Xinder Rises Read online

  ‘The riddles and tests were prepared by Mazeen the Great when he was a wizard at the height of his powers in Genartus. It is ancient magic—’

  ‘But these children do not seek it. They do not even know of the consequences—’

  ‘It is not the time to argue the rights or wrongs. The sequence of the First Dream has begun. Only the Sacrum can interpret because they represent the Soul, the Heart and the Ego of Earth—’

  ‘Even though they have no training—’

  ‘The time has come for change,’ Luna said, her vibrations overriding his. ‘That is the lore of the universe. It is natures will.’

  Guda scoffed, his vibrations slowing. ‘They are not equipped—’

  ‘Enough!’ Luna said. ‘They are the ones who are protected by Mazeen—’

  ‘But Mazeen does not know it. He does not even know his name—’

  ‘He will remember,’ Luna said, the vibrations from her fingers singing through the air. ‘He must.’

  The old Animais slowly dipped her hands into the blue electrical hole that filled her midriff.

  ‘Juno,’ she said, addressing a younger Animais. ‘Have the last dream powders from Genartus been dispersed?’

  ‘Yes, Mother. The Atrium is clear.

  ‘Good. Then the final part of the First Dream will be given to the Sacrum this Earth night, as they sleep. Afterwards, they will be given the Gifts of Genartus. On the giving of the Gift of Strength they will have seven days to solve the riddles and unlock the key.’

  ‘But they will die,’ Guda said. ‘It is such a waste. The suffering for all will be immense—’

  ‘I will hear no more of your objections, Guda,’ Luna snapped, as she lifted her wiry, opaque outline up into the air.

  ‘The journey for the Sacrum to find the egg-stones and fulfil the prophecy is about to commence. Regardless of what you may think, these children of mankind are the Sacrum. The universal energy that combines the living in all corners of the universes has reasons for these things. Nothing can change it. When the gifts are given, life on Earth will be in the Sacrum’s hands and theirs alone.’

  Danny

  ‘Now then, now then!’ Fitzpatrick said, flicking on the light. ‘What’s going on here?’ he said, in a mock, policeman-like voice. He looked around to see an empty room and then, slowly, Sas got up. Her hair covered her face like a veil.

  Then Olivia rose, too, rubbing her head.

  Fitzpatrick’s eyes were on fire. ‘Brilliant. Blooming gold.’ He pulled his phone out. ‘Smile at the budgie.’ The camera clicked and flashed. Fitzpatrick inspected the image. ‘Lovely. You two look gorgeous. I’m gonna post this everywhere.’

  Danny stood up, brushing splinters from his jacket.

  ‘Danny!’ Fitzpatrick exclaimed, his expression changing. ‘Shit! Where did you come from?’

  ‘I’ve been here all the time, you bloody idiot.’

  Fitzpatrick’s manner changed immediately. ‘Are you alright?’ He pointed at Danny’s sleeve. ‘Is that blood?’

  Danny looked down at his hand. Blood was oozing from a gash at the base of his thumb and running over his hand.

  ‘Satisfied?’ Olivia said, as she tiptoed through the glass fragments towards him. ‘Happy now?’ she held Danny’s arm and inspected it. ‘Sas, get the first aid box, we need to stop the bleeding. And Fitzpatrick, be useful and find a brush and dustpan.’

  Olivia led Danny to the tap.

  ‘This might hurt,’ she said, as she ran the water and placed Danny’s hand underneath.

  He winced.

  ‘There’s a fragment in there. Sas, I need a towel, and tweezers, and then we’ll need to compress the wound.’

  Danny gritted his teeth as she plucked out the tiny slivers before applying pressure on the wound.

  After they had finished, Danny turned around. Fitzpatrick stood frozen to the spot. Danny looked him hard in the eye.

  ‘You SWORE, on your life, that you wouldn’t do this kind of thing,’ Danny said. ‘You swore – on – your – life,’ he yelled. ‘I held my side of the deal, but at the first opportunity you couldn’t resist it, could you? It’s now entirely clear to me that you value your life as pretty much worthless. What would your parents think? Do you think they’d be proud?’

  Fitzpatrick’s face fell, and the colour drained from his cheeks. ‘Sorry, Danny,’ he said. ‘I ... I didn’t realise...’

  With Danny’s words ringing in his ears, Fitzpatrick fled for the door.

  After a long silence, Sas turned to Danny. ‘Right, Danny. Where is it?’

  ‘Uh?’ Danny cried, feigning shock.

  ‘Where is ... what?’ Olivia said.

  Sas tutted. ‘Oh, come along, come along, Sherlock Olivia. The storm glass, silly.’

  ‘In fragments in the bin?’

  Sas bit her lip. ‘That isn’t test-tube glass. That’s a beaker, right, Danny?’

  ‘Beaker?’ Danny replied.

  ‘You’ve got it, haven’t you?’

  Danny laughed. ‘Indeed, I have!’ He slowly moved his gaze towards his trousers and pointed at his crotch. He began to unzip his fly. ‘It’s right here.’

  ‘No way!’ Sas exclaimed. ‘Oh … my … God!’

  Danny reached in and teased it out. ‘DA-NAH,’ he said, his eyes sparkling.

  He held the test tube up in the air. ‘Sorry, couldn’t think of anywhere else quick enough,’ he said. ‘Then, when I crouched down, I lost my balance, and knocked the beaker over.’

  Sas clapped her hands at Danny’s story but Olivia looked horrified. ‘Well, well, Danny. A storm in your pants. First time for everything, eh?’

  Danny slipped the tube into the rack.

  ‘One thing, Danny. Do everyone a favour. Go and give it a proper clean.’

  4

  Olivia, Wednesday

  By the time the Delauxs returned to the stone courtyard of Appleside Farm, the charcoal colours of dusk lay sandwiched upon the buildings and the landscape. Danny and Anika immediately set about kicking a football. The scuffing, sandpapery noises of their feet, and the ball doffing back off the grey stone walls, roused Mrs Puddy. She waved enthusiastically from one of the two windows in her flat opposite the farmhouse.

  Olivia’s mind tracked back to the conversations with Wynn-Garry and Fitzpatrick, who had both been so rude about their house. It wasn’t that bad, she thought, as she studied the exterior.

  OK, so it was a bit of a mishmash of an ancient moors farmstead, but it wasn’t too unusual, was it?

  Constructed from irregular, Yorkshire-grey boulders, and old, thick timbers, its slate roof was covered in moss and lichen that hung over too far, as though badly in need of a trim. Looking at the blackened, slightly crooked chimneys, the higgledy-piggledy stone arrangements, and the odd sections of glass and brick intermittently nestled into the walls, Olivia was reminded of a bag of loose sweets squished together and charred until they were all the same colour.

  As Olivia entered the kitchen, she realised that this was definitely the heart of the house, a place that oozed warmth, love, happiness, and appreciation of fine foods. Bunches of rosemary, lavender, thyme, and dried, cured hams and fruit dangled from a row of black hooks. The smell intoxicating.

  Even the stone slabs, laid out in great squares, had a warm, glossy sheen from years of wear. As she looked up, grey, oak timbers fanned out in clean lines above their heads, protecting those within.

  Down the middle of the kitchen ran a long, chunky, dark brown oak table fit for a banquet. Next to the table stood a pleasing, red-brick, inglenook fireplace where the old wood-fired cooker sat.

  Fitzpatrick was wrong. Even if the kitchen was a bit of a curiosity, it wasn’t entirely archaic. Two waggon wheels suspended by three heavy chains had spotlights beaming down from the rim and, on the far wall, was Mrs Puddy’s pride and joy; a fifty-inch flat-screen telly.

  Anika

  ‘Well, come on then,’ Anika said, slinging a bag on her bed. ‘Show me this amazi
ng thing that’s been holidaying in Danny’s pants.’

  Olivia unwrapped the test tube from her scarf and leant the glass between two books on the table. Three pairs of eyes stared down at it.

  ‘Bit foggy, isn’t it?’ Anika said. ‘So, does that mean it’ll be foggy?’

  Danny raised his eyebrows. ‘Don’t be silly, Anika. This is serious science.’

  Anika giggled and elbowed Danny as they continued to stare.

  ‘Ooh,’ Anika cooed. ‘Look at those little stars. What does that mean?’

  Olivia pulled out her crib sheet. ‘I think tiny stars means that it will be stormy,’ she said, and then read from her crib sheet. ‘A cloudy glass with small stars indicates thunderstorms.’

  ‘Wow,’ Danny said, sarcastically. ‘Impressive.’

  Anika spluttered. ‘And ... is that it?’

  ‘What do you mean, is that it?’

  ‘Well, it’s very pretty, but you know, as an award-winning scientist, I thought it might be a bit … cooler,’ Anika said, glancing to Danny for support. ‘I mean, if you wanted to know thunderstorms were coming all you had to do was look at the forecast on TV.’

  Olivia shot up. ‘That’s what that moron Fitzpatrick said.’

  ‘Well, maybe he’s right? Have you gone to all this trouble to find out something we already know?’

  ‘I think there’s going to be a terrible deluge,’ Olivia fumed. ‘Sas and I both dreamt about it. All I’m trying to do is prove it scientifically.’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Anika said, picking it up and turning it round in her hands, ‘but how will this crappy thing help?’

  Olivia sat down slowly, took the storm glass off her sister, and twisted it through her fingers.

  ‘To be honest, I had hoped for something a little more dramatic, like the crystals speeding up or something.’

  ‘But how would that change anything?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Olivia shrugged. ‘It might give us a warning, or...’ she shrugged. ‘Actually, Sis, I give in. I haven’t a clue. But I had to try something.’

  Anika handed it over to Danny.

  ‘This must be the worst scientific experiment ever,’ he said. ‘If Fitzpatrick knew how poor it really was, then he’d rip you to bits.’

  ‘Then don’t tell him.’

  ‘I’ll never say anything again after what he did today—’

  ‘Children!’ Mrs Puddy’s strange voice screamed up the stairs. ‘Hurry! Tea’s on the table.’

  * * *

  On the kitchen table sat four bowls, brimming with noodles in a thick, soupy broth. A Mrs Puddy "Ramen" experiment. The children slipped into their chairs and began sniffing like curious cats.

  ‘Have you heard?’ Olivia said, taking a small taste. ‘Mum and Dad aren’t coming back for half term.’

  ‘What!’ she cried. ‘No. Well, I’m blown apart – oh deary!’

  ‘Can’t you say something to them when they get back?’ Danny asked. ‘They’re never here.’

  ‘Don’t eat with your mouth full, little Danny,’ Mrs Puddy said, before sighing. ‘You know it isn’t proper for me to tell your folks what they can or cannot do. If they choose to be away, then it is for good reason. I know you won’t think it’s true but I promise they miss you twice as much as you miss them.’

  Mrs Puddy said this with as much conviction as she could, but she could read the disappointment in their eyes and wondered what on earth it was that so completely occupied their parents’ time.

  In any event, she wouldn’t hear a bad word said about them. She only had to raise her left arm above her head or try and touch her toes to remember.

  Sap had found her in the woods, miles up in the depths of the forest, on the verge of death, so they said. Her face and shoulder smashed, her clothes ripped to bits. Hardly breathing.

  Sap had carried her all the way home, singing and keeping her going. She still sang that funny song, especially when she felt lonely or tired.

  For several months, Sap and the children’s parents nursed her, built up her strength, and tried to help her recover… and remember. But, her memory never returned. She had no name, no address, no family, no lovers, no pets; nothing and no-one she could ever recall laughing with, or crying to.

  Instead, she had had to learn everything again; although some things came to her quite naturally, like, strangely, making puddings.

  The first time she recalled laughing was when the babies crawled to her and gurgled in her ear, especially little Danny. Olivia, on the other hand, would scowl and point at her scars, and continued to do so until she found she could see through the damage on Mrs Puddy’s face and into her heart.

  These were her first memories, and cherished ones too.

  After a while she didn’t want to go anywhere else. Why should she? She loved the children. She loved the quiet remoteness of Appleside Farm, with its ballooning views over the Vale of York towards the peaks in the far distance. She felt safe being close to old Sap, who, although he came and went, seemed not to have a harmful bone in his body. It felt right that she should look after the children while their parents were away, for a nurturing instinct ran deep within her.

  As far as her name went, Olivia called her, affectionately, "the famous Mrs Pudding", and it caught on. She’d been Mrs Puddy ever since, living in the apartment on the top half of the converted barn across the courtyard.

  Sap

  ‘Evening, All,’ Sap said, popping his head around the door. ‘Smells marvel-wondrous.’

  Anika got up and wrapped her arms around him.

  Sap hugged her back, closing his eyes. ‘Now then, littluns. I must say, I can’t remember such strange weather. Feels like a storm is brewing right bang on top of us. An appley-big one at that. I can feel it in my old bones—’

  Olivia slammed her fists on the table. ‘That’s what I’ve been trying to tell everyone. No one believes me; Wynn-Garry, Fitzpatrick, you two—’

  ‘Whoa! Chill, Livi,’ Danny chipped in. ‘Your experimentation is a bit ... bonkers.’

  Mrs Puddy piped up, ‘That nice man the weather forecaster on my television said there might be a bit of a storm. Localised—’

  ‘Arrggh!’ Olivia cried. ‘NO! NO! NO! Not you as well!’

  Mrs Puddy turned puce and looked as though she might burst into tears.

  ‘That’s enough of that, Olivia,’ Sap said, firmly. For a moment there was quiet. He furrowed his brow, as though deep in thought. ‘What’s funny,’ he began, ‘is that I’ve been having real clear dreams about lots of rain, flooding and storms. Thing is, I’m so old it could mean anything.’

  Olivia gasped. ‘You ... you’ve had dreams too?’

  The children stopped eating and stared up at him.

  ‘Oh, yes. More than ever. Shocking stuff too. I should check those apples—’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with them, I’m telling you,’ Mrs Puddy fired back from the end of the table.

  ‘Well then,’ Sap said, ‘I do believe there’s going to be a storm and three-quarters.’ He reached across, grabbed an apple, rubbed it on his patched-up jumper, and chomped. ‘Now, you’re old enough to know,’ he continued, between mouthfuls, ‘that once upon a time there was a story about a great storm and a flood that covered the world.’

  Olivia groaned. ‘You’re not referencing the original flood story?’ she said, her tone loaded with sarcasm.

  Sap seemed surprised. ‘Ooh. Yup. I think that’s the one. You know about it, do you? With a man they called … now, what was his name?’

  ‘Noah?’ Olivia said.

  ‘Ha!’ Sap clapped his big hands. ‘There. That goes ding-dong. Been muddling that one for a while. So, you know about it. How marvel-tastic.’

  The conversation was interrupted by a rapping sound at the front door.

  The family stared at one another.

  ‘Who on Earth?’ Sap said.

  Before anyone else could move, Anika tore off to see who it was. Shortly, she returned.


  ‘It’s Wynn-Garry,’ she gushed.

  For a minute they looked at each other, not sure what to do.

  ‘Well, don’t you think you should let him in?’ Sap said.

  The children headed towards the door.

  ‘Mr Wynn-Garry, Sir.’

  ‘Hello, Danny, Anika, Olivia. Please accept my apologies for the late hour, but I thought I may as well potter up. May I come in?’

  They led him to the sitting room, where Sap was adding logs to the orange embers.

  ‘Mr Sapwood, how nice to see you,’ the headmaster said, as he eyed up the old man. Sap was just as tall and wrinkly as he remembered, and had the strangest little tufts of hair protruding from an otherwise bald and patchy scalp. In fact, the old man looked the same as he had when he met him twenty-five years ago.

  He remembered thinking then what peculiar clothes the old man wore. His trousers and shirt were made of fragments of cloth that made him look like a moving patchwork quilt. It reminded him of Danny and his curiously modified school uniform.

  Their clothes must have been stitched together by the lady who was loitering in the doorway. He strode over and shook her hand. ‘Isn’t that road terribly narrow and steep?’ he said as a way of breaking the ice. ‘It must be devilishly tricky to navigate when the weather turns. Do those parcel couriers ever manage to find you?’

  Mrs Puddy froze, and turned as pink as a doll.

  Sap rescued her by moving in and extending his hand. ‘Now then, is everything in order? Perhaps I could offer you a glass of something: apple juice, cauliflower tea, my own marrow rum?’

  ‘How very kind,’ Mr Wynn-Garry said, ‘apple juice will suffice. I shan’t stay long.’ The headmaster rubbed his hands; for a man his age, Sap’s handshake crushed like iron. ‘May we have a word in private?’