Gemini Thunder Read Online Free

an area of sixth-century Briton famed for its Celtic influences, cowering sarcophagal mists, and enchantment-driven sorcery.
    It also started all the settlement dogs barking again.
    ‘Citizens of Kennet, we bid you a very good evening,’ the young man shouted over the howling din, ‘and ask you to come and enjoy our little show.’
    Another long drum roll.
    ‘Please do not be afraid. You will come to no harm.’
    Another roll.
    Curious but hesitant, some of the villagers began to emerge from their hovels and edge toward the blazing makeshift stage occupied by the young man and his animals. Further drum rolls and a short tune on the wooden whistle brought more of them out. Soon there was a crowd standing just outside the arc of light thrown by the blazing tallow posts. The dogs had been quieted, and children clung to their parents’ hands and peered wide-eyed around their legs at the two bears. Putting down the drumsticks, the flaxen-haired, pigtailed young man picked up the lyre and strummed a few notes.
    ‘I would like to introduce my little band,’ he said. Pointing to the old piebald horse, he plucked a quick rising scale ending on a full chord.
    ‘This is Sir Valiant, a faithful piebald horse and friend, but, as you will soon see, he is no ordinary horse, are you, old fellow.’ Another chord and the old horse slowly dropped one forelock to the ground. As he bobbed his head in a bow, the parrot perched on his head, still facing backward away from the crowd, fluttered its wings to maintain balance.
    ‘And, as you have no doubt noticed, perched on Sir Valiant’s head and all the way from those mystic lands of the East, we have the most noble of parrots . . .’
    Three loud, strident chords.
    ‘Lord Scroop!’
    The parrot slowly turned around to face the crowd, bobbed its red-crested head three times, and then addressed them in a high-pitched cackle.
    ‘Lord Scroop, King of Britain, at your service.’
    There were one or two grins at the front of the crowd.
    ‘Who did you say you are?’ the young man shouted with one hand to his ear.
    The parrot added more sound to the high-pitched cackle.
    ‘Lord Scroop, King of Britain, at your service!’
    This time grins broke out all over.
    ‘Now then, have I missed anyone out?’ The young man looked out at the crowd with a puzzled expression.
    ‘The bears. You’ve missed out the bears,’ came a chorus of voices, many of them from the children. A horse and parrot were all very well, but bears were altogether different.
    ‘Ah yes, the bears. Now let me see. Do you think big brown bears should have names?’
    ‘Yes, yes,’ squealed the children.
    ‘I know what their names are,’ said a small boy at the front in a loud voice. ‘I heard you call them when they were eating the turnips at the well this morning. I was hiding in that tree over there.’ He pointed to a large old oak on the side of the clearing. ‘That one,’ he continued, pointing at Combi, ‘is called Combi. And the other one is called Nation.’
    ‘Well done! A combination of bears, eh. Here’s an apple for being a brave and clever boy.’
    He rolled his empty hands and produced a large, rosy red apple from the boy’s ear and handed it to him.
    The villagers began to clap their hands.
    As the orange evening sun sank over the Silbury Mound, Twilight walked slowly along the venefical stones, thinking about Rawnie’s words earlier that day.
    ‘The venefical duties placed upon you are onerous, especially as you only had seven years in which to learn,’ she’d said in that practical, no-nonsense tone she used when sure of her facts. ‘You need a companion. A Celtic soul friend who can share the burden with you in much the same way as you did with the long magus. Not the next in line—you’re many tens of years away from even beginning to search for a replacement to train, but a companion you can discuss matters venefical with, decisions, strategy, another viewpoint. I can’t do it; I am your