S
amhain.
The great feast of the dead and the dying of the old pagan year. From time immemorial,
it had fallen on October thirty-first, and was known to mortal peasantry as Hallowe’en, but few of those fools grasped the depths of its power.

On this night, as on all sacred quarter-days, the veil between the Realms grew thin. The stars stood in alignment in the sign of Scorpio, ruled by Mars, god of war.

And as war was their hunger on this darkest of nights, the thirteen warlocks of the Council took advantage of the veil’s thinning to seek guidance on their plans from the terrible powers and principalities on the other side.

Those beings, their immortal allies, had always been willing to help them—for a price. A true sorcerer never shrank from paying it. What use was a soul, anyway?

The subterranean chamber reverberated with the chants rising from the ring of tall figures in long, black, hooded robes. Their cruel, haughty faces cloaked in shadow, they concentrated all their powers on the perfect, round ball of obsidian in the center of their circle, and willed their guest to come.

All had been prepared for his arrival.

The scrolls lay open. The blood offering had been made. The ancient words churned the air, and the torchlight writhed, throwing monstrous shadows of the men all across the stone walls.

They were eager for his counsel. Their combined power was vast, to be sure, especially since they had recently acquired the oldest of the scrolls, with secrets unseen since the days of the pharaohs. But even they were nothing compared to the creature they summoned through the dark crystal ball.

Blacker than a dragon’s heart, it collected their obscene supplications, until at last, their prayers were answered from Below.

The first sign of a response was a vein of flame-colored orange cracking through the solid obsidian. The cracks splintered and grew.

Shining, red-hot slivers of a fiery glare pierced the darkness. Then the smell of sulfur filled the room.

The leader of the Dark Druids raised his voice above the deep, rhythmic chanting of the others. “We call to thee, O Shemrazul, servant of the horned king! Join us from your stronghold in the deep. Once again, we seek your guidance!”

A bestial roar came from the cracks in the obsidian ball. Smoke poured out, rising straight up and making even the druids’ soulless eyes sting. Amid the smoke, the demon came, his claws outstretched, his baleful eyes full of wrath, his face grotesque. His garbled voice was almost more than mortals could bear to hear, and live.

“Greetings, my lords. I, Shemrazul of the Ninth Pit, bring you tidings from Below. And oh, yes. I have news for you, indeed…” Mocking laughter escaped his fanged mouth. “But you aren’t going to like it!”

“Speak, O spirit!” the leader implored.

“As you wish,” he said with a sneer of a smile and a hiss. And then, floating in his column of foul smoke, Shemrazul proceeded to explain to the overlords of the Dark Druid Council how they had recently been bested.

By a twelve-year-old boy.

CHAPTER ONE

The Long Man

Six Months Later, Beltane Eve

S
pringtime blossomed in England like a shy young girl who had only just realized she was beautiful. Orchards donned crowns of pink and white flowers. In the patchwork fields, lambs skipped and grazed. Timid hares ventured out to nibble the shoots of clover. The cuckoo sang atop the meadow grass, and honeybees zoomed about, glutting themselves on their annual feast of flowers.

Winding all the while through the dreamy Sussex countryside, the road the travelers’ carriage took was muddy and long, but every puddle reflected the opalescent sky.

Jake Everton, however, the boy Earl of Griffon, could not be bothered with pretty scenery (nor with pretty girls, for that matter) when the whole weight and consequence of his future was at stake.

He stared intensely at his tutor, Mr. Henry DuVal, who sat across from him in the family’s crowded traveling chariot.

“So, if I fail the test,” Jake said slowly, every muscle taut, “that means they’ll never choose me to become a Lightrider?”

“Jake, it isn’t a test, as I’ve told you,” Henry answered in a mild tone. “’Tis only an Assessment.”

“What’s the difference?” he nearly shouted.

“The difference
is,
” Great-Great Aunt Ramona said, arching an elegant silver brow at his cheeky tone, “there is no right or wrong in this for you to pass or fail. Becalm yourself, Jacob! The Assessment merely serves to show the Elders of the Order who you are, what you can do. That way, your education henceforth can be set on the proper track.”

“Her Ladyship is quite right,” Henry said with a nod at the Dowager Baroness Bradford. “The Old Yew simply wants to see what abilities the new crop of magical children have been born with. It’s really just a formality.”

Jake shook his head, still in doubt. “I can’t believe my fate rests on convincing a
tree
I’m worthy,” he muttered.

“The Old Yew is no ordinary tree,” Aunt Ramona chided. “And for that matter, he’s not the only one who’ll be watching your demonstration.”

“What? You mean I’m going to have an audience?”

“It is the custom that anyone in attendance at the Gathering is welcome to watch the Assessments. The Elders want to see how our young people will hold up under pressure. You are the future of the Order, after all.”

“Blimey.” Jake did not scare easily, but he was not used to putting on a show before a crowd. In fact, that was his idea of torture. “Right. So if I don’t impress them today, I’ll be doomed to mediocrity forever.”

Her Ladyship let out a fond chuckle. “Oh, my dear lad, I assure you, mediocrity is not
quite
the word that comes to mind when one thinks of you.” The teasing note in her voice hinted this was not necessarily a compliment.

He snorted.

Thankfully, his very patient cousin, Isabelle, seated across from him, sent him a sympathetic smile. “Don’t be nervous, coz. You’ll do fine.”

“My sister’s right.” Archie nudged Jake with his elbow as the carriage bumped along. “Izzy got through her Assessment two years ago with flying colors. If she can do it, shy as she is, so can you.”

“Aye, stop being such a bloomin’ Nervous Nellie,” Dani O’Dell muttered. “It doesn’t suit ye.”

The little Irish redhead’s brusque tone startled a wry smile out of Jake in spite of himself.

The others chuckled at her observation, too, for they all knew the carrot-head was right. It was completely bizarre for Jake, of all people, to be acting so unsure of himself when he was usually so confident.

Maybe a little
too
confident at times.

But didn’t they understand? He had one, single, driving dream in life—to become a Lightrider for the Order of the Yew Tree, like his parents had been.

If he messed up his Assessment, he might as well throw himself off the Tower Bridge. Of course, with his luck, the blasted Thames water nymphs would probably save him and toss him back up onto the land like a tuna.

“How long before we get there, Lady Bradford?” Dani asked Aunt Ramona. “Is it very much farther?”

“No, my dear. We’re almost there.” The Elder witch glanced out the carriage window, then pointed. “Merlin Hall lies just beyond that hill.”

“Really?” Dani searched the horizon for the medieval spires of the Order’s ancient headquarters, as Archie and Isabelle had described them earlier. The two aristocratic Bradford children had attended many Gatherings before, but for Jake and Dani, this would be the first.

It was terribly exciting.

The venerable Order of the Yew Tree had been created a way-long-time-ago, in the tumultuous days of the Renaissance era. It had been founded by Good Queen Bess herself, establishing an alliance between mankind and magical folk of goodwill.

The Order had a simple purpose—simple, but not easy: to protect the fragile balance between the world of humans and Magic-kind, so that neither side should harm or exploit the other. Lightriders were the Order’s elite agents who carried out this mission all over the world.

As for the Gathering, it had been taking place at Merlin Hall on Beltane for an age. Indeed, it was one of the great events on every magical family’s social calendar.

There were festivities and games, contests and entertainments, feasts and fireworks, parties, teas, and soirees for the adults, culminating in the annual Crystal Ball, to be held in the great, gilded ballroom.

All of this jollification helped to strengthen the magical folk and humans’ bonds of friendship, both personally and politically—which was why Queen Victoria herself would be in attendance.

The sovereign was always the nominal head of the Order of the Yew Tree. Besides, Her Majesty was also (at least on paper) the godmother of all magical children born within the borders of her Realm.

This arrangement allowed the powers-that-be to keep an eye on them.

Jake had had the honor of meeting Queen Victoria privately once, when his relatives had first found him. The stern little queen
was
admittedly intimidating, but nonetheless, he admired Her Majesty and was very proud to know her.

In any case, the Gathering was not all fun and games. Between festivities, the grownups held a great parliament, where representatives from all the major groups of magic-kind and their human counterparts met to discuss matters of importance.

And for the kids who had come of age enough to shed the Kinderveil since the last Gathering, there were the dreaded Assessments.

Nobody could tell what magical powers might be lying dormant in a child born into a magical family. Their abilities would only emerge once the Kinderveil wore off, usually around the age of twelve. The Kinderveil was the rarest kind of magic: a naturally occurring spell that protected all magical children from those who would harm them. It masked babies born with magical powers from the scrying stones and seeing bowls and other magical devices of the Dark Druids.

Who liked to kidnap them.

The Dark Druids, of course, were those unpleasant folk who had refused to join the alliance long ago. Not everybody wished to keep the balance between worlds, after all. The original Dark Druids had been thirteen warlocks, sorcerers, and alchemists who had, in their arrogance, rejected the offer of peace from ordinary humanity.

They and their modern descendants saw no reason why they should not use their powers to dominate and rule everybody else. Again and again over the centuries, the Lightriders (and their trusty warrior friends known as Guardians) had thwarted the Dark Druids’ wicked schemes.

That was why being a Lightrider was, in Jake’s view, the best, most exciting, most adventurous life in the world, and he was determined it should be his life, too. Gazing out the carriage window, daydreaming as he often did about what it would be like to finally serve as a real Lightrider—going on secret missions, trouncing evil foes and whatnot—he was suddenly taken aback by a dark thought that occurred to him.

He turned to Aunt Ramona. “Do the Dark Druids ever try to wreck the Gatherings, ma’am? Or even attack…?”

“Oh, gracious, no! With the whole Order there? They’d be mad to try it. We outnumber them greatly, Jacob. Never you mind about that. Of course,” she added with a wry look, “they may send a spy or two to try to find out what the Order is up to these days.”

Jake’s eyebrows shot up. “Spies?”

“Indeed. We always have to be on the lookout for the evil ones’ spies. They sent a bear shapeshifter last year, but we caught him in short order and tossed him in the same dungeon where we locked up your Uncle Waldrick. No, no worries, children. You’ll be quite safe.”

Who cares about safe?
The others looked a bit scared despite her reassurance, but Jake thrilled to the prospect of doing a little spy-hunting on this journey. After all, he had not been on an adventure since Christmas, and besides, the thought of hunting spies at least gave him something else to occupy his mind other than his horrible, looming test.

Aunt Ramona noticed the concerned looks on the others’ faces. “Now, don’t worry your heads about it. Merlin Hall is
extremely
well protected by many layers of enchantment. I’d venture to say it’s one of the safest places on the earth.”

“If we ever get there,” Dani muttered.

“What do you mean? We’re almost there,” Henry said with a casual nod toward the window—and a twinkle in his wolf-gray eyes. “Can you not see it yet? It’s just beyond that rise.”

Dani looked out again, then scrunched up her freckled nose. “No.”

“Neither can I,” Jake said, mystified.

“Look closer,” the tutor suggested. “Hmm, maybe you two need to get your eyes checked.”

“You’re funning with us, Henry!” Dani leaned to stare out the carriage window once more, squinting into the distance. “I don’t see anything! Well, except that giant drawing of the Long Man on the chalk hill.”

“Hang me!” Jake said when he turned curiously and looked out the other window in the direction Dani was pointing. “Would you look at that!”

The huge chalk figure would have been hard to miss, considering its bright white outline stretched all the way up the green hillside.

While Jake and Dani marveled at it, having never seen one of England’s famous, ancient, hill drawings before, Aunt Ramona smiled at the Long Man like an old friend.

As the carriage rolled on, Archie, with his scientific bent of mind, proceeded to explain how the ground in these parts contained the same, pearl-white rock layer as the famous White Cliffs of Dover farther up the coast.

To create the bright white outline of the Long Man brandishing his pair of tall spears, the green turf and layers of brown dirt had been ripped up to expose the white stone underneath.

Several such chalk-hill drawings dotted the south of England, the oldest and most famous being the White Horse of Uffington, which was thought to be as much as two or three thousand years old.

Nobody really knew what the hill figures meant.

Like the stone circles and burial mounds across the British Isles, the giant chalk-hill drawings had been a mysterious feature of the landscape, even before the Romans had invaded and established their outpost at old Londinium.

“It was probably the Celts who made them in the Neolithic age, possibly with later contributions from the Anglo-Saxons,” Archie said. “We know they were here before the Romans came, for they mentioned these drawings in their writings. I imagine those centurions were as puzzled by them as we are today.”

Dani shook her head in amazement as she stared out the window at the Long Man. “How could Stone Age barbarians figure out how to draw something so big while standing right beside it? I mean, he’s as tall as Big Ben! How could they see what they were doing?”

“How, indeed?” Aunt Ramona’s mouth twitched with amusement. “Hmmm, ’tis a mystery.”

The redhead turned hopefully to her. “Could we perhaps stop for a moment, Your Ladyship, and have a closer look before we pass?”

BOOK: Rise of Allies (The Gryphon Chronicles, Book 4)

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