by Paul Stewart
‘Who is that?’ Phineal asked, watching warily as Celestia and Calix came closer.
‘That’s Celestia Helmstoft,’ Cade said. ‘We were meant to be going on a ride this morning, but . . .’ He frowned. ‘She hasn’t brought a second prowlgrin with her for me to ride.’
‘Please, Cade Quarter.’ Phineal’s crest flashed ominously. ‘Promise me you won’t say anything about the clam.’
‘But . . . but Celestia’s my friend,’ Cade protested. ‘And she loves the Farrow Lake as much as I do—’
‘I’m sure,’ Phineal broke in. ‘I trusted you because you showed me hospitality, Cade Quarter. Now you must trust me. Nobody must know about the presence of the Great Blueshell Clam – not even your friends – until I’m able to organize its protection. Promise me you won’t say anything.’
The webfoot was clearly agitated. He was blinking furiously, and his crest trembled as it flashed. And when he dropped to his knees and began shoving his belongings into the forage-sack, Cade realized that it was pointless trying to persuade the webfoot that Celestia was trustworthy.
‘I promise,’ he said.
The approaching prowlgrin was galloping, his paws pounding over the compacted gravel of the lakeshore. Celestia’s long black hair streamed back behind her as, gripping the reins with one hand, she raised the other and waved.
‘Thank you, Cade Quarter,’ came Phineal’s low, hissing voice, followed by the sound of splashing, and Cade turned to see the webfoot disappear beneath the surface of the lake.
‘Hey, Cade!’ Celestia shouted to him as Calix came hurtling straight at Cade, showing no sign of slowing down.
At the last moment, Celestia twitched the reins and, in a flurry of sand, brought the prowlgrin to an abrupt halt, a hair’s breadth from where Cade stood. Calix’s long wet tongue slurped Cade’s face.
‘And good morning to you, Calix, boy,’ said Cade, half laughing, half spluttering. He looked up to see Celestia grinning down at him.
‘What’s a webfoot goblin from Four Lakes city doing out here in the Farrow Ridges?’ she said, glancing at the water, where the last of the circular ripples that marked Phineal’s dive were fading away.
‘His name’s Phineal Glyfphith,’ said Cade. ‘He’s just visiting.’
Celestia slid her leg over the saddle and jumped down lightly to the ground. She nodded at the snailskin tent. ‘I can see that,’ she said. Her green eyes narrowed, and Cade noticed how the sun had deepened her complexion to a honeyed gold. ‘The question is,’ she said, ‘why?’
Cade shrugged. Inside, his head was spinning and, as Celestia continued to stare at him, he had the curious feeling she suspected exactly why the webfoot was here. He felt himself turning red.
‘He . . . he didn’t say,’ he told her truthfully enough. ‘But he took me for a swim,’ he added. ‘Deep down in the lake. It was amazing. Swimming underwater – and breathing! Phineal had these dried mushrooms, which he put into this sort of leather gourd thing, and when he added water to them, they made air that I breathed in through a tube . . .’
‘Fenniths,’ said Celestia, nodding.
‘That’s right,’ said Cade.
Of course Celestia had heard of them, he realized. After all, as a herbalist she was familiar with all sorts of plant life found in the Deepwoods.
‘Anyway,’ he went on, ‘with the gourd of air on my back and these raffia flippers on my feet, we went right down to the very bottom of the lake. I saw sleeping snagtooths. And henchpike. This close!’ he added, holding the palm of his hand up to the tip of his nose.
‘And did you see anything else?’ asked Celestia, an eyebrow arched. She was clearly fascinated.
‘Oh, just plants and rocks and stuff . . . I thought we were going for a ride today,’ Cade said, changing the subject.
‘We are,’ said Celestia.
Cade frowned. ‘But where’s Burrlix?’ he asked.
Burrlix was Celestia’s second prowlgrin. Older and more powerfully built than Calix, his fur was glossy black, with white threads in his beard.
Celestia smiled and untied a sackcloth bundle from behind the saddle of her prowlgrin. She handed it to Cade.
‘For you,’ she said.
Cade stared at the bundle. ‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘Unwrap it and see,’ said Celestia.
Cade untied the knotted rope and pulled off the sackcloth to reveal a tilderleather saddle and bridle. It was like the one on Calix’s back, but brand-new, with burnished ironwood rivets, buckles, stirrups and a bit that gleamed in the sunlight.
‘My father made it,’ Celestia said. ‘For Rumblix.’
Cade inspected the saddle in his hands. It was lighter than it looked and the smell of the newly worked leather was earthy and strong. He looked up.
‘You mean . . . ?’
‘Yes,’ said Celestia, tossing back her hair. ‘It’s time you rode Rumblix.’
Cade shook his head. It seemed like only yesterday that he’d seen Rumblix hatch. When the tiny creature had leaped out of the jelly-like egg, he’d been no bigger than Cade’s hand. Now, a year and a half later, he was almost as tall as Cade and weighed more than twice as much.
Celestia was looking around. ‘Where is he, anyway?’
Cade laughed. ‘At noon on a hot day,’ he said, ‘in the shade under the veranda would be my guess. With Tug.’ He looked up at his cabin, put his fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. Rumblix’s head appeared at the side of the stairs. ‘Here, boy!’ Cade called.
Rumblix came bounding down to the lakeside, his sleek grey fur gleaming in the bright sunshine. He whinnied prowlgrin greetings to Calix, then nuzzled into Cade, sniffing at the saddle and bridle in his arms.
‘He can smell the charlock varnish,’ said Celestia. ‘Prowlgrins love it. And I’ve coated the bit with some hammelhorn grease so he’ll like the taste.’
Cade reached forward and held out the ironwood bit. Rumblix eyed it warily, his nostrils trembling.
‘Gently does it . . .’ Celestia whispered, as Cade pressed the bit against Rumblix’s mouth until the prowlgrin opened up, then clamped down again.
The prowlgrin’s eyes grew wider, and Cade patted his flanks, reassuring him that, even though it might feel a little strange at first, there was nothing to be feared. And Rumblix, who had started shuffling about uneasily, immediately settled down.
‘Now bring the bridle up over his head,’ said Celestia. ‘Reins so . . . Stirrups like so, one each side. Saddle behind his nostrils. That’s it. Right, now buckle the straps under his belly.’
Suddenly, from the direction of the veranda, there came an agonized cry. Celestia and Cade turned to see Tug standing a little way off, shaking uncontrollably. The great creature moaned softly, tears streaming down his misshapen face as he swayed gently from side to side. Beside him, Cade felt Rumblix shudder with unease and start to pull at the bridle with his forepaws.
Cade turned to Celestia. ‘Tug doesn’t understand,’ he told her. ‘In the Nightwoods, the red dwarves used harnesses and whips to control the nameless ones. He thinks the harness is hurting Rumblix.’
Celestia nodded. ‘Here’s a little trick I learned,’ she said.
Leaning over the jittery prowlgrin, Celestia stared into his eyes. And as Rumblix returned her gaze, she blew gently into his nostrils.
Rumblix stopped trembling, and relaxed, the corners of his wide mouth curling upwards and his eyelids lowering. From deep in his throat came low, contented purrs.
Watching intently, Tug wiped his eyes, and when Cade motioned to him, he slowly approached, a look of astonishment on his great misshapen face. When he reached Rumblix, he bent down next to Celestia – and not for the first time, Cade noted the old scars that crisscrossed Tug’s broad shoulders. Then, as Rumblix’s purrs grew louder, Tug broke into a lopsided smile.
He turned to Cade. ‘Rumblix likes,’ he said, tracing the saddle with a fingertip.
‘Rumblix likes,’ Cade agreed. ‘Now,
Tug,’ he explained gently, taking up the reins, ‘Rumblix and Cade are going riding,’ and he was about to jump up into the saddle, when Celestia stayed him with a hand on his arm.
‘Not so fast,’ she said, laughing. ‘Rumblix might be ready. But you’re not.’
Cade looked down and, for the first time, realized that he was only wearing his breeches. Ideal for swimming, but not for riding a prowlgrin.
‘Get dressed, city boy,’ said Celestia, her green eyes sparkling, ‘and I’ll show you something far more spectacular than rocks and lakefish.’
· CHAPTER SEVEN ·
‘GO, BOY,’ CADE said, twitching the reins and pressing his heels into Rumblix’s flanks. With a whinny of excitement, the prowlgrin leaped forward, throwing Cade back in the saddle.
Trust your prowlgrin. That was the first rule of prowlgrin riding. The second rule was more obvious: Hold on tight – which is exactly what Cade did as he and his prowlgrin bounded after Celestia and Calix.
Leaving Tug waving farewell, the pair of them hurtled up the sloping meadowlands, past Cade’s cabin and on towards the forest. By the time they reached the treeline they’d overtaken Celestia and Calix, and, as if he’d been doing it all his life, Rumblix selected a stout-looking lufwood tree and sprang.
His forepaws gripped the rough bark of the nearest branch, his rear legs came round till his back paws touched down on the branch, then, with a low grunt, he launched himself off to the next branch. Then the next, and the next, rising higher as he did so, his sensitive toes telling him exactly how long each branch would bear his weight before snapping. Then, legs outstretched, he jumped to the next tree. And the tree after that . . .
And as they forged their way deeper and deeper into the forest, all Cade had to do was hold on tight – and keep trusting. He heard Celestia laughing behind him, and glanced round.
‘Well?’ she called to him.
‘He’s a natural!’ Cade shouted. ‘Powerful! Fast! Sure-footed!’
They broke through the forest canopy, and Cade saw Gart’s sky-platform up ahead, rising high above the tops of the trees – and Gart Ironside himself, hovering in his phraxlighter, some way beyond that. Twitching the reins, Cade steered Rumblix towards the little vessel.
As he approached, Cade saw that the phraxlighter had been roped to a huge ironwood pine with needles like sabres and cones the size of a skytavern’s viewing baskets. Gart was leaning out from the back of his little craft, a net at the end of a pole in one hand and a long spike in the other. He had positioned the net under a large ball of pinewood resin that was set into the bark like a jewel in a hammerhead matron’s brooch, and was attempting to lever it free with the point of the spike. Rumblix, then Calix, landed on a broad branch just above the tethered vessel.
‘Morning, Gart,’ Cade shouted down to his friend.
The fourthling looked up, surprised, suspicious – then his face relaxed into a smile. ‘Morning, Cade,’ he shouted back. ‘Celestia.’ He returned his attention to the resin. ‘If you’ll just give me a moment . . .’
The clear orange resin glowed with a fiery intensity. Suddenly, with a wet grinding sound, like a tooth being pulled, it came free and dropped into the net. Gart hoicked the resin on board and held it up, triumphant.
‘An absolute beauty,’ he said, and chuckled. ‘If this doesn’t earn me a cask of vintage winesap next time the Xanth Filatine pays us a visit, then nothing will . . .’ He stopped, his eyes resting on Cade’s mount. ‘Well, well, well,’ he said. ‘Rumblix, if I’m not very much mistaken.’
Cade laughed. ‘We’re on our very first ride together.’
‘Congratulations!’ said Gart. ‘Finest pedigree grey prowlgrin I’ve ever seen, Cade, lad. What do you say, Celestia?’
‘He’s certainly impressive,’ Celestia agreed. ‘Which is more than I can say for his rider!’ She laughed. ‘Follow me,’ she called to Cade as she urged Calix to leap from the ironwood pine.
Cade flicked the reins and Rumblix gave chase.
‘Enjoy your ride!’ Gart called after them.
They continued up over Midridge, Cade happy to let Celestia keep the lead. Ahead of them, glittering in the mid-afternoon sun, loomed a magnificent series of rock pinnacles. Formed of black crystal shot through with veins of red bloodstone, the jagged spikes were a beautiful yet barren curiosity.
The Needles.
Cade could see them from his cabin, and had often sat on his veranda, watching as the sun danced on the angled facets of rock. The place looked enticing, but he had never been there before.
Now, as he and Celestia rose closer, Cade noticed how the sounds of the Deepwoods wildlife faded away. There was no weezit chitter or lemkin howl here. There was no birdsong. Apart from patches of snowlichen, nothing grew, for the crystalline rock was so hard that plant roots were unable to get a hold. And with no vegetation, no creatures had attempted to make the place their home.
The silence was intense and echoing, like, Cade thought, holding an empty shell to his ear. And it was hot, with the black rock soaking up the sun and reflecting it back into the air, making it shimmer like liquid.
‘Race you to the top,’ Celestia called across to Cade as the pair of them reached the base of the tallest spike.
Gripping the reins tightly, Cade pressed his heels into Rumblix’s sides. The prowlgrin leaped forward, and Cade was impressed by how nimbly Rumblix gripped the smooth rock. They jockeyed for position, first Calix ahead, then Rumblix – then Calix again . . .
Then Calix faltered. Lost his grip. Skidded – and Rumblix stormed ahead in a series of short leaps.
‘We win!’ Cade yelled as the pair of them reached the summit.
He leaned forward and tousled Rumblix’s sleek grey fur. He’d raced against Celestia before, and always lost. But that was on Burrlix’s back. Rumblix was a different matter entirely.
‘Well done, boy,’ he whispered. ‘Well done.’
Celestia had been right. The view from the top of the Needles was breathtaking. All around him, the landscape of the Farrow Ridges was spread out like a jewel-encrusted patchwork quilt – the sapphire-blue of the Farrow Lake, the silver threads of the Five Falls, the rubyochre of the Levels, and all of it framed by the emerald and jade of the surrounding forest.
Celestia and Calix landed beside him, Celestia’s hair blowing in the wind. She was smiling.
‘Told you I’d show you something spectacular, Cade. And as for you, Rumblix,’ she said, reaching across and patting the prowlgrin’s head. ‘You’re spectacular too, aren’t you, boy?’ And with that, she was off again, careering down the steep rockside. ‘Race you to the top of the falls!’
Rumblix ran headlong down the glassy slope, with Cade gripping onto the reins for dear life. Small shards of rock, cracked by sun and frost, clattered down the cliff-face beside them. Close to the bottom of the sheer incline, Calix abruptly took a flying leap across to a great pillow-like boulder. Rumblix did the same, and Cade found himself on the High Farrow.
Side by side, the two prowlgrins hurtled across the broad pavement of nubbed limestone. Pounding over rock slabs and leaping across the deep, shrub-filled fissures between them, the prowlgrins barked and grunted with exertion.
‘We win again!’ Cade cried out as he and Rumblix skidded to a halt above the first of the Five Falls.
‘The top of the falls!’ Celestia shouted across to him as she and Calix went bounding past. ‘That means the highest. The third waterfall!’
Cade twitched the reins and Rumblix leaped forward. They scrambled along the narrow rock-strewn pathway, overtaking Calix and Celestia somewhere above the second fall. To his right, Cade heard the thunderous roar of the water plunging down the side of the cliff-face and into the lake far below. As he reached the top of the third waterfall, he turned back to wave to Celestia in triumph – but Celestia had no intention of stopping.
‘First one to the Levels!’ her voice floated back as she raced by him again.
Down past the
fourth waterfall they went, then the fifth, then around a jutting spur of rock and back into the forest. Willoak and rock-ash for the most part, the trees were stunted and sparse. Their branches were spindly, brittle – but Rumblix knew instinctively which would and which would not support his weight, and never hesitated for a moment. And it was he and Cade who arrived down on the soft marshland of the Levels first.
Moments later they were joined by Celestia and Calix. ‘You’ve got a very special prowlgrin there,’ said Celestia admiringly. ‘The fastest, highest jumping, most sure-footed I’ve ever seen.’
Cade smiled, his heart swelling with pride as he patted Rumblix. ‘Hear that, Rumblix, lad?’ he said. ‘You’re special!’
‘We’ll head round the lake to Thorne’s hive-hut,’ said Celestia. ‘Keeping to the forest. He’s expecting us,’ she added.
‘He is?’ said Cade.
‘Of course,’ said Celestia. ‘He didn’t want to miss out on your and Rumblix’s first ride.’
Cade smiled. Thorne Lammergyre the fisher goblin was one of the best friends anyone could ever have. He had taken Cade under his wing when he’d first arrived at the Farrow Ridges, wet behind the ears, and looked out for him. Cade knew the fisher goblin would be delighted to see how confident and accomplished Rumblix had become.
Celestia and Calix bounded across to the forest and leaped up into the trees. Cade and Rumblix followed. They climbed high and sped across the treetops, light as thistledown, neither prowlgrin seeming to tire. Then Calix suddenly disappeared back down beneath the canopy of leaves – and Rumblix did the same.
It was gloomy inside the forest, especially after the dazzle of the sun. Dark shadows crisscrossed the tree trunks. The whoop, squawk and chatter of the Deepwoods creatures filled the air.