Rumblestar

by Abi Elphinstone

  For now though, Rumblestar was safe, as were the other Unmapped Kingdoms, and Casper was right to be proud of the role he had played in making that happen. He listened with a smile as Sophie chattered on.

  ‘When the headmaster announced the lockdown was over I cried I was so happy!’ She paused. ‘Come to think of it, I don’t think I saw you in the hall during the announcement?’

  Casper suspected that launching into an explanation of his ordeal in the Smoking Chimneys might not be the best response so he settled for: ‘I was right at the back – behind the really tall sixth formers.’

  Casper and Sophie chatted all the way back to Little Wallops and Casper realised what an awful lot he had been missing out on by sticking so rigidly to his lists and timetables. Sophie was clever (she could recite the entire periodic table), interesting (she knew seventeen facts about monkeys’ bottoms which they laughed about but which, really, Casper thought was deeply cool) and she had a cracking sense of humour (she did such a brilliant imitation of Leopold speaking Casper’s cheeks ached from grinning). Casper decided, there and then, that since he’d made room for one friend already, two if he counted Arlo, it was, perhaps, time to make room for another.

  In fact, Casper had such a pleasant walk back to Little Wallops that he only half-noticed the golf balls scattered here and there on the woodland floor. For a second, he wondered about them – about something he had heard Frostbite say in Rumblestar – but then he turned his attention back to Sophie and he forgot all about it as he carried on walking.

  They parted ways in the library. Sophie went back to her dormitory to pack her suitcase for the Easter holidays which were, apparently, starting the next morning – and Casper back to his turret. But as he crossed the library, Mrs Whereabouts looked up from her desk.

  ‘Well done,’ she said quietly in that sing-song voice of hers.

  Casper looked behind him but there was no one else in the library. Just him and Mrs Whereabouts. So it did seem that she was congratulating him.

  ‘What for?’ Casper asked.

  Mrs Whereabouts cocked her head and Casper caught a glimpse of something on the old lady’s neck – not scars exactly but what looked like little ridges under her skin – and Casper wondered whether perhaps the reason Mrs Whereabouts wore a polo neck every single day of the year (even in spring and summer) was because she was trying to hide these marks. But then there was the nose ring and the spiky silver hair. It was all a bit peculiar for an old librarian in a boarding school in the middle of the English countryside.

  ‘Well done for dealing with Candida and Leopold,’ she said eventually. ‘They tore through the school earlier saying you and Sophie had put a curse on the woods.’ She paused and then, in a softer voice, she added: ‘But well done for everything else, too.’

  Casper stiffened. She couldn’t mean . . . Could she? He looked at Mrs Whereabouts, and she looked innocently back at him, and then – just for a second – Casper noticed the old lady’s lips twitch. It wasn’t much of a movement, and afterwards Casper wondered whether it had happened at all, but Mrs Whereabouts’ eyes were twinkling and as Casper walked towards his turret he got the feeling that perhaps there was more to the librarian than what everybody else saw.

  He hastened up the steps – his pulse racing with excitement at the thought of seeing his parents again – then he burst into the flat.

  ‘Mum! Dad!’ he cried. ‘I’m home!’

  His mum was curled up on the sofa, watching a beaming weather reporter declare ‘Blue skies and balmy temperatures for England for the next few weeks – even sunshine in Scotland tomorrow!’ while his dad, dressed in the overalls he’d been wearing that morning, stood before the grandfather clock, brandishing a screwdriver. At the sight of them both Casper’s heart filled with joy.

  ‘Fixed it!’ his father declared. ‘Pendulum’s swinging, hands are turning – good as new!’ He turned to Casper. ‘We tried to find you when the news started flooding in that the storms seem to be over – isn’t it wonderful?’

  Casper rushed over and flung his arms around his dad. Ernie laughed in surprise. But before he could say anything Casper pulled back, leapt over the sofa and snuggled into his mum’s warm, familiar arms.

  Ariella held Casper close, as if perhaps she had been waiting for this moment for a long, long time, then she smiled. ‘You look different.’ She brushed Casper’s hair back from his face. ‘Very different.’

  ‘And you’re wearing dungarees!’ Ernie chuckled. ‘Where on earth did you find them?’

  Casper thought about it. ‘Lost Property basket.’

  The grandfather clock chimed six times. ‘You’re back later than usual, too.’ Ernie paused, then he poked Casper in the ribs and grinned. ‘Not sure your timetable would like that.’

  Casper laughed. ‘No, I don’t suppose it would. But I’ve been doing a bit of thinking lately.’

  Ariella looked at Ernie with hopeful eyes, then she turned back to Casper. ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘And I won’t be needing my timetables or my lists any more.’

  Casper’s parents said nothing for a moment. They were too stunned to speak. Then Ariella scooped Casper into her arms again and Ernie ruffled his hair. Because Casper’s declaration was about more than timekeeping and organisation and everyone in the turret knew it.

  Ernie sat down beside Casper on the sofa. ‘If you won’t be needing your timetables and your lists,’ he clasped Casper’s hands, ‘is there anything else you might like instead?’

  Casper thought about this for a while, and his parents did that thing that parents do when they ask a question and pretend to be terribly relaxed about the answer. But Casper knew that hopes and dreams were pinned on this, that his parents wanted nothing more than for him to be happy and surrounded by friends.

  He took a deep breath. ‘Walking boots, a sleeping bag and maybe a head torch, too.’

  Ernie’s eyes grew large and Ariella choked on her tea.

  ‘What marvellous suggestions,’ Ariella said when she had collected herself. She paused. ‘But might we just ask why you need all that?’

  Casper smiled. ‘Because Sophie and I thought we’d go camping in the holidays.’

  ‘Oh, Casper,’ Ariella cried, her eyes shining. ‘I think that’s a brilliant idea.’

  ‘You’ll need a stove and a firelighter and a map to find the best forests,’ Ernie said excitedly. ‘I think we’ve got our work cut out for the weekend.’

  Casper nodded and then, as casually as he could, he said: ‘We might need to get another school blazer, too. And a shirt and some shoes.’

  Ariella frowned. ‘What happened to yours?’

  Casper considered his answer. ‘I have absolutely no idea.’ Then he added: ‘Belongings are a bit harder to keep track of once you’ve ditched the lists.’

  Ariella smiled. ‘Tell me about it. I have no idea where I put my reading glasses this morning.’

  Ernie put a hand on her arm. ‘They’re in the fridge, darling.’

  They laughed and laughed and after a long dinner – a feast of samaki and rice, one of Ariella’s mouth-wateringly tasty fish specialities from Tanzania – Casper pulled on his pyjamas and went to close his bedroom curtains. He looked out over the grounds of Little Wallops. The moonlight had turned the playing fields silver, the sky was pinched with stars and any windows Casper could see from where he stood had curtains drawn across them. Except for the one belonging to the turret next door where Mrs Whereabouts lived. That was lit up and in its frame there was a silhouette. On first glance it looked to Casper like the silhouette of a cat. But then Casper pressed his face up to the glass and looked closer.

  This wasn’t a cat at all. And, in fact, when Casper really thought about it, he couldn’t recall ever having seen one – only a glimpse of something black and furry behind Mrs Whereabouts when he knocked on her door when they first moved to the school. Casper blinked in surprise. It was a monkey! And it was holding something long and thin with a rounded ti
p. Casper frowned. Was that a golf club? Then he remembered the golf balls he’d seen strewn through the woods earlier and the truth of things tiptoed closer.

  Mrs Whereabouts didn’t own a cat at all. She owned a monkey. And she didn’t wear polo necks to hide the scar- like markings on her neck. She wore them to hide her gills. Because this strange old lady was from the Unmapped Kingdoms! Unbeknown to Casper these past few years, he had been living next door to the only two people from Utterly’s world who had found a way through to Everdark: Smudge and Bartholomew, the golf-loving monkey. Smudge would have been over two thousand years old had she stayed in the Unmapped Kingdoms, but she hadn’t. She and Bartholomew must have found another door in Everdark that led on to the Faraway, where time passed much more slowly.

  ‘But that’s the thing about locked doors,’ Casper whispered to himself as the monkey tugged open the window, steadied itself on the ledge, then drew back its golf club and thwacked a ball out over the grounds. ‘You never quite know what’s on the other side . . .’

  One Last To-Do List from Casper Tock

  1. Thank the amazing team at Simon & Schuster for being so excited about my story from the very start (even though I was bricking it): Eve Wersocki-Morris, Sarah Macmillan, Laura Hough, Sam Habib, Jenny Richards, Stephanie Purcell, Sarah McCabe, Mara Anastas and, finally, Jane Griffiths – who knows me as well as Abi (without her my story would never have been told)

  2. Thank Carrie May for making me look extremely brave and even a little bit dashing on the front cover and Patrick Knowles for drawing a map of Rumblestar so readers can see just how much ground Utterly and I covered on our adventure

  3. Thank Hannah Sheppard for her delightfully quick replies to Abi’s emails during the writing of my story (Hannah’s up there with Zip for efficiency) and her unfailing support of the whole Unmapped world

  4. Thank all the brilliant teachers and librarians for placing my, Utterly and Arlo’s adventure into the hands of kids across the globe. And thank the kids themselves who helped Abi plan this book: Sabrina Bet-Mansour, Bianca Schapira and Josephine Louis for their world-building skills, those at St Andrew’s Benn C of E Primary School for their magical creature ideas, Arlo Williams for naming my pal, Arlo, and Matteo Croce for naming the busiest of the sun scamps, Matt, and to Jasmine Peacock for her general epic-ness

  5. Thank Abi’s family and friends (especially the wonder-woman that is Zofia Sagan) because, let’s face it, family and friends are what keep you going when you’re down on one knee in a forest full of Midnights

  6. Thank Abi’s husband, Edo, because without his love and support I reckon Abi would be a total lunatic

  7. Thank Little Elph – he showed Abi how to wonder at the world all over again and that paved the way for my story

  8. Keep eyes peeled for weather scrolls at sunrise on camping trip with Sophie

  9. Re-structure meals in light of Rumblestar adventure: eat dessert before main course

  10. Look up at the sky at least once every day and remember that it’s full to the brim with magic

  Beyond the footsteps of the greatest explorers and up past the reach of the trustiest maps there lies a kingdom called Erkenwald.

  Here, the sun still shines at midnight in the summer, glinting off the icebergs in the north and slipping between the snow-capped Never Cliffs in the west. But it does not rise at all in the long, cold winters. Then, the nights bleed on and on and the darkness is so thick you cannot see your hands in front of your face.

  This far north, even the stars do not behave as you might expect. And that is probably just as well because without Ursa Minor breaking a few rules we would not have a story at all . . .

  The Little Bear, some call this constellation, but if astronomers knew the truth – if they could see into the heart of things and out the other side – perhaps they would have used a different name. For these seven stars are in fact Sky Gods, mighty giants carved from stardust, and the brightest of them all, the North Star, was the one who first breathed life into Erkenwald.

  Such was his power that he only needed to blow the legendary Frost Horn once and the empty stretches of ice many miles below began to change. Mountains, forests and glaciers appeared. Then animals arrived: polar bears to roam the tundra, whales to glide through the oceans and wolves to stalk between the trees. Finally, the music of the Frost Horn conjured people: men and women of different shapes, sizes and colours scattered throughout the land.

  As the years passed, these men and women formed three tribes: the Fur Tribe built tipis from caribou hides in a forest to the south of the kingdom; the Feather Tribe settled inside caves in the Never Cliffs to the west; and the Tusk Tribe built igloos along the cliff tops on the northern coast. Each tribe had their own customs and beliefs, but they lived in harmony with one another, sharing food whenever they passed and offering shelter when the weather closed in.

  Because magic often lingers long after it has been used, the power of the Frost Horn hovered over Erkenwald, and as time went by the people learnt how to use it. They spun hammocks from moonlight which granted wonderful dreams; they trapped sunbeams in lanterns which burned through the winter months; they stored wind inside gemstones which granted their boats safe passage through stormy seas. And the people knew all was well in their kingdom whenever they saw the northern lights. For these rippling colours were a sign that the Sky Gods were dancing – and that meant the world was as it should be.

  But darkness can come to any kingdom, and so it came to Erkenwald.

  The smallest Sky God grew jealous of the North Star’s power and, seeking to rule Erkenwald herself, she pulled away from the constellation one winter night and plunged towards Earth. The North Star acted swiftly and trapped her in a glacier before she could spread her evil across the land. But the Sky Gods stopped dancing then because they knew that it was only a matter of time before someone heard the whispers of the fallen star calling out behind the ice.

  And, before long, someone did.

  * * *

  One night, Slither, the shaman for the Tusk Tribe, was drawn to the glacier and he listened as the voice within promised him dark powers if he killed his chief and made it look like a plot brewed by the Fur and Feather Tribes using Erkenwald’s trusted magic.

  Although the words were only whispers, they plucked at Slither’s heart and, believing all they said, the shaman slew the Tusk Chief while he slept with an enchanted knife. In the weeks that followed, distrust between the tribes gave way to hatred and faith in Erkenwald’s magic died. And it was then that Slither climbed back into his skin-boat and paddled beneath the cliffs towards the glacier.

  The voice was still there, only it was louder now – as if the hatred between the tribes had given it fresh force – and this time Slither could make out the body of a woman behind the ice. She was tall and slim, with skin as white as marble and lips a cold pale blue. Her eyelashes were crusted with frost, her silver hair twisted through a crown of snowflakes and in her hand she held a staff of glittering black ice. Slither raised a palm towards the Ice Queen and, because this was a palm that had done a terrible thing, it melted the frozen wall before him and the woman stepped out from the glacier and into the skin-boat.

  She held up her staff and thunder rumbled across the sky as every man, woman and child in the Tusk Tribe, now locked under the Ice Queen’s hold, stepped out of their igloos. They watched in silence as she pointed her staff towards the glacier she had been trapped inside. An enormous chunk of ice broke free from its tip and slid into the sea, but it did not drift away. The Ice Queen waved her staff and a bridge snaked out between the cliff and the iceberg, tethering it in place. Then domes, turrets and towers formed, shooting out of the iceberg with ear-splitting cracks until, finally, there stood a shimmering fortress carved entirely from ice.

  Winterfang Palace was born; the reign of the Ice Queen had began. And to reward his loyalty, the Ice Queen gave Slither command of the Tusk Tribe and taught him how to wield the very darkest mag
ic.

  * * *

  Spring came, then slipped into summer and, from afar, the Fur and Feather Tribes watched as the Tusks left their igloos every morning and walked across the bridge into Winterfang Palace. A battle was brewing – the Fur and Feather Tribes could hear the sharpening of spears and hammering of shields – and, fearing that the Ice Queen meant to drag all the tribes under her command, they launched an attack on Winterfang.

  But to fight for something you believe in requires trust as well as courage – and there was not enough trust between the Fur and Feather Tribes that day. There was no faith in Erkenwald’s magic either and the weapons of even the most skilled fighters were nothing against Slither’s Tusk warriors. They fought with black ice javelins and shadow-shields and soon every man and woman from the Fur and Feather Tribes was imprisoned in the palace towers. Slither’s warriors seized a child, too – the only one who had been granted a place in the battle – because this was a child marked out by the Sky Gods, a child that the Ice Queen had been looking for ever since she fell from the sky.

  The other children remained beyond the Ice Queen’s grasp and, though Slither’s warriors scoured the kingdom all through the summer and on into the winter, they found no trace of them. Erkenwald became a land shrunk to whispers, but, because a fallen star can only survive one midnight sun on Earth before its magic fades, the Ice Queen set about finding a way to gain immortality.