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AuthorsMadeleine ArnoldCaitlin BaileyJessica HockingEmma KennySamantha KennyEllen ToanKiera WardaChristie Williamson

IllustratorsRachel BarrettMaryam Ezad

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ParametersPrimary Character 1 ArtistPrimary Character 2 PoliticianNon-Human Character Red Tailed Black CockatooSetting Hidden GardenIssue Message in a Bottle

Random WordsHearty Plopped Amongst

Beef Stroganoff Ginormous

Copyright noticePublished by Caroline Chisholm College Year 11 Team.

90-98 Lakes Drive Glenmore Park 2745

Copyright © 2011 Caroline Chisholm College

All rights reserved. This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher.

Acknowledgements

We would like to thank our parents, staff and friends for their support.

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Chapter 1 Nature; her Canvas. Her Hands; the Brush

As the ominous green figure towered over Erica, she shuddered. It looked as though it might consume her with its overpowering immensity, choking her with its battle scarred arms. The sheer strength of it was demonstrated in its solid stance. Erica was immersed in the shadow it produced, even after years of experience; she had never been confronted with something so strange yet so beautiful.

She snipped.

The dense tree progressively began to resemble a kangaroo. Erica proudly stepped back and the satisfaction radiated from her face. Pandora tweeted encouraging reassurance. “Gee, Pandora. How did she slip under our care for so long?” sighed Erica loudly, wiping her sweat-speckled brow.

Erica Gawain felt that she was definitely part of nature. Her unique connection with the garden, hidden in the centre of Sydney, made her feel as though she was somehow its mother. She had formerly been an artist but since her grandfather passed away, she was now obligated to fulfil her family’s responsibility for the garden. As she adjusted her beret and hitched up her overalls, she understood how she was still essentially an artist - an artist where nature was her canvas and her hands, the brush.

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Sensing her exhaustion, Pandora swiftly flew over to Erica’s greenhouse, competently seized her drink bottle in her talons and plopped it at her feet, gently pecking her warmly on the cheek. “Thanks Pandora, you know me too well,” replied Erica sincerely. The bird followed her as a loyal companion, creating mischief and providing supportive surveillance for the garden. Her black feathers and red tail starkly contrasted with the lavish greenery. Pandora had served the Gawain carers of the garden for centuries and so the garden embodied the feeling of home and family for her.

Erica, dappled in sunlight, brushed the soil from her knees and sauntered over to the roses. She knelt down and wished that the children would come and play in the garden they once enjoyed. Erica believed in the majestic quality of the garden and longed to share the comfort it could convey to the community. It was heart-rending to witness such secret beauty that had the potential to bring joy to others. However, she understood that a world consumed by materialism seemed to devalue and even endanger the thriving magic of this serene garden.

Pandora held a Bottlebrush in her beak and circled Erica, slightly brushing her nose with every revolution. Pandora’s teasing disposition was a comforting presence, further enhancing Erica’s passion and interest in her art.

‘Okay Pandora, that’s enough now. Go have a break. I can see you need to stretch your wings,’ Erica laughed as she finished pruning the yellow rose bush. She was grateful for Pandora. She felt guilty that Pandora was cooped up in this hidden garden. She encouraged her to explore the city but, for some reason, Pandora’s loyalty never wavered. It was as if the bird had its own maternal connection.Pandora cheekily whistled in reply and headed for the Forum. For a bird, she was definitely very politically aware.

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Chapter 2 The Roman Time Warp

‘Ladies, gentleman, down to the next order of business: Sir Henry’s Park, which is currently located in a prime real-estate block of land within the centre of Sydney.’ Julius Pleaser, one of many middle-aged men amongst a sea of tweed-clad politicians, sighed wearily, barely even acknowledging the announcement made by the head of The Forum, where laws, bills and policies were formed. Although the words, “Sir Henry’s Park” sent shivers of recognition down his spine, the tired, plump man was far too invested in his day-dream to react. ‘The French development company, Gaul, has contacted us with the desire to destroy the gardens and build a museum dedicated to the history of Ancient Rome.’ Inexplicably, his heart leapt with horror. No. Not The Garden! Images, long forgotten images, arose unbidden from the depths of his memory.

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Flash A child running wildly, laughing merrily Flash Shears. Snip Snip Snip Snip. Flash A bird. Black and red. Trills. Flash Green hedges. Sculptures. Flash. A family. Without realizing his own actions, Julius yelled out in protest, flailing his arms violently. ‘Wait!’ Absolute silence. The Head cleared his throat. ‘Mr… Pleaser… Do you have something to say about the proposed development?’ Julius let out an awkward cough, shaking away the memories. ‘No, sir. Other than that it’s a brilliant idea. Yes. Boost tourism. Good for the area, yeah…’ he trailed off, mumbling half-hearted affirmations under his breath. Stumbling out of the door once The Forum had been dismissed with promises of continuing discussions during the next session, Julius was contemplative.The returning memories had muddled him up more than he’d ever been before.

What had he seen? What was it that he was remembering so clearly? So joyfully?

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With yet another sigh, Julius decided that the answers were not to be found within the cold corridors of The Forum. It was time to go home, and think, and decide.

As he strolled towards his ageing car, he barely noticed a flash of feathers as a black and red bird trailed after him, curious about the familiarity she had discovered.

--Julius plopped down onto his elegant chaise lounge, one hand cradling a bowl of his favourite dish - hearty beef stroganoff, the other hand clutching a red bottle of Dionysus, wine which had been maturing since 1901.

His ginormous pot-belly (much of which could be attributed to his fondness for spirits and beef stroganoff) served as a brilliant cushion for his beverages. In the background, opera was playing quietly - it seemed like the soundtrack for his entire life.

The hungry man was still deep in thought, pondering a mysterious past.

Slowly, sluggishly, more glimpses and snapshots of happy times hidden within a maze of green shrubbery, were returning to him. What did they mean?

Either way, he instinctively knew that The Gardens that were scheduled to be destroyed was the same garden as the one that was infiltrating his consciousness.

Impatiently, he shifted in his seat, contemplating what his next actions should be. He knew, subconsciously, that he shouldn’t allow the hidden garden to be harmed. If they were...

On the other hand... Politically, he was entirely an agreement with the plans. Nobody visited those gardens anymore. They were financially worthless.

Conflicted, he rose from his indent in the chaise lounge, and began to pace - which was no small task for one so hefty.

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In a moment of sudden inspiration, he glanced towards his writing desk, and nodded in determination. He grabbed a sheath of new parchment, grabbed a pen, and sat, completely determined, at the warm brown desk.

He moved, putting the tip of the pen to the parchment, and slowly, cautiously, began to write...

On the windowsill, a now empty, crimson bottle of 1901 Dionysus, glimmered in the afternoon sun, bathing the room in an ominous red.

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Chapter 3 A Bird’s Eye View

The maze of hedges was astounding. Any mere man would get lost attempting to navigate through their depths. Amongst the sculpted hedges, a narrow, well-trodden path had been woven but, at this point, it lay unmoving in the shadows cast by the midday sun. Pandora looked down at her home with a fondness brought on through reminiscing about the happy times that she had experienced in that area. The peaceful location of her upbringing was the only place she’d ever really known. As she flew above the line of the trees, she noticed the way that the sculpted trees cast their shadows on the ground. The most recent addition to this sea of artworks was a bottle shaped hedge. While unusual, it fitted in with the sculpted Harbour Bridge, and other natural replicas of local landmarks. The bold green creations spoke of hidden natural wonders. Pandora turned, using a slight updraft, and sailed back in the direction she had just come from. Making her way from the centre of the hidden garden,

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past Erica completing the final touches on the bottle hedge, over the maze of magnificent sculpted hedges, above the concealed pathway Pandora found herself flying above the open land that was Sir Henry’s Park. Sir Henry’s Park was a gorgeous green landscape, broken up by the smatterings of trees and the areas of shimmering reflected light belonging to the small ponds and of the serene, natural area. The park was in an ideal location, with a pleasant setting inside the bay of the City, partially bordered by the deep blue that belonged to the seaside. A small oasis completely nestled in amongst the bustling city, a picturesque setting of serenity.

Pandora came to a halt, settled on a branch that gave her a bird’s eye view of the entire park and took in the surrounds. The bird went unnoticed by the people making use of the valued and quiet area, people too absorbed in their own activities to take notice of such a small individual. Not long after she stopped to watch the activities in the park, men with bright orange vests walked into her line of sight. They were difficult to miss with the colour of their clothing standing out like white paint against a black canvas. The men appeared to be walking around the open area looking for something in particular, but it wasn’t clear to Pandora what the men were searching for in this natural spot. Her gaze swept the park once again and she noticed more of these people invading the peaceful landscape. A group of bright, orange vests began their invasion slowly but surely throughout the entire park. It was then that she decided it was time to find out what was going on. As she left her perch, it became apparent to her that there were two people conversing: one an orange vested man and the other one of the people enjoying the park on the fine day. She flew lower in an attempt to overhear what the two humans were talking about. She made her way over the top of the pair to pick up any part of the conversation. ‘We are surveying Sir Henry’s Park for the development of the new Museum of Ancient Rome,’ were the words uttered from the Surveyor’s lips. Unfortunately, this was the only fragment of the discussion that Pandora could hear without stopping and she advanced towards her home.

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The wind streamed through the feathers on her wings as she sped her way back to her hidden sanctuary, a peaceful setting that would quell the feeling of dread that was threatening to overtake her.

It felt like not a moment had passed that Pandora that arrived back at her garden and came to a stop atop the newly finished, bottle-shaped tree. Below her, her friend, the custodian of the garden, Erica Gawain, sat resting.

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Chapter 4 Pandora’s Bottle

She had to do something, anything to help. Erica may have been oblivious but she, Pandora, wasn’t. The garden needed to be kept alive. It was special, magical, she could feel it. This garden had been alive for all of time; passed down from generation to generation; in Erica’s family and in hers for them to guard together. She had to leave the garden, go into Sydney. There was a pull in that direction. She flew down from her sculpted nest to nip Erica an affectionate goodbye. She had a job to do, a destiny to follow. As she flew away Erica began to cut and shape a new tree and as she did, the shape of a feather began to emerge. Pandora flew high and she flew fast. Soaring over the patterned maze of sculptures in the hidden garden and then over the luscious green and the

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shimmering sapphire blue water of Sir Henry’s Park below. She flew through the city, weaving in and out of the bleak sky rises, reaching to the heavens. Her only guide was the pull of her heart and the wind beneath her wings. The roar of the wind surrounded her and drowned out the sounds of the busy, crowded city below. Then she found it. The second window from the right, on the fifth story of the apartment block on Octavius Street. She hadn’t stopped flying for an hour, except of course to steal a bagel from a police officer passing below; she was hungry after all. After an hour of flying she had reached the spot that pulled her. And now she was stuck. She knew she was in the right spot, but what was she supposed to do? The window was open and, taking that as an invitation, Pandora hopped onto the window sill and peeped through the blinds. The apartment was obviously owned by a wealthy person. Probably in politics or real- estate; she hated real-estate men, at least politicians were interesting with their constant banter and insults. A ginormous deluxe espresso coffee machine occupied the side of the bench closest to her. Top of the range appliances filled the room, their stainless steel doors shining in the light. On the other side of the room was a bonsai tree in the shape of a bird. That looks like me thought Pandora on a second examination of the plant. Opera music filled the apartment. Directly across from Pandora was a round man examining a piece of paper whilst cooking what smelled like beef stroganoff. Next to him was an empty red bottle. There was a tap at the door, the man looked up, a panicked expression crossing his face. He quickly stuffed the note in the bottle and left the room, placing the bottle on the window sill out of sight of any visitors as he went. Dionysus 1901 read the label, it was obviously a wine of some sort.

It suddenly hit her. This is what she was looking for. This was it. This ominously red bottle was what had pulled her. Now all she had to do was get it to Erica and hopefully, just maybe, they could save the garden. She dived down at the bottle, scooping it up in her talons. It was heavy, but she had to get it back to Erica. She soared out of the window and started the steep ascent to the skies, heading in the direction of the hidden garden just as a round belly began to re-enter the room.

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Chapter 5 Crimson Messages

A glimmer of red caught her eye, a sharp comparison against the dazzling, cloudless blue. She turned away from the feather she was fine-tuning with her smaller pair of secateurs, shielding her eyes from the sun as she gazed at the glistening ruby. Pandora, mischievous Pandora, had, it seemed, a beacon of scarlet grasped in her claws. As the majestic bird flew, her usual elegant soaring hindered by the weight at her feet, Erica swallowed nervously, unable to suppress the shiver; it was a warning sign. The bright beacon of crimson warning her, reminding her of her least favourite plant, the dreaded Kangaroo Paw. As pretty as the astonishing bright red flower of the plant is, it was susceptible to frost, and frost was a common dilemma in the city. At every attempt to grow the Kangaroo Paw, it withered and left a bare patch in the garden that even she, with her inherited green thumb, couldn’t replace. Pandora, squawked fretfully as she dipped lower through the sky, edging closer, leaving Erica with a sense of unease. That shade of red left her nervous. It was a sickly red.

She almost sighed relief as she realised it was simply an empty bottle of red wine, an expensive 1901 Dionysus, and swatted at Pandora cheekily as she hopped around the bottle, squeaking loudly as if pleased with herself. Erica had to admit it was quite a feat carrying a bottle back to her Hidden Garden, and one mimicking her size at that. But, bottles and other trash of the city didn’t belong in her beautiful garden; their toxins would infect the splendour of her sanctuary.

‘Don’t bring back rubbish, Pandora. Go play your tricks elsewhere.’

She scooped up the bottle, discomforted about her superstitious worries, about to search for a mostly unused, inorganic bin when, to reassure herself she was being irrational about her nervousness, she glanced at the bottle again, but instead froze where she stood, unsure about her next action. Inside the bottle was a curled piece of parchment, evidently a letter or note of a sort. Its presence did nought to calm her foreboding. Another

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squawk from Pandora, as if urging her to take action, shattered the stillness of the garden; even the birds had paused, it seemed in mid-flight for the burst.

She tipped the bottle and shook the letter from its enclosure, feeling her stomach fall as each insignificant, seemingly unfeeling word attempted to ruin her garden’s existence, and hers. The Hidden Garden’s safety was in jeopardy...they were after it, going to demolish her family’s line of work of generations, and for what? A museum to cover the history already in place. The Forum, apparently, had decided that the Hidden Garden wasn’t wanted anymore, just like every piece of sanctuary and peace shaped within this city by the artists mind. They wanted to destroy it, so Erica had to do all within her power to protect it.

They were not taking her garden!

Her face flushed red as the anger sunk in, started to consumer her. How could they try to take her garden? The anger at picturing countless, faceless men ripping up her prized Acacias and Banksias, hacking at her hedge sculptures with sharpened axes. The mortification of it all fuelled her resentment towards those intending to destroy it. Her anger was such she had to restrain herself from flinging the secateurs into her newly completed feather masterpiece.

Pandora fluttered above her eagerly, chirping her own disagreement of the plan. Erica glanced at her and gave a reassuring smile, attempting to stifle her fears and failing drastically. None had entered the garden in years, and now they wanted to destroy it. It was degrading in the highest possible way. But, she felt a small amount of satisfaction too; if someone sent the message in a bottle, someone remembered the garden. It may be hidden, but it wasn't forgotten from everyone. She had to send whoever gave her the message, for she couldn’t name a person willing to help besides them. And why hadn’t they added a name? It was difficult enough trying to send a message without leaving her beloved garden, but now she had to do it blind. Her eyes landed on Pandora, smirking to herself softly. She could always give a reply message to the beautiful bird, but who would approach a cockatoo with such a mischievous stare in her eye willingly? No, she would reward the person who gave the message, showing her appreciation.

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Erica edged towards the empty patch in her garden, the dreaded Kangaroo Paw ring. Her newest attempt at growing the majestic, sensitive plant was withered in a stoop that barely resembled a plant. She crouched next to it, a sadness coming over her as if she could feel their pain, and mourned with them. Slowly, she reached out a petite hand, coarse with the years of constant gardening but soft with the fragility plants demanded. The will to thank the person who sent her the message filled her thoughts, her consciousness. She tried to stifle the resentment towards the ones wishing to destroy her garden, her livelihood, and fill her thoughts and intent with gratitude and appreciation, her kindness and benevolence. If her anger spread through her will, it would only result in the plants withering more; she could not let anger control her action at the moment, for her fear of what it could do. She had been taught to have humility and gentleness, and it was those she channelled into the withered bud of the Kangaroo Paw, with the intense intent to thank whomever sent the message in the bottle. “Be thankful,” she whispered to the shrivelled, browned flower clasped in her hands. She let go and sprung to her feet, a soft smile playing on her face as the plant altered before her. It shrunk inwards slightly, shuddered, then grew. The brown crust grew into a deep, eventually brightening green, and the flower deepened until a crimson red burned at the edge of each branch. The plant gleamed, a perfect sculpture of happiness and joy. She usually didn’t use these talents, these abilities, unless she felt a powerful emotion towards events, and today she undeniably believed she had had enough emotion. She knew her gratitude would be conveyed to the messenger. She didn’t know how, but the plants inherited her will. And the message would be conveyed. She just knew.

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Chapter 6 Fat Man Running

Pandora remembered the day the malicious tractors and other humongous machines came rolling towards the hidden garden, like it was just yesterday. The clear water pulsating throughout the hidden garden vibrated gently with the imminent rumbling of the machines, the leaves and foliage unaware of the danger that loomed. Pandora examined the foreign machines, exploring how the cogs and levers worked together for one common goal: to destroy the hidden garden. She thought about how life and nature in the hidden garden coincided harmoniously living as one balanced ecosystem and began to compare it to the life of the machines. Those machines had no soul or love vested within; the parts of the machines united not for good but to destroy the life residing in the hidden garden, a life based upon intrinsic connections: the ants feeding on leaves, the water nourishing the roots in the ground to inspire the growth of the plants and trees. She sat there in one of the tall lanky gum trees that grew

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in the hidden garden, a tree that was as high as the heavens, with a long slender trunk that had tree sap and bark embellishing its surface. This tree was old and wise; able to see everything that goes on beneath it, it could see the machines coming fiercely towards the garden, claws clenched ready to put up a fight. Pandora’s eyes were glued to the machines observing the steam continuously rising from their engines, a steam polluting the clean and pure air that circulates throughout the hidden garden. A steam emanating anger, hate and ignorance to the beauty vested within this hidden garden. Pandora said to herself in an exasperated tone, ‘Gee whiz what are we going to do about these steam monsters that have a sinister intention to destroy our hidden garden?’ The whispers of truth, sincerity and magical luminescence that linger constantly over all who enter the realm of the hidden garden threatened to be ruined. Pandora gazed into the sky reflectively; ‘Oh what can I do to save the hidden garden?’ From her position in the wise old gum tree, Pandora could see a tall, prestigious building casting a large shadow over Sir Henry’s Park that was sprawled messily beneath it. Pandora used her excellent vision and saw the strict, unforgiving, stone lines that formed the building, not a hint of plant life present on the building merely beneath it. Something inside Pandora at that very moment quivered. She had a terrible sense that the source of the destruction of the hidden garden lurked within that building. Across the park Julius Pleaser felt suddenly compelled to walk outside of his apartment building that overlooked Sir Henry’s Park. He walked outside eagerly drawn towards a dead Red Kangaroo Paw that lay lifelessly near the building. As he walked curiously and slightly hesitantly towards the flower it began to glow a luminescent green colour. The closer he came toward the dead Red Kangaroo Paw the greener the flower became. His eyes were transfixed on the flower unable to avert his stare; the more he looked the more life that seemed to seep back into the dead leaves and petals of the Red Kangaroo Paw. Life flourished and was renewed in that instant. Shock consumed the mind of Julius Pleaser; he began to contemplate what a sign such as that could signify. Julius Pleaser started running his big jelly blubber, beef stroganoff filled belly flopping around loosely as he attempted to run at a pace slightly faster than a normal person’s slow walk. He ran up to a window.

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Chapter 7 The Meeting

He looked with his tired eyes out the transparent pane of glass fixed in between the brown bricks that formed the wall of his office. As he watched the people rushing about their daily lives, he noticed again the four menacing tractors grinding their way through the city streets as though they were monsters, searching for their prey in the wilderness. Directing his gaze upwards, he saw a bird, soaring carelessly through the sky. So free, so beautiful. The memories that once again flashed to his mind of his former days made him feel like the bird. A glimpse of a crimson feather revealed itself as the bird flew closer. The contrast between this colour and the sky was simply striking. Images flashed into his head, like a tidal wave, consuming all his thoughts and prompting him to journey forward to the hidden garden that resides in Sir Henry’s Park. The route of such a journey was fuelled by the reminiscence through his affiliation with the environment of the hidden garden.

Suddenly he remembered it all: the journey from his former home... across the main road, dodging the cars zooming on the bitumen, the run across

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the stretch of land, soaring like a bird, his laughter escaping from his lips, contrasting against the sound of the rushing vehicles. If only he could relive this feeling he experienced, the feeling of youth, the feeling of being free. Suddenly he felt claustrophobic, the walls of his office were closing in on him. He felt tiny and couldn’t breathe, gasping for air he had to get out. Sweat started to form on his forehead in tiny beads. Using the back of his hand he wiped it and started out the door.

Stumbling through the narrow corridor, he ran to the first flight of stairs. He started running down, but lost his footing and began to bounce and tumble down the hard carpeted floor. His buttocks bounced and flounced down the stairs until finally he arrived at the bottom of the building and boinged out the door his bottom still fully intact. Catching his breath he hastily made his way out the front door of his apartment.

The rush of fresh air hit him like a tonne of bricks. Stretching his limbs, he walked to the garden, his memory the only source paving the way. Entering the garden, tree sculptures rose from both sides. They were so perfect, he felt insignificant next to them. The back of a female figure faced him. She was carefully pruning the largest tree with a pair of silver secateurs that were rusting, the brown corrosion slowly eating away the blades. Hearing the crunching of my footsteps, she swiftly turned around, secateurs in her hand held out like a weapon. Her face was familiar and a spark of recognition flew between them. Her eyes lit up as she whispered, “Julius?”

‘I-I know you from somewhere,’ he stammered in disbelief.

‘A far off dream...’ she replied, still staring. ‘So long ago. I remember. You left.’

‘I did not want to,’ he defended, no real heat in his voice. “I was not made for a life of nature and canvas.”

‘The longer you were gone... the more we forgot.’ Stunned, she took a step backwards, into the welcoming arms of her beloved hedges.

‘I wish now, that I had stayed,’ he admitted quietly. ‘I would’ve been happy here. Protecting you as you did the trees.’

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Chapter Eight Hell Hath No Fury Like the Earth Scorned

The mismatched pair turned towards each other with horrified eyes as the sound of man-made monsters reached their ears, at the doorsteps of the place they both loved. Ready to destroy.

Pandora, flitting between the trees and hedges, trilled in panic, swooping down towards them in warning.

They are coming.

‘Oh god,’ Erica breathed, her eyes wild. ‘What do we do?!’ Frantically, she began to pace the well-cared for turf of the garden.

Equally as internally panicked, although on the surface remaining as calm as only a politician could, Julius grunted in frustration. If they were already here, legally, they were already unstoppable.

Legally...

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They could do nothing.

A plan, tiny and wavering, started to shine in his squinting eyes. Pandora, still circling above them, screeched yet again in warning. They had to hurry.

Moving more swiftly than a man his size and age should be able, Julius grabbed the shoulders of the hyperventilating girl in front of him.

‘Magic!” he yelled forcefully, loosening his grip on her only slightly, as if scared to lose grip of the plan formulating in his mind.

‘Yes, magic, and?’ she mimicked doubtfully, her resigned tone making it clear she already counted this battle as lost.

‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ he demanded. “You’re the one who sent me the sign - the dead flower, it grew, it strengthened before my very eyes!’

‘What has that got to do with anything?’ she glared in defiance, daring him to oppose her pessimistic view.

‘You silly girl, you can do magic!’ he cried, as if this were a commonplace attribute. ‘This whole place is magical! If you can do that at a distance with one plant, couldn’t you do a lot more if they are close and a magical part of the garden itself?’

Erica blinked owlishly, as if considering for the first time that her precious plants could be used as a weapon. To protect.

Her eyes hardened, suddenly she saw her home with a new perspective. She knew what she had to do to fulfil her destiny as a guardian.

‘Let’s go.’

--

The sky was angry, ominous. The rumbling of the dark clouds accompanied the roars of the engines in a devastating orchestra. The monstrous machines were at the gates of the gardens, their controllers unaware of

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the magic hidden within the twists and turns of a long abandoned maze. An ancient magic gifted by the earth herself- one they were about to decimate without a second thought for what the loss would mean.

Hidden behind a barrier of leaves and branches , two figures, seemingly out of place, paced and plotted, preparing for a battle the likes of which the world had not seen since the time of kings and knights and dragons.

Erica knelt to the ground, placing her hand in a gentle caress usually reserved for loved ones, on the earth beneath their feet.

‘Be strong,’ she whispered, ‘help your home.’

And suddenly, as if the sleeping giant beneath the earth had shifted, they were at war.

Boulders, strong and ancient, grew like flowers from beneath the ground, stopping the machinery in their tracks and raising them upon deadly pedestals.‘Destroy,’ she whispered, the air fluttering around her. Julius, standing behind her, shuddered at the power that was coursing through every fibre of the garden. He was little more than an observer, now.

As vines snaked across the dirt, serpentine and deadly in their movements, the humans who controlled the machines fled in unfettered terror.

Julius heard, heart swelling with satisfaction, as the vines under Erica’s control ripped apart the outsides of the machines, tearing and plundering unmercifully.

Trees, moving more freely than considered normal or natural, used their equally as monstrous branches to obliterate what was left of the gutted, smoking piles of metal and corrupted liquids.

‘Consume,’ she hissed, her eyes glowing with the power of the earth beneath her fingertips.

With a shuddering, deafening bellow, the very foundations of the earth itself rose up, vengeance written on every movement. In quick, precise

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movements, the ground parted, and swallowed the smouldering machines whole. As quick as the actions began, they disappeared, leaving little trace of its destructive effort behind.

The trees, having returned to their normal positions, stood a little taller, prideful.

Erica, having also risen from her knees, dusted off the front of her clothes and smiled at the awe-struck man in front of her.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’ve saved us.’

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Chapter 9A Hidden Garden

Roaring cars, the constant wailing of sirens and the shouting of everyone trying to speak over the top of everyone else. These are just some of the things you will find in the city. There are crowds of people like flocks of pigeons, there are too many to count. Each one late to a meeting and so understandably, each one in a more hurried frenzy than the last.

This city is comprised of tall, towering buildings. Buildings with so many levels, most of them are vacant. You can almost hear the eerie silence of these uninhabited levels, as the dust gathers on the shelving and desks.

It is a tiring and a strenuous place to work in, even more so if you are a resident. The city never sleeps, literally. It is as if no one has time to step

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back and smell the roses. No one appreciates the little things. No one can see the beauty in the city. Well, at least the majority.

In this repetitive city though, there is a place so beautiful, it is almost as if it has leapt from a painting. It is as if you can actually breathe there. Things become clear though people passing by barely even notice it. People who have lived in the city for all their years have never laid eyes on it, and how could they? They have their meetings to go to and work to complete. Who has the time for that?

This place, you can find on a street by the name of Octavius. Follow the road for a while and in the middle of the city you will find a park. Strange isn’t it? A park surrounded by those monstrous buildings. There is a feeling of sadness that surrounds this park, for what it has been transformed into.

Before the city was built, there were gardens, one house here and there but that was about it. Then the population grew, more people came, the gardens shrunk. Then more people came. More shrinking and more building. Shrinking. Building. Shrinking. Now there is but one garden in this whole city, reverted into a park. A simple park with a bench, some grass and a few trees scattered about. The gardens are gone. There are no elaborate flowers pruned to perfection, no sweet aromas. Just a park. Saddening isn’t it?

Known to the maps, this place is called Sir Henry’s Park. A park that will go down in history because of the wonders that occurred there, not too long ago.

The park is nice, sure, but for eager eyes it is much, much more than that. What many people may not know, only the handful that do, is that there is even more to the park than meets the eye. Explore it vigorously, it may take you quite a while, but the end result will be well worth it.

If you find it, you will be able to breathe. There is a garden, hidden away in this park, hidden from prying eyes. The air is actually fresh and clean there. The only scent you will actually be able to smell is that of the Banksia’s and Acacia's. The fumes of the trucks and cars and the constant smell of petrol have been blocked from this hidden haven. Almost as if the garden is purposely trying to keep the stench of the city out.

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There are creatures and objects in this garden that have never been seen before. These amazing creatures act as if they are that little bit of magic added to the garden. The most bizarre shapes and sizes they are collected in. You can tell they are well taken care of, watered and pruned everyday. They cannot move these creatures or simply may not want to. After all, who knows what eyes may be watching?

These creature’s figures are always changing. Each week they morph into a new beauty, as if shaped by an artist. They are a rare sight to see.

So if you can, try to find this garden. This hidden beauty. Just follow the stepping stones, one hop at a time. It is lined with of sweet scents. Flowers, never smelt before. The air is crisp there. The creatures lie in wait. All you have to do is get through the keepers of this haven. A woman in overalls, much too big for her, the grass stains permanently soaked in the scuffs and a man in a well kept suit, much too big for him, the Penny’s Paige weight loss program forcing him to throw aside the much loved beef stroganoff for a caesar salad. And the last guardian in the garden, you will not find on the floor. Look up, and if you are lucky, you might just spot the colours of black and red, the colours that keep the garden...

...hidden.

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