The Moon Stealers Box Set. Books 1-4 (Fantasy Dystopian Books for Teenagers)

by Tim Flanagan

  Max waited.

  He could see the moonlight reflected on the blackened skin.

  'Max?' Joe glanced at Max, wondering when he was going to release the arrow. He nervously raised the sword towards the creature, but it wasn’t a particularly long sword and would only be useful for close combat.

  The eye of the creature shone back at Max, daring him to release the shot. Every moment Max waited he felt more and more nervous. He held his breath and listened to the pulse in his head getting faster and faster whilst the moisture on his fingers increased. The taut string bit into the flesh of his finger tips making it feel tighter than ever. With some hesitation he opened the fingers of his left hand and immediately felt a breath of air pass over his right hand as the feathers on the arrow flew above it, cutting through the air towards the creature. Almost as soon as Max had released the arrow he saw it clip the side of the creature, knocking it off its path, but not causing it any serious damage.

  Whilst Max began notching up another arrow in his bow, the creature skirted in a wide arc around them and was now approaching from the opposite direction. Joe reached down to the ground and began picking up some rocks and throwing them towards the Moon Stealer. One managed to hit the target, but all that seemed to do was inflame the creature more. It began circling the pair, making them move round with it, then it began diving in towards them, before suddenly changing direction so that Max never had chance to get a good aim. He released two more arrows which sailed harmlessly into the night sky.

  A dark cloud began to pass over the moon, casting a black shadow over the mountains. It was now almost impossible for the boys to know which direction the creature was coming from. Suddenly Joe heard a gentle whistling sound coming from one side, as if the air around them was being rapidly split by something as it approached. He stuck his sword into the air and began swinging it blindly above him. He felt the jolt of something hitting the blade. From the guttural breathe he heard, Joe knew he had wounded the creature.

  Both of the boys twisted round, following the sound above them and hoping the cloud would soon pass so they could see the creature once again. But it didn’t. They remained in darkness, standing side by side, straining their ears as they tried desperately to listen for clues as to the whereabouts of the creature.

  From the ground Max noticed that a gentle silver light had begun to pulsate from around Edgar's body. He leant down and carefully lifted the White Knight's coat, looking for the source of the light. The darkness was suddenly shattered by a light coming from Ethera, Edgar's sword. Fragments of light shone out from the exposed parts of the sword which was still embedded inside the creature. Under his breathe Max apologised to Edgar as he removed the dead knight's gloved fingers from the hilt of the sword. Then, he placed his own hands around the handle and pulled it from the body of the Moon Stealer. It slid out easily, releasing the vacuum it had created inside the moist flesh of the creature.

  Standing beside Joe once again they both raised their swords ready for the next approach from the creature. Ethera emitted a pulsating light almost in time with Max's heartbeat, enabling them to see better in the darkness. The attack came from the side. The two boys only just noticed the change in the air as the creature swept over their heads and knocked them to the ground with a strong beat of its wings. Before they knew what was happening, the creature had landed and was about to pounce on top of Max. He swung Ethera in a wide arc, forcing the creature to keep its distance, whilst he lifted himself off the floor and moved back to Joe.

  'Blow into the Silver Bough!' Max instructed Joe. 'We need to get into Avalon before more creatures arrive.' He lunged at the creature as it made a sudden dash forward to snap at their ankles. As he did, the creature turned and swiped at Max, glancing his arm with its wing and catching a claw in the material of Max’s coat and pulling him off balance.

  Ethera clattered to the ground.

  Max was lying on the floor, his bow beneath his back and Ethera out of reach. As the cloud thinned in the sky above him, Max watched in what seemed like slow motion as the creature stood to its full height, towering above him. Moonlight shone onto the creature. Max knew what was about to happen and in that moment of finality, the adrenaline pumped fiercely around his body, heightening all of his senses. He could see every fold and crease in the thick leathery skin of the creature. He could smell, and almost taste, the acidic stench that came from its hideous mouth as it released a scream from deep inside its throat. Max closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see the end. His ears picked up on the slightest sound, the howl of wind as it blew over a mountain peak in the distance, the grinding of loose rocks beneath him, then suddenly the hissing sound of something flying through the air above him followed by a dull thud and something heavy falling to the ground.

  Max opened his eyes. Where the creature had stood only seconds before, was now an empty space. Slumped on the ground was the creature, with an elaborately carved sword handle protruding from its eye.

  Max quickly turned round. Joe was standing there looking quite proud of himself.

  'Good shot,' he said, dusting himself down and grabbing Ethera.

  Joe had already slipped the Silver Bough from his pocket. They walked to the edge of the lake and Joe lifted the magical flute to his lips. Like the other times that he had blown into the flute, he had no idea what he should be playing.

  The sounds began low. A gentle breathy flute sound that was mellow and peaceful filled the mountain range. It echoed and bounced off the mountains, and each time it did, the flute grew louder as if it were commanding an orchestra of pipes. Like a field of barley on a scorching summer’s day, the surface of the lake began to distort and move. From the surface, delicate wisps of smoke began to rise, obscuring the view to the other side and the mountain beyond. As Joe continued to play, heavenly voices joined in, a chorus of beautiful faeries that smiled and beckoned them towards the lake. As the boys looked at the water, the clouds of smoke began to part revealing a tall rock that had now appeared in the centre of the lake. The rock was narrower where it emerged from the water than it was at the top. It seemed an impossible island that could topple into the water at any time. Towards the base was a small door cut into the rock and only accessible by a series of steps leading from the water. On the top was an elaborate looking building. It was a complicated mix of arched windows, turrets and spires. It appeared to stand taller than the mountain that had been there only moments before. Tufts of lush green and yellow grass hung in strands down the side of the rock face. With eyes as wide as saucers, the two boys stared at the entrance to Avalon, amazed by the impossible balance of the large building on top of such a narrow base.

  Joe continued to blow into the Silver Bough but the sound had begun to get quieter. The faeries stood in silence and watched a simple wooden boat float effortlessly from the staircase across the surface of the water towards them. It had no oars or engine, and no ferryman to guide it, but the boat knew where it was going. The nearest faerie turned to the boys and gracefully drew her hand from beneath the folds of cloth that wound round her body. Without saying a word, she gestured to the boat that had now beached itself on the gravel at the edge of the lake. Joe cautiously stopped blowing into the flute and withdrew it from his lips. He wondered if the image they were looking at would fade and disappear as soon as he stopped blowing. But it didn’t.

  The faerie gestured once again to the boat. It certainly didn’t appear to be a boat suitable to carry anyone into a magical world. The paint on the outside was blistered and peeling, whilst inside, the planks of wood that bent to form the shape were worn down, leaving the rippled grain of the wood standing proud. The two boys stepped inside, half expecting it to sink beneath them, but it didn’t move or wobble at all. Once they had sat on the wooden bench that crossed from one side of the boat to the other, it gently pulled itself away from the edge of the lake and into the water. It moved so quietly that it almost felt like they weren’t on top of the water at all, only the small ripple
s in the water betrayed its presence.

  The faeries silently watched then turned towards the crumpled remains of Sir Edgar. From inside the boat Max and Joe sat upright, straining to see what was happening. The boat continued to drift effortlessly towards the narrow row of steps that led to the doorway cut into the pillar of stone. The building towered dangerously above them. On dry land the faeries lifted Edgar's body into the air. Every faerie stood beneath it, each one forming a platform with their hands and chanting a gentle song. It was a sad song, slow and mournful, that beat in rhythm with their walking.

  The boat drew up alongside the staircase. Max was the first out, still holding Ethera in his hand. He quickly jumped up the steps and stood within the frame of the doorway. Joe quickly followed, but both were eager to see what was going to happen to their friend. As the song carried on the breeze across the water towards the boys, the first row off faeries stepped into the lake, shortly followed by each subsequent row, gradually taking the body of Edgar down into the water with them. Max and Joe continued to watch the point in the water where they had last seen Edgar until the ripples settled and the surface of the water became a mirror for the sky above it.

  'Come on,' said Max, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. 'We still have a job to do.'

  A stone staircase wound upwards inside the pillar of stone. The only light came from the flaming torches mounted at intervals on the damp walls. When they reached the final step they opened a door out onto a flat stone roof terrace, but it was all wrong. As they looked around them, there was no sign of the mountain range they had left behind. In Avalon the sun was beating down, birds sang from the lush green tree tops that were almost level with the top of the building they were standing on. Joe ran to the parapet, an elaborately carved grey stone wall, constructed of a series of interlinked arches and spires, and looked below them.

  'Where has the lake gone?' he asked, looking at the grass and shrubs around the base of the building.

  Max ran back down the steps in the direction they had just come. Sure enough, at the bottom, it was exactly as they had left it. Their world was still dark and the wisps of smoke continued to curl off the surface of the lake.

  'It’s a world, within a world,' exclaimed Max to himself. He ran back up to the terrace and looked out across a landscape he could only have imagined in a dream.

  30. A Choice for the Greater Good

  ‘I know why you are here,’ said a voice from the other side of the terrace. Both Max and Joe turned towards the figure of a man who was dressed in regal crimson and blue. He appeared to have no weapon with him. Beside him was an iron gate intertwined with jasmine that seemed to be blossoming as they watched. The buds burst into yellow flowers like miniature fireworks. ‘You have come a long way already and sacrificed so much, but there is one more act you must perform before ridding your world of the soulless disease that is infecting it.’ The man waved a hand towards the gate which parted without a touch.

  ‘Who are you?’ Max asked suspiciously.

  The man bowed slightly. ‘You are wise to be cautious after everything you have been through. But, please take my guarantee that I will not cause you any harm. My name is Francis, I am the gate keeper. It is my role to make sure your gate opens to the path that will lead you to your destiny. Everyone who visits Avalon, whether in spirit or living form, has a different path to take.’

  ‘How can the path be different every time you open the gate?’

  ‘It’s a magical thing!’ he smiled. ‘Our worlds are very similar and more closely linked than you realise. The actions and choices you make in life are mirrored along your path in Avalon. Your path is shaped by those choices. If you made bad decisions in life or caused harm to others, a section of the path may prove to be slightly harder or more dangerous than others. Only by correcting those wrongs can you make your way through. Some remain lost forever on their path, never truly reaching their destination. It is a way of only admitting those truly worthy of a place in Avalon.’

  ‘Where does our gate lead to?’ asked Joe.

  ‘You have brought Ethera, the remaining sword of power back to be with its maker. Your path leads to the Priestess of Avalon, the lady who made the swords.’

  Max and Joe walked across the tiled surface of the terrace towards the gate, beyond which was a path that wound through a meadow full of wild flowers towards a low castle on the brow of a hill. They hesitated before going through. The smell of the yellow jasmine was strong and made their heads feel heavy and sleepy.

  ‘Do not worry my little friends,’ Francis said. ‘Like your time on earth, your path is shorter than most.’

  Max stood at the edge of the terrace and cautiously placed a toe onto the path. Nothing unusual seemed to happen so he brought his other foot through the gate so that he was standing on the soft springy grass. Joe hesitated slightly, waiting to see if anything happened before following, then he too stepped through.

  ‘Is this the same path we take to come back?’ Max asked, turning round to address Francis, but he had vanished. Where they had just been standing on the solid surface of the terrace, at the top of the building, was now replaced with endlessly rolling fields. Grasses swayed gently in a breeze that they could see but not actually feel whilst the sun blazed high in the sky, but didn’t burn their skin. Everything in Avalon didn’t seem to be exactly what it appeared.

  Max and Joe were alone once again.

  ‘We better make our way to that building,’ said Joe, pointing to the low castle on the top of the hill ahead of them.

  They began walking along a path that cut through the meadow and was bordered on both sides by wild flowers. The playful call of the birds sang out all around them, but they never saw one flying in the sky.

  ‘What do you think will happen to Edgar’s body?’ Joe asked Max.

  ‘I’m not sure, but I hope he finally made it here.’

  After a while, the path reached a brow on the hill. Below them their route disappeared into a dark mesh of brambles and thorns which the sun didn’t touch, but on the hill beyond, the path emerged once more and rose up towards the castle.

  ‘What do you think that place is?’ asked Joe who had stopped walking and was now looking wearily at the path ahead.

  ‘Francis said that the path is a reflection of our choices in life. I guess the dark brambles are our punishment for any bad things we’ve done.’

  ‘I think I can guess what the brambles represent in my life.’

  Max turned to his friend.

  Joe continued. ‘When my mother died, six years ago, I blamed my dad. That’s when my gran came to live with us. She helped me understand that it wasn’t my dad's fault at all, but by then, the damage had been done. I know dad was hurting just as much as I was. I never apologised for the way I was, and I don’t suppose I will ever get the chance to now.’

  ‘Come on,' said Max, placing a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder. 'We can’t put it off.'

  As they got nearer, they could see the brambles were a lot higher than they had looked from the top of the hill. Above this part of the path, the sky was black and the twisted thorny branches awaited them. The path had changed too, and what had once been a soft bouncy layer of grass, now appeared to be uneven and covered with sharp edged pieces of flint which, in the limited light, made it difficult for the boys to see the evenness of the path they were walking on. Max and Joe looked nervously at the wall of giant brambles in front of them. There was no way to get in except through a twisted arch of branches that formed an entrance. Max took the huntsman’s bow off his shoulder and passed it to Joe.

  ‘Here,’ he said. ‘We don’t know what might be inside, so we better be prepared.’

  Joe nodded.

  Max raised Ethera and hacked at some of the loose branches that hung in their way, then stepped inside. Immediately it was like they had stepped into another world. Only moments ago they had walked in the sunshine and smelt the flowers, but now they were in a dark place where
the air seemed heavy and gathered around the base of the trees or hovered amongst the web of branches that seemed to go on for ever in all directions. The sounds they heard amongst the brambles were different too. No longer were there cheerful birdsongs, but strange indescribable croaking as if the brambles covered a swamp of frogs.

  The mist had begun to obscure the path, making it even harder and slower to progress forward. Neither boy spoke to the other; they were both too busy cautiously watching and expecting something to happen.

  They crept on.

  Max glanced behind - the path looked exactly like the one in front. The twisted arch they had come through had disappeared, even though it should still have been within sight. It looked the same in every direction. Max chipped a wedge out of the thickest branch he could see.

  ‘What are you doing?’ whispered Joe, not wanting to make too much noise for fear of disturbing anything that might live inside the thorny forest.

  ‘Marking our way,’ he replied moving forward and chipping at another branch. ‘Every direction looks the same and we can’t see the path anymore. If we go the wrong way, we should be able to retrace our steps by the marks on these branches.’

  They moved forward another few steps and Max cut a wedge into a thick and gnarled stem that branched and twisted above them like a deformed and arthritic hand projecting its disjointed fingers into the sky. Above them, all they could see was a densely woven network of bramble branches, casting them in long shadows and blocking out any light.

  The sounds inside seemed to get louder. A grating sound made by a chorus of crickets rubbing their back legs in rhythm with each other. The heady buzz of flies droning. The caw of a solitary raven camouflaged amongst the canopy of twisted black branches.

  There seemed to be a feeling of expectation and tension building within the bramble forest.

  The boys remained on their guard, slowly edging forward, hoping to see an exit around every turn in the forest and a way out to the green field they knew was on the other side. But every turn looked exactly like the last. Max even thought that he was recognising the branches that he had marked; only they didn’t have any cuts in the surface. He stood and examined a particularly thick stem that was strong and covered in a thick gnarled bark. He looked up and traced the stem as it split into the shape of a hand with its fingers stretched out above them, exactly like the one they had just passed.