Silvermoon. A Tale of a Young Werewolf. A YA Novel. 12-18 (9 page)

Jennifer stood up after securing the splint. “I’ll come with you mother.”

She looked at her husband and he nodded. She said to her daughter, using her elvin name, “Come, Lavendel, it’s time you met our saviour.”

They made their way to the cellar door, hanging now on its bottom hinge. Silvern took a jewelled clip from her hair and held it up, it gave off a soft glow at first and then brightened, giving them enough light to find their way in the darkness. She fixed the clip to the front of her clothing and led the way down into the depths.

They arrived at a simple doorway, its door also damaged, and Jennifer followed her into a room, empty except for a stone plinth on which a sarcophagus lay. An area clean of dust revealed the absence of the jar containing the rune star on its surface. Silvern approached it with Jennifer close behind. She stopped before the stone construction and lowered her head. Jennifer heard her words inside her mind.

“Helga, the wise, Helga, the strong, Helga, the saviour of the elves, awaken from your slumber, the rune stone is gone, stolen by the goblins, and we need your counsel.”

She watched as Silvern reached forward and placed her hands against the top of the stone coffin and pushed. The top part, a thick slab, moved easily, it slid off and fell to the floor with a soft bump.

She peered inside the opening with her mother, she gasped at the sight of a mummified figure. “Oh my goodness, she’s dead, look at her. I’ve never seen one of our own kind dead before.”

She turned to her mother, her face drawn, her fear and sadness apparent. Silvern touched her shoulder. “No, my child, Helga is not dead, her spirit lives, she has slept for more than two thousand years. She is a witch, not an elf at all. Watch closely now.”

Jennifer looked back at the corpse. Its features changed, the wrinkles dissipated and the pallor changed from grey to pale cream, then the eyes opened.

She stepped back in surprise. Silvern smiled and said, “There, you see, she lives, by the runes grace.”

The figure sat up, two bejewelled hands reached up to her face, the face of a young woman
,
and her silver hair changed gradually to blond. She rose up and stepped out of her stone grave. The tears rolled down her cheeks as she spoke, “Silvern, and Lavendel, the day has come where the rune story continues, but it has been taken. Do you know by whom?”

Silvern said, “The goblin princess Reega has taken the sacred star, she came with a troll, Seawan is injured and the troll is dead.”

“I know, I can see the memory of it from both of you, you did well. We have been betrayed by someone near to us, we should have been better prepared,” she said, “Now join hands and take hold of mine, Lavendel must know.”

They joined hands and Silvern took one of her hands and Jennifer the other. Jennifer felt a soft electrical charge pass from Helga’s hand through her body and into her mothers. Her eyelids became heavy, her eyes closed slowly and she saw images, images of woodland elves, and their domain in the trees. She saw a pack of huge furry creatures she knew to be werewolves, walking upright by Helga’s side. The elves bowed to her and they brought food and fed the creatures that accompanied her. She saw herself with someone, not an elf
,
but a human, watching the scene from a distance. Then the scene changed as she held a glittering star aloft in her hand, the sacred rune, and the gathered throng, elves and werewolves, raised their hands in salutation, and then the vision vanished.

Her eyes opened, Helga stared at her. “You saw your destiny, Lavendel. Once more must the elves call upon the werewolves for their help and you will lead them.”

She withdrew her hands, closed her eyes and raised her head. Then after a short pause, her voice sounded clearly in their minds,
“Evil stalks the land, the Goblins are seeking long-life. They wish to attain this through the rune stone, something they cannot accomplish. They seek to conquer Earth, to dominate humans, elves an
d
werewolves. They have invaded the Welsh mountains, the home of the were-people.”

Her
mental
voice faded as she spoke aloud,
“You, Lavendel, must go there and raise an army of werewolves and
help
rescue the rune stone from these abominations, for they will destroy it when they discover its worthlessness. But you will not go alone. The prophecy states:
‘...and a man, but not a man, will help retrieve the stone from unjust hands…’
You know this man, Laven
del. He is of the were-people and y
ou have met him,
and
you have even marked him, but beware, he must not touch one drop of your or any other elf’s blood or all wil
l be lost
.”

She turned to Silvern. “You and Seawan can raise a small army of elves, but choose ones that can keep a secret, for, if our people learn of this then elves world-wide will come running to our shores and betray our presence to the humans, and you know how suspicious and mistrusting some of them are, they tried to outlaw us once until we convinced them of our non-existence.”

Jennifer looked to her mother. “How do I do this, I am but a girl and how will I know this man who is not a man?
I know nobody of the were-people, but
I saw so
meone in a vision just now. It wa
s someone who I feel a great longing for. Is he the one, did you see him too?”

Her mother took her hand and her voice filled with sadness as she spoke, “Yes, I did, and you do know him. We met him five years ago in the town at the shoe shop, and then you met by the ford, father saw him as he ran away
, his name is
Jason Longfellow.”

She reached out and stroked her daughter’s cheek, her eyes glistened as she spoke, “You unwittingly placed your mark upon him and out of fear for his life his step-parents sent him away to a school in
South Wales
. You must go there, but don’t worry, I will guide you. My task is easier than yours, for I, together with your father, must raise an army of elves and join you when you discover Chanteline’s whereabouts. It seems a time of war is once again upon us.”

Jennifer embraced her mother. “I say without fear that my heart belongs to Jason Longfellow, Mother, and I am aware we will never be a pair. Nevertheless, my heart aches for him. I see him in my dreams every night. I didn’t know then that he was of the were-people, but I would not change a thing.”

“Yes, you touched his flesh, you are joined to him, but don’t be sad or angry, it was the prophecies doing, but beware of your proximity.”

Helga spoke, her eyes were closed and her arms outstretched as she swayed gently from side to side, her voice rang out, “This Jason has three close friends, they will go with him willingly,” she paused and opened her eyes, her voice now soft but with a trace of sadness, “I see much death in this undertaking, Lavendel. You must take your bow and your sword with you, you have already proven yourself. I shall be watching, now prepare yourself for your journey.”

Chapter eight.

John.

Jason laid down his pen as he heard a knock on his door, “Come in!”

He looked up at John who was wearing his sunglasses more often than usual, and he wondered if he slept in them. “Hello, Jason, care for a game of chess?”

“Not at the moment, John, I have a lot to read, I have my finals tomorrow.”

“Do you mind if I borrow your Grays Anatomy? I’ll read it here,
as
it’s quite old and I don’t want to damage it or something.”

“Yes, of course, John. Oh, I’m not sure if it is still there, Henrietta Morgenstern borrowed it last week and I’m not sure if she
returned it to its right place;
third shelf from the top and fourth book from the right.”

“Don’t worry, Jason, I’ll find it if it is there.” He walked over to the large bookcase, packed with several hundred books of all sorts, fiction and non-fiction, which were mostly medical books concerning Vetinary procedures that Jason had collected over the years, paid for from his allowance that the Longfellow’s sent him every month.

Jason wondered what it was this time. His wish was to be a Vetinary surgeon one day, but John was studying ancient history, so what he wanted with a book on anatomy was beyond him. He was probably feeling lonely, poor chap.

It seemed to Jason that he was John’s only companion, though he had seen him just the once, and recently, conversing in a secretive manner on the edge of the woods with a female dressed in black, and he was certain it was the same female he saw as he first arrived here.

It wasn’t that John was unpopular, a bully for instance, no, it appeared he just preferred Jason’s company. As for Jason, he was one of the most popular pupils, especially in sport - running, swimming and the javelin when they competed against other schools. It seemed to Jason’s mind as if John was checking up on him or seeking to protect him. He went with him everywhere, hiking through the snow and tobogganing with him and the girls, Yvette and Ingrid.

It seemed the four of them were tied to each other. John still had an eye for Yvette, but Yvette had no time for him, she was polite enough, but her smile showed she had no interest in him, whereas Ingrid still couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“I’ve found it!” John walked away from the bookshelf with his find and made himself comfortable on Jason’s sofa by the window. John couldn’t play chess for toffee; he was absolutely hopeless, regardless of how often Jason and the others coached him. He was, however, well-versed in European history of the past 500 years - his favourite subject being battles between nations, particularly Waterloo, where he could name the number of soldiers, horses and cannons, the casualties, the amount of ammunition and the length of the battle itself, in hours and minutes – but when Jason had asked him what he thought of Napoleon’s and Wellington’s tactics, and how he himself would have conducted things, changing the battle tactics for example, he had frowned heavily and said,
“Tactics! I wouldn’t have changed anything, Jason, it was a perfect battle, full of glory and daring-do”
and it was then Jason realized he had memorised the facts to impress Professor Langdon, the history teacher - an authority on Napoleon Bonaparte - and that John would never understand the complex intricacies of chess.

As John turned the pages, Jason saw the fine black flecks on the back of his left hand, they appeared more frequently nowadays. “Why do you dye your hair, John?”

A weak grin followed by, “Premature greying I’m afraid, I’ve had it for years, I was wondering when you would notice.”

“Does it run in the family?”

His eyes flickered slightly. “No, no, of course not, it happens sometimes,” then he cl
osed the book and asked. “What i
s life like where you come from?”

Jason was about to pick up his pen, he turned in his seat and said, “I thought you would never ask, John.”

He moved his chair round and faced him and then started. “I lived on a dairy farm with my father and mother just ten miles west of Huntingdon in Cambridgeshire. My mother was a schoolteacher before she married my dad, Iain Longfellow, and after I arrived she devoted six hours of her working day teaching me everything she knew.”

“Farming, that’s rather strenuous work.”

“One gets used to it, John. Our work day started at five in the morning and ended around eight at night. Our farm has sixteen cows and dozens of chickens and geese, and a pen full of pigs, not to mention the sheep and the alpacas that roam the fields.”

“I’ve heard that dairy farming is mucky work, all those different animal droppings, must be quite a stink, having that muck all over you.”

“As I said, one gets used to it. And another thing, John, when working with animals, it’s important to stay clean, especially one’s hands.  We would wash before and after lambing, calving, milking, and even when feeding the pigs.”

“Did you have any sheepdogs, to round up the sheep?”

He leaned back and stretched, gazing up at the ceiling. “We have just the one; her name is Jessie. After I finished my work and studies, Jessie and I would go for a run across the fields. We’d run over the hills and down the dales, jump across streams and chase after rabbits or squirrels, never catching them, but then again, never meaning to.”