A Wizard of Dreams (Myrddin's Heir Book 1)

by Robin Chambers

  Chapter 36

  The Lady’s Not For Burning

  People had come for miles. It was perfect weather for it too, a beautiful sunny day. The village green was ablaze with life and colour and movement. There were brightly painted caravans. Travellers were selling donkey rides to the children of house-dwelling folk. Tinkers and pedlars plied their wares along the whole of one side. A tide of people swirled and surged around them: families, couples and groups of men and women, old and young.

  There was livestock to be bought, sheep, pigs and geese mostly. The travellers always had a horse or two for trading. Best look them in the mouth though, they weren’t giving them away. They ran them up and down, showing off their energy and spirit. Passers-by watched out for flying hooves.

  Gordon and Zack drifted, taking in the amazing detail of the scene as it unfolded. This wasn’t their dream. Zack hadn’t been invited, but he’d involved himself with Gordon and held on tight. Now they were being carried along, wherever the dreamer willed them.

  Outside the inn, groups of men stood idly chatting. They were smoking long clay pipes and downing great jugs of ale. There were fairground stalls: ‘Test Your Strength’, ‘Try Your Luck’ and ‘Tell Your Fortune’. A sweating man in his shirt sleeves heaved on a great wooden handle, turning a beautiful old roundabout.

  Excitement hung in the air like smoke. It wafted on the breeze and twitched in the nostrils. The talk was of witches and the Devil’s work. It wasn’t every day that you got to watch a witch being burned alive.

  A great stake had been fixed into the ground, right in the middle of the Village Green. Good oak that was. Last a long time that would. A small platform had been fixed to it, well off the ground, six feet or so from the top. That was to make sure everyone would be able to get a good view. Tinder-dry brushwood had been gathered in a huge pile underneath it.

  It was the appointed hour. People had taken up the best positions for an unrestricted view around the unlit bonfire. The crowd was standing twenty deep round the tiny clearing as the church bell tolled three times.

  Around the corner and on to the green came a tiny procession. It creaked and trundled towards the centre of attention. An executioner, head swathed in a black hood, led the gentle horse which pulled the cart. A priest walked in front with his bible open. He was asking God in Latin and a loud voice to have mercy on the soul about to be sent most painfully into His keeping.

  A woman was standing in it, straight and proud, her hands gripping the wooden rail in front. She stared ahead over the heads of the multitude. Her dress was fine, though dirty and crumpled. Her hair was unkempt, but her pale face was beautiful. She had an air of authority, some power that stilled the crowd.

  Gordon found himself at the front of the crush of people, where it parted to let the cart through. He stared up at the woman as the cart drew level. Surely they couldn’t be about to burn her?! The woman looked down at him. It was his own mother.

  “No, it’s not, Gordon!” Zack told him. He felt Zack’s hands on his shoulders, anchoring him. “This happened a long time ago.”

  With sudden recognition and a look of great joy, the woman let go of the handrail. She stretched both hands down towards Gordon, not in fear, but in happiness and welcome. “I knew you would come,” her eyes seemed to say. The sun shone out of a clear blue sky and seemed to surround her in a warm glow. Gordon started forward, reaching out to take her hand …

  ... and sat straight up in bed. His curtain had just been drawn and the sun was streaming in through the window. His mum was standing there, surrounded by the same warm glow. She was smiling at him. He smiled back and held his hand out to her.

  This lady was definitely not for burning.

  NOTES

  TINKERS AND PEDLARS; LOOK THEM IN THE MOUTH; INVOLVED WITH GORDON

  Chapter 37

  It Runs In Our Blood

  Gordon got dressed. When he came down the unbelievably creaky stairs, his mum was standing in front of the mirror. She turned sideways to check her profile and seemed very satisfied with what she saw.

  “This mirror is very flattering, Gordon. I can’t think what it was doing out in the garden. I’m certainly glad it’s in here now.”

  His dad was laying the table for breakfast. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall …,” he said, grinning. He walked up to his wife and grabbed her round the waist, looking over her shoulder at their reflections.

  “No, but don’t you think it makes me look younger somehow. Almost like when you first met me?”

  He kissed her neck. “You look exactly the same as when I first met you.” He looked critically at the mirror. “That hook is a little on the low side. People were shorter centuries ago. You’ve only got to look at the height of the doors.”

  “And the ceilings, dad,” Gordon piped up. He sat at the table and grabbed the cereal packet. His mum came over and reached for the teapot. There is nothing quite like that first cup of the day.

  “It’s odd. There are hooks all round this room at the same height,” Victor said as he sat down. “I only noticed them because I was looking for a place to hang that mirror.” He rattled some cereal into his bowl and reached for the milk. “They’re evenly spaced all round the ground floor, even in the bathroom and kitchen. That tells me they’ve been there a long time, way before this cottage was modernised.”

  “How many are there?” Zack asked. “How many hooks are there, dad?” Gordon asked, innocently.

  “I didn’t count them,” his dad said, “but that’s an interesting question. Let’s find out.” He pushed his chair back.

  “Finish your breakfast,” Edith suggested, but Victor’s curiosity had been aroused.

  “It’ll only take a minute,” he said. “One, two …” He held his arms out to measure the approximate distance between them and help him spot each one. “Hmm, odd,” he said. He rejoined them at the table.

  “How many?” Gordon asked again, spooning the last of his cereal into his mouth.

  “Thirteen.”

  After breakfast, Edith cleared the table and Victor went to his toolbox for his can of WD40. He couldn’t do anything about the creaking stairs and floorboards but at least he could silence the hinges on some of the doors. He could also give that reluctant front gate a seeing-to.

  Gordon wanted to reflect on yesterday’s - and yesternight’s – events. He was hoping that he and Zack might get a chance to do so during the morning. The family plan was to visit the fair on the green after lunch. Gordon had mixed feelings about that, given what he now knew. At least one terrible event had taken place there, albeit centuries ago.

  That mirror had its part to play in whatever it was he was now involved in. It had called to him from the garden. It had shown him a face at a window that no longer existed. It also seemed to be working some kind of magic on his mother. She was getting real pleasure from looking into it.

  “That mirror means something,” he murmured.

  “Yes,” Zack agreed. With his dad outside oiling the gate, and his mum washing up in the kitchen, they had the room to themselves for the moment. Gordon went over to the mirror.

  Because of its size and the height of the hook, he should have been able to see his full reflection; but instead, he discovered that according to the mirror he wasn’t there. Instead, the woman in the black dress was standing just where he was standing. He could see the reflection of the table and the window behind her. She was smiling and looking directly at him. “I have been waiting for you, Edmund,” she said softly.

  “You see her too, don’t you Zack.”

  “I see … what you see,” Zack assured him.

  “Who is Zack?” the woman asked. She was uncannily like his mother. He felt no fear. It was like being in a light trance. Zack extricated himself from Gordon and stood beside him. He put his arm protectively round his shoulder.

  “I am Zack,” he told her.

  “Ah, an attendant spirit. You have the gift, child. It runs in our blood.”


  “How can I let you in?” Gordon asked.

  The woman smiled encouragement. “You have begun well; but I must follow old ways.”

  “Just tell me how!”

  Her image had begun to fade, and her voice dropped to a yearning whisper:

  “Bring them from their present place.

  They lie above your sleeping head.

  Hang them where their saving grace

  May unite lovers long since dead.”

  “Gordon!” His mother’s voice broke the trance. He turned to see her looking at him quizzically from the kitchen doorway. “I called you twice. You didn’t hear me. You were in a world of your own there, in front of that mirror.”

  She walked over and stood behind him, taking the opportunity to look into it again. Gordon looked back and saw a perfectly normal reflection of himself. His mum was standing behind him, her hands on his shoulders. “What were you thinking about?” she asked dreamily. That mirror certainly made her look more beautiful than she ever remembered looking before. Somebody must have thrown it out, or left it in the garden and forgotten about it. Could she get away with taking it home?

  “I was thinking,” said Gordon, “of asking Dad if we could have a look in the attic.”

  NOTES

  THIRTEEN; IT HAD CALLED TO HIM; ZACK EXTRICATED HIMSELF; QUIZZICALLY

  Chapter 38

  Time For Reflection

  “The attic!?” his mum said. The strangeness of his response broke the mirror’s spell over her. “How do you even know there is an attic? What gave you that idea?”

  “You can’t tell her!” Zack advised him urgently.

  A trick of the light through trees along a shadowy road is one thing. Gordon had probably just been dozing off. Cars rock you to sleep and the mind plays tricks when you’re only half awake. Having an awful nightmare in a strange bed in a creaky, old house is perfectly understandable.

  Very few people get through life without bad dreams, and many children suffer night terrors; but he couldn’t tell his mother that he needed to look in the attic because the lady in the mirror had just told him to.

  “I’ve never been in a house this ancient. I think it would be really interesting to see inside a roof that’s centuries old. I bet Dad would be interested to see that as well.”

  “Well, maybe,” his mum admitted, “and maybe we shouldn’t go poking around in someone else’s house.”

  “Zack, can you find the way into the attic?” Seconds later, Zack was in Gordon’s bedroom and it was clear why that particular room was theirs.

  There was a small hatchway set into one corner of the ceiling. It was hidden by a coincidence of oak beams. Gordon hadn’t noticed it because it wasn’t visible from the door, and he’d had no reason to pay attention to that corner of the ceiling until now. The hatch was secured by an old iron bolt.

  “There’s a little hatch in my room,” he told his mum, “with only an old bolt holding it shut.”

  “Where is there an old bolt?” his dad asked. He’d just come back in, having turned the rusty nightmare of a front gate into a well-oiled, smooth-functioning piece of kit. He was ready for a fresh challenge. The can of WD40 was still in his hand.

  “Your son was just explaining to me,” his mum said, “that he thought you might be interested in showing him what the roof space in a very old house like this looks like.” She plainly considered Gordon to be displaying tendencies inherited from his father.

  “Absolutely,” Victor said, immediately keen on the idea. “Not every day you get a chance to see how these old craftsmen put together a roof that has lasted 400 years. Fat chance of your 21st century roof lasting even a quarter of that time.”

  Gordon could see the enthusiasm in his dad’s eyes. “Do you know, son, they didn’t even use nails?! It’ll be jointed and fastened with thick oak pins. That way, the roof beams and the fastenings expand and contract at the same rate. The movements don’t loosen the separate components.”

  “Right. I’ll leave you master craftsmen to the fascinations of crawling about in an old roof space. I think I’ll stroll as far as that pub and see what’s on the menu for lunch. As we’re on holiday, I thought we might treat ourselves.”

  “I like the sound of that,” Victor said enthusiastically. He was already looking forward to a pint of whatever classic brew they still fermented around here. He fetched the old stepladder he’d seen leaning against one end of the building. “That’s beech that is, Gordon. Your classic wood for ladder-making, beech.” With the WD40 in one pocket and the torch from his toolbox in the other, he was a man on a mission.

  Gordon led the way to his bedroom. The ladder was easily long enough to get his dad level with the bolt. The surface of the ceiling was only about seven feet from the floor. He gave it a liberal spray of WD40 and grasped its handle with both hands. “Here goes,” he said, and started working it loose.

  With Gordon standing innocently below and Zack standing invisibly beside him, the bolt slid open so quickly that his dad was nearly dislodged from the ladder. “Whoops,” he said. “That was easier than I thought.”

  “You don’t know your own strength, Dad,” said Gordon, encouragingly.

  The hatch fell open. Warm air from below sighed through the opening. It pushed dust-specked swirls of colder air from the attic down into the bedroom. Victor climbed to the top of the steps and stood with his top half in the attic space. He shone his torch around and gave a low whistle of surprise.

  “What can you see, Dad?” Gordon asked eagerly.

  His dad hoisted himself all the way in and then crouched by the hatch. “Climb up the ladder carefully, and see for yourself.” Gordon was so keen, it was all he could do to stop himself levitating straight up through the hole. Instead, he did as he was told and scrambled up the ladder.

  His dad reached down to grasp his hands and found he could lift him straight up through the space with almost no effort at all. “I am stronger than I thought,” he thought.

  Zack had taken the shortest possible route and was already in the attic. “You were hoping for time to reflect,” he muttered. “Now’s your chance.” Victor shone the torch around the cramped space.

  It was full of mirrors, exactly like the one he’d found in the garden. They leaned dustily against the sloping underside of the roof. “How many are there?” he asked his dad, knowing what the answer would be before his dad had finished counting them.

  “Twelve.”

  Victor knelt beside one of them. He wiped away the dust with the cloth he had used to catch excess drips of WD40.

  “Zack, I need your help again,” Gordon beamed.

  “I’m on it,” Zack promised. He stood behind Victor and stared into the reflection of his eyes in the mirror, while Gordon poured all his powers of concentration into the message. “I bet these mirrors used to hang on those twelve hooks downstairs.”

  “You know what, Gordon?” his dad said dreamily. “I bet these mirrors used to hang on those twelve hooks downstairs.”

  “Of course, Dad; I never thought of that. There is something special about them.”

  “Your mum’s right,” his dad said. His speech was getting noticeably slower. “There is something special about them. I look younger, somehow.”

  “Why don’t we surprise her and hang them up again?”

  “Why don’t we surprise her and hang them up again?”

  “That’s a great idea, Dad!” Gordon said enthusiastically. “We can easily put them all back up here before we leave.”

  “We can easily put them all back up here before we leave.”

  “I think that’s enough, Gordon,” Zack advised. “We don’t want your dad going into a complete trance.”

  “I’m going to count down from three,” Gordon beamed. He’d seen a hypnotist do that on the television once. “When I do, you’re going to take these mirrors downstairs, clean them up and hang them on all the hooks. Three, two, one ...”

  “Right, young man,” his dad said
enthusiastically. “I’ll get back on the ladder and you hand me the mirrors one by one. Can you do that?”

  “No problem, Dad” Gordon told him. “I lifted that one in the garden, remember? They’re all the same.”

  “Great!” said his dad. He hadn’t felt this excited about a project in a long time. “Let’s get on with it. Your mum is going to be amazed when she gets back.”

  “You can say that again,” Gordon agreed.

  “Your mum is going to be amazed …”

  “It’s all right, Dad, you don’t need to say that again.”

  “You’re right, I don’t. Come on, we’re wasting time.”

  An hour later, the mirrors were lined up in the living room, their surfaces spotless and gleaming, almost as though they were new. Victor began hanging them, and in five minutes he had hung them all, except one.

  “Let me hang that last one Dad,” Gordon said.

  “You hang that last one, Gordon,” his dad said. I’ll go and put the torch and the WD40 back in the toolbox. Your mum is bound to be back soon. I want everything to be ready.”

  The room glowed in reflecting sunbeams. Gordon placed the last mirror on its hook. “Now we’ll see,” he murmured. Zack took the precaution of involving himself again, which was just as well - because when Gordon turned around, he was standing in a different cottage altogether.

  NOTES

  A COINCIDENCE OF BEAMS; LEVITATING

  Chapter 39

  Walking Abroad

  It was of a similar design to the cottage he had been in a moment ago, but different in a number of respects. For one thing, there was bustle and noise outside. It sounded like a busy village street. For another, the floor was made of big stone flags. The furniture, such as it was, was different too. A well-scrubbed oak table was placed close to one wall, with low benches on either side. There was a sideboard with a two-door cupboard underneath it against the opposite wall.

  The air was smoky, as if the chimney needed a good sweep. A wood fire was burning in the old grate. A big iron kettle hung over it, suspended from a bar embedded in the walls and festooned with big hooks.

  “What do you make of this, Zack?”

  “Place and time transfer,” Zack said, admiringly. “Neat trick in daylight when you’re awake.”