Tracey Meredith. Middle Grade to Young Adult stories : THE ANGEL IN TOWERHOUSE WOOD

Sep 18, 2014 Dionne rated it 5 of 5 stars

"I have finished reading this and found it great. It's a good read and the main character really works for it. Joel is a smart kid and very likeable. Even I would highly recommend reading it."

It's not often that you meet an angel when you're skipping school. It's not often that you jump into a pond and find yourself in another world. And when did you last have to deal with trolls and goblins? Not to mention the ruler of this miserable land, who has, it turns out, some serious anger management problems. Maybe Joel should have gone to triple maths after all.

There are trolls and goblins, kidnapping and romance (of sorts), and a final show down with His Honour. No one, it seems, knows what they're supposed to be doing, but apparently, Joel is saving the world- with the help of a handful of goblins and a racist angel. It doesn't appear to the best planned expedition- surely Someone knows what's going on.

22Sept. 2015. The Revised Version is out. Take your pick of flavours

The stranger folded his arms and fixed him with a glare. “You do not,” he said in clipped tones, “have a choice in the matter. Whether you want it or not, somewhere along the line you will find yourself embroiled in the battle. They’re out looking for you, Joel Henry- and you don’t want Them to find you unprotected.”
“What? Brian Griffin’s gang?”
The stranger sighed with forced patience. “No,” he said, “I’m talking about-” He gestured abstractly whilst looking for the right words. “I suppose- for want of a better word-” He looked slightly embarrassed now. “-perhaps... Evil?”
A lengthy silence hung in the air after this statement. Then Joel snorted and the day went downhill from thereon.
There are trolls and goblins, kidnapping and romance (of sorts), and a final show down with His Honour. No one, it seems, knows what they're supposed to be doing, but apparently, Joel is saving the world- with the help of a handful of goblins and a racist angel. It doesn't appear to the best planned expedition- surely Someone knows what's going on.

Published at Smashwords, Nook, Kobo and ibooks. And Amazon

The Angel in Towerhouse Wood

Tracey Meredith

Published by Tracey Meredith at Smashwords

ISBN: 9781311087638

Revised edition 2015

IT WAS raining. Again.

The boy sighed and threaded himself through the broken gate, hurrying as quickly as he could over the waterlogged field. At the bottom of the gentle slope flowed the Blind Yeo, overfull and fast running from days of heavy downpours.

The exit from the field was flooded and the boy was forced to wade ankle deep through freezing mud. He sniffed as he reached the concrete bridge, his socks and shoes full of cold, brown water. All this, just to avoid Them.

He stepped onto the bridge and stood there, uncertain what to do. His mum was at work. She wouldn't know he'd been home. He shook his head. Of course she would. There would be the trail of muddy water throughout the house, for a start.

He stared through the driving rain at the black shapes that were the trees of Towerhouse Wood. There was nowhere else to go, was there?

When the rain water began to trickle down the back of his neck, he put his hood up. The wind blew it off. He swore under his breath. He hated the hood. He didn't know whose head it was designed for, but it wasn't his. Someone with a conical head, apparently. He pulled the hood back on and yanked at the drawstrings. Now he couldn't see properly, but at least the blasted thing was staying up.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see something flapping. He put his hand up and found the torn collar of his coat. That was something else he had to explain to his mum. He'd told her he'd had a fight about football. He didn't want her to know he'd been set on by Brian Griffin and his gang. She would want to do something about it, and if she told Dad— well they would probably just make matters worse.

He started on his way to the woods. It wasn't as if he had done anything to attract Brian Griffin's attention. He hadn't bad mouthed him. He wasn't a swot. He certainly wasn't the teachers' favourite. He had made going unnoticed such an art form that, after two years at the school, not one teacher could remember his name.

Thinking about it, this had all started when Sandra Black had joined the gang. She was smart. She actually got grades above D. Why she felt the need to be in a gang, he couldn't fathom. Or why she seemed to take such a delight in persecuting him.

He'd reached another stile. The field in front of him was flooded. Not to worry— his feet were already soaking. A bit more wouldn't make any difference. He decided to take the most direct line across the field. It proved to be a bad idea. By the time he was half way across, the water was up to his knees. Well, there was no point going back now. He tried to carry on, but that brief, indecisive pause had allowed his foot to sink in the mud, and now he was stuck. He pulled and pulled, leaning further and further forward, until the inevitable happened and he fell over. He staggered upright, soaked head to toe and covered in mire. "Brilliant," he muttered. "Just brilliant." Then he realised that he had lost his shoe. He looked skywards and said, "Thanks for that. It just made a perfect day even better."

He retrieved his shoe and waded over to the next stile. Leaning on the hand rail, he emptied both his shoes and put them back on. Not that it made any difference. His socks were so wet they just filled his shoes with water again.

The last field up to Towerhouse Wood was quite steep, but at least it was less water logged. As he climbed the slope, he noticed three horses standing under the shelter of a tree. They looked thoroughly miserable, their coats flinching in the rain. "See," he muttered to himself, "it could be worse."

He was sniffing now and his nose was running. He felt in his sodden pockets for a tissue. He pulled one out and inspected it. It was dripping with water. He put it back in his pocket and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

At the top of the field he climbed the final stile and entered the shelter of the trees. He looked back the way he had come. He could barely see the first gate now, it was raining so hard. He turned to his left, along the lower path.

There was only one place to go to wait out the day, and that was the pond. It wasn't really a pond. It was more a widening of the stream, but it was a big widening, so it looked like a large pond. It was a weird place. Despite being in the middle of a wood, nothing seemed to live there, in or out of the water.

The path was slippery, with tree roots and a rutted surface threatening to help him lose his footing, but, despite their efforts, he reached the pond without further incident, and stood for a while gazing into it. The rain was causing ripples on the surface, but he could still see the peculiar bubbles that issued from the mud. He assumed they were caused by gas generated by the rotting vegetation that lay on the pond's bottom, but even knowing this, it still looked, well, weird. Not creepy, but like there was something secret about the place.

He stayed there, watching and listening, until his legs grew tired and started to ache. He decided to head for the fallen tree that lay a little further on. He could sit on that until he got fed up with being wet.

He didn't think he would be there very long. He was already cold and weary. Soon the risk of running into Brian Griffin's gang again would seem a better prospect than staying here and getting soaked. He was deep in thought as he walked slowly up the hill, and he didn’t notice that the tree he was heading for was occupied, until he almost collided with the gentleman. He pulled back just before the collision, startled.

The stranger peered at him. He was a handsome man, with short blond hair and the most startling blue eyes. He wore a heavy, black woollen coat, the type that covers the knees. Despite this, he was hunched as though frozen. The boy guessed he had been sitting there for some time.

The man stood up and glared at him. "Joel Henry?" he barked.

The boy took a step back, surprised. "Pardon?" he said.

"Are you Joel Henry?" The boy nodded. "You’re late!" snorted the man.

Joel stood for a moment, his mouth hanging open. Then he realised he must look stupid and shut it. "How—?" he began and stopped himself. His mother had always told him not to talk to strangers, and though this person knew his name, it didn’t alter the fact that he was still a stranger.

"You should have been here an hour ago," grumbled the man. "Didn’t your mother teach you that it’s impolite to keep people waiting?"

"I’m sorry," said Joel, despite his mother’s warnings. "I don't—"

"An hour ago," continued the stranger, as if Joel hadn’t spoken. "Five minutes I could forgive, but a whole hour? What took you?"

"I’m sorry," said Joel again, "but have we met? Because I don’t remember you, and I’m sure I would, if I had met you. I certainly don’t remember agreeing to meet you here."

The stranger peered at him, a look of disbelief settling on his face. "They didn’t tell you," he said at last. "You really have no idea who I am, have you?" Joel shook his head, beginning to regret inviting the conversation.

The stranger slapped his hand theatrically to his forehead. "The incompetents! The absolute— Words fail me. How He has the nerve to call Himself infallible, I don’t know! You’d think someone would have taken charge, wouldn’t you? On something this important!"

"Sorry?"

"So, no one has turned up on your doorstep telling you you must go and fulfil your destiny? There's been no subtle whispering by some disembodied voice, warning you that you are the Instrument and that your time has come?" Joel shook his head slowly, the thought now dawning on him that this man might be a little unhinged. "No," sighed the stranger, "evidently not."

Joel smiled in what he hoped was a sympathetic manner and began walking backwards down the hill. "Well," he said, "it’s been nice meeting you and all that, but I have to go now. Triple maths is awaiting me and I’ve really been looking forward to Mr Duffy’s account of algebraic equations."

"Where are you going?" said the man.

Joel wasn’t sure if it was a real question or an order to stop. He carried on walking backwards, grinning reassuringly at the stranger, trying to calculate how much of a head start he would need to outrun him.

"What about the quest?" called the stranger, his arms outstretched as if in supplication. "You are the Instrument! Without you, the world is doomed."

"Not today, if you don’t mind. Algebra you see. Mmmm! My favourite!" He’d almost made it to the pond. Just past there and the path became flat and even, and he’d be able to run.

"JOEL HENRY!" thundered the man "Stay exactly where you are! You’re not going anywhere!"

At this point, and despite all his previous efforts, Joel's mouth did drop open, and no doubt, if it had been physically possible, his eyes would have popped out of his head. He stood stock still, not because he had been told to, but because the stranger had risen three feet into the air. "Oh, my God," whispered the boy.

"Not quite," replied the man, "but I am one of his less appreciated servants." The stranger touched down lightly. "And in the absence of anyone else," he continued, "as― evidently― those in Human Affairs haven’t a clue what they’re doing, it appears it’s down to me― again― to rectify the situation. Joel, how can I put this to you? You are the Instrument, and you must now come with me into the twilight lands to win the fight of Good against Evil, and save the world. Yes, I think that about covers it. Now, come with me please."

Joel didn’t move.

"I’m sorry," said the stranger. "Did I not make myself clear? You know, the fight between Good and Evil? Saving the world? They require your attention."

"I don’t believe you," said Joel, slowly shaking his head and taking a couple more steps backwards.

"Which bit?" snapped the stranger, evidently losing patience with the whole situation.

"Any of it," admitted Joel. "Why me, for a start? I mean, if I’m this Instrument, I’d know, wouldn’t I? Only I don’t, so I’m wondering if you’ve got the right person. I’m not special or anything." He took a few more steps backwards.

"You are Joel Henry aren’t you?"

"Yes."

The man gave Joel's exact address and telephone number, and finished the trick off with the boy's birth date. "How do you know that?" said Joel, before he could stop himself. He shook his head again. "You can't mean me."

"Well, do you think there’s another Joel Henry living on your road with whom we may have got you confused?"

"But— it can't be me." Joel almost started to laugh, the conversation was getting so absurd.

"Let’s see," said the stranger, searching in his pockets and bringing out a notebook. "Description, description," he muttered, flicking through the pages. "Now where is— ah! Here we are. Five feet, four inches? Um... yep. Dark brown hair? Yep. Hazel eyes?" He stared intently at Joel. "Yep. Dark blue coat with pixie-like hood, slightly torn collar— yep." He put the notebook away. "Looks like you all right."

"No," said Joel firmly, shaking his head. "Sorry, you’re just..." Joel searched for a polite way to say weird.

The stranger folded his arms and fixed him with a glare. "You do not," he said in clipped tones, "have a choice in the matter. Whether you want it or not, somewhere along the line you will find yourself embroiled in the battle. They’re out looking for you, Joel Henry— and you don’t want Them to find you unprotected."

"What? Brian Griffin’s gang?"

The stranger sighed with forced patience. "No," he said. "I’m talking about..." He gestured abstractly whilst looking for the right words. "I suppose— for want of a better word—" He looked slightly embarrassed now. "—perhaps— Evil?"

A lengthy silence hung in the air after this statement. Then Joel snorted. The stranger looked annoyed. "You see, it’s very clear cut," he continued. "There’s Good, there’s Evil. Erm—I’m on the side of Good, naturally. And, well, you. And we both need you if we are to succeed."

"You both need my help?" exclaimed Joel. "Why does Evil need my help?" He felt mildly offended by this revelation. "Surely I’d be on the side of Good!"

"Well, I’m very glad to hear that, but the point you must realise is that you are human and therefore, by nature, capable of good and evil." Joel looked at him blankly.

"You’re an instrument, Joel and either side can use you. They’ll look to corrupt you and make you one of them. And then use you to— er— do bad stuff. Maybe."

"Bad stuff?" echoed Joel. He was starting to look around for hidden cameras. "So I can choose which side?"

"Oh yes, you have a choice. Free will is very important in these matters. Which is why I’ve been assigned to guide you, and make sure you stay on our side."

"Uh-huh," commented Joel. Those cameras were really well hidden. "So," he continued, "what are you wanting me to do?"

"Well, we must travel to the twilight land and—er—take it from there."

Joel dragged his eyes back to the stranger, and laughed out loud. "Take it from there?" Joel jeered. "What kind of a lame plan is that? Don’t you know what I’m supposed to do?"

The stranger shrugged. "Well," he replied, trying to keep his temper, "no, I don’t know. There’s nothing preordained that I know of. We’ll just find out when we get there I— I guess." His voice trailed off.

Joel nodded, his scepticism now very apparent to the stranger. "And dare I ask how we get there?" asked Joel. "Or don’t you know that either?"

The stranger took a deep breath. "Through the pond," he said.

"The pond?"

"Yes, the pond," said the stranger, continuing to sound annoyed. "That one there. It’s a gateway, you see. Haven’t you ever noticed that nothing lives in it or on it?" Joel nodded. "Well, that’s because the... the um... well it leaks out. It bubbles up from the floor. The animals don’t like it."

"When you say through the pond," asked Joel, "what exactly do you mean?"

"We— er—" The stranger cleared his throat. "We jump into it," he said quickly.

There was a pause.

"And?" prompted Joel.

"And travel along a corridor through time and space to the twilight lands."

"We won’t just be standing there, up to our knees in water and looking really stupid?"

"No."

Joel sidled up to the edge of the pond and peered in. The stranger followed him. "So we just jump in, then?" said Joel sceptically.

"That’s right," said the stranger.

"Anywhere in particular?" asked Joel.

"Anywhere’s good," said the stranger. "It’s a big gateway." Joel looked very hard, but he could see nothing that looked like a gateway, not even a little one.

"Ready?" asked the stranger. He stretched out his hand to Joel. Joel backed away. He had, by now, abandoned the idea of hidden cameras. "You have to be touching me to jump through," explained the stranger.

"Yeah, right," said Joel, who was beginning to tire of the joke, whatever it was.

"Otherwise you’ll just be jumping into a puddle," said the stranger.

He put his hand out to Joel again. Again, Joel moved away. The stranger tutted impatiently.

"Sorry," said Joel, "but I don’t believe a word of it. And if you don’t mind, I think I’ll be going home now."

Exasperation flitted briefly across the stranger’s face, before melting into a frown of annoyance. "You can’t go home," he said. "They know where you live."

Joel shrugged and turned to walk away. The stranger lunged after him and grabbed him by the hood of his coat. Joel tried to pull it away from the man, but the stranger grabbed hold of the boy's wrist with his free hand. Joel turned and lashed out with his foot. He caught the stranger on the shin. It was like kicking steel and seemed to hurt Joel more than it did this apparently derange man. The stranger’s grip tightened and he pulled the struggling, terrified boy towards him.

"Stop it!" barked the stranger. "Stop it! I’m not going to hurt you!" Joel stopped struggling. "You have to trust me," continued the stranger. He looked at Joel’s face. "No, maybe not. Okay. Let’s start again. My name’s Achbor and I’m what you’d probably call an angel. I—"

"Prove it!"

"What?"

"Prove it!"

"How?"

"If you’re an angel you must have wings. Show me your wings."

"Well, now Joel, not all angels have wings. It’s no proof—"

"Show me your wings," Joel insisted.

Achbor sighed, "Okay, okay," and began unbuttoning his coat. Joel noticed, now, that it fitted peculiarly, especially around the back and the shoulders. With a flourish, the stranger took off the coat, and Joel gasped. Great, white, feathered wings hung from Achbor’s back. They looked impressive at first glance, but as Achbor spread them to their full extent, Joel noticed that they were rather tatty and threadbare in places. They were also dirty, as if they’d been trodden on a few times.

"Happy?" sneered Achbor. Joel pulled a face which suggested he was less than impressed. Achbor looked back at his wings, or what he could see of them, which wasn’t much, as he asked, "What? What’s wrong with them?"

"They look like my dog’s had them," said Joel.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Look at them. Well, maybe you can’t. But next time you’re in front of the mirror, look at them. They're terrible."

Achbor shrugged. "There weren’t many left when I got mine. I was lucky to get a matching pair."

"What do you mean? Weren’t you born with them?"

"Born?" laughed Achbor. "I wasn’t born! I was created! And no, only the really important angels are created with wings. The rest of us have to earn them."

"So, you’ve not impressed much then?"

Achbor scowled as he folded his wings and put the coat back on. "I’ll have you know," he said, "that I was extremely proud to receive my wings. Michael himself presented them to me."

"Presented them? Those? Wasn’t he embarrassed?"

"Oh, all right!" snapped Achbor. "If you must know, he pointed to a pile and said, There you go, see what you can find."

"So what did you get them for? What did you do to earn them?"

Achbor gave a petulant shrug. "You know," he said evasively, "the usual kind of thing. Defeated the minions of the Dark One and saved mankind from imminent peril. Nothing much, really."

"Sounds exciting," said Joel. "Tell me about it."

Achbor thought for a moment and said, "No. Some other time, maybe. At the moment there’s this fight between Good and Evil, remember? Saving the world? Now— how about it?" Achbor extended his hand. Joel stared at it as if it was something poisonous. The rain had stopped and a cold wind gently shook the trees, showering Joel and the angel with the rain that had caught in the leaves. "It’s your destiny," whispered Achbor.

There was a cracking of wood behind them. "Achbor! You scum of Heaven!" a harsh voice shouted. Achbor and Joel turned around. Joel stared, unable to make out the owner of the voice through the curtain of twigs and branches. Then he saw it, standing at the top of the pathway, about ten yards away. At first he thought it was some kind of ape, but quickly realised it had absolutely no hair. Its eyes were like a goat's or a sheep's, and a light, golden colour. It grinned malevolently at Joel, showing two rows of untidy, serrated teeth. The creature tapped the back of a crudely made stone axe into its large, taloned paw. "So this is the boy, then?" it hissed, taking a couple of steps down the hill towards them.

Joel felt like the bottom had just dropped out of his stomach. He glanced up at Achbor, and was not comforted by the look of horror he saw on the angel’s face. He tugged Achbor’s sleeve. "What is it?" Joel whispered.

"It’s a Great Goblin," Achbor muttered. "His name is Bludgeon. I didn’t expect this! I didn’t expect him to send one of his servants to intercept you so soon. They said there would be no danger! They assured me—"

"What are we going to do? He looks like he might use that axe."

"Of course he’ll use that axe! Why do you think his name’s Bludgeon? Goblins aren’t very imaginative when it comes to names. Or anything else for that matter. Give me your hand."

"What?"

"Your hand boy, your hand. We’ve got to jump. We might lose him in the Gate."

"Are you sure?"

"No. But I can assure you we won't be able to outrun him. It's our only chance."

Hesitantly, Joel put his hand in Achbor’s. The angel held it tightly. "Just walk backwards, very slowly," he murmured. The angel forced a smile on the Goblin. "Bludgeon," he said, "how nice to see you! It’s been... how many years?"

The Goblin looked puzzled, and then a look of comprehension drifted across his face. "Ahh," he said. "Is that sarcasm or irony? I can never remember which one is which."

"Well, perhaps I can help you there," said Achbor. "You see, sarcasm is merely a biting or wounding remark, whereas irony is more your expression of meaning, often humorous and, yes, even sarcastic, by the use of language of a different or opposite tendency. That’s the Concise Oxford Dictionary for you."

Bludgeon’s lips moved silently, as if repeating what Achbor had just said. "So," he said doubtfully, "that’s sarcasm, is it? Like I care! Now, hand over the boy." The goblin hefted his axe into his other hand.

Achbor glanced behind them. "One big step backwards," he hissed at Joel. "Now!" The angel hauled the boy off his feet. Joel just had time to see Bludgeon lift the axe ready to throw at them, and to see the snarl of rage that contorted the Goblin’s face, as Bludgeon realised what Achbor was doing. Then the murky brown and icy cold closed over Joel's head, and all he could hear was the Goblin’s scream of rage fading as they fell deeper into the gate.

Instinctively, Joel held his breath, aware of nothing but the freezing water, the thudding of blood through his ears, and Achbor’s tight grip on his hand. He could see bright lights flashing in front of his eyes, as he battled to hold the air in his aching lungs. He had to get out, he had to breathe. He began to struggle. He must go back up, he must, or he would drown here.

"Breathe!" said Achbor’s voice in his ear. "Breathe. You are not in the pond, you are in the gate. Breathe, before you pass out! I don’t want to have to carry you."

Joel’s breath exploded from his mouth, the stale air leaving his lungs in a painful rush. He took a breath. Achbor was right. There was no water. "What’s happening?" Joel asked when he had recovered his composure. "Where are we?"

"We’re falling through the gate," Achbor said. "We’ll be there shortly. It only takes a few minutes." There was a pause and then he said, "I wish they’d put some lights on in here."

They stood in the dark in silence. Then light slowly surrounded them, a grey, half hearted light. "Are we there, then?" whispered Joel.

Achbor looked swiftly around. "I guess so," he said. They were ankle deep in brown water, in what appeared to be some kind of swamp or marsh.

"It’s nearly night time here?" ventured Joel.

"No," replied Achbor. "I suspect this is as good as it gets, daylight wise." He looked nervous and still held Joel by the hand. Neither of them felt inclined to let the other go. A cold wind blew around them, but other than the rustling of Joel’s hood, there was not a sound to be heard.

"Where are we?" asked Joel. His voice sounded terribly loud, even though he was talking barely above a whisper.

"I have no idea," replied Achbor. "I’ve never been here before."

"What!" exclaimed Joel. "You’ve never been to this particular swamp, do you mean, or this world in general?"

"Well, both," said Achbor, a little tetchily. "I did point this out when I was assigned to you, but would they listen? Oh, no."

"Oh," said Joel. "I rather thought, when you said you were going to guide me, that you sort of knew where you were going. I mean, I know you said you didn't know what we'd be doing when we got here, but surely you should at least know where here is."

"Well, I do in the general sense. I’m just not very good on specifics and particulars."

"Specifics and particulars?" said Joel. "You have no idea at all, then?"

"Not really. Not at all," admitted the angel. "I thought— well, I thought it would be better organised."

Joel nodded and chewed his lip, as comprehension took hold. "That being the case then," he said, "what do you propose we do now?" They both looked around them at the bleak landscape.

"I must confess," said Achbor, after they had stared into the gloom for a few minutes, "I had thought there would be something a tad more obvious than this." He looked about him in the hope he had missed something, but he was disappointed. He sighed the sigh of one permanently put upon. "Well, let’s walk—" He paused. "—that way." He pointed randomly. Joel shrugged and walked after him.

"So," Joel said, after they had finished walking over the soggy terrain and reached drier, sandy ground, "anything occurring to you yet?"

"What?" said Achbor. "What’s that?"

"What are we supposed to be doing, Achbor? If I’m saving the world?"

"I've told you. I don’t really know."

"But surely—" began Joel.

"Oh, give me a break!" snapped Achbor. "I didn’t volunteer for the job, you know! I’m here because they told me to be here. My only real instructions are to guide and protect you, but as for them giving me a map and a compass, I’m sorry, they haven’t. I’m afraid I know about as much as you on that score."

"But you must know something about what— who we’re up against," persisted Joel. "Who are they? What are they going to do? Something?"

Achbor stopped so suddenly, Joel nearly collided with him. "Shh!" said the angel fiercely. "There’s something—" He turned slowly around, searching the pockets of mist that hung in the air like pale, lost ghosts. Then he stared at the ground, tilting his head as though listening. Joel stood next to him, holding his breath and listening so hard he felt his ears must be flapping.

They stood for a full five minutes, concentrating. "I can’t hear anything," said Joel at last. "Nothing. Not a sausage."

"Hmm," was all the angel would say, still looking about them as he resumed his journey. Barely a few minutes later, Achbor stopped again. He signalled to Joel to be quiet. Joel could hear nothing. The sound of nothing was nearly overwhelming. Joel was just about to make a comment to this effect, when he thought he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. He snapped his head round to see, but whatever it was had gone. "Did you see that!" he hissed.

"What?" whispered the angel, "What did you see?"

"Don’t know. Something moved, I think. Along the ground." They stood back to back, carefully searching the empty landscape.

"I can’t see anything," said Joel at last.

"No," agreed Achbor. "Whatever it is, it’s well hidden."

"What do we do then? We can’t just stand here."

"No. Let’s— let's press on. Keep your eyes and ears open."

Joel turned to follow Achbor, fear tightening into a knot in his stomach. He was seeing movement everywhere, and now he could hear a kind of scratching sound, that seemed to come from under his feet. Achbor walked ahead of him, turning, turning, trying to see everywhere at once.

Too concerned with their invisible enemy, they failed to notice they had strayed into a gorge. The sides of the gorge had become steep and impossible to climb by the time Achbor stopped and turned to Joel. His look said it all.

"We could always go back," suggested Joel. Ahead of them, the cliff faces stretched out on either side, as far as the eye could see, the gap ahead of them rapidly narrowing. "I don’t want to go any further in here," added Joel. "I’ve seen films. I know what happens."

There was a small noise to the side of them, the sound of a tiny amount of earth or gravel falling. Joel froze and stared at Achbor. The angel took a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose as he tried to keep himself calm.

"Is it worth running?" said Joel.

"To where?" growled Achbor. "And from whom? Anything could have made that noise. The wind could have dislodged some gravel. Or something." There was a lengthy pause and then a large pebble landed with a thud by Joel's foot. The angel and the boy looked at each other.

"Can’t we ask for help? You know—" Joel pointed up into the sky "—from Him?"

"Him?" Achbor almost laughed. "No, my dear boy. This is their territory and He won’t interfere here. He’s not going to break His own rules."

"Well, what can you do?"

"What do you mean?"

"You’re an angel, aren’t you? Don’t you have some powers?"

"Oh, per-lease," laughed the angel mirthlessly. "Power? That comes from Him. He doesn’t just hand it out willy-nilly you know. You’ve got to really impress to get Power. I only got my wings a hundred years ago. Have you any idea how long it took to get those? And you’ve seen the state of them."

"That’s it!" hissed Joel.

"What?"

"Your wings. We can fly out of here."

Achbor looked dumbstruck. "Fly?" he said at last. "What? I just surreptitiously throw off my coat and flap my wings? You think we’ll get away with that do you? You don’t reckon they— whoever they are― might get a little suspicious, and rush us as soon as I start unbuttoning my coat?"

"Huh," grunted Joel. "If the creature we met in the woods is anything to go by, you’ll be able to take your coat off and have it dry cleaned, before they twig. Do you have a better idea?"

Achbor looked at him aghast, while helplessly scanning the grey landscape for an alternative. His hand reached up to his collar and he began to unbutton the coat. "I feel I must warn you that I'm not renowned for my flying skills, and I'm not even sure that I can carry you," he said.

"I wish my mother could hear you," growled Joel. "She thinks I'm a negative thinker! Do you ever get anything done?"

"I am merely pointing out some of the practicalities of the situation. You know— rather than wait for the why didn't you tell me you couldn't... routine afterwards."

"Can't we just go for it?" suggested Joel. "Like now?"

Achbor finished unbuttoning his coat as nonchalantly as he could. He now tried to brace himself for sudden action without it being noticed. "Just give me a minute to get myself ready for this," he muttered under his breath.

Joel scowled and said in a loud voice, "I'm cold, Achbor. Let me have your coat."

"Uh?" replied Achbor.

"Your coat, you idiot!" hissed Joel. "Take your coat off!"

Realisation crawled painfully over Achbor's face. "Oh," he said at last. "Oh. Yes. Of course."

Hurriedly, he shook off his coat and handed it to Joel. Two now redundant feathers fell from it onto the barren soil.

"Thanks," said Joel in an over loud voice, and hung the coat over his shoulders. It felt very heavy and fell in folds around his feet, where it was too long for him.

Achbor began beating his wings, trying to make it look as if he was just stretching them. Another feather drifted to the floor. "Any minute now," Achbor assured Joel. "I've just got to get the rate of flapping higher."

"You managed it easily enough in the woods," commented Joel. "And without taking your coat off."

"That was levitation," muttered Achbor. "A completely different technique, and it only involves going a couple of feet into the air. Flying the pair of us to safety is a totally different kettle of fish."

"What was that?" said Joel.

"What was what?" Achbor was beginning to pant now. A large boulder came tumbling down.

"Did that fall or was it pushed?" pondered Joel.

"What?"

Another boulder followed.

"There appears to be a lot of activity going on up there," said Joel. "Shall we walk away from the cliff?"

"What! You want me to flap and walk at the same time? What do you think I am? A duck?"

"Sorry, but I just don't think it's a very good idea to fly straight up into the face of someone with a rock in his hand. Call me awkward if you like."

Achbor sighed and half skipped, half walked away from the base of the cliff. "This far enough?" he said petulantly.

Joel shrugged. "I suppose it depends on how good a throwing arm he's got."

"Right. Well, I'm just about ready to attempt take off, so if you'll excuse me—"

With that, the angel spun the boy round so that Joel faced away from him, and grabbed him across his chest and under his arms. "Here goes nothing," Achbor muttered.

His wings flapped furiously, showering himself and Joel in their debris. At first nothing happened and then, very slowly, they began to leave the ground.

"You're doing it!" squeaked Joel. Achbor grunted.

Their painfully slow ascent was suddenly checked. As Achbor strained his wings, trying to get more height, Joel cried, "The coat! Something's got your coat!"

They both looked down. Beneath them, stretched to its full length and hanging on to the hem of Achbor's coat with obvious determination, was a creature the colour of the sand. It was vaguely human in form, like a large weathered sandstone statue. Its eyes were white and without pupils. Its nostrils, which were barely more than two holes in its face, quivered as though it was sniffing for something.

"Troll!" shouted Achbor. "Kick it! Hit it! Do something!"

Joel watched, unable to move, as the troll tried to pull the pair of them back down. "Where?" Joel asked Achbor. "Where did it come from? Nothing could have moved that quickly." Then Joel noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked and saw a shrivelled, sand coloured arm emerging out of the ground. The head and the other arm followed and started heaving the rest of the body out of the earth

"Quickly!" Achbor almost screamed at Joel. "Get it off you! If we don't get away now, they'll crush you! You won't stand a chance!"

With his right leg, Joel aimed a kick at the arm that was pulling on the coat. It was like kicking a rock. Joel thought he had broken all his toes, and yelled in pain.

"No, no!" shouted Achbor. "Stamp on it, you fool!"

Trying to ignore the pain, Joel brought his foot down as hard as he could onto the troll's arm. It wasn't easy, as Achbor's coat kept obscuring his view and getting in the way. Again and again he stamped. The second troll was almost out of the ground now and others were emerging to join it. "Quickly! Quickly!" urged Achbor.

Suddenly, there was a snap and a scream of pain and rage, as the troll's arm cracked and splintered in half under Joel's foot. Immediately, Joel and Achbor began to rise, now just out of reach of the flailing arms of the other trolls. "Yes! Yes!" rejoiced Joel. "We did it! We did it!"

Achbor looked down at him. "We?" he said.

"I had to get us free," Joel pointed out.

"And who got us caught in the first place?" asked Achbor.

"Hey, that's not fair!" said Joel indignantly. "You weren't—"

Something passed by Joel's ear with a noise so like a whisper he nearly didn't hear it. "What was that?" he cried, searching his limited field of vision.

Achbor's breath hissed out between his teeth. "No! No! No!" he muttered, straining to increase his speed and height.

"What?" asked Joel. "What is it?"

Achbor shook his head. "They're firing at us," he said.

"Firing? What?"

"Arrows, you idiot! What do you think? A variety of butter cream fancies? Or pink elephants wearing impossibly small foundation garments? Arrows! They're shooting arrows!"

"Oh?" replied Joel. "Not bullets then?"

Achbor paused. "No!" he snapped. "Just arrows. OW!"

"What now? A pink elephant got you?"

"No. I've been hit!"

"Hit? Where?"

Achbor looked down at Joel with a face that said he would like to drop the boy from a very great height, and see how many times he bounced. "Does it matter?" he grimaced.

"Hurts, does it?" asked Joel.

Achbor growled, but said nothing. He began scouting the terrain around them. "I've got to come down," he said. "I can't stay up much longer. Let's head for the other side of the gorge. That should be safe enough."

It looked a nasty wound, though there was no blood. The arrow had entered the wing with only the crudely fletched feathers of the missile stopping it passing right through. "It's not likely to be poisoned, is it?" asked Joel as he pulled it out of Achbor's wing.

"Poisoned? No." Achbor shook his head. "Not trolls. Goblins might, but trolls? Your average troll has trouble stringing a bow, let alone concocting poison for his arrows."

Joel inspected the wound. "Well, it looks pretty clean," he announced. "Though, of course, I'm no expert. And it's only a small hole. Which is just as well. Even if we had a bandage, I couldn't strap that up. So, what now?"

"Well," said the angel, "the chances are we were seen dropping here, so I expect visitors shortly. I suppose we keep walking."

"Which way?"

Achbor shrugged. "That looks flattish. Shall we try there?"

"Suits me," replied Joel. He paused and looked at the ground about him. He kicked it gently with his foot. "Do you think there are likely to be any trolls under here?" he asked. Now the adrenaline released by their last adventure had worn off, Joel was feeling twitchy and nervous.

Achbor pulled a face. "I don't know," he admitted. "I believe they prefer certain rocks and soils to others, but I couldn't say which ones." He peered down at his feet and inspected the ground he was standing on. "It looks pretty solid," he said, "so maybe we'll be all right. Keep alert and... let's go as quickly and as quietly as we can, hmm?" Without another glance at Joel, he strode off.

Towerhouse Wood is a real place- see, there's the gate. It used to be a stile, but then someone found some money and put a gate up instead. They probably put the fence up as well, so now the cows can't go for a walk in the woods.

To the left of the gate, if you wander along the edge of the field, you'll see this, the Polo tree. I don't know if it was felled or fell, or if it really is (now) a 414 year piece of wood, but it's quite a nice place to sit and watch the wildlife go by.

So, through the gate you go and follow one of the paths to your left. Warning. In the summer, they can get a bit overgrown. Anyway, follow one of the paths to your left, avoiding the teenagers on the tree swing, or it could get a bit messy, and when the path splits, take the right hand one, that goes ever so slightly uphill. You should always be able to see the stream on your left. If you can't, you've gone too far up! And here we are. This is the "pond" Joel and Achbor jump into to escape Bludgeon.

And here are those bubbles that come up from the bottom of the pond. See, I wasn't making it up. Well, not that bit. Obviously the rest of it is made up.

Anyway, when you've finished there, take the path that goes straight up. I regret the fallen tree where Joel first meets Achbor is no longer there. They had a bit of a clear up to allow the flowers to grow (The Woodland Trust, not Joel and Achbor. Joel won't even clear up his room, so fat chance of him clearing up a wood). Go straight up to the top path and left and left again, down the steep path. This will bring you back onto the fields and it will be left again if you want to get back to your starting point.

Where is it? Try http://www.woodlandtrust.org.uk/visiting-woods/wood/4508/towerhouse-wood/

UPDATE

There are now (Sept 2015) apparently 10 carvings dotted around the wood for you to find. I'm assuming the one on the left is a work in progress.
The dog and I could only find 4, but I'm assured there are 10