Read Online The Turnarounders and the Arbuckle Rescue by Lou Heneghan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lou Heneghan
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picture came to life. In a matter of seconds Ralf was looking at something like a huge TV screen showing the scene busy with colour and life. Waves rolled, birds flitted across the bright sky, insects buzzed, miniscule stitched leaves swayed in a soft breeze, which somehow puffed from the wall to touch his shocked face.
‘That is bare magic!’ Alfie breathed.
The handle of Valen’s cup snapped off in her hand but Seth snorted.
‘Fibre Optics!’ He marched forward and pulled at the side of the tapestry to search for a power source.
Ambrose ignored him. ‘Look.’
At the right of the picture, a group of straight-backed figures emerged from the trees and stepped into a clearing. Dressed in soft hides, decorated intricately with beads and shells, they were both achingly familiar and yet unlike anything Ralf could ever have imagined.
‘Okay. Why are we looking at Native Americans now? Who are they – Sioux?’ Seth asked.
There was a likeness there, but he wasn’t looking properly, Ralf thought. Like Native Americans the people pictured wore feathers entwined in flowing blue-black hair and carried bows on their shoulders and long, dangerous spears in their hands. Their skin was golden but their eyes, which ought to have been brown, flashed an array of different, impossible colours: violet, acid green, palest rose and shining silver.
‘The Hidden,’ said Leon in a croaky voice. He was suddenly bolt upright and staring. ‘I remember!’
‘Yes!’ cried Ambrose, incongruously punching the air in his excitement. ‘The Hidden! An ancient race. They walked the woods and fields of Britain long before humans arrived.’
‘Right, so who’s this crew?’ Alfie asked, nodding at the band of small dark haired people, clad in rough skins and furs, who came from the depths of the tapestry forest. They knelt before the Hidden unloading gemstones and freshly caught fish.
‘Celts,’ said Ambrose. ‘Ancestors of the Welsh and Irish. They worshipped the Hidden as Gods’.
‘Why?’ Alfie asked. ‘I mean, they’re fit and everything, but they don’t look that hard to me.’
‘Ah,’ said Ambrose. ‘A good question. The Celts revered them because the Hidden were immortal. The Fair Folk had power beyond anything today’s humans could imagine.’
‘Fair Folk?’ said Seth. ‘Tell me you’re not talking about fairies, here. Because, you know, that would just about finish me off!’
‘Well, where did you think the legends of the fey, fairies, sprites and leprechauns come from?’ Ambrose said impatiently. ‘All legends have some basis in fact.’
‘Oh!’ Valen exclaimed, pointing.
On the left of the tapestry a flotilla of square sailed ships had appeared. The Hidden melted, liquid as shadows, back in to the trees. The Celts fled in terror. Ambrose waved a hand at the scene and they all stared open-mouthed as time seemed to speed up. The boats raced inland and armoured figures leapt jerkily from their decks on to the sandy shore.
‘Fast forward. Excellent,’ said Seth.
Ralf was transfixed. The boatmen were clad in mail and leather and carried heavy broad swords.
‘Vikings didn’t have horns on their helmets,’ he said to no one in particular.
‘Ah, but you see, Wolf, these aren’t Vikings. They didn’t arrive for another thousand years. These are the Formor. Watch.’
The scene darkened. Shadows flitted across the tapestry’s surface and Ralf and the others craned their necks forward to see.
‘What’s happening?’
‘Dire things,’ said Ambrose. ‘A terrible time.’ His face was grave and he pulled at his ear lobe sadly. ‘Most of the Fair Folk had no objection to the newcomers, but a prince of the Hidden decided that his island should not be shared. The argument raged. The Hidden split into two groups. Fathers and sons, sisters and brothers found themselves on different sides. ‘
In the deepest patch of darkness at the centre of the picture something moved. Black shapes boiled and
‘That is bare magic!’ Alfie breathed.
The handle of Valen’s cup snapped off in her hand but Seth snorted.
‘Fibre Optics!’ He marched forward and pulled at the side of the tapestry to search for a power source.
Ambrose ignored him. ‘Look.’
At the right of the picture, a group of straight-backed figures emerged from the trees and stepped into a clearing. Dressed in soft hides, decorated intricately with beads and shells, they were both achingly familiar and yet unlike anything Ralf could ever have imagined.
‘Okay. Why are we looking at Native Americans now? Who are they – Sioux?’ Seth asked.
There was a likeness there, but he wasn’t looking properly, Ralf thought. Like Native Americans the people pictured wore feathers entwined in flowing blue-black hair and carried bows on their shoulders and long, dangerous spears in their hands. Their skin was golden but their eyes, which ought to have been brown, flashed an array of different, impossible colours: violet, acid green, palest rose and shining silver.
‘The Hidden,’ said Leon in a croaky voice. He was suddenly bolt upright and staring. ‘I remember!’
‘Yes!’ cried Ambrose, incongruously punching the air in his excitement. ‘The Hidden! An ancient race. They walked the woods and fields of Britain long before humans arrived.’
‘Right, so who’s this crew?’ Alfie asked, nodding at the band of small dark haired people, clad in rough skins and furs, who came from the depths of the tapestry forest. They knelt before the Hidden unloading gemstones and freshly caught fish.
‘Celts,’ said Ambrose. ‘Ancestors of the Welsh and Irish. They worshipped the Hidden as Gods’.
‘Why?’ Alfie asked. ‘I mean, they’re fit and everything, but they don’t look that hard to me.’
‘Ah,’ said Ambrose. ‘A good question. The Celts revered them because the Hidden were immortal. The Fair Folk had power beyond anything today’s humans could imagine.’
‘Fair Folk?’ said Seth. ‘Tell me you’re not talking about fairies, here. Because, you know, that would just about finish me off!’
‘Well, where did you think the legends of the fey, fairies, sprites and leprechauns come from?’ Ambrose said impatiently. ‘All legends have some basis in fact.’
‘Oh!’ Valen exclaimed, pointing.
On the left of the tapestry a flotilla of square sailed ships had appeared. The Hidden melted, liquid as shadows, back in to the trees. The Celts fled in terror. Ambrose waved a hand at the scene and they all stared open-mouthed as time seemed to speed up. The boats raced inland and armoured figures leapt jerkily from their decks on to the sandy shore.
‘Fast forward. Excellent,’ said Seth.
Ralf was transfixed. The boatmen were clad in mail and leather and carried heavy broad swords.
‘Vikings didn’t have horns on their helmets,’ he said to no one in particular.
‘Ah, but you see, Wolf, these aren’t Vikings. They didn’t arrive for another thousand years. These are the Formor. Watch.’
The scene darkened. Shadows flitted across the tapestry’s surface and Ralf and the others craned their necks forward to see.
‘What’s happening?’
‘Dire things,’ said Ambrose. ‘A terrible time.’ His face was grave and he pulled at his ear lobe sadly. ‘Most of the Fair Folk had no objection to the newcomers, but a prince of the Hidden decided that his island should not be shared. The argument raged. The Hidden split into two groups. Fathers and sons, sisters and brothers found themselves on different sides. ‘
In the deepest patch of darkness at the centre of the picture something moved. Black shapes boiled and
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