Eden Chronicles Box Set Books 1-3

by James Erith

  Almost immediately, Isabella coughed and spluttered and then retched the water she’d swallowed. It felt as if her insides were coming out. She gasped for air and headed uphill for the cover of a nearby tree. She found one, leaned into it, put her head in her hands and breathed deeply.

  She closed her eyes. And now it was exactly like her nightmare, except this time it was for real, the premonition she dreaded. Tears built up and for a moment they rolled freely down her cheeks. Daisy, Archie! They’ll probably think I’m dead.

  She imagined them waiting for her. Please, please, no; every minute spent waiting for her was a minute wasted.

  And she wondered what had happened to Sue. Did she find the boat? In any case, would a little boat survive a storm like this? Never; it would fill with water and sink in minutes.

  Isabella felt herself welling up, but a ripple of water washed against her shins. The water was rising fast. She had to keep going – finding the others was futile now – she was on her own. She’d head uphill, from tree to tree and use whatever cover she could find.

  Only there would she find safety.

  DAISY WAITED for what felt like hours, although she knew it was little more than a few minutes. She shivered – grateful that the rain was not particularly cold. It was tepid – probably from being stuck up in that big cloud for so long, she thought. But Daisy knew that even warm rain quickly chills, and there was just so much of it endlessly pummelling them.

  She ventured from side to side of the path as far as she dared, yelling and screaming for Isabella, but she knew it was hopeless; visibility was zero and she could hardly hear her own voice.

  With every movement, her bones ached and her joints screamed out. If only she hadn’t just played a game of football. She just didn’t have the energy reserves for this kind of physical trial. If a thunderbolt didn’t get her or the rains sweep her away, she’d surely succumb – eventually – to the cold.

  She stamped her feet and jogged up and down. She concentrated hard on the water further down and for a moment she was sure that she could see, much further down on the river bank, a body, someone climbing out of the water. She shook her head – it was impossible, she must be seeing things – like a mirage in the desert.

  She put a hand round Archie and hugged him close. His body warmth was like a hot water bottle. He seemed better – his eyes were clearer – maybe he was back to full strength – although she smiled as she touched his odd spiky hair – especially when hers was smeared all over her face and head like the tentacles of a jellyfish.

  He seemed in shock. Numb, as though his tongue had been cut out. Was it the lightning strike, or was it something else?

  What he had said earlier was very odd – that the storm would come after them until sunset. How did he know that? But she didn’t need him like this, she needed him on full alert, thinking – helping. Perhaps, she thought, he needs another shock. She slapped him on the cheek as hard as she could.

  ‘Blimey, Daisy!’ he yelled rubbing it. ‘What did you do that for?’

  ‘Got you back,’ she mouthed, kissing his forehead. ‘I’m sorry – necessary.’

  ‘There’s no need to hit me,’ he yelled.

  But Daisy hugged him tight and spoke into his ear. ‘Aw, but it did the trick. Keep moving, Archie – can’t wait here much longer – freezing.’

  Archie nodded and pointed towards the track.

  ‘But what about Bells?’ Daisy cried.

  ‘She’s a strong swimmer,’ he said and he drew Daisy’s head in to his chest. ‘She’ll be fine.’ But as he said it, he frowned. He looked at his watch. Only two-thirty. Jeez. What had Cain said: Nature will throw its full fury until sundown? Should he tell her that they had at least another two to three hours of this?

  EVEN THOUGH THEY walked up and down the track almost every day – in winter, spring, summer and autumn, now, it was impossible to find.

  At every turn, with the rain pounding on their heads, unable to see anything, they found themselves walking into the bank or into bushes or into trees. Eventually Archie discovered a section of fencing that had been washed up. He broke it up so they could use it on top of their heads but even then, keeping their arms in the air was exhausting and the rain stabbed at their fingers. At long last, Daisy recognised a big boulder that was just inside the bottom of the covered tree track.

  A mini triumph, Daisy thought, as a long booming roll of thunder crackled gruesomely overhead. She covered her ears, wincing at the pain, but after only a few paces she realised there was a far bigger problem. She bound closely into Archie. ‘Mud!’ she yelled at Archie. ‘Look – thick mud and stones – rushing down.’

  Every step forward was like walking over barbed wire; the path was laced with branches, brambles and rock.

  And ever present was the thick mud and water speeding down the narrow track. Worse still, the canopy that sheltered them was being smashed in by the rain, so that branches were falling down on them – not just twigs and dead branches – but branches as thick as a man’s wrist. Even though they’d only stepped a few metres in, it was becoming obvious that the canopy was close to breaking point.

  Archie tried to skip over a large branch that was heading directly towards him. He slipped as he landed and cried out, the muddy water dragging him down the hill. He dug his fingers into the bank alongside, grabbed on to a root and managed to pull himself upright.

  Daisy climbed up onto a large root on the side of the bank and waited for him to catch up. For the first time in ages she wasn’t being pounded by the rain. She looked down the track, and could see Archie struggling. For every two steps forward, he was pushed one step back.

  ‘COME ON!’ she screamed.

  Archie hugged the side of the track but found that every time he did, it simply folded in on him. Not only that, but his ankles were being stripped bare by the mud, stones and wood being flushed down. At last he made it to Daisy’s position and climbed up next to her.

  He gasped for breath and rubbed his badly scratched ankles covered in blood. ‘We’re never going to make it. Not like this.’

  ‘We have to!’ Daisy replied. ‘Do you think it’ll be any easier out there, getting pummelled by the rain?’

  ‘But it’s acting like a ditch,’ Archie complained. ‘A gigantic storm drain; all the water is cascading down here. The branches are about to collapse, several are already breaking off. It’s about as dangerous a place as you could wish.’

  ‘Then what’s your suggestion?’ Daisy fired back at him.

  Archie thought through his next move. ‘Up the bank and crawl along the top,’ he yelled.

  ‘But it’s over a mile of crawling—’

  ‘I know. But that’s one mile of not being swept away and dying, sis. And we can use the cover of the trees. There’s no other choice.’

  Using the roots of the big oak they were sitting on, they climbed up the bank. On hands and knees they made their way slowly uphill, brushing aside branches and thorns which tore into them. After several minutes, Daisy collapsed under the cover of the next large tree.

  She rubbed her body, which was pierced by blackthorn and dog rose. ‘Great idea, Archie!’

  ‘Look at the track!’ he replied.

  She looked down and, through the veil of rain, she could just make out a moving torrent of mud and branches halfway up the bank. It was flushing downhill at great speed.

  ‘OK, OK. Good decision.’ Daisy drew in her breath. ‘How far up the track are we?’

  ‘Keep going and we’ll come to the big oak with the swing rope. We can rest there.’ Archie had no idea, but he knew he must give her a goal. He could see she was struggling by the way her eyes kept closing.

  Another huge boom of thunder clapped overhead, followed by a lightning bolt that crashed down nearby.

  They crawled on. The foliage was thinning and once again the rain smashed down, pummelling their backs. Archie led, with Daisy closely behind. But, after a short while, when he turned, there was no Dai
sy.

  He backtracked and found her, hanging halfway down the bank, which had quite simply subsided into the water. Only the thick tendril of a rose and a large bush that was slipping into the mud was holding her. She was dangling above the muddy, rushing waters. He needed to act fast.

  He grabbed the base of the rose and tried to swing it. But the huge old rose was near to breaking point and sinking under the pressure of the rain. The thorns were digging into the flesh on his hands. He screamed out.

  There had to be a better way. He shuffled to a nearby hedge and saw a small tree. That was it! He bent down, put his hands around the trunk and pulled with all his might. The roots started coming away. One more heave and it broke free. Archie turned it round, ripped off some branches and lowered it to Daisy. She grabbed hold and Archie tugged her out.

  They moved under a nearby tree and gasped for breath.

  ‘OK, so we’ve learnt two things from that,’ Daisy yelled between gasps. ‘The first is that the bank is collapsing and the second is that you’ve been working out without anyone knowing.’

  Archie shrugged and looked at the small tree. For a boy of his age it was a seriously impressive show of strength.

  TAKING A WIDER berth away from the track, they continued crawling.

  The rain did not cease for one moment and as they inched forward they were consumed with dread. Danger surrounded them: danger from branches snapping and falling, the dreaded thunderbolts, landslides, mudslides or simply being washed down onto the track and down the hill.

  They came across a badger sett, which was now a huge hole and had to be circumnavigated. Eventually they struggled up to the large oak, the one they loved to play on, the one with the rope, which now dangled down.

  Archie pushed Daisy on and up she went, her hands gripping one after the other as though her life depended on it. Archie was right beneath her, shouting encouragement.

  The rope was tied around the thickest branch which hung over the lane. Where the branch met the trunk, a huge bough seemed to curve over, like a mini cave and, for the first time in ages, it offered them almost complete protection from the rain. Archie sat with his back against the trunk and Daisy sat in front of him, leaning into him. They both took deep breaths and shut their eyes.

  In no time, Daisy, through sheer exhaustion, fell asleep.

  Archie didn’t mind. He looked at his watch. It felt as if they had been crawling and sliding and fighting for days, let alone hours. And yet there was still an hour or so to go. If only he could remember what time the sun went down.

  The problem with being stationary was the cold. The sheer amount of water made it feel like they were in a fridge even if the water itself wasn’t so cold. And it had soaked in to their bodies, like a sponge, right to their bones.

  He wrapped his arms around his sister. She was freezing and her body rattled like a spluttering engine. A rest was a good idea, but at some point they were going to have to keep going, whether they liked it or not.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  OLD MAN WOOD FINDS A CLUE

  As the morning wore on, Old Man Wood was consumed by a feeling of utter dread, as if a toxic stew was brewing in his stomach and a splinter was stuck in his heart. Whatever he did, it would not go away. What was it? He marched around the house looking for something, anything, that would alleviate this terrible feeling. He studied the carvings on his wall and traced his fingers over the rich detail in the wood panelling in his room. He inspected the old pictures for a clue. Anything that might not only shed some light on the nightmares he’d had, but also cure the interminable worry that filled him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

  The pictures and carvings had been there since he could remember. Didn’t they mean something? If so, what? He knew there was a vital clue missing and it was probably staring him in the face. The more he played with this notion, the greater and deeper the feeling of despair grew, like a slow-growing cancer.

  Old Man Wood headed outside to see if his brain might clear from a walk up to his cattle. He wondered for a moment if he shouldn’t go down to the school and watch the football match, but it didn’t seem right. The children would tell him what happened in detail later, not that he understood much of it. Besides, he didn’t like to show himself in public, he’d been around too long for that. Instead, he headed up to the ruin to check on the sheep and cattle.

  They seemed quiet and tetchy, jumpy – like him, he thought, and wondered if they, too, sensed something unusual. He made sure that the shelter built from old rocks was sound in case the storm broke, and he counted them: eleven sheep, three cows, six bullocks and Himsworth the bull. He’d tried to milk the cows at their usual time, the crack of dawn, but their milk had stopped. Were they sick?

  Old Man Wood sat down on a grey boulder at the head of the ruin and looked out across the vale. In front of him was a sheer drop of solid rock that disappeared down to thick forest for seventy metres or so before reaching the valley floor. He could just make out the river curving around the rock face and, from there, it slipped around the corner and along and up into the moors.

  Old Man Wood shuffled his boot in the dirt. He was too old for this; too old for riddles and memories. His brain couldn’t cope. He shook his head as he wondered what it all meant. Why the dreams every night – what were they trying to tell him? And why did he have a strong feeling in his bones about something that he hadn’t felt for ages? He stood up as a deep roll of thunder boomed and crackled through the valley. He kicked a stone which flew off the ledge and sailed through the air before crashing into the canopy of the trees way below.

  He could make out the school buildings in the distance although the top of the tower was smothered by the deep black cloud that sat directly overhead. He was lost in his thoughts when a lightning bolt shot out of the sky right into the heart of the village, and then another and another. Each one with a blast of light so bright and crack so loud that he covered his ears.

  Then a searing pain walloped into his chest. For a moment he thought it was a heart attack. He bent over and cried out. The sky fizzed with lightning as another huge bolt crashed out of the sky directly onto the playing field. This time the pain was unbearable and he crouched low, clutching his chest, struggling for breath.

  There was no danger of dying, he was absolutely certain of that. In fact there was no danger of him ever dying. So was this pain linked to the storm? Perhaps it was telling him something important. Whatever it was, he needed to lie down.

  Old Man Wood straightened up as best he could and tottered back down the pathway, stopping occasionally to view the storm playing out over the school. Wasn’t it funny, he thought, how the storm seemed to focus only on the school? He had a stirring inside him that the children might be in terrible danger. And, as he concentrated on this, the feeling began to grow and grow. He hurried back, certain that rain would follow. By the time he opened the door he was drenched from head to toe. He couldn’t remember anything like it; torrents of water literally pouring out of the sky.

  He lay on his bed and massaged his heart, trying hard to understand this feeling, when another thought crossed his mind. How would they get back? The river would be swollen in no time and the track would act like a storm drain. What if they were trying to get back and got swept away? He dabbed his handkerchief on his forehead. He had to do something.

  Just as he was preparing to get up, Old Man Wood felt a yawn wash over him and a powerful urge to close his eyes. His head fell back into his large pillows and a moment later he was snoring.

  GAIA THE DREAMSPINNER appeared in Old Man Wood’s room and found him lying on the bed.

  Had he forgotten so much? Had he forgotten his entire reason for being there in the first place? How, when the children needed him so badly, could he be so utterly hopeless?

  Old Man Wood hadn’t reacted to any of the dreams given to him and Gaia worried that if Old Man Wood could not understand and believe his dreams, what chance would the children have with thei
rs? Were the dreams too complex, too terrifying? Was the approach wrong? Were the dreams too old, suitable for a different time? Perhaps their dreams needed to be more obvious, like action sequences linked together.

  She dipped a leg in her maghole. Did the Heirs of Eden have any idea what they were up against? Did they stand a chance? No, probably not, she thought. They were mere children, unprepared for this onslaught that was designed for the best of men. And years ago those men would have used additional powers.

  Gaia rubbed a couple of claws together. This wasn’t the time for reflection – that would come later – and anyway, the children were alive, for the time being at least. The storm would not relent until sundown, so, if Old Man Wood could find them, then surely they would have a greater chance of survival.

  She would give him a dream of action, and in it the old man would be struck by lightning. Yes, that was it. Perhaps it would re-energise him, get his brain working, jog his memory. She would not consider defeat, not yet; there was still too much to play for.

  In no time, Gaia was over the old man, spinning a sleeping draft directly into his mouth. It worked fast. Moments later the dreamspinner was plucking tiny specks of dream powders out of her maghole and feeding them to the old man as he breathed in. Gaia added an ending – a reminder of a potion Old Man Wood had stored away a long, long time ago. Perhaps the old man would find it, perhaps not, but it was worth a try and it was the very best she could do.

  As soon as it was done, Gaia stared down at the old man. She desperately hoped it would do the trick. Then she flashed inside her maghole and vanished.

  OLD MAN WOOD tossed and turned as the dream filled his head.