by Leah Swann
Irina howled and hunched herself into a ball with her eyes squeezed tight, cradling her injured hand to her chest. She grappled desperately for her sword with her other hand. She couldn’t find it! From somewhere in the forest Durrell gave an answering howl and ran to her side. He’ll protect me now, she thought, rocking backwards and forwards as the pain in her little finger spread through her body.
Moments later, the sun rose and Irina opened her eyes. Drops of blood shone like rubies on the snow. The intruder had vanished.
‘Why did you tell King Harmon about the next part of the prophecy?’ Baruch asked Raizel the following morning. He was carrying logs of wood under each arm. King Harmon had left in the early hours. Instead of answering, Raizel simply chuckled.
‘What are you laughing at?’ asked Baruch.
‘You, carrying logs that even the strongest young men would find too heavy! What would they think if they could see you now? You look about one hundred and fifty . . .’
‘You are too kind, Raizel!’
‘It is a compliment for someone your age.’
‘Did you tell the King how old we are, too?’
Raizel shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t reveal all of our secrets. And remember, the prophecy isn’t news to King Harmon.’
‘The second part was.’
‘Well, yes. What he needs to understand is that the time is now. How Harmon chooses to act can help Irina and hinder the Narrowlanders.’
‘You even gave him the parchment that the prophecy was written on.’
The wise-woman chuckled again at her friend’s outraged tone. ‘Dear Baruch. It was a copy from my book. The book that I will one day pass down to my apprentice, Octavia. Unless the true Book of the Junsong is found, that is.’
‘It is extraordinary how blindly we play our parts in fate,’ said Baruch. ‘When I told Irina about my she-wolf, Gunda, I had completely forgotten about the white beast in the prophecy.’
‘If you had remembered, perhaps you wouldn’t have told her so freely.’
‘All these years, we have worked to see Ragnor reunited under one King and one Queen. I didn’t think it would be in my lifetime. Do you really think Irina will fulfil the prophecy?’
‘Much is yet to happen,’ said Raizel. ‘If Vilmos and Iniko find the Book, the Dragon might rule Ragnor.’
‘King Harmon would never let that happen.’
‘He can’t protect the Book of the Junsong if he doesn’t know where it is hidden. No-one living knows where the ancestors hid it when Ragnor was divided.’
‘Might Sef know?’
Raizel looked at Baruch thoughtfully. ‘It’s unlikely. I think Sef would have spoke up by now. It’s even possible that the Dragon himself knows, and is playing games with Iniko.’
Queen Chloe sat on her throne, dressed in shimmering green velvet and white fur. Ever since the morning she’d woken to find her husband gone, she had wept. Where was he? Why hadn’t he taken Jibade? Why had Irina’s horse returned, scrawny and weak, without her mistress? When the tears eventually stopped, she told her two elder daughters, Mahila and Julene, that she had wept herself dry. They fetched a servant, and were happy to see the Queen washed and dressed in her finery. Her fair hair, softly streaked with silver, was combed into an elaborate bun and a tiara placed on her head. Servants pulled woollen stockings over her feet and laced her silk boots. She took her place on her throne in the great hall, preparing herself to wait. Mahila stood by the window and Julene sat quietly on a little stool beside her mother.
‘Where’s that arnica drink Octavia left for me?’ the Queen asked a maidservant. ‘Fetch it. I need to gather my strength. When Harmon returns who knows what dreadful news he’ll bring.’
‘I think that’s him, riding Skyloch!’ said Mahila in excitement. ‘And behind him – the wolves! Irina’s wolves! The biggest wolves you’ve ever seen. They look tame, they’re trotting behind him submissively. There are . . . twelve, thirteen, fourteen . . . there are nineteen wolves with our father.’
‘And Irina? Is she with him?’ asked Chloe, urgently.
‘No, Mother. Only the wolves.’
‘So,’ Iniko said, turning to his young, female apprentice. ‘Are my instructions clear? You will dispose of the Ferryman and capture Irina. How will you handle the wolf?’
‘I’ve brewed a powerful contact poison which will paralyse the beast,’ Chesca replied. ‘I will bring him to you as a gift.’
‘Hmph. Make sure he’s tied up, especially his jaws.’
‘And Irina?’
‘She may be a useful tool when it comes to negotiating with Harmon. Failing that, she will make a worthy sacrifice to the Venerated Dragon.’ He narrowed his eyes to scrutinise Chesca. ‘Are you sure you can do this? I’ve told you before, Irina is no ordinary foe. Perhaps I should go myself.’
‘Please – let me go. With the beast out of the way I can handle the Wolf Queen. I have my nets and my poisons. You won’t be disappointed.’
Iniko flexed and cracked his knuckles then leaned forward. ‘I had better not be.’
When Irina examined her little finger, she saw that no trace of the infected black tip remained. ‘It doesn’t hurt that much,’ she told Durrell, who was looking at her with pained eyes. ‘Well, it does a bit. Quite a lot. But, better to lose a fingertip than a whole hand. It’s very strange, though.’
In the snow, Irina saw where the intruder’s footprints moved backwards through the trees and where he must have withdrawn. Beyond, she noticed something red sitting on the snow. Curious, she walked over and saw it was a large ball of bright-red wool. ‘What’s this . . .?’ A thread was tied around a tree branch. Her eye followed the thread, and she saw that it was looped from tree to tree, making a straight line amid the crazy curves of Rondel Forest. ‘Is this a trap?’ she wondered aloud.
Amicus flew across to the first branch and then the second. ‘It could be a way out,’ he chirped.
Wasting no time, Irina took the pot of salve from her pack and applied it to her little finger, noticing how quickly the pain eased. She bandaged it well, before slipping her hand back into its glove. She rolled up the oilcloths, and hoisted her pack onto her back.
‘Let’s go, then,’ she said.
The red thread took them through the narrow spaces between the trees of Rondel. The intruder must have left this for us, Irina thought. Perhaps he was a friend. After a while, the trees grew thinner and further apart, and soon enough they were standing on a heath with hardly a tree or shrub in sight. There were no houses, no signs of people or animals – just snowy hills under a pale sky. Between the hills, in the far distance, Irina glimpsed a vast body of water – the sea!
‘We are close,’ she said joyfully. ‘And we are out of that awful forest at last. Durrell, Amicus, onwards to the Valley of Carmine Rock!’
Chapter Eleven
The Pillar
In Iniko’s great underground hall, the Sorcerer and the revived Vilmos dined on roasted bat in a spotted toadstool sauce. Vilmos’s spell over the wolves had left savage traces on him. Under his clothes, his skin was as furry as a bear’s pelt, and two fangs protruded over his lower lip – unless he was careful to cover his mouth. He had not eaten for a long time and now he slurped red wine from an oversized goblet and ate with his fingers.
Watching with barely disguised disgust, Iniko said nothing until his apprentice had finished gobbling and guzzling. Finally he spoke. ‘It is good for us magicians to eat the poison of toadstools and triumph over it. In this way, we grow strong. You are strong, Vilmos. There is no-one in the living history of Ragnor who has been brought back from the dead.’
‘I have you to thank for that, Master.’
‘And repay me you will. Earlier today I looked into the Mirror of Near and Far.’ The Sorcerer got to his feet and began to pace the dark and cavernous hall.
‘What did you see?’ asked Vilmos.
‘Princess Irina fighting a masked assailant in Rondel Forest. Somehow – I did no
t see how – she overcame him. And now she has escaped that forest of mazes.’
‘Well, she has some talents, Master.’ Vilmos slipped a tiny bat’s head into his mouth. It was his favourite part, yet after this huge and grotesque meal, he still wasn’t satisfied.
‘As we speak she’s headed towards the Blue Cliffs. A spy tells me she plans to visit the land beyond the Crystal Sea.’
‘But why, Master? What’s there, apart from those wretched Skylings and Yeti?’
‘There, the Princess believes, is a she-wolf that will save the wolves of Ragnor from extinction.’
‘So? What do we care if she tries to save the wolves?’
‘The wolf is white.’
The colour drained from Vilmos’s face. ‘You mean the prophecy. The white beast . . .’
‘Indeed. I have sent Chesca to the Blue Cliffs to dispose of the Ferryman. With no ferry, Irina won’t be able to cross the Crystal Sea.’
‘It won’t prevent her for long. Irina must be guarded by the Archangel. How else did she escape my clutches?’
‘Incompetence is one possibility,’ said Iniko, drily. ‘In any case, our Chesca is clever: you know she is the maidservant to Queen Anona? She’s told that greedy Anona about Chloe’s precious jewels and now Anona is contemplating war with Harmon. She might influence Matoskah to our way of thinking. We need his army. We could try to negotiate with Harmon over the Book of the Junsong –’
‘Is that wise, Master? Once he knows it exists he’ll surely fight to protect it.’
‘If we cannot negotiate then we will attack. We’ll overrun Harmon with Matoskah’s hordes.’ Iniko’s nostrils quivered. ‘Then Anona will get the jewels, the Dragon will get the Book, and I – I mean, we – will rule all of Ragnor!’
Irina’s journey to the Blue Cliffs of Margaran took her through rough and bare lands. There was no sign of habitation anywhere: no fishing villages, no farms, not even a cottage. As the little troop approached the cliffs, Irina noted they were deep indigo in colour. In the distance, the seawater was silvery and choppy, the chaotic, crashing waves swirling into white tips.
‘Well, my friends, we have an adventure in store,’ she said, feeling a flash of fear at the thought of crossing the water. There was no sign of the Ferryman that Baruch had spoken of.
Further along the coast, Irina noticed a strange shape shimmering on the landscape. At first she thought it was a tree stump reflecting the sunlight; then she saw it was a tall stone pillar with a small opening carved into it. She dismounted from Durrell to take a closer look. The pillar was etched with pictures and runes, a forgotten language of Ragnor. Beneath the small opening was a carving of a sword surrounded by leafy vines, which had been partly eroded by the harsh sea winds.
‘This must be a prayer pillar like the ones Raizel told me about,’ Irina said softly.
She stared at it in awe. Her ancestors must have carved these pictures hundreds of years ago. A deep longing to understand what the runes said rose up in her chest, reminding her of how she felt when Raizel first showed her a book with writing in it. Maybe one day I’ll understand these strange markings, she thought.
Beneath the sword was a carving of a tree, its branches wrapping the entire base of the stone pillar. The tree’s trunk disappeared as though into the ground. Above the small opening was a second sword, with a hare standing on one side of it and a wolf on the other. Irina looked closely at the elaborate patterns on the sword’s handle. Her heart thumped. The patterns were familiar. Could it be a picture of her father’s sword, Gravitas? Beneath it were the names ‘Uche’ and ‘Joaquinna’. Raizel had told Irina that King Uche had divided the kingdom of Ragnor into three. Joaquinna, his Queen, had hidden in a cave during the War of Kuiril and, according to legend, had written the Book of the Junsong with her daughter, Jun, while in hiding. Joaquinna’s hand was guided by the Archangel himself, Raizel had told her.
Irina circled the pillar, mesmerised by the scroll-like vines and delicate etchings of birds, hares and wolves. She stopped to examine a human figure riding what looked like a wolf. The rider had the long hair of a warrior.
‘Look, Durrell,’ she said. ‘My ancestors rode wolves, too!’
‘That doesn’t look like a wolf,’ growled Durrell. ‘It has more than one head.’
‘Perhaps it’s standing in front of other wolves or creatures,’ said Irina, bending closer. But Durrell was right. There appeared to be six other heads behind the beast, but their bodies were indistinct.
Irina continued around the column and, arriving at the small opening again, rested her palms inside it. To her surprise, she felt a slight indent, as though countless palms had rested there before and gradually worn away the stone. She closed her eyes, bowed her head, and asked for her journey to be blessed.
Beneath Lake Onkar, the evil magicians prepared themselves. Iniko dressed in a long, fitted velvet coat with a lace collar, then smothered his face with powdered clay to hide his boils. Vilmos filed his two protruding fangs and cast over himself the boyish glamour disguise he’d used when he kidnapped Irina so many years before. The pair then climbed the maze of staircases that led to the door to the world above ground. They passed through the door into daylight. Two shining horses awaited them. It was years since Vilmos had seen this place. He squinted at Lake Onkar, spreading towards the northern horizon like a vast silver cape. Beyond that point, he knew, the land grew narrower. He flexed his arms, feeling strong.
I am not afraid of Iniko as I once was, he thought to himself. I think it’s time to travel beyond that horizon, to the Lair of the Venerated Dragon. As soon as Vilmos had this thought, something jolted through him like lightening. Power. Immense power. Power that only the Venerated Dragon himself could give.
The magicians decided to ride horses like ordinary men, and several hours later they arrived at the magnificent Castle of the Narrowlands, home to King Matoskah and Queen Anona. It was a towering greystone building decorated with frescoes and mosaics. These days, the poor artists of the Narrowlands had drunk so much water from Lake Onkar that they were only capable of creating ugliness. So Anona had ordered her husband’s soldiers and pirates to travel to distant lands to prise the mosaics off the walls of their great buildings.
Although Iniko and Vilmos considered themselves superior to the King and Queen of the Narrowlands, they knew they must act humbly. When they were escorted to the Great Hall, the magicians bowed deeply before Matoskah and Anona.
‘Welcome, wise ones,’ said the King. ‘You may rise and join us at the High Table; we have prepared a great feast for you. We have much to discuss.’
Chapter Twelve
Chesca
Irina called out to Amicus, who was perched on the top of the mighty stone pillar. He flew down to her outstretched hands. She stroked his soft, feathery head and the ticklish bit under his beak.
‘Let’s have a race,’ said Irina. ‘Let’s see if you can beat us to the sea, my old friend.’
The bird rose into the air, and with a few brisk wing-beats cut a path through the winds. He was old for a sylvan and yet he remained strong and sleek and beautiful. He flew ahead easily, but it wasn’t long before Durrell with Irina on his back had caught up with bird. Irina knew of no other beast who could move as fast as Durrell, and she laughed for the fun of it, delighting in his strength and speed. Before long, they reached the beach, partly shaded by the Blue Cliffs of Margaran. Irina was surprised to see a lone horse in the distance and wondered if it was wild. She saw no rider, only stones and sand and sky. The horse was the first animal – other than Durrell and Amicus – she had seen since leaving the Forest of Rondel. The pale sand was scattered with rocks of the same blue-grey as the tall cliffs beyond. Bobbing on the waves was a little yellow boat and, inside it, a hooded figure. The Ferryman! Irina felt a flutter of excitement.
‘Stay behind,’ she instructed Durrell. ‘Drop your head and don’t bare your teeth. We don’t want to scare him.’
Amicus, tired from the r
ace, flew down and landed on Irina’s shoulder. They walked towards the boat. The hooded ferryman did not look up. He sat very, very still. Perhaps he was asleep? Irina paused on the shoreline opposite the boat, wondering whether to call out, or wade into the water. Finally, she decided to wave, and was rewarded when the Ferryman raised his head. It wasn’t the old man’s face that Irina had been expecting. Beneath the hood was the face of a young woman, barely more than a girl – about the same age as Irina.
‘Greetings,’ the girl said in a refined voice.
Irina bowed her head. ‘My father said I’d know the Ferryman by his riddles. But I wasn’t expecting a girl.’
‘Your father has not been in these parts for many years.’ The girl raised her chin, and the sun struck a yellow strand of hair escaping from her hood.
‘Who are you?’ asked Irina.
‘I am Chesca, the Ferrywoman,’ the girl replied, dipping her oars into the water and rowing closer to Irina.
‘Well then, Ferrywoman, how much will it cost to cross?’
‘Answer this riddle. In three it’s split, and will not knit until the rabbit loves the fox.’
‘That’s easy,’ Irina replied. ‘In three it’s split – that means the Isle of Ragnor. It will not knit – that means that the three kingdoms of Ragnor cannot be united until the rabbit loves the fox. That means the island will not be united until there’s a change in the natural order of things.’
‘That is indeed the answer to the riddle. Come aboard. I think this little boat can take your wolf.’
‘Don’t be afraid of Durrell.’
‘I’m not,’ said the Ferrywoman, and reached forward to stroke the wolf behind the ear. Durrell backed away with a low growl.
‘Be still,’ said Irina, and reluctantly Durrell submitted to the Ferrywoman’s touch. Her forefinger burrowed into his fur. The wolf gave a sigh and a yawn, and immediately lay on the boat’s wooden floor.
