by Tim Flanagan
‘I’ve heard of Pendle Hill before,’ said Edgar, trying to search his memory for the information attached to the name.
‘I suggest we gather as many supplies as we can and find some transport,’ said The Grey Man. ‘We should then leave here as soon as we can tomorrow.’
‘Pendle Hill,’ repeated Edgar.
‘Where will you go?’ Scarlet asked The Grey Man.
‘I will start the hunt for my son where my journey began, back in the Forest of Dean.’
‘The Pendle Hill witches,’ said Edgar, as the name clicked into place.
Everyone stopped talking and turned towards Flora.
‘You mean you’re a witch?’ asked Max.
Flora looked uncomfortable, knowing the reputation witches had in their world.
‘Well yes,’ she replied, ‘but technically I’m a Shaman’.
9. The Pendle Hill Witches
‘A witch!’ said Peter with an element of fear.
‘Not a witch like you think,’ Lady Flora replied, aware of a space that seemed to have appeared around her. ‘In this world your opinion of witches is very misunderstood. They are not something you should be afraid of.’
‘What’s a Shaman?’ asked Scarlet.
‘It’s a type of witch that can interact with the spirit world,’ replied Lady Flora.
‘You mean they talk to ghosts?’
‘No,’ Flora replied with a smile. ‘A spirit doesn’t just exist once you have died. You are born with a spirit - it’s inside you. Every animal and plant has a spirit; sometimes it’s also called a soul. That is why I can mentally enter a plant or animal, see what they see, and feel what they feel. I can also influence a spirit to behave in certain ways, but ultimately they still have overall control.’
‘How do you know Pendle Hill?’ asked Edgar.
‘Pendle Hill has long been recognised by the people in this world as a centre for those who possess supernatural powers. In the 1600’s two rival witch families called the Demdike’s and the Chattox’s lived around the hill. On the whole, both families used their powers to earn a living by healing and creating L’Elisir d’Amore.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Peter.
‘It’s a magical charm or potion that makes someone fall in love with you.’
‘That doesn’t sound too bad,’ added Scarlet.
‘Why do we always think witches are evil?’ said Max.
‘When King James I of England and Scotland took the throne, he made witchcraft punishable by death. A Scottish witch had been successfully convicted of using witchcraft to send a storm against a ship that carried the king and his wife Ann, from Denmark to Scotland. King James was determined to outlaw witchcraft. But, unknown to him, not all witches deal in curses and death. There are white witches too, witches that do good and follow our laws.’
‘Are there still witches that live at Pendle Hill?’ asked Edgar.
‘No. The 1600’s were hard times. Lancashire was known as a wild and lawless region. Earning a living was becoming harder than ever and in this struggle the Demdike and Chattox families began to turn on each other. Each family made wilder and wilder claims of their powers, trying to out-do each other. Accusations of bewitching local children, murdering and making lame by witchcraft were thrown between the families. They were summoned before Roger Nowell, the Justice of the Peace for Pendle and later tried and hanged.’
‘So what is your connection with Pendle Hill?’ asked Edgar.
‘The Pendle Hills were home to many witches whose families would mix and extend into every other witch family. My name is Flora Southerns and I am a distant relative of the Demdike family of Malkin Tower. Although I have never been to your world before, some of my relatives once lived here before moving to be with other magical folk in the Underworld. They took the witch laws that were passed at secret meetings within Malkin Tower, with them. In my world, to posses magic is not considered abnormal, but here, witchcraft became a dark art that was suppressed and with it the laws that govern it, throwing it into turmoil and chaos.’
There was silence inside the restaurant. Edgar and the children were finding it difficult to get the image of a black witch out of their heads, the visions of witches in films and fairy tales was so engrained in their brains.
‘I came across a few witches during my time in the underworld,’ said The Grey Man noticing the resistance from the others. ‘Although I was unsure whether to trust them at first, it was because of a witch called Cloverfae that I learnt how to control my skills as a healer.’
Lady Flora extended her hand towards Edgar, her palm open and inviting for him to take. Hesitantly he placed his rough dry hand in hers. She folded her palms over his and closed her eyes. With a force that nearly knocked him backwards, Flora projected herself into Edgar’s mind. He closed his eyes. Images from Flora’s life were rewinding at a tremendous speed inside his head. He was whisked from a scene of Flora talking to a dragon in an underground cavern to an elaborately decorated hall and a king sitting on a throne. As soon as Edgar recognised the king, the image had changed; Flora was now kneeling in a meadow surrounded by a blue carpet of forget-me-not flowers. Lying on the floor was a young deer, its foot wounded and lame from a rusty hunters trap. Magical golden lines traced from Flora’s fingers along the deer’s arteries towards the wound, healing it in a glow of light. The image quickly morphed to a darker scene and a younger looking Flora. In it she was walking through a burnt forest. White smoke still hung in the air but behind her ants, beetles and other insects buried the charred remains of scorched plants and pushed out small green shoots. Scene after scene changed until finally Edgar sees Flora as a young child. An elaborately dressed man presents her with a beautifully coloured paradise bird inside the most elaborately decorated gold cage. As soon as her little hands touch the cage a tear wells in the corner of her eye. She unlocks the cage door and the bird flies out sweeping high into the sky. The tear dries and is replaced by a smile.
When Edgar opens his eyes he finds himself staring directly into Flora’s, seeing a deep mossy green colour flecked with rusty orange. He knew that what he had just seen were moments in Flora’s life and he realised there could not possibly be anything evil inside her.
‘Thank you for leaving your home,’ he said. ‘You knew the suspicion and mistrust that surrounds witches in our world, but you came anyway.’
‘And,’ added Scarlet, ‘if it hadn’t been for you hiding us amongst the tree roots last night, we wouldn’t be here now.’ When Scarlet had been in the Underworld, Ralphina, the Caniard, and her wolf Raelyn, had shown her how to talk to animals in a way she could never have imagined. Scarlet understood Lady Flora's ability to communicate with nature.
Lady Flora smiled. ‘When we were in the council chamber of King Conroy The Enlightened, I agreed to help you rid your world of those foul creatures we met last night. Our worlds are more closely bound than you realise. We are like twins that were separated at birth. Both worlds possess magic in many different forms, but one of them has forgotten how to use it. At the core they are the same, but the landscape is different and the people who live here have forgotten who they are. When Arthur sealed the portals, the two worlds divided. To use magic in this world became a dangerous skill which got suppressed so much over the years that you forgot it was possible. But you are all blind to the magic that you see all around you: the birth of a child, the visions in your dreams and the unspoken connection between lovers. If you are to survive, the magic in this planet needs to be woken once again. There needs to be unity between every human survivor and between humans and nature. Edgar, you possess one of the most powerful magical weapons that still exists in your world. Made by the magic in Avalon, Ethera can cleanse this world and ignite the magic once more.’
‘I don’t know if I am strong enough, my blood has been poisoned by the creatures,’ said Edgar as he rolled up his sleeve and unwound the green sash that Lady Flora had used to bind it following their encounter with the Moon
Stealers the previous night. The children watched as he revealed the blackened network of veins that traced their way up his forearm.
‘It happened the night we left Parsley Bottom,’ he explained to the children. ‘It was only a drop. It didn’t seem to make much different at first, but now I can feel it invading my body, making me weaker every day. I don’t know if I will have enough strength to control the twelve swords of power.’
‘You heart is kind and strong,’ replied Flora placing his hand back in hers. ‘It will take more than a drop of poison to invade it. You have the strength. You have the children. They give you courage and hope.’
‘You are not alone,’ added The Grey Man. ‘I will help you in any way I can.’
Lady Flora shook her head. ‘No, you must all follow your own path. Yours is to find your son, if he is still alive,’ she said to The Grey Man. ‘You and your son have an important part to play in this new world.’
‘If we have to follow our own path, then I believe that mine is with Edgar,’ said Joe.
‘And so is mine,’ added Max quickly.
Lady Flora nodded.
‘Where’s your path?’ The Grey Man asked Flora.
‘Mine is to a place called Burnham Beeches,’ replied Flora. ‘I need to find an ancient tree called the Druid's Oak. Its strong roots stretch deep underground and travel great distances linking oak tree to oak tree. In my world, the Druid Oak is a door to greater wisdom. From there I will awaken the magic in this land once more.’
10. Watching the World from a Distance
The storm blew over sometime during the night. Until then they had slept in pairs whilst one person stayed awake, just in case their progress along the shingle spit had been noticed. Stuck in the middle of the Solent, they had been left alone by the creatures who appeared to concentrate most of their attention over the land.
By the time the sun appeared above the sea and the dawn brought a new day, Steven had climbed onto the top of the fortress where he had a clear view across to the Isle of Wight. He watched the all too familiar black shadows circle in the sky then plummet to the ground when prey had been spotted. In a strange way, from this safe distance, they seemed to perform a poetic dance, like an elaborate mating ritual of an exotic bird. Despite the deadly nature of the creatures, Steven couldn’t help but be fascinated with them and the way they had quickly flicked the human race from its pedestal of superiority within a matter of days, like an insignificant piece of dirt on a dusty sleeve. To Steven, this was incredible. He had noticed that some of the creatures had even now begun to work intelligently in packs, several would break away from the group and make fake attempts of attack, driving their prey out of hiding, whilst other creatures waited above ready to take the fatal blow.
Above the Isle of Wight, the sun began to burn away the dark clouds leaving the sky a wonderful mixture of salmon pink and orange. The island floated harmlessly across the short stretch of water. From where Steven was, it looked quiet and showed no signs of human life. The chalk and flint cliff face was topped by lush green grass that signified the end of land and the start of the sea. Steven glanced along the coastline, looking for the port of Yarmouth where ferries would dock, discharging tourists to the island. If Coldred had left a division of guards at the port to secure that stretch of water, surely there would be some sign of activity, but from this distance, the island appeared lifeless.
Steven thought back to the note they had found on the car outside the Bank of England. They assumed it had been left for them by a man called Trent, who had survived the creature attack together with his son and joined the Bank Community in London. After Coldred had left Steven, Georgia and Tracker at the mercy of the creatures in Greenwich Park, they had returned to the bank to collect their supplies. It was then that they had noticed the piece of paper tucked beneath the wiper blade. On it were three letters - IOW. At the time, Steven had instantly recognised the initials, but as he now looked at the island, he wondered if he had been right.
There were no signs of life to be seen.
What would they do if they crossed the water and found the island deserted? If the other survivors were not on the island, where had they been taken? The roads leading toward the dock at Lymington showed signs they had been cleared, as if a convoy had passed. They had to assume that Coldred’s survivors had made their way to the Isle of Wight and continue with their plan.
Steven’s thoughts were suddenly disturbed by the sound of footsteps echoing off the stone walls of a medieval circular staircase that wound up the centre of the Keep. Although none of them had been aware of anyone else arriving at Hurst during the night, they hadn’t had chance to search the fortress for other occupants that may be hidden amongst the numerous rooms and tunnels. The footsteps slowly got louder as the person got nearer to the top of the staircase. Steven didn’t bother to move, despite being tired from their trek along the spit, there was also no where else to run. Whoever it was would soon emerge from beneath the stone arch that led onto the roof.
Steven gripped the handle of his shotgun and directed it towards the arch. Survivors were becoming fewer by the day, and the last thing he wanted to do was threaten one with a gun, but from experience, he knew that every survivor was not necessarily friendly.
Tracker ducked beneath the arch and stepped out onto the roof.
‘At least the weather’s better today,’ he said as he stretched his arms.
Steven lowered his gun.
‘Do you think we should make our way across today or wait for the cover of night?’ Steven asked.
Tracker remained standing as he looked out over the Solent.
‘Crossing during the night would certainly have its advantages. If there are guards near the port, they will probably be indoors in fear of the creatures and our crossing will probably go unnoticed.’
‘If we crossed at night we couldn’t do it blind. We would need lights to see the way,’ said Steven. ‘The weather might also get worse. Storms can whip up quickly along the English Channel. We wouldn’t stand a chance.’
‘If we take the opportunity to go during the day while the weather’s better, we run a greater risk of being seen.’
‘I’ve noticed there are several boats that have worked themselves loose from their moorings and become washed up on the shingle. Anyone watching the Solent might not be so curious about another boat that was drifting slowly across the water.’
The morning sky was now clear and the warm sun had started to shine, drying patches of stone that had become soaked by the rain. After waking Georgia they cooked some bacon on a small camping stove while they waited for their clothing and supplies to dry out. Everything was laid out in the sun, weighed down by rocks to prevent them from blowing away.
Steven took a gun and walked out of Hurst to survey the surroundings. Outside the door they had broken the previous night, was a small jetty. At the end was a boat that had an open viewing deck to ferry tourists to the fortress from Keyhaven. In the lakes of water that were trapped between Hurst spit and the mainland, several smaller boats floated helplessly around the marshy grasslands, others had become washed up and were grounded on mossy silt banks.
‘Steven,’ called Georgia from behind. She was jogging through the doorway towards him.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ she smiled, reaching for his hand.
They walked in the sunshine like two young lovers, kicking shingle into the sea, as if they had nothing else to worry about. But, although they had each other, their future was still far from certain. They had something bigger than their own relationship to think about, other survivors needed them. It would be easy to turn their back on the rest of humanity and let Coldred select his perfect human race, but mankind needed a variety of people in it to create diversity and variation, and that included the weak and the imperfect.
From on top of the Keep roof, Tracker couldn’t help but watch the other two as they walked along the beach. He had noticed the growing at
traction between them, and although part of him felt happy for them, there was a larger part that felt jealous. The life he had led had been solitary and lonely, restricted to mixing in the circles his parents thought appropriate. Being linked to the British Royal Family had a definite downside; you could not be who you wanted to be. Every day was a performance, playing the part the family and public expected. In some respects, Tracker’s life had not been held under the spotlight like some of the young royals, but it had still been intrusive and exposed. When his parents had died, James Hallington had moved to Butterwick Hall and lived a quiet life in his grounds. When some of the locals in Parsley Bottom mistook him for the gamekeeper, he had been happy to play the part, using the first name he could think of: Tracker. Over the years, the public had lost interest in him and forgot about the young royal ancestor. Even Tracker began to forget who James Hallington actually was. But, ever since the world changed, Tracker had begun to see a faint hope that he could lead a normal life, one without the risk of cameras watching his every move. And maybe, just maybe, he might find someone to share it with. Someone who didn’t come with an upper class checklist. Of course, that could only happen if the human race survived the creatures.
11. Beach Landing
As Steven and Georgia rounded the side of a lighthouse they could see banks of shingle that had been abandoned on the beach as the water receded back into the sea. Perched awkwardly on top of the shingle was a small fishing boat that had been washed ashore and stranded on its side. From the direction they approached, Steven and Georgia could only see the curved wooden base, its old paint peeling and blistered from years submerged in the water. Steven playfully leapt up and leant on the side of the boat to peer inside. Apart from a pool of water that had collected in the curve on the opposite side, the boat was empty. With Steven’s body weight leaning on the highest side, the boat began to move. Gravity, together with the loose shingle beneath the boat, was beginning to slide the boat down the bank towards the sea. As the boat tipped into an upright position, a thick twisted rope began to unravel itself from beneath the shingle.