I bring you Chapter FIVE!

Chapter Five

Kaceton stood on the moore, the wind flapping her long hair out behind her and her warm cloak swaying  in the harsh wind. Her face was tipped heavenward and her mouth slowly moved in time to the gusts of wind.

"Oh God of our Forfathers!" She screamed, her voice clear and pure in the air. "Visit us, help us, Lord." She paced the barren moore her face still facing heaven, praying to a God that she knew existed. "God help us in these lost days! Save us!"

She fell to her knees beginning the interceding. She usually preferred to do this at nightfall, but Lord Moredore's army had been around so she could not.

It was then that she felt a presence around her, sweeping her. She looked up into a Golden Light.

"I am with you, Kaceton. I will never forsake you." came the hollow voice. "Trust in me and I will ake allthinks work together for good. As we speak I have sent someone already."

Kaceton breathed deeply. She was the last person who still did this, praising her God-the Ancient God. Now she prayed till mid-day, and rose. They boy, yes, they boy whom she'd rescued from Mordore's men=He was the one who God had sent. She just knew it. Now he was in Briarwick with the plains-riders. She had to speak with him again. That boy was here for a purpose.

Clark was at once at home in the small house along the outskirts of Briarwick.

Galdon was a big women with a fire going in the hearth and she gave a hearty welome to her brother Barilt and Clark. "Good to be seein' you again Barilt." She gave him a hearty thump on the shoulder. Then she turned to Clark. "And who do we have here?" she laughed merrily.

Both were seated near the fire and Clark warmed his hands. Then he turned to Barilt once they were settled. "That girl back at the moore," He started. "Kaceton,..Does she live here?"

"No of course not." Barilt smiled stroaking the bit of a beard on his chin. "Most say she's a witch. She lives on the black moore and some say you can see her, roaming about screaming to some unknown God. Whenever a cow goes dry or someone dies it is always blamed on Kaceton of the Moore. Everyone fears her but she's only a lassie."

Clark was taken aback. She hadn't seemed like much of a witch-of course he didn't know anything about there sort anyhow. "How do you know? Who are her parents?" he asked.

"She's lived on Black Moore since she was only a small baby. She lives off the land and her potions out of herbs and plants, though there's nothing Witchly about them. Her parents were hung for treason to Lord Moredore when she was so young and she's lived there since, disapearing and reappearing, almost like a Phantom." Barilt answered.

Then Galdon bustled back with a meal fit for a king. Both of them ate and ate till they were so full that Clark felt like throwing his insides up.

Then Barilt leaned closer. "So tell me, young lad, be you a human...or just one of us?"

"Of course I'm a human!" Said Clark. "Aren't you?"

Galdon and Barily exchanged looks. "No," said Barilt, holding a finger to his lips. "And you aren't to tell anybody but us of course that you are a human. lord Moredores men could be anywhere around here. But you are a very special boy aren't you?"

Clark shook his head no. "I'm a dork." he said.

Barilt looked quizzical. "A dork? Is that another kind of human?..."

Clark shook his head again. "Forget I mentioned it." Then he frowned. "I guess I'm just trying to get home again."

Galdon and Barilt exchanged another look. "I believe he's the boy from the prophesy." Barilt whispered to her. "If that's so then the Lord's men will be here quite soon."

Clark didn't listen to them. He stared into the fire. Waves of homesickness suddenly crossed him. He almost wished Buzz was with him for he felt almost lonely with these strange people. They were nice but so different.

By then it was late in the morning and he spent the rest of the day, curled up there while Galdon and Barilt bustled around and left around noon to see a friend of theres. Then he went to sleep.

"All come out and show themselves!" came a man's loud voice outside in the night. A cane knocked on each door as the cry came out.

Clark stirred and sat up, finding that Barilt had carried him to a pallet of blankets in the corner. Barilt and Galdon were asleep in two large beds pressed against the wall, or rather awake now.

"It's lord Moredore's men." Barilt stood, pulling on his cloak and breeches. "Hide the boy." he hissed to Galdon, motioning to Clark. She bustled over to a sea chest in the corner, and turned to Clark,

"C'mon Laddie." she said to a Bewildered Clark. "Climb in...Hurry."

Clark had always hated being small, but now it seemed to be a good thing. He fit into the chest with room to spare, and Galdon left it slightly cracked so that Clark could breathe and see out,

Mordore's men came closer, searching every house. Finally, they came to Barilt's house and he opened the door after a few loud knocks.

"We have a permitt by lord Moredore to search this house." crowed the person of some sort who stood about 7 feet tall with a scarlet cloak.

Barilt stepped out of the way and about 5 men stepped in, storming through the room. They stopped before the pallet in the corner.

"And who does that belong to?" asked the big man-apparently the leader.

"A dog," said Galdon hurriedly. "A runaway dog. Poor little thing spent it's nights in there and died yesterday Morn'." she pretended to look sad though she was really telling a white lie, or so Clark hoped. He quickly smelled himself, and sighed with relief that he did not reak of Dead dog.

"Alright," The big man bellowed, stepping towards the door. "The boy isn't hear. Move on."

With that they walked out the door and moved on to the next house. Barilt shut the door and bolted it, sighing with relief.

Clark gulped. They were searching for him! He was really here for a reason.

Galdon opened the sea chest and he climbed out.

"You're one lucky boy." Barilt said. "We'd best stay awake till Moredore's men leave."

With that he pulled some sort of flute from the ledge over the hearth and began to play a melancholy tune while Galdon relit the fire. Clark just sat there, feeling a strange sense of despair.

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