The Prince of Two Tribes (38 page)

“Mum ... Dad ...” Brendan began. “I have a lot to tell you …” And for the first time, he found himself looking forward to it.

Epilogue

Pûkh watched impatiently as the stone was pried from the ground and dragged to the horses chosen to bear it. Straps were wrapped around its girth and secured with powerful Wards.

Pûkh sighed. He was content. He had seen the boy Brendan and tested him. The boy had the power. He had the gifts of the Ancients. He would be the key to Pûkh’s plan. With Brendan’s help, he would find the other Prisoning Stones and release the most powerful of the Dark Ones. They would be grateful to him. He would be rewarded for his patience and loyalty. Merddyn would be humbled. No one would stand in their way as they took this world back for the People of the Moon. The People of Metal would be crushed underfoot forever.

It galled him that he needed Brendan Morn, but the boy had the true gift. Pûkh was powerful, but there was something absent in his power, some flaw in his Art that crippled his attempts to find the stones on his own. Brendan was pure. He could sense the Wards on the stones that Merddyn had hidden so effectively for all these years.

Pûkh turned his head to gaze upon the slump-shouldered figure of Charles.

“You have been very useful, Charles.”

“I told you I’d show you the stone,” Charlie said sullenly. “I have shown you. Now, fulfill your part of the bargain.”

“Not yet,” Pûkh laughed.

“But you said you’d tell me who my parents were.”

“And I will, as soon as I have assured myself that this really is a Prisoning Stone. I must return to Tír na nÓg to do that.”

“That wasn’t our agreement.”

Pûkh laughed. “And you are such an honourable creature? Betraying Merddyn and Brendan both? What would they think of you, if they knew what you were doing?”

Charlie sneered. “Merddyn has made me wait for centuries. He keeps promising me he will find my parents but he never does. I can’t wait any longer. Brendan …” She stopped, biting her lip.

“Yes?” Pûkh prompted.

“I swore I’d never tell you anything about him. I told you about the stone, not him.”

“Hairs are being split, dear. Hairs are being split.”

The stone secured, the Wild Hunt prepared to rise again into the night sky.

“All right,” Charlie said, ignoring Pûkh’s laughter. She stood in silence for a moment before clambering up into the saddle of a fierce-looking horse. Its red eyes rolled back until she stroked it and whispered into its twitching ear. Instantly, the creature settled. “Let’s go then.”

Pûkh barked an order and the company mounted up. They rose into the sky, the Prisoning Stone in tow.

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank all of those who get books into the hands of readers: the printers, the proofreaders, the editors, the librarians, and the small book shops that have really been the link between the kids who want the stories and the writers who want to tell the stories. Thank you. And also, I want to thank squirrels ... because no one ever does.