The Witches of Lewthan Mountain

By Ross McLeod

Always fascinated by magic, eleven-year-old Charlie Braithwaite buys a book of wizardry from the village hall bring and buy sale. It is an old book, written hundreds of years before he was even born and as soon as he takes the volume home he sets out to discover if the spells it contains really do work.

They do, his cat can bark, his dog meow and Charlie is having great fun; but when he has a visit from the book’s author, the wizard – Argetlám, will his life ever be the same again? For someone, in the goblin and witch infested Darklands of the Cumbrian Underworld, is watching him from afar. Watching him through evil and envious eyes. That someone is the wicked Witch Queen – Nemetona; the most beautiful of witches but by far the most evil. Nemetona will stop at nothing to get her hands on Charlie’s book of spells and with this in mind despatches a goblin familiar to the Overland [where humans live] to steal it.

Caught by the goblin in the act of reading the forbidden book, Charlie’s cousin, Joanne, is kidnapped and spirited away into the terrifying dimension of the Darklands. Now, Charlie and the wizard must go after her. Firstly, to rescue Joanne, afterwards to retrieve the precious book of spells. It is now that Charlie’s adventures really begin, as along with the wizard and his very peculiar friends, they battle goblins, dragons and witches as they continue their quest to find – the lost works of the arch wizard – Argetlám.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ross McLeod
• Release date: Dec 17, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465765420

Ross McLeod

Born in Cheshire, England, Ross McLeod studied at Stockport College and the Open university. His work, as a risk assessment engineer, took him to many parts of the world and into many interesting places, including gas exploration platforms in the North Sea, nuclear submarines and many of Scotland's and Northern England's prisons. This mind-broadening lifestyle has given him a vast and comprehensive insight into the diverse and complicated world in which we live and whether writing for children, or an older readership, as Len Cooke, his travels and experiences have given him an ability to write with authority, humour and an understanding of both his characters and his craft that is very hard to match. Now retired from his 'usual day job', he lives 'quietly, apart from when the grandchildren (code-named the SAS) come round' with his wife, Pip the Border collie dog and Penny, the ever mischievous, Main Coon cat.

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THE WITCHES OF LEWTHAN MOUNTAIN

R.M. McLeod

Published by Red Panda Press at Smashwords 2011

First published in Great Britain in 2003 by First published in Great Britain in 2003 by

Red Panda Press, PO Box 9, Millom,

Cumbria, LA18 5WA

Copyright R.M. McLeod 2003/12 Rev 1

Cover painting by Janet Smith

The Charlie Braithwaite Stories:

The Witches of Lewthan Mountain

The Escape of Athelwan

The Theft of the Crown of Bodran or The Band of Brothers

The Revenge of Botan

Also by R.M. McLeod

The Ghosts of Badger Wood

Drop Zone

The Time Flyers

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any events, persons, alive or dead, is purely coincidental. The characters are fictitious products of the author’s imagination.

Always fascinated by magic, eleven-year-old Charlie Wainwright buys a book of wizardry from the village hall bring car boot sale. It is an old book, written hundreds of years before he was even born and as soon as he takes the volume home he sets out to discover if the spells it contains really do work.

They do, his cat can bark, his dog meow and Charlie is having great fun; but when he has a visit from the book’s author, the wizard – Argetlám, will his life ever be the same again? For someone, in the goblin and witch infested Darklands of the Cumbrian Underworld, is watching him from afar. Watching him through evil and envious eyes. That someone is the wicked Witch Queen – Nemetona; the most beautiful of witches but by far the most evil. Nemetona will stop at nothing to get her hands on Charlie’s book of spells and with this in mind despatches a goblin familiar to the Overland (where humans live) to steal it.

Caught by the goblin in the act of reading the forbidden book, Charlie’s cousin, Joanne, is kidnapped and spirited away into the terrifying dimension of the Darklands. Now, Charlie and the wizard must go after her. Firstly, to rescue Joanne, afterwards to retrieve the precious book of spells. It is now that Charlie’s adventures really begin, as along with the wizard and his very peculiar friends, they battle goblins, dragons and witches as they continue their quest to find – the lost works of the arch wizard – Argetlám.

THE WITCHES OF LEWTHAN MOUNTAIN

ON THE MOUNTAIN OF LEWTHAN, IN THE PALACE CASTLE OF THE EVIL WITCH QUEEN – NEMETONA.

Her head adorned with a solid gold, diamond-encrusted crown and wearing a long, flowing dress and cloak, both of which were made from the finest black-dyed silk, the queen seemed to glide, gracefully, down the Great Hall. Eventually, at the end of the vast, stone-vaulted chamber, she eased herself onto a golden, heavily jewelled throne and through dark, evil eyes, stared down at the trembling goblin who knelt, quaking with fear, at her feet.

‘Well?’ she asked, impatiently. ‘Have you found it?’

The terrified goblin shook his head. ‘No Majesty,’ he replied, without daring to look into her eyes. ‘I’ve searched everywhere, ma’am, absolutely everywhere. For nearly a hundred years I’ve wandered across every inch of the Overland. I’ve peered through a million windows, sneaked inside ten thousand homes but___’

‘But you’ve still not found my missing book!’ screeched the witch queen.

‘No Majesty,’ said the goblin, who by now was shaking so much his teeth were beginning to rattle like an old vintage car.

‘Then you’ve failed me!’ she screamed at him. ‘Failed your queen!’

‘But Majesty,’ moaned the goblin. ‘Before you called me back to the Mountain of Lewthan I think I was, at long last, getting really, really close.’

‘You lie, Fender,’ she spat at him. ‘Your kind will always lie to save your ugly, pathetic hides.’

‘It’s the truth,’ protested the unhappy goblin. For the first time daring to raise his head and actually look at his sovereign. ‘I think it might be somewhere in the County of Cumbria, in the Overland, Your Majesty.’

‘And what makes you think that?’ asked the queen, her temper suddenly beginning to cool a little.

‘Because, at the southern end of the Great Forest of the North, just before I left to report to Your Wickedness, I felt the slightest disturbance of the ether.’

‘You did?’ she asked. Her eyes boring into those of the goblin’s.

‘Yes Majesty, it was faint, short, but very, very powerful. As though someone, perhaps for the first time in centuries, had at long last opened the book to look inside it.’

The witch queen stared down at the hapless goblin. ‘If you’re lying to me, Fender,’ she began, sinisterly. ‘If you’re simply spinning me a goblin’s tale, just to save your worthless skin, then I’ll turn you into a rabbit and have you stewed in herbs for my dinner.’

‘But I’m not!’ he objected. ‘Really I’m not! Honestly!’

The queen rose to her feet, looking at the goblin as though he were something she would normally scrape off her shoe. ‘Don’t use that dreadful word in front of me, Fender. You should know better than to use a word like honestly in front of your queen. If what you say is true, then whoever looked inside the book will probably do so again. You therefore have one last chance, goblin, one very last chance to find the sacred book of the wizard and return with it, and whoever you find with it, to me.’

‘Thank you, Majesty,’ grovelled Fender. ‘I’ll not let you down this time, I won’t, I promise I really, really won’t.’

The witch queen scowled at him, her red, glowing eyes overflowing with loathing. ‘You’d better not,’ she spat, quietly and sinisterly. ‘For fail me again and there’ll be no more chances. The next time you return, empty-handed, you’ll go straight into the rabbit-pot. Is that perfectly clear?’

‘Quite clear, Majesty,’ said Fender, breathing a huge sigh of relief.

Then, without giving him so much as a second glance, his queen began storming out of the Great Hall. Suddenly however, just as Fender was climbing to his feet, she stopped dead in her tracks. Slowly, she turned and once again looked at him through those terrible, hate-filled, eyes. ‘You must go straight away,’ she commanded.

‘I must, Majesty?’ said Fender, who had once again prostrated himself on the floor.

‘Instantly,’ hissed Nemetona. ‘If you’ve sensed a disturbance then others also may.’ Now, with eyes as cold as the North Pole in winter, she gazed through one of the huge windows of the Great Hall. ‘The book’s careless author has also been searching for it for more than three hundred years. He too may have felt what you felt and thought what you thought. He also knows that I, Nemetona, the greatest and most beautiful queen who has ever sat on the throne of Lewthan, also want it. Go now,’ she ordered, ‘for any delay may mean its loss to me – forever. Go goblin and spare no one, absolutely no one, who dares to get in your way!’

1

(One Day Earlier)

PROBLEMS WITH HAZEL

What have you been buying now, Charlie?’ asked his mother when he returned home.

Charlie placed the book on the dining table. ‘Oh it’s just an old, second-hand book,’ he replied, vaguely.

‘Well I can see that,’ said his mother, looking disapprovingly at her freckled-faced son. ‘In fact it looks very old, but – well – what’s it about?’

Charlie opened it, noting for the second time that day that the yellowing flyleaf had been re-written by hand. ‘Manual Of Ancient Spells and Schedule of Equipment Required for the Application of Advanced Wizardry,’ he replied, matter-of-factly.

‘Oh dear,’ said Mrs Braithwaite, sounding far from happy. ‘You’ve not been wasting your pocket money again – have you? You must have over two dozen books on magic in your room and I’ve yet to see you do a simple trick.’

Certainly not,’ said Charlie, brushing a strand of long, red hair from his forehead. ‘See here,’ he pointed to a date on the reverse of the flysheet. ‘It was published in Sixteen Hundred and Ten; therefore it’s nearly four hundred years old and must be worth an absolute fortune.’

‘And how much did you pay for it?’ she asked.

Charlie shrugged. ‘Fifty pence.’

‘Well,