by Barbara Else
Again she looked as if she’d love to give his shins a royal kick, but she stayed in the nest. “But the Toads came just in time. The wind blew exactly when we needed to escape.”
“The first Toad liked the Roar-juice, told its friends, and they sniffed us out at a lucky moment,” Hodie said. “Lucky for us, I mean. Bad luck for Prowdd’on. And either the Toads or the Um’Binnians have got Murgott, so it’s definitely bad luck for him.”
“Sometimes you seem so stupid!” She put her fists to her mouth but it didn’t smother the Royal Swear Word.
Hodie tried to calm his temper. “I just know how things work. Watch something long enough, think about it, and eventually you figure it out.”
“You are impossible!” She bashed the nest. “Ouch. Get back in – it might take off again.”
He stayed where he was and spread his hands. “I think it’s people who made the difference, not magic. Special people who keep on trying, who don’t give up. I actually think if you get the chance, you’ll be a good enough Queen…”
“Good enough?” she shouted. “Good enough’s not good enough!”
He nearly strode off and left her. But the wind skirled, waves wrinkled across the river, and Hodie felt his forehead wrinkle too. “Maybe it’s true that a special royal person can… um … communicate with magic – if that’s another word for nature – and help keep the world safe, so children don’t lose their parents and …” His throat hurt with a rush of pain and sadness. “But people do lose their parents. And you’re in danger of losing yours too, as well as your brother.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway. Since the wind set us down here, come and have a proper look at the map.”
She clambered over the edge of the nest, ripping her pyjama trousers. He opened the bag for her to ease out the silver map. She held it carefully. The wind was absolutely still, but the map weighed nothing and moved in the breath from their mouths. She made him rest his hand under a corner to keep it steady.
“It’s just a lot of scribbles,” she said.
“Pass your hand over it,” said Hodie.
She flattened her palm and slowly moved it over the silver sheet. The map glowed and seemed more beautiful. The images and names shimmered. There was the Eastern Isle on the right side of the map – the east – where the dragon-eagles bathed and fed. There were the hills behind the lake, where the dragon-eagles lived. How far could they fly? Around the entire world if they wanted, Hodie supposed. But even very small non-magical birds – and mechanical ones – could do that.
“Eagles usually built their nests in high places,” Hodie said. “Is that what dragon-eagles do?”
“They don’t need a usual nest.” She traced the curve of the coastline and mountain ranges, from the Isle, south around Old Ocean and west to the City of Spires, up over the Stones of Beyond to Um’Binnia, to the northern ranges and back again to the Eastern Isle. Together all the ranges made a broken oval. It could almost be the shape of a huge nest.
“There …” Hodie pointed at a spot near the centre of the nest made by the curving mountain ranges. It was sort-of near the area Murgott had called the Waiting Lands, halfway between Um’Binnia and the Eastern Isle. A low hill was marked there, inland, but it had no name. Sibilla reached out and touched the image with a fingertip.
Tiny green flames flared out of the map, then died away. For a brief moment a line of writing curled under the image – The Mount of the Four Storms. Four wings appeared in the silver and beat ripples across the whole map. Then the map was still again.
~
Magic at last. The little Queen looked sick and drained. Her lips parted. “How do I get there?” she murmured.
Hodie was practical, not magic. He folded the secret pocket back over the map and looked at the nest. It had put down roots again, huge thick ones. The coin-shaped leaves rustled in the breeze and the flowers sent out sweet scent.
“That’s not lifting off a second time,” he said. “You can try the rest of the shoots but there’s no guarantee they’ll grow. And if they do, there’s no guarantee the wind will blow in the right direction.”
“Don’t bring out the shoots,” Sibilla said.
He thrust his hand deeper into the shabby bag for the battered cup. “What about this?”
“What about it?” Sibilla asked.
“I thought you’d know by now,” said Hodie.
“I don’t have a clue!” she snapped.
His last drop of patience vanished. He dropped the bag at her feet. “Nor do I! And it’s not my business!” He slung the satchel off his shoulder and held it out. “You’ll need this to protect the bag. There’s the cup and the rest of those seeds, and the spanner, I don’t know why. I’m off!”
The little Queen didn’t reach out to take the satchel from him, so Hodie simply dropped that on the ground too and walked away.
“Stop!” she called in a cold and regal voice.
He took no notice.
“You complained that you’d never been paid!” she called more loudly.
“I don’t care!”
But he couldn’t resist a glance back. The satchel still lay on the ground, though Sibilla had fumbled the drawstring bag over her shoulder and was putting her dressing gown on top.
“You are a wretched stupid boy!” She tossed something.
The spanner landed beside his boot.
“I believe you found that useful. You’ll be able to find work with it.” Her voice dripped with scorn. “I thank you, odd-job boy, for all your help.”
~
40
wrong choice,
wrong wrong wrong
There was no point in letting an excellent spanner lie there and rust. Hodie snatched it up, stuffed it down his shirt and marched off. Within moments he was back in the forest. He bashed his fist against a trunk and let out a tirade about which one of them – the Queen or him – was the most stupid. King Jasper and his metal birds had given the Queen false hope. False hope was cruel.
The trees muttered and whispered. He started to walk on but heard a louder roaring from the river. He swung round and, through the trees, made out the shape and colours of a high-speed Um’Binnian warship, smoke rising from its funnels. A small boat had already left the ship and nosed into the river bank, letting off a group of soldiers. A scruffy squirrel was sniffing about, getting its paws wet, as if it wondered whether to try stowing away.
There on the deck of the warship was a tall, portly figure in purple and gold. Beside him stood Princessa Lu’nedda in her bedraggled pink frock, and the Commander with skinny arms akimbo.
What could Hodie do? Not one single thing.
~
In stories, Hodie had heard that travellers spent the night in ditches and used their bags for pillows. He no longer had a bag and thought that ditches would be damp. A crook of tree roots made a more comfortable bed (“more comfortable” didn’t actually mean “comfortable”). He half-hoped the squirrel would turn up and help him keep warm, though perhaps it had hidden on the warship.
Hodie tucked his legs up and pulled the collar of the cloak around his neck. He felt something hard in his top shirt pocket. The last of the seeds. If it hadn’t sprouted from being soaked with sea water, it must be a dud. Just his luck. Bad again.
So he curled up alone in the Um’Binnian cloak, spanner down his shirt, and asked if he could have done anything differently. Never have left the Grand Palace in the first place? Not have left Queen Sibilla like that back by the river? Everything had been a mistake. Now he was feeling sorry for himself again – how pathetic.
When morning came, he didn’t wake up because he hadn’t been to sleep at all. The leaves of the forest grizzled at him. The wind slapped him in a bad temper. The sky was yellowy-grey, the colour of misery.
He stood up at last. Walking out of the forest seemed the best idea, otherwis
e he might go in circles. He followed a stream inland, and it didn’t take long to leave the trees behind. The stream dwindled into just a boggy patch and his boots were soon covered in mud. He trudged on till it dried and fell off. The land was fairly flat, with still no house in sight, although there was a field of cows.
Then, more or less south he saw a hill. Just a hill with a flat top, hardly high enough to be the magical (ha ha!) Mount of the Four Storms. But that flat top was unusual. From there, Hodie might get more of a view, at least, and see the best road to travel. It might be interesting, too, to see if there was a hill in the distance that could be the Mount of the dragon-eagles. Whether a boy was somebody or nobody, if he was normal he was expected to be curious.
~
The day continued as miserable as early morning, and sent rain in sulky splatters. But it wasn’t cold, and though he’d had no sleep and nothing to eat, Hodie didn’t feel tired. The wind blew steadily. The lower slope, smooth at first, soon thickened with bushes. He found a way through easily enough.
Around midday the thin clouds thickened and the wind dropped. Hodie could have sworn he heard horses whicker and a jingle of harness. There must be a road, but he was hiking over stones and clods of dirt. He suddenly felt furious. He’d tricked himself into believing that magic was real after all, but … his foot slipped.
Down he plunged, crashing through bracken, nothing to break his fall. Then the air thudded out of him and he found himself at the foot of a steep bank, on his back, cramped between a rock and a stout tree root. He struggled, but his own weight simply wedged him deeper. His shoulders and arms were trapped by the cloak. He could kick a little with one leg and move one arm from the elbow, but couldn’t grip on anything or wave for help. Not a single person in the world knew where he was.
The jingle of harness sounded again, further off. He tried to call out but couldn’t draw breath. But the spanner jabbed into his chest. He fumbled it out with his free hand. If he could just ease the spanner between his shoulder and the root – it would bruise but all he needed was some leverage. He squeezed his eyes tight with the effort.
When he opened them again, a silvery-green glow surrounded him. He could sit enough to get the elbow beneath him and raise himself up. His lungs filled again with air.
On one end of the spanner, a faint curving image had appeared. He rubbed it, but the image didn’t get any clearer and, after another moment, faded away. The green glow had faded too. I was just feeling faint, he told himself, then No, and he whispered aloud, “There is magic.” He tucked the spanner back between his shirt and vest, and hauled himself out of the hollow.
“Thank you,” he breathed, to luck, to quick thinking, desperate thinking, and to the spanner, to the merest shred of magic that had touched an ordinary boy and saved him from dying alone.
His arm where the spanner had levered was sore when he touched it, which meant the best thing was not to touch it. He fought up another ledge of bush and scrub, grabbed a branch and swung himself the last strides up the hill.
The top of the hill wasn’t flat. It sloped down like a shallow bowl, so it might once have been a volcano. But Hodie didn’t have time to examine it further. Arriving further around the rim were three military carriages pulled by horses. Hodie ducked behind a clump of grass and hoped the green Um’Binnian cloak would work as camouflage.
Out of the carriages stepped Prowdd’on, Lu’nedda (still in yesterday’s ruined pink dress), soldiers, Sibilla (still in the hospital dressing gown) and Murgott (arms cuffed behind his back). Something seemed stuck on the top of the last carriage – a scruffy bird’s nest? It lifted its head and waved a tail – it was the squirrel. And there, surrounded by a scattering of broken branches, in the centre of the shallow bowl, lay the dying dragon-eagle.
~
41
sometimes you just know
- at least, you hope so
The dragon-eagle was slumped on a few broken branches as if it had tried to build a nest. Its coronet of feathers was limp and dull. There was no sign of the silver-green glow Hodie remembered from the Palace garden. Its eyes were half-closed. The air was so still that Hodie heard a dull metallic rustle as the scale-feathers lifted and settled.
Prowdd’on gave a shout of triumph. His commander echoed (of course) and the dragon-eagle raised its head. For a moment Hodie saw how strong and beautiful it must have been when it was young. Although it was weak now, it was still magnificent. It reached a lion-like paw towards another branch, sunk its claws in and dragged it closer.
Emperor Prowdd’on shoved Commander Gree’sle. Gree’sle urged an officer towards the dragon-eagle. The officer took three steps, the dragon-eagle half-reared up, and the man faltered.
Then Prowdd’on elbowed Sibilla. In the strange stillness of the bowl, Hodie heard every word. “You said you had to come here. If you capture it for me, then maybe I let you go.”
“There’s no point in capturing it just before it dies.” Sibilla sounded close to tears but angry too.
The dragon-eagle slumped again.
Prowdd’on gestured to Gree’sle, who gestured to a soldier to fasten manacles on Sibilla. She held her arms out, wrists together, and gave the soldier a tiny royal nod. The soldier bowed before he clicked the handcuffs on her. None of them had noticed Hodie yet.
With a rough grip on the little Queen’s arm, the Emperor pulled her to stand just below the rim. Sibilla looked only at the dragon-eagle, in a way that twisted Hodie’s heart. She wrung her hands, and he heard the faint chink of handcuffs like an echo of the dragon-eagle’s scales. How must she feel? The young dragon-eagle was caged inside the mountain with a broken wing, and the old dragon-eagle here … Hodie finally believed in magic utterly, and he was looking at it dying.
The silence in the bowl began to fill with a faint buzzing and Hodie knew that this place was not quite part of the real world. An ordinary boy had no place here. But he stayed where he was.
The dragon-eagle eyed Sibilla beneath its drooping lids. It moved its paw, moved it again – what was it doing?
Sibilla raised the handcuffs in front of her and stepped down into the grassy bowl. The buzzing increased and pulsed, and it seemed the air was waiting.
“What can I do?” she asked.
The creature bowed its head.
“You want more branches?” asked Sibilla. “I can’t lift much with my hands like this …”
There was a small green flash, and the manacles chimed as they fell from her wrists. She looked astonished, as if she was waking from some long dream. “Oh …” She bowed to the dragon-eagle. “Thank you.” The creature nodded and slumped again.
“More handcuffs!” said the Emperor.
Commander Gree’sle clicked his fingers. A soldier pulled another set of manacles out of his pocket.
Princessa Lu’nedda snatched them off him. “Father! Give little Queen her chance.”
Prowdd’on shrugged. Hodie supposed the Emperor knew he’d won, whatever happened.
Sibilla glanced at Lu’nedda. She didn’t smile, but the glance said thank you. Lu’nedda bowed a little. Sibilla tugged at a broken branch, heaved it beside the dragon-eagle and brushed her hands.
“But this won’t be enough,” she said.
The creature’s eyes closed. Sorrow seeped from its coronet of feathers like a dull mist, the green of shadows in moonlight just after the sun has sunk out of sight, colour begins fading from the hills and the evening wind’s deciding what to do.
Green, of course, thought Hodie. The Queen needs to use the green tangle. She’ll think of it, any second.
Sibilla’s head lifted, and she glanced in his direction. She looked so relieved it hurt his heart. She flung the dressing gown away so she was just in the tattered pyjamas, and slipped the bag off over her neck.
“You didn’t check what she had with her?” Prowdd’on shouted at
Gree’sle.
“I have told you for years, Gree’sle is useless except for carrying Roar-juice,” Lu’nedda said.
Sibilla drew the bag open. The pale green tangle sprang out into her hands. The dragon-eagle raised its ancient head and sighed.
The mist swirled in tendrils and that sweet scent filled the air. Ropes and coils of mist floated like nooses around Prowdd’on and his Commander, and over their mouths, around the soldiers, and it looked as though they couldn’t move or didn’t dare. But Sibilla walked in a circle around the dragon-eagle, strewing strands of the green tangle into the few branches and twigs beneath the creature. The tendrils twisted and darkened at once. She brought out the pouch, and scattered the remaining seeds as well. Roots thrust down into the soil. Within moments the dragon-eagle was surrounded by a living nest that grew white flowers like roses, glowing and fragrant.
Hodie’s heart began to hammer. Those roots looked so tough even the strongest gales couldn’t carry this nest away. How would the dragon-eagle escape?
Slowly, painfully, the creature sank down in the centre of the nest. Sibilla stretched out a hand, and the dragon-eagle raised its head to touch her fingers with the tip of its mighty beak.
Mist settled around the nest, around her feet, like a carpet of silvery green feathers.
~ Queen ~ the dragon-eagle said ~ it is time ~
“I’m not really a Queen,” Sibilla said. She didn’t look it either, a lonely scared figure in torn pyjamas, hair a dull and tangled mop.
The dragon-eagle tipped its head to look at her. ~ Royal baby, royal girl and royal woman ~ chimed the voice.
Emperor Prowdd’on wrested his head away from the rope of mist with a laugh of disdain. “A Queen has a crown!” The mist muffled him again.
The dragon-eagle eyed the Emperor. Without taking its gaze off Prowdd’on, it touched its paw to the side of the tattered bag in Sibilla’s hand. There was a tearing sound, and the silver map was in its grasp.