Eden Chronicles Box Set Books 1-3

by James Erith

  As he stared deeply into the fire, a curious rectangular object grew and appeared to be coming directly at him. In all the apples, he thought, what is it? A box, a lump of stone? Mesmerised, he found himself drawn towards it and, moments later, the sound of humming still coming as if like a chant, he found himself stretching out a hand. And now his fingers touched it and much to his surprise he found that it was cool, not hot at all, and solid – as if it were made of a kind of stone. He stopped singing and pulled, but the object would not yield.

  ‘Now then,’ Mrs Pye’s voice called out, shattering his concentration and the song. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ She stared at him from the doorway.

  Old Man Wood suddenly felt the heat. ‘OUCH! Blasted thing!’ he cursed, rubbing his hands.

  ‘You alright?’ she said. ‘Messing with fire, and at your age too – you should be more careful.’

  Confused, Old Man Wood stood up and marched around the room rubbing his chin, humming to himself, trying to think. Then he made his way into the boot room where he donned his cap, threw on his green waterproof coat and, after a great deal of groaning, wrestled his boots onto his large feet.

  After he’d seen to the cattle, it was well past time, he thought, to seek out his old friends.

  FIFTY-NINE

  SEARCHING FOR THE BUBBLING BROOK

  Archie woke with a start. Darkness filled the room. He yawned, removed the sleep from his eyes and looked at his watch. Five o’clock. A bit early – but for the first time in ages he felt refreshed after a long and nourishing sleep with no dreams. In any case, he had knives to throw. He dressed quickly and, trying not to disturb the house, he trod exceedingly carefully on the ridiculously creaky floorboards and crept out of their attic room, down the stairs, along the corridor, down the main stairs and into the kitchen.

  He wasn’t the first up. ‘Morning, Old Man Wood,’ he said as he poked his head round the kitchen door. ‘You’re up early. Everything alright?’

  Old Man Wood waved a hand in Archie’s direction. ‘Morning, littlun. Peculiar stuff going on in ‘ere.’ He pointed to his head and then stretched his arms out to pull down the cuffs on his coat. ‘Very, very strange things,’ he tapped his head again. ‘I’ve been to see the cattle,’ he said, changing the subject, ‘give them more feed. My, oh my, they looked utterly terrified – which is hardly surprising, I suppose. None of them have eaten a great deal and I squeezed only a few drops out of Bernice and Burger, dear things.’ He stopped and stroked his chin. ‘It’s as if they’re trying to tell me something.’

  He turned his attention back to Archie. ‘What are you doing up so early?’

  ‘Might go and throw my knives, take my mind off stuff,’ Archie replied, rubbing the front spike on his head. ‘Are you off out again?’

  ‘Yes, littlun, I need to clear my head,’ the old man said as he studied the boy. ‘Is there anything I can help you with?’

  Archie looked up at Old Man Wood. ‘Actually, do you mind if I join you?’ he said weakly. ‘It’s just I could do with some grown up company. I’m really missing Mum and Dad.’

  ‘Of course you are,’ the old man replied. He pulled him in for a hug. ‘I’ve noticed that none of you lot are playing. Lots of arguing and funny conversations. What’s up?’

  ‘It’s the rain, I think,’ Archie said, wishing he could say more, ‘and being stuck here and feeling utterly helpless and worrying about our friends and … and things like the cave and the pictures and my stupid hair that don’t make any sense.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ Old Man Wood said. ‘Think I know what you mean.’

  ‘Where are you off to?’ Archie asked.

  Old Man Wood scratched his chin. ‘I’m off to find some old friends – they might be able to help at a time like this.’

  ‘Friends? Where?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know, down there, somewhere.’

  ‘You’re, er, quite sure about this?’

  ‘Oh yes, Archie. I’m not fooling you.’

  Archie thought for a while. ‘Please can I come too?’ he said.

  Old Man Wood rubbed his mottled head. Taking Archie to find the Bubbling Brook could be a big mistake, foremost because he had no idea where it was. ‘I’m not sure you’re ready to come along, little Archie.’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ he said instinctively.

  ‘If you come along, you’re going to have to swear to me, Archie, that you won’t mention it to your sisters. Especially Isabella. I heard her earlier.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’m asking you, that’s why,’ he replied. ‘Just for the moment.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Archie said.

  Old Man Wood felt himself getting tangled up with the words. ‘Well, it might upset you, that’s all,’ Old Man Wood said gently. ‘It would most definitely upset young Isabella.’

  Old Man Wood draped an arm round Archie’s shoulders. ‘Many, many moons ago when the flood waters rose above the old steps by the base of the cliff, I discovered something and it struck me that I might find it again.’

  ‘By the cave?’ Archie looked puzzled.

  ‘There or thereabouts.’ Old Man Wood said. ‘Somewhere in the valley.’ The back door creaked open. ‘If you come along, Archie, you’re going to have to open up your mind.’

  DAWN THREATENED as a soft murky light filtered out across the vale. In front of them the floodwaters stretched like a vast flowing silver lake starting behind the hedgerow in front of the currant bushes in the vegetable garden below. After slipping and sliding down the steep track, and squelching through the saturated fields, they were soon at the water’s edge. Old Man Wood took a couple of deep breaths, shook some mud from his boots, furrowed his brow and peered into the rain.

  ‘Now, where are those funny old trees?’ he said out loud.

  ‘Trees?’

  Old Man Wood nodded.

  Archie shivered. ‘Blimey, we’re looking for trees and you don’t know where they are. There are thousands. Do you know what type they are?’

  ‘Ooh yes. Willows, a great big clump.’

  ‘Willows?’ Archie said, avoiding a large puddle. ‘The valley’s littered with willow clumps.’

  Archie scoured the vast expanse of grey water intermittently punctuated with bushes nearer the water’s edge. ‘Most are underwater. What if it’s one of those?’

  ‘Must be easy enough to find, I reckon,’ Old Man Wood said as he strode off, his boots squelching in the mud. ‘Something tells me the clump’s just around the headland towards Upsall. Come on, Archie, this way.’

  Archie studied the expanse of water with tree clumps – mainly willows – popping out, like miniature crowns. This is utterly ridiculous, he thought. Talk about a wild goose chase.

  AFTER A COUPLE of unsuccessful attempts at entering the thick brambles surrounding one clump, and then doing exactly the same thing with another, Old Man Wood began to wonder if he had gone the right way. He stamped his boot down in the sludge and a shower of sloppy, brown water sprayed over a clump of sodden ferns.

  He stopped to think. It wasn’t brawn that would lead them to the Bubbling Brook, it was brains, just as he often told the children. But Old Man Wood was well aware that his brain took a while to get going. In fact, he was amazed that his head worked at all considering his vast age.

  He found an old tree stump, sat down, closed his eyes and concentrated.

  ARCHIE WATCHED Old Man Wood with a mixture of curiosity and growing anxiety. His excitement bordered on madness, real madness. It was like watching a child at a fairground who couldn’t work out where his favourite ride had gone.

  Old Man Wood stood up and sat down again, all the while mumbling to himself. Then up. Now down. Without warning he shot off, following the waterline towards Upsall. Archie hurried to keep up. Most of the clumps that followed the line of the water were identical, their leaves stripped from the branches by the rain. Defeated by the first two clumps, they waded through the water, where at length they met
a huge clump of brambles and fallen trees with twisted, smashed branches.

  Close by, a mudslide with deep water pockets blocked their path. The pair slipped and climbed and squelched back up the hill towards the ruins, reverting down to the water’s edge as soon as they could. Old Man Wood stopped every now and then and sniffed the air – or so Archie thought – as though searching out the best route before shooting onward at such a speed that Archie struggled to keep pace.

  They walked along in silence for many minutes. Soon, they came across a willow clump consisting of new shoots and whips and three huge, old trees. It was impassable. On one side, several large and small trees stood half-submerged in the floodwater, on the other a mess of trees and rocks and brambles had collected where the ground had slipped away.

  Archie caught his breath. ‘Look, there’s no way we’ll get through there,’ he complained. ‘Why don’t we head back—?’

  Old Man Wood groaned. ‘Maybe I’ll use a bit of beef and bludgeon me way through the middle,’ he said, ignoring Archie.

  In no time, the old man had shinned up one of the large outer trees and was balancing on a thick branch that leaned directly into the middle of the clump. Archie climbed up after him and watched as the old man – his arms outstretched as if on a tightrope – moved one foot in front of the other along the branch.

  Archie noticed that, within the clump, directly below the trunk they stood on, was a crater filled with water. A creepy mist swirled around as if it was somehow protecting it. Archie took a deep breath and pulled himself along.

  ‘BLAST!’ the old man cried, staring at his feet. He sat down on the branch. ‘I thought there was something wrong. Look! A hole!’ He bent his leg round, removed his boot and a stream of water splashed into the pool a metre or so below.

  As Old Man Wood wrestled his boot on, he eyed a route across. It would take a couple of acrobatic leaps. Was he nimble enough? Apples alive, why not? Of course he could do it.

  The old man took a deep breath and puffed out his chest. He leapt onto a low branch, which swayed ominously, before jumping on to the next one. He was halfway across.

  ‘Hey, be careful!’ Archie shouted. ‘You sure you’re alright?’

  ‘Never been better,’ Old Man Wood replied. ‘Come on! It’s a piece of Mrs Pye’s cake.’ But at that moment, for no real reason, he lost his balance and throwing his arms wildly in the air like a windmill, he swayed first one way and then the other and then back again, like a pendulum. Each time, Archie’s heart leapt. Then, with a look of total surprise on his face, the old man disappeared into the pool beneath him and under the surface.

  Archie, in spite of his gloominess, exploded with laughter and held back his sides for fear of falling in himself. But, seeing Old Man Wood struggle in the water, he realised the pool was deeper than they’d thought.

  ‘Over here,’ Archie said, offering his hand, tears blurring his vision.

  When his feet touched the bottom, Old Man Wood recovered his wits and waded carefully towards him until he was within reach of the branch. Suddenly, he disappeared under the waterline again, as though he had walked off a ledge. Shortly, he re-emerged looking, Archie thought, like a drowned rat and, after plenty of splashing and coughing, he held onto the branch, spitting water out of his mouth.

  Archie heaved him up. ‘I think you swallowed some water,’ Archie said, as he thumped the old man’s back a couple of times.

  ‘Thank you, Arch,’ Old Man Wood replied. ‘I most certainly did. That’s better. Now out of the way while I shake myself dry.’ The old man stood up and, like a dog, sprayed water in all directions.

  ARCHIE SIMPLY DIDN’T KNOW what to say. The surprised look on Old Man Wood’s face made Archie’s shoulders gallop up and down with laughter.

  The old man wiped his face with his sodden clothes and sat down beside Archie on the branch. He shook his head. ‘Getting a bit old for this kind of thing, I reckon,’ he began.

  Archie’s frame hurt.

  Suddenly, Old Man Wood’s head twitched from one side to the other. Then he stood up and sidled further along. ‘Is someone there?’ he turned to Archie. ‘Did you hear that, Archie?’

  Archie scanned the pond.

  Just the drizzle and the mist and drops of water splashing down from the branches overhead. He shook his head.

  ‘Apples alive, there are more,’ the old man whispered. ‘Laughing like crazy. All round.’ Old Man Wood’s head shifted from side to side. ‘Laughing like I’ve never heard.’

  ‘I can’t hear anything. You’re sure you’re all—?’

  Old Man Wood had had enough. He climbed up onto the branch and folded his arms. ‘You think that an old man falling down is amusing, do you?’ he said furiously to the empty pool. ‘Well, when I find you lot, I’ll show you another type of entertainment!’

  SIXTY

  KEMP’S RESCUE

  Daisy woke, sensing a movement in the bedroom. It didn’t take long to figure out that it was Archie. She felt a strange hollowness in her stomach. She laid her head back on the pillow, her curious thoughts staying with her. Sometime later, she sat up with a start. ‘I’ve got to find Archie,’ she said out loud. ‘Something’s happened.’

  ‘He’s fine,’ Isabella yawned from behind her curtain. ‘Don’t worry—’

  ‘No, Bells. It’s not right. Not right at all.’ She climbed out of bed. ‘I can … kind of … sense it.’ She flipped on the light which, much to her surprise, flickered into action. The generator was working.

  As she slipped into her jeans and shirt she tapped on Isabella’s duvet. ‘Bells, put your phone on charge. There’s power but it won’t last for long.’

  ‘You do it. It’s downstairs,’ Isabella groaned before disappearing back under her duvet.

  In the living room, Daisy plugged in the phone and headed into the kitchen where she found Mrs Pye doing the ironing in front of the telly. The hum of the generator and the drone of the morning news filled the room.

  ‘The telly!’ Daisy exclaimed. ‘When did it come back on?’

  Mrs Pye looked up. ‘Good morning, Daisy.’

  ‘Oh! Morning, Mrs P.’

  Mrs Pye scrunched up her face. ‘Now then, about ten.’

  Daisy smiled. Mrs Pye never referred to time in its entirety, so it could have been seconds, minutes, hours, or days. Sometimes even months or years.

  Daisy grabbed a bowl, ladled in a couple of spoons of porridge from the saucepan on the range cooker and sprinkled it with salt, stirring it in. Then she pulled up a chair and watched the screen as a banner ran below it with the words; Yorkshire Disaster. And next to it was: helpline number. Daisy wondered whether it was worth a call. Then again, they were fine, so why bother? By the look of things, others were in a far worse state than they were.

  ‘… experts are saying that the unprecedented flood in the north of the country is partly due to the effects of global warming. But what is baffling forecasters is that this freak storm did not blow in, it simply mushroomed out, growing at alarming speed from a position just to the west of the North Yorkshire Moors.’

  The camera panned to show a village almost totally submerged. Daisy gasped. It looked like Kettleby, just down the road. Only the spire of the church and a few rooftops were visible. ‘This is the picture throughout the whole of Yorkshire, Cleveland and Lincolnshire. There is no power, no fresh water and sewage fills the streets. Disease is now a real threat.’

  The picture returned to the studio and a man stood next to a graphic of a map of the North of England. The presenter looked glum. ‘It appears that a freak depression has settled directly over this area.’ The TV graphics changed. ‘The problem, as you can see from our satellite image, is that this extraordinary weather doesn’t appear to be letting up. Although there has been no torrential rain like we saw on Friday afternoon which, by the way, was the hardest rainfall recorded anywhere in the world – and for the longest sustained period of time – there is more rain forecast, which will cause further
havoc as water levels continue to rise. And exceptionally high spring tides at York, with an already saturated water table, means the rising water doesn’t have anywhere to go.’

  The screen snapped to helicopter imagery of the flooding. ‘Early casualty estimates range from 3,000 to 30,000 victims. According to the emergency services, it’s impossible to tell. Ten counties are in an unprecedented state of emergency. Survivors within this huge area have been evacuated to the higher ground of the moors and the Yorkshire Dales. The death toll looks certain to rise as news filters in from stricken towns and villages across the country.’

  The picture reverted to the news anchor. ‘We’ll have regular updates throughout the day, but right now we can go to our reporter in the submerged North Yorkshire town of Northallerton. Some of these pictures are of a distressing nature.’

  Mrs Pye watched the screen, transfixed, her face even paler than normal.

  ‘This pregnant woman was saved when a neighbour managed to break through an upstairs window and get her onto the roof. She was one of the lucky ones—’ The woman, looking frightened and pale, told her terrifying story. Daisy recognised her as Sue’s babysitter.

  The reporter continued: ‘Now that a partial service has resumed for many mobile phone networks, the emergency services are urging people to call the national emergency number to let them know of their whereabouts. Please be aware that the network operators have told us that only a limited service will be available.’

  Daisy was about to go when a news story flickered on the screen. Breaking News. The broadcaster cocked his head, listening to the mike in his ear. ‘We’re getting news of an extraordinary story of a boy who has been found at the top of a large tree.’ He smiled at the camera as he focused on his news feed. ‘The boy, winched to safety by the North Yorkshire air ambulance, was found naked, hanging onto a top branch of a tree in the middle of the vast area of flooding. I’m told that it was close to the epicentre of the storm, near to the ravaged village of Upsall. This remarkable footage has just come in from members of the helicopter crew.’