by Becky Citra
Will and Emma hurried back. Thom lifted his head. His white face shone with sweat. “I’m sorry. I…I can’t go on. There’s…there’s something terrible happening here.”
“We gotta keep going,” said Will.
Thom groaned again and staggered to his feet. He stumbled behind the others like an old man.
Will glimpsed a pale green light through the trees. “There’s something up ahead. I’m not sure what it is.”
He squeezed between the black trunks of two trees and stepped into a clearing. In the middle was a thick wooden pole with a long rusty chain dangling from the top.
“This is it,” said Thom. “This is where it’s coming from. Something suffered here. It’s choking me. I can’t breathe.”
“Something was chained up here,” said Emma.
“It must have paced around and around,” said Will, looking at the deep rut that circled the pole.
“It looks like the chain’s been broken,” said Emma. “What kind of creature could break a thick chain like that?”
“I can’t stay here,’ whispered Thom. “Please.”
Suddenly Will saw a movement out of the corner of his eye, an enormous shadow shifting behind the dark trees. The hackles on Peaches’ back rose, and a low growl rumbled in his throat.
“What is it?” cried Emma.
Will’s heart pounded in his ears. Something was watching them. “Over there!” he shouted.
They all stared into the trees.
“Let’s –” Emma started to say but her words turned into a scream. Two huge wings swept through the air, smashing branches, almost knocking them down with a blast of wind. A long tawny tail lashed back and forth.
“Look out!” yelled Emma.
Will stared into a pair of blazing eyes. A tremendous shriek filled the forest. His legs went weak and his throat dry. He fell backwards, shielding his face with his hands. There was a sudden throbbing in his pocket. Will reached in and pulled out the piece of tapestry. The letters glowed as if they were made out of molten gold.
He held the piece of tapestry high above him. There was a tremendous gust of wind and everything swirled around him. The last thing he heard was Thom screaming.
Chapter Thirty
Where is Thom?
Will snapped open his eyes. He was standing beside Emma and Peaches, his fingers gripping the tapestry scrap, his knuckles white. The stone creature stared down at them from the archway on the castle.
“What happened?” said Emma shakily.
Will struggled to make sense of everything. “My piece of tapestry…it saved us…it brought us here.”
“A griffin!” said Emma. “I saw it!”
Will sucked in his breath. So it wasn’t just him! Emma had seen it too. It was a griffin! He looked around in a panic. Wind and rain lashed at their faces. Where was Thom?
“Thom!” shouted Will. “Thom, where are you?”
“Thom!” yelled Emma. “Thom!”
The storm raged around them. The wind snatched Thom’s name and tossed it back in their faces. Will barely understood what had happened. The scrap of tapestry had transported them out of that terrible forest and away from the griffin. They were safe, but had Thom been left behind?
Lightning flashed and thunder cracked. The freezing rain plastered Emma’s and Will’s clothes to their backs. Peaches whined and pushed himself between Emma’s legs.
Emma slipped her hand into Will’s.
They hollered for Thom until their voices were hoarse. It was hopeless. They could barely hear themselves over the screaming wind.
Crack. The huge oak tree near the castle smashed to the ground.
“We need help!” said Emma.
Their hands broke apart and they raced down Black Penny Road. It can’t be later than noon, Will thought, but it’s as dark as night. Water streamed in rivers through the cobblestones. Shutters were fastened tight and most of the shops were closed. Candlelight flickered in a few windows.
“The power must be out,” said Emma.
They ran all the way to the Fairweather’s flat. John Fairweather was reading by candlelight.
“The earthquake,” he said. “I’ve been so worried about you. There’s damage in the village.”
His face turned ashen as Will and Emma poured out their story. “My son!” he said. He picked up the phone, exclaiming, “Thank God it still works!”
A search party assembled quickly. Men and women in rain slickers and boots gathered in the flat. Favian came and Emma’s father, Peter Storm, with a bag of dry clothes. For the first time, John seemed to see the cold dripping children and the sodden dog. “You’ll catch your death, both of you. Put on these clothes. And I’ll get an old towel for Peaches.”
Will changed into a pair of Lukas’s jeans and a warm sweatshirt. He took the piece of tapestry out of his jacket pocket. It had saved their lives.
Favian came over. “I want to hear everything,” he said quietly. “But first we must find Thom.”
Within minutes, the searchers had left. The flat was cold and empty without Thom. They settled in to wait. It was the longest afternoon Will could ever remember. John sat at the window and stared out at the glistening wet street. Will and Emma huddled on the floor, talking quietly, with Peaches curled up beside them.
The clock ticked from four to five to six o’clock. At seven o’clock, they had bowls of cornflakes. The rain rattled the windows and the wind shrieked eerily between the loose shutters. John’s eyes probed the blackness for a sign that the searchers were returning.
Just after eight, a line of lights flickered in the dark street. John gave a small cry and Emma and Will ran to the window. “They wouldn’t come back without him,” John said. Hope and fear flashed across his face.
The door opened and the heavy-set man who owned the bakery carried Thom inside the flat. The boy lay still in his arms, his face like wax and his eyes closed.
“Thom –” John choked.
“He’s cold and exhausted,” said Emma’s father, who had followed them in. “We found him in the forest. Favian has gone for the doctor, and he’ll be here straightaway.”
He looked at Emma and Will. “I’m taking you and Peaches back to the house. Will, you’ll stay the night with us. Star will want to keep an eye on you. We’ll let your aunt know.”
Will was too tired to argue. The men had carried Thom into his bedroom, their low voices murmuring. On the way down the stairs, a man rushed up past them, carrying a black doctor’s bag.
When they got to the old apple barn, the other Storm children had gone to bed. An oil lamp burned in the kitchen and Granny Storm and Star were sitting over cups of tea, heated up on a camp stove.
“Thom?” said Star.
“Safe at home,” said her husband Peter. “But he’s in a bad way. Too much exposure to the storm.” He hesitated. “And something else is wrong too. It’s as if something has paralyzed him. The doctor is with him now.”
Granny’s eyes glittered when she saw Will. “I warned you. I said you would need courage in the days to come. And it’s not over yet. It’s far from over.”
A tremor ran through Will. What did she mean?
“Hannah Linley was found wandering in the forest in a storm.” Granny’s voice rose. “She died two days later.”
“That’s enough, Granny!” said Emma’s father sharply. “Everyone’s upset enough.”
“It’s the griffin’s curse. It’ll –”
“Enough!” roared Peter.
Granny muttered crossly into her tea, but she didn’t say another word.
Star sprang up, arranging a bed and blankets for Will in the spare room. “I’m not tired,” he protested as Star tucked him in. But in less than five minutes he was asleep.
He dreamed he was inside Granny Storm’s crystal ball and this time, he couldn’t get out.
Chapter Thirty-One
Morgan Moonstone’s Story
Someone was shaking Will’s shoulder. He burrowed deep
er into the warm blankets. “Will, wake up,” whispered Star.
Will’s eyes blinked open. “Thom –”
“There’s no improvement yet. But he’s a brave boy. He’ll pull through. Favian Longstaff just phoned. He says you must come to the bookstore immediately.”
“Now? What time is it?”
“It’s ten o’clock. You’ve only been asleep an hour. But Favian said it was urgent.”
“What –”
“No idea. Peter’s going to take you. The storm hasn’t eased at all. And there’s something else. Favian said to bring the piece of tapestry.”
Will struggled back into the clothes he had borrowed from Lukas. His jacket was still wet so Star gave him one of Lukas’s heavy jackets to wear. He slipped the scrap of tapestry into the pocket.
He shivered as they went out into the wild night and down the road to the village square. The Ex Libris sign over the bookstore was banging back and forth in the wind. A candle burned in the window. Favian greeted them at the door.
“Any word on Thom?” Peter asked.
Favian shook his head. “Nothing. He’s still unconscious. They’ll take him to the hospital in Chipping as soon as it’s light out.” He put his hand on Will’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of our boy here. You get back to your family, Peter.”
“Favian,” Will said urgently, when Peter had left. “We found a tunnel into the forest. I think that’s how Hannah got in. And we saw a griffin!”
“What a night!” cried Favian.
“It was terrible,” said Will. “Thom got so sick. He said he felt this terrible suffering. It came from the griffin. Hannah must have felt it too. You said she had the same powers as Thom. I think it killed her.”
“We have so much to talk about,” said Favian. “Astounding things have happened since you came to Sparrowhawk. But I must show you this first.”
He picked up a parcel wrapped in brown paper. “This arrived for you in this afternoon’s post. With the scare over Thom, I didn’t have a chance to give it to you. It’s from Mr. Barnaby.”
“Should I open it now?” asked Will, his voice trembling.
“I think you should open it when you’re alone,” said Favian. “But that is not why I sent for you on such a wicked night. I’ve found something. Come with me.”
Favian led Will between the tall tiers of books into the depths of the shadowy shop. A purple candle burned on a round table, casting a tiny pool of light on several sheets of paper, as thin as parchment and yellowed with age.
“I found these papers hidden in one of Ebenezer Moonstone’s ancient books.”
Will picked up the first paper. He read out loud the words written in black ink at the top.
“An account of the events at Sparrowhawk Hall as told by Morgan Moonstone to his wife Elizabeth Moonstone in the year 1604…”
Will stopped reading and stared at Favian.
“Go on,” said Favian. “Read it all and then we’ll talk.”
Will began again.
“My name is Morgan Moonstone, master weaver. I know that I am dying. I am too weak to hold a pen and I have asked my wife Elizabeth to write my story.
On a cold spring morning, just two weeks ago, Lord Linley’s servant knocked at the door of our cottage.
‘Lord Linley of Sparrowhawk Hall is planning a hunt for the griffin of Darkwood,’ he said. ‘He summons you to weave four magic tapestries. A griffin has been sighted and the work must be completed in ten days. You must begin at once.’
My tapestries have caused the success of many hunts. Ten days was not long enough, but I could use my magic. Still I hesitated. Lord Linley had a reputation as a cruel man.
‘My master will pay you well,’ said the man. ‘But you must work without interruption and move into the tower at the castle until you are finished.’
I set up my loom in the tower. I worked day and night with little sleep. By the eighth day, I had completed three tapestries, The Hunt for the Griffin of Darkwood, The Griffin of Darkwood is Captured and The Griffin of Darkwood is Taken to the Castle. As each tapestry was finished, Lord Linley ordered his servants to carry it to the great hall in the keep. Each was hung on the wall, hidden under cloths in preparation for the grand unveiling.”
Will’s heart jumped. So it was true. The tapestries in the great hall were woven by Morgan Moonstone!
“I began work on the fourth tapestry. My fingers flew over the threads. Lord Linley was impatient. He didn’t want to wait until I was finished to start the hunt. With a blare of bugles and a clatter of horses’ hooves, he and his men set out.
From the tower window I saw the guests for the feast arriving all afternoon, lords and ladies, beautifully dressed. I heard the men in the courtyard talking. The griffin had been captured. The hunt was a success. I admit I was proud at the part my magic tapestries had played.
They brought the griffin back to the castle at nightfall. Torches flickered in the courtyard below me. Although I strained to see, I could make out only shadows.
Lord Linley burst into my tower room. He examined the last tapestry and grunted with satisfaction at the sight of the griffin lying dead in a pool of blood. I had only a few finishing touches to weave and then the golden words at the top.
The Griffin of Darkwood is Killed
‘How much longer?’ he demanded.
‘I will be finished at midnight,’ I promised.
‘We will hang the tapestry one minute after midnight,’ he said. ‘Covered like the others. I will slay the griffin at noon tomorrow and we will feast tomorrow night.’
Lord Linley’s laugh was cruel. ‘It will be a fine show for my guests. We will reveal the tapestries at the feast.’
Lord Linley left.
A sudden low moaning from outside, like that of a creature in great pain, sent me to a window. I could see nothing.
I went back to my tapestry. I had only the final word, Killed, to weave. The moaning came again, sending shivers down my spine.
I crept down the tower stairs. No one saw me. I entered the courtyard. I stood for a moment in darkness, and then the clouds parted, and the moon shone down.
It was my first sight of a griffin. I could barely breathe. Its great wings rested on the stones. It was wrapped in chains. It watched me come.
A kind of dizziness buckled my knees and made me gasp out loud. My throat went dry. I was spellbound; filled with both awe and wretchedness.
How could anyone kill such a magnificent creature?
How could I be a part of it?
It was almost midnight when I returned to the tower. I had to change the tapestry before it was too late. It was the only way to save the griffin. The magic was difficult, but not impossible. I remembered the powerful spells that my grandfather had taught me. I stood in front of the tapestry. ‘OCUD RABA ABAR DUCO!’ I cried.”
“OCUD RABA ABAR DUCO!” said Will. “It’s a palindrome!”
“Keep reading,” urged Favian.
“The threads swirled and danced in a kaleidoscope of ruby and emerald and blue. The scene in the tapestry transformed before my eyes. When the colours settled, I studied the new tapestry with joy.
I was lost in my work, ready to weave the final word, Escapes. I didn’t hear Lord Linley’s steps on the tower stairs.
‘Traitor!’ he hissed.
In terror, I turned to face him. He raised his sword and seconds later my chest was on fire, blood spurting like a fountain. The pain was like nothing I have ever felt before. I slumped to the floor.
Time blurred. I dimly heard the tearing of my tapestry as Lord Linley slashed at it again and again. Pieces fell in tatters around me.
His hunting boot crashed into my ribs. His footsteps clattered down the stairs. He had left me to die.
A tremendous wind blew through the opened shutters. I saw pieces of the slashed tapestry spin in a cloud of colour and disappear through the windows into the night. I grabbed at a scrap. Words, woven in golden thread. The G
riffin of Darkwood. I thrust it inside my bloody shirt and crawled to the stairs.
Step by step, I lowered myself down. At the bottom, I pulled myself up in the doorway and listened. From the courtyard came terrible sounds, Lord Linley’s curses and the roar of the griffin. I knew that Lord Linley was going to kill it.
I stumbled to the stone archway. The great doors were open and I slipped outside. With Lord Linley’s curses ringing in my ears, I staggered down the hill and through the narrow streets to my cottage.
Elizabeth has brought me here, to this shepherd’s hut, to hide. She brings my infant son every day to see me. I have lost all track of time. Elizabeth tells me that three days have passed since Lord Linley stabbed me and destroyed the last tapestry. The talk in the village is all about the griffin. Lord Linley stabbed it a hundred times but it would not die. He ordered his men to take it in chains to a distant part of his estate, deep in the forest.
What have I done? Did my spell save the griffin for a lifetime of suffering?
This morning, the ground shook and Elizabeth says that the entrance to the great hall is in ruins. My tapestries are buried.
Elizabeth has nursed my wounds, but I grow steadily weaker. It is hard to speak.”
At the bottom of the paper in shaky handwriting were the words:
Morgan Moonstone passed away this night, May 13, in the year of our Lord 1604.
“The griffin’s still alive,” said Will. “It’s in the forest.”
“Lord Linley couldn’t kill it,” said Favian. “It must be because the fourth tapestry was never completed.”
“The story wasn’t finished,” said Will. “We found the place where the griffin was chained up. It must have broken loose. But it still couldn’t escape.”
“When Morgan Moonstone cast his spell to change the tapestry it went terribly wrong,” said Favian. “He saved the griffin’s life, but he made it a prisoner.” His face paled. “First Hannah took on the griffin’s suffering. It killed her. And now, Thom.”