The terrier sneezed and licked his nose. You’re fooling yourself. Do you really think the Wild Hunt will come back just for you?
Of course it would. He belonged to the pack. Storm let out a rumbling growl.
They will come. Is the word of a stormhound not enough for you?
The white dog stared at him, unapologetic and unafraid.
Don’t pay any attention, the lady dog advised. Terriers are always causing trouble.
Storm turned his head to look at her. Her coat was dull brown, flecked with grey, and she smelled so much of this place that if he closed his eyes he might not notice her at all. But there was still that tiny spark that said she hadn’t completely given in. Her dreams had faded, but she hadn’t forgotten them.
I will show you the Hunt, he promised. When they come for me, you will see them.
The old dog lowered her head. I think I should like that. She didn’t quite believe him, but she hoped. It made Storm feel better.
Later, he dreamed he was running with the Hunt and he outran all of them, but when he turned round they’d all gone and he was alone in the sky.
Weakling, the wind whispered. Call yourself a stormhound? You can’t even run.
He woke sharply, wondering where he was, then he saw the wire cage surrounding him and the empty bowl, licked clean. A soft whine rose inside him.
I find these things happen for a reason, the old dog said, coming to her side of the wire. Storm shook his head until his ears flapped. What possible reason could there be for any of this?
Then the door opened at the far end of the corridor and Storm heard voices he recognized.
He barked in relief and his tail momentarily forgot it was attached to a stormhound and wagged like a puppy’s.
‘Storm!’ Jessie ran to his cell and knelt down respectfully before him. She looked happier today. The thunder was still there in her eyes, but it was softer, as if the sun were peeking over the edge of a cloud.
Her brother reached past her head and shoved his fingers through the wire mesh. Storm sniffed them – a solid, reassuring scent of earth.
You can be my special servant, he promised the boy. Not as special as Jessie, but I will request Odin not to strike you down when he comes for me.
‘Yappy little thing, isn’t he?’ the Dad said.
As for you, human, you’d better strap on your armour and prepare to fight, because when Odin comes I will tell him about your insults.
‘He’s excited,’ Jessie said. ‘Will he grow very big?’
As big as a horse. As big as one of your houses. Big enough to hunt the lightning.
‘He’s got big paws, so you never know,’ the Fuzzy-Lady said. ‘Size isn’t everything, though. He’s got a big personality.’
She unlocked the cell and let Storm out. Jessie scooped him up straight into her arms and kissed his head. It was a bit wet but Storm of Odin bore the indignity. Maybe she’d give him some more of those meaty chunks soon. He was surprised at how much food this small mortal body seemed to require.
But then the unthinkable happened. Jessie’s father brought out a narrow strip of blue leather. Storm howled in protest as Jessie buckled the thing round his neck. Betrayed! Betrayed by a child. The nasty thing even had a little tag attached as if she were labelling him.
Jessie set him on the floor and attached a leash to the hideous collar. ‘Come on, Storm,’ she said, tugging at it.
This was beyond rudeness. The child expected him to get up and go with her? With this tether attached? Storm of Odin sat down and let out a soft growl.
Jessie’s father looked uncertain, his scent changing, overlaid with nervousness. ‘I don’t want a dog that growls and snaps. What if he bites you?’
‘He won’t,’ Jessie said. ‘He’s frightened. You’d be scared too if you were abandoned as a baby.’ She picked Storm back up.
Good: she was learning.
Behind, the white terrier yapped jealously and the old lady dog lay down with a sigh.
I made you a promise, Storm said to her, looking at her over Jessie’s shoulder. You will see the Hunt. Stormhounds always keep their word. He didn’t know how he’d keep his promise yet, but he meant it, and the old dog wagged her tail at him. Satisfied, Storm settled in Jessie’s arms, resting his head over her shoulder so he could keep an eye out for threats.
‘See?’ Jessie said. ‘He’s fine.’
‘I run an obedience class every Wednesday,’ the Fuzzy-Lady said. ‘You should bring Storm along.’
Jessie’s father nodded. ‘Good idea.’
Yes, it was a good idea, Storm agreed. These humans ought to learn some obedience.
CHAPTER 6
‘Here we are, Storm,’ Jessie said as she led the way through the narrow door into the humans’ house. ‘Home.’
He was a guest here, Storm remembered, so he should mind his manners: the realm of Annwn had strict rules about hospitality. He didn’t, therefore, lift his leg to mark his territory, though the furry blue stuff that covered the floor definitely deserved it. He sniffed along the wall.
You live here? Where’s the rest of it?
Odin’s halls were vast. Stone walls, stone floors strewn with animal hides. Storm could picture them now – the great fires that roared at either end, the long tables where the hunters feasted, throwing scraps to the dogs. And then the pack would flop down in a heap, black and white bodies tangled together, and they’d sleep.
But here there was barely enough room to chase a cat. The narrow hall – only just wide enough for Jessie, Ben and their Dad to crowd in together – had one flight of stairs leading up from it, covered in the same furry cloth. And three doors. Storm had to count them twice to be sure there weren’t more. All three of them made of some flimsy wood-like material that didn’t smell of trees at all. They’d probably break if he jumped at them too hard.
‘Storm, don’t jump at the doors,’ Jessie said. She opened the nearest one. ‘This is the front room.’
It was tiny, cluttered with boxes. The seats looked quite comfortable but as soon as Storm jumped up to test them, Jessie’s Dad picked him up.
‘Best keep him off the furniture,’ he said, carrying him out.
Jessie opened the next door. ‘Here’s the back room,’ she said, showing Storm a room that looked almost the same as the front room except that it had a small table. Jessie moved on to the final door. ‘And this is the kitchen.’
Storm took in the sight of brown cupboards, a counter loaded with more boxes, table legs and a strange white cabinet that hummed softly. Where’s the roaring fire? he asked. And the venison roasting on a spit, and the sacks of grain and cats chasing stray mice? It was cold for a kitchen too, mainly due to the floor being made of hard, shiny stuff that looked like polished stone, but felt a bit like walking on ice.
‘Sit, Storm,’ Ben said. ‘I want to take your picture to send to Mum.’
Storm didn’t have time to sit for a portrait. It would take hours and he wanted to explore. But Ben held up a small, rectangular device and a light flashed. Storm jumped back, barking in surprise. The humans laughed, even Jessie’s Dad, who should have had more sense, being fully grown.
Threaten me with lightning again, and I’ll eat you, Storm grumbled.
At least there were lots of things to explore. Storm nosed through a box on the floor, finding paper that crackled satisfyingly and a stack of plates that proved far too delicate to be stood on.
‘Why don’t you take him into the garden?’ Jessie’s Dad suggested, lifting him away from the broken plates. ‘I’ll clear this up and do some more unpacking.’
Didn’t they have servants to clear up? Apparently not. Jessie’s Dad fetched a brush and began sweeping. Storm pounced at the bristles – prickly but not dangerous. And then Ben opened the door and Storm saw the garden.
Daylight! Grass! And a tree – an oak, no less, its branches stretching up crookedly, trying to touch the clouds. Storm gave a happy yap and darted off outdoors.
> This was more like it. Still a bit small compared to the vast forests and pastures of Annwn, but the grass sprang nicely under his paws. There was a strip of brown earth like a moat all the way round.
I wonder if that’s where the humans bury their treasure, Storm thought, and went to investigate.
Ben said something about flower beds, which Storm ignored. The two humans sat on the back step and watched as he dug for treasure. He found a few plants and tossed them out of the way, then sat back, panting. He could see mountains from here: a low peak rising up in the distance, and three hills in front of it, which, if he squinted, looked a bit like the paw of a giant dog. He knew the mortal world was indifferent to the world of magic, but the sight cheered him a little, as if the landscape had made an effort to welcome him. Storm ran back to Jessie and pawed at her leg to get her attention.
Why are you sitting? We should go hunting in the mountains.
‘I’ve sent the photo to Mum,’ Ben said, looking at a small rectangle with a shiny front. ‘She said she’ll ring us in a minute.’
Who is this Mum-Person? Why isn’t she here to greet me?
‘He almost looks like he’s trying to tell us something,’ Jessie said.
Storm sighed.
A bell rang inside the house. Was that the dinner gong? Storm ran to the door hopefully. But, no, the sound had already stopped.
‘Jessie, Ben, it’s your mum,’ Jessie’s Dad called.
Jessie and Ben both jumped up and dashed past Storm into the house. Storm wondered whether to follow them, but he hadn’t finished smelling the whole garden yet.
And then he heard a hiss behind him and turned to see a cat standing on the fence.
Storm ran to the middle of the garden. Begone, foul enemy!
The cat didn’t move. A skinny tabby, fur thinning with age, she stared at him with faded green eyes.
This is my territory, dog. Don’t go leaving your stink all over it.
Storm stopped still, not quite sure how to respond. The cats in Odin’s halls would never dare to come near a stormhound, never mind address one in that impertinent fashion. But in the world of humans he and this cat were about the same size – and the cat had the advantage of claws.
The cat hissed, a sound that seemed to be made up of malice and icy wind. Storm stood up straight, his shadow spreading to swallow the grass. I am Storm of Odin, stormhound of the Wild Hunt. How dare you speak to me like that?
The cat watched his shadow spread and started to clean behind one ear with her paw. Don’t bother me, stormhound. I’ve watched the Wild Hunt pass by in the dead of night. It doesn’t impress me.
Storm’s bottom hit the grass in surprise. Are you sure we’re talking about the same Wild Hunt? Odin’s Hunt. The Hunt of Arawn. Hounds and horses from the Otherworld riding through storm clouds?
The cat stared at him through narrowed eyes. I am a cat – descended from gods. I don’t need to run in a pack and snap at lightning to feel important.
This was beyond insolence. Storm tensed, his coat prickling. I could chase you up that tree.
The cat dismissed the oak tree with a flick of her whiskers. Yes, you probably could. Maybe I’ll let you, then I can sit in the branches and laugh as your humans scold you.
Storm turned to look at Jessie who was standing just inside the back door of the house, something pressed to her ear. She serves me, he said. Why would she scold me? And, anyway, you’re a cat. Mortal dogs chase cats. It is the order of things.
Yes, but for some reason humans don’t tend to like it, the cat replied. You have a lot to learn about being a puppy, young disciple.
What is that supposed to mean?
In this world you have a lot to learn and I can teach you. For a start, you should keep your magic hidden. Most humans wouldn’t know magic if it bit them, but there are still some who can sense the power of the Otherworld. You don’t want to attract their attention.
Storm looked at his shadow on the grass and tried to pull the edges of it back towards him. It didn’t move.
Not like that, the cat said. You need to imagine that you’re an ordinary puppy.
I am not an ordinary puppy, Storm objected. Still, his shadow shrank a little.
The cat stood up and arched her back. Better. You learn fast.
I’m not learning at all. I don’t take orders from cats.
Chase me, then, and see what happens. Or I shall sit here on this fence in the sun and you can stay in the garden and play with your ball. Stormhound.
She put so much scorn into that last word that Storm felt a growl rise in his throat and turn into a fury of barking. The cat darted off the fence and streaked towards the tree.
Storm gave chase. He was Storm of Odin, on the heels of an arrogant animal who was about to discover the unwisdom of angering a stormhound.
The cat clawed up the tree trunk out of reach. Storm tried to follow and found that his useless paws refused to take flight. He crashed into the bottom of the tree trunk, barking in frustration as the cat laughed. Storm saw Jessie lower the thing from her ear.
I have cornered the cat, Storm barked. Fetch her down so I may teach her a lesson.
The next moment, a lady burst out of the house next door, hollering like a Valkyrie. Something hit Storm on the back of the head. He spun round with a yelp of surprise. She’d thrown a slipper at him! It lay in the grass where it had bounced off his head. Storm pounced on the offending object, sinking his teeth into it and instantly regretting it when his mouth filled with fluff and the stink of old lady feet.
‘Bad dog!’ the Valkyrie-Lady yelled. ‘Leave Nutmeg alone!’
Storm paused. Nutmeg? Is that your name?
It’s what she calls me. The cat turned her head. Look out – here comes your human.
Storm looked in time to see a small whirlwind shoot out of the house.
The old Valkyrie-Lady swung round, her mouth falling open in surprise. Storm dropped the disgusting-tasting slipper and sat back, his tail thumping the grass. Jessie could have been a Valkyrie herself. Her lightning scent blazed to life, filling the garden.
The old woman waved her remaining slipper. ‘You need to keep your dog under control. It’s bad enough I’ve got to put up with children making a racket without dogs attacking my cat.’
Jessie’s scent sharpened. ‘Storm wasn’t attacking your cat.’
I was, actually. But I wasn’t going to hurt her. Did you see me almost climb the tree?
Jessie tossed the chewed slipper back over the fence and scooped Storm up in her arms.
‘You’re a very rude little girl,’ the old woman shouted.
‘And you’re a very rude lady,’ Jess shot back.
Storm watched over her shoulder as the cat scrabbled down the tree and dashed across the garden to the fence. That’s right: run away. Well done, human servant. I will tell Odin of your faithfulness.
Jessie carried Storm into the house and placed him on the cold floor. ‘Storm, you can’t go chasing people’s cats. Mrs Williams already hates us.’
She wasn’t angry at him, Storm knew, she was angry at the old woman, but even so it weighed heavier than Odin’s wrath. His fury blazed and was gone in a moment, but Jessie’s had disappointment at its core. It shouldn’t matter to him – he was a hound of the Wild Hunt and far beyond the disappointments of mere mortals – but even so he put his head on his paws and whined.
Jessie bent to stroke his head. ‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘Just don’t do it again. I’m going back to talk to Mum.’
Her scent filled with the sharp salt of tears. This Mum-Person had upset her, Storm thought, and he felt his coat bristle. He followed Jessie back through the house.
‘My turn,’ Jessie told Ben, taking a black thing from him and putting it to her ear. ‘Mum, did Ben tell you about the puppy? When are you coming to visit?’
I chased a cat up a tree, Storm told Ben, but of course he didn’t understand.
‘Good boy, Storm,’ Jessie’s Dad said.
He wasn’t a good boy. He’d chased a cat, which was not allowed, and angered the Valkyrie-Lady next door. Storm thumped his tail on the floor uncertainly. He really didn’t understand humans at all.
CHAPTER 7
At nine o’clock the following Tuesday morning, a silver car glided to a halt outside the Abergavenny Dog Rescue Centre. Professor Utterby sat and stared through the windscreen at the small building with its colourful sign. His head throbbed. Professors Ryston and Nuffield had argued over who was getting the best room at the hotel last night, and then over who ate the last piece of toast at breakfast.
Who cared about rooms and breakfast when they were on the verge of their greatest discovery? And why had Ryston’s divining rods led them here, of all places? Professor Utterby unclipped his seat belt and got out of the car. At least the place was open today – he’d forgotten about the bank holiday. Why did people still have those? When he was in charge of things, he’d do away with any holidays that interrupted important work.
The small building didn’t look promising but they’d found no other trace of the stormhound since last Thursday at the roadside. They might as well take a look around.
A woman looked up from a desk as Utterby opened the door. She wore a fluffy red cardigan covered in animal hair and oversized glasses in the same ghastly shade. Utterby considered turning them blue to see if she noticed, but he wasn’t here to perform magic tricks.
‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘My name is Professor Utterby and these are my colleagues, Professors Nuffield and Ryston. We are looking for a dog.’
‘A big one,’ Nuffield added.
The woman at the desk frowned with suspicion. ‘I don’t just give dogs out to anyone who walks in. You’ll need to make an appointment, and then arrange a home visit. Where do you live?’
Ryston coughed. ‘Can we hurry this up? This place is setting off my asthma.’
Utterby sighed and took an envelope of powdered chalk from his top pocket. He emptied the powder into his hand and blew it into the woman’s face. Specks of it landed on her glasses. She started to stand, her mouth opening in protest, then her expression turned blank and she slid back into her chair.
Storm Hound Page 3
