Replacing his hat, Mr. Tuck boomed, “And now you know why it is that I like to be the one to give this talk—even though I am not a member of the History Department. This story, the story of Roanoke, is also my story.
“But this is not the end of our tale. One part remains: Coming to the Hudson Highlands. It is here that a name that many of you have heard of late, perhaps more than you might like, enters our narrative: the Heer of Dunderberg.
“Does anyone here know the origins of the Heer?” He looked back and forth across the crowd. “Anyone? Anyone?”
Rachel checked the many memorized books in her mental library. To her surprise, she did know the answer. She raised her hand.
“Ah. We have a hand. Miss…” Mr. Tuck shaded his eyes, as he stared into the dark auditorium, perhaps to block the glare of the magic lantern. “Miss Griffin?”
Rachel stood up and called, “The first Dutchman murdered in North America was John Colman, a sailor from Henry Hudson’s Half Moon. Colman was shot in the throat by a native arrow. Some believe that his uneasy spirit made a compact with dark powers, transforming him into the Heer. He was said to destroy ships because he was trying to scare the Europeans away, so they would stop coming to these lands, where he believed they will die.”
“Very good!” Mr. Tuck looked impressed. “And how did you acquire this bit of arcane knowledge?”
“It was in Legends and Lore of Sleepy Hollow and the Hudson Valley by Jonathan Kruk,” explained Rachel. “One of the books on display in the library before All Hallows’ Eve.”
“I am impressed, Miss Griffin. I shall inform our librarian, Mr. Poole, that, occasionally, his library manages to trickle a bit of knowledge into the head of an actual student,” said Mr. Tuck. “Yes. Some believe that the Heer was once a man. Others believe he has always been a goblin, but Colman’s dying curse drew him here, which is why he dresses in the Dutch style.”
The next slide showed a fanciful depiction of the Heer, dressed in his green and gold Dutch doublets. He looked more like a wizened goblin than the young Dutch boy Rachel had seen.
“Either way, the Heer is a menace,” boomed Mr. Tuck. “And he has been a menace for centuries. Thanks to him, many ships were sunk at World’s End.” Mr. Tuck pointed to the south. The screen showed an image of an area of river south of Roanoke, just north of West Point. “Among them, a ship belonging to the notorious Captain Kidd.
“Eventually, the Heer got to be such a bother that locals appealed to the Parliament of the Wise for help. This was in the early twentieth century. The Parliament chose Roanoke to solve the problem. So, the island headed up the Hudson and moored itself to a small lump of land in the middle of the river known as Pollepel Island.
“Now, you may ask, why did they send Roanoke? While the Parliament of the Wise had departed just over seventy five years earlier, the Wisecraft still had offices on the island. They were housed in a Scottish-style castle that their leader Frances Bannerman, the Grand Inquisitor of the day—Is Molly here? Molly Bannerman? No? Well, no matter—had built on the southwest tip. The castle, incidentally, was constructed to guard the only permanent opening in the formidable wards of Roanoke Academy.
“If any of you had wondered why you must walk up the stairs and pass through the ruins of Bannerman’s Castle to reach the campus from the docks, yet another mystery has been solved for you today.
“The Island arrived in its current position, and the battle against the Heer ensued. The Heer is a dangerous and potent enemy. He had many allies and more than one domicile. He had halls in both Storm King and in Dunderberg—Thunder Mountain—some twenty miles south. This battle raged, on and off with interruptions, for almost two decades, culminating in the death of Grand Inquisitor Bannerman, when Bannerman’s Castle exploded under the onslaught of the Heer and his lightning imps. But thanks to Ben Franklin’s great-granddaughter, the Heer was snared.
“To this day, the Unwary believe that the castle was a weapons arsenal, and that this is why it exploded. Mundane history books claim that Francis Bannerman was an arms dealer. That much was true. He did own a mighty arsenal of weapons both mundane and arcane—but this is not why his castle exploded.
“In the midst of all this, however, something else happened in nineteen oh seven. As many of you know, Roanoke Island and Brendan’s Island—which is actually situated on the back of an unusually large and sluggish whale—were the only earthly places where the crew of the Flying Dutchman could step. At a ball on All Hallows’ Eve, the captain of that cursed vessel fell in love with a young Roanokean girl. When she was still loyal to him seven years later, it broke the curse that had caused his ship to eternally wander.
“Alas, the spell that kept Roanoke afloat also ended. When the tutors and Wisecraft gathered to recast the spell to move the island, they found that the original settlers had not recorded what Laughing Spirit taught them. Nor could they find any remaining Croatan Indians able to tell them how the island-moving spell was accomplished.
“So Roanoke found itself stranded in a rather dangerous area. Many brutes and beasties live in the Hudson Highlands, including the Heer, whom they had not yet trapped. There were also the lightning imps; the mist sprites; the storm witch Mother Kronk; the Mexaxkuk, a native horned serpent that supped on human flesh, which dwelt on the old Pollepel Island against which Roanoke had moored; and a family of water panthers living in the river. Not to mention the Headless Horseman, who rides up from the south on All Hallows’ Eve.
“On top of that, Roanoke has gathered its own collection of supernatural nasties over the years, the price of visiting so many foreign lands. There are the water leapers who now live on the small islands just beyond the east cove; the woodwose in the southern forest outside the wards; the wight by the standing stones; the Each-Uisge and Wilis in the marshes. Redcaps in the forest. Trow in the valley north of the tor, and a phooka in the meadow beyond that. Spruce trolls on the tor’s slopes, not to mention dozens of mischievous fey who make their home on the island. Oh, and, of course, in the cave in the cliffs by Dutchman’s Cove, the ogre who has caused such grief of late.”
Mr. Tuck leaned forward and wagged a finger at the audience. “This is why we emphasize that students should stay inside the wards. The outside island can be very dangerous.”
For a moment, Rachel thought he was looking directly at her. Her heart skipped a beat. But he was not, and she breathed more easily. The lawyerly portion of her brain noted, with relief, that he had said “should stay,” not “must stay.”
Beside her, Siggy murmured to Lucky and Seth, “Ace! Let’s go out after this and see if we can find some of those woses and eek-uglies!”
“Once we captured the Heer, we discovered that, so long as we kept him locked up here, all the rest of the supernatural baddies left us alone—because they were afraid of the Heer. Thus, an agreement was arranged between the island and the local supernatural beings, which we call the Roanoke Covenant.” Mr. Tuck paused and puffed out his cheeks. “Unfortunately, this agreement is only good for a year and a day once the Heer escapes. Last time, we caught him within the allotted time. Fortune willing, we will do so again.”
“In orchestrating this agreement, known as the Roanoke Compact, we were aided by one who knew the local native spirits. You may have noticed all the parkland near us: Storm King State Park to our west, the Hudson Highlands to our east, Fahnestock State Park beyond that, and the Shawangunks farther north. Even today, unknown to the Unwary, there is a Lenni Lenape tribe of the Wise living in these areas. Their medicine man came to help with the negotiations between the fey and Roanoke Island, and he stayed. In fact, he is still here to this day.”
An image of Nighthawk, Roanoke’s Master Warder, appeared on the screen. The Lenni Lenape man looked younger than he had when Rachel met him, but he had the same hawklike nose and formidable bearing.
“Three of Nighthawk’s grandchildren attend our school today, I believe. Dirk, Glaive, and Kris Wright? Have I forgotten anyone?”
Three students stood up. To Rachel’s surprise, one of them was the pink-haired girl from De Vere. All three had Asian features. They looked more like Laurel and Peter than like their American Indian grandfather.
Kris Serenity Wright, the outspoken, pink-haired De Vere girl, stepped forward. She waved to the audience in the quick, graceful way that she did everything. “Hi! We’re the Wrights. Our father is Master Warder Nighthawk’s son. Our mother is Katana the Kitsune. We’re honored to be here at this school that still continues to exist, despite all odds, because of how awesome our grandda is. He’s the one you have to thank for the fact that we don’t all get skewered in our beds by red caps or eaten by the ogre!”
Mr. Tuck nodded pleasantly. “And that concludes our little trip down memory lane. Some mysteries have been solved. Others remain a mystery. Before we depart to prepare for feasting, so that we may eat until we are so stuffed that they will be required to roll us back to our beds, are there any questions? Problems? Major dilemmas?”
Students raised their hands, asking for clarifications about various points. One student asked about the other three sorcerers who gave their names to Roanoke dormitories. Mr. Tuck explained that when the island went to England in eighteen twenty four, Raleigh, De Vere, Drake and Spenser, who were all still alive, visited the island and bequeathed libraries to the school—though that was the last public appearance Drake ever made, as he vanished two months later, en route to Russia while carrying an important missive. Only Kit Marlowe never actually set foot here, having been killed in a tavern brawl in fifteen ninety three. Marlowe Hall was named for him as a memorial.
Another student called out, “If some of these fey creatures are so terrible—like the woodwose, the ogre, and the wight—why don’t we kill them?”
Mr. Tuck shook his head. “Can’t. That’s part of the compact. So long as we don’t kill them—except when directly attacked—they agree not to kill us, except when we stray into their territory. And since, when they feel unconstrained, they often begin with the hapless Unwary, who know nothing of them and cannot defend themselves, it is our responsibility to see that compacts such as this one do not get broken. That is why it is imperative that we recapture the Heer. The Wisecraft is hard at work on that matter. Yes, next? Miss Wright?”
Kris Serenity Wright jumped to her feet again, her pink hair bobbing. “Also, charmed life! Some of the baddies, like the ogre and the woodwose have charmed lives. That’s why they weren’t already killed long, long ago. And—before you who grew up among the Unwary start bragging about your big weapons—” She turned and stuck her tongue out at her Unwary-born roommate. “It’s been tried. As Mr. Tuck said, Grand Inquisitor Bannerman was an arms dealer. He shot the ogre with a machine gun, a flame thrower, and an anti-aircraft weapon. Oh, and he tried a landmine. Back then, no one had better ordnance than Bannerman.”
“Thank you, Miss Wright. Anyone else?”
When Mr. Tuck first asked for questions, Siggy’s hand had shot up, waving back and forth. Each time Mr. Tuck did not pick him, he waved it more vigorously. Eventually, his was the only hand still waving.
Mr. Tuck looked left and right and then sighed. “Courtesy requires that I call upon you, Mr. Smith, but experience suggests that such a course of action is a chancy venture at best. Please, surprise me.”
“What did the Terrible Five want with Roanoke?” Sigfried called, rising to his feet.
Mr. Tuck looked pleasantly surprised and mildly relieved. “That is another mystery, Mr. Smith, that we can add to our collection. No one knows.
“One reason may have been that, other than the Scryory at Casan—the capital of Prester John’s kingdom—and the Academy on Mount Hua, in China, Roanoke was the last bastion of truly powerful sorcerers. The Terrible Years had begun with the slaying of the entire staff of the Wisecraft, including Herodotus Powers, the Grand Inquisitor of that era, Bannerman’s successor. The great sorcerers of India had fallen at Mohenjo Daro. Those of Europe had been slain at the Battle of Ittoqqortoormiit, in Ultima Thule, and those of America at the Battle of Detroit.
“So part of the purpose of the Terrible Five was to complete the defeat their opposition. But if that had been their only goal, however, they would not have bothered to hold the school—which required keeping order among over two thousand student hostages. And yes, the school was much bigger in those days.
“No, all five of them and their crony, Aaron Marley, were clearly searching for something. They left gouges all over the island, where they had dug up the ground. You may have noticed how some portions of the memorial gardens are new? The Terrible Five dug up the former shrine garden.
“And they released the Heer, of course—some of you know about the historic battle between the storm goblin and our head of security, Maverick Badger? But the Terrible Five kept searching after that, so the Heer was not their ultimate target, either.
“What they were looking for, however, we never did determine. Perhaps, they found it. Perhaps not. Most likely, we shall never know. Some mysteries remain mysterious.”
Chapter Seventeen:
Griping and Giving Thanks
The lights came on in the auditorium. Rachel and her friends rose and stretched. Moving closer to the others, Joy whispered, “It’s that Raven, isn’t it? Hiding all these things?”
“Probably,” murmured Nastasia, from where she had leaned over to pet Beauregard, who was sniffing under Siggy’s seat.. “I do not trust that odious creature.”
“Possibly,” Rachel frowned, “but why? He said he was changing memories to help the newcomers settle in. Were there already newcomers back then?” She lowered her voice. “I bet I know what the Terrible Five wanted on Roanoke, though.”
“Oh?” The princess asked. “What might that be?”
Rachel lowered her voice even more. “I bet they were looking for the demon, the one they were trying to summon in Tunis.”
“Moloch!” Nastasia straightened up. “What makes you think so?”
Rachel flinched at the sound of the fiend’s proper name. The other students were filing out of the auditorium, which had been cold when they arrived but which now felt stuffy. Rachel’s friends dawdled, waiting to hear her answer.
“I thought they were looking for the Heart of Dreams,” said Joy.
“The what?” asked Nastasia.
Rachel checked her mental library. “You mean that object Mr. Fisher mentioned—from an unfulfilled prophecy?”
Joy nodded
“Clever, O’Keefe,” said Zoë. She had fallen asleep during the presentation and was now rolling her neck and yawning. “Very clever.”
Joy looked both embarrassed and pleased. “I pay attention to prophecies. Since I’m part of one—the one the princess and I are both mentioned in, about a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter and one who was born early morning on the winter solstice who together stop a great evil?—I think about prophecies a lot. The one about the Terrible Years that was never fulfilled—or if it was, no one found out—was that the Terrible Five were going to acquire a powerful talisman called the Heart of Dreams. I would think that’s what they were looking for.”
“Oh. That could be,” Rachel said, feeling a bit deflated.
“Does that happen a lot?” asked Sigfried.
“Does what happen?” asked Joy.
“That prophecies don’t get fulfilled?”
“Of course,” shrugged Joy, “Otherwise, no one would ever try to stop them. But the really good seers are correct the majority of the time.”
“Rather like the princess,” said Rachel. “Her visions, I mean. How we stopped the one about Fuentes and the one where Gaius, Dread, and Locke ended up dead, but not the one about Mrs. Egg.”
“But they all started to come about,” Nastasia stated. “I wonder what halted the Heart of Dream’s prophesy.”
“Why did you think they were looking for the demon?” Zoë asked Rachel.
“Or that he’s here on campus! That wou
ld be excellent! Maybe we could find him and blast him before he wakes up!” declared Siggy, from where he sat on the narrow ridge of a chair back, his feet resting on a folding seat—pushing it, letting it spring back, and pushing it again.
“Yeah,” drawled Zoë, “because we have about as much chance of ‘blasting’ a demon as an ant has of eating the Taj Mahal.”
Rachel said, “When I was in Carthage, about to be sacrificed in the burning furnace—”
“You say that so matter-of-factly.” Zoë yawned, covering her mouth with one hand and stretching with the other. “I think I would have been more upset, had it been me. You know…about almost being burned to death!”
“No point in fretting about it now,” Rachel shrugged. “While they were preparing the furnace, the demon Morax said something that I’ve been thinking about. He said of Moloch: When first I spied it, I did not recognize his prison. Now that I know where he is, it will be a simple matter to rouse him during Saturnalia.”
She shivered unexpectedly, even remembering Morax was disturbing.
“What about it?” asked Nastasia.
“It is just that I recall seeing Morax standing on Stony Tor, staring at where the Heer had been imprisoned, right before Vladimir Von Dread appeared and distracted him. I wondered if Moloch, too, might be imprisoned in the tor.”
“Surely, no one would imprison something so a dangerous being so near to children!” exclaimed Nastasia.
“They imprisoned the Heer here,” said Joy.
“Hear, hear,” drawled Zoë.
“I don’t think ‘they’ imprisoned him at all—Moloch, I mean,” murmured Rachel, who did not add that she was rather sure it must have been the Raven or some supernatural being who locked up the dread demon. She shivered again. Moloch must be kept asleep, at any cost.
Nastasia frowned thoughtfully. “We have no evidence that Morax was speaking of Stony Tor. He could have visited any number of places on Earth.”
“True.” Rachel faltered. “But when the Elf spoke of Moloch waking, she turned and looked off into the distance. I couldn’t tell exactly where she was looking, as we were inside, but I think she was facing toward of the tor.”
The Awful Truth About Forgetting (Books of Unexpected Enlightenment Book 4) Page 19