by James Erith
‘What?’ Sue snapped.
‘Named our vessel.’
Sue eyed him warily. ‘Seriously, Gus, before we start thinking up names, do you actually think we’ll get out of here?’
He raised his eyebrows.
‘How?’ Sue said, raising her eyebrows back at him. Getting a straight answer out of Gus was proving to be a bit of a nightmare.
Gus jabbed a finger upwards.
‘God?’ she yelled, sarcastically.
Gus’s whole body galloped up and down with laughter.
He moved close to her so they could hear each other without yelling. ‘No, you banana-cake, through the roof. So long as the water continues to rise,’ he peered out of the end of the boat, ‘—and it is rising, just as you said it would, then up we go.’
Sue grimaced. ‘Really? You sure it’ll work?’
‘Oh yeah. Far easier this way. There’s corrugated iron sheeting up there, they’ll lift off and then, whoosh, into the river.’
Sue couldn’t help but admire his confidence, although she wasn’t convinced. Wasn’t corrugated sheeting heavy, especially with water beating onto it? ‘So, what do we do now?’
‘Well, let’s see. We could start by naming our boat. It’s definitely good luck before a maiden voyage. You got any ideas?’
‘Not really. You?’
‘Yeah,’ and he smiled his big smile again.
‘Well, what is it?’
Gus opened his eyes wide. ‘I think we should call it the ‘The Joan of’.’
‘That’s it?’ Sue said. She looked mystified. ‘The Joan of... what? What does that mean? It doesn’t make any sense. That’s not a name for a boat.’
Gus feigned a look of shock. ‘Now, come along, brain-box. This little teaser shouldn’t be difficult for super-smart Sue Lowden.’
Fifty
Old Man Wood’s Dream
Old Man Wood hadn’t reacted to any of the dreams given to him. The dreamspinner worried that if Old Man Wood could not understand his dreams, what chance would the children have with theirs?
Were the dreams proving to be too complex, too terrifying? Were the dreams suited to a different time? Perhaps their dreams needed a different blending of powders to aid interpretation?
Gaia dipped a hand in her maghole, removed the dream powder and rubbed a couple of fingers together. This wasn’t the time for reflection, that would come later. While the children were still alive, for the time being at least, she needed haste.
She would give Old Man Wood a dream that would stimulate action and, at the end of the sequence, she would add a powder that would stimulate a shock. Yes, that was it. He needed something to get his brain working, to unlock his memory, so that he might help the Heirs of Eden as he’d been entrusted to do.
Gaia worked fast, her slender fingers moving like a blur in her maghole. In a flash, she was plucking tiny specks of dream powder out of her maghole and feeding them to the old man as he inhaled. Gaia took her time, and, digging deep into her memory of powders, knitted a dream ending with a reminder of a potion that Old Man Wood had stored away a long, long time ago.
Gaia stared down at the old man. Maybe this time, she thought, before inverting into her maghole and vanishing.
Old Man Wood tossed and turned as the dream filled his head. He looked down and found himself wearing a pair of shorts. He was running. He felt young again, the same age as the twins. His skin was smooth and his mind was alert. He had hair! He dragged his hands through it. What a lovely feeling. As he ran, air filled his lungs.
On his feet, he wore a pair of football boots. Red ones, just like Archie’s. He looked up. A football was flying towards him, and his immediate reaction was to duck out of the way. But out of the corner of his eye he spotted Daisy yelling at him. What was she saying? Pass it? He went towards the ball but it was too fast and it bounced off him straight to an opponent.
This wasn’t as easy as it looked.
Daisy swore and chivvied him to chase the player.
He took off and was moving at speed. Much to his delight, Old Man Wood found himself gaining. He lunged for the ball but tripped the player.
The whistle blew. ‘Do that once more and you’ll be booked,’ the referee said.
Old Man Wood caught his breath and brushed the mud off his knees.
Daisy was there in an instant. ‘What do you think you’re playing at?’ she said. ‘There’s hardly any time to go. Don’t make stupid fouls like that. We’ve got to win or we’re never playing again.’
The other team lined up a shot and the ball was cruising towards the goal. But Archie danced into the path of the ball and caught it smartly. In a flash, he punted the ball wide.
One of his players passed the ball to him. This time he managed to control it and he slipped a neat pass through to Daisy. Daisy, now on the halfway line, jinked past one player, and then sped past another, her blonde hair bobbing up and down as she went. Boy, she was quick. He found himself sprinting just to keep up.
A defender forced her wide and she played the ball inside to him. Looking up, he passed it to Isabella on the other flank. He couldn’t remember Isabella ever liking football, but she neatly passed it back to him just as she was clattered by an opposition player. He couldn’t help laughing at the horrified expression on her face.
Now Daisy was screaming for the ball.
Old Man Wood found himself running with the ball and it felt brilliant. He did a dummy, just like Daisy had, slipping past the player in front of him. He knocked the ball forwards, finding Daisy, who held off a challenge and stood with the ball under her foot.
In a flash, she turned on a sixpence, the ball rolling under her other foot. Totally foxing the defender, she headed towards the goal. Old Man Wood felt himself sprinting into the area as Daisy smashed a shot at the goal.
He held his breath as the ball sped toward the goal. It whacked against the post and rebounded directly into his running path. Out of the corner of his eye, a defender hared towards the ball. He had to get there first, so he sprinted harder, cocked his leg back, and kicked the ball as hard as he could a fraction before the defender got there.
The ball screamed into the roof of the net, tearing a hole, and was still rising just as the defender crunched into his foot.
A heartbeat later, and a lightning bolt smashed out of the sky directly into him. A surge of energy fizzed through his entire body, through every sinew and fibre and particle of his being.
It took his breath away.
When at last the sensation wore off, he peered down to find a bottle of gold liquid on his lap.
Then he woke up, with a start.
Fifty-One
Kemp’s Pain
After the euphoric sensation of the icy power sluicing through his every sinew, Kemp experienced a pain like he had never felt before. His whole body raged with fire, the burning excruciating but, as he dissolved into Cain, Kemp kept repeating his name and his birthday, and his mother’s and father’s names and his school and his favourite colours and everything happy that he could ever remember.
The last thing he remembered was diving head-first towards the electric body of a weird spidery creature and then being sucked into a void. He must have passed out.
When he opened his eyes it was as though he was seeing through a grey filter. He could see grey shapes and objects, but nothing clearly; no detail.
He sensed he was lying on a bed. He shut his eyes, and tried to see if he could lose the pain—a constant, driving, nagging ache. He could sense that he was in a body that was gently rising and falling—his body—but it was surrounded by something else. Ash? Soot?
Kemp felt woozy and weak, and utterly helpless. Nothing he did seemed to make any difference. He had no control, but maybe he could use this time to think.
Cain stirred. The feeling like painful pins and needles in every orifice of his being.
Suddenly Kemp felt his entire body taken over and his brain and eyes and everything seemed to be fa
ding away, like a gas lamp being extinguished.
Fifty-Two
Isabella Disappears
Isabella’s world went blank. When she came to, her body tingled all over and every nerve and sinew sizzled like a spectacular case of pins and needles.
She coughed, spluttered, and violently ejected water trapped in her lungs. She gasped as her hands and feet instantly kicked into action, her arms and legs moving faster than she could ever have imagined just to keep her head above water.
She breathed, luxuriating in the intake of air.
Her hand grappled with a shrub branch. She tried to hoist herself up, but it fell away plunging her back underwater. When she surfaced, visibility zero, she knew she needed to touch down on the cottage side of the river.
Treading water, she did a quick calculation. If the river ran from the moors down into the valley, she had to land on the left bank as it went with the flow. Isabella kicked until she could feel the water pushing against her before twisting with all her strength and swimming at an angle into the current.
Moments later, she touched on something spindly and woody. She pushed her legs down and was relieved to find the water was up to her waist. With her feet on firm ground, she clambered across the bush and kept going until her knees hit on solid ground the other side.
Isabella coughed, spluttered, and retched, as though her insides were coming out. Without hesitating, she continued uphill, searching for the cover of a tree. She found one, leaned in and put her head in her hands.
Tears built up and for a moment they rolled freely down her cheeks. Daisy! Archie! They’ll think I’m dead.
She imagined them waiting for her.
Please, please keep going! Every minute spent waiting is a minute wasted.
She wondered what had happened to Sue. Did she find the boat? In any case, that little boat would fill with water and sink in minutes. The whole thing was hopeless.
Isabella felt herself welling up, but a ripple of water washed against her shins. She had to move. Finding the others was futile now. She’d head uphill from tree to tree and find cover wherever she could.
She had to survive.
Fifty-Three
Cain’s Admiration
‘Look at us, boy,’ Cain whispered. ‘Well, look at me. Aren’t I magnificent!’
Cain studied his body in a tall mirror ringed with dull gemstones. Morning light seeped through a vast window. ‘You’re here, boy,’ he said, as his voice echoed off the walls. ‘Right here inside me. That’s right; half ash, half man… or boy. Only a fraction ghost.’
Cain examined his reflection.
His borrowed eyes weren’t anything like the proper article, his vision was filtered by a grainy film. But, what a sensation to see anything at all when, for thousands of years, he had tuned into the vibrations and presence of things using his highly developed sixth sense.
He studied his hands and turned them over. He clapped, the noise a muted thud. Ash puffed up and floated quietly through the air.
Oh, the joys of having a body, he thought, whatever form it took.
Cain removed his overcoat, took off his hat, and returned, naked, to stand in front of the mirror. His figure was the same size as the boy and his torso was covered in layers of flaky ash in every conceivable hue of grey. How utterly remarkable, he thought, as he rotated his hips from side to side.
His chest was a boyish replica of the one he remembered. His pectorals and abdomen were not so hard and toned as perhaps they once were, but the sinews and muscles on his thighs, calves and buttocks were pleasingly accentuated by the light.
His feet, he noted, were unusually large. He sprang up on his toes, only to find that a couple of digits simply dropped off. Cain stared, fascinated, as they instantly regrew.
In the reflection of the mirror, Cain moved close. His face appeared sallow and partially skeletal, with a flaky grey chin that jutted out more than he cared to see.
He nudged his thick plump lips, prodded his flat nose, and admired his eyebrows. He touched his hair, a mass of ash swept back off his forehead, and admired his eyes that sparkled like polished coals.
Then he noticed a strange cluster at the top of his legs. Wasn’t this awfully important? Instinctively, he reached for it, but to his horror—and just as he remembered its purpose—the appendage severed, slipped through his fingers and careered to the ground.
Cain squealed.
His concerns were short-lived. Moments later it reappeared and he and his organ were reacquainted.
Cain’s mood brightened.
‘Thousands of years without one,’ he roared, ‘and instantly it falls to pieces!
Cain realised his new body was a by-product of his incineration all those years ago.
His eyes narrowed.
How could he forget the burning and the eye gouging when his powers were taken away from him?
The verdict from The Council of One Hundred in the Garden of Eden, he remembered. Oh yes, the very bad deal. Part of his original punishment.
Cain flexed up and down on his knees. He had movement; real, gravity-based movement, and physical presence. None of this ‘floating around’ nonsense, none of this walking through walls and doors and people, although this skill did, from time to time, have its advantages.
Cain, Frozen Lord of Havilah, is back! He could almost taste the fear of the strange creatures that now populated Havilah. Trolls had moved into the forests close to the silvery sea, a tribe of Neanderthals had swept over the pink mountains that surrounded Havilaria and some marsh-men had dammed the planet’s great river at its mouth. The dragons, snakes, lizards, and reptiles, once controlled by his undefeatable reptilian beast called Gorialla Yingarna, had risen in numbers, with many now living on the outskirts of the city of Havilaria.
Cain would return from the ashes to free his frozen people, so the rumours said, and bring the frozen domed puddles back to life. Cain knew that he needed to make the most of his new form, and fast, which was exactly what he intended to do even if it meant that he had to forcibly drag the boy along with him.
First, he would check up on the Heirs of Eden’s progress towards their demise, now that their journey through the storm was underway. Perhaps he still had a chance of blending with an Heirs of Eden, instead of this rather cumbersome boy.
Asgard’s dream-spinners were watching the Heirs of Eden. When they were close to deaths door, they would let him know.
Cain smiled. Everything was slotting into place.
And when that time came, in an instant, he would be there.
Fifty-Four
Daisy Gets Archie Back
Daisy shivered, grateful that the rain was not particularly cold. Daisy knew, though, that even warm rain quickly chills, and there was just so much of it. She ventured from one side of the path to the other, as far as she dared and screamed once more for Isabella, but she knew it was hopeless; she couldn’t see and she could hardly hear her own voice.
With every movement, her bones ached and her joints screamed out, as if her energy reserves were on empty. If only she hadn’t just played a game of football.
She stamped her feet and jogged up and down. She concentrated hard on the water further down. For a moment, she was sure that she could see, much further down on the river bank, a body climbing out of the water. She shook her head. She must be imagining things, like a mirage in a desert.
She put a hand around Archie and hugged him close. His body warmth was like a hot water bottle. He seemed better, his eyes clearer, and he smiled when she touched his odd hair.
But the shock had rendered him dumb, as though his tongue had been cut out.
What had Archie said earlier? That the storm would follow them until sunset. How did he know? She didn’t need him like this, she needed him on full alert, thinking and helping.
Perhaps, she thought, he needs another shock.
She slapped him on the cheek as hard as she could.
‘Blimey, Daisy!’ he yelled, rubb
ing his cheek. ‘What did you do that for?’
‘Got you back,’ she mouthed, kissing his forehead. ‘Sorry—necessary.’
‘There’s no need to hit me,’ he yelled.
Daisy hugged him tight, and spoke into his ear. ‘Aw, but it did the trick. Come on, Arch, we’ve got to go.’
‘What about Isabella?’ he cried, waving his arm downstream.
‘She’s a strong swimmer,’ she said. ‘She’ll be fine. Come on!’
He looked at his watch and shuddered. Only two-forty-five. Sunset at what, five-fifteen, five-thirty? He wished he knew.
Every second of every minute would matter.
Fifty-Five
Mrs Pye Worries
Mrs Pye sat in the kitchen, fretting and fiddling with a bunch of herbs, her hands shaking.
She heard noises in the courtyard. The sounds weren’t the sounds of a soccer ball scuffing over the paving slabs, which she associated with Daisy and Archie. Nor was it Old Man Wood returning from the cattle. He’d been back a while.
This was more like something being torn in two, and then crashing sounds audible even over the beating rain.
Must be my imagination playing tricks, she thought, as she returned to her task of flavouring a large beef casserole.
She concentrated on lighting the fire, before her ears instinctively pricked up. Those sounds, again.
Opening the front door, she reeled as a wall of water poured like a waterfall over the low, extended roof. Seeing a branch jumping about in the water nearby, she realised that the sounds she’d heard must have been trees crashing down around the house.