by Liz Flanagan
They reached the hill and clambered up over the rocks, pushing past bushes.
Winter looked different today in the new clothes, taller, stronger: like a dragonrider. Her black hair was plaited tightly against her head. Joe realised there was a practical reason for the style all the dragonriders wore – so your hair didn’t blow in your face and blind you while flying. Winter’s movements seemed more confident and practised today, reminding Joe that she’d done all this before. But her face was closed in concentration, giving nothing away.
Finally, the four of them stood on the rocky outcrop on the highest point of the island – even the palace lay below them now. Away to the north, grey-blue sea glittered in a wide sweep to the horizon.
‘Right, let’s go,’ Milla said. She held her arms up and called, ‘Iggie? Down!’ and gestured for him to land.
Iggie circled, lower and lower, and then with a rushing of air and a beating of blue wings, he landed and roared his greeting.
Milla embraced him, running her hands over his neck. ‘Yes, he’s ready. Let’s go, Winter, before he gets cold.’
Milla climbed on first, her backpack bulging. Thom helped her to sling the heavy water flasks round Iggie’s neck in a kind of leather pannier, and then Winter clambered up and sat in front of Milla. They looked like sisters today in their matching blue clothes and black plaits.
Joe grinned and shouted, ‘Safe flight! See you at the halfway island!’ They’d pored over Thom’s maps and realised there was only one place they could rest, half a day’s flight away. If they navigated wrong and missed it, what would happen? he wondered. The dragons would fly till they could fly no more. He pushed the fear of a watery death from his mind. Thom knew the way; he did this all the time. But not with a passenger – that was extra weight that Ruby wasn’t used to.
The red dragon’s landing jolted him from his worries.
‘Stop dreaming and get on the dragon,’ Thom shouted, climbing up on her back.
And then it was all happening.
Ruby’s green eyes. Her vastness, filling his vision. Her red scales beneath Joe’s fingers. Thom behind him, his strong arm round his waist – ‘Just till we’re in the air, mate’ – and the feeling of Ruby’s strength. Her wings opening. The massive reach of them in the corner of Joe’s eye. The flapping, the lurch and the jump – surely they weren’t going to make it? – the sea, the rocks, the rocks – and, oh! They were flying. The sea was falling away below them; the air was rushing past his face. The sun rising, dazzle-bright. They flew south, with Arcosi to the west, looking like Joe’d never seen it before, a jumble of rooftops, trees and towers.
The world was transformed into air and wind. The horizon vanished in a veil of cloud. The speed of it made Joe’s heart race. He wanted this; oh, how he wanted this! One day, with his dragon, would he do this? The wind pulled tears from his eyes and the world blurred into brightness.
‘Wow!’ he shouted.
‘You’ve got that right,’ Thom said, laughing in his ear. ‘It never gets dull, I promise you. We are lucky men, thank you, Ruby!’
Joe felt the dragon’s rumbling growl in response, actually felt it, in her body beneath him. ‘It feels like a miracle!’
And for the next few hours, it seemed true, as they flew steadily over the sea.
Joe heard the map flapping in the wind behind him several times as Thom pulled it out to check their position. Joe had brought along his father’s compass, and he called out readings as they flew. Thom and Ruby seemed to be communicating – he felt Thom moving his heels and hands on her sides, and told himself to sit very still and let them do their job.
Thom finally yelled, ‘There!’ and pointed ahead at a tiny speck of gold in the vastness of the blue sea.
Joe felt giddy with relief. The island grew bigger and bigger as they approached. It turned out to be a tiny lump of rock and sand, with no trees and no water.
By the time they landed, it was clear the dragons were tired and the people were numb with cold. Joe went tumbling over Ruby’s shoulders as she landed awkwardly. Clambering up, stiff with cramp and very hungry, for the first time, Joe doubted if they would make it.
‘How long to go?’ he asked Thom, as he poured out some fresh water into a depression in the rock for the dragons to drink.
‘Three hours at least,’ Thom said, checking the sun. ‘Don’t worry, it’s all going according to plan. We’ll need to fly a survey of the first island we come to, make a safe camp, and then go dig out the silverblue.’
It sounded so easy.
‘So how will we find it?’ Winter said. She was pacing in small circles, spinning her arms around after hours of sitting still. ‘We don’t even know what we’re looking for.’
Joe was glad she’d said it. So far, they’d been carried along with Thom and Milla’s planning.
‘I do,’ Thom said. ‘When it’s polished and worked, it looks a bit like opal, a bit like pearl.’ He gestured in the direction they were headed. ‘And flying over those islands, I have seen the seams of raw silverblue in the cliffs.’
‘It sounds beautiful!’ Winter said. ‘Is that why there’s none left on Arcosi?’
‘Yes. Beautiful and rare – that’s a combination some people will pay anything for.’
‘But the dragons need it!’ Joe said.
‘How long have you known it was there?’ Winter asked.
‘A year, or so.’ Thom looked embarrassed. ‘I, er, I might have taken some.’
‘Why didn’t you say?’ Joe asked. ‘Where is it?’
‘I don’t have it now! I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was important, before. No one knew about the shadow dragon eggs.’ He paused. ‘I’ve got to make a living. I trade things from my trips.’
‘So you’ve been selling silverblue secretly all year! I thought you were flashing your gold around a bit freely, Thomsen Windlass!’ Milla teased him. ‘How much did you take?’
‘A bagful. Maybe two. I wish I’d kept it!’
‘What did you do with it?’ Joe couldn’t help asking.
‘I sold it, after I’d had it made into jewellery. I’m sorry, Joe: if I’d known, I never would’ve. But the coin was welcome, and there’s a silversmith in Sartola who owes me a favour,’ Thom finished, apologetically.
‘Oh, I’m sure he does,’ Milla replied. ‘Why didn’t you tell me if you needed money?’
‘I’ve got to keep up with my fancy friends, don’t I?’ Thom’s eyes were alive with mischief now. ‘Some of them are even related to ancient royalty.’
‘Oh, stop it,’ Milla scolded, but she was laughing too. ‘I guess there was no harm in taking some of the silverblue before you knew what it was for.’
‘Thank you!’ Thom retorted, ‘I didn’t realise I needed your permission …’
They carried on teasing each other, as Joe laid himself down in the warm sand and closed his eyes, giving in to the tiredness.
In his dream, Joe was trapped underground and water was rising all around him, bubbling, boiling. It was getting higher and higher. It covered his feet, then his legs, then his torso. It rose over his neck and he started to panic. He felt the water covering his mouth his nose, his eyes. All he could see was water, and bubbles, filling his thoughts until—
‘Joe!’
He woke, gasping, and jerked up to a sitting position.
‘All right, Joe?’ Winter was there, still looking unfamiliar in Milla’s borrowed jacket and clothes.
‘Bad dream.’
‘I was about to wake you anyway. It’s time to go.’
Joe couldn’t shake off the feeling that the dream was a warning. He wanted to fly straight back to the eggs, but he couldn’t return empty-handed. Last night, he had made a promise to his egg. Next time I come, he’d whispered to the purple egg, I’ll bring silverblue, and you can hatch!
He got wearily to his feet, ready for the last part of the journey, hoping he would be able to keep his promise.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
‘Wake up, Joe,’ Thom said, ‘We’re there. You can see the Spice Islands, in the far distance …’
Joe peered ahead and, sure enough, there was a scattering of small islands like pebbles in the sea. ‘Does anyone live there?’
‘Not on the first three,’ Thom answered. ‘People prefer the southern ones. You can’t grow much on these steep hills.’
Ruby started losing height, getting ready to land.
The first island, Joe could see, had sheer cliffs. It was topped with a rocky hill of loose scree and slate, with a fringe of green trees, shrubs and tangled vines. ‘Where’s the silverblue?’ he asked. He needed to stay focused, and fight the tiredness. They had one job: get the silverblue, then they could get some sleep, and get home to the eggs.
‘There!’ Thom pointed, his arm stretching over Joe’s shoulder.
They swooped down suddenly. Joe’s stomach lurched and he bit his lip, tasting blood. He gripped Ruby as hard as he could with his legs, clutching backwards at Thom with both hands, and praying they didn’t all slip off and get smashed on the rocks.
Thom laughed, but it wasn’t unkind.
When Ruby levelled out, they were flying alongside the cliffs, the sea foaming below. The cliff face was dark grey, but it had veins of glittering blue-white threaded through it. Silverblue!
‘How do we get it out?’ Joe yelled into the wind.
‘You’ll see.’
The dragons circled the island, till Thom decided it was safe to land.
It wasn’t any easier the second time, and Joe went flying over Ruby’s head again to land in a heap at his cousin’s feet, his bag a few strides beyond him.
Winter helped him up, as the dragons greeted each other and set to preening while the sun was still warm.
Milla was frowning and looking behind them. They stood on a narrow strip of grass on the clifftop, obviously cropped short by rabbits or goats. ‘I don’t like it, Thom,’ she said.
‘Why?’
‘There’s the forest at our backs. There’s the sea in front. Not an ideal camping spot. Nowhere to run.’
‘We don’t need to run. We can fly,’ Thom said. ‘The dragons are right here. We don’t need long. I’ve done this before, remember? Just enough time to tie a good knot and lower myself down and chip away some of the blue stuff.’
‘You’re going down?’ Joe asked. He should have guessed someone would have to.
‘Just watch me,’ Thom said, unbuckling his backpack and taking out a coil of rope.
‘What do we do?’ Winter asked Milla.
‘Stay alert,’ Milla said. ‘Iggie’s usually the first to scent trouble, from people or predators, so we should be fine, but we need to post a lookout …’
But before she could finish, Thom started walking towards the first trees, the rope slung over one shoulder. He bent to tie it round the trunk of a sturdy evergreen. He tugged it hard to check the knot, and shouted, ‘Let’s go!’
It all happened so fast then, Joe could hardly believe it afterwards.
A bulky shadow rushed out from the shade of the trees. Ruby bellowed, but she was too late. The creature leaped at Thom and he was on the floor, being pawed and mauled by – what was it? A boar? A rhino? It was moving so fast Joe couldn’t tell.
Milla shrieked and sped towards Thom, drawing a dagger from her boot, and sprinting fast.
Thom was fighting off the animal, his hands up to protect his face, but it was biting and slashing, and they rolled over and over as they fought. It had the thick armour of a rhino, the head of a boar, horns and huge teeth, and the sturdy muscular legs of a wolf.
Ruby launched herself towards them, but she couldn’t attack, not without risking injury to Thom too. Milla struck, sharp and swift, managing to plunge her knife between two armoured plates, into the creature’s ribs. She withdrew the blade and it dropped to the ground.
Then there was another snarling beast streaking across the grass towards them.
‘Winter!’ Joe yelled. ‘Look out!’ He pulled his dragon-handled knife out and crouched, blade up, ready to fight.
This time Iggie reached the attacker first. With his powerful hind legs, he squashed the animal entirely. He twisted down and gripped it in his powerful jaws, shaking it to and fro and finally flinging it away, right over the cliff.
Joe and Winter stood back to back, so they could see in both directions.
‘They’re senglars, I think,’ she cried. ‘I read about them in one of those library books. Dangerous predators, native to these islands.’
‘Did you also read about the best way to kill them?’ Joe shouted hopefully.
Iggie kept guard, roaring his fury at this strange animal who had dared to attack the people under his protection.
Milla was dragging Thom back towards them under Ruby’s watchful eye. His arms were slashed and bleeding, and there was a gash across his forehead, but he was conscious enough to look utterly embarrassed.
‘Thom!’ Joe cried. ‘Are you all right?’
‘He’s an idiot,’ Milla snapped. ‘He should have waited till we’d posted a lookout. Iggie? Ruby? Guard us, while I clean him up.’
The dragons seemed to understand. Ruby took up a defensive stance next to them, while Milla laid Thom down on the cliff edge, and started rummaging through her bags for bandages and healing supplies. Meanwhile, Iggie paced closer to the trees, ready to pounce if anything else should emerge.
‘Right,’ Joe said, putting his knife away. ‘I’ll get that rope. If Thom can’t get the silverblue, I’ll do it.’
‘No!’ Winter said. ‘You have no idea what to do.’
‘It’s our best chance,’ Joe told her. ‘Listen, my dad’s a sailor too, as well as a merchant.’
‘What has that got to do with it?’ Winter looked bewildered.
‘He taught me knots and ropes. I can do this,’ he said, making himself sound more confident than he felt.
Before he could change his mind, he went and picked up the rope Thom had managed to knot around the tree before he was attacked, and he set to work.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Tiredness and fear rolled through Joe, and then left, leaving him calm and clear, like the sky after a storm. Either I’m going to get the silverblue, he thought, or I’m going to die trying. It seemed very simple.
Thom looked over, groaning, but able to instruct him. ‘That line’s too tight,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘It needs to flow as you move. Let me—’ he tried.
‘No, Thom,’ Milla scolded him. ‘You’re still losing blood.’
Joe went over to him. Thom dragged himself into a kneeling position to help him adjust the rope: it went in a kind of zigzag from his right hand, then between his legs, through his belt buckle, then over his shoulder to be payed out through his other hand.
Winter was darting around, collecting Thom’s tools and bringing them to Joe – a fabric sling that he wore round his chest to collect the silverblue, and a small iron chisel to chip it out of the rock face.
He tucked the chisel in the sling for safekeeping.
Then it was time.
He looked at the others: at Thom lying on the grass, looking ashen and sick with pain. At Milla bending low over him, working fast to clean and cover the deep scratches on his face and arms. At Winter in her blue clothes – at her face, so full of anxiety.
He looked away. He had to focus.
He leaned on the rope, testing it. It was fine quality and very strong – Thom was a fisherman’s son, all right – and Joe trusted the knot he’d tied round the tree. He pulled the rope taut and let it flow through his fingers, slowly
, slowly, edging towards the cliff edge.
He peered over his shoulder, seeing it approach, and then he was there, his feet on the final fringe of grass, peering over, to the dark blue frothing sea so far below. One foot slipped, and he caught himself, but his heart was trying to leap right out of his chest now, and his fingers were hot and damp on the rope’s coarse fibres.
He breathed slowly in the salty breeze that flowed up from the sea. Come on, Joe, do it for your egg.
And even though every part of him was screaming danger, he leaned back into the wind, letting the rope take his weight, holding himself in the strange, fragile harness he’d created with his body and the line, and he made his feet step over the edge of the cliff.
He’d seen people do this to take birds’ eggs from a cliff face. The trick was to lean right back and trust the rope, keeping your feet steady on the cliff and walk backwards, as if it was a perfectly normal thing to do.
The other trick was not to look down.
Too late – he caught a glimpse of slick black rocks far below and the waves surging over them.
He forced his chin up, holding himself steady with the rope in both hands, and took another step down, and another.
He stared hard at the cliff face and, just below him, there sparkled something that looked like silverblue. Was it? Excited now, he peered down and caught sight of a wider seam, pearly pale in the dark grey rock. This was what he needed. Another few steps.
Now came the hardest part. He had to knot the lower part of the rope to the upper, passing it round his chest slowly, so he didn’t tumble out entirely. His hands were shaking, clumsy, damp with sweat. Painstakingly, he pushed the rope into a knot and tugged it tight. Now he was dangling in the loop he’d made, so he could free one hand and use it to dig out the silverblue.
Carefully, he bent his knees, coming closer to the cliff. Not taking his eyes from the silverblue, he wiggled his left hand into the folds of the sling and felt for the chisel. It fell from the sling – he cursed! – but it landed on his bent knees and he snatched it up before it could tumble into the sea.