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- Herausgeber: Knights Of
- Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
- Serie: Vivi Conway
- Sprache: Englisch
Vivi- it's me, Dara. We're doing everything we can to find you…" Vivi Conway has disappeared. With Vivi taken, and forgotten by everyone but her friends, Dara is struggling to hold it together. They're trying everything they can, but nothing seems like enough. When Stevie, Chia and Merry reveal they have been working on a plan of their own, the friends must embark on a rescue mission that will take them far beyond the Unlands. The time will finally come to face the villainous Arawn, and when it does the group must be ready to use their combined powers. With the help of new friends and old, they set out to find Vivi, defeat their ancient foe, and save the world (no pressure).
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Seitenzahl: 415
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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For Eishar & Abi, who made my dream come true.
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Contents
Chapter One
Dara
It’s been almost two months since we lost Vivi.
No. Since they took her.
There’s been no sign of her. At all.
It’s like she’s been wiped out of existence. Like we dreamed her up.
She was stolen from us on Halloween. And now it’s almost Christmas. It doesn’t really get proper snowy here like it does in Scotland, but a chill has set in and the pavements are icy with frost.
When I breathe out as I walk, a cloud of hot misty air hangs in front of me. It really is winter.
Time keeps on going, without her. I don’t understand how I’m supposed to wake up every day and accept that she’s gone?2
I know that we need to keep looking for her, but I don’t know how to do that. How are you supposed to move forward when the person you’re trying to find is missing because of you?
I’m not sure I’ve ever felt really guilty before this. Embarrassed and ashamed probably – I always felt bad when I kept Mum distracted from her work because I really just wanted to hang out with her. But guilt? That’s a new feeling. It’s sour and hot and sits in my stomach like a bad dinner I can never digest.
I don’t think that’ll ever go away.
Not unless we find her.
It doesn’t help that Gelert has been missing since Vivi was taken. Not that I was really awareof what was going on when we packed up to leave; everything was such a blur. I was checked out, completely. Which makes me feel more guilty because the others were trying to rally us, make a plan of how they were going to find her, and all I could do was stare at the waves and wish something would happen.
All I know is that Gelert hasn’t shown up at my house since then. My dog Callie is probably relieved; him being around, even when he’s not visible to her, always freaks her out a bit. She ends up barking at walls or sniffing 3very intently in corners. Rabbie sometimes jokes she’s seen a ghost, which is ironically right for once.
I don’t think the others have seen him either.
Not that I’ve really been talking to them that much. There’s that guilt again, but I’m just worried about what they’re thinking. At school it’s easy to focus on your work and ignore everyone – that’s what Vivi tried to do when she first came here, I think, but I was too persistent with her.
The last time we hung out was Stevie’s birthday when, well, I didn’t exactly hang around long. I know when I’m ruining the vibe, and I was reallyruining the vibe.
But they’re coming over today, so I should probably try and buck up a little bit. Merry sent me a message yesterday, just as school was ending, asking us all to video call her the next morning. Even though we could do a group video call from our individual homes, Stevie insisted she and Chia come over to mine to do it. They know I can’t avoid them in my own house.
I really should clean up before they come over, especially because my room looks like our fake play folder exploded everywhere.
But, as it’s Saturday morning, I’ve got somewhere else to be first.4
I knock on the door, and it swings open quickly to reveal a woman with a cloud of blonde hair that bounces excitedly.
“Dara! Lovely to see you!”
“Hi Mrs. Conway.”
“Do you want to come in for a cuppa? It’s chilly out there.”
I’ve made the mistake of going in before. The bathroom is upstairs, right next to Vivi’s old room. Except the door doesn’t open any more, and the Conways didn’t seem to know what I was talking about when I asked about it. That’s what I mean about Vivi being wiped from existence; there’s nothing left of her here.
“Not today, thank you. I just wanted to drop off some brownies my Pops made. New recipe – pistachios, I think.”
I hand her a plastic takeaway box, so packed with brownies that I had to squash the lid down on them. It doesn’t look the best, but it gets the job done.
“Oh Dara, you sweetheart.” She flings her arms around me and squishes me tight. It makes my stomach ache. It’s the way Vivi liked to be hugged. “You’ve been so good at making us feel welcome here. And it’s always very good to give gifts on the equinox. I hope this brings you the very best luck for the next part of the year.”5
She pops open the lid and takes a little bit of brownie. When it touches her tongue, she closes her eyes and sighs happily.
“Your Pops is a wizard in the kitchen. Thank him for me, will you?”
“I will.”
I bite down the swirling feeling I always get when I come here. The guilt. “My pleasure. Say hi to Helen for me?”
“Will do Dara.”
I’m about to reach the gate when she calls me back. I don’t think I have much in me for more conversation today, because there are always these offhand moments where she says something that reminds me of the huge hole in her house that she can’t even see.
“I was thinking of getting some bulbs in the ground next weekend as it’s supposed to be dry enough. Do you want to come help? A little post-Christmas planting to bring in the new year.”
“I’d love that,” I say.
She looks up at the gloomy sunshine above us. “We get more sunlight in the days from tomorrow, so maybe things will be brighter all round? I’ll text your Pops about what day.”
“Okay. See you then!”6
As I close the gate behind me, all the tension leaves my body along with a few rogue sparks I have to stamp out on the pavement. Luckily there’s no one else around. They bounce off the wet, grey pavement like beads.
Everyone is tucked up inside their houses. I pass glowing lights in the windows, lit trees and televisions playing Christmas movies. I wish I could find the cheery mood that everyone else is feeling.
When I get inside, Mum and Pops are singing in the kitchen as they make sausage rolls. Rabbie is off somewhere, and Lachie is in the living room playing games with his friends. They all know something is off with me, but I can’t tell them what it is. After all, none of them remember Vivi either.
They just think I’m being a moody pre-teen.
My room is more of a bombsite than I realised, now having left and come back. There’s been a lot of wallowing in here, but also some attempts at thinking too. On my bed are the two treasures I found in my bag when I got back from Enlli– the quill pen and the ink pot. I’m pretty sure Merry gave them to me, in the hope I might find out how they worked. I’ve just been ignoring them.
Stevie still has the ring and the chainmail we made 7for her. Chia has the bridle for Eirlys. Emrys got his cloak and the chessboard back. I think Vivi still has that compass.
Merry kept the rest: she’s the child of the magical island after all. And technically the King. Though, we haven’t quite worked out what her job title should be yet. I think she’s just folded it all into her Ghost Queen duties. I regret leaving behind the infinite cake knife with Merry though because a constant supply of Pops’ Sachertorte would be incredible. I did consider asking her to post it, but I think losing a magical artefact to Royal Mail would be too embarrassing to live down.
When I can’t sleep from anxiety, I have been trying to work out what the quill pen and ink pot actually do. There’s no magical refilling – I learned that the hard way – and no invisible ink, like the kind you can make with lemon juice. Admittedly, I have been basing all my ideas on murder mysteries. Clearly, I’m missing something magical.
But there’s been no one to ask. No Ceridwen. No Gelert.
I know there’s something I just haven’t seen yet. There always is.
I hear the doorbell go downstairs, so I hurriedly try to move stuff out the way and off the bed, but all 8I manage to do is create piles of piles. Maybe I can intercept them, and we can go somewhere else. The Wendy house outside will be freezing cold, but they won’t have to see my mess.
I’m too slow though, because when I open my bedroom door, Chia and Stevie are right there.
“Hey guys,” I say awkwardly. “How are you? How about we–”
As I go to shut the door, Stevie sticks out her long leg, thunking her foot against it so I can’t close or even move it.
“Don’t kick my door please.”
“I didn’t kick it,” Stevie says plainly.
“You literally just did.”
Chia rolls her eyes. “Guys, please. I already have a headache. Just let us in Dara.”
“I errr… Can we go–”
Chia spins the phone in her hand round to reveal Merry on video call. I’m pretty sure it’s actually Stevie’s phone, the one her parents gave her recently to make up for always being away for work, but Chia is apparently in charge of carrying it (and Merry) around today. Her small but serious face fills up the entire screen on our end. “This is an intervention, Dara.”9
“A what? Why?”
“We’ll talk more inside,” Chia says. “Come on.”
Stevie’s nostrils flare with impatience. “Just let us in.” It’s not a question. It’s never a question.
“Dara, stop being weird to your friends!” Pops calls as he walks upstairs. “Do you want to stay for lunch? I’ve got a vat of chilli on the go.”
“That would be lovely, thank you,” says Chia politely.
Stevie just nods. She gets a bit nervous around my parents.
“Ah is that wee Meredith on the phone?”
“I’m older than all of them, how am I wee?” I hear her mutter through the phone’s tinny speakers.
Pops takes the phone from Chia, holding it too close to his face as usual. I can only imagine the view poor Merry is getting on her end, all nostril hair and teeth. “I’ll be expecting you won’t be eating with us, but we can prop you up in front of a bowl if you’d like?”
“I’ve got my own breakfast to attend to, thank you Uncle Bruce. I’m on a different schedule to you guys.”
“Alright, well I’ll leave you four to have fun. I hope we get to see this play of yours one day!”
I groan as we close the door behind us. “I really hoped he’d forgotten about the play.”10
“We told him it was a theatrical intervention,” Merry explains.
“Great. My cast is revolting on me.”
“Well, at least you were telling the truth about needing to clean in here,” murmurs Stevie, as she shuffles the treasures and my talisman and some inventions along the duvet.
“Can you not?” I groan, shoving papers into a pile that I’m going to have to sort through later because they are definitely not in order.
Chia sets Meredith-on-the-phone down on my bedside table and sits down next to it. There’s only a tiny bit of space left, but she pats it for me to sit down too.
There’s too much anxiety racing through my body for me to sit still without me shooting sparks everywhere, never mind this close to either of them, so I stay standing. There’s not really enough room to pace, so I just jiggle on the spot. “So. You said it’s an intervention?”
They all glance nervously at each other, which is quite impressive given Merry isn’t even in the room with us.
“We saw you going to Vivi’s,” says Chia eventually.
Well. Cat’s out of the bag there then. Thing is, I’d not told any of them that I was visiting the Conways, 11and my parents hadn’t mentioned it in front of them because, why would they? To them, Abigail and Helen are just two new neighbours on our street. Why would they think Stevie or Chia would know them?
The not-quite-lie but purposefully-unmentioned-truth had somewhat added to my guilt situation though.
I decide to play it off casually. “Yes, I went to see Abigail and give her some of Pops’ brownies. It’s not a weird thing to do.”
I hate that Chia gives me such a sad look. “Oh Dara,” she sighs.
“It is a bit weird, Dara.” Stevie taps me with her socked foot.
“Can you stop kicking things, especially me?”
“Tell us why you’ve been going to the Conways then.”
“They’re my neighbours. You do nice things like that for your neighbours.”
Their silence is deafening. After all, it’s not normal when you’re directly responsible for the mysterious vanishing of their kid that they forgot they even have.
“This is worse than I thought,” Merry mutters.
“It’s not that weird,” I protest weakly.
Stevie rolls her eyes. “If that was true, you’d have told us about it. Not hidden it from us for… why exactly?”12
I flump down onto the floor, covering my eyes so I don’t have to look at any of them. “I didn’t mean to keep it a secret.”
“That was the first new rule we agreed, Dara,” sighs Chia. “No secrets.”
“Okay but this isa first offence right? Vivi was the one keeping all the secrets last year.” The words are out before I can think of what I’ve even said.
“Yeah, and look where that got her,” Stevie murmurs.
I let out a little moan.
“Plus, you were keeping secrets. The whole trying to sacrifice yourself thing,” adds Merry. “That was a secret.”
“It was a last-minute decision.”
“That’s not better!” laughs Stevie in disbelief.
“Hey, come on now,” Chia says, her voice sharp. “Blaming each other isn’t going to help us move forward.”
“How can we move forward when we don’t even know where we’re going?” I groan. “We don’t even know where Vivi is.”
“Annwn probably,” suggests Merry.
It’s Stevie’s turn to sigh now. “That’s if she’s even–”
“She is,” I snap, refusing to believe Stevie could even suggest that. “I’d know if she wasn’t.”
Chia stills me with a hand on my shoulder, snuffing out 13a spark that landed on the carpet with a quick flush of air.
“Thanks.” I fidget with the burned ends of carpet. “Should I stop going then?”
Chia’s hand is still on my shoulder. “How often were you dropping in?”
My mouth goes dry because I know they’re not going to like my answer. “A few times a week? We’re planting seeds after Christmas.”
I don’t even need to look at them to know they’re giving me very tired looks. I hate feeling like my friends are running out of patience for me. I need to be better. I need to do better. It’s just… so much all of the time. The irony is the person who would understand this most is Vivi.
“I think it would probably raise more questions if you stopped going suddenly,” Chia says, and then I feel her take my hands away from covering my eyes. “And I’m sure Vivi will appreciate you checking in on her mums.”
“I really am sorry I didn’t tell you about it.”
“We get it. You’ve been in a funk,” says Stevie, which is one way to put it.
“Is this intervention over?” I ask, a little nervous they’re going to say no.
“Ish. While you’ve been… feeling bad or whatever, we’ve been working on some things.”14
“What? Wait, you’ve been keeping secrets.”
“It’s not a secret.”
“It kind of is, if I wasn’t involved.”
“I don’t think you’d have listened if we tried to talk to you about it before we had anything,” says Chia, so gently it’s kind of devastating.
She takes a tablet out of her bag, and opens up an image. She zooms out, and out, and that’s when I realise; not only that it’s a map, but what it’s a map of. After all, it’s colour-coded for the crystals.
“The Unlands,” I whisper. “That’s the whole Unlands?”
“I don’t think it’s all of it,” says Chia. She swipes the map across and down until we hover over the part that’s over (or next to, or inside?) London. I remember walking down those tunnels. The last time I saw this shape it was on paper.
“How did you do this?”
“Well, these guys sent me it in portions with measurements and I drew it up on the software. I think it’s to scale, but I can’t be sure without going there myself,” Merry explains, which is all very cool but not quite what I meant.
I look at Chia and Stevie. “You’ve been going in this 15whole time? Since…”
They nod before I finish the sentence. So I don’t have to, I suppose.
“You didn’t tell me.”
“We didn’t want to add more worry to your plate,” says Chia.
“What if you got in trouble? What if Arawn came after you both? Then what?” Another anxious spark shoots from my hand, landing in my hair. I snuff it out, but the smell of burned hair is gross. We’re all relieved when Chia gusts it away.
“We logged all our trips with Merry,” Stevie says slowly. “She was monitoring activity through her blog, helping us work out where might be quietest for us to head to. We never go alone, or for long. We’ve been using that portal in the park, it’s still open.”
I wantto be angry, but I’m not. I’m just a whirlwind of sad, and if I’m honest, I feel like they left me behind because of what happened. Because I’m a liability to them.
“Hey,” Chia says, reaching for me. “Wherever you’re going in that head of yours, that’s not it. We weren’t leaving you because we didn’t want you there.”
“They didask you once if you want to hang out,” 16Merry chimes in. “But you said you were too sad to go.”
“Thanks Merry,” I say, a little sarcastically.
“No problem.”
A very pathetic spark floats in the air in front of me. Stevie takes it into the palm of her hand, like it’s a snowflake and not a very dangerous piece of me.
“It was my decision, Dara,” she says finally, looking right into my eyes.
She doesn’t have to say any more, because I understand. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed. For all our fighting, Stevie understands me on a level that the others don’t. And I like to think the same; that I know her differently.
“I just wish I had gotten a say in it, that’s all.”
“Anyway, can we move onto the next thing on the agenda?”
“There’s an agenda?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. I hope it’s not all about me?”
It’s supposed to come out as a joke, but it doesn’t. The guilty feeling in my stomach swells, sour and hot with embarrassment that I’ve said too much.
Stevie gives me a nudge. “Don’t be so big headed.” In the look she gives me, she tells me we’re okay, and 17I try to believe her.
I feel my cheeks warm up as she pulls me up onto the bed with her and Chia.
“Okay,” I say, swallowing the frog in my throat. “What’s the next thing on this agenda then?”
Merry wheels her gaming chair backwards to reveal a black cat curled up on her lap. I can’t tell if it’s bad signal or something, but the cat looks kind of weird. Different to any other cat I’ve seen before, not that I’ve seen loads up close – we’ve always been a dog household because I think Mum’s a bit allergic. There’s a few on our street that I’m friendly with, like Uno, the black and white cat with one ear, and Enrique who is all thick black fur and likes to lie out on the garden walls in the sun.
There’s something off about it. Its fur looks a little strange. Too thick, with a purple-green sheen that reminds me of the patches of oil stains in my Pops’ workshop. Its eyes are bright pumpkin orange. And I know Merry is pretty slight so it could just be perspective, but it looks way too big to be just a cat.
The creature raises its little head, and says, “That would be me.”
Chapter Two
Dara
“Oh good, another talking animal,” groans Stevie.
Chia shushes her, and peers closer at the screen at the creature in Merry’s lap. “Hello… cat?” It turns into a question at the end. It’s not very polite to ask someone what they are straight away, but it’s too late now.
The creature narrows its eyes and flicks the tips of its ears. “Close,” it says. When it speaks, it reveals long snake-like fangs. I’m not familiar in cat (or somewhat cat) behaviour, but it looks a bit annoyed.
“It’s nice to meet you. What’s your name?” I ask, hoping to smooth things over.
Its tail swishes, the fur all puffed up except for the underside where it’s entirely flat, like a beaver’s tail.
“Well my name is–” begins the somewhat cat, 19and what follows is an almighty clatter of a noise. A howling screech mixed somehow with crashing waves and thunderstorms and shipwrecks. My head swims and I can’t imagine how much louder it is for Merry in person. She presses her hands over the top of her headphones to try and smoosh all the sound out.
“Dara McLeod, what the heck was that noise?” Pops yells up the stairs.
I rush through the door, peeking my head over the bannister. “Sorry. I think our connection went weird. I’ll turn the volume down.”
I’m pretty sure I just yelled that at him. My ears are ringing.
We’re all dazed from the sound.
“I think that’ll be a little hard for us to pronounce,” says Chia with a blink.
“Or hear.” Stevie rubs one ear against her shoulder. “No offence.”
“Can I translate for them?” Merry asks, and the creature lets out a noise that could be a purr or a growl, but seems to be a yes of sorts. “I think our friend is the Cath Palug, Palug’s cat in English?”
The translation makes me miss the moments of her and Vivi chattering away in Welsh and English on the island.20
“Who’s Palug? And why do we have his cat?” says Stevie.
“No idea,” says Merry helpfully. “It could be etymologically–”
“What do bugs have to do with it?” I say out loud, accidentally interrupting.
“Etymologically, not entomologically. That’s the origin of words. Anyway, that’s getting a bit too deep. The point is that there are stories about this creature. He got thrown into the Menai Strait – that’s the bit of sea that runs between the mainland and Ynys Môr, or Anglesey. And he just got out and took over the island. Is that right?”
I don’t like how casually she said tookover. How dangerous is this creature sitting in my cousin’s lap?
The cat gets to its feet, blocking Merry’s face from the camera and arching its back in a long curve. “It will do.”
Chia scrunches her nose in confusion. “Isn’t that a different island to where you live, Merry?”
“It is.”
“So why is it… Sorry, how did you get there Mr. Palug?”
“No, he belongsto Palug, whoever he was,” Merry insists. “Like Frankenstein and his monster.”
“Well that’s confusing.”21
The cat seems to clear its throat. “I swam.” It says it so simply, like we’re all very silly for not realising that.
Stevie cricks her neck. “Okay, so you are a monster from mythology or whatever, we’re used to that. And you swam there, cool.” She waves her hand, and it strikes me how funny it is that we’re used to odd talking creatures just showing up.
Man, I miss Gelert. I hope he’s okay.
“Are you going to tell us what you want with us?”
“Stevie,” Chia hisses. “Don’t be rude.”
Luckily, the cat seems to find this funny. Its mouth widens and the noise that comes out, a clattering ackackack,seems to be laughter. “You are very amusing small humans. I am sure you will be pleased to know that I come with an invitation.”
All of us sit up a little straighter, except Merry who I suppose knew this already. I wonder how she explained FaceTime to a magical cat.
“We know that you seek the cauldron. And so, your presence has been requested. Come to Cantre’r Gwaelod for the Winter Solstice, and you will either prove yourselves worthy of the cauldron or leave. Possibly drown. We will have to see how good an impression you make on the stewards of the cauldron.”22
The Cath Palug, clearly finished, begins to clean its extra-long, greenish whiskers.
Chia looks at me with alarm in her eyes. “How did you know we were looking for it?”
“I did not. I am simply the messenger. But your actions have been noticed, and Arawn grows stronger. I believe the Queen wishes to make an alliance, if you can impress her.”
“The Queen?” I ask, but Merry shrugs her shoulders.
“So when’s the sol… thingy?” asks Stevie.
“The Winter Solstice is Monday,” I say, trying to wrap my head around everything. “Erm, Vivi’s Mum told me.”
“And where is this place?” Chia asks. “In Wales?”
“It’s near Wales, or thought to be, but our major problem is that Cantre’r Gwaelod is a sunken city, under the sea,” Merry says.
The somewhat cat gets to its feet, which must be slightly painful because I see Merry wince. It stares down the camera at us, and I feel almost hypnotised by its huge eyes set in its squashed, snake-like face. “Make your way here, and I shall do the rest.”
With that, it hops down from Merry’s lap.
“Where are you going?” she calls after it. “Oh. Well, 23it’s gone.”
“Are you not going to go after it?” asks Stevie with a raised eyebrow.
“No, it literally just vanished and left behind a puddle.” She spins the camera round to a very soggy looking bit of carpet. “I suppose we need to work out how you are all going to get here tonight. I’m not sure a fancy letter of invitation from me will cut it this time.”
“Hang on, tonight?” I startle.
“If the Solstice is tomorrow, and we have to be there, then you guys had better be on your way.”
“There’s no way we can get my parents to take us,” I say. Mum has her final assessment next month, and has had deep dark lines under her eyes for weeks. Plus, I’m not sure how we’d explain to Pops that he needs to drive us there immediately. And then, would there even be a boat at that time of night?
“We don’t have a car and Mummy’s on night shifts,” Chia says.
“Don’t look at me,” Stevie says. “I barely know where my parents are.”
I wish Gelert was here. He took Vivi to Wales once and it knocked him out for a bit, but that was the only guaranteed way we had of getting anywhere. I hope 24he’s safe and warm and dry. Can ghost dogs get wet and cold? I’m not sure.
“Does anyone know how to drive?” Merry asks.
“Mer, we’re twelve,” says Chia.
“You’retwelve,” says Stevie, which gets a cloudy huff out of Chia. “Dara and I are both thirteen, little August baby.”
“I’m actually fourteen,” Merry points out.
“Could we learn?” I say, trying to think it through. “I could probably start a car with my powers. And I could probably use stage make-up to make us look older.”
“Okay, absolutely not,” says Chia, clapping her hands to signal the end of that train of thought. “Stealing your parents’ car is off the ideas list.”
“Yeah, they might notice a missing car,” Stevie concedes.
“Won’t they notice you’re missing anyway?” says Merry. “Do you not even have a tractor nearby? Even I know how to drive a tractor.”
“There aren’t many tractors in Croydon, Merry,” Chia explains patiently.
“How dreadful. It probably would be a bit too slow too.”
“Merry’s right, though. And we’d need a cover story too,” Stevie says. “Papa and Maman are going away 25for work on Monday so you can probably say you’re at mine for a few days. Not that I know how we’re going to get there.”
“Hang on,” I say. “What about the Unlands? How far do you think you got out of London??”
Chia opens up her tablet and navigates around on the Unlands map. “When we were mapping, we realised that the Unlands doesn’t just warp time. It kind of warps geography too. Or like, they don’t correspond entirely. The portal entrances link to our world but sometimes the gaps between them aren’t to scale or as big as they should be. That’s why it was so easy to walk to the British Library last autumn.”
“I wouldn’t say it was easy,” I mutter, remembering sparking the locks and a coraniaid that really wanted to kill us.
“Okay, but still a relatively short trip for walking most of the way across London,” says Stevie.
“The point is,” says Chia pointedly, dragging out attention back to her. “I reckon if we keep taking these routes east, we can get part way into Wales at least.”
Stevie scrunches up her nose. “Not ideal if we end up coming out of a portal that drops us in the middle of Snowdon though.”26
“It shouldn’t. I think.”
“Wherever we end up will have to do, and then we’ll figure it out from there,” I say. “It’s better than nothing. We’ll deal with getting over to Enlli when we need to. This is for the cauldron; we have to go and prove ourselves.”
Not that I have any idea how we’re going to do that part, but that plan can come later, when we’re in the right country.
“Is Colin’s boat running?” I ask Merry.
“Probably, but they’d definitely notice you three and would tell my dads.”
“So that’s another issue,” murmurs Chia. “Sneaking across the sea on a boat.”
“We’ll work it out,” I say, feeling genuinely optimistic for the first time in ages.
Yes, there’s so much to work out like how we’re going to get there, and how we’re going to prove ourselves, but this is the first proper lead on anything in months.
What would Vivi say? What would she be thinking? She probably knows loads about Cantre’r Gwaelod from all the stories she used to read. It feels wrong to go ahead without her, but maybe a path to Cantre’r Gwaelod will bring us closer to her. Perhaps the people 27who live there might know how to get to Annwn.
Merry sniffs loudly. “Urgh, my room smells like the sea.”
“You live on an island. Doesn’t it always smell like the sea?” asks Stevie.
“No, it’s like… old fish guts,” Meredith says, pinching at her nose. “Sorry guys, I’ve got to clean this up or my dads are going to lose it. Let me know the plan later.”
The two of them look at me, and I feel scared, but also like we can do anything. Chia, Merry and Stevie have been keeping our quest ticking over, while I had the internal crisis that they came here to pull me out of.
It’s time for me to show up, properly. Even if I’m scared. Even if I’m sad about what happened.
I’ve got to prove to them that I’m still part of the team.
“We need to go as soon as possible,” I say, checking the time on the phone. “It’s almost lunch time. Let’s eat here, then you guys go home to pack. We’ll meet at the portal in the park at three?”
Lunch flies by as we scoff down Pops’ chilli. When I go back to my room, I take my school backpack, dump out all the things I don’t need in the gap under my desk, and start filling it with essentials like clean pants, a first aid kit, my meds. Carefully, I wrap the quill and ink pot in spare socks, and place them in the backpack. 28
There is so much coming that is unknown and terrifying, but I know that somehow it will bring us closer to finding Vivi. I hope she’s okay.
Maybe she is. Maybe she’s already trying to escape.
Chapter Three
Vivi
Where am I?
I rub at my eyes; what feels like a lifetime of sleep-crust falls away.
I’m in a bed. It’s definitely not mine. I push myself up to sitting slowly, with a wince. Why do I feel so sore?
The bed is enormous and has a canopy and posts in each corner. I’ve never seen one like this in real life, just in movies about old kings and queens.
I don’t recognise anything about the room I’m in either. Not the stone walls or dark wooden furniture. Definitely not the ceramic pot on the floor. It looks so different from my bedroom at home.
How did I get here?
Is this a dream?30
I pinch at the soft skin between my thumb and first finger and …. No. It’s no normal dream because that really hurts. It could be a different kind of dream. The kind where…
Wait, what do I mean?
My head aches suddenly, and I have to press my hand against my forehead until the pain stops.
I wince at the chill of the stone on my bare feet, but my legs are too weak to hold me up without holding onto the bedposts. Standing feels like an effort. That’s not right, is it? Though it reminds me of something. Someone? I can’t work out who. My brain feels so fuzzy, and I feel a thick pain that makes me shut my eyes until it passes.
I very slowly make my way over to the dresser, where I peer into a huge, mottled mirror. Well, I look like me at least, even if I don’t feel completely right. I’m wearing pyjamas I don’t recognise, but then I feel like everything before now is just one gaping black hole, not just the pyjamas. I don’t think these are mine, but they fit me like they are. They’re soft; silk, I think. The kind of pyjamas my mums would never buy me. So why am I wearing them now?
Where am I?31
My stomach twists. There’s almost certainly no good reason for my memory loss, especially when I’m in a room and clothes that don’t belong to me.
I really hope I’m not dead. Though maybe being a ghost would be alright. The side of my head aches again – sharp like someone stuck a pin into it.
Why can’t I remember anything? And why does it hurt my actual brain whenever I try?
It takes me a long time to waddle over to the thick wooden door that looks like it was carved right out of the middle of some enormous tree. It’s locked.
Right. So I’m in an unfamiliar place and I’m apparently locked in. That’s not at all ominous.
I press my ear to the door to see if I can hear anything on the other side that might give me a clue about where on earth I am. I immediately regret it.
A terrifying growl rumbles through the door.
I leap back so fast I trip over my own feet, and slam down onto the cold stone floor. My heart pounds in my chest and I’m both too scared and too weak to move any more.
Is this how it ends? On a cold floor with no memories being devoured by a monster that bursts into the bedroom?32
Luckily, it doesn’t seem so. For now, at least.
Whatever made that noise doesn’t try to get in, so eventually I push myself up to sitting on weak, wobbling elbows.
What was that?
I’m not sure I want to find out.
But I can’t stay on the floor either. It takes me an age to push myself up to standing, and even when I do, I have to hold onto the bed to do it. I’ve never felt this tired before. It’s like the sky is pushing down on me. Or like something underground is trying to very slowly drag me down through the earth.
But I’m upright, which is something at least.
God, I wish I knew where I was or remembered anything about how I got here. Think Vivi. Think.
I need to investigate the room. There could be clues about where I am and what’s happened to me.
It takes me ages to make my way along the wall, feeling for gaps or hidden doorways or something that might give me a hint. But there’s nothing, just a few paintings of green countryside.
I consider doing another trip round to check the furniture, but I need a rest. I’m exhausted.
By the time I get back onto the bed for a rest, I am 33so dizzy that I’m thankful for somewhere to lie down, even if I’m pretty sure this might be some kind of prison. The beats in my chest slow down as I lie there, as though I’ve just ran a 100-metre dash and not slowly wobbled my way round the room. Stars, what has happened to me?
There’s a knock at the door, and before I can say anything, it flings open.
I brace myself, expecting whatever growled to storm in. But then, I’m pretty sure monsters rarely knock.
Instead, a girl with a shock of red hair storms in.
I know who she is instantly: Isabella.
My head aches as the memory returns. It floods back to me like a turned-on tap.
She’s the girl we couldn’t save, who got left behind in the Unlands.
God, where are Chia and Stevie and Dara? Are they here too?
I try to remember to breathe as it all rushes back to me, like I’m watching a film inside my own head. How we raced into the Unlands to fight the monsters that stole children – I can’t think of the word for them, but I remember their spidery legs and their red eyes and the horrid noises they made.34
We got everyone out, but her. Because of him. The man behind it all who took her, King Arawn. I wonder if he’s here. I hope I don’t have to find out. His eyes were enough to terrify me. I have absolutely no desire to meet him.
I can’t remember anything that’s happened since then. Did I get captured right after? Or along with Isabella? I’m not sure that’s quite right but nothing else comes to me. After seeing her in the green and gold, there’s nothing. A suspicious blankness.
“You’re awake,” she says, not moving from the door. “Good.”
I wonder if we’ve ever spoken before. Is this the first time I’ve heard her voice? It feels like it might be, but then, I can’t be sure of anything right now. Her accent is definitely London but not like how anyone who lives near me sounds. Her voice is straight off the news on telly. Her red hair is braided thickly around her head like a crown on fire. I know that she’s from our world, but she’s not dressed in the kind of clothes that I see people wearing outside school. I’m not exactly a fashion person; that’s Dara, isn’t it? Yes, Dara likes making clothes. But she’s dressed in a flowing white shirt, tucked into high waisted brown 35trousers held up with suspenders. She looks almost like she’s dressed up as a Hobbit, going to a fan convention or something, but that would make it sound like what she’s wearing looks like a costume. It doesn’t.
And she looks okay, much better than she did when I saw her get captured, when her eyes were angry and her hair was mussed, like she’d been living in a cave for days – which, basically, she had.
Now her skin glows and her eyes shine bright. She looks well. Looked after.
Is she here to save me?
That hope very quickly dwindles as she closes the door behind her, and I hear it lock. She says nothing, only watching me silently. I feel like a bug under a microscope.
“Are you going to tell me where I am?” I ask.
Her face is blank, so expressionless that I think she’s bored of me already. “Isn’t it obvious?” she drawls.
I hold out the bottom of my pyjama shirt. “Someone possibly stole my clothes and dressed me in fancy jarmies and then locked me in this room and I don’t remember a thing. Nothing about this situation is obvious to me.”
I wish I was the type of person who could hide exactly how I felt about something, because I wince at 36the rawness in my voice.
The worst part is how much she’s enjoying that. A closed-mouth smug grin spreads across her face.
That clinches it for me. There must have been a gap of time since she was taken, that I have totally forgotten, and now, for some reason, I am in Annwn.
I am in big trouble.
“No one stoleyour clothes,” she says with total disdain. I flinch at her tone. Clipped, sharp little words that make me feel very small, like I’m being told off by a teacher. “They’re in the chest of drawers.”
I wonder if I can make it over there without giving away that my body seems to be not cooperating.
“Why not see for yourself?” she suggests.
I try to keep my voice steady. “Nah, I’m alright. I’m comfy here.”
Her eyes narrow, and she finally leaves the door to whip open the drawer; a little too far, so it droops out of the chest. Inside it are my clothes, all folded up. I wish I could say, among all the other unsettling things, that this doesn’t faze me. But it does. I think it’s the folding, the care, the… permanence, like I live here now? How long have I been here?
“Pretty weird of you to nick my clothes when I was 37presumably unconscious,” I say.
“Obviously it was a spell, Vivi.” She rolls her eyes, and slams the drawer shut. The noise makes me jump.
“Isabella, why can’t I remember anything?” I ask cautiously.
“You can remember some things,” she says pointedly, and that makes me worry more; because how does she know?
What has been done to me?
“What did they take from me?” I snarl, unsure of what I’m asking or who is doing this.
Suddenly I’m on the floor. I must have flopped right out of bed.
I don’t have the strength to fight or resist, as Isabella picks me up and puts me back on the bed. She’s strong, really strong, and completely unafraid of me. I thought her distance was perhaps fear, but it was just disdain, I think. She looks down at me like I’m an embarrassment.
My hands twitch with all the energy coursing through my body, and I have to flick them or be sick. There’s no time for me to be shy about stimming in front of a near stranger, unless I want to vomit all over her shoes.
I’m not sure pity is the right word for the look that crosses her face, but she seems to decide she’s tortured 38me enough for now. “You’re in Annwn,” she says, confirming the swirling fear in my stomach. “You were taken prisoner.”
“By Arawn?” I can’t hold back the stammer as I speak his name.
She nods. “Obviously he will want to see you once you’re looking less… green.”
I feel like I’m going to be sick.
“That wasn’t a suggestion. I’m not cleaning it up if you do,” snaps Isabella, and I’m confused because I’m not sure I said that out loud? Maybe I just look dreadful.
I gulp down the sourness in my mouth. “And what if I refuse to see him?”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she says it quietly, quickly, and then she’s heading back to the door.
Is she afraid of him? I know I am, but her being here as a messenger, being able to leave her room, suggests she’s graduated from prisoner to something more like a guard. What does she have to be afraid of if she’s already in his good graces? And what did she do to get there?
As she opens the door, I realise I haven’t drunk anything in a long time. “Wait! Please can I have some water?”39
She spins back round, one eyebrow raised.
“To drink,” I insist. “I’m not going to waste a glass throwing it at you when I’m this thirsty.”
I watch her think it over for a moment, but she seems to believe me in the end. The door unlocks after she knocks on the door. Was the growl I heard from some kind of guard? She doesn’t open the door fully to slide out, so I can’t see what’s out there. Instead, I hear the kind of bustling that sounds like a lot of living beings, like the background hum of people you hear in a shopping centre or a museum.
I really was not planning on fighting my way out when I’m this exhausted, but the thought of waiting and doing it in the future is snuffed out immediately.
This is no empty abandoned castle. This is an army base. What castles were originally made to be, I suppose.
When she returns with a metal cup, I have to force myself to drink slowly, but the sweet cold water is so refreshing that it’s gone too fast. I notice that I feel nothing else. No magic pull. Perhaps I’m too dehydrated for that.
“Can I have another one?”
“I just got you that one.”
“And I’m still thirsty. I don’t know when I last 40drank. Please?”
She wipes her hands down her face. “Why did I get stuck babysitting?”
So, I was an assigned duty for her. I want to beg her for a jug of water, maybe something to eat, but instead I say, “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been doing here?”
“Nice try.” She snatches the cup from my hand and walks to the door with the kind of finality that suggests this conversation is over. And that I won’t be getting any more water.
“Is that it?” I call as her hand lands on the door handle. “I just stay in here?”
“That’s the idea.”
And with that, she slams the door behind her. I hear the lock turn like a full stop on our conversation.
I try to recap what just happened, whispering the facts out loud in the hope that I can hold onto these memories. Isabella was a prisoner, and is now a jailer. There is absolutely no chance of me escaping unnoticed if the noise out there is anything to go by. There’s water nearby, or at least near enough for her to quickly fill up a cup.
That part hits me hardest, because I can’t hear it. I can’t feel the water at all. I don’t know if it’s a side 41effect of whatever blow I took to the head, or this spell taking my memories, but that part of me, the magic, is gone. It’s like losing one of my senses. I’m off balance.
The rush of energy from talking to her is enough to get me back on my feet, and I drag myself over to the chest of drawers. Maybe there’s a clue in the clothes.
The first thing I notice is that my shoes are missing. Another precaution to stop me escaping I suppose, but I’ve actually always enjoyed being barefoot.
The second thing I notice, at the bottom of the drawer, is a waterproof coat I usually wear on hikes in Wales. Why was I wearing that? It can’t have been raining that much in London?
I slide it out from underneath my jumper and jeans, and peer into the pockets. In one there’s just an old tissue. I expect it to be crusty with old snot, but, when I grab it, I realise it’s wrapped aroundsomething.
I throw the coat back in, close the drawer, and take the bundle back to the bed. When I unwrap the tissue, it reveals a tarnished compass. It looks unharmed, though I don’t recognise it at all. Is this mine? Somehow a bit of tissue and a jacket pocket seem to have kept it safe.
When I open the cover, the dial inside spins wildly, finally settling in one direction. I turn it in my hands, 42and the dial keeps pointing in the same direction. Just a normal compass, I suppose.
Where did this come from? And why did I think it was important enough to carry it with me?
