The Long Staff (The Staff Wielder Series)

by Clare Wilson

  ‘Why, Evan!’ McKenzie exclaimed. ‘It’s always a pleasure. Is this young Tom?’ he asked, shifting his gaze to the boy. ‘You get bigger each time I see you, and as like your father as any son could be.’

  Tom was used to hearing this and smiled at the man while feeling slightly distracted by his enormous shaggy beard. He thought it looked like there might be crumbs from the man’s lunch lurking in its depths.

  ‘What will it be?’ he heard McKenzie ask.

  Tom’s grandfather patted Tom on the shoulder and smiled. ‘Our young man turns thirteen tomorrow and we’re going fishing to celebrate. Tom’s been learning to fly fish so we’ll need your best flies please.’

  McKenzie went through to the back of the shop and appeared with a box which he placed on the counter. He had a look of awe upon his face as he put down the box he carried. Tom half expected that when the box opened, it would emit a golden light. Who would have guessed the Holy Grail was hidden in a Scottish tackle shop?

  ‘I have just gotten in some fantastic Woolly Buggers,’ McKenzie said slowly opening the lid. ‘No young man should be without these in his tackle box. Better still, they are cheap at the price.’ He held one of the flies up in his hand. To Tom, it looked like he handled it the way a jeweller would handle a delicate necklace.

  Tom’s grandfather laughed into himself, he could see the confused look on Tom’s face. ‘Don’t worry boy, I’ll explain about all of this tomorrow,’ he mused. ‘Tom here hasn’t used a Woolly Bugger before, I think he was getting a little confused,’ he added to McKenzie.

  ‘Oh,’ McKenzie boomed. ‘You thought I was being a little rude did you? Not at all, my boy.’

  Evan considered haggling with McKenzie on the price of the bait but thought better of it. He was an old miser and Evan doubted anything in his shop would be cheap at the price. Nevertheless, they had been friends since they were children and he would not have gone anywhere else to buy his fishing equipment. He paid for the bait and they left the shop to meet Tom’s mother and head home.

  They arrived back at the house and Tom’s mother prepared a delicious meal for the three of them. Feeling bloated after his feast of home made steak pie and dessert of rhubarb and custard, Tom moved over to the living area to sit by the fire.

  After helping Tom’s mum to clear up the dishes, his grandfather came to join him in the armchair opposite. ‘I believe I owe you one story, laddie, now, which one to choose…’ his grandfather pondered.

  At this Tom’s mother simply shook her head and moved back into the kitchen to make them all a cup of tea before bed.

  Tom looked at his grandfather inquisitively. After a few seconds he decided to ask, ‘Granda, can you tell me more about your staff?’

  ‘Well, now,’ said Evan, looking decidedly solemn all of a sudden. ‘Those are serious matters, but since you will be thirteen tomorrow I believe I could tell you a wee bit.’ The old man lit his pipe and with the other hand held the staff at his chair. He was taking his time in order to build the atmosphere. Molly seemed to sit up as though she too had been waiting for this. He let a few moments pass in silence; contemplating where best to begin. ‘As I said, this staff goes back generations,’ he began, now looking stern. ‘My father could never tell me exactly how many, but it is at least three hundred years. There have always been MacKays in this valley and we were entrusted with this staff to act as wardens. From this I’m sure you will have gathered that this is no ordinary Celtic staff. It was carved from the branch of an ancient oak and can be used to defend against evil.’

  ‘Evil?’ Tom asked in amazement. His grandfather had never told him anything so far fetched before.

  ‘Yes,’ his grand replied abruptly. ‘It is a very important role our family plays, Tom. We all have a destiny, my boy, and our destiny as MacKays is to live in this valley and help to protect the land from evil.’

  Tom’s eyes were open wide; this was definitely more than he had expected. All he could do was nod and he simply mouth the word, ‘Wow.’ He didn’t know whether to believe the old man, or whether he was pulling his leg, but it was a great story none-the-less.

  His mother had re-entered the room at this point with a tray holding cups and a pot of tea. She looked at Tom’s grandfather and tutted. ‘Evan, don’t you go filling my son’s head with nonsense.’

  Tom was surprised that she didn’t sound as if she was joking.

  The old man, who had decided to push his luck a little, winked at Tom and continued. ‘Only a MacKay can wield the staff, and the next male heir must master its lore.’

  ‘Does that mean you will teach me how to use the staff?' Tom asked, already imagining himself wielding it on a mighty quest.

  ‘Yes, I suppose it does. But you’re a little young to worry about all that, my boy,’ his grandfather replied seriously. ‘It is something we will discuss further when you come of age.’

  ‘How old is that?’ Tom asked despondently.

  ‘Traditionally, that would have been sixteen. But in this case I would wager it will be when your mother deems you mature enough,’ his grandfather said, looking warily in the direction of Tom’s mother.

  ‘I think sixteen is old enough,’ said Tom. ‘It seems so far away. I think I may be ready before then,’ he added hopefully.

  Evan, who could see Helen was becoming more agitated, quickly responded. ‘Come, lad. There will be no talk like that. Have you any more useful questions to ask?’

  Tom thought for a moment. ‘Have you had to fight evil with the staff?’ he asked.

  ‘I have been lucky, only once or twice in my lifetime has there been need.’

  At this Tom’s mother seemed to lose her patience, ‘Enough!’ she said. ‘Tom, I think it’s time for bed.’

  Disappointed, Tom turned to his mother. ‘I haven’t had my tea yet, mum,’ he pleaded.

  ‘I don’t care, Tom, it’s late. Now, off to bed with you,’ she said shortly.

  Despondently he got up and headed for the stairs; he knew from the tone of his mother’s voice it was best not to argue with her.

  Tom strained to listen on his way up the stairs and overheard his mother saying, ‘I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to tell him such things. You know how I feel about this.’

  ‘Helen, I’m sorry,’ replied his grandfather. ‘The boy asked. He will know all about his heritage soon enough. Be that as it may, I will respect your wishes and not bring this up around him until you think the time is right.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said curtly. ‘His head is already full of adventures and battles, I don’t want him running off and getting himself hurt!’

  At this, Tom carried on up the stairs and into his bed. His mind was racing. What could this mean? Was he really in the middle of his own adventure? Could he really be a young warrior about to start his apprenticeship? Lying in bed he dozed off with dreams of himself and his grandfather fighting off ghouls and monsters with their staff.

  A little after midnight, as Tom slept, his grandfather came into his room and placed the staff next to his bed. ‘Spend your first night as a MacKay man, my lad,’ his grandfather whispered. ‘Happy Birthday, son.’

  Some time later Tom was awakened sharply by a bright light. He sat bolt upright in his bed. Confused, he thought to himself, is it morning already?

  As his eyes adjusted he saw that the light did not come from the window but from the staff next to his bed, his grandfather’s staff. An amazing blue light flooded the entire room, emanating from the celtic carvings which covered the staff. It pulsated and seemed to be calling to him. Tom was completely petrified and didn’t think he would be able to move. After a few moments he took a deep breath, built up his courage and reached out a hand slowly to take hold of the staff. The instant his hand made contact with the wood there was an explosion which threw him from his bed. Surrounded now by the blue light, he found he could not let go of the staff. It seemed to burn white hot, welded to his hand, although he was in no pain. His head was spinning and
he could see the room flying around him. The room moved faster and faster until Tom could no longer make out the details of what was spinning around him.

  Only aware of the blue light surrounding him, he closed his eyes in the hope he could shut it out. This made him feel even dizzier. Opening his eyes again he tried to find something in his room he could focus on, something which would bring him back to himself. Terrifyingly he found he now could no longer see anything at all other than the light pulsating from the staff. At this he screamed aloud, hoping someone would hear him and come to his aid. Panic set in as he realised no-one was coming to help him. After another couple of moments the build up of sensations was so overpowering, he passed out.

  Chapter Two

  The Learning Curve

  When Tom came round he noticed he was wet. Opening his eyes and sitting up, he found that he was outside on the grass and it was raining. Still blinded by the light from the staff, he found it difficult to see in the darkness. Slowly, as his eyes adjusted he looked around and saw the familiar hills that surrounded Cairn Holme. He breathed a long slow sigh of relief. Somehow the familiar outline of the hillside made him feel safer. With his heart still pounding from his ordeal he slowly stood up and thought: How on earth did I get outside? His legs were still shaking as he turned round, only to find that his grandfather’s farmhouse was gone and in its place a small stone thatched cottage stood. The sight of this made him suddenly feel as if he was going to be sick. How had he gotten here? he thought. At that he bent over and vomited on the grass.

  By this time the blue light had completely gone from the staff which Tom still held in his left hand, and the only light Tom had left to guide him was coming from the windows of the cottage. He was extremely disorientated, but thought the only thing to do was to try the house: he couldn’t stay outside in the rain all night, and surely whoever lived inside would know his grandfather. Cairn Holme was not a big village, and his granda was well known to most people who lived in the area. However, for this same reason he tried to ignore the feeling in the back of his mind, that if he was not far from home, why did he not recognise the house and how far could he have been thrown to have landed in a different farm?

  As he stood and made to start his way toward the door of the cottage, he saw the outline of a man appear from the shadows, hobbling towards him.

  ‘Who goes there? Be you the MacKay I seek?’ the man asked. Tom, petrified, was afraid to speak. The stranger continued. ‘Speak. I am not afraid of you. In fact, I am armed!’

  Tom was scared in case the man had a gun. ‘Please Sir! My name is Tom, Tom MacKay,’ he proclaimed.

  At this the man shuffled more quickly towards him, angrily spitting: ‘A child! What devil’s trickery can this be?’ As he approached and saw that Tom held the staff he said, ‘What have you done, lad? Where did you get that staff?’

  Tom tried to explain, but the old man was cursing under his breath about impending doom and young thieves. It was at this point that Tom noticed the man leant upon a very similar staff.

  Although confused by this, Tom mastered his courage. ‘I am no thief,’ he said, hoping the old man wouldn’t sense the fear in his voice. His heart was pounding so loudly he felt sure that this stranger would hear it. It felt ready to burst from his chest. ‘Only a MacKay can wield the staff,’ he said trying his best not to sound shaky.

  At this the old man laughed a deep throaty laugh, ‘Strong words. Wield you say?’ he remarked smiling. ‘I’m not sure you can call it wielding when you fly out of nowhere and land on your rump in the mud!’ He shook his head, ‘Yet what you say is true, none but a MacKay could have been summoned.’

  ‘Summoned?’ Tom questioned.

  ‘Aye, summoned,’ he continued. ‘I am Torean MacKay, keeper of the staff in my time, and I summoned the strength of MacKay here this night. Tell me this laddie, if you do not know of such basic rights as the summoning, how did you come to be in possession of the staff?’

  Tom thought about this for a moment and realised he actually didn’t know. The staff had not been in his room when he had gone to bed. How had it come to be by his bedside? ‘Sir, I cannot truly answer that question,’ he replied. ‘It’s my grandfather, Evan MacKay, who owns this staff. He has told me of its heritage but nothing of how to use it.’

  The old man once again shook his head and tutting under his breath he led the boy towards the door of the cottage. ‘Forsooth, this is a right mess we are in, boy,’ he said. ‘I’ll need time to work out what we should do. There will be no further talk of this tonight. For now you are a lost child in need of shelter on this bleak night. Come.’ Tom blindly followed the old man into the house.

  As they entered the dimly lit cottage Tom felt the heat of the fire burning in the centre of the low roofed room. This appeared to be main chamber in the house with several doors to the back. He immediately felt the house was a lot smaller than his grandfather’s home. As Torean closed the door, Tom became aware of the aroma within the house. It was a very homely smell, a combination of burning wood on the fire and of cooking. There was a woman knitting by the firelight and a boy of roughly the same age as himself sitting at a large wooden table to one side of the room. The woman, small and slim with fair hair, sat on a rocking chair which moved back and forth to the rhythm of her clicking knitting needles. The boy, who resembled Tom remarkably, except for the fact that he looked slightly older, did not say anything as he looked across the room at the new arrivals.

  In the light of the cottage he became aware of the different style of dress worn by the family. They looked like people from another time. Torean looked at Tom and seemed to come to the same conclusion about the boy’s dress. In one swift movement he grabbed a blanket from near the fire and placed it over Tom’s shoulders. He then removed the staff from Tom’s hands and leant it against a corner in the shadow. In the light Tom noticed the man reminded him of his grandfather. He was short in comparison, but had the same shaggy head of white hair and large blue eyes. Tom was not sure whether this reassured him or made him feel even more uneasy. Who was this man, where was he, and more importantly, when was he?

  He led Tom further into the room and announced their presence. ‘Adaira, here we have Tom. I came across him after checking the pigs. He was lost and needed shelter for the night. I told him we would oblige.’

  The woman looked up, ‘Poor lamb,’ she sighed. ‘Your mother must be sick with worry. Sit by the fire to dry yourself and I’ll fetch you something warm to eat.’

  As Tom sat down he suddenly realised he hadn’t thought of his mother and wondered whether she would have noticed his absence yet? He knew he would need to get home somehow, before she noticed he was missing. He felt hot tears well up in his eyes as he thought of her, but forced himself to blink them away.

  Torean then turned to Tom. ‘Adaira, there,’ he said, pointing to the woman, ‘is my daughter in law and that is Aneirin, my grandson.’

  The boy had not spoken at all, but sat at the table and eyed Tom inquisitively. Tom smiled at Aneirin, who returned his smile after a few moments. Tom got the impression Aneirin didn’t trust him.

  ‘Aneirin,’ his mother said, ‘fetch Tom some dry clothes. He looks about your size. Poor lad must be soaked to the skin.’ Aneirin returned with a nightshirt which Tom quickly changed into. Again he noticed Torean hastily disposed of his incriminating pyjamas. At the same time he also observed that Aneirin looked as if he was making a great deal of effort not to take any heed of this occurrence. Aneirin was slightly taller than Tom, but could not have been much older than him. He had dark brown hair and the same blue eyes as his grandfather. The same blue eyes as Tom’s grandfather too, and Tom. Unlike the jolly old man Tom was used to, he looked very serious. Tom felt every time Aneirin looked at him, he was closely examining every detail about him. He made Tom feel guilty even though he knew he had done nothing wrong. His eyes had the appearance of someone who had gone through too much too young. It was a look which Tom recognised from hi
s own reflection.

  After a cup of broth Tom was sent off to bed in one of the back rooms with Aneirin. This was where they were to sleep top to toe in a small wooden single bed. As he lay in bed he heard Adaira question Torean about how Tom had appeared in the middle of the night, but Torean stuck to his story that he had come across the boy after checking the pigs. Tom, looking around himself, noticed Aneirin was also listening. As their eyes met he considered asking Aneirin about where he was, but when the boy saw Tom looking he pretended to be asleep. Tom decided to try and sleep in the hope that he would wake up in his own bed. He hoped that surely this had all been a bad dream. As he lay with his eyes closed, he longed for nothing more than his book to comfort him. It’s ironic he thought. I’ve always wanted to be in one of my adventures. It’s not quite as fun when you’re in your own. It’s terrifying!

  As morning came Tom was awoken by the sun streaming through the small window by the bed and the smell of porridge. He smiled to himself and opened his eyes, but was taken aback as he found he was not in his bedroom. Suddenly, the events of the night before came flooding back and once again he felt his heart in his throat.

  Torean then appeared in the doorway. ‘Right laddie, if you want your breakfast, it’s on the table,’ he said.

  Adaira appeared at Torean’s shoulder. She could feel Tom was afraid and said, ‘Don’t worry, son, we’ll get you back to your mammy.’ Tom smiled gratefully and rose from his bed to eat his breakfast.

  At the breakfast table Tom thought about asking some questions but remembered Torean’s words of the night before. It had seemed as though he could not mention to the rest of the family the circumstances which had brought him to their home. He would need to find a chance to speak to Torean alone to find out more about where he was and how he could get back. In a strange way he felt he trusted the old man; this was probably due to the startling resemblance between Torean and his own grandfather.