Lucy Potter and the Sprite of Chakola

Prologue

Zoldarius sat on the red carpet, eating chips and drinking coke, looking at his copy of the magazine ‘Demoniac’, his favourite magazine published by one of his underground sources. The half life he found himself in was unpleasant at times, but he found himself, when he concentrated, able to eat food and drink liquid, as well as touch things. But it could only last for a few minutes at most. The girl ‘Lucy Smith’ was on his mind. And the last confrontation with ‘Jonathon’, his adversary. He needed an idea – a wicked idea – and reading through ‘Demoniac’ he was starting to formulate a new plan. ‘Play on her weaknesses, strike the ones she loves,’ were ideas which the magazine had inspired in him. And knowing were she lived and what he could potentially achieve, he turned his mind to a new agenda, yet another dark, wicked and malevolent agenda, ready to once again confront the child of destiny he feared.

Chapter One

‘Lucy Smith. Heaven’s above girl, look at all this mess.’ Lucy, sitting by the fireplace, gazed over all the magic books strewn across Shelandragh May’s carpet in her home in Minoxxia in Bunyan, just north of Cooma. But she was a little older, and displayed some attitude. ‘Oh, so what Shelly. That doesn’t matter.’ Shelandragh eyed her. ‘Shelly? Since when have you gotten into the habit of calling your teacher Shelly? I am Miss May or Shelandragh. Shelly indeed.’

‘Oh, lighten up,’ responded Lucy. Shelandragh just looked at her, shook her head in frustration, and began picking up books. Suddenly Lucy became quite animated. ‘Look at this, Shel. Have you seen this before?’ Lucy produced a page of a book showing a ‘Horcrux.’

‘I would rather you not study that material, Lucy. It is not something to be trifled with.’

‘I’ll have to learn eventually,’ she responded, with her headstrong mannerisms, something she had been recently growing into. Besides, I’m curious.’

‘Well curiousity killed the cat, Lucy Smith.’

‘Very funny.’ Lucy continued studying the book avidly and Shelandragh finished off tidying the books back into the bookcase. Mushroom was miaowing so Shelandragh led her into the kitchen, gave her some meat, and sat down to look out the window. A year had passed since they had won the prizes of riches, and Lucy was now incredibly wealthy. Really, the lass no longer really needed to work, and as such Caroline had arranged with the government for her child to be home tutored. It was no longer necessary to send her to public schools or other. As such Lucy had been in the habit of dropping around to Shelandragh’s most days. Lucy was 15 now, emerging into womanhood, and had started to develop as women were wont to do. And she was continually arguing these days with Shelandragh over this and that, especially on magic where she felt she already knew it all. But that was youth, wasn’t it – thinking they knew it all. Madalene visited too, quite often. A young lady now, growing up in the ways of the Bridges clan, becoming a woman, attracting men, likely off to marriage, and with her looks perhaps sooner than she would have anticipated. And, of course, Jayden and Georgia, following in their bigger sisters footsteps, on their way to becoming grown ups. She had seen them come and go in her years, of course. In her long years of life. But that was simply the way it was for now. Yet she couldn’t help but feel, in some strange way she couldn’t help but feel that she now had a companion in Lucy Smith, a girl which just might also be around for quite some time to come. She pushed the button on the kettle, filled a mug with a teabag, and sat there, happily, thinking over life and its highs and lows but generally content with it all. Generally content.



* * * * *



Grimlock looked at the ancient bookcase in the central library of his master Zoldarius’s hidden mansion. For 7 days now he had been trying to solve the enigma of spellmagery which prevented him from accessing the books. Naturally, when Zoldarius was present he made no such attempts, but he was usually downstairs, going through the motions in his plans, leaving Grimlock to wander through the mansion as he saw fit.



Lucifer visited the other day and he and Zoldarius were away for a while, time in which Grimlock cast as many spells as he could think of to unlock the charm over the bookcase, but unfortunately to no avail. Still, he persisted and continued to read and study through the other more mundane works of the other bookcases. If there was a clue in them, he would find it, and sample himself to the more seductive, powerful and malevolent works that Zoldarius had available to him.



Out of the corner of his eye he spied a mouse crawling across the floor and suddenly, feeling annoyed for no good reason, he cast a freeze spell at the mouse. The mouse was crawling right next to the bookcase he desired opened, and the freeze spell did freeze the mouse but also froze the aura which surrounded the bookcase. Grimlock stopped, stunned. He came over, kicked the aura, and it started falling away. After 5 minutes of solid effort he had broken through and made a hole in the aura and now, finally, had access to the books. ‘Good little mouse,’ he said to it, and cast an unfreeze spell on it. The mouse, shocked that it had been frozen, scurried off and returned to its home. Grimlock looked at the bookcase in triumph and reached up, selecting his first grand volume.



* * * * *



Chakola was a quiet little village, if you could call it that, off the Monaro highway, along a dirt track, situated on the Newmerella River. The river did not always run, a bane to the farmers along the river, but it presently was quite high up and Lucy had been in the habit of visiting regularly, speaking to one of her best friends ‘Minxy the Sprite’. Today Minxy had news. There was to be a gathering, soon, just upstream. An important gathering of many of the Sprites throughout the Monaro region. It was an official ‘Council’ in which the Sprite communities got together, discussed their various affairs, and had a grand old celebration. And Minxy wished to know if Lucy would like to attend the ‘Council’ as a special guest of hers. Of course, she could hardly say no, so accepted, which pleased Minxy no end. The ‘Council’ was set for the end of the week, and Minxy was excitedly talking about it all day long. ‘Shelzaria will obviously be there. She never misses a council. And ‘Ashkezam’ and ‘Simblag’ and the rest of them. They’re all my cousins, you see. And they are so much fun, dear Lucy. So much fun. I simply can’t wait to introduce you to them.’

‘What do they do at this council?’ asked Lucy, curiousity aroused.

‘Oh, the regular things. Discuss affairs, catch up on old times, and then we have a big celebration which lasts 3 days, with feasting and tournaments and games and dancing and music. It is a wonderful time and I am so glad you are coming. Don’t worry, you will likely see a few witches there. Some of them usually come out if they are invited, so you won’t be alone.’

‘Is Shelandragh invited?’

‘That I can’t say, but you will find out soon enough.’

‘Good. Well, I have had a good time today,’ she said yawning. ‘But I’m tired, and I must get going. See you tomorrow Minxy.’

‘Good night Lucy. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.’

Lucy laughed. ‘I won’t. Bye.’ So off she went, back up to the old school house, saying hello to her mother, eating her dinner quickly, but going off to bed because she really was quite tired.



In the morning Lucy had an idea. Perhaps she could invite ‘Michael Bradley’ to the Council. She would have to check that with Minxy first, but it might be the perfect event for them to have some fun together. She was starting to become attracted to Michael. He was soft and sensitive, and quite cute. But while she did not think any further than that in her head, other aspects of her femininity had noticed.



That day she spent at home, studying her magic books and receiving some schooling from her mother on standard lessons. Caroline was a good teacher, Lucy thought to herself, and she really was learning all the regular life stuff all the Muggles learned in their lives as well. Jonathon had told her just before they left France that he was so wealthy now that he could, really, do as he wished. And so he had made a simple decision to go off to a regular Muggles university to study a degree to catch up with regular world knowledge and schooling. ‘A wise man learns all he can,’ Jonathon had said, ‘and we wizards need to be the wisest of them all,’ saying it in an old man’s voice which had made Lucy laugh. She, with all her money, felt that maybe now she also could one day go to university, regular muggles university, and study a degree. It would be incredible to be around so many people, so many bright and eager minds, learning about how life worked and the science of it all. Of course, such training would inevitably prove useful throughout her life, something which she instinctively understood. ‘Never stop learning,’ as Shelandragh had taught her. ‘Take in all you can.’ Words of wisdom Lucy Smith thought to herself, as she went through her regular studies that day, going off to speak with Minxy later in the afternoon, and preparing herself for the council later on in the week.



* * * * *



Madalene Bridges was an altogether lovely girl. She was a little older than Lucy Smith, her best friend, and the two did practically everything together. Apart from schooling, though. Madalene lived in Canberra in the suburb of Calwell with her sister Georgia, her brother Jayden and her mother. Her mother, Brigid, preferred the city life and worked in the Public Service. Madalene felt perhaps one day she too would work in the Public Service, unless she got married sooner of course. Boy’s had been busily buzzing around her in the last couple of years, ever since getting to high school. She went to St Clares High, which was a girl’s only school, but the boys were nearby. She hadn’t had a boyfriend yet, but wasn’t too worried. They would come in the goodness of time.



Of course, now, she was rich. Very rich. All the people who had gone off on the ‘Quest of the Golden Sovereigns’ as they had come to call it had received an equal share of the wealth, and Madalene had now, with her father David’s help, transferred a lot of her share into a quite generous looking bank account figure. It was well over one million Australian dollars now, and still there was much treasure left for her share. How could she possibly spend all of that? But she was sure, with a full life ahead of her, she would find a way to spend her fortune, and thanked her lucky stars that she had been best friends with Lucy Smith because of it.



At nights she dreamed to herself how she would spend her fortune. Her father, David, had told her not until she was 18 would she be allowed to have access to it. She complained, of course, wanting all sorts of clothes and music items and other things, but David was resolute. Still, 18 was not that long away, and she could wait. She would have to learn patience, she told herself. But patience didn’t always wait and, sneaking into her father’s bedroom in the Bridges family home in Chakola early one morning, careful not to wake him, she stole the keycard to her account because she had been able to find the pin number hidden on a document on the family computer at home. ‘Money’ she grinned to herself. She was rich.



Making an excuse later on that day, she went with Lucy on one of her lessons to Shelandragh’s in Bunyan, showed Lucy the keycard, and the two of them managed to persuade Shelandragh to take them into Cooma for the day. She was reluctant, but eventually agreed, and let the two of them go off, agreeing to wait in Centennial Park were she would read the afternoon away. It was a bright and cheerful day so she was happy enough and, as Madalene and Lucy wandered off, Shelandragh gave them a final wave wondering just what on earth they were up to.



Later on that afternoon, returning to the park with 4 large carry bags each, Shelandragh looked suspiciously at the girls, suspected were the money likely had come from, but said nothing.

‘I suppose you will want me to drag that stuff back to Bunyan, hey?’

‘Oh, would you Miss May,’ said Lucy, with a cheek which had become all too familiar as of late.

‘At your majesty’s service,’ said Shelandragh, with an upper class accent, ever so slightly chidingly mocking her beloved student.

‘It has been a good day for shopping, has it not?’ said Madalene, in her best toffee nosed English accent.

‘Why yes, I believe it has,’ replied Lucy. And the two of them burst out in laughter.



On the way home, one of the new CDs they had purchased blurring out from the car speakers, Shelandragh just shook her head. Still, they were young, and young people had to enjoy themselves, didn’t they? ‘Yes’, she thought to herself, of course they did, and just drove on, thanking her stars that Bunyan was a short trip home.



* * * * *



‘Idolatrous Extremus!’ Grimlock looked at the spell, hidden in his room away from the Lord Zoldarius, the spell book under his blanket just in case, with a torch lighting the dark so he could read the book. It was late, well past midnight, and he was studying the forbidden spells. The ones which Zoldarius had refused to show to him. He read through the spell ‘Idolatrous Extremus’ with new delight. It seemed perfect. Reading from the description it read:



‘Idolatrous Extremus’, a very old Canaanite witches spell from the very early centuries of witchcraft. Fashioned after the Hebrews Teaching, Idolatrous Extremus conjures up the ability for the spell mage who casts such a spell on an object or person to have such an object or person worshipped as a literal god. This is one of the darker spell, dear students of the dark, and the dark lords delight in its use, especially when towards evil purposes. There must be summoned one of the 7 dark lords of the ‘Southern Necronomica’, from the lower reaches of Hades, the dark lord being the power which will attract worship to the said object or person. But beware, the dark lord will invariably require some sort of sacrifice for his work. They always do, dear pupils.’



Grimlock smiled to himself. Of course, he was perfectly willing to obtain the necessary sacrifice. And this spell, well, it was perfect. But he would use it right when he needed it most, right when it would gain him the power he desired most of all, for his dark, malevolent, purposes.



* * * * *



‘Welcome, Lucy. Come in, come in,’ welcomed Mrs Bradley, to the Bradley abode at, funnily enough, 6 Bradley Street in Cooma.

‘Thank you, Mrs Bradley,’ responded Lucy. ‘Is Michael home?’

‘I’ll just go get him,’ she responded, leaving Lucy to look around the front living room of the address. It looked like an older home in many ways, as if it had been built when a lot of the Cooma houses were put up, and not changed much. Madalene had shared with her that in the 1980s her mother and her mother’s family had lived at the very same address for the decade, in which she had done most of her schooling at St Patrick’s school in Cooma. The Bradley’s had not known this when they had purchased the place, but life was full of little coincidences like that and Cooma was not that big a town in the end.

Michael appeared, beckoned for her to come to his front bedroom, and Mrs Bradley left them to their own devices.



Madalene looked out over the town of Cooma from Michael’s room. It was quite a good view, as 6 Bradley Street was near the top of one of Cooma’s hilly section, and the town was full of hilly sections. You could see Nanny Goat hill from the window, were they had started their quest for the golden sovereigns. And, on the opposite side of town, on another of the hilly sections, the old stone Catholic Church, which Madalene had been baptised in. You could see Rotary oval and a lot of the tops of the rooves of the central business section of the town. The main street of the town, which continued on from where the Monaro highway left off, was Sharp Street, which ran through the centre of the town upon which most of the businesses of the town were located. The street continued onwards from the centre of town, going again upwards for quite a while along the western side of town, going up to what was called the ‘4 Mile’. And then 20 miles further along that road to Berridale, a sleepy little village were Brigid’s family had also lived, this time in the 1970s, the road then going a little further on to Jindabyne, and then the snow beyond Jindabyne with places like Thredbo and Perisher, where Lucy had occasionally gone skiing with Madalene and the Bridges family.



Cooma was called ‘The Gateway to the Snowy Mountains’, which was featured on a sign as you came into the town along the Monaro highway from Canberra. If you went back along the highway a few miles you came to Bunyan, and a little further back, along a dirt track to the east, you came to Chakola, were Lucy lived with her mother. And, of course, Canberra was about 60 miles from Cooma, back along the Monaro highway, northwards.



But the Bradley’s lived in Cooma, and that is where she found herself, in Michael’s room, ready to invite him to the Sprites, hopefully, magnificent celebration of their council.

‘Michael. Minxy’s family will soon be celebrating their ‘Council’. They have them every so often. Do you want to come?’

Michael looked at her with a disappointed look on his face. ‘I don’t think I can, Lucy. Mum and Dad don’t really like my involvement with magic that much anymore, even though they used to think it might have been a good idea. We are still allowed to be friends, but I can’t get involved with magic much anymore.’

‘Oh,’ said Lucy, disappointed. ‘But why?’

‘The family thinks it might ruin its reputation, so dad says like that. I think he means our family, but says ‘the family’ as if it is something bigger.’

‘But there is nothing wrong with magic.’

‘That is not how dad sees it anymore. He thinks it puts a lot of people off – like it is a bit weird and strange, to have a magician in the family.’

‘I understand, Michael. Our kind have always battled to be accepted.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘But we can still see each other at other times. Don’t be disappointed.’

But she was. She was terribly disappointed. She didn’t want to say so, to show her hurt heart, but there was nothing she could do. Magic users had always been resented by muggles – it was just the way it was.



* * * * *



Grimlock looked at all the penguins gathered on the shore. It was a funny enough audience, but he was prepared to try the spell on them anyway. He had made the preparations and, in front of the crowd of penguins, he spoke the words ‘Idolatrous Extremus’ and paraded himself in front of them. One by one they moved forward to hover around him, making their weird penguin sounds, seemingly adoring him. He was their Emporer – the Penguin King – and, satisfied that the spell seemed to work as it should he started planning on the ultimate potential use he could put it to.



* * * * *



Lucy sat by the Newmerella River, a little downstream from were Minxy lived, near one of the Bridges paddocks, sitting there with the Bible of all things. She was reading from the ‘Torah’ as it was called and, having spoken with Madalene’s uncle Daniel on the weekend about magic in the bible and finding out a bit more of her Noahide faith on the issue of magic, she was praying to God. She wanted to understand why. Why were witches the enemies of God? Why did God hate them so much?



After a while, having prayed with her hands together like Madalene had shown her, she felt good and at peace. She felt better about life and saw things, at that moment, from a different perspective. Life was all about Lucy Smith, as far as God was concerned, in a very major way. But there was also a totally other perspective, which she was now thinking upon in her mind, that life was not about Lucy Smith hardly at all. There were millions, billions, of people on planet earth and they could hardly lose sleep for the concerns of one bewildered witch. God’s rules, so she was starting to understand, from conversations with Daniel, and also from what she was thinking in her head, were meant to guide a community on the whole, and to be the laws of the land to protect them from going down the wrong path. So much damage could be done with magic and, in the old days, from what she had learned, the magicians had not always been motivated by goodness. Thinking over Zoldarius she knew that much was very, very true. Magic, so she had been told, pried into spiritual areas of life which humans were not really prepared for and were they were not really supposed to go. The power was available – all sorts of powers were available in the universe – but it took a very strong and noble mind to know the right use for all those things. Being moral, according to Daniel, was not going around casting spells just to get what you wanted – being moral was about caring for other people also and acting in their best interests. Not selfishly casting spells and confusing the ones you cast spells upon with all sorts of spiritual realities they are not ready for and don’t know how to deal with. ‘It is all very confusing to a lot of people,’ commented Daniel to her, and explained to her how traditionally all that sort of stuff was considered idolatry by the old religious communities and the pathway to the devil. And the devil was evil, after all, wasn’t he Lucy Smith, so Daniel had said to her.



But Lucy Smith WAS a moral girl. Lucy Smith WAS a good girl, and wanted to get along with people. She liked magic because it fascinated her, and the powers were really great to have. But she knew, in her heart, they shouldn’t and couldn’t be used for childish purposes – for childish games. The ministry of magic stressed oh so often that these days, with magic users not so frowned upon anymore, they needed to ensure that the reputation they had worked hard to achieve not be destroyed by the machinations of fellows like Lord Zoldarius and Lucifer Malfoy and the like. They had come a long way and those older ways were a thing of the past – not for the ways of white witches like ‘Lucy Smith’.



After a while she felt better – cheered up – and felt like God was there and that he cared for her. And that her Noahide faith – the covenant sign being the Rainbow – was the right faith for her and that Daniel’s fellowship, the Haven Noahide Fellowship, would be a place, in time, were she would come and have a very long look into and see just what on earth they were on about.



* * * * *



Lucifer Malfoy looked down from the tower at the penguins which the island housed, were Grimlock again was surrounded by the creatures, all crowding around him, thoroughly devoted to him it seemed. Whatever spell the fool had cast on them, it seemed to be working, as the birds were entranced with their new master. But, no matter. Grimlock was an idiot – a lackey – at the best of times. Let penguins worship him if they saw fit – it was the only worship Lucifer expected him to ever receive.



He came away from the window, sat down on his rough wooden table, drank some beer from a bottle, and flicked the set onto the pay TV network they received on the island.



They were at ‘Zoldarius’s hidden lair’ and island in an ocean he refused to name, as he brought people here through spell work, but Lucifer knew were he was. He had flown off once, found his place in the world, and memorised its location. Zoldarius probably knew he knew – probably – but no matter. He didn’t quite serve Zoldarius particularly in the end and, in truth, didn’t really think he served anyone. Not Lucifer Malfoy – he served himself. But Alexander Darvanius II pushed him around a lot – that much was inevitable – that bastard had hidden reserves of power, and a dreadful stare which seemed to permeate your very soul and remind you exactly who and what you were made of and, wether you liked it or not, judged you right to the core for every last bit of it. And he was still convicted on his evil in Alexander’s presence – he somehow couldn’t escape it, no matter how much he disavowed giving the slightest damn about morals and good personality. He was evil – fucking evil – and he knew it. But with Alexander, in those eyes of him, the Judgement of the Almighty stared out at you reminding you exactly what you were in his holy eyes.



He turned on the cricket, looked at the score from England against India, was satisfied, and put it over to a quidditch match. It was a Russian competition, and they were always a fiery bunch. Good watching for a while, as he sipped on his beer, burped away, farted a little, and continued to smell like he hadn’t washed in a month.



* * * * *



Lucy looked at the window in her room in Minoxxia. Shelandragh had recently turned one of the bedroom’s over to Lucy for her own use, and glaring at her on the glass screen was ‘I am watching you – Zoldarius’, seemingly written in the condensation. She wiped it away, but the bad feeling in her guts remained. She couldn’t escape him – she knew it. And he knew, every day, he knew were she was and how to get to her if he really wanted to. But there was another truth – she was not quite so young and innocent as she used to be. Lucifer Malfoy had taken care of that truth. And, because of her ordeals, she was a little stronger, a little wiser, and a little tougher. Definitely a little tougher. She didn’t like Zoldarius – he was evil – but she was not a frightened little school girl quite so much anymore. If he came around, and Shelandragh was not home, she would stand her ground. She would keep her wand very close, look at him with proud Smith eyes full of fire, and say ‘Get Lost Devil’.



But, even with all her courage, there were limits, and the haunting’s of Zoldarius most definitely accomplished the purpose for which they were made.



She looked at the window, waited a while to see if he was sending any other message, and when none arose sat down on her bed, picked up her current favourite magic book, turned to a page and laid back, reading. But after a while, restless, she put the book down and stared at the ceiling. She was anxious, now, in many ways. Anxious about her future in a sense, even though she did not really need to work again. But anxious in another sense – about the most fateful thing in life in the end after all anyway – a subject rarely addressed by those so young. Death!



It was different now, very different. The other day, sitting there at the farm, praying to God, she felt something. Was it God – the big guy? Was he really ‘out there’, watching over everyone, judging everyone, protecting those who stayed loyal to him, as so many claimed? She felt, now, in her heart, he really was. That God really did in fact exist. She had never really been an atheist, as they call them, but again she had never really questioned the big ideas until more recently in life. But when she became a Noahide God started to become alive to her, and now he was the big question in her life. Where was he? What did he want from her? She knew Shelandragh also believed in God, and that she went to a church rarely, but sometimes did go. Lucy didn’t seem to have any real church she knew of nearby of what she seemed to now believe, but in Canberra the ‘Haven Noahide Fellowship’ apparently had some members, from what Brigid’s brother Daniel maintained. Would she one day find a home with the Children of Haven?



But, it was more than that. Death. Death, the biggest issue of all in many ways. For beyond death, apparently, more. An afterlife – what they all seemed to call heaven. Was she going there when she died? Was she a good enough person? Did God want her to live forever in heaven?



And living forever – wow! That would be amazing. All the things she could do, all the dreams she could follow, all the time to study magic and learn every spell under the sun. And more than that – to find romance, and maybe family, and do everything she ever could possibly dream of. All that waiting for her – if she was good enough – in heaven.



She looked at the bible Daniel had given her on her shelf – the Tanakh – the Jewish Bible. She picked it up, opened it again to the first chapter, which she had read a few times, and started reading again. This time she would concentrate and finish the book of Genesis. She would learn about this God and his people and see, as a Witch, just what that meant for Lucy Smith.





Chapter Two



Madalene, Jayden and Georgia were all present, at the farm, down at the river, with Lucy holding a spell book. Minxy was hovering around, anxious to see what Lucy was about to cast come to be. Lucy concentrated, raised her wand to the sky and said ‘Transformus Spiritucus’. Suddenly a vortex of hazy watery stuff appeared above the little group of four, and surrounded them. Quickly they started transforming, shrinking down in size, each of them growing wings.

‘We’re sprites!’ yelled Jayden, amazed. ‘Look Maddy. I can fly.’ And he proceeded to duck down to the river, flying downwards into the water, before emerging in quick rush of water. Madalene and Georgia both started flapping their wings, and Lucy noticed she could too, and for the next few minutes the children ducked and weaved all around Newmerella River, enjoying the times of their lives being sprites for the first time.

‘Ok,’ said Minxy. ‘Enough fun and games. The council is starting to gather upstream a few miles, so we have some flying to do. Now follow me, and no funny stuff Jayden. I know exactly what you are like, you little brat.’

‘What, me?’ asked Jayden, in perfect innocence.

‘Ooh, yes you, you little brat,’ responded Minxy. ‘I don’t want any funny stuff when we get to council. The community will know you are not real sprites, but guests, as they have already been told. There will be witches and wizards gathered who, likewise, will be tiny. Maybe not all sprites, but we have size concerns. Now let’s go.’



As they flew upstream, the four of them ducking and weaving around, enjoying their flying escapades, Lucy wondered just what new wonders she would find at this council. She had a vague idea of where they were going, but did not know the exact location of the council.



After a while, as they drew around a bend, they came to a large field which had a host of little tents put up, all hidden from human eyes with special protective spells. They were closer to the mountains, in a section of the river which didn’t seem to be used very much by the farmers.



‘Well, we are here,’ said Minxy. ‘There is a lot to do. That big tent is where the official meetings to discuss affairs will take place. Mostly the men folk run things there. There is though a fare with lots of things to do as well. There are a lot of things to buy at these times as the community has spent a lot of time making things to sell here. All sorts of clothes and jewellery and other interesting knick-knacks we use. There will be toffee apples and fairy floss and ice cream and other candies at various places. You have the sacks I gave you with Sprite coins which we use to trade. You should have plenty to buy what you need. And, of course, later on when the council is over there will be dancing and music and feasting for the rest of the week. We sing a lot of songs and catch up. And lots of romance and other things as well. So come on – we’ll go to my family’s tent.’

Minxy led the way to a large blue and white striped tent and, coming inside, they found a few dozen of Minxy’s family members, gathered around, chatting, some knitting and weaving, some children playing around, a few of the men smoking pipes and chatting.

‘Everybody,’ yelled out Minxy. ‘These are my friends. Lucy, Madalene, Jayden and Georgie.’ The gathered sprites spoke out various greetings and salutations, with nods from some of the elders. ‘Well,’ said Minxy. Council will start at the end of the day and go until midnight. If they need to they will do it again tomorrow evening, but it never takes more than one or two days. So, explore all you want. Let them know you are with Minxy.’

Jayden was the first to walk over to some male sprites which looked about his age. He started chatting with them, and they took off outside to play some games. Georgie found a young girl around her age who had dolls and sat with her, amusing herself. But Madalene and Lucy stayed with Minxy, who suggested they look around at the fare.



Walking around the large grounds, seeing the gathered tents full of merchandise for sale, with lots of commotion and too many sprites to count, Lucy felt instantly at home. She was in a magical community – her own world – and was connecting straight away. Madalene found a purple scarf with gold thread and purchased it, wrapping it around her neck.

‘It suits you,’ said Lucy.

‘Do you think?’ Madalene asked.

‘Watch out though. A boy sprite might chat you up,’ which made Madalene laugh.



Soon they found some fairy floss, and sitting on benches in the centre of the fare, watching some of the younger sprites take turns riding on a little pony an older sprite was giving rides on, the little group felt relaxed and happy. It was magical, faerie like, and mysterious. And Lucy loved it.



‘So this is your Sprite world,’ said Lucy to Minxy.

‘This is a big part of it,’ responded Minxy. ‘There is, though, a big Sprite city near Sydney, were tens of thousands of Sprites live and we have our official government. I have been once with daddy when I was younger, but it was a long time ago and I don’t remember much. This is the major gathering, though, for our own community.’

Lucy nodded. ‘We have witch fares in Centennial Park in Cooma,’ said Lucy. ‘I went to one not long ago. It was good as well.’

‘We all need our own space,’ said Minxy. ‘Now does anyone want to ride on the pony?’

Madalene nodded and, paying a small coin, she got her turn shortly and the other two watched as she rode it around for 5 minutes, enjoying a tiny sprite pony.



When they had finished that they wandered over to the main big tent. There was a guard out the front and Minxy said to him ‘Can we look inside.’

He looked unsure but said ‘Make it quick. Don’t tell anyone I let you.’



They came into the big tent, and there were rugs all over the floor of colourful designs, with cushions to sit on, and a main larger front seat. ‘That is were the head of the council sits,’ said Minxy. ‘Each family takes a turn to be the head of the council, and they nominate a representative to run the council. He has a list of things to discuss and they vote after going through the matters to decide on what they will do. Sometimes there are things to discuss, but often there is only 1 or 2 issues, and sometimes we just have the celebrations.’



As they walked around the tent, a figure dressed in brown and black entered, and looked at them. ‘Hey, you girls shouldn’t be in here. This is for the men.’

‘And what are you going to do about it Magnus?’

‘Oh, its you Minxy. I should have figured. You’re always trouble.’

‘Not as much as some,’ she said offhandedly to Lucy.



Magnus came over to the group, smiled at Lucy and Madalene, and looked right at Minxy. ‘You are nothing but trouble, Minxy, Minxy, Minxy. Ever since you were little you have always disobeyed the rules for our community. It doesn’t surprise me to find you in here. But when you are grown up like me, you learn to be responsible.’

‘Oh, shove it,’ said Minxy. ‘You are just puffed up because daddy is heading council this time.’

He ignored that slur. ‘Minxy the Sprite – trouble maker supreme,’ he said, rolling his eyes.



Minxy looked at him, giggled a little and said ‘Well, why don’t you chase us out of here. If we are such trouble makers.’ Lucy was ready to leave to not offend Magnus, but Minxy grabbed her arm to stop her. ‘We have every right to be here,’ said Minxy. ‘We are Sprites too. Haven’t you heard of feminism, Magnus?’

‘Muggle nonsense,’ said Magnus. ‘We are the old world – we don’t change on things like that.’

Lucy found that idea interesting. ‘But Shelandragh is well respected by the Ministry of Magic. Witches are very important these day,’ she said.

‘It’s different for Sprites,’ defended Magnus. ‘Witches are too connected to humans – they are, after all, humans as well in the end.’

Lucy nodded. She knew that much to be true.

‘But we Sprites are special,’ continued Magnus. ‘We never change our customs, so our community will last properly. We don’t change with the times, as the muggles always say.’

‘Poppycott,’ responded Minxy. ‘Just because that has been the way of things, doesn’t mean it always has to be. Aren’t I right Lucy?’

Lucy said nothing – she didn’t want to offend Magnus.

‘Bah, humbug,’ responded Magnus. ‘You are a silly girl still, Minxy. You never grow up.’

‘And be old and boring like Magnus? Ha. That’s a good one. I’d rather eat lumpy porridge. No, I’d rather eat lumpy porridge with worms. Anything is better than old, boring, Magnus.’

‘I’m your age, Minxy,’ he retorted.

‘Then act like it,’ she said. ‘And lighten up Magsy. You don’t have to be so serious.’

‘And end up like you? That’s a good one.’



All throughout this conversation Madalene and Lucy were both noticing the fiery glances each of the sprites were giving each other. There was chemistry between them – that much was very obvious. Magnus liked Minxy, a lot by the looks of it. Boys always teased the ones they liked.



‘Well, we have seen enough of the boring men’s tent,’ said Minxy, staring at Magnus. ‘Come on girls. Let’s get out of here before Magnus has a heart attack. As they left Minxy poked out her tongue at Magnus, who just shook his head. He didn’t mind though. He liked her. She was cute, and they had known each other since youth.



‘I guess we can go back to my family’s tent and have some food. We can wait for council. The women will gather together in another tent with the younger sprites, and we will sit around, catching up, preparing the meal for the end of council. There isn’t a great deal to do then, but it is good time to talk with people you haven’t seen for a while.’

Lucy and Madalene nodded. Such was the council of the Sprites.



* * * * *



‘Gather round,’ said Bluebell the Sprite, Minxy’s aunt, ‘and I will tell you all a tale of adventure and fright. But don’t let the bed bugs bite.’

The men were now in council, and they were all in the women’s tent, some of the women sprites preparing the midnight feast, while Bluebell had now before her gathered some of the younger ones, with Minxy, Lucy, Madalene, Jayden and Georgia sitting before her like good, obedient children, ready to hear a tale.



‘Once upon a time, long ago,’ began Bluebell, ‘when the world was still young, and Adam and Eve’s children were still building the kingdoms of men, the sprites appeared. The first two sprites were Tinkerbell the female and Bludington, the male. The angels made the sprites, so legend goes, but who can really say. As time passed, the sprites met the others of the wild magic, the dwarves and the elves and the hobbits and so on. And, of course, we feared the wyvverns and the dragons, who were kin to each other, and the centaurs and the Minotaurs, and the nasty hippogriffs and the griffins and the loathsome harpies. And then, one day, a Wizard appeared on the old world, a famous wizard, named Merlin. And Merlin had with him a Golden Hammer – a very powerful and magical Golden Hammer that he had forged in the dark places, working upon it spell after spell and enchantment after enchantment. Merlin came to the sprites and dwelled with them for some time and talked of the Golden Hammer and its powers. It would protect a community, giving them great power and strength in courage, and helping them if they needed to fight battles. And, if in battle, the one possessing the hammer would have extra courage and strength, certain to banish all that they fought. And Merlin did say ‘I have it in mind and heart to give unto you Sprites my Golden Hammer, for it has been made for a brave and courageous people such as yourself. Choose amongst you a noble and brave manchild and I will present to him the Golden Hammer for him and his offspring forever.’



‘Well, all the sprites, quite naturally, desired the hammer, and there was bitter debate about who the hammer should belong to. Some made great claims that they should righteously be the heirs of the Golden Hammer, but time after time claims fell on deaf ears. And then it was agreed that the victor to hold the Hammer should be brave enough of heart to challenge all others in the Sprite community to trial by joust. And the victor of the joust would be presented the Golden Hammer as indication of his bravery.



And so they jousted, and fought, and one by one they fell until, on the final day, brave Robustian claimed the prize of the hammer, the bravest of all the Sprites, and was cheered and celebrated upon. Now, in time, brave Robustian died, but that hammer was passed along from generation to generation, to firstborn son, throughout all the journeys of the sprites. And today it is the brave sprite ‘Goldbeard’ who bears the Golden Hammer, some saying his very own golden beard as true testimony to his family’s right to bear the weapon.’



She left off speaking and Minxy turned to Lucy. ‘I don’t think I ever actually said, but my father’s name is Goldbeard.’

‘Oh,’ said Lucy.

‘So he has the Golden Hammer?’ asked Jayden.

‘It will be in the council on display,’ said Minxy. ‘He takes it to every council for the men to gain courage from.’



The little crowd gathered at Bluebell’s feet asked for another tale and, as she began again, Lucy thought on Goldbeard and his hammer and how it had been the ancient wizard ‘Merlin’ who had given it to the sprite community.



* * * * *



‘Ten million credits says I hit her between the eyes.’

Lord Zoldarius gazed with his evil eyes at Lucifer Malfoy, considering the wager. Lucifer was several feet from a dartboard which had a picture of Lucy Smith in the middle of it. Should he take the wager on? Surely the dark lord of malevolent evil could afford such a paltry sum.

‘First, you shall stand further back. And then, right between the eyes, and indeed I shall personally inspect the outcome, and you shall have your money. But if you lose I will expect prompt payment.’

Lucifer looked at the floor and strode back a few paces. ‘Here?’

Zoldarius waved his hand. ‘Further.’

Lucifer moved a little further back. ‘Here?’

Zoldarius looked at the dart board and how far there was between them, about to agree to the wager, but waved his hand again. ‘Further.’

Lucifer swore under his breath, stepped even further back and said ‘Now this had better fragging do, mate, or the wager is off.’

Zoldarius inspected the distance, and nodded coldly. ‘Remember, Lucifer, right between they eyes. And I will be checking.’

Lucifer swore under his breath again, took aim and said ‘Take that bitch,’ throwing the dart the several feet, landing it, as he claimed he would, right between the eyes.

Zoldarius looked at the outcome and said ‘Perhaps it is a little high.’

‘Bullshit mate,’ responded Lucifer. ‘It is right on. Don’t fuck with me Zoldarius – I want my bloody money, ok. I have debts.’

‘Debts?’ queried Zoldarius.

‘Too much boozing on rare fermented dragon blood. The Russian stuff – the bloody expensive stuff which they make in the Urals. I have a hell of a debt from a drinking session with Jovius.’

‘Jovius?’ inquired Zoldarius. ‘The name is vaguely familiar. Do I know him?’

‘He’s an angel. You might get along though. Believe me, he is your regular John Constantine all over, with a dark sense of humour.’

‘The Hellblazer John Constantine?’

‘Yeh him. I think Jovius is related to him in some way – feels very similar to him. Wears the same bloody long overcoat. Smokes the same bloody cigarettes. Same dark spirit. But you got to love him.’

‘Love, Lucifer? Does one such as yourself contemplate such muggle realities?’

Lucifer stared at him. ‘Your delaying – trying to make me forget our wager. Money, Voldie. You don’t want to get on my dark side, after all.’

Zoldarius stared at him and, deciding he had lost fairly after all, walked over to the safe on the wall, concentrated to become solid for a while, and opened it, fishing out a bag full of Gold. He came over, threw it onto a table, and Lucifer picked it up, looking at the gold.’

‘That is sufficient enough payment, is it not?’ queried Zoldarius.

‘Yeh, sure. It will fucking do I guess. I should be able to trade it for cash somewhere. Now, what about the same wager, and I will do it blindfolded this time.’

Zoldarius stared at him, and smiled his dark smile. ‘I think not, Lord Lucifer. Although I am very sensitive to such things, I feel there has been dark magic unknown to me in the losing of this wager.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Lucifer, looking over his gold. ‘But I wouldn’t cheat you now, would I Zoldarius.’

Zoldarius gazed at him, but did not reply. Certainly, Lucifer Malfoy was a man of honour in wagery. Certainly he would not cheat in such a thing. Certainly.



* * * * *



‘Legend goes,’ said Minxy to Lucy, ‘that the Golden Hammer is now so enshrined with our community and that we have drawn strength from it for so long that we would probably die out without it. We wouldn’t have any power left – it is what we rely on.’

The little group had been discussing things like Merlin and the Golden Hammer and Minxy had been teaching them some of their history.

‘For a long time it has been passed on and, while it is held that it was made by Merlin, it is still just a legend. I guess it is true. I guess,’ said Minxy. ‘But who knows.’



They were wandering around the fare, and it was the third day of council. The men had completed their discussions the previous night, and they were now starting to celebrate properly with dancing and feasting and a never ending array of entertainment. A number of jugglers had been roaming around the fare, using blades even, much to the joy of the young sprites who delighted in such things. They had met a number of witches who had cast spells on themselves to look tiny, and wizards and warlocks were selling spell books and amulets and other protective charms. They were still in a world of their own, Jayden somewhere around the fare with his group of friends, Georgia playing with her own group as well, and Minxy, Lucy and Maddy a happy little trio. It seemed, now, that with Lucy and Maddy sort of becoming sprites in a way, that Minxy had a new little group of friends on her own level and she hugged them and kissed them and they were becoming a proper little clique. All was good and happy when, coming around the corner as they were wandering around, Magnus appeared, coming right up to them.

‘Minxy the Sprite. I wonder, are you still misbehaving?’

‘Oh, shove it, Magnus,’ replied Minxy.

He circled them, looking them over, and stood in front of Minxy. ‘You know, Minxy. If I was the dumbest Sprite in the world, there would still be a dumber one. You.’

Minxy smiled. She liked the jibe. ‘Oh, Magnus. If I was the ugliest sprite in the world, there would still be an uglier one. Go figure who.’

Lucy and Maddy smiled at that as the two sprites continued their loving mockery of each other.

Magnus had another go. ‘If I had no fashion sense, I would still look like a Prince compared to your dopey dressing.’

‘And if I smelled like a pig, I would be delightful compared to your fowl stench,’ Minxy replied sharply.

The girls again giggled at Minxy’s response.

Magnus looked at her, and thought on his next reply.

‘Minxy, Minxy, Minxy. If I was the poorest sprite in the world, I would be rich compared to you.’

Minxy winked at Lucy. She had a good response coming. ‘And If you were the last Male Sprite alive, I would still fancy an ogre before you,’ the response making Lucy laugh out loud.

‘Oh, really?’ said Magnus, smiling even more.



They were both looking longingly at each other, the two girls quite aware of the affection between the two sprites, when a commotion started coming from the main tent. They heard yelling and voices talking about the Golden hammer, and suddenly an elderly sprite appeared and said to Magnus ‘It has been stolen. The Golden Hammer has been stolen. We can’t find it anywhere.’

Magnus swore a Sprite swear, and ran off with the man towards the central tent. The girls hurried after them, following Magnus to the tent, were a crowd had now gathered. There was a lot of commotion for quite some time, and the whole community had gathered round. Then, appearing in front of the tent, Minxy’s father Goldbeard shouted for the crowd to go quiet and he spoke up.

‘Yes, I am afraid it is what you have all been hearing. Someone has swiped our Golden Hammer. We are searching everywhere and, unfortunately, we are going to have to check everyone’s tents and belonging. We are not accusing anyone, you all must know that, but we must make this search. Our whole community relies upon the Hammer. Now Magnus and others will start the searching, so while they search I want everyone gathered inside the main tent were we can all keep an eye on each other. We don’t want anyone wandering off if they have the Hammer to hide it again. So come on, everyone. Into the tent.’



As Goldbeard waved a number of the elderly male sprites urged everyone into the large tent and soon everyone was inside, seated, talking all about the missing Golden Hammer.



‘Gosh,’ said Lucy. ‘I hope they find the Hammer. You guys really need it to protect you.’

‘Its more than that,’ said Minxy, a worried look on her face. ‘Without that hammer we are in big trouble. Big trouble indeed.’ Lucy nodded. She was concerned for her friend, concerned for her welfare. Presently, there was not much she could do for her, but she reached out her hand and held Minxy’s, who turned to her and nodded. ‘Everything will be alright, Minxy. Have a little faith.’

Minxy nodded, but the worries were on her frown. Wherever that Hammer was, she was hoping it would be found and soon. Because, if not? Well, if not, what would become of her Sprite community? What would become of them? Lucy continued holding Minxy’s hand, as the community chatter buzzed all about the Hammer, waiting anxiously for news from the search. Waiting anxiously for good news for her people.



* * * * *



But, despite the menfolks best efforts, they had no luck. No luck at all. And as Goldbeard announced to everyone they had searched absolutely everywhere with no luck and that the group could disperse, a sad feeling came over everyone, and tears started pouring forth. For so long Goldbeard’s own community had relied on the strength of the Hammer that, even now, they were starting to notice. Even now they felt somewhat weaker.

Minxy looked miserable to Lucy. Head downcast, crying, and would not be encourage, no matter what her or Madalene said. ‘Cheer up,’ she said time and time again, but with little or no response. Minxy would not be consoled.

‘Then why don’t we look for the hammer?’ said Jayden. ‘Start investigating. Be detectives.’

Minxy looked hopefully at Jayden, and Madalene said ‘Well, what do you suggest?’

Jayden looked at the girls looking at him and said ‘Perhaps we should talk with Goldbeard and ask if we can look around. We will try and work out were the hammer went.’

Minxy was still sobbing, but nodded.



After talking with Goldbeard who said they may as well search for the hammer if they wanted to, Jayden looked at Minxy. ‘Do you have enemies? Your people, I mean? Is there anyone who would want to steal the hammer to hurt you? Something like that.’

Minxy looked at him softly. ‘We are a peaceful people, the sprites. We have had wars in the past, and sometimes there are old grudges. But I don’t think anyone would want to harm us like that. Except for the trolls, maybe. Maybe the bunyips or yowies, but nobody else that I can think of.’

Jayden nodded. ‘Then we will start with the trolls. Do any of them live nearby?’

‘They are further upstream,’ replied Minxy.

‘Then that is were we will go,’ responded Jayden.

‘They have a cave. In the mountains, were they live. Not far from the river. They have a king who protects them, and they don’t like sprites very much. I don’t think they will let us just march in and ask them questions – they would throw us into dungeons.’

‘Then we sneak in Minxy,’ responded the confident looking Jayden. ‘Besides – we are tiny at the moment. They will never even notice.’

Minxy dried her weeping eyes and came over to Jayden and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thank you for caring, Jadie. You are not such a little brat after all.’ Jayden blushed, but didn’t say anything. He was a little too embarrassed to speak.



They talked with Minxy’s father who, at first didn’t like the idea one little bit. Sneaking into a trolls cave was most definitely out of order for a daughter of his. But, when they said time and time again that the community would fail without the hammer, eventually he was persuaded. ‘But be careful,’ he responded. ‘And let me send Magnus.’

‘He will only get us caught, the lumbering oaf,’ responded Minxy, to which Goldbeard thoughtfully nodded.

‘Then be off with you. And if you find the hammer or learn word of it, come back immediately. Although they are much bigger, we will fight them if we have to. Our future depends on it.’ Minxy came forward, hugged her father, and turned to the group. ‘Well, we should probably get something to eat, before we head off. It is a bit of a journey, and we won’t get there till late in the day, but I can’t wait any longer. We must find the hammer.’



And so they ate, and drank, and Lucy said a quiet prayer to her God that he would watch over them and protect them and help them find the missing hammer.



* * * * *



There wings finally getting tired, they were far enough upstream anyway, and Minxy pointed in the distance to the troll cave at the mountains, so they started walking instead, trudging through some mud, making there way over properties, climbing fences, getting nearer to the mountain and the home of the trolls.



Minxy began telling of their history with the trolls. ‘Trolls have long hated Sprites, but he trolls hate everyone except themselves and ogres and goblins. There are some nice trolls, of course, but mostly they are at war with us out of simple tradition. We have lost men in battle over the centuries to warring troll parties, but these days they don’t really seem to bother us as much as they have done so in the past. They seemed to have lost interest in worry about the Sprite community. I sort of feel, truthfully, we are wasting our time in even going all this way, but I guess we have to be sure.’

Jayden spoke up, ‘If the trolls have stolen the hammer they will be boasting about it all the time. I suggest we sneak in and listen to what they are all saying and if anyone speaks about the hammer then we will know.’

‘And if they don’t talk about it?’ asked Minxy.

‘It is so soon since it was stolen that they will be if they have it I think,’ replied Jayden. ‘So if they don’t mention it, then they probably don’t have it. We will have to wait long enough to be sure, though.’

‘I guess so,’ moaned Minxy.

Lucy, who had been following along with the idea, looked at Jayden with some new found respect. He had acted quite quickly when the hammer was stolen, almost taking charge, and doing his best to help out. He was, of course, like a brother to her, and always had been, but he too was growing up. He, too, was becoming an adult.



They continued trudging along, getting nearer the cave, and Lucy noticed that the sun was getting close to setting. Minxy had said that they would probably make the cave by sundown, and it had taken them all afternoon so far, but they were now getting near the mountains, having flown from time to time when they were feeling refreshed, and there was not long to go now, she assured them. If the trolls had the hammer, it could be a devil of a time trying to get it back but, somewhere in the back of the mind of Lucy Smith there was this uncomfortable feeling. A feeling as if a dark and sinister power, all too familiar, was behind this latest occurrence. And as she trudged, and got nearer to their current destination, that feeling grew stronger until, in the back of her mind, the name ‘Grimlock’ seemed to be boasting of itself, daring her to name him as the thief of the hammer. Daring her to name him as her current, untimely, foe.

Chapter Three



Grimlock sat in the shadows of his room, in the dark, looking into a mirror portal in his hands. The spell had been successful – the spell he had cast on one of the denizens of Chakola, a lowly figure, desperate, in need of the gold Grimlock had promised – had been sufficient. The little thief had stolen the Golden Hammer, successfully escaped with it, and now, if all went according to plan, the sprites of Chakola would now start to suffer. And he had taken a gamble – if Lucy and her friends had been Sprites under the Hammer’s protection for some time, they, too, could well be affected by the Hammer’s absence. He knew not the secrets and powers of the hammer very much, but was hopeful for a result according to his dark machinations.



He watched in the portal as the thief returned to his lair, hid the hammer, and sat on his bed. ‘Good’, Grimlock thought to himself. He would claim the hammer, take it far, far away, and watch as Lucy and her companions – by all the powers of dark hope within him – shrivel up and die.



* * * * *



Jayden peered into the dark cave. It was past sundown now, and they were at the cave’s entrance, ready to sneak in. All of a sudden Lucy had a bright idea – invisible spells. She looked a them all and said ‘I will turn us all invisible. Don’t worry, with the spell I will use we can see each other, but nobody can see us.’ They all agreed and so Lucy, racking her brain to remember the spell, lifted up her wand, pointed it at Georgie and said ‘Transformus Nullus’. And then Georgie disappeared.

‘Are you there, Georgie?’ asked Jayden.

‘Yes,’ responded Georgia, and Jayden poked her to make sure.

One by one Lucy cast the spell on each of them, finally upon herself and, all of them now ready, they started slowly, and carefully, with a tiny little light to guide them from a spell of Lucy’s, sneaking into the cave.



‘The Heart of Destiny, Glamdrad, is making sure you know each and every day just what it is you are supposed to be doing with it all.’

‘Here we go again,’ responded Glamdrad. ‘The wisdom of bloody Blandig – troll theologian supreme. Don’t you ever get tired of reading from the book of bloody destiny?’

‘But it is our Troll legacy,’ responded the innocent Blandig. ‘The great mother troll forged the work in the sufferings of her heart for the eternal generations of trolldom. We must allow its wisdom to teach us, Glammy.’

‘Bah, humbug. A good meal in the belly, a good womantroll in the bed, and a good Warhammer in the hand – that is the stuff of trolldom. Destiny – whatever – leave that for the old scribes. And you aint a bloody scribe, Blandig. You are too stupid for that.’

‘Shut up,’ responded the insulted feeling Blandig. ‘I’m not stupid. I study all the time, thank you very much. I’ll show you. I’ll be famous one day, amongst the trolls. The theologian of wisdom. I’ll show you, Glamdrad.’

‘Bah, humbug.’



In the corner of the cave of the two arguing trolls, hidden beneath a troll chair, the group of four children were waiting, hidden as well as they could be, eager to hear news of what the trolls were speaking of – wether they had news or not of the sprite’s lost hammer.

‘This is going nowhere,’ said Jayden. ‘We should try another cave.’

‘Give it a chance,’ responded Lucy. ‘They might bring up the subject.’



‘And with the book of destiny,’ continued Blandig unperturbed, ‘we will no longer have to be at war with our enemies. The other wild magic creatures will respect us and live in harmony with us. The hobbits, the elves. Even the sprites will all get along with us. For we were never supposed to be so trollish – we are a better people than that.’

‘We are trolls, you idiot,’ responded Glamdrad. ‘Nothing more, nothing less. And the hobbits, the elves and the bloody sprites will always expect that. But who cares about being at peace with them anyway – they haven’t been a concern of the king for years now. We can attack them whenever we want, so who needs to be at peace with bloody faerie folk.’

‘But with the other creatures, the wild magical ones can re-enter the world. We can teach men that we have been here all along, and reclaim our former lands. Isn’t that what we should do?’

‘Too much of a hassle, Blandig. We would never get the others to accept us. The hobbits hate us, the elves and the dwarves mistrust us, and the local sprites would just use their bloody hammer of Merlin and throw spells at us. It is not worth the hassle.’

Blandig stared at Glamdrad – he got the point. They had a bad reputation, and they knew it.



Under the table Minxy seemed satisfied. ‘There,’ she said to the group. ‘As far as these trolls are concerned, the sprites still have the hammer. They mustn’t have taken it then.



Lucy spoke up. ‘But, just to be sure, why don’t we try and find were the king sits. Perhaps, if they have stolen the hammer, he will be talking about it.’

‘Well, ok,’ responded Minxy. ‘But we will need to be careful.’

‘Then we will be careful,’ said Madalene, and the others nodded.



* * * * *



Lucifer was again at the corner of his abode in Castle Zoldarius, watching Grimlock trudge along the shore, the penguins following him around. He did that most days, now. Out there, enjoying his penguin worship. Enjoying being a god to simple creatures.



Lucifer thought on that, and his own purposes, ultimately, in life. There was a plan, with Alexander. With Alexander Darvanius. A plan of rulership – of global domination. Zoldarius, fallen for the dark long ago, was a suitable enough bedfellow at the moment, and with his powers of persuasion over much of the dark wizarding community, an alliance, for now, seemed welcome for the machinations of Lucifer Malfoy. Sure, Lucius served Zoldarius with unflinching devotion, but Lucifer always wondered wether it was fear of Zoldarius’s power which motivated his older triplet brother. But Lucifer was not of Lucius mould – Lucifer had real power – dark power.



The dark magic – a wild magic – inhabited the very soul of Lucifer. For so long now he had known this truth. That he was a child of absolute darkness, of absolute evil in some ways, and that he knew none he feared. Not even Alexander, in the end, who he saw as a rival – no soul, except perhaps one. Bradlock – Damien Bradlock. That soul, while Lucifer was bad, Damien Bradlock was the epitome of evil. Darkness surrounded him, enshrouded him, was at home and one with him. If there was a devil in hell, his name was Damien Bradlock. Of that Lucifer had no real doubts.



He came away from the window, and picked up the pictures of Lucy Smith he had in his private collection. She was growing up, almost attractive, but still young. She was becoming a woman, but, more than that – a threat. And somehow, to Lucifer Malfoy, despite the very fact that the powers of magic ruled the heart of Lucy Smith also, powers to which he was in allegiance, somehow, someway, this Lucy Smith did not serve the power of any of the wild magic’s, good or bad. She served none in that sense, except…. He left off. He did not like to think of them, those angels of Glory. And the deity they served. That Yahweh power. He did not like to think of God, for what purpose could God serve at all in a heart as darkened as Lucifer Malfoy’s? What purpose indeed?



* * * * *



Shelandragh May scrubbed at the pot, covered in cheese, the result of the previous nights lasagne. Lucy was away at the moment, living with the sprites with the Bridges children, off in her own little world. And good for her – after all the struggles she had been through with the dark lords, the girl deserved a break.



Life was quiet at the moment for Shelandragh. She was only taking a few pupils a month for lessons. It was not because there was not demand, there was enough of that regularly these days, but she was not as anxious as she once used to be to share all her wisdom and magical talent. In a strange way, besides her ageless face at times, and her ancient life, Shelandragh was starting to feel it. In her bones. In her heart. She was old, now, very old. Many a regular life she had already lived, perhaps far too many as far as some may be concerned, but such, once, was her own heart’s lust for life. Shelandragh had once gone off on a sabbatical in her youth, around 21 years of age. She had been to a church, and then a synagogue, and then a mosque, and then disappeared into the northerly regions of Scotland, hidden away in wintery cold north, in a small shack, with a few meagre food supplies with her, which she didn’t touch anyway. She only drank water. For 21 days straight, nothing but water, and the bible she had – the King James Version. She read it – in full – in those 21 days, and fasted. And she prayed, and prayed, and prayed. And then, at the end of her 21 days, the angel appeared, and put his hand on her forehead, and said all was well, and said she may have her hearts desire. And she asked for long days and long life, and the angel agreed, and that is what she had been given.



But now, centuries later, she was old. Old, looking in her 50s, but perhaps feeling much older, and ready for a long rest. Ready to retire. Oh, the ongoing adventures with young Lucy Smith kept her heart amused and full of life and grace, but it was late in the evenings in Bunyan, looking into the flames of the fireplace, her heart and mind thinking over ancient memories, over ancient days, and all the ones she had known and loved now gone from her, that Shelandragh, now, welcomed the final years and the final day of judgement. She would go, then, off to the heavenlies, and see them again – her family –her friend – and rejoice and be at peace and full of love in her heart. And, in whatever place she found herself in on the day after, she would find a place and pray to God and thank him, so gratefully thank him, for the long days of life and grace he had granted her.



But, as she scrubbed away at the lasagne, she smiled on her memories, but a sense of adventure grabbed her heart and said ‘I’m not quite finished with you yet, Shelandragh May,’ and she smiled.



* * * * *



They were in a large cavern, which was lit with burning torches, filled with a dozen or so trolls lounging around, some of the eating there nightly meals, others laying on beds, and what was apparently the king of the troll, seated on a throne, eating soup with a spoon.



The group were over by the side of the room, still invisible, listening carefully to everything that was being said. Mostly the trolls burped and ate their meals, a lot of scratching involved, and slurping at their food. Shortly the king finished his soup, dropped the bowl onto the floor of the cave, and a female troll came out of the shadows, picked up the bowl, and disappeared to where she had come from.

‘Bladron. Where are you Bladron?’ the king suddenly yelled out. The other trolls all looked at the king, one of the younger looking trolls coming forward. ‘He is in his cave,’ he said to the king.

‘Then go get him, Blard.’

‘I’ll be right back, Lord Hamfist.’



Blard disappeared down a tunnel, and the trolls went back to what they were doing.



Shortly, Blard reappeared and, presumable, Bladron with him.

‘Yes, your majesty,’ Bladron said to the king.

‘I am tired of the same old soup. You never change the recipe – boring old vegetable soup. How about putting some chicken in it?’

‘But the farmers are very sensitive about their chicken’s,’ replied the troll. ‘We can’t risk getting caught stealing them. It has long been that way when we live near humankind.’

‘Bah, humbug,’ responded the Troll King. ‘I want some chicken. Go steal some from the sprites. They usually have one or two chickens poking around their places.’

‘But they will use their hammer on us. We never like getting involved with the sprites in the local community. It has always been that way your majesty.’

‘Bah, humbug. Get me chicken.’

‘Oh, ok. I’ll find some chicken,’ responded the cook Blard, and disappeared.

‘Sprites and their blasted Golden Hammer,’ grumbled the King to himself. Shortly, he got down off his throne, wandered around the room nodding to the trolls, and said to them all ‘I’m tired. Time for bed,’ and made his way out of the cavern, down a tunnel, presumably for his sleeping quarters.



The group watched for a while as several of the trolls also made their way down various tunnels, shortly leaving a quiet room with only a few trolls left.



‘Well, that answer that I guess,’ said Lucy. ‘The trolls don’t have the hammer – that much seems certain.’

‘I guess so,’ said Jayden. ‘I suppose we should leave.’

And so the group, quite disappointed, left the cavern, walked carefully out the tunnels they had come in, soon finding themselves out in the open night air, a long walk and flight from home.

Minxy looked at the tired group. ‘Well, I guess we can sleep up the hills a little away from the cave for the night. It is a warm enough night, so perhaps Lucy can cast some sort of spell to keep us warm enough for the night.’

‘I do have a spell for that,’ nodded Lucy.

‘Ok then,’ said Minxy. ‘And I guess we are back at square one.’

So, feeling a little disappointed, the group trudged up the hills a hundred yards or so, found a little clearing and, all cosying up next to each other, Lucy cast an elemental salamander fire spell, and that night they were warmed by a burning Salamander in the centre of their group, sleeping soundly, if uncomfortably, waiting for the dawn and the next part of their adventure.



* * * * *



Jayden was sitting at the top of the mountain, staring at the rising sun of the new day. Down the hill a ways, the children were rising, and Georgia spied her brother further up the hill and motioned for the children to come up and see what he was doing.



‘Hey,’ said Lucy to Jayden. ‘What you up to.’

‘Just sitting here,’ said Jayden. ‘Looking at the dawn.’

‘Sure,’ she responded.

‘Weird,’ said Maddy, but the group sat down next to him anyway and watched as the sun slowly climbed into the sky.



They sat there, not talking much, waking up still, a solid hour passing before Jayden bothered to get to his feet.



‘What’s up, Jadie?’ Madalene asked him.

‘Just life, Maddy. It is like uncle Dan said to me a while ago – life has moments in it when we can appreciate how it all fits together. I sort of know what he means a bit now, so I thought I would watch the sunrise this morning.’

Minxy came over to Jayden, kissed him on the cheek, and said ‘You are a very deep boy, Jayden Bridges.’ He shrugged it off, but he was smiling anyway.



‘Well, what next?’ Madalene asked the group.

‘We return to the council,’ said Minxy. ‘And start again, I suppose.’

‘I guess so,’ responded Lucy, and as they took off for the walk down the mountain to start their return voyage, agreeing to start flying after they had warmed up a bit, Lucy thought on the missing Golden Hammer. Minxy still looked relatively fine and normal, but perhaps she was starting to feel it. Perhaps, now, she was starting to notice the missing strength and lack of spirit. Or perhaps everything was fine – only time would tell.





They continued down the mountain and, after a while, Lucy motioned that they may as well try flying for a while and, taking off, but staying close to the ground, they flew down the mountain, made their way back to the river and gradually continued flying along, heading downstream, back to the sprite fair.



* * * * *



And so, the little group of adventurers arriving finally back at the council of the sprites, mid-day having just passed, they returned to the central tent, talked with Goldbeard and said they’d had no luck and that the trolls definitely did not have the Golden Hammer. Goldbeard sighed, said not to worry and that, for now, the community seemed well enough. ‘But we are feeling it,’ he responded. ‘We are feeling it in our bones, in our heart. The strength of Merlin in us is dissipating, and we are becoming like our own selves in many ways. Perhaps, in the end, that may be a good thing. Don’t worry little ones. Don’t worry.



And so, sighing, the group wandered away, off to the central paddock, watched as the pony trudged around, feeling low and unhappy again. They needed the hammer back – the community needed it desperately.



* * * * *



Shelandragh sat with Darren Merryweather, in her abode Minoxxia, chatting on life.

‘So that is why, Darren,’ she continued, ‘that I have decided, once and for all, apart from mentoring dear Lucy as she grows, that teaching witches and wizards, taking them in for lessons, is part of my past. I am now retired. Out of action.’

‘Do you intend to remain practicing, though. You haven’t commented on that.’

‘I don’t know,’ she said, looking vaguely ahead of her. Shortly she came to herself. ‘Look, maybe Darren. Maybe. But I am old, now. Old and wise in the ways of life and the lessons I have learned have often been very hard lessons to learn indeed. For so long, now, I have been learning about witchcraft and the source of its power – the wild magic, as they call it. And this wild magic, as we know, inhabits the universe, an undercurrent of power, which witches and wizards tap into to draw strength from to cast their spells. Long ago we forewent the wild magic in official ministry protocols here in Australia, and sought the softer and gentler animistic spirits for our work, spirits which have often seemed more real, more humble, more acceptable for the purposes of a white witch. But even they, now, to this old soul….’ She left off speaking, again staring ahead.



‘What?’ asked Darren, looking intensely at her.

‘Even now, they are becoming too much for me,’ she responded, and said nothing more.

Darren looked at her silently for a while. Just what had happened to the witch Shelandragh May?







That afternoon they chatted gently, and he didn’t bring up the subject of her decision again. Mostly, they talked of Lucy and her probable current adventures and how the Bridges children were growing up and life in general – mundane subjects. But looking at Shelandragh May, Darren sensed something in the conversation. When he brought up witchcraft from time to time, she had a subtle way of bringing the conversation back to more mundane topics – more mugglesque topics. What was happening to Shelandragh May? As bizarre as it may sound, was she losing her faith?





That night, eating a stew she had been slow cooking all day, Shelandragh opened up once more.



‘It is that bible. The one in Lucy’s room. Oh, I’ve read it before, you know. Over the years. Paid cursory respect to it. I did seek it once, very greatly, and fasted, and found my youth. And, I guess, those old prayers and fastings are catching up on me. The God of that Bible has found me, seems to want me for his kingdom, and is being very quiet about all my past ways of witchery. As if he won’t bring up the subject but, for the questions I might possibly ask him, there is a subtle and soft way of referencing that bible – that Jewish Bible of Lucy’s. The Tanakh, as it is called. Oh, the Old Testament. The Old Testament of Christian faith.’

Darren looked at her, honestly. ‘And its teachings? The ones condemning witchcraft. You are listening to them now. God, Shelandragh. It must have been centuries ago that parents of ours came to terms with that and chose the wild magic anyway. It’s our destiny – it is what we are to live with and live by. It is the choice they made. It is the choice WE make, each and every day. God, I mean, forgive me, alleluia and all that, but God doesn’t really come into it.’

Shelandragh looked right at him. ‘But is he not the Lord of Life? Is he not, in the end, the one who rules all?’

‘I have always thought it was more than just one power which answered that question, Shelandragh, but I note your point. Look – what does this God want of you? What does this creator of yours ask of your life? Aren’t you a moral enough person? Isn’t he satisfied enough with you? Why does he have to come and bother innocent old Shelandragh May?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said again, with the vague look in her eyes. And, suddenly, with quite strong force, ‘But he doesn’t want me practicing WITCHCRAFT! OK!’

‘Ok, ok. Calm down. I get the point. You’ve gone religious. It happens to even the best of us.’

She looked at him, very crossly for a moment, and then settled. ‘Yes. I’ve bloody gone religious. Happens to the best of us. Har, har, haar.’

Darren smiled at her. She was a lively old soul, wasn’t she.





They continued on, into the evening, chatting away, drinking tea and eating biscuits, and Shelandragh seemed to come even more alive and animated as time passed. It was as if, to the observations of Darren Merryweather, that Shelandragh May had been through an ordeal – an ordeal of the heart – and he was starting to understand just what that ordeal had been. But for a witch, steeped in the craft, devoted to it her whole life, centuries of practice…. For such a witch to be having convictions now? Certainly, that would really be a matter of late nights and worried frowns. But, seemingly, she had resolved her difficulties somewhat. Witchcraft was to go – that much was apparent – but what then for Shelandragh May? What then? With her craft gone, what on earth could possibly fill the gap? He mused on that as the evening drifted along, sipping on his tea, eating his bikkies, staring into the face of dear old Shelandragh May.



* * * * *



The following morning, Darren haven risen early at Minoxxia, getting the fire in the kitchen going again, there was a knock on the front door. He came around, opened it and stared into a face he recalled from a photograph of Madalene’s family. One of the two Daniel – the Daly’s, this one the one which had been raised a Rothchild, by the looks of it.

‘Ah, Mr Daly Rothchild. You are here to see Shelandragh?’

‘Yes,’ he responded.

‘Come in, come in,’ responded Darren.



He led him into the lounge room, left him and knocked gently on Shelandragh’s door. ‘Mr Daniel Daly Rothchild is here to see you, Shelandragh.’

Shortly the door opened and Shelandragh’s head popped out. ‘I’ll be out in about 10 minutes. I just want to take a shower, ok. Won’t be a jiffy. You have a chat with him.’

‘Right,’ nodded Darren, and returned to the lounge room.



Mr Daly sat there, innocent looking, dressed in black slack track pants and a t shirt, a very casual man by the looks of it. He had a short beard on, seemed a little unkempt in dress, but apart from that seemed a solid enough personality.

‘Daniel,’ said Darren. ‘Shelandragh will be out momentarily. Can I get you anything? Tea, Coffee?’

‘Uh, do you have any juice?’

‘I think so. Orange and apple I think.’

‘Either will be fine,’ responded Mr Daly.

Darren entered the kitchen, poured the remaining apple juice into a glass, poured some orange juice for himself, and returned to the lounge, handing Daniel the glass. Daniel took a few sips and smiled at Darren.

‘So. What do you do with yourself, if you don’t mind me asking,’ began Darren.

‘Oh, this and that. These days I have very good business investments. I do, though, get actively involved in religious group myself and my brother founded. It is what Shelandragh called me down to talk about.’

‘The Haven fellowship,’ said Darren. ‘The one Lucy is interested in.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Daniel.

Darren looked at him a bit more cautiously. Perhaps, in some ways, the heart of Shelandragh’s concerns could be addressed in this man.

‘What is your perspective on witchcraft, Daniel?’ Darren came right out with it. ‘From a biblical perspective, I mean.’

Daniel nodded. ‘Sort of what Shelandragh wants to talk about as well. You practice the craft as well, I take it?’

‘I do,’ he confirmed, nodding.

‘Right,’ said Daniel. ‘Well, there is not much to say, really. In the olden times of Canaan, witches sacrificed children and cast spells on people. The consulted the dead and gave omens. All sorts of things which, in biblical language, makes a person spiritually unclean in God’s eyes. And God is so savage against these unclean practices that he condemns witchcraft and advocates the death penalty.’

Darren took that in his stead. At least the man was honest with were he was coming from. ‘And your perspective on that, Mr Daly?’

‘Who am I to argue with God. I just obey his laws. Though, I do understand, especially in this day and age, with all the political correctness surrounding witchcraft and accepting witches, why this perspective of the bibles can seem outdated and even evil in many people’s eyes. But, in its defense, the sort of practices which the bible forbids do cause spiritual uncleanness. I feel it in people’s spirits all the time, there unclean ways and behaviour. It affects their own spirit person, which is corrupted by darkness and evil, and the spirits end up spiritually unclean. To be blunt about it, the smell of a person’s corrupt spirit is very obvious once you are very clean according to Torah regulations. You notice these things a lot.’

Torah regulations?’ asked Darren, almost amused. Almost wanting to laugh, but not quite sure. What were Torah regulations on cleanness? Uncleanness? Did Darren smell to Daniel?’

‘But why kill witches? A bit drastic, isn’t it?’

‘I think, forgive me, but it is supposed to be a lesson in their lives. A fundamental one. All of us, the offspring of Adam and Eve, were created in the image of God and the Angels, and we have an eternal destiny with God. This fundamental lesson, enforced by the death penalty, is were some of us learn the very hard way just exactly what God does approve of and what God doesn’t approve of. It is as simple as that. As harsh as the death penalty may sound, it is in the soul’s best interest. He who spares the rod, spoils the child, as Solomon would teach.’

Darren looked at him, a little perplexed. ‘So the soul of the witch also lives forever, I take it?’

‘As far as I am aware of, yes. The reason being that God desires the salvation of all souls, and while purgatory is a likely reality for some, for the cleansing of their evil, redemption is the heart of God for all mankind. It always has been. It is what the Torah is all about. It is what the people of Israel and Noah represent.’

Darren looked at him, a little bit confused. He hadn’t heard this kind of teaching before – the actual logic of the scriptures on the issue. He was, to put it mildly, ill informed on the subject.

‘So what I am hearing you say is that God DOESN’T hate witches. He is just acting in our best interests.’

‘Oh, he will hate a witch enough if the witch is evil, but God is longsuffering and merciful. He wants the witch’s salvation, in the end.’



Darren sipped on his juice, looking at Mr Daly Rothchild. They weren’t exactly the kinds of answers he expected from him. They weren’t exactly the simple condemnation of something different, but rather an elaborate explanation of ‘Why’.



Shelandragh appeared, and Darren stood. ‘Well, Daniel. It has been illuminating.’ Darren looked at Shelandragh. ‘Well, Shelly. I may as well get going. We have done our thing. I’ll see you perhaps in a few months when I am down this way again, but ta for now. Daniel,’ he said, nodding to Mr Daly, and made his way out the front of Minoxxia, over to his car, taking off.



As he drove along the words of Mr Daly were in his mind. Old fashioned ideals, to Darren Merryweather, in many ways. Outdated, archaic approaches to witchcraft. Salem hunting’s all over again. But, thinking over the content of as to actually why they condemned witchcraft, Darren, perhaps for the first time in his musings over the issue, was taken back a little. That witches had practiced evil in the past was undoubtful – he knew of rogues like Grimlock and Lucifer were the banes of his community. But uncleanness? Spiritually unclean? Corrupting the soul to cast spells? Was that, really, why God condemned witchcraft? Because they were dirty?



As he drove along he laughed at the idea yet, despite telling himself he shouldn’t really care, part of him wanted to catch up with Daniel Daly again, for another chat, just to see what else he had to say. Just to see what else was on his mind for the issue of Darren’s main occupation.





Chapter Four



The children sat there, glumly, as the fare meandered on with a half life, almost, it seemed. Minxy was the most depressed looking, seeming miserable to the others, moping around, crying some times.



Eventually, having had enough of the malaise, Jayden livened up. ‘Well, ok. It wasn’t the trolls. Why don’t we go back to the tent, have another look around. We might get luckier this time.’

And so, the group not knowing what else to do, shrugged, and picked themselves up and over to the main tent.



They looked around for quite a while, and then, giving up, they came outside the tent and sat on the grass. ‘Ooh, what have I sat on,’ said Madalene. Standing up she turned to look at her bottom and it was the most disgusting of things – poo.

‘Oh, gross,’ said Lucy, but Georgie and Jayden laughed.



Minxy, though, looked at the poo funnily. ‘That’s not sprite poo. Its not even pony poo. It’s Bunyip poo.’

The others looked at her. ‘Bunyip poo?’ asked Jayden. ‘Then a Bunyip has been here?’

Minxy, thinking over that, nodded. ‘I guess so. Maybe a Bunyip stole the hammer after all.’

‘Then we go to the bunyips,’ said Jayden.

‘We’ll have to tell my father,’ said Minxy.

‘Why don’t we wait this time,’ said Jayden. ‘And be sure of ourselves.’

‘Well ok,’ said Minxy, not certain, but agreeing anyway.



‘Where do the Bunyips live?’ asked Lucy.

‘Not too far from here, actually,’ responded Minxy. ‘They are not that much bigger than sprites. They have a community not far north of here. It will take us a couple of hours to get there.’

‘Then what are we waiting for,’ said Jayden.



And so, Lucy leading the way, the children embarked on their second adventure to, this time, hopefully recover the thief of the missing Golden Hammer.



* * * * *



Lucifer Malfoy sat in the main eating hall of Zoldarius’s castle, hidden somewhere on an island in an ocean Voldie would not name, but Lucifer knew where they were.



Zoldarius was in the habit of having a number of regular guests at any particular time staying with him at Castle Zoldarius, and currently there were a dozen or so wizards and witches and other dark figures haunting the castle, a few of witch, including Grimlock, were currently in the dining hall for luncheon.



He was served his meal, came over, looked at the antisocial Lucifer, and came and sat down opposite him. ‘Is this seat taken?’ Grimlock asked. Lucifer grunted, which was good enough for Grimlock.



As he began his meal of stewed meat and vegetables, Lucifer gazed upon him. ‘Idolatrous Extremus. The spell I mean. To control the penguins. That’s the one you are using, isn’t it Grimmy?”

Grimlock looked up nervously, thought on denying the claim, but said nothing, and carefully ate his stew.



Eventually he found the courage to speak. ‘And what if it is, Lucifer? What is that to you?’

‘Look, mate. I couldn’t give a shit, personally. Have penguins worship you if that tickles your fancy. I’m just wondering, though.’

Grimlock continued eating nervously. Eventually he responded. ‘Wondering about what?’

‘About where an imbecile like you managed to locate a spell like ‘Idolatrous Extremus’. It is hardly one which Zoldarius would leave lying around, after all. And not many apart from him would know about the spell. Just wondering, that’s all, Grimmy.’



Grimlock stared at him, but returned to his stew. He spoke again. ‘A man in my profession. Well, after a while we come across certain artefacts – spell books and the like. I AM well known, you know. In wizarding circles.’

‘I’ll bet,’ responded Lucifer, lighting a cigarette and staring at his opponent.



‘It is just for the life of me,’ continued Lucifer, ‘I could not imagine who, for the life of me, would want to part with such knowledge of such a powerful spell.’

‘Everyone has their price,’ responded the defiant Grimlock, which brought a grin to Lucifer’s face.



‘Now if I had access to such a spell,’ continued Lucifer. ‘Well, let’s put it this way. I wouldn’t be after Penguin worship. I can guarantee you that, Grimmy. I can guarantee you that.’

Grimlock said nothing, but continued eating his stew. The silence between them was ominous.



* * * * *



Zoldarius, standing in front of his specially sealed bookcase, noticed immediately – a tome was missing. Who could have stolen that? What wizard would have had the power? No matter – he knew the spells in the book well enough now. It would show up when it was needed.



He came over to his large personal lounge chair in his magnificent library, sat down in front of a roaring fire place which his servants kept going, and sat there, contemplating life, and reality.



He was in a semi-solid state, and he awaited the sacrifice of the witch Lucy Smith, blood with Jonathon, could offer her and renew himself to full life – full form. And more than that – his full form, of earlier days, of his beauty, would be brought back to him. The sacrifice of the Smith girl’s blood would reawaken his body, propel it onwards to new ‘Smith’ life, and give him strength and vigour for hundreds, if not thousands more years, for he knew her already in truth to be one of the elect ones. He saw it in her, like his oft adversary Shelandragh May. Elect of he who was, the being of glory which he, of the dark, could not name – would not name.



He sat there, staring into the fire, thinking over many things. His defeating at the hands of the Smith Boy, and his vanquishing. Vanquishing into the world of the dead were, in his afterlife state, he was confronted by demon’s and satan’s and other dark powers, mocking him, laughing at him, reminding him that he was now receiving the rewards for his dark ways in the judgement which he who was saw fit to judge him with. But then, fowl grace of graces, the sacrifices began. The sacrifices performed by Grimlock and the others, dark virginal sacrifices, which purchased new life for this dark lord of life.



And he returned to life – albeit a half-life – and saw fit the sacrifices continued apace, and would so, until that fateful day. The day in which the girl, in the divine contract, made the choice she would make and, with luck, Zoldarius would have her slain, her blood drawn and offered on the altar of death for his soul’s full redemption, and new life being drawn to him, born again, to once again seek the dominion, power and rulership he so desperately sought.



And on that day, his day of glory, he would seek out the Smith Boy. The Smith boy he desperately hated and, with the darkest power of might within him exact his final, dark, deathly and venomous vengeance.



* * * * *



As they trudged the final bit, Lucy felt better about the situation. Discovering the Bunyip poo, right outside the central tent of the sprite council, really seemed a positive indication that fowl play from the Bunyip community was responsible for the missing hammer. But, then again, how could they be sure. There could be a lot of reasons why the Bunyip poo was there, and a simple enough answer was that a Bunyip had simply done his or her business on that spot before the council had been formed – finding Bunyip poo didn’t necessarily prove anything, and Lucy Smith knew that. But it was there best lead and, in truth, there only lead. They had to follow up on it. But, if it proved futile, what next? And what would happen to the Sprite community?



They trudged along, getting nearer and nearer to the Bunyip community according to Minxy, when they started coming upon a path and, suddenly, a Bunyip appeared on the path, looked at them suspiciously as they walked past, but said nothing.



And then, more and more Bunyips started appearing, until, coming into a large clearing, a whole host of Bunyip houses greeted them, a number of Bunyips staring at them.



‘Well, this is it,’ said Minxy. ‘The local Bunyip community. The poo almost certainly came from one of the Bunyip’s living here.’

‘Well, what next?’ asked Lucy.

‘We ask them to take us to their leader, I guess,’ responded Minxy.

‘I suppose so,’ responded Lucy.



‘Uh, excuse me,’ said Lucy to a Bunyip, who rudely did not answer but just stared at her, unblinking.

‘How rude,’ said Minxy to the Sprite. ‘Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?’ but the sprite continued ignoring them, seemingly satisfied that they were no threat to the community, and walked away. Shortly an elderly male Bunyip appeared and spoke to them. ‘What do you want here, sprites? This is Bunyip land?’

‘Oh, we know,’ said Minxy. ‘Don’t get your knickers in a knot.’

‘Oh, it’s you Minxy,’ said the elderly Bunyip. ‘I should’ve known. Only you have the kind of cheek to show up uninvited.’

‘Oh, shut up,’ said Minxy, defensively. ‘Anyway, we have business with the king.’

‘Why do you want to see the king,’ the old Bunyip asked her.

‘Because a Bunyip has nicked our hammer, and we want to find the sod before we perish.’

‘Watch your language young maiden,’ said the old Bunyip.

‘Maiden. Those were the days,’ said Minxy, a naughty look suddenly in her eyes.



‘Well,’ she said, staring at him. ‘Are you going to take us to old Lord Rodric?’

‘Oh, very well,’ he said. ‘Follow me.’

‘About time,’ said Minxy, and as the children trailed along after her, Lucy smiled to herself at the wit of Minxy the Sprite. She really was an unforgettable character.



* * * * *



Shelandragh May was a healthy living lady – most of the time. She drank very little alcohol, smoked about one cigarette a week, did none of the illegal drugs anymore, but had done some marijuana in the 1960s when it had been cool and the in thing. She was not exactly a party type of lady – not any more anyway – there were some dark secrets, though, hidden in the heart of Shelandragh May about a misspent youth indulging in certain traditional devilishly famous witches activities. But she would no longer speak on those days.



She did drink full cream milk, and would never be persuaded otherwise, and indulged in coffee and tea and chocolate from time to time, even in alarming quantities. But those were her main vices in that sense.



Apart from that, if it could be called a vice, her love affair with witchcraft had been the main thing in her life, and her fame, for a long, long time.



But, usually, Shelandragh May was one of the more sober members of society, and could be relied upon in general to set a good and decent example for other citizens of the nation.



Today was an exception.



She had been, since talking with Mr Daly a little earlier that week, in a fowl mood. He had said things, things which she suspected he might say anyway, and things she knew, in the end, she would be agreeing with anyway, but which were still hard to bear. Things about her life of magical practice.



And, a little after that conversation, she had got high on a joint she had hidden in her house for a while, started hammering away on her Port and then her Brandy, and been smoking all that morning and afternoon. Really, she was in a terrible way.



But she needed it – and she knew it.



It would be about the only blowout, in that sense, that she had planned in her going cold turkey on her magic life. She would indulge, briefly, severely, and pent all her built up frustrations, and that would be the end of it.



And magic would be done with – for good. Almost.



She knew, with Lucy around, that magic would be a reality for a while to come and, for the sake of Lucy, had agreed with herself that when magic became necessary in some way, for the time being she would still allow her own practice of the craft, and her own dabbling. In this sense she would wean herself away from magic gradually, as Lucy, who would be her final pupil, matured and lived out her own choices and life on the magical arts. She could not make Lucy Smiths decisions on this issue after all.



So, for Lucy, she would make an exception for now. But only for Lucy.



She was to be a witch no more – the end of her career, in that sense, time for retirement.



Certainly, from centuries of investments in various collectable items which she had stored in both Minoxxia and a few other homes in both Australia and the Old World, which she sold from time to time when they had increased in value to such a degree that sale looked timely and profitable, she garnered her quite handsome income. And she had quite a batch of gold hidden in various places in Minoxxia, usually well hidden away from prying eyes. No, she was not poor, would not need to work in the rest of her days, apart, perhaps, from the occasional investment in a quality collectible item which had the potential to increase in value over many years, so in this sense she had no real concerns. Witchcraft no longer really needed to serve as a source of current income, which it had usually supplemented her wealth by.



No, Shelandragh May could contentedly live out her last days in Minoxxia, a happy old maid (almost), drinking tea, conversing with old friends, and being a lovely old biddy. And despite the shocking passion which was once in her to live life to the fullest and grasp it by the horns and run with it, such a gentle and loving way to spend her latter years no longer bothered her, really. Growing old with grace and dignity – a proper English woman – proud daughter of the Empire. No, such muggle terminologies no longer offended her and, in fact, offered her a gentle pardon in a sense from her lifelong devotion to the magical arts.



Perhaps, for a soul which had lived on the edge so vividly and passionately as Shelandragh May, it was something of a come down. But, these days especially, she felt it in her bones. The long years, finally catching up with her, telling her that she’d had enough, and a long and good rest was deserved. And while she perhaps might want to struggle against it and sensed something of a special destiny and final last task laid before her, some final adventure of sorts, for the most part she was done and dusted, and ready to be put out to pasture.



And she was only bothered a little by that reality.



Yet, for the moment, sitting in her lounge, feeling terribly sick, but not caring in the slightest, she was enjoying her final big bang, ready for the inevitable knitting of scarves, sipping of teas, and conversation with grandmotherly neighbours who would only be filling her head with their latest ‘Little Johnnie’s’ accomplishments. But such was life.



* * * * *



And so, coming into the chief house of the King of the Bunyips of the local Chakola region, Lord Rodric, Minxy stood her ground, staring up defiantly at the Bunyip, ever ready to insist on the return of her beloved Golden Hammer.



‘We want our hammer, Rodric. NOW!’ demanded the little sprite.

Rodric considered her. Who was this little sprite to make demands of him. Still, if she was missing some sort of hammer, he could at least ensure the Bunyip’s weren’t blamed as they, apparently, were.

‘A hammer, you say. Mmm. I don’t think we have any hammer in our possession. Algranon. Do we have possession of a spritish hammer?’

The elderly sprite who had brought the children before Lord Rodric spoke up. ‘Not that I am aware of, Lord Rodric. Perhaps the children are just playing a game with us. You know Minxy and her troublesome ways.’

‘Is that it, Minxy. You are having some fun games with the Bunyips. Har, hargh.’

‘Your being defensive, aren’t you?’ accused Minxy. ‘I’ll bet you stole the hammer and you have it right under your throne.’

‘My throne, you say?’ said Lord Rodric. He stood to his feet, pulled off the cushion, and looked. ‘I dare say, I see no hammer with my old eyes. Perhaps your bright young firey vision can see something, dear old Minxy.’

Minxy glared at him, but said nothing more.



Lucy decided to speak up. ‘Please forgive us, Lord Rodric. We didn’t mean to accuse you, but the Sprites have lost their Golden Hammer. The Sprite council is currently going on, and when the men’s discussions were finished somebody found out that the Golden Hammer the sprites need to protect themselves had been stolen. We tried the trolls, but no luck. And then we found some Bunyip poo…’

Lord Rodric interrupted her. ‘So you think a Bunyip has stolen the hammer. Deary me.’ He drew himself up in stature, glared at them, and sat back down. ‘Now, dear Sprite, whatever your name is. Yourself, Minxy and your friends need to rest assured that no Bunyip would have any business in the thieving of a Sprite hammer. We have ample enough concern with our own business that we do not need to make trouble with the Sprites. Wherever your blessed hammer is, well please believe me that the Bunyips have had nothing to do with any theft of such an item.’



Minxy stared at him, but was still not satisfied.

‘Perhaps you could order a search. Maybe one of the Bunyips has stolen it without your permission.’

Lord Rodric frowned. ‘No. No I don’t think I will mistrust my community on insisting on such a thing. I trust them well enough not to be thieving spritish hammers of all things. We understand your loss, but you will need to look elsewhere than the Bunyips for the recovery of your item.’

‘But we found the Bunyip poo,’ insisted Jayden.

‘Nevertheless, you will have to look elsewhere,’ replied the King. ‘Now, unless you have some offer matter of business with us Bunyips today, you are excused. Algranon. Please ensure our visitors find their way safely back out of our community. We would not want any of their possession to be stolen, now, would we.’

‘At once Lord Rodric.’



And so the children, frustrated, protesting, but not really able to have anything more of a say with the Bunyip King than that, were escorted by Algranon back to the entrance of the Bunyip community they had come from, with Algranon pointing at the path. ‘Run along now, Minxy and your friends. I am sure your father is missing you.’

‘Oh, poo,’ said Minxy, totally bothered.



‘Come on,’ said Madalene. ‘I don’t think we will get any more out of the Bunyip’s today. If they have the hammer, you can be sure they are not handing it over. We will just have to accept what their King said.’

Minxy stared at Algranon, who smiled at her, and shooed her on, finally turning and, as the children departed, she stuck out her tongue at the old Sprite and skitted on, down the path, making their way home.



* * * * *



As Lord Rodric had proudly defended the honour of the Bunyips, insisting that Minxy’s suspicions had simply been misplaced, in the corner of the room, sitting quietly, unobtrusively, amongst some of the few Bunyip’s who occasionally gathered in the King’s counsel, was the Bunyip Gilgo, a younger male Bunyip who, when Minxy had left, carefully and guiltily retreated from the King’s chamber, away, back to his own abode.



And there, looking around to see nobody about, he got down on his knees, reached down under his bed, and brought forth – surprise of surprises – the golden hammer of the Sprites. Yes – Gilgo the Bunyip had been the guilty party.



It was simple, in the end, the motivation for Gilgo’s crime. Quite simple. A powerful and rich sorcerer had promised Gilgo that, if he had stolen the hammer successfully, and hidden it away in his own lair, he would, upon receiving the Golden hammer from Gilgo, pay him a princely sum in gold, for the spending of as he saw fit. That much alone had probably been sufficient enough reason to motivate Gilgo to think about the crime but, when the sorcerer also, off the cuff, promised to turn him into a human should he so desire, for the enjoyment of the money in human society, the deal had been set. Gilgo would steal the hammer.



But now, somewhat, he felt guilty. Being confronted by the Sprite community for the sin of his crime had convicted him and he was half a mind to take the hammer, run down the path, give it back to the sprite Minxy, and apologize profusely. He was half a mind to do just that. But only half. The other half, taking solid delight in all the potential gold to be offered him and the thought of spending some of his days in human form, roaming the land freely, taking delight in human custom and practice and, nay, should he really say it? Drinking human wine and perchance finding a human woman for hidden delights of the night. And, sitting there, looking at the hammer, no matter how much he wanted to do the right thing, and confess his crime, and restore the reputation of the Bunyip’s, his greed and lust was just too much, and he put the hammer, carefully, back under his bed, sat on the bed momentarily thinking about how he would spend all his beloved gold, and contemplated that later that evening he would have to contact the sorcerer to arrange deliverance of the hammer and payment of the gold.



No, he would remain a crooked thief, and enjoy his wicked pleasure. And, despite the fact that he was truly devoted to his Bunyip community, the temptation was just too much in the end. Too much wicked delight for the likes of Gilgo the Bunyip to resist. Far too much.



* * * * *



Grimlock put down the portal communication device – a mirror of sorts, for this particular work – and was satisfied. Most satisfied. The Bunyip Gilgo had indeed retrieved the Golden Hammer and, from what Gilgo Said, the Sprites wanted it back desperately. And that was enough for the malevolent Lord Grimlock.



In truth, in the end, he was not really trying to kill off Lucy Smith or even the Bridges children at this time. While he may have been motivated, though, to do some serious harm to them and put them in a place of suffering and misery they would have cried woe from, it was still not his intent to kill them off for good. That much he wouldn’t do yet – that much he couldn’t do yet.



Lucy Smith was the exact type of sacrifice, with her probable elect status which the dark lords had already sensed she had, similar to her cousin Jonathon, meaning that the sacrificial blood of such a witch would prove the necessary life force necessary to fully recover and redeem Lord Zoldarius to full living status and, so they suspected, more than that – to his former beauty of youth. And so, because of this, they could not hurt the witch – not yet – not until a certain age long wager between an old devil of heaven and the other children of heaven was satisfied and, in a manner acceptable to the Lords of the Dark, meaning they could then kill of the Smith children once and for all, take dark delight in the blood sacrifice of dear Lucy, and resurrect Lord Zoldarius to full life to enjoy his long sought glories of power, dominion and rulership over the wizarding and witching world and community.



And, naturally, Grimlock, for his long service, would receive a handsome reward for his work as well. Or, at least, such was the promise. Such was the promise.



He put the portal away on his bookcase, sat down on his bed, and picked up his nightly meal. Munching on a chicken leg, he thought on the suffering Lucy Smith. ‘We were once friends, dear Lucy, but your time will not last forever, child of he who is. We are watching you Lucy Smith – we are watching you,’ he devilishly thought to himself, and munched on his chicken leg, his heart continuing to be filled with Grim, Malevolent, and dark – most dark – evil.



* * * * *



As the children trudged home there was a sombre mood among them. Minxy was constantly rumbling that the Bunyips were hiding something which Lucy personally surmised might indeed be true. But they had no proof – only evidence. Sure, the Bunyip poo could have been old poo – they couldn’t really prove it either way. And with no firm evidence to incriminate them it was not surprising that Lord Rodric would defend his people. But that didn’t make Minxy any happier.



Lucy had been keeping a careful eye on Minxy the last couple of days as the time of the Golden Hammer’s disappearance increased. If what she had said was true, that they community of sprites relied so heavily on the spell power and enchantments of the hammer and had become so attached to it that they would waste away without it, then she could expect Minxy to soon start feeling the effects of the missing hammer. But while Minxy was in a distraught and fowl tempered mood a lot of the moment, she still seemed the same animated and bubbly Minxy the Sprite which Lucy had come to know so well. Perhaps they had placed too much fear and anxiety into their worries over the missing hammer – perhaps the community had not too much to worry about anyway – perhaps.



But one thing did seem certain enough, and that was the hammer played a vital role in protecting the sprite community from attacking forces and, without its constant presence, could they expect hostilities from some unfriendly sources? She liked to think not, that nobody had a particular grudge against her friend Minxy, but you never could tell.



They continued trudging along, getting nearer to home and Minxy became animated. ‘We will have to tell father, but we can’t give up, can we Jayden?’ She said, looking hopefully at Jayden for consolation.

He came over, hugged her, and said ‘No we won’t give up on you Minxy. All for one and one for all, ok. We are your friends forever, Minxy the Sprite.’

And that much seemed to make Minxy a little happier.



Soon the Sprite gathering came into view and, as they neared home, Lucy gave thought to what they might possibly do next. Goldbeard wouldn’t want to attack the Bunyips, would he? Besides, without the hammer, they would be greatly outmatched, and it was the hammer they were trying to recover anyway. All she could really think of was that she needed a good nights sleep and, in the morning, as her mother Caroline would often say, things would be better and a solution would present itself. She could only hope her mother’s wisdom would be right on this occasion. She could only hope.



* * * * *



‘You’re up to something, aren’t you Grimmy?’

Grimlock ignored Lucifer’s question, sipping on his juice, sitting at the breakfast table.

‘Come on, come clean,’ said Lucifer. ‘I sense something – magic has been going on – portal activity to Australia. And Chakola in particular. You’re watching the Smith girl.’

‘And what if I am?’ said Grimlock defensively.

Lucifer snarled a little but said nothing more, staring at his opponent. He picked up his spoon, took another bite of his corn flakes, his favourite breakfast cereal, and gazed upon the grim one. He couldn’t figure it, but Grimlock was up to something. Something sinister, something evil. Something Lucifer should know about.



He continued munching on his corn flakes, staring at Grimlock who was working on his raisin, toast, ready for his next question.



‘Something about a Golden Hammer. I am a diviner after all, Grimlock. I CAN work these kinds of things out. Strong clairvoyancy runs in the family, pal.’

Grimlock looked a little startled, but continued saying nothing. He finished his toast, drank up the last of his juice, and stood. ‘I’m going to my room. If Zoldarius wants my presence today, that is were I will be.’

Lucifer glared at him as he departed, and munched away on his corn flakes.



Finishing them off, he looked into his mind and saw Grimlock there, receiving a Golden Hammer from a weird creature. It was a portent – a vision of the future he was receiving – and somehow the hammer was tied into the Smith girl. But how? That much he didn’t know yet.



He poured a glass of orange juice from the decanter, started sipping on it, and thought on the Smith girl. He hated her, really. Hated her. She represented the worst element of the dark magic – morals. Hell, if you were a witch or a wizard there was shit which came with the territory. You took that for granted. You didn’t go making excuses and pretending to be all moral and holy about it all. That was just plain old hypocrisy as far as Lucifer was concerned. His kind were of the dark side – to pretend otherwise – to be one of the so-called White Witches – well, what a fucking joke. May as well call Satan a Saint. He laughed at the idea of the Devil being received into canonisation by the pope, but his thoughts turned to that of the hammer. He could sense, in the vision he received, in the feel of the hammer, ancient magic at work. Ancient, but familiar magic. Arthurian magic. Merlinesque magic. Really, if Grimlock had the hammer now, or soon would be receiving it, perhaps it would be the kind of magic which could come in useful for Lucifer to possess. You could never have too many magical items at your disposal. Yep, it could always come in useful.



He sat there, sipping on his juice, and thought on Grimlock. He would wait, for now, but monitor the situation. And perhaps travel to Australia, find out about this figure which had the hammer and, perhaps, intercept it before it was given to Grimlock. And while his dreams were often portents of the future, destiny could always change if he struck hard first. It was why visions were often given in that sense – for decisions of acceptance or rejection to be made upon them.



He sipped on his juice, thought on the hammer, and smiled to himself. It would be good to have another go at the Smith girl again – scare the wits out of her. And he could always visit Fyshwick when back in Australia, and enjoy something of the other passions of the dark Lord Lucifer Malfoy.

Chapter Five



Goldbeard had been worried about the missing Minxy, but was now relieved to have his daughter back. In some ways, the community were recovering, but there was still a strong sense of loss. They had accepted the idea now, reluctantly, and faced the truth that life would have to go on anyway. For the little group of adventurers it meant that their efforts had been in vain, and as the council was winding down its activities, some of the stands already packed up, they sat in the central paddock, quiet, thoughtful, wondering what was next. And then Goldbeard came over to the group with an idea.



‘You know, Minxy. I wouldn’t put this on you normally daughter of mine, but you have been so anxious to help recover the hammer. There is something, perhaps, which could help. Something which I would give you and your friends permission to do if they so wished. At Uluru – the red rock in the centre of Australia – there is an old and ancient indigenous community of sprites. Amongst them is the lands ‘Oracle of Secrets.’ She, if we are lucky, will be able to use her powers of divination and locate the hammer for you, for no secret can be hidden from her. I can’t promise she will help, but they are sprites. There is a chance.’

Minxy, overjoyed, came and hugged her father, and turned to the group. ‘Well, Lucy. Maddy. Jadie and Georgie. Are you all up for it?’ Georgia nodded, and Jayden said ‘Uluru. And I think I might have a bit of aboriginal in me anyway,’ which made Lucy laugh.

‘So it’s agreed then,’ said Minxy, and the children all nodded.

‘Yes, it is our final option I guess,’ said Lucy. ‘And then we will find the hammer, and your community will be saved.’

‘Thank the gods,’ said Minxy smiling, and started hugging them all one by one.



* * * * *



Gilgo the Bunyip had turned the Golden Hammer over to Grimlock the night before when he suddenly appeared in his room using a relocate spell. And, as Grimlock had promised, Gilgo had been turned into a human – but on the outskirts of the Bunyip community, and given his gold.



Now Gilgo was in a drinking session in one of Cooma’s pubs, drinking wine, in the steady process of getting drunk in human form. And he was a happy little man because of it.



But in his heart there was sorrow and regret. It hadn’t been the right thing to do in the end, no matter the reward, and his guilt was great. But such was life. It didn’t always go according to plan, and even in hindsight he was not sure he would change his mind. So he drank his wine, got steadily drunk, and listened to the rock and roll music on the fabulous juke machine.



* * * * *



The children had returned to Shelandragh’s house to find her recovering from a desperate drinking session. ‘I have a headache, Lucy. Can’t you turn yourself back into an adult?’ said a miffed Shelandragh May.

‘Not since the Golden Hammer went missing,’ responded Lucy. ‘We tried before, but the Golden Hammer seems to have affected all of us kids.’

‘Then we will need a congress,’ said Shelandragh. ‘It is all that will work to counter the effect of your spell.’

Lucy nodded. ‘A congress was a gathering of two or more witches to act in harmony in a spell. She had done various congresses with Shelandragh before, but never seen Shelandragh work with anyone else.



Shelandragh looked at the little sprites, smiled to herself at lifes ironies, and brought out a bar of gold. ‘This is some of your money, Lucy. We will cash it in in Canberra to pay for the airfares to the Rock. And then you can seek the Oracle of Secrets and ask your questions.’

‘That’s wonderful,’ said Minxy, and hugged Shelandragh.



* * * * *



Alfric, Darren Merryweather, and Shelandragh all pointed their wands at the group of children, spoke various words and, quite quickly, the children felt themselves changing, returning to normal size.

‘Look at me,’ said Minxy. ‘Finally all grown up.’

‘Gee. Your cute,’ said Jayden, then put his hand to his mouth.

Minxy winked at him, but said nothing more.



‘Ok, children. I have purchased the tickets and we leave on the evening flight from Canberra airport. Minxy has the directions to the sprite community so I will leave her and Lucy to find them, and you Bridges children can stay with me at the hotel.’ The children moaned but Shelandragh said ‘And I will buy you all ice cream.’ Which shut them up somewhat.



Later that evening, when they arrived near Uluru after the flight, and booked into their hotel, Lucy was excited. She had never been to the red centre before and, despite the sudden heat hitting her upon leaving the plane, was really looking forward to it.



The following morning, after breakfast, Minxy and Lucy spent a while with Shelandragh, listening to her warnings, before finally disappearing again into the bush, once again turned back into Sprites, following the directions of Goldbeard.



They found the community, not far from the rock, and Minxy was greeted warmly, while the indigenous sprites were cautious about Lucy. ‘She’s not a sprite,’ one of them said. ‘I can tell.’

‘She’s my friend,’ said Minxy, which appeased them somewhat. ‘We are here to visit the Oracle of Secrets to answer a dilemma my Chakolan community is facing. Can she help us?’

The aboriginal sprites looked at her for a moment, as if considering her request, then finally nodded. ‘Come with us,’ one of them said, and lead the way through the community, to a rugged old tent.

‘Go inside. She knows you are here.’



Inside the tent they found a withered old sprite, perhaps thousands of years old in the estimation of Minxy, who smiled at them warmly and took their hands.

‘Gilgo the Bunyip has your hammer. But he has already given it on to one who I think is named the grim one.’

‘Grimlock!’ exclaimed Lucy. Minxy nodded.

‘And where is Gilgo?’ asked Lucy.

The oracle just shook her head. She did not know.



As they returned back to the hotel, with happy news, Lucy thought on what they should do next. ‘Perhaps we should find Gilgo and ask him were Grimlock could be?’

‘I guess,’ responded Minxy. ‘It is as good an idea as any.’



* * * * *



When they had been returned to human size and gotten back to Chakola, Shelandragh, reluctantly, used a spell to locate the origin of the poo which they had collected from the now finished council. ‘Why didn’t we think of that?’ said Lucy.

‘Your young,’ responded Shelandragh. ‘The Bunyip is in Cooma. I sense it strongly. We will go now, it is not too late.’





When they arrived in Cooma Shelandragh pointed to the Centennial Park. ‘He’s there, Lucy, Minxy. But be careful. Something dark is here.’

Jayden, Madalene & Georgia were about to follow them, but Shelandragh held them back. ‘No, children. This is for Lucy and Minxy alone. They have an encounter destiny has fated for them.’

‘What is that supposed to mean?’ asked Madalene, curiously, but Shelandragh would say nothing more.





They came into the park, and soon found Gilgo in human form, drunk, a bundle of cash lying at his feet. He looked at them groggily, but said nothing. And then, stepping out of the shadows, the dark lord Lucifer appeared.

‘Hello Bitch. What’s new?’

‘Lucifer,’ she gasps. ‘Can’t I ever escape devil’s like you.’

‘So you are after the hammer, are you? I have been waiting for you too arrive. The sprite won’t tell me were he has put it.’

‘Grimlock has it,’ said Minxy, but put her hand to her mouth instantly.

‘I figured he might,’ responded Lucifer, staring down at the human Bunyip. He kicked Gilgos’s foot, and the human Bunyip moved it a bit, but there was no real resistance.

‘Your all charm, Lucifer,’ said Lucy with open hostility.

‘Hey babe, you know me,’ responded Lucifer.

‘All too well,’ said Lucy.



‘What do you care about the hammer?’ said Lucy.

Lucifer looked at her. ‘Little girls like you should be cautious when asking questions to big wolves like me,’ he responded, walking around her. The two girls, though, stood there ground, unmoving, unblinking.

‘What I want with the hammer is my own business. Let’s just say, I could use it. Merlin’s artefacts always come in useful.’

Lucy glared at him, but said nothing.



‘You know, Lucy,’ said Lucifer, staring at the young maiden who had developed more since he had raped her. ‘You are starting to become quite a woman. Perhaps we could get together and have a good time.’



Lucy wanted to raise her wand, but stayed calm. She wouldn’t be baited.



‘You know, you and me, start a family. It could be wonderful. Rule this world together, babe. The world at your doorstep.’



‘Good and evil never work well together,’ responded Lucy. ‘Funny that, isn’t it. Oh, I might tread on your toes and say stupid things like ‘Don’t kill that person, Lucifer. People might get upset.’

Lucifer grinned. ‘Yeh, good point. You probably would complain. And then I’d have to kill you.’

‘Exactly,’ said Lucy sarcastically. ‘And we can’t have that, now can we, Lucifer Malfoy?’



He looked at the little bitch. Really, she was growing up. Starting to become a handful. Quite a handful.



‘Well, if Grimmy has the hammer, that is good enough for me. I am sure he can be, heh heh, persuaded to hand it over.’



‘We want our hammer back,’ insisted Minxy. ‘You have no right to keep it.’



‘Oh, don’t I,’ responded Lucifer, eying the girl.



‘No you don’t, you old goat,’ responded Minxy, which made Lucifer smile.



He looked at them for a little longer, looked down at the pathetically drunk Gilgo, and started walking off. But he turned, looked at Lucy and said, ‘Till we meet again, babe. And don’t go getting engaged, you here.’

‘Freak,’ yelled Minxy after him, and then he was gone.



‘What next?’ said Minxy.



‘I guess we find Grimlock. And, strange as it may sound, I think I might know were he might be available. With a certain man I have been learning all about, who even Zoldarius fears.’

‘And who is that?’ asked Minxy.



‘Mmm,’ said Lucy, but said nothing more.



* * * * *



Lucy and Minxy, with a number of their bars of gold cashed in just in case, were in New York – the Big Apple. And there they were, 666 Avenue of the Americas, staring up at the skyscraper.



‘Well, I’m ready,’ said Lucy.



‘Here we go,’ said Minxy.







At the reception desk to the offices of Mr Alexander Darvanius II, Lucy simply said she was Lucy Smith and that Mr Darvanius would probably know her. She was right, and they were admitted in quite quickly.



He sat there, behind the desk, all in black, a larger than life foreboding figure, and when he rose and came forwards, Lucy almost backed down. His spiritual power was unbelievable – greater than even Zoldarius’s – more then she had ever confronted.



‘Lucy Smith. How remarkably wonderful it is to meet such an astonishing girl. Tell me, how is Shelandragh May. I have only met her the once, but she was such a lovely old dear.’

‘She is fine,’ responded Lucy.

‘Very good to hear,’ he said, and looked at Minxy. ‘And you are, my dear?’

‘Minxy. I’m a sprite, uh, sir.’

‘You appear quite human to me.’

‘Shelandragh has cast a spell on her,’ responded Lucy. ‘It is why we are here.’

‘And why exactly are you here?’ asked Alexander. ‘Oh, please, come and sit on the lounges.’

The girls came over, sat down, and Lucy looked at Alexander nervously. He was so imposing, but, more than that. He was quite handsome and, despite telling her heart that this should be the last man in the universe to be attracted to, she was.



‘Grimlock stole the sprites Golden Hammer. They need it to protect themselves. You know him, don’t you. I am sure of that.’

‘Yes, I know Grimlock. And I am aware of the hammer he has stolen. Lucifer retrieved it for me the other day.’

‘And where is it,’ demanded Minxy.

Alexander walked over to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out the little golden hammer, which was big for sprites.



Minxy almost rushed for it, but controlled herself. ‘Give it to us,’ she yelled at him.



Alexander looked at Minxy then, almost as if for the first time, and looked right into her eyes with eyes so heavy and so dreadful that Minxy almost turned away. But she had courage, and remained defiant.



Alexander stared at her, then softened, and said ‘Of course, Minxy. Here is your hammer,’ and came over, placed the hammer into her hands, and she cried with joy.



‘Thank you, Alexander,’ said Lucy. ‘We do appreciate that.’



Alexander smiled.



‘Well, I guess we will be going,’ said Lucy to him. ‘That is all we came for.’



As they turned and started making their way out, Alexander spoke up. ‘Lucy!’

She turned to look at him.



‘You are aware, now, aren’t you? You are aware. Of the – arrangement.’

Lucy looked at him, and nodded. ‘Yes, I know, Alexander. Shelandragh has told me all about it. I worked it out recently, what it was all about. The divine contract.



Alexander nodded. ‘Sometimes, Lucy Smith, you can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs. Please, please keep that in mind, one day. One fateful day when you make your dread decision. Please keep that in mind.’



Lucy looked at him, nodded, and turned.



And, as they left the building, she finally turned back, looked up, and almost did the sign of the cross which Madalene had shown her. That was a man not to forget any time soon. Not to forget at all.



* * * * *



The sprite celebration lasted a full week, so happy were they with their returned Golden Hammer. Goldbeard officially inducted Lucy into his own clan family, and they were happy again, relieved sprites, all singing happy songs and doing happy dances.



And then Magnus was suddenly there, next to Minxy, picking her up in the air and twirling her around. ‘You are a gem, Minxy,’ he exclaimed, and kissed her on the lips, which Minxy the sprite didn’t seem to mind one little bit.



Lucy grinned and Minxy came over to her and said ‘For what it is worth, Lucy, you are my best, best, best friend in the whole wide world. But even for you there are things which you can’t offer.’



‘And what are they?’ asked a very curious Lucy Smith.



As Minxy walked away from her with Magnus, who quickly pinched Minxy on the bottom, Minxy turned to Lucy Smith and said ‘Well, wouldn’t YOU like to know.’

And Lucy laughed

The End