Contents
Cover
Blurb
Logo
Prologue
1 Ash
2 Friends and Enemies
3 The Hatchling
4 Gwaam
5 Two Meetings
6 The Summons
7 Black Snow
8 The Dragon’s Lair
9 Alizarn
10 The Witch
11 A Sticky Situation
12 A Place to Rest
13 The Mission
14 Across the River
15 Underground
16 Tree House Fairies
17 The Ravine
18 The Dungeon
19 Wizard Zadoc
20 The Phoenix
21 The Goblin Army
22 Homecoming
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Copyright
Dedication
Ash Rover series ad
Ash Rover wants to do something
important with his life.
When he discovers a phoenix egg,
he gets his wish.
But the magical bird brings trouble
to Ash’s village.
Soon Ash is not only the unlikely
Keeper of the Phoenix, he’s also on a
desperate quest to save his family
and friends.
PROLOGUE
The phoenix clasped his scarlet wings to his body and swept down, aiming for the space between two giant oak trees. He soon realised he had misjudged the gap, but he dared not stop. Not when the others were so close.
The creature squeezed his wings tighter and stretched his body, slipping through the gap by a feather’s breadth. The great bird lifted his golden head. As he pulled out of his nosedive, he gave a triumphant cry. He spread his wings and beat them rapidly to give him the thrust he needed to lift higher into the sky.
He peeked behind him. His trick hadn’t worked. The two pursuers were still there. Gaining.
Tearing up through the clouds, the phoenix registered the welcoming breeze and sunlight press against him. But the open sky was dangerous. Here he felt exposed and as helpless as a newborn chick. There was nowhere to hide. His pursuers were stronger than him and would have him soon. But there, in the distance, he saw a patch of jade forest. If he could reach the trees, he might have a chance. He might be able to make the tight spaces of the coppice work to his advantage.
“Dare to catch me, griffins!” the phoenix crowed into the vortex behind him.
Both griffins answered with savage screams that clawed at his ears. The phoenix snatched another look over his shoulder. With their massive coal-black wings, the griffins were carving up the sky. Claiming it for themselves, they left him nowhere to go.
On the phoenix flew until he encountered a sudden rush of air. The wind embraced the giant bird, sweeping him along, allowing his aching wings a brief rest. He had to fight hard to overcome the familiar pang of exhaustion that always throbbed at this time. He must not give up now!
Ahead was the forest. The phoenix soared, as if to shoot straight over the woods. But at the last moment he swept down. He folded his wings into his body and dived through the forest canopy. The griffins pulled up and dropped awkwardly after him, the sudden change requiring great effort.
Through the upper levels of the forest, the phoenix plunged until he gained the middle space between the treetops and the ground. Up, over, down, through and around he went. Up, over, across and around, like a dragonfly skimming a muddy pond, the phoenix dashed and turned until he grew dizzy.
Behind him he heard the restrained flapping of mighty wings. The enormous griffins crashed about in the forest’s dense spaces. Muffled snarls sounded in the cool, woody silence. No other creatures stirred – they were hiding. The carrion-like stench of the griffins had announced their presence long before their noisy pursuit.
The phoenix shot past a branch, disturbing a chameleon huddled in camouflage. When the lizard flinched, it caught the phoenix’s eye. The momentary loss of concentration almost cost him, for when he faced forwards once more a beech tree loomed before him, solid and unyielding. The phoenix pulled himself up just in time, heaving his wings and body sharply backwards.
With great effort, he climbed. The smooth bark of the beech tree brushed his feathered chest as he skimmed its surface. Below he heard a startled screech, the thrashing of wings, then a bone-snapping CRACK! The sombre beech shuddered. The phoenix glanced down to see a griffin lying awkwardly on the forest floor. It did not stir.
Relief was short-lived, for the second griffin did not make the same mistake as its companion. Instead it swooped in from the side and chased the phoenix up the face of the tree. The phoenix flew out the top of the forest canopy then twisted and plummeted back down, the griffin following close on his tail feathers.
The swipe of angry talons tore the phoenix’s back and knocked him sideways. Still he flew on, ignoring the pain. The griffin roared and shot twin blasts of fire from its crimson eyes. The flames struck a nearby branch, incinerating it and causing the phoenix to veer sharply. Leaves and branches caught fire and toppled downwards.
Ahead, the phoenix saw an opportunity. He darted low then lifted quickly to fly through a hole in the trunk of an ancient ash tree. Twisting his body sharply sideways, he slipped through the hole and burst out the other side. Intent on its prey, the heavy-limbed griffin blindly followed the phoenix’s path. The griffin flew into the gap where it stuck fast, plugging the hole with its body, its mighty wings clasped to its sides, its legs and feet dangling from the rear of the tree.
“You will not escape!” the griffin roared as it writhed about. “I will find you, Gwaam. I will find you and return you to your rightful place.”
With the last of his strength, the phoenix darted up through the forest roof and into the open sky. This time when the wind fanned his wings, he savoured the sensation. He gulped air into his burning lungs, overcome by a surge of relief. He had escaped.
Though his wings were heavy with exhaustion, he knew he must put as much distance as he could between himself and the griffin in case it managed to free itself. Then he had to find a place where he could perform his last ritual in secret. Otherwise all would be lost.
The phoenix flew on until he spied a river winding through a fertile valley cut into the desert landscape. Dipping down into the valley, the phoenix followed the river then headed west over pastures that rolled gently across the back of the land. Few trees grew there, save for a tiny orchard of olive and lime trees. Most of the land was open fields sown with food crops for humans or pastures for grazing animals. Nearby, a village clung to a steep, narrow roadway. It was closer to human settlement than the phoenix would have liked, but his tired wings could carry him no further.
The gigantic bird tilted his wings to descend, but at that moment his energy evaporated. The life snapped out of him and his body burst into a white-hot orb of light and heat. For a brief instant, he seemed revived, his head thrown back. The phoenix gave a mighty cry. Within the brilliant light his image glowed with the colours of the rainbow. Then the heat and light were extinguished and all that remained was ash. The ash drifted slowly downwards. As it fell each smoky particle was drawn together as if magnetised. Moments later, the ash was reunited in a compact oval. The oval plunged from the sky and might have smashed to pieces if it had not caught in the fork of a lonely willow tree that stood like a sentinel on a hillock overlooking the fields.
In the distance, the tinkling of cowbells could be heard. Closer, the whispering of grass stirring in the breeze. Closer still, something blunt and strident filled the air. Something not at all musical.
It was the sound of snoring
.
1
ASH
The snoring belonged to a cowherd named Ash Rover. He had only meant to rest for a few minutes, but had found it so relaxing in the shade that he’d drifted off to sleep and become lost in a superbly heroic dream in which he was a knight, galloping into battle on a black warhorse.
It was one of Ash’s favourite dreams.
It wasn’t until he felt a thud on his head that he woke with a start.
“Eee-yow!”
Ash poked his fingers through his curly yellow hair to feel the lump that was already forming. It took him a moment to work out where he was. Rubbing the knightly dream from his eyes with some reluctance, he peered around for his attacker. Seeing no one, the boy jumped to his feet. “Who’s there?”
Ash’s cattle dog, Trip, who was dozing nearby, woke and lifted his nose to the breeze. Scenting nothing unusual, the dog dropped his head back onto his paws and went back to sleep. If anyone was about, Ash knew Trip would have barked – he was an excellent guard dog.
Ash gazed up at the branches of the tree. Only the drooping fringes of the willow showed themselves as they swayed in the breeze.
He marched around the tree.
No one.
Then he spied something lying half-buried in the clover nearby. “It’s a rock,” he muttered, picking it up. “And an unusual one at that.”
Ash almost dropped the rock in surprise. Although it looked and felt smooth, like polished marble, the rock radiated warmth.
What sort of rock makes heat? he wondered.
Ash turned the rock over in his hands. It felt light and rather hollow and was the size and shape of a honeydew melon, with swirls of ebony and violet covering its smooth surface.
“Surely something so perfectly formed can’t be a rock?” he murmured.
As he watched, the ebony and violet swirls shifted and flowed. Ash shook his head.
Am I still dreaming? he wondered. He blinked then stared at the rock once more. There! He had seen it. The colours did shift.
“Old Maggot Magdeth was right,” Ash said. “We are all doomed!”
With barely a thought for the cattle he was meant to be minding, Ash slipped the rock into his knapsack and whistled. “Come, Trip. We’d better show Ma. She’ll know what to do.”
Ash set off at a jog, loyal Trip following eagerly behind. They strode along a series of winding, deserted cattle trails before finally reaching home. Chickens squawked and scrabbled out of the way as Ash and his dog ran into the farmyard. The familiar smells of henhouse and cow manure, damp earth, straw and smoke greeted them.
Bursting into the cottage, Ash called out to his mother. “Ma! Where are you?”
“Ashfield Rover!” Ma shouted. “How many times have I told you to wipe your feet before coming inside? You’ll bring the animals’ muck in.”
“Sorry, I forgot.” Ash bounced back outside to clean his boots on the scraping stone beside the door.
Amelia Rover, a short, plain-looking woman, sweated and grumbled under her breath as she stirred a huge pot of strawberry jam on the stove. “That’s what you always say.”
Ash trotted back inside and glanced around the kitchen. Four freshly baked blackberry pies sat cooling by the window. The steam rose from their crusty caramel-coloured tops, making his mouth water. Ash swallowed hard and tore his eyes away from the pies. He forced himself to focus on his mother’s words.
“… doing home at this time? I’ve told you not to leave the cows.”
“They’re fine, Ma. I only came home because I found something important, or rather, it found me.”
“Well, what is it?” Amelia wiped her hands on her apron. “The quicker you show me, the quicker you can get back to those cows.”
“You’d better sit down.” Ash ushered Amelia to the stone bench at the table and sat beside her. “What I’m about to say may shock you.”
Worry lines etched Amelia’s forehead. “I hope this isn’t more of your tomfoolery. After this morning’s antics with the chickens, I–”
“No tomfoolery, Ma, I promise.” Ash lifted the rock out of his knapsack and offered it to her.
Amelia’s forehead crinkled even further. She took the rock and held it up to the light. “What’s this?” She shook it, pressed it to her ear then held it at arm’s length to squint at it. “A rock?”
“Look again.” Ash licked his lips and inched closer. “Do you feel something?”
“No. Should I?”
“Doesn’t it feel warm?”
“No. Is this your idea of a joke? You’re not funny, you know.”
“Ma, I’m not joking.” He eased the rock from Amelia’s hands to cradle it in his own. “Before, in the meadow, the rock was hot and glowing and the colours swirled. I think it’s a sign or an omen or something.”
Amelia’s face darkened. She rose from her seat and stirred her pot again. After a while she asked, “Have you been listening to Old Magdeth spinning her tales again? You know it’s all nonsense. You shouldn’t take any notice of her.”
“I haven’t seen her in ages,” Ash said, although he couldn’t deny he was fascinated by Magdeth’s doomsday prophecies. “This rock fell out of the sky and hit me on the head. See?”
He pointed to his forehead. His mother remained stubbornly facing the other way. For the first time, Ash noticed the age in her rounded shoulders.
When did she suddenly get so old? he wondered.
Probably around the time his pa and brother had left for the northern border to fight against the Draygonians, who were trying to invade Krell. She’d taken on so much more work since then.
“You saw it with your own eyes?” His mother’s words broke into his thoughts.
“Not exactly. I was asleep at the time.” The words trickled out of Ash’s mouth before he realised what he’d said.
Amelia spun around. “I don’t care how bored or tired you are, you must never sleep on the job. That’s when cattle wander off, or get stuck in a muddy riverbank and drown, or get stolen from under the tip of your nose.” She wagged her finger at him. “You know we can’t afford to lose any more cows. Not with your pa and Duncan away and our very survival tied to those animals.”
Ash’s shoulders slumped. “I know, Ma, I’m sorry. I only sat down to rest because I had a headache. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I swear.”
“Hmm,” Amelia murmured. “I hope not. Anyway, what makes you think someone didn’t throw the rock at you?”
“There was no one there.”
Amelia clicked her tongue and stirred the pot vigorously.
“I’m telling the truth. It fell from the sky. It has to be a sign or an omen. Maybe something good is finally going to happen for us.”
“Don’t be daft, Ash. Rocks don’t fall from the sky. And cowherds like you don’t get sent signs or see omens. Why, signs and omens don’t even exist. People like Magdeth make up stories about them to scare you kids.”
“But this rock is special, Ma. I’m sure of it. I thought you would know what it was. That’s why I ran home to show you.”
“Oh, well, if you want my opinion …” Amelia snatched the rock. “It’s a worthless dirty rock. And this is where rocks belong.”
“No!” Ash leaped in front of his mother, but it was too late. The rock flew out the window and landed with a PLOP! in the manure heap.
“Now, go bring the cows home for milking, please. And if any are missing, you’ll be in big trouble.”
Ash glanced at the manure heap through the window. He really didn’t want to leave the rock sitting there, all exposed. He was certain it was special. But his mother was not to be argued with.
Whistling for Trip, Ash set off. He didn’t bother looking back, though he felt the weight of his mother’s stare between his shoulder blades. He knew she was watching him with that mixture of anger and disappointment that had often marked her face since his pa had been gone. Lately, all she seemed to do was worry and shout. It hadn’t always been like that. Not
that long ago she had often laughed.
Not any more.
Ash wished things would go back to the way they used to be.
“Those blasted Draygonians,” Ash muttered. “This is all their fault.”
2
FRIENDS AND ENEMIES
“Up you get, Ash. Market day.”
Ash crawled out of bed and struggled into his clothes in the pre-dawn light. He stumbled to the table and Amelia plonked a bowl of porridge in front of him, its grainy smell swirling up his nostrils.
“Don’t dawdle.” Amelia charged about the kitchen, packing a wicker basket. “You must get into Icamore early.”
“What about the milking?” Ash blew steam off a spoonful of porridge.
“I’ll do it. And don’t dawdle back either. You’re to take the cows to the meadow when you get home.”
The moment Ash finished his porridge, Amelia pressed the basket into his hands and disappeared down to the dairy. As Ash stepped outside, he stole a glance at the manure heap. The rock was still perched on top.
With one eye on the dairy, Ash plucked the rock – his rock – from the manure heap. He wiped splotches of manure off it onto his trousers then pushed it into the basket, careful to keep it away from the pies. After calling Trip, he set off for the village.
Icamore was a tiny, isolated hamlet set on the banks of Baydoria River in the south-west of Krell. Few visitors came to Icamore. The settlement was pretty much cut off from the rest of Krell by the desert sands and jagged mountain ranges that surrounded the valley. As a result, the people of Icamore had learned to be self-sufficient in most things.
The village was surrounded by farms that provided food and livestock for the people who lived there. In the middle of the settlement sat the village square. It was flanked by narrow dirt and cobblestone streets along which tiny shopfronts had been built. Further out from the square were the villagers’ houses, mostly whitewashed stone huts with thatched roofs.
On the hill, perched above it all, sat Lord Belgrave’s rambling manor. Lord Belgrave governed the village and all the people who lived in the valley. Being the wealthiest and most powerful man in the area, Lord Belgrave owned much of the property in and around Icamore. He leased shops and farms to his tenants, claiming rent and taxes in return. He was a harsh landlord and those who disobeyed him were severely dealt with.
Keeper of the Phoenix Page 1