Occasionally, they glimpsed a cottage at the foot of an island, but mostly the coast felt wild, home to the calls of the birds and seals that hung in the wintry breeze. Moll felt the air bite through her gloves and nip at her ears and she gripped her oar tighter and tried her best not to think about the Night Spinner and his Veil. But, when Bruce stopped swimming and turned questioning eyes back at the raft, Moll knew something wasn’t right.
She glanced at Siddy. ‘It’s gone quiet. Listen . . .’
They strained their ears for the groans of the puffins or the yapping kittiwakes, but the birds were still and silent on the crags and only the waves sounded, thumping against the cliffs. Bruce slid closer to the raft until his furred chin was touching the planks of timber. And suddenly Moll realised why. Where Bruce had been the waves no longer rolled. Instead, they swirled in a circle, a spin of water that was gathering pace to form a hollow drop in the middle.
‘Whirlpool!’ Siddy screamed.
They dug their oars into the water and back-paddled, but the whirlpool only grew in size. The birds tore from the cliffs, shaking the silence with terrified cries, and Moll’s insides squirmed.
Because there, in the middle of the churning water, was a head – a pulsing mass of slithery skin with two rolling eyes. Moll knew instantly that this was a kraken, the beast from the depths of the sea that Aira had spoken of, but it was fused with all the horror and curses Orbrot had mustered from the Underworld.
Bruce shot beneath the surface and Frank dived into Siddy’s pocket. But Gryff, the piano string still gripped between his teeth, growled from the end of the raft and as he did so a giant green tentacle reared out of the sea, its suckers glistening in the sunlight. Moll felt her limbs go weak and Siddy moaned, but when Gryff stamped his forelimbs on to the raft, his eyes blazing and his muscles rippling, they knew it was a call to fight.
‘Weapons!’ Moll shouted, hurling down her oar and snatching an arrow from her quiver.
Siddy grabbed Moll’s catapult and, as Moll yelled ‘Fire!’, his stone and Moll’s arrow shot out at the same time. The kraken drew up more tentacles from the depths, great suckered limbs that curled into the air like chains, and just before Moll and Siddy’s missiles hit its squid-like body a tentacle whipped round and thrashed the weapons away. The kraken’s eyes narrowed and it twisted its tentacles together creating a terrible squelching sound. Sensing what was coming next, Moll and Siddy back-paddled desperately, but the kraken smashed a tentacle towards the raft. It missed them by millimetres, but the movement jolted the vessel, sending Moll, Siddy, Frank and Gryff sliding to the very end as the whole thing tilted downwards. Then it bounced back up, spraying water over them, and the group scampered into the middle.
‘Reload!’ Moll cried. ‘We have to try!’
Once again, Moll nocked an arrow to her bow and Siddy loaded his catapult with a stone and they fired, but the kraken hurled the weapons out of its path and sank beneath the surface. Just the whirlpool remained, edging closer and closer to the raft . . . and then it exploded.
Water burst from the sea, spattering on to the planks of wood, before the kraken rose up again, great ropes of drool hanging from its suckers. Moll and Siddy quaked in fear as they stared up at the creature. Then it slammed a tentacle down on the vessel, hurling Gryff into the sea.
‘No!’ Moll cried, rushing to the edge of the raft.
The end of the piano string was floating on the surface and Moll yanked it up, but there was no sign of the wildcat. Her eyes scudded across the waves, then Siddy wrenched her backwards.
‘Watch out!’ he yelled.
The kraken lunged forward, ripping several arrows from Moll’s quiver and flinging them into the sea. Siddy hauled Moll further back and she clutched her quiver tight, desperate to keep the golden feather safe. The kraken withdrew for a moment to gather its full strength.
‘Gryff!’ Moll panted. ‘Where is he?’
She whirled round, searching for the wildcat, then saw Bruce nosing him through the water towards the raft. Quickly, she bent over the edge and lifted Gryff up, then Bruce tried to clamber aboard too – he wasn’t giving up on them yet and he was ready to help with the fight. Moll heaved the seal pup on to the raft as Siddy fired stone after stone.
But the monster loomed before them still, tentacles quivering, and Moll realised they couldn’t fight what was coming. With a single stroke, the kraken would drown them all . . .
And then Moll remembered something Willow had told them about their bows, something she’d completely forgotten about until now. There was another way their arrows could be used – to fire a protection charm instead of a weapon if they thought hard enough about the Otherworld – but they only had one chance at this in their lifetime. She’d had hers when they were searching for the second amulet, but Siddy still had his – and she still had one arrow left . . .
‘Use my bow and think of the Otherworld!’ Moll yelled. ‘Will it on and the arrow will fire a cocoon to protect us!’ The kraken lumbered forward and Siddy whimpered.
‘You can do it, Sid!’ Moll cried. ‘I know you can!’
Fingers trembling, Siddy raised Moll’s bow and, as the kraken’s tentacles lunged towards them, he fired. The Oracle Spirit burst out, but, instead of careering towards the beast, a shell of hard white light enclosed the raft and everyone on board. Tentacles slammed against the cocoon and suckers squelched against the sides, but the Oracle Spirit was strong – stronger than the Shadowmasks’ magic – and, like a shield of glass, it withstood the kraken’s blows. Not even the waves that pounded against its sides could topple the little raft now that it was encased and it stood firm, a glowing light amid the shadowed cliffs, blocking out all noise and danger.
Heart clamouring, Moll turned to Siddy. ‘Well done, Sid! You did it!’
Siddy set his bow down and watched, wide-eyed, as the kraken wrestled its suckered tentacles over the cocoon. ‘It worked,’ he panted as Frank emerged from his pocket and licked his chin. ‘It actually worked.’
Moll nuzzled into Gryff’s fur, then reached out a hand to touch the cocoon. It was cool and hard and, though the kraken wasn’t giving up, Moll knew that the beast didn’t really stand a chance against the old magic now. She smiled at Bruce.
‘Thank you for rescuing Gryff. You’re fast becoming the most impressive selkie I’ve ever met.’
Bruce clapped his flippers together in delight, but then the kraken slid a large, throbbing eye right up to the cocoon, and the seal pup flattened himself to the raft, his fur bristling.
‘We can’t stay like this forever,’ Moll said. ‘We only have one more night until the full moon rises . . . What do we do?’
The sun was sinking now and, although they couldn’t see it through the maze of islands, its light spilled through the gaps, scattering orange on the sea.
‘It’ll be night soon,’ Siddy said quietly. ‘What if the Night Spinner creeps up on us . . .?’
Frank scurried over the raft towards the cocoon, bashed it with her paw and then let out a little growl at the kraken. But, when the beast barged its slimy body against the shell of light, the ferret shot backwards before clattering into Moll, getting her legs and claws tangled up in Moll’s hair.
‘Urgh, Sid, control your ferret! You don’t see Gryff prancing around all over people’s faces.’
Siddy went to grab Frank. ‘She’s got her paws stuck in something . . . What’s that hanging around your neck?’
Moll glanced at her chest as Siddy yanked the ferret free. Hanging from a piece of string was the whistle carved from antler that Aira had given her. Moll ran her thumb up and down it. ‘Sid,’ she said slowly, ‘I may have an idea how to get us out of this.’
He nodded. ‘So long as it doesn’t involve being catapulted off another burning building, I’m in.’
Moll held out the whistle. ‘Aira gave this to me – she said the giants up in the mountains, the ones who were actually there when the old magic first turned, gave it to her ancest
ors. She said if I was in need I should blow it and the old magic would come to help.’
Siddy threw his hands in the air. ‘And you didn’t think to give it a quick toot when I was turned to stone or when the castle was burning down or – or when the kraken nearly ATE US?’
Moll’s cheeks reddened. ‘I forgot. There’s a lot to remember with golden feathers and piano strings.’
The kraken slid its face down the cocoon and Siddy edged closer to Moll. ‘Blow the whistle. Now.’
Moll raised it to her lips and blew but the sound that came out was reedy and thin and she felt a stab of doubt that something so small could help them now.
Siddy shook his head. ‘Blow the whistle like you mean it, Moll. Like you believe it’ll help – just as I believed when I made the cocoon.’
Moll blew again, mustering up all the belief that she could, and the sound blared within the cocoon, high and shrill and full of hope. And, even after Moll had lowered the whistle from her lips, the sound rang through the Lost Isles.
‘There’s magic coming,’ she whispered. ‘I can feel it.’
Siddy nodded and then Gryff slipped from Moll’s side to the front of the raft. He looked out towards the passage of sea cutting through the islands, as if he could sense something beyond their vision. A cluster of dark shapes appeared in the sky: a dozen large birds swooping low through the islands towards them, their wings a flash of brown and white against the fading sun.
‘Ospreys,’ Moll murmured, then she looked at Aira’s whistle. ‘Do you think we – we called them?’
‘Even if we did,’ Siddy said glumly, ‘birds won’t be much use against a kraken.’
Moll watched as the ospreys soared towards them before circling above the sea monster. She craned her neck to get a better view. ‘What are they doing?’
And then her stomach plunged. The ospreys were diving – bolts of talons, claws and orange eyes plummeting straight towards the cocoon.
‘No,’ Siddy breathed. ‘The Shadowmasks must have called the birds! Not us!’
The kraken drew back, its tentacles raised in glee as the birds descended, but instead of hammering their talons against the cocoon the birds stretched out their wings at the very last moment, suddenly breaking their dives. Moll held in a scream as the raft wobbled and the endless battering of waves stopped.
‘What’s happening?’ Siddy wailed.
Moll glanced up to see the ospreys clutching the cocoon, which was now soft like cloth and gathered inside their talons like scrunched-up silk.
She raised a hand to her mouth. ‘I think we’re . . . flying!’
The two children rushed to the edge of the raft and when they looked out they saw the kraken far below them, thrashing at the sea with its tentacles. They climbed higher and higher into the twilight, up above the jagged peaks and into a sky strewn with amber clouds. The raft rocked back and forth to the beat of ospreys’ wings and, safe inside the silver-white tent, Moll picked up the whistle and smiled.
‘The old magic came to help us,’ she said.
The birds carried them silently through the clouds, past waterfalls crashing off jutting crags, on up the coast above a copper sea, until eventually the Lost Isles shrank to a few scattered mounds, dark shapes against the dying light. Moll glanced at Bruce who was watching through the cocoon, unblinking, but he made no signal to imply they were going the wrong way. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who knew where the place Willow had called one hundred years deep lay.
There was nothing to be done now but to trust that the birds knew where they were going. So Siddy and Molly sat together, talking long into the night – of what might be waiting for them ahead and of what the last amulet might be – but also of their tree fort and their wagons deep in Tanglefern Forest and of everything they planned to do together once all this was over. And as the ospreys flew on into the night, below a large pale moon, they spoke of Alfie and hoped that wherever he was, he was safe.
Gryff tugged at Moll’s coat sleeve and she opened one eye.
‘Brrroooooo.’
She let the wildcat’s greeting call rumble in her ears, then she sat up and yawned. Siddy was lying beside her, snoring, with Frank curled up on his chest and, at the far end of the raft, Bruce was peering out through the cocoon. Moll followed his upward gaze. Brown-flecked feathers rippled in the wind and far below the ospreys the sea sprawled out towards an unknown horizon. Sunlight bobbed on the waves and it was so warm and snug inside the cocoon that it might have been a summer’s day had the coastline to their right not told another story. White mountains rose up from the sea, their bases ringed with ice, and wisps of snow unfurled from the peaks.
Frank stirred from Siddy’s chest and, on seeing Moll and Gryff awake, nibbled on Siddy’s ear.
‘The mountains,’ Siddy murmured, rubbing his eyes as he looked out of the cocoon. ‘They go on forever.’
Moll nodded. For as far as they could see, peaks and ridges jutted across the land. They were colossal, like the bone structure of a mighty dragon, and they reached such dizzying heights it looked as if they were propping up the sky itself. Moll swallowed. Somehow they had to find the last amulet among them tonight . . .
There was a sharp cry from above and suddenly the ospreys tucked in their wings, the raft swung to one side and the birds bulleted towards the sea.
‘Hold on!’ Moll yelled, clutching Gryff with one hand and digging her nails into the raft with the other.
Her stomach swung to her throat and her eyes streamed as the birds plunged down, down, down – then the raft hit the water with a jolt, the silk around them hardened into a glass-like cocoon again, and once more they felt the familiar push and pull of the tide around them. Using their beaks, the ospreys nudged the raft up to the base of the nearest mountain before launching into the sky and gliding away over the mountains. But, where the ospreys had been on the ledges of rock, there was now a person: a woman whose face told of magic and undiscovered worlds.
‘Is – is that . . .?’ Moll’s voice trailed off in disbelief.
The messenger from the Otherworld was exactly as Moll remembered her: blue swishes of colour looped from her cheekbones up over her brow, pale green dots curved beneath her eyes and a long silver plait hung down over her dress. The only change was the fur cape she wore which curled round her body like folds of fresh snow.
Siddy pressed his palms up against the cocoon. ‘Willow!’
The woman dipped her head towards them and something in the gesture reminded Moll of how Gryff greeted her after time apart. Willow took a deep breath and as she exhaled, the cocoon around them faded and then vanished. Moll shivered at the sudden chill of air.
‘I do not have long,’ Willow said. Her voice was quieter than it had been in the forest when they’d first met. It was almost a whisper, like a trail of words carried loosely on the wind, and now that Moll looked more closely Willow’s body looked different too – faded at the edges as if the Oracle Spirit was only just in Moll’s world. ‘The dark magic is trying to hold me back even now,’ Willow continued. ‘But, when you destroyed Orbrot, the Shadowmasks’ power weakened for a moment and I was able to find a way through to you.’ The markings around her eyes tightened. ‘Keep hold of your bow, Moll.’
Moll frowned. ‘But I lost the last of my arrows and—’
Willow cut through her words. ‘Keep the bow and follow the selkie.’
She leapt from the rock out on to the raft and Moll and Siddy held their breath at the sight of magic so close and so full of urgency. Willow leant forward and touched the whistle hanging around Moll’s neck and Moll gasped as she watched the Oracle Spirit’s touch transform it into a small key carved from bone. Engravings ran down each side.
‘Oracle Bone script,’ Moll murmured, turning it over in her palm.
Willow nodded. ‘Magic does not fix as one thing for very long. You only need to blink or turn away and it disappears, but it is never gone for good. Look after that key, Moll. You will know when
to use it.’ She drew herself up, her body fading in the sunlight before them. ‘I must leave you now – the Night Spinner’s dark magic isn’t far behind – but we will meet again. That much I know. When you have found what lies one hundred years deep, head north on foot. Over the Barbed Peaks.’ She paused. ‘And know, as ever, that the old magic is willing you on every step of the way.’
She twisted her hands above her head, as if running them over invisible objects, and then, from Willow’s fingertips, silver shapes swirled into the air, like wisps of smoke, and as they drifted slowly down to the raft they hardened into objects the group couldn’t have been happier to see: goblets full of steaming hot chocolate, bowls of warm milk for Gryff and Frank, fresh fish for Bruce and trays laden with porridge, fresh fruit and buttered toast. But where Willow had been there was nothing – just the feel of magic glimpsed and then lost.
Siddy glanced around. ‘Do you think we have time to eat it? The Night Spinner could be here any moment.’
Moll considered. ‘I think it’s important to eat breakfast before tackling dark magic; Willow wouldn’t have conjured it all up otherwise.’
Siddy picked up a goblet. ‘I agree.’
They ate hungrily, scraping at the bowls of porridge and draining the hot chocolate in glugs, and, when they had finished, the mysterious feast vanished, just as Willow had done.
Moll watched the sea for a moment, ruffled by the morning breeze, then, as Bruce slipped back into the water, she and Siddy dug their oars into the waves and followed the selkie as he swam further up the coast. Hours drifted by with Gryff and Frank keeping watch at both ends of the raft again and, though Moll’s hands were blistered inside her gloves, she kept on paddling – always north – with the cries of the kittiwakes in her ears.
The Night Spinner Page 17
