The Moon Stealers and The Children of the Light (20 page)

'Come on,' said Max, placing a hand on his friend's
shoulder. 'We still have a job to do.'

A stone staircase wound upwards inside the pillar of
stone. The only light came from the flaming torches that were mounted at
intervals on the damp walls. When they reached the final step they opened a
door out onto a flat stone roof terrace, but it was all wrong. As they looked
around them, there was no sign of the mountain range they had left behind. In
Avalon the sun was beating down, birds sang from the lush green tree tops that
were almost level with the top of the building they were standing on. Joe ran
to the parapet, an elaborately carved grey stone wall, constructed of a series
of interlinked arches and spires, and looked below them.

'Where has the lake gone?' he asked, looking at the
grass and shrubs around the base of the building.

Max ran back down the steps in the direction they had
just come. Sure enough, at the bottom, it was exactly as they had left it.
Their world was still dark and the wisps of smoke continued to curl off the
surface of the lake.

'It’s a world, within a world,' exclaimed Max to
himself. He ran back up to the terrace and looked out across a landscape he
could only have imagined in a dream.

‘I know why you are here,’ said a voice from the other
side of the terrace. Both Max and Joe turned towards the figure of a man who
was dressed in regal crimson and blue. He appeared to have no weapon with him.
Beside him was an iron gate intertwined with jasmine that seemed to be
blossoming as they watched. The buds burst into yellow flowers like miniature
fireworks. ‘You have come a long way already and sacrificed so much, but there
is one more act you must perform before ridding your world of the soulless
disease that is infecting it.’ The man waved a hand towards a gate which parted
without a touch.

‘Who are you?’ Max asked suspiciously.

The man bowed slightly. ‘You are wise to be cautious
after everything you have been through. But, please take my guarantee that I will
not cause you any harm. My name is Francis, I am the gate keeper. It is my role
to make sure your gate opens to the path that will lead you to your destiny.
Everyone who visits Avalon, whether in spirit or in living form, has a
different path to take.’

‘How can the path be different every time you open the
gate?’

‘It’s a magical thing!’ he smiled. ‘Our worlds are
very similar and more closely linked than you realise. The actions and choices
you make in life are mirrored along your path in Avalon. Your path is shaped by
those choices. If you made bad decisions in life or caused harm to others, a
section of the path may prove to be slightly harder or more dangerous than
others. Only by correcting those wrongs can you make your way through. Some
remain lost forever on their path, never truly reaching their destination. It
is a way of only admitting those truly worthy of a place in Avalon.’

‘Where does our gate lead to?’ asked Joe.

‘You have brought Ethera, the remaining sword of power
back to be with its maker. Your path leads to the Priestess of Avalon, the lady
who made the swords.’

Max and Joe walked across the tiled surface of the
terrace towards the gate, beyond which was a path that wound through a meadow
full of wild flowers towards a low castle on the brow of a hill. They hesitated
before going through. The smell of the yellow jasmine was strong and made their
heads feel heavy and sleepy.

‘Do not worry my little friends,’ Francis said. ‘Like
your time on earth, your path is shorter than most.’

Max stood at the edge of the terrace and cautiously
placed a toe onto the path. Nothing unusual seemed to happen so he brought his
other foot through the gate so that he was standing on the soft springy grass.
Joe hesitated slightly, waiting to see if anything happened before following,
then he too stepped through.

‘Is this the same path we take to come back?’ Max
asked, turning round to address Francis, but he had vanished. Where they had
just been standing on the solid surface of the terrace, at the top of the
building, was now replaced with endlessly rolling fields. Grasses swayed gently
in a breeze that they could see but not actually feel whilst the sun blazed high
in the sky, but didn’t burn their skin. Everything in Avalon didn’t seem to be
exactly what it appeared.

Max and Joe were alone once again.

‘We better take our path to that building,’ said Joe,
pointing to the low castle on the top of the hill ahead of them.

They began walking along a path that cut through the
meadow and was bordered on both sides by wild flowers. The playful call of the
birds sang out all around them, but they never saw one flying in the sky.

‘What do you think will happen to Edgar’s body?’ Joe
asked Max.

‘I’m not sure, but I hope he finally made it here.’

After a while, the path reached a brow on the hill.
Below them their route disappeared into a dark mesh of brambles and thorns which
the sun didn’t seem to touch, but on the hill beyond, the path emerged once
more and rose up towards the castle.

‘What do you think that place is?’ asked Joe who had
stopped walking and was now looking wearily at the path ahead.

‘Francis said that the path is a reflection of our
choices in life. I guess the dark brambles are our punishment for any bad
things we’ve done.’

‘I think I can guess what the brambles represent in my
life.’

Max turned to his friend.

Joe continued. ‘When my mother died, six years ago, I
blamed my dad. That’s when my gran came to live with us. She helped me
understand that it wasn’t my dad's fault at all, but by then, the damage had
been done. I know dad was hurting just as much as I was. I never apologised for
the way I was, and I don’t suppose I will ever get the chance to now.’

‘Come on,' said Max, placing a reassuring hand on his
friend's shoulder. 'We can’t put it off.'

As they got nearer, they could see the brambles were a
lot higher than they had looked from the top of the hill. Above this part of
the path, the sky was black and the twisted thorny branches awaited them. The
path had changed too, and what had once been a soft bouncy layer of grass, now
appeared to be uneven and covered with sharp edged pieces of flint which, in
the limited light, made it difficult for the boys to see the evenness of the
path they were walking on. Max and Joe looked nervously at the wall of giant brambles
in front of them. There was no way in except through a twisted arch of branches
that formed an entrance. Max took the huntsman’s bow off his shoulder and
passed it to Joe.

‘Here,’ he said. ‘We don’t know what might be inside,
so we better be prepared.’

Joe nodded.

Max raised Ethera and hacked at some of the loose
branches that hung in their way, then stepped inside. Immediately it was like they
had stepped into another world. Only moments ago they had walked in the
sunshine and smelt the flowers, but now they were in a dark place where the air
seemed heavy and gathered around the base of the trees or hovered amongst the
web of branches that seemed to go on for ever in all directions. The sounds they
heard amongst the brambles were different too. No longer were there cheerful
birdsongs, but strange indescribable croaking as if the brambles covered a
swamp of frogs.

The mist had begun to obscure the path, making it even
harder and slower to progress forward. Neither boy spoke to the other; they
were both too busy cautiously watching and expecting something to happen.

They crept on.

Max glanced behind, but the path they had already
trodden looked exactly like the one they were walking along. The twisted arch
they had come through was no where to be seen, even though it should still have
been visible. It looked the same in every direction. Max chipped a wedge out of
the thickest branch he could see.

‘What are you doing?’ whispered Joe, not wanting to make
too much noise for fear of disturbing anything that might live inside the
thorny forest.

‘Marking our way,’ he replied moving forward and
chipping at another branch. ‘Every direction looks the same and we can’t see
the path anymore. If we go the wrong way, we should be able to retrace our
steps by the marks on these branches.’

They moved forward another few steps and Max cut a
wedge into a thick and gnarled stem that branched and twisted above them like a
deformed and arthritic hand projecting its disjointed fingers into the sky. Above
them, all they could see was a densely woven network of bramble branches,
casting them in long shadows and blocking out any light.

The sounds inside seemed to get louder. A grating
sound made by a chorus of crickets rubbing their back legs in rhythm with each
other. The heady buzz of flies droning. The caw of a solitary raven camouflaged
amongst the canopy of twisted black branches.

There seemed to be a feeling of expectation and
tension building within the bramble forest.

The boys remained on their guard, slowly edging
forward, hoping to see an exit around every turn in the forest and a way out to
the green field they knew was on the other side. But every turn looked exactly
like the last. Max even thought that he was recognising the branches that he
had marked; only they didn’t have any cuts in the surface. He stood and
examined a particularly thick stem that was strong and covered in a thick gnarled
bark. He looked up and traced the stem as it split into the shape of a hand
with its fingers stretched out above them, exactly like the one they had just
passed.

‘We're going round in circles!’ shouted Max, realising
they had passed that particular giant bramble before. He dashed forward looking
for the next branch that he knew he had cut, desperately checking, but knowing,
that they had not progressed any further inside the forest.

‘We aren’t getting anywhere! How are we supposed to
get out if we can’t move forward?’

‘That must be what Francis meant when he said that
sometimes people never make it from their path,’ explained Joe nervously.

‘So we are trapped inside the forest!’ Max was frustrated.

‘No. I think I understand what we have to do. It’s a
test. The path represents our lives and the choices we have made. If we can
learn from our decisions, we can move forward.’

 
‘But what has
being trapped in a forest of brambles got anything to do with you blaming your
dad for your mother’s death?’ Max ran forward once again, checking the next
tree for a missing wedge of bark he knew he had put there only moments before.
Frustrated when he found nothing he rushed towards the next branch. Before he
reached it his body suddenly vanished, dropping like a heavy weight into the
mist that covered the path.

‘Max!’ shouted Joe, seeing his friend disappear. He
rushed over to the spot in the path where Max had just been standing. He pulled
the bow from over his shoulder and prodded it towards the ground. But he
couldn’t see where the ground was, the white mist that swirled around his feet
was too dense, preventing him from seeing anything. He prodded some more,
trying to locate Max with the bow and find where he had fallen. But it seemed
that Max had been swallowed by the mist into the ground. Joe moved the end of
the bow further forward and suddenly felt an edge to the path and a gap beyond.
Max had not tripped, the path had abruptly ended and Max had fallen down. Joe
knew he had no other choice but to follow.

He stepped forward slowly until he could feel the edge
of the path with his toes. Then he crouched down until he was sitting on the
edge and his feet were hanging below him before taking a deep breath and launching
himself off the path. Immediately he dropped down, he could feel a loose
surface beneath him allowing him to slide down on his back. The white mist
enveloped him, preventing him from seeing where he was going, except for the
occasional blackened branch that whipped past him, catching against his body.
Suddenly the surface changed direction, like a water shoot swinging from side
to side, and he found himself dodging twisted trunks of brambles until he landed
heavily within a small clearing with a flint path cutting directly through.

Joe immediately looked up.

He was not alone in the clearing. A hooded figure was
sitting on a giant bramble that had been chopped down and carved out as a seat.
Max was laid out on a bed of dried moss and ivy, looking pale with a deep gash
across his forehead that was having trouble clotting as the blood flowed freely
from the wound. Max still held Ethera in his hands, the metal blade rested
along the length of his body, just like the statue they had seen in Sir
Hadwyn’s tomb beneath
Edinburgh
Castle
.

‘Your friend hit his head badly on his way here,’
muttered the hooded figure. The voice sounded like an old woman’s, frail and
awkward.

‘Is there nothing in this forest that can help him?’
Joe asked desperately as he scrambled to his feet and stumbled over towards Max.

‘Everything you see in this forest is dead or
diseased. The light does not penetrate here and the soil only hold bad
memories, fertilised by hatred and negativity. There are no plants that can
help him. Only one thing can save your friend now.’

‘It’s me isn’t it? This is my test?’

The figure bowed her head slightly. ‘Like everything
in life, you have a choice.’ She lifted an arm. A bony hand, the skin tightly
stretched across the knuckles, slowly emerged from the large folds of her
cloak, and plucked a small bottle shape from the carved seat. Immediately it
turned into glass and the red contents swilled freely around inside. She laid
it gently beside Max’s head then removed another bottle from the wood, but this
time with blue liquid inside and placed it at the other side of his head.

‘If you take a drink from the blue bottle, your
friend’s wound will heal and he will live and you can continue trying to search
for the exit.’

Joe had already begun reaching for the blue bottle,
but then he paused. ‘What about the red bottle?’

‘That will also save your friend's life, but at the
cost of your own. The red liquid will also cause the brambles to shrink back and
reveal the exit, so that he can continue to the castle on the hill.’

Joe hesitated. He thought of the world outside the
gates of Avalon and the Moon Stealers attacking the human race. He thought
about Edgar leading them to Avalon with the purpose of joining the swords together
and cleansing the planet in white light. But the boys were lost amongst the
bramble forest. They had searched but the path was unclear and they seemed to
be forever chasing themselves and getting nowhere. For the sake of the human
race, they needed to get out of the forest as quickly as possible. He looked at
the sword resting on top of Max.
The power flows from the person holding the
weapon,
just like the Silver Bough worked for Joe. In the absence of Edgar,
Max should be the one to join the swords together. Joe moved his hand away from
the blue bottle and took hold of the red one.