Silvermoon. A Tale of a Young Werewolf. A YA Novel. 12-18

by T. J. Edison.

  The grin on the creatures face dwindled as he realised his mistress’s comical fall wasn’t for his benefit and was more or less his fault. He mumbled something incoherent as he pulled her to her feet and she said, “Apology accepted, now move it, pea-brain.”

  They made their way across the frozen ford. As they reached the opposite bank, Burr lifted his mistress easily, despite her weight, onto his shoulders and ploughed easily through the deep snow towards the Townsend house.

  He set his mistress down as they stood before a solid oak door. Reega indicated it with a flick of her head and Burr head-butted the door. His skull, almost solid bone that surrounded a brain the size of a plum, could take an enormous amount of punishment. The whole house shook as his forehead made contact, but the door didn’t budge. Burr tried again, and still the door stood strong. He gave a third butt and the door rattled in its frame, and then a voice rang out behind them.

  “What do you think you are you doing-! Reega! I thought as much.”

  She turned to the sound, snarling, baring her fangs. There he stood, her enemy, banker Townsend, known to her as the elf Seawan. He faced them wearing a white shroud, his bow fully drawn and pointing at them. She moved quickly behind Burr just in time as an arrow thudded into the woodwork behind her. She shouted, “Kill him, Burr, my beautiful troll.”

  Burr, despite his enormous size, moved quickly towards the bowman. He received three arrows in his broad chest for his trouble before he reached him, each shaft going deeper than the one before. He swatted Seawan as one would swat at a house fly, and the elf flew to one side and landed in a heap, his bow broken, his arrows scattered about him in the snow.

  Reega called out to him, “Burr, ram the door, run at it, use your shoulder too, quickly now.”

  Burr pulled out the shafts embedded in his chest. He swayed on his feet and looked at them, frowning, then threw them to one side. He turned towards the house and after taking several deep breaths, ran full tilt into the door, ramming it with his head and his right shoulder.

  The oak door, its hinges weakened by the head butts, crashed down to the floor. Burr rolled over and landed in a sitting position, with his head lolling from side to side.

  In the hallway, two female figures proceeded to descend the long stairway, they were Jennifer and her mother.

  Reega ran past Burr as he struggled to his feet and shouted, “Kill them too,” and ran on towards the cellar door beneath the stairway.

  Burr rose to his feet and Jennifer’s mother called out from the stairway, “Reega, where is my husband?

  Reega looked up at the two figures in their filmy night clothes. Her ugly goblin face creased in a grin. “Dead, my dear Silvern, my troll crushed his skull and you are next.” She looked at Burr as he ambled towards the stairway, then she shouldered the cellar door open easily and went inside.

  Jennifer screamed as Burr took the first step. The stairway creaked as he took the next, and he held on to the banister to steady himself. Jennifer and her mother back up the stairs to the landing and into their rooms.

  Burr turned, swaying drunkenly on the bottom steps as Reega appeared from the cellar holding a stone jar. “I have it, I have Chanteline!”

  Just then the steps gave way as Burr’s great weight proved too much for wooden structure. Reega hurried towards the doorway, she called out, “Forget them, I have what I came for,” and ran over the fallen door and out of the building.

  Burr extricated himself from the debris, and ambled, albeit somewhat erratically, after his mistress.

  He stumbled as two arrows thudded into his back, he stopped and turned around, and two more arrows pierced his chest, now covered in black blood.

  He moaned softly and grunted as two more shafts found their mark. He looked up at the head of the stairway, there stood the two female elves, their long bows pointing down at him, he raised his head and yowled like a cat, the yowl changed into a bubbly gurgle as two arrows pierced his fleshy throat, going deep, almost passing through, leaving just the fletches visible. The troll swayed on his feet, tottered backwards a little, and then turned, seeking his mistress and stumbled out through the doorway.

  Silvern said, as they climbed down the battered stairway, “Curse the devil goblins and their trolls, what does it take to kill those monstrous things?”

  Jennifer said, “Sunlight, sunlight kills them, mother, it kills them instantly.”

  “I know that my dear. Come, we must stop her, she has the rune stone.”

  They reached the hallway and ran out into the night, over the snow. They spotted Seawan as he struggled to a sitting position, one arm hanging limp. Jennifer called out, “Father, you live, the goblin devil-witch told us you were dead.”

  He looked up at them. “Takes more than a troll swipe to undo me, though I think my arm is broken.”

  Silvern helped him to his feet. “Take him inside, set his arm, quickly. I must stop them, they have the rune stone.”

  The pair watched as she ran over the snowy surface, following the troll’s trail as he followed his mistress.

  She found him lying on the ice at the ford, a still mountain of blood-streaked flesh, and walked past him. She saw Reega’s tracks leading into the black depths of the woods and wondered if she had come alone. Fearing an ambush, or booby-traps, the usual method of fighting preferred by goblins, she turned back, her features drawn. “How am I going to tell them, they will be heartbroken?” She paused in her thoughts, then spoke out loud, “I must go to Helga, and wake her; it seems her time is come.”

  Chapter seven.

  Helga.

  She returned to the house and entered over the broken door. She surveyed the damaged stairway, and after stepping over the mess Burr had made, she ran up the stairs. She found her husband and daughter in the main bedroom. Jennifer knelt before him as he sat on a low divan. Seawan had his arm in a splint already. She approached them, her eyes downcast and voiced her feelings.

  “We have failed in our duty, despite the fact that someone has betrayed us. The whereabouts of the rune stone and its protectors have been kept secret for years”

  “We must call the others to arms and pursue Reega.”

  “No, we cannot, it is our responsibility. We must seek advice from Helga; she will guide us and advise us.”

  Seawan said, “You’re right, we can’t tell the others, we must retrieve the rune stone ourselves, it’s our duty, and yes, you should wake Helga, it’s almost her time, the rejuvenation period has past, and there’s not much point in her sleeping now that the stone is gone.”

  Jennifer stood up after securing the splint. “I’ll come with you mother.”

  She looked at her husband and he nodded. She said to her daughter, using her elvin name, “Come, Lavendel, it’s time you met our saviour.”

  They made their way to the cellar door, hanging now on its bottom hinge. Silvern took a jewelled clip from her hair and held it up, it gave off a soft glow at first and then brightened, giving them enough light to find their way in the darkness. She fixed the clip to the front of her clothing and led the way down into the depths.

  They arrived at a simple doorway, its door also damaged, and Jennifer followed her into a room, empty except for a stone plinth on which a sarcophagus lay. An area clean of dust revealed the absence of the jar containing the rune star on its surface. Silvern approached it with Jennifer close behind. She stopped before the stone construction and lowered her head. Jennifer heard her words inside her mind.

  “Helga, the wise, Helga, the strong, Helga, the saviour of the elves, awaken from your slumber, the rune stone is gone, stolen by the goblins, and we need your counsel.”

  She watched as Silvern reached forward and placed her hands against the top of the stone coffin and pushed. The top part, a thick slab, moved easily, it slid off and fell to the floor with a soft bump.

  She peered inside the opening with her mother, she gasped at the sight of a mummified figure. “Oh my goodness, she’s dead, look at her. I’ve n
ever seen one of our own kind dead before.”

  She turned to her mother, her face drawn, her fear and sadness apparent. Silvern touched her shoulder. “No, my child, Helga is not dead, her spirit lives, she has slept for more than two thousand years. She is a witch, not an elf at all. Watch closely now.”

  Jennifer looked back at the corpse. Its features changed, the wrinkles dissipated and the pallor changed from grey to pale cream, then the eyes opened.

  She stepped back in surprise. Silvern smiled and said, “There, you see, she lives, by the runes grace.”

  The figure sat up, two bejewelled hands reached up to her face, the face of a young woman, and her silver hair changed gradually to blond. She rose up and stepped out of her stone grave. The tears rolled down her cheeks as she spoke, “Silvern, and Lavendel, the day has come where the rune story continues, but it has been taken. Do you know by whom?”

  Silvern said, “The goblin princess Reega has taken the sacred star, she came with a troll, Seawan is injured and the troll is dead.”

  “I know, I can see the memory of it from both of you, you did well. We have been betrayed by someone near to us, we should have been better prepared,” she said, “Now join hands and take hold of mine, Lavendel must know.”

  They joined hands and Silvern took one of her hands and Jennifer the other. Jennifer felt a soft electrical charge pass from Helga’s hand through her body and into her mothers. Her eyelids became heavy, her eyes closed slowly and she saw images, images of woodland elves, and their domain in the trees. She saw a pack of huge furry creatures she knew to be werewolves, walking upright by Helga’s side. The elves bowed to her and they brought food and fed the creatures that accompanied her. She saw herself with someone, not an elf, but a human, watching the scene from a distance. Then the scene changed as she held a glittering star aloft in her hand, the sacred rune, and the gathered throng, elves and werewolves, raised their hands in salutation, and then the vision vanished.

  Her eyes opened, Helga stared at her. “You saw your destiny, Lavendel. Once more must the elves call upon the werewolves for their help and you will lead them.”

  She withdrew her hands, closed her eyes and raised her head. Then after a short pause, her voice sounded clearly in their minds, “Evil stalks the land, the Goblins are seeking long-life. They wish to attain this through the rune stone, something they cannot accomplish. They seek to conquer Earth, to dominate humans, elves and werewolves. They have invaded the Welsh mountains, the home of the were-people.”

  Her mental voice faded as she spoke aloud, “You, Lavendel, must go there and raise an army of werewolves and help rescue the rune stone from these abominations, for they will destroy it when they discover its worthlessness. But you will not go alone. The prophecy states: ‘...and a man, but not a man, will help retrieve the stone from unjust hands…’ You know this man, Lavendel. He is of the were-people and you have met him, and you have even marked him, but beware, he must not touch one drop of your or any other elf’s blood or all will be lost.”

  She turned to Silvern. “You and Seawan can raise a small army of elves, but choose ones that can keep a secret, for, if our people learn of this then elves world-wide will come running to our shores and betray our presence to the humans, and you know how suspicious and mistrusting some of them are, they tried to outlaw us once until we convinced them of our non-existence.”

  Jennifer looked to her mother. “How do I do this, I am but a girl and how will I know this man who is not a man? I know nobody of the were-people, but I saw someone in a vision just now. It was someone who I feel a great longing for. Is he the one, did you see him too?”

  Her mother took her hand and her voice filled with sadness as she spoke, “Yes, I did, and you do know him. We met him five years ago in the town at the shoe shop, and then you met by the ford, father saw him as he ran away, his name is Jason Longfellow.”

  She reached out and stroked her daughter’s cheek, her eyes glistened as she spoke, “You unwittingly placed your mark upon him and out of fear for his life his step-parents sent him away to a school in South Wales. You must go there, but don’t worry, I will guide you. My task is easier than yours, for I, together with your father, must raise an army of elves and join you when you discover Chanteline’s whereabouts. It seems a time of war is once again upon us.”

  Jennifer embraced her mother. “I say without fear that my heart belongs to Jason Longfellow, Mother, and I am aware we will never be a pair. Nevertheless, my heart aches for him. I see him in my dreams every night. I didn’t know then that he was of the were-people, but I would not change a thing.”

  “Yes, you touched his flesh, you are joined to him, but don’t be sad or angry, it was the prophecies doing, but beware of your proximity.”

  Helga spoke, her eyes were closed and her arms outstretched as she swayed gently from side to side, her voice rang out, “This Jason has three close friends, they will go with him willingly,” she paused and opened her eyes, her voice now soft but with a trace of sadness, “I see much death in this undertaking, Lavendel. You must take your bow and your sword with you, you have already proven yourself. I shall be watching, now prepare yourself for your journey.”

  Chapter eight.

  John.

  Jason laid down his pen as he heard a knock on his door, “Come in!”

  He looked up at John who was wearing his sunglasses more often than usual, and he wondered if he slept in them. “Hello, Jason, care for a game of chess?”

  “Not at the moment, John, I have a lot to read, I have my finals tomorrow.”

  “Do you mind if I borrow your Grays Anatomy? I’ll read it here, as it’s quite old and I don’t want to damage it or something.”

  “Yes, of course, John. Oh, I’m not sure if it is still there, Henrietta Morgenstern borrowed it last week and I’m not sure if she returned it to its right place; third shelf from the top and fourth book from the right.”

  “Don’t worry, Jason, I’ll find it if it is there.” He walked over to the large bookcase, packed with several hundred books of all sorts, fiction and non-fiction, which were mostly medical books concerning Vetinary procedures that Jason had collected over the years, paid for from his allowance that the Longfellow’s sent him every month.

  Jason wondered what it was this time. His wish was to be a Vetinary surgeon one day, but John was studying ancient history, so what he wanted with a book on anatomy was beyond him. He was probably feeling lonely, poor chap.

  It seemed to Jason that he was John’s only companion, though he had seen him just the once, and recently, conversing in a secretive manner on the edge of the woods with a female dressed in black, and he was certain it was the same female he saw as he first arrived here.

  It wasn’t that John was unpopular, a bully for instance, no, it appeared he just preferred Jason’s company. As for Jason, he was one of the most popular pupils, especially in sport - running, swimming and the javelin when they competed against other schools. It seemed to Jason’s mind as if John was checking up on him or seeking to protect him. He went with him everywhere, hiking through the snow and tobogganing with him and the girls, Yvette and Ingrid.

  It seemed the four of them were tied to each other. John still had an eye for Yvette, but Yvette had no time for him, she was polite enough, but her smile showed she had no interest in him, whereas Ingrid still couldn’t take her eyes off him.

  “I’ve found it!” John walked away from the bookshelf with his find and made himself comfortable on Jason’s sofa by the window. John couldn’t play chess for toffee; he was absolutely hopeless, regardless of how often Jason and the others coached him. He was, however, well-versed in European history of the past 500 years - his favourite subject being battles between nations, particularly Waterloo, where he could name the number of soldiers, horses and cannons, the casualties, the amount of ammunition and the length of the battle itself, in hours and minutes – but when Jason had asked him what he thought of Napoleon’s and Wellington’
s tactics, and how he himself would have conducted things, changing the battle tactics for example, he had frowned heavily and said, “Tactics! I wouldn’t have changed anything, Jason, it was a perfect battle, full of glory and daring-do” and it was then Jason realized he had memorised the facts to impress Professor Langdon, the history teacher - an authority on Napoleon Bonaparte - and that John would never understand the complex intricacies of chess.

  As John turned the pages, Jason saw the fine black flecks on the back of his left hand, they appeared more frequently nowadays. “Why do you dye your hair, John?”

  A weak grin followed by, “Premature greying I’m afraid, I’ve had it for years, I was wondering when you would notice.”

  “Does it run in the family?”

  His eyes flickered slightly. “No, no, of course not, it happens sometimes,” then he closed the book and asked. “What is life like where you come from?”