Behind the Sorcerer's Cloak

by Andrea Spalding

  For a moment, no one moved.

  “The beads must be replaced,” said a soft voice. A young girl knelt reverently by Breesha’s body. She began picking up the scattered gems. “Help me remember the order and place them right.”

  The women moved forward, and one by one the beads were gathered and placed together, silver against malachite, red glass again against turquoise, in the order all remembered.

  The young girl wedged them, so each bead touched its neighbor, propped with delicate folds of the cloak. Finally she laid the large disk of amber over Breesha’s heart.

  “It is done,” said the girl.

  Sigurd shook out a square of fine white linen and covered Breesha’s face.

  He made a gesture of finality and stood back.

  Several men lifted three flat slabs of sandstone and sealed the tomb.

  Sigurd held up a small plank of wood. “I am charged to fill Breesha’s last request. The secret name of a sorceress holds great magic. To know it brings power. None of us knew Breesha’s secret name. Before she passed, the Mists of Time parted and showed Breesha a vision, a child of the future in need of her secret name.” Sigurd held up a board covered with scratched lines.

  “Breesha recorded her name of power so the future child can read it. Behold it, concealed within the magic runes.” He laid the board on top of the stone slabs.

  The mourners looked at it uncomprehendingly.

  Sigurd pick up a white quartz rock. “Let us complete Breesha’s cairn.” He placed his rock on top of the board.

  The people gathered loose boulders of the gleaming quartz scattered around the islet. The men chose large ones and the women and children picked the smaller ones. They were mounded around and on top of Breesha’s grave, covering the slabs, the board and the sides of the tomb in a glowing white pile. The people toiled in silence.

  By now the light was fading and the tide rising. With it came threads of sea mist that drifted between the mourners.

  Sigurd signaled everyone to stop. “It is done. We must take our leave.” He placed a hand on one of the rocks. “Everything you asked is done, Breesha. I call upon the raven to guide you and the Black Dog to protect you as you travel through the Mists of Time.”

  AARCK, called the raven.

  A distant howl echoed. The mist stirred.

  Holly and all the mourners shivered. The men drew their sheepskins more tightly around their shoulders, and the women held their children close.

  Each mourner stepped forward, touched the white cairn and left without looking back. They ran across the remains of the sandbank and disappeared into the gathering gloom.

  Sigurd lingered. He bent and whispered to the cairn in a strange tongue, laid a hand on the stones and strode away.

  Holly was alone. She stepped forward and placed her own hand on one of the white rocks. Was this a dream? Would she feel it?

  The quartz was hard and cold.

  Holly shivered. “Breesha, are you the Lady?” she whispered. “Is that why I am at your funeral? Am I the child from the future? Am I supposed to understand the scratches on the wood?” She shrugged, “I don’t.”

  No voice spoke to her. No vision came. She had no clue as to what she should do next.

  Holly felt helpless and alone. She was cold and stiff from standing still. The mist closing in was creepy. She peered down the rapidly disappearing track, wondering if she should follow everyone.

  “I can’t stay here,” she mused out loud. “The tide will cut me off.” She stepped onto the track.

  Her toe kicked a small stone. It rolled before her: black, shiny and perfectly round.

  Holly picked it up. It was a bead, a polished jet bead.

  Holly swung back and looked with dawning horror at the rocky cairn that rose over the grave. “They missed a bead!” she cried. She ran to the cairn and began to tear the rock pile apart. “Breesha, one of your magic beads was forgotten.” Holly uncovered the edge of one sandstone slab. She pushed against it. It was immovable. “Come on, you pig,” she grunted as she thrust using all her weight. “I just need a crack to drop the bead in. Come ON. Move, you pig! Move, move, MOVE!”

  It was no good. The slab was too heavy.

  “What should I do?” Holly held her clasped hand up to the sky. “Breesha, tell me what to do?”

  Tatters of mist blew around her.

  “I can’t take the bead back with me,” Holly yelled. “Been there, done that. I took the Glastonbury cup in the last adventure, and it caused me all kinds of problems.”

  The wind blew harder. Ice-cold rain began to fall.

  Holly turned to the grave again. She pounded on the slab. “Breesha, listen to me,” she shouted. “I’ve found your bead, so I’ll put it as close to you as I can.” Holly knelt beside the grave and scrabbled with her fingers and a sharp rock. She scraped down into the hard ground beside two upright slabs that lined the grave. She found a crack, a joint, and followed it down into the earth, scraping away what dirt she could, looking for a small gap that would go through to the tomb. It was no use, the rock liners butted too closely together.

  Distressed, Holly stamped back the dirt, then replaced the stones she had removed from the cairn.

  “Okay…I get it, Breesha…I have to take the bead.” Holly reluctantly stuffed it deep in the pocket of her jeans.

  She was cold and wet and exhausted. Her fingers were numb, and blood oozed from several scratches.

  Holly sucked her knuckles and blew into cupped hands to warm them. She hunkered down for shelter between two large clumps of heather. To her surprise, the heather was thick enough to offer real protection. It deflected both wind and rain. The closer she huddled to the ground, the more shelter she gained. She stretched out on her stomach and lay down among the roots, her head cushioned on her arms, listening to the rustling of wind and the patter of rain.

  A stone clinked.

  Holly’s heart leaped. She peered up through the vegetation.

  A black figure loomed beside the cairn.

  It was Mona.

  Holly flattened herself into the ground, holding her breath, afraid that this woman with a knowledge of magic would see her.

  But Mona saw nothing but the cairn. She rolled rock after rock to the ground. With a cry of triumph, she pulled out the oak board. “SO…the whispers I overheard were true,” she hissed. She held the board up to the fading light and traced each line with her fingers. She growled with frustration. “What magic is this? These scratches are symbols I know not!” Mona stared at the board again. “I swear I will learn thy name of power, Breesha, or pass the board to another who can.”

  A dog howled.

  Mona flung the rocks back, tucked the board under her cloak and fled silently into the mist.

  Holly heard her splashing through the incoming tide.

  AARCK, AARCK, AARCK, called a raven.

  Holly stiffly rose from her hollow in the heather. She tried to see through the mist. “Raven, are you trying to tell me something?” she asked.

  She heard only the creaking of wings as the bird flew away.

  Now Holly was really alone. She was scared.

  The mist swept around and enclosed her in a great gray blanket. She could see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing…

  “Holly! Holly…where are you?” Chantel’s voice came from the other side of the rose bush. “There you are.” She appeared in front of Holly, gasping for breath. “We couldn’t find you,” she said. “Mr. Smythe’s hired a floatplane, so we have to drive to the river at Bristol. Come and load your stuff.” She stopped and glanced down at the water glass and tea light. “Oh…you’ve done some magic?”

  Holly stretched her stiff limbs and gave an embarrassed grin. Her heart was thumping; she was cold and confused. “Sort of…The Lady still hasn’t talked to me, so I was trying to contact her…,” she trailed off.

  “Did it work? Have you met her?”

  Holly gathered together the glass, the tea light and matches and c
lambered to her feet. She rubbed her head. “I’m not sure. It was strange. Let’s find Owen and I’ll fill you both in.”

  Mr. Smythe’s Land Rover was quickly loaded, and they were off, swiftly moving down the motorway toward Bristol and the Avon River estuary. The three children huddled in the backseat, heads together. Myrddin sat stiffly in the front passenger seat, bracing himself with one hand on the dashboard. He hated all forms of human-designed transportation.

  “I tried some magic,” hissed Owen, one eye on Mr. Smythe in case he overheard. “I tried to talk to Ava, and I went into a kind of trance. Nothing really happened. It was just weird. Everything whirled around me, and I was terrified. It was as though I was in whirlpool or the middle of a hurricane. Then I saw a white feather floating toward me. I thought it was real and from Ava. I tried to grab it. Then I was back in the bedroom and I’d grabbed my toothbrush off the dresser.”

  Chantel giggled. “You’re so weird.”

  Holly rolled her eyes. “Wait till you hear what happened in my vision, toothbrush man…” She pulled out the black bead.

  Chantel and Owen groaned.

  “Idiot. Didn’t you get into enough trouble last time you brought something back from dream-magic?” hissed Owen.

  Holly shrugged. “I didn’t have a choice, here’s what happened…”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ________________________________

  ISLAND MAGIC

  In the Kingdom of Mann, Manannan braced himself as Zorianna fell into his portal. Ripping through the webbed magic, she plunged into the secret caverns below the castle on Pheric’s Isle.

  Manannan repaired the web and waited.

  He didn’t have to wait long.

  A rumbling growl followed by the baying of a great dog echoed throughout the castle ruins.

  The Moddy Dhoo had begun to prowl.

  Manannan sighed.

  The Black Dog was an ancient, unpredictable magic, far older than himself. It protected Old Magic and could not be directed. Its current charge was the Sleeper. As he had feared, Zorianna was a threat to her.

  FLASH!

  Manannan shape-changed into his most fearsome form, one not seen on Mann for hundreds of years, one he used to conceal his identity from enemies while terrifying them. He became three armored legs, joined at the thigh, spinning within a great wheel of fire.

  The wheel of fire rolled down the slopes of Barrule, across the water and into the castle’s secret passages.

  The Moddy Dhoo raised its black head and sniffed the darkness, seeking the scent of the intruder. It left its lair beneath the castle’s ruined gatehouse and bound into the secret passages, pausing and sniffing eagerly at each twist and turn. It had not hunted prey for hundreds of years.

  The Black Dog could be sensed but not seen. Its fur blended with the night for it was darker than darkness. The Moddy Dhoo was more feared than the dark. The giant dog was darkness.

  Zorianna’s precipitous entrance through the magic portal alerted a second ancient entity.

  A white cat with no tail prowled the secret passages, avoiding the path of the Moddy Dhoo.

  White as moonlight and silent as light, the cat was a pale gleam in the dark. She was a guide between the worlds and, unlike the Moddy Dhoo, offered light.

  The darkness behind the cat thickened and growled.

  The white cat spat and arched high, leaping out of the way.

  The passage cleared, the Moddy Dhoo passed on, sniffing the air.

  The cat followed, keeping to the high dark ledge.

  A sliver of silver drifted down.

  One hair. A thread of light in the dark.

  Dark and Light. Light and Dark.

  At this moment on Gaia, the darkness was very dark indeed.

  It was a strange day on the Isle of Man.

  Instead of blue skies and warm August sunshine, a creeping gray fog hung in the air, obscuring everything. In the town of Peel, the fog was so thick no one could see across the narrow winding streets. It was an eerie fog, filled with the sound of wings from the passage of restless gulls.

  The commotion and the fog seemed to center around tiny Pheric’s Isle across the bay, where the birds on the ruined walls of ancient Peel Castle could be heard screaming defiance at the top of their voices.

  People leaving their homes for work, cussed at the fog and wafted impatient hands at the mist veils, trying to spot the cause of the gulls’ unrest.

  Nothing could be seen. Thick threads of sea mist drifted to and fro, concealing all but the haziest outline of the castle.

  The incessant screams of the gulls echoed around the town.

  Old Mr. Cubbon walked stiffly out to the inner harbor and stared across the tidal flats of the River Nebb.

  “Hush, you!” he shouted at the birds. “Hush yer screamin’ and give us the skeet.” He cupped his ear and listened.

  The screaming died down a little.

  AARCK.

  A ruffled-looking raven soared through the fog and landed beside the old man.

  Mr. Cubbon threw it a piece of toast. “There yer are, Blacky. Come for yer treat as usual. Go on then. Give us the skeet. I’m listenin’.”

  The raven picked at the toast. Then, turning its head to one side, it looked piercingly at Mr. Cubbon and uttered a series of cries.

  The old man cupped his hand over his ear and listened intently.

  His gossip shared, Blacky spread his wings and soared back to Pheric’s Isle, taking the remaining toast with him.

  Mr. Cubbon followed Blacky’s flight until the bird was swallowed by the mist. His face was grave. He gave a sudden shudder. “Sommat’s walkin’ over my grave,” he muttered. “Aye, an’ I know what. Yon Moddy Dhoo’s prowlin’. Old Magic’s awake.”

  In the Place Beyond Morning, shadows fled as Ava and Equus combined their power to raise the shattered Gates of Sunrise at last. Once more, pure light poured through. It washed over and awakened the land.

  “Now it is safe to leave and return to the children,” panted Ava.

  Equus looked with pride at their home, from the sun sparkling again on the tips of the Crystal Mountains, to the brilliant sheen of the Silver Citadel.

  The sunlight poured in, creating a land of promise. Birds sang in a deafening chorus. Spring flowers budded. Fields and trees greened, and water tumbled through long-dry streambeds.

  “Never again will we allow the Dark Being to smash these gates and deprive the universe of light and hope,” said Equus.

  Equus and Ava stood together beneath the Gates of Sunrise and bowed in the direction of Gaia. “Thank you, Magic Children, for the return of the talisman and circlet.”

  They both staggered under a sudden blast of mindspeak.

  “The children! The children are in more trouble,” said Ava. She listened, her face grave. “This is old mindspeak. It couldn’t reach us until we raised the gates and the light streamed through.”

  “We must return at once to Gaia,” said Equus. “Dare we risk sending a message?”

  Ava shook her head. “Even travel is risky. The Dark One’s emissaries are everywhere.”

  Dimming their own light, Equus galloped and Ava soared in his wake, first along sunbeams then among moonbeams, concealing themselves on their journey across the universe, Equus suddenly dug in his hooves and slid to a halt. Ava circled and landed on his back.

  All was not well around the planet they called Gaia and the children called Earth. There was a strange thickening in the Mists of Time.

  The great horse and hawk peered upward through the brightness, surveying the galaxy for clues.

  Ava gasped and Equus stiffened.

  The black cloud had cleared, and something dark and terrible pulsed and spun in the middle of the Milky Way.

  “The Dark Being has called her Shades together. Look how they circle around her, causing a whirling black hole.” Equus shuddered. “That vortex could swallow us all. Our light may not be strong enough.”

  Ava stared in hor
ror, scarcely believing what she saw. She steadied herself and began to speak. “I have heard tell of an ancient way to help dissipate a vortex. When Shades take this form, there is a way to let in a beam of light.” She shivered. “The way is risky, but if I succeed, the light will create a tiny chink in the dark. A crack straight into the Dark Being’s heart.”

  “How can we let in light?” asked Equus.

  “By using the Dark Being’s own power,” replied Ava. “The vortex draws all toward her. It is her strength, but also her weakness.” She took a deep breath. “Equus, we must use the vortex. It may be our only chance to weaken her.”

  Without waiting for Equus to reply, Ava shape-shifted into a tiny hawk. Using her beak, she plucked a small white feather from her breast. She flew onto her companion’s back and swiftly wound a fine silver hair from Equus’ mane around the feather’s shaft and gave a sharp tug.

  His skin twitched.

  “Ava, this is too dangerous. What about the children?”

  “Hush, Equus. The Dark Being is distracted. There couldn’t be a better time. For the sake of Gaia and the universe, the children must wait.”

  Ava touched Equus with her wing and took off, flying swiftly, circling toward the vortex.

  Equus watched as Ava became a speck against the brightness of the Milky Way. Was she small enough to escape detection? Was she strong enough to escape the pull of the vortex?

  Deep in the dungeons of Peel Castle, Zorianna slumped against a cold damp wall. The fight with Myrddin’s staff had drained her. She was spent and sick of Earth Magic. It held too many nasty surprises. The stars only knew where it had deposited her this time.

  Zorianna rubbed her head to try to clear it. She longed to rest but dared not. Tipping her head back against the wall, she tried to make sense of her situation.

  Earth Magic had captured her. She was somewhere on Gaia, enclosed within the earth and surrounded by water—she loathed the distant hiss of waves. Would they never stop rising and falling?