by Leah Swann
‘A pack on his back the weight of boulders,
So lightly carried upon his shoulders.
As thin as a branch from trees of willow,
He’s quick to rest his head on a pillow.
The spells and mysteries he knows are strong,
Yet his magic has never made a wrong . . .’
Irina smiled. ‘Baruch,’ she whispered. His name was soft on the cold air and for a moment she imagined he was standing close by. She turned, but all she saw was Chesca, tied to her horse and glowering.
‘I am Baruch’s friend, Ferryman,’ Irina said. ‘We have no time to lose. Please help us cross the waves before that vile witch escapes.’
The Ferryman nodded, looking at Durrell.
‘So heavy this creature he slows us down;
Yet not so heavy to make us drown.
If you listen to what I say,
We may reach the opposite shore today.’
Ravenel flew up the underground staircases and out into the icy grey skies. As far as he could see, a misty pall spread over the landscape. Despite his great speed, it took him several hours to reach the Blue Cliffs of Margaran. When he arrived, far below him, he saw Chesca tied to her horse, which in turn had been tied to a rock. There was no sign of Irina or the wolf or the sylvan. They were already too far away to be seen, even as the faintest yellow speck on the horizon. The raven flew down to Chesca, and with his sharp beak began to loosen her bonds.
Chesca saw the wand tied around the raven’s neck. ‘Hurry, stupid bird – speed, speed!’ she hissed. She couldn’t wait to curse the wolf-girl and hoped it wasn’t too late. She had let the Great Sorcerer down and knew what her punishment would be.
In the little yellow boat, Irina watched the Ferryman closely as he drew his oars back and forth. The sea was choppy and the going was slow. On a whim, Irina decided to try out a rhyme of her own.
‘Mermaids and creatures of the sea,
Help us forward, from evil we flee!’
Suddenly, miraculously, the fierce winds dropped and the rough waters settled. Gentle waves replaced the whitecaps, pushing them onwards.
The Ferryman looked at Irina in astonishment. Her hair was as rough as a hermit’s, and while her hands were slender, they were calloused and one finger was wrapped in a dirty bandage. She seemed too small and young to have such powers and yet she had an air of confidence beyond her years.
‘The waves obey you as though they have no choice,
From what power comes your voice?’
The wolf-girl smiled. ‘Were the waves really obeying me? All I can tell you is that I am Princess Irina, daughter of King Harmon and Queen Chloe of Ragnor. I am travelling to Baruch’s homeland to seek the white wolf.’
The waters had become so clear that Irina could make out fish, seahorses, starfish, and even shells on the sandy seabed below. She stared in wonder at the underwater plants swelling outwards with delicate fronds as red as tomatoes. How different the sea was to the forest! When she looked up, patches of blue sky opened like eyes in the grey clouds.
After several hours’ rowing, the golden sands of the opposite shore finally appeared in the distance. Excited, Irina cupped her hand over her eyes and marvelled at the scoured red cliffs. Another land, another country! But as they approached the shoreline, the wind picked up again, and the friendly water became unfriendly. It swirled and darkened. Although Irina could not physically hear Chesca’s voice, from somewhere she was aware of the witch’s words . . .
‘I curse you! I curse you to the bottom of the Crystal Sea! May you be captured and taken to the Lair of the Venerated Dragon where you meet your end! I curse you with all the power of the wand of Iniko!’
Suddenly, huge rogue waves appeared out of nowhere and pitched the boat into the air. The Ferryman had to use all his skills to keep them from capsizing. Irina wrapped her arms around Durrell and sent Amicus skywards to try to get their bearings. The colossal seas surged around them, with waves as tall as the trees of Rondel. Irina’s stomach lurched, and she tasted something sour at the back of her throat. Desperately she clung to Durrell as the Ferryman drove his craft up and down the walls of water. The shoreline had vanished entirely from sight.
Chapter Fifteen
Andor’s Visit
With a burst of trumpet song announcing his arrival, Prince Andor was led into the Great Hall of Ragnor Castle. A sumptuous feast was laid out on a vast oak table, but the atmosphere was tense: when Princess Talita reached for a plump cupcake, King Harmon slapped her hand. The little girl burst into tears.
‘Sorry, my dear,’ said Harmon. ‘But something’s wrong, doesn’t anyone else see?’
No-one dared speak.
‘Get rid of these platters,’ the King commanded.
Servants hurried forward and took the food away.
The King acknowledged Prince Andor with a brusque nod. Andor shifted on his feet uncomfortably. He had once been on the receiving end of King Harmon’s famous temper and it was far from a pleasant experience.
Harmon beckoned to his manservant, Jibade. ‘Take this cuff and the Queen’s bracelet to the wise-woman, Raizel,’ he whispered. ‘Ask her to cleanse them of evil. Once that’s done, take them to Helmer, son of Peylor, to make copies. Don’t let the cuff or the bracelet out of your sight. Ask Captain Kellen for two soldiers to accompany you.’
No-one but Mahila saw the cuff disappear into Jibade’s cloak pocket. The manservant bowed before the Queen and asked her politely for her pearl bracelet.
‘I will use my own powers to cleanse this gift,’ she said quietly, although she was already too deeply under the bracelet’s power to even try.
‘But –’ stuttered Jibade, glancing at King Harmon nervously.
‘I will explain to the King in private,’ said Chloe, waving her hand. ‘Now go.’
‘Welcome, Prince Andor, son of Niklas,’ said Harmon. ‘Your timing is impeccable. We have just been visited with the veiled threat of war from the Narrowlands.’
A hush fell upon the court.
‘Don’t be taken in by that messenger’s friendly appearance and smooth words. Matoskah wants to unify the three kingdoms and become ruler of all. We know Lake Onkar is ruined; no good can come from the North. Not yet, anyway.’
The courtiers began murmuring.
Harmon said in low voice to Andor, ‘If we have to fight, we may be ill-prepared. We lost too many soldiers in the Battle of the Wolves.’
Andor bowed deeply to the King. ‘I believe I may be able to help, Your Majesty. I have just visited Sef, seer of the far west, who told me it was time to awaken the warrior women of Ragnor – the daughters of Joaquinna.’
‘Women fighting in war?’ the King spluttered.
‘Yes, Your Majesty. Sef says the warrior women of Ragnor fought to defend the Book of the Junsong in the days of Kuiril.’
At the mention of the Book a whisper ran through the court like a wind. Andor had Harmon’s full attention now. Staring at the young Prince, the mighty warrior King lifted his hand to silence him. He wanted to hear the rest in private. ‘Could your father spare you a night? I would like you to stay and dine with me and Queen Chloe this evening.’
‘It would be an honour, Your Majesty.’
The King stood and a thick grey mass moved over his feet. What Andor had thought was a fur blanket revealed itself as a living being – an enormous wolf with silver eyes. As it got to all fours, Andor was surprised at its size. This beast must have fought in the Battle of the Wolves, he thought. He stared uneasily, remembering how his own father’s wolf had betrayed him.
‘This is Hibah, my bodyguard, a gift from Irina,’ said Harmon. ‘He has the ability to hide himself. Curtos, our visitor from the North, did not notice him. But I felt Hibah’s body stiffen and I heard his low growl when the messenger appeared. The wolf confirmed my own distrust.’
‘Father,’ said Mahila. ‘Please may I dine with you and mother and Prince Andor tonight? I am old enough. When he men
tioned the warrior women of Ragnor something stirred in my heart.’
‘Me too,’ said the gentle Julene. ‘May I dine with you as well?’
The King gazed at his second- and third-born daughters. In many ways they resembled Irina; their faces were finely shaped and alive with intelligence, though each had the mark of their own distinct character. Mahila’s dark eyes were vivid and passionate, while Julene was of softer and paler complexion, and her mouth had an expression of indescribable sweetness.
‘Women do not attend meetings of war,’ Harmon said.
‘Is that what we are to discuss, Your Majesty?’ said Prince Andor. ‘War?’
‘Regrettably, yes,’ said Harmon.
‘Then, if I may be so bold as to make a suggestion, Your Majesty, it may be in everyone’s best interests if the Princesses take part.’
Mahila shot him a grateful look. ‘Please listen to Prince Andor, Father! If we were your sons we’d be coming . . .’
Harmon closed his eyes. Yet again, he was being confronted with unfamiliar circumstances. He looked into the plaintive faces of his daughters. Their spirit, their longing was undeniable. ‘Very well,’ he said finally. ‘We meet in two hours. Andor, I will send a message to King Niklas that he may expect you home tomorrow.’
Terrified of Iniko’s wrath, Chesca was in no hurry to return to the Narrowlands. She repeatedly cursed Irina with the wand, but hid it behind her back as the raven swooped, attempting to retrieve the wand. Chesca, frightened of Iniko’s anger at losing Irina, wanted to keep it for protection. ‘Get away from me!’ she screamed, protecting her face with her forearm and batting at the bird. It suddenly occurred to her use the wand against the raven. Try as she could, no spell came to mind. In desperation, she screeched, ‘Awaaay! Awaaay!’
To her relief the bird suddenly flew backwards, as though a gale was tossing him through the clouds. Chesca marvelled at the wand’s power.
‘No-one shall take this from me,’ she vowed, raising the wand again. ‘Now horse, I command you to gallop your hardest and take me to a hiding place!’
The mare set off to the west. The wand lent the horse a fierce energy and speed. For two days and nights, the horse galloped through villages and forests, with Chesca sometimes dozing on the crazed animal’s back. Finally, the mare left the road and cantered to a field in the middle of which sat a small stone hut, protected by two odom trees.
This could be a place to hide, thought Chesca, climbing down from the poor mare, who collapsed, exhausted, behind her. But Chesca hardly noticed; her attention was focused on the hut. The door was open. She went inside. Sun from the hole in the roof, known as the wind’s eye, lit a plain, dusty room with a floor of sacking and a narrow bed, a stone jug and tumbler, and a hearth filled with cold cinders. Chesca picked up a handful of ash and let it run through her fingers.
Iniko might still find me here, she thought, remembering the Mirror of Near and Far. She gathered dry moss and kindling to make a fire and, using the wand, conjured a hiding spell. Instantly, the fire gave off a dark smoke that hung like a shroud over her refuge. There she stayed hidden till morning.
In Raizel’s hut, the wise-woman lit a fire in the presence of Baruch, Jibade and two of King Harmon’s soldiers. She chanted the few known verses of the Junsong in the old language of Ragnor, the language that Irina had once described as being ‘like the sounds of the runes’.
Baruch joined her, singing the ancient chant, his voice quavering over the high notes. As they repeated the verses, the words grew in power. Jibade and the King’s soldiers were uneasy, unused to these strange rites.
After a few minutes, Raizel tossed the Bracelet of Uche into the ceremonial fire. Before their very eyes, Iniko’s dark magic rose and materialised above the flames, slowly forming the shape of seven brown moths.
‘A sleep enchantment,’ whispered Raizel, understanding the magic.
Baruch nodded. ‘Yes, but not a good sleep. A sleep that’s like a trance – a sleep that enslaves you to the one who cast the spell.’
A rotten smell suddenly permeated the cold night air. The seven magical moths hovered until, one by one, they swooped down towards the flames. In a fiery shower of sparks, the spell was broken, and the moths were burned to ashes.
Chapter Sixteen
Blast of the Sea
When Irina was little, being cared for by the farmer, William, and his wife, Octavia, she learned how to swim. In spring and summer, William would take the wolf-girl to the River Thel, showing her how to kick her legs and move her arms. Irina loved holding her breath and plunging down to the stony riverbed. She spent hours in those waters, beneath the paddling legs of ducks and swans and looking into the placid eyes of fish.
But a quiet river is one thing and a wild sea quite another.
A monstrous wave rose like a mountain and pitched Irina and Durrell clean out of the Ferryman’s boat. Irina grabbed at her wolf-brother as they tumbled into the sea.
‘Durrell!’ she shouted. But he was gone.
The water was bitterly cold. Irina tried to swim, but her furs dragged her down. All she could see were walls of water. Before each wave crashed, she took a breath deep enough to last until she could draw another. She was so heavy in all her clothes she could barely move, but when the water drew back, it was only waist deep. She must be close to the shore!
Come on, Irina, she thought. You can make it. But where was Durrell? Could he swim? Yes, remember, he used to swim across the river with Sheka . . .
She looked in every direction, hoping to catch a glimpse of the wolf’s familiar head above the surging waters. Another wave pushed her down, and the undertow dragged her back. Irina thrashed upwards, surfaced, and gasped.
‘Durrell, where are you?’ she cried. She opened her stinging eyes and saw Amicus in the sky high above, unable to help her. Bending her knees, she launched herself from the sand as hard as she could, kicking and moving her arms as the next wave came. This time she seemed to move further forward before being jerked back again. The water was shallower. This encouraged her to keep trying. Would Durrell be able to do this? If only she could see him and know that he was all right.
The next wave was so immense that it carried her forwards and then drove her down under the water, dragging her face across the sand. Several times Irina tried to raise her head to take a breath, but the pressure of the water kept her down.
Jun, help me, please help me, please help me, she thought.
Suddenly the pressure was released. The wave drew back and Irina found herself lying on a sandy beach. With one last effort, she flung herself forwards out of the reach of the next wave. She rubbed her face on her wet sleeve, pushed her hair out of her eyes and looked around her. Durrell! She clambered across the sand to a shivering heap of wet fur and threw herself over him, sobbing.
‘You’re alive. Thank Jun, you’re alive!’
Vilmos – still disguised as Curtos – decided to take a detour and spy on Pavel before returning to the Narrowlands. It would only add a day to his journey. He could have used the Mirror of Near and Far, but it was never as good as face-to-face spying. And it was costly. He rode past Pavel’s simple huts, smoke wafting from the roof holes. What was Prince Andor doing at Ragnor Castle? he wondered. And why was he on his own, without King Niklas?
It was getting dark as the evil magician entered the city’s narrow, paved streets, lit only by the occasional lantern. Soon he arrived at the small and stately Pavel Castle, where King Niklas slept feverishly, waiting for his son to return.
The Castle was quiet. Two sentries stood by the gates, nodding off, and blissfully unaware of Vilmos’s approach. He was glad of the darkness. He tethered his horse and crept quietly towards the Castle walls, careful to keep in the shadows. He scaled an ancient odom tree and peered into the Castle’s leadlight windows. In the Great Hall a group of courtiers dined. King Niklas was nowhere to be seen.
‘Enchanted wolf bites don’t heal so easily,’ Vilmos whispered to himself
and smiled. With the agility of a boy, he leapt from the tree and landed soundlessly on the ground. He headed to the stables, where a cluster of candles flickered. From a crack in the door, Vilmos saw the handsome Captain of the Soldiers, Kadar, practising his sword moves in front of a highly polished door.
The new Captain has considerable skill, Vilmos thought to himself. And considerable vanity to match! Kadar’s vanity was a weakness that Vilmos and Iniko could exploit. King Niklas was ill, and Vilmos had no fear of young Prince Andor. The gentle lad didn’t have the stomach to kill him when he’d had the chance. He withdrew, untethered his horse and, with a feeling of glee, set off home towards the Narrowlands.
Andor will never be the mighty warrior Niklas has been, Vilmos thought. In any case, we have the mighty power of the Venerated Dragon on our side.
Andor spent a pleasant few hours resting in Ragnor Castle’s courtyard. The sun shone over the beautiful plants and a great fire burned in a firepit. A basin of water and towel had been provided for him; he washed the dust from his journey and slept for an hour in a sheepskin hammock.
Towards evening, Jibade came to collect him. Together they crossed the Great Hall, entered a dark corridor and hurried down some steps. They passed through another small room that contained nothing but a dragon statue, and proceeded up a spiral staircase. Andor became disoriented. At the top of the spiral staircase was a windowless landing hung with three vast tapestries. A torch burned on one stone wall. Jibade lifted the middle tapestry to reveal a secret door. Without a word, the pair crossed the raised threshold and entered the secret war room.
The room was not square or rectangular but round, and Andor wasn’t sure if he faced north, south, east or west. The floor was covered with crimson rugs while a chandelier large enough to hold two dozen candles cast a warm glow. The King and Queen and the Princesses Mahila and Julene were seated at a round table of glossy walnut wood.
