerous?”
“His book is like Matthew’s: didn’t you notice? It has ‘Gosol’ on the cover. He must be all right.”
“If he’s got that much power, why can’t he wake Grandpa up?”
“Perhaps the bump on the head started up the Phosphan curse again.”
“Maybe. I thought he was just resting.”
> A steady rain pattered against the windowpane, and a low murmur from outside heralded a rising wind.
“Did you see that little wooden wheel on the wall?” asked Jack. “It’s like the one the Blue Hag had when she was clearing the snows. It shows the seasons.”
“I wasn’t there, silly,” said Rana sleepily. Then, after a pause, “It’s funny being on an island, isn’t it? It feels safe here.”
Jack lay and thought about how much better it would be if Petros and the others were here too.
But at least I’m getting closer to my father. Even if I don’t know where he is, I’m sure I’m getting closer.
20
Refugees
Jack slept soundly, dreamlessly, oblivious to the wild storm that raged throughout the night. When he finally awoke, the sun was streaming through the small window. Rana’s slow, heavy respirations signalled that she was still fast asleep.
With a jolt, Jack remembered his grandfather. Dressing hurriedly, he clambered downstairs, but stopped in his tracks as he entered the front room. An old man sat by the sofa. Wisps of white hair fringed the back of his head, and a short, straggly beard fell from his chin. He appeared to be sleeping. Jack saw that his grandfather remained stretched out on the sofa, and he crept cautiously forward. A loud creak from a floorboard caused the man in the chair to stir. Opening his eyes, he looked first at Grandpa Sandy, then up at Jack. He smiled.
“Your grandfather is still sleeping. Would you like some breakfast?”
Nonplussed, Jack was grateful when Marco entered.
“I see you’ve met my brother Luka,” announced Marco. “Do not be afraid; he is a physician and will take care of your grandfather.”
Jack sat down at the table, where breakfast had been laid out.
“Is Grandpa all right?” he mumbled.
“I fear he has encountered many troubles,” answered Luka. “Phosphan weakens the body and lingers long. Yesterday’s concussion has not helped.”
“When will he wake up?”
“When the time is right.” Luka smiled again and looked over to the wooden wheel on the wall. “His troubles are far greater than yesterday’s accident. Did you meet any evil creatures on your journey?”
“A Dunter in Dunvik threw some blood at Grandpa. The blood made his arm stink – like a burn. I got rid of the Dunter,” added Jack. “Finbogie taught me how.”
“We could do with the help of such people,” mused Luka. “Treating Shian curses is not my strong suit.”
“You mean … you mean you’re not Shian?” Jack’s voice quavered.
“We have been around for many years, but no, we are not Shian. Haven’t you noticed? You’re human-sized here.” Luka spoke evenly, his voice reassuring. “We can do much, but there are limits to our powers. We are not magicians.”
“But you’re a physician,” blurted out Jack. “You must know how to heal him.”
“The greatest healer is time, my friend. Patience, mixed with knowledge and belief.”
“So what can we do then?” asked Jack plaintively.
“We wait. And we will try to arrange for your friends Armina and Finbogie to come here.”
“That may be difficult,” pointed out Marco. “The low road is accessible here, but not on the mainland.”
“So we’re stuck here, then?” Rana had crept downstairs and had been listening from the doorway.
“The damage to the low roads is extensive – I have checked. That suggests an organised enemy. But it is not the work of the Kildashie.”
“There was a Dunter and a demon with Malevola when she killed Tamlina,” stated Jack. “And Grandpa told me about Boaban Shee last year. And there’s always the Hobshee – not all of them got suspended.”
“I see that you know a great deal about these things,” said Marco with a smile. “That is useful. We will try to make contact with your family.”
“They were going to Keldy,” replied Jack. “We were supposed to go too, only we ended up in Dunvik.”
“I gathered as much,” said Luka. Then, seeing the look of surprise on Jack’s face, he continued, “Your grandfather is quite alert when he is awake. But the concussion has revived previous troubles. It may be some weeks before he is fully recovered.”
“Weeks!” exclaimed Rana. “He’d only just got over the Phosphan curse.”
“The Phosphan has not completely left your grandfather; and I fear the Dunter’s blood has made things worse,” explained Luka patiently. “But when you have eaten, Marco will show you around.”
After breakfast, Jack and Rana were shown the island. While small – only two or three miles long – there were many small coves and beaches that called out to be explored.
“I’ll show you the best spots for fishing,” announced Marco as he indicated one such inlet. “And there’s someone you’ll meet sometime. He’s been here for many years, but he’s a little nervous of strangers. There’s a special fish that he’s been trying to catch. Maybe you can help him to land it.”
Jack and Rana explored the island over the next few days and quickly concluded that there weren’t many parts that didn’t have a sea view. Lengthening days and settled weather meant the peace of the island was undeniable. Time slipped by effortlessly.
It’s so peaceful here, thought Jack as he sat and watched the sinking sun light up the clouds with a brilliant display of reds and oranges. No trouble with Kildashie or Dunters … No more lessons with Murkle …
Jack shook himself.
No, that’s not why we’re here. We’re on a mission – kind of. Fishing’s all very well, but we’ve more important things to do.
However, Luka’s prediction about Grandpa’s lengthy recovery proved to be accurate. The lazy pace of life did not change over the next few weeks, and so it was that Jack and Rana found themselves looking forward to the quietest midsummer either could remember.
Midsummer’s day arrived without even a whimper. Despite detailed explanations from Jack and Rana, neither Marco nor Luka seemed inclined to celebrate the day. Even being shown the seasons wheel on the wall, which now indicated midsummer, did not seem to excite them. Grandpa Sandy did not seem concerned either, pointing out that it was hard to have a big celebration with only five people.
Jack returned to the house after a fruitless morning’s fishing. He slumped moodily into a chair in the front room, swinging his empty satchel by his side.
“No joy, then?” enquired Grandpa Sandy kindly. There was a spark in his eyes once again as he watched his grandson. “Marco’s got some good news. The low road’s open again.”
“You mean we can leave?”
“First we should find out how the rest of the family are. I’ve dispatched a grig to Keldy; we should hear back soon.”
“I never understood how the low road could go under water,” said Jack thoughtfully.
“The low road has its own rules. But it’s interesting that Marco and Luka don’t seem to use it.”
“Marco said they had used it a while ago,” said Jack. “But they’re not Shian, Grandpa. Luka told us. This is an old human’s house. And we’re human size here.”
“Indeed.” Grandpa Sandy looked thoughtful. “That may explain some things I have been pondering. But I do believe that midsummer may prove to be significant.” His eyes were smiling.
Jack thought back to the previous midsummer. All the excitement, the biggest festival in years, thousands of Shian from all over … and then the Brashat and their Hobshee thugs had spoiled it all. That had been the start of all the trouble.
Rana nearly exploded with excitement when she was told the news. Arriving back at the house fish-less, her spirits soared at the thought of seeing her family again.
“Can we leave soon? I’ll get my things.”
Grandpa Sandy tried unsuccessfully to calm her down.
“We can go to Keldy, then work out how to get those Kildashie out of Edinburgh,” she chattered happily. “And I can tell Lizzie about all the things we’ve done
here.”
“You will see your family soon enough.” Standing by the doorway, Marco’s face was set, serious.
“What’s the matter?” quavered Rana.
“The grig has returned. Your family are only minutes behind her.”
Grandpa Sandy stood up and walked over to Marco, taking him by the arm and leading him outside. Returning a few moments later, he announced, “Come along. We’ll go and meet them as they arrive.”
Jack and Rana followed him outside, unsure what to think. They quickly made their way towards the small copse that marked the low road entrance and had only a couple of minutes to wait before there was a whirr of activity.
Aunt Katie and Aunt Dorcas were first to arrive, both clutching Lizzie tightly. They stumbled off the mound, rising instantly to human height. Lizzie was crying and making retching noises. While Aunt Dorcas tried to console her, Rana ran and hugged her mother.
Within seconds, another whirring noise announced the arrival of Petros and Ossian. Jack’s initial pleasure on seeing his cousins was halted when he saw that Fenrig and Morrigan were with them.
What’s going on?
A further flurry of activity heralded a third group. Armina, tall and majestic, was holding hands with Uncle Hart, who had an angry weal across his closed eyes. All the new arrivals were dishevelled, their clothes dirty, their hair unwashed and tousled. All but Uncle Hart were clutching a bag of some sort, clothes and belongings picked up hurriedly as they’d left.
The scene was one of confusion. Relief, sadness and surprise mixed together. Jack cautiously approached Petros, but didn’t know what to say. His cousin looked wretched. Fenrig and Morrigan retreated to the edge of the crowd, watching silently as puzzled embraces were exchanged. Grandpa Sandy walked up to Uncle Hart and hugged him, but his son seemed unable to respond. Grandpa Sandy looked fearfully at Armina.
“What has happened?”
“Keldy has been taken,” she replied simply. “Hart is blinded – for now. Pierre is a prisoner of the Thanatos. They have colluded with the Kildashie and others. And it’s like winter is back – the fields are frozen.”