by Lari Don
They all nodded, as sure as they had been when they left the bus that this was what the Professor wanted them to do, what they wanted to do.
So when Dr Lermontov lifted his baton, everyone played a note. Not one of them played the note the music was meant to begin with, but very few had the courage to play a second note after it, and no one played a third note. There was a pause. How could you play out of tune and out of time with everyone else, when you didn’t know what they were going to play next?
He waved again, and everyone played another note, but several of them actually harmonized, completely by accident.
Helen gasped. Failing was harder than she thought. Particularly when you were trying to fail.
So she grasped her bow firmly and started to play into the silence. She played “Pop goes the Weasel.”
She heard a giggle, and someone next to her started “Humpty Dumpty,” then a drummer started banging out “A Shave and a Haircut”. A flautist played “Mary Mary Quite Contrary” in a gratingly minor key, and Zoe laughed and played “Jack and Jill” purely on harmonics.
Suddenly they were all picking a different simple tune and playing it again and again, fast and slow, sharp and flat, loud and soft, minor and major, mangling it and murdering it, and it sounded …
Awful!
Helen lifted her head for a moment to look at the audience.
Their gleaming white faces were turning green.
They had their hands clasped to their ears.
They were screaming silently.
Once the bagpipers found their true volume and started playing tunes from Mary Poppins backwards, the faeries started to leave. They held each other up, swaying and wobbling, then they fled, pushing aside the golden tapestries and slipping into the dark tunnels hidden behind them.
“Keep it up,” yelled Helen, switching to the duck-swallowing music from Peter and the Wolf.
Some hardier faeries, with caps pulled down over their ears, were throwing food and drink towards the musicians, trying to shut them up. But the food turned into bunches of grass and handfuls of nuts as it flew through the air, and the ale and mead became raindrops, drizzling onto their heads.
The students laughed, playing louder and faster, and the food-throwing faeries gagged and fled.
The King and Queen were still there, surrounded by an angry group of guests pulling their cloaks up round their ears.
So Helen looked up at the ceiling and, judging the acoustics as she stepped forward, she started to play her wolf note. The note she avoided as much as she could, the note which set up such a vibration in the fiddle that it was hard to keep the bow on the string.
The wolf note howled wildly round the room. Helen played it again and again and again, and as she stood under the centre of the dome, the echoes crashed round the hall, torturing the air.
The last of the faery guests, moaning with pain, slid out round a tapestry of a hound bringing down a deer.
“March out, but keep playing,” Helen yelled, so Tommy led the way, beating a stuttering mix of salsa and waltz on his bodhran that made everyone trip over each other’s feet.
Helen finally stopped playing her screaming wolf note, and joined the end of the procession, turning back to look at the thrones.
The Queen was shrieking, her face red, her hair falling out of its bun, just as it always had in lessons. “How dare you! How dare you ruin my revels!”
“I promised I would provide music,” Helen shouted back. “I didn’t promise it would be any good!”
She glanced at the King, who had his golden cloak stuffed into his ears. He gave her a cheerful wink.
Then she noticed Lee, standing in the shadow behind his King, staring at her hands on her fiddle with the same glittering hunger she had seen when she whistled in the forest.
Lee looked up to her face and smiled, as brightly and beautifully as ever. He held out a hand to her. Helen shook her head, then ran through the arched doorway, pulling the spanner from the earth as she passed.
The door clanged shut behind her; a hollow echo, as if the mound was already empty … and would stay empty for a hundred years.
Helen tripped over a heap of musicians lying on the black midnight grass, laughing.
“I hope someone was recording that!”
“It was horrible!”
“I sounded appalling! Worse than a six-year-old learning the chanter!”
“That was so much fun!”
“Do you think the Professor will write a paper on it? Will she mention our names?”
Over the giggles, Helen heard hoof beats getting closer and, in the distance, triumphant howls.
She raised her voice. “Shall we play properly now? To prove that we really are the best musicians in Scotland!”
“Who would we be playing for?” asked Zoe.
“For ourselves,” said Helen, “and for anyone listening in the forest.”
“There’s no one listening in the forest.”
Helen just grinned, and put her fiddle to her shoulder.
And they played.
They played Professor Fay Greenhill’s magical music, at midnight on midsummer night, to anyone listening in the forest.
Only Helen knew who was listening.
Only Helen heard the whispers of “encore” in that moment of silence when the music finally stopped.
Read on for your sneak preview of the next in the First Aid for Fairies series, Storm Singing and other Tangled Tasks.
Clip clop clip … splash!
“Stop giggling!”
“We’re not giggling.”
“Yes, you are! Walking on seaweed with hooves isn’t easy, you know.”
Helen tried not to laugh as Yann slithered over another wet rock.
“Come on, Rona,” she whispered, “let’s walk in front of him so we’re not watching him slip and slide. He gets so grumpy when he’s embarrassed.”
Clatter … splash!
“Don’t look back,” muttered Rona.
“Why not?”
“He’s just landed on his rear end in a rockpool!”
Helen couldn’t help looking. When she saw Yann floundering in a deep pool, she took a couple of steps back, grabbed his hand and tried to pull him out.
“Don’t be foolish, human child. You can’t lift a horse’s weight! Back off, so I don’t stand on you.”
With an inelegant lurch, he jumped out. Water ran down his boy’s back and off his chestnut horse’s body. He shook his long auburn hair and flicked a tiny crab off his withers.
“Stop staring! Just leave me alone to go at my own pace over this horrible beach.”
Yann moved his front left hoof gingerly forward, aiming for a small flat patch of sand, but his back hooves slipped, and he splashed into a shallower pool.
“For goodness sake!” Rona marched off, her smooth hair bouncing against the furry rucksack on her shoulders, her ankle-length dress trailing in the rockpools.
Helen watched Rona walking away, then glanced at Yann, who might break a leg if he went too fast. There weren’t any splints long enough for a horse’s leg in the first aid kit hanging from Helen’s right shoulder. Should she chase after Rona, or follow behind at Yann’s pace?
Yann yelled suddenly, “Rona! Come back!”
“No! I can’t be late!”
“Come and look at this!”
“Look at what, the seaweed in your tail?”
“Rona Grey, I’m serious. Come here!” Rona turned back, glancing up at the sun in the same irritated way Helen’s mum checked her watch when she had to get Helen to school, Nicola to nursery and already had animals queuing outside her vet’s surgery.
“What?” Rona demanded.
“Look at that sand …” The centaur pointed between his front hooves.
Both girls stared at a clear patch of sand.
“There’s nothing there!” they said at the same time.
“Precisely. There’s nothing there. It’s completely smooth. Something ha
s been rubbed out.”
Helen peered closer. The stretch of sand was utterly smooth. She looked at other patches of sand between the rocks. They were marked with bird footprints and the soft lines of the last tide.
Rona knelt down and sniffed. “You’re right. No windblown grains. No salty crust. Someone has brushed this.”
“Someone has covered their traces,” insisted Yann. “Someone who doesn’t want anyone to know they’ve been here.”
“Who?” asked Rona, her irritation turning to worry.
Yann shrugged. “Someone spying on the Storm Singer competition?”
“But it’s a public event. Any sea being or fabled beast is welcome to watch. And humans don’t know about it.”
“I know about it,” said Helen.
“Only because I invited you.”
“We can’t tell who it is unless we track them,” said Yann. “We can’t tell what they want unless we ask them.” He cracked his knuckles and grinned.
Helen sighed, and Rona shook her head.
“It’s a peaceful competition, Yann, not a battle,” said Rona. “I’m sure someone brushed the sand for a perfectly sensible reason.”
“I’ll investigate,” announced Yann.
“You?” snorted Rona. “You are struggling to walk in a straight line on this beach. I suppose I’d better go.” She looked at the sun again.
“You can’t go,” said Yann. “You only get one chance to enter the Storm Singer competition, Rona, and if you win that, it’s your only chance to become Sea Herald. You can’t be late. I’ll go.”
“No,” said Helen. “I’ll go. You two get to the competition at your own speeds, and I’ll check out this possible spy.”
“If you find a spy, Helen, what will you do?” demanded Yann. “If you find a kraken or blue man, a sea kelpie or sea serpent, a nuckelavee or giant eel, what will you do?”
Helen frowned at Yann’s scary list, then shrugged. “See if they need a plaster? Play them a solo on my fiddle?” She patted the violin case on her back.
“Don’t joke, human girl. The edge where sea and land meet may be a holiday destination to you, but like any joining of two worlds, it draws evil beings from both.”
Helen grinned. “I’ve dealt with a power-hungry minotaur and a child-stealing Faery Queen in the last year. I can sneak up on a seaside spy.”
Rona wailed, “But if you go, Helen, you won’t hear me sing!”
“Yes, I will. Your volume and confidence have improved so much in the last two days, I’d hear you even if I was still in Taltomie.”
Rona blushed. “Do you think so? If I’m louder and more confident, it’s because of your coaching. You’re much better at performing than me.”
“You write better music, so it evens out. Now get going, and I’ll track down your mystery guest. I’ll probably be in the audience in time for your songs, and if not, just project loudly enough to reach me wherever I am. Good luck!”
They hugged, and Rona smiled. “I’ll get to Geodha Oran faster without you two anyway.”
She ran down to the sea’s edge, pulled her furry rucksack off, flapped it open, and swung the sealskin cloak over her shoulders. She shimmered in the sunlight reflecting off the sea, crouched on the rocks, then bounced into the water.
A seal.
She waved a fin, and swam off.
Helen turned to Yann. “You carry on along the seaweed, while I go on this wild-goose chase.”
“If it’s something as small as a wild goose that’s been covering its tracks, I’ll be delighted. Anyway, I’m coming with you.”
“You’re as wobbly as a newborn foal on these rocks. What use will you be?”
“The creature isn’t on these rocks. The patches of cleared sand lead up the beach, towards that cliff. Even if it isn’t doing anything sinister, it seems to be taking an inland route to the venue. So I’ll get there faster and safer by following it.”
Once Yann had struggled to the base of the cliff, he pointed up the steep rock wall. “A path, with more brush marks. Let’s climb up.”
Now it was Helen’s turn to feel insecure. Yann trotted up the gritty narrow path like a goat, while Helen concentrated on every step.
When they got near the top, Helen whispered, “I’ll peek over, I’m smaller and quieter than you.”
She edged past Yann and saw an expanse of pale salt-blown grass, with grey rocks scattered along the cliff edge as if they’d been tossed there by storms. “It’s clear. Nothing here.”
Yann stepped up, and checked the landscape carefully, just in case Helen had missed a sea monster right in front of her. He nodded. “It’s clear, and I can’t see any tracks on this grass. Let’s go towards Geodha Oran. If this creature is watching the contest, we’ll spot it on the way.”
As they followed the jutting and jagged coastline, Helen asked, “What’s a Sea Herald?”
“Pardon?”
“I thought Rona was competing in the selkies’ Storm Singer competition, but you said this was her only chance to become a Sea Herald. What did you mean?”
“Hasn’t she told you, all those mornings you’ve spent screeching on the beach?”
Helen shook her head, and Yann smiled down at her, like he always did when he explained something Helen didn’t know.
“This afternoon’s competition, ignorant human child, is just for selkies competing to become a Storm Singer, the highest level of sea singer. Today’s victor then enters a contest between selkies and other sea tribes, to become Sea Herald. Hardly any Storm Singers get the chance to be Sea Herald, because these contests are held very rarely, so Rona is under a lot of pressure to win.
“Her mum and two cousins are Storm Singers. Her great-grandmother was a Sea Herald. Rona has a family reputation to uphold. Maybe that’s why she didn’t tell you, in case it made you both nervous.”
Helen frowned. “She did say it was a family tradition to win the Storm Singer competition. She’s wearing the dress her mum wore when she won. But she didn’t say that if she wins she’ll have to enter another competition! I don’t know if I can coach her through more songs. She gets so anxious!”
“You won’t have to. The Sea Herald contest isn’t a performance, it’s a race and a quest. If she becomes a Storm Singer with your help, she’ll need my help to become Sea Herald.”
“Rona? In a race and a quest? You’re kidding!”
Helen wished she hadn’t given Rona so much advice on performing. Perhaps Rona would be happier if she didn’t win this competition, then she wouldn’t have to endure another one.
But Rona’s greatest pleasure was to write and sing songs, and the winning Storm Singer was invited to sing at lots of fabled beast gatherings.
Then Helen heard distant voices and faint laughter.
“We’re nearly there,” said Yann. “Let’s find a place we can watch as well as listen.”
“What about the …?”
Suddenly they both saw it.
A rock, on the cliff edge.
A pool of shadow behind the rock.
A shape, shifting, in the shadow.
Helen and Yann stopped.
The figure moved round the rock, peered down at the crowd below, and the bright afternoon sunlight touched its head.
Helen and Yann gasped.
Also by Lari Don
(available in paperback and ebook)
First Aid for Fairies and Other Fabled Beasts
Helen doesn’t want to become a vet like her mother so when an injured horse turns up on her doorstep she isn’t pleased. Only this horse isn’t entirely normal … and nor are his friends.
Suddenly, Helen is thrust into an extraordinary world of magic, fantastical creatures and a dangerous beast known as the Master. Can Helen work out the riddles and help her friends find the Book of Wisdom before the Winter Solstice?
Storm Singing and Other Tangled Tasks
A centaur, a selkie, a fairy and a phoenix — Helen has unusual friends. And in the third book in t
he First Aid for Fairies series, they face some even stranger opponents. Helen must help Rona the selkie to win the storm singing competition, and stop the deep sea powers from going to war. But who is trying to sabotage the competition and why?
Rocking Horse War
Pearl’s brother and sisters have disappeared leaving three missing rocking horses and some strange hoofprints on the lawn. She sets out to find them, but Thomas, a mysterious boy with extraordinary talents, has different plans. As powerful land magicians turn the mountains against her, can Pearl save the triplets from their unknown fate?
Copyright
Kelpies is an imprint of Floris Books
First Published in 2011 by Floris Books
© 2009 Lari Don
Lari Don has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the Author of this Work.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without the prior permission of Floris Books, 15 Harrison Gardens, Edinburgh www.florisbooks.co.uk
British Library CIP data available
ISBN 978–086315–893–3
