Ivy's Tangle (Legend of the White Sword - Book 1)

Chapter 1 - Ms. Mopat

I had done a fair bit of solo travelling over the last fourteen years and was a pro. A taxi picked me up at school, and after two flights and another longer taxi ride, I arrived at Glastonbury Manor.

That's what the sign at the end of Gran's driveway said. Gran ran a boarding house, and she'd been at it for over fifty years. I'd never seen the house before and was suitably impressed by its massiveness when the taxi brought me down the long, tree-lined drive. Gran's home was built from dark grey granite and stood three stories tall with dormers running along a slate roof, lighting what I figured must be the world's biggest attic. The manicured lawns and gardens at the front of the property stopped abruptly at the forest's edge. We'd driven through a good half-hour of forest before arriving at Gran's, and I'd seen no sign of other residences, or even side roads, for most of that time. Glastonbury Manor's driveway began where the road ended.

"You really gonna live here, kid?" the taxi driver asked from the front seat.

"Apparently," I said. "This is my grandmother's house."

"She must be loaded."

He stopped the cab in front of wide stone steps.

"I guess so."

I hopped out, staring up at the front doors as the cabbie unloaded my suitcases and dropped them beside me.

"Good luck, kid," was all he said before he drove off, leaving me standing at the threshold of the next stage of my young life.

With the entirety of my worldly possessions sitting on the steps, I considered ringing the bell or making use of one of the big, polished-brass knockers. I only considered it briefly; no one eagerly awaited my arrival, and I'd spent most of a night and a day in taxis, on planes, and waiting at airports—sitting. I wasn't hungry, or tired, had no need of a bathroom, and I wasn't keen to see my grandmother. It didn't look like rain, and, nobody would drive a zillion miles out into the country to steal my stuff.

I decided to investigate the property.

The forest called out. It begged for exploration. Gran's spooky looking house also begged to be explored, but that was better left for a rainy day. I walked back up the drive to the point it ran parallel with the forest. The trees grew right up to the edge of the gravel and stopped. Somebody had trimmed the forest like wall at the edge of the property. I swear it looked like an invisible fence held back the vegetation. Even the branches high-up had been cut; most of that pruning had occurred in the distant past, but a few showed signs of more recent trimming. Not a single bud of new growth crossed the invisible boundary. Weird.

I didn't plan on taking a long hike and getting myself lost. I'm not an idiot. Although I was, up to that point, a city boy. I intended to go a short way in and look around, keeping the open lawns and gardens in view. As long as I could see Gran's grass, it'd be impossible to get lost.

Getting into the woods was harder than you'd think; the edge grew as dense as any ancient hedgerow. I pushed forward, eyes closed, as the branches grabbed and scratched at me. A few steps in, something tore my right pant leg open with a loud ripping sound and tripped me. I'm not a clumsy guy, but I tumbled and slid downhill. When I came to a stop, a few bruises later, I opened my eyes to take a first good look at the forest.

The forest was dense, twisted, and gloomy. It wasn't middle-of-the-night dark, but only a small fraction of the sunshine penetrated the canopy. I sat up, rubbing the side of my head, one of the many spots I'd banged on ground or root during my tumble. I sat at the bottom of a long ditch; thankfully not filled with water. Even standing up, I couldn't see over the edge.

As I determined to climb back out the way I'd fallen, I realised I didn't know which way that was. Too many old leaves and too much brush covered the forest floor for me to tell. Since I had two possible choices, I took the fifty-fifty bet and climbed up the side down which I thought I'd fallen. I figured at the top I'd be able to see the driveway even if I picked wrong. I had only taken a few steps into the forest.

At the upper edge I peered into the surrounding vegetation, seeing no sign of a brighter patch or the driveway in that direction. Down I went again and scrambled up the opposite side of the ditch. The driveway wasn't visible on that side either. It didn't seem possible. Gran's driveway was paved with light-grey gravel, which should have shone through a crack in the undergrowth. I couldn't make out a thing. The driveway couldn't be more than a few steps away, and I forced down a growing feeling of panic. I wasn't lost; I'd hardly gone anywhere.

That's when I heard the first sound—nothing too ominous, just a rustling in the dry leaves. Probably squirrels out hunting for nuts. I heard the noise again. It sounded closer and maybe heavy for a squirrel. Raccoon? It was early for them, but also dark in there. Then the rustling sounds came from two directions.

Both sounded closer.

After a few seconds of silence, I exhaled a sigh of relief. Until, the sound of movement came again—this time from even closer—and from a third direction. I couldn't see ten feet into the forest, and I took unconscious steps back away from the ditch... and the sounds.

Louder, faster crunching came from at least three different directions in front of me. Whatever they were, they were close now, and definitely bigger than squirrels. Half a second before I was sure the unknown creatures would burst into view, something grabbed me by my shirt collar, dragging me backwards, away from the frightening sounds.

I may have kicked and screamed a little.

I didn't know what had a hold of my shirt, but it dragged me through scratchy branches and onto Gran's driveway.

My kicking and screaming had no effect, and I was hoisted upright until I got my feet back under me. With the sudden release of my collar, I spun about in the now dazzlingly bright sunshine. I wasn't sure what to expect. I certainly didn't expect a pretty, raven-haired woman in a French maid's uniform. She nodded before turning, and without saying a word, strode away up the driveway towards the house. For a moment, I stood at a loss. Then I turned back to face the forest. It looked the same as it had before; a bunch of trees and bushes. By the time I faced the house again, the woman was halfway there. I had to run to catch up with her at the front steps.

That's how I met Ms. Mopat,my grandmother's maid, cook, and one hundred percent of the regular staff at Glastonbury Manor.