by Paul Stewart
He looked round. The others lay near him. With a jolt, he saw that their motionless bodies were glowing no more.
Drink the water.
Wincing with agony, Cowlquape rolled onto his front. Slowly, painfully, he pulled himself along the ground with his one good arm, inch by terrible inch.
Drink the water.
At the edge of the pool at last, Cowlquape stared down at his battered reflection in the rippled water - the gash, the torn ear, the blood … He reached down and scooped at the water with his hand. It was cool and velvety. He brought it to his mouth, and sipped.
A shimmering warmth coursed through his veins in an instant. He drank some more. The terrible racking pains vanished and the wounds stopped throbbing. When he'd drunk his fill, Cowlquape wiped away the blood and inspected his reflection a second time. There wasn't a scratch on him.
The water of Riverrise,’ he gasped.
Once, twice, three times, he cupped his hands in the pool and carried the cool, restoring water to his companions. He let it trickle down over their lips, into their mouths, and watched with unbounded joy as their eyes flickered and the soft familiar luminosity began to glow from their bodies once again.
Twig looked up, his eyes wild with fear. ‘Cowlquape!’ he gasped. ‘Falling … falling …’
‘Don't speak, Twig,’ said Cowlquape, as he helped the young captain to his feet. ‘Come with me to the pool, and drink.’
One by one, Twig, Woodfish and Goom slaked their thirst with the cool, life-giving waters. They drank away their injuries, their misgivings, their fears.
Twig looked up, and followed the thin trickle of water which threaded down the rock face from a jutting ledge far, far above their heads. ‘What is this place?’ he said.
‘We are at the foot of Riverrise,’ said Cowlquape excitedly. ‘This, this is her water!’
Twig stared up at the vertical rockface.
‘It's this way, Twig!’ said Cowlquape, jumping down into the pool and splashing through it. ‘Behind the waterfall - or what now remains of it. Yes, there!’ he exclaimed. ‘Look, Twig!’
A narrow crack in the cliff-face, like a knife cut, sliced back into the rock. Cowlquape scrambled out of the water and stared up into the shadowy gap. The others splashed across the pool to join him.
‘You see,’ said Cowlquape. ‘And look here,’ he said, fingering the two symbols carved into the rock at the entrance. ‘The trident and snake of …’
‘Kobold the Wise,’ Twig breathed. He turned to Cowlquape. ‘But how did you know? Was this also in those precious barkscrolls of yours?’
Cowlquape shook his head, and smiled. ‘I dreamt it,’ he said simply.
Twig nodded. ‘Then let us follow your dream,’ he said. ‘Lead us, Cowlquape. Lead us to Riverrise!’
• CHAPTER EIGHTEEN •
RLVEERISE
At first, the going was hard. Fallen rock debris littered the ground, and even Goom was forced down onto his hands and knees as he scrabbled up the narrow cutting. The sound of shifting gravel and bouncing pebbles echoed round the steep walls on either side.
‘It's getting easier here,’ Cowlquape called back. ‘The path is firm - like steps.’ He looked down. ‘They are steps,’ he whispered.
Twig caught him up, and the pair of them paused for a moment to look ahead. Rising up was a long winding staircase, carved out of the rock by the passing of countless feet.
Cowlquape shuddered with excitement. ‘I am treading where he trod,’ he murmured as he hurried ahead. ‘I am walking in the footsteps of Kobold the Wise.’
Higher and higher, Cowlquape climbed. Not once did he falter. Not once was he short of breath. Abruptly, the air grew light. Cowlquape looked round and his heart gave a leap. At last - at long, long last - he was above the terrible canopy of the stifling Deepwoods he had feared he would never leave.
He hesitated, and looked up. White and yellow clouds swirled high above his head, offering tantalizing glimpses of the tall mountain peak beyond. He felt Twig's hand resting on his shoulder, and turned towards him.
‘Listen to the water, Cowlquape,’ said Twig. Cowlquape cocked his head to one side. The tinkling sound of the trickling stream had stopped. In its place was a soft yet insistent plink plink plink as the water dripped down into the pool, far below them. ‘It's drying up,’ said Twig grimly. ‘And when the waters of Riverrise stop flowing …’ He paused, puzzled by the words he had uttered.
‘Yes, Twig?’ said Cowlquape.
‘When the waters of Riverrise stop flowing …’ Twig repeated. He clutched his head with his hands. ‘Oh, Cowlquape, why can I hear my father speaking these words? I … I … No, it's no good,’ he said, the frustration clear in his voice. ‘I just can't remember.’
‘Come on,’ said Cowlquape. ‘Perhaps the answer lies at Riverrise.’
The air grew warmer as they continued upwards. The clouds came closer and closer still. Swirling, wispy, bewildering. All at once, the bright sun burst through, bathing everything beneath it in golden shadows.
‘We're above the clouds!’ Cowlquape cried out with joy. ‘And look!’ He pointed ahead. The end of their climb lay so close.
Cowlquape ran forwards, his heart thumping with anticipation. Twig trotted by his side with Goom and Woodfish following close behind.
Far in the distance, a great caterbird - no more than a ragged dot against the tangerine sky - wheeled round. Its gimlet eyes scanned the high mountain tops for a moment. Then it flapped its broad wings, and soared off.
As the heads of the four travellers emerged above the upper ridge of rock, the dazzling sun filled their eyes. They raised their hands to shade them and squinted ahead.
Cowlquape gasped and fell to his knees. ‘Riverrise,’ he trembled.
Behind him, the sound of water echoed up from the pool far below them. Drip. Drip. Drip.
Side by side, the four travellers stared ahead in awe and elation at the magnificent scene spread out before them. They were standing on a great white marble slab overlooking the wide bowl of a once mighty lake, now no more than a shallow pool, which was fringed with luxuriant vegetation.
There were emerald green trees, and bushes and shrubs, all laden with heavy fruit; and flowers - red and purple and yellow and orange and blue - which filled the air with a heady mix of perfumes.
‘It's a huge garden,’ Cowlquape breathed.
Before them, the quivering sun was sinking down behind the western reaches of the lofty, gleaming pinnacles which ringed the whole area like a great, gold crown. Lengthening shadows raced towards them, down over the fertile gardens of the slopes and on across the shrunken, turquoise spring beneath their feet.
‘Look there,’ said Cowlquape, pointing. A jutting spur of rock stood out at the lake's furthermost point. ‘That's where the water spills over into the pool below.’ A single drip echoed up out of the stillness. ‘This is Riverrise!’
The sun disappeared behind the marble rocks, silhouetting them against the dark red sky like a magnificent temple. Soon it would be dark. Twig turned to the water-waif.
‘The Stone Pilot?’ he said. ‘Where is the Stone Pilot, Woodfish?’
Woodfish raised his hand for silence. His ears pricked up and quivered. He peered into the towering stacks of fluted marble down by the edge of the spring.
‘What is it, Woodfish?’ said Twig. ‘Do you hear someone … ?’
And then he heard it too. A soft rustling stirring the stillness. His breath caught in his throat. He stepped forwards, his body faintly glowing with luminous light. As he did so, a figure appeared on the other side of the spring. And as it came closer - moving in and out of the trees - it became clearer, and also began to glow.
Cowlquape found himself staring at a slim girl with pale, almost translucent skin and a shock of fiery hair. His jaw dropped. Surely this could not be the remaining missing crew-member? Yet, she was glowing …
‘Wuh-wuh?’ Goom grunted.
‘Twig?’ said Cowlquap
e. ‘Is this girl the Stone Pilot?’
Twig made no reply. The girl came closer.
‘Captain Twig?’ she said tentatively.
‘Maugin,’ Twig whispered. ‘It is you.’
‘Yes, captain,’ the girl said, running forwards and throwing her arms around him. A single drop of water dripped down from the lip of the rock. ‘I knew you would come for me.’
‘Didn't I swear I would never abandon any of my crew?’ said Twig, and smiled. ‘You are the last, Maugin.’
Maugin pulled away. ‘The last?’ she said.
‘Yes, Maugin,’ said Twig.
Far below, the drop splashed into the dark pool.
Maugin looked up shyly at Woodfish and Goom. ‘But where are the others? Tarp Hammelherd? Spooler?’
Twig looked away. ‘Spooler is dead,’ he said sadly. ‘But Tarp, Bogwitt and Wingnut Sleet are waiting for us back in Sanctaphrax.’
Maugin started back in alarm. ‘In Sanctaphrax?’ she said. ‘But are they all right?’
Twig chuckled. ‘They've been resting up in my study in the School of Light and Darkness,’ he said. ‘Safe and sound.’
‘But, captain,’ said Maugin. Her face looked tense. Fine lines puckered the corners of her mouth. ‘Do you not remember what Cloud Wolf told you?’
Twig froze. ‘Cloud Wolf?’ he whispered. ‘I … I don't remember, no.’
Maugin frowned. ‘He told you what you must do,’ she said. ‘On the Stormchaser, far out in open sky,’ she added gently, trying to jog his memory ‘Before the white storm struck …’
‘Stormchaser? White storm?’ said Twig, shaking his head. ‘I don't remember anything. None of us do,’ he said, looking round at the others. ‘Nothing at all, from the moment we entered the weather vortex…’ He turned back to Maugin. ‘But you do. Because you were clothed in your heavy, hooded coat, the storm did not fog your memory … Tell me what happened, Maugin. Tell me what you remember.’
The sound of another drop splashing into the pool echoed up through the air. Maugin turned away. ‘Tell me!’ Twig shouted. ‘I must know!’ ‘Yes, tell him the thoughts in your head,’ said Woodfish. ‘Or I shall!’
Maugin sighed. ‘You leave me no choice.’ She breathed in, noisily, and looked up. ‘With the caterbird gone - cut from its tethers by your own hand - I feared …’
‘I cut the caterbird loose?’ Twig gasped. Maugin nodded. ‘Do you want me to continue?’
‘Yes,’ said Twig.
‘… I feared we would never find the Stormchaser. Yet find it, we did, becalmed at the still centre of the weather vortex. Your father, Cloud Wolf was waiting for you there.’
‘My father,’ Twig whispered, as a distant recollection stirred deep within his memory. ‘He spoke to me.’
Maugin nodded. ‘He told you that the Mother Storm - that mighty storm which first seeded the Edge with life - was returning.’
Cowlquape shuffled about excitedly. It was what he had guessed all along.
‘He explained how it would sweep in from open sky towards Riverrise, at the highest point of the Deepwoods,’ Maugin continued, ‘to rejuvenate the dying spring.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Cowlquape, unable to remain silent a moment longer. ‘Just as it's written in the barkscrolls.’
‘Hush, Cowlquape,’ said Twig sharply. Fragments of memory were beginning to come together. He looked up at Maugin. ‘But Sanctaphrax lies in its path,’ he said. ‘Yes, now I remember … Cloud Wolf… he told me to … to cut the great Anchor Chain, didn't he?’
Maugin nodded. ‘If the Mother Storm wastes her energy destroying Sanctaphrax, she will never reach Riverrise to bring new life to her waters,’ she said. ‘Then the stagnant darkness at the black heart of the Deepwoods will spread out, until every inch of the Edge has been swallowed up!’
‘Sky above,’ Twig moaned. ‘What have I done?’ He looked into Maugin's eyes. ‘I was there, Maugin. In Sanctaphrax. I could have told them. The way our bodies glowed should have reminded me … Oh, if only I'd remembered what I had to do.’ He turned to the others. ‘We'll set off back at once. Maugin, you must come with us.’ Then his face paled and he staggered to one side. ‘Maugin,’ he said desperately. ‘Did I tell you when this had to be done?’
She shook her head.
Twig moaned. ‘You had part of the story Maugin. And I needed to hear it to unlock my memory and remember the rest…’ He faltered. ‘The Mother Storm will return when …’ His father's words came back to him with awful clarity ‘… when the waters of Riverrise stop flowing …’
Maugin suddenly drew away. Her whole body was rigid, her gaze fixed on the spur of rock jutting out from the edge of the Riverrise spring.
‘Twig!’ said Maugin, seizing him by the arm. ‘Twig, listen!’
Twig fell still. He cocked his head to one side. ‘What?’ he said. ‘I can't hear anything.’
‘Exactly,’ said Maugin. ‘It is silent.’
Twig frowned. ‘What do you mean? I…’ An icy shiver ran the length of his spine. The regular drip drip of the Riverrise water had stopped.
‘The Riverrise spring has finally died,’ said Maugin in a low voice. ‘It can mean only one thing …’
Twig looked up, his eyes wide. ‘The Mother Storm is on her way,’ he said. ‘I remember everything now. She should reach here at dawn. But that will never happen. Instead, she will strike Sanctaphrax at the stroke of midnight, expending her energy uselessly - and the Edge will descend into darkness. I've failed,’ he said bitterly. ‘I've failed Cloud Wolf. I've failed Sanctaphrax. I've failed myself.’
Woodfish stepped forwards. ‘Yet, perhaps there is a solution, after all.’ He looked at Maugin, and his eyes narrowed. ‘I can read it in her thoughts.’
‘What?’ said Twig. ‘What is she thinking, Woodfish?’ He turned to Maugin. ‘Is there something you're not telling me?’
She looked away.
‘Maugin!’ said Twig. ‘Please!’
‘Do you want me to tell him?’ said Woodfish.
Maugin swallowed back her tears. ‘There's only one way of getting back to Sanctaphrax in time,’ she said quietly. ‘But at terrible risk.’
Twig's jaw dropped. ‘By midnight?’ he said. ‘How?’
‘But it's madness,’ said Maugin. She glared at Woodfish. ‘Just a foolish thought.’
‘Tell me!’ Twig demanded.
Maugin sighed. And although she stared back at him evenly enough, when she spoke, her voice was no more than a tremulous whisper.
‘By sky-firing.’
• CHAPTER NINETEEN •
FLIGHT TO SANCTAPHRAX
Sky-firing! Twig blanched. It was a method the more unscrupulous captains - both sky pirates and leaguesmen - had of dealing with mutinous crew-members. The offending individual was tied to a burning length of buoyant wood and launched off like a rocket on a one-way trip into open sky. It was a horrific punishment, feared by all who took to the skies in ships. Surely Maugin couldn't really mean …
‘I know it sounds insane, captain,’ said Maugin. ‘But instead of launching a blazing tree-trunk upwards, it could just be possible to calculate an angle of ascent that would take you in a wide arc over the Deepwoods and on to Undertown. But the risks are appalling. You could fall short and land in the Twilight Woods or the Mire, or overshoot Undertown entirely and disappear over the Edge itself. And even if, by some miracle, you did reach Undertown, the chances are you'd be a charred corpse when you hit the ground.’
Twig looked back at Maugin steadily. ‘That's a chance I'm prepared to take,’ he said.
‘But, Twig,’ said Cowlquape. ‘You heard what she said. It would be certain death!’
‘I must try,’ said Twig firmly. ‘It'll be certain death for Sanctaphrax if I don't. And for every single creature in the Deepwoods if the river is not rejuvenated. I must try’
Cowlquape grasped Twig's hand. He was trembling; his breath came in gasps. ‘Let me go in your place. Let me be sky-fired to Sanctaphrax. I am y
ounger than you. Lighter. And what's the life of a failed apprentice compared with that of the finest sky pirate that ever lived?’ He paused. ‘And … and you could tie a message to my back addressed to the Professor of Darkness, just in case I didn't make it there alive …’
Twig smiled. ‘You are not a failed apprentice, Cowlquape; you have served me well.’ He shook his head. ‘I can't ask you to do this. It is my task.’
‘But Twig!’ protested Cowlquape, tears in his eyes.
‘Thank you,’ said Twig, ‘but I won't hear another word on the matter …’
‘And yet the idea of someone accompanying you is not a bad one,’ Maugin said thoughtfully. ‘A stout tree should bear the weight of two passengers, and it would mean that if one blacked out, the other would still have a fighting chance. I shall go with you, captain.’
‘You?’ said Cowlquape incredulously.
‘I am a Stone Pilot,’ said Maugin. ‘I have the knowledge and expertise. I should be the one to accompany Twig.’
Twig smiled and bowed his head. ‘I'm very touched,’ he said. ‘But I must go alone.’
‘But, captain!’ protested Maugin.
‘I'm sorry, Maugin,’ said Twig. ‘You and the rest of the crew have followed me faithfully for long enough. I risked all your lives by sailing into open sky. I've already asked too much of you.’ He paused. ‘Give me your expertise, not your life.’
Maugin took his hand. ‘You have my life already,’ she said.
They searched the luxuriant gardens of Riverrise for the tallest, stoutest, most buoyant tree they could find. At last, they settled on a magnificent silver-grey lufwood standing proud at the very edge of the still water of the spring.
‘It seems almost a shame to cut down such a beautiful tree,’ said Cowlquape with a faraway look in his eyes. ‘I wonder how long it has stood here, drinking the waters of Riverrise. Why, Kobold the Wise might himself have sat in its shade.’
‘It's a fine choice, captain,’ said Maugin. ‘It'll burn long and bright.’
‘Let's get to work,’ said Twig impatiently. ‘Time is running out. The Mother Storm is on her way - and midnight is drawing closer and closer over Sanctaphrax.’
