Frog Page 4

  ‘So, who exactly is this Belzeera?’ ventured Chris.

  The knight leaned his head back against the tree, closed his eyes and dug his hands into the grass.

  Chris sat and waited in silence, studying the knight’s features again. It was as if he was gathering his will, using the peace and the quiet to call on a hidden strength. Chris could see the colour filling his face and he noticed a change in the man’s features, slowly a transformation was taking place, and as he watched it was as if he was becoming healthier, more alive in his features. Even his hair had darkened from a greyish shade to a thick shiny black, the moustache and beard were less ragged and more trim.

  The minutes passed and the tired, pale figure that Chris had unearthed gave way to a conditioned and rejuvenated, younger-looking man. Even the armour seemed brighter, keener.

  Sir Peacealot proceeded to tell Chris of his quest and how he had defeated Saleeza and Farella and his encounter with the ice monster, ending with his confrontation and battle with Belzeera. Chris sat there open mouthed; he could see the cold sweat on the knight’s brow, he could feel the tension, he could almost smell the wretchedness of the witch.

  The knight turned to Chris. ‘And so young man, here I am, lost, alone and friendless except for your company. Guide me if you can for I feel that you have much to play in my future.’

  He looked up at the evening sky, streaked red and blue with the onset of a summer sunset.

  Chris raided the kitchen once more and this time gave Sir Peacealot a large bottle of water, half of which he consumed in frantic gulps.

  ‘Here’s something you might like, it’s good for energy,’ said Chris, passing him a chocolate bar. He watched in fascination as the knight unwrapped it and took a bite. The look on his face was of absolute pleasure.

  ‘I had heard of such delicacies, but thought they only existed in the minds of fools,’ smiled Sir Peacealot.

  ‘It’s called chocolate and I don’t think that it was discovered until the fifteen-hundreds,’ said Chris. ‘I’ve seen something on the internet about it not being introduced to Europe until then, so you definitely wouldn’t have known about it in England at your time.’

  Sir Peacealot looked at him with a frown.

  ‘You speak many strange words to me, some that I do not understand.’

  ‘What words aren’t you sure about?’ replied Chris.

  ‘Well ...’ The knight paused, running the words though his mind. ‘Internet. Urope, and ingland, these are unfamiliar to me.’

  ‘I can understand that you don’t know what the internet is,’ said Chris. ‘And I don’t think they used the word Europe in your time but surely you know the name of your own country?’

  ‘My country?’ said Sir Peacealot quizzically. ‘My country and the kingdom of my birth is Castellion and I know it by no other name.’

  Chris looked at him.

  ‘Either you’ve got a really bad case of amnesia or you’ve been living in a totally different world.’ It was then that the possibility hit him. ‘That’s it, what did that witch say to you? Something like, “I cast you to sleep for all time and in other worlds”.’

  ‘I cast you into the sleep of time and other worlds,’ corrected Sir Peacealot quietly.

  ‘That explains it,’ said Chris excitedly. ‘You’re from another time and another world, like a parallel world. I’ve read about them in some of my science books, about black holes and things that warp time.’

  But Sir Peacealot was not listening. Chris followed his gaze skyward to the now pre-dusk sunset of blues, reds and greys with the first shining diamonds of stars appearing. A pale twilight illuminated the orchard.

  The expression on Sir Peacealot’s face told Chris of his longing to return to his world, his land and his life.

  The chatter of a bird heading for its nesting place for the night brought them out of their thoughts and Chris looked at his watch. 21.18 it read.

  ‘Well, what are we going to do with you?’ said Chris. ‘I suppose I could try to smuggle you into my room for the night but it’s going to be a bit dodgy with you clanking about in that armour. Look, I’ll tell you what, you can spend the night in the shed, nobody goes in there these days. I’ll get you a blanket and some more food and you can hide there until we figure out what to do next.’

  ‘Hide?’ responded Sir Peacealot, raising his voice. ‘I am a knight, I do not hide!’

  ‘Okay, okay, keep your armour on,’ said Chris. ‘What I meant was that it will be somewhere comfortable and no one will disturb you.’

  ‘Hmm, blanket and food you say? Would it include any of that wonderful chocolate?’ asked the knight hopefully.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ replied Chris, standing up. ‘Meanwhile you’d better not leave this lying around.’ He reached down into the grass and gripped the handle of the sword. It seemed unnaturally light in his hands as he brought it up in front of him, pointing the tip to the starry sky.

  ‘Here you are,’ he offered, but as he took a step, the true weight of the sword returned and it tilted forwards in his hands. The momentum pulled him towards Sir Peacealot who watched in alarm. Chris tried with all his strength to stop the blade from descending, but it was no use as the grip twisted in his hands and he stumbled with the sword falling towards the knight. He closed his eyes. Even to the last second he hung on to the sword, even as he felt it drive home.

  ‘It’s a good job that I’ve still got my reflexes,’ Sir Peacealot said and Chris opened his eyes to see the sword firmly planted in the earth between the knight’s splayed legs. ‘Here, let me have that before you do some real damage.’

  He clasped his hands around Chris’s to draw the sword from the earth and in the final light of dusk they both saw the electric-blue glow from the sword’s blade. As its intensity increased, a single note filled the air, sounding very much, as Chris would explain later, as if someone were running their finger around the rim of a glass.

  The runes on the blade shone a golden colour and burned through the steel until it looked transparent. The blue glow enveloped them both now and try as he might Chris could not release his hands.

  ‘What’s happening?’ he shouted as a whirlwind erupted around them.

  ‘Magic!’ shouted back Sir Peacealot. ‘Powerful White Magic!’

  Chris held his breath as the shadows of the orchard blurred into a grey mist which was then replaced by a curtain of stars that slowly wrapped themselves around him and his new companion.

  He looked up at Sir Peacealot who had his eyes closed. Chris tried to speak but when he opened his mouth there was no sound except the constant ringing tone that seemed to emanate from the sword itself. He couldn’t tell if the stars were revolving around them or if they were the ones who were moving. The spinning intensified, making him dizzy. The last thing he remembered was saying over and over to himself, ‘Don’t let go, don’t let go,’ then, the soft dark cloak of unconsciousness wrapped itself around him.

  3

  Castellion

  The smell of fresh green grass drifted into his senses as Chris awoke, and he opened his eyes to a cloudless, powder-blue sky. His head was clear and he felt refreshed as his thoughts calmly put together his last memories.

  ‘Wow!’ he murmured. ‘What a dream, I’ve got to stop eating so much just before I go to sleep.’ He lay there enjoying the warmth of the sun and the feeling of being totally comfortable.

  This grass must be the softest grass I’ve ever slept on, I must tell Mum to get some more,’ he thought as he turned on his side. As his vision took in the view and reality kicked into his consciousness, he froze, open mouthed.

  He was lying on a grassy hill looking down across a green rolling dale. A river glistened in the sunlight as it made its way out of a wood and towards an enormous stone castle in the distance. Even from here he could clearly see the turrets and buttresses with flags fluttering in the breeze. The drawbridge was down and he could just make out a horse and cart making its way into the cas
tle.

  ‘You have got to be kidding me!’ he said aloud, pulling himself up to a sitting position. ‘This can’t be real.’

  ‘I’m afraid it is, young squire,’ said a familiar voice behind him.

  Chris swivelled himself around and there, before him, sitting cross-legged and in his cloth garments, his armour placed to one side, was Sir Peacealot, his face beaming with a friendly smile.

  ‘I thought that you were going to sleep for all eternity. The sun has been risen threefold and breakfast has been caught, cleaned and cooked.’ He indicated to a small fire with what looked like the remains of a rabbit sizzling above the flames.

  Chris looked at his watch; the face stared back at him and he read out the numbers, 21.20. But it’s daylight,’ he thought.

  ‘What’s happened, where are we?’ he asked.

  ‘Come here my friend and I’ll tell you what I know while you breakfast on some of this delicious rabbit and fresh field mushrooms.’ Sir Peacealot could see the concern on Chris’s face. ‘Don’t you go worrying about your safety now. No harm will come to you while I’m around.’

  Chris didn’t actually feel afraid. Everything still felt like a dream to him and so he sat himself next to Sir Peacealot and took the hot piece of meat that was offered to him, blowing on it and passing it from hand to hand to cool it down.

  ‘Well, my young friend, the first thing I must tell you is that you have a purpose here and whether you know it or not there is some magic about you. Listen to me well as this concerns our past and our future.’

  Sir Peacealot proceeded to tell Chris that the Wizard Gizmo had come to him in a dream while they travelled through what he now knew was called the Slipstream, a passage of time and space, accessible only by using some of the universe’s most ancient Magik. The knowledge of this power had been a closely kept secret since the dawn of creation, handed down only by those known as Guardians.

  There had always been a Guardian for each of the Dimensions. Castellion was one such Dimension and Gizmo was one such Guardian. He possessed the power of the rare and ancient Magik to protect Castellion and the gateway to the other Dimensions.

  For the first time known, an individual outside the Guardians had gained access to the secret knowledge of time and dimensional travel and was preparing to use it on behalf of the darkest and most evil of beings, Lord Maelstrom!

  Lord Maelstrom intended to use the power not only to conquer the lands and world of Castellion but to spread the endless night across all of the Dimensions. The individual concerned was Belzeera, Lord Maelstrom’s elder sister, and she was just beginning to build up the knowledge that she needed to control the full force of the ancient powers. That was why Gizmo had armed Sir Peacealot with the protection of the high Magik among many other spells.

  As he had told Chris before, Belzeera was a shamanic witch, the distinguishing element of shamanic witchcraft being the knowledge and use of certain plants to effect mental transitions between worlds. However, this did not transport her physically. Somehow she had come into the possession of a lost Rune Stone, and Gizmo suspected that Lord Maelstrom had something to do with this. This Stone, when combined with her power, gave her the full ability to travel through time and the Dimensions. But one last ingredient was missing to make the power complete, and that was the blood and soul of a pure and steadfast person. The problem was, it would need such an individual to also defeat her, that person was Sir Peacealot.

  Gizmo’s most powerful Magik was conjured into Sir Peacealot’s shield and sword. Secret unseen runes were implanted into both, enough to deflect most dark or evil magic. Gizmo knew that he would have to use the witch’s own powers against her if she were to be defeated and so the bag that he had given Sir Peacealot contained a potion of the plants which gave her her shamanic powers and he had instructed Sir Peacealot as to when to apply them to the sword and shield and so bring the high Magik into effect. From what Sir Peacealot could gather, the wizard hadn’t expected the knight to be transported into another Dimension and affected by the witch’s final curse.

  In the dream, the Wizard Gizmo had also told Sir Peacealot of a prophecy that a boy not of this world would be instrumental in Castellion’s future. Strange days and strange Magik were coming to the kingdom. New friends and old foes would be thrown together in battle.

  Sir Peacealot had woken from the dream and found himself lying in the grass, and on seeing the castle he knew that he was home again. His stomach had complained of hunger and he had decided to wait until Chris awoke naturally and used the time to go hunting in the nearby woods, where he had caught the rabbit and picked the mushrooms.

  Chris had listened intently to the tale, deciding to save his questions for later, and had concentrated on satisfying the hunger pains in his own stomach. By the time Sir Peacealot had finished, Chris had devoured most of the rabbit; he had never tasted anything as delicious and although he didn’t usually like meat (in fact, he had often thought of becoming a vegetarian) he had to admit that he would quite happily eat roast rabbit again.

  Sir Peacealot removed what was left of the carcass from the fire and proceeded to pick at the bones.

  ‘If you wander to the bottom of the hill, there’s a small stream where you can wash the food and the journey from your hands and face,’ he told Chris.

  He found Chris a short while later, sitting by the stream with sadness on his face.

  ‘What’s the matter my young friend?’ he asked.

  ‘What’s going to happen to me?’ asked Chris. ‘My Mum will wonder where I’ve gone. How am I going to get home?’

  ‘Fret not and fear not, I’m sure that you will return to your rightful place and time. We’ll see Gizmo and he’ll put everything to rights, just you wait and see. Come on, we have adventures ahead of us, the first of which is to find that crafty old wizard.’

  Sir Peacealot climbed into his armour and the both of them started their journey towards the castle. Along the way the knight explained the etiquette of court and how a castle’s society worked.

  ‘We don’t want to alarm people or give them the knowledge of what’s happened,’ he explained. ‘They must not know that you are from another Dimension, another world, so we must make up a story between us. What I would suggest is that I say that you come from a little known part of the realm seldom visited by outsiders and that you are my new squire in training that I have acquired on my travels. How does that sound?’

  ‘Okay,’ said Chris. ‘But you’re going to have to tell me a bit about what a squire does, and what about my clothes?’ He looked down at his trainers, combat trousers and Disney T-shirt and gestured to the hooded top that he carried over his arm.

  ‘They’re going to think that’s a bit strange.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of some explanation if I don’t,’ said Sir Peacealot, who then proceeded to tell Chris about the duties of a knight’s squire.

  By the time they were on the track leading to the drawbridge, Chris’s head was spinning with so much information on sword carrying, horse grooming, armour cleaning, cooking, washing and other squire’s duties that he wished that he had never asked.

  ‘I’ll make it up as I go along,’ he thought. ‘No one will notice.’

  As they approached the castle he looked up at the flags fluttering from the turrets. They all had the same colours and motif on them: a pale blue background with a golden-rayed sun in the centre.

  When they eventually walked onto the large wooden drawbridge and up to the portcullis gate, they were immediately challenged by two of the castle guards who were the biggest, most ferocious-looking men Chris had ever seen. The same blazing emblem that adorned the flags was resplendent on their tabards.

  ‘Halt, who goes there?’ said one very gruffly.

  ‘Friend or foe of Castellion?’ said the other as they both pointed their sharp-looking pikes at Chris and Sir Peacealot.

  ‘What’s this?’ questioned Sir Peacealot from behind his visor. ‘Why such formal
aggression towards strangers?’

  ‘Orders of the king,’ barked the larger of the guards. ‘These are troubled times. Now state your loyalty, your business and your names.’

  ‘My loyalty is to the one and only ruler of the kingdom, King Hector and my business is with the royal court and His Majesty. I am Sir Peacealot, defender of the realm, quest knight and loyal subject and this is my trusted squire and page,’ he announced, lifting his visor.

  The guards looked astonished, their pikes dropping to the ground.

  ‘It was rumoured that you were dead my lord, slain by the vicious hag witch Belzeera,’ said the first guard. He turned to the other guard. ‘Brother, go and send the news to the king and arrange an escort for Sir Peacealot and his squire. Go on, don’t just stand there gawping, make haste.’ As the second guard disappeared into the castle, the first motioned Sir Peacealot and Chris to enter.

  ‘You are welcome to rest in the keep until your escort arrives, my lord.’ He motioned them to the guards’ room at the base of one of the towers.

  ‘No bother,’ said Sir Peacealot. ‘We’ll wait in the courtyard.’

  The guard looked concerned. ‘I would advise otherwise, my lord.’

  ‘And why should that be?’ asked Sir Peacealot.

  ‘There are those that thought you dead sire, and rumours are believed that you had been transformed into a servant of Lord Maelstrom himself and taken into his service to plot against the realm,’ he said, and carefully eyeing Chris added, ‘The boy dresses strangely and could be taken for a witch’s familiar.’

  Sir Peacealot noticed that a small crowd had gathered just inside the castle gate and people were eyeing the scene, some with curiosity and some with concern.

  ‘The boy’s attire is of foreign lands,’ said Sir Peacealot, raising his voice. ‘We have travelled long and light since we were relieved of our belongings by vagabonds and thieves while we slept one night and the boy is not yet equipped nor fully trained in his duties as my squire. He has many strange customs and uses unfamiliar words, but one thing I can assure you of, is that he is no witch’s familiar and I am no servant of the Dark Lord.’ He stepped in front of Chris protectively and drew his sword, brandishing it at the crowd.