by Paul Stewart
Cade leaped to his feet and raced down the steps. Kneeling beside Tug, he cradled his friend’s great head in his arms.
‘Tug,’ he sobbed, tears streaming down his burning cheeks as he rocked slowly back and forwards. ‘Tug. Tug. Tug …’
In the sky above, clouds had rolled in, shutting out the sun and darkening the waters of the lake. A solitary black heron stood stock-still amid the spiky reeds, its mournful cry carried away on the rising wind.
· EPILOGUE ·
Cade Quarter, Councillor-Elect of Farrow Lake, stood on the veranda of his beautiful house on the north shore. A gentle wind stirred the surface of the lake.
To the west, the stilt factories of the silk weavers steamed, their phraxlooms busier than ever while, all along the jetties, webfoot skycraft were taking to the air in a fluttering armada. They joined the skycarriers, arriving at and departing from the sky-platforms, along with the elegant blond-timbered sky yachts out on pleasure cruises above the Western Woods.
So much had already changed in the Edgelands since the ushering in of the Fourth Age of Flight, and perhaps nowhere more so than in Farrow Lake, the small outpost at the furthest reaches of the Deepwoods. Numerous stilt factories and workshops had sprung up, all of them powered by a single crystal of phrax, using the latest technology to produce an endless supply of clean energy. The streets were lit, the houses were heated and, by channelling the warm steam the phraxengines gave off into vast glass-framed domes, prodigious quantities of fruit, vegetables and herbs were produced, enough for the ever-swelling population.
As Cade leaned forward on the balustrade that enclosed the veranda, and surveyed the lake, the doors behind him opened, and he turned to see his wife, Celestia, stepping out from the lakeside gallery. In her arms she cradled their new-born baby.
‘Celestia,’ he said softly, and his eyes lit up as his gaze fell upon the swaddled infant. ‘And you too, little one.’
Nearly five years had passed since the two of them had first met. Almost immediately they’d become the closest of friends – although, if Cade was honest, he’d always felt that he liked Celestia just a little bit more than she liked him. Together, they’d had so many adventures – riding over the treetops on their prowlgrins; falling into the clutches of the hammerhead goblins in the Western Woods; fighting side by side at the battle for Farrow Lake; descending the Edge cliff, all the way down to groundrise …
And yet, during all that time, although they had trusted each other with their lives time and again, they had never been more than good friends.
All that had changed in New Sanctaphrax. Celestia had been distraught when Brock had died and, as always when she needed to be comforted, Cade was there for her. Good old dependable ‘city boy’; never giving too little or demanding too much. Suddenly Celestia had realized that Cade was more than a friend to her after all, and always had been – and Cade, for his part, had been overjoyed to discover that his feelings for her were finally being returned.
‘It’s a beautiful morning,’ Celestia said, smiling wistfully.
From the prowlgrin stables below, they heard a whinnying cry, and a young prowlgrin came bounding up the stairs to join them.
‘Ruffix!’ Cade laughed, tickling the prowlgrin between his nostrils. ‘You grow bigger every day!’
‘Let’s take our little one down to the lake,’ said Celestia. She nodded thoughtfully. ‘Almost a week has passed since he was born. It’s time he had a name.’
Cade and Celestia descended the stairs and walked along the stone jetty. Next to the mooring ring at the far end, a figure turned to greet them.
‘Tug,’ said Celestia. ‘Would you like to hold our new arrival?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Tug, and Celestia carefully placed the little bundle in his huge arms.
Tug looked down into the round pink face staring back up at him. Cade saw the two pale scars above his brow ridges crinkle as Tug smiled. And, not for the first time, Cade marvelled at Celestia’s healing skills. After Drax Adereth had shot Tug, there had been long, harrowing hours of painstaking surgery, followed by days of potions, poultices and prayers as his friend hovered between life and death.
How many times had he almost given up hope? thought Cade. But not Celestia. His Celestia. She had refused to let Tug go. Cade could never thank her enough for that. Slowly and surely, the wounds had healed, Tug’s strength had returned and the scars faded.
Cade put an arm round his friend’s massive shoulders.
‘We’d like you to name him,’ he said.
Tug looked suddenly serious. His head cocked to one side, and then a smile broke once more across his face. He looked out across the lake, glittering in the morning sunlight, then back at the tiny baby in his arms, and when he spoke, his voice was soft and gentle.
‘By Earth and Sky, I name you … Twig.’
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First published in hardback by Doubleday and in paperback by Corgi Books 2019
Copyright © Paul Stewart and Chris Riddell, 2019
Cover artwork copyright © Jeff Nentrup, 2019
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The moral right of the author has been asserted
Cover illustration by Jeff Nentrup
Design by James Fraser
ISBN: 978-1-448-15776-1
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