Isle of Winds (The Changeling Series Book 1)

by Fahy, James

  Irene looked at him for a long moment, and then removed her glasses, folding them away.

  “I’m sorry, Robin, about all the upheaval in your life at the moment. We haven’t had time to get you settled in the right way, have we? There has been so much to do today. I feel I have been a most ungracious host so far.”

  Robin shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  “Well,” she replied. “It’s a little too late for that. You’re here now, though, for better or worse.”

  Robin wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything.

  “Your grandmother, she never mentioned me, did she?” Irene asked.

  “No. She never said I had any aunts, or uncles or anything. I just thought it was the two of us,” Robin replied. “Until … after…”

  “The reason she never mentioned me, Robin, is that she never knew I existed. We thought that would be for the best.”

  Robin was confused. “We?” he asked.

  “Your parents and I,” Irene said simply. “They thought it best if you were kept away from all this … complicated way of things.”

  Robin looked around the study, not sure if she was talking about the books, or the house or what. He didn’t understand how Gran could not have known his new guardian. If she was his Great Aunt, then surely they would have been sisters? Or maybe they were from different sides of the family. Gran had never been much for family history, but Robin thought she had been his mother’s mother. Perhaps Great Aunt Irene had been his father’s mother’s sister. His head hurt trying to work it out, so instead he said, “You knew my mum and dad?”

  “Once,” Aunt Irene nodded. “Though it seems like an awfully long time ago that I had any dealings with any of your family.”

  “I don’t remember them at all,” he said. He looked at his hands. Light from the fire flickered over them. “Gran hardly ever talked about them. Not really, she didn’t even have any photos, said she didn’t trust cameras, and I was only just born when they…”

  Irene made a noise in her nose. “Well, all you need to know about your parents is this: they died. They left you as the last of your line. No brothers or sisters … and they also left a very complicated situation for the rest of us.”

  Robin was about to ask who ‘the rest of us’ were. Did he have more family he had never heard of? But as he opened his mouth to speak there was a noise outside the window, a scrape on the dark glass.

  Both of them turned and peered at the window, but it was fully dark now and all they could see was the room reflected.

  “Go and close the curtains, boy, and come straight back,” Irene said quietly.

  Robin did as he was told. He looked out onto the dark grounds, but could see nothing but trees and grass. It was odd, not having the world outside lit up with orange streetlamps. It made the night seem much bigger out here than it had ever had back in the city.

  “Probably just a fox,” Irene said. “But some things are not for eavesdroppers, don’t you agree?”

  She jabbed at the fire a little with a black poker. Quite effectively, Robin noted.

  “Perhaps there are things which should be left unsaid until later. Dark is a terrible time for this kind of thing.” She put down the poker and looked at him.

  “Have you noticed anything … odd lately?” she asked him lightly.

  Robin almost burst out laughing. Odd? He thought. Well, only the girl on the train disappearing, the weird old man at the station, the horseshoes committing suicide, the blue boy spying on him, and discovering he had a mad aunt who lived in a mansion where doors appeared out of nowhere…

  He didn’t say any of this, of course. He said, “Odd?”

  Great Aunt Irene peered sharply at him, with her hawk-like eyes.

  “Well…” Robin began haltingly. “I met a strange man at the train station…”

  Irene cut in. “Yes, a man by the name of Moros. Thin gangling chap, yes? Mr Drover told me about that.” She leaned forward towards him. “Now, listen to me, Robin. You don’t want to go speaking to him. He’s a bad sort.”

  “You know him?” asked Robin.

  “That I do. Him and his … family,” Irene nodded. “If you see any of them, and you’ll know them if you do, don’t go near them or speak to them. Is that understood?”

  Robin nodded. “Henry’s dad … I mean Mr Drover, he didn’t seem to like him either.”

  “No,” Irene replied. “Don’t you worry. They won’t bother you here, but just keep your eyes open, that’s all I’m saying.”

  “Why would they bother me?” Robin wanted to know.

  Irene pursed her lips. “It’s … complicated,” she said eventually. “Your parents,” she began. “When they died, they left you an inheritance of sorts. Mr Moros and his kin would like very much to get their hands on it.”

  Robin frowned at this. “An inheritance? Money, you mean? Am I related to Mr Moros as well?”

  Irene shook her head. “No, not in the least. You’re no kind of that sort.” She sighed. “It would have been much simpler if your guardian had explained things to you. She probably thought you were too young. I’m quite sure she wasn’t planning to die.”

  “I don’t understand,” Robin insisted. “Did Gran know?”

  “Yes, of course she did,” Irene replied. “It’s not money, Robin. It’s … something they left for you, and only for you. The reason you’ve never heard about it is because your parents were very clever people. They knew there would be those, like the charmless Mr Moros, who would want to claim it for themselves. So they made sure that no one would be able to find it.”

  “My inheritance is hidden?” Robin asked, confused.

  Irene shook her head. “Parts of it, I suppose, although circumstance has decreed you to be the only one who could ever really ‘find’ it, so to speak. Think of it as a lock somewhere, and only you can open it,” Irene tried to explain. “Even if someone else had the key, they couldn’t open it. Only you can. It was made for you.”

  “Okay. I see,” said Robin, who honestly didn’t. “But what am I supposed to unlock? This inheritance, what is it?”

  Irene looked thoughtful. “The answer to all our problems, I hope,” she said. “Or the cause. It remains to be seen.”

  Robin didn’t think this was a very good answer.

  “All you need to understand for now is this,” she said. “You are very young, Robin, and through no particular fault of your own, you are very important to a lot of people. Your grandmother knew this, though she never told you. She was a very clever woman, no matter what a lot of people thought. She was able to keep you … safe. For twelve long years, which is no mean feat. I can do the same here, at Erlking. That is within my remit. That will have to do for now.”

  She patted his knee, which seemed, from a lady such as herself, quite a forced and unnatural show of affection. “No more questions about all that now though. You have enough on your mind settling in here.”

  Robin wanted to protest. He wanted to know about Mr Moros, and all this lock and key business, and most importantly why Aunt Irene thought he needed to be kept safe.

  “You seem to have been taken under young Henry’s wing,” she said, abruptly changing the subject. “He’s a good sort. A complete dunderhead, and he doesn’t always act too bright, but it is probably good for you to have someone close to your own age to knock about with.”

  Robin nodded.

  “In the morning, you shall meet the rest of us. Hestia, my housekeeper, who will no doubt be brimming with excitement to give you the rules of the house. And of course, your tutor.” She leaned back, and rubbed at the bridge of her nose tiredly.

  “Hopefully, when he arrives, things will begin to make more sense to you, Robin. He should have been here by now, though I gather he was delayed. I do so abhor tardiness. But I am sure he will clear most things up.”

  Robin was not sure he was looking forward to meeting a tutor. He was uneasy with the ide
a of being taught at home, with just him and a teacher breathing down his neck all the time.

  “Couldn’t I just go to the village school?” he asked. “Henry goes there, so I’d already know someone.”

  Irene looked at him. “No, no. That would never do,” she said dismissively. “They don’t teach the right kind of things there.”

  “Am I going to be taught here in the house then?” he asked.

  “In a manner of speaking,” she replied. She smiled a little. “Don’t worry about it. I think you may enjoy your lessons.”

  * * *

  Later that night, after a hearty supper, he spent a few hours musing around the large study, looking in old books filled with strange maps and pictures. Robin was feeling a little odd about his first night in a new house. It didn’t feel like home at all.

  It was only when he was getting undressed for bed and into his pyjamas that he noticed he was still wearing the little horseshoe on the silver chain. He slipped it over his head and dropped it in his top drawer.

  A faint howl floated in from the open window. It was long and mournful. It reminded Robin of the noise he had heard outside the train. It gave him goose bumps, so he crossed the room and shut the window.

  Or at least he tried to, but the window pane jammed on a set of fingers and wouldn’t close, and a short yelp of pain came up from the darkness outside.

  Robin looked down at the fingers on the sill. They were blue. He opened the window again and looked out. There was a small boy clinging to the ledge, hanging in thin air, legs flailing wildly beneath him.

  “What are you trying to do?” the boy said angrily. “Kill me?”

  Robin stepped back in alarm as the blue-skinned boy vaulted up with a strange, graceful ease. He flipped in through the window and landed softly with a catlike crouch on the floorboards in front of Robin.

  He stared wide-eyed at the intruder. The boy stood up and sucked at his recently trapped fingers, glowering angrily at Robin with narrowed yellow eyes. Around his neck, on a black leather lace, hung a small smooth gem, like a misty opal. It was half the size of a chicken egg and glittered in the light from Robin’s bedside lamp.

  “Wha—what…” Robin tried. This didn’t make much sense, so he tried again.

  “Who … are you?” he asked shakily.

  The blue-skinned boy blinked at him.

  “How did you get up here?” Robin asked. The house itself was four tall stories high, and the tower higher still.

  The blue boy’s tail swished a little. “It was easy,” he said testily. “An idiot could have done it. A moron, a pixie.”

  “I saw you before,” Robin accused him. “You were spying on me. I saw you in the bushes! Why are you dressed like that?”

  The boy looked down at his makeshift clothing. “What have my pants got to do with it?” he asked snappily.

  “Not that!” Robin said exasperated. “The paint. Why are you painted blue? Why have you got a thing stuck in the back to look like a tail? And…”

  “I’m not painted blue,” the small boy interrupted. “This is just me.”

  Robin snorted. “No it isn’t! That’s ridiculous!”

  “Yes it is!” the boy snapped back. “I should know.” He pointed a finger at Robin, who looked far less intimidating in his striped pyjamas. Robin noticed that the nails on the end of the boy’s fingers were quite long and sharp. “What about you? Why are you painted pink?”

  “Don’t be stupid!” Robin said.

  They stared at one another for a moment.

  The boy sighed, and then suddenly dropped into a crouch and sprung into the air. He landed on one of the bedposts of Robin’s bed, perching there impossibly on the balls of his bare feet. His tail switched back and forth, helping him balance.

  “You weren’t supposed to see me,” he said grumpily. “I’m going to be in a right load of trouble now.”

  Robin sat down, very slowly. All the blood seemed to have drained out of his head. Of all the things that had happened recently, this was the strangest. There was no point trying to explain it away – whatever this boy was, it wasn’t paint and false tails.

  “This,” Robin said finally, “… is too bizarre for words.”

  “Well, I would have come to see you sooner,” the boy said sulkily. “But I couldn’t get close ‘cause of the ward. I’ve been skulking around in the grounds all night, waiting for you to get rid of it.”

  “What?” Robin asked.

  “The ward,” the boy said short-temperedly. “The thing you were wearing round your neck.”

  Robin looked at the drawer with the horseshoe pendant in it. He looked back at the animal-like child, then back at the drawer.

  “Maybe,” he said slowly, “… we should start again.” He took a deep breath. “I’m Robin.”

  The boy grinned, showing his white teeth. “I know. I knew it. I’m good at finding people. Much better than she is anyway, she couldn’t find her backside with both hands … Don’t tell her I said that though. Boss says she’s the best tracker but I’m better.”

  “What’s your name?” Robin asked, trying to stop the creature talking. “And what … are you?”

  “Forgot my manners,” he said. “Forget my tail if it wasn’t attached.” He grinned impishly. “I’m Woad, and though I’d expect any reasonable person to be able to tell instantly, I’m a faun.”

  “A faun?” he asked. “But fauns aren’t blue. And they have goat’s legs and beards. There’s a statue of one in the garden.”

  Woad rolled his eyes in a tired fashion. ”Honestly, what imaginations you have.” He raised his eyebrows at Robin. “I mean, how many people do you know who’ve ever seen one of us?”

  “Well … none,” Robin had to admit. “Because fauns aren’t real. They’re make-believe, like … like fairies and centaurs and … and dragons.”

  “Ohhhh,” Woad nodded sagely. “That explains that then. I met a centaur once. Nearly gored me to death. Evil creatures. No wonder they work for Lady E.”

  Robin counted to five in his head. It was all too strange. Lady who? He looked at the blue boy scratching his stomach. “Aren’t you cold?”

  “No. I can never be bothered,” Woad replied dismissively. “Too busy, spying on you, making sure you got to Erlking safely, which you did.” He looked pleased with himself. “Mission accomplished.” He put his hands behind his head and lay back on the floor, contented.

  Robin peered over the edge of the bed.

  “What’s going on?” he asked. “Why is everyone so careful to make sure I’m safe? And who are you people?!”

  “Hasn’t your tutor told you yet?” Woad asked lazily, looking up.

  “Told me what?” asked Robin angrily. He was tired of being given the run around.

  “Oh…” Woad said quietly. “I guess not.” He sat up, cross-legged. “Told you,” he said, peering intently at Robin. “About whom … you … are.”

  Robin was not impressed.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, irritated. “I know whom I am – I mean, who I am.”

  “Do not,” Woad argued petulantly.

  “Yes I do!” Robin said angrily.

  “Don’t,” Woad said playfully.

  “Yes I damn well do!” Robin said.

  “Who then? Who are you, Robin?” Woad demanded, suddenly challenging. “Tell me if you think you know, ‘cause I bet you don’t, and then you’ll look stupid. Dumb as a pixie.”

  “I’m … I’m just … Robin. I’m no one. Just me!” Robin almost yelled.

  Woad cackled. “You haven’t got a clue,” he taunted. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, you brontosaurus.”

  “Well, what am I then?” Robin was beginning to find the young blue boy very irritating. “If you’re so clever, you little blue … thing! You tell me.”

  “You’re the Scion,” Woad said gleefully.

  Robin blinked. “The what?”

  Woad rolled his eyes again. “Oh, this is useless,
” he said. “I’ll come back after you’ve had your first lesson. Then at least it won’t be like trying to have a conversation with a head of lettuce.” He sprang to his feet energetically.

  “Wait,” Robin said with alarm. “You’re not going anywhere until I get some answers!” He made a grab for Woad, but the blue creature was far too fast and darted out of reach.

  “Wrong again!” Woad said merrily. “See you later, if you wise up and don’t get yourself eaten by skrikers that is.”

  Woad jumped onto the window ledge.

  “Go to sleep, Robin,” he called back. “Things will make sense in the morning.”

  He flicked his hand, the milky orb around his neck flashed, and Robin, who was just about to let forth a string of extremely angry swear words, found himself sinking to the floor. He was asleep before his head hit the floorboards, which it did with a very final and deep thud.

  Chapter Five –

  Phorbas’ First Lesson

  Robin didn’t mention Woad at breakfast the following morning. Partly because he suspected that he’d be carted off to an insane asylum if he did, but chiefly because there was no one at breakfast to mention it to. He had awoken on the floor of his bedroom, with his pyjama top twisted round his throat and one of his buttocks completely numb. He made his way downstairs after washing and dressing, only to find that there was apparently no one in the vast house but him.

  In the dining room, there was a place set for one at the end of the long table. A cooked breakfast had been laid out. The plate was still hot.

  A note had been tucked under the knife and fork beside the plate. It read:

  Robin,

  I have been called away on business. I shall be back at precisely 1pm this afternoon. My housekeeper, Hestia, is back, should you require anything in the house.

  Your tutor is due to arrive at 11am. I will not be there to greet him, so the onus is upon you. I trust you to make a good impression. And try not to act too surprised, as he is easily offended.

  Until then, you have, as always, free rein of the house. Do not get stuck in any chimneys. Do not fall out of any windows. Do not leave the grounds of Erlking Hall for any reason whatsoever!