Eden Chronicles Box Set Books 1-3

by James Erith

  The screen showed a helicopter cockpit and a man with a jumpsuit and mask. Through the windows, the chopper blades blurred. Below lay a huge expanse of water and, as the pilot took the helicopter down, right in the very middle of the picture sat the crown of a huge bare tree. Suddenly, muffled noises from the crew cut across the whorl of the rotors. The camera lens cut back to the crew within the helicopter who were gesticulating wildly with their arms.

  The camera panned back to the tree as the helicopter banked and then the lens zoomed in. For a moment there was a strange silence as the crew and viewers tried to see into the bare branches of the tree. As the helicopter swung to the left, there, draped over a bough, was a human figure hugging a thick branch.

  Mrs Pye grabbed Daisy’s arm and gripped tight.

  Now the sound cut out altogether. The camera zoomed in even closer to show the boy, unmoving, his naked white flesh clearly visible against the dark water beneath him.

  Daisy gasped. Who could have survived the storm and the flooding and then climbed up a huge tree? It didn’t seem possible. Daisy could hardly breathe as the camera lens reached in until the only thing on the screen was the head and shoulders of the boy, gaunt and white, so utterly beaten. The boy had not a hair on his head; bald, like a big baby.

  A shiver raced up her. The jawline, so familiar. And those fat lips. Like … who? In a flash it hit her. Kemp. It was identical to Kemp. She could tell his face from a mile away. But if it was Kemp then where was the thick ginger hair? So it couldn’t be, could it? Her dislike for Kemp lightened. She wished the boy, whoever he was, hope.

  She snapped out of it. If it was Kemp, Archie needed to know. Archie would confirm her suspicions.

  Seconds later, the images on the TV disappeared altogether. The satellite connection failed. Mrs. Pye waddled over and gave it a smack. She moaned at it and then returned to the ironing. Daisy swore she could see tears falling down Mrs Pye’s ruddy cheeks.

  Daisy slipped out of the kitchen to the boot room and noted that both Old Man Wood’s and Archie’s boots were missing. Maybe Old Man Wood had gone to look for him as well. She donned her oilskin and lifted the hood over her tangled blonde mop and headed out into the rain.

  OK, Daisy thought, if I was Winkle, where would I go? Dad’s shed in the haunted garden? Not a bad place to start. Quiet. Dark. Horrible.

  The shed by the haunted garden was part of a derelict area near the vegetable patch at the bottom of the garden. The children’s father and Old Man Wood grew potatoes here but never stayed late. ‘It’s as if I’m being watched,’ their father often said. ‘Whoever it is, it doesn’t like the fact that I’m there, and as a result I’m not too keen on staying either.’

  Daisy knew exactly what he meant. She looked at the cold, damp, miserable place, intermittently wiping rainwater out of her eyes. ‘Archie,’ she called out. ‘Archie. I think they’ve found Kemp!’

  In the distance, the drone of the whirring blades of a helicopter forced her to look up into the thick clouds. Must be the rescue mission, she thought, swinging into action, moving people to high ground. But they’d never come up here, where the forest was impenetrably thick and littered with broken trees and mudslides.

  Behind the plum trees lay an expanse of thick bushes in the shape of a horseshoe. Daisy made her way gingerly towards the drooping, skeletal branches, her boots squelching noisily. Here, a small opening led to an old rusted gate.

  She stopped and studied it for a moment. I don’t remember that gate. Where can it have come from? More importantly, she thought, where does it lead? She looked up at the dark morning sky and wiped rainwater from her cheeks and eyes, removing a couple of sopping hair strands at the same time. Then she entered the pathway towards the gate.

  Suddenly, she glimpsed a light glimmering on something in the bushes beyond the gate. Daisy peered at it, intrigued. A tiny jewel – a diamond? She walked closer until she was in front of the gate whose scroll-like pattern appeared strangely familiar, like a circular tree with its roots showing.

  She noted that the jewel looked more like a pearl in the shape of a tear drop. It sparkled. She liked the thought of it around her neck, against her pale skin.

  Daisy gave the gate a push. It was stuck, jammed by foliage and creepers. She tried again with the same result. It hardened her resolve.

  Come on, Daisy, she whispered. On the count of three: One, two … THREE!

  She slammed into the gate, but instead of meeting resistance, the gate flew open and Daisy hurtled straight into the bush. As she tumbled, she reached out for the jewel and before she knew what was happening, she crashed into a ditch full of water.

  Daisy sank under, entirely submerged. Moments later, she surfaced, waving her arms and spluttering violently.

  Phleaux, tchuch, she spat, coughing out the metallic, coppery-tasting water that had a hint of strong cheese. Her head swam and a dizziness overcame her, as though a bee had shot into her brain and was struggling to find a way out.

  She fell to the ground as a terrible thought washed over her. What if she’d swallowed the deadly, poisonous sewage-water like the man said on TV?

  She dragged herself up the bank on her elbows and knees, moving to a patch of dry grass. She lay still with her eyes shut and wondered if this was how the poison worked. A gentle, warm wind blew over her as the buzzing sensation between her ears grew more comfortable and then ebbed away entirely.

  Perhaps, she thought, she’d died and gone to Heaven.

  AFTER SEVERAL MINUTES, her eyes still shut tight, Daisy placed her hand over her chest. Her heart thumped. She sat up and slowly opened each eye.

  Stretching out in front of her was an area about twenty large paces across by twenty wide tapering in the further away it went. On each side sat three wide-trunked and curiously gnarled old trees covered in pink, white and yellow petals. Behind these showy trees, sat a line of thick, impenetrable-looking thorn bushes. Daisy realised that no one could see in and she couldn’t see out.

  At the far end, adjoining the space, stood a kind of old dilapidated greenhouse bereft of glass. In it sat a peculiar object, like a big Victorian garden roller with a curiously large handle.

  She turned over and stared up at a rich blue sky. Bright rays of sunshine warmed her.

  Daisy shot to her feet and dashed around frantically. ‘WHERE … am I?’ she shouted out. But her cries were lost in the foliage and the blossom and the gentle wind.

  She sat down and threw a handful of petals into the air which caught on the breeze and fluttered to the ground nearby. Maybe she was hallucinating – ‘Am I dead?’ she yelled out.

  She tried again. ‘Is this Heaven?’

  Still no answer. She kicked a pile of pink blossom, then ran over and did the same to the white and yellow piles, repeating it again and again in a frenzy until petals filled the air and snowed down over her.

  ‘WHAT IS GOING ON?’

  Daisy lay down on her back and turned her face up to the sun as the last few petals fluttered to the ground. She wiped them off and sank back, enjoying the warmth on her skin as if it were a hot spring day by a swimming pool. She listened to the rustle of wind blowing through the petals and leaves and removed her wet coat, trousers and shirt, which she hung over one of the gnarly old trees. She took off her boots.

  Since no one can see me, she thought, and I can’t see anyone else, I can’t offend anyone. So she lay back on the bed of petals in her underwear, took a couple of deep breaths and stretched out her arms. With the sweet fragrance of the blossom overwhelming her senses, she basked contentedly and considered her fate.

  If this is Heaven, I’m sure it’ll be fine to lie here a little longer. I wonder if Archie and the others will miss me, she thought, a lump growing in her throat. And I never said goodbye … to anyone. Will Mum and Dad even notice ...

  Old Man Wood might. Just.

  I hope they play football in Heaven.

  Daisy wiped a tear from her eye and looked around.

 
But I don’t feel very dead.

  She re-arranged herself in the blossom and inspected her body. This bump, she thought, feeling her shin, feels like me. She stretched her neck up. The wind blows in my hair and I can feel it. She sniffed the air and grabbed a handful of petals; my nose senses the perfume and my skin feels the warming rays of sun in each pore. So perhaps being dead is like being alive. Maybe that’s what Heaven really is. Daisy smiled. Got to be better than hell.

  But it’s a bit boring.

  After a short while, she pulled herself up and scanned the area. She studied the bushes that fenced her in; thick hawthorn and blackthorn, bearing inch-long needles, interwoven with brambles and nettles. She groaned. They would tear her apart with or without clothes. The only other way out – and even then she wasn’t certain of it – was to follow the line of the ditch under some bushes that looked like evil barbed wire. Definitely a last resort.

  ‘So,’ she asked out loud, having completely forgotten that she was searching for Archie, ‘what happens next?’

  ‘You’re after the Atrium, right?’ a voice from the side answered back.

  Daisy shrieked and covered her body with her arms and hands. She looked around. There wasn’t anyone there. ‘Er … who’s that? Who’s there?’

  The same voice spoke out again. It wasn’t a nasty voice. This was a kindly old voice, rich in resonance. ‘You’re here for the Atrium?’

  ‘What? I mean, pardon. I mean, I’m terribly sorry,’ Daisy started burying herself under the petals, ‘I don’t understand, your Godliness.’ If this was Heaven, she reckoned she should be as polite as possible.

  This time, another higher pitched voice joined in from the other side. ‘You’re here for the Atrium, are you dear? That’s all we need to know.’

  Daisy tiptoed towards the tree where she’d left her clothes. ‘What … what Aytreehum?’ she said. Daisy was beginning to think her mind was playing tricks on her. ‘Are whoever you are, angelic?’ she asked. ‘Perhaps you’re the angelic invisible host?’

  Daisy thought she could hear laughter, certainly sniggering. Her face reddened. Wrong question. She grabbed her jeans.

  ‘The creature hasn’t a clue,’ said the higher pitched voice.

  ‘Typical,’ said the first, low, kindly voice. ‘The first person who comes along for an age, and it’s by mistake.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Daisy said, a little exasperated. ‘Mistake? What creature?’

  Then a voice from right beside her said, ‘Don’t be alarmed, dear.’

  Daisy nearly jumped out of her skin. ‘Alarmed!’ Daisy shot back. ‘Of course I’m alarmed. Who are you?’

  ‘Poor thing,’ the kindly first voice said. ‘I believe she’s lost.’

  Daisy, now with her top on, marched about peering around the trees. ‘Where are you?’

  There was a pause. Daisy listened. She could hear a kind of whispering.

  ‘Now, a quick introduction,’ said the voice that had come from next to her. ‘We are the Cherubim of the Rivers of the Worlds. We guard the entrance.’

  ‘Oh no. I’m dead, aren’t I?’ Daisy said.

  ‘My dear,’ said the higher pitched voice. ‘I don’t think you look dead. Do you think you’re dead?’

  ‘No, not really—’

  ‘Well there you have it—’

  The strange voices laughed again.

  Daisy was confused. ‘Hang on. Where … what entrance?’ she said.

  ‘Why, just look in front of you!’

  ‘But all I can see is three gnarled, old, fat trees and a kind of greenhouse—’

  ‘We’re time-worn, NOT fat!’ the second, higher voice shrilled.

  Daisy felt as if her head might explode. Either it’s one hell of a dream, she thought, or a wicked hallucination. Dead or alive, what did it matter? She lay down in the scented petals, put her fingers in her ears to block out the noises that continued to babble on, and basked in the sunshine.

  Shortly, thinking that the sun had disappeared behind a cloud, Daisy opened her eyes to find the tree with pink blossom leaning directly above her.

  ‘Joe-crockers! You moved!’ she said out loud to the tree.

  The tree straightened, a flurry of petals swamping Daisy. ‘Oh yes indeedy! I haven’t done that for a few thousand years. Apples it feels gooood.’

  Certain that the tree had been talking to her, Daisy sat up and brushed off the petals. She shut her eyes and thrust out her hand. ‘Hello, my name is Daisy de Lowe, from Eden Cottage, which I think is somewhere over there.’ She found herself pointing randomly.

  ‘I have absolutely no idea what’s going on, or how I got here, but I’m looking for my brother Archie. He’s about my height with strange spiky hair. And he’s a little bit shy. You haven’t seen him, have you?’

  Then, as an afterthought, she added, ‘And, your Godlinesses, please can you clear one thing up for me? I’d be most grateful if you’d tell me if I really am actually dead or alive?’

  SIXTY-ONE

  OLD MAN WOOD FINDS HIS FRIENDS

  The laughter, for Old Man Wood, grew and grew. ‘Haaahaaahaaaahaaa! Haaaaaaa! Ha! Woah-ha ha!’

  His eyes darted from one direction to another. Old Man Wood crouched down and coughed the remaining water from his windpipe. ‘They’re laughing at me, Archie. Masses of them – in hysterics.’

  ‘Cor, this is the most hilarious thing I’ve seen for years,’ said a voice.

  Old Man Wood’s ears pricked up. ‘Someone spoke. There! There it is again!’ he boomed. ‘Can you hear them?’

  ‘Hear who?’ Archie quizzed, trying to find the source of Old Man Wood’s outburst. ‘You sure you’re alright?’

  ‘Uh—? You can’t hear it?’ Old Man Wood whispered. ‘You must be able to!’

  ‘No, there’s nothing—’

  ‘There! There they go, loads of them. Laughing, talking, hum-humming.’

  Archie strained his ears, ‘Hum-humming? I can’t hear anything – only rain.’

  Old Man Wood scrambled across a branch, his head turning to and fro trying to locate the source of this invisible sound.

  ‘You know,’ Archie said, ‘maybe you’re hearing things. Is there water in your ears?’

  Old Man Wood stared at him, his eyes bulging quite madly. He shook his head. ‘Definitely not.’

  ‘Look,’ Archie insisted, ‘there isn’t anything here. I think we should go home for breakfast.’ He scoured the clump. ‘Really, there’s nothing.’ He watched Old Man Wood shuffle up another trunk.

  ‘Oh yes there is, Archie.’

  Archie sighed. ‘Let’s get back, please? You’ll catch pneumonia if you hang around too long.’

  But Old Man Wood had abandoned his boots and was now scurrying around the trees and bushes like a man possessed; dashing around the thicket, wading through the pools and peering through, under and around the trees.

  ‘Reveal yourselves!’ he cried. ‘Where the devil are you?!’

  ARCHIE WAVED and shouted at Old Man Wood. On his third attempt to grab his attention, Archie decided that the old man had totally and utterly lost the plot.

  Brilliant! He thought. One half of our grown-up team has gone nuts. What would headmaster Solomon say if he saw this? They’d be whisked from the cottage and taken into care, exactly as Solomon said. He snapped off a wet, dangling branch and tossed it in the water and stared at Old Man Wood who was still bouncing around the pool, ducking here and peering there behind the trees.

  Archie felt empty inside. He’s going to have to go mad all on his own, he thought. Making as little fuss as possible, Archie scrambled over the fallen tree trunks and returned out of the clump the way they’d entered, back towards Eden cottage.

  TO OLD MAN WOOD, the giggling continued. Then, slowly, it came to him as his old brain cells started functioning.

  ‘Is that you?’ He turned his head to the sky. ‘Is it the sound of the old trees?’

  This time, the trees collectively seemed to agree. And their laugh
ter was now more of joy at seeing Old Man Wood than roaring at his antics.

  ‘Archie! Here! I think I’ve found them. I told you so,’ Old Man Wood yelled out before turning back to the brook. ‘How come I can hear you old sticks?’

  ‘Well, hello to you, too, Old Man Wood,’ was the reply from the willows. ‘The water is sooo high, way up, up over those steps, hum-hum. With any luck, we have ourselves several days of the loveliest special water, hum-hum,’ said a voice from the largest of the weeping willow trees. There was a general murmur of approval. ‘Can you see us yet?’

  Old Man Wood strained his eyes.

  ‘Have yourself another good sip, dear old friend; you must have had a lil’ taster in the pool to hear us laughing at you, hum-hum. By Heavens above, that was one funny sight, you still can make a tree laugh, old man.’

  Old Man Wood cupped his large, old, leathery hands and brought the water to his mouth. It tasted metallic and bitter, as though laced with iron and sulphur, and the liquid fizzed and made his eyes wobble for a few seconds. He shut them as a buzzing sensation rolled in and tumbled about his mind. When he opened them again, he looked out over the brook.

  Where before he noted an array of stems and boughs, now, and perched on each tree, were tiny elf-like figures no bigger than shoe boxes, with small, pointed ears and sharp noses.

  Each of the tree elves had rough, coarse skin like bark and their tiny bodies were shrouded in mini clothes the colour of willow leaves. Tiny arms, like twigs, protruded from either side of their bodies and each had sharp eyes, like polished wood, that darted from place to place.