by Leah Swann
‘What have you done to Durrell?’ asked Irina, bending over her wolf, astonished.
‘A little trick we ferry people have to make the journey more comfortable,’ said Chesca, standing over Irina.
Suddenly, everything felt wrong. From the corner of her eye Irina caught sight of Chesca’s arm moving, and in an instant the wolf-girl was caught in a net. The net was pulled so tightly around Irina that the cords bit her skin.
‘Stop!’ she shouted, furious with herself. She had walked into a trap! She struggled, her arms pinned to her sides, and fell forward beside Durrell.
‘Wake up, brother,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, Jun, what has that horrible woman done to you?’
Chesca climbed out of the boat and pulled it up to the shore.
‘Why are you doing this?’ cried Irina, thrashing against her bonds. ‘Where’s the Ferryman?’
‘Never you mind,’ said Chesca. Iniko had ordered her to kill the Ferryman, but instead she had simply knocked him out and hidden him.
Irina felt a cold, metal hook being inserted into the net, just behind her neck. The Ferrywoman gave a few almighty tugs and heaved the wolf-girl out of the boat, panting with effort. Irina banged her head on the side of the boat and growled with rage.
‘You had poison under your fingernails, didn’t you?’ she cried.
‘They said you were clever,’ said Chesca, hauling Irina further up onto the sand.
‘Who said I was clever?’
‘My master. Your wolf will belong to him now.’
Amicus, hovering nearby, made an anxious, chittering sound.
‘I hope so, too,’ Irina whispered to her sylvan.
‘What do you hope?’ demanded Chesca. Her voice was sharp and harsh. One hand, with long, dagger-like fingernails, closed over Irina’s throat.
‘Your master must be stupid,’ said the wolf-girl. ‘If he knows of me, he knows that the wolves obey only one master.’
‘Ah yes, the famous Wolf Queen,’ said Chesca. Her fingernails scratched Irina’s chin.
‘That poison won’t work on me,’ Irina muttered, though she wasn’t sure of this. Her skin began to tingle.
‘My master is the Great Sorcerer of the Narrowlands. To call him stupid is stupidity itself. His power is something you can only dream of, wolf-girl.’ Chesca knotted the ropes at Irina’s back and produced a small vial from under her cloak. ‘Drink this,’ she said, holding the vial to Irina’s lips. ‘You must be thirsty.’
‘Drink poison like a baby drinks milk? Never!’
Chesca climbed onto Irina’s chest and pinned the wolf-girl’s shoulders with her knees. Once again she brought the vial to Irina’s lips. ‘You will drink this,’ she hissed, and the liquid dribbled over Irina’s closed mouth.
At that moment, from out of nowhere, came a bloodcurdling snarl. Chesca shrieked, feeling hot breath at her neck. Durrell had recovered fast – as Baruch predicted, he’d been greatly strengthened by overcoming Vilmos’s evil magic. Chesca’s poison would have subdued most animals for hours.
‘Is . . . the wolf behind me?’ Chesca whispered in terror, spilling the burning drink over Irina’s face.
Irina gave an involuntary shiver – Durrell was blocking the sunlight, his lips pulled back in an ugly grimace, revealing a thick band of bright pink gum and sharp fangs. He was terrifying when he was like this, even though she knew he was there to protect her. He snapped his jaws, saliva flying, and Chesca screamed again. With a single slap of one of his giant paws he knocked her off Irina.
‘My sword, Durrell!’ cried Irina. ‘Grab the handle and drag it out!’
The wolf rolled Irina to her side, and used his teeth to pull the sword out through the net.
‘Hold it still.’
The wolf-girl pushed the net against the blade until she’d made a hole big enough to free her hands, then she tore at the net to free herself.
‘Keep guard of this one,’ she said to Durrell, who obediently placed a heavy paw on Chesca’s chest. ‘Now, what happened to the real Ferryman?’
‘Over here,’ chirped Amicus.
Irina followed the sylvan to the rocks and found the Ferryman slumped on the ground, a cut on his head oozing blood. Irina gave the man a gentle shake. He didn’t stir. She put her ear to his chest and heard his beating heart. Amicus cooed softly.
‘He’s alive,’ said Irina.
She took the salve from her pocket and daubed the man’s wound with it. He opened his eyes, and groaned.
‘Witch!’ he rasped. ‘That little witch tried to steal my boat, without which I cannot float.’
‘Your boat is safe,’ said Irina. ‘And the witch is being held by my wolf.’
The Ferryman’s black eyes focused on the wolf-girl in front of him.
‘I’ve never seen one so young and so wild. What is your name, strange woman-child?’
‘Irina.’
Durrell was growling. Chesca was squirming under the weight of his paw.
‘Time to sort her out,’ said Irina, grimly. ‘Take a sip of water, Ferryman. That salve should heal your wound. I am glad you’re alive.’
Irina strode back to where Chesca was pinned to the ground. She held out her sword. ‘Why were you sent here?’ she demanded.
Chesca said nothing.
Irina pressed the blade to the witch’s neck. ‘If you don’t answer, I’ll have my wolf finish you. He’s eaten very little these past few days and is ravenous.’
Chesca sighed. ‘I was sent to stop you crossing the Crystal Sea.’
‘How did your master know I was here?’
Chesca shrugged.
Irina moved the tip of the sword to Chesca’s shoulder, and the witch tried to wriggle away. ‘Don’t make me draw blood.’
‘I don’t know his secrets. All I know is that Iniko doesn’t want the white wolf on these shores.’
‘Why? The wolves pose no threat to him. Why would Iniko fear the white wolf?’
‘I don’t know. He didn’t tell me.’ Chesca’s eyes darted towards Irina and away again. A look of cunning slipped over her face as lightly as a feather, before fading into innocence.
‘I can tell you are hiding something from me – what is it?’ said Irina, slicing the sword through a section of the witch’s hair.
Chesca stared in fright as the sea breeze scattered the golden strands. The famous wolf-girl was more of a match than she’d thought.
Chapter Thirteen
The Enchanted Bracelets
For the first time in living memory, a royal messenger was sent from the King of the Narrowlands to the King of Ragnor. Curtos was a tall, straight-backed young man dressed in Narrowlands armour. He carried a leather pack full of gifts, and beneath his armour he wore a linen shirt buttoned tightly to the neck. Upon his arrival at Ragnor Castle, he was escorted by Captain Kellen into the Great Hall.
When King Harmon saw the messenger’s blue-feathered helmet he leapt up from his throne, one hand on the hilt of his sword, remembering his restless dream. The Queen reared back in fear.
‘Your Majesty, this man says he comes in peace,’ said Captain Kellen. ‘We have searched him and he is unarmed.’
‘Very well,’ said King Harmon, sitting back on his throne. ‘Bring him in.’
The stranger sank to his knees and bowed his blue-feathered head.
‘Remove that helmet,’ King Harmon said. ‘You have no need of it. The sight of it disturbs me.’
The messenger removed the offending helmet and placed it on the ground beside him. Harmon sniffed and wrinkled his nose. The man smelled of kenda flowers, a fragrance not unlike plum blossom but with the intensity of jasmine. Kenda was expensive, and usually worn by women.
Then young Princesses stared transfixed at the stranger. They had heard frightening stories of the blue-feathered warriors. They shuffled their feet and clasped one another’s hands.
‘Who are you?’ asked King Harmon.
‘I am Curtos, Your Majesty, trusted servant of King Matoskah.
I come bearing gifts.’
Captain Kellen brought forth Curtos’s pack. ‘I have checked it thoroughly, Your Majesty. There is no magic as far as I can tell. I have sent the baked goods to the kitchens for the royal tasters.’
Curtos took a small velvet pouch from his pack. ‘For the Queen, with compliments of Queen Anona.’
Captain Kellen took the pouch and presented it to the Queen. Chloe tugged open the drawstrings, her curious daughters hovering beside her. Inside was a gleaming bracelet.
‘Freshwater pearls from Lake Onkar,’ whispered Curtos. ‘The finest in the known world.’
The pearls were legendary. They were not round, but long and irregular, and they shimmered like the palest pink roses. Somehow, the poisoned waters had not affected their beauty.
‘Exquisite,’ said Queen Chloe. She slipped the bracelet onto her wrist, beside the plait of Irina’s hair. How magically the pearls glowed against her skin! But when she clicked shut the golden clasp, a dreamy heaviness settled over her like a cloud. Irina’s plaited hair bangle, so treasured until this moment, was forgotten. So enchanted was she with her new pearls that she hardly noticed that Harmon also received a gift, wrapped in red velvet.
The King opened it slowly. Although Kellen had already inspected it, Harmon was distrustful of this Narrowlands messenger. What does this man want? he wondered, recalling what Raizel and Baruch had said about Irina’s quest. They told Harmon they believed Irina was fulfilling the ancient prophecy, that one day she would ‘ride the wild beast white’ and bring about the Age of Peace. The prophecy was written on the doors of Ragnor Castle’s Great Hall, and he knew it well. However, Raizel had told him the next verse, which he’d never before heard.
But if she fails, the goddess will withdraw
for hundreds, or even one thousand years . . .
All Ragnor will fall in the Dragon’s maw
and the truth will be veiled by ice and tears.
All enslaved by the Dragon’s blood-drenched claw
until the day when we defeat our fears.
With these words ringing in his head, King Harmon steeled himself and opened his gift. He gasped. On the red velvet glowed a thick golden cuff, inscribed with runes.
The messenger Curtos studied the King, a curious brightness flickering in his eyes. ‘So, what does the King think of this fine gift?’ he asked, raising one eyebrow.
Luckily for Curtos, Harmon did not catch the man’s smug expression. The King raised the cuff to the light streaming through the stained-glass windows. All the court gasped at the brilliant, shimmering gold. A carving of a hare with ruby eyes was flanked by a sword and a tree. On the inside of the cuff were faded runes. Harmon read them to himself, shaking his head in disbelief, unable to hide his surprise.
Everyone waited for him to speak. Only Chloe seemed oblivious to the drama, enraptured with the pearls of Lake Onkar, so heavy and warm on her skin.
‘It cannot be,’ said Harmon, finally.
‘It is,’ said Curtos.
‘Matoskah sent this?’
‘Yes. And he has the other two in his possession.’
‘They were stolen.’
‘By King Matoskah’s ancestors? Yes, but that matters not. Returning the bracelet of the forefathers to its rightful owner is an act of goodwill, King Harmon.’
‘What’s happening, Father?’ said Mahila. ‘We don’t understand.’
‘You know the story. King Uche and Queen Joaquinna had three sons – Kuiril, Kaveh and Pavel, and a daughter, Jun, named after the goddess of truth. King Uche saw that his oldest, Kuiril, had a weak character and was unfit to be King. So he had three golden cuffs made for each of his sons and asked them to reign over the land together and in harmony. But when the King died, the sons didn’t want to rule together and they agreed to divide Ragnor into three, so that each would be King of their own domain. Kuiril became King of the Narrowlands, Kaveh became King of the original castle in Ragnor and our realm of the south-west, and Pavel became King of the south-east, which we now call Pavel.’
‘Yes, Father,’ said Mahila and Julene together. The other Princesses were listening with wide-eyed wonder. The courtiers were also leaning forward, straining to hear.
‘Kuiril was greedy,’ Harmon went on. ‘He wanted to be King of all Ragnor and went to war with his brothers. He stole their bracelets. Kaveh and Pavel drove him and his armies back into the Narrowlands. To this day, no-one has seen these bracelets, though countless wars have been fought over them.’ Harmon paused and studied Curtos. Why did the man seem so familiar? ‘Will Matoskah be returning the other bracelet to King Niklas of Pavel?’
‘I do not know King Matoskah’s mind on this matter, Your Majesty. He is growing old and longs for the Age of Peace.’
‘The Age of Peace is not likely to come in our lifetime,’ said King Harmon. An image of Irina, charging through the snow on Durrell’s back, flashed through his mind.
‘King Matoskah believes the three kingdoms can work together to bring it about,’ Curtos said, jutting out his chin. ‘But in order for that to happen, we need the Book of the Junsong.’
‘Ah,’ said Harmon. ‘Now we come to the true purpose of your visit.’
‘Yes, Your Majesty. Ragnor Castle is the oldest in all of Ragnor. It is here that King Uche held his court. Some say that the Book was buried by Joaquinna’s daughter in these very walls.’
‘If that is so, the Book is my property,’ said Harmon.
‘Yours – and all of Uche’s descendants. Including Matoskah.’
‘What does Matoskah really want?’
‘He would like to meet with you, Your Majesty. Then you can discuss searching for the Book of the Junsong together.’
‘Very well,’ said King Harmon. ‘I will meet with him. But on my terms.’
‘Excuse me, Your Majesty, but is that wise?’ asked Captain Kellen.
‘You will keep me safe, Captain,’ said Harmon with a wave of his hand.
At that moment, the Chief Cook and three servants bearing platters of baked pastries entered the Great Hall. Within seconds, the delicious smell of butter and warm sugar filled the air.
The Chief Cook bowed so low that the wooden spoon he wore on a chain around his neck grazed the ground. ‘The cakes are good, Your Majesty,’ he pronounced. ‘And we have warmed them in the clay ovens.’
‘Thank you,’ said Harmon. ‘I am sure Matoskah would not send me the bracelet of my forefathers with goodwill and then betray me with poisoned fare! Please, Chief Cook, take Curtos and prepare a package of provisions for his return journey. Kellen, accompany them.’
‘Before I go, sir, may I tell King Matoskah that you wear the Bracelet of Uche as a gesture of goodwill?’ asked Curtos boldly.
‘You may,’ replied Harmon.
Curtos glanced down at the cuff, waiting for the King to put it on his wrist.
Noticing the messenger’s look, Harmon said simply, ‘You are dismissed.’
Returning to the stables, Kellen and Curtos passed Prince Andor, who was visiting Harmon after his trip to Ragnor’s far west. Andor was accompanied by the Vice-Captain of the Guard.
‘Who was that man with the Captain?’ Andor asked.
‘I’m not sure, Your Majesty. A visitor who came this morning, that’s all I know.’
‘He wore perfume, did you notice? He smelled like a rotting garden.’
‘I didn’t notice, sir.’
Andor turned and paused. Feeling the Prince’s eyes on him, Curtos glanced back and gave the young Prince a sickly smile. Andor did not smile back, or even nod. He just stared, and wondered why the hairs on the back of his neck were rising.
Chapter Fourteen
The Crossing
Irina pulled Chesca to her feet. ‘Tell me,’ said the wolf-girl, ‘why your master fears the white wolf.’
Chesca refused to answer.
Irina waited.
Still Chesca would not speak.
The Ferryman was growing tired of the
stand-off and retired to his yellow boat, where he refreshed himself with a drink of water.
Every time Chesca tried to sit down, Irina pulled her to her feet. Every time she looked away, the wolf-girl turned Chesca’s face towards her own.
‘I’m sick of this,’ said Chesca, as Irina turned her face yet again.
‘You can end it any time. Just answer my question.’
‘No.’
‘Very well, then, we shall wait. My will is stronger than yours, you know.’
‘I doubt that,’ said Chesca. But even as she said it, a look of exhaustion came over her.
Irina glanced up at the sky. Low, ragged clouds scurried across it, chased by a wet wind.
‘Let it rain,’ grumbled Chesca.
Within minutes, the heavens opened and rain began to fall in great hard drops. In the little yellow boat, the Ferryman pulled a cloth over himself to keep dry. Amicus took refuge in Irina’s furs, which were fast becoming soaked. The wolf-girl thought about threatening Chesca with Durrell again. Time was running out. She had to get to the opposite shore by sundown.
Back in his basalt palace, Iniko was impatient to see if Chesca had succeeded in capturing Irina. He decided to once again consult the Mirror of Near and Far, even though his pile of diamond dust was running low. He dipped his finger into the dust, fed the ugly little mouth, and the foggy surface of the mirror slowly cleared. First he saw his own reflection. When that disappeared, the mirror revealed the scene on the beach.
‘Stupid, stupid girl!’ Iniko snarled. ‘I thought I could trust her.’ The Great Sorcerer raised his voice and called, ‘Ravenel!’
A black bird with a cruel head and a savage beak appeared, almost invisible against the shiny black walls. He flew to the Sorcerer and hovered by his hand, the beating of his great wings making a cool breeze.
Iniko slung a powerful wand around the raven’s neck. ‘Fly as fast as you can to Chesca at the Blue Cliffs. Go!’
The Ferryman was wary of Durrell. Before he would let Irina and her wolf board his boat, he demanded that Irina solve a riddle:
