Chapter 1
Long, long ago two rambunctious elf boys, Skippy and Maxwell, crept out of their orphanage bedroom window and clambered down the trunk of an ancient oak tree, growing outside their window. They wanted to greet the zenith of the Hunters’ Moon that evening. The two young elves had seen the full moon rising in the clear October skies and they decided to head towards the ruins of the local castle in order to celebrate this important elven festival.
As they began to dance in the midst of the ruined castle, they both heard a faint meowing coming from the shadows deeper in the castle grounds and they decided to pause their celebrations in order to investigate. As first they thought that they could see two pairs of glowing embers, like a roasting fire, but as they approached they found two tiny baby ruby-eyed kittens huddled together, shivering in the cool balmy October night.
The two young elves carefully picked the kittens up and nestled them gently in their elven cloaks, returning to their orphanage home, to show them to the resident priests the following day.
However, the following day, they were hesitant to confess their antics from the previous evening until they heard the sounds of Cardinal Snowfield singing “Onward Christian Soldiers” in the church study annex. Perhaps, if he was in a good mood, it may be the right time to explain what they had done and how they had found two baby kittens the previous night.
They both ran into the church office, to find Cardinal Snowfield looking mournfully at a portable television screen perched upon his desk. Apparently, “Christian Soldiers” had fallen at the first fence and the cardinal had “lost” the week’s church collection.
Skippy passed Cardinal Snowfield the two elves’ pocket money for that week, as Maxwell’s eyes spotted a remarkable coincidence from the “Racing Times” laying on the cardinal’s desk: two horses, The Vampire King and The Vampire Queen, were running in two consecutive races at Kempton Park, later that afternoon. The two elves suggested that Cardinal Snowfield could “invest” their pocket money to cheer himself up.
Suffice to say, both the Vampire King and the Vampire Queen came first in their respective races and, afterwards, Cardinal Snowfield took the two lost kittens to his heart in his subsequent glee. Despite displaying a “Found” poster on the church notice board the two small kittens were never claimed and so they became two well-loved pets of Maxwell and Skippy, named after the two racing horses at Kempton Park. Their strange sounding names seemed to fit well with their jet-black fur and brilliant red eyes. Although they tried to find out the history of their two new pets, it never dawned on them until many years later, why they had been abandoned at the castle ruins or what their background had been.
In fact, they never even noticed that their beloved pets failed to ever meow or make any cat-like sound. If only they had paused to wonder upon these things, but the minds of small children (both human and elven alike) are more interested in clockwork trains, jumping in puddles and other important childhood endeavours.
Chapter 2
The two small elves cared deeply for their black-furred cats and played with them constantly. Over the course of the following year, the cats grew to full size and became established and well-loved pets. During the day, Maxwell and Skippy would attend the village school, St. Nicholas Primary School, with the other children of the village. During the late afternoons and evening, the two small elves would take their beloved cats into the church graveyard and play ball with them.
The following years could only be described as being totally blissful. At last, as the final summer term at St. Nicholas School drew to a close, Maxwell and Skippy were invited to the annual biology field trip out at Callas Farms.
The two little elves enjoyed seeing fluttering butterflies in the shivering tall grasses and many other natural childhood delights that remain in young children’s dreams long afterwards, in the depths of the nights that follow. They were even lucky enough to spy a distance orca whale leap out of the ocean’s depths and crash back into the waves, like an exploding rocket on a November’s Guy Fawkes night. Most special of all, they caught a fleeting glimpse of a mother kestrel devouring a meal, whilst taking a break from attending her nest.
“Isn’t that a most beautiful bird,” exclaimed Skippy, standing in awe at the kestrel’s splendour and majesty.
“Indeed,” replied his elder brother. “This has been the most exciting end to a most fantastic school year.”
However, on the journey home, Skippy began to look forlorn and he started to whimper.
“I’ve lost my stick. I think I left it in the kestrel field,” he wailed, as tears began flooding from his eyes.
“Don’t fret,” consoled Maxwell, with a reassuring smile and a warm hand upon his brother’s shoulder. “We can quickly return and find it.”
But, as the two elves returned to Callas Farms, they were shocked to find the ground strewn with warm empty gun cartridges. In the breeze above their heads they saw a few blood stained feathers drifting away slowly away in the summer air. There was no kestrel to be seen commanding the skies and no kestrel attending her nest as they had been before.
“We can’t leave the eggs without a mother,” wailed Skippy. “They will perish within hours.”
As quick as a flash, Maxwell lofted Skippy into the branches and soon the two small eggs were safely stashed away in the young elfs’ pockets, like precious stones in a jewellery case.
“We can hatch the eggs at home, on our pillows, and then release the fledglings when they are old enough,” reassured Maxwell to his younger brother.
The two elves carefully took their delicate treasures back home and lovingly placed them upon their bedroom pillows. Their two cats, The Vampire King and The Vampire Queen assisted in warming the eggs and keeping them safe. After several days of careful nurturing and constant attention, both eggs successfully hatched and two most delightful and exquisite young kestrels were born. Day and night, over the next few weeks, the two small elves cared and nurtured their new-found pets and loved them both in the way that only an elf could.
Within months the young birds had grown and were old enough to be released back to the wild. Maxwell and Skippy trekked back to the kestrel field at Callas Farms with their two feathered friends. They released the birds and allowed them to soar away. Around the clear blue skies the two kestrels circled and then, to the surprise of both elves, the two birds returned to the hands of their rearers. It seemed that the birds had no wish to leave their trusted keepers.
Maxwell and Skippy returned home with their special friends. The six of them would soon become inseparable on their future adventures. Over the next few years, on their treks, the two kestrels and the two black cats would form a major part in many different adventures and would play an integral role in the rescue of the Wishing Tree – but more about that later.
Chapter 3
Maxwell and Skippy were training their kestrels in the vast open fields some distance from their home when their attention was caught by the rapid fluttering of a butterfly’s wings, flashing in the brilliant sunshine.
“Help! Help!” the tiny voice rang out across the grassland. “Come quickly! We need your help!”
The tiny insect flew in bopping circles of alarmed panic and, at once, the two elves knew that something serious was afoot. Without delay, they raced across the meadow gate and quickly followed the butterfly deep into the forest.
In the far distance, they could hear the crackle of splintering wood and smell the stench of burning timbers. It was clear that some serious and deadly menace was threatening the tranquility of the lives of the forest.
“Please be quick!” the butterfly called out in terrifying dread as it fluttered closer and closer to the source of the flames. “The Wishing Tree is in great peril and we can’t protect it for much longer!”
The group hurried to the raging inferno and the two elves saw a sight that filled their hearts with fear and dread. A blaze was consuming the forest and, deep in the heart of this awful inferno, a kaleidoscope of fluttering butterflies were swarming over a tiny shrub, desperately trying to fan the flames away with their tiny delicate wings. Just a few steps away, an abandoned hunters’ campfire lay discarded and smoldering in the heart of the scorching flames.
“What can we do?” screamed Skippy, watching one butterfly after another perish in the feeble attempt to save the tiny tree.
“We can’t get through this fire,” shouted Maxwell, raising his hands to shield his face from the heat of the inferno. “That tree will surely burn very soon!”
Then, without warning, the two kestrels of the elves stretched their wings aloft and shrieked out in unison. Together as one, they both rose from the gauntlets of their masters and, without fear or hesitation, they darted through the dancing flames. The two kestrels dropped to the ground beyond the fire and began to quickly peck the tiny tree from the soil. Next they were able to redeem it to safety away from the spiteful fingers of the roaring fires that were consuming the forest and they returned to the gauntlets of their trusted masters bearing their prize: The Wishing Tree.
Quickly, Maxwell took the small shrub from the claws of the birds and the group of them quickly retreated to a clearing, some distance away from the dangers of the roaring inferno.
“Thank you, thank you,” repeated the butterfly. “We will never be able to thank you enough for saving our treasured friend.”
“But who are you and what is this Wishing Tree?” asked Skippy, his head spinning with hundreds of unanswered questions to that day’s series of rapidly unfolding events.
“My name is Saxifrage,” replied the butterfly, “and the Wishing Tree has long been a great friend of ours, ever since the time of the Great Rift. (They shuddered.) Many years ago, it was discovered by a distant drab-grey ancestor of the butterflies and it was this very Wishing Tree that granted him the wish to be the most beautiful and colourful of all the forest’s creatures. You may know that some trees shed their leaves in the winter, when the bitter snows start to fall, but this tree sheds its leaves whenever it hears a genuine wish and grants it. There was no way that we could allow the tree to perish after receiving the response to our wish: to look magical and dazzling.”
“But, if it is so old, why is it so small?” enquired Skippy, scratching the side of his head in perplexed wonderment.
“Don’t ever be deceived by the size or the lack of size of an object,” replied Saxifrage. “Sometimes the smallest creatures can be the mightiest of them all. And now, we respectfully request that you help us to treasure and protect this magnificent plant for all times to come.”
“I think I might just have the perfect idea,” interjected Maxwell. “Skippy and I know of a skilled watchmaker in the town of New Brighton who could build a cryptex to keep the Wishing Tree safe.”
The five of them, the two elves, the two kestrels and Saxifrage, raced away to the seaside town and soon found a blacksmith who was able to direct them to the skilled watchmaker.
“Please, take this with my complements,” the master elderly craftsman said, handing the two elves a delicate cryptex. “I once heard tales of the Wishing Tree from my very own Grandfather, when I was a very young boy watching him work in his workshop, and it is my honour to give you the very finest cryptex from my collection.”
The two elves thanked the watchmaker and raced home, to place the cryptex in the safest place they knew. Soon they had returned home and the Wishing Tree had found a new home. It was safe and would remain so for all time to come.
Chapter 4
Later, one dreamy nighttime, the soft hushed pattering of tiny footsteps could only just be detected above the faint chorus of gathering cicadas: it was the return of the Sandman. He was attending to his nighttime duties of delivering dreams to the eyes of sleeping children. With muted steps, he stealthily crept into the room, carrying his precious treasure in his paws: a cache of finely crafted grains of sand. There, before him, lay the two young elves fast asleep in their beds, oblivious to the world around them.
The Sandman stepped forward and gently placed a single grain into the eyes of both elves. It was then that he spied the exquisite form of their cryptex on the bedside table between them. As the two elves continued their slumber they dreamt of meadows of tall whispering grass; the exploits of a magical travelling showman; long sultry hot summer days; a refreshing cool breeze beneath the spreading branches of a sturdy solitary tree and the bounding leap of two black cats with dazzling ruby eyes.
However, the attention of the Sandman was fixated upon the fine and delicate designs etched and painted onto the exterior of the bedside cryptex. With a hesitant paw, he reached forward and quietly prodded the cryptex inquisitively, enchanted by the delicate rotations and swirls of the device as it responded to his touch. Again and again, he poked and prodded and, again and again, the cryptex responded to his gentle endeavours. Then, suddenly and without warning, the pinnacle of the cryptex slid open and a casing, containing a tiny tree, glided up and began to revolve before him.
Had he known that he was looking at the Wishing Tree it is possible that he might not have made his following wish. However, the delights of the Wishing Tree were beyond the comprehension of the Sandman People and he was no exception to this.
“Their dream, I wish, would come true,” he murmured beneath his breath, as the two small elves continues in their blissful slumber.
All at once, the Wishing Tree heard the wish of the Sandman and it shed a single leaf in confirmation of his wish. Their nighttime visions would come true in the following days and these dreamy images were to be a prophecy of the adventures that lay before them both.
Chapter 5
Later, the following day while Skippy was playing ball with the Vampire King and Queen outside the cabin, a pair of weary footsteps could be heard making their way along the pathway nearby. Skippy looked up from his playful distraction and saw the friendly face of an elderly man trekking towards him.
“Good Morrow and Salutations!” the old man cheerfully called out and he raised a hand upwards in a friendly gesture of welcome.
Skippy’s eyes beamed as he saw the friendly face and he returned a respectful welcome.
“Hello and welcome to you too,” he piped out with a smile. “I’ve not seen you in these parts before.”
“My name’s River Falcon,” the old man replied, “but perhaps you may have heard of me by my stage name of ‘Professor River’ if you have ever been to the pier at New Brighton.”
“A professor?” giggled Skippy in delight. “A professor of Latin or Geometry?”
The elderly man smiled and stepped forward towards the small elf. He chuckled beneath his breath gently and winked a wizened eye in accompaniment.
“No,” he continued. “I am not an academic professor of some stuffy university subject. I am Professor River the Finger Smith. You may know of me as a magician or a conjurer but I prefer the term ‘Finger Smith’ as I do not perform mere tricks. If you come to my shows at the end of the pier you will see real magic!”
The old man reached an empty hand forward and grabbed his fist into the air before him. There in his hand now appeared a small black magic wand with two whitened tips at each end. A flicker of light lit the air and reflected into the sparkling eyes of the little elf. Skippy gazed forward in astonishment and his jaw dropped slightly, opening his mouth to form a tiny circle of quivering blushing lips.
The Finger Smith tapped the wand upon the palm of his empty hand and reached towards the ear of the small elf. There in his fingers was now a small banana, nestled firmly between the pads of his thumb and index finger. The old man balanced the fruit gently upon the collarbone at the top of Skippy’s shoulder and Skippy turned his head in surprise to see the face of a parrot staring back at him. Professor River smiled.
“If you are a magician, where is your top hat?” the young elf asked in bewilderment, to the old man towering before him.
“Stolen by fairies many months ago,” he replied with a sigh, “and I haven’t yet had time to either find it or buy a replacement.”
Skippy listened in wonderment as the Finger Smith continued.
“It was a hot sultry day and I was travelling from my home to the next show at New Brighton. I happened to pass through an open meadow; the weather was warm and the journey was long, so I stopped to rest in the shade of a large sturdy tree that was growing there. Within minutes I had dozed in the warmth of the day and when I awoke a short time later, my top hat was gone.”
“But how can you be sure it was fairies?” interrupted the small elf in astonishment.
“The meadow was vast and there was no one around. The only sign of presence was a single path of brushed-back grass leading towards the tree, the route I had taken to arrive there.” explained Professor River. “If only they knew that the top hat was magical, I am sure that they would have never have taken it.”
“But,” interjected Skippy, “why steal a top hat?”
The old Finger Smith tapped the side of his nose and a gold coin fell into the palm of his hand. He lifted the coin into the light and the sun sparkled and danced upon its surface like a symphony of constellations.
“The hat was covered in black satin and fairies love shiny objects,” he replied with a sigh. “I do hope that no bad comes from its misuse.”
He held the coin between his thumb and forefinger and pressed it into the palm of the little elf.
“A drink of water for an elderly man?” he enquired, “and then I can be on my way. I have many miles to trek and a show to perform tonight.”
Skippy took the small coin and fetched a refreshing glass of water from the cabin with enthusiasm. Within minutes Professor River and quenched his thirst and stepped away to continue his journey.
“Don’t forget,” he called, “if you see fairies with an old top hat, remember that the hat is magical. Take care with it. You may never know what supernatural conjuring may occur.”
And with that final warning he was gone. All that was left was a cloud of dry earth and dust that evaporated into the midday air like the diminishing smoke of an extinguished candle flame.
Chapter 6
“How do you attract a fairy?” Skippy asked, in curious wonderment.
“Go to the Valley of the Whispering Grass. Turn three times, play fine music, show something sparkly or even (if you are desperate) try potatoes dipped in honey,” replied the stranger helpfully.
Skipped nodded politely and plunged his hand deep into his pocket. The hard warm disc of a golden coin greeted his fingers reassuringly.
He repeated a thankful nod and continued his journey to school. His head danced of the thoughts of inky-black satin-covered top hats and the hidden multitudes of elusive fairies. He couldn’t wait to tell his brother of the knowledge that he had learnt.
Chapter 7
That weekend the two elves headed off to the Valley of the Whispering Grass.
“Where are you going?” the grasses whispered in unison, swaying gently in the summer breeze, as the two elves passed.
The young elves knew better than to engage a conversation with a multitude of gossiping grasses and they continued their trek through the valley. It was not long before they saw a mighty tree standing erect in the meadow, stretching it boughs across the landscape, sheltering its underlings with a cool and satisfying shade.
“I am sure that I recognise this tree,” exclaimed Maxwell with surprise. “I am also sure that we have never been here before.”
“Me too,” added Skippy. “It seems familiar but I don’t know why.”
If only the two small elves had probed their dreamtime they would have recalled a distant bedtime vision, long past gone, left behind in a Sandman’s wish.
“Let’s try here first,” suggested Maxwell, removing a flute from his pack.
“Yes, let’s,” responded Skippy, joining him on the ground by the tree, holding a small golden coin firmly between his fingers.
Within minutes, the two of them had begun circling the sturdy tree three times, playing a harmonious tune and holding the coin aloft so that it sparked whenever they passed into a sunbeam that squeezed between the tree’s foliage.
It was not long before the enchanted musical notes of the pair of flutes had attracted a small crowd of fairies, all eager to listen to the beautiful music and to catch a fleeting glimpse of the sparkling coin. One of them even dared to approach the pair of elves, enticed by the harmonies of the flutes, like a sailor of Ancient Greece to the Sirens’ voice.
“What wondrous melodies!” chanted the fairy, lured closer and closer.
“We’re looking for a black satin-covered top hat,” explained Maxwell, seizing his chance.
“There was one here just weeks ago,” the fairy exclaimed.
“”It was taken as a gift to the Fairy King Emperor,” interjected another.
And very soon, Maxwell and Skippy were able to piece together the circumstances of the top hat from the hundreds of voices that called out and interrupted. It had been given to the Fairy King Emperor as an offering, in which to store his array of jewels. He had eagerly accepted the gift and dropped four large rubies into it from his store of jewels. As he turned to place some more jewels, two black cats with shining, sparkling ruby eyes had magically jumped out off the top hat and bounded away. The Fairy King Emperor had thrown the top hat away into the deepest ocean, in rage at his loss. All sorts of sea animals had passed by and visited the top hat and turned into a magnificent menagerie of underwater monsters. A small grain of sand had fallen into the hat and arose from the sea as a mighty mountain, carrying the hat aloft. Some explorers had left a fire burning on the island as they left and a cinder was carried by the breeze into the hat. The mountain had erupted into a gigantic volcano, Krakatoa and the top hat had been engulfed in flames to be destroyed forever.
Indeed, Maxwell and Skippy accumulated so much information (and much more) it was difficult to comprehend all that was said and make sense of the whole affair. Even still, they were able to understand that the hat was destroyed and now they should turn their search to the two ruby-eyed black cats instead.
“I fear that this is going to be the start of one enormous quest, exclaimed Maxwell with a sigh.
Skippy nodded in agreement and a crowd of babbling fairy voices added a chorus of “Agreed” in unison.
Chapter 8
Maxwell and Skippy returned home later that day, to a friendly greeting of all of their pets. There were kestrels, rabbits, wolves and, of course, cats. One of the cats jumped up into Maxwell’s arms and it was then that Maxwell noticed the lack of a meow or friendly purr of welcome.
“Do you know what, Skippy?” exclaimed Maxwell. “The Vampire King has never purred once since we found him in the old ruins.”
“Come to mention it,” replied Skippy, “I think you’re right. I’ve never heard The Vampire Queen make a sound in all of these years either.”
Maxwell bent his head over the cat and rubbed the side of his face into its warm fur.
“Come closer, Skippy,” whispered Maxwell in a lowered voice to his brother. “Come closer and listen.”
The two elves placed the sides of their faces closer to The Vampire King. A silenced hush fell around them.
“If these are the King Emperor’s kittens,” exclaimed Maxwell, “there is no way I want to swap them for a pair of rubies, nor the combined treasures of all the fairies!”
“Agreed,” nodded Skippy. “We’ve had them for years and we are not going to lose them now.”
Maxwell lowered The Vampire King to the ground gently and coaxed the fur on the back of the silent cat. Skippy coaxed the Vampire Queen too and the two elves watched them both. The two cats looked up and returned their gaze and all four of them knew that all would be well.
Chapter 9
The next few blissful days turned into weeks and then into months. Finally, alas, these months were to become years; for one human year equates to ten elven years and a year in the life of a cat may seem just a day in the minds of elves. After some 120 years, which seemed to be a few days less than four months to the young elves, the grey hairs became denser around the muzzles of The Vampire King and Queen and a blurry haze of cloudiness replaced the sparkle in their eyes. Both cats became more and more reluctant to leave the sanctuary of their baskets, to watch the setting of the sun below the distant horizon from the beach. But the two elves still loved them as much as they did when they first found them in the ruins, all those years before.
Each month, they would lovingly carry their beloved pets in a play-wagon, to the Stone Circle to watch their kestrels fly and to see the full moon rise between the plinths. Each night they would lovingly tuck them to sleep in their baskets at the foot of their beds. And, when they feared the end was soon approaching, they would lovingly nestle to sleep on their beds, taking turns to cradle The Vampire King and Queen within their folds, so that the cats might know the warmth of their bodies and be reassured by the sound of their heartbeats as they curled into a ball of slumber each night.
It was from one of these nights that the two elves awoke to find that The Vampire King and Queen were no more. In place of the two furry balls of greying dark fur rested four large rubies, still warm from the life that had resided there from the night before.
Maxwell and Skippy arose from their nighttime sleep and held each other’s hand reassuringly, looking down at the four ruby treasures that lay before them. There was no hint of sadness in their eyes - for how can you mourn a life that was wholly content and perfectly happy throughout. They looked at each other and smiled in unison, remembering the past 120 years with immense fondness: the watching of dancing butterflies in the balmy summer evenings; the first delicate footsteps in the early snows of winter; the faux hide-and-seek games in the fallen autumnal leaves and the countryside treks with their two kestrels. Then they picked the four rubies up, placed them on their bedside table and they walked outside to greet the first rays of the morning sun. High above them, twinkling a last farewell, shone the Morning Star in the breaking dawn sky. The two elves looked up to the skies and knew that their two beloved pets, The Vampire King and Queen, had returned at last to their final home within the Thousand.
The Vampire Cats 
