The Knights of Eruin
by Miles Goodenuff
Smashwords edition
Copyright 2007 Miles Goodenuff
Published by Strict Publishing International
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Chapter One - Horrible Children
“I hate them,” Lucy whispered, pointing at the group of children at the other end of the playground. “They are totally horrible.”
“Be quiet,” Michael told her. “They will hear you and then they’ll stare at you. I hate it when they stare at us.”
They could not possibly have heard Lucy’s whisper, but sure enough as Michael had predicted two of them turned round and stared in their direction.
“I told you,” Michael whispered to her urgently. “Quickly, let’s go indoors before something happens.”
He took his sister’s hand, and together they retreated into the school. They went straight to the library, the only place inside the school where the rules permitted them to remain during a break if the weather was fine. Rules were rules, and although neither Lucy nor Michael considered themselves goody-goodies they were both sensible enough not to break school rules without a very good reason.
The library was empty. On a warm day like today few children would want to be inside any longer than they had to be, and after a morning of the usual lessons in the swelteringly hot classrooms the playground and the school field were even more attractive than usual.
“What are we going to do?” Lucy whispered to her brother. “They keep looking at us. It's every day now. They want something from us but they won't say what they want. I think it's dangerous.”
“Don’t be silly,” Michael told her firmly. “And you don’t need to whisper in here. They can’t possibly hear you.”
He was older than Lucy, nearly eleven and in year six at the school. That made him important and knowledgeable. In a little more than six weeks he would be going to secondary school, and as a senior at the primary school he was absolutely certain he knew pretty nearly everything there was to know about the school and about everything and everyone in it.
“I am sure they can hear us wherever we are,” Lucy said obstinately. She was two years younger than her brother, and at least twice as determined and stubborn when she had made up her mind about something. “They can see inside our heads.”
“Now you are being silly.” Michael was laughing at her. “No one can see inside your head. Anyway, yours would be too messy. If Mum could see inside your head she would tell you to clear it up!”
She smacked him in the ribs with the back of her hand, not hard, but enough to tell him she was annoyed with him.
“Don’t,” he said. “That hurt.”
“No it didn’t. You can be nearly as horrible as they are sometimes. And they can see inside my head, I know they can. They know what I am thinking before I think it. Siobhan always knows. She gets the answers right when I know them just to stop me answering them.”
“Siobhan in your class? Her sister is in my class. Myra never says anything. She just looks when Mr Jones is going to ask her a question, and then Mr Jones asks someone else instead.”
“You see?” Lucy said triumphantly. “They can put things in your head too. That’s what they do with Mr Jones so he doesn’t make them answer questions when they don’t want to. They’re bad, I know they are.”
“You’re still being silly. They are just a bit different, that’s all. They come from an island or something.”
“Ireland,” Lucy corrected him. “I know, because Miss Strong said. But Megan Murphy is from Ireland and she isn’t different. She’s nice. They aren’t different because they come from somewhere different. They are different because they are different.”
Lucy was right. The five children, three girls and two boys, had joined the school two years ago when the Riley family had moved into the area, and now there was one of the five in each of the school years from year two to the sixth year in which Michael was too. Although none of them had ever caused any trouble that the teachers could identify, there was something undeniably odd about them and most of the other children tended to keep away from them whenever they could.
Michael gave Lucy a sideways look. He always did that when she said something unexpectedly bright and accurate. Sometimes she surprised him and everyone else. She had a remarkable memory for facts when she wanted to use it. She would often remind him of something that someone had said months or years ago, something that he too must have heard but either he had not listened or had not bothered to remember. His memory, he knew, was selective. He remembered what he wanted to remember and threw away the rest, frequently becoming annoyed with himself when there was something he knew he should know and could not remember it. Lucy seemed to remember everything, but never bothered to use most of it.
“Let’s go outside again,” he suggested. “It’s boring in here.”
“I think they’re witches,” Lucy told him in a conspiratorial voice. “I think they are bad witches and wizards.”
“Not good witches, like you?” asked Michael with a grin.
Lucy’s face was completely serious. “How did you know?” she asked.
“There’s no such thing,” Michael said with complete certainty, ignoring his sister’s daft comment. “Not in real life, only in books and films.”
“They must be something else,” Lucy decided. “Something even more horrible. I’m going to block them out of my head so they can’t see the mess in there.”
Michael shook his head. “You’re as bad as them sometimes,” he said. “Never mind. It will be the holidays soon, and then you won’t have to see them at all. Then they won't be able to bother you.”
“No,” Lucy agreed. “I’ll just have you bothering me instead.”
Michael was trying to think of a reply that would be suitably annoying. He had just settled on “Not as much as you bother me”, knowing it was not particularly funny or clever but unable to think of anything better on the spur of the moment, when Mr Jones, his teacher, appeared and shooed them outside.
“You don’t want to spend your time in the library on a beautiful day like this,” he told them. “Go and enjoy the sunshine.”
For the moment, the Riley children were forgotten as Michael and Lucy headed in separate directions to join other friends from their own classes. Neither of them noticed that Myra Riley was silently watching them.
Chapter Two – The First Day of the Holidays
The first day of the summer holidays arrived as first days of holidays should always arrive. Both Lucy and Michael stayed in bed for nearly an hour longer than they would have done on a normal school day.
They were not asleep, and they were not particularly tired. They did not get up because they did not have to get up, and because no one told them to get up. On a normal day Michael Turner was usually out of bed long before anyone else in the Turner household, and at least an hour before he needed to be ready for school. Today was different. With plenty of time to do all the many things he wanted to do, there was simply no rush. It was a luxury to have nearly six long weeks stretching out before them without the need to hurry in the mornings.
Finally, it was the sound of other children outside in the street that roused Lucy and Michael from their beds. The urge to play was greater than the temptation to enjoy the luxury of being able to do nothing.
“Mum! Mum! Mum! Can I go out? Can I go out?”
Lucy rushed down the stairs. “I’m tired,” she announced a little less loudly as soon as she reached the living room.
“You stayed in your bed too long,” her mother told her with a smile. “Yes, you can go out as soon as you are dressed, but stay where I can see you. I don’t want to be searching high and low for you when it’s lunchtime.”
Michael also dressed and went outside. It was another scorching hot day, and many of the children who went to their school were already out in small groups, talking, laughing, and playing with toys, bicycles, skateboards or scooters. Although each of the houses had a perfectly good garden, the children were always out at the front on the pavements or even in the road. Being a small road that did not lead anywhere, the only vehicles were usually those of the people who lived there who knew very well to expect children playing in the road as they approached their houses. It was safe, or at least it was as safe as any road possibly could be. Even so, Lucy and Michael’s mother had warned them to watch out for cars and to stay well away from the corner where a vehicle might come round unexpectedly.
“Look.” Michael nudged Lucy as they went out of their front door.
“WHAT?” she said in annoyance. “Don’t do that. I’m going to play with Emily.”
“Look up the road. What are they doing? They don’t usually come anywhere near here.”
Lucy looked, and saw four of the Riley children in a group on the far corner of the road.
“I don’t know,” she said. “And I don’t care. As long as they don’t come down here I don’t care. I’m not playing with them. I’m ignoring them.”
Lucy walked determinedly in the opposite direction. She was less than half way to Emily’s house when she stopped as though suddenly frozen to the spot. Very slowly, she turned.
“Go away,” she shouted. “I’m not talking to you.”
Michael hurried up to her. “What’s the matter?” he asked, concerned. “I thought you were going to ignore them.”
“I am,” she insisted. “I was ignoring them until they shouted. Make them go away.”
Michael looked up the road at the Riley children. They had not moved. They stood in a silent group.
“They’re not bothering us,” he said. “They’re just standing there. They aren’t doing anything.”
As if she had heard him, Myra raised her arm. They were too far away to be absolutely certain, but Michael was sure she was smiling. He turned back to Lucy.
“They aren’t doing anything,” he said, now less sure of himself. “Look.”
He pointed towards the end of the road to show her that they were just standing there doing nothing. His arm fell back to his side in surprise. They were not there.
“It’s OK. They’ve gone,” he told Lucy. “They didn’t do anything.”
“I hate it when they shout to me like that,” Lucy said. “Someone might think they are my friends, and they’re not. I hate them.” She shook her head, her long blonde hair waving from side to side emphasising her words.
“They didn’t shout,” Michael said in surprise. “They didn’t say anything. They just stood there, then Myra put up her hand and they went.”
Lucy stamped her foot. “You don’t know anything,” she said angrily. “You can’t hear anything. You don’t know what it’s like.”
She stalked off towards her friend’s house, leaving Michael once again firmly convinced that girls, even his sister, were considerably sillier than boys. All the same, the Rileys were certainly a little odd, except possibly Myra. She, he thought, might be quite nice to get to know a bit better. He had found himself thinking about her from time to time. Her long dark hair and tanned skin was such a contrast to his sister’s fairness, and it would be awfully nice if she were his friend.
Michael shook his head to clear his thoughts. He did not like girls and that was that. They were silly creatures with none of the common sense of boys. Dark or fair they were all the same. They just did not make sense.
He rushed up the road as Jack kicked a football in his direction. That was better. Football was a proper boys game. He looked over his shoulder as he kicked the ball, to make absolutely and completely sure that Myra Riley was not there, watching him. She most definitely was not, and for some reason he did not understand that made him terribly disappointed.
Chapter Three – Going Away
Michael and Lucy would have been quite happy to spend the whole of the summer holidays doing little more than playing with the other children living in their road. Their parents, however, had other ideas.
“We’ve booked a holiday,” their mother told them. “We’re going down to Melmering-by-Sea to stay at Auntie May’s cottage.”
“I don’t want to go,” Michael said firmly. “Auntie May always wants me to play games with her, and I get bored.”
“Auntie May won’t be there,” their mother told them, “She’s going away on a cruise for three weeks. We will have the place to ourselves.”
“I want to go to Disneyland,” Lucy declared. “It’s much better than Melmering. Melmering is boring.”
Their mother smiled. “Not this year,” she said. “We can’t afford it. Maybe we can go another year. Anyway, you like Melmering. If the weather is nice you will have a great time on the beach, and now that both of you can swim properly it will be perfect.”
“I never get to go anywhere I want,” Lucy grumbled. “I never get to go anywhere at all. I want to stay here with my friends.”
“Well, I have a surprise for you both. I was talking to Mrs Riley yesterday down at the school, and she says they are renting a house just up the road from Aunt May’s cottage. So you will have all the Riley children to play with.”
“No!” Lucy was horrified. “I’m not going.”
“Oh come on, Lucy,” her mother coaxed her. “You like Siobhan, don’t you? She’s in your class and your teacher says you get on very well with her. I know that Michael likes Myra too, don’t you Michael?”
“Not particularly,” Michael told her. “She’s all right, I suppose.” He turned away, thoughtfully.
“I’m definitely not going,” Lucy said. “No way. I’m staying here.”
“We’re going, and that’s that,” their mother told them firmly. “You will enjoy it when you get there. You always do.”
* * * * *
“I’m not going,” Lucy said again to Michael later when they were alone.
“It will be all right,” Michael said. “We don’t have to go near them if we don’t want to.”
“You only want to go because you like Myra.”
“I do not,” Michael declared indignantly. “I want to go because it’s good there. We can make sandcastles and volcanoes, catch shrimps, go fishing, go out places. We don’t do that at home.”
Lucy did not look convinced, but she did not bother to argue.
“I’m going out,” she announced. “I’m going to play with Tara.”
“Ask Mum first,” advised Michael, turning his attention to the computer. There was a new computer game on the Internet he had just found, and he had also just realised that he would not be able to play it when they went to Aunt May’s cottage. Aunt May did not have a computer, and neither did she have an Internet connection.
“Mum!” Lucy shouted as loudly as she could, without bothering to find out where her mother was at that moment. “Mum! I’m going out. OK?”
Lucy started putting her shoes on.
“I didn’t hear her answer,” Michael told her, now staring intently at the computer screen. “You’d better make sure she says it is OK.”
“You’re just deaf,” Lucy informed him sarcastically. “Anyone would have heard that. She said I was to be back by four.”
“She didn’t,” Michael insisted. “I never heard her.” But Lucy was already out of the door.
They were there. They were at the end of the road again, all five of them this time. Lucy stopped at the top of her driveway as if she had walked into a wall.
“I’m NOT,” she shouted. “I’m NOT. GO AWAY.”
She turned her back on them and took a few steps towards Tara’s house. Once again she stopped as if she had hit something solid.
At that moment, Michael looked up from the computer and saw his sister standing outside, quivering almost as though someone was shaking her. He jumped up, and ran outside.
“Lucy! What’s the matter?”
As he reached her, he saw that her face was red and all screwed up. He thought something was hurting her, and he looked around wildly so see what it was. Perhaps, he thought, a wasp or a bee had stung her.
“What’s the matter?” he said again.
“It’s THEM,” she said through clenched teeth, and only then Michael realised the look on her face was from anger and not from pain.
“Who?” He looked up and down the road, quickly spotting the Riley children. “What did they do to you?”
“They won’t let me go to Tara’s house.”
Michael spun round. He could see nothing, other than the small group at the end of the road. They were at least a hundred yards away.
“No one is stopping you,” he said. “Just go!”
Lucy was still shaking. She turned round with what seemed to be a tremendous effort and stared straight at the Riley children, her face screwed up in concentration.
“Go away,” she said quietly and firmly. “Go right away right now.”
The children were too far away to have heard her, but as Michael watched he saw the two smaller children stagger as though someone had hit them. Both of them turned and ran. Siobhan, Patrick and Myra stood quite still for a moment.
“I told you to go away,” Lucy said with a little more force in her voice.
Siobhan put her arm up in front of her face, and Patrick and Myra both took one step backwards.
“Go away NOW,” Lucy shouted.
The remaining three Riley children turned and left, disappearing round the corner as quickly as the younger ones had left a few moments ago.
Lucy, still trembling, sat down on the path. She seemed exhausted.
“What’s going on?” Michael demanded. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing’s the matter now,” Lucy told him. “I’m all right now they have gone.”
“They weren’t doing anything to you.”
“No,” said Lucy with satisfaction. “They didn’t do anything to me. I’m stronger than they are. I know that now.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing.” Lucy looked straight into Michael’s eyes. “Nothing at all. I’ve just realised it. There is nothing at all to worry about.”
She jumped to her feet, and without another word she ran up the road towards Tara’s house, leaving Michael completely confused. He turned and walked back towards his own front door, glancing up the road as he went to where the Riley children had been gathered.
He was not completely sure, but he thought he caught a brief glimpse of Myra. It might not have been her. It might not have been anyone. He might have imagined it, because by the time he had turned his head properly and focused his eyes on the corner of the road, there was no one there. If it had been someone rather than his imagination or a fleck of dirt in the corner of his eye, Michael was quite sure that the someone had looked in his direction and waved at him.
Chapter Four – Melmering-by-Sea
Their father came home from work early that Friday. Mother had already packed, and the living room and hallway were stacked with cases, boxes and bags.
“We’ll never fit all this in the car,” their father said shaking his head.
“You say that every year,” mother replied.
“Yes, and every year we leave something behind,” he pointed out. “Perhaps we could leave the kids behind this time.”
“It would make no difference to you,” she answered, “I expect you will spend all your time fishing as usual.”
It was true. Although he was more than happy to join in anything that mother or Lucy or Michael wanted him to do, as long as they were content to manage without him when they were on holiday, he was always to be found on the beach fishing hopefully.
They did manage to fit it all into the car eventually. There was even room for both Michael and Lucy, and for once Lucy did not say a single word about wanting to stay at home and to play with her friends instead.
It would take about two hours to drive to Melmering-by-Sea. It was a little village, nestling on the coast between the busy towns of Westford and Lanston. Somehow, Melmering had managed to avoid the mass of tourists that invaded its neighbouring towns each summer. Perhaps it was because there was little to attract anyone to Melmering. It was, as Lucy had said, almost unbelievably boring with two sleepy little pubs, a few shops, a church and an odd collection of houses and bungalows many of which were used only for holidays and were empty for most of the year. Its beautiful and almost empty beach should, in the normal way, have attracted many visitors. Fortunately, or unfortunately for the would-be visitors, there was no easy way of reaching it unless you happened to be able to stay in a house on one of the network of little private roads and tracks that led to the sea.
Unlike the bustling towns of Westford and Lanston, Melmering had no proper seafront. There was a distinct lack of anything to amuse anyone who did not happen to appreciate the joys of sand, stones, rocks, water, the varieties of beach and sea life inhabiting it and, above all, peace and quiet. In Melmering you might wander all day on the sand without being hit by a carelessly thrown frisbee or a poorly aimed football. You might completely fail to fall down any hole dug in the sand by over-enthusiastic children. You might listen as carefully as you could and be unable to catch even the most distant call of any human voice. You could, of course, quite deliberately pass by near to one of the villagers who without a doubt would greet you with a cheery ‘Good morning!” or “Good afternoon!” as the case might be. Even then, if it were not to your liking to hear such a pleasant greeting, you would see them from a considerable distance and simply take a different direction where there was no one at all.
Melmering, in short, was quiet, and Melmering was the ideal place for anyone who wanted absolutely nothing more to do than to do absolutely nothing.
Aunt May had, as promised, packed up and gone away on holiday, leaving her cottage empty and with little trace that she had ever been there except for dozens of little notes stuck around the house giving instructions for the proper operation of appliances.
For Michael and Lucy it was a game to guess where they would find the next note and what it would say. There was the obvious “Don’t switch off” on the fridge and freezer, but some were a little more mystifying. Several of the larger cupboards had a large red note “No children”, as did the loft. The back door leading to the small garden was labelled “Don’t forget to lock” with a second note underneath “Mind the windows and don’t pick the apples”. Under the stairs, Michael found an old-fashioned upright vacuum cleaner with a note “Spare drive belts under the sink”, and Lucy discovered several windows bearing the notice “Don’t open won’t shut”.
The children soon lost interest in Aunt May’s notes, and decided that the beach needed investigation. It was, after all, nearly twelve months since they had last seen it, and despite assurances from both of their parents that the sea would still be there they felt it essential to check it and inspect it as soon as possible.
The beach was less than two hundred yards from Aunt May’s cottage, along a private gravelled lane leading only to the top of the beach and to four small houses. Few cars ever came down here and both the lane and the beach itself were as safe as any lane or beach could possibly be, even for children with a tendency to be a little less careful than their parents would have liked them to be. Even so, they knew they should ask permission before disappearing seawards.
“Watch out for cars,” warned their mother. “Don’t go near the sea; stay off the rocks; don’t get wet; don’t throw stones; keep quiet and don’t annoy anyone. Don’t get your shoes and clothes covered in sand.”
Her last instruction was made without any real hope of it being obeyed. It is, of course, impossible for any child aged nearly eleven or nearly nine to spend more than a few minutes on any sandy beach without the sand finding its way onto all of his or her clothes even if they try their absolute hardest to stand still and to avoid it. As for shoes, it is one of the most unalterable laws of nature that these will be completely covered within a few seconds. These facts were known by Michael and Lucy as well as their mother knew them. Dutifully, they promised to try and stay as unsandy as possible.
“Should we change before we go?” asked Lucy.
Their mother considered it. “No,” she said. “Go as you are. Your clothes need washing anyway. Michael, you’re covered in dust. Where have you been?”
Michael could not remember where he had been that had resulted in the thick layer of dust spreading all over him. He stared at his grubby hands thoughtfully.
“It might have been when I helped to carry in some of the bags,” he decided.
“You only carried one!” his mother told him, “And that was straight from the car to the kitchen.”
Michael was mystified. It never failed to puzzle him how things like that could happen. One minute he was perfectly clean, and the next he seemed to be covered in dirt with absolutely no explanation as to where it came from or how he had suddenly attracted it.
“I’ll wash my hands in the sea,” he announced. “That will get rid of it.”
“Don’t go near the sea,” his mother reminded him. “You can wash and change when you come back. Don’t be long, and stay where you can be seen from the end of the lane.”
Chapter Five – The Beach
The tide was out. From the top of the beach Michael and Lucy looked down the long bank of shingle, across the clean sand, past the rocks and out at the smooth blue sea sparkling in the bright sunlight. There was no one in sight.
“Yes!” Michael’s shout was loud enough to startle the cormorants sunning themselves on the top of the rocks with their wings outstretched. None of them rose into the air in fright, but all of them ruffled their wings and looked curiously in his direction.
With Lucy close behind him, Michael ran down the shingle, slipping and stumbling on the loose stones until he reached the smooth sand. He kicked happily at a small piece of driftwood left behind when the tide had turned and the sea had started its retreat nearly six hours ago.
The tide here was one of the things the children loved about this beach. At times the sea would come nearly to the very top of the shingle bank twice a day and then go back to reveal more than a quarter of a mile of sand with interesting pools and rocks. At other times the sea seemed hardly to move, struggling to come up as far as the base of the shingle, and completely failing to expose more than a hundred yards of clean sand at its furthest point from the top of the beach.
“It’s the moon that does it,” Michael told Lucy knowledgeably every time they again noticed the different tide movements, and no matter how many times he tried to explain it, she looked at the sky and told him he must be wrong. The moon was not anywhere to be seen.
It did not really matter. The movement of the sea made the gently sloping beach a perfect playground. It might be a little annoying to work all morning or all afternoon on the most impressive sandcastle they had ever built and then see it destroyed by the incoming water, but that was part of the fun. If they could make it bigger, stronger, with more walls and ditches that stopped the incoming water flattening it completely for just a minute or two longer than they had managed last time, then that was an achievement to be envied by any would-be architect or builder.
Even better, they had discovered that whenever the sea went out there was water draining down the beach towards it. It was not always visible, and although the sand was usually slightly damp it took many experiments to find that a little channel dug at an angle across the sand would quickly fill with water flowing in the direction of the sea. Soon, huge areas of beach were criss-crossed by the children’s channels, leading to huge pools they had dug with low sand walls on the seaward side to keep the water from continuing its journey to the sea. Their channels collected so much water that frequently it was a running battle to build up the walls of their pools and to deepen the pools themselves quickly enough to prevent the water breaking through and escaping. Then, of course, as the sea approached their mighty waterworks, it was time to dig through their hastily constructed pool wall and to let a wave of water rush down the beach to meet the incoming waves of the sea.
There were plenty of such important tasks to complete on that beach, and as long as the weather remained fine and warm, Michael and Lucy would be fully occupied.
Michael spun around and around, his arms outstretched. “Three weeks!” he shouted happily, “It’s all ours for three weeks!”
Lucy was a little less enthusiastic, but she too was smiling happily. “I hope there aren’t any crabs this year,” she said.
“There are always crabs,” Michael told her. “They run away from you. I’m going to catch some.”
He headed towards the rocks, knowing that without a doubt he would find crabs in the rock pools. All he needed to do was to move some of the smaller rocks a little and there would be all sorts of sea creatures hidden underneath each of them.
“Stop it,” Lucy called after him. “You can’t catch crabs because you have nothing to put them in and nothing to catch them with.”
“I’ll catch them in my hands,” Michael shouted back, knowing very well he was not brave enough to pick up crabs with his hands. “I’ll bring them back to play with you!”
“No!” screamed Lucy. “Don’t be horrible. I’ll tell Mum if you’re horrible and she won’t let...”
Lucy broke off in mid squeal. Slowly she turned and stared intently at the top of the shingle bank.
“What is it?” Michael stopped walking towards the rock pools. He too looked towards the top of the shingle bank, but he could see nothing unusual. “Lucy, what is it?”
She said nothing. Michael knew instantly there was something wrong, something seriously wrong. It took a lot to keep Lucy quiet once she had started to express her opinion about anything, and crabs were one of her particular hates. As her big brother, it seemed a sort of duty to tease her a little, and pointing out the crabs on the beach was always a good way to start any holiday. He hurried back towards her.
“They’re here,” she said in a low voice as soon as he came up to her. “They’re all here.”
“I can’t see anyone,” said Michael, shading his eyes with his hand and trying to see what it was she had seen. “There’s no one there. Who's here? What are you talking about?”
Lucy’s face was white, as though something had suddenly terrified her. She was shivering. Michael put his hands on her shoulders.
“What is it?” he asked, now worried too. He could see that something was really upsetting her.
“They’re here” she said again. “The Rileys are here.”
“I can’t see them,” he said stoutly, “And anyway, you said there was nothing to worry about. You said that last time we saw them.”
His words seemed to shake her fear from her. She turned to him. “You’re right,” she said with a smile. “You are quite right. There is nothing to worry about. But they are here.”
“Where?” Michael asked, annoyed now. “They aren’t here. There’s no sign of them. The beach is empty.”
“There,” said Lucy, pointing.
As she spoke, Myra Riley appeared at the top of the beach from the lane that led back towards the main road through the village.
“See?”
Michael gazed up the bank of shingle. It certainly was Myra who stood at the top, but she had only just come onto the beach. She had not been there a moment ago, and Lucy could not possibly have seen her.
“How did you know...?” Michael looked from Lucy to Myra and back to Lucy. The two girls were staring at each other as if he did not exist. It was not the staring of the playground, the hostile glare that came from all of the Riley children when anyone ventured too close to the tight little family group. Nor was it the staring of the road outside Lucy and Michael’s house; the frightening stare that Michael had hated and that Lucy had returned so effectively, apparently making the Rileys go away. But neither was it a stare of friendship, or the stare of two children who would talk and laugh together once they had worked out each other’s characters. That would have been a stare that Michael knew; a stare to be followed by an understanding of all the likes and dislikes of each other, with the rapid and remarkably accurate judgement of another person that only children can make. It was definitely not one of those stares.
Michael did not know what it was. He knew only that he did not like it.
“Lucy!” He put his hand on her arm. She shook it off, without taking her eyes from Myra.
“Lucy!” He tried again. “Let’s go. Let’s go home. We’ve seen the beach.”
Lucy did not move. Neither did Myra. They stood motionless, until a seagull swooped low between them and seemed to break the spell or whatever it was that held their eyes fixed on each other. Lucy turned to Michael.
“What? What did you say?”
“I said let’s go. Food will be ready. Mum said we mustn't be long.” Michael took Lucy’s arm again and urged her forward. This time, Lucy did not resist him. Together they scrambled up the steep bank of stones and past Myra. She turned as they passed. She said nothing to Lucy, but quite obviously looking at Michael she smiled, just a little, and said, “See you soon.”
* * * * *
Michael and Lucy ran back to the cottage as fast as their legs would carry them. It was not that either of them was scared of Myra. It was just that somehow it seemed more appropriate to run.
“Mum, Myra Riley is on the beach,” Michael said breathlessly.
Their mother held up her hands very much like a policeman trying to stop a line of fast moving traffic.
“STOP!” she ordered. “Take off your sandy shoes right there, and your socks. Then go and wash your hands. Dinner is nearly ready.”
The two children obeyed reluctantly.
“They aren’t very sandy,” Michael complained. “And they aren’t wet at all.”
“They are quite sandy enough,” his mother replied firmly, “Did you say you saw Myra? Oh good. I hoped they would arrive. Mrs Riley has a habit of changing her mind. Now you will both have other children to play with.”
“I’m not playing with them,” Lucy declared. “I don’t like them.”
“It’s up to you,” said their mother. “You have three weeks here, remember. It will be nice to have them here if you do want someone else to play with. Anyway, put your shoes and socks in the kitchen and go and wash your hands.”
They saw nothing more of any of the Riley children that day.
“It’s going to be hot again tomorrow,” their mother told them. “If you get up early you will be able to play on the beach. The tide is high at around midday, so it will be right out first thing. I expect you want to build sandcastles or dig pools. That’s what you usually do, and then we can all have a swim just before lunch at high tide.”
Although they both went to bed at their usual time, neither of them awoke particularly early the next morning. Their mother let them sleep, deciding that disturbing them was unnecessary. After all, they had three whole weeks to enjoy the beach, and the weather looked set to stay warm and dry
“Come on!” Michael burst into Lucy’s room mid-morning. “We have to get on the beach!”
“I’m tired,” Lucy complained, pulling the bed covers over her head. “Leave me alone.”
It took Michael nearly twenty minutes of trying to persuade her before Lucy finally scrambled out of bed. They had a quick breakfast.
“Don’t have too much to eat now, because it’s only a couple of hours before we go swimming,” cautioned their mother. “You’ll have cramp if you swim on a full stomach.”
They collected their spades for digging in the sand, and raced towards the top of the beach. As promised, the sun was gloriously warm and the sea sparkled a bright blue that mirrored the cloudless sky.
“Come on!” Michael shouted to Lucy who was not moving quite quickly enough for his linking. “The sea’s coming in. We won’t have long on the sand.”
He ran down the bank of shingle, and then stopped. A strange noise came to his ears. Lucy caught up with him.
“What’s that noise?” she asked.
“Look.” Michael pointed out towards the rocks.
There was a group of children in the distance, and the noise was coming from their direction. As Michael and Lucy listened, they became certain what the noise was. It was a child screaming, and the children were the Rileys.
They could not go without investigating, nor could they simply ignore whatever was happening and start digging in the sand as they had intended to do. Reluctantly, Michael and Lucy started walking towards the Rileys.
As they drew closer it became clear what was going on. Liam Riley, the youngest, had somehow become trapped between two large rocks, his foot firmly wedged between them and the lower part of his leg scraped and bleeding on the rough sides of the rock. He was screaming in pain and fear, and the other Riley children were trying to free him.
Siobhan turned round as they approached. “I suppose you’ve come to gloat,” she said nastily, “Like your friend up there.”
She pointed along the beach. Michael looked in the direction she was pointing and saw a tall woman standing and looking towards them. She had long, blonde hair and, most peculiarly for a warm, dry day like this, she wore a long, black raincoat.
“Not now, Siobhan,” Myra Riley told her. “Concentrate on what we’re doing.”
“They’ll make it worse,” Siobhan said bitterly. “They always do, all of them.”
“I don’t think they are,” Patrick Riley told her. “At least, he’s not, and I think she is different in a different way.”
Michael had no idea what they were talking about. He ignored it. “Can we help?” he asked.
“We need to move the rocks,” Myra told him. “Can you help pull them?”
Michael and Lucy both pulled at the rocks together with the four Rileys. Liam continued to scream. The rocks were far too heavy, and they could neither lift them nor pull them to either side even a fraction.
“We need help,” Michael said, gasping with the effort. “Someone needs to go and phone the fire brigade or something, or get someone stronger to help pull.”
He looked up and down the beach urgently. “That woman. Go and tell her, Lucy. Get her to help.”
“NO!” Myra’s voice was a high-pitched squeal. “She made it happen. You can’t go near her. And we haven’t time. The sea is coming in.”
She was right. Already rivulets of water from the incoming sea were running over the bumpy sand towards the rocks, like exploring fingers eager to reach them. It would only be minutes before the little waves were lapping around their feet.
Lucy suddenly jumped back. “You’re doing it wrong,” she shouted, “Don’t use your hands; use your heads.”
Michael was now firmly convinced that both Myra and Lucy had gone completely mad. He was trying to decide whether to rush off himself to find help when he saw Lucy’s face was screwed up in total concentration just as it had been when the Riley children had been staring at her in front of their house. The other children all stood back away from the rock and away from Liam who was now crying quietly.
To Michael’s amazement, the smaller of the two rocks started to wobble. Lucy’s face was still screwed up in concentration. She was holding her breath and beads of perspiration ran down her forehead.
“I can’t!” she screamed after a few seconds, releasing her breath with a gasp and relaxing her face. “It’s too heavy. Help me.”
Michael watched, frozen to the spot, as Eileen, Siobhan, Patrick and Myra Riley faced the rock and screwed up their faces in a similar expression of concentration to that which had now returned to Lucy’s face.
There was a loud crack and a sucking noise. The smaller of the two rocks tilted away from Liam and slowly but surely rose up into the air, dropping sand and water from underneath it. It did not stop as soon as it was clear of him, but rose higher and higher until it was at least six feet from the ground and more than ten feet away to one side of Liam who had fallen to the ground clutching at his ankle.
“Now,” said Lucy grimly. She put one arm behind her and brought it forward rapidly over her head like a cricketer bowling a fast ball. The rock exploded into millions of tiny fragments. A cloud of dust drifted away from where it had been.
All four of the Rileys turned to Lucy. She sat down on the sand, panting.
“Well done,” said Siobhan. “I never really thought you were one of them.”
Thank you,” said Myra. “We couldn’t have done it without you. We’re not strong enough. You do look like one of them though.”
Michael sat down onto the sand next to his sister. He did not mean to. His legs had suddenly decided they did not want to support him any more.
“What’s going on?” he asked faintly.
“Come on,” said Myra, ignoring his question. “We have to take Liam home. He’s bleeding badly.”
Liam’s ankle was indeed bleeding badly. The rough sides of the rocks had grazed and cut him, and although it was not a major injury it clearly needed some attention as soon as possible.
Michael managed to scramble to his feet and followed Myra and Patrick as they supported Liam between them. Lucy walked next to him. Why they followed, he did not know. Somehow it seemed the right thing to do. It seemed to be the only thing to do.
None of them looked back at the tall woman with long blonde hair and the long black raincoat. She was still there, some way along the beach in exactly the same spot. She had not moved, except to turn just enough to keep watching them as they went to the top of the beach and disappeared from her view down the lane.
Chapter Six – Dalwights
The house that Mrs Riley had rented for their holiday was considerably smaller then Aunt May’s cottage, and it must have been rather cramped for all five children and Mrs Riley. There was no Mr Riley, but neither Lucy nor Michael knew what had happened to him. As far as they were aware there simply was not a Mr Riley.
“What have you done?” Mrs Riley’s horrified voice came from inside the house even before they reached the front door. She appeared in the doorway, a small, dark woman with long, flowing black hair very much like Myra’s although considerably longer.
“What’s she doing here?” Mrs Riley pointed at Lucy.
“It’s all right,” Myra told her. “She’s not a dalwight, even if she does look like one.”
“Are you sure?”
Myra nodded. “Quite sure. She just saved Liam.”
Mrs Riley bustled around Liam, bathing his ankle and trying to comfort him while the others were explaining what had happened. Lucy and Michael tried to stay out of the way. They sat together on a chair in the corner of the small living room.
“I should be thanking you, to be sure,” Mrs Riley turned to Lucy when she at last had some clear idea of the events that morning. “You’ll be wanting to know more now, I expect?”
“I think I know,” replied Lucy calmly. “It makes more sense now.”
“Well I don’t know,” said Michael, sitting upright and trying to look his full nearly-eleven-years-old-and-big-enough-to-know-everything. “It makes no sense to me.”
Mrs Riley looked at Myra. “Is he...?”
Myra shook her head. “I don’t think so. He’s just ordinary. At least, nothing has developed yet that I can feel. Lucy is the only one, and hers is stronger than anything I have ever felt. She doesn’t seem quite like us. It’s so strong that I thought she was a dalwight at first, and she looks exactly like one, but no dalwight would have saved Liam like she did today. Michael is just Michael.”
Patrick and Siobhan were whispering.
“What’s that?” Mrs Riley’s sharp ears caught a few words they were saying.
“No he’s NOT,” Myra shouted at them angrily. She too had heard some of it. “He’s NOT my boyfriend.” She stamped her foot and stormed out.
Mrs Riley clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “Now, now Patrick, Siobhan, you know better than to tease Myra like that. We have more serious matters to consider.”
She turned to Michael. “You saw what your sister did?”
He nodded hesitantly. “I’m not sure what I saw,” he admitted. “It looked as though she...”
“It looked as though she lifted the rock without touching it and then blasted it to smithereens in mid-air with her mind.” Mrs Riley finished the sentence for him.
He nodded again, looking even more confused.
“That’s exactly what she did,” Mrs Riley told him.
“That’s not possible,” Michael said firmly. “What is she? A witch?”
Mrs Riley laughed, and so did the other children. Myra had returned and was standing in the doorway behind the others. She smiled too.
“No, she’s not a witch. It’s not magic. Magic does not exist, although I suppose you could call it a sort of magic. It’s the same sort of magic that makes plants grow, or creates seeds and babies. It’s an everyday magic of the same sort that lets us think, see, read, enjoy, play, love. That’s all it is.”
“It’s not.” Michael was quite positive about it. “It’s not an everyday thing that lets you pick up huge rocks with your mind and smash them to pieces.”
Mrs Riley sighed. “It’s not easy to understand,” she told him. “It took me years before I understood it properly, and then only when I met someone else who had children like mine. I was scared at first.”
She stood up and paced backwards and forwards for a few minutes, thinking how she could best explain it.
“When Myra was born,” she said, “I did not believe it at first. I thought it was just me. I thought it was a mother’s natural instinct to feel what her baby wanted. I thought the things that came into my head were because I was just being a mother. It was not until she was a little older that I realised I was actually hearing her, in my head, receiving her thoughts when she sent them to me. Now I know that it is not just some freak of nature, and that there are hundreds or thousands of them just like mine. It’s completely normal.”
“It’s not normal.” Michael shook his head vigorously.
“Yes it is,” Mrs Riley told him. “It’s the next development of the human race. It’s no more surprising than when man first started to think for himself instead of doing everything by instinct or reaction.”
“That took millions of years!”
“Possibly,” agreed Mrs Riley, “And maybe this will take millions of years. Maybe what we’re seeing is just the beginning. It’s been going on for a long time, you know. If it wasn’t for the dalwights there might be millions of people already who have started to develop this way.”
“Millions!” Michael looked at her disbelievingly. “What are the dalewights?”
“Dalwights,” she corrected him. “Dal, not dale. They are trying to stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop the evolution. Stop anyone who has started to develop. Take their development away, or destroy them if they can’t take it away from them.”
“Why? How?”
“We don’t really know why,” Mrs Riley looked sad. “The dalwights have been around for a very long time, possibly from long before the development started in the others. They have some of these abilities too, but there is something warped and strange about them. As soon as anyone has any sign of this development, the dalwights are on to it and something will happen. We know that sometimes they can just take it away, stop the power so that the child goes back to ‘normal’. When that doesn’t happen, and sometimes they can’t, then there is often an accident, like this morning with Liam. If Lucy hadn’t been there...”
Mrs Riley shuddered. “We all have to be more careful,” she told the children. “If the dalwights are taking that sort of action then we are all in great danger. We must watch for them.”
“But...” Michael was having trouble taking all this in, “How do we know when someone is a dalwight? And what do we do if we see one?”
“Dalwights,” Mrs Riley said slowly, “Always have blonde hair and blue eyes. Anyone who looks like that should be treated with suspicion, and you must never be alone with one of them. If you see one around, then be careful. Anything might happen, but they won’t make it obvious. It is always an accident. It is nearly always dark-haired children who develop the new abilities without being a dalwight, so it is safest to keep clear of anyone who is not dark.”
“But...” Michael became even more confused. “Lucy isn’t dark. She’s blonde, very blonde, and she has blue eyes.”
“I know,” said Mrs Riley. “I also know that she is not a dalwight. She must be something different.”
Chapter Seven – Another Attack
Lucy and Michael made their way back to Aunt May’s cottage without talking. Their mother was waiting at the door.
“Where were you?” she demanded angrily. “I looked on the beach. You weren’t there. You know better than to go off without telling me where you are going.”
“Sorry,” Michael apologised. “Liam Riley hurt his leg badly on the beach. We helped him home.”
“Well, that was nice of you,” their mother relented a little, “But you really should have come and told me. Is Liam all right?”
“He’s all right,” Lucy said brightly. “His mum is sorting it out.”
“Come on then,” their mother urged them, “We’re about to go swimming. Go and get yourselves ready.”
“We need to talk about all this,” Michael whispered to Lucy as they headed towards their bedrooms to find their swimming costumes.
Lucy nodded. “Later,” she whispered back. “We’ll talk after swimming, while Mum is getting lunch ready.”
By the time they were all back on the beach, the sea had already reached the bottom of the shingle bank, just right for swimming. The beach sloped more steeply here, and so now the water became deep enough to swim without wading out many yards. There was no one else on the beach.
The water was warm or, at least, as warm as the sea ever is on the south coast of England. Lucy shivered as she waded out until it was deep enough for her to swim. She threw herself forward and struck out strongly.
“Not too far out,” her mother called anxiously. “You know there’s a strong current. I don’t want you ending up at Westford.”
“You can come and rescue me,” Lucy called back, turning onto her back and happily kicking with both feet, driving herself along rapidly in the water away from the beach. “I’m going to swim to the rocks.”
The sea had not yet covered the larger rocks, although by high tide that day they would be completely submerged.
“Not on your own,” her mother shouted. “It’s too far.”
Grumpily, Lucy turned and propelled herself into the shallower water, putting her feet down as soon as she knew she could stand without her head going under each time a small wave came along.
“Look!” she called, pointing up the beach. The three older Riley children, Myra, Patrick and Siobhan were on their way down carrying rolled-up towels.
Michael, just starting to wade out into the water, paused and self-consciously returned Myra’s cheerful wave.
“Now can I swim to the rocks?” Lucy shouted as both Michael and Myra joined her. Patrick and Siobhan were splashing around in the shallower water, and were evidently not strong swimmers.
“All right,” her mother called back, now in the water herself and swimming slowly up and down without going out of her own depth. She was not a particularly strong swimmer, and liked to stay where she could stand up safely if she put her feet down.
All three of the children struck out towards the rocks. The current was strong as Lucy’s mother had warned, dragging them to the west in the direction of Westford.. It took them nearly fifteen minutes to reach the rocks. They pulled themselves out of the water and sat on top, shivering in spite of the warm sun as the gentle breeze dried the droplets of water on them.
Lucy lay down on the flat surface of the rock and closed her eyes. She was soon quite dry, lying comfortably on her back and enjoying the warmth of the sun on her body.
“I’ll race you back,” suggested Myra to Michael.
Michael shook his head. “We ought to stay with Lucy,” he told her. “My mum will be furious if we leave her behind.”
“We ought to go back anyway,” Myra said. “Our mother says we should always make sure there are at least three of us together, in case a dalwight appears. We know there is at least one of them somewhere round here.”
Michael remembered the tall, blonde woman on the beach that morning. Myra nodded before he even said anything.
“She was one of them,” she confirmed.
“How did you know I was thinking that?” Michael demanded indignantly.
“You were going to say it,” Myra laughed at him.
“Can you see everything I think?” Michael was suddenly worried. He looked away from Myra, staring back at the beach.
“No,” Myra explained. “Only what’s in the front of your mind and usually only if you want to say it to me or if it’s about me.”
She was looking at him a little oddly as if he had just said something rather unexpected to her, but he was still looking away at the shoreline.
“Look,” he said. “It’s her again.”
Myra looked. The tall woman with long blonde hair was standing at the top of the beach, several hundred yards from where they had come down.
“She’s too far away to be a problem,” Myra decided. “If she comes any closer then Patrick and Siobhan should be able to deal with her. Dalwights are only really dangerous if they manage to catch one of us on our own.”
“I really don’t understand all this,” Michael told her. “What can they do? Why are they dangerous?”
“They can take away our abilities,” Myra said simply. “If one of us is alone and unprepared, they can get into our heads and suck out our strength.”
Michael made a face. “Ugh,” he said. “That sounds disgusting.”
Myra smiled. “All it would mean is that we go back to being ordinary, like you. It’s not so bad to be ordinary.”
Michael turned to look at her. It sounded sort of like a compliment, to be called ‘not so bad’ by Myra. For a moment her smiling face held his attention, and then he saw something behind her, something that wiped the smile from his face and replaced it with a look of absolute terror.
“What is it?” Myra twisted herself to see what he was looking at. She nearly fell off the rock.
“Lucy!” Myra’s shout was urgent and frightened, but Lucy was already up and alert to the danger.
All three of them gazed in dismay at the huge wall of water that had somehow arisen far out at sea and that now raced towards them at high speed.