The Bone Quill (18 page)

‘The bone quill was buried in the tomb of the third Abbot, the one burned at the stake,’ said Duncan, closing the manuscript and returning it to a glass container in the sideboard. ‘And that is where you must go in order to find it.’

Matt picked up the axe, swinging it dangerously above his head. ‘So Simon and I are going to get some tomb-raider action?’ he said. ‘Awesome.’

Shaking his head, Simon yanked the axe from Matt’s hands.

‘I’ll animate first and take Em with me directly to the Abbot.’ Sandie pointed to one of the middle panels on the tapestry. ‘Most of this tapestry was imagined in the great hall of the monastery, where it was spread on wooden scaffolds while the monks sketched and stitched, but it was hung in the Abbot’s tower. Because of that, I can’t control exactly where we’ll come through. We may get separated when we do.’

‘I’m not happy with this plan at all,’ Simon muttered, setting the axe on the floor.

‘I know,’ said Em, squeezing his hand. ‘I can tell.’

‘We’ll try our best to convince the Abbot to remove both the book and the bone quill from the islands while you and Matt search the catacombs,’ Sandie told Simon.

‘Great,’ said Matt. ‘We get a creepy dungeon and Em gets a library.’

‘Probably just as well,’ replied Simon, ‘given what Em’s fears might animate.’

Sandie pocketed a spiral notebook with a pen clipped to its binding. Matt handed the sketch that had brought them here to Duncan, who rolled it up and slipped it inside the mouth of the skull on the old desk.

‘It will be there when you return,’ he said, ‘in the event that I am not.’

Em gave Duncan a hug. ‘Thank you for taking care of our mum.’

‘You’re welcome, my dear.’

Em hooked her arm in her mother’s as Sandie started sketching. Simon gripped Matt’s undershirt as Matt did the same. Two pictures of the centre panel in the tapestry began to illuminate.

The Abbey

Present Day

I
n
the Abbey’s library, it was close to midnight. Renard, Jeannie and Zach were up late, playing a long, slow game of
The Settlers of Catan
. After moving one of his armies, Zach spotted the particles of light above the still-life explode into bright stars of white light and then fade to the faintest glimmer.

‘What do ye think just happened, Mr R?’ asked Jeannie.

‘I wish I knew,’ said Renard heavily. ‘I wish I knew.’

The Monastery of Era Mina

Middle Ages

H
unched
over his desk, the Abbot was struggling with thorny choices – decisions that the first monks of the Order had also had to make when faced with insurrection, and monks wanting to use their powers in unsanctioned ways.

Solon’s battle with the Grendel in Skinner’s Bog the previous night had not gone unnoticed in the imaginations of the monastery’s Guardians. One or two of them had experienced such anguish when the fight was at its most intense that they had locked themselves in their cells and refused to come out. Although he didn’t yet know the details, the Abbot’s Guardian talents meant that he knew enough. He knew about the Grendel’s attack.

The Grendel had always been the beast that lurked closest to the world of men, and it was the last creature from ancient times that the monks needed to draw into
The Book of Beasts
. If only Brother Renard hadn’t damaged himself to the point where the book could no longer be finished! Freeing the peryton had been a terrible mistake. It had weakened the Order’s control over Hollow Earth, and roused the Grendel from its slumber. By animating the peryton, Brother Renard had achieved nothing but a fleeting victory against the Norsemen, who were likely to come again, and soon. Releasing the peryton from Hollow Earth might have started a chain of events that even the Abbot struggled to imagine. Releasing the peryton might have awakened the island itself. God help them all if that were true.

The Abbot pushed the unfinished
Book of Beasts
aside and dipped his quill in the ink well, tapping the nib against the side of the clay pot and letting the black liquid settle in the shaved point. He returned to the task of the Abbey’s accounts, hoping the tedious copying from one register to another would distract him from his worries.

The list of the monthly tithes from the farms was growing, the monastery’s accumulating wealth becoming a matter of concern. Whenever money gathered in one place, violence surely followed. The monks might have built a self-sustaining community on these islands, but they had not completely cut themselves off from the world.

The Abbot sighed, noting the ink had smudged on the line of figures he’d been dawdling over. Reaching across his desk, he grabbed a square of cheesecloth to clean up his spill.

The colourful tapestry that covered most of the wall behind the Abbot’s desk shifted slightly in the wind battering the shutters. The carpet of cloth blazed with illumination, threads of gold, red and black creating a stunning history of the monastery in large, stitched panels. It was the Abbot’s own masterpiece, a work that he had imagined on woodblocks and smaller parchment before finally finishing, tying the closing knots on the final panel in a bid to soothe his mind while Solon battled in the bog.

The Abbot ran his calloused fingers across the rough knots of thread on the reverse side of the cloth. He prayed that it would not be the last legacy he might ever leave.

Rising from his chair – a high-backed wooden throne carved with the Abbey’s coat of arms – the Abbot walked across to the shuttered window. He peered through the slats at the storm slipping slowly over the island. Out there in the darkness, the rocky cliffs and peaks of the islands were pocked with unlit bonfires. When set alight, the fires created a chain running the length of the Western Isles, calling men to arms against any invading armies.

But what, thought the Abbot, if the enemy came from within the Abbey itself?

T
he
darkness! The black peryton’s shadow … It is seeping towards us.

The darkness of which Brother Renard spoke in his story of the twin perytons and the perils tied to the unfinished
Book of Beasts
was close. Solon had been sensing it for days. And now he had witnessed two of his trusted brothers desecrating the sacred crypt and talking as if they wished him dead. Who was this prophet they spoke of? What was the significance of the bone quill they were seeking? And why did they want
The Book of Beasts
? He had to speak to the Abbot about all of it.

The water had receded a little. Solon waded across the flooded courtyard in the descending darkness. Pushing open the heavy wooden doors, he lifted a torch hanging in an iron bracket above him, and climbed the steep stairs of the Abbot’s tower.

A
loud knock shook the door. In a rush, the Abbot grabbed
The
Book of Beasts
from his desk and slid it into the hidden compartment behind the coat of arms in his high-backed chair. He did not notice the first page fluttering from the folio and under his desk.

‘Enter,’ he said.

A draught of cold air rushed into the chamber, followed by a dirty and dishevelled Solon.

‘I am glad to see that you survived your mission to Skinner’s Bog, Solon,’ said the Abbot. ‘I sensed your struggles and the terrible strength of the Grendel. You retrieved the berries?’

Solon nodded breathlessly. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t come earlier, Father Abbot. I … I needed to sleep and then I lost all sense of time today.’

‘Brother Cornelius dressed your wounds, I see,’ said the Abbot. ‘I sensed someone else with you – a girl?’

‘A Viking girl, master. She was badly injured. Brother … Brother Cornelius said that he would see to her wounds.’

‘Quickly, close the door. You’re bringing the storm in here with you.’ The Abbot waved Solon to a stool. ‘Did this Viking girl tell you anything that might be useful to us? Is another attack as imminent as the naysayers among the brothers seem to think?’

‘Only that the Norsemen left her for dead.’

‘Is she a young woman the minstrels may one day sing about?’ the Abbot inquired.

Solon blushed and nodded. The Abbot smiled kindly.

‘And I have sensed that she has faculties that suggest she may be one of us?’

Solon nodded again. ‘It surprised me, sir,’ he said. ‘I was not aware that girls could be like us in that way.’

‘It is quite unusual to find a girl with our imaginative gifts,’ said the Abbot. ‘I daresay there are more among us than we will ever discover. For it is far too easy for a girl or a woman with our faculties to be dismissed as a witch or worse. The price they must pay is far too high.’

‘Please, Father Abbot,’ said Solon in a rush, ‘I am grateful for your interest, but my visit here tonight carries great urgency. The unfinished manuscript,
The Book of Beasts
, is it safe?’

The Abbot looked startled by the question. ‘It is hidden,’ he said. ‘Why—’

At that moment, the door blew open and then just as quickly slammed closed. Startled, the Abbot and Solon looked around. There was no one inside or outside the room.

And yet … a chill lingered, swirling round them. The Abbot shivered, rubbing his arms for warmth. He felt the atmosphere in the room changing. An animation, a creation from another powerful imagination was forming nearby.