The woman greeted Ivor Coddrington with the slightest bow of her head; the dragon paid him no attention at all. They both then turned in Connie’s direction, but Dr. Brock stepped forward to stand between them.
“Perhaps we should wait?” he suggested, thinking better of a premature introduction before all the Trustees were assembled.
“True, that is for later,” declared the lady. She pulled some piles of wood off her mount’s back. “Come, let us make a fire to warm the others when they reach this miserably wet island of yours, Franciszek. You see I am prepared: a little present from the forests of my country.”
She threw the wood in a heap and, with the dragon’s fiery breath, they had no problem starting a blaze despite the rain. Connie hovered on the far side of the fire, feeling awkward. When would the others arrive? She was eager to meet the newcomers properly, particularly the dragon, whose mesmerizing eyes drew her to it: she longed to touch its rough scales and feel the warmth coming from its body, which glowed faintly in the dark like an emerald.
Then something made the hair on the back of Connie’s neck prickle: more creatures were approaching. Quite unexpectedly, she was swept by three distinct sensations: first, a silky calmness like standing in a shower of silver mist; then, a troubling, dark mood; and finally, a steely determination that gripped her so fiercely she gasped. She reeled as she battled with three conflicting presences; it was as if she was attached to ropes pulling in different directions. Dr. Brock was swiftly at her side.
“What is it?” he asked with concern.
She couldn’t say anything—indeed, she needn’t say anything because six figures stepped out of the shadows into the firelight. First came an animal that Connie recognized immediately as a unicorn. It was larger than she had imagined. Powerful shoulders rippled with muscle; a gilded horn rose majestically from the center of its forehead; and a silver mane foamed down its neck, scintillating with reflected flame. An African woman, dressed in robes of bright orange and with intricately braided hair, paced beside it, her hand entwined with a lock of the unicorn’s mane as if she had just dismounted. Next into the circle of light came the most confusing creature that Connie had yet met. It looked like a great raven, the size of a man; as it lifted its wings, flashes of white light flickered forth accompanied by a deep rumbling. A tall, bronze-skinned man in a fringed suede jacket studded with blue stones strode beside the bird. His long black hair was streaked with white, and he had a string of red beads around his throat. Finally, a stocky, man-like creature stamped into the light, face shadowed by a hooded cloak; all Connie could spy in the folds of the cloak was a dark, craggy hand carrying a mallet. With his other arm, he supported his elderly companion, a frail man in a yellow sou’wester who reminded Connie of one of the old sailors found seated over their fishing rods on Hescombe quay, face wrinkled like a walnut.
Kinga, as the first to arrive, assumed the role of host and stepped forward to greet them.
“Welcome, friends,” she said, her sharp eyes glinting in the firelight, her smoke-gray hair coiled at the nape of her neck. “We meet on a great occasion for the Society—that is if what we all hope turns out to be true. Let us introduce ourselves to our guests and thank them for coming to meet us on such short notice.”
She turned to Dr. Brock, Connie, and Mr. Coddrington, signalling that the meeting was in session.
“The Trustees are assembled: for the Company of Reptiles and Sea Creatures stands Morjik, oldest of dragons, and myself, Kinga Potowska, Dragon Companion; for the Company of Winged Beasts stands Storm-Bird and Eagle-Child, his companion; for the two- and four-legged beasts and beings stands Windfoal, the greatest of unicorns, and her companion, Kira Okona; and for the creatures of the four elements, Gard, the rock dwarf, with Frederick Cony, Rock Dwarf Companion.”
The eight Trustees arranged themselves in pairs in a circle around the fire: north sat the dwarf with his companion, east Storm-Bird, south the dragon, and west the unicorn. The rain had eased off; the skies were clearing and one bright star shone through the fleeting clouds, glinting above the golden horn of the unicorn like a jewel on the pinnacle of a scepter. The atmosphere was charged with energy: the feelings Connie had experienced before still lingered, mingled with the fiery presence of the dragon. She was confused, struggling to control her instinct to reach out to each creature; she had never been in the presence of more than one species before and was in danger of being overwhelmed.
Dr. Brock said in a low voice: “You do not look well, Connie. Is something the matter?”
Connie tried to explain her confusion, but found her voice strangled in her throat; she felt suffocated with the flow of energy coming from the beasts—lashed with fire, drowning in a swirl of sensations.
Dr. Brock stepped forward into the circle. “Trustees, I must beg you not to send your thoughts out to the young girl. Four such powerful minds at once are more than a human can withstand.”
The four human companions looked at their creatures in wonder; none had been aware that their bond had been shared with another while they sat waiting. Then Connie felt a withdrawing of energy, like a tide creeping out, and she was able to think clearly again.
Mr. Coddrington had been watching her closely throughout this episode and chose this moment to step forward. His presence in the center of the circle of creatures seemed all wrong to Connie.
“Honorable Trustees, may I speak?” Kinga nodded. “This is what I found when I assessed the girl—confusion, chaos,” said Mr. Coddrington, spitting the words out disdainfully. “She may have unusual gifts but I stand by my judgement that they are unsettled, disorderly. It was as much for her own good as for that of the mythical creatures that I failed her. It is too late, perhaps, to eject her from the Society, now that she has seen so many of our secrets, but I would sincerely advise that her activities be restricted to one species only.”
Connie, standing beyond the pool of light, watched the Trustees anxiously: did they agree with the official? In her heart, she believed that she could control her response once she had trained herself to focus, but if Ivor Coddrington got his way she would never even be able to attempt this.
Kinga looked around the circle. “I know what Morjik and I think on this question, but perhaps others would like to speak?”
Eagle-Child held up his hand, the fringe of his jacket swaying gently in the breeze like prairie grass. “We would like to hear from Connie herself,” he said quietly.
The dragon companion beckoned Connie forward. “Welcome, child, to our meeting. We know that it may be difficult for you to speak up before strangers, but if you have the courage, tell us what you wish to happen to you.”
A harsh, deep voice—that of the rock dwarf—butted in from the northerly point of the circle. “One doubt need not concern you: there is no question in our minds that you have the universal gift—raw and untried though it is.”
Finding her knees were shaking, Connie stepped forward nervously. She moved to the center of the circle, displacing Mr. Coddrington, searching instinctively for the point where the energy emanating from all four creatures was held in balance. She found it and stood still, and immediately no longer felt exposed and alone, but connected to the creatures, like the hub at the center of a wheel. As if sensing a call, Morjik lifted his snout, releasing a tongue of fire; Windfoal whinnied; Storm-Bird’s wings fluttered, flashing with needle-sharp points of white light; and Gard thumped the ground with his mallet so that it rang like a deep bell.
“I would like to develop my gift, if I may. I am sure...at least I think...I can learn to control it—settle it,” she added with a glance at Mr. Coddrington.
“She is right,” came a penetrating growl. Connie wondered for a moment who had spoken, until she realized the voice had come from Morjik. The others seemed equally surprised that he had intervened, speech being a rare commodity among dragons.
Kira Okona added her voice to the debate, her soft voice like the scent of sweet melted chocolate rolling ac
ross the space between them. “Windfoal and I are content for Connie to try. No one finds their gift fully formed; each of us has to learn to use it; her task is similar, though greater in complexity.”
A loud croak from Storm-Bird and Eagle-Child said: “Let the chick learn to fly—don’t tie her to the branch.”
“Then it is agreed,” declared Kinga. “We thank Mr. Coddrington for his concern for the well-being of the Society, but in this case we believe caution is the wrong choice. Connie’s membership in the Society for the Protection of Mythical Creatures is confirmed; the result of her previous assessment is set aside. We judge that her calling is that of a universal. She should begin her training at once.”
Connie felt a glow of pleasure inside her. She hadn’t realized until she heard those words quite how much membership in the Society had come to mean to her. And to hear that the sirens had been right—that she was a universal—was perhaps the best of all. It sounded like such an amazing gift! Dr. Brock came forward to shake her by the hand, clearly delighted; Ivor Coddrington sloped off into the shadows, muttering that he would return to his car. No one paid much attention to his grudging departure as the unicorn neighed and shook her mane, scattering silver sparks.
“Windfoal wishes to meet Connie,” said Kira. “She wants to learn what is in Connie’s heart.”
“What do I do?” Connie asked Kira as Dr. Brock pushed her gently forward.
“Just wait: you’ll know,” said Kira with an easy smile. The unicorn trotted over and came to a halt, towering above Connie. She could smell the beast’s sweet breath and found herself looking up into eyes as black as the night. Windfoal bowed her neck to the girl’s level, enveloping her in her spice-scented mane. Cautiously, Connie raised her hand to the unicorn’s nose and leaned her forehead against the animal’s velvet cheek, whispering her name softly in Windfoal’s ear. A calm mood stole over her, this time no longer fighting with other sensations. Connie was filled with peace as she slipped into the warm bath of the unicorn’s gentle nature, and her eyelids grew heavy.
Kira spoke to the others: “Windfoal reminds us that Connie is yet a child—she needs sleep. We have more things to discuss here tonight, but let Connie rest now. Later, Windfoal will carry her to save her the long walk back.”
“Yes, when we have completed our business here,” said Kinga, “Morjik and I will take Francis as near as we dare go to the road.”
Lying beside the unicorn, Connie was only vaguely aware of the conversation being conducted over her head. She knew that her name was frequently mentioned—and that of the creature Kullervo—but there was something so intoxicating about the sleep sent by Windfoal that these now seemed of little matter to her. All she wanted to do was curl up on a blanket provided by Eagle-Child and drift off into dreams filled with sunlit streams, lush meadows, and the sound of laughter.
11
Mags
Connie had only a vague memory of the journey home as she was gently lifted from Windfoal’s back into the sidecar. She awoke the next morning in her own bedroom and lay for a moment watching the dust motes swirling in the shaft of light coming through the curtains. The sprightly voice of Signor Antonelli floated up into the air like bobbing helium balloons released into the sky in celebration. “Nessun dorma!” he sang beneath her window. “Nessun dorma! Tu pure, o Principessa...” Fully awake now, Connie asked herself if last night had been a dream. Had she really ridden a unicorn and met three other extraordinary creatures? The trip to Dartmoor had been real enough because there, on the chair, lay her muddy clothes. She remembered Evelyn helping her out of them late last night when she had stumbled into bed.
A trashcan lid at Number Four banged discordantly.
“Shut up!” yelled Mr. Lucas. “Who do you think you are: Pavarotti?”
Signor Antonelli evidently considered the suggestion to be on target for he held his concluding note defiantly. When he finished, Connie mentally applauded him—the song was just right for her delicious mood of content.
Stretching, enjoying the warmth of her duvet, Connie suddenly recalled the most important thing that had been said: her gift had been confirmed. She must tell her aunt. Throwing back the covers, she scrambled into some clean clothes and dashed downstairs. Her aunt was waiting for her in the kitchen and astonished her by folding her into a tight hug.
“Dr. Brock told me!” Evelyn exclaimed, her voice quivering with emotion. “A universal companion—in my own family! I am so, so proud.”
Connie pulled away to see that Evelyn had tears in her eyes. She had known from Dr. Brock that her gift was special, but witnessing her aunt’s reaction drove home the magnitude of what had happened to her.
“We’d given up hope, you see,” Evelyn continued. “Thought that the mythical world was failing. But you are a sign that it’s not too late.”
Connie, only having just woken up, found the news that so much was expected of her rather daunting. “But I don’t know what I can do to change things,” she said.
“Of course not,” said Evelyn a little aggressively. “But we all have to do something to save our companion creatures. When I think of how we have driven many animals and habitats to the edge of extinction—and even over the edge—well, it makes my blood boil!” Connie saw anger flash in her aunt’s green eyes.
“But now, with you to help us, we can begin to set things right. And maybe there will be other universal companions again. Let us take it as a good sign and stick to that hope,” she concluded, twirling Connie around at arm’s length, making the kitchen spin faster and faster. Connie shrieked, laughing at her aunt’s mood. Evelyn released her hands and Connie flew away, dizzily staggering into Signor Antonelli, who entered the kitchen from the garden at that moment.
“Tranquillamente!” He smiled at her as he caught her. “We must take care ov da universale, no?”
When Col answered the door, he found Connie standing on the doorstep, her face radiant with excitement.
“How’d it go yesterday?” he asked. “Did they accept you as a companion to sirens?”
“Can I come in? I’ve so much to tell you,” she said. She was eager to break the news, convinced Col would understand how amazing it was. He would surely be pleased that she would now even be able to share his delight in the pegasi?
“Of course,” he replied, stepping aside to let her pass. “Gran’s at church but she’ll want to hear all about it, too, when she gets back. Come into the garden. In fact, it’s high time you met my horse.”
Col led the way into the garden, wondering why Connie had not given him an answer. She looked so happy: surely they must have accepted her?
The garden was full of late flowers—the memory of summer had not yet faded here, creating a haven for bees and butterflies. Dragonflies danced over a pond, flashes of blue perfectly mirrored in the surface beneath. Connie was enchanted by the waterlilies floating serenely on the pool, their cup-like buds the color of buttermilk. Everything seemed especially beautiful and significant to Connie this morning. Her ears caught the sound of the bulrushes whispering in the breeze, and the tinkling music of a fountain playing in the sunlight. She would have lingered, but Col had not brought her this way to show her his grandmother’s handiwork. He led her to a little stream that ran down the boundary at the far end. Col jumped over with Connie following, and they continued on into the allotments that lay beyond. There amongst the rows of beans was one allotment that had been fenced off to make a paddock. Awaiting their approach was a handsome chestnut horse.
“This is Mags,” said Col proudly, swinging himself over the fence. “Don’t be fooled by his sweet look—he can bite.”
Mags trotted meekly over to Col and nibbled him on the ear. Col dug in his pocket and pulled out a packet of treats. He liked to show off his unique relationship with his horse to his friends. He had always considered that it marked him out as being special as it had been the sign of his bond with the pegasi—a calling that, since his encounter, Col was convinced left all oth
er companionships in the dust.
“His favorite,” he said, holding out one for the horse to eat. “But I have to ration them very strictly or he’d have the whole packet off me.”
Connie climbed into the paddock and held out her hand. Mags immediately left Col and the mints to come to her side. She laid her hand on his neck and whispered a greeting in his ear. Watching this performance, Col was torn by conflicting feelings of surprise and jealousy. Mags had never shown any affection to anyone else in Col’s presence—so strong was their bond—but here he was nuzzling Connie as if she was an old friend. What was going on?
“So did the Trustees accept you?” Col broke into Connie and Mags’s private conversation a little roughly, reasserting his seniority in matters regarding the Society.
Connie turned to him, her face lit with excitement. The moment had come to tell him. “Yes, they did: they set aside the failed assessment. And I can begin my training.”
“That’s great,” Col said, coming to lay claim to Mags by taking his halter.
“But I’ve more news for you, Col. They told me something else: they told me that I’m a universal companion. That’s what the sirens said, but the Trustees confirmed it.”
Col choked with surprise. “A what?”
“A universal companion, you know: someone who can bond with any—”
“I know what it means,” he said curtly. “And you’re one of them?”
“The only one at the moment.”
Col knew he should be marveling at this astounding news, knew he should be pleased and proud for Connie, but instead he felt jealous. All his expectations had been rudely reversed. He was the leading youth member of the Chartmouth Chapter, not her. A wave of jealousy swept over him and, without thinking, he hit on the first thing he could think of to hold against her.
“And why didn’t you tell me this before? I thought we were friends.”
Secret of the Sirens Page 13