Bill Lightning shook his head, teeth chattering. “He’s lying. He wants to freeze us all.”
“Maybe I do,” agreed the magician. “But I’d prefer to do it after we reach Magical North. You forget, I have devoted years to studying Boswell’s last voyage. The ice plains have grown since then, and Boswell arrived by a slightly different route, but he had no clear idea of what he was looking for, and I do. Peter, try to feel the magic around you. Does it seem stronger in any direction?”
Peter automatically put his hand in his pocket for his starshell before remembering Cassie had left the three pieces with Ewan back on the Onion.
Brine turned her head and sneezed. Peter grinned. “He’s right. That way.”
They walked in single file, Marfak West leading the way with Cassie just behind him. Rob Grosse and Bill Lightning brought up the rear. Peter had expected the ice to be slippery and was surprised to find that it wasn’t. The snow formed a powdery, perfectly dry layer underfoot.
“How much farther?” asked Bill Lightning.
Marfak West turned his head. “We’ll get there before you freeze to death, don’t worry.”
The snow up ahead shifted. Peter blinked and shook his head, trying to get his vision straight. When everything was the same shade of ghostly white, it was far too easy to imagine ferocious creatures crouched in the snow, waiting to ambush them.
Tom stopped walking. “What was that?”
“It’s nothing,” said Brine.
A crackle of Stella Borealis twisted the sky out of shape. “Don’t look now,” murmured Cassie. “But you might all want to turn and look.”
A deep-throated growl shook the ice.
* * *
The Onion swayed from side to side in a slow dance. Fish-birds were everywhere: bobbing on the sea, perched on the peaks of ice that rose higher than the Onion’s mast. Most of the crew lay unconscious. The ones who were awake strained madly at the ropes that bound them. From their mouths came the same word: “Cruel, cruel, CRUEL!” It rose into a chant that bounced between icebergs, filling the sea with the flat sound of misery.
This was the birds’ doing, thought Ewan. “I’m cruel?” he shouted at the birds. “You’re the ones trying to eat me.” A rope stretched from his belt to the mast behind him. A fish-bird pecked at his feet. Ewan swung his sword and sent the thing wheeling back into the sea. Another one immediately hopped in to take its place. Ewan wiped sweat from his face. This was hopeless; the birds were as implacable as the ice. How did you fight ice?
The answer flashed through him: fire.
He looked around, cursing himself that none of the lanterns were lit—no need for them when the sun didn’t set. He jumped over a fish-bird, kicked another one out of the way, and snatched a lantern and flint. Fish-birds swarmed at him, and he didn’t have time—or hands—to fight them. They surrounded him, pecking at him with sharp beaks. Ewan hissed in pain, almost dropped the flint, but kept striking until he saw sparks leap. Two more fish-birds started to peck at the rope that held him secure to the mast.
Cruel, cruel, cruel.
Ewan lit the lantern and hurled it out onto the ice, right into the middle of the largest group of attacking fish-birds.
The oil exploded. Shards of glass and little bits of black and white shot up in a shower. A second later, the ice raft emptied as all the surviving fish-birds belly-flopped into the sea.
Ewan fell to his knees, sharp agony flaring through his senses, hotter than the lamp flame. Tim Burre broke free from the mast and stumbled toward the deck rail. Ewan grappled him down, muttered an apology, and hit him with his cutlass hilt. Tim’s eyes rolled back as he sagged unconscious. His lips began to move, murmuring the same word over and over again. Cruel, cruel, cruel.
Ewan launched himself across the deck for another lamp.
“As you can see,” he yelled, “I have plenty of these.” That wasn’t true, but he hoped birds couldn’t count. He brandished the lantern threateningly. “Let my friends go, or I might be forced to throw another one.” He drew his arm back. A thousand orange eyes slowly turned their gaze away from him. Not a bird moved.
“Ewan,” said Trudi, “what are you doing?”
Ewan turned to see the crew waking up. He breathed a sigh of relief and put down the lantern. Then, all around the Onion came a flurry of wings, a rattle like the sound of a thousand bird claws unsheathing together. The air filled with a heavy black-and-white hail. Fish-birds, throwing themselves off the higher ice shelves, crashing onto the deck. One of them bounced off Ewan Hughes’s head and lay stunned; others stood up and began waddling forward.
Ewan paused a moment, then yelled and charged them all.
Black, feathered bodies slithered away beneath his cutlass. A curved beak tore a gash out of the back of his hand. A bucket rolled past and a cream paw shot out of it, swiping a bird around the ears and retreating. Another pirate disappeared overboard, screaming. The Onion itself was gradually disappearing under a weight of black-and-white bodies. Ewan Hughes wondered just how many of them the ship could take before the deck gave way and they sank.
What a stupid way to die, he thought, and for a moment he was glad that no one would survive to sing songs about this.
CHAPTER 23
I have written previously that many legends of magical creatures are set in the far north. It is strange how the legends fail to mention the magical creatures that actually do live in the northern icelands. However, I imagine that anyone who meets one of these creatures is likely to die instantly, thus losing the opportunity to begin a new legend.
(From ALDEBRAN BOSWELL’S JOURNAL OF STRANGE ADVENTURES IN THE YEAR OF DISCOVERY)
Everyone scrambled for cover that wasn’t there. Brine, not knowing whether to run or hide, spun round on the spot. Eight paces away, a monstrous furry creature, white as the snow that surrounded it, appeared in the act of taking its paw away from its coal-black nose.
“Bear!” shouted Cassie and whipped out her sword.
“Bare what?” asked Bill Lightning.
The bear let out a roar that sent them stumbling backward, put its paw over its nose, and vanished again. The pirates regrouped in a semicircle. Brine drew her sword and gripped it hard to stop herself from trembling. She’d practiced enough with Ewan Hughes, she reminded herself. She wasn’t completely helpless. Even if she felt like she was.
“Invisible bears,” whispered Tom. “Boswell was right.”
The bear reappeared a few paces away. It leaped at them, and Cassie O’Pia jumped to meet it. They clashed with a snarl and a scrape of claws on steel. Cassie danced away, her coat torn. The bear dropped back to the ground and paced in a slow circle, sniffing the air. Evidently, it wasn’t used to its food fighting back.
It disappeared again, and Peter gave a sigh. “It’s gone.”
There was the heavy sound of a giant bear walking invisibly on three legs. “Look out!” shouted Tom. He crashed into Peter as the bear struck. Brine screamed. Tom stumbled and fell. The bear’s claws slashed through his coat, smashing the wooden box Tom still clutched. The gull flapped free and flew away, shrieking in terror.
The bear reared up on its hind legs. Tall as a tree with claws like swords—claws that could slice right through you. Brine opened her mouth, but she couldn’t make a sound; her chest felt like it was solid ice. Her fingers lost their grip on her sword, and it fell, useless, into the snow.
Then Rob Grosse and Bill Lightning were in front of her, driving the bear back to where Cassie was waiting with a sword in each hand. She slashed quickly and spun away. The bear howled, dropped to all fours, and vanished again. This time, spots of blood marked the ice.
“Didn’t you once fight ten bears with a lobster claw and a dishcloth?” Peter asked Bill.
Bill kept his gaze on the snow. “Don’t know who told you that.”
Brine snatched up her sword. Marfak West was watching them, his usual superior smile on his face. Brine wanted to drive her sword right through him. “Tel
l it to go away,” she shouted.
He shrugged. “Sorry. I only do sea creatures.”
The bear blinked back into visibility behind Cassie. She dropped flat as a huge paw smashed through the air just above her head and vanished again.
“It has to put its paw down to attack,” said Tom. “And then it becomes visible. That’s its weakness—it can’t attack while camouflaged.”
“It’s not much of a weakness,” Cassie shouted back, stabbing at empty air. “This is useless. We can’t kill something if we can’t see it.”
Brine watched the ice. A tiny red smudge appeared a few paces away. She tensed, gripping her sword, then screamed and stumbled as the bear reappeared standing on three legs, its front paw already raised to strike.
“Duck!” shouted Tom. Something flashed over Brine’s head and hit the bear’s flank. Droplets spattered out, forming a dark constellation against its snow-white fur.
The bear put its paw back over its nose, but this time everyone could still see the ink splatters.
“After it!” shouted Cassie. The pirates charged in pursuit. The bear turned back to meet their swords and, faced with several sharp points, changed its mind about attacking. It whined softly, dropped back to all fours, and slunk away.
Peter slapped Tom on the shoulder. “Well done,” he panted.
Tom beamed. “Mum always said the pen was mightier than the sword,” he said. But then his smile faltered, and he turned away to begin gathering up wood and feathers from the snow.
“She’ll fly back to the Onion,” said Brine. “She’s safer than any of us right now.” She tried not to think about the fact that their one means of contacting the Onion was gone and they were standing in a frozen wilderness with only Cassie O’Pia to rely on. Worse than that: Cassie O’Pia and Marfak West.
* * *
The Onion was so full of feathers it looked like the inside of a pillow. The crew, all wide awake now, fought for their lives. Ewan Hughes stabbed and slashed, trying to stay out of the way of sharp beaks and even sharper claws. A group of birds were pecking through the rope that held Tim Burre to the mainmast and, as fast as Ewan fought them away, more slipped in behind him to take their place. A beak raked his leg, gouging out a stinging furrow. The birds fought with one thought in their minds—meat. Ewan felt it every time a hungry gaze fell on him. He fought back grimly, without hope, yet something inside him wouldn’t let him give up. Even if he was the last man left alive, while he had breath in his body, he’d fight on.
“Something’s wrong,” said Trudi.
Ewan unhooked a fish-bird from his buttocks. “I know. We’re being eaten alive by cute birds.”
Trudi shook her head. “Not that. I mean something else is wrong.”
The Onion shivered. All the fish-birds stood still, their heads cocked sideways. Ewan backed off a couple of steps, his sword still up. Blood dripped from the back of his hand.
A tremor ran through the sea. It was gone in an instant, too quickly to know what it was or whether he’d only imagined it.
The next tremor was definitely not imaginary. The Onion jolted. Ewan staggered, a surge of terror shaking him from head to foot. But he wasn’t the only one who was afraid. For a second, the birds stood motionless, every feather standing on end, as if frozen rigid with fear. Zen hissed and tried to climb Ewan’s leg, shredding the few parts of his trousers the fish-birds hadn’t already destroyed. Then, as if one of them had given a signal, every bird rushed, pushing and shoving, off the deck. The sea around the Onion churned with a thousand splashes, then was suddenly still.
The deck was empty. So were all the ice floes.
Ewan frowned. His chest hurt, and he looked down and saw blood on his shirt. He couldn’t remember how that had happened. There were gashes all up his legs, too. They’d heal, he thought, but what had happened to make the birds all flee? He turned to look at Trudi.
She gave him a worried smile. “Cassie will be back soon,” she said. “She’ll know what to do.”
A gull cried overhead. As it dropped down toward the ship, Ewan saw the message canister on its leg and his heart leaped. He held out his hands, and the bird flopped awkwardly into his grasp. It was trembling with cold, exhaustion, and fear. It blinked once at Ewan before a last shudder ran through its frozen body and its eyes clouded.
Ewan undid the little canister on the gull’s leg and eased out the strip of paper inside. It was blank.
Every cut on Ewan’s body throbbed. He turned the paper over, as if this would make words miraculously appear.
“Let me see,” said Trudi. Ewan shook his head and passed it to her. Her face fell.
Ewan couldn’t look at her. Slowly, he crossed the deck, picked up a square of torn canvas, and wrapped up the gull’s body as carefully as if he were tucking it into bed.
That was it, then: Cassie wasn’t coming back. He repeated it to himself three times and still couldn’t make himself believe it. Yet the fact that the bird had returned without a message could only mean one thing: Something bad had happened. Ewan didn’t know what, but he was certain that if they stayed here, they were all going to die.
“Raise the anchor,” he said heavily.
Trudi’s eyes widened. “What about Cassie?”
“We’ll come back for her.” He didn’t know whether he meant it or not. He hoped he did.
Another tremor ran through the sea. The Onion jolted. Without another word, Trudi cut the rope that still tied her to the mast and ran to help wind in the anchor.
There was not a fish-bird in sight, and Ewan Hughes felt more afraid than ever.
* * *
Peter was freezing but he was too tired to shiver. He tried to remember how long they’d been walking since the bear attack, but it was impossible to tell because the light never changed and everywhere he looked was the same hazy white. They could all go color blind here, he thought, and never know. He glanced back at the little group of fish-birds waddling along after them and shook off a halfhearted urge to find some water and throw himself in. The birds didn’t seem too interested in attacking them anymore. They probably wondered what this group of stumbling, wingless things were doing dragging themselves across the snow.
“Must”—Tom spoke between gasps—“write—this—down. Long-term effect of magical exposure on wildlife.”
“There must be magic in the air,” said Cassie as Brine sneezed. “Can you use it?”
Peter shook his head. He didn’t tell her he’d already been trying. He couldn’t just pull magic out of thin air. He needed to hold it in his hands. He needed the starshell, and the starshell was back on board the Onion with Ewan Hughes. A drop of melting ice ran down Peter’s nose. He wiped it away and walked on. Every time he raised a foot, it felt heavier. He wondered what would happen when his feet became so heavy he could no longer lift them off the snow.
Any minute now, he thought, he was going to sit down. Just for a little while. Any … minute …
He paused, looking down, a frown cracking the ice on his face. “What’s happening to the ground?”
The ice looked different, less white and more amber, as if there was magic buried so deeply he couldn’t feel it.
Tom stumbled into him. Cassie stopped. “That’s it—we’re turning back. Even Magical North isn’t worth dying for.”
“Who said anything about dying?” asked Marfak West. “We’re here.” He stamped hard, then bent his knees and jumped.
Cracks ran across the ice. With a roar like a bear, the ground gave way.
CHAPTER 24
A person passes through seven distinct stages when falling to his death. One’s whole life does indeed pass before the eyes. Sensation is amplified as the screaming brain tries to cram in every last scrap of information before the universe turns forever dark.
(From ADVENTURES IN MAGIC AND SCIENCE: THE RESEARCH AND EXPERIMENTS OF MARFAK WEST)
Ewan Hughes was the first to see the ocean darken. A ship-sized patch of sea off the starboard side, r
apidly turning the color of ink. The pirates edged closer together in the middle of the deck. The Onion moved sluggishly, bumping between icebergs.
“Faster!” yelled Ewan, though it didn’t do any good. The sails flapped once or twice and gave up on the effort. The dark patch of sea raced closer and abruptly disappeared beneath the Onion.
The ship sat still for a second, then something slammed into her hull from below. The pirates yelled, and the ones who weren’t still tied to various things grabbed hold of one another, which wasn’t a lot of use, as it only meant they all slid together. The cage with Tom’s surviving messenger gull rocked on the mast where it hung. Zen ran in circles beneath it until the deck tipped a little more and he dug his claws into the planks and hung on.
Then, as quickly as it had started, the sea slapped them back flat. Groaning and bruised, everyone tried to get untangled from everyone else.
“That was clo—” began Trudi.
A jet of spray arched across them and hit the mainmast. The ship rocked. Ewan Hughes grabbed for a trailing rope and missed. Luckily, the Onion chose that moment to tilt back the other way, or he’d have been tossed into the sea. He scrambled back to his knees and stayed there, his mouth wide open.
A vast blue-gray head rose out of the water right ahead of them, and an eye the size of a planet regarded them indifferently. Ewan Hughes drew himself to his feet. All fear drained out of him: This was beyond fear. At least the fish-birds had made the fight seem personal.
The whale sized up the entire ship in a single look. A mouth opened, wide enough to swallow the Onion whole. Thought flooded back into Ewan’s brain.
“The anchor!” he snapped.
He ran to it. Tim Burre grabbed hold, too, and together they threw it. It bounced off the whale’s head and made a hole in the deck.
Ewan swore, but the whale vanished. For a second, Ewan allowed himself to believe they’d beaten it. He ran to the side of the ship and peered over. A shadow in the water shrank, then rapidly expanded. Ewan Hughes had less than a second to register the fact that something enormous was going to hit them before a tail burst through the icebergs. It paused overhead for the space of a heartbeat and crashed down, catching the Onion on the port side.
The Voyage to Magical North Page 15