Whirligig E-Book

John Broughton

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

When the veil is thinnest, an ancient book of fairy lore acts as a bridge between two worlds.

After young Emily finds an old book of fairy lore at an antiques fair, she discovers that it has instructions on how to enter the Other World. Together with her brother Adam, they step into the Whirligig: an unending carousel of states that govern the world.

A realm filled with elves, hobgoblins and pixies, the Whirligig is at once strikingly different and eerily similar to our own. Facing challenges that change their lives forever, can Emily and Adam rise to the occasion and return back home?

Leseprobe

WHIRLIGIG

A PARALLEL WORLD OF FANTASTIC CREATURES

JOHN BROUGHTON

CONTENTS

Preface

I. In The Land of Poverty

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

II. Trials and Effort

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

III. The Quest For Success

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

IV. The Citadel of Wealth

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

V. The Theatre of Pride

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

VI. On The Road of Strife

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

VII. The War of The Key

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Epilogue

Author’s Note

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About the Author

Copyright (C) 2021 John Broughton

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Edited by Elizabeth N. Love

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.

for

my grandson Dylan

may no fickle elf ever lead you astray

PREFACE

“I thought we were supposed to be best friends,” Jayne complained.

“We are,” Emily’s tone was anything but friendly, “but that’s got nothing to do with it.”

“You’re already in the long-jump and the sprint; now you want to take the high-jump from me!”

Emily, trying not to show the glee welling up inside her, put on her concerned face. “I’m only trying to do my best for the school. You want us to win the cup, don’t you?”

“But I’m taller than you!”

“What’s that got to do with anything? I’m more determined than you are. Miss Harrington knows it! You knocked the bar off in trials, and I cleared it by a mile.”

“I told you, I had a tummy ache that morning.”

“Any excuse, Janey beanpole. Admit it, I’m the better athlete.”

Jayne’s naturally pallid face blanched and she glared right into those taunting blue eyes. “You can find yourself another friend, Emily Gasbag!”

Jayne stormed out of her former friend’s bedroom and out of her life. Gasbag was the nickname her classmates whispered behind her back: Emily knew it. She threw herself on her bed and fought back tears. That band of failures spoke out of envy because she was better than them, not just at sport, either. They hated that she was brilliant clarinettist and the maths teacher’s favourite pupil. Wasn’t she entitled to show off a little? Most of all, they were jealous because she was protective of her gorgeous younger brother, Adam. If any of them tried to chat with him, they’d unmuzzle the spiteful, cutting tongue they all dreaded.

Angrily wiping her tears with her sleeve, she reflected on the last twenty minutes. Jayne had no idea what went on in her head. All she saw was her friend’s blustering. What did she know about feeling unloved and inferior? She didn’t have a father who only wanted a son, did she? Emily had watched Jayne’s father cuddle her and stroke her long straight hair. She thought that her long, corn-coloured hair was much more attractive than PlainJayne’s. Well, she could live without her friendship—or anybody’s for that matter. She would just live in her own perfect world and show daddy whose daughter was the best in town.

Not far from their home lay an extensive woodland where she and her brother played at explorers or simple games like hide-and-seek. Tomorrow, the weekend was theirs. She would go there with Adam and to hell with Jayne!

In the middle of the woods, a green meadow opened out from an overgrown track. The hidden green, with a slight dome, had a copse at its crown. And, a secret within a secret, sticks barricaded a hole where two bushes met and touched the ground. The sticks formed a door dressed with twigs and grasses, so only the sharpest eye might notice them. This entry led to a space at the very centre of the copse surrounded by bushes and trees. Inside was a den made of branches and scraps of wood put together over time to form a shelter. A board was nailed above the door with a warning: KEEP OUT OR ELSE.

Little light penetrated the thick bushes, so two electric torches lay next to an old book on a wooden table. Without them, the posters and pictures pinned to the walls could not be seen, and the book could not be read. The book lay open at a new chapter with the title Gatewayto the Other World, written in strange flowing letters. Below the title was a set of instructions explaining how to enter this world. The book belonged to the joint owner of the den, and she’d learned the instructions by heart. Today was the real Midsummer’s Day, not June 21 as most people believed, but St. John’s Day – June 24; it was now midday, and on the green beyond the copse, the barefoot girl was carrying out the instructions to the letter.

The short grass was spattered with daisies, dandelions and other common field flowers. But it also had a strange feature, a place where the grass grew longer, darker and thicker. This curious grass formed a perfect circle: a ring that stood out clearly from the rest of the grass. The local people called these fairy rings, but nobody remembered why. The young girl paced her way around it, never stepping off the thicker grass. Her concentration was so fierce that she didn’t notice the tickly sensation of springy grass under her feet. Her eyes were fixed one step ahead on the ring, and her lips moved as she recited the copied verse she held in her hand. Around her blonde hair, she wore a band of flowers, mainly St. John’s Wort, but woven into the base were exactly 33 harebells, 17 cowslips, and 10 buttercups. The girl had bound them together before midday as instructed by the writer of the book. In her left hand, she held a rowan twig and, in her right, an ash wand. Emily was about to complete her third and last circling of the ring.

Lying face down in the centre of the ring, reading a football magazine – and truth be told, sulking – was a boy two years younger. He was fifteen. Adam ignored his sister; that is, he tried to ignore her and get on with his reading. But how can you ignore a girl who believes in fairies! And while he thought this ritual was nonsensefor girls, he had to admit to being bothered. It troubled him that the ritual was written down in a book, and worse, it was written in a book with strange ancient-style handwriting.

They had just argued. Emily insisted that Adam’s world of football, computers, television and cinema wasn’t real, but made of illusions. She would show him that the natural world, her world, was real and that there was more to it than met the eye.

Last weekend Emily had found the Book of Country Lore buried under many others at an antiques fair. Their parents enjoyed hunting for bargains and rummaging around among old furniture and jewellery, and last time out, their mother had found a lovely Edwardian brooch and Emily had found the book. It was battered and unattractive, and she didn’t pay much for it. At first, she let Adam look at its faded ink sketches and strange writing when he asked, but then she’d become secretive and possessive with it. And now she was supposed to be taking them into another world on Midsummer’s Day! Ridiculous! In any case, he told her she’d got the wrong date, but she wouldn’t have it. Girls! Adam snorted, in the age of satellites and video calls, nobody believed in superstitious nonsense any more: only Emily. Sometimes, he thought, she behaved like his younger sister. He glanced at her with a superior smile and went back to reading about his favourite team.

Dawn Burgoyne

PARTI

IN THE LAND OF POVERTY

1

Adam and Emily saw themselves as if from the outside. The girl watched one of her hands take her brother’s and the other point to a dragonfly, circling their heads so that its wings almost touched Adam’s nose. Emily gasped as she saw something impossible: a woman dressed in white sitting on the dragonfly. Tiny and perfectly formed with a golden crown above her long, silver hair, she smiled at the girl. Emily clutched Adam’s hand tightly and wanted to tell him that fairies exist after all and that she’d been right all along, but her words misbehaved. They came from the world of her imagination. Her words were spoken in another tongue: a lovely sound like tinkling Tibetan bells. Adam understood her perfectly; but as he replied, the air vibrated and whirled. It felt as though they would be swept off their feet and into the air while Emily’s grip on his hand became increasingly painful.

The trees behind them blurred green as they spun, and the air became opaque like a steamed-up mirror. Then the mirror cracked across, so the gap created widened while all else spun and whirled around it. But the scene within the crack was firm and well-defined, while the outer, opaque part, swirled like an impenetrable fog. Adam and Emily found themselves inside the gap as if sucked in, but she swore she hadn’t taken a step. There was no sign of the dragonfly; instead, all around them, a chilling mist covered the land, cloaking a wilderness of filthy pools dotted among patches of gorse. Bad gasses mingled with the damp air and Adam held his nose and complained. He asked, “What happened to that weird little woman? Where are we?”

Emily looked around with frightened eyes. This wasn’t what she’d intended to happen when she began her recital. She had no idea and said so in words of a strange, sweet language. Adam stared at his sister, blinked hard and rubbed his eyes. Her long, blonde hair, like her blue eyes, were now shining silver. Above all, she was very pretty indeed; she was still their Emily but like a film star from one of the posters in their den. Of course, he couldn’t see himself, or he would have been amazed. Despite the strangeness of everything around him, Adam had a sense that all was as it should be. He really should be terrified, but he wasn’t. He felt puzzled and curious, but brave as well.

He asked himself what had happened to the middle of June: it seemed like the end of February. For that matter, where were the woods and their den? As for Emily, her toes were numb and she curled them against the cold. She folded her arms across her chest and, her breath wreathing upwards, told Adam to follow her through the gorse. It snagged their jeans and scratched their arms even when they were being careful so that they cried out several times. The barbed bushes seemed to be waiting, watching and then lunging spitefully at them. Soon Emily was limping and crying from the thorns that pierced her bare feet. Luckily, she was just tall enough to see over the spiny bushes to a track.

The track was kinder to her feet; determined, they continued along until it forked in three directions. One way led off through the gorse; another wandered discouragingly downhill through puddles and swamp; the last, broadest and best worn, led uphill. They took the easiest path without a word. Twisting slowly, it gave a view from the top over a wilderness stretching as far as the eye could see. And they saw rough, marshy grassland with stagnant pools, broken by mazes of gorse and tangled briar.

“It’s hateful!” Emily sobbed, “We’re lost and I’m so cold. I’m sorry, Adam, I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to see what the Other World was like.” She shivered and looked so wretched that Adam put an arm around her and told her not to worry.

“Well, you’ve seen it! And it’s horrible! I don’t suppose you could get us back to Our World now, could you? Please?”

Emily gasped; she’d been so keen to visit the Other World that she hadn’t thought about finding out how to get back. She fought back tears, looked crestfallen at her brother, then her expression changed to wonder. She’d been so occupied with the pain in her feet and how cold she felt that she hadn’t really looked at him until now. How he’d changed! He seemed taller and older and more handsome, and his blond hair was silver! His eyes were silver, too! Emily looked down at her long hair falling over her chest and gaped. She grabbed it and felt it. It was silver, but very fine and soft like silk. “Adam,” she said in her strange new language, “what colour are my eyes? Am I …am I …pretty?”

“Silver. You’re not pretty, Em, you’re beautiful like a princess! Have I changed too?” he asked hopefully.

“Well, yes, you’re handsome!” and tears filled her eyes, “but it isn’t us and we don’t belong here, it isn’t Our World,” and her voice broke into a wail, “and—I don’t know how to get us back home again!” Emily buried her face in her hands; her body was wracked with sobs as she thought of home and her mother and father and her cat, Jasmine. “And I’m so cold!”

Again, Adam felt brave, like he could overcome anything or anybody. Definite action was needed, so he plunged down into the briar and gorse and began untangling dead stems. Although the thorns scratched his hands, he ignored the pain and carried an armful back to his sister, who was stamping her feet and wiping her eyes. Adam tossed the thorns down beside her at the top of the hill, where he pulled a matchbox from his pocket with a smile. He was glad he always carried a penknife, magnifying glass, string, ballpoint pen, bottle-opener, and so on—you never knew when they’d be needed. Soon, a flame was crackling and dancing across the thorns, sending a thin plume of smoke skywards. Emily leant forward, holding her hands gratefully near the fire.

“I’ll build it up …” Adam’s words died on his lips.

All about him on the hill were little people. Thin, hungry-looking, ragged people, standing no higher than his waist. They had long, pointed ears and greenish skin. Their tattered green and brown clothing blended so well with their surroundings that they could hardly be seen. In fact, Adam blinked and rubbed his eyes, thinking that it was a trick of the light. But the strangers were still there, fixing him with yellow eyes dull with defeat and fatigue.

“Who are you? Who has dared release the Hag’s spell?” One, with a squint, asked in a fluting voice. These curious beings spoke in the same tinkling language Adam and Emily were using.

Emily moved towards Adam and whispered fearfully, “They’re pixies, aren’t they?”

Brother and sister were shocked when the creature replied, even though these beings were small, they had powerful hearing!

“Ay, we are,” the same pixy said, “but who are you, tall as trolls, but fair as elves? You will not harm us?”

“He heard me!” Emily gasped and, remembering her manners, added: “I’m Emily, and this is my brother, Adam. Of course, we won’t harm you. You see, we are lost—” She stopped because the pixy had taken off his hat and was bowing to them.

“I am Lar, Leader of the Lostlings. At your service.”

“At my service…?”

“Of course, you, who have broken the spell binding us to the Hag.”

“B-but … we haven’t done anything!”

“You have burnt thorns on a fairy hill.”

“Well – er – yes, but—”

Emily looked at Adam and then stared at the eager faces around them. Moments passed, and slowly the look of defeat returned. The pixies murmured among themselves and shook their heads.

“Look at the confusion you have caused,” Lar accused them, his face growing ever more wrinkled as he frowned. “Strange fate, indeed, it is to be led by one ignorant of fairy lore!”

“He’s got a queer way of talking,” Adam whispered to Emily. He was startled to see that Lar had heard his words, judging from the severe squint he received. She ignored her brother and burst out: “I know lots about fairies.” Adam looked at her doubtfully. “I do,” she insisted, “you’re the one who’s never believed in fairies and pixies, and now you’re talking to pixies and I’ve read books about them, so there!”

There was shocked silence at Emily’s outburst. Then Lar said firmly: “Good! Then you must lead us, Emily.”

“Lead you? Lead you where?”

“Out of this accursed land. Away from the clutches of the Hag. You must! You have released her spell, now lead us!”

“But I don’t even know where this land is! I told you, we’re lost—”

These words had a startling effect upon the band of pixies. Heads dropped and shoulders sagged under the weight of misery.

“No, wait!” Adam said. “Who’s this Hag you keep talking about? Tell us everything!”

“Everything? Everything would take many moon-risings,” Lar replied gloomily, “but I’ll tell what I can.”

The pixies immediately sat cross-legged on the ground and Adam and Emily copied them.

“This is the Land of Poverty. It is the land,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “of the Hag, the Ill-Favoured One, the Wicked Fairy. She is a witch whose will is winter and whose heart is ice.” Lar’s yellow eyes fixed Emily, and he waved an arm around him. “She has created all this. It is a land of suffering, a doomed land.”

“It’s horrible,” Emily nodded and added, “but why are you all here?”

“Her will. Even from afar the Hag’s power is great. Whomsoever her will settles upon is weakened, brought low and finally falls under her spell. Lar pointed to the smallest pixy, a child who was sitting in his mother’s lap and his face became sadder still and more wrinkled. He squinted hard at Adam: “It’s an unhappy bird that’s born in an unlucky nest, is it not so, Master?”

Adam nodded thoughtfully, wondering at being called Master.

“And this land is very unlucky, very bad,” Emily agreed.

“Once under the Hag’s spell,” Lar went on, “forever a Lostling.”

“What does that mean?” Emily asked, brushing her hair out of her face.

As his sister questioned the pixy, Adam studied the curious creature with his squint, who spoke so piteously, yet so wisely, and who had called him Master. The pixy’s next words bothered him even more.

“We are doomed, condemned to a life of misery, to wander these wastes in search of scraps of comfort,” Lar said with bitterness in his voice. He looked hard at Adam again: “He who has food eats and he who has not, bites his nails, is it not so, Master?” It seemed that the pixy had a saying for every situation. Lar continued without waiting for Adam’s reply. “Even so, we are tormented by the Hag’s spriggans—”

“Spriggans?” Adam asked.

Emily seized her chance to impress the pixy company with her knowledge of fairy lore. “Spriggans are wicked creatures,” she informed her brother.

“Ay, wicked,” Lar paused upon the word and repeated it as if the word itself could do harm. “Oh yes, wicked. They torment those who disobey or resist the Hag in any way. They vex anyone who crosses their path,” he sighed, “and as if that’s not enough, we’re at the mercy of the trolls too…”

“Trolls!” Adam and Emily cried out together.

“They’re giants, aren’t they?” Adam gasped.

Lar eyed the boy from head to toe. “Ay, almost as tall as you…” he said gravely, but his words trailed away as his gaze followed those of the other pixies over to the east. There, the sky had lowered into a dark swathe such as Adam and Emily had never seen before. Beneath low clouds, in the distance, a snowstorm flailed towards them. Already the odd snowflake swirled about them, a forerunner of what was about to break.

“What’s happening, Lar?” Emily asked nervously.

The pixies were on their feet now, waiting for orders. Lar, like the others, clutched his hat, to prevent the whistling wind from whipping it away.

“It’s the fury of the Hag, Mistress. The Ill-favoured One has missed us but doesn’t yet know where we are. The snow is Hagspite. It’s full of her wickedness. What is your will, Mistress?”

Twenty pairs of eyes turned, scrutinising Emily’s face. She tried not to show her doubts and fears, after all. She had not asked to be called ‘Mistress’ but, in this matter. she didn’t seem to have any choice. Evidently, these pixies saw her as their only hope, but everything seemed so unreal to her. She thought of home, her garden and her cat, Jasmine, those were real. What on earth was happening to her and Adam? For a moment, she had the strange sensation of being in a film, then it passed.

“Oh, it’s cold,” she said out loud and shivered. She wasn’t dreaming this chill.

She glanced at the track, which by now was only a scar across the cloak of snow among the bushes. Further along, other scars crossed it or branched from it. Emily snapped out of her trance. “There’s no point in staying here,” she shouted above the wind, “though, as I said, I don’t know my way in this land.”

“Nor do we, Mistress,” Lar answered, shivering even more as the snow thickened, “at least, not these parts.” He turned to the others: “Who among you has tramped these by-ways?”

Adam smiled to himself at the pixy’s peculiar way of speaking and looked around the little band. At first, nobody moved, but, at last, one made her hesitant way forward. She made an old-fashioned curtsy in front of Emily.

“This is Lenya from the Land of Halewood,” Lar introduced Lenya, who now spoke in a sing-song voice: “I was this way two moons ago, Mistress, seeking berries; I know,” she lowered her voice, “where this track leads.”

“Where?”

“It leads to the troll’s lair—the troll known as Nabgrasp! I was fortunate to escape with my life!” Even though Lenya had kept her voice low in the wind, pixy hearing is very sharp, so at the troll’s name, groans broke from the snow-shrouded company.

“Nabgrasp?” Emily repeated the name.

“Ay,” Lar nodded. “The Snatcher. The troll who takes what little one has. The Hag only unbinds broken-spirited pixies who agree to obey her every command. She sends them into the wider world to steal for her and to bring her coins, jewels or trinkets of value, which she then flings down a bottomless pit into the earth—”

“That’s stupid, isn’t it?” Adam butted in.

“Because the more she takes out of the world, the poorer it becomes and the happier she is. It is poverty she craves most of all.”

“…And none of you has agreed to obey her,” Adam said. It wasn’t a question, but Lar looked hard at the boy, who by now half-expected some wise saying to follow.

He was right: “Even if the rings have gone, the fingers still remain,” Lar declared in a squeaky voice that was meant to sound noble, “is it not so, Master?”

“Ay,” Adam imitated the pixy.

“But where does this troll Grabnam fit in?” Emily asked quickly.

“Nabgrasp…Nabgrasp!” Lar repeated impatiently. “He steals what little any Hag-ridden pixy might have, should he chance upon him or her. Or if he catches one of us carrying treasure to the Hag, he will take the lot!” Lar’s brow darkened and a look of hatred burned behind his squint. “But any poor pixy who falls empty-handed into his clutches…” Lar didn’t finish the sentence but sighed and, catching Adam’s eye, added: “It rains only on the person who’s already soaked, is it not so, Master?”

“Ay, it is so,” Adam nodded, but Emily nudged him and the grin vanished from his face.

Adam and Emily were full of questions, despite the snow which was piling on their clothing while the wind slashed across their faces.

“Why does the Hag allow the troll to get away with her treasure?” Emily frowned.

“Trolls are far older creatures than fairies and therefore resistant to fairy magic. The Hag is too lazy to rid her land of them. There are four of them; she finds it easier to leave them. Besides, the more Nabgrasp has in his hoard, the less there is in the world outside. Though, I dare say if his hoard grew too great, she’d turn her spite on him…but, Mistress, I beg you,” Lar shivered, “lead us from this place before we all freeze to death.”

2

Emily looked at the pixies’ thin clothing. “This way,” she shouted into the wind and led them off downhill. At least she could look determined, even if she hadn’t a clue what to do. Anyway, walking would warm them a little. Meanwhile, she hoped to think up a plan. The small folks followed her in a dejected column, their poor, half-starved bodies were defenceless against the spite-laden wind. Lar knew that they couldn’t last long like this, so he joined Emily up front.

“Mistress, the Hag intends to kill us with her spite, with this wind.” Lar raised his voice to make himself heard: “Besides, I think I told you, the troll’s lair lies this way.”

“Yes, Lar, I know—” Emily’s words were half-lost in the storm, “I have a plan; you must trust me!”

Whipping out of the sky, the snow began to settle thickly, making their progress very difficult. Since Adam was so much bigger than the pixies, Emily ordered him to make a pathway for them by dragging his feet. As she pointed out, he had shoes whereas she didn’t. At first, he grumbled about not taking orders from a girl, but the pixies looked so upset at his words that he agreed quickly and got on with it. He decided he’d sort out his arrogant sister later. Even though he was big and strong compared to the rest of the band, it was tiring work for him. At last, they came to their destination, where he and Emily were the only ones relieved by the sight of the troll’s cave lying at the foot of the hill.

“The lair of the troll,” Lar muttered darkly.

“Listen, Lar,” Emily said, “you and the others must work hard. You must each build a snowman as tall as Adam and I. We’ll help—”

“No, Mistress! Think of the danger!” Lar cried; his yellow eyes opened wide with fear. To the pixy, this was an invitation far worse than being snapped and crushed in the troll’s heavy jaws. But the Mistress seemed to know what she was doing.

“What’s dangerous about making snowmen?” Emily grumbled, “Come on, it’s an important part of my plan!”

Lar shrugged and looked as if he wanted to say much more, but he bit his lip and stared at the snow as if it were a deadly creature. After a short silence, he began to organise his followers. Emily took Adam aside and explained her plan. He resented her bossing him about, but Emily stamped a bare foot and hissed that it was hard enough to get the pixies to do anything and did he want to freeze to death out in the cold? So, he nodded his head and swallowed his pride. Reluctantly, muttering all the while, the pixies began to build snowmen. They worked so unwillingly that Emily had to threaten to leave them several times to make them hurry. At last, there was a snowman for each pixy and five each for the children, so it seemed that a silent army was standing before the troll’s cave.

“We’re ready, Adam!” Emily shouted. “Be brave, Lar, hide with your pixies behind that snowdrift.”

“Willingly!” Lar looked relieved. In an instant, all the pixies seemed to have melted into the snow.

Heart pounding, Adam strolled down to the troll’s cave, comforted that the pixies had told him he was taller than the troll. In his mind, trolls were enormous, massive giants that gobbled up children. That was in fairy tales and, after all, fairies were tiny—trolls were sure to be giants in their eyes. Half-persuaded, Adam stood in the cavemouth and shouted: “Oi! Where are you, Nabgrasp? Come out, horrid old troll!” His voice echoed in the cave although he tried to make it deep, it still sounded boyish. Adam took a step back into the snowstorm. A few frantic heartbeats later, heavy footsteps thumped deep inside the cave. A voice rumbled and echoed: “Rrrr, rrr, Old Grasper don’t smell pixies! He don’t smell spriggans! Who’s outside his Bone-Mill? Grrind to powderrr! Grrind to dust!”

In the gloom of the cavemouth, Adam could not make out the creature’s form. The stomping steps and deep voice scared him. It came closer. He could hear its breath rasping. The troll stopped suddenly a few paces from the boy. He was incredibly ugly and stank. The troll’s heavy cheeks, like a bloodhound’s, and his glum face, the whole topped by a shock of spiky hair, suggested stupidity. But above his warty nose, two small eyes full of malice and cunning warned Adam to take care. The troll was too sturdy for Adam’s taste, even if he wasn’t so tall. His knotted arms, too long for his short, hairy legs and body, drooping and swinging from a leather jerkin, looked capable of snapping the boy in half. Nabgrasp’s red rheumy eyes glared at the boy, but his jaw dropped. He’d never seen a human, a boy, before and he was puzzled and doubtful.

“‘Ere, what’rrre you then?” he growled, showing his dirty yellow teeth. He was used to terrifying pixies much smaller than himself, not a stranger standing straight and fearless in front of him. Adam was terrified, but he wasn’t going to let the troll know. If anything, he felt oddly inventive.

“You don’t know, do you, Nabgrasp? I am Lord of the Trolls. I’ve come to claim my tribute. I’ve travelled for days with my army—” He swept an arm towards the snowmen and watched Nabgrasp’s eyes widen. The snow, falling heavily now, made it hard to see the shapes clearly, convincing the slow-thinking troll of his danger. Adam’s voice grew bolder: “I am here to claim tribute and to make sure you aren’t being wicked.”

The troll scratched his spiky hair uneasily, puzzled. He peered anxiously through the thickening snow towards the ranked army at the stranger’s back. Trolls are not quick thinkers. Entire seconds passed in which there was no sign of movement. Finally, Nabgrasp’s small eyes narrowed to slits, and his huge hands clenched into fists and slowly unclenched again. He took a step forward and, baring his yellow teeth, growled: “Old Grasper knows no Lord and Master!”

Adam’s stomach, already knotted tight, heaved as the troll’s breath hit him. It stank of rotten fish. He felt weak and frightened. He wanted to run away as the troll stepped forward, but he couldn’t abandon the pixies to this monster. He straightened up to his full height and drew on unexpected reserves of courage. Fixing the troll with a menacing stare, he pointed into the distance and cried: “Nabgrasp, leave now or it’ll be the worse for you!” He held his breath, hoping that his bluff would work. Nabgrasp hesitated. Confusion, fear and hatred battled in his red eyes, but like all trolls, he was stubborn. The loss of his cave and treasure was too much to bear. He stood his ground and swung his long arms like a wrestler about to fight. Adam’s heart sank. Their plan wasn’t going to work. Well, he decided, he’d better carry the bluff through to the end. “Right men,” he called, “forward, attack! Drive the troll away!”

Adam didn’t bother to turn; there was no point. He was just hoping that the troll’s nerve would break first and that Nabgrasp would panic and run off. The troll’s face turned dirty white, and he did take off! Adam watched in disbelief as he ran down the path, downhill, as fast as his stumpy legs could carry him. Adam’s eyes opened wider still, as the first snowman rushed past him. The rest followed, brushing him aside. The snowmen only had two holes for eyes, where the pixies had poked their long fingers, but they all chased after Nabgrasp as if they could see. “Alive…?” Adam gasped. He stared at the snow where they left no trail behind them. Adam watched them disappear at high speed, close on the troll’s heels, over the hill and into the next valley. He closed his mouth and not for the first time that day, rubbed his eyes. He had to be dreaming! What kind of place was this Other World? Pixies! Trolls! Animated snowmen!

“Hooray! Come on!” Emily called to the excited pixies to come out from behind the snowdrift.

Completely confused, Adam led the way into the troll’s cave.

The place stank of troll. Firelight reflected from the dripping walls and glowed deep inside the cave, where smoke was swirling up and away through a natural rock chimney. Behind the fire, at the back of the cave, a small pile of gold and jewellery sparkled and along with them were scattered many more small coins of base metal. “Pixy wages,” Lar muttered, “stolen along with the rest.”

Most of the pixies huddled around the fire, grateful for warmth at last. Others raided the troll’s larder, which was stuffed with hams and cheeses, along with other, more revolting meat, which everyone avoided. The pixies ate as if they hadn’t eaten for a lifetime and, soon, tinkling laughter echoed in the high cave.

Adam, brooding, suddenly said, “What I don’t understand is how the snowmen came to life—”

“Me neither,” Emily admitted between mouthfuls of ham. There was a sudden silence as the laughter died away.

“Was that not your plan?” Lar asked, accusation in his voice. “A wild and dangerous plan, to be sure, but one upon which you gambled successfully? The snow was Hagspite and therefore enchanted. You made effigies out of it and commanded them with spite, and because the troll is evil and wealthy, they obeyed you and went after him.”

Red-faced, Emily coughed uncomfortably, then asked: “What will happen to Nabgrasp now?”

“He will be chased back to the Hag. Then she will learn from the troll who it was that set her spite onto him. Therefore, we must leave soon before she turns her face towards this place.”

“That’s good,” Adam laughed, “she’ll hear some garbled tale about the Lord of the Trolls.”

“Well, at least, let’s take some of this treasure,” Emily said, fingering a sapphire which flashed entrancingly in the firelight.

Lar shook his head. “Far better to travel without wealth in this Land, for in the Land of Poverty, all wealth is ill-gained and can only bring misfortune.”

“What about this, Lar?” Adam asked suddenly, picking up a silver sphere from among the coins. Lar joined the boy. His dull yellow eyes shone for the first time. “This is an elven orb, Master, sealed with a binding spell. I cannot imagine how the troll was able to lay his filthy hands on it.”

“A binding spell?”

“Ay, can you not read the runes?”

“Runes…?”

“Here.” Lar’s long forefinger traced the lines carved into its surface. “See, its name is Cari, which in Elfish means ‘Charity’. The spell binds the orb to serve only one who fights evil with a pure heart. This elven orb certainly could have been of no service to the wicked Grasper.”

“I’ll put Cari in my pocket,” Adam said. “It might come in useful.”

“Beware,” Lar warned, “that orb could be of great harm if the bearer be unworthy.”

“Don’t worry,” Adam said softly, “it’ll be all right with me until someone worthier comes along.” Indeed, Cari seemed to shine even more in his hand.

Leaving the gems with reluctance, Emily ordered the pixies to gather as much food as they could carry for their journey. She didn’t want to leave the warmth of the cave, but she knew that Lar was right. It would be dangerous for them to remain any longer in a place where they could be so easily trapped.

They hurried through the passage back to the cave mouth. To their amazement, the land outside was clear of snow and, though not warm, at least free of mist and rain.

“That’s better!” Adam said.

“Nay!” Lar shook his head.

“Why not?”

“The Hag has not cleared the snow for our benefit. It can only mean one thing—she has sent her spriggans after us. We must flee!”

At the word spriggan, the pixies scattered in all directions. Most of them were used to roaming the wilderness singly.

“Wait!” Emily shouted. “Nobody will escape the Hag unless we stick together. You can’t give up for fear of spriggans. We’ll think of another plan!” Emily was very determined. Since she had been chosen to lead the pixies to freedom, that was exactly what she intended to do. Emily hadn’t seen the Hag, but she could sense her wickedness everywhere around her. She felt it was her duty to defeat the witch. Emily liked the pixies, and it made her angry to see them looking like whipped dogs.

The pixies made their way back and gathered around her, watching her from under lowered eyes.

“Are spriggans as big as trolls?” Adam asked.

Several pixies tried to answer at the same time, each shouting louder in their high voices and each making spriggans sound worse than the other. Lar calmed them with difficulty and took over the explanation: “Spriggans are no bigger than us, but are given by nature to malice and harm.” He looked hard at Adam from under bushy eyebrows: “The wildcat never spares the sparrow, is it not so, Master?”

“Ay,” Adam laughed.

Lar stared even harder at Adam, and his squint became even more noticeable. “Have I amused you, Master?”

“Er…no, it’s just a thought I had, Lar,” Adam said quickly, not wishing to offend.

“We must make haste,” Lar urged Emily. “Many of them will be coming this way even as we talk. The spriggans carry slings and their stones, when they strike, burn like fire coals. Above all, the spriggans are savages and they pinch, scratch and bite and pull hair out by the roots. Look!” Lar took off his brown hat and pointed to a patch of scalp without hair. “They are wiry and slippery, and we have no weapons against them,” Lar ended lamely.

Emily looked thoughtful and said, “Well, if we haven’t got weapons, we’ll have to use trickery. Lar, I remember reading that folks can be pixy-led, isn’t that some kind of trick?”

“Ay!” Lar curled his lip, “I should say so!”

“Well, then, we mustn’t go so far from here,” Emily ordered. “The spriggans will come here first. They’re going to find us!”

3

Lenya showed she understood by crying out excitedly: “I know just the place! Come on!”

The delicate pixy ran ahead, laughter tinkling, leading them along a valley until they came to a hillside. It was lined with a patchwork of collapsing stone walls. Lenya turned and grinned at Emily and Lar, who exchanged knowing looks. Only Adam looked puzzled and cross at being left out. The old pixy noticed the boy’s frown, so he began to explain patiently: “They are pixy fields from the Old Days, Master, from a time before the Hag ruled. There’s no farming or honest work done in this land now. It’s cursed.” A look of great sadness passed over Lar’s face. He sighed. Then, curling his lip, just as before, he added: “This field will be perfect. There’s a tuft of grass in the gateway.”

Emily took over the explanation so that Adam’s face brightened. The pixies were more cheerful, too, and their mood seemed to lighten the gloomy surroundings.

Lar chose five of the older pixies to go with Adam and another five to stay with him. The rest followed Emily to a safe hiding place.

Lar and his five pixies joined hands and danced in a circle around the tuft of grass in the gateway. The words they chanted were strange and made Adam think of years ago as an infant when all the world was a mystery. Satisfied, Lar and the others gathered stones to narrow the gateway until the opening contained only the tuft that they had danced around. Nobody could enter the field without stepping on it. Their work finished, Lar and his companions joined Emily’s group in hiding. Instead, Adam and his pixies waited in the open field for the spriggans to come. They took up position on the other side of the wall opposite the enchanted gateway.

Time passed while they exchanged tales about their different lands. Adam’s first discovery was that all pixy names begin with ‘L’ and are easy to say. They sounded sweet in his new tongue: Lex, Lygg, Loy, Lajx and Lupp. Sleepy-eyed Loy, under his strange, pointed hat, explained how he had fallen into the Hag’s clutches.

He had been unlucky when freshly cured of Rainbow Sickness. The complicated cure left him weak and unable to work, vulnerable to the Hag’s spell.

“What’s Rainbow Sickness?” Adam asked.

The pixies looked at each other, and their mocking laughter made him more curious. Loy began: “It was my own fault. I saw a rainbow and it was so pretty. You must never point at a rainbow with your first finger. I forgot and that’s how I got ill.”

“What’s the illness like?”

“First of all, your skin turns pink…like yours! That’s why we laughed just now!” Adam looked about him at the five grinning, greenish faces and smiled too. “Worse,” Loy continued, “you lose all your energy and spend all your time looking at waterfalls and fountains.”

“How do you cure it?”

“Wait until the Moon wanes, because the illness has to slip away from you. Get you to a stream when the sun is half-set. Wade into the stream, holding a gold object in one hand and a silver one in the other. Bend forward with your fists just in the water. Then the healer asks you a question. What have you got in your hands? she says. Gold, silver and water, you reply. Then the healer commands, Go away to the sea, Rainbow Sickness! and she says some magic words, which only healers know. For the next three mornings, the healer takes you under some arches, when the sun’s half-risen…and this is the worst part, she makes you drink three silver spoonfuls of a horrible concoction. Bleah!”

“What?”

“It’s a mixture of twitch grass and saltpetre,” Loy shuddered at the memory.

“And did it cure you?”

“The cure always works,” Loy said firmly. “On the third morning, I turned back from sickly pink to this healthy green colour.”

Adam smiled.

“But I didn’t have chance to get my strength back,” he added, “when the Hag’s spell latched on to me—that’s how I left Halewood for the Land of Poverty.”

“Listen!” Lex interrupted; his head cocked to one side. Lygg spoke for the first time in a calm, low voice: “They’re coming!”

“The spriggans?” Adam asked. He couldn’t hear a thing.

Instead, he saw them first, in the distance, before the sound of chanting and of pounding feet reached him. Standing up, he clutched Cari in his pocket. In some way, the orb comforted him with its presence. Even so, he felt very tense, but the pixy faces were even tenser.

“You’d better stand up and be seen,” he said grimly.

The spriggan force advanced at a trot, but when their leader saw Adam, he halted the column. There were about forty of them. They weren’t taller than pixies; however, their ugliness was revolting. They wore no clothes, revealing their leathery bodies covered in rough brown hair. Their eyes were horrible. Even though the small, enchanted field lay between Adam’s band and the spriggans, those black-slatted, grey eyes still chilled his heart. They spanned the short distance in a blaze of cruelty and hatred. Adam could sense terror hammering in the pixy hearts at his side and understood what fear the evil nature of these creatures induced. He shuddered as the spriggan chief’s eyes passed over him from head to foot.

Adam saw the malign creature sneer and his long-nailed fingers close around his sling. Even so, he wasn’t ready for such speed of arm. Before he could move, a stone struck him viciously under the right eye. It burnt horribly and left a painful mark on his face.