‘Of course,’ said Niamh. ‘That’s what Bel wanted, what he told us just before he ... he ...’ Niamh waved her hands towards the pile of ash, sighing. ‘Shame Bel didn’t find you earlier. We could have done with some help.’
‘Looks like you may have done okay without us,’ said Merritt, staring around the ruined chamber. ‘And Gilly?’
‘You mean Balthasar,’ said Quinn coldly.
Merritt returned the stare. ‘Yes. Balthasar.’
‘Gone,’ said Niamh. ‘The banshees took him.’
Grace grimaced. ‘They can sense weakness, you know. If they saw the one that controlled them had lost control then they were always going to turn on him. You can’t control elementals like them.’
‘So I take it he didn’t get the Twins?’ said Murdock, glancing around.
‘There,’ said Grady, pointing to the pieces of broken statue on the ground.
‘Well then. That’s an end to it,’ said the elf.
‘Murdock, I’m not sure ...’ Niamh started to say before Murdock cut her off.
‘No. That’s an end to it, Niamh. Isn’t it?’ Niamh looked at her parents and realised that wasn’t a question.
‘Yes. Probably,’ said Niamh, looking down at her feet.
‘Come on,’ said Merritt, putting an arm around both of the children. Let’s get you all cleaned up; I’m sure there’s a feed waiting somewhere with your name on it, Grady.’
‘And I’m pretty sure I still have some Bolivian bat bogie juice for you to try, Niamh,’ said Grace, smiling.
‘Noooooo,’ cried Niamh, screwing up her face in disgust.
Oh yeah thought Grady happily.
Rain attacked the windows outside the children’s bedroom. Niamh thought she had seen heavy rain before, but this made what she thought was a tropical downpour look like light drizzle. It hammered on the windowpanes with a vengeance and pounded the roof with a savage drum beat. The gargoyles on the roof were in seventh heaven as the deluge washed out the gutters and nooks and crannies where many an insect had happily and drily lived for some time. There was such a feast for gargoyles that there was a jostling – in their own slow-moving stop motion kind of way − to get the prime position as the water surged and overflowed in an ever-changing pattern around the rooftops. Grady stared out from his window seat watching them battle for position on some of the overhanging parapets. Niamh sat on another window seat in the library, rugged up with a copy of The Lore and Legends of Avalon by Guillemot Aglarond, while the dogs slept at their feet – snoring.
‘I can’t believe the man who wrote this could turn out to be Balthasar. How could he stay hidden for so long?’ she said as she pulled the shawl back up around her shoulders.
Grady didn’t turn to look at her but kept staring into the deep gloom. A flash of lightning ripped across the sky, illuminating his features. ‘Remember what Quinn said in the chamber? “What better place to hide something than where everyone can see it” − no one ever thought to look for something, or someone, who was in plain view.’
Niamh stared down at the book and idly flicked a few pages over. A brightly coloured picture of the Twins stared back at her. ‘It’s obvious really, when you think about it.’
‘What’s obvious?’ said Grady.
‘If there was one person who could find out every ancient piece of information about the Twins, it would be Gilly. He knew more about the legends than anyone else – he even wrote most of it down here,’ said Niamh, slamming the book shut.
‘Did he forget to mention Miranda or the fact that the Twins could be used to link the power of the two worlds together?’ said Grady derisively. ‘Nobody else seemed to know anything about Miranda or how Gilly made his way into the chamber without being seen. Doesn’t that seem strange to you? I mean, how could someone like Murdock not know what was going on in his castle. He’s an elf and supposedly hundreds of years old, but he didn’t know anything about it?’
The children had been quizzed almost incessantly by Murdock for the first day after their exit from the chamber. Grace had to continually shoo him away from them so they could sleep and recover, but it was clear from his questioning that the palace guard had completely missed the fact someone in the court itself – albeit someone the court rarely saw – had been plotting one of the foulest acts of magic Avalon had seen for many, many years. And it was also clear that whatever had happened to the children in the chamber wasn’t entirely unexpected. Doctor Gilhooly and his nurse, Mrs McFidget, had checked the children out completely. But their examination had been very odd – once they had taken the children’s pulse and temperature (which only took a few moments), they spent ages questioning them about how they felt when they were thrown across the chamber – what did they see? Did they hear any voices? Did they see any faces? Niamh had grabbed Grady’s hand early in the interrogation and shared her thoughts with him – ‘Don’t tell them everything yet!’ Grady had agreed immediately. Both the children instinctively knew that what had happened was something they should not, could not, share with anyone else yet.
The only ones who truly saw what had physically happened were Quinn and Bree. And right now Quinn was not talking to anyone. While he wasn’t under arrest for what he had done, he had certainly received a grilling from Murdock’s men. And his wand had been taken from him.
Hugh had spilled the beans on what Quinn had done to them very quickly. Bree was more circumspect. She couldn’t argue with the facts as laid out by Hugh but, surprisingly to Niamh, she didn’t elaborate on what Quinn had done beyond simple Yes and No answers.
Niamh had seen the pleading look in Quinn’s eyes when Bree was asked if what Hugh had said was true. Quinn’s look of fear was mixed with an odd colour of honesty. Niamh fancied she could see the flavour of Quinn’s answers, as if an aura surrounded him as he spoke, which told of the honesty or otherwise of his feelings. Grady spoke to Niamh about this later, though he sounded almost embarrassed at the admission. The relief was plain on his face. Both the children understood it was almost certainly something to do with the Twins and some sort of powers that had been passed onto them. There were so many puzzles and so many questions to which the children needed answers. They knew there was only one person – one creature – that could answer the questions for them. The answers lay in a golden egg that sat in the custody of Roland and McHavering.
The door of the library swung open as Grace entered. Floating behind her was a tray supported by two of the castle faeries. On the tray sat two glasses of a pale green liquid. ‘Bat bogie time, my lovelys,’ Grace chimed as the children groaned.
‘Mum, we don’t need it today,’ said Grace.
‘Yeah Mum,’ Grady agreed. ‘We barely have any cuts left anywhere, so can we leave it now?’
‘You still have bruises you need to sort out and there’s nothing better than this as you well know, Grady.’
‘Mum, there’s hardly anything wrong with us now. Look!’ said Niamh, holding her arms out in front of her.
Grace took Niamh’s hands and scanned her arms for cuts and bruises. Where there had been a series of angry welts and bruises less than two days ago, there was now just a dull shadow under the skin. Even as Grace watched, the remaining partly purple patches continued to fade.
‘Well, yes, you do seem to be making a truly remarkable recovery, very remarkable. So I promise this will be the last glass I make you drink.’ The children groaned. ‘Come on. Open up and down the hatch. The grogoch is waiting for your glasses.’ A small, twiggy head kept appearing and disappearing from around the side of the door with a low grumbling mutter when it saw the glasses were still not empty.
‘Haven’t you got rid of him yet?’ said Grady.
‘Well, we’ve cleared out a cupboard for him to sleep in and he really seems quite happy. Plus he’s really very useful at times, though I think your father is threatening to get the priest next week to force him out. I think he’s had enough but I just don’t have the heart. He seems to have become qu
ite attached to us. Not sure about the serving faeries though. Every time they try and take plates or dishes away, the grogoch turns up and there’s an argument.’ Indeed, just as Grace said that, the grogoch ran into the room and made a grab for the now empty glasses. As he lunged for them the faeries also made a grab. Next moment there was a tug of war going on between the two with a squealing sound coming from the now enraged little creature. The grogoch snarled for a moment, swatted at the faerie which suddenly let go of the glass, and flew back as he whacked himself in the head. The impact didn’t seem to slow the creature down at all and it happily scampered out of the room with its trophies in his twig-like hands.
‘See what I mean?’ laughed Grace.
‘When can we get out again, Mum?’ asked Grady. ‘We’re honestly feeling much better.’
‘When Dr Gilhooly says you can,’ said Grace as she turned for the door.
‘Mum,’ said Niamh. ‘Has anything happened with ...?’
‘The egg is absolutely fine and totally unchanged from when it was found,’ said Grace, cutting Niamh off.
‘How did you know ...?’
‘That you were going to ask about the phoenix’s egg?’ said her mother, finishing the sentence. ‘Because you’ve asked the same question four times already today. I’ve been getting updates from Roland and I can guarantee there isn’t the slightest indication anything is about to happen. But the moment there is, I’ve promised them I will tell you and if you’re lucky you might even be able to get down to the stables to see the hatching.’
‘Thanks Mum,’ said Grady. ‘We’d hate not to see it, you know.’
‘Yes, I do know, my little man, so get yourselves better. As far as I know no one has seen a royal phoenix hatch in more than 250 years.’
Grace had almost reached the door when Niamh spoke again; ‘Mum. Can we ever go home again?’ Grace froze. It was only for an instant, but both the children saw the sudden stiffening.
‘What do you mean?’ said Grace, turning her head just a fraction towards the children. ‘You are home.’
‘Not here, Mum,’ said Niamh. ‘Avalon’s End.’ Another bolt of lightning scorched the air outside, followed seconds later by a kettle drum roll of thunder close by the castle.
Grace turned round and walked back to sit on a chair facing the children. ‘Why would you want to?’ she asked. ‘Are you not happy here?’
‘Yes, we’re happy, Mum,’ said Niamh. ‘But if we wanted to. Just for a short while. Could we do it?’
‘Not by yourself, Niamh,’ said Grace. ‘And not after ...’ The words were unspoken, but Niamh understood what her mother was not saying – that her parents knew, or at the very least suspected what had happened in the chamber.
‘Not after what, Mum?’ said Grady coldly.
Grace recovered herself; ‘Not after what you’ve just been through in the chamber. I think you need to give yourselves some time. Build up some strength again and ...’
‘And what?’
‘And we’ll have a chat with your father and see where we get to.’
Niamh rolled her eyes. ‘That means we’ll never go. You and Dad always agree when it comes to these sorts of questions.’
‘Not unless we get to him first,’ said Grady under his breath.
‘I heard that, Grady O’Connell,’ said Grace sternly. ‘We’ll talk about it another time. But it won’t be before school finishes for the year. You might be able to convince your dad it’s a good idea, but you would have no show against Ms Maladicta.’ Grace stood and turned to leave the room, saying as she went, ‘Now – settle down with a book and I’ll be back shortly with lunch.’
As the door closed behind her, Grady turned to Niamh; ‘What made you ask that?’
‘I was thinking about what Gil... Balthasar and Quinn were both going to do – about taking the Twins to the Old World.’
‘Yeah. And what?’ said Grady.
‘Well, what if something happened to us in the chamber which meant that ... that we had some of the powers of the Twins. Would they ever let us leave Avalon?’
Grady turned and looked back out the window again. Another flash of lightning illuminated his face and curls. For a moment it looked as though his head was encased in a swirling mass of red fiery curls. The effect lasted only for a moment, but Niamh felt the answer was obvious. Grady saw the reflection of his face in the window and put his hand to his head expecting to feel something more than hair there. His fingers grasped nothing but his usual locks of gold red hair. But both the children knew what they had seen. ‘If it’s even halfway likely we have any of those powers then we will have no chance of ever going back to Avalon’s End. I mean, do you think you would know how to get there yourself?’
Niamh shook her head. ‘Every now and then I see a flash in the corner of my eye like I remember coming here, but it’s gone before I can do anything about it. There must be a trick to travelling between the worlds and until we learn it we won’t be able to go anywhere.’
Grady nodded. ‘It’s not really such a bad thing though. Is it? I mean, it’s still a pretty cool place here.’
‘You mean apart from mad sorcerers threatening to set banshees on us with the promise of eating all the flesh off our bones?’ said Niamh, with hand on hips.
‘Well yeah, obviously apart from that bit.’
‘And also the bit where the mad boy wizard binds our friends with ropes and threatens to crush them to death unless we do what he asks?’
‘And that’s obviously not a great thing either, I admit, but I think you’re focusing a lot on the negatives here, sis.’
‘They are pretty big negatives, Grady,’ laughed Niamh. ‘And your point is?’
‘Well I kind of like the dragon riding and the broomsticks and the wand thing,’ he said, idly waving his own in the air and sending a tiny errant bolt into the curtain, causing it to spark and smoulder briefly before a librarian faerie sprang into view and beat out the smoke. It cast a furious look at Grady and gabbled something incoherently as it angrily zipped away. ‘I mean, that’s pretty cool really. Isn’t it?’
‘Yes, I know, you’re right,’ said Niamh, flomping down into a huge armchair. I just don’t like the fact that despite what we just did, getting rid of Balthasar and such, that we still just get treated like kids. Do you think they knew what was going to happen, in the chamber?’
‘They wouldn’t just let that happen to us though, would they?’ said Grady.
‘If they did, they wouldn’t tell us even if it were true. Bloody grown ups,’ scowled Niamh.
‘Language!’ laughed Grady.
‘Bloody bloody blimmen bloody blood,’ said Niamh, with an even deeper scowl.
Outside the rain continued to pelt down, drowning the hills and forests in a vertical ocean of water. The children settled down with their books again. It was going to be a long day.
‘Niamh, wait!’ yelled Grady as he ran after his sister. ‘WAAAIIITTT,’ he screamed a little louder, but Niamh was well gone.
‘Keep up, Grady!’ Niamh shouted back to her brother as she bounded down the steps towards the stables. Her longer legs allowed her to handle the uneven time-worn steps easier than Grady. Finn and Cu raced alongside them with Beedlelow and Phillibeet hanging onto their collars for dear life. They chittered and chattered and despite the obvious risk to tail and paw, were obviously enjoying their ride. As they approached the stables they saw they were not the first to get there that evening. Vynda’s pack of hounds sat outside – a respectable distance from the stables themselves. A large black shape sat perched on the edge of the roof. Grady could hear the scrabble of Iris’s talons as the two children came closer to the light which spilled out of the main doors in the late evening sun. They had received word to come to the stables quickly. They knew that could only mean one thing – the egg recovered from the ashes of the phoenix was about to hatch. Roland and McHavering had been taking turns to keep the egg sitting in a pile of glowing warm coals – not flaming, but gl
owing. The egg had been in their care since Murdock had brought it to them from the chamber. According to Quinn – who apparently knew all about this from studying dragon lore (among other things, some of which were much darker) with Balthasar – the coals had to be kept glowing to help the new phoenix get a good start in life.
As the children came close Finn and Cu slowed to a trot and stopped some way back from the pack of hounds. Their tails stood erect and hackles rose on their backs. But there was no growling. Despite their time at the castle and being in the presence of Vynda many times (and in both her forms), the dogs had never completely warmed to her friends. As the dogs stopped, the sleek red setter at the head of the seated pack turned, and seeing them approach sprang up with its tail wagging furiously. As it came towards them it turned from setter to human. By the time it was halfway across the gap the red-haired woman was striding across the ground and whistling to the dogs. They dropped their hackles and ran across, wagging their tails. The human form was much easier for them to handle and something in their make-up overrode the fear of the wolf that all dogs seem to share. Vynda had tried to explain to the children that while a wolf might look the same as a dog, they were as different as banshees were to humans – they might have legs and arms and a face with teeth, but the banshees answered to a different magic than humans, just as werewolves answered to a different magic than dogs.
‘You made it!’ said Vynda brightly. ‘Come quickly. I think it’s about to happen.’
She took the children by her hand and ran down to the stables with them. As she did so two brooms swooped down to the stable door. Grace and Merritt jumped off and ran in to join the children. ‘Sorry we’re late – thought we’d grab the brooms,’ said Merritt as he jumped off.
‘You’re just in time,’ said Vynda. ‘Come!’
They entered the stables to find Murdock standing behind a bench on which sat McHavering and Roland. In front of them was a low stone hearth with a set of bright glowing coals in the middle of it, on top of which sat the phoenix egg. It had changed since the children last saw it. The red gold colour of the shell had darkened to an almost transparent silver. The children felt they could see a shape wriggling inside as the egg rocked slowly from side to side. Roland and McHavering both sat, wands pointing at the coals, turning their wands this way and that as they kept the glow from getting too large and turning to flame, or too low and going out.
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