by Andrew Symon
There was complete silence.
Then Konan’s voice began again, but it was different. Still hostile, but less harsh.
“Marco … urrgghh … by Loch na Keal’s water … Stone key … Raglan …”
The tree appeared to shudder, and the voice stopped. For several minutes there was no sound at all. Then Jack saw that the knots and the gash had stopped moving.
“He will say no more.” Grandpa Sandy’s voice was firm.
“Let’s burn him, then,” said Rana. “He doesn’t deserve to live.”
“Cosmo stopped your father from killing him last year, Rana. We do not have that right.”
Jack felt deflated and confused.
“Grandpa, this is hopeless.”
“So you think Konan didn’t make any sense?” said his grandfather. “To be truthful, I’m surprised at how much he did say.”
“He told us nothing,” shouted Jack. “It didn’t make any sense.”
“He said little,” replied Grandpa Sandy with a twinkle in his eye, “but he told us a great deal.”
18
Aquine Ride
“What?” Jack’s voice was near to breaking, the ache in his heart was so great. “He was supposed to tell us about my father. He just said Marco, or something. What’s that mean? And what’s Loch na Keal’s water?”
“There is a legend of a great cat, a mystical beast known as Marco, on a small island called Ilanbeg. It’s down the coast near Loch na Keal – a sea loch, like this one.”
Cats! Jack shuddered. Ordinary ones were bad enough. He had no inclination to tackle a great one.
“Well, what about Stone key and ‘Raglan’?”
“‘Stone key’ is just an old Shian legend that someday Shian will find a key that gives them the power of the Stone. It’s not true – but Konan must have believed it was. He spoke the truth when you used Gosol on him – he had no option.”
“But Tamlina mentioned Raglan last year: when she was in a trance, and then when she zapped Petros.”
“Tamlina’s riddles are famous; most of the time nobody knows what she means.”
“So how does this help us find my father?”
“The Stone key doesn’t, but Loch na Keal does: we were meant to find this out. That’s why you brought us here.”
“If we’d told Konan the Kildashie have captured Fenrig and Morrigan, he might have helped us more,” added Rana. “They’re Brashat too.”
“We don’t know if they were captured, though,” pointed out Jack. “They’re hardly ever around. Olbeg’s no idea where they are most of the time.”
“I’ve no great liking for young Fenrig or his sister, but I hope they managed to get away from the square,” replied Grandpa Sandy. “But I’m afraid that Konan is no more use to us now.”
“So we have to find this island, then?” asked Rana. “Can’t we go to Keldy?”
“The hermit cell low road is out of action, and we have no horses. Getting to Keldy will take many days. I cannot move fast, or far, over land. But we are by the sea; we can sail down the coast.”
“How?” demanded Jack. He still couldn’t understand how this would move them forward. “We don’t have a boat.”
“Jack, I’m surprised at you. Hasn’t Murkle told you about the sea creatures?”
“He just goes on about giants and trolls. He’s so boring.”
“Nothing about Aquines, then?”
“Dad told me about them,” piped up Rana. “They’re sea horses.”
“Of a kind,” replied Grandpa Sandy. “Not like the kelpie in Loch Keldy, though. Aquines are good-natured beasts. If we can call them, they may give us a lift down the coast.”
Grandpa set to gathering roots and leaves. Mixing them in with some fish scales, he pounded them down into a paste before adding it to some water in a small phial he took from his cloak.
“Aren’t there any other low road entrances?” Rana’s voice was flat, without real hope. “Then we could join the others in Keldy.”
“Digging the ground up, and the fire, that was sabotage. Any other entrances nearby will have been destroyed too. Our best bet is to get down the coast.”
The three set out along the shoreline towards the open sea. As they walked, Grandpa Sandy explained how the coastal Shian would “call the Aquines” and the sea horses would herd fish into nets, whereupon the catch would be shared.
“So where are these Shian now?” asked Rana.
“Like the local humans, they found life harder and harder. That’s why this place is so desolate. But I’m hoping the Aquines haven’t forgotten this tradition.”
The waves broke freely upon the shoreline as the loch met the open sea, and seabirds whirled overhead, their harsh cries mixing with the sound of the waves. Grandpa Sandy sat down by the water’s edge and took out the phial of Aquine oil. Holding his sceptre over the water, he hit the surface several times, then reached over and poured out some of the oil.
“Ossian did that,” blurted out Jack, “and the kelpie came up.”
“Well, let’s hope this is as successful.” His grandfather smiled.
For a while, nothing happened. Jack scanned the water for any sign of the sea horses, then realised that he didn’t know what they looked like.
“How big are they? The kelpie was huge. I only saw his head and neck, but that was several feet long.”
“Big enough,” mused Grandpa Sandy. “I should warn you that they can be frisky. If we’re lucky, they’ll take us down the coast. But be prepared to get wet.”
“Have you done a lot of this, then?” enquired Rana.
“Not since I was a boy.”
Rana looked at Jack and pulled her eyes wide open. That wasn’t yesterday!
They waited for what seemed like hours. Bored, Jack wandered back along the shoreline. Grandpa Sandy had beaten the sea several times and had poured out some oil each time. There was just a dribble left in the phial.
Without warning, a pointed nose poked out from the water. Rana gave a startled yelp as a pair of beady eyes fixed on her. Jack came racing back from his dawdle.
Getting unsteadily to his feet, Grandpa Sandy began to stutter something. There was a silence.
“What did you say to it?” hissed Jack out of the corner of his mouth.
“I can’t remember all the words,” whispered his grandfather. “It’s many years since I tried this.”
The Aquine’s head disappeared, and for a while nothing happened. Then it reappeared and was joined by another, and then two more heads, then two more again. The six heads were indeed horse-like, with what looked almost like a mane of scaly hair. The first one made a series of clicking noises, following which Grandpa again tried to remember the right sounds. He stumbled over phrases, repeating himself more than once, but they seemed to have the desired effect. The three largest of the Aquines rose further out of the water, revealing their dorsal fins.
“Come on.”
Grandpa tucked his sceptre in his cloak, waded into the water and, clutching his walking stick firmly in his right hand, clambered onto the largest creature’s back. Jack and Rana looked at each other, initially uncertain of what to do. Jack shrugged, then began to wade out.
“It’s freezing!” He shuddered as the water reached his thighs.
Rana was only momentarily put off. She too strode out into the water and, like Jack, climbed on one of the Aquine’s backs.
“Hold on tight,” yelled Grandpa, gripping a fin as the creature set off.
The Aquines seemed to be letting them get used to the ride, because after a few moments at a gentle pace they began to speed up. Jack, Rana and their grandfather sat, their legs astride these strange creatures, eyes squinting against the wind and the sea spray. Jack’s Aquine in particular seemed to like rising up on waves before splashing down again. Jack’s teeth were chattering, but at the same time it was the most exhilarating ride of his life.
“This is even better than the horses when we went to France,” sho
uted Rana, clearly in her element.
It was similar: horse-like creatures, moving faster than any Shian could hope to travel on their own – the low road excepted. But there was so much spray that Jack’s clothes were quickly soaked, and a fine salt crust covered his face. He quickly gave up trying to lick his lips.
The three Aquines, together with their outriders, were a hundred yards or so out to sea, hugging the coastline. Every now and then Jack caught sight of a small sailing boat, and once even a human windsurfer. He looked across at his grandfather, who seemed to need all his strength and concentration just to keep his grip.
The sky darkened and a light rain fell. Rana complained: this was ruining a good ride, but Jack relished the fresh water on his face. However, as the rain intensified, the wind grew colder and the Aquines seemed to take a perverse pleasure in skimming just below the surface, allowing the sea to reach up to chest height. Jack was horrified to see Rana’s Aquine sink below the waves, taking her with it for a full half-minute. When she surfaced again she gave a loud whoop.
“Whoo hoo! That was brilliant!”
She always boasts she can hold her breath for ages, thought Jack as he shivered. I just want to get to this island.
He was mightily relieved when he saw his grandfather point his walking stick at an island ahead of them.
They began to slow down. The Aquines cruised along the rocky coastline for a while, before slowing right down as a sheltered bay came into view. Reaching the shallows, Grandpa Sandy clambered off his Aquine. Jack and Rana followed suit, and together they waded ashore.
Jack was shivering as he collapsed cold, wet and tired on the shingle beach. He barely noticed stretching up to human height.
Grandpa Sandy turned around and waved his arm at the Aquines, which suddenly looked a lot smaller. He made some clicking sounds, then concluded, “Tappa, Aquinas.”
The Aquines clicked a response and disappeared back into the water.
“You remembered how to speak to them,” pointed out Rana.
“It came back to me on the journey,” her grandfather replied happily. “That brought back happy memories. But it didn’t use to be so sore, crouching like that for a long time.”
“I’m cold.” Jack shivered. “Can we find some shelter?”
“We need somewhere we can get warm and dry.” Grandpa Sandy seemed drained by the journey, and he hobbled up the beach.
Racing ahead, Jack found a cave entrance above the high-water line. He ducked inside and emerged quickly.
“It’s dry in here,” he announced. “I’ll get some firewood. Rana, you go and look for a stream.”
“What am I going to put the water in?” she demanded.
“The humans think of everything,” said Grandpa Sandy, wheezing after his effort. “Look, there’s some plastic bottles on the beach. Give them a good rinse, and we can use them.”
Rana pulled a yeuch face, but did as she was told. The rain had gone off; Jack quickly found some driftwood and started a fire in the mouth of cave. The wood was damp and slow to ignite; it smoked horribly. To his surprise, Jack saw his grandfather return with three small rabbits and a brace of trout.
“How’d you get them?”
“A little crude, I suppose. I wanted to check my sceptre still worked all right after our sea journey. Not very neat, I’m afraid.”
Jack saw the singe marks on each of the creatures, but was far too hungry to worry about blemishes like that. By the time Rana had returned with three plastic bottles filled with clear stream water, Jack had deftly skinned and skewered the rabbits, along with the fish, and placed them over the fire. They sizzled satisfyingly, and the smell of cooking wafted around the cave entrance. Stretching out the clean clothes they had brought so that they would dry first, they spread their cloaks and coats to one side of the fire, where they steamed gently. The three huddled around the flames and devoured the food. Grandpa seemed very old again.
There was no shortage of deadwood on the beach, and Jack replenished the fire every now and then. Their clothes dried slowly, and as they were lounging by the fire and digesting their meal, Rana arranged a series of pebbles around a circle she had drawn in the sand.
“Is that a clock?” asked Grandpa Sandy idly.
Rana pointed to an area to the right of the cave.
“I’m just copying that pattern there,” she said casually.
Jack looked over to where Rana was pointing. His sense of ease and well-being evaporated instantly.
Twelve small twigs poking up from the sand formed a perfect circle some three feet in diameter.
Instinctively, Jack’s hand reached into his pocket and grasped the yucca fibres. The oil was oozing out of it.
19
Marco Leo
“What’s the matter, Jack?”
His grandfather’s voice showed tiredness, but no hint of unease.
Jack’s lips moved, but his mouth was parched and no sound came out. He stared hard at the ring of twigs. Grandpa Sandy’s gaze followed Jack’s, but there was no recognition on his face. Rana, sensing that something was wrong, had fallen silent.
Jack got uneasily to his feet, his damp clothes clinging to him. He gripped the yucca ring in his right pocket. There was no doubt about it: his hand was sticky.
“Shape-shifter,” he mumbled.
“Where?” whispered Rana, following Jack’s gaze. “I just thought someone had tried to make a sundial.”
“Probably human children playing,” said Grandpa, getting up and hobbling towards the twig ring.
“No, Grandpa!” blurted Jack, but it was too late.
Grandpa Sandy was knocked sideways as he stepped into the ring. Jack saw little more than a blur, but the roar that accompanied it would stay in his mind for a very long time, and Rana’s scream would run that sound a very close second.
Jack’s mind raced. What had Finbogie taught him? Get out of there. But he couldn’t: his grandfather was lying on the ground, stunned; Rana was close to hysteria; and an enormous lion had appeared. The creature stood over Grandpa Sandy, but looked directly at the two youngsters. It roared again.
Jomo bag … No, no good … never got round to filling it with dirt … Must stop it killing Grandpa.
The lion took a pace towards Jack and Rana as they cowered just outside the cave. Jack reached quickly into the Sintura belt around his waist, and felt around frantically for the hair wristlet Freya had given him. His heart thumped in his chest. Had he lost it? Would it work after being in the sea? Finally his fingers touched the hair bracelet, and he withdrew it quickly and slipped it onto his wrist.
“Felavert!”
The lion halted: it looked like it was trying to move, but couldn’t.
Now what? thought Jack. Now I’m supposed to get out of here; but I still can’t. Grandpa’s sceptre is in his cloak, and he’s not even moving. At least Rana’s stopped screaming.
The lion tried to move forwards again, but its legs would not cooperate, and it stumbled to its knees.
And then the mist in Jack’s head cleared. Just as he had with Konan the treeman, he thrust his right palm out towards the lion and shouted, “Gosol!”
There was a loud crack and a puff of smoke. When it had cleared, the lion had gone, and before Jack and Rana sat an old man clutching an ancient leather-bound book. He got to his feet and brushed himself down. Jack was so taken aback that he had no idea what his next move should be, but the old man took the initiative.
“Your heart is true, young man,” he said, a kindly smile in his eyes. “You use that power well. Come, let us see what has happened to your grandfather.”
“You nearly killed him,” shouted Rana.
The old man looked steadily at her. “I believe he fell,” he answered in an injured tone.
Grandpa Sandy had regained consciousness and was sitting rubbing the side of his head.
“Blasted stone,” he muttered.
Then, looking up and seeing Jack and Rana with the stranger, he got t
o his feet, but the effort was too much, and he sat down again.
“I am afraid that your sudden appearance made me stumble,” he said slowly. “That rock–” he indicated a stone partly covered with sand “–caught me on the temple.” He rubbed slowly at a large graze on the side of his head.
“Let’s have a look at that,” said the stranger, kneeling down to examine Grandpa Sandy’s head and placing the leather book on the ground.
Having inspected the graze and looked in Grandpa Sandy’s eyes, he pronounced, “We should get you to lie down for a while. My house is not far. You’ll be safe there.”
Jack was looking quizzically at the leather-bound book on the ground.
I’m sure I’ve seen it before somewhere. But where?
He stooped to pick it up, but the old man beat him to it.
“I’ll take care of that,” he said firmly. “Follow me.”
The path led them towards an old ruined cottage. Just one storey high, it had no roof and only two and a half walls.
“Is that his house?” hissed Rana to Jack. “There’s hardly any of it left.”
The old man stepped up to what had once been the front doorway, tapped a weather-beaten symbol carved into the stone lintel, and stepped through. Jack ushered his grandfather in next. Stepping over the portal, they entered a brightly lit, well-furnished room. Wooden beams held up the ceiling, the walls were adorned with pictures, and shelves were crammed with books. Rana entered last and let out a yelp of surprise as she caught sight of the room’s interior.
The old man guided Grandpa Sandy over to a sofa and made him lie down. Disappearing into the next room for a minute, he returned with a bowl of water and a clean cloth.
“I can do that,” announced Rana, glad to have something to do. She took the damp cloth and gently washed the graze on her grandfather’s head.
The old man indicated to Jack that he should sit down, and Jack did so, gratefully. Jack’s mind was racing. This didn’t seem real, and yet he was sitting on what felt like a real chair. The outdoor sounds of wind and sea had died down to almost nothing, and a fire crackled in the grate.
