The Heart Thief

by Richard A Swingle

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  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  A word from Richard

  About the Author

  1

  Ilaria turned and ran from the muddy swamp; her heart pounding, her legs numb as she willed them not to give up on her. She had reclaimed the dragon’s heart from the creature. A heart thief from an ancient tribe of underground dwellers. Ilaria couldn’t believe she had got this far but now she had to escape and she hadn’t thought to plan that far ahead.

  She heard the creature’s screams as it chased her. It was desperate to find her but she was so small, just eleven years old.

  Ilaria managed to tuck herself amongst the roots of a large upturned oak tree that had been blown over in a storm, its roots jutting out like tentacles. She lay there hiding for what seemed like an age though it was barely a smattering of moments.

  What are you doing, Ila? she asked herself. What on earth are you doing here?

  The forest went quiet and still, not even a whisper of a breeze. Ilaria knew she needed to move. She had to make it back to the cave and return the heart to the dragon or her wish would never be granted.

  She opened the rolled-up cloth that held the heart, fearful that she had imagined obtaining it. But there it was, less like a heart and more like a stone. It glowed a deep shade of green, pulsating as though it had never ceased beating. She wrapped it up again before turning to run from her hiding place.

  Sometime later, Ilaria managed to sneak her way out of the forest, back to the sunken cave that was hidden beneath a grassy bank, the entrance lined with an honour guard of bare-branched olive trees.

  She hurried inside and grabbed a flaming torch from an old hook on the wall. The same one she had used to find the dragon the first time.

  There he was, sleeping inside an alcove at the back of the cave. Though injured and weak, she could still feel the force of the air as his breath rushed past her. Ilaria pulled back the thick hessian rags that covered the wound from where the heart had been taken.

  She placed it back inside. It was a messy business and she felt the muscles inside the dragon clamp hold of her arm, massaging the heart back into its rightful place. Ilaria tugged her arm away and flicked the smelly viscous gore off at once. The dragon roared and a bright light filled his eyes as he lifted his head.

  ‘Run child, run. You must run NOW!’

  Ilaria didn’t wait to understand why, for the dragon had guided her this far. She used what energy she had remaining and fled through the cave as the roaring sounds of the dragon advanced upon her. She felt a sudden wave of heat on her back that was almost blistering and she dived through the cave mouth, taking shelter behind a rock.

  A large flame burst out through the opening, singeing all the grass and turning the few remaining autumnal leaves to ashes. When the roaring stopped, Ilaria stood and waited as the dragon stomped forwards, his footsteps closing in on her. When he finally exited the cave, he seemed twice as large as when she had first found him.

  ‘I’m impressed girl, I never thought you could do it,’ bellowed the dragon.

  Ilaria swallowed hard and found her reply.

  ‘I’ve done as you asked, now please, you must save him.’

  ‘Before I can grant you the wish, there is something you must know.’

  ‘What is it? Tell me,’ she pleaded.

  The dragon sighed a guilty sigh.

  ‘If I use my power to save your grandfather, my heart will be extinguished and I will die.’

  Ilaria was stunned.

  ‘What? How can you only be telling me this now? I did everything you asked of me. Risked my own life and…’

  ‘I am sorry, child, but had you known, you never would have gone to such lengths. You needed to be focused.’

  ‘Never would have gone to such lengths? I fell from my world into yours without a single idea as to why. I found you here, you told me you could save him.’

  ‘And I meant it, child,’ replied the dragon. ‘The decision is yours and I cannot refuse you once you have made up your mind.’

  Ilaria broke down in tears; this ordeal had been thrust upon her and an olive branch extended, but it bore rotten fruit.

  Life had been cruel to her before, especially when she had first found out that her grandfather was dying of cancer. She was still so young and he was her entire world, the only family she had ever known. Now she had to value his life more than the magnificent dragon.

  Ilaria felt as though she had been tricked. How could someone remain innocent if they choose to take a life? she asked herself.

  Ilaria took something out of her jacket; it was an old Italian gold florin that had been shaped to fit a chain that her grandfather had given her on her tenth birthday. It was the only thing she had ever owned that was once her grandmother’s. She held it out to the dragon.

  ‘This is for you to keep. As a reminder of the hope you once gave to a young child and of the grandfather you stole from her.’

  Ilaria dropped the florin necklace on the ground and then turned and ran, crying and afraid. Her tears smeared across her face as she feared that it was too late, too late to return home and say goodbye. She fell to the ground exhausted, all the energy had gone from her body. She looked to the spiralling pathway before her and the world faded into a starry darkness.

  When Ilaria woke, she was back in the hole that she had fallen down. It was hidden amongst the sand dunes by the beach where she lived, ten feet deep and impossible to climb back out of. She couldn’t remember how she had returned here but began to attempt to scramble out. It was hopeless.

  ‘Johnny,’ she called out. ‘Johnny are you there?’

  ‘Ila!’ called the grubby boy. ‘What on earth have you been doing down there? It was so dark and I couldn’t see you so I went back to find a rope. Here.’

  Johnny fed the rope down the hole just far enough for Ilaria to grab hold of. She tugged on it to check it was taut.

  Johnny laughed at her. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not stupid, I tied it off to a bench.’

  ‘A bench?’ She sounded doubtful. Johnny wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed after all.

  ‘Yes, it’s cemented into the ground, just climb up already, will you?’

  Ilaria grabbed hold of the rope and pulled herself up as much as she could whilst Johnny helped haul the rope higher. When they were close enough to each other he held out his hand and helped her safely out of the hole.

  ‘You must have hit your head and blacked out, you were down there for hours,’ said Johnny, concerned.

  Ilaria shook her head and replied. ‘I’m fine, don’t worry.’ She began to walk back along
the sand dunes as the waves crashed beneath her. Johnny ran to catch up.

  ‘You’re not going to tell your grandfather about this, are you? I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me.’

  ‘Go home, Johnny, nothing is going to happen to you.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

  ‘Yes, I just want to be left alone now, alright?’

  Johnny sensed she was unsettled by something and knew not to pry further.

  ‘I’ll see you at school on Monday then.’

  ‘Bye, Johnny,’ Ilaria shouted as the coastal winds carried her voice off over the sea.

  By the time Ilaria arrived home, a thin mist had filled the streets that led to her house. There wasn’t a single soul to be seen in the eerie fog.

  A fox running across the road startled her, banging its head on a wooden garden fence as it fled. She was amused to have been scared by such a small creature. But now fear took hold of her again as she approached the steps of her house. She turned the key in the lock, slowly and cautiously, making as little sound as she could.

  After she slipped inside she noticed the hallway light was still on and she knew then that her grandfather was still awake. She felt a rush of relief and at the same time she was afraid at having returned home so late.

  ‘Grandad,’ she shouted. ‘Are you still awake?’

  There was no reply, though she had expected none. His hearing was not what it used to be. Ilaria had become accustomed to shouting her apologies into thin air. It was far easier than facing the stare of those weathered old eyes. Then, as she entered the living room she saw something she could not believe. Her grandfather was standing on a stool preparing the lights on a Christmas tree. She hadn’t seen him out of his wheelchair for two months, except for when he slid in and out of bed.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she blurted out.

  ‘Ilaria dear, what does it look like? It’s just gone midnight and today is the first of December.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant. I thought you’d be in bed.’

  ‘Ah, yes, perhaps I should be, but needs must.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.

  ‘Pass me that, would you?’ He pointed to the small table beside the tree and on it lay the old florin. The very chained necklace that she had left with the dragon lay there before her, shining brightly as it reflected the multicoloured lights of the Christmas tree.

  Ilaria couldn’t believe it. Had she dreamed meeting the dragon? She felt as though she had passed into a parallel universe and allowed herself to believe that her grandfather had never been ill at all.

  She passed it to him and he smiled, holding her hand for a moment. Ilaria could have sworn he had winked at her with his crooked eyes as he hung the coin at the top of the tree. He grinned confidently. ‘I think this year, Ila, we’re going to have a very good Christmas indeed.’

  2

  Snow painted the rooftops of the entire coastal village. Southbourne had never been blanketed by so much snow, especially on Christmas Day. It was a quiet little place on the outskirts of Bournemouth and at the foot of the New Forest where Ilaria Hope had spent her entire life. She was a very outdoorsy girl, with long dark hair and brown eyes, who loved to run amongst the trees, racing all the wild animals.

  She had become used to entertaining herself from a very young age as her grandfather, who had raised her, often went away for work trips. Brian Hope had put off his retirement after Ilaria’s parents and grandmother had been killed in a plane crash off the coast of Tuscany. Finances were tight and he relied heavily on their neighbours to take care of Ilaria when he was out of town. Ilaria had become very close to everyone in her local community.

  Christmas Day was their chance to return the favour by cooking a huge lunch for them all. But little did Ilaria know that after this Christmas her life would change forever.

  Ilaria awoke, excited as she always was on Christmas morning, and turned to look out of her window. She could barely believe her eyes as she saw the snow had piled up as high as the window, which was rather remarkable considering her bedroom was on the first floor.

  She ran downstairs and into the living room to open the curtains and there before her stood a great big fluffy white wall. She jumped up and down with glee until a moment later the reality dawned on her.

  ‘Oh no, we’re trapped.’

  ‘Yes. I am afraid we are,’ said Brian, her grandfather, who looked remarkably well for someone who had been diagnosed with lung cancer a few months ago. He smiled down at Ilaria, amused at their predicament. Ilaria had become used to pushing him around in his wheelchair after it had become too painful for him to walk.

  A physical struggle though it was, the awkwardness it made her feel was worse. They would pass other children her age that were out playing in the streets and often they would invite her to join in but she never could. She didn’t mind. Ilaria loved her grandfather and there was nowhere she would rather be.

  She had taken him to the local butcher’s shop and grocery store in his wheelchair and even pushed him along the high street to the local barber to get a haircut while she waited patiently to take him home again. Thankfully, Southbourne was a relatively flat area.

  It pained Ilaria that she wasn’t strong enough to take him down the steep pathway to the beach. So, to see him walking around now, good as it made her feel, was confusing to say the least.

  Ilaria thought about how she was likely to lose her grandfather at any moment and she wondered if his newfound health had anything to do with the day she had fallen into the hole by the coast.

  Did I really meet the dragon? Was it a dream? Ilaria wasn’t sure of the answer to either question. She had been far too afraid to speak to her grandfather about any of it. She wondered if he knew something but with the risk of sounding stupid, she was too afraid to ask.

  ‘Well, Mrs Witt is going to be very disappointed about not getting her turkey leftovers this year,’ said Brian.

  ‘Grandad, surely we can still keep our lunch plans? There must be a way?’

  ‘Don’t be daft, hummingbird,’—Ilaria hated it when he called her that— ‘we’ve got no chance of making it out of this house today.’

  ‘I have an idea!’ Ilaria shouted excitedly before running into the kitchen to pick up the phone. Brian stood there smiling at his granddaughter as she called the neighbours, blurting instructions at them down the telephone. She then hung up and ran upstairs to her bedroom and opened the window. A cold wave of air came in towards her and she shivered. Quickly, she grabbed a jumper and threw it on over her pyjamas.

  After a couple of minutes of standing there with her curious grandfather at her side, a rope came swinging down over the top of the window and Ilaria ran to grab it. She pulled enough slack through to wrap it around a bedpost and then threw the rest of the rope back out of the window.

  ‘Got it, Ilaria! Darling, you are a genius,’ came the shrill, elderly voice of their neighbour, Mrs Witt.

  Brian moved to the window and peered outside, waving to her where she was hanging out of her own window.

  ‘Morning, Mrs Witt, Merry Christmas,’ he said.

  ‘Merry Christmas to you both too.’

  Some hours later, the oven timer rang and it was time to carve the turkey. The snow outside had not melted one bit but, thanks to Ilaria’s bright idea, they had connected as many of the neighbours houses together as possible with string, ropes and hanging baskets.

  Ilaria loaded up a Christmas lunch into a basket for Mrs Witt, which also had enough food for the old man that lived on the other side of her house.

  ‘Thank you, Ilaria!’ Mrs Witt cried out.

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  Ilaria and Brian finally sat down at the dinner table to enjoy their own meal together. Despite the fact there hadn’t been enough money for presents again this year, Ilaria couldn’t be happier. It really was a fabulous Christmas.

  ‘You know, Ilaria. I have to tell you that you really are a remarkable girl.
’

  Ilaria blushed, she had never been good at receiving compliments.

  ‘It wasn’t a difficult idea to come up with in the end, Grandad,’ she replied.

  He gave her one of his cheeky winks.

  ‘Grandad?’ Ilaria sounded curiously nervous.

  ‘Yes, hummingbird?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh please don’t call me that, you know I hate it!’

  ‘Sorry, dear, go on.’

  ‘I know I ask you every year, but, could you tell me about them all again? Please?’ She looked at her grandfather with insistent eyes. He gave her a warm smile before responding.

  ‘I still remember the day you were born, like it was yesterday. Your mother couldn’t stand your father’s fussing so I took him to the pub and we had fish and chips and a pint of bitter. In the meantime, your grandmother kept her company and gave the nurses hell. One thing that runs in the family on your mother’s side is that fiery Latin streak.’

  ‘Am I like them at all?’ Ilaria asked.

  ‘You’re more like them than you will ever know. You have your grandmother’s beautiful long hair and your mother’s sense of adventure. None of your silly old English grandfather’s traits at all!’

  ‘Well that’s not true, Grandad. I must get my appetite from you at least!’

  Brian laughed. ‘Yes, I suppose you must have.’

  Ilaria smiled at him. They shared the same smile too.

  ‘What is it like? The town that Grandma was from?’

  ‘San Casciano, a beautiful hilltop town in Tuscany amongst all the winemakers of Chianti, which reminds me.’

  Brian pulled out a corkscrew and undid the wrapping on a bottle of red wine that had arrived in a small wooden case a week earlier. He pulled out the cork and poured himself a glass before adding a drop to a glass for Ilaria to taste.