by Cliff McNish
Dragwena pulled her dress over her face, her eyes bleeding.
Morpeth was too astonished to care what had happened to the Witch. He pointed towards the waters into which the last of the stars had sunk. ‘How can we see the ocean?’ he whispered. ‘It should be frozen.’
Their answer was not long in coming. The Endellion Ocean was rising, barely noticeable until now as it had such a long way to climb before toppling over the western mountains. As they watched its writhing waters spilled over the highest summits, flowing towards them at devastating speed, swallowing the land.
Morpeth pointed eastward. There, in a far corner of the world, where no Sarren had ever travelled, an even mightier ocean also swept towards Mawkmound.
‘Why aren’t I scared?’ asked Trimak. ‘This should be terrifying.’
All the Sarren realized they were filled with awe, not terror. But a despairing Dragwena called weakly to the Manag. She could barely raise her head. The Manag shrank and moved to surround the Witch, trying to use its bulk to shield her from the rays of the sun.
Rachel whispered to Eric.
He giggled and they both turned to face the advancing waters.
‘Come Larpskendya!’ they sang together. ‘Come from sleep and dawn-bright sea!’
And Larpskendya came at last: from the tumultuous foaming ocean a silver bird rose from the depths. He was of such size that the waters could hardly contain his beating wings. With slow, massive motion he swept from the waves and headed towards Mawkmound. He boomed out the words of the verse of hope, filling the air with a sound whose loveliness cannot be named. And his many-coloured eyes blazed with beauty.
Dragwena met his stare. As soon as she did so Larpskendya locked her in a gaze of fear – in his eyes she saw a million grim-faced children, sharpening their knives against a stone wall. She shrieked and pointed.
‘Kill it!’ she instructed the Manag. ‘Kill the Wizard!’
Without hesitation, the great shadow left her shoulder. Larpskendya turned to meet the creature. As he drew closer the Manag dwindled until it was just a point of swift darkness against his dripping breast. A mile above the ocean they met and Larpskendya, hardly even needing to open his bill, ripped the Manag from the sky.
Dragwena lurched with pain as her spell-creature was devoured.
‘I’ll kill you yet!’ she roared, racing towards the Sarren, her face contorted by fear and rage. ‘Even in defeat I’ll destroy you!’
‘Form a guard!’ cried Trimak, and the Sarren rushed to put themselves between the children and the Witch.
Dragwena lunged past the Sarren, unscathed by their swords. She ripped Eric from Rachel’s hands and ran to a low mound. Rachel fired wounding spells, but Dragwena fought through them, heaving herself and Eric across the snow.
Larpskendya swooped across the ocean. He flew with immense speed straight towards the Witch, but Dragwena already held Eric close – she knew there was time to snap his neck.
‘See this!’ Dragwena howled at the silver bird. ‘You cannot save him! One more child I will kill!’
As she tightened her grip Eric uttered one word.
Dragwena twitched with pain. She dropped Eric, staggering backwards. Blood poured from her ear. ‘What is this?’ she rasped. ‘An unmaking spell? No. I . . . will not be denied . . . by a child!’ Dragwena fumbled to retrieve him, but Eric danced easily aside and went to the safety of Rachel’s embrace.
The Witch could not follow. She lay writhing on the ground and then, clenching her fists and fighting to regain control, she shrieked as she started to transform: her blood-red skin peeled and she was a snake; and then it peeled again and she was a mollusc, and a raven, and a wolf, and a black monster writhing with serpents; and a hideous creature between whose splintered teeth spiders rushed to escape. The Witch merged into all the forms she had ever taken, faster and faster, until the transformations were so rapid that they blurred together and her screaming voice became unrecognizable.
But Dragwena was not finished. Somehow, through an overwhelming hatred, she managed to leap from the confusion, black claws outstretched.
Rachel howled, and with the sound of it Larpskendya swept from the sky. His head raked the ground, plucking the Witch from the earth.
Everyone watched as Dragwena, a speck inside the enormous beak, somehow held it open. She gasped, trembling with the effort, her teeth slashing, trying to string together all her knowledge into a single venomous spike of death. But Larpskendya had no fear of Dragwena’s magic. Gradually his beak closed until the Witch’s arms buckled and her knees were squeezed against her bursting chest. At last, Dragwena could no longer endure and her spine snapped. She unhinged her jaw and uttered a final despairing cry.
‘Sisters!’ she shrieked. ‘Revenge me!’
Even as Larpskendya’s beak shut, killing the Witch, a tiny green light rose into the air where Dragwena’s body had been. Unnoticed by anyone, the light flew directly into the sky. It pierced the outer atmosphere and shot into space. Once there it snaked towards a distant star, towards a watchful, Witch-filled world . . .
21
The Choice
Everyone on Mawkmound gazed in awe as Larpskendya hovered above them, his great wings thrashing the air. Eric ran across the mound and jumped up to nuzzle the huge bird’s wing. But it was to Rachel alone that Larpskendya turned his many-coloured eyes.
And, in that brief moment, the Wizard imparted many things: an apology for the suffering he had allowed; a choice they all must make; and happiness, enormous tear-joyful happiness for what was to come. Finally, Larpskendya bent close to Rachel, touching her face. An extraordinary feeling shuddered through her.
‘A gift,’ he said. ‘A gift no human has ever been trusted with.’
Rachel trembled, understanding it, and trying to find the words to thank him. But immediately Larpskendya wrapped around the gift a task and a warning.
At last the Wizard turned his head and soared upward and away into the western sky.
‘Goodbye, Larpskendya,’ Rachel said, casting her eyes down because she could not bear to look so closely at his magnificence.
Silence descended on Mawkmound as everyone else watched him disappear slowly into the distance, his tail dappled by golden sunbeams.
And then two immense shadows blocked out all the sunlight.
‘Watch out!’ cried Trimak.
Even as the children and Sarren gazed after Larpskendya, the oceans of Ithrea had continued to sweep towards them. Suddenly, like a flood to end the world, the mighty waves came crashing down on Mawkmound. There was no time for anyone to protect themselves, nowhere to run or hide. But instead of crushing everyone the oceans halted at the edge of the mound, and cast something towards them more gently than falling snow.
Morpeth gasped as, of all things, a Neutrana guard slid from the waters and landed by his feet. The man got up, grinning widely. ‘I’m . . . free!’ he cried, rubbing his head. Bowing in several directions, he announced his name to one and all.
‘Free?’ laughed a Sarren. ‘You’re a bit late for the fight, that’s certain!’ He pulled the newcomer away from the water. ‘Where did you come from, anyway?’
But before he could answer, another passenger of the waves was unceremoniously dumped onto the mound.
‘Muranta!’ gasped Trimak, helping his wife up. ‘How did you come to be here?’
‘How do I know?’ she replied irritably. ‘One moment I’m at home, worrying about you; the next I’m picked up by that – that great wave’ – she jerked her arm back – ‘and now I’m . . . wherever this freezing place is!’ She brushed water from her dress.
But there was hardly time to dwell on this either, as an awkward Leifrim toppled from the waves. A surge deposited him by Fenagel’s feet, and his daughter bent to kiss him.
‘This isn’t possible!’ said Morpeth. ‘They couldn’t. It’s—’
‘It’s true!’ Rachel shouted, her eyes filled with tears of joy. ‘Watch!’
&nbs
p; And now everything happened at once. All manner of creatures, animal and human, tumbled from the waves so quickly that no one pair of eyes could take it all in. Sarren came, adults and children from all over Ithrea; and bumping alongside were Neutrana, crowds of them, their expressions filled with surprise. On wave after wave they arrived, from everywhere Sarren or Neutrana lived or had once lived, the waters delivering them up to Mawkmound.
Wolves came in their multitudes, Scorpa at their head, their great grey flanks covered in brine. Prapsies spilt on the surf, flitting about and speaking their usual nonsense. On a gentle wavelet Leifrim was deposited by Fenagel’s feet and his daughter bent to kiss him.
They came and came, and still it never ended. Hundreds of thousands surged from the waves, until Mawkmound became a seething mass of all creatures dead and alive who had once bent their backs to the will of Dragwena. Ronnocoden arrived with his proud eagle companions, beating their sodden wings and singing their hearts out, after a silence of centuries. And extraordinary creatures came that nobody knew – creatures that had lived and bred under the snows of Ithrea, forgotten in the darkness for untold years. They wriggled and slid and crawled over each other, teeth flashing, covering their sensitive eyes from a sun they had never seen.
Eventually it was at an end, and the waters retreated a little way, giving everyone a chance to spread out.
And how they spread out!
The wolves bayed and leapt onto the new wet grass that sprang from nowhere at their feet. Children petted the wolves, and raced after them in circles trying to stroke their fur, but hardly able to catch up. So instead the eagles let them climb on their backs and made short flights over the land, teasing the prapsies as they passed.
And the Sarren and Neutrana, for some reason over which they had no control, began to dance and sing and whirl together. Their voices clamoured with the birds in the air, who did not stop singing for a second, until the noise of shouting and laughter and baying and twittering became so great that the earth shook with it and boomed its happiness back.
Morpeth moved alongside Rachel and Eric and wistfully said the words:
‘Dark girl she will be,
Enemies to set free,
Sing in harmony,
From sleep and dawn-bright sea,
I will arise,
Rachel looked lovingly into his eyes:
‘And behold your childish glee.’
And she was right, for even as the Sarren and eagles and wolves and other creatures leapt and skittered and danced they slowly transformed, until they became children and puppies and eagle-young. Prapsies shook off their baby-faces and returned to being crow-chicks, their red mouths crying out for their mothers. Morpeth changed into a sandy-haired boy with bright blue eyes, and Trimak grinned from his dimpled chubby cheeks.
‘Well,’ said Eric, shaking his head and looking at no one in particular. ‘Flipping heck!’
‘Exactly!’ laughed Trimak.
‘But what happens now?’ asked Morpeth. ‘We’re all children again. What are we going to do?’
With these words, as if he had initiated a spell, which indeed he had, though he did not know it, all the creatures of Ithrea fell silent and turned towards Rachel.
She traced a shape in the air. A doorway appeared, which led to the back of a cellar with thick stone walls.
‘What home will it be?’ she said. ‘Ithrea or Earth? Larpskendya has given each of you a choice.’
A choice? The creatures of Ithrea stared blankly at each other. They had known the servitude of the Witch for so long that they hardly knew how to react. And how to choose? For nearly all of the children Earth was just a dim memory. The animals had never known Earth at all. To them Ithrea was home.
Puppies sat on their tails and yelped in confusion. Chicks huddled, cheeping uncertainly; and the strangest creatures of Ithrea slurped in their own tongues, wondering what to do. At last all the animals turned for advice to the children, but the former Sarren and Neutrana were bewildered. As Rachel and Eric watched, thousands of boys and girls started urgently questioning each other, trying to recall their lives on Earth, the families and friends who once shared their days.
And slowly, painfully, all began to remember.
‘Oh Rachel,’ said Eric. ‘Look. They’re . . . crying.’
It began as a few stifled sobs, but soon whole groups were weeping uncontrollably. They limped across Mawkmound, or fell to their knees, each child in its own world of grief as the images and words and feelings came hauntingly back: of long-dead parents, brothers and sisters, and priceless friends they would never see or touch again.
A young Leifrim, with spiky jet black hair, screwed up his face.
‘My mother,’ he said. ‘I remember the way she held me, but—’ He gazed about shamefully, hoping someone might help. ‘What was her name? I can’t—’
Fenagel put her arms around her father. She had been born on Ithrea. All her life she had known only its dark snows. But many had no children to comfort them, for the Witch had only allowed a few close servants this honour. Within minutes all the children on Mawkmound were bent in private tears, or clutching what loved ones they could find, gripped by an overwhelming sense of loss.
‘No,’ pleaded Eric. ‘Rachel, please stop them. Use a spell. It wasn’t meant to end like this. Surely Larpskendya didn’t mean it to end like this.’
‘Wait,’ she said, her own eyes filled with tears. ‘Larpskendya told me this would happen. It’s not just dead families they’re grieving for, Eric. It’s what the Witch did to them, all those centuries of suffering.’ She smiled through her tears. ‘What happens next will be amazing.’
The anguish of the children went on for a long time. It went on for longer than it had taken Ithrea’s oceans to deliver them all to Mawkmound. It went on for as long as the last child still had the strength left to cry. Finally, the weeping ended and Mawkmound fell silent. The silence was so deep that even the Prapsy chicks seemed to realize they should not babble. They furled their stubby wings over their beaks and waited.
And a gentle wind stirred on Mawkmound.
Trimak was the first to notice it touch his cheek. It dried his tears, spreading warmth.
‘Look!’ he cried, pointing everywhere.
Until this moment no one had bothered to wonder what might be happening beyond Mawkmound. Now they saw the ocean waters had retreated into the far distance, melting all the snow. Black soil, scarred and lifeless, covered the whole world. Ithrea was naked. Even the grass had been torn from the ground. Not a single thing grew or stirred. A child sighed and her voice echoed across the barren emptiness.
‘No,’ whispered Trimak. ‘Is this what we waited for all those centuries? Even the snows were more comfort than this.’
Rachel laughed. ‘Then wish for something else!’
‘Flowers?’ he muttered. ‘That would be something at least.’
Instantly, plant buds started shooting between his feet. He jumped aside and they quickly filled his footprints.
‘What colour flowers?’ asked Rachel. ‘And what shape? What smell should they have? And how many?’
‘How should I know?’ said Trimak, trying not to tread on them. ‘What do I know about flowers?’
Rachel grinned. ‘Are you giving up already?’
‘Nice ones,’ he said, feebly. ‘Pretty ones. What were their names? Oh . . . I don’t know!’
The buds continued to spread out, but they stayed tight shut – waiting.
‘White roses!’ said Fenagel. ‘Purple daffodils. Green daisies. Red – oh!’
The buds were opening into all the flowers named. They continued to spread across Mawkmound and beyond.
‘Stop!’ yelled Morpeth, and the flowers stopped.
‘Roses that sing!’ cried Trimak, and immediately the white roses began a tuneless whine, their petals flapping back and forth. ‘Don’t sing like me!’ he told them. ‘Sing beautifully, you stupid things!’ And so the roses changed their tune. Th
e sound was not beautiful, but it did sound stupid.
‘Magic doesn’t know what beautiful means,’ said Rachel. ‘Tell it, you stupid thing!’
Trimak fell about laughing, but others took up the challenge.
‘Like happiness!’
‘Like cockatoos!’
‘Like gurgling babies!’
The flowers started singing like all these things.
‘How can this be happening?’ said Morpeth. Nearby, a girl pressed her ear against a humming buttercup.
Rachel winked. ‘Magic. Larpskendya’s given you everything you need.’
‘To do what?’ he said.
‘To do what you like!’ said Rachel. ‘Don’t be shy, Morpeth. Imagine something!’
Morpeth was lost for words. He nervously created a tiny sun in his palm and blew it into the sky.
‘Oh, think bigger than that,’ said Rachel. ‘Look at what the others are doing already!’
Morpeth lifted his eyes and, wherever he gazed, he saw children everywhere testing their imaginations, making up the rest of Ithrea. Forests with legs marched up the slopes of the Ragged Mountains. Fenagel ran across the mound, jewels following behind her like obedient pets. Children wrote their names in the sky. Melon-shaped mountains began glistening in the distance, spitting out pips like volcanoes. A large stone rolled across to one boy and offered him a selection of sweets. As for the flowers, the first creations of the new Ithrea, they were soon forgotten, but they didn’t care. They just carried on singing loudly. That is, until Muranta told them to hush. After this they just whispered.
In the distance, Eric saw a fire-breathing dragon rise up from Lake Ker. Amongst the other bizarre forms appearing everywhere he would hardly have noticed, but this dragon was heading for the little eaglets.
‘Hey, cut it out,’ he warned the giggling prapsy chicks, but the eagles had already turned the dragon into a beak. This chased the startled prapsies until they sent it pecking back after the eagles.