by E. G. Foley
“Bless me, I haven’t a clue. Come along, lads. Let’s get you back inside. We’d better let Guardian Stone know about this.”
When they turned away, the goblins protested, complaining in chatters, stretching out their little grasping hands toward Emrys, and whining for the gold nugget. “Oh, stop that!” the dwarf scolded them. “It’ll only make you sick! Now, shoo!”
Walking back toward the netting where the girls waited with Ufudd, Jake suddenly stopped, struck by a new thought. “Are we still on my property in this part of the woods?”
Emrys glanced around. “Yes. Why?”
“I thought the whole acreage here at Plas-y-Fforest was supposed to be protected by ancient magical spells.”
“Aye,” Emrys said.
“Then how could these creatures have been attacked here? We’re still on my property.”
“Maybe this has nothing to do with magic, but with science,” Archie suggested. “Perhaps it’s some sort of virus.”
“But you heard about the black cloud!”
“It could have been toxic smoke or fumes coming off the mine, or even a cloud of insects, like gnats or mosquitoes or even wasps with a sting to which the goblins are allergic.”
“Archie,” Jake muttered.
“What? Some people can die from beestings!”
“I didn’t see any sign of bites or stings on those dead goblins.”
“I’m just trying to say we shouldn’t jump to conclusions before we know the facts,” Archie said. “For that matter, how reliable are these creatures as witnesses? Can we be sure that Striper really saw what he thinks he saw? Maybe there was no black cloud.”
“Why would he lie?” Jake retorted.
“How should I know?” Archie exclaimed.
“Well, you must admit these goblins do seem genuinely scared of something.”
“I won’t argue that,” Archie agreed.
Emrys nodded. “Master Archie could be right, I suppose. There may be a perfectly logical explanation for all this. It does sound like a deliberate attack, but on the other hand, I never heard of any creature that’s like a black fog.”
“Well, I never heard of tree goblins till now,” Jake mumbled under his breath.
What really bothered him was a sudden, gnawing worry about those magic spells that were supposed to be protecting Plas-y-Fforest.
If this was an attack of some sort, then maybe those protective spells were no longer as strong as everyone assumed. They had been cast hundreds of years ago, after all. Maybe some of their power was starting to wear off.
And if that was the case, then maybe the other creatures who lived on the grounds of Plas-y-Fforest and depended on that magical protection for their safety were also at risk.
The dwarves, the unicorns, the house brownies…
Even Red himself?
Jake couldn’t say, but it seemed an excellent time to send a message to Great-Great Aunt Ramona. If those magic spells were indeed getting weak, he was fortunate to have a very powerful old witch in the family.
As an Elder for the Order of the Yew Tree, the Dowager Baroness Bradford would know what to do. No black fog, natural or unnatural, would ever bother her.
Jake decided to send a message to her at once.
“Come along, boys,” Emrys mumbled with another uneasy glance around. “We should be getting back.”
Jake and Archie ducked back under the netting with the head dwarf. Then they all filed back into the mine and returned to the boat, rowing back to the Atrium to conclude their day’s visit.
Bit by bit, drip by drop, life, so long banished, was slowly returning to the sorcerer. But he was still so weak.
He had to feed again—and this time, he wanted something more satisfying than the life-force of a few scrawny tree goblins.
Such fare would never be enough to restore him to his full power, let alone reconstitute his body in due time. Without it, not even he could say for certain what manner of creature he was: a wraith, a vapor, a shadow in the moonlight.
A half-forgotten nightmare…
Of course, the goblins were a vast improvement over the vile diet he had started with upon first bursting free of the coalmine.
Too ravenous to care, he had practically inhaled the tiny souls of the first wriggly crawling things he had found. Worms and beetles.
Draining their struggling bodies of life had given him just enough feeble strength to fly on toward the nearest farm. There, he had devoured a baby chick he had found pecking about in a chicken coop. That had helped.
Feeling stronger, he had fed for a while on the farmer’s fat old cat that was too lazy to run away. The cat had finally broken free of his hold before he drank the whole thing, but still, its energy helped immensely. Its stolen life-force had given him enough strength to return to the chicken coop and devour a whole hen.
By the time he had finished that feast, he was feeling almost like himself again and found he could even fly properly once more.
With every life he drank, more of him came back from the void into which he had dissolved himself by dark magic centuries ago, storing away his soul in a state that was neither death nor life, until such time as he could return.
Only a madman would attempt it, his best apprentices had warned. The devastating spell with which he had preserved his own consciousness was dangerous and rare. But with the Lightriders closing in, he’d had no other choice.
He had turned his faithful gargoyles to stone to preserve them, too, then had worked the Spell of a Hundred Souls. It had been his final act of defiance as a living man—and, indeed, it seemed he had cheated both death and the devil, and somehow, had got the last laugh.
But he still had to feed. Thanks to the goblins, he was doing much better, but he was still a very long way from being Garnock the Sorcerer again, in the flesh.
Truly, he marveled to find himself in such a weak and wispy state, when he had once been so mighty that the very elements obeyed him: air, fire, water, earth. Lead had turned to gold at his command.
Still, he had to give himself some credit. The fact that he was alive at all—even in this regrettable form—proved how powerful he had been.
And would be once more, he vowed, in due time.
For now, he had many questions. But as weak as he was, the answers were slow in coming. He was not even sure how long he had been entombed in that underground chamber. At least a few decades, judging by the state of his skeleton back in that room—poor bones!
In the hopes of orienting himself to his shadowy new existence, he summoned up the energy from the last goblin he had consumed and flew up high into the night sky to look down upon this strange, modern world and try to get his bearings.
Egads, his old village had quadrupled in size!
A sleek metal bridge with towers had replaced the ancient stone one they’d copied from the Romans.
He marveled at the baffling inventions of the day. Torches lined the streets yet burned without a flame. Magic of some sort?
Wires strung on huge wooden crosses split the skyline and hummed like they had something important to say.
Off in the distance, a huge metal snake with wheels on its belly slithered on tracks through the hills with smoke puffing out of its head. Fearsome beast! Maybe some new breed of dragon? Garnock wondered.
As for the people he saw in the streets, the men were no longer wearing hose and breeches, but odd, long trousers and jacket-y sorts of things—not a link of chain mail to be found on any of them. Such times!
But he only truly grasped how many years had slipped away when he saw the ruined Cistercian abbey.
It had been a working monastery in his day, a center of power and authority, but now the ancient structure was in shambles.
He could barely believe it. It had taken a hundred years for men to build and now it lay in ruins. Where were all those blasted White Monks? Dead, too?
Well, good riddance.
But as it finally hit him that, indeed, centur
ies had gone by since he had last walked the earth, he was stunned.
After shock came depression. Because this meant that everyone he’d ever known was dead, dead, dead. Including his former apprentices.
Not that he would miss them. Nevertheless, it hit him hard, because in his weak and vulnerable state, it meant he had no allies left to help him orient himself in this strange new world.
He was profoundly alone.
Well, except for his familiars, his loyal gargoyles—especially his two favorites, little Mischief and fearless Mayhem.
Still, as companions, they were little more than animals. They knew less about this frightening new age than he did.
Garnock let out a sigh as he wondered what ever happened to his once-young apprentices of centuries ago…
No doubt they were long dead.
The stark reality was he had no one to help him navigate through this alien new era or assist him until he was himself again.
A situation of this magnitude, waking up after centuries of a twilight slumber, could give even the greatest of sorcerers pause.
Garnock found himself drawn to the old cemetery outside of town. At least it was still there, though much larger now than he remembered.
He wasn’t sure why he wanted to see it. Maybe just for nostalgia’s sake, an urge to read the names of the people he used to know, there on the oldest headstones.
Somehow, it seemed the best place to start. In this place of death, he was alive, when he absolutely shouldn’t be.
Well then. The Spell of a Hundred Souls had worked. But if he was all that he had left, then he had better get on about his own survival. With that thought, the dark fog that he was grew even darker.
He glanced around with an evil gaze and saw some of the local cemetery ghosts staring at him in alarm.
They didn’t know what to make of him. He wondered if it was possible for him to feed on ghosts as well.
They fled when he moved toward them, but on his way to chase them, he suddenly caught a whiff of something better on the air. A lovely, enticing aroma of one the most powerful magicks on earth. I know that smell…
He forgot all about the ghosts and followed his nose (such as it was in his spirit state), sniffing the air to guide him.
He came to a road and saw a tall wrought-iron fence ahead, guarding a looming sort of castle on the opposite hill. The scent was getting stronger. He flew closer and read the sign: The Harris Mine School.
If he had still possessed a proper face, he would have smiled as understanding dawned. And if he’d had a belly, it would have grumbled with hunger.
Dear little children!
He flew across the hills at top speed and floated through the brick wall of the school. Suddenly, he was in the upstairs dormitory, hovering near the ceiling, looking down on the feast before him.
All the sleeping little innocents! That sickening smell was the goodness of children, and though personally, it nauseated him, he was well aware that nothing would restore him to his full power faster than drinking the elixir of their life-force.
Why, he would regenerate to his full wicked glory in mere days if he took his time resting and recuperating from the centuries here.
Here at this school, he could feed on the students as he pleased, stealing their life-force to restore his own. Children usually had too much energy anyway, he thought. No one would even notice, as long as he did not drain them to the point of death.
As for the brats themselves, when they awoke strangely tired in the morning, if they remembered any part of his attacks, they would think him nothing more than a dark dream.
And perhaps for now, that was all he was.
But not for long, Garnock vowed. And with that, he whooshed down from the ceiling to prey upon their bright, sparkly souls.
PART II
CHAPTER FIVE
The Secret Archive
You didn’t have to be an empath like Isabelle to sense the grim mood that hung over the cottage that evening.
Dani O’Dell could feel it, too, and no wonder.
Between the dead tree goblins and the men who’d been eaten in the coalmine (by a bear or not-bear), their holiday had turned unexpectedly morbid.
Everyone was worried, moping, cross. Red hadn’t even come back to the cottage, but had flown off to Waterfall Village to visit with the dwarves’ wives and children.
Clearly, the Gryphon wanted no part of Jake quite yet.
Only Teddy seemed oblivious to the ominous atmosphere that had invaded their fun.
Glad for her dog’s cheerful company, Dani took the little Norwich terrier outside to do his business. Wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the chill, she followed the speedy terrier down a garden path, where Teddy insisted on sniffing every blade of grass.
But when she heard low voices in the garden and spotted Derek and Helena flirting in the moonlight beneath the grape arbor, she stifled a grin and tiptoed away. At least those two were getting along.
Of course, they usually did. Too bad Guardians were not allowed to get married, and anyway, Miss Helena refused to accept any suitors after her twin brother, Henry, the boys’ tutor, had given up on winning the heart of the lady he liked. Poor, bookish Henry seemed to think the scientific Miss Astrid would never be able to accept him if she knew he could turn into a wolf at will.
That was the reason Jake’s aunt, Lady Bradford, had hired the twins to mind the Bradford children. They were not just fine educators, but vicious protectors when their charges were in danger.
At any rate, the dejected shapeshifting tutor had gone off to some mathematics seminar at a university in Germany somewhere. He had to study hard to stay ahead of the boy genius.
Such troubles all these magic folk had, Dani mused as she waited for her dog. Sometimes she was oh-so-truly glad just to be a normal person. Somebody around here had to bring the common sense.
Retreating to a respectful distance—though she was highly tempted to eavesdrop—she left Derek and Helena alone and minded her own business. It was a beautiful autumn night. She gazed up at the black sky full of twinkling silver stars and smiled at the memory of the dwarves’ Illuminium.
A few minutes later, the jaunty little terrier came racing back to her, tail wagging, his bright eyes shining merrily, as if to say, “What’s next?”
She bent down to pet him—then suddenly had an idea of how to change the grim mood and cheer everyone up. “Come with me, Teddy!” She scooped him up into her arms. “I’m going to need your help.”
“Mr. Fingle, I was wondering if you’d drive me into town—oh! Sorry to intrude.” Jake paused in the doorway of the kitchen, where the two house brownies, having served them dinner, were now having their own meal.
“No, no, it’s all right!” Snowdrop waved him in, dabbing at her mouth with her napkin. “Please, come in, Lord Griffon.”
Nimbus did the same and rose from his chair. “Right away, sir. Just let me hitch up the horses.”
“No, please, there’s no hurry,” Jake insisted. “I just need to send a telegram to my Aunt Ramona. Do you know her? The Dowager Baroness Bradford.”
“She visited here once,” Snowdrop said.
“Er, I’m afraid the telegraph office is closed at this hour, my lord,” Nimbus said. “But I could go to the clerk’s house and ask him to return to his office if it’s urgent?”
“Oh, no need. It’s not an emergency like that,” Jake said, waving off this suggestion. “I’ve just been wondering if the old spells protecting Plas-y-Fforest may need refreshing after all these years. I have no idea how to do that myself. She’ll know. She can send me back the instructions.”
“Not sure you ought to send that sort of magic-related communiqué by telegram,” Archie said. Jake hadn’t heard his cousin wander up behind him, hands in pockets. He glanced over his shoulder as Archie shrugged. “Too bad you don’t have an Inkbug.”
“Oh, but we do!” Snowdrop exclaimed. “Does Her Ladyship have one to receive the me
ssage?”
“Yes.”
“Perfect!” she said. “Then you can send it right away.”
Jake glanced back at Nimbus with a smile. “Never mind about the carriage.”
Snowdrop was already in motion, sailing down the hallway out of the kitchen. “Come with me, gentlemen!”
“You can finish your supper!” Jake told her, hurrying after her.
“No, no, business before pleasure!” she replied. “This way!” Snowdrop led them into the cozy, oak-paneled sitting room and marched straight over to the fireplace. She climbed up onto a stool, then reached up to grasp a candle-sconce embedded in the wall above the thick timber mantel.
Jake furrowed his brow, wondering if she meant to light the candles. Instead, she pulled the metal arm of the wall-mounted candelabra forward until they heard a click.
“Whoa,” Archie murmured as a bookcase beside the fireplace swung open, revealing a hidden room beyond.
“We call it the Archive,” she said as Nimbus handed her down from the stool. “Thank you, dear.”
“A mechanical trigger to open it?” Archie mused aloud as they walked over to the opening. “I’m surprised they didn’t use magic of some sort.”
“Not all the Evertons in His Lordship’s family line had magical powers,” Snowdrop said. “They had to be able to get in here, too.”
Jake stepped through the opening into the secret room behind the bookcase. Archie followed a step behind.
Isabelle joined the boys a moment later, having come down from her bedchamber. “What are you two getting up to?” She looked around in surprise. “What is all this stuff?”
“The Archive,” Jake said absently, staring all around him at the fascinating array of magical objects that cluttered the small room.
Wands, weapons, shelves full of grimoires and spell-books. Great leather-bound tomes on all sorts of paranormal subjects. Isabelle rushed over to one whose spine was engraved with gold letters: Veterinary Care for Unicorns.
“I can’t believe you have a copy of this! It’s a classic,” she said.