The Aedyn Chronicles
Book One
Chosen Ones
Alister McGrath
ZONDERKIDZ
Chosen Ones
Copyright © 2010 by Alister McGrath
Illustrations © 2010 by Wojciech Voytek Nowakowski All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Zondervan.
ePub Edition MARCH 2010 ISBN: 978-0-310-41016-4
Requests for information should be addressed to: Zonderkidz, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data McGrath, Alister E., 1953-Chosen ones / Alister E. McGrath.
p. cm.—(The Aedyn chronicles ; bk. 1) Summary: When Peter and Julia go to stay with their grandparents in Oxford, England, they discover a mysterious garden, which serves as a portal to a world where they are greeted as the saviors of a people enslaved by evildoers.
[1. Fantasy. 2. Brothers and sisters—Fiction. 3. Good and evil—Fiction.] I.
Title.
PZ7.M169477Ch 2010
[Fic]—dc22 2009044776
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Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Copyright
Map
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
About the Publisher
Share Your Thoughts
Map
Prologue
Ten little ships raced across the sea, seeking safety from the disaster that engulfed their island.
Men, women, children, and animals looked back in fear. Beyond the foamy wake of their ships they could see a plume of smoke and ash rising into the sky, spreading out against the horizon as it hit the atmosphere. The flashes of light and sheets of flame illum inated the ash. Some of the passengers wept, reduced to tears at the sight of their homeland’s devastation.
Those in the first ship looked anxiously towards their leader. Marcus could save them, if anyone could. He had warned them of a coming disaster, had urged them to flee. He had supervised the building of ships and the loading of provisions for a voyage. Yet nobody really knew where they were bound— if they had any destination beyond a watery grave. None of the great sages had ever spoken of land beyond the southern horizon. Yet that was the course Marcus had set for them.
Days passed without any sign of land. Marcus kept watch at the bow, peering into the emptiness, trying to conceal his growing anxiety from those around him. Somewhere ahead there had to be an island— an island that appeared on no maps.
Above him the eagles circled, searching for signs of land. Yet nothing had yet been seen. Marcus wondered, not for the first time, if he had been mistaken. But he squared his shoulders and kept his hardened eyes on the horizon. Everything depended on him.
CHAPTER
1
Once upon a time an old house stood in the English town of Oxford. It was built close by the ancient city wal s, ivy growing over its stonework and mul ioned windows, and was the sort of place with lots of dark corners and hidden stairways. And in this house lived a professor, his wife, and an old tabby cat.
The professor’s special interest was reading about ancient battles, both at land and at sea. His ramshackle study was fil ed with paintings of famous naval engagements. The professor had never actual y been to sea but rather liked the idea of it, and no one was prouder when his son became a captain in the Royal British Navy. His wife was the cozy, grandmotherly sort of person who specializes in scrumptious teas and biscuits. She had jol y round cheeks and an enormous lap for children to fal into.
On one particular day, not al that long ago, the house was al in a flurry of preparation for the arrival of two special visitors: their grandchildren. Their mother had died not quite a year ago, and with their father off at sea they needed a place to spend the school holidays. The professor’s wife had spent the morning in preparation, airing out sheets and blankets, sweeping floors, and dusting cabinets. The professor had spent the morning choosing interesting books to leave in the spare bedrooms.
For Peter, aged fourteen, he had selected a history of Admiral Nelson’s tactics at the Battle of Trafalgar.
It had been a bit more difficult for him to find a suitable book for Julia, aged thirteen, but final y he chose a fine book on ancient Greek politics and left it on her bedside table. His wife saw it as she placed a vase of freshly cut flowers from the garden by Julia’s bed and hastily replaced it with a copy of Alice in Wonderland.
The children arrived that evening with al the ordinary bustle that completes a long journey. They were both hugged and kissed nearly to death, relieved of their bags, offered a vast assortment of sweet things, and shown to their rooms. Peter col apsed at once on top of his bed, not even bothering to undress, but Julia wasn’t tired. She washed, changed into a long nightgown and sat on the edge of the bed, brushing her long hair absentmindedly and looking out through her window at a wal ed garden beneath her. She sighed deeply.
Normal y, it had been agreed, she and Peter would be al owed to stay with friends during school breaks when their father was away. But this time their father had shore leave and was coming home to see them. There was something he had to tel them, he’d said in his message. So Julia and Peter had been told to go straight from their boarding schools to the old house in Oxford. Their father would join them there as soon as his ship docked in Plymouth.
Julia would have so much preferred to go to Lucy Honeybourne’s home in Kent. They could have gone swimming together, and maybe even gone shopping in London for a day. She did love her grandparents, but they were so…wel , so old-fashioned. Thank goodness they had final y left her alone for the night. She laid down the brush
and leaned back on the pil ow, riffling idly through the pages of Alice in Wonderland and listening to her brother’s snores through the wal .
Julia did not real y like Peter very much. He was interested in things that bored her, like machines and gadgets and sport, and since they had both been sent off to school they hardly ever saw each other. But, she admitted to herself, even Peter would be better company than her grandparents.
The thought froze in her head as her eyes and ears fixed themselves on the old ornate door. It was opening, slowly, creaking as a beam of light marched across the floor. But a moment later she relaxed. The old tabby cat had entered her room and leapt onto the bed beside her.
“Why, hel o Scamp!” She lifted him up and tickled him under his chin. Scamp purred appreciatively. Both were glad to have some company. Julia walked to the window, scratching the tabby behind his ears as she went, and looked through the glass at the wal ed garden below, its fountain burbling gently.
“Look at that garden!” Scamp pressed a paw up against the cold pane and purred again.
“Wouldn’t you like to explore it! But you can’t, because you’re an inside cat. Aren’t you?” Scamp was not al owed outside the house in case he returned with fleas or freshly-kil ed birds or mice. Julia’s grandmother was horrified at the thought of any of these creatures, living or dead, getting inside her nice clean house. She also did not want Scamp mixing with any of the rough, common cats that lived outside. He might learn some bad habits.
Julia gave a wry smile. Poor Scamp, always trapped inside! Suddenly, something moved in the garden below. Some birds were fluttering around the fountain. Scamp instantly became alert, his muscles tensed, staring down into the garden at the birds.
Julia noticed his interest in what lay below. “You’d like to get out there and have an adventure, wouldn’t you? Wel , I’m sorry, but you aren’t al owed out. You’l just have to stay here.”
Julia dumped the old cat on her bed and watched him curl up into a bal and fal asleep.
Making sure that Scamp did not fol ow her, she slid her feet into her blue slippers and descended the wooden staircase leading into the paneled hal . She wasn’t tired—she was going to explore.
The house was stil and quiet, apart from the slow ticking of an old grandfather clock. It was the first time that Julia had ever been alone in the old house. She began to investigate, peeping into rooms that she was sure she was not meant to enter.
She peeked into her grandfather’s study. What a mess! Papers were lying al over the floor and books were stacked high on his desk. There seemed to be a model of a sailing ship on every shelf in the room.
She shut the door quietly behind her and moved on to the drawing room. After half an hour she had explored every room in the house. What now? Stil wide awake, she loathed the idea of returning to the stuffy spare room.
She was back in the hal . She ran her fingers along its ancient wooden panels. To her left was the front door leading towards the col ege. She had come through that door earlier when she had arrived.
But there was another door to her right, half-hidden by a heavy green curtain. She walked towards it and pushed the curtain aside. Did it lead down to a cel ar? Or out onto the street? Making sure that Scamp was nowhere close, Julia slowly unlocked the door and began to open it. The heavy oak door creaked and groaned with the complaints of long disuse, and Julia froze. What if someone heard and came to investigate? Julia held her breath for a long moment, but there was only silence.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door completely to reveal a wal ed garden. It must be the same garden that she could see from her bedroom.
Juli a hesitated. Should she go in? She looked around quickly. Nobody was there! She entered the garden, closing the door as softly as she could behind her.
It was a glorious evening in the month of May.
Silver light flashed off the streams of water from the fountain in its center. The soft burbling of the fountain echoed off the wal s, enfolding the garden in its gentle music. At the side of the fountain was a smal pond fed by its own stream of water. The wal s were covered by trees and climbing plants. Apple trees, wisteria, and magnolia were al in bloom, the night air heavy with their fragrance. It was the most beautiful garden Julia had ever seen.
And then she heard a voice whisper her name, softly and slowly. A shiver shot down Julia’s spine as she whipped around, looking for the source of the voice, but there was no one there. “Stop being stupid,” she told herself, and gave a determined shake of her head before hurrying back inside the house. It must have been the wind, or birds, or someone talking in the street beyond the garden wal s.
Julia closed the door softly behind her and returned to her room upstairs. Scamp was stil curled up on the bed, and he stretched and flexed his claws as she turned back the covers and climbed in. It was an odd garden, she thought. Something wasn’t right there. And yet it looked so beautiful outside her window now, glowing softly. Silvery trees, silvery paths, silvery water. The fountain and pool were shimmering in an eerie yet beautiful light. There was something odd about it, she thought to herself. But she couldn’t quite work out what it was.
Julia snuggled down beneath the covers, resolving to visit the garden again the next day. It was just as she final y fel asleep that she realized what was so strange about the garden. There had not been any moon that night.
She woke the next morning to a pressure on her shoulder and opened her eyes to see Scamp kneading his paws against her. Julia grinned sleepily and tickled his ears. The tabby leapt off the bed and meowed at the door.
“Ready for breakfast?” Julia asked her insistent companion. “I wouldn’t mind a bit myself.” Her grandmother was already at the table downstairs, sipping a cup of tea as she perused the morning mail. She smiled as Julia appeared and gestured at the seat next to her. “Good morning, my dear,” she murmured. “And where is that rascal brother of yours this morning?”
Her question was answered by a grunt. Peter loped into the room, stil in yesterday’s clothes, and plunked himself into a seat. It was, Julia decided, going to be a very long holiday.
Breakfast was a tense affair. The children’s grandmother tried to get Peter and Julia to talk about their schools and their hobbies but, exhausting her arsenal of questions, she left the table and retreated into her quiet world of books and crochet. Peter asked permission to leave the house and explore Oxford, and Julia, delighted to be left in peace, took a book out to the garden that she had already begun to consider hers.
CHAPTER
2
The days fel into an easy routine. Peter would wake late in the mornings and head out to town in time for lunch with the professor. They spent their afternoons discussing
Nelson’s
naval
tactics
and
the
development of gunpowder—“Boys’ talk,” according to Julia. She spent her time in the garden, reading or drawing or lying on her back doing absolutely nothing at al .
It was in such a mood one evening that she saw the glowing begin. She had, truth be told, almost entirely forgotten the silvery light that first evening in the garden, but now, watching the sun set over the garden wal s, the strangeness of it could not be missed. There was a shimmer in the breeze and a sound like bel s, but perhaps it was only in her mind.
Julia sat up and looked around and gasped.
Every tree, every rock, every blade of grass seemed encased in a silver light al its own. The glow was stronger than it had been that other night, Julia thought—everything was sharper, clearer. She stood and moved around the garden, watching, drinking in the splendid light. She came to the edge of the pond and stopped, feeling a pul she could not quite define. Something was propel ing her forward
—something strong. Something powerful.
Another ringing—louder this time—brought her sharply out of the moment. Grandmother’s dinner bel summoned her back to reality, and she ran back to the hou
se.
Dinners at the old house were of a formal nature, hearkening back to the days of the professor’s youth.
Children were not expected to be ‘seen and not heard’—not exactly—but the food was rich and the courses were numerous, and the conversation was general y limited to the weather and col ege affairs.
The professor was, this particular evening, discussing his views on the leaking library roof, and aside from Peter’s muttered instructions to “blow the whole thing sky-high,” it was understood that the children would be al but silent.
Which is why it was so unusual for Julia to break into the conversation. Between the soup and the main course she could no longer contain her curiosity, and asked: “Grandmother, is there any particular reason why the garden outside should glow at night?”
Her grandmother looked at her in astonishment, a fork ful of roast beef halfway to her mouth.
“Glow? My dear, your eyes must have been playing tricks on you. Maybe you’re feverish!
Sometimes people see things when they have a fever.” She hurriedly placed a hand on Julia’s forehead. “No, no sign of a fever. Dear?” She looked over at her husband. “Is anything wrong with the garden?”
“What’s this, my dear?”
The professor was deeply engrossed in his mashed potatoes.
“Julia was wondering why our garden glows at night, dear.”
“I have no idea. Does it glow at night? I’d never noticed that. Aha!” He stabbed triumphantly at a pea that had been eluding him.
Julia was not entirely satisfied by her grandfather’s reply. “Then could you tel me something about the garden? I mean, how long has it been here?”
“Wel , it’s al lost in the mists of history, my dear.
The garden is one of the oldest parts of Oxford. It was built centuries ago by a—a monk, I believe. In fact, Julia,”—the professor paused to swal ow his peas—“there’s an old story about that monk. They say he was murdered in that garden, and he’l never be able to leave it.”
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