The Ancient Ones (The Legacy Trilogy Book 3) (3 page)

This time, however, Father did not appear. Leopold waited and watched the vessel as it slowly approached, hoping to see what kind of people it would bring. He dropped his bucket and stood high on his rock jutting from the sand, peering out into the distance with the briny wind in his eyes.

He was sure he had never seen it before—a small square sail, red as Autumn sunset. He waited, anxious and excited as the squarish and awkward looking craft drew nigh, elated to note that rather than pass them by, the tiny boat was heading directly towards him.

Soon, the vessel was near enough to glimpse its occupants. A man stood beside the mast in the middle of the boat. He wore a black cloak, the hood pulled up around his head to shield him from the weather. Someone else sat huddled beside him, and it was only as the vessel hissed onto the sand that Leopold realised it was an old man, miserable and desperate to keep out of the wind and spray. His hands rested upon a long box of midnight black that took up the front half of the boat, holding it to steady himself, rather than from any fear of letting it fall out. It looked a hefty thing.

With the bow of the craft resting upon the sand, the black-clothed man stepped over the box and alighted at the prow, wetting his boots and the hem of his cloak. The older, white haired fellow scrambled to follow. He leapt directly over the side halfway along the boat, not realising it was much deeper, and he disappeared up to his middle. Much muttering and cursing followed as he struggled to shore.

A boy also bound from the vessel, springing from where he was sitting unseen. He landed with a splash of his bare feet and skipped ashore before he was barely wet, stamping his feet in the shallow water, looking very pleased with the sensation indeed.

The first fellow strode directly up to Leopold, his face partially hidden in the shadows of his hood. Only his mirthless mouth and chin were visible.

‘Where is your father, Leopold?’ he asked.

Leopold was astounded. ‘How do you know who I am?’

The old man shambled onto the soft sand. He was in a simple set of trousers and a worn, lace-up shirt. He cocked his head to one side, his ear aimed into the wind, as if funnelling it into his head to gather its secrets. A long straight stick that had washed ashore with the morning tide lay at his feet, and the old fellow bent and picked it up. His hands wandered over every bump and contour until he smiled, satisfied with his find. He then roamed about, poking the sand with his newfound prize, leaning upon it to aid his movement. From his behaviour, Leopold had the feeling the man was blind or frail or both. Certainly, he was strange, muttering away in a constant hoarse whisper.

The young boy had finished with his splashing and ran, diving headfirst into the dry sand higher up the beach. He rolled about, smothering himself with the powdery grit and laughing hysterically. It was bizarre behaviour, even for such a small child, and Leopold wondered who this strange trio could possibly be.

The cloaked fellow had waited unperturbed while Leopold gawked at his companions. Remembering him, Leopold dragged his eyes from the other two to see what the cloaked visitor wanted.

As Leopold stood there, peering into the shadow of his hood, the stranger spoke.

‘I know who you are, Leopold. You are the son of Edmond Calais. Your mother is Lillith Trallevan. I know them well. I have not seen you since you were a tot, but I have come now to meet your father and discuss important deeds that need his attention.’

Leopold decided he had not been so wise to let this person land upon the island, and he should creep away and inform his father. ‘What you say is nonsense,’ he told the newcomer, for although he knew his own surname, his mother and father had told him strictly never to mention it. They always introduced themselves as ‘the Greens’, never revealing the truth—although why they kept it secret was unknown to him. ‘Go away from here!’

The hooded one did not smile or frown—he did not show any emotion, shadowed inside his cowl.

Yet, as intimidating as the man might be, Leopold could not stop himself from being distracted by the boy, on his knees, shoving sand into his mouth, coughing and spluttering it out again. He waved his sandy tongue about vigorously and grasped at it with his fingers, giggling with glee.

‘They were right not to tell you any of this, Leopold,’ the man continued. ‘Still, I will speak with your father momentarily.’

Leopold was torn between his desire to discover more about this mysterious stranger and his impulse to run. ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

‘I am the saviour of this world, or its destroyer,’ the man said, as if that was a reasonable answer.

‘Which is it?’ Leopold asked, annoyed at such a nonsensical response.

‘That has yet to be seen,’ came the reply.

A sudden roar of wind at his back made Leopold instinctively duck, and a dark shape flew overhead. The four upon the beach followed its path as it passed out over the ocean, roaring like thunder. The flickering streak circled around and shot back towards the shore, sending up spray on either side as it licked along the sea. Leopold had never seen anything like it and he gawked at it, astounded.

A person could be seen at its core, covered in shimmering vapour and spawning a glimmering trail of air behind. He did not slow and collided into the beach, sending up a shower of sand that had Leopold ducking once again and shielding his face. When the heavy powder had fallen back to earth, standing there was his father.

‘How dare you come to my home uninvited, Magician!’ he bellowed, striding towards the stranger furiously. ‘Leopold! Step away.’

Leopold did as told, retreating hurriedly from the cloaked man. The magical air had vanished from around his father, but the sand was dancing at his feet, excited by an unseen force. He knew his father was capable of extraordinary things—lighting the stove fire with a gesture, calling the goats with a whisper—but he never imagined this. He can fly?

‘I will give you one chance to leave,’ his father continued, standing his ground and pointing his finger at the black-clothed newcomer. ‘Never return. Never speak of me or my family. Never come here again.’

The other stood silent, unmoving. His posture lacked any trace of fear or apprehension. Indeed, the man did nothing at all except wait.

In that moment of expectation, Leopold’s father noticed the old fellow wandering the beach and it was his father who—for an instant—looked fearful.

‘Why have you brought him here?’ he asked, breaking the tension. ‘If you are hoping to kill me, Magician, you will be bitterly disappointed. I am not the same man that I was. You know that already.’

‘I am looking for my son,’ the cloaked visitor replied.

‘I told you what would happen. You should have left with his mother when you had the chance. I am sorry about what happened, but that does not change anything. Coming here will cause no good. We do not want you here. Leave us be!’

‘Did you hear that, Salu?’ the stranger called to the old man. ‘How strange it is to be scolded by a devil. The master’s servant wants nothing of our company.’

The old man glanced between the two speakers, his eyes restrained to narrow cracks as if to keep the sand from blowing into them, before returning to his wandering.

‘Who are you to call me a devil?’ Leopold’s father asked accusingly. ‘I have turned my back on the past, while you are obsessed with it.’

‘But your past has not turned its back on you, Edmond. You cannot hide here forever. The world will find you eventually; probably very soon. Fifteen years I have scoured the earth and all I have to show for my efforts is this lunatic, plus the idiot boy that accompanies him. I avoided coming here for as long as I could. Would you not take us in and see what I have to say?’

Leopold’s father balled his fists with rage, and Leopold had no time to register what happened next. His father and the cloaked magician disappeared, launching upwards simultaneously, trailing wind and sand, flying over the sea amidst ribbons of twisting fire. Light flashed between them and the sound of thunder followed. The shimmering tails filled with water as clouds of spray were sucked up from the sea and followed the men, growing longer by the moment.

Leopold ran to the edge of the ocean to see, while the old man faced them with his mouth dangling open. The boy contentedly ignored it all, mounding up the sand into castles beside the old man, setting shells upon the walls and cheering at his efforts.

‘Leopold!’ came a cry as his mother ran down beside him. ‘Are you all right?’ She cupped her hands to his cheeks to ensure he was not harmed. When she was sure he was safe, she looked towards the sea with worry.

‘What’s happening?’ Leopold asked her.

The woman shook her head. ‘Your father raced outside.’ She looked to the old man with curiosity, and then back to the ocean, as two great watery streams snaked in the sky, slapping together with violent clashes that battered and churned the sea. The noise of their battle was rolling thunder across the waves. ‘Who is out there with him?’

‘I don’t know. A magician.’

The ocean became muddled and turbulent as the violence rendered above it took effect; the wind blew from all directions at once. Waves arrived larger and angrier, full of foam and angst, heaving higher and heavier upon the sand. The few boats in the distance raced quickly away.

Leopold and his mother ducked down as, without warning, the two men flashed over their heads with a roar of wind, showering them with sea spray and sand. The air blasted and blinded, and when they opened their eyes, they could see tendrils of powder spiralling up from the dunes, transforming the stream of water that surrounded the men from clear to solid white. Barely visible at the forefront of one serpentine length was his father and in the other, the black outline of the magician.

Leopold lowered his gaze to find his mother gone from his side. He followed after her to ensure she was safe.

‘Who are you?’ she was asking the old man with the stick in his hand.

The fellow was startled from his observing the battle, but reached over and took her hands into his withered palms. He stroked her skin with gentle, caressing movements, as if holding a sleeping kitten. ‘Beautiful woman,’ he said, gazing at her fingers.

‘I beg your pardon?’

The fellow turned his wrinkled face to hers, his eyes tightly shut. His lips quivered, while he took part in a colossal struggle to gather his scattered wits. ‘Apologies, My Lady,’ he said. His lips slightly apart, but the effort seemed too much. Defeated, he dropped her hand and returned his attention towards the sea.

Leopold followed the battle, frustrated and feeling useless, as his father jousted in mid-air with the magician. It infuriated him that he could not help. Then an idea came to mind. Perhaps there was something he could do. He raced away and over the dunes, ignoring the cries of his mother calling after him.

The path to their house wound from the shore. He was panting and breathless when he passed the trees between the hills and burst into their home; fire roaring bright and warm in its hearth. He ran straight into his parent’s room and to his father’s chest beside their bed.

He opened the chest and threw everything onto the floor, digging to the bottom until he found what he sought: a tiny wooden box, a varnished and decorated thing that fit in the palm of his hand. He had discovered it as a boy and, unfathomably, when his father had caught him looking at it, instead of chastising him, the man drew out a small, silver key from his pocket, unlocked the box, and showed him the wondrous object inside before again locking it safely away.

Leopold had no time for keys and threw the container down. He stomped upon it ferociously with the heel of his foot until it cracked apart. Dropping to his knees, he tore the lid from its twisted hinges and leapt upon the glittering object that rolled out, burying it deep within his fist to keep it safe.

He hurried from the house and back to the beach, feeling the rattling booms that rolled in from the sea as his father and the magician waged their battle, nervous with the knowledge that what he carried could save them all.

His mother was standing beside the old man on the sand, watching the sky, horrified. As Leopold came to her side, one of the snaking tendrils of magic that curled above the sea pulled away from the other and turned back towards the shore. The other pursued it, close behind. The foremost stream, black at its core, headed towards them and carved a path across the wave tops, splitting the ocean in two. The second stream followed closely, and before they made landfall, it arched up, and with a sudden burst of speed, crashed into the first with a chaotic flash and thunderous noise.

Leopold and his mother covered their ears as the black-cloaked magician smashed to the ground like a stone fallen from heaven, his dark robes whipping around, disappearing in a shower of sand as his impact shook the ground.

The other stream of magic faltered. Its tail was reduced to almost nothing, and it circled back towards the sea to collect further mass. Perhaps his father’s decision had been rash, for it left them alone and defenceless with the magician, but Leopold knew what to do.

He ran towards the fallen stranger as the fellow was shaking his head and struggling to climb from the bottom of the impression he had made with his landing.

Leopold stood above him, readying the magical relic in his hand. ‘I won’t let you hurt my father!’ he cried as he shoved the silver ring upon his finger and pointed towards the stranger.

He had expected something marvellous—wild magic to burst forth and smite the man—but nothing happened at all; only the magician pointed his finger to Leopold in return. Palm up, he made a beckoning motion, slowly waggling his finger.

‘No, Leopold!’ came a cry and his father vaulted down from the sky to land beside him, leaving his magical tail to continue and dissipate, a spatter of salty rain across the dunes.

He was too late, for the ring turned to liquid around Leopold’s finger and flew away. Fluid streamed through the air directly into the magician, disappearing beneath the cloth of his robes, absorbed into his skin.