Stormriders

  What readers say about the Viking Magic books

  ‘I loved Runestone and now my class is reading Wolfspell, they are both sooo sooo good.’ Rebekkah

  ‘Your latest book is a ripper! Congratulations!!!!!’ Matthews family

  ‘Your first two books were amazing, I couldn’t believe how real they felt. I finished reading them in two days.’ Kathryn

  ‘Hurry up with the third book please.’ Ben

  ‘Highly recommended.’ Magpies

  ‘Another winner.’ www.aussiereviews.com

  As a child, ANNA CIDDOR loved reading, drawing and writing, but she never dreamed of becoming an author and illustrator. It was only when she married and had children of her own that the idea first crossed her mind. In 1987 she decided to take a break from her teaching career and ‘have a go’ at writing a book. The teaching career has been on hold ever since! Anna is now a full-time writer and illustrator, with over 50 titles published. She based the stories of Runestone, Wolfspell and Stormriders on research into real Viking lifestyle and beliefs.

  Anna lives in Melbourne, Australia, with her husband and two children.

  In 2003, Runestone was chosen as a Children’s Book Council of Australia Notable Book and shortlisted for several Children’s Choice Book Awards.

  To find out more about Vikings and the background to the Viking Magic series, go to:

  www.viking-magic.com

  First published in 2004

  Copyright © text and illustrations, Anna Ciddor, 2004

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

  Fax: (61 2) 9906 2218

  Email: info@allenandunwin.com

  Web: www.allenandunwin.com

  National Library of Australia

  Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:

  Ciddor, Anna.

  Stormriders: the third book about the adventures of Oddo and Thora.

  For children.

  ISBN 1 74114 360 8

  eISBN 9781952534003.

  I Title. (Series : Ciddor, Anna. Viking magic; bk.3).

  A823.3

  Designed by Jo Hunt

  Typeset by Midland Typesetters

  Teaching notes for Stormriders are available

  on the Allen & Unwin website: www.allenandunwin.com

  Secret rune messages

  Runes are the letters of the Viking alphabet

  (the Futhark).

  Runes also have magic powers.

  If you unlock the secrets of the rune messages in this

  book you will find out how to make your own

  (the Futhark at the end of the book will probably come in handy).

  Thank you to all the wonderful people who helped me create Stormriders.

  Thank you

  to my special readers Hannah and Yianni, Jemima and Miranda, Sophie and Elissa

  to my inspirational editors Sarah Brenan and Rosalind Price

  to my sister Tamar who always helps me find the wood among the trees

  to Dennis King for his advice on Old Irish

  to my incredible husband Gary for his enthusiasm and valuable suggestions

  and

  to the grade 5 class at Grimwade House, Melbourne Grammar, who loved my first unpublished draft of Runestone and gave me the confidence to finish writing the series!

  Anna Ciddor

  Melbourne, January 2004

  Contents

  1 Invaders!

  2 Grimmr’s thrall

  3 The Sheriff’s return

  4 Encounter in the wood

  5 A fine curach

  6 A basket full of holes

  7 Around the firepit

  8 Oddo’s dilemma

  9 Which way?

  10 Shape-change

  11 The cauldron

  12 Storm

  13 Shipwreck

  14 Ice and fire

  15 The cave

  16 The light in the rock

  17 Search

  18 Father Connlae

  19 Goatskin

  20 Under the hood

  21 The plan

  22 Striker

  23 Unmasked

  24 A gift for the King

  25 Prisoners

  26 The black horse

  27 Lugnasad

  28 A bargain with the King

  29 Hurry!

  30 Treasure

  31 Stormrider

  32 Gyda’s secret

  1

  Invaders!

  Dúngal hoisted up his tunic, tightened his girdle, and waded into the river. The surface of the water sparkled and danced. He squinted as he scanned its sandy bottom for smooth, round pebbles to use in his slingshot.

  From behind him came the splash of oars. There was a thud as a curach drew up to the bank. Dúngal waited for someone to call out a greeting, but there was only the scrunch of feet and the clink of metal. Puzzled, he turned to look.

  That was no curach. It was a huge longship, made of wood, and the men leaping onto the bank were carrying spears and daggers. Vikings!

  One of them shouted in his strange language and pointed at Dúngal. His head, in its iron helmet, was like an evil grey skull. Dúngal tore the slingshot from his girdle, and felt round frantically in the water for a stone. Any stone. He fitted it to his slingshot, and fired.

  It plopped pathetically at the Viking’s feet.

  The man gave a snort of laughter. His mouth was blood-red and his teeth gleamed. Dúngal splashed towards the bank and scrambled out of the water. His wet feet slithered on moss as he darted between the trees. He could hear Vikings crashing after him through the bracken.

  The ringfort lay ahead, just across the field. Dúngal could see the deep ring of the ditch and the high earth wall. He just had to cross that ditch. Then he could pull up the wooden ramp and leave the invaders on the other side. Then he’d be safe with all his kinsfolk. Safe in the cobbled yard, with the little round house and the pointy roof, safe with his father and mother, sisters and brothers . . .

  Two of his kinsmen were working in the field. They looked up, dropped tools, and broke into a run. Dúngal glanced over his shoulder. Pursuers were erupting from the trees, their spears glinting. He heard a rattle of wood as his kinsmen leapt onto the ramp and galloped across the ditch. Dúngal grabbed a discarded hoe and hurled it at the Vikings. One of them tripped, bellowing as he fell, and two other raiders somersaulted over him in a flurry of arms and legs.

  ‘Yes!’ cheered Dúngal.

  But the next moment, a huge fist punched him in the back and sent him sprawling. His chin crashed into the earth, his teeth snapped against his tongue. He struggled to his knees, gasping for breath. His mouth tasted of blood. In the gateway ahead of him he saw his kinsmen bending to lift up the ramp.

  ‘Wait!’ yelled Dúngal. ‘Wait for me!’

  A hand seized him by the ankle, and dragged him backwards. He twisted, and thrashed wildly with his legs, trying to break free.

  ‘Let me go, you big smelly marauder!’

  His head bumped up and down as he was scraped over furrows and tree roots. Then the Viking ship loomed over him,
its carved dragonhead leering down.

  ‘No-o-o!’

  The raider loosed his hold and Dúngal sprang to his feet. But as he turned to flee, the man grabbed him by the tunic. For an instant, Dúngal hung, legs flailing, then the Viking swung round and let go. Dúngal felt himself flying through the air, and the last thing he saw as he hurtled downwards was the wooden deck of the ship.

  2

  Grimmr’s thrall

  ‘Hey, Hairydog, would you like another dog to play with?’ Oddo bent down to pluck a curled-up leaf. ‘This looks just like your tail. And these,’ he picked up a handful of sticks, ‘could be legs. Now, we just need a body, and a head . . .’ He gathered a few more leaves and twigs and arranged them in the shape of a dog. ‘I wonder if these are the right plants for magic. Thora would know.’

  He sat back on his heels and frowned at the pattern he’d made on the ground. ‘Do you think it looks like a dog?’ He glanced at Hairydog, who was watching intently, head on one side. She seemed to raise an eyebrow.

  ‘Well, let’s give it a try.’ Oddo drew a deep breath and began to chant.

  ‘Where only leaf or twig now lies

  Make a living dog arise!’

  He grinned at Hairydog and waited. Hairydog poked her nose forward.

  The curly leaf twitched and began to wag like a tail, and suddenly a little dog stumbled to its feet. It gave an excited yap and tried to run, but its legs were all different lengths and it toppled over. When Hairydog bent to sniff the fallen dog, there was nothing in front of her but a heap of leaves and twigs.

  Oddo chuckled.

  ‘I don’t think I did that quite right,’ he said. ‘Oh well.’

  ‘Oddo!’ There was a shout, and Bolverk came striding across the ploughed field.

  ‘Whoops. Better get back to work.’ Oddo grabbed the basket of seed. His father would not be impressed to see him wasting his time on useless spells. Bolverk whistled, and Hairydog raced to meet him.

  ‘That dog can make herself useful for a change,’ called Bolverk. He jerked his head at the mountain pastures. ‘She can help me check on the lambs.’

  Oddo felt his father watching him as he set off down the line of furrows, carefully scattering a handful of grain with every second step.

  ‘You look after those seeds,’ said Bolverk, ‘just the way you did last year, and we’ll have the best crop in the district again. That greedy neighbour of ours will drool with envy.’ Rubbing his hands, he turned towards the mountain.

  Oddo straightened his shoulders. He looked at the ploughed rows of earth steaming gently in the spring sunshine, and pictured them covered with a fuzz of green shoots.

  ‘All thanks to me,’ he thought.

  As he trod proudly forward, he glanced at Grimmr’s farm on the other side of the fence. Working on the rocky strip of ground was a boy about his own age. Oddo had never seen him before.

  ‘Must be a thrall,’ thought Oddo. ‘I bet Grimmr bought him at the market to do his dirty work. I don’t envy him, working for that bully!’

  The boy was struggling to up-end a heavy bucket. Dung poured out, and he began to spread it over the field. Oddo wrinkled his nose, dumped his basket on the ground and flapped his hands.

  ‘Send me some wind,’ he called to the sky. ‘Blow this smell away!’

  Immediately, a breeze sprang up and the odour faded. Oddo grinned and bent to retrieve his basket.

  A young starling was perched on the edge, pecking at the seeds.‘Hey! What are you up to? I left some over there for you birds.’ He pointed across the field to where a cluster of other birds was squabbling over a heap of barley. He looked at the thrashing wings and stabbing beaks, then back at the little starling hopefully cocking its head.

  ‘All right,’ he sighed, ‘just a few more.’ He strode to the boundary wall and trickled a small heap of barley seeds on the ground. ‘But that’s it,’ he said sternly. ‘Leave the other ones to grow.’

  Oddo had barely started down the field again, when there was a squawk of indignation. The starling was scolding and flapping its wings as the strange boy from Grimmr’s field leaned over the boundary stones, grabbed a handful of seeds and stuffed them into his mouth.

  ‘Trust Grimmr not to give his slave enough to eat,’ thought Oddo.

  When the boy saw Oddo watching, he straightened, his dark eyes flashing defiantly. His cropped hair stood up in red-brown tufts, like winter heather, and his pale face was dotted with tiny brown specks, like the seeds scattered on the ground.

  Oddo took a step towards him and held out the basket.

  The thrall screwed up his face and shot a stream of chewed-up seeds in Oddo’s direction.

  ‘Viking!’ he spat. ‘Tothaim cen éirge foirib uili!’

  Oddo reeled back.

  ‘I . . .’

  He shut his mouth quickly as the boy snatched up a lump of dung and weighed it menacingly in his hand. Warily, Oddo turned on his heel. He waited for that clod of dung to hit him in the middle of his back as he reached into his basket and drew out a fistful of seed. He scattered it, moving stiffly, conscious of those eyes burning into him. But when he reached the end of the field and looked round, the thrall had gone back to work.

  Oddo puffed his cheeks and let out a breath.

  ‘Rodent!’ he muttered. ‘That’s the last time I try to make friends with him.’

  3

  The Sheriff’s return

  In the wood, new shoots of bracken and nettle were poking through the dead leaves of last autumn.

  ‘I’ll pick those sprigs for supper on the way home,’ thought Thora, as she hurried in the direction of Bolverk’s farm.

  She reached the edge of the trees, and paused.

  To her left, lambs chased each other up and down the mountainside, while ewes enjoyed the fresh spring grass. To her right there were glints of sunlight on water. It was the river, wending its way to fjord and sea – the river that always seemed to carry her off to adventure with her friend Oddo.

  In front of her, the rich soil of Bolverk’s field was black and gleaming, with rain pelting down on it from a single cloud in the blue sky.

  ‘Oddo’s doing,’ she thought.

  And there he was, standing by the field and talking to the cloud.

  ‘Hey, Oddo!’ she called. ‘Can you make that rain stop for a moment? I want to show you something.’ The downpour petered out, and she raced across the field. ‘Look, I’ve got a new rune for you!’

  She crouched down and began to scratch a mark into the damp earth with her finger.

  ‘No!’ Oddo pushed her arm away, and scuffed out the line with his toe. ‘I’m not trying anything with runes again,’ he said. ‘You know what happened last time.’

  ‘But this time I’ve got it right!’ she assured him. ‘Maybe I can’t do spells like the rest of my family, but I can copy a rune. Farmer Ulf asked Father to make a ceremony to help his seeds grow well, and Father drew a rune in the earth. I watched so I could show you.’

  Stubbornly, Oddo shook his head.

  ‘Your father is Runolf the Rune-maker,’ he said. ‘If he wants to carve runes to make barley grow, or make someone wise or rich or brave or whatever, that’s his job. I’m not trying it again. Anyway, I don’t need a rune to make seeds grow! You know I can change the weather, and keep pests away just by talking to them. I can grow the best crop in the district. Father said so.’

  ‘Bolverk said that?’

  Oddo grinned, and she saw a proud flush of pink steal up his cheeks.

  ‘And he sounded really pleased with me,’ he said.

  Thora stared at him, remembering the timid boy she’d met two years before, the boy who thought his father didn’t love him, who was scared to open his mouth for fear he’d do magic by mistake. Now he was boasting about his powers. For an instant she felt a twinge of regret. He didn’t need help from her any more.

  She stood up and looked at the wet earth clinging to her apron dress. She gave it a shake.

 
‘You’re right, you don’t need a rune,’ she said. ‘But . . . make sure you grow lots of barley, so you’ve got some to pay the King’s taxes when the Sheriff comes back.’

  ‘The Sheriff? Who said he’s coming back?’

  ‘Mother. She scried it in the fortune-telling bowl.’

  ‘That’s not fair! We already paid.’

  ‘I know, but I guess King Harald’s used up all the grain and butter and stuff we sent him last year.’

  ‘How are you going to pay?’ asked Oddo.

  Thora grinned at the sight of his worried face. Oddo knew how difficult it had been for her last time. Thora’s family didn’t sow seeds or churn butter. They didn’t even own a cow. They were spellworkers. Since Thora was the only practical one, they expected her to find a way to pay the taxes. Last year, she’d nearly failed, and her family had come close to losing their home and their freedom. But this time . . .

  ‘Remember that bag of silver I lost?’

  ‘Have you found it?’

  ‘Not yet. But if I go down the river to Gyda’s house, I will. I’m sure we dropped it when we climbed out her window.’

  ‘But . . . That was ages ago. Last year. Last time the Sheriff came.’

  ‘Gyda will be keeping it safe for me, if she found it.’

  She pictured the midwife’s cosy home, and then she saw again the startled look in the old woman’s eyes at the sound of Grimmr banging on her door.

  ‘It was funny when I magicked a storm inside her house,’ said Oddo. ‘And she and Grimmr went screaming around in the dark.’

  ‘And then you tricked them into thinking we’d fallen down the cliff,’ said Thora. ‘That was mean. Gyda was really worried.’

  ‘Well, what was I supposed to do? I had to stop that greedy Grimmr from chasing us.’

  They both swung round to look at Grimmr’s farm.

  Thora saw a strange boy working in his field.

  ‘Who’s that?’ asked Thora.

  ‘Grimmr’s new thrall,’ said Oddo. ‘Keep away from him. He’s dangerous. And crazy.’