by E. G. Foley
“And don’t even get him started on cave trolls!” Ufudd chimed in as he came over and joined them.
They greeted the wee village elder with warm smiles; in truth, Ufudd had become the children’s favorite.
“Nuisance species, cave trolls!” Ufudd told them, grimacing.
Emrys shook his head. “Just a part of life underground. Always got to clear ’em out when you start a new dig.”
“But never mind us,” Ufudd said. “How is your visit going? How are you Bigs settling in up at Plas-y-Fforest?”
They all sat down together and told Ufudd and Emrys eagerly about what they had been up to, and how the climbing roses around the cottage moved on command, and how they had seen the unicorns.
“We also found an old, ruined church where his ancestors are buried,” Dani said, nodding at Jake even as she managed to ignore him.
Isabelle nodded. “The tombs of Sir Reginald himself and his wife, Lady Agatha.”
“Oh, and Jake saw a headless ghost!” Archie added.
“Ahh, yes, the Headless Monk. Now there’s a tale,” said Emrys, and giving a thoughtful puff of his pipe, he settled in to tell it…
CHAPTER TWELVE
Just a Legend
“The Griffon lords had sponsored a community of White Monks on their lands from ages back. The monks lived simply with their vow of poverty, farming and brewing ales, and looking after the poor folk in these parts.
“But poor Brother Colwyn,” Emrys said with a shake of his head. “He made an enemy of the wrong chap. Remember that alchemist I told you about who lived around here long ago?”
“The chap who figured out how to turn lead into gold?” Archie asked.
“Until sunlight touched it,” Dani reminded him.
“That’s the one,” Emrys said with a mild nod. “Garnock the Sorcerer. If only he had kept to reading the stars and tinkering with gold. But no, the dark arts were too much temptation for him. Ach, he was a menace. Changing folk into unnatural creatures. Calling up storms and floods and pestilence, ruining crops. He was particularly fond of lightning, they say, and he’d zap you if you got too far onto his bad side. He became a mighty wizard. I’ve heard that the Dark Druids honor his memory to this day. Legend has it the first ones were some of his own apprentices.”
“Really!” Jake whispered with a chill down his spine.
Derek had once warned him that, because of his abilities, the Dark Druids would probably come seeking to recruit him one day when he was older.
Nearly everything that Red and Derek and Aunt Ramona and Henry and Helena did was to try to make him as ready as possible for that day.
Personally, Jake hoped he was at least forty or fifty or so before those shadowy villains attempted any such thing.
“Oh, he was a bad one,” Emrys was saying. “Then Brother Colwyn found out Garnock had even summoned a demon from the underworld to do his will.”
All four drew in their breath.
“That was the fashionable thing all the wizards liked to have back in those days—your own demon to follow your commands and do your bidding. Of course,” he added, “there’s always a price to be paid for such bargains.”
“Like your soul!” Dani said.
Emrys took another philosophical puff from his pipe. “When Brother Colwyn found out about Garnock’s meetings with the demon, he sent word immediately to the Lightriders about it. Unfortunately, one of Garnock’s ravens warned him what Brother Colwyn had done.
“Well, the wizard readied himself for the battle that was about to descend on him, but before the Lightriders arrived, he paid Brother Colwyn a visit. He swore to punish the friar for his meddling.” Emrys shook his head. “Garnock tried again and again to cast terrible spells on the monk, but he was too well protected by the sacred ground of the chapel and his own holy prayers.
“Finding that his magic had no effect, Garnock became so enraged that he conjured an axe and chopped off the poor fellow’s head. ’Twas never found,” Emrys finished in a spooky tone.
The kids stared, wide-eyed.
“Did the Lightriders kill him?” Jake blurted out.
“Alas, they arrived in Wales too late to save their friend, the monk, but they did overcome the sorcerer. They trapped Garnock in his workshop with some of the most powerful white-magic spells ever cast. He was imprisoned for all time with the gargoyles who were his familiars.
“But,” Emrys added, “the other monks at the church who witnessed the murder said that Garnock made a promise. He vowed that, whatever happened, the Lightriders would never destroy him, and he swore that one day, he would come back for revenge.”
A hush of doom had fallen over the children.
Having finished his tale, Emrys took a thoughtful puff on his pipe and eyed the four of them in amusement.
“Egads,” Archie said at last in a strangled tone.
Emrys and Ufudd both started laughing.
“Ah, laddie, it’s just an old legend,” the head dwarf chided, his eyes twinkling.
Then Emrys was called away to go and cheer his wife on in the Axe-Throwing Contest, and Ufudd scurried off to fetch another half-pint of mead, still chuckling at their gullibility.
Jake was silent, the daftest notion taking shape in his mind. Could it be possible that this black fog plaguing the area might actually be Garnock, carrying out his promise?
The idea seemed absurd, yet everything going on around here had to be connected. He just wasn’t sure how, yet.
It dawned on him who might know more. “Isabelle, could I ask your help for a minute? I need to talk to Red.”
“Of course.”
“We’ll come with you.” Archie rose from his chair.
“Um, I think Jake needs to speak to the Gryphon privately.” The empath sent the other two a meaningful look to remind them of the recent spat between Jake and his large, feathered pet.
“Oh, right. Of course,” Archie answered with a nod. “Good luck, Jake.”
Then they left.
“Jake?” Isabelle asked over her shoulder as they wove through the crowd, heading for the spot where the magnificent Crafanc was holding court, surrounded by his admirers.
“Aye?” Jake barely glanced at her, trying not to step on any of the mischievous dwarf children scampering by.
“You know, you really should be nicer to Dani.”
“What?”
“Every time you quarrel with her, she thinks she is going to be sent back to the rookery.”
“Of course she’s not going to be sent back to the rookery,” he said impatiently.
“One mistake isn’t the end of the world. Besides, in your old life, she was there for you when nobody else was.”
“Fine! I’ll apologize,” he huffed. “I’ll just add her to my list.”
“See that you do, or I may start to think that you and Petunia Harris might actually be a good match.”
Jake scoffed. Being matched with the beautiful, mean Miss Harris did not sound so bad to him, but Izzy had not meant it as a compliment.
“Red’s waiting, if you’re quite through lecturing me,” he grumbled.
“On that subject, yes. But actually, there’s something else I wanted to tell you.”
Jake welcomed any change of subject. “Aye?”
She glanced at him uneasily. “This afternoon, before we all started getting ready for the party, I had a chance to go out into the forest alone to see the unicorns. I found out why they acted so skittish last night. They’ve been sensing an evil presence in the area for about a week now. Something new and strange. They don’t know what it was. But I’m sure it’s the same thing I felt at the school.”
“Agreed,” Jake said grimly.
“My brother said you came across a ghost?”
He nodded. “The old headmaster, Dr. Sackville. But that dark atmosphere wasn’t coming from him.”
“Are you sure?”
“Definitely. He’s a strict old windbag, but I could tell he really cares
about those kids.” Jake stopped short of telling Isabelle that Old Sack had actually seen something feeding on the children.
The poor girl had already been through enough for one day. Besides, this was supposed to be a holiday. In any case, as a future Lightrider, Jake felt that dealing with all this was up to him.
“Tomorrow night I’m going to that séance,” he reminded her. “The headmaster ghost wouldn’t really tell me much, but maybe some other ghost there will.”
“Good idea. Are you ready for this?” she asked as they approached the crowd around Red.
Jake nodded, then the crowd of dwarves dispersed when they realized the two cousins were waiting for an audience with the kingly beast.
“Jake wanted to talk to you, Red. Do you mind?” Isabelle asked him.
The careless flick of his red wings was like a shrug, then his golden eyes studied Jake intently.
“I was wondering if you were there long ago, when the Lightriders defeated Garnock the Sorcerer,” he said.
All Jake heard in answer was Red’s usual “Becaw,” but Isabelle could read animal’s thoughts.
She turned to him to translate. “He says that was before his time. He was just a hatchling.”
“Oh. Too bad. All right, then.” Jake hesitated. “Is there, er, anything else he wants to say to me?” He waited on tenterhooks to hear what Isabelle might translate next.
She glanced at Red and then at him. “Actually,” she said with exquisite tact, “he’s waiting to hear what you have to say first.”
“Oh.” Jake dropped his gaze.
“Think I’ll leave you two alone to sort things out.” His empath cousin obviously sensed him floundering. “Just tell him what’s in your heart, Jake.”
“Right. Thanks,” he mumbled as she walked away. He looked at Red uncertainly. “Um, could I please speak to you privately?”
Red pounced down off his perch and nodded at Jake to follow him.
He did.
The beast padded back up the red carpet toward the waterfall.
Near the grand archway to Waterfall Village, the cascade thundered past them, but Red’s ears were more than sharp enough to hear Jake’s heartfelt apology.
“I’m sorry for how I acted in the Great Vault. I-I know I let you down. I want to do better. I know I’m selfish and sometimes rude. I always seem to have the wrong reaction,” he said in dismay. “But I’ll keep trying, if you don’t mind putting up with me.”
“Becaw.” Red pushed his head fondly against Jake’s chest like an oversized housecat showing its owner affection.
Jake was so relieved that he threw his arms around the Gryphon’s neck and hugged him. Red curled one large lion-paw around his shoulder in return.
“Thanks, boy,” he mumbled.
Moving back again, Red snuffled with nonchalance, as though everything was already forgotten. Then he spotted a trout going over the waterfall and caught in his beak, gulping it down whole. Jake laughed.
“Caw!” With a cheerful flick of his wings, Red flew back to the party, his tufted tail trailing down gracefully behind him.
Jake gazed after this marvelous, impossible beast that had come into his life with unabated wonder and realized anew how lucky he really was. In future, he’d have to do a better job of remembering that.
Right, he concluded after a moment. One down, one to go. Having made peace with Red, he felt like he had the weight of an anvil off his chest.
Now he just had to find the right moment to tell a certain carrot-head that he was sorry, too.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Séance
The next night, Jake rode alone in the carriage as Nimbus drove him into town for the séance. He had been lucky to snag the last available ticket for the night’s event, but was glad the others had stayed at home. A séance was not to be undertaken lightly.
He stared out the window at the cold, craggy woods, feeling tense and chilly as he mulled the task ahead.
He had spent the day checking every hour or so on the Inkbug, waiting for word from Aunt Ramona. But the fuzzy little caterpillar had not so much as twitched an antenna. Jake wondered what was taking her so long. Maybe the Elder witch had to do some research on the old protection spells that had been used all those centuries ago.
Well, he hoped she got back to him soon, because he had no idea what he was going to do if one of the ghosts tonight confirmed the black fog was really Garnock the Sorcerer.
There was no point scaring himself silly about it. Just cross that bridge when you come to it.
Upon arriving in Llanberis, he found the streets deserted, though it was not yet nine o’clock. The only sounds of life at this hour came from the pub they passed, then Nimbus turned down another murky, shadowed lane.
A few moments later, he parked the coach outside the crystal shop. Jake got out, his hands in the pockets of his greatcoat, his collar turned up against the chill.
He nodded when Nimbus said he’d wait there. Then Jake glanced around at the eerily abandoned streets and crossed to the front door of Madam Sylvia’s shop.
A “Closed” sign hung on it.
When he rapped his knuckles on the window, however, and showed his ticket through the glass, the shop clerk let him in.
The medium herself was meditating to clear her mind before the séance, the woman said, but he was welcome to browse the shop while he waited.
Jake greeted the other six guests with a nod, promptly noting that he was the youngest person in attendance. As the adults chatted, trying to hide their nervousness about the imminent arrival of the spirits, he gave no sign of the fact that he, too, was psychic.
He did not want to steal the show from Madam Sylvia, but more importantly, he first wanted to make sure that her abilities were real. There were a lot of frauds out there, and if she was one of them, tricking people who were grieving over loved ones, he had every intention of exposing her.
But, of course, his main goal tonight was to get answers about the black fog from any ghosts who might appear. It would be tricky speaking to the dead without revealing himself to the living as a psychic.
He paced restlessly up and down the shop aisles, inspecting herbal candles, stones with claimed vibrational powers, and an assortment of odd charms.
Then Madam Sylvia made her entrance, appearing with a flourish in the red-curtained doorway at the back of the shop. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen! Come this way, if you please.”
Jake raised an eyebrow and joined the others.
Madam Sylvia waited in the doorway, greeting her guests as they filed into the dimly lit backroom of her shop. She was a short, plump, grandmotherly lady with wiry gray hair and a round face with rosy apple cheeks—but fierce, dark eyes. Her piercing stare seemed at odds with her sweet, Mrs. Claus-like face.
Her clothing was also a study in contrasts, part somber widow in a black mourning gown with a high lace collar, part Gypsy fortune teller, with many rings on her fingers and a wildly colored shawl draped around her shoulders. The countless necklaces hanging from her neck made her jangle when she walked.
In the backroom, all seven guests sat down at a round table with a dark, fringed tablecloth. The lighted candelabra in the middle of the table cast but a feeble glow.
Of course, Jake thought cynically, low lighting could help conceal any trickery the alleged medium had planned.
Meanwhile, anticipation hung in the air, adding a zing of nervous energy to the darkened room as they all waited to see what would happen next.
Obviously, the other guests were not used to dealing with ghosts like he was.
Glancing around the table at the candlelit faces of the strangers in attendance, Jake wondered what their stories were, who among the dead they were hoping to contact. They could be any sort of people, for these days, everybody loved a good séance—men and women, young and old, rich and poor.
Queen Victoria herself was fond of them, and Jake had even heard that Mrs. Lincoln out in America used to host séan
ces right there in the White House, trying to reach the soul of her dead son.
The other guests were looking around, waiting for anything supernatural to happen, though the séance hadn’t even started yet.
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen,” their hostess began in a spooky tone. “I am Madam Sylvia. In a moment, I will invite the spirits from beyond to join us, and you will each get your turn to ask three questions. I’ll relay their answers to you, but you must keep quiet so I can hear their responses. I am a clairaudient, which means that I can only hear the voices of the spirit world. I cannot see them.
“Now then. Before we begin, I would ask you all to rest your hands palms down on the table, fingers splayed, like so. Make sure the tip of your pinky finger is touching that of the people on both sides of you. Take care not to break the circle once we begin, or the connection could be broken.”
Now that sounds like a load of rubbish, Jake thought, but he went along with it anyway.
Madam Sylvia closed her eyes and began invoking the phantom folk. “Oh, spirits of the afterworld! We respectfully invite you to join our company.”
As she spoke, Jake scanned the dark walls of the small room. They were covered with strange photographs purporting to have captured ghosts on film.
Spirit photography, they were calling it. Quite the new craze. Living people were usually the main subjects of the portraits, with ghosts of family members showing up in the background.
Some of the pictures portrayed smoky wisps or mere orbs of light, while whitish faces without bodies stared out from others.
“Oh, benevolent phantoms of the deceased! I call on you to come to us and share your secrets from beyond! Speak! Speak!”
Jake felt an extrasensory tingle on the back of his neck; gooseflesh prickled down his arms; and as usual, these were the first warning signs that the spirit world was pressing through to the ordinary dimension of reality.
Suddenly, a glowing circle of swirling milky light opened on the ceiling, right above the séance table.
Well, that’s new, he thought, looking up. Maybe she is real.