The morning passed slowly for Rhys and he could hardly sit still but he wasn’t alone and he didn’t get noticed any more than anyone else and Mrs Hartshorn seemed to be giving them a little leeway for their excitement as long as they worked at the tasks set them.
Lunchtime came and Rhys could barely eat, his stomach was churning with anticipation. He could feel the weight and solidity of the stone in his pocket and the crinkle of the map beside it. After lunchtime was over Rhys and the rest of his class were lined up in pairs with Mrs Hartshorn and three other adults and they walked into town. Rhys was frustrated with the slow pace and kicked at the leaves scattered on the pavements and huffed and sighed as they walked slowly along the streets into town.
They assembled in a straggling group at the church, with Mrs Hartshorn and the other adults trying to keep them all together while they waited for the archaeologist to arrive. An area of the churchyard and church were marked out by rods with bright yellow tape stretched between them. Inside the tape was a shallow pit where a handful of people worked, scraping away the soil slowly to see what was hidden underneath, but there wasn’t much to see yet, just fresh soil. But Rhys was fascinated, like the other children, and he craned forward to see if he could see more.
“Ah, there you are.” A loud voice came from behind them. “You must be Mrs Hartshorn.” A man strode towards them with his fair hair cropped short and a broad grin beneath bright green eyes set in a darkly tanned face. His brown waxed jacket was open and showed a grubby checked shirt underneath which was hanging out of denim jeans that were spattered with mud up to the knees, His boots were probably black but so covered in mud that it was difficult to tell. His hands were clean and there was a pair of gloves stuck in the pocket of his jacket that were stiff with dirt. He held out one calloused hand to Mrs Hartshorn with a wide grin.
“I am.” She confirmed for him and took his hand to shake it. “This is year six.” She waved a hand towards the class who were now turned towards the man, fascinated by him.
“Hello year six.” He faced and greeted them with a smile. “My name is Greg and I’m the senior archaeologist for this site. We’re digging here because we think we’ve found some evidence of another building that was here before this church was built and this church has been here for around eight hundred years. We don’t know what it was yet but we have some interesting readings from our equipment that lets us look under the ground without digging it up. There’s something down there and we want to find out what it is but we have to be careful about not damaging this lovely church of yours. You wouldn’t want it falling down would you?”
Rhys looked around him carefully, trying to look interested as Greg pointed out features on the church walls that showed when it was built and told stories about how things were built eight hundred years ago. But really he was looking for the old tree that he knew was there somewhere.
There is was, that must be it. It was wide and twisted, old and gnarled and it sat in the farthest corner of the churchyard with its boughs spreading wide to create a cave like effect. It was still green with red berries forming and beneath it was dark and dry where nothing penetrated the canopy, not even the sun or rain.
“Mrs Hartshorn?” Rhys asked without thinking. “What sort of tree is that one? It must be really old to be that big.”
“I’m not sure Rhys; I think it’s a yew tree.” She peered at it.
“Can I go and have a closer look?” He asked with his hands in his pockets, one clutching the Darkling’s stone which was cold and hard against his palm. “Please Miss?”
“Alright Rhys, but be quick and come straight back.” Mrs Hartshorn watched him run to the tree and pause at the edge of its lowest branches.
Rhys stood dwarfed by the enormous tree dripping green from its branches while all other trees had lost all their foliage in recent days. The bright red berries peeped from between the dark green, startling in their contrast and Rhys couldn’t help but be amazed by the size and strength of the huge yew that had stood in the corner of the churchyard for hundreds of years. He ducked under the branches to reach the trunk half hidden by the drooping canopy of deep green so densely packed that little light came into the space beneath and around the trunk was cave like and warm.
The trunk was vast and solidly covered in rough bark, deeply creviced and covered with fine green moss that was soft and damp when he placed his hand on the trunk. He walked round to the far side of the tree, closest to the churchyard wall and where he would be hidden from view and he slowly drew the Darkling’s stone from his pocket. It lay dull and cold in his hand and Rhys scratched his head in confusion. He put the stone on the ground near a root. Nothing. He put the stone on the root and again there was nothing. He frowned and picked it up again. He held the stone onto the side of the trunk but again there was no reaction.
“Do I have to do something?” He muttered, thinking of the Darkling and the light, the space between worlds that it had spoken of. “Are you the nexus?” But even as he spoke the words he knew this was not the right place or the right time. He didn’t know how he knew but he felt it deep inside when there was no stirring of the unpleasant feeling that had surged within him when he had called the Darkling in the park.
“It’s not you is it?” He asked the old yew softly.
“No, it is not.” The Darkling whispered from near his head and Rhys looked into the branches and saw it sitting there close to the trunk and mostly hidden in the shadows. “It was a good choice and could have been. The yew is a special tree and can be used to protect you from evil, but it does not carry the power in the right way to be used as a nexus.”
“Then it’s the other one.” Rhys said quietly.
“RHYS!” Mrs Hartshorn shouted. “Come back now please.”
He popped out from behind the tree, stuffing the stone back into his pocket and he rejoined the group clustered round the pit beside the church.
“Ah, interested in the tree young man?” Greg waved him back in with a grin. “Yew trees are often found in the grounds of older churches where they were planted to ward off evil spirits, perhaps as a relic of pagan times. The yew is associated with immortality; rebirth and its berries are poisonous. Yew wood was used for the traditional English long bow as well as other weapons. They’re one of only two evergreen species of tree that are native to the UK. That one is about three hundred years old we think, much younger than the church and about three hundred years older than the oak in the woods on the north side of town. I’d love to dig in those woods but I’ve never managed to get permission from the family who owns them.” Greg’s face lit up as he spoke and he infected the whole class with his enthusiasm as he went on to tell them of the town being infested with the black death just twelve years before the tall spire on the church was added. The gory details he embellished into his stories just served to hold the interest of the children and Rhys found himself wishing his own Dad was like Greg. That feeling was confused with a wish that his mum would find someone else so at least she wouldn’t be on her own and he felt more than a little guilty about that. While Rhys missed his dad and loved him to bits he was also aware that his dad had never really been much use round the house and his mum had always done everything.
Greg talked until Mrs Hartshorn waved to attract his attention. “We’re running short of time and the children may have questions, so if I could possibly cut short your fascinating talk. I will need to be getting the class back to school by half past three.”
“Of course, of course.” Greg wasn’t bothered in the least. “I’m glad to have a young audience that are so interested and I do tend to get a bit carried away. So kids, any questions?”
There was a forest of raised hands and it was Mrs Hartshorn who tried to allow everyone who wanted to ask anything the chance to ask and discuss as much as she could. But time was short and they were rapidly running out of time.
“Do you guys have email at school?” Greg asked, raising an eyebrow at Mrs Hartshorn.
“We can arrange for a class account to be set up.” She replied.
“Then why not take my email address and let’s say that you kids can email me any questions on the dig and the church for the next week and I’ll answer them all if I can. How does that sound?” Greg reached into an inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a business card which he handed to Mrs Hartshorn with a smile.
“Alright Class, we have to set off back to school so we’re there and ready to go home on time as I’m sure your parents would miss you if you were late. Remember to say thank you to Greg and think of any more questions so we can email him next week.” Mrs Hartshorn formed them up in lines and made sure everyone was there before they walked back to school, arriving with just enough time for her to hand out homework for the weekend much to everybody’s disappointment.
Rhys pushed his homework sheets into his book bag without looking at them, his mind already working on how he could possibly get to the woods to visit the old oak that stood there. He was more and more convinced that was the place he needed but he wasn’t sure how he could get there or how he would work out how to use the nexus for the Darkling, or even if he could make it all work.
He and Craig ambled slowly home, chattering about the church and the archaeological dig and what they wanted to ask Greg by email. By the time he’d opened his front door Rhys had half a plan to get to the old oak but he wasn’t sure if his mum would go along with it so he kept quiet while he worked out more details. When he took out his homework to try to get it done on Friday evening he groaned as it needed him to find some things out and he wished he’d thought to ask Cam again but he hadn’t.
Tags: 2009, darkling, Nano, NaNoWriMo, November, portal series, rhys