“Hi, Connie,” he said. “Thought it had to be you.”
Connie leaned over the wooden panel and scratched Wolf on the head. He whined ecstatically. “Hi, Rat. Have you seen Col?”
Rat shook his head. “Nope. He’s having dinner with Liam, isn’t he?”
“He was supposed to, but he never showed up.”
Rat shrugged. “Well, he’s not here.”
Connie looked out over the dark fields leading up to the moor. The eight wind turbines revolved their ghostly white arms in the night. The plantation could only be seen as a darker shadow against the sky. A thin paring of moon peeped over the treetops, shedding little light. “It’s very late for him to still be on the moor. I thought I might be able to sense if he was out there. Will you come with me to the edge of the field? I’ve promised everyone I won’t go any further, but I’ll have a better chance of finding him if I’m as close as I can get.”
“Okay,” said Rat. “I’ll just grab a flashlight.”
He came back a few moments later with the powerful lamp his dad used to fix cars. It acted like a small headlight as they made their way past the wind farm. Connie led them up the far side of the field away from the plantation, not wanting to revisit that spot.
“Come on, let’s get away from here,” she said, picking up the pace.
Rat nodded sympathetically.
They climbed until they reached a gate at the top of the field. Here the tidy farmland gave up its grip on the earth, leaving the moor to its own devices. Sheep bleated in the darkness. The grass hissed in the light breeze. Everything seemed normal. Rat switched off the light, understanding without being told that Connie’s gift could see far better without this distraction.
Connie dipped into her mind, feeling out for the mythical creatures and their companions abroad at that moment. She had not opened up for some time, having chosen to remain closed away from others. But what was this? The moor was seething with their presence—too many to distinguish. It was like turning over a stone and discovering an ants’ nest bustling with activity. She opened her eyes and looked over at Rat, who was leaning on the top bar of the gate, chewing peacefully on a stalk of grass.
“Rat, something’s really not right. Where have all these creatures come from?”
“What creatures?” Rat asked, letting the stalk flutter to the ground.
“I’ve never felt so many up here before. Has the Society called a meeting I don’t know about?”
“Not unless I don’t know about it, either. What’s going on?”
Connie reached out into the darkness again but ended the attempt with a shake of her head. “There’s too many of them.” The hair on the back of her neck was on end. “Something tells me they’re not friendly. We’d better warn Dr. Brock.” She made a move to go.
“What about Col?” Rat snagged her jacket.
In the shock of finding all those creatures congregating on the moor, she had almost forgotten the reason for her visit. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to spot him in all this noise.”
“But what if one of those unfriendly creatures has got him?” Rat was craning his neck to see if he could make out anything in the twilight.
Rat was right. She couldn’t give up now. Connie took a deep breath and tuned back into the humming on the moor. Dragon. Banshee. Stone sprite. Kelpie. Hundreds of images flickered through her mind like a kaleidoscope. Concentrate. A companion to pegasi. A gold link amid the many. There: she had found him. He was not far or she never would’ve sensed him. In fact, he was only a short distance away, possibly just over the brow of the hill on the track up to the Devil’s Tooth.
“He’s almost within call,” she told Rat. “A little to the north of us.”
Rat turned the light back on and swung his leg over the gate. “Come on. I’ll need you to help me find him.”
Connie hung back, the promise to her aunt still fresh in her mind. The grass whipped at her legs in the stiff, rainy breeze. “But I’m not allowed on the moors!”
Rat jumped down on the other side. “Don’t be pathetic. We’re not going far. Or would you prefer Col to be attacked by one of these unknown mythical visitors?”
“Of course, I wouldn’t.” What did it matter if she got into more trouble with the Trustees if she could help Col? From the way he was so still, it was possible he had fallen and hurt himself. Connie clambered over the gate and set out in pursuit.
“This way!” she called as Rat veered off too far to the left, heading down toward the wet, low-lying ground. “It’s dangerous down there—full of kelpies and will-o’-the-wisps. They’ll lead you into the bog.” She ran to catch up with him.
Rat grinned. “See, that’s what I like about you, Connie,” he said, “deep down, you don’t care about the rules, either.”
Connie wasn’t sure if she should take this as a compliment, though it had clearly been intended as one. Guilt filled her as she thought of what her aunt would be saying at this moment, sure that it wouldn’t be flattering. “Let’s get this done as quickly as possible,” she said. “Follow me.”
She led them onto the track and turned right heading uphill. She was soon out of breath and had to pause to ease a cramp. Rat, who spent most of his time roaming on the moor, was unaffected by the climb; he took the opportunity to holler into the darkness, flashing his light like a beacon.
It picked out a body lying by the side of the track.
“Col!” Rat dashed forward and pulled Col’s head and shoulders onto his lap.
“W-what?” Col said groggily.
Connie touched his hand; it was icy cold. “How long have you been here?”
“I dunno.” He groaned and then flinched with the pain of aching muscles.
“What’s the matter with him?” Rat asked Connie anxiously.
Col was still wearing his riding helmet. He didn’t look as if he’d hurt himself. Connie ran her hands quickly over his forehead and neck, finding a tender patch of skin just below the hairline. Col flinched.
“Rat, shine the light here. I think a stone sprite must’ve touched him. I’ve seen marks like that before.” She had, on her own skin after touching one; only the universal’s shield had held off their numbing attack.
“But I thought they lived in the ground. How could it reach his neck?”
“Good question.” Connie checked the surrounding area and again felt the hum of hundreds of creatures gathered not far away. “But we don’t have time. We’ve got to get off the moor. Can you walk, Col?”
“I think so.” He flexed his frozen feet.
“You missed dinner,” Connie said gently, unbuckling his helmet.
Col gave an agonized groan. “I bet Gran’s worried sick.”
“Hadn’t you better call to tell her you’re all right?”
Col’s fingers were so cold by now that he fumbled his phone as he dragged it from his pocket, and it fell on the stones with a crack. Rat picked it up for him and examined it in the light. It was dead.
“Great,” said Col. “It’s really my day, isn’t it?”
“Don’t worry. You can use my phone.” Connie pulled hers out of her jacket pocket.
“On second thought, let me do that for you,” said Rat, intercepting the phone to dial Col’s home number.
“She might still be at the Mastersons’,” Connie called out, helping Col to his feet. “The number’s in the address book.”
Rat nodded that he had understood.
“Mags,” Col murmured as his wits came back to him. “Is he all right?”
“I’ll find him. Don’t worry.” Connie whistled into the darkness, but there was no response.
Col stumbled a few paces, trying to bring the circulation back to his dead limbs.
“Mags!” he shouted hoarsely into the darkness. “Mags!”
Rat joined them. “Need the light?” Col nodded. “By the way, your gran says you’re to go to bed when you get home and ordered us off the moor immediately.”
“Not
without Mags,” said Col. “Shine your light down there.”
Rat slowly moved the beam over the rough terrain, stopping each time it caught on a rock or horse-shaped tussock of grass. The moor was eerie in this half-light, a place of strange shapes and dark menace.
Connie grabbed his arm. “Look, there!” she said, pointing to three small silhouettes in the middle distance. “He’s wandered off with the Dartmoor ponies.”
With a preliminary pitter-patter, rain began to fall, building into a steady downpour. Rat turned his collar against the wet, having neglected to bring a coat.
“We’d better go and get him,” Connie said anxiously. “I really don’t like the moor tonight: there’s too much going on.” She dipped into her mind again to check for any activity near them and caught the tail of a slippery presence before it disappeared. “In fact, we’d better make this quick. I think my friend is on the move.”
“Your friend?” asked Rat dimly.
A look of alarm flashed across Col’s face. He shook himself out of his daze. “The chimera.” He grabbed Connie’s arm and pulled her along after him. “Look, Connie, we’ll get you on Mags, and you can ride back to the cottages. You’ll be safe there.”
Connie broke into a run. “It’s not just me I’m worried about,” she gasped. “What about you and Rat?”
“Let’s deal with one thing at a time,” said Col, though his mind was whirling. It would be the perfect end to the day to find himself face-to-face with the beast that had almost killed his friend. “Where’s Icefen?” he asked Rat.
“Miles away,” said Rat, running to keep up with him. “No go.”
The boys exchanged a look, agreeing that their priority was to get the universal away from danger. They’d worry about themselves after.
When they reached Mags, he was cropping the grass with his new friends. He didn’t protest when Col gave Connie a lift up onto his back, twittering to greet her. But no sooner had she settled in the saddle than Mags snorted and reared in alarm as a new scent reached him on the breeze. Connie tumbled off backward, her fall broken by Col who was still standing at the stirrup. Mags whinnied and would have bolted if Rat hadn’t made a grab for the reins in time.
“Mags!” cried Col. “What’s got into you?” His horse’s eyes were rolling in their sockets, full of terror.
“He can’t help it,” said Connie. Poor Mags: first stone sprites, now the chimera. She realized how lucky they were he’d stayed near Col and not run for home.
With Col’s aid, she scrambled back on. She did not need to dip into her mind to know that the chimera was loping toward them: the breeze also carried a triumphant roar of pleasure.
“You’ve got to get on!” she shouted. “There’s no time to run.”
“He’ll be too slow with all of us,” said Col. His eyes fell on the ponies, which were still grazing, the scent and sound of the chimera not having disturbed them yet. The scraggy black-haired one perked his ears forward, as if listening for Col’s voice, his eyes welcoming. The bay munched the grass as if nothing unusual was happening. “We’ll ride those! Come on, Rat.”
The two boys sprinted over to the horses and leapt on their backs before the animals knew what had hit them.
“Yah!” yelled Col, grabbing a lock of tough black mane and spurring his mount forward. The horse gave a whinny of surprise and bounded away, closely followed by his brother and Mags. The three fled down the hill in an erratic zigzag.
“Not that way!” cried Col as his beast turned to the right despite his signals, relentlessly heading down to the marshy ground. Rat sped past, his mount tossing its head.
Connie pulled Mags up before he lost his footing in the boggy ground. “Stop!” she cried. She’d realized why those beasts had shown no signs of being alarmed by the chimera. “Those aren’t horses!”
But it was too late. The creatures propelled their riders into the treacherous marsh and then vanished from beneath them, giving a whinny of laughter as they melted back into the mists.
Col and Rat fell into the bog. The kelpies had ditched them.
13
Trap
“Run!” Col shouted at Connie while he floundered in thick, evil-smelling mud.
“No way! I’m not leaving without you!” Connie dismounted and stumbled to the edge of the mire, frantically trying to think of a way of saving them. She could see Rat, thanks to the light he was still holding—but he was waist-deep and sinking.
Mags heard his master and had no hesitation in obeying his command. When Connie’s back was turned, he gave a shrill whinny and bolted down the track, heading for the safety of the cottages.
“Mags!” Col shouted in warning, but Connie was too slow to catch the reins; her fingers made a snatch at thin air. She had to let him go; she couldn’t spare any time: Col and Rat were inches from drowning.
“Stop moving!” she screamed at Rat, who in his panic was struggling against the irresistible suck of the bog.
“That’s easy for you to say!” he yelled back.
“Spread your weight—lie flat!”
“I’m not putting my face any nearer this stuff,” Rat protested.
“Just do it!” growled Col, realizing Connie was right. Their sinking would be slowed if they tried to float on the surface. He spread-eagled himself, gagging on the foul gas that belched from the mud each time he stirred.
Looking up at Connie in the desperate hope she’d come up with a plan, Col saw a flicker of flame appear in the darkness and then go out.
“Chimera!” he cried.
Connie spun around, just in time to see the chimera leaping down the hill toward them. Seeing it was her only escape, Connie took a leap onto a tussock of grass sticking out of the bog like an island. It sagged under her weight but didn’t sink. Out of the shadows loped the chimera, its lion’s jaws open in an exultant grin, the black cobra head swishing excitedly. Then, catching a whiff of the stagnant air of the marsh, it stopped short at the edge and lowered its snout to sniff. The serpent darted to the lion’s forepaws and fluttered its tongue on the mud-crusted surface, testing the ground. With a howl of disappointment, it began to pace to and fro, its amber eyes glaring at Connie. It was calculating whether it could leap upon her and not tumble into the mud. When the lion’s eyes met hers, they both knew it could not. But the chimera had other methods of attack.
And so do I, Connie thought. Her armory was prepared, her shield at hand.
“Col! Connie!” gasped Rat behind her. He was now up to his chest and could see nowhere to go but down.
The beast stopped on the edge of the firm ground closest to the universal and took a deep breath. Swiftly, Connie delved into her mind and pulled out her shield to hold in front of her. A torrent of flame spouted from the lion’s jaws. She knew from experience that the shield would hold for a short while. Steam hissed in the air as the silver vapor of the shield evaporated under the onslaught. With a quick sleight of hand, she made a grab at one of the tongues of fire licking at the edge of the dissipating shield. From where Col was lying, it looked as though Connie was surrounded by a silver halo of cloud, battered by an intense flame.
The fiery torrent ended as the chimera paused for breath. It ran its pink tongue over its flame-scorched lips, relishing the approaching moment of the kill. It knew the feeble protection was no match for a second bout of fire: the universal would be his.
Connie threw her shield aside.
“Connie!” yelled Col in dismay, seeing his friend standing unprotected only feet from the creature. He had no idea what she thought she was doing. It seemed pure madness to cast away the only barrier between her and the flames.
As the shield disappeared, almost instantaneously in Connie’s hands appeared a long bow, strung with gold. Reaching behind her, she pulled a single arrow from the glimmering quiver on her back, strung, and fired. Her aim was true. The arrow, blazing with the chimera’s own fire, flew through the air and pierced the flank of the goat. The terrified creature panicked at t
he sting of unaccustomed pain. It fled, forcing its bolder brethren of snake and lion to flee with it as it hurtled off into the darkness, screaming with agony.
Col gave a feeble cheer, not wanting to move more than absolutely necessary as the mud lapped at his ears.
Connie turned on her island to face him. “Right.” She took off her shoulder bag and threw one end to Col. The bag fell short. She tried again. This time as she threw it, Col took the gamble of lunging and grabbed it in his fingers. Connie knelt down to steady herself to pull him clear.
“No!” said Col. “If you do that, we won’t be able to reach Rat: he’s too far in.” At that moment, the flashlight winked out, sunk beneath the bog.
“Rat!” Connie screamed. “Are you still there?”
“Hurry!” came Rat’s strangled voice as he spluttered out a mouthful of rancid water.
Col grappled at his waist, trying one-handed to remove his belt. He got it free, though every move he made pushed him in deeper. He threw the end to Rat. Only Rat’s head, forearm, and hand were still above the surface, and he could not grip the belt unless it fell exactly in place. On the third throw, Rat caught it and took a firm grasp of the buckle.
“Pull, Connie,” said Col. “Slowly!”
With hands slipping on the slimy, mud-covered strap, Connie began to heave her friends toward her. The effort was immense: two boys weighed down by the sucking mud were almost too much for her, but she dug deep and found the strength. After six heaves, Col was free, having reached the firm ground of the island. He passed the belt holding Rat to Connie and pulled himself out. Together, they hauled Rat hand over hand out of the bog. He coughed and spluttered as he crawled onto dry land. The only problem now was that this left the three of them tottering on the frail refuge.
“Should we stay here and wait for help?” Col asked, turning to Connie.
“No way,” said Rat. The brown water was creeping over his shoes as the island sank under their weight. “I’m not going in there again.” He spat out a mouthful of mud. In the moonlight, the only part of him that shone white was the area around his nose and eyes: the rest of him was slimed in mud.
The Chimera's Curse Page 16
