Authors: James Moloney
Minutes later, the party was spread out along the track, with Hector in front at first, until Starkey took the lead. Fergus came next, but Marcel was surprised to see him suddenly drop back, and even more surprised when he found the boy walking beside him.
“That was a brave thing you did just now. With the ring, I mean,” said Fergus, his voice lively and full of feeling. He had never let himself appear excited about anything in front of Mrs Timmins and the other orphans. He leaned closer and whispered, “I could never have done anything like that. I couldn’t even make myself aim properly at your finger.”
“I’m glad you missed,” Marcel joked grimly, and noticing Fergus’s face, still solemn and somewhat pale, he couldn’t help himself. He laughed at him.
If anyone had laughed at Fergus back at the orphanage, they would have had a fight on their hands. Now, though, he relaxed and joined in. “I mean it, you know,” he insisted. “Look at the way you kept your head when the wolves attacked us.”
“That was you, Fergus. You were the hero. If you hadn’t made me stand back-to-back with you, those wolves would be chewing the meat off our bones right now.”
Fergus didn’t just smile at Marcel’s praise, he beamed. “Were you scared?”
“Terrified,” answered Marcel.
Fergus hadn’t expected such a blunt admission, but after a few seconds his face softened. “Me too. But we did it, didn’t we? We fought off those wolves, you and I together.”
They walked on in thoughtful silence until Fergus spoke again. “I thought you were just another weakling back at Mrs Timmins’,” he said quickly, as though he had a lot to say and feared he would forget the words. “Until the race, that is. You really beat me in that race, you know. That’s why I kept fighting with you afterwards. I don’t like to lose.”
Yet even this explanation was only delaying what he really wanted to say. He struggled a little longer until finally he said, “I’m sorry, Marcel. It was just that back there in Fallside I felt trapped, I suppose, like I didn’t belong. I hated the place and everyone there. But I was wrong about you.” He slapped a hand on to Marcel’s shoulder and shook him in a playful way. It was the action of a friend.
What was going on here? Marcel wondered. Maybe Fergus wasn’t so hard to understand after all. His smile seemed sincere. Marcel couldn’t help returning it a little, and for an instant he longed to let go, to relax and smile openly.
No, there was so much more he needed to know before he could feel free. He must have been free and content with the world once, in the life Lord Alwyn had stolen from him. He could not really be free until he had won it back.
“Who do you think we really are?” he asked Fergus.
A silent shrug was his first answer. Then, after Fergus had considered for a moment, he answered, “There’s something special about us, something important. I’m sure of that much. Your parents, my parents, Nicola’s too,” he added, nodding towards her as she struggled along behind them. “They must all be important people in the Kingdom, don’t you think? We were being held as hostages, most likely, so our parents would do whatever they were told.”
“By this King Pelham,” said Marcel.
“Yes, and Lord Alwyn is probably already on his way to tell him we’ve escaped.”
“I hope he is,” Marcel responded, drawing a strange look from Fergus. But Marcel was thinking of Bea, on her way back to Fallside right now. If the old wizard had already left by the time she arrived, hopefully she would escape his punishment.
Then a second thought took hold of him. “Do you think he’s sent Termagant after us?”
Every dark shadow could hide her. Despite Starkey’s mighty throw, the ring lay only a few miles behind them and their trail was fresh. Termagant could come snarling and
spitting from the undergrowth at any moment. He hoped that Bea and Gadfly would be safe from her.
Fears of Termagant seemed to be in Starkey’s mind as well. He marched them hard through the forest, sometimes following a trail beaten firm by the forest’s deer, sometimes the course of a stream; and steadily uphill.
Even Fergus was soon puffing hard, though Starkey was deaf to Nicola’s pleas for rest. “You can be sure that black beast won’t be taking rests.”
In the distance directly ahead lay a solitary mountain, dark and brooding, it seemed to Marcel. It was the one he had seen from Gadfly’s back, the peak obscured by a misty cloud, as though, like Starkey, it preferred to keep its face hidden from unwelcome eyes.
The sky became grey and threatening as this mountain grew ever closer. Tree roots snagged their feet, and the clouds thickened and sent down a fine, freezing rain that made the moss-covered stones treacherous to step on.
Nicola tripped on the hem of her dress, landing heavily in the mud, and instantly she became the spoiled princess of the orphanage again. But when her vanity met with nothing but laughter from the two boys she quickly stopped her complaints.
When Starkey noticed her shivering in the thin, mud-soaked dress, he unfastened his cloak. “Here, take this,” he said, fitting it around her shoulders. But he made no effort to find shelter.
He drove them on relentlessly, and always upwards, until exhaustion seemed too mild a word. They trudged on, wet and freezing, until the last of the day’s sun deserted the forest and they could barely see the ground ahead of them.
“We’ll make camp here,” their leader announced, as they stood in a small clearing on the bank of a meagre stream, which already reflected the early evening stars in its surface. After the persistent drizzle it was difficult to get a fire going. The three children huddled on fallen logs around the flames to warm themselves against the chilly night air.
Nicola sat closest, stroking her fingers through her hair in dismay and trying vainly to comb out the pine needles that had lodged in it during the day. Marcel and Fergus took off their shoes and competed for the honour of biggest blister. When Fergus thought he had finally beaten Marcel at something, Nicola kicked off her flimsy left shoe and showed him one twice the size.
Meanwhile, Starkey and Hector prepared the meal that the children had been dreaming of since early afternoon. Marcel’s mind conjured up hunks of juicy meat dripping with gravy, but instead he found himself staring down at a pile of turnips and carrots that Starkey planned to roast in the coals, and a small portion of dried venison so tough that he could barely cut through it with his dagger.
Nicola couldn’t help smiling at Marcel’s downcast face, having known what to expect. Still, she saw fit to complain, “Turnips and carrots
again
! Isn’t there anything else?”
“Here, bring me that bag of food you’ve been carrying, Marcel,” grunted Hector.
Food? Marcel wondered. Then it hit him like a stone. “But it’s… it’s mine,” he answered lamely, clutching at the Book of Lies within its protective sack.
“You’ll get your share,” Hector growled. “No room for gluttons on this journey.” He snatched the bag from Marcel’s hapless grasp. “He’s been carrying a heavy cake, by the feel of it,” he remarked.
But they were all soon disappointed. “What’s this? There’s nothing in here but a book!”
“Let me see that,” barked Starkey, reaching forward. He plunged his hand inside the sack to see what Marcel had been concealing.
Even in the darkness, he knew instantly what it was. He reeled backwards, dropping the book into the dirt at his feet. “Alwyn’s book. The great Book of Lies,” he breathed as he stared down at it. There was a touch of awe and yes, a hint of fear in the voice of this man who so rarely showed what he was feeling. “How did you get hold of it?” he demanded.
“I stole it,” Marcel responded, forgetting Bea in his eagerness to impress them all. “Before I left the orphanage, I crept into the tower and took the book while Lord Alwyn was sleeping.”
Instantly, the Book of Lies responded, its pages fanning wildly as they all watched in dismay. When the pages settled again, the Book lay open at the second-last page and here, close to the bottom, Marcel’s words began to appear.
“That means he’s lying,” Starkey sneered. “I knew it. No one could steal such a precious thing from Alwyn.”
Marcel had been caught out, yes, but they soon realised the Book had taken down more than just
his
words. Starkey took a burning twig from the fire and held it over the Book. There, below Marcel’s, were his own words,
No one could steal such a precious thing from Alwyn.
Marcel’s hope was that if he told the truth about Bea, Starkey would not demand the rest of the story. “It was Bea who stole the Book,” he confessed, drawing a reaction from everyone but Hector. “Lord Alwyn wasn’t himself, you see. When he heard the news that Fergus and Nicola had disappeared, the shock made him collapse.”
The Book of Lies closed with a creak and gave off its familiar golden glow.
“So, at last you are telling the truth. That explains how I managed to get you two away so easily,” Starkey said, turning to Nicola and Fergus. “Alwyn’s magic is becoming as weak as his failing body. But I don’t like it,” he muttered warily. “This book reeks of the old wizard and the power he has wielded for so long in this kingdom.” As he spoke, he got to his feet, yanked his sword swiftly from his belt and took aim.
“No, you can’t destroy it!” Marcel cried desperately, clinging to the man’s arm.
Starkey shrugged him off easily and took aim a second time.
“Wait! You can use it yourself, to know who you can trust.”
“I have my own ways of doing that,” he snarled. The sword was raised again.
This time Marcel threw his whole body in the way and Starkey only managed to check his blade an inch short of Marcel’s skull. “Get out of the way!”
“But it can help you to convince people. With this book laid out before them, they will surely believe what you tell them. You can use it to defeat King Pelham.”
With Marcel thwarting Starkey so doggedly, Hector drew his own sword, ready to strike.
“No!” cried a voice.
It wasn’t another anguished plea from Marcel. This cry came from Starkey himself, a command that stopped Hector instantly. And why had Starkey called a halt when only seconds earlier he had been ready to destroy the Book himself? The faint tinge of gold reflected in his face was all the answer Marcel needed.
“You see now? It’s true.”
Starkey took one hand from his sword and let his fingers play with the black stubble along his chin, now almost worthy of being called a beard. “The Book of Lies… sworn to reveal the truth,” he murmured. “Perhaps this book
can
help me after all.” He put his sword away and nodded to Hector to do the same.
Marcel’s heart danced with relief, but Fergus spoke up with his own demands. “You may have the Book of Lies to
help you, Starkey, but you still haven’t told us why we are so important. We’ve come a long way from Fallside. Surely you can tell us who we are now.”
“All in good time,” Starkey replied. He smiled to himself and added, “When we reach Elstenwyck, I will tell you everything.”
At these words, the Book lost its golden tinge and, to Starkey’s dismay, began to buck furiously until it reached the second-last page once more.
When we reach Elstenwyck
, it wrote, but there wasn’t enough room to complete what Starkey had said so the paper arched gracefully before their eyes to reveal an unblemished page. It was the last in the Book, apart from the jagged remains where a sheet had been torn away.
But they barely noticed Starkey’s lie, as their eyes were drawn to something unnaturally bright on the inside of the back cover.
“What’s that?” gasped Nicola. She stretched out her hand, pointing, though she was afraid to touch it. “Are they words? What do they say?”
Crowding more closely around the Book, they all stared at the darkened leather of the cover itself. Words, yes, Nicola was right, but they weren’t written in the stark black script that crammed the rest of the Book’s pages. These letters were large and golden, a dazzling liquid gold that grew brighter as they watched, until the darkness around them was driven back and they could see their own monstrous shadows against the surrounding trees.
This light brought a warmth that was even more heartening than their smoky fire. The glow seemed to penetrate their clothing, until the dampness and cold were gone and they were comfortable for the first time that day.
Marcel tried to gaze at the burning words but his eyes could not bear their intensity. He closed them and turned away, yet to his astonishment he found the words dancing upon the blackness of his eyelids. More than this, they were in his mind and on his tongue, even though he had not read a single one.
When Lords and Ladies quest for fame
A Beast will touch the land with flame
Good men will die, their wives will mourn
While children weep for fathers gone
With swords for teeth and skin of steel
With arrowed claw and poisoned heel
The Beast will grow and spread its wings
Destroying rogues and making Kings
When all my pages fill with lies
Let slip the Beast and see it rise
Till one who understands this verse
Commands the Beast and breaks its curse
He opened his eyes to find Starkey glaring at him suspiciously. But the blazing letters cooled, settling into place on the aged leather in the same way as they had burned into Marcel’s eyes, and now they could all read them.