Secret of the Sirens

by Julia Golding

  No, they’ll be expecting us to try something like that. Look, I don’t have time to explain—just feel it with me.

  A pulse ran down the link between Col and Skylark as the creature probed his companion. He saw the plan laid out in Col’s mind like a chess problem. He understood.

  A little risky, human! Skylark exclaimed, but he gave his mane a twitch of pleasurable anticipation. Col knew that his mount was as keen, if not keener, on risk than he was.

  He who dares, wins, Col replied with a grin, urging Skylark forward.

  Rain streamed down, forcing its way through the protection of the trees so that Col and Skylark were soon soaked through. Far away a whistle blew. Immediately, there was a great crack as branches gave way before the passage of some missile, followed by a dull thud twenty feet from their position. Half buried in the forest floor was a hailstone the size of a soccer ball.

  “Non-lethal means, huh?” Col swore. If that had struck them, they were unlikely to have lived to complain to their mentors. The game had suddenly assumed a very ugly seriousness: they could both get killed if they were not careful.

  He’s trying to unnerve us—scare us out of hiding. Skylark neighed, beginning to panic. He knows we have to leave tree-cover before I can fly—he wants to force us out before the cloud-vapor becomes too thick!

  Col had no time to agree before another two hailstones crashed into trees close by. Skylark reared.

  Let’s stick to our plan, said Col, clinging on as he tried to soothe his jittery mount. Pulling himself together, Skylark stopped trying to throw his companion. As one, the pegasus and rider moved forward, not toward the farmhouse, or even in the opposite direction as Skylark had first suggested. They headed for the source of the missiles.

  The cloud-fog grew thicker as they progressed, snaking around the tree trunks. Above, the branches creaked in protest as a strong wind bent them into submission. Col could not be sure when they reached the fringe of the plantation, no longer seeing more than a few feet in front of him. This was perhaps the most risky moment in his plan—he had to hope his sense of direction was as good as he thought.

  “Come on, come on, throw another one!” he muttered, straining to look up.

  A rapid succession of heavy thuds some way behind them told him that a salvo of hail had fallen into the trees, but it had passed too high for him to tell exactly which direction it had come from. He began to think his plan was going to fail. Surely one of these lethal missiles would find them if they didn’t do something quickly? He wondered if they should not just make a dash for it. He could tell Skylark was struggling to contain his fear, and Col was beginning to catch a sense of panic himself. But then a streak of light shot across the sky, disappearing with a hiss into the trees.

  That’s it! Col slapped Skylark on the shoulder with delight. We’ve got him!

  He must be really mad at us if he has started on lightning bolts, commented Skylark with a joyous whinny, relieved now that the waiting was over. Col did not reply: he was too busy calculating the distance to allow himself to relax his concentration from the task ahead.

  Right—let’s go. Remember, stay on the ground—do not fly.

  Skylark gave a shiver of distaste: he did not like the indignity of acting like his landlocked brethren, but he followed Col’s orders nonetheless. He broke into a canter over the rough ground, alert to every slight course adjustment from Col. He galloped directly into the teeth of the wind, his mane whipped back, slick with rain. Thirty feet and they began to see what they were looking for: standing in the mist before them were two huge pillars of denser cloud, great thick trunks the color of iron. But these were not trees: they were legs. Lost in the clouds above was the rest of the weather giant.

  As Col had planned, Skylark took off as soon as they spotted the giant and flew to hover at knee-height. Keeping close to the creature, the pegasus circled slowly and silently, watching for every change in direction the giant made, countering every buffet of wind with skill. It would be a disaster if they so much as brushed him with a wingtip; success depended on remaining undetected.

  Above them in the mist, Col could hear two raised voices—a high voice of a girl and the lower tones of a man. Shirley and her mentor must both be riding on the giant’s shoulder to give him instructions. That was not fair, Col thought bitterly. He wasn’t getting any help, so why should Shirley?

  “I can’t see them,” he heard Shirley say, shouting above the storm.

  “Here, give me those binoculars.” A pause. “No, they are nowhere to be seen. Probably still skulking in the trees.”

  “What should I do now? I’d like to wake them up a bit.”

  “Tell our friend to send a barrage—that should flush them out.” Col could hear the pleasure with which Mr. Coddrington gave this advice.

  “Oh, but isn’t that a little dangerous?” Shirley asked, but without sounding unduly worried by the idea.

  “Only a very slight risk. I’m sure they must at least be positioned on the edge of the plantation somewhere, waiting to make a break for it. We’ll startle them out like birds.”

  There was a moment’s quiet during which Col supposed Shirley was speaking to the giant, and then he saw a vast gray hand appear through the clouds above. Skylark had to dive sharply to his left to avoid colliding with the outstretched fingers. The giant took something from a scabbard on its thigh, and the hand disappeared into the fog above. The cloud was suddenly illuminated by white light as six or seven bolts whistled overhead, landing simultaneously with an almighty explosion. Shirley squealed. Col heard Captain Graves’s voice exclaiming:

  “I say, Coddrington, that’s completely out of order! What if you hit them?”

  “Don’t fuss, Graves,” shouted the assessor. “They’ll be all right.” He added reprovingly in a lower voice to Shirley, “That was a bit more than I anticipated, Miss Masterson.”

  “That wasn’t me!” she protested. “That was the giant’s idea. I just asked for a barrage like you said.” There was a pause as the two weather giant companions scanned the skies around them. “I still can’t see them!” Shirley said, a hint of petulance quivering in her voice. “Do you think they have slipped away already?”

  “I doubt very much they’re still in the trees after that display, Miss Masterson. Perhaps we should move from this position and head for the house. We can cut off all approaches from there, even if they have managed to circle behind us.”

  The giant began to move. It took all of Skylark’s skill at flying and Col’s talent for anticipating obstacles for them to avoid colliding with the legs. The creature headed across country, taking the quickest route to the farmhouse in the hope of preventing the elusive pegasus from reaching safety.

  Ready? Col gave Skylark warning. When I say the word, go for it!

  Voices had begun again overhead.

  “We could stay here,” Shirley called out. “We’re so near home, we’ll see them coming from any direction with no problem.”

  Oh no, you won’t, thought Col, with excitement coursing through his veins. Go!

  Skylark broke out of his spiral, heading for the dim shape of a building directly in front of them. They burst out of the ring of cloud into the weak sunlight and clattered down into the farmyard. As hooves touched concrete, a shriek overhead told them they had been spotted.

  “There they are!” Shirley was shouting. “I saw them before they landed—I really did, Mr. Coddrington!”

  A whistle blew twice, and Col looked up to see Captain Graves on Firewings gliding down to land. A great cloud mass rose above the roof of the house. Col could see the indistinct shape of a huge man, his lower limbs densely wrapped in cloud—no doubt because of all the weather he had been brewing. Rearing out of the vapor was the upper torso, reminding Col of the anvil-shaped storm clouds that bubble up in summer. Yet, the giant was more solid than that—a kind of distilled concentrate of cloud with great dark circles for eyes and a hollow mouth that was open in a howl of frustration, b
lowing the surrounding trees vigorously as the cry swept across the farmyard.

  “Well done, my boy!” Captain Graves exclaimed, jumping from Firewings’s back. “Unusual tactics but very effective.” He lowered his voice. “And as for their tactics—quite unsporting. I’ll be having words with them later.”

  A gray fist swept out of the sky to the ground, releasing two people from its grasp.

  “Shall we call it a draw, Michael?” Mr. Coddrington began speaking the moment his feet hit the earth. “Miss Masterson spotted them before they landed—that would have been fatal to the mission in a real-life situation.” Shirley nodded, giving Captain Graves an apologetic smile. Col seethed at the injustice of this suggestion, but fortunately Captain Graves was not to be swayed by smiles.

  “Really, Ivor, I think this round belongs to Col and Skylark. Their performance was outstanding, totally outfoxing even an old hand like yourself.”

  “I don’t know about ‘totally outfoxing’ as you put it,” replied Mr. Coddrington tersely. “As I explained, I was only on hand in case Miss Masterson ran into difficulties. It was her they were up against.”

  “Oh yeah?” muttered Col to Skylark. They knew better.

  “In that case, I hope you will mention to her that such dangerous gambits as blasting apart half a forest are not approved under the rules of the game. No, I’m sorry but I am firmly of the opinion that this one goes to the pegasus and rider. Miss Masterson will no doubt get her chance for revenge at the next match.”

  “Don’t worry, I will,” she said bitterly, giving Col a spiteful look.

  Col and Skylark followed Captain Graves and Firewings as they marched out of the farmyard, heading for the stables. Glancing back, Col saw the weather giant was dispersing in a swirl of mist-like clouds blown away by a stiff wind. Left in the yard, Mr. Coddrington and Shirley were talking, heads close together, looking thoroughly unhappy with the verdict. Col had known Shirley for several years through the Society, but it was only today that he realized quite how ruthlessly competitive she was. And as for the weather giant, it had shown itself quite capable of turning the full force of its armory of weather weapons against others when given an opportunity; he and Skylark would have to watch their step next time they played against that creature.

  13

  Dragon

  When Eagle-Child and Connie arrived back at the farmhouse, they found Mr. Masterson, shotgun slung casually over his shoulder, on the lookout for the universal. Connie was beginning to feel like a package being handed around. No one seemed to leave her alone for a minute. A few quiet moments to absorb what she had learned would have been very welcome just now, but that did not appear to be an option. She was looking forward to the time when the excitement about her celebrity status would calm down and life would return to normal.

  “Ah, Connie! We’ve not been introduced, but I’ve heard all about you,” he said gruffly, steering her firmly in the direction of the house. “Come and meet my daughter—have some tea.”

  Connie glanced up at Eagle-Child but found that he was already disappearing back to the wooded valley.

  “Don’t mind him,” said Mr. Masterson, following her gaze. “So far he’s refused all hospitality. Camps out in the woods, you know. Nothing but a bit of canvas between him and the stars.” This clearly bemused Mr. Masterson, whose corpulent frame gave every indication he enjoyed his creature comforts. “Come on in. Shirley’s already got some other friends over to tea. They all want to meet the universal companion.”

  Connie would have preferred to slip away with Eagle-Child, but there was no prospect of wriggling free. Frogmarched into the kitchen, she looked more like a prisoner under arrest than a guest for tea.

  Shirley Masterson, her pale blonde hair gleaming in the firelight, was presiding over a table laden with sandwiches, cakes, and scones. An older girl with auburn hair and a scattering of freckles sat at her right, and a familiar touslehaired boy on her left.

  “Here she is,” blustered Mr. Masterson, “told you I would round her up for you. I’ll leave you young folk together.” He stamped out, whistling for his sheepdog as he went.

  “Take a seat, Connie,” said Shirley softly. “Col, you know...” Col nodded slightly, not meeting her eyes. “And this is Jessica.”

  “Jessica Moss,” added the girl in a clear voice. “Companion to Selkies; in Sea Snakes, of course.”

  “Sea Snakes? Selkies?” asked Connie, sliding on to the bench beside Jessica rather than taking the chair next to Col. She felt the now familiar tingling of being among Society members and realized for the first time that each one had their own energy, like a different musical key.

  “Boy, you are green, aren’t you!” Jessica exclaimed, but in a friendly tone. “Col said you didn’t know much about us.” Col was now looking out the window as if he was not listening to the conversation. “Sea Snakes—that’s the Company of Reptiles and Sea Creatures. I bet you don’t know what we call the others either, do you?” Connie shook her head. “Well, there’s High Flyers—winged creatures, of course—and Two-Fours—two- and four-legged creatures—and Elementals—that’s sort of obvious. We use these names as shorthand.”

  “And selkies?”

  “Ah, now, you must meet some if you don’t know what they are,” Jessica said eagerly, thrusting a plate of cakes at Connie. “They’re simply the best! Selkies are seals in water, people on land—one of the changeling species.”

  Connie was intrigued. “Will you introduce me sometime?” she asked, taking a scone and buttering it. Her encounter with Storm-Bird had left her feeling ravenous, as if she had burned up a lot of energy as well as frazzling a bush.

  Jessica looked proud. “Of course—though, I should warn you, I’ve only just begun my own Orpheus program with my mentor, Horace Little. I don’t know much yet.”

  “Better change the subject, Connie,” broke in Shirley in her sweet-toned but assertive voice, offering her a silver bowl of jam, “or we’ll be here all night talking about selkies. Anyway, I can tell you all you need to know about them—they’re all fish and flippers.” Jessica laughed politely, not letting herself be offended by Shirley.

  “And what’s your companion species, Shirley?” Connie asked, realizing that this was the etiquette of the Society. She took a big spoonful of strawberry jam and spread it thickly on her scone as she listened to the answer.

  “Weather giants—particularly storm giants,” Shirley said.

  “She’ll tell you next,” said Jessica, nudging Connie, “that companions to weather giants are very rare, whereas companions to selkies and pegasi are common.”

  “So there aren’t very many of you?” Connie asked.

  “No,” said Shirley smugly.

  “But not as rare as universal companions,” Col interjected. Connie could not tell if this was meant to be a conciliatory gesture to her, or an attempt to take the wind out of Shirley’s sails. Possibly both.

  “Of course not,” Shirley retorted, “we all know that.” Anger crackled in the air between the two of them.

  Uncertain how to defuse the tension, Connie tried to change the subject. “And who’s your mentor?”

  “A Mr. Coddrington—from the Society’s headquarters in London,” Shirley said with a mirthless smile. Connie shuddered, remembering that she had last seen that smile on Mr. Coddrington’s face. She wondered if his charge was beginning to adopt his ways, or whether Shirley had always been like this. “He’s fantastic—so unlike all the old members around here. He really understands what it’s like to wield power through our companion creatures. It’s a bit like being a god, he told me, and he’s right.” Shirley laughed, but Connie didn’t find the idea the least bit funny. Shirley seemed a bit too much in love with the idea of all that power for her taste.

  Jessica coughed. Connie guessed Jessica didn’t like the weather giant companion’s arrogance any more than she did. “It’s great to have you with us, Connie,” said Jessica brightly, changing the subject as she made a
grab for a plate of tuna fish sandwiches in front of her. “It will really be something for our branch of the Society to have the only universal! Just think what they’ll all say at the Tintagel gathering!”

  “Tintagel?”

  “The Society’s annual get-together in November, on bonfire night,” Jessica explained. “It’s a really big thing. It’s by the sea this year—thank goodness. We Sea Snakes so often get a poor deal when they go and arrange meetings in the middle of moors or up mountains. We’ll all be going; it’s always great fun. You’ll be able to meet my companion, Arran. In fact, why don’t we get together sometime soon and go for a swim? Then you’ll know more of us before you get to Tintagel. It’ll make it less daunting.”

  “Daunting?”

  “Come on, Connie: the first universal of the millennium! You can hardly expect to slip in unnoticed!”

  “I s’pose not,” said Connie glumly. Naturally shy, she did not enjoy all this fame.

  “So, will you come for a swim?”

  “Yes, I’d like that,” said Connie, cheering up at the idea of seeing a selkie. “But I’m a terrible swimmer.”

  “That doesn’t matter—as you’ll find out,” said Jessica, as she licked tuna fish off her fingers with almost seal-like appreciation.

  Evelyn was due to collect both Col and Connie, which meant they had to wait together on the Mastersons’ porch. Suddenly Connie was tired of fighting with Col. She tried to make conversation.

  “Jessica’s very nice, isn’t she?”

  “Hmm.” Col was thinking about the weather—and what it had nearly done to him today.

  Discouraged, Connie watched rain dash itself against the path, wondering if she should try again.

  “How was your training? Riding a pegasus must be incredible!”

  “Fine.” He did not want to start explaining all that had happened during his training session, not at the moment anyway. He was still shaken by the realization that Shirley could have killed him as she played at being god with Mr. Coddrington.