The Awen: Book One of the Sacred Oak Series
by
A.R Dunning
The Awen: Book One of the Sacred Oak Series copyright 2011 by AR DunningAll rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any way without express permission of the publisher with this exception: if you are an individual and you want to excerpt a part of the book for the purpose of helping others you may do so given you also prominently note in the excerpt: the book title, the author, and her website (hyperlinked where possible) at www.rebeccadunning.com.
Published by Awen House Publishing at Smashwords
Colorado Springs, CO USA
Layout and Illustrations by: Clint Dunning
Edited by: Ben Pasley and Laurie Thornton
ISBN: 0-9826670-1-9
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedication
This one is for Laura Carlson, longtime friend, prisoner of hope and restorer of broken hearts.
My Thanks
I’d like to thank my husband Clint and children, Zoe, Ezekiel and Mercy for their encouragement and support as I’ve written this book. We’ve had multiple brainstorming sessions over dinner so I have to give them credit for their storyline input. Laurie Thornton, thank you for your marvelous editing skills. Ben Pasley, your content editing is brilliant. Much thanks. It is such a relief to know that I just get to be the creative and leave the rest to the experts. Credit also needs to go to my nearest and dearest friends and family for your steadfast love and the endless tending of the garden of my heart. You know who you are.
BOOK I: Beginnings
ANCIENT MEG MELLIAN PROPHESY
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE: Winter Haven Manor
CHAPTER TWO: Mr. McBeetle
CHAPTER THREE: The Crescent of Power
CHAPTER FOUR: The Arrival
CHAPTER FIVE: Dissappearance
CHAPTER SIX: The Cairn
CHAPTER SEVEN: Marabah
CHAPTER EIGHT: Caer Pren
CHAPTER NINE: The Cleansing
CHAPTER TEN: A Millenium Ago
BOOK II: The Swift Sure Hand
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Libby’s Gift
CHAPTER TWELVE: Reese’s Second Chance
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Ian’s War
BOOK III: New Beginnings
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: A New Day
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Farewell to Caer Pren
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Caer Gaeaf Hafan
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: The Truth of Deception
CHAPTER EIGHTEEEN: Ysbil’s Gifts
CHAPTER TWENTY: Second Betrayal
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Into the Darkness
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Not As It Seems
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Confronting the Past
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Fair Mag Mell
EPILOGUE:
Ancient Meg Mellian Prophesy
When pride and greed does kiss
In the heart of our dear land
The Great Betrayal is unleashed.
O, how I fear for you, bright Mag Mell.
Treachery! Treachery!
At the hand of once dear brothers
Who had sung the song so pure
Then forgot the ancient paths
Once so white and true.
Dark mist shall take fair Mag Mell.
From the time ahead of times
Three unlikely they shall find.
Come young ones arise,
Descendants from the other side,
Bring them learned ones
After darkness sweeps fine Mag Mell.
Call fire, wind, earth and sky,
Restore the Queen or land shall die.
Find the heart of deep Betrayal.
Sing Bard: Restore the Awen,
Sacrifice himself for all,
And he shall save dear Mag Mell.
Light shall shine again in thee fair Mag Mell.
O, how I cry for you bright Mag Mell.
-So end the words of Ysbail Seren
Prologue
It all began with the dreams. There is no other way to say it than that. Ian was having very colorful, very real dreams—dreams that would then come true. Only silly things happened at first, like that his mom was going to make him homemade pancakes with clotted cream and fresh strawberries. He then woke up that very morning to the smell of delicious cakes being served. Or when he dreamed he found a ten pound note on the way to school. That same day, there the money was, dangling from the bushes like low-hanging fruit waiting to be picked, just exactly like he had seen it in the night.
The night had become an adventure, and one that he kept to himself in the event that people would think that he had gone crazy. Besides, it had always been good things that happened, so it never occurred to him that the dreams were all that unusual. However, the foretelling dreams began to take place with greater frequency and contain more detail, which in the last couple of weeks had begun to cause him a bit of concern.
It was after he began to dream about his friend Libby that he realized he was experiencing something special. Ian woke with a small sense of dread each time he had a “Libby dream,” walking around for the next several days awaiting her imminent arrival and the sad news that would come with it. He was unsure of how to react when his mom would break the news his dreams had foretold. That was when he decided he needed to share what was happening with his father.
CHAPTER ONE: Winter Haven Manor
Ian stood at the water’s edge engaged in two of his favorite boyhood pastimes: skipping rocks and spending one-on-one time with his father. He and his dad gazed out at Cardigan Bay from the coastal town of Aberystwyth, Wales—known as Aber to locals—where he had been born. The pair stood in comfortable silence, the kind of quiet that said they were enjoying each other’s company so much that talk wasn’t necessary. Simply watching the boats was so entertaining there just wasn’t much need for words.
Besides the occasional pointing out of something interesting and the one-word response or a quip to brag about how many times their rocks skated across the water before plunking below the surface, there was only the toot of boat horns and the distant rumbling of the men’s voices who were working the docks. Talking was for when the two of them walked over to the pier and haggled over the cost of the catch of the day. Talking took place as they made the thirty or so minute stroll back to their home on the estate known as Winter Haven Manor.
On days like this being together and soaking up the late spring sun when his dad wasn’t working helped all of life make sense to Ian. And so, every Saturday things were set straight again. They were just father and son and nothing else mattered in the world. There was no Winter Haven and he was no longer the son of a lifelong servant to it. In fact, he was able to step away from the fact that for generation after generation his family had been servants of Haven. He was Ian Jones, a twelve-year-old young man, and he had hopes and, well, dreams. A lot of dreams, in fact, and those were what he was thinking about today.
When the sun began to slip down on the horizon and the raging waves began coming in from the Irish Sea, Peter Jones, Ian’s father, disturbed his thoughts with what he said every Saturday, “Well, son, I bet your mom is beginning to wonder where we’re at. What do you say we get her some fresh fish for dinner?”
Ian had always nodded and said, “Yep, she’d like that,” and fell into step beside his dad. Today, though, he looked for one last rock and heaved it as hard as he could over the water before joining his dad. He really wanted to tell his father about his vivid dreams but was at a loss for how to begin. Ian decided to start off slowly by asking his dad a few questions before he shared his news.
“Dad, tell me what it was like away from Haven,” Ian started.
“What do you want to know?” his dad said as he looked away from the bay towards the hills and distant mountains.
“Why did you leave and why did you choose to move back and become the estates’ caretaker?”
Silence reigned for a moment, and then with a big intake of breath, Peter Jones began to share: “I suppose I left because I’d met and married your mother and wanted to set out to be my own man. I guess it was bad luck mostly that brought me back—not that I’m not thankful for the job. You know your grandfather fell ill about the time you were born and wasn’t able to do all his duties caring for the grounds any longer. With you being born, your mom and I needed money to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. There just wasn’t work anywhere else and, well, I knew the job inside and out from being raised here. At first I began working the estate from our little place across town until my dad passed, and then they offered your mom the nanny job caring for Reese and us the cottage to live in. We just couldn’t turn it down.”
Ian’s dad pursed his lips and a stony expression took over his face. Ian sensed that his dad was reliving a distant memory.
“It seems like there’s no way to stay away from this place. Everyone says it’s our destiny, “his father added quietly.
With that, Ian knew the mood had changed by the now uncomfortable silence between them. He thought that asking questions would open a door for him to share with his father about the last several months, but he decided that now was definitely not the time. They reached the fish market, got what they wanted and then made forced small talk all the way home.
Shoot, Ian thought, I’ll have to find another way.
As they neared their small thatched cottage next to the main house, Ian turned again to his dad.
“Thanks for working so hard to take care of us,” he said, seeing one of the reasons the Joneses had returned to Winter Haven out of the corner of his eye. Reese, the only child of Patrick and Victoria Williams, was ten yards from the main house practicing archery.
“It’s my job, Son. I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Peter answered, rubbing his son’s head and turning towards the cottage.
***
Ian watched Reese take aim with a determined look on his face until he saw that he was being watched. Reese’s facial expression then turned to one of smug overconfidence as he set an arrow sailing precisely into the center of the target ahead of him.
“Show off,” Ian muttered to himself as he turned away and watched his father duck into their home to prepare the fish to fry.
It was moments like this that Ian took pride in the fact that he was a full year older and over an inch taller than his occasional nemesis, the self-proclaimed nobility of Winter Haven Manor, Reese Williams. The two boys had been raised like brothers and were best friends until the day that Reese realized two things: first that Ian was naturally better at just about every boyhood skill than him; and second, that Ian was merely part of the hired help.
Reese often talked poorly to Ian and his mom but would settle for playing with Ian when the other children in the area had taken enough of Reese’s spoiled, rude behavior. Ian for the most part didn’t think he had any other choice but to accept Reese’s offer to play and then to make sure things were the way they should be: he would trounce Reese in marbles, netball, cricket or whatever else was the game of the day. Ian had always liked that he was better at every sport or game than Reese. Better that is until archery came along. The Williamses could afford to give Reese lessons, and he’d left Ian in the dust.
***
Ian had often overheard his mom describing him as having a “thin but sturdy frame, a brown mop of hair on his head and dark eyes that are both fierce and tender.” Ian wished she wouldn’t say embarrassing stuff around him but secretly thought she summed him up rather well. People often looked into Ian’s eyes and then told his parents he had an “old soul.” It seemed like a compliment, so he thought maybe it was. It was some of these same people who also tended to say that he was “quick and competitive.” When Ian heard this he always added but usually only competitive in good ways in his head.
Despite what people said, Ian knew he carried himself like he was the son of a servant and that his poorer-looking clothing made it evident to anyone who did not already know his station in life. He wanted to yell when people of standing looked right past him in town yet stopped to talk to Reese. When guests came for gatherings or dinner parties at the estate and handed him their coats and bags to hang up instead of saying hello he wanted to climb in a hole.
Reese on the other hand, was average in height and weight and was unremarkable in every way. His hair was dishwater blonde, and besides a dusting of freckles on his nose and cheeks there was not one thing that stuck out to help people remember him. Ian couldn’t stand it that in spite of Reese’s looking totally average, his royal bearing and fine clothing were evident. Somehow he made up for being so ordinary by carrying himself like a king. That trait alone made Reese unforgettable.
***
Ian needed a moment to collect his thoughts and face what he thought might be an unusually quiet dinner. He continued to meander away from where Reese could see him; out past the stables to the knoll where the two boys used to play “King of the Hill” when they were younger. At the top he stood and gazed at the panoramic view, taking a moment to remember how thankful he was for the life his parents worked so hard to give him.
The estate really was fantastic. With sixty acres of sprawling grounds, horse stables, ornate fountains, lush gardens, streams, woods and a relatively short walk to the coast there was no end to the imaginative and troublesome things a boy could get himself into. In many ways it was a delicious way for the son of a servant to grow up. When Ian was prowling the grounds without Reese tagging alongside of him to keep him in his place he didn’t even remember his father’s low standing.
As he stood looking over the grounds, Ian knew one thing for sure: he would go out and make his own way in life someday, and though he was relatively gracious towards Reese now, he knew he would never spend the best years of his life trimming hedges and cleaning muck out of the fountains for one Reese Williams. He supposed he knew this from one of his dreams, but he did not know how it would all work out quite yet.
***
Ian stood on the knoll for several moments feeling a little sorry for himself if he were honest and a bit lonely. With summer approaching he knew that Libby would soon be coming, as she always did, and normally the thought of her coming would have brightened his mood, but if his dreamsabout her were indeed true, things would not be as happy as last summer.
Ian had always enjoyed the fact that Libby was half-American and half-Welsh and happened to be Reese’s first cousin on his father’s side. It leveled the playing field a bit that Reese was related to a “commoner,” as the Williamses often snipped when they thought the children weren’t listening. Libby’s mom, Catherine, a former Williams herself, had married a middle-class American twelve years ago after meeting him while she was traveling to New York. It had been quite the scandal in the family and Ian loved that it gave him Libby—an ally against “Lord Reese” when he needed one and a girl to pester when he didn’t. It’s the little things in life, he thought to himself.
Libby was eleven years old and half-decent as far as girls go, though Ian would never admit it. In fact, it always brought him and Reese great pleasure to torment her when she spent her summer holidays in her mother’s homeland. It was the only time when Reese treated Ian as almost an equal. Libby, you could say, almost brought them together.
CHAPTER TWO: Mr. McBeetle
Reese and Ian sat at their desks in the school area and eyed Mr. McBeetle. Ian didn’t mind being inside at this particular moment because it was a gloomy and rainy afternoon. It was his favorite type of weather, for it meant wool sweaters and hot cocoa in front of the fire. It also meant a better chance at tomorrow being a clear, warm day to rummage through the woods.
Now Mr. McBeetle wasn’t his tutor’s real name, as one could probably guess, but due to his appearance he was so-called in whispered voices among the household servants. His real name was, of course, Mr. McBee, but Ian had never seen a human being so resemble a bug. Mr. McBeetle was short and squatty with tiny limbs that attached to his rather rotund center. His round, thick head sat on his shoulders in a way that took away any view of a neck and it protruded slightly forward. If that were not enough, his thick coke-bottle glasses magnified his eyes so most people blinked and sort of looked away when speaking to him.
“Just like a bug,” they all said.
Mr. McBee was shy and unsocial in front of adults. Most people in town thought him to be a rather awkward fellow. However when he was teaching history or science he could make even the dullest, most uninterested student pay attention.
To top off his awkwardness, the small amount of hair remaining on his head tended to stick up and wiggle around whenever he became excited about a particular subject he was teaching. Ian and Reese had to squelch their giggles as his “antennae” would sway this way and that as he related stories to them of the World War or his many trips to India as a young lad. Nothing got him going like his favorite topic, though: the Welsh Celts. The Welsh Celts were Iron Age warriors from the very area the boys called home.
Reese was taught in the old ways like his ancestors at Winter Haven. Tutors filed in and out of Winter Haven, instructing him in everything from reading, math, and social studies to grammar, etiquette and physical education. In the eyes of the Williamses, though, perhaps the most important class he was taught was Welsh, the native language of their people.
Ian, however, attended public classes during the regular school year but was forced by his parents to continue his studies part-time in the summer at the manor. “It’s a wonderful gift offered by Mrs. Williams and you should be grateful,” was what he was told each summer as he was hunted down from the woods and practically hog-tied to be brought to the schooling area. But like when he had to be rounded up for bath time when he was younger, he always had a great time once he got there.
Ian was completely fascinated by the rich, colorful stories of the ancient Celts, the ancestors of the United Kingdom and Ireland who were not only brave warriors but who were also known for their love of various sciences, of nature and of the arts. Mr. McBee spun tales so real that Ian and Reese were sure they themselves had been a part of the ageless stories fighting as brave warriors, their names lifted in songs played on lyres by bards, as heroes worthy to be remembered through the centuries. The two boys would listen wild-eyed to their teacher—who looked especially insect-like when telling these stories— and memorize the details of battle and song so that they could reenact them later.
After this particular class, when the rain was taking a short break, the boys got an idea that they thought was exceptionally brilliant. But first—on their way out of the classroom—they each took the special handmade treat Mr. McBee always placed for them on two small silver trays. Made from an archaic recipe handed down in Mr. McBee’s family, it was the single sweetest and most delicious thing the boys had ever tasted.
CHAPTER THREE:The Crescent of Power
The boys burst out of the classroom ready to carry out the plan that had been percolating during lessons with such abandon that they were like two overgrown Labrador puppies bumbling their way towards a body of water—tumbling and tangling their legs as they thundered down the long hallway from their classroom and then down the back flight of stairs to the exit closest to the woods. Before they fought their way out the door, they both grabbed the bundles they had left leaning in the corner before school.
Ian’s mom poked her head out of the room where she was ironing and urged the boys to “slow down” and “mind the pictures on the wall.” Before she could stop them though, the boys were outside and had already transformed into Bran the Blessed and the great King Arthur.
“To the fort! Defend the fort!” King Arthur, who looked a lot like Reese, shouted.
“Argh!” added Bran the Blessed, who happened to look just like Ian.
The boys zipped into the woods full throttle, knowing that they had a whole arsenal of weapons awaiting them. They had piles of rocks for launching, crudely hand-carved swords and other make-shift weaponry collected in the previous weeks. Their prized possessions were, however, carefully wrapped for safety and hanging over their shoulders.
During lessons, Mr. McBee had taught them to make what had quickly become their prized possessions: Welsh longbows, formed in the way of their ancestors that had lived hundreds and hundreds of years before them. The boys learned to fashion the weapons from Yew trees they had personally chosen, cut down and soaked until the wood was limber enough to be shaped. The final touch to their artistic masterpiece was whittled knots on the face of their bows that interlocked in never-ending symmetry—a Celtic knot.
The woods grew thicker and the area slightly darker as the two boys trudged deeper into it. The boys took a wide, arcing path to their destination, avoiding a bizarre clearing in the woods of Winter Haven that some of the townsfolk called the “Ring of Power.” Also known as the “Crescent of Power,” the area was a semicircle surrounded by huge oak trees. According to the endless stories told by locals about the mysterious area, the center was flat and covered in a matt of thick grass.
“It’s too bad we aren’t allowed to go play in there,” Ian said with jagged breath from running.
“My dad would tan both our hides if he ever found out you were thinking that. You know that,” Reese snorted.
“I’m just saying…” Ian started.
“And besides, you should know better than anyone that it’s haunted. Your own ancestor Ifan Jones disappeared from that very spot never to be seen again,” Reese interrupted with a note of authority.
“No one knows for sure, Reese. Trees and open spaces can’t be haunted,” spat Ian, not liking how his friend recited the local folklore as though it were a proven fact.
The two boys stopped running to catch their breath and walked toward their fort a bit further into the woods.
“You know the stories—everyone does. All the druids, bards and other folks with all sorts of magical powers and the supernatural creatures of the wooded world met here because it was a special place of power. It’s connected to the otherworld,” Reese sniffed and raised his chin in typical Williams fashion, as though he knew exactly what he was talking about and had been there firsthand.
Ian decided that Reese never knew when enough was enough or how close he was to getting a good nose bleed from Bran the Blessed, who was feeling more like “Bran the Bullied.”
“Besides, when they searched for Ifan, they used the hunting hounds to sniff him out. And then, remember the dogs broke free from their handlers and everyone heard the dogs barking and headed toward the Crescent and then found nothing. The dogs disappeared through the portal never to be seen again,” added Reese, pushing his luck just a bit further.
“Stories, all stories and I’ve heard them all before,” Ian was seething now. “I just want to go closer to take a look, not go in there. We’re not breaking any laws to go take a peek.”
There was a brief moment of silence, and Ian laid down the gauntlet: “I’m not afraid to go have a closer look. Are you?”
But this time his taunt didn’t work. Reese said nothing. Instead, he puffed out his chest, turned on his heel and headed away from where Ian was hoping they would go.
“You go ahead then. I’m headed to my fort.”
Ian stood perplexed. He’d never had it in his mind before to go near the clearing, and he sure wished Reese would join him now.
”Sissy,” he called to Reese.
But Reese had already run out of earshot. Ian took one shaky step towards the area that held the thick ring of oaks, a tree he knew to be holy to his ancestors. The second he put his foot down, a deluge of cold rain poured down which drenched him to his core in a matter of seconds.
Such an unusual amount of water came down that he could hardly see. Ian quickly changed his mind, wrapped his bow tightly in his grip, and sprinted back to the house as fast as his legs could carry him through the mud and peat. Taking a closer look at the Crescent would just have to wait. One thing he knew for sure—he was now determined to find someone that would go with him into the forbidden area.
When he went inside and took his wet coat and muddy shoes off, Ian noticed that everyone in the home was in a flurry of activity. The servants rushed here and there carrying cleaning supplies, fresh linens, firewood and a vase of fresh flowers. A distant clank and clatter in the kitchen along with a plethora of savory scents gave away the fact that the kitchen staff was preparing a special dinner.
Ian did not have to ask to know what was happening. The household was preparing very suddenly for two guests, and he knew from his dream who was coming. Libby and her mom were on their way, and this time they would be staying longer than the summer. His stomach did a flip-flop when he saw his mom in tears comforting Lady Williams, Reese’s mother, in the sitting room. Both women wiped their eyes quickly as he stood at the doorway, careful not to enter the formal room without an invitation.
“Oh, E,” his mother said. Ian did not like being called E, but he let it pass this time in light of the situation. She excused herself and rushed to wrap her arms around him.
“Libby and her mother will be here tomorrow,” she paused to catch her breath. “Libby’s dad...”
“…left without telling her mom where he was going and they don’t think he’s ever coming back,” Ian abruptly finished her sentence for her.
Mrs. Jones’s eyes got very large and she opened her mouth to ask him how he could possibly know such a thing. But she was so startled she just closed it again.
“Yes,” she said quickly, “Libby will be like family now and is sure to be having a difficult time. We must make her feel welcome. Do you understand?”
“Sure mom,” Ian answered.
“Then run along and clean up. Dinner is almost ready.”
CHAPTER FOUR: The Arrival
Ian did not see Libby much after she first arrived. She and her mother had driven up the circle driveway late in the afternoon. They looked exhausted, no doubt a lot of it was the long international flight, but both of their eyes looked hollow and sunken. Libby’s mom, Caroline, was like an empty shell. The look on Libby’s face was ashen white and she appeared as though she had been punched in the stomach and had not quite caught her breath. True to their breeding, they were immaculately dressed; each hair perfectly in place. Lady Caroline appeared to have applied a fresh coat of make-up to her stony face.
Ian had caught a glimpse of the two getting out of the car from an upstairs window. He saw Lady Caroline, as she was called around Winter Haven, physically straightening “Elizabeth’s” shoulders and lifting her chin, preparing her to walk regally into the home.
By the time the family and a few long-time servants came out to greet them, they were ready to play the part Lady Caroline thought they should. Based on past interactions with Libby, Ian was certain that she would rather put on some play clothes and go out to the woods to cry or kick something. The girl he knew was a fireball; she was not only feisty but she also wore her emotions on her sleeve. He liked that he never had to guess what she was thinking or feeling, when she was not forced by her mom to be a china doll under glass, that is.
Ian did not dare look at Libby as she was hugged and kissed and told all sorts of encouraging things by adults who didn’t know what to do or say under the circumstances. Following them slowly and gracefully from the car was Etaina, Libby’s tutor and dance instructor that the Williams’s had sent over to make sure that Libby was learning the finer things of the Welsh culture and not being debased by middle class America.
***
After two weeks of seeing Libby only from afar, Ian began to wonder how long her seclusion would go on. The two ladies and Etaina took their meals in their guest quarters and for fresh air they went out to the walled-in, private gardens you could only get to through their wing of the house.
It seemed strange to Ian that his friend would not want to see him, and he began to wonder if she was being held captive against her will. When he found his dad tending to the flower beds one afternoon, he asked him about Libby’s unwillingness to come out and play. Ian’s father, Peter, got a tender look on his face and replied, “You’ll see her when she’s ready.”
So, Ian decided to enjoy his summer break and wait for her to come to him. Less than a week later, Libby did come out to play. Her timing for joining the boys could not have been worse. Ian and Reese were with Ewan, Gregory and Chris, engaged in man-sport near their fort in the woods.
The boys were taking turns competing to be the grand champion in using the slingshot with both their right and left hands, and Ian intended to make his skills known. Now, Ian knew in his mind that he was not supposed to care where he stood in the pecking order that exists among boys, but in his heart of hearts it really did matter. For the record, Ewan was best at right hand, followed by Ian, then Gregory, and so on. It was Ian who dominated left-handed because he spent the most time practicing.
They were moving on to archery and the typical bragging was taking place about who would come out the victor. Ian tended to be less talk and more action, while Ewan and Gregory bantered on the most. Ewan talked so strongly that Ian thought he probably intimidated his way to one of the top positions more times than not. However, it was Reese who had taken the endless hours of archery training and beat them every time.
Talk turned to who the phantom enemy would be that they were about to annihilate. They settled on Mordred the six-fingered, left-handed giant. Reese took on the name of King Arthur and, of course, no one argued since his real name carried the most clout in their group of friends. The rest of the boys grappled over the other less famous warriors of old.
After establishing their personas, the group of friends was no longer in a mere forest. The trees seemed to thicken and the sky grew darker in the eye of Ian’s imagination. They were now in a wood filled with filthy opponents. Ian looked at his comrades in arms, seasoned men of battle on either side of him. The boys stepped forward to glare at their targets attached to rotting bales of hay which had been placed at regular intervals. The piles of hay had transformed into men over nine feet tall with Mordred having been assigned to the one that was farthest from them.
At Reese’s signal, they raced towards their marks, lunging like rabid animals toward the brutal enemies they faced. They stopped at the line and took their place, careful to stand side by side so that someone was not hit with the rubber-tipped arrows. Even though they would not cut through skin, the boys knew it sure would hurt to get struck in the back by one of them. Countless times they had been warned by their mothers to “be careful or someone could lose an eye.”
Reese hit his mark twice by the time Ian had fit his arrow into place to take aim. Ian’s arrow hit the bale but not anywhere close to the target. The other boys had similar success, their arrows hitting the hay or the outer part of the circle. Reese declared himself “King of the Battlefield” once they had spent their five arrows each, and no one else had come close to hitting the target dead on every time.
As the boys retrieved their arrows, Libby stepped through the branches behind them with a hesitant look on her face. She was dressed to play. For the first time, Ian noticed the subtle changes that had taken place in the last year. Her dark hair was longer. She had also gotten taller and carried herself more like the skilled dancer she was becoming. Even more noticeable was the sadness that was wrapped around her like a cloak, making her appear like she could easily be broken if handled roughly.
Since Libby and Ian had been the closest among the group, her eyes sought out his and she offered an attempt at a smile. Her large eyes seemed to hold deep secrets and, growing larger, they pleaded with his not to look away from her. Ian stopped what he was doing to stare deep into her face. After a moment, he realized there were voices speaking around him and all activity had stopped. Libby looked down and began to drag the toe of her shoe back and forth in the dirt. When she looked up her face welcomed Ian but her eyes haunted him.
Reese broke the silence, “What do you want? You shouldn’t be here.” His words sounded like he was spitting through his teeth.
Her graceful eyes met Ian’s for a moment to see what he would do. They searched and quickly found their answer: he would say or do nothing to defend her.
The other boys began to laugh. It reminded Ian of a pack of hyenas. But Reese did not leave it at that.
“Your own dad didn’t want you. Why would we?”
Ian watched as horror washed over her like the winds of a hurricane. Her face went ashen and she staggered backwards slightly as though she had been physically struck. Ian waited for her to give Reese one of her typical tongue lashings or punch him in the nose like she did last summer. Instead, she turned and fled.
After she had gone, Ian’s heart felt like it had left his body. He was no longer a warrior but a scared little boy. He joined the competition for the next couple of hours but only halfheartedly, doing poorly at every game. He just wasn’t into it anymore.
Reese finally decided to call it quits and they all listened to him like trained dogs obeying their master. Gregory invited the boys for a sleepover, promising dessert and games, but Ian was not up for it. As they all split up to go ask permission, Ian made an excuse about not feeling very well and headed back home, trailing behind the others.
Ian took a route that led him slightly closer to the off- limits crescent and felt a pull to go nearer. He was so depressed he ignored the strange leading and went home. Before he went in for supper he looked all around the grounds in search of Libby, hoping to find her so that he could try to say something to make her feel better. After that failed, he scaled the wall of the private gardens and found that empty as well. Then to top off an increasingly horrible day he got scolded for being late for the evening meal.
After a quiet supper that Ian mostly left on his plate, Ian’s mom asked if he was well.
“I just want to go to bed,” was all he could choke out.
Going to his room, Ian held it together only long enough to find himself alone. The image of the look on Libby’s face played in his mind over and over as he sobbed. Wave after wave of tears flowed from his eyes as he realized he was just as deceitful as Reese for doing nothing to defend the already hurting girl.
Before sleep overtook him, Ian made two promises to himself. First, he whispered to the empty room, “I will find her and try to apologize.”
Second, he vowed aloud, “I will never again be the rotten boy I was today.”
Libby’s horrified face was the last thing he saw in his mind before he slept.
CHAPTER FIVE: Disappearance
In the morning, Ian expected trouble—big trouble. However, his mom and dad appeared perfectly normal to him and remained that way every time he saw them going about their work the rest of the day. He decided that Libby must not have told them what had happened, and he felt even worse about what he had done. After breakfast, Ian knocked on the door that led to the guest area but received no response. After a thorough search he gave up trying to find her, realizing that he would be late for class with Mr. McBee if he didn’t hurry.
Throughout lessons Ian was restless and unable to focus. Even the great battles of old and the song that Mr. McBee played on the lyre at the end of the lesson did nothing to capture his interest. Typically the lyrics were like a magic spell that made him feel like he had traveled back in time and was sitting around a fire roaring in front of the hearth of a great lord’s hall with a real bard singing over him. For the first time, the song that would usually fill up his body, mind and spirit and make his soul nearly burst fell flat.
Finally, class ended and the two boys stood to thank their teacher as expected and receive the usual special sweet. At that moment a movement caught Ian’s eye out the window. He turned to get a better view and saw Libby heading towards the horse stables. Like a flash of lightening, he was gone without saying a word. As Ian rushed down the hall he heard Mr. McBee call for him to take his treat.
“Ian, you mustn’t forget your sweet. Come back would you?”
Reese grabbed both, promised to give Ian’s to him and ran off almost as fast as the first boy.
“Wait . . . no . . . Reese come back,” Mr. McBee bellowed, “Now!”
Reese didn’t even slow down.
“Make sure Ian gets the one in your left hand!” shouted their teacher with urgency.
Reese, of course, had no intention of sharing. He headed off in another direction and, when he knew no one was looking, popped first Ian’s sweet in his mouth. He noticed that it tasted a bit different then his, but it was equally scrumptious. After devouring it, he ate his own.
***
Ian approached Libby as she was brushing down her favorite horse. She turned with a fierce scowl on her face.
“No,” was all that she said in a resigned voice.
Ian tried two more times to begin his apology. Each time she cut him off without allowing him to talk.
“Just go,” she whispered.
He thought he saw tears forming in her eyes as he gave up and left.
***
Ian had a hard time falling asleep. When he finally did, it was almost morning. He then slept deeply. That night Ian had one of his very real, very detailed dreams.
In the dream, he and Libby were wandering in the shadows of a seemingly endless series of caves. They had been running hard, and he could hear the pounding of his heart in his ears over the sound of her frightened breathing. The two were holding hands so that they would not lose one another in the confusion of darkness, but he also had the feeling that they were being followed and he needed to protect her.
The strange thing about this dream was that though Libby’s image was blurry to him, he was fairly certain she was no longer eleven but older—like she was in her early to mid-twenties. He then looked down at his own hands and they seemed to have aged as well. Suddenly, the two stepped through the darkness into a marvelous light. Libby turned and looked at Ian with a brilliant, “I told you so” smile.
As they entered the light, ahead of them was a structure that looked like a door. Ian knew that they had been searching for it as though their very lives depended on it. The two then raced towards it with the sound of people approaching behind them.
Ian awoke with a start, covered in sweat. His dreams had always come true, but they had never been quite this disturbing. He had also never had a vision in the night that took place so far in the future and wondered what it could all mean. Furthermore, he pondered whether he should change his mind and share this with someone after all. Ian could have kicked himself for hurting Libby because in the past it would have been with her that he would have shared something like this.
Ian looked at the clock and noticed he had really slept in. He got up and ate a late breakfast thinking he would head down to Cardigan Bay, watch the boats, and come up with a plan on how to share what was happening with his dreams since he did not have any classes with Mr. McBee. Later perhaps he would try to talk to Libby again.
***
Late in the afternoon when he got hungry, Ian headed back for lunch. On his way to the kitchen, he ran into Reese’s parents, Patrick and Victoria Williams, in the foyer.
“Is Reese coming behind you?” Mr. Williams inquired.
“No,” Ian answered puzzled, “Should he be?”
Then he saw the look of grave concern on Mr. Williams’s face.
“Have you seen him recently? Did you have breakfast with him?” Mrs. Williams said in a voice a bit louder and less guarded than normal. She spoke so quickly Ian did not have time to answer the first question.
At the same exact time Reese’s father asked, “Have you two played together today?”
“No, I haven’t seen him once today,” was Ian’s response.
A look passed between the Williams’s that showed grave concern.
“Beatrice,” called Mr. Williams.
When the head housekeeper entered she was asked if she’d seen Reese.
She said no, and Reese’s father stated, “Gather the staff and inquire after Reese. If no one has seen him, organize a search within the house. As far as I know, he hasn’t been seen since last night when he went to bed.”
Turning to Ian, Patrick Williams barked, “Fetch your father and ask him to organize the grounds staff to search the gardens and woods for Reese, now!”
***
Two hours later there was still no trace of Reese. The police were called and an official search of house and grounds began. When there was still no good news, the officials brought in the hounds to find him. Reese’s scent was everywhere, of course, but no real child was found. As word spread of the missing boy, volunteers showed up and began to look in neighboring estates and throughout town. Again, no sign was found . . . until the searchers neared a clearing in the woods.
It was then that the strangest thing Ian had ever seen happened. The hounds began to bawl at a fresh trail, and everyone followed them into the woods. However, the hounds lost Reese’s scent just at the outer edge of the clearing right at the entrance to the Crescent of Power. The dogs barked loudly and twisted in circles squirming; some chased their tails. Two of the hounds rolled on their backs, flopping around wildly. Many of the volunteers stopped abruptly, unwilling to go further into the clearing. The dog handlers were afraid to continue, but they took small steps forward, dragging the hounds on their leashes like dead weights. Once the dogs did get up again, they returned over and over again to one area.
It was a slightly hidden cairn; it was a large mound of rocks covered by grass, moss and dirt which had been a sacred area to the Celts in generations past. It sat in the shadows under the largest oak in the ring of trees. The men tried to see if the mound had an opening or an area that a boy could squeeze through and get stuck; however, there just was no opening at all. The police and volunteers all exchanged wild glances, each remembering the stories about the magical place and the long ago disappearance supposedly in this very spot, though they’d never seen it in person until now. Some of the older folks began making signs and saying prayers against evil.
Peter and Olivia Jones stood on the outside of the clearing, each with a firm hand on Ian’s shoulder as a warning that he should not go a step further. Ian glanced at a solemn looking Libby standing near her mother. She met his eyes and he saw a flash of anger that melted into softness. Libby then did the unexpected. She winked. Ian swallowed hard and winced. She wasn’t glad that Reese was missing was she? No, the Libby he knew would not be that horrible. Would she?
Confused, Ian looked the other way and saw that Mr. McBee had stepped into the crescent among the rescue workers. He began to circle around the cairn with a concerned look etched into his face; his eyebrows knit together and his beady eyes squinted as he surveyed the pile of rocks. After he had paced around the rubble twice he paused, and, still looking at the cairn, he placed his hand on his chin and tapped his lips a few times with his first couple of fingers. He always did this when he was deep in thought. Mr. McBee spun and zipped past the onlookers, heading in the direction of the house and mumbling something Ian couldn’t quite hear.
The search grew frantic as more and more volunteers poured in to join the search and others returned from afar with no news of Reese. Notices of the boy’s disappearance began to go up around the surrounding towns in the wee hours of the night long after Ian had been forced to go to bed.
The next day folks whispered that Reese had been kidnapped for a ransom, while others argued back that he had disappeared mysteriously just like Ifan Jones had and that he would never be heard from again. When no ransom note was found and they had received no calls related to a kidnapping, rumors spread that the spoiled boy had run away. Regardless of the rumor mill, the search continued. Ian’s body and heart were sick by the time he went to bed on the second night. Still no new clues had surfaced.
CHAPTER SIX: The Cairn
When Ian woke up, something didn’t feel right. First of all, the sky was milky, light—not quite morning. A quiet, distant chirping of birds made him aware that it was still a couple of hours until it was time for him to wake up. When his vision cleared he saw Libby standing a couple of feet away from him wearing a light jacket.
“What?”
“Ssh.”
“Is it Reese?”
“Ssssssshhh,” she said, calmly placing her fingers to his lips. “Get dressed and follow me. I’ll be in the hall.”
A minute later the two of them slid quietly out of the house, continuing down the drive until they were under full cover of the woods.
“Libby, what in the world is going on?” Ian said. He was scared now.
Suddenly, Mr. McBee and Etaina stepped from behind a tree with grave looks on their faces. Mr. McBee spoke, “Ian, we don’t have much time. There isn’t a lot I can explain here. There’s been a terrible mistake. Reese has entered the cairn before his time. You three children were supposed to wait so you could enter with Etaina and me. It was my job to prepare you fully and bring you.”
Ian’s mouth dropped open in shock. His brain could not register the strange information.
Libby stepped in and tried to explain: “Reese took your dream sweet from Mr. McBee two days ago when you went to look for me in the stables. It was supposed to be your dream, but he stole it. He took what was yours and was led by the power of it to the cairn. He didn’t wait for us to go with him like he was meant to.”
This new information didn’t help one bit. In fact, Ian felt faint. How did they know about his dreams? How did Libby know about any of this?
“We need to go through the cairn and step back into the otherworld to locate Reese. It is sooner then we’d planned but now we have no other choice. Time passes differently there. If we don’t go soon Reese may not be located. Mr. McBee said this so fast that Ian barely registered it, but he did hear him say very clearly, “Without me, Reese is in grave danger.”
Ian’s head wobbled a bit and a deep frown etched across his face. He felt like he was being held under water and everything was foggy. Danger, Reese, Otherworld. What was going on?
Libby grabbed Ian’s shoulders and shook him slightly. “We must save Reese, Ian. Do you understand?”
Ian didn’t understand. His mind was filled with so many doubts and questions that he wanted to run, but instead he just nodded yes. Then with a jolt it felt like he’d finally come up for air, “Our parents!” he yelled.
“Don’t worry. We’ll take care of it. We’ll take care of everything,” Mr. McBee urged.
Libby tugged fiercely at Ian’s hand and the four unlikely traveling companions raced straight towards the area he had not thought much about until a couple of weeks ago. Mr. McBee leaned forward and ran in a way that seemed like he was flying. Ian noticed that he was quite fast for one so round. It was Mr. McBee that entered the crescent first without a shred of hesitancy.
***
“Children, join hands,” Mr. McBee instructed.
They each took the hand of the person on either side, forming a train-like line. With Mr. McBee in the lead they raced quickly two times around the cairn in a clock-wise fashion, stopping abruptly when they had finished.
A bluish light began to emanate from Mr. McBee’s hand when he said a few words that Ian knew to be a form of Welsh. A dot of light appeared in the center of his hand and then began to move in a curved pattern, blazing a spiral upon it that wrapped out again and again in a larger circle. As McBee held his hand towards the pile of moss and grass a blue stone jutted out. The rock was a perfect rectangle and had the same symbol on it as was on McBee’s hand.
Ian blinked. Mr. McBee placed his plump little hand towards the shape and shifting noises began to emanate from the mound. A snapping of grass and moss was heard as the earth rose several feet and a doorway appeared that was made from two long rocks on the sides and one archway of the same that sat upon them. Beautiful symbols and other shapes were etched into the entryway. Ian didn’t know what they meant but he had seen them on tombstones, castles and a ton of everything else throughout his short lifetime. He knew the etchings to be Celtic knots and had liked them so much he had even carved some of them into the bow he’d made. When the designs began to glow slightly with the same strange blue, Mr. McBee touched his hand to them and uttered another word in the ancient language.
The two adults led the way into the cairn, drawing the children with them. Ian turned when he heard noises behind him, noting the opening they had just gone through closing automatically. It was dark inside and Ian felt his eyelids getting heavy and his body weight slightly pushing down on him, like going really high on a swing. He fought to keep his eyes open and then stumbled forward like he was being pulled by a powerful magnet.
When he opened his eyes he found himself in a perfectly carved . . .could he say it was . . . a cave . . . or a house? It was made of all the same blue stone as he had seen on the archway of the cairn. The only contrast to the perfectly carved walls, ceilings and benches were the perfectly round openings for windows. A delicious light that was more yellow than white dripped into the room. This light was happy and Ian stifled a giggle. His heart swelled with laughter. He even felt like he weighed less than he had a minute ago.
He was drawn to the windows that were five steps in front of him. Libby must have felt the same urge as she joined him. Together they overlooked the most shocking sight Ian could have ever hoped or imagined to see. The fierceness of the beauty assaulted all five of his senses. He smelled and saw the truest green rolling fields he had ever laid eyes on. The flowers were so stunning in color they seemed to be on fire. The brilliance almost hurt his eyes. He tasted the sweet fragrance of the breeze and listened to it blow like a lovely wind chime.
He had never smelled or tasted or seen anything in his life until this moment. He wondered if he had never really been alive until this instant. He saw Libby cover her mouth to stop a laugh from escaping. A smile spread across her face from ear to ear. She positively glowed, the deep sadness gone as though it had never been there.
Ian stared at Libby, unable to look away. She took on the appearance of the angels he had seen in the old Italian paintings of the Renaissance. A second later he glanced down at his own hand—was that even his hand? It seemed too new. He laughed out loud now. Mr. McBee’s face held a secretive smile. It brought him great pleasure to see Ian and Libby’s enjoyment.
“Welcome to my home. You’re people would call it the otherworld, but as you know from your studies we call it Mag Mell, which means Delightful Plain. It’s brilliant, is it not?”
As soon as Ian heard those words he realized he had seen bits and pieces of this land in his dreams, but his old self had not been able to take it all in or remember much of it. Only in person could he capture the depth of this otherworld.
“Where is the darkness you told me about?” Libby asked, turning away from the brilliance seen through the window and towards Etaina, who it was obvious now to Ian was much more than Libby’s dance instructor.
Ian also knew at once that Libby knew so much more than he did about this whole mess and he did not care for that one bit.
Mr. McBee said, “The Swift Sure Hand has been gracious to us. We’ve arrived at the outer edge of Mag Mell in what our people now call the Good Lands. The Good Lands still remain in the light and its people are still faithful to our fair and noble Queen Rhiannon. The shadow has begun on the farthest side. You cannot see it from here but as we travel we are sure to encounter it. Word has been sent to us that the darkness has begun to spread more quickly and unfortunately I am sure we will experience it soon.”
“Reese?” Ian began.
“Ian, we will soon tell you much more than you want to know, but for now you must be patient. First, though, you need to be cleansed of the things you’ve brought with you from your world. Etaina and I must bring you to our home where you will be safe to go through the changes that need to take place for you to be able to understand what is about to happen. Every second we wait here we risk losing Reese forever or our plan being discovered by those engulfed in the darkness. Perhaps the greatest danger, though, is you adding to the darkness by the things that cling to you. You’ve been brought here to help save Mag Mell but if we don’t hurry you may very well risk destroying it forever.”
Again Ian felt submerged under water, his brain like a squishy sponge. Libby once again took his hand saying, “Ian, it’s going to be alright.”
Ian just could not let Libby appear to be more calm then him, so again he nodded as though he was brave.
CHAPTER SEVEN: Marabah