Gift of the Fire Queen

By Kevin P Pearson

A story for girls 12 - 14 plus that mums may enjoy too. Book 2 in a trilogy - Gift of the Fire Queen sees curious Pollyanna delving deeper into our ever expanding spiritual world of evil poltergeists, weird adventures, kind, passionate fairy folk and magical dreams. An unusually vivid vision draws Pollyanna back to Devon’s gorgeous Lilac Cottage, starting a journey that will change lives forever. Juggling so much responsibility proves tiring. Luckily Mrs Peters senses helpful visitors are due.
Strange shadow tribes living on a mysterious far off jungle planet face a growing crisis too. Pollyanna and her lively friend, Lily, aim to solve this puzzling mystery as well. Amidst such enlightening days bursting with opportunity, it’s not surprising even cuddly Meg enjoys her very own exciting adventure!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kevin P Pearson
• Release date: Jul 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311007339

Kevin P Pearson

Kevin lives in sleepy Northumberland, England, in a small modified shed specifically designed to protect the environment. Due to sheer numbers of homeless folk invited in, he often stays outside. If it rains or grows too cold, he sleeps soundly under a big black bin bag, warmed down to his tiny toes knowing he’s helped others survive an increasingly harsh world.At 5am every morning he tours the countryside on a battered old scooter, selflessly helping senior citizens with shopping and saving innocent kids from burning buildings. Reading, writing, advising multinational companies on important building projects, exercising to Olympic standards and wild bouts of fibbing fill his days.Kevin wisely spends his spare time dreaming of marrying enchanting Kristin Kreuk of TV’s ‘Smallville’ fame. Perhaps if everyone prays for him his greatest wish may finally come true!

Book preview

Gift of the Fire Queen

by Kevin P Pearson

Copyright 2014 Kevin P Pearson

All rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

This E book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This E book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

To fluffy Meg for endless cuddly inspiration!

Acknowledgments

More thanks to talented Katarzyna for her beautiful picture of Lenora’s magical meadows.

I will now leave Lilac Cottage and head there!

To get in touch with Katarzyna regarding possible art projects, please contact her directly via the email address below.

Katarzyna Waszewska-Adamowska

LABARTE

Email: [e-mail]

Note: ‘Gift of the Fire Queen’ is Book 2 of a trilogy starring Pollyanna, so please read Book 1 - ‘Into the Light’ first!

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

The Romance of Miss Amelia Browning

Gift of the Fire Queen

Chapter 1

Nine pm crept closer at Abbeyfield Road. Residents retired inside, recognising the strange, heavy atmosphere and untainted quiet foretold wild storms brewing. Finishing the escape meant all windows were now firmly closed, whilst odd, unfamiliar smells dwelling amidst creeping shadows persuaded pets to laze indoors.

Dry heat persisted, but darkness had fallen unusually early tonight. Its calming presence started the musical dance of colourful paper windmills whistling in Mrs Daniels garden, ingeniously arranging them as exotic animals.

At nine precisely, when weird ethereal light thrown from the sky grew to its brightest, six golden leaves slipped from an elderly sycamore resting peacefully in yonder field, watching colossal white clouds loom over the horizon, swathing wondering land in pale, smouldering glows. But over the peaceful street air stood still. Smoke gushing from chimney’s turned full circle, freezing in mid air, creating six greyed tears pointing to lightening night sky.

Atop the glowing post box a marauding paw caught in stuttered blurs, swatted angrily at arrogant flies. Just a hundred yards beyond on the main road, walkers unconsciously gave the street a wide berth. Blissfully unaware of these peculiar events, their minds mysteriously turned to other things for a few fleeting moments.

As twinkling stars flickered back to life and our moon’s outer edge cast gleaming silver slithers between shadows once more, curious, melodious humming sprung from a secret valley flowering in a faraway country. Too high for all but the keenest of ears born into this world, yet it played still - sweeping freely along the deserted road, gleefully returning behind each garden. Lingering longer at one, sweet, quickening hums chanted soft, strange songs of long ago, causing excited plants to bloom, pausing small, inquisitive animals in flight and crafting hidden tunnels to enchanting, secret places, which remain unknown to human eyes.

Only a few minutes later as time gradually returned to normal, when odd musical tinkling faded away - forgotten like the hazy recollections of a strange dream, Abbeyfield Road lay calm and still as midnight. No one but the very old man from number 28 looked up to the sky, noticing that amongst peculiar weather, the full moon shone a brilliant blue again tonight. For the third time in a row he danced amongst a million beautiful stars. Passing the sleepy old oak tree, his magical beams awoke the sleeping jungle village on a certain young girl’s wall, where he was worshipped as a divine, living god, the benevolent, ancient grandfather of their own. Yet for most folk on earth he was simply a dried up desolate planet, wobbling strangely a lifetime away.

On a nightly patrol through mistress’s bedroom, Meg barked excitedly as beams coated fur in shimmering blue light. Flickering and shining fiercely, it lit the room in darting blue hazes, dazzling ancient villagers with angelic visions. One blink later magical rays faded as quickly as they’d begun. Knowing all was well, Meg scarcely stifled contented yelps till safely denned under the stairs. No wonder she barely noticed Pollyanna Fitzgerald and parents in the front room watching TV.

Dad idly flicked through a travel brochure. Sometimes exciting destinations for next year leapt out unexpectedly. Ah - an article praising Northern Italy. Sure, a long way to go. Though chasing sun sounded fun.

‘Above the sleepy rural hamlet of San Cassiano, nestled between gorgeous Dolomite mountains lies the enchanting priory of our beloved Sister Mary Magdalene. Since 1752 this divine place has aptly become known as a haven of peace and tranquillity - a holy retreat where travellers unwind from bustling cities, talk theology with wise sisters in their Christian workshop, or leisurely sunbathe in the paradise of perpetually sunlit gardens.’

‘Many say if God wished to relax, he’d gladly spend an entire lifetime here. Indeed, unique golden sunlight reflecting heavenly welcomes off Saint Peters marble statue guarding the entrance, justly strengthens this enlightened theory. Others suggest his saintly presence grants Sister Mary’s heavenly sweet wine it’s truly exquisite flavour. Certainly, enjoying a tantalizing glass or two sat by the sparkling fountain in high summer only encourages such intriguing possibilities.’

‘Father Latimer closely monitors brewing for all but two weeks of the year, till embarking on a cleansing journey of light to the Holy Land. Only then is the precious wine and convent left in the safe hands of the Magdalene Sisters and his Lord.’

‘An idyllic fortnight hiking surrounding hills, left no doubt the winding Dolomite mountain range is one of the most exciting and scenic parts of the country. One could gladly lose themselves forever, rambling dreamily among violet mountains stretching up between magical clouds.’

‘Note well this trip is for the more adventurous, as access is restricted to those willing to brave the snaking pass lying between an uncomfortably high precipice and the tiny village resting snugly far below. But as wise Sir Thomas Markham said centuries ago: ‘If delightful glimpses of heaven were too easy...’ and ‘One must climb a mountain in order to fully appreciate such magnificent views.’

Ah, interesting! With everything going on around here the past few months, dad mulled it over for next year.

TV flickered, cutting to pitch black night inside an ancient priory, swooping round a nun praying fervently in bitter cold. Her young face was swept with fear, worn and dried from endless insomnia. Deep furrowed ridges lined her forehead, drooping over hollow, glassed eyes screaming of unrelenting torment. Knelt on torn padding amongst broken glass and scorched candles, her cross lay useless on the floor, lost beneath growing piles of broken furniture.

Two days earlier this had been a blessed sanctuary. Now the room looked like it had been attacked by wild hordes of vandals. On cracked windowsills, devilish black strips bored deep into ancient stone, reaching from courtyard to high roof line.

Heavenly father, please release us sinners from our terrible curse.

The helpless sister chanted hopelessly, whilst outside, menacing freezing fog swirls licked triumphantly round bent crosses, amidst terrible cacophonies of deafening, disembodied voices. Spurred on by furious wind, thunder boomed louder than the most violent explosion. In confusing flashes, lightning’s slashing forks lit a figure collapsed in the courtyard and pale, twitching faces inside, too scared to help. Foolish ones who dared brave the unnatural storm would only suffer the same dreadful fate.

In the midst of such hellish turmoil, rain fell exceedingly hard. But the relentless downpour became beset by dark pebbles spitefully splitting ground, driving dark depressing pits far into the building, diving deep into fountains, turning water thick, deathly black. Soon sacred pools overflowed, desperate to escape, yet still wild invaders fell, splattering, beating, pounding paths to slimy mud that bubbled ferociously with unholy heat.

In the sleepy hamlet far below, night air hung cool and still. No one guessed the primal terror unleashed up on the lonely forsaken crag. Casual glances skyward towards the retreat were met only by peaceful calm. But for those present in St Mary’s the perpetual nightmare continued. Trapped like rats, dangerously tainted food dwindled as quickly as sanity.

Pollyanna watched open mouthed. "Did you see that?!"

See what? dad said, looking up from his magazine.

Mum?

What petal? Oh, she’s changed her hair hasn’t she? Shame, I quite liked it before - made her look very young. Rose said it matched her beautiful eyes.

Not the presenter mum. Should they really be showing horror trailers to kids so early in the night?

Sorry, wasn’t listening. Quite why mum started knitting after surviving all this time without feeling the need was a most perplexing mystery. This cardigan had mysteriously morphed into to a luxury blanket, which she’d finish soon, then follow a guide closer.

I’ll let you know if it comes on again. Jeez, it looked very dark. I wonder how they’ll survive?

Soon distracting, excited whining floated from beneath the stairs. Meg had been practicing this tone all week, without sharing her reasons. Pollyanna promised to cover for her if she’d been hunting out treats again, but if asked outright she’d have to tell the truth. What with her being fully grown and amount of soft paper stuffed in, it was a wonder Meg fitted in her warm secret den at all.

One hour later Pollyanna headed to bed. As her ninth birthday slipped by, she longed for friendly Mrs Peters visit. Nowadays she retired early, answering PADS letters, then reading a little. Tonight her favourite book was a hidden treasure her dad loved when young - ‘The Phantom Tollbooth.’ Granted, it was a bit bizarre, but that was why she liked it.

Depending on our moons moods, a strange shadowy village on a far away jungle planet was still magically projected on her bedroom wall. Some natives had grown with Pollyanna since winter too. Tribal dances had become more refined and less wild lately, as if learning or evolving. Villagers were quite quiet again tonight, kindly allowing her to think over the last years sweeping changes. Listening to the wild forests soothing background noise, her mind drifted over them again. Some recent memories were tainted by touches of melancholy.

Sadly amazing Henry passed one week ago on August 2nd 2010. Still, as we grow older and wiser, we learn not to be too sad. He lived an incredible twenty three years and six months, more than double a hedgehog’s natural lifespan. Imagine a person living to 160!

Pollyanna and Meg buried the wise old fellow in a quiet field across the way under the warming gaze of a peaceful sycamore. Henry lies swathed in beautiful silk, sleeping amidst a village of bluebells, where he met darling wife Henrietta decades ago.

Mum carved his name into a beautiful mini cross, leaving treats in case he returns to relive old times. Dad will always treasure photos he took of the hedgehog’s crazy antics that special Halloween night. Henry’s grandsons were at the service, seating the large crowd. If stout old Granddad hadn’t kept his patch clear of unwelcome invaders, none would have lived passed infancy. Such grim determination and unwavering devotion to friends had made Henry so terribly popular.

When the touching ceremony drew to a close, a delightful tinkling chorus overflowed from nearby woods, filtering through pulsing air. And as tired sun drifted off to sleep once more, her magical heat highlighted his name on the cross forever. Distracted by familiar squeaks, Meg saw his golden spirit watching curiously from nearby trees. Bowing in everlasting friendship, he vanished forever. In sheer delight Pollyanna saw Henry’s powerful nature spirit move to Meg very soon after in blinding green flashes lighting up the entire field. Meg’s been blessed with amazing stamina and never fallen ill. Friendly dogs flock to her now, while nastier, bullying animals know to stay away!

Mum and dad aren’t complete converts to the paranormal just yet. Deep down though, they’d love to believe Meg has a beautiful flower guardian and is melded to a mature nature spirit.

What of Pollyanna’s special plant, her shy little boy? Well, our harsh winter of 2009 brought strange times indeed. Whilst gardens froze solid, a perfect circle round his feet stayed soft as a summer’s day. Ever since his adoption that wonderful day by the lake, she spoke to him daily just as promised. Sadly she hasn’t received much in the way of reply. And still he has no name.

Only very recently after an old and wise moon’s passing and the unexpected appearance of a minor comet, did other strange events begin. Pollyanna had lots to do, expecting Mrs Peters letter any time soon, putting events to the back of her mind at first. Freshly washed cutlery found its way into drawers, though in wrong places, faint musical tinkling stirred her wild imagination at nights, and once his leaves fluttered restlessly in still air. One fond, recurring memory was how much Henry and Meg loved sitting next to him to chat. Natural intuition spoke of excited whisperings in the air, although inquisitive Pollyanna could only draw close enough to enjoy a hedgehog’s wonderfully wrinkly smile.

Pollyanna had been lucky enough to sleep at Pemberton Manor several times during the past year. Whilst enjoying wonderful sleeps and feeling more relaxed at school, sadly she hadn’t been able to visit the exciting fairy kingdom of Lenora again. Feeling sure she hadn’t been forgotten there, she only needed a plan on how to return.

Henry passing, her pretty plant and the amazing manor weren’t the only things on young Pollyanna’s mind. PADS were busier than ever right now. There was a nice lady in Luton to ring back tomorrow evening to put her mind at ease. Not to mention the bewildered little five year old saying ghosts had taken her chocolate.

Fortunately ever prepared Mrs Peters had taught her to file information away till needed, stressing prioritizing was key. Attempting too many jobs at once nearly always led to failure in one or all. A highly organised mind, based on a clever pyramid structure was how her older friend had survived so long in the supernatural business.

Lastly Pollyanna thought over Meg’s strange behaviour lately. Tonight was the first time ever the loyal dog hadn’t slept at her feet. Downstairs, droning television mixed with adorable, excited puppy like yaps suggested she was happily regressing into playful childhood again. Perhaps her nature spirit was growing, or maybe summers silly season was upon them? One really couldn’t be sure till they’d all the facts.

She considered fetching Meg, when jungle sprung to life. A local chief’s whistles gathered the tribe to high pitched drum beats. They were off hunting! Intriguing. What were they chasing? Hopefully it would be an exciting game, with an amusing conclusion, as there were jokers hidden among them that liked playing silly tricks on less gifted ones. Fun ended rather strangely, leaving earth’s watcher wanting more, when she fell sound asleep, oblivious to parents laughing loudly downstairs.

Chapter 2

Early morning dawned near Abbeyfield Road. Sun and moon passed each other in misty, muddled twilight, crossing beams of deepest orange and brightest white in a magical place, changing dry, tired grass from pitch black to glistening, luscious green.

Two round eyes watched from high up the sycamore tree. Nestled comfortably between star shaped leaves of gold, the owl haunting neighbouring fields vanished, leaving only claw marks driven into soft bark. He didn’t hear impatient cock crows way off in the distance, nor see invisible fluttering wings settle gently on the tiny cross in the rustling blue village below.

Six am’s dancing shadows lingered long enough for a hungry fox to sneak across back lawns, purposely skirting number 16 where Pollyanna lay dreaming again. Today she dove vast blue seas, playing with talking dolphins. Legs became creaky old planks, which the happy pod found most amusing. Next came dreams strange, confusing breaks - whizzing amongst stars, chasing giant comets flashing and scorching through far away planets. Blurry jerks faded into sports class, morphing teachers into rampaging elephants charging bendy walls, echoing piercing chiming over and over.

Weird puzzling fuzziness like a broken TV flooded scenes, till she stood alone on the hill overlooking Edith’s lake cottage, realising this was the start of something rather big. Mrs Peters kind voice floated round beautiful countryside, though it was still an awfully long way off and muffled, like talking through a scarf.

Speak up Mrs P, I can hardly hear.

It won’t be long child, we’ll have some time.

Suddenly soft ground collapsed. Loose, rich earth showered alongside strange insects clicking in concert, fluttering between sweetly intoxicating streams of tickling flowers. The magical journey seeming to last an age was filled with relaxation felt here once before.

Floating to a secret cave saw tiny streams gurgling along golden sprinkled riverbeds sheltering timeless, miniature jewels. A shiny black stone waited on sandy shores, sprouting legs and springing through a rock face far ahead. Wild rolling motions bid her follow to skip across magical mirrored water beyond. Eager to explore the strange new dreamland, Pollyanna pounded after the fleet footed fellow. But as rock loomed closer and excitement grew wilder, there she was running through Pemberton Manor’s gorgeous summer meadows, racing Meg.

To the right invisible creatures screamed like newborn babies, leaping and bounding over rough ground like graceful mountain cats. Bearing down on her left flew an incredibly fast turtle,