The Last Apprentice: Fury of the Seventh Son (Book 13) Joseph Delaney. The thirteenth—and . Joseph Delaney for online ebook. The Last Apprentice: Fury of . Read "The Last Apprentice: Fury of the Seventh Son (Book 13)" by Joseph Delaney available from Rakuten Kobo. Sign up today and get $5 off your first. The Last Apprentice series is soon to be a major motion picture, Seventh Son, starring Jeff Bridges, Ben Barnes, Alicia Vikander, Kit Harington, Olivia Williams, .
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The Spook's Apprentice: Book One (The Wardstone Chronicles) . DOWNLOAD PDF '"I've just given birth to a baby boy," she wrote, "and he's the seventh son of a seventh son. with it, and one of them ran back to get the mason, the boggart, in a fury at being trapped under the stone, began to attack Billy's fingers. Editorial Reviews. From the Back Cover. The book will haunt you. It's an international bestseller. But DON'T READ IT AFTER DARK! Tom has everything he. The Last Apprentice: Fury of the Seventh Son (Book 13) and millions of other books are available for instant access. view Kindle eBook | view Audible audiobook.
Busy learning new things. I just wanted to go to bed then, but she had a lot to say. I married your dad because he was a seventh son. And I bore him six sons so that I could have you. Seven times seven you are and you have the gift. Doing what has to be done.
I just fought to hold back the tears. Now off to bed with you. My main is well respected in the neighbourhood. She knows more about plants and medicines than the local doctor, and when there is a problem with delivering a baby, the midwife always sends for her. Mam is an expert on what she calls breech births. Sometimes a baby tries to get born feet first but my mam is good at turning them while they are still in the womb. Dozens of women in the County owe their lives to her.
Anyway, that was what my dad always said but Mam was modest and she never mentioned things like that. So I wanted to make her proud. After thinking things through, I went across to the window and sat in the old wicker chair for a few minutes, staring through the window, which faced north. The moon was shining, bathing everything in its silver light. I liked the view. I liked the way it was the furthest thing you could see.
For years this had been my routine before climbing into bed each night. I used to stare at that hill and imagine what was on the other side. I knew that it was really just more fields and then, two miles further on, what passed for the local village - half a dozen houses, a small church and an even smaller school but my imagination conjured up other things.
Sometimes I imagined high cliffs with an ocean beyond, or maybe a forest or a great city with tall towers and twinkling lights. But now, as I gazed at the hill, I remembered my fear as well. Three generations earlier, a war had raged over the whole land and the men of the County had played their part.
It had been the worst of all wars, a bitter civil war where families had been divided and where sometimes brother had even fought brother. When it was finally over, the winning army had brought their prisoners to this hill and hanged them from the trees on its northern slope. It was said that some of these men had refused to fight people they considered to be neighbours. You see, from there I could hear them.
I could hear the ropes creaking and the branches groaning under their weight. I could hear the dead, strangling and choking on the other side of the hill. Mam had said that we were like each other. One winter, when I was very young and all my brothers lived at home, the noises from the hill got so bad at night that I could even hear them from my bedroom.
Mam came to my room every time I called, even though she had to be up at the crack of dawn to do her chores. When she came back, everything was quiet and it stayed like that for months afterwards. Mam was a lot braver than I was. Chapter Two On The Road I was up an hour before dawn but Mam was already in the kitchen, cooking my favourite breakfast, bacon and eggs.
Dad came downstairs while I was mopping the plate with my last slice of bread. As we said goodbye, he pulled something from his pocket and placed it in my hands. It was the small tinderbox that had belonged to his own dad and to his grandad before that. One of his favourite possessions.
And come back and see us soon. The Spook was on the other side of the gate, a dark silhouette against the grey dawn light. His hood was up and he was standing straight and tall, his staff in his left hand. I walked towards him, carrying my small bundle of possessions, feeling very nervous. To my surprise, the Spook opened the gate and came into the yard. We might as well start the way we mean to go on. When we reached the boundary fence, the Spook climbed over with the ease of a man half his age, but I froze.
As I rested my hands against the top edge of the fence, I could already hear the sounds of the trees creaking, their branches bent and bowed under the weight of the hanging men. We trudged upwards, the dawn light darkening as we moved up into the gloom of the trees. The higher we climbed the colder it seemed to get and soon I was shivering. It was the kind of cold that gives you goose pimples and makes the hair on the back of your neck start to rise.
Their hands were tied behind their backs and all of them behaved differently. Some struggled desperately so that the branch above them bounced and jerked, while others were just spinning slowly on the end of the rope, pointing first one way, then the other.
The trees bowed low, and their leaves shrivelled and began to fall. Within moments, all the branches were bare. When the wind had eased, the Spook put his hand on my shoulder and guided me nearer to the hanging men. We stopped just feet away from the nearest. Well done, lad. Now, tell me, do you still feel scared? Nothing that can hurt you.
Think about what it must have been like for him. Concentrate on him rather than yourself. How must he have felt? What would be the worst thing? The pain and the struggle for breath would have been terrible. But there might have been something even worse With those words a wave of sadness washed over me. Then, even as that happened, the hanging men slowly began to disappear, until we were alone on the hillside and the leaves were back on the trees. Still afraid? But that gift can sometimes be a curse.
Fear makes it worse for us.
The trick is to concentrate on what you can see and stop thinking about yourself. It works every time.
To contradict him would have got us off to a bad start. Then again, others are here with a definite purpose and they might have things to tell you. Just ghasts. You saw the trees change? So you were just looking at something from the past.
Just a reminder of the evil things that sometimes happen on this earth. A ghast is just like a reflection in a pond that stays behind when its owner has moved on. I followed him over its crest, then down through the trees towards the road, which was a distant grey scar meandering its way south through the green and brown patchwork of fields. It was a pit village and had the largest coal yards in the County, holding the output of dozens of surrounding mines. He walked at a furious pace, taking big, effortless strides.
Soon I was struggling to keep up; as well as carrying my own small bundle of clothes and other belongings, I now had his bag, which seemed to be getting heavier by the minute.
Then, just to make things worse, it started to rain. About an hour before noon the Spook came to a sudden halt. He turned round and stared hard at me. By then I was about ten paces behind. The road was little more than a track that was quickly turning to mud. Just as I caught him up, I stubbed my toe, slipped and almost lost my balance. He tutted. I shook my head. They were made of strong, good-quality leather and they had extra-thick soles.
The Spook's Revenge
They must have cost a fortune, but I suppose that for someone who did a lot of walking, they were worth every penny. The Spook took a piece of cloth out of his pocket and unwrapped it, revealing a large lump of yellow cheese. He broke a bit off and handed it to me. The Spook only ate a small piece himself before wrapping the rest up again and stuffing it back into his pocket. The mouth, when closed, was almost hidden by that moustache and beard. There were shades of red, black, brown and, obviously, lots of grey, but as I came to realize later, it all depended on the light.
Looking at the Spook though, you could see despite the beard that his jaw was long, and when he opened his mouth he revealed yellow teeth that were very sharp and more suited to gnawing on red meat than nibbling at cheese. With a shiver, I suddenly realized that he reminded me of a wolf. He was a kind of predator because he hunted the dark; living merely on nibbles of cheese would make him always hungry and mean.
I was soaked to the skin and my feet were hurting, but most of all I was hungry. So I nodded, thinking he might offer me some more, but he just shook his head and muttered something to himself. Then, once again, he looked at me sharply. It makes us stronger. Horshaw was a black smear against the green fields, a grim, ugly little place with about two dozen rows of mean back-to-back houses huddling together mainly on the southern slope of a damp, bleak hillside.
The whole area was riddled with mines, and Horshaw was at its centre. High above the village was a large slag heap which marked the entrance to a mine. Behind the slag heap were the coal yards, which stored enough fuel to keep the biggest towns in the County warm through even the longest of winters. Soon we were walking down through the narrow, cobbled streets, keeping pressed close to the grimy walls to make way for carts heaped with black cobs of coal, wet and gleaming with rain. The huge shire horses that pulled them were straining against their loads, hooves slipping on the shiny cobbles.
There were few people about but lace curtains twitched as we passed, and once we met a group of dour-faced miners, who were trudging up the hill to begin their night shift.
One of them actually made the sign of the cross. Nobody lived there - you could tell that right away. For one thing some of the windows were broken and others were boarded up, and although it was almost dark, no lights were showing. The Spook halted outside the very last house. It was the one on the corner closest to the warehouse, the only house in the street to have a number. That number was crafted out of metal and nailed to the door.
It was thirteen, the worst and unluckiest of all numbers, and directly above was a street sign high on the wall, hanging from a single rusty rivet and pointing almost vertically towards the cobbles.
This house did have windowpanes but the lace curtains were yellow and hung with cobwebs. This must be the haunted house my master had warned me about. The Spook pulled a key from his pocket, unlocked the door and led the way into the darkness within. The room was damp too, the air very dank and cold, and by the light of the flickering candle I could see my breath steaming.
What I saw was bad enough, but what he said was even worse. Know what you have to do? You need to be alert, not dreaming. Any questions? So I just shook my head and tried to keep my top lip from trembling. I shrugged. In some places time seems to move more slowly and I had a feeling that this old house would be one of them.
Suddenly I remembered the church clock. Until then, sleep if you can manage it.
Now listen carefully - there are three important things to remember. Cautiously I picked up the candle, walked to the kitchen door and peered inside. It was empty of everything but a stone sink. The back door was closed but the wind still wailed beneath it.
There were two other doors on the right. One was open and I could see the bare wooden stairs that led to the bedrooms above. The other one, that closest to me, was closed. Something about that closed door made me uneasy but I decided to take a quick look. Nervously I gripped the handle and tugged at the door. It was hard to shift and for a moment I had a creepy feeling that somebody was holding it closed on the other side. When I tugged even harder, it opened with a jerk, making me lose my balance.
I staggered back a couple of steps and almost dropped the candle. Stone steps led down into the darkness; they were black with coal dust. I closed the door quickly and went back into the front room, closing the kitchen door too. I put the candle down carefully in the corner furthest away from the door and window.
The flags were hard and cold but I closed my eyes. Usually I get to sleep easily but this was different. I kept shivering with cold and the wind was beginning to rattle the windowpanes.
There were also rustlings and patterings coming from the walls. Just mice, I kept telling myself. We were certainly used to them on the farm. But then, suddenly, there came a disturbing new sound from down below in the depths of the dark cellar. At first it was faint, making me strain my ears, but gradually it grew until I was in no doubt about what I could hear.
Someone was digging rhythmically, turning heavy earth with a sharp metal spade. First came the grind of the metal edge striking a stony surface, followed by a soft, squelching, sucking sound as the spade pushed deep into heavy clay and tore it free from the earth.
This went on for several minutes until the noise stopped as suddenly as it had begun. All was quiet. Even the mice stopped their pattering.
It was as if the house and everything in it were holding their breath. I know I was.
The silence ended with a resounding thump. Then a whole series of thumps, definite in rhythm. Thumps that were getting louder. And louder. And closer Someone was climbing the stairs from the cellar. I snatched up the candle and shrank into the furthest corner. Thump, thump, nearer and nearer, came the sound of heavy boots. Who could have been digging down there in the darkness? Who could be climbing the stairs now?
Maybe it was a question of what I heard the cellar door open and the thump of boots in the kitchen. I pressed myself back into the corner, trying to make myself small, waiting for the kitchen door to open.
And open it did, very slowly, with a loud creak. Something stepped into the room. I felt coldness then. Real coldness. I lifted the candle, its flame flickering eerie shadows which danced up the walls and onto the ceiling. There was no answer. Even the wind outside had fallen silent. Again no reply, but invisible boots grated on the flags as they stepped towards me.
Nearer and nearer they came, and now I could hear breathing. Something big was breathing heavily. It sounded like a huge carthorse that had just pulled a heavy load up a steep hill.
At the very last moment the footsteps veered away from me and halted close to the window. I was holding my breath and the thing by the window seemed to be breathing for both of us, drawing great gulps of air into its lungs as if it could never get enough. Just when I could stand it no longer, it gave a huge sigh that sounded weary and sad at the same time, and the invisible boots grated on the flags once more, heavy steps that moved away from the window, back towards the door.
When they began to thump their way down the cellar steps, I was finally able to breathe again. My heart began to slow, my hands stopped shaking and gradually I calmed down.
The Spook's Apprentice: Book One (The Wardstone Chronicles)
I had to pull myself together. It went with the job. After about five minutes or so I began to feel better. It was faint and distant at first - someone knocking on a door. There was a pause, and then it happened again. Three distinct raps, but a little nearer this time. Another pause and three more raps. Somebody was rapping hard on each door in the street, moving nearer and nearer to number thirteen. Now he will vanquish the Fiend once and for all. But it will require a terrible sacrifice: It's a suspenseful thrill ride that's "spine-tingling" Publishers Weekly and "anything but tame" Horn Book.
But don't read it after dark! He is a former English teacher who lives in the heart of boggart territory in Lancashire, England. His v We want your feedback! Spig appears and tries to kill Alice but she hurls salt at him which burns corrosively.
Personality Alice is a somewhat mysterious character, Tom often not knowing her true motives or how she will carry them out with him around. She is very protective about those she cares about, going great lengths in order to ensure that they are safe especially Tom. However, when it comes to her own personal safety, Alice will in fact hesitate to protect those she cares about if her life is in immediate danger, which is shown throughout the series.
Alongside her fierce protectiveness over her friends and family, Alice has a strong streak of bravery in her. Although she shows outstanding amounts of bravery and loyalty when concerning Tom, Alice wavers between being a benign witch and a malevolent witch after the events of Rage of the Fallen. After being brought back to the human realm by Pan, Alice is shown to be both skittish and wary of everyone and everything around her, not believing that anything she was seeing was real.
Tom manages to cover up the bluff, but it is still unknown whether or not Alice is able to cross running water, and prove that she is not a malevolent witch. Her hair is white after returning from the dark but grows back black.
Later, they develop a friendship with each other when Alice rescues Tom from a pit in Bony Lizzy's yard. In the Curse of the Bane, it seemed that they were going their separate ways, due to Alice's pact with the Bane.
However, Alice later makes a deal with the Bane, one that states he cannot attack Tom, nor his master. This shows that she still trusts Tom, and is looking for a further form of friendship with him.
In the spooks secret, she did not show any loyalty to the dark nor the light, and for the most part remained neutral. In this book, it is implied they start to like each other, as she always wants to protect him, with the Spook nearly having to tie her to a chair to keep her from going after him, and then Tom comparing the two of them to John Gregory and Meg, who used to be in love.
She helps Tom on several occasions in this book, and their friendship grows.
She talks to him constantly about how much she misses him. In The Spook's Battle she shows us loyalty to Tom by going to Pendle all by herself, trying to find out what happened to Tom's mother's trunks. In this book she seems closer to the light by helping Jack recovering from his mental sickness. Also by her bravery of entering Pendle alone. Due to Alice using many dark charms for Tom.
At the end we all think that Alice would return as a witch in the next book.It was hard to shift and for a moment I had a creepy feeling that somebody was holding it closed on the other side. It was certainly no place that I wanted to spend the rest of my life.
But I knew there was something else that made me different. Arkwright lives in a haunted mill on the edge of a treacherous marsh, and his training methods prove to be harsh and sometimes cruel. There were seven or eight of them sitting on a garden wall. I put the candle down carefully in the corner furthest away from the door and window. Jot that down. I heard the sound of their boots getting closer and closer.
Now his time is coming to an end. The Royal Ranger:
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