Stormriders Page 12

  Thora’s anxious face peered down at them.

  ‘You can’t land here. It’s too rocky.’

  Stormrider heeled again and the boys were thrown across the hold. Dúngal toppled over the heap of furs, and landed in the water.

  ‘Bail!’ he yelled.

  Thora was beside them now. She snatched up a jewelled chalice and filled it with water, but her arms trembled as she tried to lift the heavy weight up the high side of the ship. The next moment, she fell backwards, the water pouring over her head as Stormrider listed again.

  ‘This is useless,’ she yelled. ‘We’ve got to fix it. Oddo, you plugged all the holes in The Cormorant, why can’t you fill this one?’

  ‘How’m I supposed to get to the outside of the ship? Didn’t you notice, we’re in the middle of the sea?!’

  ‘Just mend it from here!’

  ‘That won’t work.’

  ‘Try!’

  Pressing his lips together, Oddo hacked a handful of hairs from one of the furs. With the tip of his dagger, he stuffed it into the hole.

  ‘Here comes a big wave!’ warned Dúngal, peering over the side.

  They all watched as the wave hit the ship. Dúngal held his breath.

  ‘It’s working,’ yelled Thora. Then the hairs showered out of the hole and the sea poured in.

  ‘Told you!’ bellowed Oddo, as they all slid across the tilting ship.

  Dúngal cracked his head against a wine keg, and struggled up, tears smarting his eyes.

  ‘I didn’t travel all this way just to drown,’ he raged. ‘I was nearly home.’

  ‘Can’t you fix it?’ said Oddo. ‘You made a whole boat!’

  ‘I could if it was a curach.’ He slapped the wet furs. ‘I’ve got all these hides. But . . .’

  ‘Hey, you can swim,’ said Thora.

  ‘So?’

  ‘That means you can get to it from the outside. You can fill the hole.’

  The sea surged and Stormrider listed. This time, she didn’t straighten.

  ‘All right.’ Dúngal stood up. ‘Give me some fur.’ He smashed the top off a clay jar, and poured seal oil over the hairy strips. ‘This’ll make them a bit sticky, and more waterproof.’

  When he tried to clamber out of the hold, his oily fingers kept slipping on the wood. Oddo and Thora hoisted him up till he was poised on the edge, his legs dangling. Thora passed up his greasy bits of fur, and as the ship rolled and bucked, he struggled to hold on with one hand.

  ‘Poke something through the hole,’ he panted, ‘so I know . . .’ He lost his grip and slithered over the side.

  The sea grabbed him, sucked him away, then flung him against the wooden hull. He felt as if every bone in his body was smashed, but somehow the fur was still in his fist.

  ‘Oddo, stop those waves,’ he yelled.

  He thrust his face into the freezing water. Somewhere, below the waterline, he should see a movement that would show him the hole. He squinted his eyes through the salty green murk.

  ‘Come on, Thora, come on!’ Bits of the fur kept slipping out of his grasp. ‘Hurry!’

  He glimpsed a flicker below him. Diving under the water, he groped blindly forward.

  ‘Oww!’

  A brooch pin stabbed him in the hand. He thumped his fist against the side of the ship. The spike dropped back out of sight. Then, as fast as his fumbling fingers could manage, Dúngal stuffed the strips of hide into the gap. He waited for a moment to see if they would stay in place. He was trembling with cold, and he could feel the sea pressing around his head, thrusting into his ears, into his nose, filling him with water. He gave one last prod at the fur, then kicked with all his strength. Up, up . . . He burst through the surface and gulped for air.

  ‘Is it working?’ he yelled.

  There was a long pause, and he paddled frantically. Then Thora’s head appeared.

  ‘You’ve done it!’

  A rope snaked towards him. Dúngal caught it and felt himself hauled into the air. He rolled over the side and crashed onto the deck.

  ‘Keep bailing,’ he gasped. ‘If we don’t get the water out, we could still sink.’

  He flung off the fur that Thora was trying to wrap around his shoulders, and dived into the hold. The water was up to his knees.

  ‘At least you’ve stopped it coming in,’ said Oddo.

  From the deck, Hairydog barked encouragement as they scooped and poured.

  At last Dúngal straightened up and rubbed his back. ‘That’ll do!’ The floor was still wet, but water was no longer swirling around their legs, and Stormrider was once more riding lightly on the sea.

  ‘Okay, Oddo, how about a nice, strong wind. Let’s get going again!’

  The three of them scrambled on deck as the ship surged forward. This time, when Thora held out a fur, Dúngal snuggled inside it.

  ‘Dúngal?’ Thora’s fingers played with the fur, ruffling it the wrong way. ‘Do you have to stay in Ériu? Couldn’t you come back with us?’ She patted the fur smooth again. ‘You’re a Viking now.’

  ‘Yes! You’re my Viking brother, remember!’ said Oddo. ‘We’ll buy you from Grimmr and set you free.’

  Dúngal looked at them.

  ‘You could live at our house,’ said Thora. ‘There are so many people there, nobody would notice an extra one!’

  ‘No, come to my house,’ said Oddo. ‘I haven’t got any other brothers. Or sisters.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Dúngal. His voice came out in a funny rasp. He tried to swallow, and his throat seemed too tight. ‘I . . . belong here, though,’ he said.

  He rose, and went to lean against the bow.

  ‘We’re nearly there!’ he shouted. They had reached the yellow sandy beaches. There were the fishing nets, and . . . ‘Slow! Slow!’ he cried. He shaded his eyes, squinting into the glare of the setting sun. ‘It’s . . . It’s . . . There!’ He pointed triumphantly to the mouth of the river. As they turned, it seemed as if they were heading into a river of fire.

  ‘Is it far?’ asked Oddo.

  ‘No!’

  As the sun sank, he searched frantically among the dark shapes along the bank.

  ‘It’s getting dark,’ said Oddo. ‘We’ve got to pull over.’

  ‘Wait!’ begged Dúngal. ‘Just a bit further.’

  But at last it was too dark to steer. Drooping with disappointment, Dúngal followed the others onto the riverbank.

  ‘Careful, don’t slip!’ warned Thora. ‘This ground’s all squelchy.’

  ‘I know,’ growled Dúngal.

  He dozed fitfully, too excited to relax. At dawn he felt a soft drizzle pattering on his face.

  Oddo stirred, opened his eyes, and frowned at the sky.

  Dúngal clapped a hand over his mouth. ‘Don’t take away the rain,’ he pleaded. ‘Not yet.’

  Thora and Oddo groaned and pulled their furs over their heads. But Dúngal sat up and let the moisture gather in his hair. He breathed in the sweet scent of wet earth, and listened to the dripping of the trees behind him. Somewhere in the distance, a plover whistled.

  ‘This is Ériu,’ he whispered.

  As the sky lightened, he scanned the familiar landscape. Figures were already moving in the fields, and in the distance he could just make out the pointy peak of a thatched roof above the round wall of a ringfort. His belly turned over with excitement. Maybe that was his own house!

  ‘Can Oddo stop the rain now?’ asked Thora. ‘I’m getting cold and wet.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Before we go, I think we should light a fire, to warm up.’

  Dúngal looked at her in horror.

  Thora laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I was just teasing.’ Wrapping her muddy fur around her shoulders, she clambered on board. ‘In the Land of Fire, when we get cold, we’ll be able to hop in a hot lake!’ she said.

  As they set sail again, Dúngal watched from the bows, tense with anticipation. They rounded a bend and he shouted as Finán mac Taidhg’s ringfort came into view.<
br />
  ‘The next one . . .’

  And there it was! He could see the grove of oak trees, the pink sow with the black patch rooting for acorns and, between the tree trunks, the stubbled fields and grass-covered wall of a ringfort.

  ‘There it is!’ he shouted. ‘I’m home! I’m home!’

  He realised Thora was standing beside him and grasped her hand.

  ‘There’s Eithne.’ He pointed excitedly to his sister in her pale green léine, stooping among the trees to gather kindling.

  At that moment, Eithne raised her head and caught sight of the ship. She screamed, dropped her bundle of sticks, and scurried away.

  ‘Eithne!’ he cried. But she didn’t listen. ‘Stop!’ Banging his fist in frustration, he saw all his kinsfolk rush in panic towards the ringfort. ‘They think we’re Viking raiders,’ he wailed.

  Before the ship even touched the bank, Dúngal was over the side and racing after his sister. But as he burst out of the trees, he saw that once again he was too late. The ramp was already hauled out of sight. He ran to the edge of the ditch, yelling at the top of his voice.

  ‘It’s me, Dúngal. Look!’

  The gate slid open a crack and a cautious head peeked out.

  ‘Dúngal!’

  There was a squeal. The gate flew back and his whole family crowded forward for a sight of him.

  ‘How can it be you? The Vikings took you away!’

  ‘I escaped, of course,’ grinned Dúngal. ‘And now, if you put the bridge back, I can come home.’

  32

  Gyda’s secret

  ‘We’re only two Stormriders now.’

  Oddo and Thora fell silent, not looking at each other.

  ‘At least we got him home,’ muttered Thora. ‘That’s what he wanted.’

  ‘In the beginning,’ said Oddo,‘I didn’t even like him. But now . . . I’m going to miss him every day.’ His words ended in a squeak and he rubbed his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

  The ship grazed the bank.

  ‘Watch where you’re steering!’ said Thora. ‘We don’t want to wreck this ship before we get home!’

  ‘We don’t want to wreck it before we get to the Land of Fire!’ said Oddo. He straightened his back and frowned fiercely. They were nearing the river mouth. He steered carefully as Stormrider bucked and rolled in the rough water, and then they were out in the open sea.

  ‘Right. Now, a nice strong breeze. And . . . home,’ he said. He tied the steering oar in place, leaned back against the mast, and crossed his arms.

  Thora grinned and joined him. ‘So, are we still going to Gyda’s on the way?’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘You know. To fetch my silver, and . . .’

  Oddo let out a muffled snort. ‘I don’t think we need the silver any more!’

  They both looked at the booty piled in the hold.

  ‘Well, what about, you know, asking about the night we were born?’

  Oddo made a face. ‘I don’t think we should.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘If you found out that your family wasn’t really your family, what would you do?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, would you tell your parents? Would you swap houses – and families? Go and live in the right one?’

  ‘I . . .’

  An image of Oddo’s neat, clean house flashed into Thora’s mind. Sigrid doing the cooking, peace and quiet, no more embarrassing moments because she couldn’t do magic . . . But, what about Ketil and Harald and Sissa and . . .?

  ‘No, of course I wouldn’t go. I couldn’t leave my family. They need me!’ And then she stopped, startled by her own words.

  ‘Exactly! They don’t need another spellworker in the house messing around with magic – they want you.’

  Thora grinned. ‘Last year, when they had to pay the taxes, they would have got thrown out of the house if it hadn’t been for me.’

  ‘And I’d never leave my family,’ said Oddo. ‘What would Father do without me? I use magic to help with the animals and make the crops grow and everything.’

  ‘Well, forget Gyda then. Let’s just hurry up and go home.’

  ‘So, you don’t want to know what happened the night we were born?’

  Thora shook her head. ‘Who cares? Where we are now is where we belong.’ She grinned. ‘I guess that’s why Dúngal wanted to stay in Ériu. With his family. Do you think we’ll ever see him again?’

  ‘Why not? We’ve got Stormrider. And I’m the Wind Master. We can go anywhere we want.’

  ‘We might see the Sídaigi again,’ chuckled Thora.

  ‘We’ll take our families to the Land of Fire. We’ll show them the boiling lake and the burning ice.’

  ‘And we’ll build new houses, where there’s no king and no taxes!’

  ‘We could visit other lands, too.’

  They turned to gaze across the sea. Somewhere, out of sight, there were more strange lakes, and mountains, and people. And magic . . .

  The Futhark

  To read or write words written in runes, you have to go by the sound they make. These are the rune sounds:

  Can you work out why the alphabet is called the Futhark?

  Writing your name in runes will give you some magic powers, but the Futhark doesn’t match the English alphabet exactly. Some English words can’t be written in runes.