[fusion_builder_container hundred_percent="no" hundred_percent_height="no" hundred_percent_height_scroll="no" hundred_percent_height_center_content="yes" equal_height_columns="no" menu_anchor="" hide_on_mobile="small-visibility,medium-visibility,large-visibility" status="published" publish_date="" class="" id="" link_color="" link_hover_color="" border_size="" border_color="" border_style="solid" margin_top="0px" margin_bottom="0px" padding_top="0px" padding_right="0px" padding_bottom="0px" padding_left="0px" gradient_start_color="" gradient_end_color="" gradient_start_position="0" gradient_end_position="100" gradient_type="linear" radial_direction="center center" linear_angle="180" background_color="" background_image="" background_position="center center" background_repeat="no-repeat" fade="no" background_parallax="none" enable_mobile="no" parallax_speed="0.3" background_blend_mode="none" video_mp4="" video_webm="" video_ogv="" video_url="" video_aspect_ratio="16:9" video_loop="yes" video_mute="yes" video_preview_image="" filter_hue="0" filter_saturation="100" filter_brightness="100" filter_contrast="100" filter_invert="0" filter_sepia="0" filter_opacity="100" filter_blur="0" filter_hue_hover="0" filter_saturation_hover="100" filter_brightness_hover="100" filter_contrast_hover="100" filter_invert_hover="0" filter_sepia_hover="0" filter_opacity_hover="100" filter_blur_hover="0"][fusion_builder_row][fusion_builder_column type="1_1" layout="1_1" spacing="" center_content="no" link="" target="_self" min_height="" hide_on_mobile="small-visibility,medium-visibility,large-visibility" class="" id="" hover_type="none" border_size="0" border_color="" border_style="solid" border_position="all" border_radius="" box_shadow="no" dimension_box_shadow="" box_shadow_blur="0" box_shadow_spread="0" box_shadow_color="" box_shadow_style="" padding_top="" padding_right="" padding_bottom="" padding_left="" margin_top="" margin_bottom="" background_type="single" gradient_start_color="" gradient_end_color="" gradient_start_position="0" gradient_end_position="100" gradient_type="linear" radial_direction="center center" linear_angle="180" background_color="" background_image="" background_image_id="" background_position="left top" background_repeat="no-repeat" background_blend_mode="none" animation_type="" animation_direction="left" animation_speed="0.3" animation_offset="" filter_type="regular" filter_hue="0" filter_saturation="100" filter_brightness="100" filter_contrast="100" filter_invert="0" filter_sepia="0" filter_opacity="100" filter_blur="0" filter_hue_hover="0" filter_saturation_hover="100" filter_brightness_hover="100" filter_contrast_hover="100" filter_invert_hover="0" filter_sepia_hover="0" filter_opacity_hover="100" filter_blur_hover="0" last="no"][fusion_text columns="" column_min_width="" column_spacing="" rule_style="default" rule_size="" rule_color="" hide_on_mobile="small-visibility,medium-visibility,large-visibility" class="" id="" animation_type="" animation_direction="left" animation_speed="0.3" animation_offset=""] Ally was back in the clearing. It was night, there were the black shapes of trees all around, and a fire was burning in front of him. He bent down towards the twigs lying at his feet, knowing that he would never reach them.As he always did at that moment in the dream the man with the plaited beard and ice-blue eyes stepped out of the shadows. Ally stretched his hand down as far as it would go towards the twigs, his eyes on the man’s face. The man neither moved nor spoke, but only watched him dispassionately, as if he was looking at the struggles of an insect in a killing-jar. Ally tried again to bend and pick up the twigs, but the muscles in his back and arms were locked tight. Then a muscle in his back spasmed. He screamed, and woke. Ally Fraser is having the same dream, night after night. When his health begins to break down, he is sent to help on an archaeological dig. There, as past and present blend, he finds that the dream is bound up with the events which led to the burning of the site over a thousand years before. A novella-length book for young adults, or for anyone who enjoyed the Alan Garner novels of the 1960s. [/fusion_text][fusion_modal_text_link name="chapter" class="" id=""]read the 1st chapter[/fusion_modal_text_link][fusion_modal name="chapter" title="Jaeger's Howe - Chapter 1" size="large" background="" border_color="" show_footer="no" class="" id=""] (Edinburgh, 3 rd March 1986) Ally was back in the clearing. It was night, there were the black shapes of trees all around, and a fire was burning in front of him. He bent down towards the twigs lying at his feet, knowing that he would never reach them. As he always did at that moment in the dream the man with the plaited beard and ice-blue eyes stepped out of the shadows. Ally stretched his hand down as far as it would go towards the twigs, his eyes on the man’s face. The man neither moved nor spoke, but only watched him dispassionately, as if he was looking at the struggles of an insect in a killing-jar. Ally tried again to bend and pick up the twigs, but the muscles in his back and arms were locked tight. Then a muscle in his back spasmed. He screamed, and woke. For a long time he lay gasping in the darkness, waiting for the shreds of the nightmare to dissolve. Finally he reached across the bedside table towards the lamp. His outstretched fingers caught the mug of pens and pencils beside it, spilling them onto the floor and knocking over the lamp itself. The fear came swooping back, and he forced himself to lie quiet and breathe deeply. When his heartbeat slowed, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, and shutting his eyes and feeling his way with his hands, he walked towards the door. He found the light switch, pressed it home and opened his eyes again. His room was suddenly there around him, bright and comforting and normal. He stood letting the sight of the familiar things drain the fear away: the neat line of books on the shelf, the posters pinned to the wall, the two-year-old framed family photo with his father smiling at the camera, and beside it the stereo he had bought Ally as a guilt-offering. He could hear the toilet flushing in the bathroom at the end of the corridor. So Meg was awake, too. The world righted itself. It was over, until the next time. He tried the lamp, but the bulb was dead. He unscrewed it and threw it into the waste-paper basket. Then he gathered up the spilled pens and pencils, put them back in the mug, and set it down carefully in its exact place on the bedside table. Finally, he lay down on the bed, with his face to the ceiling, his eyes open and the light still on. ‘Morning, Ally.’ His mother didn’t look up. She was dressed for work, and reading through a multi-page report. ‘Morning.’ He sat down at the kitchen table and poured himself a bowl of cereal. ‘Sleep well?’ Ally didn’t answer. He added the milk and ate in silence. He was half way through when his sister came in, banging the door behind her. ‘Don’t do that, Meg, please,’ Mrs Fraser said without lifting her eyes. ‘Not first thing. It goes right through me.’ Meg switched on the kettle, took a mug from the stand, spooned in instant coffee, and put two slices of bread in the toaster. The kettle boiled and she filled the mug with water. ‘Don’t I rate a good morning, Ally?’ she said. ‘Good morning.’ She stirred the coffee and took a sip. ‘I heard you shouting in your sleep last night. You woke me up.’ ‘Sorry. Bad dream.’ ‘What about?’ He glanced at his mother, but she was absorbed in her reading. She turned a page and reached for her pen to make notes. ‘I can’t remember,’ he said. ‘Must’ve been pretty impressive. You were shouting your head off.’ ‘You didn’t think of coming to see if I was okay, of course.’ As soon as he’d said it, Ally knew that he might as well not have bothered. Sarcasm bounced off Meg like a dried pea hitting a boulder. ‘No.’ The toast popped up. Meg took it out. ‘You can scream your lungs out as far as I’m concerned.’ ‘Thanks a lot.’ ‘You’re welcome.’ He finished his cereal, washed the bowl and spoon carefully and laid them on the draining board. Then he went to pack his briefcase for school. Meg watched him go. Her lips framed a word that might’ve even got her mother’s attention if she’d said it out loud and picked up the marmalade jar. School that day was another nightmare. The run-up to the exams was on, but class followed class and Ally’s mind still refused to work. It was as if the dream had shouldered its way into every corner of his brain, filling it too full for anything else. Time after time he felt himself drifting, unable to concentrate. When he looked through his notes in the corridor at break, they made no sense, and he couldn’t even remember writing them. He put the folder away, leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. This couldn’t go on like this. The dreams were getting worse. Dream, rather, because it was the same one each time. It came every night now, and he’d been terrified to go to sleep for days, knowing he’d only wake up screaming half an hour later. He’d have to tell someone soon, because he couldn’t handle it by himself any longer. The only problem was who? Graham Soutar, the one and only friend he had, was off with flu, and anyway he bussed in. Not one of the guidance staff. They’d sympathise, yes, it was their job, but just thinking about their eyes on him, assessing him, deciding what they should do about it, who they should tell, brought him out in a cold sweat. His mother? Not his mother. She’d probably say it was just his age, that he was being silly and not to worry about it. If he could get her attention long enough for her to listen. So who do you tell when you think you’re going mad? He’d no option, really. There wasn’t anyone else. If he had to tell someone it would have to be Meg. He waited until his mother had gone into the study after dinner, like she usually did. As usual, too, Meg had the TV on, and she was watching one of the programmes that no one at school ever seemed to miss but Ally could never see the point of. He sat down on the couch next to her. ‘You know that dream I had last night?’ he said. ‘Mm?’ Her eyes didn’t leave the screen. ‘Remember you asked me what it was about?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘I’ve had it for five nights now.’ ‘Really?’ ‘Same dream. Exactly the same. All five times.’ Finally, she looked at him. Whatever she saw in his face made her reach for the remote control and kill the volume. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Tell me.’ On the TV screen, two people were arguing. He didn’t know who they were, or what the argument was about. They were just two dimensional figures, with no relevance. ‘It’s night,’ he said. ‘I’m in a clearing in the woods. There’s a fire in front of me, a small one, like a bonfire. There’re some sticks on the ground, small sticks, twigs, and I have to...I try to bend down and pick them up, but I can’t...move, I can’t...’ His mouth was dry. He swallowed and cleared his throat. ‘There’s a man, a man with a white beard, on the other side of the fire. He just watches. That’s all, just...watches me all the time, like I was some sort of...lab rat or performing monkey or something, and his eyes are...they’re...’ Ally stopped. He felt rather than saw Meg’s hand reaching for the remote and the screen went black. ‘So what happens then?’ ‘I wake up. It hurts too much, and I wake up.’ ‘You’re off your head.’ ‘What?’ Ally twisted round to face her. She was grinning at him. ‘Or going that way. It comes of being a total prat.’ ‘But -’ ‘Look. It’s your own fault, right? I know you’ve got highers coming, but you can’t let them mess everything else up. Get a life. Just ease off a bit and you’ll be fine.’ ‘That’s not it! That’s got nothing to do with it!’ ‘Listen!’ Meg was still holding the remote control. She pressed the button and the picture and sound came back on. ‘You want my advice? Give your brain a rest. Just that.’ She turned away. ‘Now shut up. I want to see this.’ Ally stared at her. Then without another word he got up and went upstairs to his room. He hadn’t believed things could get much worse, but over the next few days they did. He was caught in a vicious circle, afraid to sleep, exhausted at school, but now having to face his sister’s eyes at breakfast every morning. And the dreams didn’t stop. They came every night, each time worse than the last. He read in bed for as long as he could until he was too tired even to think, but that didn’t work. The dream, when it came, only went on for longer. At school, one after another of his teachers took him aside after class for a quiet talk about the need for effort. Finally, even his mother noticed that something was wrong. ‘You’re looking tired, Ally,’ she said one morning at breakfast. ‘Are you getting enough sleep?’ ‘Yeah.’ He reached for the cereal packet. ‘I’m fine. Honestly.’ Meg gave him a look from where she was standing by the sink. Liar , her mouth said. ‘You don’t look fine.’ ‘He works too hard,’ Meg said. ‘When was the last time you went out in the evening, Ally?’ ‘Shut up!’ Psycho! said her lips. She grinned. ‘Actually, Meg’s right,’ his mother said. ‘You’ve spent every evening this week studying in your room. It’s not -’ ‘Natural,’ Meg said. Her grin widened. ‘Healthy,’ Mrs Fraser finished. ‘But you’re right, Meg, it isn’t natural, either. Not for someone your age. Why don’t you get out more? Or at least ask some of your friends round. I haven’t seen Peter for ages.’ ‘Paul,’ Ally said. ‘Paul Henderson. He moved to Glasgow two months ago.’ ‘All right. Graham Soutar, then.’ ‘He’s got flu.’ ‘For goodness sake! Anyone else you like!’ ‘There isn’t anyone else.’ ‘What about a party, Mum?’ Meg said. ‘At the weekend?’ Her mother frowned. ‘Oh, now, I didn’t mean -’ ‘Just a small one.’ ‘Well…’ ‘Fantastic!’ Ally got up and emptied the rest of his cereal into the rubbish bag. ‘I’m off,’ he said. ‘See you.’ He collected his briefcase and took his waterproof jacket from the stand beside the front door. It looked as if it might rain later. [/fusion_modal][/fusion_builder_column][/fusion_builder_row][/fusion_builder_container]

[fusion_builder_container hundred_percent="no" hundred_percent_height="no" hundred_percent_height_scroll="no" hundred_percent_height_center_content="yes" equal_height_columns="no" menu_anchor="" hide_on_mobile="small-visibility,medium-visibility,large-visibility" status="published" publish_date="" class="" id="" link_color="" link_hover_color="" border_size="" border_color="" border_style="solid" margin_top="0px" margin_bottom="0px" padding_top="0px" padding_right="0px" padding_bottom="0px" padding_left="0px" gradient_start_color="" gradient_end_color="" gradient_start_position="0" gradient_end_position="100" gradient_type="linear" radial_direction="center center" linear_angle="180" background_color="" background_image="" background_position="center center" background_repeat="no-repeat" fade="no" background_parallax="none" enable_mobile="no" parallax_speed="0.3" background_blend_mode="none" video_mp4="" video_webm="" video_ogv="" video_url="" video_aspect_ratio="16:9" video_loop="yes" video_mute="yes" video_preview_image="" filter_hue="0" filter_saturation="100" filter_brightness="100" filter_contrast="100" filter_invert="0" filter_sepia="0" filter_opacity="100" filter_blur="0" filter_hue_hover="0" filter_saturation_hover="100" filter_brightness_hover="100" filter_contrast_hover="100" filter_invert_hover="0" filter_sepia_hover="0" filter_opacity_hover="100" filter_blur_hover="0"][fusion_builder_row][fusion_builder_column type="1_1" layout="1_1" spacing="" center_content="no" link="" target="_self" min_height="" hide_on_mobile="small-visibility,medium-visibility,large-visibility" class="" id="" hover_type="none" border_size="0" border_color="" border_style="solid" border_position="all" border_radius="" box_shadow="no" dimension_box_shadow="" box_shadow_blur="0" box_shadow_spread="0" box_shadow_color="" box_shadow_style="" padding_top="" padding_right="" padding_bottom="" padding_left="" margin_top="" margin_bottom="" background_type="single" gradient_start_color="" gradient_end_color="" gradient_start_position="0" gradient_end_position="100" gradient_type="linear" radial_direction="center center" linear_angle="180" background_color="" background_image="" background_image_id="" background_position="left top" background_repeat="no-repeat" background_blend_mode="none" animation_type="" animation_direction="left" animation_speed="0.3" animation_offset="" filter_type="regular" filter_hue="0" filter_saturation="100" filter_brightness="100" filter_contrast="100" filter_invert="0" filter_sepia="0" filter_opacity="100" filter_blur="0" filter_hue_hover="0" filter_saturation_hover="100" filter_brightness_hover="100" filter_contrast_hover="100" filter_invert_hover="0" filter_sepia_hover="0" filter_opacity_hover="100" filter_blur_hover="0" last="no"][fusion_text columns="" column_min_width="" column_spacing="" rule_style="default" rule_size="" rule_color="" hide_on_mobile="small-visibility,medium-visibility,large-visibility" class="" id="" animation_type="" animation_direction="left" animation_speed="0.3" animation_offset=""] Jacko got to his feet. Still breathing heavily, he picked up the thing on the ground beside him. It was a comb, a square comb made of gold.‘How did you know?’ he said quietly to Robbie. Then, when there was no answer: ‘How did you know?’ Robbie backed away from the hate he saw in his brother’s face. ‘You sent it!’ Jacko grabbed the boar’s huge head by the snout and raised it. ‘Damn you! You’re responsible for all of it!’ Robbie’s mouth opened in denial. Then the truth of the words hit him. Jacko was right. He had sent it. He had sent it twice now. ‘If we meet again, brother,’ Jacko said softly, ‘I’ll kill you.’ Three teenagers, Robbie and Jacko Ogilvy and their cousin Kat Lindsay, are caught up in a deadly triangle where their relationship with one another mirrors a tragedy played out over a thousand years before. If they are to survive, they must break free of the circle in which myth, magic and reality blur. A novella-length book, set (and written) in the 1980s, for young adults or for anyone who enjoyed the Alan Garner timeslip novels of the 1960s. [/fusion_text][fusion_modal_text_link name="chapter" class="" id=""]read the 1st chapter[/fusion_modal_text_link][fusion_modal name="chapter" title="Hexagon - Chapter 1" size="large" background="" border_color="" show_footer="no" class="" id=""] As the massive bulk of the aircraft carrier edged away from the flag-waving crowds on the quayside, Robbie Ogilvy reached across the table for another slice of bread. ‘A month.’ His brother Jacko’s eyes were fixed on the screen. ‘Give it a month. Two at most. It’s just the Argies, after all, we’ll beat them easy.’ ‘Since when were you a military expert?’ Robbie said. ‘Shut it, dork!’ ‘So make me, muscle brain.’ ‘Stop it!’ their father snapped. ‘Both of you! Eat your soup or the set goes off!’ ‘It shouldn’t be on at mealtimes anyway,’ Mrs Ogilvy said. ‘You’re as bad as they are, George. When Katherine arrives tomorrow we’ll have no TV until dinner’s finished.’ The boys looked at her, appalled. Their father didn’t seem too happy, either. ‘Come on, Mum! It’s only for the news,’ Jacko said. ‘Ten minutes, max. And Katherine won’t mind, she’d want to watch it too. Her dad’s probably on board, if they’ve brought him back.’ ‘That’s beside the point. Having the TV on at meals kills conversation.’ ‘Doesn’t show much sign of doing it, then, does it?’ ‘Less of your cheek, laddie,’ Mr Ogilvy growled. He got up, walked over to the TV set and pressed the off switch. ‘Your mother’s right. We’ll catch up later. It’s not as if anything’s happening yet. They’re just on their way.’ ‘Beats me why they need to go at all,’ Robbie said. Jacko grinned. ‘Why don’t you phone Thatcher and tell her? I’m sure she’d be fascinated.’ ‘Look, just because you can’t wait to -!’ ‘Now that’s enough, both of you!’ Mrs Ogilvy put down her spoon. ‘If you can’t sit down together for five minutes at a stretch without bickering, go and eat in the kitchen!’ They finished the soup in uncomfortable silence. Mrs Ogilvy took away the bowls and brought in the main course. ‘So what’s this Katherine like, then, Mum?’ Robbie said finally, when she had ladled the stew onto the plates and sat down. ‘You know very well. She and her mother were here six summers ago. You can’t have forgotten.’ ‘Come on! I was nine! And she was what, twelve?’ ‘Eleven. Her birthday’s a month before Jacko’s. Even so.’ ‘You saw her last year, didn’t you, when you went down for the funeral?’ ‘Getting excited, are you, Robbie?’ Jacko said, helping himself to potatoes, his eyes on the spoon. ‘Don’t bother. She won’t even look at you, boy.’ Robbie turned on him. ‘You can just -!’ ‘Now that is it !’ Mr Ogilvy’s hand hit the table, hard. ‘You’ve been told already. If the two of you can’t take part in a civilised conversation you’ll eat elsewhere and give us some peace for a change. Is that clear?’ They stared at him. ‘He started it,’ Robbie said sullenly. ‘And I’m finishing it. If it was Jacko tonight it’d be you some other night.You’ve been acting recently like a pair of five year olds. Worse.’ Jacko picked up his plate. ‘Fine by me,’ he said. ‘Stay where you are!’ his father snapped. Jacko shrugged and set it down again. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘So what was she like, Mum?’ ‘Just an ordinary girl,’ Mrs Ogilvy said. ‘Quite pretty, very like her mother when she was young to look at, although that wouldn’t mean much to you. Quiet, but then she would be, under the circumstances. I didn’t see much of her, actually. She came home for the funeral, but her father thought she’d be better off going back to school straight away, to be with her friends.’ ‘Par for the course,’ Mr Ogilvy muttered, reaching for the vegetables. ‘Now that’s not fair, George,’ his wife said. ‘Bob couldn’t stay long himself. He’s quite senior, remember, and he had a lot of arrangements to make before he went back out.’ ‘Oh, yes. I know that. But it was a strange setup to begin with, him on posting abroad, his wife in London and the girl away at boarding school most of the year. They didn’t even meet up for holidays, half the time.’ ‘None the less. And with Pauline gone now, not to mention this Falklands business, things are even more difficult for him. Having Katherine for the Easter holidays is the least we can do. She is a relative, after all, however distant.’ Mr Ogilvy grunted and concentrated on his stew. Then he looked up and pointed his fork at Robbie and Jacko. ‘I’ll tell you now, though, you two,’ he said. ‘There’ll be none of this nonsense while the girl’s here. You can be at each other’s throats again every minute of the day if you like after she leaves, but while she’s under this roof you’ll behave in a civilised manner. Is that clear?’ Jacko scowled at him, then shrugged. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘No problem.’ ‘There had better not be. Robbie?’ ‘Yes. It’s clear.’ ‘Just remember, then.’ ‘Besides,’ Mrs Ogilvy said, ‘it’ll be good for you to have someone your own age in the house. Barring that one visit I don’t think Katherine’s been to Scotland very often. Not to this part, anyway. You can show her around.’ ‘Oh, great,’ Jacko murmured. ‘And don’t forget, she isn’t used to boys. She’s an only child and she’s spent most of her life in an all girls’ boarding school.’ ‘Which doesn’t mean you can take any liberties,’ their father said. ‘That’s another thing I want you to remember.’ Jacko grinned. ‘Hear that, Robbie?’ he said. ‘Hands off, little brother. As if you need the warning.’ ‘I’m talking to you both,’ Mr Ogilvy growled. ‘Just remember she’s a guest, and behave accordingly.’ ‘I’m sure she’d be interested in the stone, for a start,’ said their mother. ‘She’s seen it before, I know, but she’s probably forgotten.’ [/fusion_modal][/fusion_builder_column][/fusion_builder_row][/fusion_builder_container]