A flash of light to the right caused Larna to take her eyes off the fighters in time to see Violet battle her way through the wind and debris. She flew over to Balgaire and snuggled down into one of the huge pockets inside his blood-soaked outer garments, right over his heart. Larna wondered what she was doing, but there was no time to find out because the next round of the clash between their grandmother and Mordrog, witch against warlock, had begun. Both used their wands, each neutralising the other, forming an arc of pure electric power. Showers of sparks lit the sky which burnt holes in their clothes. The air surrounding them turned yellow. They circled each other, menacingly, faster and faster until they were just a blur. Larna’s eyes ached from watching the whirling fighters and her head hurt with the exertion of it all. Then, what she’d dreaded most, happened. Neve and Mordrog came to an abrupt halt. The battle had reached its climax.
Mordrog had a twisted smile on his face whilst Neve, her long hair dishevelled, looked flustered and giddy. It dawned on Larna that Mordrog had been controlling their speed the whole time in order to disorientate her. His plan had worked because their grandmother staggered for just a fraction of a second too long and turned the wrong way, putting a hand to her head. Larna feared she was about to throw up, or worse still pass out. She and Aron were forced to watch horror-struck as Mordrog drew back his arms and violently flung a final spell at her.
“MORTUNA MORS VOBIS… DIE, DIE!” he screamed, changing his wand into a heavy globed staff and swung a crushing blow to the back of Neve’s head with it. She gave a startled cry and crumpled, falling to the ground with a sickening thud. In that instant the force-field vanished and the wind blew itself out allowing the debris to settle back on the ground.
A triumphant Mordrog drifted down and stood with one foot on the witch’s body, head up, arms high in the air. He began laughing like the maniac. The staff shrank to its original form. Larna waited for Neve to spring back up and yell, “Fooled You!” into the warlock’s face, but she didn’t. She lay perfectly still as if the life force had been sucked out of her for good. Larna ran over to help her, closely followed by Aron. Half-way there Mordrog suddenly extended his arm, fingers up, palm forward and pushed the air. The force stopped them both in their tracks and they found themselves sprawling on the ground. Clambering to their knees, in total shock, the teenager and her brother found themselves unable to speak. Balgaire was dead, Neve was dead and they were entirely at the mercy of a mad man.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Yaya, wake up!” Aron yelled. “Wake UP!”
There was no response. The old lady was still breathing, but unconscious. Out cold. Mordrog had defeated her and she could play no further part in the proceedings.
Over Aron’s shoulder Larna saw Violet gently rubbing Balgaire’s chest. His blood dripped off her hands, pooled on the grass and began to glow as she muttered spells and incantations to herself. She felt sorry for the tiny being, trying to revive someone who was most obviously dead. But, before long, Balgaire’s head twitched slightly. ‘This can’t be happening,” Larna whispered. “It’s not possible!” Then, to her utter amazement, the wizard gave an almighty shudder and took a huge breath. Larna shook Aron and turned his head to one side for him to see.
“I don’t believe this!” gasped Aron. Balgaire was trying to sit up. He managed it, slowly pulling himself into an upright position. With a dazed look in his eyes, he glanced around. A few feet away, wrapped in his own success, Mordrog prodded the fallen witch once in the ribs with his foot and ,getting no response, continued laughing at the stars and marching around to the music in his head. He truly believed he had nothing more to fear. Meanwhile, Violet flew swiftly over to Neve and placed her hands on the back of her injured head. It began to glow as the fairy drew the pain out of their grandmother’s skull, taking it into herself. She healed her, as she had done Balgaire.
Suddenly, Mordrog noticed what had happened to Balgaire. An incredulous look passed over his face as he watched the wizard’s feeble attempts to stand up. Shaking his head in disbelief, the warlock rose up in the air to get a better view. Meanwhile, Neve began to move, slowly at first but more easily after that. Her hair was matted with blood and her clothes reeked of burning, but she was right back to her old self. Stealthily, she floated upwards until she was parallel with him, hovering about three feet behind his back.
Larna and Aron could hardly contain their joy and had to bite their knuckles to stop themselves from shouting encouragement, giving her position away. Chet, Annie and Uncle Roger came to join them while Tiblou remained close to Balgaire until he regained his strength and could manoeuvre on his own. His clothes had turned from the bright red of fresh blood to a dull brown as it dried round the edges.
Seeing the witch’s manoeuvring, Edsel tried jumping up and down to warn his master, but no amount of waving and shouting could attract the warlock’s attention. Mordrog was transfixed by Balgaire’s resurrection and had neither eyes nor ears for anything else. Balgaire staggered to his feet and looked up at his old adversary. It was obvious he was in great pain and held on to Tiblou whilst taking his first steps. Violet flew to his side and lightly touched his right shoulder as they began their ascent to face their common enemy. Balgaire, Violet and Neve all fixed their gaze on Mordrog. They were telepathically planning something special.
All four combatants were hampered by their injuries. Balgaire still had a stake sticking out of his chest, Neve had a matted head wound and Violet was covered with Blagaire’s blood which she wore like a badge of honour. Following his heavy fall, Mordrog’s spine was clearly out of kilter so he was unable to stand straight. This meant he couldn’t turn round easily and remained totally unaware of the witch behind his back. None of them could cope with any further injury. So the winner this time would be the ultimate victor.
The battle began. Waving his wand in a circle as far around as his crooked back would allow and shouting a curse at Balgaire, Mordrog threw the first awful bolt. Not being fast enough to dodge it, the wizard groaned loudly as a wave of energy caught him on his left arm. The wand fell from his lifeless fingers just as Violet raised her tiny wand and returned the force, sending Mordrog backwards so he almost bumped into Neve For several minutes the battle raged noisily. From each side, charges of deadly power created bright sparks and flames when they found their target. Those, combined with Violet’s involuntary colour showers, made a vivid but terrifying sight. The smell of burning was sickening and, to everyone’s dismay, the warlock seemed to have the upper hand again.
Pressing home his advantage, Mordrog released another burst of dazzling lethal energy that brought a terrible scream from Balgaire. He dropped to the ground like an old rag doll. Everyone knew for certain that this time he wouldn’t get up again. Mordrog was triumphant, laughing and boasting about his conquest. But he still didn’t know Neve was behind him… and Balgaire’s death had been a clever ploy. Knowing Violet’s healing powers could only revive him for a short while, the wizard had sacrificed his final moments to give the witch advantage of a surprise attack from the rear. Slowly and silently Neve floated nearer to the warlock, her wand morphing into a staff complete with a heavy iridescent globe on the end. Using both hands, she swung it and gave him an almighty blow to the back of his head, just as he had done to her, and with such force she nearly lost her balance. Then she delivered a crashing blow to his damaged spine. The crystal globe on the end of her staff glowed bright red with blood from Mordrog’s broken skull and crippled back. He tried without success to turn and face his surprise attacker.
She pointed her staff at the staggering warlock. In a low, menacing voice she said, “I banish you from here forever!” The sky darkened, a brilliant ray of light filtered down and completely surrounded the snarling Mordrog. He found himself lifted up, shaken violently and turned upside down. Blood dripped and spattered everywhere from the open wound to the back of his head as he was carried over towards the well. Realising his fate, a blood-curdling scream escaped h
is lips as he hovered above the gaping black hole. Flames shot up from the vortex, binding him in a vice-like grip, slowly drawing him down towards oblivion.
As Mordrog’s body neared the well-head, Edsel dashed to the edge and leaned over. “Master, master,” he yelled, leaning as far as he dare without falling in. “Come back to me! Come back to me!” He grabbed Mordrog’s cloak and pulled him back through the flames. But this was no act of compassion, no desperate action of a servant about to lose his beloved master. It was an act of heartless self-interest. After an unseemly tug of war, Edsel seized the warlock’s prized possession, his smooth black wand, and gave him a mighty push to send him on his way. Jumping down, Edsel punched the air shouting, “YES-S-S!” and ran past everyone, disappearing into the forest as fast as his crooked legs would carry him, his large knobbly head bobbing excitedly from side to side.
Then everyone was drawn back to Mordrog’s demise by a plaintive cry echoing from below as he plunged downwards at speed. That was the last they ever heard from the warlock because the well started to vanish, as if an invisible rubber was erasing all trace of him, starting with the rim working round and down until there was nothing left but emptiness and silence.
The joy they felt at the eradication of their enemy was tempered by the tragic loss of Balgaire. Tiblou sat quietly holding his friend, rocking back and forth. Violet hovered beside them, wand pointing to the ground, her wings affected by the sadness, dull and limp. Neve drifted over to them and rested a hand on Tibs’ shoulder. “He was a wonderful man, an even greater wizard and none of us will ever forget him.” She leant forwards and gently prised him away from Balgaire. Then Roger and Chet carried the wizard’s lifeless body back to the café, followed by the others who walked in a line in silence, their heads bowed and tears flowing down their cheeks.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
There was no time to grieve further for Balgaire. His successor had to be found immediately. Tradition demanded that Sherwood must always have a wizard and so a replacement needed to be named as soon as possible.
The procession had only just got back to the café when a shimmering ball appeared in the air in front of the door. The sphere turned out to be a roll of parchment which unfolded and a floating pen began to write on it. It spelt out T. I .B .L .O .U. in large old-fashioned letters,
“This can’t be right!” exclaimed Tibs. “Surely someone of mature years, with much more life experience, like Uncle Roger, would be a more suitable candidate. I’m far too young for such responsibility.”
“There is some logic to it,” said Annie, giving him a motherly smile. Balgaire always took a great interest in you and encouraged everything you did.”
“But it’s too much. I don’t know enough. I don’t know anything. I really don’t want to inherit Balgaire’s mantle.”
Neve stepped forward. “It’s about to happen, Tiblou, whether you like it or not. I’ve known for a long time that he intended you to be his successor. Balgaire was only too aware the battle with Mordrog could end the way it did and so he’d begun preparing for it. Hence… you, Tibs.”
As if to confirm this decision in everyone’s mind, the scroll began to fill as it rolled further down. Larna peered forwards and read the names at the bottom :
‘SIGNED BY (Balgaire’s scribble) and WITNESSED THIS DAY (date) By: NEVE, WITCH OF SHERWOOD (Her signature began to appear) on behalf of: THE SUPREME CONSUL, GRAND WIZARD DRYDEN (his flowery signature filled the space). A huge blob of red wax dropped onto the bottom of the parchment and was stamped with the Seal of the Ancients by an invisible hand. Then, as Larna finished reading, the whole thing curled back up and evaporated into thin air. At the same moment, Balgaire’s body rose into the night sky, higher and higher. They followed his progress, mouths open in wonderment, until… a blue sphere appeared and opened to admit his lifeless form, then silently closed.
All eyes were still cast at the sky as Balgaire’s robe and wand began to descend and landed at Tiblou’s feet. He stepped back, too afraid to touch the robe, and then changed his mind, knelt down and scooped it up. Annie took the garment from him and handed it to Neve.
“Come on, son. It’s time,” she said.
Tiblou took off his long black coat, revealing his green jeans and white blousy top. Then the two women positioned themselves behind him and placed the robe over his shoulders. He staggered a little. Larna wondered whether this was from the weight of the material or from the weight of his new responsibilities. As his arms went into the sleeves, it shrank to his size. The stains from Balgaire’s blood faded and the holes made by the tree branch began to weave together. On Tiblou the garment was pristine. Then, as he pulled himself up to his full height, the most miraculous thing of all took place. All trace of Tibs’ canine features slowly disappeared until he resembled a typical teenager.
“Your tail has gone.” Chet commented pushing his way through the crowd. Tiblou twisted at the waist, nearly falling over trying to see his rear. “You’re right, it’s vanished.” He suddenly laughed. “Can’t say I’ll miss it one bit, always getting in the way.” Abashed, he looked at his mother’s tail, “Sorry, mum, that was insensitive, totally out of order.” Annie smiled and patted his shoulder. “Don’t be silly, son, you’re allowed a few mistakes to begin with.” She and Chet exchanged glances. “We’re absolutely thrilled for you, aren’t we?” she beamed, nudging her other son in the ribs.
“Of course we are. Anyway, I’m rather attached to my tail, brother.”
Everyone took that as their cue to rush forward, crowd round Tibs and inspect his new physical state. There was a tremendous racket, people firing off questions and not waiting for answers. Larna and Aron were in the middle of it all, their faces shining. It was easily the happiest moment they had experienced since arriving in this strange future world.
* * *
The surprises weren’t yet over. The past was still making way for the future. Neve raised both arms skyward and closed her eyes. She stood there, still and quiet. Her lips moved but there was no sound. Seconds later, a transformation began to take place. Neve’s hair gradually tidied itself whilst her dress became whole, fresh and clean again. Likewise with Violet. All traces of the conflict with Mordrog had been extinguished. Then the old woman picked up Balgaire’s wand and held it out in front of her. It split in two. One half grew into another full-size wand and the second half became his staff. Neve lowered her arms and walked slowly towards Tiblou.
The significance of the occasion was not lost on Tibs. He stood to attention and seemed taller. As if instinct told him that this was the moment when he officially took on the persona of a wizard. There would be no going back to being ‘ordinary Tiblou’. His life from now on would never be the same. So many would be reliant on him.
Chet and their Uncle Roger stood either side of him, his mother, Annie, behind. The crowd had swelled with the news, waiting, and for the first time in a long time, they felt at ease. No more darting glances, looking for the ‘evil eye’ watching everything they did. The atmosphere was joyous as a sense of peace settled on them all.
Aron and Larna watched with pride and fascination as their grandmother solemnly placed the wand in Tiblou’s right hand and the staff in his left. There was complete silence for quite a while. Then, taking three steps back, she gave a slight nod to Violet who flew in front of Tibs at eye-level and waved her wand. A large golden picture frame materialised containing a blank canvas, which Larna suspected was the one she’d seen in the portrait gallery under Balgaire’s house. It stood beside the young wizard-elect, as if waiting. The ancient robe that Tiblou was wearing changed again, and when the transformation was complete, he stood resplendent in his own emerald green ceremonial garment. He smiled at Violet and patted his right shoulder with the crystal-topped staff. She accepted and settled herself comfortably, legs crossed at the ankles. Finally, the staff and wand morphed back into one, now emerald green to match the robe. Within seconds the canvas came to life, as if someone were pain
ting a picture in oils. The finished portrait was breath taking and a true likeness of them both. Tiblou then stuffed the wand deep inside one of his voluminous pockets. The instalment of the new wizard was complete. A loud cheer went up from the crowd, Larna and Aron joining in at the top of their voices, belting it out with the best of them.
“Now I believe we have unfinished business,” said Tibs.
The young wizard turned to the youngsters and spoke with a new authority. “We ought to pick up where Balgaire left off, regarding your blood, and hopefully find a cure. I’ve noticed more and more people are changing, so it won’t be much longer before everyone reaches the point of no return.”
Aron and Larna were as keen as Tibs to give their much-needed blood. They desperately wanted to help their friends who were suffering so badly and with whom they now felt such a strong bond. They also wanted it all to be over, to go home with Neve and relax in her cottage in the forest after all the terrors they’d endured. It seemed a simple and perfect end to an amazing adventure. But it was not to be. A new enemy would see to that!
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Tiblou led the way into the forest, the others surrounding Larna and Aron like body guards. Neve walked one side, Annie the other while Chet brought up the rear and Violet hovered overhead like a scout. Nothing untoward happened except that Larna and Aron managed to trip up several times and felt angry with themselves for their new-found clumsiness. There was no sign of Edsel anywhere, so it couldn’t be his doing… or could it?
Before long, they found themselves approaching Tiblou’s house. Instead of the quirky little cottage that once stood there, there was now a much larger building. Made of red brick, it had two turrets, one at each end of a grey slate roof. It was two storeys high with square white-framed windows on both floors enclosed by oak shutters. A broad smile played on Tiblou’s lips as he gave a satisfied nod of approval to his new home. It was totally different from Balgaire’s, but equally as extraordinary.
Spellbound Chronicles – Blood Line Page 10