by Anne Forbes
“The storm carriers!” the MacArthur snarled. “He’s released them against us!”
Sir James could only gape at them in wonder. Illustrations from children’s tales flew through his mind as he gazed in awe at the rich reds, blues, yellows and greens of their fabulous, jewelled costumes; for the storm carriers were mystical, magical creatures. Their bearded faces were dark against the livid colours of their bright turbans and silk-striped robes as they whipped and lashed the storm to a frenzy of fury and noise.
“MacArthur!” he shouted against the howl of the wind that suddenly shrieked around them. “What on earth are they?”
“They are not of the earth,” answered the MacArthur, “they are of the sky and while they’re around we can’t use the carpets for they are not invisible to them! We’ll have to go to the castle on foot.”
Sir James, who was not as fit as he would have liked, looked apprehensively at the driving rain that was fast turning to sleet and wondered if he would make it. The MacArthur, however, read his thoughts and put a hand on his arm. “Don’t worry, Sir James! You’ll make it! The firestones will protect you and give you the strength you need; for although it’s not many miles to Jarishan, it’ll be hard going in this weather. Wrap up well, take your carpet and use your furs to protect yourself from the cold, for the storm carriers will do everything in their power to stop us from reaching the loch.”
It was when the sleet turned to snow and they were well into Jarishan that Sir James remembered Neil and Clara. They must be with their father, he thought, as he concentrated on putting his feet on firm ground rather than the deceptively smooth patches of snow that lured the unwary into deep drifts.
But neither Neil nor Clara was with their father. Nor were they together. Neil’s carpet had crossed into Jarishan in the split second that Arthur had broken through its protective shield and although he had shouted to Archie as they made their way across the mountain, he’d been unable to attract his attention. His carpet, however, seemed quite happy to follow the dragon and it was only when Arthur headed across the loch that Neil brought his carpet down by the water’s edge and had a grandstand view of Arthur’s attack on Jarishan Castle.
When he saw that Archie had been wounded, he leapt up, flung himself on his carpet and was already half-way across the loch when the whole world seemed to erupt around him as Rothlan summoned the storm carriers to do his bidding. Neil ducked as a lightning bolt streaked over his head and his carpet bucked like a startled horse as the waves beneath them suddenly became mountains of black, frothing water. As he sped towards Arthur and Archie, who had landed at the far end of the island, he had a spectacular view of the storm carriers as they flung themselves round the castle and spread havoc over loch and mountain. It was a storm to end all storms, thought Neil in awe.
Thankfully, he put his carpet down beside Arthur and materialized before a white-faced Archie who lay propped against the dragon’s side. Archie looked up at him in amazement, his hair plastered over his face by the driving rain. A worried Arthur hissed in relief as Neil appeared.
“Neil!” the dragon cried, “thank goodness you have come! Archie is injured!”
“Am I pleased to see you!” Archie grinned feebly. “It’s pretty painful but I think I’ll be all right!”
Neil bent over him and quickly examined the wound. Although it was jagged and nasty, there seemed to be little bleeding. “He’ll be all right, Arthur,” Neil told the worried dragon.
“Nothing to worry about, I’ll be okay!” Archie muttered. “It’s just a flesh wound.”
“You’re right,” said Neil who, although he’d never seen a flesh wound before, thought that it looked clean enough. “We must find some shelter, though. You’re soaking wet.”
Archie struggled to his feet and holding his arm awkwardly because of the arrow, looked round. “We must get off the island or we’ll be captured. There seems to be a boathouse over there on the shore. Can you see it? To the left of that stand of trees! It looks big enough to hold Arthur and he won’t mind being in the water.”
“Can you manage on Arthur’s back, though?” questioned Neil worriedly. “There’s the devil of a gale blowing out there!”
“I’ll use your carpet, Neil. It’ll be safer. That is, if you don’t mind going over on Arthur’s back?”
Neil gulped. “No, no,” he stammered. “I wouldn’t mind at all! I’d enjoy it, really!”
Archie sat down on the soaking carpet and disappeared as Neil hesitantly approached Arthur.
“Climb onto his wing first and then get on his back,” instructed Archie’s disembodied voice.
Arthur lowered his wing obligingly and Neil, his heart pounding with excitement, clambered onto it. Despite the relentless rain, Arthur’s skin was bone dry. The water poured off him in streams. Neil’s trainers, therefore, got a good grip on his scales and with a final scramble he managed to perch on Arthur’s back, just behind his neck. He was so excited that he could barely speak but hugged Arthur and shouted that he was ready to go. He didn’t see the carpet take off but knew that it must have done so when Arthur flapped his wings and rose effortlessly into the air.
It was a ride that Neil was never to forget. He hadn’t, until then, appreciated the sheer power of the dragon’s muscles as its great wings powered it through the storm. He hung on to Arthur’s neck as the full weight of the wind and rain blasted him as they moved out over the loch and fervently hoped that Archie would be all right, although he knew that the carpet would protect him. All too soon, however, the outline of the decrepit boathouse loomed out of the rain and to his relief Neil saw that Archie was already waiting for them.
“How did it go?” asked Archie.
“It was marvellous!” Neil answered, slipping down onto Arthur’s wing and jumping to the ground. “Fabulous! I’ll never forget it!” He turned and hugged Arthur ecstatically. “I just can’t believe that I’ve actually flown on a dragon!”
“Now that we’re here, we’d better get Arthur inside before anyone spots him,” urged Archie, who was looking strained and white.
Neil opened the ramshackle door into the boathouse. It smelt stale and musty inside but no boats were moored alongside the rickety platform that stretched along one side of the building. Walking to the far end, he managed to push open the double doors that gave onto the loch and Arthur gave him the fright of his life as he poked his huge head in from the other side to inspect his new quarters.
“Will you fit in, Arthur, do you think?”
Arthur grunted and crawled in, for the water was shallow. When, however, he discovered that he didn’t have room to turn round, he went out again and backed in, so that the double doors faced him. It was only then that Neil appreciated how big Arthur actually was, as his great bulk more or less filled the narrow confines of the boathouse. It was a cold, wet place and Neil shivered instinctively as he helped Archie settle on a pile of old nets. Neil’s waterproof jacket had protected him against the worst ravages of the storm and he was relatively dry in comparison to Archie, who was soaked to the skin and shivering violently. Neil used a boathook to tear the sleeve of Archie’s tunic so that he could remove the sopping garment without too much bother.
“Hang my clothes at the end of the boat-hook, Neil,” instructed Archie, “so that Arthur can dry them.”
“So that Arthur can dry them?” repeated Neil stupidly.
“He’s a dragon, remember!”
Neil gulped, looking warily at Arthur who was watching them from the water. He didn’t seem too comfortable and kept sniffing the air worriedly. Neil sympathized. The storm giants were enough to upset anyone.
“Is that wise?” he asked Archie doubtfully. “This place is made of wood. It’ll go up in smoke if it catches fire.”
“You’ll be careful, Arthur, won’t you?”
Arthur started. He seemed about to speak but thought better of it when he looked at Archie’s arm. Obediently he turned towards them and started to blow little puffs of flam
e that certainly didn’t seem to be doing any harm. Neil not only managed to dry Archie’s clothes but took off his own jeans and dried them like toast on the end of the boat-hook. Even the magic carpet managed to dry out and by the time the laundry was done, the boathouse was warm and comfortable. Neil propped himself exhaustedly against the wall and worried. He worried about the MacArthurs, about Archie and the arrow, which he was sure should be removed, and about Clara. Thank goodness he had spoken to Clara before he had broken through the shield. At least he knew that she was safe! Arthur continued to blow little bursts of fire from time to time and after the hurly-burly of the storm, the pleasant warmth of the boathouse was insensibly soothing. It was not long before he and Archie closed their eyes and fell fast asleep.
Arthur looked at them with satisfaction and, gently heaving his bulk through the double doors of the boathouse, slipped unseen into the stormy waters of Loch Jarishan.
28. Clara’s Adventure
Neil had soothed himself with the knowledge that Clara was safe. Had he but known it, however, this was not the case. Clara was by no means safe. She was in the middle of the storm on her carpet.
This was not actually her doing. She had been standing on her own, idly watching the MacArthur and Sir James talking, when her carpet had floated quietly up behind her and banged its edge against the back of her legs with such force that she had toppled back onto it. Before she could say anything, it had shot off. As she had become invisible the minute she had landed on it, no one had noticed her somewhat unorthodox departure and as her father, Sir James and Dougal had become separated on the ground, each thought that the other was looking after her.
Now that the protective shield had been broken, Clara’s carpet sped over Jarishan faster than she had ever flown before. The carpet however, hadn’t reckoned on the storm and as the black and purple clouds rolled towards them, it dived to hug the ground. But the storm carriers had spotted it and reached out their giant hands to grasp Clara and dash her to the ground. The carpet knew her danger and swerved this way and that to keep her out of their way. Indeed, Clara only managed to stay on board by looping her wrists through its fringe so that she was virtually tied to it.
“Use your firestone, Clara,” a voice said urgently. “Use your firestone! It will protect you from the storm carriers!” Clara looked around in amazement. She couldn’t think where the voice was coming from. Then, as her carpet side-slipped frantically, the voice spoke again in a gasping whisper. “Hurry, Clara, I can’t keep this up much longer!”
It was then that Clara realized that her carpet was talking to her. In desperation, she freed one hand and fished the firestone out of her pocket. Shaking with fear, she held it in the turbaned faces of the giants. Ellan had given her a particularly beautiful stone and its magic was strong, as Clara herself had taken it fresh from the eyes of the dragon. The storm carriers paused in their vicious attack and although they did not disappear, they eased away and although still buffeted by wind and rain, the carpet now flew on unmolested. With a huge sigh of relief, Clara tucked the firestone away again and, moving herself into the middle of the carpet, sat upright. Shivering with cold, for she had lost all her furs, she peered over the edge of the carpet to see where she was.
Her eyes searched the gusting waves of snow that blew round her and once she thought she could vaguely see the peaks of mountains far below. The carpet didn’t speak to her again, and, although she trusted it, she wondered why it had brought her on such a perilous venture. But only when it lost height and the snow gave way to driving rain did she finally understand. In front of her, through its opaque curtain, she could see an island in the middle of a loch. On it stood a most beautiful castle. Jarishan Castle! The carpet had brought her to Lady Ellan!
The loch was still stormy and great waves crashed against the island but the mountains now lay between Jarishan and the storm carriers and, as she looked back over her shoulder, she felt pity for the MacArthur and his troops who must be bearing the brunt of their attack.
The carpet now edged its way round the castle walls, looking for a way in. An unfastened door on the roof, banging in the wind, gave it access and once inside the building it floated along passages and down stone staircases. At one stage, Clara’s heart jumped to her throat when she heard someone coming up the stairs. The carpet soared towards the ceiling and pressed Clara flat against it as the man passed underneath them with inches to spare.
Then Clara heard Ellan’s voice behind a thick door. The door was shut but the carpet floated near the handle so that Clara could gently turn it. Ellan was inside the room and, by the sound of it, was having an argument with Lord Rothlan.
As the door opened, a gust of cold air blew into the room and Rothlan, who had been standing by the fire, walked over and closed it. His face was thoughtful as he returned to his stance by the mantelpiece.
“You were saying, milady?”
Ellan gathered her thoughts together quickly, for while Rothlan had gone to close the door, Clara had reached out and gripped her arm briefly.
“I have been trying to tell you for the past ten minutes that all this is totally unnecessary!”
“I told you, Lady Ellan,” he said curtly. “I’ll fight to keep the firestones. My position hasn’t altered. If you won’t give them to me, then you’ll have to stay here.”
“If you fight my father then we’ll both be weakened. Kalman will rub his hands with glee when he finds out that we’re at war! You’re playing right into his hands, can’t you see that?”
Rothlan eyed her consideringly. “You’re right, I suppose … but … excuse me for a moment. I have something to attend to.” He bowed and left the room.
As the door closed, Clara leapt off her carpet and ran to Lady Ellan. “Lady Ellan! Are you alright? Has he hurt you?”
“Of course not, Clara,” she hugged her warmly despite her wet, bedraggled appearance. “Rothlan is a gentleman. I have nothing to fear while I am here.”
“The carpet brought me to you. You must use it to escape!” She looked at it doubtfully. “It’s not really big enough for two. I’ll stay here if it can’t carry us both.”
Lady Ellan hugged Clara again. “Dear Clara, you are a loyal friend indeed.” She turned and looked at the carpet. “Come here,” she said smiling, and Clara watched as it flew to her happily.
“The reason I gave you this carpet, Clara, and the reason it brought you here is because it was my carpet when I was your age. It must have been worried about me and thought it would try to rescue me.” She rubbed a hand gently over its silky pile and smiled as the carpet fluttered and rippled in response. “We had such good times together, but I can’t use it to leave Jarishan, Clara. I’ve given my word to Lord Rothlan that I won’t try to escape and I must keep my word.”
“I agree,” nodded Clara, “you must keep your word. But Ellan, your father and his army will be here to rescue you soon. Arthur cried buckets of tears when he came back from Loch Ness and the shield around Jarishan has been broken already.”
“How very interesting!” said a soft voice from the door. Rothlan entered the room, closing the door behind him. “I wasn’t born yesterday,” he snapped as he saw the surprised look on their faces, “but I’m glad, Lady Ellan, that you wouldn’t break your word to me.”
She watched him thoughtfully as he bowed to Clara. “The little lady of the café,” he murmured. “How do you do?”
Clara curtseyed awkwardly and shook his hand. He gestured to chairs near the fire and put more logs on before he, too, drew up a chair and sat facing them.
“May I make a suggestion, Lord Rothlan?”
“By all means, Lady Ellan.”
“Clara has just told me that my father now has many firestones. This means that we no longer need to rely on the ones I’m wearing.”
“So you will give them to me?”
“I’ll give them to you if my father approves. He is marching overland with his army and will reach the shores of the loch soon, ac
cording to Clara. Perhaps you could call off the storm carriers and invite him here to talk the matter over. Clara could take the letter.” She looked at Clara who nodded in agreement.
Rothlan bit his lip as he thought the matter over. “Very well,” he said abruptly, “stay here while I write the letter. I’ll have some tea sent while you are waiting.”
Hector Mackenzie’s wife brought the tea on a huge silver tray and laid it out for them on a side table. Clara eyed the plates of sandwiches and scones appreciatively for she was very hungry and still suffering from the ordeal of her journey.
“Gracious me, dearie,” Mrs MacKenzie fussed. “And what have you been up to? You’re as white as a sheet! And look at your hair! Soaking wet!” And she fussed away to bring a towel.
The magic carpet, which had been gradually creeping closer to the warmth of the fire while Mrs Mackenzie had been laying out the tea, froze in its tracks as it heard her remarks. Clara saw it stop out of the corner of her eye and turned to Lady Ellan. “The storm carriers were really scary,” she said, “but the carpet told me to use my firestone against them and they left us alone.” She shook her head. “I didn’t know carpets could talk!”
Lady Ellan nodded. “They don’t speak often but yes, they can talk when they have to. And they can understand what we say!” However, she looked suspiciously at the carpet, which, settling itself somewhat guiltily in front of the fire, started to steam gently.
By the time Lord Rothlan returned with his letter, Lady Ellan and Clara had enjoyed a satisfying tea and Clara had told her all about Dougal MacLeod and the story of Arthur’s stay in Loch Ness.
