Read Online The Bone Quill by Carole E. Barrowman, John Barrowman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carole E. Barrowman, John Barrowman
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Norsemen. It means nothing without the book, and both mean nothing without the islands.’
The Abbot’s voice had boomed out across the chapel, echoing in the side chapels filled with statues, bouncing off the stone floor.
‘My brothers in faith and imagination, we
cannot
return the bone quill to the Norsemen. It is the only remaining relic from the creation of our islands. Our martyred forefathers, who gave their lives to retrieve and protect it, are owed our steadfastness. Even in the face of terrible danger.
‘The bone quill is ours to defend, like the island itself. It must remain here at all costs. Let me repeat with no lesser emphasis: the bone quill and
The Book of Beasts
must be protected
at all costs
.’
Sitting at his desk, reflecting on the evening’s draining events, the Abbot knew that he hadn’t quelled the brothers’ fears and dissatisfaction. Who knew what might happen during the next Viking invasion, or attack from the powerful northern clans, or the Sassenach tribes further south?
These were desperate, dangerous times.
TWENTY-FOUR
‘A long time ago, when the world believed monsters roamed the earth,’ said Brother Renard, his eyes holding his apprentice’s gaze with such intensity that Solon’s toes curled against the soles of his sealskin boots, ‘a young boy had a strange and beautiful dream.’
Solon had come to Brother Renard’s cell first thing that morning to let him know he had returned from his quest unharmed, although with a new-found respect for the monster that lurked in the bog. Brother Cornelius had taken a weakened Carik under his wing, locking her for safety in Brother Renard’s old cell with promises to tend to her.
Solon had also told Brother Renard about their terrible confrontation with the Grendel and the peryton’s role in their escape. The effect on the old monk was like lightning. He had launched into this tale with more vigour than he had shown since the Viking attack.
‘Hush, Brother,’ said Solon, worried. ‘You are tiring yourself.’
‘You must hear this, Solon, my boy. You must. I cannot leave this life until
The Book of Beasts
is finished. The Grendel is the last beast to be locked into that book before I depart this earthly world. Heed this story before my strength fails completely.
‘The boy dreamed that two giant stags, one black as the coal deep inside the earth and one as white as the snow that capped its peaks, shattered through a mountain top on the wild Scottish coast,’ the old Animare continued. ‘First their colossal antlers cracked open the summit, tearing up the very core of the hillside.’
Brother Renard jumped from his chair and raised his hands above his head, mimicking the massive antlers of the stags. Solon’s eyes widened, afraid that a pair of antlers would burst through the wrinkled skin of the old monk’s head. To his great relief, they did not.
The old monk dropped back to his seat, gripping his hands together once again on his lap.
‘The presence of two giant stags on the mountain sent a great avalanche of rock thundering down into the sea. Standing on the craggy summit, the giant stags sloughed off the mountain’s debris, stamping their hooves with such might that the mountain cracked in two.’
The shutters on the only window of the tower room clapped noisily. The wind howled through the slits. Solon braced himself, preparing for sharp rocks to slide in through the rattling window. Thunder erupted above his head, resounding across the thick wooden beams. Solon put his hands over his head as splinters showered down from the ceiling. He shook a splinter of wood from his shaggy blond hair. ‘Please, master, go on.’
‘When the mountain split its core, it separated into two islands – one large and one small. The force of the rupture also separated the stags, leaving the white one on the bigger island staring longingly at the black stag on the smaller one, across a great and treacherous divide.
‘With
The Abbot’s voice had boomed out across the chapel, echoing in the side chapels filled with statues, bouncing off the stone floor.
‘My brothers in faith and imagination, we
cannot
return the bone quill to the Norsemen. It is the only remaining relic from the creation of our islands. Our martyred forefathers, who gave their lives to retrieve and protect it, are owed our steadfastness. Even in the face of terrible danger.
‘The bone quill is ours to defend, like the island itself. It must remain here at all costs. Let me repeat with no lesser emphasis: the bone quill and
The Book of Beasts
must be protected
at all costs
.’
Sitting at his desk, reflecting on the evening’s draining events, the Abbot knew that he hadn’t quelled the brothers’ fears and dissatisfaction. Who knew what might happen during the next Viking invasion, or attack from the powerful northern clans, or the Sassenach tribes further south?
These were desperate, dangerous times.
TWENTY-FOUR
‘A long time ago, when the world believed monsters roamed the earth,’ said Brother Renard, his eyes holding his apprentice’s gaze with such intensity that Solon’s toes curled against the soles of his sealskin boots, ‘a young boy had a strange and beautiful dream.’
Solon had come to Brother Renard’s cell first thing that morning to let him know he had returned from his quest unharmed, although with a new-found respect for the monster that lurked in the bog. Brother Cornelius had taken a weakened Carik under his wing, locking her for safety in Brother Renard’s old cell with promises to tend to her.
Solon had also told Brother Renard about their terrible confrontation with the Grendel and the peryton’s role in their escape. The effect on the old monk was like lightning. He had launched into this tale with more vigour than he had shown since the Viking attack.
‘Hush, Brother,’ said Solon, worried. ‘You are tiring yourself.’
‘You must hear this, Solon, my boy. You must. I cannot leave this life until
The Book of Beasts
is finished. The Grendel is the last beast to be locked into that book before I depart this earthly world. Heed this story before my strength fails completely.
‘The boy dreamed that two giant stags, one black as the coal deep inside the earth and one as white as the snow that capped its peaks, shattered through a mountain top on the wild Scottish coast,’ the old Animare continued. ‘First their colossal antlers cracked open the summit, tearing up the very core of the hillside.’
Brother Renard jumped from his chair and raised his hands above his head, mimicking the massive antlers of the stags. Solon’s eyes widened, afraid that a pair of antlers would burst through the wrinkled skin of the old monk’s head. To his great relief, they did not.
The old monk dropped back to his seat, gripping his hands together once again on his lap.
‘The presence of two giant stags on the mountain sent a great avalanche of rock thundering down into the sea. Standing on the craggy summit, the giant stags sloughed off the mountain’s debris, stamping their hooves with such might that the mountain cracked in two.’
The shutters on the only window of the tower room clapped noisily. The wind howled through the slits. Solon braced himself, preparing for sharp rocks to slide in through the rattling window. Thunder erupted above his head, resounding across the thick wooden beams. Solon put his hands over his head as splinters showered down from the ceiling. He shook a splinter of wood from his shaggy blond hair. ‘Please, master, go on.’
‘When the mountain split its core, it separated into two islands – one large and one small. The force of the rupture also separated the stags, leaving the white one on the bigger island staring longingly at the black stag on the smaller one, across a great and treacherous divide.
‘With
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