Eden Chronicles Box Set Books 1-3

by James Erith

  Isabella was about to take a further step in when she heard a strange cry from near the ledge. Her heart skipped a beat. Daisy? Archie?

  She scanned the area but found that the ledge was only just higher than the river and it was hard to tell where one stopped and the other started. She heard it again, a groan followed by a cry and a tiny cough.

  Her heart beat faster as she scoured the ledge again. She concentrated, feeling that if she could find one of them, she might very well find the other.

  She ran to the right, urging her eyes to peer deeper into the night sky.

  Nothing.

  She walked cautiously to the left.

  Nothing.

  In front of her, all she could make out was a blob. A blob, almost black in colour, like so many of the other rocks and bits of debris. As she approached it, the blob stirred. Isabella’s heart leapt. She was there in a second.

  The body was barely covered by clothes. It was smeared in dirt intermingled with bloody cuts and angry bruises. The legs and arms were as white as a sheet. Isabella’s heart sank. As she turned the body over, the arms folded round limply and splashed helplessly in a puddle.

  The eyes were closed.

  Isabella screamed. It was as if someone had ripped her heart out. She had never seen anyone look deader.

  It was Daisy.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  STUCK ON THE CLIFF

  At every step, Old Man Wood was forced to hold on for fear of being pulled down and swept away. Twice he lost his footing only to slide fortuitously into a nearby tree. And on another occasion he thrust his axe out and wedged it into a tree trunk. He pulled himself up and hugged the tree like a long lost brother who had saved his life.

  Every so often, Old Man Wood stumbled into a rock he was familiar with or a tree he knew, even when the tree had been uprooted. And from these small signs, he was able to gauge his direction towards the cliff face beneath the ruin.

  The problem building in his mind was getting up on to the ledge. Usually it was done by means of some steps at the base of the cliff. Why they were there, he had no idea, but he knew that by now they had to be submerged. He’d make his way along a rocky seam further up and see if he could climb across and downwards.

  Before long, Old Man Wood was at the point where he needed to start down the steeper, sharper cliff face.

  Old Man Wood faced the rock and shuffled along, happier in his step where the mud gave way to stone. As he angled across the cliff face there were sections that sheltered him from the downpour, while other parts showered him with mud and loose rock. He dug his fingers into every tight crevice and small hole – moving along as carefully, yet as fast, as he dared – unclear of his position, but hoping like mad he hadn’t started too high.

  Shortly, he was able to take stock of his position under a deep overhang where he found a decent foothold. He gulped in huge mouthfuls of air as he leant into the stone. Should he drive a bolt into a suitable crevice so he could attach the rope – just in case?

  He found a hole, delved into his pocket, found a quick release bolt and thrust it in. It expanded instantly and fastened into the rock. He put his weight on it and it held. Good. He tied the rope to the end, and attached the rest around his body.

  As he turned to inspect his next footholds, a huge electrical pulse flashed out of the sky below and to the left of him. He looked on in shock. Then a second bright charge, the noise piercing his eardrums.

  The valley lit up and he saw everything move like a huge grey beast filled with water. Apples-alive, he muttered under his breath as his heart raced. He was too high above the ledge.

  He felt for a footing, making sure his hold was solid. He tested his grip and bent down but, in the very next moment, a huge thunderbolt smashed out of the sky directly into the cliff face beneath him.

  For a second Old Man Wood held on for dear life.

  There they were!

  He could see the children.

  Isabella diving into a pool, Daisy further round, and Archie. But Archie was struggling.

  He had to get down there fast.

  IF HE TRIED to scramble down, the overhanging rock extended too far over on one side and there was every chance he’d suffer a serious injury on the sharp edges.

  No, it would have to be a far more radical route. He climbed along as fast as he could, letting the rope out behind him. After several metres he tensioned the rope and started to descend, being careful not to slip and fall. The old man sucked in his cheeks.

  Right, he thought, here we go; nothing like a bit of adventure. He wondered how high he was above the ledge. Six feet? Ten feet? He braced himself and pushed out with his feet. The rope swung out.

  Moments later, Old Man Wood was flying through the air, rain smashing into his face.

  He began preparing himself for the landing. It was going to hurt, he thought. Rather a lot.

  The rope swung out again, this time gaining speed. Moments later, he was back to his starting position, like a pendulum. This time, as he reached the limit of his arc, he noted that the rain had suddenly stopped.

  The shock of the lack of rain, and the fact that the moon now offered just enough light to see below, forced him to hold on and he let his momentum take him out one more time. He was ready to jump. But as he looked down, he could see Isabella directly below him, walking towards a broken rock.

  He swung back, holding on for dear life – but it was one swing too many. The bolt disengaged from the rock, and the rope and Old Man Wood hurtled downwards.

  Old Man Wood flew through the air and crashed to the rock ledge where he cried out in agony. As he landed, a pain shot into his ankle and his back. He attempted a parachute roll, but skidded and smacked into a large rock.

  He lay in a heap, his breath knocked clean out of him. The old man tried to pick himself up using the rock as a prop. But the burning sensation in his ankle meant that the joint was refusing to take any weight.

  He watched Isabella walking out and bending down. He heard her scream. Then muffled cries. Was he too late? Had she found one of the children? Daisy?

  Old Man Wood couldn’t believe it. Had he come this far only to fail? Oh apples alive, he cursed, how could he be so hopeless. He summoned his strength, trying to ignore the searing pain that coursed through his legs.

  He urged himself on, but his body would not co-operate. He slumped back down and pulled up his trouser legs. Already his ankle was swollen – full of blood, huge and tender, like a juicy summer pudding.

  His eyes watered as his fingers probed the swollen flesh. Was it a tear or a break? Had it twisted on landing? He wondered if his back was equally shot. He turned his head and his back screamed out as if a knife was stabbing at his vertebrae.

  Even his hands were hurting. He studied them and found that blood was pouring from a cut in the middle of his left palm.

  What a pathetic, hopeless disaster. What had he been thinking? Swinging on ropes at his age, he wasn’t a child who was able to play football. He couldn’t even bring himself to laugh at the madness of it.

  And now his body was beginning to shut down. It was in shock – Old Man Wood knew it well. Then it struck him – how come he hadn’t thought of it earlier? Resplendix Mix! Of course! He’d self-medicate.

  At least he’d know if it worked. With his swollen hand he reached into his pocket. There it was. He transferred it to his bleeding left hand and attempted to remove the lid. Did it twist off?

  Old Man Wood set the bottle down and attempted to hold and turn, but when nothing happened apart from his hand slipping round the rim, he inspected it.

  No lid.

  Harrumph. Maybe it needed a sharp pull, so he tried, but there was nothing to pull on.

  Old Man Wood shook his head in frustration. No shaking or twisting or pulling or yelling would make it open.

  He felt his eyelids becoming heavy and struggled to keep them open. He wondered if he shouldn’t try and break the top off by smashing it on a rock. But his
thoughts vanished like vapour on a window as a deeper yearning for sleep filled his mind.

  He tried to fight back, but it was hopeless.

  And then his mind slipped away.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  BETRAYAL

  Gaia, the dreamspinner, flashed back to see Old Man Wood as regularly as she thought appropriate, returning as near to the old man as she dared. Once she understood what the old man was doing, or not doing, she inverted into her maghole so that her movements would not be seen, nor her presence missed.

  Gaia knew it was nearly impossible for one dreamspinner to follow another, simply because each one went wherever they chose by simply thinking about their destination and flipping through their magholes to get there. So unless another dreamspinner had access to her thoughts she was safe enough, but in these strange times, who knew who was checking up on who?

  Every dreamspinner, Gaia sensed, fully understood the events playing out with Isabella, Archie and Daisy. And they knew that what happened now would affect them for a very, very long time. It wasn’t a game, it wasn’t coincidence, and it wasn’t something they could ignore.

  She sensed a strange atmosphere of nervousness around the Great Atrium – the vast chamber where the last specks of dream powders were stored. On top of this was another sensation that she was not familiar with at all. She wondered if this was the feeling humans called fear?

  Dreamspinners knew their purpose was now threatened. If they had no more dreams to give, what would become of them? Would they spin only bland dreams and nightmares? But why? Why fill the world with dreams of anguish and sorrow and mediocrity?

  Wasn’t the point of dreaming to let the dreamer reach out to something magic or beautiful or bewitching; feel a sensation that was out of the ordinary? Wasn’t it another way of understanding the universe and the complexities of life?

  Gaia flicked a couple of her legs. The story of the Prophecy was commonplace. News was spread by the gossip in the great chambers where the dream powders were made and stored. The dreamspinners knew of the loss of Archie’s gift of courage, and whispers abounded that the Heirs of Eden were not really the Heirs of Eden at all, but just three children who happened to be in Eden Cottage with the old man. Gaia had put them right. They were the Heirs of Eden alright – it was their birthright. As for the old man, well, Old Man Wood had simply never expected to live so long. He might be doddery but he was the only one who could help them. And, with any luck, he still would.

  The trouble was, Gaia thought, that dreamspinners had never meddled in the lives of others, however terrible the mess, however easy it would be to make a situation better – or worse. That was how it had been since the dawn of time itself. Nature and the forces of the universe might interfere as they wished, but not dreamspinners. They span webs to make dreams but they never toyed with the consequences – not ever.

  How dreams were interpreted was up to each individual. As Gaia thought about this, she crossed and re-crossed her long, slender legs, occasionally dipping one in her maghole. She knew that dreamspinners could make a difference, if they wanted, but now that the dreamspinners understood how serious the situation was, would their approach change? Was this, she wondered, a sign that the dreamspinners were finally evolving too?

  Gaia dipped two legs in her maghole. What was Asgard up to? Where was he? She sniffed the air and reached out into the cosmos to see if she could pick up a vibration. It was a long-shot. She’d have to feel the vibrations of a physical place where a dreamspinner might be.

  A curiously strong vibration from Cain’s palace in Havilah came to her, particularly the roof of the ballroom or even better, perhaps, the fireplace. Dreamspinners loved fireplaces. It was exactly the sort of place Asgard liked to be. Why such a strong feeling?

  Gaia didn’t want any other dreamspinner to know of her actions, so she had two choices. The first was to turn up invisible and expect the other invisible dreamspinner to see her. If so, she’d turn the deeper rings of grey into white, like a young dreamspinner, and hope her identity would remain a secret – at least from a distance.

  The second was to arrive in a solid, physical form, in which case only those who were in the same state would be able to see her. But that was a risk few dreamspinners would dare. If they were looked upon by a human it would leave a burn and her dream spinning abilities might be tarnished for good … she thought how unlucky Genesis had been with Archie – on two occasions – and wondered if she should go to her and ask her advice. But she rejected the notion. Genesis was old and in pain and her help would be japes and jibes which would not help.

  Gaia needed to act fast. She thought of a place where she could be painted white with ease, but which would not hinder her movements. A white powder, perhaps, that was so fine with a colour so pure.

  She knew exactly where to go, thought about the place and inverted into her maghole, vanishing out of sight.

  GAIA FLASHED out of the sky and onto the ceiling of Cain’s ballroom. Had she done enough to camouflage her body? She wondered whether the tiny specks of white powder rubbed over her dark parts masked her deep-grey age-lines. She’d have to see.

  Young dreamspinners acknowledged the senior ones by means of a simple, subtle and quick movement, a nod of the head, the flick of a leg or a flaring of the mouth. In return, the senior dreamspinner would return the gesture.

  Gaia reminded herself that, now she looked a thousand years younger, she would have to remember to do this first rather than in return. If only she felt as slight and as fast as she had done a thousand years ago.

  There it was; a tiny flicker of light. And now she looked closely, masses of dots of light, like faint pinpricks, flashed by the huge, open hearth of the great fireplace. Gaia was astonished that there were so many.

  Was this an organised gathering?

  She plotted a course for the vast chimney and inverted. Inside, it was crammed full of dreamspinners.

  ‘Friends,’ said a familiar low vibration. It was Asgard, just as she suspected. ‘I trust you have not given yourselves away?’ A shared vibration went round and Gaia had no option but to hold it and pass it on. Each dreamspinner sent a vibration back. Gaia tried to guess how many there were, three hundred, a thousand – more? She wondered if her vibration would be picked up. Her physical disguise was not so bad, but she hadn’t thought to conceal her vibrations. She tried to muffle them, hoping they would slip through unnoticed.

  Asgard’s vibrations continued. ‘There are many here, so shrink your bodies. You are about to learn the bitter truth.’

  More arrived. Gaia retracted her maghole. When she looked around there were even more than she suspected, some of whom she recognised.

  ‘The Heirs of Eden,’ Asgard vibrated solemnly, ‘are on a course to fail.’ A gasp vibrated around the chimney.

  A vibration shot back from nearby. ‘You know this, Asgard? You have proof?’

  ‘Are they are dead?’ another quizzed. The air was humming.

  Asgard let the questions shoot around the chimney breast. ‘I have seen them, not long ago,’ the dreamspinner began. ‘Reports come to me regularly.’

  ‘How can you be certain?’ said another.

  ‘It takes just one of them to die,’ Asgard continued. ‘I am informed that two of them are on the brink of expiring.’

  In vibration terms, the chimney exploded into an uproar. Gaia stuck a leg out and heard a few, feeling the expressions of shock and anguish and worry, but she kept her head down, and hidden. She needed to find out what Asgard had planned.

  ‘I know how you feel,’ Asgard said, his vibrations rising up above the clamour. ‘The chance to open up the Garden of Eden once more – after so long – is slipping away like the lives of those children. The new time we hoped for will not be. The heirs have failed, and failed at the very first test.

  ‘A child of man is never going to be strong enough to survive the ravages of nature, let alone the three great tasks. I told this to the great Genesis who ignored my
pleas. But I have been proved right, as I knew I would. Perhaps in her great age she is no longer in touch.’

  Uneasy vibrations flew around.

  ‘Be sure of this, dreamspinners,’ Asgard continued. ‘There is nothing I would desire more than for their success, but by this time tomorrow there will be no dream powders to inspire man, no dreams of wonder or evolution—’

  ‘Then what do you suggest?’ came a vibration.

  ‘What I suggest is that it is time to look at our options,’ Asgard said. ‘Do we wait until the time of the next Tripodean Dream? And who knows how long that might be – a hundred days, a thousand years, or a million years? It may never happen, and if this is the case we dreamspinners probably won’t even exist. Perhaps, then, we should join with Cain here in Havilah and spin the dreams from the spider webs of Havilah in the hope that he might find a route into the Garden of Eden in the meantime.’

  The chimney exploded with furious vibrations.

  ‘An alliance? With Cain, never!’ cried one.

  ‘We are independent,’ another shouted.

  A strong vibration shot down from near the top. ‘We will never do the bidding of others. Never!’

  ‘What!’ said a loud vibration from the side. ‘Spin nightmares and stupid dreams for the rest of our days?’

  ‘What has it come to if we do this?’ said a deeper vibration.

  Asgard waited until the furore had calmed down. ‘If this is what you believe, then you had better consider my words.’ The chimney fell silent. ‘You are here because each one of you is fearful for the future. Has it not once entered your mind that perhaps now is OUR time?’

  ‘Time for what, exactly, Asgard?’ a vibration shot back.

  Asgard pounced. ‘Time to evolve, dreamspinners.’

  Vibrations of both agreement and disagreement shot back and forth. ‘We dreamspinners are the only species ever created who have neither reached forward nor plunged back. We have never needed to embrace change, either by desire or necessity. The failure of the Heirs of Eden is, perhaps, a sign that we must alter our ways.’ A series of strong vibrations shot out in agreement. ‘If not, we will end up with no purpose. And we all know what happens to creatures that have no worth.’ Silence filled the room. ‘Don’t we?’