Tom was looking back over his shoulder and grinning wickedly. He pointed to his ears. All the other sky-riders were wearing earmuffs and couldn’t hear a thing.
Hector was too far out in front for him to see him clearly, but Stormy guessed somehow that the whistling sound came from him. He knew his ears would be well covered too.
Stormy let go of the reins and clamped his hands over his ears. The whistling sound grew faint. ‘Stop, stop, stop,’ Stormy begged the noise to go. Sweat trickled down between his shoulder blades as he forced himself to block out the noise. The whistling was evil. He’d never been so drained of happiness in all his life or felt so hopeless. He pressed harder and harder until the sound faded completely.
Gradually, his spirits began to right themselves.
It was just Hector, nothing more sinister than Hector.
Stormy collected himself and calmed his booming heart. He was in a race. He had to get on with the race. Thank goodness Seraphina hadn’t listened to him. On she flew, strong and keen and wonderful.
When at last Stormy dared to uncover his ears, the whistling had gone. Now there was an eerie silence with only the wind sighing past, and the beat, beat of the spitfyres’ wings.
‘We’re still in the race,’ he whispered to Seraphina.
‘Something’s wrong!’ Lizzie called suddenly. She leaned forward and rubbed Daygo’s neck. Stormy thought it might be another trick and was on guard, but then saw that Daygo’s right wing, as green and beautiful as a giant leaf, wasn’t working properly. ‘Daygo’s hurt,’ she cried. ‘It was that crash with Easterly. Your fault . . . Oh, poor Daygo. We’ve got to go back.’
She wheeled him round and slowly headed back towards the Academy.
Now they were only five.
The sky-riders followed the path of the river that trailed like a dark blue ribbon miles below, speeding between the smooth grey rock walls of the valley. Here and there spindly trees sprouted from crevasses and cracks; Seraphina swerved by them expertly, ducking and diving like a fish.
A blue ribbon river . . . White ribbon . . . Now Stormy’s thoughts flew back to Maud.
White ribbons! Maud had been wearing white ribbons in her hair.
It made him felt stupid, very stupid. And glad. She had given him the ribbons, not Araminta. He was the luckiest, happiest person in the world. The wind on his cheeks, lifting his hair, whistling past his ears, was the best feeling in the world. Once he’d been a kitchen boy, skivvy, compost-maker, and washer-upper. Now he was a real sky-rider. And he had new friends. Nothing could be better. Somewhere also, in the back of his mind, was that moment of realisation, of seeing something in Maud’s expression as he flew off the terrace. Yes, he was sure he was right. He knew who she was!
A bird hurtled by, flying in the opposite direction, and he came suddenly back to the present.
Ahead, the valley split into two like a snake’s tongue, and rising up at the V was a tall white cliff with a flat top that was Moleman Mount. Stormy steadied himself. Concentrate! Don’t think about Maud. It was important to fly round to the west side, then rise up and come in that way to avoid a strong air flow that rose up on the east side. He began to get into position.
Suddenly an amazingly bright and blindingly reflective light burst out from its summit.
It was the sun striking the Silver Sword.
Hector and the other sky-riders were prepared and all pulled dark visors over their eyes. Grimly Stormy squeezed his eyes up against the blinding light.
The light was nothing to Seraphina. She began to pick up speed. She began to creep up on Polaris.
Petra shook her fist at them. ‘Go back! Get away!’
Stormy ignored her.
‘I’ll take action!’ she shouted at him. He couldn’t see her eyes, but her voice was as cold as stone. ‘Go back!’
‘It’s a race!’ Stormy shouted back.
Petra took a stone from her shoulder bag, held it up so Stormy could see it, and then threw it at him with all her force. He ducked instinctively. The stone hit them. Stormy heard a dull metallic clunk. Panicking, he leaned forward and ran his hand down Seraphina’s throat and chest, dreading he would feel blood. But there was nothing; the stone had hit her armlet and bounced off.
‘Stay back!’ Petra yelled. She waved her fist at him. ‘Back! Go away! You’re not wanted!’
Another stone winged across, but he dodged it and it sailed over his shoulder.
Tom screamed.
It had hit him. He grabbed at his forehead, dropped the reins, overbalanced and began to slither off his spitfyre. Grabbing for the mane, for the reins, for anything, he screamed again. ‘Help!’ He had caught Condor’s mane and was hanging onto it, but Condor didn’t like it; he was lopsided, distraught. He bucked and swivelled and Tom finally lost his grasp and slipped into the void.
‘Nooooooo!’
He fell, tumbling over and over like a doll, until he hit the trees and disappeared amongst the rocks and greenery on the cliff side.
Petra’s shocked face was white with horror.
‘That was your fault!’ she shouted at Stormy. ‘Poor Tom! Tom!’
Condor was confused. He tossed his white mane and circled round, then headed down into the valley after his fallen rider.
Now they were four.
36
Moleman Mount
Seraphina flew on, ignoring everything. She was flying so well that now only Polaris and Sparkit were in front, both going to the west side of Moleman Mount. Tom, Lizzie and Cindy were out of the race; surely he was safe. Stormy couldn’t be the loser; they were the losers. He had nothing to fear now; he might as well battle it out and really go for it.
Hector looked back over his shoulder; behind his goggles his eyes were full of malice. His big chin was thrust out angrily and Stormy recognised that face; it was the face of the sky-rider who’d wrecked his compost heap all that time ago. It was Hector. Of course.
‘It’s my race! I have to win!’ Hector shouted. He began to kick Sparkit and slash him with the ends of the reins, urging him to go even faster.
Stormy and Seraphina swerved round to the left of the Mount to let the warm currents help them rise up towards the flat summit where the light from the Silver Sword still blazed.
‘Let’s not be last to land,’ Stormy told her. ‘Come on, we can do it. Up, up!’
They shot up over the summit, high into the air, and almost instantly Stormy asked Seraphina to land and she quickly slowed down. She tilted, wings outspread, and began swirling down towards the earth like a kite.
Sparkit was there too. His enormous silver wings hung out in the air like giant sheets as he spun and sailed down. First to touch the soil was Sparkit, then Polaris. Stormy was third.
Stormy felt the solid earth; Seraphina was tucking in her wings. He jumped off her back and ran towards the sword.
The great Silver Sword was set into the top of a heap of richly coloured stones. The sun had shifted and now the sword gleamed rather than shone blindingly. It was misshapen and crooked, but there was something beautiful about the sword’s vast size and rough, silver surface.
Stormy and Hector both sprinted towards it.
The ground was covered in short grass and broken stones and Stormy tripped and almost fell. Hector stopped to fling a stone at him; Stormy twisted out of the way.
Suddenly there was a flash of brilliant azure, as Bluey zoomed into sight on the east side of the Mount where the fierce currents were. Both Stormy and Hector stopped. The strong winds lifted Bluey up rapidly, and it looked as if he would shoot past, but he did an incredible turn and flip and swooped down to the landing area.
‘Go on, Bluey!’ Bentley cried and he yanked hard on Bluey’s reins. The spitfyre hit the earth, somersaulted and rolled along like a wheel, throwing Bentley off so that he crashed into Stormy and Stormy toppled over like a skittle.
‘Well done, Bentley!’ Hector shouted. ‘Excellent. Don’t move, Stormy!’ he roared as Stormy scramb
led to his feet. Hector was running the last few paces towards the Silver Sword. ‘That sword is mine.’
‘It’s a race!’ Stormy said, scrambling up and leaping towards him. ‘It’s just as much my sword!’
‘Don’t talk rubbish! Sparkit! Fire!’ Hector yelled.
Stormy jumped as the grass where he had been standing went up in smoke.
‘Fire isn’t allowed!’
‘Shut up, kitchen boy,’ Hector said.
Under cover of another stream of flaming balls from Sparkit, which rolled out one after the other, scorching and burning, Hector got to the Silver Sword. Stormy dodged the flames but a shower of sparks set his clothes smoking. He stopped to pat out the glowing fabric.
‘Cheat!’
‘When will you learn, skivvy?’ Petra said, leaning forward, resting her elbows on Polaris’s brown neck. ‘Hector always wins.’
Hector took hold of the great sword and, rocking it backwards and forwards, released it from its place. ‘So,’ Hector said, waving the Silver Sword in the air. ‘I win!’
‘Congratulations, Hector,’ Petra said without enthusiasm.
‘We knew you would,’ Bentley said glumly. He picked himself up and slowly began taking some rope from his backpack.
‘Who did we lose on the way?’ Hector asked as he admired the great sword, turning it over and over in his hands. ‘My father will be pleased with this.’
‘We lost Tom, Cindy and Lizzie.’
‘Three?’ Hector shrugged. ‘Tom? Well, they were careless and it was their fault. Who was last to land?’
‘Stormy!’ Petra and Bentley said quickly and firmly.
‘No. It was Bentley on Bluey!’ Stormy cried, spinning round to face the other two. ‘I wasn’t last! You know I wasn’t last!’
‘I saw you come down after me,’ Petra said, looking blankly towards the mountain peaks.
‘So did I,’ Bentley said. ‘I was third, you were fourth.’
‘I agree. That’s what I saw,’ Hector added.
‘That’s so . . . How could you?’ Stormy cried. ‘Petra, come on, please, tell the truth! Please!’
Petra flushed red, but still she said, ‘No. You were last, Stormy. You were the slowest.’
‘Oh, dear, poor little skivvy,’ Hector said. ‘You lose. That pathetic little creature you’re sitting on is now my spitfyre!’ Hector chuckled. ‘I will so enjoy chaining her back up in a dungeon at my castle.’
‘You can’t. You’re all lying!’ Stormy looked round at them wildly. ‘You’re all cheats. I won’t let you do this!’ He ran back to Seraphina, but Hector was one step ahead of him. He had caught hold of the thin rope Bentley threw to him. He had it round Seraphina’s neck in an instant.
Seraphina reared up, and the rope tightened around her neck, throttling her. She dropped to her knees, thrashing her head from side to side in distress.
‘Stop! You’re hurting her! Stop!’ Stormy shouted. He ran to her and tried to get his fingers under the rope but it was already too tight, and squeezing into her skin. Seraphina jumped and kicked, rolling her head to escape the rope. She squealed and spat out dark smoke and sparks.
‘I don’t think you’ve got much choice,’ Hector said, pulling the rope tighter again.
‘Fire! Seraphina! Fire him! Bite him!’ Stormy shouted desperately. ‘Do something!’
Seraphina snapped at the rope, trying to reach it with her teeth. Her eyes rolled in fear.
‘You see, Stormy, you really don’t belong,’ Hector said, walking away with the end of the rope in his hand. ‘You shouldn’t have tried to play sky-riders when you’re not one of us.’
‘Back to the kitchens for you, Stormy,’ Bentley said.
‘Or the dungeons,’ Petra said, ‘when the Director hears what you did to poor Daygo and Easterly.’
Hector got back onto his spitfyre’s back as calmly as if it were a normal day. ‘Come on, Sparkit!’ he waved the sword. ‘Up we go! Home!’
‘Wait! Stop!’ Stormy scrambled up onto Seraphina’s back. He dug his fingers under the rope again and managed to loosen it a little. ‘Seraphina, dear, don’t fight it,’ he told her. ‘You’ll hurt yourself. Don’t, don’t.’ Then he turned and shouted at Hector. ‘Curse you, Hector! I hate you!’
He felt a tug as Sparkit moved and pulled the rope taut. They were like a dog on a lead. They were Hector’s prisoners. His heart was heavy and full of hatred. Now they had to fly where Hector flew; at the speed that Hector wanted. They were Hector’s property.
Sparkit rose up into the sky and everyone followed him. Hector laughed out loud, waving the Silver Sword round his head and making whooping noises. He turned round to gloat at Stormy and make throat-cutting motions with his free hand and laugh.
They flew all the way back like that.
Soon the towers of the Academy castle and their familiar pointed rooftops came into view. Stormy felt like something with no mind of its own or will of its own. He hung his head. He didn’t want Maud – or anyone – to see him like this. But what could he do?
Suddenly the rope between the two spitfyres jerked so sharply that Stormy was almost thrown off. He grabbed at Seraphina’s mane.
‘Stop! Stop, Hector!’ he cried.
Seraphina made a choking sound and coughed hoarsely, shaking her head as the rope tightened. She had to go faster. And faster.
‘It’s all right! Don’t fight it,’ he called to her. ‘Don’t pull.’
Sparkit had suddenly changed direction and was speeding straight towards the steep mountainside. He was flying headfirst into the rock!
Seraphina, strung behind, could only follow.
‘Stop!’ Stormy cried. ‘What are you doing, Hector?’
But Hector did not turn round.
Sparkit twisted, changed direction and began to drag them into a narrow gulley. They were so close to the green and grey of the cliffs that Seraphina’s wings almost scraped the rock.
‘Let go! Let go of her!’ Stormy shouted. ‘You’ll kill us!’
But Hector had his head down low and didn’t answer. He seemed uncomfortable. He seemed almost as desperate to cling on as Stormy was, as if, unbelievably, Hector wasn’t in control.
Seraphina and Stormy could only follow, pulled this way and that, dragged along like a fish on a line.
Then the blue and the brown of Bluey and Polaris were with them too, and the four of them were flying at breakneck speed in the narrow gap. The air was loud with the rush of their wings and throaty cries.
‘There’s no space! Get back!’ Hector roared. ‘Back!’
But Bluey and Polaris didn’t hear or couldn’t understand. Their wings were almost touching. The air was full of tumbling stones, grit and flying leaves.
Polaris came in closer and closer until suddenly his wings tangled with Bluey’s and both pulled up, lost balance and began to fall. Bluey spun off and bounced into the rocks. He crashed into loose boulders and they toppled down on him and knocked him to the ground. Bentley was thrown off. The two lay broken and still on a wide ledge.
Polaris tipped head over heels and hurtled into a thicket of bushes. Petra was tossed onto a flat rock with a terrible smacking sound. Polaris tumbled down and down into the valley, screaming wildly.
That was as much as Stormy could see because Hector was forcing him onwards, faster and faster. It was as if Sparkit had caught the scent of something on the wind and was drawn towards it like an arrow speeding to the target, and Seraphina and Stormy were forced to follow.
Then Stormy saw what Sparkit was chasing and his blood ran ice cold.
37
Mungo
It was Mungo.
The moleman had come onto the hillside to see the race. He had no idea how dangerous it was. And Sparkit had got scent of him. Nothing could stop the grubbin-hating spitfyre now.
Mungo was trying to hide, ducking down amongst the bushes and boulders on the side of the mountain. But there was nowhere to go.
Hector hammered the flat
of the Silver Sword on Sparkit’s rump – not urging him on, but trying to make him turn back!
But Sparkit wouldn’t turn.
Stormy and Seraphina swung along behind them, powerless to do anything. Sparkit circled in over the grubbin’s head, closer and closer, until his massive wings brushed the overhanging rock, ripping out leaves and twigs. He almost crashed against the cliff, then turned and circled off again, throwing Hector to one side so he nearly slipped off Sparkit’s back.
‘Stop! Stop, you fool! Sparkit!’ His fingers slipped from the reins – and the rope.
The rope went slack. They were free.
Seraphina immediately extended her wings as brakes. She swung away and hovered above the other spitfyre.
Mungo was crouched beneath a rowan tree.
Sparkit had been forced to circle off to avoid crashing into the cliff, but now came straight back at the grubbin, eyes blazing madly, sparks and black smoke billowing from his nostrils. The sun shone off his flanks as if they were made of dull metal. He looked unimaginably fierce and alien, not like a living being at all.
‘Help! Help!’ Mungo called.
Sparkit snapped at the little rowan tree and yanked it from the ground, roots and all. He tossed it aside; a shower of soil rained down over the grubbin and rattled down on the hillside. Mungo yelped and dived behind a boulder. He began to crawl towards the path, like an animal seeking its burrow, but Sparkit was back. Now he was hanging above Mungo’s head, his wings held aloft, poised to strike.
‘No!’ Stormy cried.
Sparkit’s eyes gleamed with malice as he swept down, open-mouthed, and plucked the grubbin from his perch in his teeth.
Mungo screamed. He kicked and thrashed his arms but he was powerless in the great spitfyre’s grip.
Stormy watched in horror. What could he do?
Seraphina was gliding round gently, circling, watching. Now she steadied herself, her shoulders tensed, her wings tipped and curved and she pitched down.
Amazed, Stormy simply held on.
Seraphina swooped silently towards Sparkit. She was a rainbow arrow, diving below him, going down, and then further down, so when Stormy looked up, he could see Sparkit’s underside, his vulnerable pale grey belly. And poor Mungo, legs bicycling hopelessly in thin air.
The Spin Page 24