Fiona and The Champions of Everley

By Kate Knight and Georgya Knight

Fiona always thought her life was boring. That was until her Granny Joy gave her a silver amulet which unlocked a family secret, unleashing a world of magic and adventure. Accompanied by her trusted friend the quirky Patrick Pip, Fiona discovers the mystical land of Everley where creatures of legend thrive. Together with six other hand-picked ch

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ginger Fyre Press
• Release date: Sep 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781914071478

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All rights reserved, no part of this publication may be either reproduced or transmitted by any means whatsoever without the prior permission of the publisher.

©Text Kate Knight

©Images Georgya Knight

Edited by Ginger Fyre Press and Fi Woods

Additional editing Jon Dixon

GINGER FYRE PRESS UK

Typesetting © Ginger Fyre Press

July 2021

Ginger Fyre Press is an imprint of Veneficia Publications

A picture containing night sky Description automatically generated

For Sophie, Kelly and Amy.

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Fiona and the

Champions of Everley

Written by

Kate Knight

Illustrated by

Georgya Knight

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CHAPTER ONE

Fiona was an ordinary, yet free-spirited, red-haired girl who loved life. She had parents who loved her and although she owned very little, she thought herself to be very rich indeed.  She lived in a secluded, thatched country cottage, which was originally painted white; these days however, you couldn’t really see the white under the wisteria and honeysuckle that climbed the walls, especially in the summer, when the gardens were in full bloom. It had a large garden, with a single apple tree amongst a huge collection of plant species collected over the years. This particular apple tree was planted many years ago by her Great-Grandfather, who had somehow acquired the knowhow to manipulate the branches. From a young age, its limbs had been bent and tied in a certain way, giving it a sort of T-shape. A strong branch on the right-hand side was straight as an arrow and had the very important job of holding a swing. She was told by her dad that many broken or worn ropes were embedded in the fibre of the branch; he said that at least twenty separate ropes had been swallowed by the bark and wood. Dad insisted that it only added strength, ensuring that the branch would never break.

The best part about that tree was the juicy apples that grew on its left-hand side: they were red and sweet, unlike the small, bitter crab apples that grew on the right. This tree was quite possibly the most exciting aspect of Fiona's life. Nothing exciting really happened at all: no adventures or new experiences; she never really went anywhere new. Fiona woke every day at 8am, went to school, came home by 3.30pm, fed the grumpy cat, ate her boring vegetables, played with her boring toys, then went to bed. Even the books she read were boring: about how to look after bees and how to tend to lavender mostly, and how to care for the plants and flowers that were already flourishing in her beautiful garden. She had other books, but after reading them several times Fiona had lost interest, leaving them on the shelf gathering dust. As she lived in the countryside, she had fields to play in, but it was never much fun by herself; except, of course, her bug hunts.

Fiona had always loved bugs and insects, all types of creepy-crawlies ever since she was little. Her Mum could never understand why Fiona always enjoyed sitting in long grass. When she was just a year old, her dad had captured a picture of her and in it, Fiona was wearing a little white, flowery dress. She had a bush of red flowing hair, and a big cabbage white butterfly was gently balanced on the tip of her nose. She was sitting perfectly still, looking cross-eyed at the delicate bug. In the weeks that passed, he captured many images of Fiona with an earwig crawling around on the tip of her finger and two ladybirds dancing in circles on her cheek. Dad even managed to sneak one of Fiona when she was two years old, having a tea-party in her bedroom with a giant house spider. The big, hairy arachnid just sat there, motionless behind a little plastic teacup. He had been alerted by Mum’s screams, which echoed throughout the cottage; she definitely was not a bug person at all. By the age of three, Fiona had taken to finding the biggest, hairiest spider she could which she would gently place on her mum’s lap while she was reading her magazines. She obviously found her Mum’s reaction funny, as she would laugh uncontrollably while Mum danced around the room screaming like a banshee and brushing down her clothing frantically as if she were covered in the little critters.

Jason, her dad, was a lavender farmer who had decided to increase his income by selling lavender honey. He also loved to carve things from wood. He had such an amazing imagination that all he needed was a log and his trusty tool kit. Twenty-four hours and several splinters later, the log became a bear, or an owl, or a fox; anything that popped into his head. His tools were old and a little rusty, but he kept them sharp; that he said was the secret to his art. They needed to be able to slice through the wood like butter; this was important especially when such tiny detail was involved. Every hair on the fox’s back, the little indentations on the badger’s nose, the claws on the otter’s paws: he paid a lot of attention to detail. He would sell them in the local market to wealthy people who displayed them in their gardens.

To everyone else, a lavender farm was a beautiful sight: rows and rows of vibrant purple domes, covered with bees and butterflies, especially in the spring, when the air was fresh, and the sun was new. The smell of the lavender was so pungent in the long hot summer evenings that it would sting Fiona’s nose. Fiona had seen, and smelt, the fields dozens of times, so they too had become somewhat boring. She still loved to document the different varieties of butterfly in her little booklet, though, because she loved the way their lives were so simple, just eating and laying eggs. Dragonflies were her favourite and behind Fiona’s home was a big pond that was almost completely hidden from view by the giant reeds and bull-rushes surrounding it. On the far side was a little deck that her dad had built for her out of a couple of old pallets; she would spend hours and hours laying on her back in the sunshine, after her Mum had covered her pale skin in sun cream. The tips of her long, red, curly hair trailing in the water, as she watched all the jewel-coloured dragonflies buzzing over her head; a swirling mix of blue and green with a subtle yellow-orange tinge to their wings. They hovered over Fiona almost like they were trying to read her thoughts. She often wondered what they must think of this strange, skinny, freckle-faced girl who watched them buzzing around all day. Maybe they thought she was some sort of alien from outer space or maybe even the queen of their pond. Regardless of what they must be thinking, Fiona loved her time watching the little insects darting around so gracefully from left to right, upwards, downwards, zig-zagging their way across the water. She swore that she even watched one loop the loop with excitement when it saw her arrive. She wished she could have wings like the dragonflies; wouldn’t that be just amazing, to be able to take off, and fly to wherever you desired?

Valery, Fiona’s Mum, was once a music teacher at the village primary school. There wasn’t a single instrument that she couldn’t play. She even had a huge wooden harp set up in the conservatory that she played when she was a little tense; she said it calmed her nerves and kept her happy. There wasn’t a single child that passed through the school who couldn’t perform Three Blind Mice to their so very-thrilled parents.  She loved her job; and loved to be around children, especially those eager to learn.

Valery had given up working a couple of years back, to look after her husband's ageing Grandmother Joy, who lived in the backroom downstairs. The house belonged to Joy originally; in fact, Fiona’s bedroom once housed four of Joy and her husband’s children. Fiona often wondered how on earth four beds would fit in her little room, while leaving enough space to walk around. Her Great-Granny, whom Fiona addressed as Granny Joy, had set her mind at ease, when she explained that they all huddled together in one big double bed: two at the top, two at the bottom. It was chilly back then, before central heating had been installed and they all wore socks to bed; ‘Save them all from having stinky feet in their faces,’ she would say. She was Fiona’s best friend ever. When her Great-Grandmother was well, Fiona would spend hours and hours of her week, sitting in her room amongst the pink rose wallpaper, listening to her wild adventure stories, all while her Granny Joy sat rocking gently, on her chair. Fiona wished that she had an imagination like her Great-Granny had. Joy’s hair was now almost completely grey, with the odd wisp of red. Her face was covered with lines, which crinkled like paper as she smiled but her eyes remained bright despite the years. Great-Granny would say that her lines were the price that she had to pay for a life filled with sunshine. After hearing that, Fiona realised why Mum would smother her in sun cream! Granny Joy was now at least 100-years-old, and Mum said that her brain was not as it should be.

She could no longer sit with Fiona and tell her stories from her younger days; she could no longer talk or even make hand gestures.  All Granny Joy could do was stare out of the window into the back garden, gently rocking on her creaking, old, rocking-chair; almost as if she was in a permanent sort of daydream. Fiona still loved her Great-Granny; she just hated what age had done to her. She especially missed those stories. Mum did try and tell her a few stories at bedtime, but she wasn’t really that good at it, often resorting to telling stories that other people had written. Mum explained that Granny Joy had so many stories floating around in her brain that she became lost in them. This kind of made sense to Fiona. She couldn’t help but imagine what adventures Granny Joy might be in, while staring out of that little window. Maybe she was scuba diving with the mermaids of Conch Bay or battling with pirates on Diamond Island; maybe just flying around on the back of a dragon! Sometimes Fiona would catch Granny Joy with a little smile on her face, as she stared out at the yellow roses that grew outside her window.

With Dad busy with his bees, the farm, and woodwork, and Mum busy looking after Granny, Fiona had a lot of time to herself doing absolutely nothing. Not a thing. She was the princess of boredom. 

She had a brother Danny, who was much older than Fiona; he had moved out of the family home a couple of years back, just before Granny Joy had fallen ill. Fiona was told by her parents that he was on an adventure of his own, with his girlfriend Meggs: travelling to far away countries, in search of rare plants and flowers. They had met in college, while Danny was studying botany. Meggs was a nice girl; she always had a smile on her face and a bag of sweets for Fiona.

Shhh! Don’t tell your mam. She would say, then look straight at Mum, who would roll her eyes and give an ‘oh I suppose’ kind of look. Danny and Meggs would visit every so often, usually when it was a celebration day.  Easter was a must, when the garden began to bloom bringing with them a bag full of bulbs that would never seem to grow. At Christmas, they usually turned up with a hand-made wreath for the front door that Dad would moan about, as the holly would scratch his hands as he tried to hang it securely, only for a slammed door or heavy gust of wind to knock it off the hooks. Fiona looked forward to their visits, as Danny always arrived with a small gift from every country he visited just for his little sister. Fiona already had a nice collection of snow globes, thimbles, and book-marks. Her favourite was a little green leprechaun doll that Danny had picked up in Ireland. It reminded Fiona of Patrick Pip; he was the little tree elf, who Granny Joy had described as her invisible best friend. She even had a little red velvet chair in her room that she claimed was his. No one ever saw him, but Granny Joy always insisted that he was around, usually asleep or shouting out the answers to a game show that just happened to be on the television at the time. Granny Joy always asked him to calm down when he got a question wrong. You see, Patrick believed that he was never wrong about anything. 

When Fiona was younger, Danny often took her into the garden to give her lessons on plants. Fiona became an expert at how photosynthesis worked. She learnt how plants grew faster in different areas of the garden and even how, if you mixed a little horse manure, or poo as Danny liked to call it, really well into the soil, flowers would grow bigger and stronger. One summer, they planted a single sunflower seed in a mixture of regular soil and horse poo that Dad had scooped from just outside the driveway earlier that day. After only a few months, the flower had grown to an enormous size. As Fiona stood at the bottom looking up, it looked like a huge beanstalk reaching into the clouds. It had the biggest yellow petals and one single red one that sat proudly right at the top, pointing straight up. It grew so big that it knocked on Fiona’s bedroom window with the slightest breeze. It made her room smell wonderful when her window was open but encouraged the odd bumblebee to get stuck in her room. Practically every evening, before the sun went down, she had to go on a bumblebee hunt. Fiona even had a special stick, that Danny had soaked in sweetened water; the bees would climb straight on it every time without hesitation. Danny had said that bees were the most important bug on earth: without bees, few plants would grow at all. It was that very sunflower that gave Dad the idea to use bees amongst the lavender in the first place. He said it was important to do his bit to save the planet. The honey was obviously a bonus; it sold very well at the market.

It was a sad day when the sunflower finally came crashing down. There was a big storm one night, after a long sunny spell, that blew gusts of nearly 80 miles an hour. Fiona and Danny had supported the flower as much as they could, using long bamboo sticks and twine; they even tied the sunflower’s enormous head to Fiona’s window ledge. The wind blew so hard that it pulled the whole root system right out of the ground, along with a rose bush and a couple of asters. Luckily, the flower had managed to grow all of its precious seeds nice and plump beforehand, well, most of them anyway. Danny sat with Fiona at the kitchen table and pulled them all free one by one and divided them into two tubs.

This one is yours and this one is for me, he said, placing one of the tubs on his lap.

Every new place I go, I will plant one of these seeds. That way I can always have my baby sister with me. You can do the same; that way, I will always be with you.

Mum was not impressed with all the mess when she came home. Luckily, the mess was not as bad as Mum had suggested. Fiona popped to the toilet and when she returned, only a few minutes later, everything was already tidied away. Danny was a good brother: he always tried to keep Fiona out of trouble.

Danny moved away from home later that year, leaving Fiona alone and wondering what adventures he was having without her. Counting all the postcards on the fridge in the kitchen, Fiona could just imagine that when she finally became old enough to leave home, the whole world would be covered in sunflowers! But Fiona never went anywhere. She still had her little tub, and it was still full; unlike Danny’s tub, which would probably be half-way down by now, at least. She did wonder sometimes,