by Angie Sage
“Crumbs,” said Jenna. “What’s that?”
Beside the Blue Pinnacle was what looked like an ant nest. A huge mound of black spoil lay upon on the snow, and lines of figures were emerging from a great gash in the ground, slowly pushing barrows of dirt and rock.
Septimus frowned. “There is a Darke Magyk down there for sure,” he said.
Suddenly a ball of flame shot into the air and headed straight for them. Septimus pushed the tiller across to take evasive action, but there was no need. The Dragon Boat had seen a ThunderFlash before and she knew what was coming. She heeled over in a rapid turn and the ball of fire shot past, spinning as it went, the heat melting the ice on the deck.
Two more missiles came after them, but the Dragon Boat was out of reach. The snowstorm closed around them once more and Jenna made her way forward to the prow. She put her arms around the dragon’s ice-cold neck and whispered, “Take us home.”
WAITING
Two nights later the Dragon Boat flew over the PathFinders’ sandspit once again. This time there was no circle of lights. But down below on the beach in the darkness, someone was there.
It was Tod. She was sitting beside her father’s empty boat, waiting.
At dawn the previous morning, Dan Moon had gone fishing. It had been a fine day and Tod had helped him stow the nets and push his boat, Vega, down the beach. She had watched him sail slowly out, and when his red sail disappeared around the headland Tod had wandered off to have breakfast with her friends, the Sarn family. Even though Aunt Mitza had gone out that morning, Tod had no wish to go home, in case she came back unexpectedly.
Many PathFinders had gone fishing that day. Tod returned to the beach in the evening with other villagers, watching the boats come in until the only one not come home was her father’s. Darkness began to fall and the evening breeze blew in, but still there was no sign of Dan. Oskar and Ferdie Sarn joined her, bringing blankets and hot drinks. The long night passed slowly with nothing but an empty sea before them.
In the gray light of early dawn, Tod saw the unmistakable shape of Dan’s boat drifting toward the shore. But one look told her that there was no one on board. Vega’s sail hung loose and she meandered along with the waves, rocking back and forth.
Jerra Sarn—Oskar and Ferdie’s elder brother—took Tod out to fetch Vega and together, they pulled her up onto the sand. All that remained of Dan was his sodden fishing vest lying in a pool of water at the bottom of his boat. There were no nets, no fish and absolutely no sign of Dan.
Tod put on Dan’s fishing vest and refused to leave the beach. The Sarns took turns keeping her company but Tod did not care who was with her—the only person she wanted to see was her father. She sat steadfastly staring at the sea, watching for Dan. Ferdie and Oskar did not understand why—for surely Dan had drowned? And Tod, keeping the Circle promise, did not tell them. But Jerra Sarn, who had been at the MidSummer Circle for the last time three days earlier, understood what Tod was hoping for.
And so, as the Dragon Boat flew overhead, Tod sat dreaming that any moment Dan Moon would break the surface of the water and come wading out to her to tell her that yes, he had PathFinder gills. Time and again Tod imagined how he would look—draped with seaweed, shivering, but alive. She dreamed of how they would help him up the beach and take him home, and how Dan would tell them stories of his strange walk home along the seabed, home to his little Alice, and that everything was all right now.
But when the sun rose over the sea for the second day, Dan had not come home, Tod was still waiting, and nothing was right.
PART III
Two months later
A STORM BREWING
Dusk was falling. With her elflock flicking across her face in the wind, her short dark hair a tangled mess, Tod struggled to drag Dan’s unwieldy fishing boat out of the sea.
A barefoot, redheaded boy wearing, like Tod, a hooded black-striped top and cutoff black trousers—or “trews,” as the PathFinders called them—ran down the sloping beach toward her, the roar of the surf drowning out his voice.
“Tod! Hey, Tod! Wait. I’ll help.”
Suddenly Tod saw a pair of sun-browned hands next to hers on the rope, pulling hard. At once the boat felt lighter and began to break free of the tug of the backwash. “Oskar! Hey, thanks.”
Together Tod and Oskar pulled Vega out of the waves and hauled her up the sand, until they reached a chain that snaked up the beach to a post driven deep into the dunes. Oskar’s freckled, sunburned face glistened with salt water and his blue eyes with their distinctive yellow flecks crinkled into a smile. “She’s heavy,” he puffed. He waited while Tod roped the boat to the chain with two seamanlike knots. “Good catch?” he asked.
Tod ran her hand across her eyes, brushing away the sticky salt. She smiled wearily. “Yeah,” she said, and leaned into the boat to grab a large basket full to the brim with fish. “Not that Aunt Mitza will think so.”
Oskar made a face. “No pleasing some people,” he said. “Here, let me.” He reached in and helped her haul the basket out. “You taking your nets in tonight?” he asked.
“No, they’re okay.”
Tod and Oskar trudged up the steep sandy beach, the basket of fish between them. At the top of the beach, where the sand dunes began, they put the basket down and turned to look back at the sea, wide and empty before them. The sun was setting, leaving behind a band of pale green cloud adrift in a pink sky. The afternoon wind had died away but the sea was what Tod called “edgy”—a dark, disturbed blue. “There’s a storm coming,” she said.
They followed the board path that led through the dunes to the settlement of houses scattered behind them in the lee of the wind. Made from tar-painted planks, the PathFinder houses were simple buildings, one room built upon another and set onto stilts, reaching up to the stars. Now, in the twilight, the houses looked like strange, dark creatures striding between the dunes, the candles in their windows flickering like watchful eyes.
Tod and Oskar came to Bell Square, a wide-open space in the center of which was a tall wooden frame that supported the PathFinder Bell. This bell was reputed to be from the ancient ship that had taken them to the stars. Many tracks led off from the square and one of these went to Tod’s house, another to Oskar’s. “I’d ask you to come and have supper with us,” Oskar said, “but—”
“I’m not allowed,” Tod finished for him. “Thanks anyway, Oskie. You know I’d love to.” Tod thought of the ghastly Aunt Mitza waiting for her to come home. She thought of the scowl that would greet her and suddenly, without thinking, she found herself saying, “Why don’t you come and have supper with me?”
Oskar looked shocked. “But what about Aunt Mitza?”
Tod shrugged. “What about her? I’ve caught tons of fish. I’m going to cook it—as usual. She’s going to eat it—as usual. What’s for her to complain about?”
Oskar thought that there would be him to complain about for a start, but he said nothing. If Tod wanted him to come to supper, then come to supper he would. Oskar guessed his mother would not be pleased—nowadays she liked all her children to be home before dark, but he knew he could win her over. “I’ll go and tell Ma,” he said. “I’ll be at your place in ten minutes.”
Tod smiled. “Great!”
Tod lugged the fish basket along the narrow track, damp and dark in the twilight. At the far end her house stood alone, tall and proud on its stilts, with bright green shutters and Tod’s long, low attic room looking out to sea, crowned by a neat reed-thatched roof that Dan had renewed only a few weeks before he had disappeared.
Tod’s arms were aching when at last she reached the foot of the stepladder that led up to her house. She put down the basket and looked up to the doorway above. The door was open and a light shone from inside. It looked so welcoming that for a moment Tod felt a flicker of hope that her father had come back—that when she walked through that door Dan would be there and once again sweep her up into his arms. It had been two months now since D
an Moon had gone fishing and never come back. Sometimes it felt like only yesterday, and sometimes it felt like forever.
Aunt Mitza had compounded Tod’s misery by staying on at the house. Because it is my duty to be here, Alice, that is why, she would say whenever Tod asked her why she didn’t go away and leave her alone. And Tod knew that Aunt Mitza would indeed be there, sitting in her chair as ever, gazing out to the Far.
Tod shook away the sad thoughts about her father and picked up the basket of fish. She heaved it up the ladder and stopped in the doorway to get her breath back. Her father wasn’t home, of course. He wouldn’t have listened to her bringing up the fish without lifting a finger to help. She looked at the space beside the door where Dan’s big seaboots had once stood—it was as empty as it had been when she left at dawn that morning. A wave of sadness overwhelmed Tod and she dropped the fish basket with a despairing thud.
From a winged chair in the shadows Aunt Mitza sprang to her feet. She stormed over to Tod, her black eyes staring out from her flat, red face, which was pulled taut by the dark hair scraped savagely up into a bun on the top of her head. She bristled with fury. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. “Banging the fish down like that—are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
“No,” said Tod, thinking that wasn’t such a bad idea. “I’m just bringing in the fish. Like I always do.”
Aunt Mitza stared angrily at Tod. Tod returned the stare, determined not to blink first. Aunt Mitza looked away. “You’ll be sorry,” she said, turning on her heel and going back to the tall chair in the shadows.
Tod shrugged. She picked up the basket and went over to the cooking area. She selected three good-sized mackerel for the night’s supper and laid them on the fish stone, then she took the rest out to the fish store—a box filled with ice (which every morning Tod heaved up from the icehouse and crushed) attached to the outside wall. Just as Tod had watched Dan doing, she gently laid the catch on the layers of ice, then sprinkled them with more ice. The fish would keep for about five days, although they always tasted best on the first day.
To the background click-click-click of Aunt Mitza’s irritable knitting needles, Tod lit the fire in the stove, gutted the mackerel, and put them in the large black pan to gently fry. Then she went over to the table beside the window that looked out toward the marsh flats of the old lagoon at the back, which had once been one of her favorite places to sit and read. Tod threw her best red-checked cloth over the rough wood, laid three places for supper and waited for trouble. It wasn’t long coming.
“Three?” asked Aunt Mitza, eagle-eyed as ever.
“I’ve asked Oskar Sarn for supper.”
“Well, you can just un-ask him.” Aunt Mitza threw down her knitting and set off toward the door. Tod knew what she was going to do—pull up the ladder so Oskar could not get in. She raced after her, but there was no need. At that very moment Oskar’s cheery face peered in at the door.
It was not the most fun supper Oskar had ever had, but he would do anything for Tod, even if it meant spending a whole evening in the company of the dreaded Aunt Mitza. However, the evening was not as long as Oskar had expected. As soon as they had finished the fish—and before Oskar had time to point out that they hadn’t even unwrapped the cake his mother had given him to bring for pudding—Aunt Mitza scraped back her chair and stood up. “It’s late,” she said. “Oskar Sarn, it’s time you went home.”
Tod frowned. “It’s not at all late,” she objected. “Oskar’s only just got here.”
Aunt Mitza folded her arms and stared at Tod. “Alice TodHunter Moon. If I say it is late, it is late.” She scowled at Oskar. “And if you know what’s good for you, Oskar Sarn, you will go home right now.”
Oskar felt terrible. He hated the thought of leaving Tod alone with someone who so obviously loathed her. And yet he knew if he stayed he would only make things worse for Tod. He got up from the table and, deliberately not looking at Aunt Mitza, gave Tod a strained smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.
Aunt Mitza burst out laughing as though Oskar had made a joke. “Say good-bye, Oskar Sarn,” she said. “Say good-bye.”
Despondently, Oskar climbed down the ladder. The wind was blowing in from the sea strongly now, whisking sharp grains of sand off the dunes and sending them flicking across his skin. Oskar pulled his night cloak around him against the sand. His mother had insisted that Jerra came to meet him and walk home with him after supper, but his brother was not due for almost two hours, and there was no way Oskar was going to hang around waiting. His head down against the wind, Oskar set off quickly, following the track back along the sandspit.
As he trudged on, accompanied by the mournful rattle of the hollow dune grasses, all he could think about was the expression on Tod’s face when she had waved him good-bye. She had looked so . . . Oskar tried to find the right word. The nearest he could come up with was “alone,” but that didn’t explain everything. No, he thought, there was something else—something new. Underneath it all, Tod had looked scared.
IN THE DUNES
Oskar, unlike Tod, still had both his parents—and until recently his home had been a happy place. But one dark night, a month after Dan Moon’s fishing boat had floated back without him, Oskar and his little brother, Torr, with whom he shared his room, had been woken by their mother’s screams. Oskar’s twin sister, Ferdie, was gone. When he closed his eyes Oskar could still see Ferdie’s bedroom window wide open and the soft summer rain blowing in onto her empty bed. All night Oskar and Jerra—along with his parents and their neighbors—had searched for her. They had found huge animal tracks in the sand outside Ferdie’s window, which had led onto the main boardwalk, but after, nothing. The next day Oskar went out alone. Oskar was a skilled tracker, and despite the night’s rain, he saw a few tracks going into the Far. An expedition set off but the trail disappeared. Ferdie was indeed gone.
But now, as Oskar pushed home against the rising wind, his mind was taken up not with Ferdie, but Tod. He remembered the scared look in her eyes, and Oskar had a feeling that, try as he might, he could not shake off: something really bad was about to happen to Tod.
Oskar needed time to think, time to work out what to do. He knew that as soon as he got home, any thoughts about Tod would be eaten up by his parents’ sadness. He had plenty of time to walk home the long way by the salt marsh—a dried-up lake just beyond the village. He knew he could easily be home before Jerra had left. Oskar loved the feeling of peace that the ancient PathFinder ghosts who wandered the marshes gave him. Maybe he would find some tonight; maybe he could even ask them what to do. Surely an ancient ghost would know?
It was the dark of the moon, a night when the PathFinders traditionally left lights in their windows until morning. As Oskar followed the boarded path, which weaved its way between the tree-trunk stilts of the houses, he felt as though he were walking through a mystical woodland, while above him the candle flames flickered like tiny stars falling to earth. It was beautiful, but it was also eerily empty. Since Ferdie had been taken, people did not go out much at night and all the ladders were drawn up so there was none of the easy comings and goings between the houses that had once happened.
With the quiet buzz of conversation in lilting PathFinder voices drifting down, Oskar headed along the track between the straggle of outlying houses. The wind was behind him and sent him quickly along. Soon he was leaving the lights and houses behind and following a narrow path as it dipped down into the cool darkness between the dunes. Even now, Oskar did not mind the dark; he knew the paths with his eyes closed and he enjoyed the feeling of invisibility that his night cloak gave him as his feet found their way across the weathered planks sunk into the sand. Silently Oskar padded along and soon the gentle peep-peep of waterbirds digging for worms on the marsh told him that he was very nearly there.
It was then, above the peepings, that Oskar became aware of a strange sound—a hoarse, breathy panting. He stopped dead. Knowing that, like man
y PathFinders, his skin and red hair had a sheen at night, Oskar pulled up the hood of his cloak; then he crouched down into the sandy darkness and listened.
Oskar could read the land like Tod could read the sea. He felt a few grains of sand skitter down; he heard the crackle of the dry dune grasses somewhere above him and he sensed the vibrations of large but light-footed creatures. Oskar figured that they were walking on all fours and, from the hesitant way they were moving, it seemed to him that they were unsure where to go.
The creatures drew to a halt and Oskar realized that they were almost directly above him. He froze. He suspected that the merest twitch of a muscle would get him noticed—and there was something about these creatures that made Oskar very certain that being noticed by them was the last thing he wanted to happen.
Click-clicker-click.
A low series of clicks were coming from the top of the dune. Oskar listened, recognizing three distinct tones flicking in and out of what seemed to be some kind of discussion. He suppressed a shiver. The clicks were so foreign, so inhumanly mechanical, that they scared a very ancient part of his being. But what frightened Oskar most was something much more recent—the memory of a late-night conversation he had overheard between his parents not long after Ferdie had gone. “Jonas, I’m telling you, I heard clicks,” he remembered his mother saying. “Like this—” Oskar’s mother had made rapid clicking noises with her tongue. “I thought it was one of Oskie’s mechanical toys. You know how Ferdie liked—no, no, likes—to borrow Oskie’s stuff. Oh, if only I’d gone in to see what it was. If only . . .”
Click. Click-clicker-click.
Oskar went cold. He knew that just a few feet above him were the creatures that had taken Ferdie.
