by Anne Forbes
The crew in the helicopter filmed the entire thing, the machine hovering helplessly as clouds of dust filled the air. Alerted by the TV crew, however, rescue services were already on their way and by the time the fire engines, police cars and ambulances arrived, the dust had settled. Apart from the clatter of the helicopter’s rotors, everything was quiet. The giants had finished their work.
No one held out much hope for Kenny and Larry. “It’ll be a miracle if they’re alive under that lot,” one of the TV crew said, as the helicopter swooped and banked, unable to get as close as they would have liked to the side of the mountain. “They didn’t stand a chance. Their van must have been flattened.”
It took some time for the team of men to remove the rocks, passing them from hand to hand until the van’s bright fluorescent paintwork emerged. There was a sudden cheer as the men worked with renewed energy to clear the remaining boulders and gasps of amazement from those in the helicopter as the van doors were prised open and Kenny and Larry staggered out into the road.
“It’s incredible,” the newscaster said, his voice shrill with relief. “They both seem to be fine. I can see them walking and talking to the firemen. They’re waving to us! What an ordeal!”
Kenny and Larry were treated for shock at the local hospital. Outside, reporters and television crews were kept firmly out of the way until the following morning when they’d agreed to give a press conference. Offers for their story, however, were already flooding in.
“One paper’s offering us fifty thousand pounds to tell them what happened,” Larry said, totally gobsmacked. “Just think, Kenny,” his eyes were alight with excitement, “with that amount we could really make something of the band! Maybe hit the big time even!”
“It’s a miracle that you survived at all, you know,” one of the nurses told them as they got ready to leave the next morning. “The firemen can’t understand how the rocks didn’t flatten your van completely. You can thank your lucky stars that you came through it all without a scratch!”
“It was the stag’s magic that saved us, wasn’t it,” Larry whispered as the nurse waved them goodbye and they set off along the passage towards a waiting policeman. “I’m sure of it.”
Kenny nodded. “We’d better no’ mention the stag to these reporters, though,” he cautioned, thinking of the forthcoming press conference, “for there’s no way they’d publish our story if we start talking about magic. They’d just think we were basket cases.”
“Aye,” Larry agreed, “best to stick to us being the Jelly Beans and looking for gigs in Aberdeen.”
“Up with the Jelly Beans!!” grinned Kenny, suddenly triumphant. “Larry, mate,” he grabbed him by the shoulders and looked into his eyes, “Larry, mate! I think our luck is finally changing!”
21. Night Flight
“Ian,” Helen Ferguson sat up in bed, “Ian, wake up!” She eyed the alarm clock in disbelief as she shook her husband again. “Ian, wake up! Somebody’s knocking at the door! It’s three o’clock in the morning!”
“Dad,” Shona ran into the bedroom in her pyjamas, “Dad! Get up! There’s somebody at the door!”
Ian Ferguson woke from a deep sleep and looked at Shona blankly as she tugged at the duvet. “Quick, Dad! See who it is!”
Mrs Ferguson tied the cords of her dressing-gown and slipped her feet into a pair of slippers.
“What’s going on?” her husband muttered. “What time is it?”
“Three o’clock.”
“Three o’clock! In the morning!” He put his feet in his slippers. “Who on earth can it be,” he muttered, heading for the stairs.
By this time Neil, Clara and Lewis were awake, too, and peering round their bedroom doors, watched in alarm as Shona’s dad went downstairs.
“Ian, Ian,” a voice shouted urgently, “it’s Peter Sinclair! Can you open the door? We’re freezing!”
Ian unlocked the door and pulled back the chain. The blast of cold air that swept in made them all shiver as Peter Sinclair, his wife and Jennifer all tumbled hurriedly into the hall.
Ian shut the door hastily against the icy draught. “Peter,” he said, looking at him in disbelief; for under their overcoats the Sinclairs were still in their nightclothes. Helen Ferguson took one look at the shivering group and turned the thermostat up to full.
Jennifer was frozen. The journey over the mountains had been a nightmare and she had made it with only a coat over her nightie and bare legs thrust into a pair of trainers. Shona, knowing only too well the distance they had travelled, looked at her worriedly. Jennifer was not only cold, she was trembling with fright. “We saw them,” she whispered to Shona. “We saw the giants! They were in our glen!”
There was no more sleep for anyone that night. The storm outside shrieked and whistled as, clutching mugs of coffee and hot chocolate they huddled round the embers of the living room fire. Ian stirred them into life and deftly adding more logs, nursed the flames until a blazing fire roared up the chimney.
For a few minutes, the Sinclairs just stared into the fire, still shocked from their ordeal.
“What happened, then, Peter?” Ian asked tentatively.
“It was in my mind that they’d soon be reaching our glen.” Peter said, sipping his coffee gratefully. “I kept watch from our bedroom window but I couldn’t see much for the storm. It was the most amazing thing, Ian. There was a lot of lightning and I saw them, then. They just seemed to rise from the slopes of the mountainside. I woke Mary and we got Jennifer out of bed, flung on our coats and took off into the night. They were close behind us and moving at quite a speed. We could hear the crash of their footsteps!”
“They? You mean there was more than one?”
“I saw three of them.”
Ian half-started from his chair. “Where are they now?” he asked in alarm. “Did they reach our glen?”
Mary Sinclair shook her head. “One of them reached the top of the ridge,” she said, “we saw it quite clearly against the skyline — and then,” she hesitated, “it was quite sad really. It seemed to grow bigger for a few seconds and then it just crumbled away.”
Her husband nodded. “The old stories of the Cri’achan are coming true, Ian. They’re walking the hills.” He held out his hands to the fire and paused. “That’s why I’ve decided to move out,” he admitted. “I’m taking Mary and Jennifer to Aberdeen when it gets light. I was wondering … do you think Hughie will lend us his car?”
“Don’t be silly, Peter,” Ian said immediately. “I’ll drive you there myself. Going to stay with your mother, are you?”
“Yes, until this all blows over,” was the answer.
“If the giants get any closer,” Ian said thoughtfully, “then we’ll be moving out, as well.”
“Leave Glenmorven!” Shona sat up, her face a picture of horror. “Dad, what are you saying? We can’t leave the glen!”
Neil, Clara and Lewis looked at one another.
“I think you children should go back to bed, now, for what’s left of the night,” Shona’s mother fussed, suddenly worried that too much was being said in front of her guests. “Jenni looks exhausted, poor thing. Let her share your bed tonight, Shona,” she added. “She’s been through a lot.”
Jennifer did look white and strained. “Come on, Jenni,” Lewis said as they all got to their feet. “It’s over now.”
“And just think of the tales you’ll have to tell when we get back to school,” Shona added, trying to coax a smile out of her. “It’s not everyone that’s seen a stone giant!”
Jenni grinned weakly but it was only when she reached the bedroom that she started to cry. “It’s Ugly Mug,” she wept, sitting on the edge of Shona’s bed, twisting a tissue in her hands. “Dad wouldn’t let me look for her. He said there was no time but it would only have taken me a minute to grab her.”
“Surely her mother will feed her,” Clara pointed out.
Jennifer shook her head. “Mitzi’s in Aberdeen at the vet. And if Ugly Mug’s left alo
ne, she’ll starve!”
Shona looked at Clara and nodded understandingly. Ugly Mug meant everything to Jenni. The kitten was her friend and playmate.
“Don’t cry, Jenni,” Shona said, putting an arm round her. “The stone giants have gone. You heard what your mother said. They broke up, didn’t they?” She glanced at Clara. “So there’s no reason why we shouldn’t go back to your house tomorrow to get Ugly Mug.”
Clara nodded. “We’ll take some cat food with us so that we can catch her.”
“And,” added Shona, “if we end up in Aberdeen with my gran, we’ll be able to give her back to you, how’s that?”
“We’ll be okay. We’ll all go,” Clara said, seeing Jenni’s worried face. “It won’t take that long, will it?” She looked at Shona for back-up.
Shona grinned. “If we hurry, it’ll only take us a couple of hours at the most to get there and back.”
Jennifer’s face lit up as she scrubbed the tears from her face with a tissue that was already sodden.
Clara smiled. “We’ll all go together,” she said, “and we’ll bring Ugly Mug back with us!”
22. Lord Rothlan
Seated on silver thrones in the halls of the Lords of the North, Prince Casimir talked anxiously to Lord Rothlan and his wife, Lady Ellan, who had just arrived from their castle at Jarishan. There had been a wonderful display of fireworks over the mountain to greet them and now that they had paid their respects to the old Lords, they were anxious to get up to date with what was happening. Amgarad, Rothlan’s great eagle, perched on his shoulder and listened attentively to what was being said for never before had there been such a crisis in the world of magic.
“And the stone giants?” queried Rothlan later, when they’d finished discussing Firestar. “What’s brought them to life?”
Casimir shook his head. “I just don’t know, Alasdair,” he said frankly. “This attack has upset everything. Nothing is as it was before — and now that the Cri’achan are awake and walking the mountains, it makes one wonder what else might have risen from the depths of the earth.”
Amgarad, perched on the arm of Rothlan’s chair, hunched his back and made an indescribable noise. Rothlan dropped his eyes. “Not a pleasant thought,” he murmured.
“Exactly,” Casimir agreed, “and as for the Cri’achan … well, they seem to have changed, and not for the better.”
“Changed?” Lady Ellan looked at him enquiringly.
Casimir nodded. “They used to be quite peaceable in the old days but since they’ve risen, they seem to have become aggressive and they’re heading eastwards, you know — quite definitely in this direction. Firestar’s power must be drawing them.”
“I’m surprised that Lord Alarid hasn’t done something about them,” Lady Ellan interrupted. “I mean, we can all communicate with Firestar. We know within ourselves that it is well but it must also know our concerns about the giants. Alarid only needs to ask to have the giants put back to sleep again, surely!”
Casimir pursed his lips. “Don’t think I haven’t been pushing for it,” he sighed. “Believe me, I’ve tried a dozen times at least but nothing will shift him — and quite frankly, he’s in charge. I can’t override his authority any more than you can. He won’t do a thing about the giants,” he said grimly, “and that’s that!”
Lord Rothlan frowned. “That’s not like Alarid,” he mused.
“The news isn’t good, Alasdair. The ghosts say that the Americans are waiting for their satellite to make another strike and he can think of nothing else.”
Lady Ellan clasped her husband’s hand nervously at this but her tone, when she spoke, was determined. “That doesn’t mean that we should do nothing about the giants. They’re causing complete havoc. Glens are impassable all over the Highlands.”
“Something, somewhere must have triggered the giants off, Casimir,” Lord Rothlan pointed out. “They could never have risen on their own.”
“The only thing of any importance that has happened is the attack on Firestar, Alasdair. It seems to have upset the old way of things completely.”
“Hasn’t anything shown up on the machine?” queried Lady Ellan.
“The machine was affected,” Casimir said slowly. “Maybe we should go down and have a look at it. I had a chat with Rumbletop and he mentioned a strange icon on the monitor but as it doesn’t seem to affect the machine, he’s left it alone.”
“Left it alone?” Lady Ellan echoed sharply. “Shouldn’t he be doing something about it?”
“I think he’s afraid to mess around with it,” Casimir admitted. “Says he doesn’t want to trigger another attack.”
At this, Malfior, hidden in the depths of Firestar, smiled with ill-concealed glee and promptly communicated Casimir’s feelings to Lord Jezail. His master, he knew, was pleased with all the little tit-bits of conversation that he passed on and he preened himself at his cleverness. Lord Rothlan, too, would soon be under his control and obviously hadn’t the slightest suspicion that he was controlling the great Lords of the North. By focusing their fears on Firestar, he had quite successfully drawn their minds away from the threat of the giants. Indeed, if he was worried about anything at all it was that wretched icon. The last thing he wanted was the hobgoblins to access it on the machine and so far he’d succeeded in scaring the wits out them at the very thought. Apart from that, he reckoned, he was safe and in complete control. Why, even Firestar, the not-so-great power, hadn’t a clue that he was there …
“I might go down and have a look at that icon later on,” Lord Rothlan frowned, settling back into his chair. “It must mean something, after all.”
Casimir nodded. “Good idea,” he said. “Oh, and talking of the hobgoblins reminds me — they told me some news that will interest you. It turns out that Neil and Clara are staying at Glenmorven House with Shona … and Lewis is there, too.”
Lady Ellan sat up. “Neil and Clara? In the glen? And Lewis! How lovely!”
“Do they know about the mountain?” queried Lord Rothlan. “I don’t know that we ever mentioned it by name.”
Prince Casimir smiled. “They must have their suspicions by this time,” he said, “for they’ve already met a couple of our greedier hobgoblins. Apparently, they still scrounge cakes and biscuits from Hughie.”
“They must be wearing their firestones, then,” Lady Ellan observed.
The prince nodded in agreement. “Must be,” he said, “for according to Hughie, they’ve seen Red Rory and the MacTavish.”
Alasdair Rothlan raised his eyebrows and looked at him. “I thought you said the Americans had put the castle out of bounds?”
“Quite right,” Casimir agreed, “but the children have been exploring the old secret passage that runs between the castle and Glenmorven House. The Fergusons still use it from time to time — mostly when the weather’s bad, I imagine. Shona shows it to all her friends.”
“We owe a great deal to Neil and Clara — and Lewis, too, of course,” added Lady Ellan hastily, meeting Casimir’s eyes. “We really must invite them to meet the Lords of the North.”
Lord Rothlan eyed his wife fondly. “I agree, Ellan,” he said, “but this is hardly the time to land the Lords of the North with guests. Maybe later, when we’ve got Firestar sorted out.”
“You’re right, Alasdair,” Prince Casimir said, fingering his firestone necklace thoughtfully. “I’m worried myself. I only hope that Tatler is having some success with the Americans. You know that he’s trying to have them change the satellite’s orbit.”
Rothlan frowned. “Tatler knows his way round government circles both here and in the States,” he said, “and I’m sure he’ll do his best for us. But NASA, you know, can’t be classed as ‘government circles.’ It’s an organization in its own right with its own agenda. They mightn’t listen to him.”
As it happened, Lord Rothlan was correct in his assessment of the situation. Despite complaints from the British at Powerprobe’s orbit, NASA officials had explained that,
for technical reasons, it was quite impossible to comply with their wishes. And even as George Tatler lifted the telephone to call Sir James with the bad news, Powerprobe struck again.
23. Firestar Strikes Back
As Powerprobe locked on to Firestar, the Lords of the North felt themselves weaken and, eyeing one another apprehensively, grasped their firestones with trembling fingers. Lord Rothlan held Lady Ellan close and put his other arm protectively round Amgarad while Prince Casimir, sitting alone on his silver throne, gripped his hands together tightly and thought of his son.
Deep inside Morven, the hobgoblins froze as they felt the first slight tremor run through the machine. It had done it before and they knew what it signified. Another attack! Such was their fear that their tendrils positively blasted their way out of their heads and swirled round them. Rumbletop and Rumblegudgeon looked at one another in horror and made a concerted rush for the machine.
It was then that Rumblegudgeon tripped over his writhing tendrils and, with a yell of alarm, skated wildly across the marble floor to cannon violently into the control panel.
When word got round NASA that Powerprobe was due to lock on to Morven for a second time, an interested group of spectators gathered round Patrick Venner to watch the fun. Talk of the goat-faced alien had, of course, got round and, indeed, had generated much amusement. Most of the scientists regarded it as freak interference from a TV channel and poor Venner had been teased unmercifully about it ever since. After a while, he more than half-believed them himself and, being a good natured chap, took their teasing with as much good humour as he could muster.
Nevertheless, as he adjusted his monitor to receive the expected stream of data, he felt a sudden nervousness and, calling himself every sort of a fool under the sun, steadied a trembling hand and steeled himself for whatever might happen when Powerprobe locked, once more, on to Morven.
