Echo McCool, Outlaw Through Time Read online

  Welcome to the World of Echo McCool!

  Echo McCool is a magical, medieval girl with attitude. Don’t get on the wrong end of her jump kicks, flick-flaks and open-palm strikes. In her own time, Echo escapes death from a poisoned arrow and hides inside a hollow oak tree. She lies dormant for hundreds of years but in the present day she is awakened by Jason Fleeting, a twelve-year-old runaway from a children’s home. Together they set out to solve the murder of Jason’s mother and to rescue his kidnapped sister Lauren.

  About the Author

  Roger Driscoll lives in a little house near the old oak tree and disused railway line where he used to play as a boy in the 1970s. He believes that the most important part of any book is its reader. Without a reader, a book can never come alive. Please visit Roger’s website echomccool.com.

  Next in the Echo McCool Series

  The Lyonesse Pentagram

  All rights reserved.

  Text copyright © Roger Keith Driscoll 2011

  Roger Keith Driscoll is hereby identified as the author of this work in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This book is sold subject to the conditions that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, reproduced, transmitted, or otherwise circulated without the author’s consent in any form other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to any specific places or living persons. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all materials in this book.

  Cover illustration copyright © Moises Braga courtesy of Beehive Illustration.

  B&W illustration copyright © Liz Dodsworth.

  Acknowledgements

  The author would like to thank his first young readers for their support and encouragement:

  Millie Barker

  George Bartlett

  Joanne Cook

  William Ellis

  Nathan Haigh

  Kate Jenkinson

  George Marler

  Charlotte Martinson

  Jamie Mearns

  Rosie Mearns

  Special thanks to Steve Petrucci-Fox and Rhiannon Petrucci-Fox, for the initial inspiration. Finally this book is dedicated to Lynne Lobar, the only one not to shy away from the project through the crucial hard work phases.

  ECHO McCOOL

  OUTLAW THROUGH TIME

  Roger K Driscoll

  Contents

  1 Echo of the Forest

  2 The Nevek Barrier

  3 Rebirth

  4 The Night-Hawks

  5 Ravenstone Manor

  6 Roof Fall

  7 Framed

  8 Fleur-de-lis

  9 Crimson Skies

  10 Hazelby

  11 Karmic Sometimes

  12 The Pill Box

  13 Ravenstone Raiders

  14 Hostage to Fortune

  15 Echo and her Fate

  – CHAPTER ONE –

  Echo of the Forest

  She heard the twang of a bowstring beyond the glade. The arrow hummed through the air like a beam of light, nicking her upper arm to leave a deep stripe of blood. Echo felt a searing pain. She squealed, dropped her basket of herbs then darted for the undergrowth. Crouching among the ferns she looked behind to see the arrow, quivering in a branch. In the space beneath the tree’s roots lay her den and wood-framed pack, but she had no time to collect her few belongings. She leapt to her feet and sprinted along a faint path through the bracken as another arrow whizzed past her ear.

  She came to a clearing, startling the dozen red deer that scattered in fright. She dashed across to the far side and huddled down, taking deep breaths. The shadows of the ferns mingled with the brown markings that dappled her arms and legs, adding extra camouflage to her flame-red hair and short, russet-coloured dress. Echo peeped out from her hiding place, her hazel eyes scanning the glade where early morning light slanted through fans of oak leaves. Moments later her pursuer charged out from the trees opposite. She gasped as she recognised the burly, bearded man, his hair a dark mane, his outfit of black horsehide. His name was Wulfric, a forester who a year earlier had fought alongside the enemy at the siege of Evil Hold when Echo’s parents and all their friends had been killed.

  She knew why Wulfric had tracked her to this part of Wicca Forest. A week before, on a still moonless night, Echo had raided the castle of Lord Hugo de Mortain and stolen the tax money he’d collected from his starving people. She’d returned the money to the village folk, causing the enraged Lord Hugo to put up a reward for her capture - dead or alive.

  Wulfric lurched out into the centre of the glade, longbow and arrow at the ready. A rustling in the undergrowth distracted him. He spun around and released his arrow, narrowly missing the wild boar as it retreated into the tangle of bushes. Echo shot out from her hiding place and raced across towards the forester. When Wulfric saw his young attacker he reached for his quiver and took out another arrow, notching it in his bow. Echo performed a handspring and took off in a series of forward flick-flaks, flipping over and over. As Wulfric loosed his arrow Echo leapt up and out of its path, completing a high double somersault over the forester’s head to land soft-footed behind him. Wulfric whirled around and, in the same moment, Echo sprang up and spun in mid-air to unleash a flying drop-kick, the soles of her deerskin boots drilling into his chest. With a cry Wulfric toppled over and hit the ground with bone-shaking force, the wind knocked out of him. Echo caught her breath and stood a pace away, snatching up Wulfric’s bow then breaking it over her knee.

  “See the cowardly stink-toad, who cannot even fight a girl of twelve years,” she said.

  Slowly the forester sat up, gulping for air, the sweat glistening on his forehead. He fixed her with narrow, cat-like eyes.

  “Breaking my bow will do thee no good,” he snarled, his face contorted with fury. “Thou hast vexed the lord of this manor for many weeks, but soon thou wilt be dead like thy parents. Mine arrows are tipped with poison more deadly than an adder’s tongue.”

  “I am of dryad blood,” Echo reminded him. “I have only to touch the living wood of a tree to be cured of all illness.”

  Wulfric bared his rotten teeth as he laughed in triumph. “Not if I take thee clear of the forest.”

  Echo looked at her arm. The edges of her wound were white and blotchy as if stung by many nettles. Part of her wanted to attack this man with his own sword, but she couldn’t bring herself to kill.

  “Already the poison is working,” said Wulfric. “There is a price on thine head, and the reward will be mine.”

  As he struggled to stand, Echo aimed a side-kick at the forester’s chest. But Wulfric was too fast and he grabbed her foot with both hands, wrenching sharply, causing Echo to twist in the air as her other foot left the ground. She landed face down and Wulfric dragged her towards him, grabbing first her dress then a fistful of long red hair. He placed a strong hand between her shoulderblades, pinning her down. Echo squirmed and lashed out with all her strength, backfisting Wulfric on the end of his nose. He yelled and released his grip, clutching his face as he rolled to one side. Echo vaulted away in a hand-spring before landing on her feet.

  ’Tis no use fighting, said a voice in her head. If poison is in my blood, then I must escape.

  She hurtled across the glade, looking back to see Wulfric on his feet, lumbering after her. With a cry he took another arrow from his quiver, waving it like a dagger. Echo slipped between two holly bushes then ran along a mossy path, red hair s
treaming behind her, the trees flashing past. She heard Wulfric’s shrieks and curses but knew she could outrun him. Eventually the path petered out near a gigantic beech tree. Beyond it the rough wilderness ended at the edge of a steep ravine, a fast-flowing stream some twenty yards below. Over to her left she saw a long, narrow tree trunk, spanning the ravine. She dashed to the makeshift bridge then quickly crossed it with arms outstretched. At the other side she paused to wipe the drops of blood trickling from her wound. She looked across the ravine to see Wulfric, emerging near the beech tree. He spotted her and headed for the bridge, still waving the poisoned arrow. Echo crouched down at the place where the trunk met the ground. Even with her injured arm she had greater strength than most adults. Teeth clenched and muscles straining she took hold of the trunk and pulled hard, dislodging it from the opposite bank to send it tumbling into the stream far below.

  “Thou canst not catch me now!” she called. “Thou measle-mouthed nut-hook with a face like a hound’s bottom!”

  “Catch thee I will!” Wulfric roared back, raising a fist. “Thou toad-spotted knavelet!”

  With this he began to scramble down the steep side of the ravine. Echo looked again at her wounded arm. For the tree magic to work, she had to make contact with living wood. But Wulfric had already threatened to drag her clear of the forest. She decided to escape through the treetops so he couldn’t track her. She hurried into the forest and came to a huge chestnut tree, the gnarls and broken branches on its trunk offering many foot-holds. Her arm was beginning to stiffen but she managed to climb up, resting as she came to a thick bough. She clambered higher then shinned across to where the branches connected with another tree. Taking a deep breath she leapt across, soaring from tree-to-tree like a squirrel until she was in the densest part of Wicca Forest. But now she was losing the feeling in her fingertips, and her body felt cold and sweaty as the poison took hold. With one final leap she landed in the limbs of a huge, ancient oak tree, some of its branches dead but others awakening into spring leaf. Her stomach began to clench, her arms and legs shuddering, and she found it hard to swallow. She saw movement below, a shifting of the ivy at the top of the tall trunk. Two large eyes appeared and a tawny owl flew out, hooting in surprise.

  She was saved. The tree was hollow! She scrambled to the top of the trunk, jabbing with her toes at the place where the owl had appeared, feeling an empty space beyond the ivy. A few more kicks revealed a hole wide enough to take her. She began to slip down, parting the strands of ivy with her feet before sliding her legs inside. She stretched up her arms and slithered into the trunk until her world became clammy and dark. Only now, with the hole out of reach, did she realise her mistake. The trunk was taller and narrower than she’d thought, her hips stuck. Her eyelids became as heavy as iron, her body quivering as the venom coursed through her veins. Her tongue turned to stone and the strength ebbed from her limbs. In her stunned mind she saw visions of her father and mother. Large tears began to roll down her cheeks as she drifted into unconsciousness.

  But the mighty tree looked after its own folk. The oak and the girl-dryad drew power from one another; the preserving force of ancient woodland magic. Echo McCool departed her own time but, cocooned in this protective place, her soul would never fly from her body for so long as the tree itself remained alive.

  – CHAPTER TWO –

  The Nevek Barrier

  Jason realised he was in hospital but couldn’t explain why he was floating above a young patient whose eyes were tight shut, a bandage covering the top of his head, a machine helping him to breathe, screens and monitors flashing all around.

  “Severe brain bruising,” a doctor was saying. “He’s in a deep coma.”

  Next moment Jason recognised himself as the boy in the bed. Yet he felt no pain, no fear, no sadness. But how could he be looking down on himself in hospital? Slowly the memories of the accident came flooding back to him. Everyone had warned him not to climb the tree – the giant elm in the grounds of Brandsby House, the children’s home where he lived. The council had promised to cut the tree down because some of its branches were dead. Mr Walsh, the head care worker at the home, declared the tree to be out of bounds. But Jason climbed it anyway, and had almost reached the top when the rotten branch creaked and gave way. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion as the ground loomed up to meet him, his head striking the hardened earth like a hammer, his world a blaze of light before descending into inky blackness.

  But now, though detached from his body, his mind was alive again. Still hovering above himself, Jason took a closer look at the people around the bed. As well as the doctor and a couple of nurses he saw a thin, nervous-looking woman with large round glasses and short, steel-grey hair. She was Pauline Hewless, his key worker from Brandsby House.

  “His condition’s getting worse,” the doctor said, staring hard at a monitor. “We’re losing the patient.”

  Jason felt a sudden jolt then everything turned a brilliant white. Shards of multicoloured light fractured in the void. His spirit was suddenly flying, spinning and soaring as the world flickered back into focus. An invisible force propelled him above the rooftops, the hospital disappearing below. Next instant he saw Britain in outline, so distant it looked like a map. The Earth was a receding blue sphere as the rushing in his ears gave way to the sound of bubbles. Now Jason was surrounded by warm, silky water, the current drawing him towards a burning golden light. Struggling to breathe he surged forward and shot through a vertical wall of water, turning a somersault to land on soft sand.

  He struggled to his feet, shocked to see he was now dressed in an all-white outfit – a long-sleeved shirt, trousers and shoes, all glowing with an intense aura of energy. He felt his head; it was no longer bandaged, and his hair and clothes were perfectly dry. This could only happen in a dream, he told himself, though a deeper part of him knew this was no dream. He looked desperately around, a cold dread grabbing at his stomach. A short distance away were two thin granite rocks, twice his height and ten metres apart. Somehow the wall of water had disappeared from between them. He was on a beach, a cove of pale-yellow sand. He glanced one way, towards the granite cliffs, then across the beach where tiny waves lapped at the shoreline, the glittering sea stretching endlessly away. He could smell the salty air and seaweed. The blue sky was flecked with stars, pinpricks of light among the orange mists, comet trails and red planets. Jason clenched his hands to stop them shaking.

  His heart thumped wildly as he saw a thickening of air between the two tall rocks, transforming into a shadowy haze of mist. He blinked several times. Now Jason was confronted by his own reflection - his freckled nose and untidy, sandy-coloured hair - as though someone had propped an invisible mirror against the edges of the rocks.

  He spun around as the air turned cold. A few paces away, along the beach, a twist of smoke appeared. Slowly it took the shape of a woman, semi-transparent at first before materialising to full form. The sight brought a gasp to Jason’s throat. The woman wore open-toed sandals and a short, sleeveless leather dress. Her arms and legs were dappled with brown patches like so many birthmarks. With her long, sleek copper-coloured hair, high cheekbones and almond-shaped brown eyes she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She held a staff made of cloudy-white crystal with a shiny green stone at the top, the size of an egg. Slowly she stepped towards him.

  “I’m… I’m not scared,” he managed say, though he felt a sharp stab of fear.

  “There is no need to be afraid,” the woman replied, her voice powerful and melodious. “Merry meet, Jason Fleeting.”

  In that moment an air of calm descended over Jason. Now he was engulfed by a feeling that he belonged in this cove, as if he’d always been there. The same feeling told him the woman was someone he could trust.

  “Merry meet?” he said, standing his ground.

  “It means hello,” the woman explained.

  “Oh… right…” he stuttered. “Er… hello. But how do you know my name – and who a
re you?”

  She stopped within touching distance and smiled, years of wisdom written in her face. “In life I was first known as Fenella Grey, but I became Fenella McCool. I lived many hundreds of years before your time on Earth. But now this is my home, the Beach at the Edge of Time. It is a portal between the world of the living and the Land of Souls.”

  “The Land of Souls?” Jason repeated, his heart beating faster.

  “Perhaps you would call it Heaven,” Fenella told him. “Or the afterlife. I am a chosen helper of Tenkys, the great goddess who reigns over the universe from this place.”

  The serious look on her face told Jason she meant everything she said. He took a deep breath.

  “How can I be sure I’m not dreaming?” he asked. “Or maybe this is one of those near death experiences.”

  “Sorry, but this is full death experience,” Fenella said. “You must listen to my words for I have a very important task for you. But first I must reveal something about your family.”

  Jason felt a shudder run through his shoulders. “I don’t understand. What do you mean, my family?”

  Surely she couldn’t mean his father - the loser, the failure of a man who’d gone bankrupt and disappeared not long after Jason was born. He’d not been heard of since. Then Jason’s mind wandered back to when he was nine years old, and the day his mother was murdered. Lauren, his sister, was kidnapped at the same time and now he had no idea whether she was alive or dead. The villains had never been caught, the police unable to solve either crime. He felt the sting of tears as he recalled that day, when his life shattered like breaking glass. He’d been at Brandsby House ever since, and still had to endure the nightmares and flashbacks.