Stormriders Read online

  26

  The black horse

  Thora gave a shaky smile as Father Connlae handed her a bowl of gruel. They were seated at a table in a crowded room, and the kind family who’d given them shelter was plying them with food. As Thora lifted the bowl to her lips, her eyes fell on Hairydog. The dog’s meal was untouched and she was poised in the doorway, watching Thora reproachfully.

  Thora glanced at Father Connlae. He was smiling while he sipped, his pale eyes fixed dreamily on the toddler of the family. The child with gruel dripping down his chin made Thora think of her own scruffy little brother.

  ‘Ketil,’ she moaned. ‘If only I could get back to you!’

  Surrounded by this crowd of strangers, she felt more lonely than she’d ever felt in her life. She was haunted by the image of her two best friends disappearing down the tunnel to the fortress. She stumbled to her feet, her eyes blurred with tears, and made for the door. A chorus of Irish gibberish followed her, but she just nodded and slipped outside.

  In the street, she pulled up her hood to hide her face. There were Vikings all around, shouting and laughing, and any one of them might be a sailor from Striker, hunting for the runaway crew. Thora was terrified they would catch her and drag her back to the ship.

  ‘Hairydog, heel!’ she whispered urgently.

  The streets were narrow and crowded, the buildings jammed together, with hardly space for a goat to slip between. Wilting, dusty vegetables were the only plants among the hard paving stones and fences. The air was thick with smoke and the stink of latrines.

  Bumped and jostled by the crowds, Thora tried to make her way towards the fortress.

  ‘We’ve got to find a way to rescue the boys,’ she told Hairydog. But they soon found themselves gathered up by the throng, and swept into the market.

  There was a bonfire blazing in the middle of the square, a festive buzz among the booths, and everywhere, freckled noses and red hair just like Dúngal’s. Irish girls tossed their russet locks as they danced around the fire, while a piper whistled on his bone flute. Youths snatched handfuls of bilberries from overflowing baskets, staining their grinning faces with indigo juice. They scuffled for the attention of the girls, overbalancing mounds of fat, round cabbages, and sending sticky honeycombs tumbling from the stands.

  Older women were busy wrangling with the vendors, and piling their baskets with wild garlic, bunches of watercress, bread, berries and cabbages. But to Thora’s puzzlement, the most popular wares were rowan branches. The green boughs, with their clusters of bright red berries, dangled from every basket.

  ‘What do you want with those?’ she asked, but everyone just shook their heads and turned away.

  Thora felt scared and helpless as she realised none of this boisterous mob would understand a word she said, even if she yelled at the top of her voice.

  ‘Dúngal must have felt like this,’ she thought, ‘when he was captured by the raiders.’

  She could feel the chill of evening creeping over the town as she left the market. The crowds were thinning quickly now; everyone seemed anxious to get home. As she and Hairydog hurried along, Thora noticed rowan branches draped above all the doorways.

  ‘Hairydog, wait!’

  She stopped and watched as a woman appeared at one door and bent to lay a loaf of bread and a dish of berries on the paving stones outside. Thora swept her eyes along the street and saw that at every house people were doing the same.

  ‘It looks as if they’re putting out food for the Little Folk!’ she thought. ‘What did Dúngal call them? The shee-something. And the rowan branches – at home we hang them up for protection from evil magic. Could it be the same here?’

  She was beginning to feel frightened. The streets were almost deserted, and half the houses lay in pools of darkness. Everyone seemed to be hiding inside their homes. Only the Viking raiders still loitered, their loud voices piercing the dusk.

  ‘Hairydog, what’s happening?’ whispered Thora.

  The dog growled and all the hairs on her neck bristled. Thora heard a soft ripple of song, and something gentle as a cat’s tail brushed about her ankles. She looked down. Streaming across the paving stones, transparent as water, were the figures of tiny people. Little Folk!

  Thora felt as if her hair, like Hairydog’s, was standing on end.

  There was the cloppety clop of a horse cantering down the street behind her. Hairydog took off faster than an arrow from a bow, and to Thora’s astonishment, Vikings began to race past her, yelling in fright. She heard the horse slow to a halt. It let out a whinny and she felt its breath blast through her cloak, hot as fire. She swung round.

  The beast was black as a moonless night but when it tossed its head, she saw flames where there should have been eyes, and from its nostrils there were streams of smoke and fire. It whinnied again, and reared up. As the giant hooves flailed above her head, Thora threw herself backwards. The hooves crashed down where she’d stood, splintering the paving stones, spraying her with gravel. Thora clambered to her feet, and fled.

  Down the empty, twisting streets, blind in the darkness, she pounded. And then, bursting out of a narrow alley, she heard the sound of running water, and almost skidded into the river.

  She collapsed on the soft earth, and buried her face in the sweet-smelling grass. She listened, every muscle tensed, for the thudding of that monstrous beast; but the only sounds were the gurgle of water and her own sobbing gasps. Gradually she relaxed. She took in a long breath and smelled the scent of camomile. She sat up and looked at the crushed leaves and petals lying in her palm. In the pale moonlight she could see a yellow-centred flower, half torn from its downy grey stem. She smiled, pressed the flower against her nose, and breathed in the sweet apple perfume.

  ‘Camomile to calm the nerves!’ she muttered.

  Shakily, she rose to her feet. With sinking heart, she realised she had no idea how to find her way to the little cottage where she’d left Father Connlae. And what about Hairydog?

  She gazed along the riverbank hoping to catch a glimpse of those perky ears and bushy tail; but her eyes fell instead on the black forbidding bulk of the King’s fort.

  ‘If only the horse would go in there,’ she thought. ‘It would scare away the guards, and Oddo and Dúngal could escape!’

  At that moment, she heard a terrified yelping. Hairydog raced out of the alley and plunged towards her. They both toppled to the ground.

  ‘Hairydog!’ sobbed Thora with relief, cradling the trembling animal in her arms. ‘Here.’ She held the camomile to the dog’s nose, but Hairydog opened her mouth and snapped it down. ‘Hey, you were supposed to smell it.’ Thora started to laugh, but then she heard, heading towards them, the thud of hooves. She leapt to her feet. ‘Run!’

  She glanced at Hairydog, and was astounded to see her lolling on the bank.

  ‘Hairydog? Can’t you hear?’

  The dog eyed her and went on calmly chewing the camomile.

  Thora stared back. Suddenly a wild, impossible idea began to form in her mind. She threw herself on her knees and tore plants out of the ground, sniffing them frantically. When the black horse trotted out of the alley, Thora was waiting, her heart pounding, her hands filled with flowers.

  27

  Lugnasad

  Oddo was woken by the sounds of yells and thuds. He peered over the side of the pigsty, where he’d been sleeping. Beside him, Dúngal rolled over and squelched in a heap of dung.

  ‘What’s happening?’ he groaned.

  Oddo squinted into the gloom. Over the cries of alarm, he could hear something heavy smashing against the gate of the fort.

  ‘I think someone’s trying to break in,’ he said.

  The next moment a scattering of guards came flying past and dived into the longhouse. Behind them, thundering out of the darkness, galloped a black giant of a horse. Oddo goggled at the flames that shot from its eye sockets, and the smoke pouring from its nostrils. Then he lifted his gaze and saw a girl astride the gleamin
g, quivering flanks, her hands twisted through the long black mane.

  ‘Thora?!’

  ‘Oddo! Dúngal!’

  The horse slowed to a halt. There was a yip and Hairydog erupted out of the darkness. She threw herself at the wall of the sty, her tail wagging frantically.

  ‘Thora, what on earth . . .?’

  Oddo hurdled the wall, then stepped back hastily as the black horse stamped and snorted. To his astonishment, Thora calmly patted its neck, then reached for a knotted corner of her cloak. She drew out a flower, leaned forward, and popped it between the horse’s gnashing teeth. The creature gave a soft whinny and lowered its head to chew.

  ‘Quick!’ called Thora. ‘Climb up.’

  ‘No!’ Dúngal clutched Oddo’s arm. ‘It’s the horse of the Sídaigi. Look!’

  He pointed downwards with a shaking finger. The ground was rippling as if it were covered with waves. There were a myriad tiny figures, hardly more solid than shadows, running across the surface.

  ‘What are they?’ whispered Oddo.

  ‘The Sídaigi. The Little Folk. If we can see them, then tonight must be Lugnasad – one of the nights when they cross over from the Other World.’

  ‘Come on!’ cried Thora. ‘Hurry up, before the guards come back.’

  Oddo tried to step towards her, but Dúngal held him in a fierce grip.

  ‘You mustn’t,’ he said. ‘The Sídaigi will be furious.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because that’s their horse!’ he exploded. ‘Their magic horse. I don’t know how Thora’s managed to ride it, but they won’t be happy. And we haven’t put out food or gifts for them or anything. We don’t even have rowan branches for protection.’

  ‘Bursting blueberries,’ yelled Thora. ‘Don’t you two want to escape?’

  She slid off the horse’s back, and Oddo watched, fascinated, as the Sídaigi parted and streamed around her feet like a river round a rock. The next instant, he heard the squeals of piglets in the sty, and spinning round he saw the Sídaigi tugging at their curly tails. The same moment, there was a frightened lowing from the byre, and startled squawks from the hen roosts.

  It was then he felt the first tickling at his ankles. He looked down and saw the Sídaigi swarming over his feet. In seconds, he could feel thousands of tiny fingers and toes crawling up his body, tugging and pinching, all the way up to the top of his head. He hopped and squirmed, attempting to brush them away, but they clung as tight as limpets to a rock. When he grabbed them and tried to pull them off, they wound themselves in his hair. Hairydog whirled around, yelping and snapping at her tiny tormentors. Dúngal bellowed in Irish.

  ‘How do we get rid of them?’ cried Oddo.

  ‘I think,’ panted Dúngal, ‘they follow their horse.’ He let out a few more Irish curses. ‘We’ve got to get rid of that beast!’

  ‘But I brought it so you could run away!’ wailed Thora.

  ‘Then take it back again!’

  At that moment, Oddo managed to wrench one of the Sídaigi out of his hair. He stared at it writhing on his palm, and then it disappeared. He felt a trickling sensation running from the top of his head, and realised it was the other Sídaigi pouring downwards. For a second, the ground was covered again with the tiny running figures, then they seemed to melt and vanish into the earth, like snow under the warmth of the sun.

  ‘They’ve gone!’ he croaked.

  He turned slowly on his heel. Even the black horse had vanished. And in the east, a tiny finger of light was showing in the sky.

  ‘It’s dawn,’ breathed Dúngal. ‘Lugnasad’s over!’

  At that moment, there were bellows of rage from the longhouse. The guards burst out again, looking sheepish, and headed back to the gate. All around the fort, other figures began to creep outdoors. They peered around, and broke into excited chatter.

  Oddo turned to look at Thora. She was drooping now with disappointment, and he wanted to fling out his arms and hug her tight. But when she sensed him looking at her, she gave a wobbly smile and shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘Well,’ she said,‘at least we’re all together again. Now what are we going to do?’

  28

  A bargain with the King

  Oddo dragged the rake through the hay, sweeping it into a neat pile. Up and down the field, other thralls were doing the same, and the hot summer air was filled with swirls of dust and the scent of hay. Beside him, Thora sneezed for the hundredth time. She sniffed and wiped her hand across the reddened tip of her nose.

  ‘Hey you, don’t slack!’ A burly overseer prodded her with his stick, as if she was a cow or a horse.

  Oddo ground his teeth.

  ‘Oddo! Oddo the Wind Master!’

  Oddo jerked his head round in surprise. A guard, his hands cupped around his mouth, was calling from the edge of the field.

  Dúngal grabbed the rake from Oddo’s hand and threw it on the pile of hay.

  ‘Come on, let’s see what he wants!’

  Oddo shot a worried glance at Thora, struggling with her heavy rake, then he followed Dúngal towards the yelling guard.

  ‘What is it?’ Oddo demanded.

  The man’s brows shot upwards, and his voice rose with surprise. ‘You’re the Wind Master?’ Oddo nodded.

  ‘Then the King requests the favour of an audience,’ pronounced the guard.

  As the boys entered the longhouse, the King swung round and glared at Oddo from his deep-sunk eyes.

  ‘So, Oddo the Wind Master, you have stopped my cows from giving milk and my fowls from laying eggs. You have terrified my steeds and put my swine off their food!’

  ‘I . . . It wasn’t . . .’ Oddo started to speak, but Dúngal jabbed him in the ribs.

  ‘It seems you can do more than just command the weather!’ continued the King. ‘I was too hasty in my judgement, and you have taken your revenge. If I now offer you reward, will you lift the enchantment?’

  ‘What reward?’ Dúngal demanded before Oddo had a chance to answer.

  The King raised his eyebrows. ‘You may have your freedom,’ he announced. ‘Tomorrow, if all is well, you shall both be free to leave this fort.’

  He waved imperiously and the boys backed out of the room. Oddo grabbed his friend by the arm.

  ‘What did you say that for?’ he hissed. ‘You know it wasn’t me who upset the animals. It was the Sídaigi!’

  ‘So what? It got you what you wanted.’

  ‘Are you crazy? Now I have to lift the spells! How’m I supposed to do that?!’

  Dúngal chortled.

  ‘That’s the joke,’ he said. ‘Lugnasad’s over, remember? The Sídaigi have left, so the spells will go away anyway! Tomorrow, everything will be back to normal. The cows’ll give milk, the hens’ll lay eggs. Everyone will be happy. We’ll get out of this place, and I’ll go home!’

  That night they were invited to a banquet in the longhouse. Afterwards, Oddo was offered a fine carved bed, and Dúngal was shown to a place on the floor beside the fire. They looked at each other. Thora and Hairydog would be waiting for them by the pigsty.

  ‘I . . . we . . . have to go outside. To lift the enchantment,’ mumbled Oddo.

  Hairydog saw them coming, and barked a welcome.

  ‘What happened? What did old Yvar want?’ demanded Thora as they flopped beside her.

  ‘In a minute,’ panted Oddo. ‘First, now no one’s listening, tell us how you tamed that horse.’

  Thora grinned. ‘Just used herbs,’ she said.

  Oddo gazed at her and shook his head. ‘I don’t know how you dared to go so close,’ he said. ‘And . . . to ride it!’

  ‘I did it so I could rescue you,’ said Thora, and then she made a face. ‘I didn’t know the Sídaigi were going to follow me.’

  ‘Where the black horse goes, the Sídaigi follow,’ Dúngal intoned. Then he burst out laughing. ‘Lucky they did,’ he spluttered. ‘You got the King really scared!’

  ‘You should have seen Dúngal!’ said Oddo. �
�He bossed the King!’

  Between chuckles and exclamations, they told Thora about Dúngal’s demand, and the King’s promise.

  Then the three of them snuggled down together, and closed their eyes.

  Around them, the fort settled for the night. Chimney smoke dwindled away. Voices dropped to a murmur and fell silent. The only sounds were the occasional whiffle of a horse in the stable, and the grunt of the sow in the sty.

  The sun sank below the horizon.

  ‘Clu-u-uck, clu-u-uck! ’ The peace was shattered by the terrified screeches of hens. Tumbling from their perches, wings flapping, they scuttered across the yard. A volley of whinnies rang out from the stables. Hooves hammered in panic against the wooden doors. At the same moment, cows started to bellow in the barn, the piglets squealed in the pigsty, and all around the enclosure dogs began to yelp with fright.

  Oddo grabbed Dúngal and thrust his face close to the small, freckled nose.

  ‘You said the Sídaigi would be gone!’ he shouted.

  Dúngal shoved Oddo away.

  ‘It can’t be the Sídaigi,’ he said. ‘Look!’ He spun round, pointing wildly. ‘See, there aren’t any!’

  ‘They must be invisible, you stupid half-witted peabrain!’ Oddo clutched his hair. ‘Listen to them!’ He gazed at Dúngal in despair. ‘Just because they only show themselves on – Luny night or whatever you call it, doesn’t mean they just . . . Obviously, if they’re annoyed enough, they come back again!’

  ‘Annoyed? They’d be spitting bones! Your idiot Vikings didn’t even leave one gift for them.’

  Human shouts were added to the squeals and growls, as figures erupted from the buildings around them. The flames of their torches bobbed and wavered.

  ‘What’s going on? What’s happening?’ they shouted.

  Oddo flopped down and buried his face in his hands.

  ‘What’s the King going to say now?’ he moaned.

  ‘I’ve still got some camomile,’ cried Thora. She dived over the wall of the sty, and pulled out the knotted woollen square she’d bundled behind the feed trough. ‘Find that black horse, and I’ll take it away!’