Ciaran And The Crystal Spheres

By Kathleen Nelson

It will soon be winter in the northern lands and the people of the Five Clans must battle the harsh climate to hunt and fish for survival. With food stocks low, it seems as if only the Little People can help them. Ciaran is honoured to be chosen as an Exchanger and his contact with the Little People will change his life forever. Not everyone is pleased for Ciaran, however, and he encounters violent opposition from members of his own family. Beset by difficulties, Ciaran has to make decisions which will have far-reaching consequences for them all. This is the first book in the Trilogy of the Sleeping Child.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clink Street Publishing
• Release date: Sep 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781913962753

Kathleen Nelson

This is the first book for older children by UK writer Kathleen Nelson.

Book preview

Cover: Ciaran and the Crystal Spheres by Kathleen Nelson

Ciaran and the

Crystal Spheres

Kathleen Nelson

For Marc

Contents

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter One:The Exchange

Chapter Two:Return to the Clan

Chapter Three:Ciaran counts the Moons

Chapter Four:More Exchanges

Chapter Five:Ciaran Pays a Visit

Chapter Six:Logan and the Girls

Chapter Seven:Winter Storms

Chapter Eight:The Terrible Journey

Chapter Nine:Ciaran is in Big Trouble

Chapter Ten:The Crystal Sphere

Chapter Eleven:The Hunters Return

Chapter Twelve:A Day on the Sea Ice

Chapter Thirteen:Logan Helps Out

Chapter Fourteen:Archery Lessons and a Theft

Chapter Fifteen:Time for a Confession

Chapter Sixteen:The Struggle for the Crystal Sphere

Chapter Seventeen:Ciaran gets ready to Exchange

Chapter Eighteen:Terror at the Rock

Chapter Nineteen:Captivity

Chapter Twenty:Ciaran is Given his Orders

Chapter Twenty-one:The Forced Exchange

Chapter Twenty-two:Glittering Prizes

Chapter Twenty-three:Freedom

Chapter Twenty-four:Return of the Exchanger

Chapter Twenty-five:Ciaran Tells his Tale

Chapter Twenty-six:The Gathering of the Clans

Chapter Twenty-seven:Flickering Images

Chapter Twenty-eight:The Hunters March to War

Chapter Twenty-nine:Ciaran Heads for Danger

Chapter Thirty:Rabina Sounds a Warning

Chapter Thirty-one:Ciaran Meets the Hunters of the Child

Chapter Thirty-two:A Journey is Announced

Acknowledgements

Copyright

Chapter One

The Exchange

Don’t look at them! You must never look at them!

Everyone had told him this, but for some reason it was his mother’s voice that kept repeating in his head as he sat shivering through the long hours. Over and over again: Don’t look at them, Ciaran. Whatever you may think you hear, don’t look up.

It was his third time at the Exchanging Rock, and on the first two occasions nothing had happened. He had not expected anything to happen, and nor had the Elders it seemed. His mother, however, questioned him each time on his return:

Are you sure there was no one around? Sometimes they creep up in silence, so you have to keep your head down just in case. I have had dreams, Ciaran, dreams about you at the Exchanging Rock. You did keep your eyes lowered, didn’t you? At all times?

It will seem as if nothing is happening, one of the Elders had said. They will be watching you, though, even if you are not aware of it. They will certainly be watching. You just have to make your offering on six occasions, that’s all. Do your best, then someone else will have a turn. That’s the custom. Keep your head down, boy, and be respectful, that’s all that is expected of you.

His father had thanked the Elders: It is an honour for my son to be asked to try, an honour for our family and for our Cave-clan. We’re the smallest of the Clans, but who knows? He had then turned to Ciaran: You might even get lucky, my boy! You could be the chosen one! He had laughed after he said this. It was his father’s way to laugh at life. I caught the most enormous walrus on the sea ice today! he would say when he came back from a day’s hunting. Then he would laugh and his family would know that he had caught nothing at all.

And even if they don’t choose you, his mother always had to add, remember that we’re still proud of you. Very few end up being an actual Exchanger. You just have to try and fit into the Harmony of the occasion.

That was all the Elders had talked of too. It was Harmony, Harmony, Harmony all the time, ringing in his ears until he was sick of the word.

Of course I won’t look up! he had snapped at last to his mother as he was setting off on this, his third journey. And I’ll be respectful. You don’t need to keep telling me. And I know all about the Harmony between the Peoples.

He was the seventh boy of the year to take a turn at waiting at the Rock, and the first for many years from his own Cave-clan. Perhaps it was all a lesson in patience. Everyone knew that young boys were impatient and not good at sitting quietly. There were some who didn’t believe the Little People were real and declared it was a ploy to get young hunters to behave with more respect. They were happy to believe in them when there was an Exchange, but would quickly forget and be ungrateful and grumbly when a number of full moons passed without anyone being chosen. Ciaran had never listened to such talk, however, and had trusted in the legends of the Five Clans and the Little People from his earliest childhood. There was plenty of evidence that the Little People were real. How else could one explain those marvellous artefacts that they made? They were generous when they chose to be.

The problem was that no one ever knew what it was they were looking for. Even the Elders could not explain why so few were chosen to become Exchangers.

He had spread the meat and furs all over the Exchanging Rock as instructed, just as he had done on the two previous occasions. There were some wolverine and rabbit furs, a pair of reindeer hides, some dried venison, a large quantity of smoked fish, a net that needed to be mended, and a pair of old walrus tusks that someone from another Clan had been hoarding for many moons. The Little People would surely be able to make some beautiful carvings from those.

On the last two occasions he had lingered for hours by his offerings, but nothing had happened except that he grew cold and stiff from sitting with his head down in a crouched position. He was astonished at how hard it was to remain completely still. For some reason it was much harder than waiting by a seal hole, or waiting to spear a fish. There was a definite end to that, a sense of purpose, but here at the Exchanging Rock everything was strange and uncertain. It was like waiting for nothing. Perhaps because he had so much time to think and be aware of his surroundings, he was able to taste the first icy sting of winter in the air. Winter meant darkness and sometimes going hungry but it wasn’t all bad, as winter also meant that the sea would freeze over and there would be hunting for seals and walrus. It was exciting now that he was old enough to accompany the Hunters. There was always a frisson of danger in winter hunting: the terror of encountering a great white bear; the horror of being trapped on an ice floe which had broken off from the main sea ice; the death winds and blizzards of early winter where you could fall asleep and never wake up. There was much to think about and Ciaran looked forward to some winter adventures, some good hunting with his friends Andi and Taj. He just had to put in his six appearances at the Exchanging Rock first. He wondered if Andi or Taj would be next to try, or if it would be someone from another Cave-clan. It was always someone from another Cave-clan.

He became aware of some rustling nearby. Although it could have been a ground squirrel or a rock-bird, some deep instinct told him it was not. He kept his eyes fixed on a crack in the rock below him and stayed very still. It was like a zigzag of lightning that ended in a rough circle. Many Exchangers before him must have gazed at that crack whilst waiting for something to happen.

All his senses seemed to be focused more clearly than they were even when he was out hunting. Above all, that sixth sense which the Cave-clans called ‘anzara’ was at work, pounding in his head like waves against a rock.

Whispering. That was what he was hearing, excited high-pitched whispering.

Their voices are pitched higher than ours, one of the Elders had explained. If you hear them, you must carry on with your head lowered, making no sign that you are aware of them, no sign at all. They may sound like very young children, even the adults among them, like excited children. Whatever you do, you must not laugh at them even if you find them odd or amusing. Show respect at all times.

Ciaran had no desire to laugh at them. The voices of the Little People were awesome: they sounded like the gushing of a snow-melt-stream tinkling and tumbling over stones and boulders in its way. What joyful music they made! Their voices were unlike anything he had heard in his life, yet weirdly familiar at some deep level. He shivered and shivered, though no longer with cold. Something inside him leapt in recognition, as if he had always known this moment would come. He kept his eyes lowered and nodded his head several times. It was a nod that came from an unknown place within him. It was a nod which affirmed how strangely familiar he found their voices, a nod of acknowledgement and kinship. It was a nod which said: I know you.

He sensed at once that a single voice, the one that had been nearest him, was stilled. It had stopped in response to his nod – he was sure of it. The Elders had warned him against any attempts at communication with the Little People. It was forbidden. His nod had been a spontaneous gesture, however, a response to what he was hearing. Surely no one could blame him for that. He kept his eyes fixed on the crack in the rock below him and did not move.

The high-pitched chattering went on around him as before, but now all Ciaran was aware of was the silence from the particular spot to his left. One of the Little People must be observing him very closely – he could feel it with all his anzara skills. He became conscious only of this tiny space of silence and of his own faster than normal breathing.

For a long time he crouched there, until he was aware of a greater silence. A seabird screamed high above him but from all around the Exchanging Rock the little voices had gone. He felt their loss deep inside him and was able to raise his head confidently. He knew that no one was there.

They had taken away some of the lighter skins and one of the tusks, and he knew they would return for the rest of his offerings later.

Most Exchangers at this point looked to the other half of the rock in greedy anticipation to see what had been exchanged, but Ciaran stood up and gazed all around him first. He was conscious of a feeling of emptiness, a sensation that something wonderful had been gained, something new had burst into his life, then just as suddenly was lost to him. His legs felt shaky and he sank back down again.

He took several deep breaths and stood up more carefully. Very slowly he began loading his cart with the Exchanged goods. He barely glanced at the exquisite needlework on some fine new hunting parkas, or at the huge pile of sealskin leggings, nor even at the dozens of identical bone knives with their carved handles, and he tossed the tiny white bears on top, without pausing to think of the pleasure they would give the children of his Clan. His legs were trembling.

As he dragged the heavy cart behind him on the long journey home, his head was full, not of thoughts of the Exchanged offerings, nor even of the reactions of his family and friends, but of the extraordinary fact that he had been chosen. The Little People considered him worthy of maintaining the Harmony between the Peoples, worthy of becoming an Exchanger. It was hard to believe, but it was true!

The high-pitched music of their voices was still inside his head, and he was sure that one of them had connected with him somehow. One of them had observed and understood his nod and had watched him in silence, whilst the others chattered. Did it count as communication? Something had happened to him, though he was not sure what. It was such a little thing, a nod and an answering silence. Why was he so shaken by it?

Chapter Two

Return to the Clan

They spotted Ciaran long before he reached the home cave.

Yes! Here he comes! It was sister’s voice that he recognised first. Silva was running ahead of the others, as she always did. Look! Look, everyone! There’s been an Exchange! There’s been an Exchange!

After his long journey back, alone and quiet with his thoughts, Silva’s voice burst into his consciousness like a spear into a fish. Why did she always have to be so loud?

Hey, look, everyone! Gather round! My brother has been chosen! she shrieked. He’s an Exchanger! My brother an Exchanger!

His friends Andi and Taj reached him just behind Silva, and Andi thumped him on the back.

You did it, brother, said Taj, stooping to survey the Exchanged goods. Good friends liked to call each other ‘brother’. You’re an Exchanger! That’s amazing.

Imagine one of us being an actual Exchanger! said Andi, gazing at Ciaran as if he has never seen him properly before. Ciaran liked it that he said one of us like that. Andi peered at the exchanged goods and nodded in approval. There’s some good stuff here too! His two friends walked either side of Ciaran and helped him pull the cart. They kept thumping him on the back and exclaiming at how incredible it was. Soon crowds of children appeared and there were shrieks of excitement all round.

In the name of the Clan, we have an Exchange! That is some parka! The girls crowded round. Did you ever see such stitching? Look at the detail on that hood. It’s incredible! Who will get it, do you think?

Oh, probably a Hunter from some other clan as usual. Look at this piece here. I wonder how they get such colours in their threads.

And who is most in need of new leggings? Hey, will our Cave-clan get first pick for once now that we have an Exchanger! That will make a change.

Why yes! An Exchanger from our little Cave-clan, who would have guessed such a thing would happen?

They’re so clever those Little People, aren’t they?

My Papa needs some more leggings. My aunts too. This was Silva’s equally bossy friend, Glenda. And my mother needs some more knives.

It’s for the Elders to decide, not us. And it won’t all be for us of course. There are the four other Cave-clans too, Silva was telling everyone what they knew already. She nodded rather pompously at Ciaran: "Well done, brother, it’s an honour for our Home-cave