Dance of the Stones (14 page)

The ticket collector swore under his breath and clumsily bent down to pick up several coins that had fallen to the ground.

The girl rattled the turnstile again.

“Wait your patience,” said the ticket collector, creakily standing upright. He released the catch.

The girl pushed through and took off at a run.

“OY, you,” called the ticket collector. “You gave me too much.”

The girl ignored him.

*   *   *

The manor grounds were large. Winding paths linked together yew walks and several small gardens. In between were expansive lawns with curving borders of flowers and stands of trees offering places to dodge behind.

Chantel could dodge no more. Her leg throbbed, her heart thumped and her breathing hurt. Whichever way she turned, the footsteps followed.

Panic-stricken, Chantel gazed around the garden she had just entered and realized she was cornered. This garden was walled on all sides; a single gate acted as both entrance and exit.

Frantically she looked for a place to hide. She was in a topiary garden. Yew trees had been trimmed into fanciful shapes. Chantel's eyes passed rapidly over a lion, a peacock, a unicorn, a wild boar and a sphinx. The hedge beside her was carved into waves. Some small trees were shaped into diamonds and hearts. A knee-high spiral maze surrounded an ornamental pond in the middle of the garden.

Chantel's heart sank. Nothing here offered concealment. She turned to leave. Too late! She cowered behind the hedge as footsteps stopped at the garden entrance.

The girl peered through the arched entrance. Hanging ivy obscured her view. Swearing, she pulled it away from the wall and left it in a heap on the ground.

The waves of hatred filled the air.

“Equus, help,” whispered Chantel, but no comforting presence enveloped her. A sob escaped her. “Ava! Trees! Someone help me. Where can I hide?”

With a rustle, the yew hedge beside her parted its branches and revealed a hollow cavity at its heart. Chantel edged inside. The branches gathered around, their dense green leaves hiding her from view.

“Thank you,” Chantel whispered. She patted the dark central trunk.

The leaves rustled. “Welcome, Magic Child. Forest Magic is always yours to use.”

“Forest Magic?” whispered Chantel. Her hand flew up to her cheek and touched the faint mark left by the acorn. “Of course!” Flooded with newfound courage, she stared intently between the leaves. As the teenage girl crept past, Chantel pointed a finger and whispered, “Lhiat myr hoilloo. To thee as thou deservest!”

*   *   *

The girl stopped dead in her tracks. She turned her head to locate the source of the whisper, but was distracted by something catching at her ankle.

A thin tendril of ivy caught her sandal. She lifted her leg to pull it free, but a second tendril thrust up from the gravel and whipped around the other ankle. Within seconds, ivy was winding around her body, binding her legs and skirt, her chest, her arms, her hair and covering her face. It happened so fast that she made no sound. The topiary garden was now graced by a new sculpture in the center of the main path.

*   *   *

Owen and Adam ran back into the museum complex. Owen's pack bounced up and down on his back. Adam carried a first aid kit. They stopped at the empty table. Chantel was nowhere to be seen.

They hung around, scanning the people moving in and out of the restaurant.

“Where's she gone this time?” said Adam.

Chantel didn't reappear, but the abandoned Bath chair was still parked on its own by the barn wall.

Owen approached the next table. “Excuse me. Did you see a red-haired kid with a broken leg sitting at this table?”

The older woman nodded. “Yes, I noticed her. Was she waiting for you?”

Owen nodded. “Did you see where she went?”

The woman waved her hand vaguely beyond the museum. “That way, I think. I wasn't really watching.”

“Thank you.” Owen walked to the museum and poked his head inside. “Chantel,” he called, “are you in here?”

Sue looked up, waved and shook her head.

Baffled, the two boys walked past the museum and toward the entrance to the manor gardens. Owen peered over the turnstile but didn't expect to see his cousin. She'd had no reason to go into the grounds.

“Looking for someone?” grunted the ticket collector.

“My cousin. She's got red hair and a cast on her leg.”

“Oh aye, she came through about fifteen minutes ago. Just before the crazy girl.”

“What girl?” said Adam.

“A teenager. Real rude she was. Flung the money at me and took off as though she was chasing something.” The man stopped and scratched his chin. “That's funny. Come to think of it, your cousin seemed in a right old hurry too.”

Owen fished in his pocket and pulled out his pass. “I'll fetch her. Thanks.” He turned to Adam. “There's something going on,” he hissed. “You get the Bath chair.”

Adam nodded and ran back to the barn.

“We're closing in fifteen minutes, so don't you be long now. By rights I shouldn't be letting anyone else in,” grumbled the ticket collector.

Owen smiled winningly. “My cousin's not got a watch, so I'll just find her and remind her what the time is.”

The ticket collector grunted and released the turnstile.

Owen jogged rapidly through the gardens but saw no one. “Chantel,” he hollered. “Where are you? It's nearly closing time.”

Chantel stumbled out of the walled garden, tears of relief pouring down her face.

9.
THE GOLDEN KING

Myrddin raised his arms and pleaded with the heavens.
“Equus, hear me! Return from the edge of the shadow!”

No answering hoofbeats echoed on the breath of the
wind.

“Equus,” roared Myrddin. “Listen to the wind. I dare not
send mindspeak toward the shadow lest it be intercepted by
the Dark Being.” He strode around, stirring swirls of stardust
with each swing of his cloak.

Only the endless songs of space and time hummed in
his ears.

Myrddin muttered and tugged at his beard. “What to
do? What to do next?” He peered down toward Gaia and
sighed. “This is a sorry affair. Ava hurt and defenseless with
only the children as support. Equus out of reach. As for me … ” Myrddin shook his fist. “Myrddin the Great is helpless. All
because a human child cannot open his eyes to see stardust
or his ears to hear my voice.”

He snatched a handful of the stardust from the swirl
around his body. “But try I must, for I have nothing else to
help us.” He flung it toward Gaia. “Child, expand your mind.
See the light and believe. Time is running out. Light and
Dark, Dark and Light. Help us now, for the light dims.”

The dust sifted gently toward the earth.

“Oh, for my staff,” Myrddin groaned, sinking his head
in his hands.

The stars shivered.

*   *   *

Holly pedaled furiously toward Silbury Hill. She could see it ahead, a great grass-covered mound towering over the trees.

She turned into the visitors' car park and dismounted, leaning the bike against the fence.

She wasn't the only visitor. Four cars were neatly parked and several people scattered around, either reading the Historic Site information boards or staring blankly up at the perfect green cone.

“That's it . . . Just a hill?” said one of the women.

Holly stared up at Silbury. The gigantic mound rose mysteriously from the valley floor. It was ancient and impressive but its symmetry had no obvious purpose. Her eyes raked its surface. She willed it to give a hint of its secret.

“We can't even climb up. There's a fence and notices everywhere. ‘Keep off. This hill is unstable,'” muttered the woman's husband. “What's the point of coming?”

Holly sighed. The couple's comments reflected her own thoughts and didn't help solve her problem. She eyed the fence, wondering how Owen and Ava could slip through and up the hill for sunset. “Someone will see and stop them,” she thought. “It's not like it's the dead of night.”

She wandered around the fence at the base of the mound.

One by one the other visitors returned to their cars and drove off.

Holly reached the far side of the hill. The bulk was between her and the road, and she was far enough around the curve that the car park was out of sight. “Hmmm,” she whispered to herself. “They might be able to get up this side. Hardly anyone would notice kids climbing here.”

She tugged on the fence. The wires lifted. There was enough give for a child to wriggle underneath. She turned her back to the hill and surveyed the ground behind her.

A faint trace of a footpath snaked through the bushes beyond Silbury and wiggled through a line of trees between the fields. Holly grunted with satisfaction and kicked the nettles straggling over the path. It obviously wasn't very well used, and it headed toward Avebury.

Holly ran back to the car park to collect her bike. Pushing it through the rough grass at the base of the hill, she mounted at the footpath and patted the handlebars encouragingly. “Time to try dirt biking. If this path comes out where I think it does, we'll be able to sneak Ava out here at sunset.” She set off to explore.

*   *   *

The restaurant was closed, the visitors gone and the wooden tables wiped and ready for the next day. With a protesting squeal the great doors of the barn swung shut and the lock clicked. Sue dropped the key into her duffel bag and swung it over her shoulder. She waved cheerily to Owen, Adam and Chantel sitting around a table. “Don't you kids have a home to go to?”

Owen smiled politely. “We're staying at Manor Cottage. Mum will holler when it's teatime.” He pointed to the ducks dabbling in the small pond. “We're bird-watching.”

“Good night then.” Sue walked down the lane.

“Good night,” the children replied. They watched until she disappeared around the corner.

“Bird-watching,” sputtered Chantel. “That's a good one. Since when have you bird-watched?”

Owen gave a forced grin. “Since now. Sounded good, didn't it?” He checked around. Other than the children and the birds, the museum complex was finally deserted.

“I thought she'd never go,” said Adam.

“Me too,” Chantel said. She was still pale, but the color was returning to her cheeks. “What's next?”

Owen anxiously checked his watch. “Wait for Holly and Swoop.”

*   *   *

With a tinkle of her bell, Holly rode into the courtyard. “Do you want the good news or the bad?”

Owen groaned. “More bad news?”

“Not really.” Holly dropped the bike on the grass and joined them on the bench. “It's just that it's going to be tricky getting up Silbury Hill without being seen. It's all fenced, and no one's supposed to climb it.”

“Oh, great. Now what?” Owen's shoulders slumped.

“The good news is I think I've figured out a way we could do it,” Holly continued. “I've found a disused foot path, so we don't have to go by the road. We should have no trouble sneaking Ava there unseen.” She looked over at the barn. “What's happening with Ava?”

Owen sighed. “I wish Swoop would hurry up and tell me. I'm really worried about her.”

The children stared at the barn. No bats emerged.

*   *   *

“Myrddin.” Ava's mindspeak was a weak flicker. “I cannot
fly.”

Myrddin groaned as he caught and held the mind picture
she sent.

Ava lay slumped along a rafter in the great barn. The
gash in her chest still oozed drops of bright red blood that
pooled beneath her and matted her feathers. Her eyes were
glazed, her feathers dull. Her beak hung open and she panted
with rapid shallow breaths as though each breath hurt.

“Ava.” Myrddin's voice was gentle. “Keep the light in
your heart. The children will help.”

“The darkness gathers behind my eyes. The light is dim,”
Ava whispered.

A band of grief tightened around Myrddin's chest. “Ava,
concentrate on the light! You must not let it out. Our job
is not yet done.”

“Only . . . Golden King . . . can help me now.” Ava's
whispers came and went with the wind. “Send blessings, Myrddin, . . . tell . . . children . . . make . . . circle . . . ”

She faded out.

*   *   *

Owen dragged his eyes away from the barn and looked at his sister and cousins. “You'd better hear what happened to Chantel.”

Chantel's story shook them.

“We shouldn't have left you alone,” Holly said.