The Promised One

The author wishes to thank his wife, children and grandchildren for their help, patience and encouragement during the writing of this book; Pauline, Richard, Helen, Michelle Balmer and Christine Naegele for their help with the manuscript; Catherine for her editorial skills; Sue Boland for her help with the original illustrations; his three young test-readers Clio Adam, Alanna Cockburn and Jonathan Jackson for their forthright and invaluable advice; John Harrison for his encouragement and practical assistance; and Suzy Jenvey for having both faith in the book and the courage to act on it.

T
he first edition of this book was produced without the assistance of a children’s publisher and consisted of a limited run of hardback copies. To my great pleasure the story proved popular with both children and adults, and with teachers interested in its literary and educational content. I am now delighted to collaborate with Faber and Faber in producing a new paperback edition of the book which will be available to a much wider readership than the original version.

My aim in writing this story was to provide young people with an enjoyable and exciting read that would also present them with something of a challenge in its use of English. To this end the language has not been ‘dumbed down’ in terms of either grammar or vocabulary, and to assist younger readers I have included a glossary of those words and phrases in the book with which they may be unfamiliar. As dictionaries are themselves sometimes difficult to understand, I have tried in this glossary to provide explanations that are easily accessible to such readers, and hope that in doing so I have yet managed to retain sufficient accuracy to satisfy the language purists.

In addition to those regular words in the English
language that may be unfamiliar to the younger reader of this story, there is a set of words that will be new to
every
reader. These are descriptive words such as ‘furriclaws’ and ‘fledgiquill’, which I have created in an attempt to convey the wonder and novelty of Lucy’s communications with her beloved animals. These neologisms are, I believe, clearly part of the fantasy element of the book; I hope that they will not confuse or mislead a generation of children that has been brought up in a world full of the bizarre names, amazing fantasies and special effects that modern technology has brought to our television and cinema screens. To assist in the interpretation of these names that Lucy learns from, or assigns to, the animals, a lexicon of such appellations is included at the end of the book; I hope, however, that most readers will have some fun in trying to guess what they mean before trying to look them up. The same applies to the list of characters’ names which follows the lexicon.

It is perhaps worth saying at this point that, in those areas of the book that are obviously
not
fantasy, I have endeavoured to be as scientifically accurate as possible and that the statistical, ecological and biological details given in the story reflect, to the best of my ability, our current state of knowledge in these fields. This academic note brings me on to the slightly vexed issue of units of measurement. Children, particularly those in the younger age groups, are now properly taught to think in metric rather than imperial units. My grandchildren refer to lengths in centimetres, not inches, and metres rather than feet or
yards. Older readers still probably use some ‘old’ units, however, particularly for distances and heights, and I rather suspect the adults in this story such as Richard, Helen and Julian would do so as well. For this reason I have attempted a compromise in the book whereby specific anatomical lengths (e.g. ‘a wingspan of three metres’) are given in metric units, while the older units are used for what would be said naturally in conversation by the adults when referring to things such as the height of a cliff or the width of a crater. To help the younger readers through the complexities of this compromise (which, after all, only reflects the reality of everyday life in many countries, including Britain), a short conversion table is included at the end of the glossary.

Nothing more remains but for me to hope you enjoy reading about Lucy’s adventures and to promise that she will soon be setting off once again to wield her unique power for the good of all living creatures and the planet. 

David Alric, London, 2007

T
he time was 8.25 a.m. in a London suburb. The girl was eleven years old; the boy was fifteen. She was walking to start her first day at secondary school; he was driving a stolen BMW at fifty-six miles an hour along the suburban streets. She was excited and a little apprehensive; he was drunk, drugged and high. In a few seconds both their lives would change for ever and the world would never be quite the same again.

A
t last, almost three weeks after her terrible road accident, the wonderful day arrived when Lucy could leave hospital. Her grandfather came to pick her up while her mother and grandmother got everything ready at home, and he had to make two trips from the car to the ward to collect all the cards and presents she had received.

Lucy wept tears of relief when she walked back into her own room. During her stay in hospital following her brain operation she had wondered at times if she would ever see it again and, kind though everyone had been, it was wonderful to be back home again. Her mother had clearly been very busy during her absence. The room was spotless, and properly tidy for the first time since Lucy had been responsible for tidying it herself. Some spaces had appeared on shelves now that her books and CDs had been arranged neatly, and the tea stain on the carpet had been shampooed away – she wouldn’t have to leave her shoes and clothes lying on the floor any more to hide it, she thought to herself. There were new curtains, a vase of fresh flowers on her desk, and her childhood soft toys, dusted and freshly fluffed up, sat in a row on a shelf looking at her as if glad to welcome her home.

As she got into bed that evening she glanced at the card on her bedside cupboard which her father had sent just before her accident. She was sad that he was abroad but was sure he would be back soon. The card had obviously been chosen with Lucy’s love of animals in mind, showing all manner of exotic and brilliantly coloured South American fauna, with a magnificent jaguar as its centrepiece. She’d had a particular fascination with these animals since being given one as a fluffy toy when she was little and her father had clearly remembered this. For the rest of her life Lucy would treasure this card and wonder whether her father had chosen it through some uncanny presentiment of what lay in store for them both in the weeks to come.

She suddenly felt exhausted. The excitement of coming home and the journey had made her tired and now in her own bed in her own room she felt utterly secure. She cuddled close to Jackie the jaguar, and within a minute or two was fast asleep.

In the sitting room Joanna Bonaventure put her feet up with a cup of tea, relieved beyond words to have her daughter back at home, safe and sound at last.

‘It’s a miracle she’s made such a good recovery,’ she said to her parents, ‘but I’m going to make sure she’s completely better before I think of letting her back to school.’

‘Well, when you think she’s fit enough to travel you know we’d love to have her come down and have a little holiday with us at the seaside,’ said her mother, and her
father nodded in agreement. They were going to return to their cottage at the coast the following day.

At that moment Clare, Lucy’s elder sister, came in from the kitchen where she had been clearing up the supper things.

‘Has anyone seen Tibbles?’ she asked, a puzzled look on her face. Their cat normally spent the evening in the sitting room cuddled up next to one of the girls. Since Lucy’s return, however, she had been behaving oddly and was now nowhere to be seen. Sarah, the youngest of the three sisters, ran upstairs to look for her and returned to report.

‘Well, I never! She’s sitting next to Lucy’s bed just watching her.’

‘Maybe she’s missed her,’ said her mother, ‘and is now worried she might go away again.’

Everybody agreed, but Clare still thought it was a little odd; the cat had shown no signs whatsoever of missing Lucy while she had been in hospital, and this behaviour was very unusual. Joanna didn’t usually allow Tibbles in the bedrooms but decided not to make a fuss on this occasion as it was Lucy’s first night at home and the cat wasn’t actually on the bed. Tibbles remained in Lucy’s bedroom all evening and was still there, gazing at her intently, when the others finally went to bed, little knowing that their house would, in a few hours’ time, be the scene of one of the most astonishing events in the history of the human race.

‘Greetings, O Promised One.’

Lucy heard the soft, melodious voice as she struggled to wake up from her dream. It had been a curious dream in which she was sitting on a garden chair like a queen on a throne and legions of animals had paraded in front of her as though she were some kind of animal deity. There had been creatures great and small – it was what the preparations for boarding Noah’s Ark must have looked like. Lions and leopards, pelicans and pangolins, rhinos and rattlesnakes, foxes and flamingos – the entire panoply of the animal kingdom had processed before her in a seemingly endless pageant. But it was not just the animals familiar to her from zoo and farm that came to pay her court. There were mammoths and other giant creatures that she could not name but looked like the pictures of creatures she had seen in books illustrating prehistoric times, and there were other, still more terrible creatures, the like of which she had never seen or imagined. But she felt no fear, for she knew that all, from the terrible to the timorous, were there to pay obeisance to her, an
eleven-year
-old girl. And then, towards the end of her dream, one
of the immense throng had come to her feet and spoken to her. It was a cat, looking just like her very own Tibbles. It now repeated itself.

‘Greetings, O Promised One.’

She was just thinking how vivid her dream had been when the voice spoke yet again.

‘Welcome back. I never before realized that you were to be She Who Speaks. I am immensely honoured to be the first to speak to Her.’

Lucy was becoming alarmed. She sat up and winced a little as she moved. She had broken several ribs in her accident and though they were healing well they still ached if she had been lying on them. The twinge convinced her that she was awake, but what on earth was this voice doing if she was awake? Then she saw that Tibbles was sitting at the end of the bed, looking at her intently, her eyes open wide, and her fur slightly raised on the neck and shoulders as it was sometimes when she saw a dog through the window. She was clearly very excited.

‘Hello, Tibs …’ Lucy started, but she suddenly knew that she didn’t need to speak aloud. She knew with absolute
certainty that she could speak to Tibbles from her head just by
thinking
of what she wanted her to hear.

‘What’s happened, Tibs?’
Somehow she knew that, if she so wished, only Tibbles could hear what she said.

‘You have returned and now I can see that you are She,’
said Tibbles.

‘But who is She?’
asked Lucy with a mixture of fear and excitement.
‘And how do you know it’s anything to do with me?’

‘You have the beacon which I can see and feel from afar. Even before you entered the house I could feel you. All living creatures know of the Promised One but you must speak with greater minds than mine to learn more about Her. I am just a furriclaws and know only what furriclaws know.’

‘Can you speak to other animals?’
Lucy asked, intrigued by the thought that other creatures already knew about her.

‘Only sometimes,’
the cat replied.
‘If I am stalking fledgiquills
in the garden I cannot understand their chatter among themselves, but when I get near and they fly away, I can understand when they shout “danger” to each other. Sometimes in the house I hear the scurripods in the kitchen or the understairs cupboard. If I creep down and listen or pretend to be asleep I cannot understand what they say, but if I chase one I can understand his alarm calls to the others
.’

Lucy still didn’t completely understand, but at that moment the cat suddenly pricked up her ears and looked to the half-open door. Her tail twitched and she jumped to the floor, sat down and started to clean herself. A few seconds later Lucy heard her mother’s step on the stair.

‘Hello, love,’ her mother said, leaning over and kissing her. ‘Here’s a cup of tea and your tablets. How did you sleep back in your own bed?’

‘Oh, I slept like a log – though I had a funny dream. It’s great to be home, Mum.’

‘Tibbles seems to have taken a special interest in you,’ her mother said, looking at the cat, who gave an uninterested yawn and gazed out of the window. ‘Fancy her missing you like that – and I can’t ever remember her wanting to sleep in your bedroom before!’ For a moment Lucy wondered whether to tell her mother what had happened, but decided that she had to think things out on her own before talking to anyone.

‘I expect she thinks I’ll spoil her a bit as I’ve been away,’ she said. ‘She’s always looking for a bit of extra attention.’

‘Come on, Tibbles,’ said her mother, ‘breakfast time!’ But Tibbles had heard Sarah putting her bowl down on
the kitchen floor and she was already on her way downstairs.

Left alone, Lucy began to wonder if she had fallen asleep again for a few moments during which she had experienced a short, vivid dream. She got up and splashed her face with cold water, brushed her teeth and put on her dressing gown. It was a sunny September morning and she went to the window and opened it for a moment to try to clear her mind with some fresh air. As she opened the window the noises hit her once again. She had noticed them when getting out of the car and coming up the path the day before, but now they were clearer and more strident than ever before.

Suddenly, she knew what the noises were. She ‘heard’ them in the same way as she had heard Tibbles and now she realized that she was listening to a hundred different animal voices: birds, large and small; stoats and squirrels; moles and mice; and countless other wild things. Her bedroom looked out on to their large back garden with its lawn and flower beds and shrubs. Beyond the garden was a patch of unspoilt woodland that belonged to the electricity company. Never before had Lucy been aware how many different creatures lived in this suburban garden and its adjacent copse. She felt as though she had become tuned in to the entire animal kingdom.

Bewildered by everything that had happened, Lucy shut the window and sat on the edge of her bed. What on earth had caused all this and should she tell anyone about it? She quietly sipped her tea and started to go over everything
again in her mind; she clearly needed to work out a plan of action.

Downstairs Joanna brewed some coffee while her parents started packing to go home. Her thoughts turned to her husband who was still unaware of Lucy’s accident. Richard had recently taken up a new post as scientific adviser to a timber company and had been posted to South America almost two months ago. He had first gone to the company’s general headquarters in Rio de Janeiro, to be trained in the company systems, then to the river office at Macapá near the mouth of the Amazon. During that time he had communicated regularly – daily, in fact – by phone, fax or e-mail but three weeks ago all news from him had suddenly stopped. After a week of becoming increasingly worried Joanna had finally rung the company site manager in Macapá. He had explained that Richard had gone on a long field trip in previously unexplored jungle and was uncontactable. It was thought that his radio must have broken and there was now no way of contacting him until he returned to the base camp.

As it happened, Richard couldn’t have been away at a worse time. His good luck card to Lucy – his last communication before disappearing in the jungle – had arrived on her first day at secondary school. She was leaving the primary school she went to with eight-
year-old
Sarah and starting at Clare’s school, St Sapientia’s. That
morning she had been very excited as she set off for school. She had firmly refused her mother’s offer to drive her, having decided that from now on she would walk with her friend Rachel. Halfway to school the girls had heard the squealing of tyres and turned to see a large, powerful car roaring up the road towards them. It was being driven by a fifteen-year-old boy who had stolen it for a joyride after an all-night party involving both alcohol and drugs. The girls did not, of course, know this – they had just thought it was yet another driver going too fast on a suburban street. Suddenly, too late, they had realized that the car was out of control as it mounted the pavement and hurtled towards them, just missing Rachel but knocking Lucy to the ground before crashing to a stop against a lamp-post. A piece of metal from the radiator grille of the car had pierced Lucy’s head, causing bleeding into her brain, and in the hospital the doctors had operated on her for several hours until they were satisfied they had done all that they could. Joanna had then gone through the worst time of her life as she waited for Lucy to recover, praying that she would not have suffered any permanent damage to her brain, and unable to contact Richard to tell him what had happened. Now, with Lucy home safe and sound at last, having made a complete recovery from the accident and the operation, Joanna felt an overwhelming sense of relief. She was sure that they would soon have news from Richard and then life would, at last, get back to normal.

That afternoon Clare had a couple of free periods and she came home early.

‘Good, you’re back,’ said Joanna when she saw her, ‘perhaps you can stay with Lucy while I go out for a few things?’

When their mother had left, Lucy looked at Clare. Since the astonishing events of that morning she had thought long and hard about what to do and had decided against telling her mother who, she knew, would immediately start worrying that Lucy was suffering from some serious aftereffect of her accident. On the other hand, she felt she
had
to tell someone who would really listen and understand, so she had decided to confide in her older sister. They had always been very close despite the big difference in their ages – Clare was seventeen and Lucy eleven – and Lucy was confident that Clare would know what to do.

‘Clare,’ she began, ‘I really don’t know how to tell you this but please listen, and try to let me finish before you ask any questions.’ She then told Clare everything that had happened that day. Then, before Clare could speak, she said: