Stormriders Page 6

  There was a low rumble deep under the ground. Thora dropped her stick and stumbled backwards. The river gave a leap, and a stream of water shot into the air.

  ‘What is it? What’s happening?’

  The water heaved again, gave a loud hiss and erupted into foul-smelling bubbles. Then the whole river swirled downwards in a whirlpool, and disappeared. A huge black hump bubbled out of the hole, and gushed up in a jet of mud.

  The ground rumbled again, and Thora could feel it trembling under her feet. The mountain of ice began to quiver. Steam snaked out of crevices and swirled around them. With a thunderous cra-a-ack, the peak of the glacier split open, and red and yellow flames, high as the sky, spurted upwards.

  Thora couldn’t move. She could hear Dúngal yelling, but the heat and noise wound around her. Her eyes were glued to the roaring, exploding fire.

  Fire!

  If any fire had the power to free Oddo from a spell, it was this one.

  Dúngal was still holding his driftwood. Thora snatched it from his hand, and looked up desperately at the high, leaping flames. She had to set the stick alight. She had to get closer to the fire.

  Underfoot, the ground heaved and ruptured. Choking clouds of steam and ash poured outwards. Thora hurled herself at the slithery surface and tried to climb, slipping and sliding.

  Dúngal grabbed her from behind, and her sleeve ripped as he pulled her back.

  ‘Leave me alone!’ she yelled. ‘I have to get the fire. For Oddo!’

  ‘No!’

  She could see his lips move but she couldn’t hear his voice above the roar. Red-hot rocks were shooting into the air and raining around them. Thora watched as they bounded across the blackened ground, fizzing and smoking, and then the distant grass erupted into flame. With a cry, she let go of the ice and raced towards the blazing grass. She thrust in her branch, and with a jubilant whoop, waved it in the air.

  ‘I’ve got the fire!’

  But as she spun round in triumph, she saw the mass of ice tremble and crack. Huge chunks began to break away, and then a roiling torrent of water burst out of the glacier. Dúngal seized her hand and they fled across a ground that shook and rumbled. All they could hear was the thunder of water and the roar of fire. Thora’s breath rasped in her throat. Her eyes were blinded by smoke and ash. She tripped, and plunged full-tilt into a shallow brook, holding up one arm to save her burning branch. Dúngal flopped beside her and they crouched in the middle of the swirling water.

  ‘I think . . . we’re far enough. We’re safe now,’ gasped Dúngal.

  Thora crawled out of the water and took a deep, shuddering breath. The air was acrid with smoke, but her clothes were dripping and cool, and the grass was soft under her knees.

  She turned and stared at the scene behind them.

  Fire spurted from a crack in the glacier. Above it, a dense cloud of grey belched towards the sky. And below – the very ocean itself seemed to be gushing out of the ice. Whole trees, waving desperate branches, were ripped out by their roots and swept up in the torrent. Rocks and mud, trees and ice bobbed and spun in the violent flood that poured down the slope. Thora watched it surge forward, wiping out everything in its path. It pounded towards the coast, towards the quiet little cove of sand and pebbles, where . . .

  ‘Oddo!’ cried Thora. ‘And Hairydog!’

  She sprang to her feet. Oddo was lying helpless, in the path of the flood. She took one step, then stopped, gazing in despair at the endless, thundering stream of water.

  ‘I can’t do anything,’ she wailed. She looked at the wood still burning in her hand and flung it to the ground. ‘This fire’s no use to him now! He’ll be drowned!’

  15

  The cave

  Dúngal picked up the torch.

  ‘We’ll be wanting this ourselves,’ he said.‘To warm up.’

  He led her across the grass. She was vaguely aware of him piling up sticks, lighting a fire, wrapping his wet cloak around her shoulders. But she couldn’t stop shivering. He squatted on the ground by her side, took her hands, and held them towards the heat.

  ‘Does that feel better?’

  Better? She could never feel better. Oddo was drowned. Drowned.

  ‘It’s my fault, isn’t it?’ Dúngal said. ‘My fault he’s drowned. My fault he got stuck as a stupid bird. If it wasn’t for me, he’d never even have done a shape-change.’

  She couldn’t answer. She lay down, but the uneasy rumbling of the earth pulsed against her ear, reminding her over and over of the flood pounding down the slope and sweeping up Oddo’s helpless body. When she closed her eyes she could still see the endless flow of silver under the red glare of the flames.

  In the morning, she was so stiff she couldn’t move. Clouds of smoke still billowed from the glacier, and the draining floodwaters had left waves of thick grey mud across the ground. Glistening blocks of ice, half-submerged, poked from the mire among the twisted shapes of broken trees.

  Dúngal was asleep, his head pillowed on dead leaves. He was covered from head to toe in fine grey ash and there were tear streaks running down his cheeks. He rolled towards her and his eyes opened.

  ‘We have to . . . go and look,’ she said huskily.

  He nodded and held out his hand.

  Silently they crossed the grass. The glacier was still smoking. As they drew closer, they found themselves treading in a thick layer of warm ash that puffed around them in grey clouds. The air filled with a stench like thousands of rotten eggs.

  Dúngal held his nose, but Thora marched forward, her jaw stuck out, her eyes stinging with tears.

  The cove came into sight and Dúngal’s grip tightened on her hand.

  Thora stared at the desolation. Even the beach of sparkling black pebbles had disappeared. There was nothing now but a thick layer of dull grey sludge. There was no sign that Oddo or Hairydog had ever been there. She stepped forward, the mud sucking at her feet.

  A frenzy of ecstatic yipping broke out overhead. Thora threw back her head and saw, poking from the cliff, a familiar muzzle.

  ‘Hairydog! ’ Tears blurred her eyes and laughter bubbled in her chest. Next moment, she was running and stumbling through the ooze. ‘Hairydog, Hairydog!’

  She reached the cliff and stretched up on her toes, but she could not touch the ledge where the dog was standing.

  ‘Come on, girl, jump!’

  Hairydog turned and vanished into a cave behind her, whining and barking.

  ‘Come on, it’s not far.’

  Dúngal joined her.

  ‘The silly dog won’t jump. She must have scrambled into that cave when she saw the flood, and now she won’t come down again!’

  ‘Maybe she’s still frightened.’

  Thora glowered at the crumbling rock face.

  ‘Well, I can’t climb up to her,’ she said, exasperated. The foot of the cliff had been carved away by the force of the flood.

  ‘Try this, then.’ Dúngal began to build a heap of stones and mud. ‘Stand on that and see if you can reach her.’

  Thora placed a foot on top of the pile, grasped a jutting rock and pushed upwards. Her eyes came level with the ledge. She could see Hairydog, and behind her, in the darkness, something lying on the floor of the cave. She strained forward, trying to see what it was. Hairydog gave it a nudge and it rolled over. An arm flopped into sight.

  Thora felt her strength drain away. She stumbled off the rocks to the ground.

  ‘Dúngal,’ she gasped. ‘Dúngal, there’s . . . there’s someone . . . inside!’

  Thora was shaking so much she could hardly stand. She wrapped her arms around herself as Dúngal leapt onto the pile of stones and hoisted himself up to the ledge. She heard him scramble forward. There was a hollow yell from inside the cave, then his face popped out again, pink and excited.

  ‘It’s Oddo,’ he yelled, ‘and I think he’s alive!’

  Thora sat down with a plop in the mud. Oddo wasn’t drowned! Hairydog must have dragged him into the cav
e. He was here. He was safe. And now—

  ‘The fire!’ she gasped. ‘I’ll fetch the fire.’

  Gathering her muddy skirts in her hand, she flew back to the meadow. A few wispy flames still danced among the blackened sticks. Thora puffed frantically till they flared up, seized a burning willow branch and carried it to the beach.

  Dúngal was waiting in front of the cave. Eagerly, Thora held up the torch. He took it, then hesitated.

  ‘What’ll I do with it?’

  Thora stared. She had no idea. She looked around wildly, as if the cauldron might suddenly appear again.

  ‘Maybe . . . just hold it near him,’ she said at last.

  Dúngal crawled back into the cave, and Thora climbed onto the heap of stones and peered over the ledge.

  The interior of the cave was a confusion of leaping shadows and glowing orange light. Behind the black shape of Dúngal’s crouching figure, she could see the top of Oddo’s head and his sprawling legs.

  He wasn’t moving.

  Thora clenched the edge of the rock and held her breath.

  16

  The light in the rock

  Oddo the gannet hovered over the ghastly mess of broken trees and grey mud covering the beach. A girl was stumbling across the soggy ground with a dog leaping and barking beside her. Oddo wanted to flee, high up in the air like the other birds, but in the girl’s hand was something that glowed and shimmered like a piece of sun torn from the sky; and it was drawing him down . . . down . . .

  For an instant, it lit up an archway of rock, then disappeared into the cliff. With every nerve tense, Oddo plunged after it. He felt jagged edges tear at his wings; he saw a bright glow fill the air around him. Then his body lost all weight, all feeling.

  Oddo opened his eyes. A boy was crouched over him, with a burning stick in his hand. Oddo stared at the dark eyes, the bare face, the crest of red-brown feathers on top of the head. No – not feathers, hair! It was . . .

  Oddo jerked upright, banging his head against the overhanging stone, just as Dúngal blurted a warning.

  Rubbing his head, Oddo rolled over, and saw Thora’s eyes staring at him over the edge of the rock.

  Oddo grinned. That felt strange. He wasn’t used to having a mouth instead of a beak.

  He stopped rubbing his head and inspected his hands. A pebble rattled. Oddo looked at it, then picked it up – delicately, between two fingers. He heaved a satisfied sigh, then prodded Dúngal on the knee.

  ‘Aren’t you going to let me out of here?’ he asked. As Dúngal scrambled backwards, Oddo wriggled across the rock and slid off the edge. Instinctively, he raised his arms, then let out an exclamation of surprise as he dropped like a stone. Shocked, he squatted where he landed, his feet sunk in the mud. He felt massive and heavy and awkward.

  A blur hurtled towards him and knocked him onto his back. He squirmed as Hairydog slathered his face with wet doggy kisses. A moment later, he felt Thora’s arms twine around and hold him tight. He hugged her back, then sat up. She gazed at him, snivelling and beaming at the same time.

  Then he looked at Dúngal.

  ‘Oddo, I’m sorry,’ said the Irish boy. ‘I—’

  ‘Oh Oddo-o-o,’ Thora butted in, ‘when that fire in the cauldron went out, I thought I’d never, ever speak to you again!’ And then she glowered. ‘I knew it wasn’t safe to do a shape-change without a wand! Especially after you chopped that tree without asking permission.’

  ‘Well, I got back in the end!’ said Oddo. The mud made a loud sucking gurgle as he wrenched himself free and stood up. ‘Do you know where we are?’

  Thora shook her head.

  ‘We haven’t seen any people yet,’ she said. ‘We’ve only found that . . . that fire in the ice!’

  Oddo grinned. ‘Lucky you did,’ he said. ‘Or I’d still be stuck in a bird shape!’

  17

  Search

  Oddo blew on the charred snakeweed root, then with slow relish sank in his teeth. The spicy flavour filled his mouth.

  ‘A nice change from raw fish!’ he said.

  He licked his fingers, then leaned against the trunk of the willow tree and stared at the others.

  ‘Now what?’ he asked. ‘We’ve got no boat, and no idea where we are. What’s your plan?’

  Dúngal bent forward. ‘Did you find out where Ériu is?’ he demanded.

  Oddo nodded and gestured to the coast.

  ‘South,’ he said.

  ‘I told you that.’

  Oddo opened his mouth to retort, then stopped as Dúngal blushed sheepishly.

  ‘Sorry,’ muttered Dúngal. ‘You’re right. I wasn’t really sure. And . . . thank you . . . for looking.’

  ‘Well, anyway,’ said Thora, ‘now we know for sure. So all we need is a new boat.’ She stood up, her old determined self again. ‘We’ll go find the people who live here. They’ll have boats.’

  Dúngal snatched a burning stick from the campfire. ‘I’ll bring the fire!’

  They stepped out, following the range of mountains to their right. They crossed stepping stones reflected in clear streams, and saw peaks of glaciers glinting in the sun. They passed through meadows where snipe and golden plovers scratched among the pink and purple flowers. They found a waterfall so high it seemed to pour from the clouds, and a forest where meadow pipits and redwings clamoured in the trees.

  ‘This place is rather nice,’ mused Thora, ‘when it’s not bursting into flames or flood.’

  ‘But . . . where are the people?’ Oddo demanded. In their hours of walking, they’d seen no sign of any farm, or animal, or person.

  All through the afternoon and the long, twilit evening they kept on moving.

  ‘Lucky the days are so long here,’ said Thora.

  Oddo sighed. He was beginning to fear they would never find what they were looking for. Maybe there weren’t any people living here. And he was tired and hungry. He kept stealing glances at Dúngal, but the Irish boy was marching stolidly forward, his face lit by the torch in his hand, while the world around them dissolved into a grey blur.

  Oddo gritted his teeth. ‘I’m not giving up before he does.’

  At last he saw Dúngal hesitate and yawn. Oddo didn’t need another cue.

  ‘It’s no use walking in the dark,’ he called.

  He flopped where he stood, on the soft grass of a meadow, and sank immediately into a deep sleep.

  It seemed only a minute later when someone shook his shoulder.

  ‘What is it?’ he groaned, and opened an eye.

  Thora was leaning over him.

  ‘It’s pouring!’ she complained. ‘And the fire’s gone out.’

  Oddo mumbled at the rain to go away, then tried to roll over. But Thora didn’t let go.

  ‘Get up,’ she insisted. ‘It’s light enough to see again!’ While Oddo staggered to his feet, Thora headed off across the meadow. ‘Come on, you lazy limpets!’ she called back over her shoulder.

  Oddo turned to see Dúngal struggling blearily to his knees. The two of them looked at each other, and at the same instant rolled their eyes. For the first time, Oddo felt a spark of kinship with this strange boy.

  As they stumbled side by side through the dewy grass, an eider duck, quacking crossly, flew up almost from beneath their feet. On the ground behind her, in a nest of soft grey down, lay three yellow eggs.

  ‘Breakfast!’ they shouted together. ‘Hey, Thora!’

  They paused just long enough to let the raw yolk slither down their throats, and, as they hurried on, Oddo thought longingly of hot porridge and fresh-made bread dripping with butter.

  Racing ahead, Thora leapt onto a rock and came to a halt.

  ‘Hey!’ she called. ‘There’s a river here.’

  Hairydog, yapping with excitement, bounded up beside her, then disappeared. When Oddo and Dúngal reached the bank, the dog was already halfway across. She scrambled out the other side, shook the water from her fur, and grinned in triumph.

  ‘Our turn,’ sa
id Thora. Grabbing rocks and overhanging branches, she slithered, fully clothed, down the bank. ‘Come on, you chicken-legs!’ She turned and splashed the others with the icy water.

  Oddo glanced at Dúngal.

  ‘Right.’

  Together they leapt off the rock, and jumped in with a big splash, right next to Thora.

  Oddo gasped as the freezing water poured over him. The current almost shoved him off his feet. Dúngal yelled, and Oddo just managed to snatch hold of his tunic before he disappeared under the foam. Thora gripped his sleeve, and the three of them, clinging together, inched across the river and clambered up the bank.

  Dúngal gave a squeak and began to dance around. There was something flapping inside his tunic.

  ‘Undo your belt!’ cried Thora.

  They all watched in astonishment as a trout wiggled out and plopped to the ground.

  Thora dived on it. ‘We’ll eat this later.’

  ‘Raw,’ sighed Oddo.

  They set off again, but there was no happy chatter now, just the slosh slosh of dripping clothes. Soon Oddo’s legs were chafed and sore from the wet breeches. He drooped his head, not bothering to look where he was going. They weren’t going to find any people or boats. There was no one living here.

  Thora’s voice broke the silence. ‘What’s that?’ She sounded anxious.

  Oddo glanced up. There were wisps of smoke or steam weaving through the trees ahead of them.

  ‘It’s not one of those glaciers erupting again, is it?’

  The three of them hesitated, then edged cautiously forward, expecting every minute to feel the earth explode under their feet. The haze wrapped around them, dense and moist, filling their nostrils with the stink of rotten eggs. All they could hear was the swish of their own feet through soft, dead leaves. All they could see were the ghostly shapes of trees looming abruptly in front of their faces.

  Suddenly Thora gave a cry and stepped back. Ahead of them, the ground dropped away. At their feet, half hidden by the cover of white, swirling mist, lay a lake of deep turquoise blue.

  ‘That’s not a glacier,’ whispered Oddo.