by Clare Wilson
THE
LONG STAFF
Book 1 in the Staff Wielder Series
By
CLARE WILSON
Published by Olida Publishing
www.olidapublishing.com
www.staffwielder.com
First printing: August 2010
First Kindle: April 2012 V3
Copyright © 2009 by Clare Wilson
All rights reserved.
All comment and pictures are attributed solely to the author. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
For more information e-mail: [email protected]
To contact the author email: [email protected]
Cover illustration: Paul Gildea
Cover Design: Paul Murdoch
ISBN: 978-1-907354-06-9
ATTENTION: SCHOOLS AND BUSINESSES
Olida Publishings’ titles are available at bulk order discount rates for educational, business or sales promotional use. They are also available for fundraising projects. Please e-mail: [email protected] for details
The Long Staff – This book is dedicated to everyone out there who can find wonder and mystery wherever they look. We all have a story, it just depends whether we keep our eyes open
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS – My thanks and appreciation go out to Paul Murdoch and Allan Sneddon for their patience and hard work and without whom, this project would not have been be possible. I would also like to thank my loving husband, who has always had faith in me...
Table of contents
Chapter One
A New Beginning
Chapter Two
The Learning Curve
Chapter Three
Dark Omens
Chapter Four
The Dark is Rising
Chapter Five
The Phoenix Flight
Chapter Six
The Ears that Hear
Chapter Seven
Alone in the Hills
Chapter Eight
A Problem Shared
Chapter Ten
The Dark Group Moves
Chapter Eleven
A Friend in the Dark
Chapter Twelve
The Great Unknown
Chapter Thirteen
A Severing Conflict
Chapter Fourteen
A Prisoner of Fortune
Chapter Fifteen
The Long Wait
Chapter Sixteen
The Condemned Man
Chapter Seventeen
The Long Journey Home
Chapter Eighteen
The Gathering
Chapter Nineteen
The Unexpected Cavalry
Chapter Twenty
The Longest Wait
Chapter Twenty-One
A Spy is Born
Chapter Twenty-Two
To Wane and Wax
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Final Stand
Chapter Twenty-Four
A New Life Revealed
Glossary of Magical Terms
Chapter One
A New Beginning
Tom was dozing in the back seat as he and his mother drove through the endless pouring rain, deep into the Scottish countryside. He opened his eyes and looked outside at the many images which were passing him like a slideshow. The sight of the rolling hills threaded like a patchwork quilt, with stone walls and the fields full of bedraggled sheep, filled him with happiness even through the constant drizzle. It was mid July and Tom and his mother were travelling from Lanarkshire to visit his grandfather in the Highlands for the rest of the school holidays.
Tom loved visiting his grandfather. He was excited at the thought of having several weeks with him and hoped the weather wouldn’t be this bad the entire length of their stay. He was due to turn thirteen in a couple of days and couldn’t think of anywhere else he would rather be for the occasion. Tom was a slim boy for his age, with mousy hair and a kind face. His large blue eyes were his most distinctive feature and he had been told they made him look like his father. He was on the cusp of adolescence but still had the look of a boy about him. Sitting in the car in his woollen jumper and corduroy trousers, he let out a sigh and opened his book once more. He loved to read. He found no greater pleasure than when he could immerse himself in another universe. It was so much easier than speaking to other people. He was able to fight in great wars and have amazing adventures, all neatly contained within paper and ink. His mother sometimes worried about the amount of time he spent reading, but Tom knew she thought a trip to his grandfather would bring him out of himself. If anything could force him to look at the world beyond the safety of his printed pages it was the thought of fishing with his grandfather.
‘Don’t worry darlin’, it’s not much further,’ he heard his mother say. Tom could see her kind green eyes smiling at him in the rear view mirror. He smiled back, although they had been driving for what felt like hours and he was beginning to feel rather bored.
Very soon they turned into the small village of Cairn Holme and Tom immediately noticed familiar sights such as McCulloch the Bakers and McKenzie’s Tackle Shop. The village was deep in the Scottish Highlands and it was where Tom’s father had been born and raised. In a strange way it had always felt like Tom’s real home, despite the fact he had been brought up just outside Glasgow. His grandfather Evan lived in a small farm house on the outskirts of the village, and Tom always felt there was something magical about the place. He had spent many happy days playing in the woods beyond his grandfather’s farm, living out all the adventures he experienced second hand through his books. Now as he grew, it gave him a place where he could find solitude, somewhere without prying eyes.
As they drove up the muddy path to the farm, daylight was fading fast and Tom could see the warm glow from the windows of the old stone house. The farmland the house was on had been in the family for generations and had room enough to keep a few animals. However, none of the animals were visible at this time as they had all been put into the small barn at the rear of the farmhouse for the night.
They pulled up in front of the house and as they got out of the car his grandfather appeared at the front door. Tom smiled to himself. His grandfather always pretended he wasn’t excited when they arrived, but Tom knew he stood by the window watching for their arrival.
‘Well, come in, my lad, before you catch your death,’ came the familiar booming voice from the doorway. Tom ran laughing through door and into the bear hug that was his grandfather’s arms, while the old man’s sheep dog, Molly, danced excitedly around them. His grandfather had the fire roaring and fresh fish and potatoes cooking for supper. The smell made Tom’s mouth water as soon as he entered the house.
Tom loved his grandfather dearly. He was a remarkably tall man and had a full head of messy white hair. It gave him an unusual quality. Rather like an overgrown tree tousled in the breeze. The old man had the same piercing blue eyes as his grandson.
‘So, Helen,’ his grandfather said, releasing Tom from their embrace. ‘How was your journey?’ he cried to her, playfully ushering Tom towards the door so they could return to the car to help her with the bags.
‘Not bad,’ she said, closing the boot and heading back to the house, ‘although this rain hasn’t stopped all day.’
As they rushed to enter the house together, eager to get out of the rain, his grandfather took one last look outside. ‘It’s to be clear and crisp tomorrow,’ he said, looking to the skies, ‘although we do always get quite a lot of rain in July.’ With that he closed the door, shu
tting the bitter night outside.
They entered the main part of the house and immediately felt the heat of the fire coming from the living room. Tom quickly turned and made his way up the staircase to his left, taking his and his mother’s bags to their usual rooms, while Evan led his mother into the living room. Excited, Tom reappeared quickly, anxious to see his grandfather. As he entered the living room he saw two old leather armchairs and a small, surprisingly inviting sofa placed around the familiar roaring fire. The room was simple but cosy, and had photographs in silver frames showing members of the family long gone. It was the kind of room which never changed. At one side of the fireplace there stood a large bookcase containing many dusty old volumes. It had glass doors covering the front and Tom remembered trying to pry open the doors when he was younger. His grandfather always said that even then Tom had a hunger for books. His mother was helping the old man to set the large scrubbed wooden table at the far end of the room.
‘I hope you’re hungry, my boy, I had an excellent catch yesterday,’ his grandfather beamed.
‘I’m starved,’ Tom said hungrily. He threw himself down on one of the chairs at the table trying his best to look like he might well die of hunger at any moment.
‘It smells wonderful, Evan,’ added Tom’s mother.
‘Well, best not waste any time. We don’t want our boy here dropping dead with hunger,’ his grandfather said sarcastically. Without another word he walked back into the kitchen to serve up the food.
After eating his fill, Tom lay drowsily by the fire, while his grandfather sat opposite him in one of the leather armchairs smoking his pipe. Molly was curled up at his feet, and his mother was sitting with her head back and her eyes closed on the sofa.
‘Tell me one of your stories, granda,’ Tom asked quietly, trying not to wake his mother.
‘Well, my boy,’ replied his grandfather. ‘I prefer to call my “stories” educational adventures, one of which I would gladly tell if it were not for the fact that you can barely keep your eyes open.’
‘Granda…’ Tom tried to interject. However, his attempt to convince the old man turned into a yawn.
His Grandfather slowly stood up and gave Tom a kind smile, ‘Come on, there will be plenty of time for stories. Off to bed with you.’
This startled his mother who opened her eyes blearily. ‘Is that the time?’ she asked. ‘Tom, you had best be off to bed.’
Tom, realising he would not be able to convince his grandfather otherwise, heaved himself from his chair and kissed his mother goodnight.
After one last longing look at his granda, the old man winked. ‘Sleep well, son,’ he smiled.
Tom climbed the stairs to his room and as always stopped on each step to look at the photographs his grandfather had framed on the wall. There were pictures from fishing trips and family weddings long past. Tom’s stomach lurched as he saw the picture of himself and his father on Tom’s first fishing trip several years before. It had been two years since his father’s death, but Tom still felt as if he would appear at any moment at the bottom of the stairs and tell him to stop dawdling. He thought for a few moments about the day the picture had been taken. He loved fishing in Cairn Holme, in fact, even more since his father’s death. Something about being here made him feel closer to his father, and he hoped he and his grandfather would have time to go fishing during his stay. Longingly looking at the photograph, he reluctantly carried on up the stairs to get ready for bed. After washing and changing into his pyjamas, Tom climbed into the oversized bed which sat in the middle of the large room which had once been his father’s. The sheets were soft and warm and made him realise how tired he really was. Glancing around the bedroom it felt as though nothing ever changed here. He even spotted the snow globe from London he had left here on his last visit, sitting atop the tall wooden dresser. With heavy eyes Tom rolled over and switched off the bedside lamp.
Tom fell asleep almost instantly and had no idea how long he had been asleep when he was wakened by raised voices coming from downstairs. Slowly becoming aware of his surroundings, he recognised his mother’s voice.
‘You know Tom and I would love for you to come and live with us,’ he heard her say.
‘This is my home!’ his grandfather exclaimed.
Tom, slightly startled by the strained tone of his grandfather’s voice, crept to the top of the stairs where he could see the shape of the old man through the open living room door. He was silhouetted against the firelight.
‘Well, if you’re set on staying here, Evan,’ his mother continued, ‘I think Tom and I should stay for a while. That fall last year really scared us, and besides, Tom loves it here.’ She was desperately trying to defuse the situation.
Tom didn’t hear his grandfather’s muttered response, but the old man turned toward the stairs and winked. The boy was sure no-one could see him where he sat, but he smiled to himself at the thought of his grandfather. He always seemed to be able to sense things others could not. With that, Tom slunk back to bed and fell back asleep, although not as quickly has he had only a few hours before. He tried what he always did to help himself doze off to sleep. He went over what was happening in the book he was reading and then wandered off in his own mind with what he thought should happen next. These thoughts usually relaxed him and he drifted off to sleep dreaming of battles and adventures.
Tom awoke the next morning to the sound of birds singing outside and the sun streaming through the curtains. Right again, he thought. His granda was always right about the weather. The smell of breakfast wafted up the stairs, making Tom feel extremely hungry. He leapt from bed, pulled on his dressing gown and ran down the stairs two at a time to the living room below.
‘Well, sleepy head,’ his grandfather joked, ‘we wondered when you were going to join us. Do all you lowlanders sleep until nine o’clock on a Saturday?’ Tom laughed and followed his grandfather to the kitchen where his mother was preparing eggs and bacon.
‘Morning, darlin’,’ she said as she gave him a kiss on the head. ‘Take a seat. It’s just about ready.’ Tom sat down, eagerly awaiting the food.
‘How did you sleep, my boy?’ his grandfather asked, casting a side glance at his mother as she sat the plates down on the table.
‘Fine,’ Tom said. He knew they were worrying about whether he had overheard their discussion the night before. Tom decided it was best not to say anything and tucked into the food his mother had put down.
‘If I know my boy, Evan, I would venture he slept perfectly well until his stomach woke him!’ his mother laughed.
‘Well he’s a growing boy,’ his grandfather said, patting him on the back, ‘and breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Besides, you have a long one ahead of you. Eat up.’
After a delicious breakfast Tom washed, dressed and headed out into the garden with his grandfather. While the land the family had was not large, he kept some animals which included chickens and a couple of goats. He had told Tom that before, the farm had once covered several acres, but he had sold the land after Tom was born because he was too old to manage it. He had known after Tom’s father had gone off to University that he was highly unlikely to return to Cairn Holme to tend the farm. Heading down the garden to a small chicken coop located near the side of the barn, they fed the chickens and laughed as Molly pranced around their ankles excitedly.
Tom stood looking at the old man. As long as he could remember he had always looked the same, had always had a mass of white hair. ‘Granda,’ Tom asked, ‘how old are you exactly?’
The old man could sense Tom was playing with him. After considering the question, his grandfather simply said, ‘Old enough, my boy.’
‘Are you as old as that cane you carry?’ Tom asked sarcastically, looking at the ancient gnarled stick his grandfather leaned upon. It was a worn old thing, but it had always fascinated Tom. He could never understand why his Grandfather didn’t get a new cane. The one he carried looked like it might snap in two if he put too much we
ight on it.
The old man looked at him for a moment and with a twinkle in his eye replied, ‘This is a staff, Tom, and it’s as old as our very family itself. For generations the MacKays have lived in this valley, and this staff here has been passed down father to son. That means that one day it will be yours, m’boy.’ Tom looked slightly bemused by his grandfather’s response, so the old man continued. ‘In answer to your question, I am old, but nowhere near as old as this staff.’
‘How old is the staff?’ Tom asked, now curious about just how old it could possibly be.
‘As I said, it’s as old as our family. There are records of MacKays being on this site in Cairn Holme for several hundred years at least.’
Tom’s mind was now filled with questions about their family history, when pondering what to ask his grandfather next on the subject the old man interrupted his train of thought.
‘Well lad, thirteen tomorrow. What would you like to do?’ his grandfather asked.
‘Erm, I want to go fishing!’ Tom replied with very little hesitation.
His grandfather laughed as if somehow he had expected that to be what Tom wanted to do with his day. He knew the boy loved spending the long summer days in Cairn Holme fishing. He was like his father that way. There was something about the tranquillity of sitting next to the water with the wind lightly blowing by. ‘Well lad, you had best get a move on with your chores so we can head into town to pick up the necessary supplies,’ the old man said, with a glint in his eye.
That afternoon the three of them went in to the village for groceries and fishing supplies. While his mother went to the local store to get ingredients for a special birthday cake, Tom’s grandfather took him to the tackle shop to let him choose bait for the trip they were to take the next day. As they entered McKenzie's Tackle Shop Tom looked around himself excitedly. The store always looked like a messy jumble of everything a fisherman could possibly need. It was dimly lit and as your eyes adjusted, you saw there were nets hanging from the ceiling. Tom then turned to an entire wall adorned with so many different types of rods it was hard to count them all. Old McKenzie sat behind the counter reading a dusty old volume.