The Origin Stone

Chapter 2-1

CHAPTER 2

My stomach growls. I’ve been sitting under the oak tree in the garden for four hours attempting to finish my science homework, but now the smell of dad’s cooking is drifting from the kitchen, there’s no way I can concentrate.

Apparently, the smell has wafted into mum’s studio too, because she sticks her head out of the door, a dreamy look on her face.

“Your father’s cooking a nut roast, isn’t he?” she asks, wiping the blue paint covering her fingertips onto her overalls.

“That’s my guess,” I say, watching as Mrs. Swanson sneaks through the door behind her. A clatter sounds from inside and mum turns in dismay.

“No, not again! This is the third time this week, you silly goat. Em, will you get in here and take her away, please?” she says, trying to shunt her back out of the door.

“You know that never works,” I reply, dashing over to her.

I croon softly and Mrs. Swanson trots back out, sniffing my hands for food. Dad calls us in for lunch. Somehow, she recognises the word and rushes over to the kitchen before I can even move.

I manage to catch up to her as she’s trying to squeeze through the back door. She’s strong, and I have to wrestle with her to get her to move back even an inch. Dad sees me struggling and picks up a cob of corn to give to her. She snatches it from his hands and runs off.

“Put her in her shelter for a while. Just while we eat though,” he sighs, turning away to dish up.

I chase after her and find her lurking under the oak tree, just about to bite into my textbook. I seize it and then lead her to her shelter. She’s almost in when she stops suddenly. Her eyes grow large and wild, staring off into the woods, and her whole body shakes.

I follow her gaze, but there’s nothing there. Then I sense it. Like someone lightly touching my forehead, but stabbing me there at the same time.

The sensation passes as quickly as it’s come. Did I imagine it?

Mrs. Swanson shakes herself and calmly walks into her shelter. I shut the door behind her and head back to the house.

As I reach it, the Grand Vizier flies out to me and lands on my shoulder. “Welcome, Emily Renzi,” he says, in a heavy voice I’ve never heard before.

I stare at him, goose pimples rising all over my body, but he does nothing apart from rub his head affectionately against mine.

* * * *

I brush the damp stone wall with my hand, feeling the net of cobwebs hanging from the lanterns jutting out from it. There’s a door ahead of me, the light from within shining through the gaps in the frame. Whispers explode in my head as I reach it, loud but incomprehensible. I’m pushed against the door, my eyes pressed to the gap. In the room beyond, a man wearing a white lab coat observes a machine full of cogs, dials and blinking lights, and a large raven sits on his shoulder. His mouth is moving, but there’s no sound coming out, nor anyone for him to be talking to.

The pressure pushing against me restricts my lungs, forcing me to cough. The man turns sharply to look my way. Suddenly, the pressure evaporates, and I fall to the ground. The door swings open in front of me and the man looks out from within, smiling as he sees me. He extends his hand out for me to take hold of, but from behind him emerges a great, swirling mass of leathery wings. They swoop down and hit me in the chest. My vision goes black.