Storm Hound

by Claire Fayers

  “I am Jessie Price,” a voice cried – her own voice, though she barely recognized it. “I am Lightning Bug!”

  The light spread, swallowing up the professors, and then, just as suddenly, it blinked out of existence. Jessie blinked in the sudden gloom.

  Professor Utterby squeaked. It was the only sound he could make, seeing as he’d just been turned into a mouse. Nuffield and Ryston, cowering behind him, turned to run, but they too shrank as they fled, leaving their clothes in heaps and scuttling away squealing into the long grass. A few of the hounds looked as if they were about to give chase, but a sharp word from Odin stopped them.

  The spear fell from Jessie’s hand. Storm sat down beside her while she stood shaking, staring at the three soggy heaps of clothes on the ground.

  ‘Well done,’ Ceridwen said.

  ‘Well done? I . . . I just . . .’ I used magic. It was like lightning inside me. I turned three men into mice.

  ‘You did nothing,’ Odin said. ‘It was my spear, my power. They’ll revert back to their human forms in time. A few weeks, maybe a few months. This might teach them not to meddle with powers that are beyond their control.’ He bent to scoop up his spear. ‘You have a spark of magic in you, child. Guard it well. And now, farewell. Storm of Odin, come.’

  He turned back to his horse, calling to the other riders and the dogs. Storm’s tail thumped the ground and he stood up and shook himself.

  This was it: time to say goodbye.

  Jessie’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Go,’ she said. ‘It’s all right. I’ll be all right. You have to go.’

  Storm licked her cheek and turned his head away from her. Jessie closed her eyes so she wouldn’t see the moment he left.

  ‘Come!’ Odin commanded.

  But then David was shaking her, pulling her through the crush of hounds and horses after Odin.

  ‘Wait,’ David said. ‘Storm, stay! Odin, sir, you can’t do this. You have to let Storm choose.’

  CHAPTER 40

  Storm paused amid the impatient hounds and horses as Odin prepared to mount his steed and ride off into the sky. Even as Storm felt the muscles in his legs shift and bunch, ready to take him in one great leap off this world, he heard the Not-Boy’s voice calling to him to stay and, he turned back.

  I am Storm of Odin, hound of the Wild Hunt. Who do you think you are, telling me to stay?

  Odin rested one hand on his horse’s saddle. ‘Let him choose?’ His voice rumbled like thunder. ‘There is no choice. Storm of Odin is a stormhound, not a mortal dog to be commanded by humans. He belongs with the Hunt and nowhere else. You cannot be two things.’

  ‘Why not?’ the Not-Boy asked. He pushed forward another step, his gaze flicking nervously over the prowling hounds. ‘I’m a hare and a boy. And Jessie has two homes. If she can have two homes and I can be two things, why can’t Storm?’

  Lightning flashed, fainter and further away this time.

  Odin shook his head. ‘The world isn’t like that.’

  But he sounded slightly uncertain.

  Ceridwen laughed. ‘Actually, the world is exactly like that.’ She made her way through the hunters and put her hand on the Not-Boy’s shoulder. ‘David is right: people are a lot messier than you’d like to think, and so are most things.’ Her gaze strayed to Storm again.

  Storm wagged his tail – she had a point. Not long ago, he’d thought she was a foul sorceress who wanted to kill him, but it turned out she wasn’t.

  The Not-Boy grinned. ‘Does this mean you’ll let me do more magic?’

  Ceridwen gave him a pretend glare. ‘No. But it does mean we might stay on here for a while so you can keep going to school. It won’t hurt to have a base of operations. Somewhere to call home while we’re saving the world,’ she added with a faint smile.

  The Not-Boy’s face lit up. Storm sniffed his hand.

  You still stink of hare, but you’re all right. I might miss you. He would, too, just like he’d miss Jessie and Ben and their ridiculously small house.

  ‘The storm is moving on,’ Odin said, ‘and we must follow.’ But instead of getting up on to his horse he thrust his spear into the ground and walked back to where Storm was waiting, then crouched down low so that he was looking straight into Storm’s eyes.

  Storm shivered. Odin’s face was stern and old – far older than the mortal world – and his single eye glinted like firelight.

  ‘Very well,’ he said softly. ‘Choose, Storm of Odin. Return to the Hunt, leave your human friends and be a stormhound again. Or stay here. In this world, you will always look like a mortal dog. You will live outside of my protection. I cannot say what will happen to you, or promise when we will next return. It may be years. It may be never.’

  His words burned into Storm’s heart. Storm swished his tail, feeling its tip bat against Jessie’s legs. The strange empty space was back and he knew what that emptiness was: the longing for home. It didn’t make sense. Ever since he’d fallen into this world, all he’d wanted was to escape and return to the Hunt where he belonged, so why did the emptiness still bother him?

  All around, the huntsmen were mounting their horses, eager to take flight. Jessie put her arms around Storm’s neck and buried her face in his coat.

  ‘Go, Storm,’ she said, her voice muffled. She let go of him and stepped back. Her eyes were full of tears, but she wiped them away. ‘Go home.’

  She smelled the same as when they’d first met – sharp as lightning. Storm had been so small then, and now he was almost the same height as her. Tall enough that she could climb on his back and ride on him.

  Storm shook himself, padded across to Odin, sat down and let out a sigh.

  I am Storm of Odin and I have chosen.

  Then he walked back to Jessie, lay down in front of her and nudged at her, urging her on to his back.

  She laughed through her tears. ‘I can’t, Storm. I wish I could, but I can’t go with you. I belong here.’

  All this talk about belonging is wrong, Storm thought. You don’t belong to a place, you belong to yourself, and to the people you love.

  Storm nudged at Jessie again.

  ‘He’s not inviting you to hunt,’ Odin said gravely. ‘He wants to carry you home.’ He bent and placed one hand on Storm’s head. ‘You’ve chosen well,’ he said.

  ‘No!’ Jessie said, understanding at last. Her lightning-sharp scent flared even stronger, filling the whole sky. Her scent was even in Storm’s eyes now, clouding them so that he saw Odin in a blur. Jessie’s face was wet too.

  ‘It’s not your decision to make, mortal child,’ Odin said. ‘Get on his back. Storm, run with us this last time. We will take you home.’ He stood up, his hand slipping away from Storm’s head. ‘Farewell, hound of the Wild Hunt.’

  ‘Go,’ Ceridwen said. ‘We’ll see you back in town.’

  Tears dripped into Storm’s coat as Jessie clambered up on to his back and clung on.

  Storm already felt himself becoming smaller. He tensed, drew back and jumped, and the whole Hunt leaped into the sky with him. Their cries echoed from mountain to mountain, louder than thunder.

  He was Storm of Odin, running through the sky with thunderclouds around him. He was Storm of Odin, with the weight of a human child on his back and the freedom of the sky beneath his feet.

  He was Storm of Odin, seeing familiar roofs beneath him, dipping gently out of the sky . . .

  No, not straight home. There was something else he needed to do first. A stormhound always keeps his word. The Hunt understood and let him lead, down from the sky to a white building with a sign that read: Abergavenny Dog Rescue Centre.

  Hounds and horses shimmered as they passed silently through the roof. They landed inside between the two rows of wire cells where dogs, suddenly awake, sat up and barked.

  The white terrier’s cell was empty. Gone to a new home, no doubt. Storm would have to look out for him. But for now he stopped outside the cell where the old female dog lay.

  I have retur
ned, Storm of Odin said. As I promised.

  So you have, the female dog replied. And?

  And Odin has a space for a new dog. If you want it.

  He tugged the wire door of her cell open. Odin placed his spear on the old dog’s back and she grew, becoming young again, and she leaped into the sky with the others.

  He was Storm of Odin, following the baying hounds, falling behind now, but not minding because, just a short distance on, a familiar garden waited, and a tabby cat hissed and fled over the fence with a flick of her tail.

  He was Storm of Odin, shrinking back to his puppy size as the house door opened and Jessie’s dad, the Mum-Person, and Ben ran out.

  He was Storm, nudging Jessie into their arms, and listening as they all babbled in the way that humans did.

  For a moment, Storm remembered what he’d lost, and the vast, empty space opened inside him again, dark as the sky. But then he heard the fading howls in the night, and a new voice among them, the voice of an old dog who was remembering how to run.

  Jessie picked him up and buried her face in his fur. ‘It’s good to be home,’ she said.

  Storm wriggled against her.

  He was Storm, Jessie’s dog, and the promise of home was bright and warm, filling the empty space inside him until he forgot it was ever there.

  SOME MONTHS LATER

  ‘Dad, I’m home,’ Jessie shouted. ‘Can David stay for dinner?’

  ‘If he wants to.’ Dad came out into the hall wearing an apron. ‘I had a go at making cake. I thought we should celebrate the end of your first term in school. It’s not the world’s best cake, I’m afraid – it came out a bit wonky.’

  ‘Then it’ll be perfect,’ Jessie said. The first term had been a bit wonky, but it was getting better. They’d made new friends, Ben had joined his school football team and Mum still phoned every day.

  ‘Can you help Ben pack later?’ Dad asked. ‘He’s only going to London for a week, but he wants to take everything. We don’t have that many suitcases.’

  Ben was going to Mum’s for Christmas: his first full week with her in the new flat. Then, when he came home, Jessie would go for New Year. It wasn’t ideal, but she was looking forward to it. It’d be odd not being all together for Christmas, though.

  ‘What are you doing for Christmas?’ she asked David.

  He helped himself to cake. ‘I don’t know. We’ve never really celebrated it before. But Auntie Ceridwen said I can have a tree. As long as I decorate it myself and I don’t mind leaving it behind if we have to move on in a hurry.’

  There’d been no word of the professors since that night in September. The Abergavenny Chronicle had printed an article about their strange disappearance. The strangest thing, they said, was that the professors were on secondment from Bangor University but no one at Bangor had ever heard of them. There must have been an administrative mix-up.

  Jessie cut a slice of cake and licked the icing off. It might look wonky but it tasted good. ‘Let’s go upstairs,’ she said. Storm had taken to sleeping on her bed in the day, and after numerous attempts to keep him out of the room, Dad had given up and let him do it.

  ‘Auntie Ceridwen thinks the professors will turn up again sometime,’ David said, following her up the stairs, ‘or something else will happen. But she’s getting less fussy. Last night she said she’d decided we can allow small infractions of the rules and only respond to major emergencies. Then she won’t have to work so hard, and I might even get some homework done on time.’

  Jessie doubted that. David was still consistently late with everything.

  ‘What does she mean by “small infractions”?’ she asked.

  David shrugged. ‘Anything she decides to ignore, I guess. She seems to be making the rules up as she goes along, these days.’

  He opened the bedroom door and Jessie looked up at the ceiling with a sigh. Storm barked at her happily, his tail hitting the lightbulb and making it sway from side to side.

  ‘Storm,’ Jessie said, ‘what have I told you about flying in the house?’

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I began writing this book on a trip to Abergavenny. Wales is a land full of legend and the small town, surrounded by mountains, seemed the perfect place for something magical to happen. I invented the high school and the dog rescue centre but you’ll find all the other places if you visit. In fact, you’ll find two Mount Skirrids: big and little. Big Skirrid, where Storm fell, really does have a chunk missing. Legend says the devil stamped his foot on it but I like to think the Wild Hunt landed there and broke it.

  I am indebted to many, many people, as always.

  My ‘book family’ at Macmillan Children’s – the legendary Lucy Pearse, along with Tracey, Nick, Sam, Venetia, Alyx, Sabina, Jess, Emma and Kat, for bringing Storm’s adventure magnificently to life.

  My agent Gemma, who must have a touch of Otherworldly magic to make her so special.

  My writing friends for their help and encouragement. Everyone I have thanked before, you are all thanked again! Especially Abigail Tanner for suggesting the sheep and Jo Thomas for the Abergavenny road trip.

  Thank you, Vee Griffiths for knitting me my very own super-cute stormhound puppy and for being such a solid, good friend to so many people.

  A Literature Wales Writer’s Bursary supported by the National Lottery through the Arts Council of Wales was received to develop this book. Diolch yn fawr i chi gyd!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Claire Fayers was born and brought up in South Wales. Having studied English at Canterbury Christ Church University, she built a successful career writing short stories for women’s magazines until the lure of magic became too much and she wrote The Accidental Pirates: Voyage to Magical North. It was selected for Waterstones Book of the Month, won the Beano Book of the Year 2017 and was shortlisted for the FCBG Children’s Book Award 2016.

  Claire is also the author of its sequel, The Accidental Pirates: Journey to Dragon Island, and Mirror Magic. When she’s not writing, you’ll find Claire at her allotment.

  HAVE YOU READ

  Books by Claire Fayers

  The Accidental Pirates:

  Voyage to Magical North

  Journey to Dragon Island

  Mirror Magic

  First published 2019 by Macmillan Children’s Books

  This electronic edition published 2019 by Macmillan Children’s Books

  an imprint of Pan Macmillan

  20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR

  Associated companies throughout the world

  www.panmacmillan.com

  ISBN 978-1-5098-9505-2

  Text copyright © Claire Fayers 2019

  Cover illustration by Becka Moor

  The right of Claire Fayers to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  The author wishes to acknowledge the award of a Literature Wales Writer’s Bursary supported by the National Lottery through Arts Council of Wales for the purpose of completing this novel.

  You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Visit www.panmacmillan.com to read more about all our books and to buy them. You will also find features, author interviews and news of any author events, and you can sign up for e-newsletters so that you’re always first to hear about our new releases.

 

 

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