The Far Shore

By Kerry Hancock

The Mistress and the Sworn children have entered Merdom, the fourth child must be collected. Will The Mistress survive her time there or will King Magnus see fit to take his revenge? Meanwhile, all is not well in The Warm Realm. Shayla strikes a blow to each of The Kingdoms, will The Oracle help as she has promised? As this gripping trilogy concludes, The Mistress, The Sworn children and all the forest creatures must fight for their very survival.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jan 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9781398464704

Kerry Hancock

Kerry Hancock was born in Kent. At the age of 47, and after raising her four children, she dedicated her time to fulfilling her long-held dream of becoming an author. Kerry still lives in Kent with her partner and their two dogs. They have a shared passion for gardening and grow a lot of their own food which supports their vegetarian lifestyle.

Book preview

About the Author

Kerry Hancock lives in Kent with her husband and two dogs. Her passion for reading led to her taking up the pen herself and now she writes full time. She has a great respect for the natural world and often turns to Mother Nature for inspiration when writing.

Dedication

For Reggie

Copyright Information ©

Kerry Hancock 2023

The right of Kerry Hancock to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398464681 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398464698 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781398464704 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

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1

Milo Lightfoot flew through the air, desperately trying to keep his many tattered coats and cloaks hugged to his body. His tricorn hat had popped off like a cork and been whisked away into the distance. As the ground beneath him loomed closer, he screwed up his eyes against the harsh rush of air that battered his face. He had to think fast. With a quickly mumbled spell and a desperate fumble under his garments for a talisman, he bumped and rolled to the ground in a shambled heap.

Mer be blessed! He chuckled to himself as he checked his limbs for breaks and tried to stand, then realised he was still shackled to the water nymph. Oh! he whispered as the limp and soggy body of the nymph hung from the chain. Oh well. He chirped as he unlocked the wrist cuff and rolled the dead nymph down a small hill. The many creatures and wonders concealed about his person all chattered and squealed at the impromptu flight across the Unclaimed Lands. He checked all his pockets and pouches, reassuring and cooing to his pets.

Milo Lightfoot found that he was still capable of sadness when he scooped out the crumpled, dead body of one of his extra-large spiders. You were one of my favourites, old friend. He sighed, as he flung the leggy mess across the grass. He straightened up and brushed himself off, readjusted his woollen hat and stepped forward when something caught his eye. Mmmm, he thought as he pulled out an old, dirty spyglass and squinted into the distance.

Jengo! He whispered wickedly under his breath. Now this should be interesting. He fell to the ground and moaned and groaned for help, all the while searching his pockets for something incredibly special indeed.

Jengo had raced as fast as he could towards the Far Shore, hoping to catch up with the Mistress and report of Prince Lexion’s death before she made it through the gate. His paws were raw and his muscles cramped, but a steady pace he would keep. He headed into the Unclaimed lands with the hope of finding her at the Halfway, and with the tavern in sight he had stopped for a moment’s rest. Then he had heard it. A small cry. A pitiful squeal. Jengo stood and sniffed the air, nothing, no danger, no animal. He padded slowly towards the strange noise. As he rounded a small cluster of trees he saw a heap upon the ground. It looked like a pile of tattered cloth. He sniffed again, still nothing. He ventured closer. Milo Lightfoot called for help once more, in the most pathetic voice he could muster. Jengo, being the most honourable of wolves, stepped forward.

What ails you? he enquired. Milo Lightfoot kept silent. Can I offer assistance? he asked. Again a small cry for help came from the rag pile. I am Jengo. Are you hurt? When the most glorious of wolves was in striking distance, Milo put his heinous plan into action. As quick as a whip he snapped out his wrist from under his cloaks and robes and released his shanzy chain of mastery. As it snaked its way around Jengo’s neck all thoughts of the Mistress and the Sworn children were washed from the wolf’s mind.

Now I have myself a pet to be proud of! Milo Lightfoot bragged to himself. Now I have the mighty Jengo at my beck and call. What do you say, DOG! Milo Lightfoot tugged sharply on the shanzy chain and Jengo, the once proud and fearless wolf of the forest, gave a pitiful whine and followed his new master.

2

Day and night Thistle had tended the King, his raging fever had required many cold cloths and she and Illiwig had taken turns soaking them in the stream behind the house. She had cleaned and bound his hands and tended his many cuts and scrapes. Now she sat and waited.

Any improvement? Jug asked, entering the cottage with fresh wood for the fire.

A little. Thistle sighed as Illiwig took the wood from Jug and gestured for him to sit. Thistle shuffled to Illiwig’s side and the pair turned narrow eyes on Jug.

Now don’t take on when I asks you what I’m gonna ask you. Illiwig’s voice took on a serious tone as he placed a protective arm around Thistle’s shoulder.

Jug frowned.

Ask away, friend. Jug was a little confused at the frostiness of the two.

Me and Thistle been talking like and we just don’t buy the story. Everyone just stared at each other. What I means to say is we just don’t think this man here is a lowly tinker. Jug wriggled in the Mistress’ chair. See! I knew something weren’t right! Illiwig declared, noticing Jug’s discomfort at being questioned. Come on now, spill! Illiwig was indignant at being kept in the dark.

Ok, ok, but if the Grey finds out I’ve told you he’ll…

He’ll what? The Grey queried, as he slunk into the room.

Ah, Grey, there you are. Illiwig and Thistle have questions… Jug felt his cheeks redden as he slumped back into the chair. His nerves had been in shreds these past few days at keeping such a huge secret.

Do they indeed? Well, ask then. The Grey sat by the fire in front of Illiwig and Thistle and cocked his head, waiting.

Well, me and Thistle here… well we was talking and we just don’t believe this here man’s a tinker. Illiwig rushed the last few words and gripped Thistle’s shoulder tighter.

And why is that? The Grey asked licking his lips. Illiwig drew a large breath to steady his beating heart.

Well to start with this man has the finest boots upon his feet that old Illiwig has ever seen. Second under his dirty clothes this man was as clean as a whistle and lastly this man has a king’s sovereign on a chain around his neck! The last few words Illiwig almost shouted. The Grey chuckled.

You are an observant little fellow. As you two have been prying and poking around you might as well know. But mark my words you will wish that you didn’t. All eyes followed the huge wolf as he rose and padded over to the man wrapped in blankets on the floor. This, my inquisitive little friends, is King Maximillian. Father to Prince Lexion, who is currently dead and buried behind the cottage. The Grey sniffed the air.

Mer be blessed! Thistle gasped.

But how? Why? Illiwig had removed his arm from Thistle’s shoulder and was starting to pace the room.

I do not know the details of why he was in the forest or what he was seeking, but I hope it was not his son. The Grey headed for the door and turned. Come and get me as soon as he wakes. Thistle nodded. As soon as he wakes, goblin. Thistle nodded more swiftly.

For two more days Thistle tended with cloth and gentle hand and on the third morning the King opened his eyes.

The seed! The cold realm! He croaked loudly, starting to thrash in his blankets.

Now, now, calm yourself, sir. You are in no fit state to stand. Thistle tried to restrain his hands but the King would not be deterred.

You don’t understand! Please, I must get to the Oracle! My city will fall! The King’s eyes were wide with lunacy, his face was bright red and sweaty. My sword, bring me my sword! The King had managed to throw off his coverings and was crawling towards the door.

Help me! Someone help! Thistle screamed trying to hold him down.

Out of my way! Out of my way! If I fail all will be lost! The King was grappling at Thistle’s feet, trying to stand.

Thistle! Jug hollered as he raced into the cottage followed by an armed Illiwig.

For the love of Mer, help me, Jug. She shuffled aside as Jug bent to restrain the King and Illiwig raised his garden trowel, ready to strike.

There is no call for violence, Illiwig. The voice that came from the doorway was so soft, so calm, everyone turned. The doorway was glowing with a delicate, white light. Be still, King Maximillian of Meridien. Michael gently swept an arm across the room. Everyone shielded their eyes from the brilliance of his presence. The King closed his eyes and slumped against Jug’s chest. As Michael stepped into the cottage the glow dissipated and a tall, robed man stood before them, human-looking, except for the eyes. The ever-piercing eyes looked down at the bedraggled four. That’s better, now to business. Ah yes, Jug, God has a task for you.

Michael! The Grey declared as he skidded to a halt just inside the doorway.

Grey. Michael nodded. The Grey lowered into a deep bow.

The Mistress! Is she well? Has she made it through the gate? The Grey almost shouted, he was so concerned at the arrival of the Archangel that all manners deserted him.

Calm yourself, wolf. Yes, she is fine and through the gate. The Grey visibly relaxed. Michael leant down and bent his head to Jug. You are Jug, warrior of the White City? Jug swallowed loudly. Speak, man!

Yes…I am. But who, sir, are you? Jug slowly lowered the King to the floor and stood.

I, am the Archangel Michael. God has sent me to help.

Merfolk have mercy! Thistle declared before swooning into the Mistress’ chair. Illiwig came to his senses.

An honour, your majesty. He whispered as he too gave a great sweeping bow."

Straighten yourself, human, I am here only for Jug. Illiwig frowned at being dismissed out of hand and shuffled next to Thistle to stand behind the chair.

What task do you offer? Jug asked standing straight and proud, puffing up his chest. He tried with all his courage to look into the glowing eyes of the Archangel in front of him.

The task is a simple one. See that the King here gets to the Cold Realm safely.

But I don’t know where the Cold Realm is! Jug protested; all his bravery gone. Surely another could fulfil the task better than I? Jug ran his hands through his hair and turned to the Grey for help.

I can lead you there. But it will mean leaving the three unguarded, the Mistress’ instructions were more than clear.

I will stay and tend your charges, Grey. It is of the utmost importance that the King get to the Oracle. Why? I cannot say, it is for God to know such things. Now, if we can all get to work? Michael swept his eyes over the sorry little group, the white glow making each and every one of them leap to action. The Grey left the cottage to think with Jug close on his heels.

The King is in no fit state to stand, let alone walk! The Grey stated, as he and Jug walked the gardens. Michael’s presence irritated him and the need for a proper report from the Mistress ate away at his temper.

A sledge! If we construct a sledge I can drag him! Jug offered enthusiastically following the Grey towards the stream.

It is only a day’s walk. A sledge would suffice. The Grey replied as he paced the stream’s edge his thoughts on everyone’s safety. Get to it, man! He snarled at Jug on seeing him staring at his shaking hands.

Yes, wood, I need wood. Jug snapped out of his trance and headed for the log pile.

Back inside the cottage Michael had quickly taken to the Mistress’ chair as soon as Thistle had risen to make tea, the only thing she could think of to do.

Now Illiwig, where are your friends? Michael reached up and lowered his hood to reveal long, white flowing hair which shone with a lustrous glow.

In the garden, your majesty. Illiwig didn’t know what else to call him, he had never seen such brilliance, such supremacy. Michael chuckled.

You may call me Michael. Now, your friends. Illiwig ran from the cottage, up the path and round the hedges to the Bodkins pool.

Oh, my love, you must come to the cottage! Illiwig spluttered. Someone very special has arrived! Hiccup placed her hands on her hips and waited for Illiwig to catch his breath. He’s sent by God himself, yes he has, my little beauty. He has asked for you, well you two. Grumble lifted his head from the soil. Come on quick, he don’t look like the type to be kept waiting. Hiccup shook her head and narrowed her eyes.

Is this a trick? She asked a little annoyed at having her lazy morning interrupted.

Oh no! No, no, no. Hiccup could see he was becoming upset at her and Grumble’s lack of interest.

Ok, we come. She gave a small jump and was in the air and away."

Let me help you. Illiwig offered Grumble as he plucked him from the stony earth.

Many thanks. Grumble shook his roots and climbed onto Illiwig’s shoulder. Illiwig turned and scrambled back to the cottage at such a pace Grumble gave a squeal and clung to Illiwig’s hair with his twiggy fingers.

3

The Mistress swept through the tunnel with pace. Its ground hard and well-trodden by the feet of the masses. Its walls smooth. Its ceiling high. Their footsteps echoed into the distance.

Forward! We cannot allow Chivers to change her mind. The group fell in behind her.

What’s that smell? Malya held her nose as she turned to Manuk.

It’s the smell of decay. The tunnel and gate are ancient, Malya. The others don’t smell it. You are bound to Mother Nature herself and as you know, what lives also must die. A little piece of the gate and tunnel dies each day, as the people walk this path they quicken its end. They trudged on.

After some twists and turns, the tunnel widened and the Far Gate came into view. Everyone came to a stand-still.

Merfolk below! Dax declared, giving a long, high whistle.

The gate before them filled the tunnel perfectly. Its stone rim was carved with images of ferocious sea creatures. It’s crumbling outer edge left the tunnel floor scattered with debris. In its centre was a shimmering mass of waves.

Let’s go! Selena shouted as she strode forward.

Stop! The Mistress cried. Selena stopped and lowered her sword. Do you think we can just swagger through? Do you think yourself prepared for what is to come? Do you think there are not dangers that await us? All turned at the Mistress’ distress. We must plan, we must… we must… Balboar stepped in front of her and placed a gentle hand upon her shoulder.

It’s ok. It’s going to be ok. The Mistress shook her head and lowered her cane.

How can it be, Balboar? Everyone turned away a little embarrassed at the scene before them. He may strike me down as soon as my foot touches the floor. He may banish us all, there’s no way I could get us all out of the pit! The Mistress shook off Balboar’s giant paw and drew in a long breath through her nose.

The only way we are going to find out is to go through. We need the fourth, you know this Arieanna. With her true name spoken he got the reaction he wanted, he needed. The Mistress pursed her lips and straitened her shoulders.

You are right, onwards is the only way. Come children. Follow me. And brace yourselves. This can be rough. Everyone shuffled into place behind the Mistress. Say my name again, she whispered to Balboar through gritted teeth, And we shall go at it. Balboar gave her a huge grin and fell in behind Selena.

As the shambolic group hurried through the gate their whole world changed. The air became thick and heavy, it glistened and snaked overhead. All around them the shimmering waves washed over their skin. It was hard to tell up from down. The smell of the ocean flooded their senses. They walked on. Each footstep felt heavy, like wading through water. At last the waves thinned and the air became light and breezy. The high-pitched squawking of seabirds filled the air and as they stepped out into the light they heard a gentle sucking sound as the gate released their bodies to the Far Shore.

4

Jug slung the heavy ropes over his shoulders and heaved the sledge forward, carrying the King, out of Evermoore and into the forest. King Maximillian was wrapped in blankets, his fever had broken, but his mind was still in tatters.

The seed! The seed! He had hollered as he thrashed and wriggled. Illiwig had had to lash him to the sledge many times. It had left him saddened to see a man in such distress.

After half a day following the Grey through paths and tracks, through brush and briar, Jug stopped to rest and drink.

At least he sleeps. Jug nodded towards the now crumpled pile, tied to the make-shift sledge.

The Oracle will clear his mind, of that I have no doubt, but… The Grey sat by Jug and lapped water from the cup he offered.

I too have the same fear, Grey. Jug rubbed his face as he spoke. If he seeks his son, what will we do?

For that I have no answer, young warrior, no answer at all.

The two set off, wishing for the day to be over and the King to be off their hands. As the Cold Realm approached, the Grey drew them to a halt.

What you are about to see must be kept secret! She will see straight into your heart and if she deems you unworthy she will punish, make no mistake. Jug tried a reassuring smile and found only fear. He hadn’t thought about what would happen, in, the Cold Realm, only getting there. Now he was to enter a realm that wasn’t ruled by the Mistress, the thought unnerved him more than he would care to admit.

This way. The Grey hurried through densely packed trees and came to a small clearing, Jug panted his way behind and gratefully dropped the ropes, rubbing his sore shoulders.

I will go first, then you will follow, do not be afraid, young warrior, all will be well. With that the Grey stepped forward and was gone. Jug picked up the ropes and followed.

Jug hadn’t been prepared for the icy ground. He hadn’t been prepared for the Cold Realm to actually be this cold. As he stepped forward the freezing air filled his lungs and took his breath away.

Mer be blessed! He managed to splutter as he clutched his robe around himself, forgetting all about the King he had dragged in behind him.

Thick, heavy snow fell, coating his hair and face with a crystalline layer.

Holy One, I am here at the request of Michael. The Grey was shivering but doing his best to look like he wasn’t.

Why have you brought humans to my realm? The voice cut through the snow and drifted over their heads.

This is Jug, o gracious and glorious one. The Grey had lowered his head. Jug frowned at the wolf’s subservience.

Ah, my sister’s little token. Jug screwed up his eyes against the blanket of snow that swept the clearing and could make out a thin, flowing figure in front of them. Come closer, human. Jug didn’t move, his feet were numb and he couldn’t stop his teeth from chattering.

Step forward, boy! The Grey snarled through gritted teeth. Jug managed a few small, shuffled footsteps. All at once the snow ceased and a painfully sharp breeze whisked up from the ground as the figure swept forward, the most beautiful figure Jug had ever seen. Her long, white hair rose in gentle tendrils, her face a perfect oval of colourless shine. But it was the eyes that transfixed, a shade of cornflower blue that made you catch your breath.

Show me your hands? The voice was but an inch from Jug’s ear. Jug tried to extend his arms and found they were frozen to his sides. As he wrestled to get them free he felt small, icy fingers wrap around his wrists.

So warm. The voice whispered into his ear. As the icy hands pulled his arms free they wrapped themselves around his own large, warrior hands and he felt his heart stop beating as a cold chill ran through his veins. Your heart is pure and true. I can see why my sister had use of you. The Oracle released Jug’s hands as the breeze calmed and the little clearing brightened. What have you brought me? The Oracle inquired with a raised eyebrow. Jug and the Grey looked at each other until they remembered the King on the sledge.

Forgive me, The Grey stepped aside, This is King Maximillian. Michael demanded that we bring him here.

Why?

I do not know, Holy One, the Grey whispered. Jug tried to speak and found his lips frozen together.

As he commands, I shall follow. The Oracle swept forward and knelt by the King’s side.

What has become of you? She whispered as she gently brushed the now crispy hair from his face. She lowered her lips and planted a single, light kiss upon his forehead. Awaken! Oh, king of Meridian. Let me piece back together your mind. The King gave a huge gasp as he tried to sit. Slowly. The Oracle urged.

What trickery is this! The King shouted, realising he was bound.

No trickery. The Oracle placed an open hand upon his chest.

Get your hands off me, I am the King! Maximillian was thrashing against his restraints.

Hear me now great king! You will come back to us. By your will or mine! With that she slammed her hand down onto his chest and a piercing blue light shot into his heart. The King jerked, his whole body going stiff as the blue light snaked its way from his heart to his head. Sleep now. When you wake we will talk. The Oracle rose and turned to Jug. Oh! She exclaimed on seeing him frozen solid. This will never do. She gently blew a soft breath upon his face and turned to the Grey. You may leave the King with me. Whatever it is he has to say, I shall hear him, to this I swear. The Grey, his coat now heavy with ice, nodded.

Mer be blessed! Jug declared as he opened his eyes and shook his cold head.

I forget how easy humans are to freeze. The Oracle mused as she disappeared behind her tree.

We must be away. Our task is done. The Grey spoke as he urged Jug to leave the clearing.

But the King! We can’t just leave him here. Jug hopped from foot to foot as he placed his hands under his arms.

We can and we must. Now come. The Grey stepped forward and with one last look at the crumpled body of the King, Jug followed.

5

Selena, Dax and Malya stared. They stared at the wonder that was the Far Shore. They were standing atop a small crop of rocks, the gate behind them. What swept out before them had their eyes wide and their mouths hanging open. Down the gently sloping path before them lay a huge market. Its stalls spread out far and wide. The stalls all had coloured canvas roofs, it looked like an old and tatty patchwork quilt had been laid down by giants. But it wasn’t the market that had them owe struck; it was the noise. A thousand shouts for trade and bargains travelled the breeze and battered their ears. Music wafted in the air. Laugher and cries mixed with bells and horns. Animal calls and howls. It sounded like the whole world was crammed into the market below. Malya covered her ears.

What is this place? A confused and bewildered Dax asked.

This, young Prince, is the Far Shore trade market, Tickobi. From the wealthiest of merchants to the lowliest of tinkers come here to sell and buy. The Mistress looked down at the market. You three shall stay here! She declared to Balboar, Ingrid and Manuk. Take yourselves up into the hills and await our return.

But Mistress, please. I cannot leave Malya alone in there! Manuk protested.

Mistress! We need to be with our children, our charges! Ingrid wrapped her tail around Dax. Balboar said nothing.

The children need to learn to survive on their own. They need to use their human skills not just their Sworn craft. There is no better place to learn than here! The Mistress turned to Balboar.

It is true, He turned to the other ancients, The children need a while mixing and blending in. He gave Selena a rough pat on the shoulder and looked to the Mistress. Three days? He questioned.

Three days. She confirmed.

As you wish then. Balboar readjusted his axe and set of up into the hills. The Mistress opened her mouth to call something after him