SandRider

by Angie Sage

  Marissa almost cried with relief as she watched Tod and the Wiz disappear into the gulley. She had forgotten to Bind Tod to the sled and had been afraid that the Apprentice would throw herself off it at the last minute, but it had turned out fine. Anyway, Marissa wasn’t sure that she could remember the right Bind—there were so many different ones. Marissa’s knowledge of Magyk was sketchy; she could never be bothered with the boring books that other witches seemed to enjoy reading. A smug smile spread across Marissa’s face. Who needed stupid books anyway? Her OverRide Enchantment had worked like a dream.

  A sudden yell of “Tod! Tod!” wiped the smile away fast. Marissa leaped back into the shadows of the Guardian and watched in dismay as a small wooden sled came rocketing through the trees in the tracks of the Wiz. On it rode a couple of wild-looking redheaded kids who Marissa did not recognize. She stared at them in panic. What should she do? She had enough to think about. She had the Witch Mother to fix, and the scary sorcerer was expecting her to deliver on her promise at midnight. There was no way she needed any more trouble, and those kids looked like trouble on runners.

  Marissa looked across to the Castle. She saw the last stage of the sled race being played out along the top of the Castle Walls—the Spurius was in the lead—and she heard excited shouts drifting toward her. A feeling of wistfulness for the companionship and safety of the Castle swept over Marissa. Her deal with the sorcerer was going frighteningly wrong. First Morwenna Mould, the Wendron Witch Mother, had stuck her nosy beak in and demanded to be part of it and now these screaming kids on a sled had suddenly appeared. Marissa’s plans were getting out of control and she dreaded to think what the sorcerer would do if they didn’t work out.

  Marissa heard cheering from the Castle and it took all her willpower not to run for the drawbridge and hurry back to her cozy little attic room. But then Marissa thought of what awaited her back in the Castle: that loser Jo-Jo Heap, a dead-end job in Gothyk Grotto and a load of idiots who treat you like rubbish. But if you get this right, she told herself, they’ll all be terrified of you. And serves them right, too. So just get after those sleds and make sure it all works out.

  And so Marissa turned away from the lights and the cheers and hurried through the silent trees, heading toward the gulley into which two sets of sled tracks now ran. Using FleetFoot—the Enchantment that allowed a witch to move as fast as those she was following—Marissa covered the ground at speed, her feet a blur beneath her cloak. As she headed into the canyon she heard a roar greeting the winner of the Apprentice Race: the Spurius Fatuus.

  The Sarnie crossed the finish line, and still Septimus and Beetle stood waiting for their sleds to finish. Their disappointment that they had not won—or even made a creditable showing—began to be replaced with a gnawing worry. Where were Tod and Oskar? What had happened to them?

  While Septimus and Beetle were discussing what to do, Larry from Larry’s Dead Languages rolled up to demand of his triumphant scribe whether all his teaching had gone to waste—surely by now she could manage a decent insult in Latin? Any fool knew that “spurius” merely described a person whose father was not married to his mother. “Nothus” was what she should have used: someone whose father was unknown. The infinite subtleties of the Latin language were clearly lost on his idiot apprentice. Larry stomped off again, leaving Doran wondering if maybe her tutor did have a sense of humor after all—albeit one a little different from most.

  As Larry disappeared down Wizard Way, Septimus said, “Beetle, something’s gone very wrong. We need to find them.” Beetle needed no persuading. Accompanied by the two seconds, they hurried off along the course.

  But the sleds and their riders were already deep in the Forest—and going deeper every second.

  PART VII

  THIRTY-SIX HOURS TO HATCHING

  THE BEETLE AND THE WIZ

  The Wiz hurtled along the narrow gulley. The sheer rock rose up on either side and was sometimes so close that it was hardly wide enough for the sled to fit. Tod was terrified—the Wiz was traveling with no care for her safety or for its own. Utterly reckless, the sled hurtled onward like an iron filing pulled toward a powerful magnet.

  Even though she was only few a months into her Apprenticeship, Tod knew that the Wiz was under an Enchantment, and the way it was being hurled from rock to rock made her fear it was a Darke Enchantment. She remembered Septimus telling her about a Darke Summons that had once happened to his eldest brother, Simon. Tod also remembered that Septimus had told her that many people did not survive a Darke Summons. Tod knew that he had been warning her that being an Apprentice was not all bright, colored lights and happy Magyk, that it had its dangers, too. And now she was facing them for the first time.

  With no choice in such a confined space but to cling on to the Wiz, Tod was bumped and shaken along the gulley like a marble in a box as the sled headed ever deeper into the Forest. The sharp rock walls bruised her as she was thrown against them, and low-level twigs and branches snagged and grabbed at her like snatching hands. Snow covered the ground, but it was thin in places and the rocks below jarred the Wiz, sending shockwaves through her.

  It felt as though the gulley was going on forever, but Tod knew that it must eventually come to an end. Pushing aside her fear that the end would simply be a blank wall of rock that the Wiz would smash headlong into, Tod decided that as soon as the sled came out of the gulley she would throw herself off it, wherever she was. Anything was better than being dragged helplessly toward something Darke. Tod knew she was not Bound to the sled, she could lift her hands from the bar and even stand up—if she dared. But for now she crouched down over the front bar of the Wiz, staring ahead, waiting for the moment the canyon would come to an end.

  Tod had no idea that some distance behind her Oskar and Ferdie were on the Beetle, following her tracks. Oskar propelled the Beetle as fast as he dared, hoping to get a glimpse of Tod, but always she was just out of sight. However, the swinging branches and the showers of snow falling from them told Oskar that Tod was still ahead. But the Wiz was drawing ever farther away and—fearless sled racer though he was—Oskar did not dare push the Beetle to the limits that the OverRide was taking the Wiz. He had Ferdie to consider too.

  Far behind Oskar and Ferdie came someone who was used to considering no one but herself: Marissa, out of breath, disheveled and footsore. Marissa stumbled along, cursing her bad luck.

  Far ahead of Marissa, Tod was gripping the front rail of the Wiz and staring ahead in horror. Just visible through the overhanging branches and getting closer by the second was a sheer wall of rock cutting across the gulley. It was the end of the road.

  Tod was about to hurl herself backward off the sled when she saw an opening in the rock, the round mouth of a tunnel with a light at the end. Tod dithered—should she risk throwing herself onto the ground, or stay on the Wiz? In that brief moment of indecision the Wiz left the gritty snow of the gulley and entered the cold, still darkness of rock. Its runners hit pure ice and the sled shot through the tunnel at breathtaking speed. Ahead, Tod now saw a circle of light—not dull greenish-white filtered through snow-laden trees, but bright yellow firelight. Tod had heard enough stories about the Wendron Witches to know that Forest firelight is not always a welcoming sight. Fire in the Forest usually meant the gathering of the Coven.

  The Wiz careered out of the tunnel into the Wendron Witches’ winter quarters—a wide, open space enclosed by the steep-sided rocks of an old quarry. The sled’s runners hit bare rock and it ground to a halt.

  Tod was welcomed by the collective Scream of the Wendron Witch Coven.

  THE WENDRON WITCH COVEN

  A coven Scream is a powerful weapon. When timed right, in perfect unison and disharmony—as the Wendron Witches’ Scream was—it renders the victim helpless.

  Tod sat numbly on the Wiz, the Scream echoing around the quarry. Her hands were clamped firmly over her ears, but still the high-pitched drilling of the Scream bored into her head, drowning out all thoughts
of escape. Tod could see nothing but a circle of faces with dark, wide-open mouths. On and on went the Scream, ricocheting off the rocks, while Tod sat in the center of a whirlpool of noise, feeling as though she were made of glass and that any moment now she might shatter into a million splinters.

  But even witches in Scream eventually run out of breath, and slowly the decibels began to drop, the echoes weakened and the sound began to drain away. When at last the gaping mouths were closed Tod was left shaking, feeling as though her ears were filled with glue and her muscles turned to jelly.

  In the brief hiatus that always follows a Scream, Tod’s surroundings began to sink in. Beyond the circle of witches in their dark green cloaks, beyond the roaring fire behind them, Tod saw the darkness of rock rearing up, topped by a fringe of Forest trees. If she had looked behind her, Tod would have seen a rock face peppered with small caves, some with ladders leading up to them, which was where the witches spent the long, dangerous Forest winter nights. But Tod did not need to look, she knew where she was; Septimus had described it to her in her Forest Knowledge tutorial. She was in the winter quarters of the Wendron Witch Coven.

  Blinking as though they had just woken up and rubbing their ears, the circle of witches enclosing Tod shook themselves out of their Scream trance. Tod felt as weak as a newborn puppy; she could do no more than sit on the Wiz and watch. The circle began to open up and through the gap Tod saw a large witch swathed in a thick cloak of green, walking slowly toward her. She was flanked by two younger witches, on whom she leaned her not inconsiderable weight. Tod knew who this must be—Morwenna Mould, the Wendron Witch Mother.

  Morwenna Mould stopped in front of the Wiz and looked down at Tod with an air of disappointment. “Is this it?” she said scornfully.

  “It must be, Witch Mother,” one of her supporters ventured.

  “It looks very . . . young.”

  “It is quite new, I think, Witch Mother,” said the other supporter.

  “It’s too new to know much,” Morwenna snapped. “I thought she was getting one of the older ones. He won’t like it.” Surprisingly light on her feet when she needed to be, Morwenna swiveled around to stare at the Circle. She raised her voice angrily. “Where is that Marissa girl, anyway?”

  Her reply was a yell of surprise from the Circle. She turned, expecting to see the errant Marissa, and saw two small figures on an old wooden sled come bumping into the quarry. They were covered in snow.

  Morwenna reacted quickly. “Grasp them!” she yelled.

  Ferdie and Oskar were too chilled to react. The Witch Mother’s helpers leaped forward, grabbed a twin each and held their shoulders in a Grasp. The coven stared menacingly at Oskar and Ferdie. There had been a rumor that Snow Sprites had been sighted in the Forest, and many of the witches—including Morwenna—assumed they had now made a successful sprite snatch. It was, the coven thought, turning out to be a good day, however new and useless the Apprentice might be.

  Tod saw the look in the witches’ eyes as they stared at Oskar and Ferdie and it frightened her. She stood up unsteadily and at once felt the weight of Morwenna’s heavy hand descend upon her shoulder. A moment later she too felt the iron chill of the witch’s Grasp leach into her bones and a feeling of fuzziness invade her mind, but Tod fought it, using a very basic MindScreen that Septimus had taught her.

  Morwenna pointed at Oskar and Ferdie. “Take them to the cell cave,” she ordered.

  There was a shocked silence among the coven. The two witches who had Ferdie and Oskar in their Grasp looked at each other in dismay. Their job was to advise the Witch Mother—and it was a dangerous one. Morwenna Mould in her declining years did not take kindly to advice. However, Morwenna also did not take kindly to witches who were too frightened to give advice. Being chosen as a Witch Mother Supporter was seen as a poisoned chalice. The two current Supporters, Bryony and Madron, were close friends—unusual among witches—and had agreed to always act together.

  “Ahem. Witch Mother,” murmured Bryony.

  “What?” snapped Morwenna.

  “The, er, Snow Sprites,” said Madron.

  “Yes? What about them?” asked Morwenna.

  “It is usually considered safer . . .”

  “With Snow Sprites . . .”

  “Who always hold a grudge . . .”

  “When captured . . .”

  “Or confined . . .”

  “In any way . . .”

  “For Forest’s sake!” Morwenna Mould yelled. She flashed a look of exasperation that would have floored a witch acting on her own. “What are you trying to say, you mumbling idiots? Spit it out!”

  Bryony and Madron glanced at each other, then they took a deep breath and said in unison, “Witch Mother. With respect. With captured Snow Sprites it is usually considered safer to . . . kill them.”

  SNOW SPRITES

  “They’re not Snow Sprites!” Tod yelled. “Let them go!”

  Ferdie and Oskar, already numbed by the cold, were now falling into the trance-state that is an effect of a powerful Grasp. With Bryony’s and Madron’s hands lying heavy on their shoulders, they stood stone-still, their eyes unfocused.

  The coven turned its stare on Tod. “They’re just covered in snow, that’s all,” she faltered.

  “Of course they are covered in snow,” said Bryony, who had Ferdie in her Grasp. “Snow Sprites generally are.” A chorus of laughter greeted this.

  “They’re not Snow Sprites, they’re my friends!” Tod yelled.

  “Snow Sprites as friends, eh?” said Morwenna, whose hearing was not good. “Well, well. Maybe we underestimated you, Apprentice. Maybe you have a little more Magyk than it seems. Maybe you are not quite the mistake I took you to be. Maybe the sorcerer will be pleased to have you after all.” The Witch Mother smiled. “And I’ll have a few sprite bones to give him too, ha-ha. As long as we rake them out of the fire quickly.”

  The shock of Morwenna’s words hit Tod like a blow: Bones? Fire? “Ferdie! Oskie!” she yelled. “Wake up!”

  But neither Ferdie nor Oskar responded. Bryony and Madron grinned at each other. Their Grasps were clearly a lot more effective than that of the Witch Mother, and from Morwenna’s sour expression they guessed she knew it too.

  Desperately, Tod struggled to get free, but every movement made Morwenna’s Grasp grow tighter and more painful. Soon Tod’s shoulder hurt so much that she had no choice but to stay still. “You have learned your first lesson: do not fight the power of the Forest,” Morwenna hissed at her. “Now your sprites will learn theirs.”

  “They are not sprites!” Tod screamed out. “They are human! Ferdie! Oskar! Wake up!”

  But Ferdie and Oskar stared blankly into space.

  “More wood for the fire!” Morwenna yelled.

  In the center of the quarry floor a fire crackled and spat. Now the witches scattered to the margins of the quarry where fallen branches lay stacked and hurried to bring them to stoke the flames.

  From the margins of the Forest above, two young witches watched the activity below. These were Jenna’s spies, Ariel and Star. They had just escorted their Queen safely to Galen’s treehouse and had been waiting for a chance to rejoin the coven without being spotted. The frenzied fire-stoking gave them the perfect opportunity. As the flames rose higher, they ran quickly down the rocky path that led down to the quarry floor. Ariel and Star slipped through the narrow gap in the rocks, picked up a branch, lugged it across to the fire and hurled it onto the flames. They grinned at each other in relief. No one had noticed.

  As each witch added her fuel the flames rose higher, roaring up into the darkening sky. The heat was such that even though they were some distance from the fire, caked snow began to fall from Oskar and Ferdie and Tod at last began to feel warm. But the warmer Tod felt, the more scared she became. She watched her friends staring vacantly at the flames and she wondered if they had any idea what the witches intended to do. But most of all, she wondered how on earth she was going to stop the witches from
doing it.

  It wasn’t every day that two Snow Sprites got thrown onto the fire, and the coven now began to form an excited Witch Circle around the fire and its victims-to-be. Star and Ariel joined them, unsure what was happening but doing their best to look as though they knew.

  Like the drone of a swarm of bees, a low, rhythmic humming began—the renowned Wendron Witch Circle Hum. Something about its steady, expectant rhythm made Tod feel very afraid. The Hum, however, had a different effect on the Witch Mother—it was something Morwenna had noticed recently but had kept secret, for it was a sure sign of waning powers. It made her feel sleepy.

  Tod became aware that the Witch Mother’s Grasp had loosened. Her hand was now merely resting lightly on her shoulder. Tod longed to break away and run free, but she forced herself to stay where she was. If she ran now she would be leaving Oskar and Ferdie to their fate. She must stay calm and try to think. There must be something she could do . . . but what?

  The flames leaped higher and the Hum began to morph into a chant:

  Sprites burn bright!

  Light the night!

  Light the night!

  Sprites burn bright!

  The chant jolted the Witch Mother from her Hum-induced daze. Completely forgetting her Grasp, she raised her hands in the air and shouted, “Coven, stop! Though twilight is falling it is not yet night. We will wait until Mother Moon rises over the Guardian Ash.” She smiled. “We shall have our sprite bones soon enough, fear not.”