“You did? You eavesdropped? What did they say?”
“It was an accident,” said Holly. She beckoned Owen closer. “I thought everyone was asleep. I came down to the fridge for some milk, and they were talking in the living room with the door open. If I tell you what they said, promise not to tell?”
“Cross my heart or hope to die,” said Owen, swiftly crossing his chest with his finger.
Holly bent close to Owen’s ear. “Aunt Celia and Uncle Brent might be getting a divorce,” she hissed. “That’s why Adam and Chantel are visiting England on their own.”
“When they go back to Canada, their mum and dad will be divorced?” Owen’s eyes were wide with shock.
“Shhhhhh.” Holly shook her head. “Not quite. Chantel and Adam are here so Aunt Celia and Uncle Brent can have time together to try and work things out.”
Owen let out his breath in a whoosh of air. “Phew. Poor Chantel and Adam.”
“Don’t say anything. But maybe that’s why Adam and his family are angry all the time.”
Owen turned and looked at the stairs. “I should go and see if he’s all right.”
“You promised not to say anything!” Holly grabbed Owen’s arm. “You promised.”
“Keep your hair on. I’m not stupid,” said Owen, shaking her hand off.
“Well, don’t go yet,” Holly insisted. “Leave it a bit. So it doesn’t look like you’re being nosy.”
Owen nodded slowly. “All right. A divorce, though. Wow!
Are they supposed to choose between their mum and dad? That’s not fair.” He wandered out of the kitchen, looking dazed.
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Adam threw himself on his bunk. His mom was mad at him again. He’d figured she would be. Chantel was her favorite. Dad’s too. Everything blurred as his eyes watered. A lump formed in his throat. He thumped the pillow with his fist. “It wasn’t my fault, it wasn’t my fault, it wasn’t my fault!” he said.
After a while he stood up and wandered over to the window. He stared into the distance with his hand in his pocket, absently turning the talisman over and over.
He pulled out the piece of gold. “Do I ever wish my dream was real, that you truly had magical powers,” he whis–pered to himself. “Oh boy, would I change my life!”
The talisman lay still and silent in his palm.
Adam looked up again at the rolling swell of the downs beyond the farm. He considered the possibility of magic. “My little sister says she’s talked to the White Horse, and I dreamed about a dragon imprisoned in Dragon Hill. We must both be going nuts.”
He looked down at the broken talisman again and shrugged. “All right, I’ll take you to this Wayland’s Smithy place,” he said. He leaned his head against the cool glass on the windowpane. “Let’s hope nothing happens. Then I’ll know for sure that Chantel’s been hallucinating, and I just had a crazy dream. Stress, that must be what’s causing it … stress.”
The lump in his throat grew larger and a dry sob escaped. He swallowed and muttered fiercely, “But if the talisman is real, then the dragon magic is real. If I make the talisman whole and free the dragon, I can use the power.”
Adam clenched his fist around the talisman and thrust his arm in the air. “I’ll fix my parents,” he roared. “I’ll fix everyone and everything. I’ll fix the whole darned world so no one is ever unhappy again!” Then his body sagged, the lump in his throat grew too big, and for the first time in years Adam cried.
Owen paused outside the bedroom door, his hand on the knob. He heard the muffled sob, sat down on the stairs and waited until all was quiet.
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The sun shone brilliantly. Adam’s spirits rose as he followed Owen and Holly to the stables. He didn’t care what his mother said. He was going riding!
The ponies whickered a greeting. Adam slapped Mis–chief’s rump. She moved over so he could curry-comb her coat; then she turned and nuzzled his pockets for the carrot she knew would be there.
After grooming and saddling up, Adam and his two cousins rode sedately through Uffington. Adam gazed around with interest. Seated on Mischief he could see over hedges and into the gardens of the thatched cottages. The cottages were old, with wavy roofs and black timbers standing out starkly against the whitewashed walls. It was like riding through a storybook.
Holly and Owen waved to several people, who smiled and waved back. Then the road curved around the grounds of the Big House. They clopped past the church and the Blowing Stone Inn.
“The Blowing Stone?” questioned Adam as they passed under the painted inn sign. “Chantel mentioned a Blowing Stone in her dream.” He pointed upward. The painting showed what looked like a man bending over a gigantic stone. “Why is that dude kissing a rock?”
Holly and Owen reined in their ponies and turned to look up at the sign.
Owen grinned. “It’s supposed to be King Alfred blowing into the stone. He doesn’t look much like a king, though, does he?”
Adam shook his head.
Holly squinted up. “He has a gold band on his head. My history teacher says that was a crown in Alfred’s time.”
“So what’s this Alfred dude doing?”
“He’s making the stone sound like a trumpet.” Holly looked at Adam. “You do know who Alfred was, don’t you?”
Adam shook his head.
“He was the greatest of the Saxon kings,” said Owen. “The one who burnt the cakes.”
Adam still looked blank.
“Anyway, he was really important in English history,” contin–ued Owen. “And village stories say he was crowned around here … in Uffington … or maybe up there on White Horse Hill.”
“Mind you, the people of Wantage say he was crowned there,” interrupted Holly. “No one really knows, but everyone agrees it was somewhere around here. The Blowing Stone was on top of White Horse Hill inside Uffington Castle. For thousands of years it was sounded as a warning when there were raids on the fort or to celebrate things like Alfred’s coronation. The sound carried for miles and miles and warned everyone. The inn sign shows Alfred blowing into the stone.” She paused and looked up at the sign. “I don’t know if Alfred really blew it, though.”
Adam smirked. “So you really believe there once was a big rock that had a hole in it. And it made a noise like a trumpet that everyone could hear for miles and miles. Yeah, right!”
“Several holes, actually, but most of them are bunged up with dirt,” laughed Holly.
“You mean … ?” Adam stared at her.
Holly nodded. “Yup. The Blowing Stone is real. It was dragged down from the hill to the village years ago.”
“People said it made too much noise up there when the wind blew,” laughed Owen. “It’s in a cottage garden at the crossroads. Want to see it?”
“You’re having me on.”
Holly and Owen grinned at each other and urged their ponies forward. Adam followed. They hacked through the village, along the lane and up to the crossroads. Holly dis–mounted and led Harlequin onto the grass verge, where she tied the reins to the bars of a gate.
Adam and Owen followed suit.
“This way, Adam,” Owen called as he and Holly climbed a stile into a small cottage garden.
“This is someone’s yard. Should we be in here?” Adam hesitated halfway over the stile.
Owen pointed out a small notice tacked onto a post. “It’s a historic site. We’re allowed to visit this part of the garden.”
Holly patted a chest-high rock sitting in the middle of an unkempt lawn. “This is the Blowing Stone. See if you can make it work.”
“You mean blow into it?”
Holly and Owen nodded.
Adam walked around the stone. It was riddled with large holes and hollows, some full of dirt. A fern grew out of one hole and drooped artistically down the side.
The stone was an irregular shape, but the top surface was roughly flat. Adam ran his hand over it. Then he spotted what he was looking for: in one corner was a small h
ole the size of a quarter. It was unlike the other sharp-edged holes and hollows. The rock around the edges of this hole was worn smooth and shiny. He stuck his finger in it. “Is this where you are supposed to put your mouth? It’ll never work.”
Holly and Owen grinned.
Adam bent forward, gingerly placed his lips around the hole and blew hard several times. Nothing happened. Red cheeked with effort, he straightened up to catch his breath.
“You have to make a seal all around the edge of the hole,” encouraged Holly. “Then try with your lips pursed. Like blowing a trumpet. But you need more air.”
“Just blow a gigantic raspberry,” advised Owen.
Adam laughed, took in an enormous lungful of air, pursed his lips, bent down and blew as hard as he could.
A sputtering moan echoed through the garden.
Four startled magpies burst out of a nearby hawthorn tree, squawking angrily, and landed on the cottage roof.
“Four for a boy,” chanted Holly, clapping. “Adam, this just might be your lucky day!”
Flushed with success, Adam blew again. The note was louder and longer but still not as impressive as he expected. “It makes a weird noise.”
“Yup. Sounds like a sick cow.” Owen grinned. “Go on … try once more. Pretend you’re King Alfred. But I bet you can’t make a sound that can be heard all around the vale.”
Adam stretched up and breathed heartily several times.
He walked around the stone again. “I think some of these holes have been stopped up on purpose,” he said. “That’s what makes it so hard to blow.” He picked up a small stick and cleared several of the cavities around the side. Finally he sucked in an enormous breath and bent over the Blowing Stone once again.
BRoooooooooooooooooooooooooooom!
The magpies took off in fright, and an astounded Holly clapped her hands over her ears. With a shout of laughter Owen headed for the stile as the note echoed and re-echoed around the garden, through the village and up over the downs.
“Holy mackerel,” said Adam, amazed. “That’s loud enough to raise the dead. No wonder some holes were blocked.”
“Amazing! I’ve never known anyone make that loud a sound. Come on, let’s get out of here in case we’ve made folks mad,” said Owen as he swung over the stile.
“Or scared the ponies,” chuckled Holly.
Laughing, Adam hurried after them.
CHAPTER SIX
WAYLAND’S SECRET
The children rode uphill towards the Ridgeway and trotted through a gap in the bank. After passing the White Horse and Uffington Castle, they found themselves on a more sheltered track. It followed the flank of the downs and was edged by low banks and occasional clumps of trees. Gradu–ally it dropped closer to the valley, and soon the ponies were winding their way through a small wood.
Holly pointed, and Adam glimpsed a squirrel scampering along a tree bough. Next Owen waved them all to a stop, and children and ponies watched as a fox, belly low to the ground, sped across the trail, through the trees and slipped out of sight along the edge of the field beyond.
“I’ve never seen a real fox before,” Adam whispered.
“Well, keep your eyes peeled. There are badgers here too,” Holly whispered back.
Owen gave a muffled snort. ”You don’t see them in daylight. Only in the evenings.”
“You never know,” said Holly defensively. “We could be lucky. We don’t often see foxes either.”
They rode on without incident for about a mile. The track rose and fell. Only once did they need to pull the ponies to the side to allow a string of eight exercising racehorses to trot past. The ponies whickered a greeting, but the thoroughbreds merely twitched their ears in reply.
“How far is Wayland’s Smithy?” asked Adam as they carried on.
“You can almost see it in the middle of the clump of trees ahead.” Holly pointed.
Adam’s stomach cramped with unease. He was almost at Wayland’s Smithy, an old burial place said to be built by a blacksmith god. In a few minutes he’d find out if he and Chantel were crazy, or, worse still, if his dragon experience was real.
Mischief tossed her head nervously as Adam jagged the bit in her mouth. “Sorry, Mischief,” he muttered, and slack–ened the reins. But his knuckles and face were white. It took courage to give her the signal to turn off the Ridgeway and follow the others through a gate into a small fenced wood.
Mischief stepped delicately into the area known as Way–land’s Smithy. The trees thickened, then suddenly widened out. Adam found himself in a hidden clearing. He slid from Mischief’s back and gazed around.
Holly slipped off her pony, looped Harlequin’s reins up over his neck and tied them in a loose knot so he wouldn’t trip on them. She gave him a friendly slap on the rear. “We can let the ponies roam. It’s fenced,” she called as she closed the gate. The two boys followed her example and the three ponies ambled into the shade of the trees.
The soft leafy ground and springy turf muffled the chil–dren’s footsteps and the pony’s hooves. A circle of majestic beech trees ringed a clearing, standing guard over the bar–row and holding back the woodland. The children stepped between the beeches into the magic circle. No birds sang. No breeze stirred or leaves rustled. They had entered a bub–ble of silence.
Adam stared.
The barrow, a long, low, turf-covered mound, almost filled the beech-edged circle. The narrow end of the mound faced them, framed by two enormous stones. Beneath the lintel gaped a small dark hole.
Adam gulped. He didn’t like small dark tunnels. No way was he going in there. He shuffled his feet. His skin prickled with fear.
“Have you got Chantel’s talisman?” asked Owen.
Adam’s hand slipped inside the pocket of his jeans. He nodded but did not bring it out.
Owen held out his hand impatiently. “Let’s have it.”
Adam drew the piece of gold from his pocket, but held on tight. “What are we supposed to do?” he asked quietly.
Owen shrugged. “Guess we keep trying things till some–thing happens.”
“Like what?” Adam’s voice squeaked with tension.
Holly crossed the turf and stood before the lintel stones.
“The stories say to leave a coin on the entrance stones if you want your horse shod,” she said.
“We don’t,” Adam said flatly. “And it isn’t a coin.”
“Try it anyway.” Holly pointed to a rock between the stones. “Put the talisman there.”
Adam edged towards the dark entrance. His fingers didn’t want to let go, but he dropped the talisman. It landed with a tinkle. Wave upon wave of mystery flowed from the dark tunnel, wrapping tendrils around his body and tugging him towards the entrance. Adam retreated fast.
Holly climbed casually on top of the burial mound. Owen also seemed unaffected by the atmosphere.
The talisman lay there. Nothing happened.
Owen fidgeted for a few moments, then walked over and picked it up. “Maybe someone has to take it inside.”
A surge of relief swept over Adam. Yes it didn’t have to be him. Let Owen go in the dark hole.
Owen held the talisman between his finger and thumb, bent double and slipped inside the barrow.
“Any skeletons in there?” Adam asked Holly.
She shook her head. “No. The burial chambers were excavated years ago.” She jumped down from the side of the mound and ran back towards the lintels. “They took the skeletons to a museum somewhere.” She looked at Adam and laughed. “It’s not scary, silly. The entrance just leads to three little hollows. You can always see daylight, even from the deepest one.” She bent down and peeked inside. “Anything happening?” she called.
“Not a thing,” Owen’s disembodied answer wafted up. He crawled out of the entrance and handed the talisman to Holly. “Try something else.”
Holly looked around. “Chantel walked widdershins around the eye. Let’s try that.” She ran past Adam to the entranc
e of the beech-tree circle, paused and, holding the talisman before her, walked slowly around the edge of the clearing in an anti-clockwise direction.
She made seven circles. Nothing happened.
Holly offered the talisman to Adam. “Your turn.”
Adam shrank back. He had known that it would come to this. He was going to have to crawl in that hole. It was still pulling at him.
“Come on, Adam.” Holly pressed the talisman into his palm. “What’s the matter?”
“He’s scared,” Owen said, grinning.
Adam looked at them. “Don’t you feel it?” he asked.
Owen stopped laughing. “Feel what?”
“As though … as though the hole … is trying to pull you inside?”
Holly and Owen stared at the entrance to the barrow and back at Adam.
Owen slowly shook his head. “I don’t feel anything. Does it feel like that to you?”
“Yes,” whispered Adam.
“Then it’s got to be you who takes the talisman inside. Go on. We’ll be right here. Yell if you need help, but you’ve got to try.”
He pushed Adam towards the barrow.
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Adam crouched in the entrance. It was dark, and smelled of damp rock. He was going to have to move if he wanted to see inside. His body was blocking the daylight.
He crawled forward. Loose stones and rocks poked into his hands and knees. Air swirled around him. The rocks throbbed gently, as if to a giant heartbeat. Or was it his heart thumping? Adam couldn’t tell. His imagination worked overtime. What if a bat flew into his hair? What if he knelt on a snake? What if spiders fell down his neck? What if the magic sucked him in and he was never seen again? Heart pounding, he eased himself into a hollow on one side of the passage and let a shaft of sunlight through.
After his flights of imagination, Adam was relieved to see a short, well-trampled rocky passage opening into three alcoves made of gigantic slabs of rock. Interesting, but not scary.
“Anything happening?” yelled Holly from outside.
“No,” Adam called back.
“Have you held up the talisman?”
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