The Moon Stealers and The Children of the Light (7 page)

‘A witch!’ said Peter with an element of fear.

‘Not a witch like you think,’ Lady Flora replied,
aware of a space that seemed to have appeared around her. ‘In this world your
opinion of witches is very misunderstood. They are not something you should be
afraid of.’

‘What’s a Shaman?’ asked Scarlet.

‘It’s a type of witch that can interact with the
spirit world,’ replied Lady Flora.

‘You mean they talk to ghosts?’

‘No,’ Flora replied with a smile. ‘A spirit doesn’t just
exist once you have died. You are born with a spirit, it’s inside you. Every
animal and plant has a spirit; it’s also called a soul. That is why I can
mentally enter a plant or animal, see what they see, and feel what they feel. I
can also influence a spirit to behave in certain ways, but ultimately they
still have overall control.’

‘How do you know Pendle Hill?’ asked Edgar.

‘Pendle Hill has long been recognised by the people in
this world as a centre for those who possess supernatural powers to congregate.
In the 1600’s two rival witch families called the Demdike’s and the Chattox’s
lived around the hill. On the whole, both families used their powers to earn a
living by healing and creating L’Elisir d’Amore.’

‘What’s that?’ said Peter.

‘It’s a magical charm or potion that makes someone
fall in love with you.’

‘That doesn’t sound too bad,’ added Scarlet.

‘Why do we always think that witches are evil?’ said
Max.

‘When King James I of
England
and
Scotland
took the throne, he made witchcraft punishable by death.
Ever since a Scottish witch had been successfully convicted of using witchcraft
to send a storm against a ship that carried him and his wife Ann from
Denmark
to
Scotland
, James had been determined to outlaw witchcraft. But,
unknown to James, not all witches deal in curses and death. There are white
witches too, witches that do good and follow our laws.’

‘Are there still witches that live at Pendle Hill?’
asked Edgar.

‘No. The 1600’s were hard times.
Lancashire
was known as a wild and lawless region. Earning a living was becoming harder
than ever and in this struggle the Demdike and Chattox families began to turn
on each other. Each family made wilder and wilder claims of their powers,
trying to out-do each other. Accusations of bewitching local children,
murdering and making lame by witchcraft were thrown between the families. They
were summoned before Roger Nowell, the Justice of the Peace for Pendle and were
later tried and hanged for witchcraft.’

‘So what is your connection with Pendle Hill?’ asked
Edgar.

‘The Pendle Hills were home to many witches whose
families would mix and extend into every other witch family. My name is Flora
Southerns and I am a distant relative of the Demdike family of
Malkin
Tower
. Although I have never been to your world before,
some of my relatives once lived here before moving to be with other magical
folk in the Underworld. They took the witch laws that were passed at secret
meetings within
Malkin
Tower
, with them. In my world, to posses magic is not
considered abnormal, but here, witchcraft became a dark art that was suppressed
and with it the laws that govern it, throwing it into turmoil and chaos.’

There was silence inside the restaurant. Edgar and the
children were finding it difficult to get the image of a black witch out of
their heads, the visions of witches in films and fairy tales was so engrained
in their brains.

‘I came across a few witches during my time in the
underworld,’ said the Grey Man noticing the resistance from the others.
‘Although I was unsure whether to trust them at first, it was because of a
witch called Cloverfae that I learnt how to control my skills as a healer.’

Lady Flora extended her hand towards Edgar, her palm
open and inviting for him to take. Hesitantly he placed his rough dry hand in
hers. She folded her palms over his and closed her eyes. With a force that
nearly knocked him backwards, Flora projected herself into Edgar’s mind. He
closed his eyes. Images from Flora’s life were rewinding at a tremendous speed
inside his head. He was whisked from a scene of Flora talking to a Dragon in an
underground cavern to an elaborately decorated hall and a king sitting on a
throne. As soon as Edgar recognised the king, the image had changed; Flora was
now kneeling in a meadow surrounded by a blue carpet of forget-me-not flowers.
Lying on the floor was a young deer, its foot wounded and lame from a rusty
hunters trap. Magical golden lines traced from Flora’s fingers along the deer’s
arteries towards the wound, healing it in a glow of light. The image quickly
morphed to a darker scene and a younger looking Flora. In it she was walking
through a burnt forest. White smoke still hung in the air but behind her ants,
beetles and other insects buried the charred remains of scorched plants.
Pushing out from beneath the blackened surface, small green shoots burst with
life once more. Scene after scene changed until finally Edgar sees Flora as a
young child. An elaborately dressed man presents her with a beautifully
coloured paradise bird inside the most elaborately decorated gold cage. As soon
as her little hands touch the cage a tear wells in the corner of her eye. She
unlocks the cage door and the bird flies out sweeping high into the sky. The
tear dries and is replaced by a smile.

When Edgar opens his eyes he finds himself staring
directly into Flora’s, seeing a deep mossy green colour flecked with rusty
orange for the first time. He knew that what he had just seen were moments in
Flora’s life and he realised there could not possibly be anything evil inside
her.

‘Thank you for leaving your home,’ he said. ‘You knew
the suspicion and mistrust that surrounds witches in our world, but you came
anyway.’

‘And,’ added Scarlet, ‘if it hadn’t been for you
hiding us amongst the tree roots last night, we wouldn’t be here now.’ When
Scarlet had been in the Underworld, Ralphina, the Caniard, and her wolf Raelyn,
had shown her how to talk to animals in a way she could never have imagined.
Scarlet understood Lady Flora's ability to communicate with nature.

Lady Flora smiled. ‘When we were in the council
chamber of King Conroy The Enlightened, I agreed to help you rid your world of
those black creatures we met last night. Our worlds are more closely bound than
you realise. We are like twins that had been separated at birth. Both worlds
possess magic in many different forms, but one of them has forgotten how to use
it. At the core they are the same, but the landscape is different and the
people who live here have forgotten who they are. When Arthur sealed the
portals, the two worlds divided. To use magic in this world became a dangerous
skill which became so suppressed that over the years you forgot it was
possible. But you are all blind to the magic that you see all around you: the
birth of a child, the visions in your dreams and the unspoken connection
between two lovers. If you are to survive, the magic that exists in this planet
needs to be woken once again. There needs to be unity between every human
survivor and between humans and nature. Edgar, you possess one of the most
powerful magical weapons that still exists in your world. Made by the magic in
Avalon, Ethera can cleanse this world and ignite the magic once more.’

‘I don’t know if I am strong enough, my blood has been
poisoned by the creatures,’ said Edgar as he rolled up his sleeve and unwound
the green sash that Lady Flora had used to bind it following their encounter
with the Moon Stealers the previous night. The children watched as he revealed
the blackened network of veins that traced their way up his forearm.

‘It happened the night we left Parsley Bottom,’ he
explained to the children. ‘It was only a drop. It didn’t seem to make much
different at first, but now I can feel it invading my body, making me weaker
every day. I don’t know if I will have enough strength to control the twelve
swords of power.’

‘You heart is kind and strong,’ replied Flora placing
his hand back in hers. ‘It will take more than a drop of poison to invade it.
You have the strength. You have the children. They give you courage and hope.’

‘You are not alone,’ added the Grey Man. ‘We will help
you in any way we can.’

Lady Flora shook her head. ‘No, you must all follow
your own path. Yours is to find your son, if he is still alive,’ she said to the
Grey
Man.
‘You and your son have an important part to play in
this new world.’

‘If we have to follow our own path, then I believe
that mine is with Edgar,’ said Joe.

‘And so is mine,’ added Max quickly.

Lady Flora nodded.

‘Where’s your path?’ the Grey Man asked Flora.

‘Mine is to a place called Burnham Beeches,’ replied
Flora. ‘There I will find an ancient tree called the Druid's Oak. Its strong
roots stretch deep underground and travel great distances linking oak tree to
oak tree. In my world, the Druid Oak is a door to greater wisdom. From there I
will awaken the magic in this land once more.’

The storm blew over sometime during the night. Until
then they had slept in pairs whilst one person stayed awake, just in case their
progress along the shingle spit had been noticed. Stuck in the middle of the
Solent
, they
had been left alone by the creatures who appeared to concentrate most of their
attention over the land. By the time the sun appeared above the sea and the
dawn brought a new day, Steven had climbed onto the top of the fortress where
he had a clear view across to the
Isle
of Wight
, as well as the south
coast of
England
. He watched the all too familiar black shadows circle
in the sky, then plummet to the ground when prey had been spotted. In a strange
way, from this safe distance, they almost seemed to be performing a poetic
dance, like some elaborate mating ritual of an exotic bird. Despite the deadly
nature of the creatures, Steven couldn’t help but be fascinated with them. A
foreign creature had quickly flicked the human race of its pedestal of
superiority within a matter of days, like an insignificant piece of dirt on a
dusty sleeve. To Steven, this was incredible. He had noticed that some of the
creatures had even now begun to work intelligently in packs, several would
break away from the group and make fake attempts of attack, driving their prey
out of hiding, whilst another creature waited above ready to make the fatal
blow.

Above the
Isle
of Wight
, the sun began to burn
away the dark clouds leaving the sky a wonderful mixture of salmon pink and
orange. The island floated harmlessly across the short stretch of water. From
where Steven was, it looked quiet and showed no signs of life. The chalk and
flint cliff face was topped by lush green grass that signified the end of land
and the start of the sea. What was interesting was the lack of creatures that
were hunting above the
Isle
of Wight
. Had the creatures
crossed the water to the island? He scanned the horizon waiting for a black
shadow to dive to the ground, but saw nothing. Did the lack of hunting
creatures signify a lack of humans on the island? Maybe he had been wrong.
Maybe Coldred hadn’t moved the community to the
Isle of Wight
. Steven glanced along the coastline, looking for the
port
of
Yarmouth
where the ferries would usually be taking tourists to
the island. If Coldred had left a division of guards at the port to secure the
stretch of water, surely there would be some sign of activity, but from this
distance, the island appeared lifeless.

Steven thought back to the note they had found on the
car outside the Bank of England. They assumed it had been left for them by a
man called Trent, who had survived the creature attack together with his son
and joined the Bank Community in
London
. After Coldred had left
Steven
,
Georgia
and Tracker at the mercy of the creatures in
Greenwich
Park
, they had returned to the Bank to collect their
supplies. It was then that they noticed the piece of paper tucked beneath the
wiper blade. On it were three letters - IOW. At the time, Steven had instantly
recognised the initials, but as he now looked at the island, he wondered if he
had been right.

There were no signs of life to be seen.

What would they do if they crossed the water and found
the island deserted? If the other survivors were not on the island, where had
they been taken? The roads leading toward the dock at Lymington showed signs
they had been cleared, as if a convoy had passed. They had to assume that
Coldred’s survivors had made their way to the
Isle of Wight
and continue with their plan.

Steven’s thoughts were suddenly disturbed by the sound
of footsteps echoing off the stone walls of a medieval circular staircase that
wound up the centre of the Keep. Although none of them had been aware of anyone
else arriving at
Hurst
during the night, they hadn’t had the chance to
search the fortress for other occupants that may be hidden amongst the numerous
rooms and tunnels. The footsteps slowly got louder as the person got nearer to
the top of the staircase. Steven didn’t bother to move, despite being tired
from their trek along the spit, there was also no where else to run. Whoever it
was would soon emerge from beneath the stone arch that led onto the roof.

Steven gripped the handle of his shotgun and directed
it towards the arch. Survivors were becoming fewer by the day, and the last
thing he wanted to do was threaten one with a gun, but from experience, he knew
that not every survivor was friendly.

Tracker ducked beneath the arch and stepped out onto
the roof.

‘At least the weather’s better today,’ he said as he
stretched his arms.

Steven lowered his gun.

‘Do you think we should make our way across today or
wait for the cover of night?’ Steven asked.

Tracker remained standing as he looked out over the
Solent
.

‘Crossing during the night would certainly have its
advantages. If there are guards near the port, they will probably be indoors in
fear of the creatures and our crossing will probably go unnoticed.’

‘If we crossed at night we couldn’t do it blind. We
would need lights to see the way,’ said Steven. ‘The weather might also get
worse. Storms can whip up quickly along the
English Channel
. We wouldn’t stand a chance.’

‘If we take the opportunity to go during the day while
the weather’s better, we run a greater risk of being seen.’

‘I’ve noticed there are several boats that have worked
themselves loose from their moorings and become washed up on the shingle beach.
Anyone watching the
Solent
might not be so curious about another boat that was
drifting slowly across the water.’

The morning sky had now cleared and the warm sun was
starting to shine, drying patches of stone that had become soaked by the rain.
After waking
Georgia
they cooked some bacon on a small camping stove while
they waited for their clothing and supplies to dry. They had laid everything
out in the sun, weighing them down with rocks to prevent them from blowing
away.

Steven took a gun and walked out of
Hurst
to survey the surroundings. Outside of the door they
had broken the previous night, was a small jetty. At the end was a boat that
had an open viewing deck to ferry tourists to the fortress from Keyhaven. In
the lakes of water that were trapped between
Hurst
spit and the mainland, several smaller boats floated
helplessly around the marshy grasslands, others had become washed up and were
grounded on mossy silt banks.

‘Steven,’ called
Georgia
from behind. She was jogging through the doorway
towards him.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ she smiled, reaching for his hand.

They walked in the sunshine like two young lovers,
kicking shingle into the sea, as if they had nothing else to worry them. But,
although they had each other, their future was still far from certain. They had
something bigger than their own relationship to think about, other survivors
needed them. It would be easy to turn their back on the rest of humanity and
let Coldred select his perfect human race, but the human race needed a variety
of people in it to create diversity and variation, and that included the weak
and the imperfect.

From on top of the Keep roof, Tracker couldn’t help
but watch the other two as they walked along the beach. He had noticed the
growing attraction between them, and although part of him felt happy, there was
a larger part that felt jealous. The life he had led had been solitary and lonely,
restricted to mixing in the circles his parents thought appropriate. Being
linked to the British royal family had a definite downside; you could not be
who you wanted to be. Every day was a performance, playing the part the family
and the public expected. In some respects, Tracker’s life had not been held
under the spotlight like some of the young royals, but it had still been
intrusive and exposed. When his parents had died, James Hallington had moved to
Butterwick Hall and lived a quiet life in his grounds. When some of the locals
in Parsley Bottom mistook him for the gamekeeper, he had been happy to play the
part, using the first name he could think of: Tracker. Over the years, the
public had lost interest in him and forgot about the young royal ancestor. Even
Tracker began to forget who James Hallington actually was. But, ever since the
world changed, Tracker had begun to see a faint hope that he could lead a
normal life, one without the risk of cameras watching his every move. And
maybe, just maybe, he might find someone to share it with. Someone who didn’t
come with an upper class checklist. Of course, that could only happen if the
human race survived the creatures.