The Moon Stealers and The Children of the Light

by Tim Flanagan

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘That’s where everyone goes when they’re trying to find someone.

  Trafalgar Square. Survivors started writing and pasting pictures up on the wall of the National Gallery and now everyone’s doing it. If he’s alive, your friend might have put up a sign there.’

  Rhys nodded. ‘Thanks, I’ll take a look.’

  He roared back up the road towards Buckingham Palace, then straight down The Mall and into

  Trafalgar Square. He dodged abandoned cars and an iconic red London bus then mounted the pavement and rode into the square.

  It was eerily silent.

  The usually busy tourist spot in London was empty of people. Even the ever present pigeons had flown and were hiding somewhere else. Rhys wheeled the bike around Nelson's column and past the water fountains that were now redundant. Green algae had already begun to grow over the silent water in the pools beneath the fountains. He left the bike at the bottom of the steps then walked towards the columned front of the National Gallery building. Around the base of the columns Rhys could see the creamy-grey stone wall was covered with writing and the odd piece of paper. It was almost like the massive piece of graffiti had become a statement on artwork for the future of mankind.

  Rhys studied the writing. There were names written in various colours of lipstick, marker pen and paint, whatever people could find. Names were usually accompanied by locations around London. In other places photographs had been taped to the wall. Some were small photos of two happy people taken inside a photo booth that would have been kept inside a wallet or purse, others were head shots that had probably been kept in frames and proudly displayed on the wall of a home. Every name and photo represented a person that was lost, but not forgotten.

  At one end of the long wall Rhys could see a woman trying to stick a photo to the wall. Every few seconds she would sob silently and wipe her nose on her sleeve. It surprised Rhys how the human race had learnt to live so quietly and indiscreetly beneath the threat of the creatures. Listening to the woman crying over her lost relative made Rhys understand why this place had been nicknamed The Wailing Wall.

  He quickly scanned the wall, looking for his son’s name or a photograph that sparked some sort of recognition in him, but saw nothing. He knew that he would have to leave soon to get back to the apartment before the creatures came out, but he didn’t want to leave without putting up a message for Steffan, just in case he happened to visit.

  Looking around him, he saw some bottles of nail paint that had been kicked into a corner. He went over and picked them up, checking each one to see if there was any paint left inside. He discarded two of the bottles but took a shocking red colour back to the wall. Because of what he had found at his sister-in-law's home at the Forest of Dean, he assumed that his son was using the English version of his name together with his sister-in-law's surname. As he began writing the letters, two other people arrived in a car and walked directly towards the wall. The man and the woman knew exactly where to go, checking to see if their message was still there and hadn’t been covered by someone else’s photograph or looking for a sign that their relative was still alive. They glanced across the names, checking to see if they knew anyone. Rhys continued with his son’s surname. The red paint made his name stand out. He contemplated what to put under Steffan’s name. His son didn’t know Rhys existed. He decided to write Melodie’s name together with his address in Brentford. Steffan was more likely to respond to a name and address he recognised if he happened to see it.

  ‘Steven Knight?’ said the man who had arrived in the car.

  ‘Do you know him?’ asked Rhys hopefully.

  ‘I heard the name back at the Fort.’

  ‘What’s the Fort?’

  ‘Fort Halstead, in Kent.' The man turned to the lady he had arrived with. 'Kim, wasn’t one of the guys from Halstead called Steven Knight?'

  'I think so,' his companion replied. 'But he left with those other two.'

  'Where did he go?' Rhys asked.

  'There were rumours going around that they had left to find other survivors. Went to the Isle of Wight,' said the man.

  The lady nodded. 'I heard someone say they were going to rescue a child that had been taken by another community.'

  'How long ago was that?'

  'Several days now,' Kim replied. 'Come to Halstead with us, we have antibiotics to stop you getting sick from the creatures. We're growing plants and have a supply of water.'

  'Thanks. I will visit Halstead, but there is something I need to do first.' Grateful for the information, Rhys shook their hands and jumped down the steps back to his motorbike. He intended to return to Steffan’s apartment for the night then head off towards the Isle of Wight as soon as it was safe to do so.

  16. Life after Death

  Edgar, Max and Joe drove in silence along the country lanes until they reached a wide expanse of motorway that directed them south towards Birmingham. The two boys had decided to sit together in the back of the car, aware of the tension and fear that seemed to be oozing from Edgar. They knew the poison from one of the creatures was racing through Edgar’s blood stream, making him weaker and paler every day. Although they didn’t want to admit it; they were also concerned about getting too close to Edgar for fear of catching the creature’s disease themselves.

  Negotiating the country lanes had been tricky and slow, but once they joined the motorway, they noticed a distinct reduction in cars, and those that had been abandoned were littered along the embankments and out of their way.

  Their progress began to gather momentum.

  Two hours after they had left Ingleton, Edgar turned the car off the motorway and headed towards England’s border with Wales. The three lane motorway reduced into a two lane road that carved through towns and villages, then swung above a built up area of houses and office blocks towards a bridge. Max and Joe looked out of the window as they crossed a river. Cars were half submerged in the water, shifting and rocking in the flow, whilst the sides of lorries provided platforms for a brave handful of Moorhens to stand on and pick scraps from the water. Once over the bridge the car turned right and followed a route that took them along the north coast of Wales.

  Eventually they pulled into a service station.

  ‘We need more fuel,’ Edgar said to the boys in a dejected voice.

  They all got out and stretched the tiredness from their legs.

  ‘Where are we going?’ asked Max.

  Edgar had already begun looking at the abandoned cars in the car park, testing the doors to see if any were open and peering in through the windows. At the sound of Max’s voice he turned and looked directly at the boys with sadness in his eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he replied as he walked back towards them. ‘I’ve been so aware that my fate has nearly arrived and my time here will end, that I forgot about the two of you. At some point soon I will have to abandon you to fend for yourselves. You deserve to know all of the information.’

  Edgar reached into the car they had been travelling in and opened the glove box. He pulled out a folded road map of the British Isles then walked over to a small patch of grass at the edge of the car park. He carefully began unfolding it, cautious of the soft and fragile creases in the paper, then began to weigh the corners down with any stone he could find. Max and Joe stood over him watching.

  ‘We have now entered Wales,’ began Edgar pointing to a road on the map to the west of an area marked Chester. ‘We are heading for Avalon, the magical island where King Arthur was taken following his fateful battle at Camlann, to recover from his wounds.’

  ‘Have you ever been to Avalon before?’ asked Joe.

  There was a pause before Edgar answered.

  ‘No,’ he eventually said. ‘No-one I know has entered Avalon and returned.’

  ‘Then how do we know it exists?’

  ‘We don’t. There have been many stories about an island where everything grows of its own accord and the hilltops are covered
with fruit trees. Everyone is happy and carefree; there is no war and no famine.’

  ‘Is it just a place for good people to go to when they die?’ asked Max.

  ‘I suppose it is a heaven on earth,’ replied Edgar. ‘Some people know Avalon as The Fortunate Isle, as well as the Isle of Apples. Whatever name it goes by, all agree that Avalon is the source of the Elixir of Life.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Historically, the Elixir of Life was a magical potion that, when drank from a certain cup, gives the drinker eternal life. But Avalon is the source of life. It creates life and sustains life.’

  ‘Can it cure you?’

  ‘Yes, but at a price. I will never be able to leave the shores of the island. If I did, the magic would end and my body would age in a fraction of normal time until I was nothing more than a pile of dust.’

  ‘What about us? Will Max and I be able to come back once we’ve entered Avalon?’

  ‘Yes. Avalon is a safe haven for those that have enjoyed a full and rewarding life, not those just starting a mortal one. One day, when you are old and grey, with your grandchildren at your feet, your soul might find its way back to Avalon.’

  ‘Do you know where Avalon is?’ Joe asked.

  ‘The landscape may have changed a lot over the years, but one thing will have stayed the same. The lake we must cross through to reach Avalon is fed by water drained from the cup of Adam and Eve.’

  ‘Aren’t they in the bible?’

  Edgar nodded.

  ‘God created Adam and Eve to populate his planet. You could say that he gave them the Elixir of Life. To mark the location of the lake, two big monoliths of stone watch over the lake from the top of a mountain called Tryfan.’

  Edgar searched the map he had spread out, tracing his finger across the paper until he reached the Snowdon mountain range. He let it rest beneath a label that read Y Tryfan.

  ‘Beneath the shadow of the mountain is Llyn Idwal, or Lake Idwal. We cannot access the lake from the road. We will need to walk the final part of the journey to the lake. It will be a tiring walk that could be made worse by the weather, or the presence of the creatures. It won’t be easy. However, it could be nothing in comparison to what awaits us in Avalon. We will need the Silver Bough once again to open the gateway to another world.’

  ‘If we make it through, what are we supposed to do there?’

  ‘My sword, Ethera, was forged by Nimue, a Priestess of Avalon, as were all of the twelve swords of power. One by one they have returned their spirit and power back to Avalon. By combining the strength of the swords, we should be able to generate a source of pure energy like the one that came from my sword in the forest clearing, but on a larger scale. Lady Flora discovered that the light from my sword blinded the creatures. Without their sight they are vulnerable and incapable of feeding. With Lady Flora’s help, nature can fight back and reclaim the planet.’

  ‘What if we fail?’ Joe asked the question they were all thinking but were too scared to ask.

  ‘If we fail,’ repeated Edgar, ‘the human race is as good as dead.’

  There was an uncomfortable silence, filled only by a gentle whistling sound caused by the side of the map lifting in the breeze and cutting the wind as it flowed across the grass.

  ‘How long will the walk take us?’ Max asked, studying the map.

  ‘It will be slow. We won’t be able to make it today,’ replied Edgar. ‘When it is safe to come out, we will start the journey to Avalon. Before then we will need to find a safe place to hide from the creatures for the night.’

  Edgar instinctively looked up at the sky. It was now mid afternoon and, although the sun was still out, clouds in the distance were beginning to form. Swirls of grey mixed with white where blowing across the stretch of the Irish Sea between Ireland and Wales and would soon be above them.

  ‘We need to find shelter before the daylight fades any further,’ said Joe.

  ‘I know,’ said Edgar. ‘Let’s get moving as quickly as possible.’ With the children’s help he folded the map back together and went back to searching the abandoned cars whilst Joe and Max took the bags out of the car ready to be transferred. The sound of an engine igniting made them turn towards a blue BMW.

  ‘Three quarters full,’ shouted Edgar with delight. ‘That should easily get us to Avalon.’

  They packed everything into the back of the BMW and scavenged any sealed food and bottled water from the service station shelves then drove back onto the main road.

  The general feeling inside the car seemed to be a lot lighter than it had been since they left Ingleton. They happily munched on bars of chocolate and dry cereal from cardboard boxes whilst all the time, keeping a cautious eye on the sky.

  They hadn’t gone far before the clouds from the Irish Sea began to move closer to the Welsh coast. In the distance Edgar noticed the pointed white steeple of a church to the right of the road they were on.

  ‘Let’s shelter in there,’ Edgar muttered to the boys as he pointed to the white church. In the distance they heard the hollow rumble of thunder. ‘The darkness brings the creatures out to hunt.’

  As they got nearer to the church, Edgar noticed that it was separated from the road by a stone wall. He continued past until he reached the next exit and followed a sign for Bodelwyddan. The narrow road swung over the top of the road they had just been on and ran parallel with it back towards the church they had passed.

  Edgar quickly parked alongside neat rows of white grave stones and all three quickly jumped out of the car as the distant rumble of thunder rolled around the sky above them, accompanied by a greyness that seemed to wash all colour from their surroundings. They each grabbed a bag from the back seat and began to run along a narrow concrete path between some of the gravestones.

  Edgar casually glanced at the white stones. They were all identical, smoothly cut pieces of stone, with a maple leaf carved into the surface above a single name. He paused momentarily understanding what the white stones actually were.

  They had parked beside a war cemetery.

  The stones were the war graves of soldiers who had died during one of the world wars. Edgar realised that he was in the midst of a different kind of world war, one that would determine the entire future of the planet. Would there be anyone left to honour the dead from this war? Edgar quickly returned back to the present by a loud crack of thunder from above, followed by large drops of rain that began to patter gently on the ground around him.

  ‘Come on,’ said Joe who was already standing against the wall of the church. He beckoned to Edgar with his hand.

  Somewhere in the darkening sky came the familiar scream of a creature. They all looked up, searching the sky for signs of black shadows. Edgar ran towards the boys, not knowing if they had been spotted or not. Together they sprinted beside the church towards the entrance doors nestled beneath a tall steeple. Edgar lifted the heavy door latch and the three of them tumbled into the porch of the church.

  Edgar scrambled backwards and slammed the door shut behind them, muffling the sounds of the sky erupting into another rumble of thunder, closely followed by an ear splitting shriek.

  17. Destiny Beckons

  Scarlet had experienced driving her father's tractor on their land, but it was quite different to the small Mini she was negotiating along the motorway towards the south of England. Although it was a squeeze with the three of them inside, the small old car was nippy and easy to navigate around the cars that were driverless and empty and scattered randomly across the carriageway or half way up the embankment.

  Her thoughts were with Edgar, she knew he was ill and would soon die from the poison running through his blood. She also knew that she was not likely to see him again.

  'He has a good heart,' said Lady Flora, reading Scarlet's thoughts.

  'After all the years he has lived among us, it's a shame he will die just when the world needs him and no one will know what he did for them.'

  'None of us know our de
stiny. He may have had an extraordinarily long life, but his final task is the pinnacle of that life. All those years ago, King Arthur could not have known what Edgar was destined to do, but he is about to fulfil the purpose of his immortal life. He is England's protector. Stories told of the King's return when England was in its greatest need. But he never truly left you.'

  'What if he doesn’t succeed?' Scarlet quietly asked, feeling guilty.

  'He is not alone. Your two friends are also part of the reason he continues, despite the weak flesh and failing body.'

  'What's our destiny?' Peter asked from the back seat. Although Edgar had been overseeing his own life without him knowing it since the day he had been born, Peter hadn’t known the knight as well as Scarlet. 'Where are we going?'

  'We are going to a place called Burnham Beeches, an ancient woodland where the Druid's Oak stands. There is an equivalent location in my world. You will probably see a number of portals in the area Peter.'

  'What is the Druid's Oak?' asked Scarlet. She saw a clear stretch of motorway and put her foot on the accelerator.

  'Once upon a time when your world was a more magical place, there were giant oak trees all over the countryside. They had stood for more years than anyone could remember and outlived every subsequent generation. The oaks were sources of great wisdom and the link between humans and the planet they lived on. It was through this understanding and coexistence that the humans would learn how to use plants to cure illness and disease. Over the years the oak's roots grew deep, forming a network that connected everything together. But slowly as the human race grew and demanded the land to live on, these ancient giants were either cut down, or choked by the dirty industrial air. The roots attempted to find their way to the surface to begin growing in new locations, but they were either trodden down or unable to break through to reach the sun. Very few ancient oaks remain. The Druid Oak at Burnham Beeches will give us access to the network of roots that join plant to plant and tree to tree, from the smallest primrose to the tallest redwood. With the slightest suggestion, nature can be our castle and the animals our soldiers.'