Chaos Quest Page 3

  “So, why have you come to visit? There’s a reason, isn’t there, Morgan? Who are you searching for?”

  “A Stardreamer.”

  Her brown eyes opened wide. “I hope you don’t really mean that.”

  He nodded and told her what he could.

  “Of course! I felt it – the whole Wildwood felt it – when he fell into the Worlds.” She shivered. “Do you have any idea where he is now?”

  Morgan shook his head. “I don’t have any sense of his presence in the Wildwood. I came to ask if you did.”

  “No. After that moment … it was as though the whole world had shouted … nothing. I fear the Stardreamer has gone elsewhere.”

  “That is as I thought. I came to make sure before I started opening the Doors needlessly.”

  “Morgan, what will you do if you find the Stardreamer?”

  “I don’t know. There’s no way I can overpower him; he could kill us all as easily as beetles. Perhaps I can persuade him or trick him?

  “That’s why I brought Thomas,” he added, trying unsuccessfully to lighten the gloomy mood, which had descended since the Stardreamer was first mentioned.

  “You shouldn’t have,” she said abruptly, her face deadly serious.

  “I made him,” said Thomas. “He didn’t ask me.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Morgan, ignoring Thomas and staring at Tisian’s troubled face.

  “Nothing,” she said, with an unconvincing smile. “I’m getting to be an old woman; I want my lads safe where I can find them.”

  Their eyes locked. “I should send him back.”

  “He wouldn’t go.”

  Thomas stood up. “I am here you know. Stop discussing me as though I’m a pet dog. Tisian’s right: you know I won’t go back Morgan, not unless you do.”

  There seemed nothing more to say. They left soon afterwards and set off to open a Door between the Worlds.

  It hadn’t been a bad day at school, thought Kate. The maths homework had been good enough to satisfy Mr Leslie and she’d had double Design and Technology, her favourite subject. This term she was making a display case for her sports trophies and it was turning out well. She had seen David in Geography and they had arranged to meet outside the school gate at the end of the day.

  He was late.

  He arrived a few minutes afterwards, out of breath, books spilling from his arms.

  “Look at that,” he said, gesturing at what had been his back pack. “It just tore open and everything fell out. What a mess.”

  One whole seam had given way. David stuffed it in the top of a litter bin. “Dad’ll go mental. I’ve only had it three weeks.”

  Kate pulled it out of the bin again. “It can’t be your fault. There must have been something wrong with it. Take it home and show your dad and he can take it back to the shop.”

  David looked at her with admiration. “That’s brilliant! Why didn’t I think of that? You know, for someone who can’t do dead-easy maths you’re quite clever.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him, then they got the escaped books under control and walked towards Mr Flowerdew’s house, which they now tried hard to think of as Gordon’s.

  They bought crisps on the way and dawdled down the hill, eating and chatting.

  “I heard a good joke today,” said David.

  “Go on then.”

  “What do you call an exploding monkey?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “A Ba-Boom!”

  Kate grimaced. “Oh, that’s so bad.”

  Now that they were at secondary school and in different classes for a lot of things, they didn’t get so much time to talk as they used to. They still understood each other better than anybody else though. That would never change.

  The gate still creaked when they pushed it open, just as it had the first time they visited the house, such a long time ago it seemed now.

  They went under the rowan tree and opened the front door. Just inside lay a pair of Gordon’s work shoes.

  “That’s funny,” said Kate. “He can’t have come back early, can he?”

  They called his name, but there was no answer.

  “Oh well, you know what this place is like,” said David. “I’ll put them back in his bedroom.”

  Kate went into the sitting room to choose a video. Mr Flowerdew had had a fantastic collection. They’d thought it was strange that he had a widescreen television at his age, but now she understood why he’d wanted it. They watched all sorts of things when they came here – sometimes in French or German or Japanese with subtitles which was great fun for half an hour, but usually got boring after that.

  “Kate.” David was there behind her suddenly, breathless.

  “What is it?”

  “Come and see – in Gordon’s room – quiet.”

  They crept up the stairs to the first floor and went into the big bedroom. There, curled up on the bed like an animal, in a sort of nest of duvet, was a girl, maybe eighteen or nineteen. She had long, unkempt hair, dark, dark red and it looked as though the clothes she was wearing belonged to Gordon. The jeans were much too big and Kate was sure she recognised the horrible diamond-patterned sweater as one of Gordon’s golf ones.

  Speechless, they watched her for several moments, but, sound asleep, she didn’t move. Finally they crept out and went downstairs again to the sitting room.

  “Who do you think she is? Do you think she’s broken in?”

  “No,” said Kate with conviction. “I’m sure no one can get into this house unless the house decides to let them in.”

  “But who can she be – and how come she’s wearing Gordon’s clothes?”

  “I don’t know.”

  There was something nagging at Kate: a feeling that she should know who the girl was, that she’d seen her, but the memory, if it really was one, eluded her for now.

  “What do you think we should do?” she said uncertainly. “Wake her? Leave before she wakes? We can’t just pretend she’s not here.”

  “Well … if the house has let her in she must be okay, but we can’t just wake her. Imagine what a fright you’d get if two total strangers poked you awake.”

  “Maybe she’s used to it if she goes around sleeping in other people’s beds.”

  They thought for a moment.

  “Let’s put a video on like we were going to. Maybe the noise will wake her.”

  “And coffee. We’ll make coffee. The smell might help.”

  Kate got up and turned to go through into the kitchen and gave a squeak of surprise. In the doorway to the sitting room stood the girl.

  The three of them regarded each other in silence for a few seconds that seemed to last much longer, then Kate found her voice.

  “Hello. I’m sorry if we woke you. We didn’t know anyone was here. Gordon’s away and we came in to water the plants, I’m Kate by the way and this is David.”

  The girl hadn’t moved. She stared silently at them.

  “Do you understand? Do you speak English? You can speak, can’t you?” asked David, to no avail.

  “I’m Kate and this is David. What’s your name?”

  Nothing.

  “You must have a name.”

  Nothing.

  “Who are you?”

  Who are you who are you who are you … A sudden wind shook the branches of the rowan tree. A word unwound itself from deep within the Worlds and coiled upwards like a snake into her mind.

  “I … am … Erda.”

  Her voice sounded as though it hadn’t been used for a long time, like the sound of dry leaves rubbing against each other before they fall.

  “Erda?”

  “I am Erda.” Stronger this time. She moved at last, turned and went towards the kitchen.

  David and Kate glanced quickly at each other and followed.

  In the kitchen, Erda opened cupboard doors seemingly at random until she found a box of cereal and began eating it in handfuls. She sat down on the floor with her legs crossed, c
oncentrating on the food and nothing else.

  When it became obvious she wasn’t going to speak, David did.

  “Have you been staying in the house?”

  Erda looked up, frowning and seemed to think for a long time before she answered.

  “I come for food … and sleep … and bath.”

  “So you know Gordon?” asked Kate.

  Erda looked at her blankly. “No.”

  “How long have you been here?” Kate went on as Erda shoved another handful of cereal into her mouth.

  She shrugged and there was another long pause before she answered. “I woke there.” She pointed towards the back garden. “It was cold. I came inside. I found the food and the bath and these.” She gestured at her clothes. It was the longest speech she had ever made, in all the aeons.

  “But before you woke up in the garden …” puzzled David, “where are you from?”

  Erda said nothing. She raised her hand without hesitation and pointed out of the window to the leaden sky.

  ERDA

  “D’you think she’s mad?” asked Kate as they set off up the hill, having left Erda watching a video of something French.

  “Well, she’s definitely not normal, is she?”

  “No. Maybe she’s been in an accident and lost her memory or something.”

  “Mmmn … maybe. Erda – what sort of name’s that? I’ve never heard it before, have you?”

  “No. Erda … Erda. I don’t know, maybe it’s Norwegian or Swedish or something.”

  “Do you reckon it’s safe to leave her here?”

  “Well, we can hardly chuck her out on the street can we? Anyway, the house wants her there.”

  “But what if she has had an accident? Her family could be going mental looking for her and all the time she’s camped out in Gordon’s house eating cornflakes. Maybe we should tell the police.”

  Kate stopped suddenly and caught David by the arm. “That’s it!”

  “Okay. I wasn’t sure, but …”

  “No, I don’t mean that. We’ve seen her before David! It was nagging at me all the time back there: I was sure I recognised her and I’ve just remembered.” She stopped and shook her head, a puzzled expression on her face. “But how can it be?” she said, almost to herself. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “What?” David almost yelled in exasperation. “What doesn’t make sense? Where have you seen her?”

  “We both have. The day of the Earth Tremor.”

  The Earth Tremor: a warning from the Lords of Chaos that time was coming apart; that they were winning their age-long battle with the Guardians of Time. But they’d stopped them. He and Kate and Gordon and Mr Flowerdew. For a moment he was back on the loch’s edge, holding the sword, looking into his mother’s face for the last time.

  “David?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry. I was just trying to remember … Carry on.”

  “The day of the Earth Tremor. We’d been doing the cake stall at the school fair and we went to buy a newspaper, and the newsagent was pushing a girl out of the shop … I thought she was homeless …”

  “It was Erda,” he breathed.

  “Yes. I remember the sweater. It’s so horrible. But how could she have been wearing it then? Gordon didn’t even own it. Remember he showed it to us, said he got it from an auntie for Christmas.”

  “That’s right. Erda said she found the clothes in the house, so it must be the same one, but how could she have been wearing it a year and a half ago?”

  They had reached the crossing at the top of the hill. Kate hit the button and waited for the signal to change to green.

  “She’s not someone normal who’s had an accident and lost her memory. She can move through time.”

  They walked in silence across the Links, avoiding footballs and bikes.

  “Who is she? What is she?” wondered David. “The Guardians can’t move through time, can they?”

  Kate shook her head and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Mr Flowerdew never made it sound as if they could anyway.”

  “And she couldn’t be one of the Lords of Chaos. He – Mr Flowerdew – said they were …” he searched his memory for the right word “… confined or something and couldn’t get into the real world unless everything fell apart.”

  “We’d have noticed that, don’t you think? Anyway, I’m sure she’s not one of them. We’ve both met them. Erda feels different from them, you know?”

  “Yes. So how does she do it and what is she?”

  “I don’t know.”

  ***

  After they had left Tisian’s house and her worried expression behind, the brothers went deeper into the forest, to reach one of the secret places Morgan had found in his youth, so that he could open one of the Doors between the Worlds. He was troubled by what had taken place. He had known Tisian all his life and had never seen her frightened, but today, she had been. He had asked Thomas again to go back, but Thomas, predictably, had laughed at him.

  An hour after noon they stopped to rest and eat, sitting side by side against a fallen trunk, legs stretched out in front of them. Morgan sat dozing, trying to push away the pain behind his eyes that had oppressed him all day. His brother’s voice brought him awake.

  “Morgan? I know that we have a rule that we never talk about who you are …” His eyes flew open and his body tensed. “… but we have never once talked about who I am.”

  Morgan looked at him, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

  “I can see some of what you see; I can pass through the Doors with you. Did you never wonder why?”

  Morgan began to speak, but Thomas held up a hand and went on, “I know we have different fathers. I know who mine is as well as you know yours. I am the son of my mother’s husband, but somehow in me flows a little of the blood that makes you what you are.” Morgan flinched visibly. “You know how long the ritual of the Traveller at the Ford has protected our people. It seems likely to me that our great-great something grandmother took part in it and bore a child like you and from that child the blood has passed down and down the generations, un-noticed mostly, until what you could do made me realise what I could do.”

  Morgan was still silent.

  “Why is it so difficult for you to accept that my destiny as well as yours may lie in this search?”

  “I want to protect you.”

  Thomas turned to look Morgan in the face. “You can’t. I don’t need your protection. I can protect myself.”

  “How?” shouted Morgan, getting angrily to his feet. “All you’ll carry is that stupid little wood-carving knife. How can you protect yourself with that?”

  Thomas’s voice was cool and measured. “You don’t really think that your bow can protect us from the Stardreamer, do you? He’ll shatter it like kindling if he wants to. That sort of protection is useless to us now.”

  Morgan turned away, his hands over his face, trying to quell the beats of pain in his skull. After a moment he spoke, measuring his words carefully.

  “I’m sorry. I know you’re right. I may as well have left my weapons in the house for all the good they’ll do us.” He found that Thomas had risen and come to put an arm across his shoulders, but went on anyway. “It’s not destiny I fear. It’s doom.”

  ***

  Soon afterwards they reached the place where the Door was hidden.

  The glade was a silent place, always. No bird sang there, no insect hummed. Even the wind seemed to avoid disturbing its dangerous quiet. This was the place into which Morgan had blundered as a boy, before he realised what he was. Even now, for a moment he felt again the fear and awe he’d felt as a child of ten.

  Briars rose in front of them, scores of years old, thick as a man’s wrist, impenetrably fanged with thorns, the dark green leaves and blood-red blooms utterly still, though elsewhere in the Wildwood, a breeze was blowing.

  They waited for the path to show itself and when it did they made their way quietly through the palisade of roses. Even Thomas’s
spirit was quenched in this place and he suppressed a shiver as he felt the hair rise on the back of his neck.

  The still pool at the centre of the maze of tightly curving paths was as black as the pupil of a great eye. As they watched, they saw faint points of light sprinkled here and there in unfamiliar patterns. The pool reflected another sky to the one above them and wherever it was, it was night.

  “Ready?”

  Thomas nodded. They clasped each other’s hands tightly and stepped into the black water …

  … and were on a treeless hillside under cold stars, scattered flakes of snow blowing in on the wind from the east.

  They let their eyes adjust to the new darkness. Behind them the hillside rose in a sheer rock face for twenty or thirty feet, gashed by a narrow cave mouth, which was barely visible in the faint light of a half moon, the Door’s location in this world. They gazed out into the grey and black distance and saw, here and there, the flicker and glow of fires, but no single place that seemed bright enough for a town or village.

  Thomas shivered and wrapped his cloak tighter against the chill. Beside him Morgan stood heedless of the cold, staring at the dark landscape as though he could illuminate it by force of will alone.

  “Morgan?”

  “Do you feel it?” Morgan raised his head like a hound scenting prey. “He is here. Somewhere out there. Not close, but perhaps beside one of these fires. Do you feel it?”

  Thomas concentrated hard. All he felt was cold. “No, I can’t feel anything.” He let the silence grow for a minute. “What do you want to do?”

  “We can’t do anything until morning.”

  With these words Morgan roused himself from the half-trance he had been in and they settled themselves as far into the cave mouth as they could without finding themselves back in the briar glade again, and huddled into their cloaks against the cold to wait for daylight.

  ***

  Morgan woke in a grey dawn, a thin layer of snow sifted over his cloak. Nearby, Thomas was a grey-white hummock against the darker grey of the rock.

  As he came fully awake he became aware that something was different. He jumped to his feet, stumbled a few steps down the hillside, seeking this way and that.