Keeper of the Phoenix (2 page)

“Look again.” Ash licked his lips and inched closer. “Do you feel something?”

“No. Should I?”

“Doesn’t it feel warm?”

“No. Is this your idea of a joke? You’re not funny, you know.”

“Ma, I’m not joking.” He eased the rock from Amelia’s hands to cradle it in his own. “Before, in the meadow, the rock was hot and glowing and the colours swirled. I think it’s a sign or an omen or something.”

Amelia’s face darkened. She rose from her seat and stirred her pot again. After a while she asked, “Have you been listening to Old Magdeth spinning her tales again? You know it’s all nonsense. You shouldn’t take any notice of her.”

“I haven’t seen her in ages,” Ash said, although he couldn’t deny he was fascinated by Magdeth’s doomsday prophecies. “This rock fell out of the sky and hit me on the head. See?”

He pointed to his forehead. His mother remained stubbornly facing the other way. For the first time, Ash noticed the age in her rounded shoulders.

When did she suddenly get so old? he wondered.

Probably around the time his pa and brother had left for the northern border to fight against the Draygonians, who were trying to invade Krell. She’d taken on so much more work since then.

“You saw it with your own eyes?” His mother’s words broke into his thoughts.

“Not exactly. I was asleep at the time.” The words trickled out of Ash’s mouth before he realised what he’d said.

Amelia spun around. “I don’t care how bored or tired you are, you must never sleep on the job. That’s when cattle wander off, or get stuck in a muddy riverbank and drown, or get stolen from under the tip of your nose.” She wagged her finger at him. “You know we can’t afford to lose any more cows. Not with your pa and Duncan away and our very survival tied to those animals.”

Ash’s shoulders slumped. “I know, Ma, I’m sorry. I only sat down to rest because I had a headache. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I swear.”

“Hmm,” Amelia murmured. “I hope not. Anyway, what makes you think someone didn’t throw the rock at you?”

“There was no one there.”

Amelia clicked her tongue and stirred the pot vigorously.

“I’m telling the truth. It fell from the sky. It
has
to be a sign or an omen. Maybe something good is finally going to happen for us.”

“Don’t be daft, Ash. Rocks don’t fall from the sky. And cowherds like you don’t get sent signs or see omens. Why, signs and omens don’t even exist. People like Magdeth make up stories about them to scare you kids.”

“But this rock is special, Ma. I’m sure of it. I thought you would know what it was. That’s why I ran home to show you.”

“Oh, well, if you want
my
opinion …” Amelia snatched the rock. “It’s a worthless dirty rock. And this is where rocks belong.”

“No!” Ash leaped in front of his mother, but it was too late. The rock flew out the window and landed with a
PLOP!
in the manure heap.

“Now, go bring the cows home for milking, please. And if any are missing, you’ll be in big trouble.”

Ash glanced at the manure heap through the window. He really didn’t want to leave the rock sitting there, all exposed. He was
certain
it was special. But his mother was not to be argued with.

Whistling for Trip, Ash set off. He didn’t bother looking back, though he felt the weight of his mother’s stare between his shoulder blades. He knew she was watching him with that mixture of anger and disappointment that had often marked her face since his pa had been gone. Lately, all she seemed to do was worry and shout. It hadn’t always been like that. Not that long ago she had often laughed.

Not any more.

Ash wished things would go back to the way they used to be.

“Those blasted Draygonians,” Ash muttered. “This is all their fault.”

“Up you get, Ash. Market day.”

Ash crawled out of bed and struggled into his clothes in the pre-dawn light. He stumbled to the table and Amelia plonked a bowl of porridge in front of him, its grainy smell swirling up his nostrils.

“Don’t dawdle.” Amelia charged about the kitchen, packing a wicker basket. “You must get into Icamore early.”

“What about the milking?” Ash blew steam off a spoonful of porridge.

“I’ll do it. And don’t dawdle
back
either. You’re to take the cows to the meadow when you get home.”

The moment Ash finished his porridge, Amelia pressed the basket into his hands and disappeared down to the dairy. As Ash stepped outside, he stole a glance at the manure heap. The rock was still perched on top.

With one eye on the dairy, Ash plucked the rock –
his
rock – from the manure heap. He wiped splotches of manure off it onto his trousers then pushed it into the basket, careful to keep it away from the pies. After calling Trip, he set off for the village.

Icamore was a tiny, isolated hamlet set on the banks of Baydoria River in the south-west of Krell. Few visitors came to Icamore. The settlement was pretty much cut off from the rest of Krell by the desert sands and jagged mountain ranges that surrounded the valley. As a result, the people of Icamore had learned to be self-sufficient in most things.

The village was surrounded by farms that provided food and livestock for the people who lived there. In the middle of the settlement sat the village square. It was flanked by narrow dirt and cobblestone streets along which tiny shopfronts had been built. Further out from the square were the villagers’ houses, mostly whitewashed stone huts with thatched roofs.

On the hill, perched above it all, sat Lord Belgrave’s rambling manor. Lord Belgrave governed the village and all the people who lived in the valley. Being the wealthiest and most powerful man in the area, Lord Belgrave owned much of the property in and around Icamore. He leased shops and farms to his tenants, claiming rent and taxes in return. He was a harsh landlord and those who disobeyed him were severely dealt with.

The moment Ash arrived in Icamore he hurried to find a spot at the market, which operated every Saturday morning in the village square. Usually the market was a busy place full of stalls, but many men had left to fight in the war twelve months ago. Lord Belgrave had resisted sending his men to war for several years, but pressure from King Tristram had finally seen him relent.

The Draygonians had plundered and over-populated their own country and their greedy ruler, King Phizo, wanted to claim Krell for his people. The Great Wall, which had been built by the Krellians several hundred years ago, was in danger of being breeched. All efforts now focused on stopping the Draygonians gaining a foothold in Krell.

With many of the men away, including Lord Belgrave and his army, the market was much quieter than usual. Ash hoped he would be able to sell all his mother’s goods. They needed the money.

Setting down his basket, Ash’s voice mingled with the cries of the other vendors. “Delicious fresh butter! Mouth-watering blackberry pies too tasty to miss. Strawberry jam! Come buy my delicious strawberry jam! Best in all our mighty kingdom of Krell.”

Mrs Tattle, the tanner’s wife, jingled some coins at him. “I’ll have two pies and a pot of jam, thanks.”

“Certainly, ma’am.” Ash tipped his hat.

“Where’s your mother today, lad?”

“Milking the cows.” Ash handed the jam and pies to Mrs Tattle and dropped the money in his coin pouch.

Mrs Tattle shook her head sympathetically. “I hope you’re helping her while your father’s away.”

“I’m trying to, Mrs Tattle.”

“Good lad. Have you heard any news of the war then, Ash?”

“No, Mrs Tattle,” Ash said. “No messengers have come our way.”

“It’s a terrible shame,” Mrs Tattle said. “And a terrible price for our village to pay. We’ve lost my lord and many of our good men. There’s been no word from any of them in months, I hear.”

“Hopefully they’re not lost entirely, Mrs Tattle. I want my pa and Duncan to come back.”

“Yes, of course you do, Ash.” Mrs Tattle took a deep breath. “So let’s keep hoping for the best.”

Ash nodded. “Yes, Mrs Tattle.”

“Say hello to your ma for me, won’t you?”

Ash tipped his hat again. Mrs Tattle wandered off. Ash tried to forget about his pa and Duncan and instead set up his cry once more. “Delicious fresh butter! Mouth-watering blackberry pies!”

It was a prosperous morning. As the bells tolled eight, Ash sold his last pot of jam to old Fyodor Carver, the butcher. He knew Ma wanted him home, but it was early and he was tempted to stop at the river to watch the elderly fishermen bring in their catch.

Ash picked up the basket, empty now save for the cream jug and his unusual rock, and set off. The smell of smoke, roasting nuts and frying meat wafted across the marketplace. Ignoring the rumblings of his stomach, Ash told Trip to stay close. Together they pushed through the milling groups of women and children and moved towards the river, glad to leave the rabble and the noise behind.

At the corner of Miller’s Row, Ash heard shouting. Trip, who had been padding obediently alongside his master, chose that moment to chase after a broken-tailed stray cat. Both quickly disappeared around the corner.

“How many times do you have to be told? You’re not welcome here,” a voice jeered. “You’ll bring a pox on us all.”

Ash rounded the corner and saw his friend, Taine, standing with his fists clenched as three boys cornered him. Behind Taine stood his twin sister, Rhyll, defiance glinting in her green eyes.

“Leave us alone, Morgan,” Taine growled.

Ash’s cousin, Morgan, and his two pals, Orford Tailor and Burke Reeve, were always picking on someone.

“Or what?” Morgan sneered.

“We’ll put a spell on you.” Rhyll curled her lip.

A look of intense fear flashed across Morgan’s face but he swiftly recovered. “You know witchcraft is forbidden in Icamore. Lord Belgrave has declared it the work of idle hands. We’ll tell on you if you dare use it and then you’ll be locked up. How would you like that?”

Rhyll became even more defiant. “You won’t be able to tell anyone if I cast a spell to glue your lips together,” she said.

“You wouldn’t dare.” Orford gulped, turning pale at Rhyll’s threat. “Would you?”

Ash stifled a laugh. He crept closer.

“Of course she wouldn’t,” Morgan growled as he punched Orford. “She’s bluffing.”

“But their mother was a witch, wasn’t she?” Burke glanced nervously from Morgan to Rhyll and back again.

“It got her thrown out of Icamore.” Morgan laughed harshly. “Old Maggot Magdeth said your mother taught you witchy spells and potions, but I’m not afraid. You can’t hurt me. You’re a girl.” He stepped closer, leaning over Rhyll. “And you’re pathetic.”

Rhyll’s face flamed to rival her red hair. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Oh yeah?” Orford said. “Magdeth told us all about you and your freakish mother. What she said would make your ears bleed if you heard it.”

“That does sound serious.” Taine smacked his lips dryly. “I hope you weren’t too scared, little Orfie.”

Orford bristled. “Not likely.”

Ash stowed his basket behind a fence and tiptoed up behind Morgan. He reached out and tapped his cousin on the shoulder.

Morgan spun around. “Well, if it isn’t Manure Face come to help his hexing mates.”

“Leave them alone, Morgan.”

Morgan glared. “Why should I?”

Ash returned his cousin’s stare, wondering how they could be so different. There was no mistaking their physical resemblance. They had the same yellow curling hair, the same round face and pale blue eyes. But that was where the resemblance ended. Although he was only a year older, Morgan was much taller and broader than Ash. He was a whole lot meaner too.

“Mind your business, Manure Face. This has nothing to do with you.” Morgan gave an exaggerated sniff and leaned towards Ash. “When was the last time you had a bath?”

“When was the last time you had an intelligent thought?” Ash shot back.

Orford sniggered. Morgan, his face erupting with rage, slammed his fist into Orford’s arm.

“What was that for?” the boy whined.

Morgan poked his chin out at Ash. “You’re just a coward, aren’t you? You’ve got a smart mouth but there’s no muscle behind it. You’re weak.”

Ash prickled with anger. He tried to stay calm, knowing Morgan was goading him.

Why does he always want to fight? Ash wondered. Why does he love stirring up trouble?

“You’d be no good in the war, would you?” Morgan continued. “I bet if you ever got near a battle with the Draygonians, you’d run and hide like a baby. Probably cry like one too.”

“I would not.”

“I bet you would.” Morgan leaned in close. “You’re not fighting material like me. You’re small and weak and helpless.” Morgan shoved Ash’s shoulder for emphasis. “So different to your big brother.”

Morgan puffed his chest out, smiling smugly as he nodded to his mates for support.

Ash would have loved nothing better than to wipe the smug look off Morgan’s face, but he didn’t dare. Ma would be furious if he did.

“You’re wrong, Morgan,” Ash said.

“You’re a coward, Manure Face. And we all know it.”

“Don’t listen to him, Ash,” Taine said. “He’s talking rubbish.”

“I know that.” Ash struggled to keep his voice steady. “He’s just trying to make me angry. Like he always does.”

“Hey, I know,” Morgan said, “how about we fight it out? If I win, everyone will know you’re a coward. If you win, I’ll take back what I said. Come on. Show us that you really do have some guts. Right here. Right now.”

“That’s stupid!” Rhyll steamed. “Fighting doesn’t prove anything.”

“Oh yes it does,” Morgan said. “It’ll prove who’s stronger. I want this gutless little maggot to fight me, so stay out of it.”

The boys closed in. Morgan shoved Ash hard in the chest, sending him stumbling backwards. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Ash’s temper flared as Morgan jostled him. He shoved Morgan back, but the other boy hardly seemed to notice.

“Give him a thumping! Rip his head off!” Orford and Burke shouted.

“Leave him alone.” Taine lunged at the boys, but they easily fended him off, knocking him to the ground.