Authors: Marita Conlon-Mckenna
In Deep Dark Wood (11 page)
I
n desperation, Rory searched everywhere for Conrad. He prayed that his friend had not been attacked or injured by the ferocious wolves. But there was no sign of him anywhere.
Retrieving his backpack, which bore the marks of wolf fangs, Rory studied the crumpled map. He knew he had to resume his journey. He decided to head north, in the direction of the lake – from the map it seemed that there was a castle close by. Mia was there, he could sense it!
About midday the next day, Conrad appeared out of nowhere, startling him. He looked pale and wretched, his face cut and bruised and he moved slowly, as if he had torn a muscle.
‘I thought the wolves had got you!’ Rory breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Where were you? I searched everywhere. I thought you were dead.’
Conrad pointed to a deep cut on the side of his head and a purple bruise. ‘I tried to get up in the tree after you, but when
I saw the wolves’ eyes coming closer and closer, I panicked kept running! I must have slipped and fallen because when I woke up, I’d rolled to the bottom of a river bank. By the time I got back you’d gone, so I tracked you.’
‘Are you okay?’
‘I’ll live, don’t worry!’
‘By the way, thanks, Conrad.’
‘That’s okay, too!’
Over the next day or two they walked slowly, both of them tired, chatting along the way. Rory tried to explain the Internet and CD Rom to his bewildered companion. They nearly came to blows when Rory told him about his father’s mobile phone and their television and video player.
‘You’re a liar!’ jeered Conrad.
They were both incredulous at the amazing things in each other’s worlds.
The terrain changed and they seemed to be climbing slightly. They had no bread or meat left, and their stomachs grumbled with constant hunger. They sat down to eat the last of their food, the large, dried-out oatcakes that the giants had given him. They were over-spiced for the boys’ tastes, but they were glad enough of them.
Above them, the cawing of angry rooks filled the air and, looking up, the boys noticed large rookeries in the trees. They watched as hundreds of rooks covered the trees around them. Then, from afar, came the rustling of wings and a cloak of jet black crows swept towards the boys. Plump wood pigeons came next, cooing menacingly as they landed on the mossy
earth beside them. Rory had never seen so many birds all together.
Conrad munched thoughtfully. ‘Rory!’ he said finally. ‘I don’t want you to be afraid, but I fear there are strong forces at work in these woods. I think those birds are getting ready to attack us.’
Rory looked up, scared.
‘Now, don’t move. It’s not like the wolves. There’s nowhere for us to take cover from them.’
Rory looked at his friend. What did he want him to do? Expect him to do? The birds reminded him of Bella, and he was convinced that she had sent them!
Neither the boys nor the birds moved at first, both aware of each other. Then, a screeching magpie launched the attack, flying into Conrad’s face. More magpies followed, all swooping and diving at the boys, who threw their arms over their heads in an effort to protect themselves.
‘Grab a stick!’ gasped Conrad, as a swirling mass of black crows descended on them. Rory waved the narrow branch, and screamed loudly as he whacked it at the birds. He passed a branch to Conrad. Birds covered his friend’s clothes and pecked at his black hair. The skin on Rory’s arms was already torn and bleeding as he hit out uselessly at their enemies. Pulling an arrow from the leather holder, Rory plunged it into the birds that were attacking Conrad, jabbing at the mass of feathers and darting heads. But he knew that a few arrows and a bit of wood were not going to be enough to drive the birds away.
Conrad kicked and fought frantically, but the birds forced him on to the ground. Rory stabbed again and again as flapping pigeons pecked at his chest and throat. Conrad’s body lay covered from top to toe with birds, fluttering and rustling all over him.
They’re killing him, thought Rory, tears running down his face.
A sound of heavy, rushing wings filled the darkening sky above them. More birds, thought Rory. The crows and rooks and magpies and myriad other birds took no notice – they were too intent on attacking the boys. This time, enormous wings sent a gusting breeze towards them.
Rory looked up to see a large black and gold dragon! It was only a few feet from where they were. Seeming to ignore them, the powerful creature swung its heavy tail and body in the direction of the birds, sniffing the air excitedly. The rooks and crows took to the air, cawing furiously. The wood pigeons were too slow to move and the dragon scooped a lot of them into its mouth. The dragon turned its head and, opening its jaws, blew a scorching, flaming breath in the general direction of the rising birds. A cacophony of noise and sounds seared through the forest, a blackthorn tree burst into flames as the dragon resumed its flight. The terrified birds scattered in every direction.
‘Where did that come from?’ gasped Rory with relief.
Conrad lay totally still on the ground. Frightened, Rory rushed over to check him, rolling him on to his back. Conrad’s eyes were closed, and he seemed to be in some kind of a deep
trance. Bruises and scratches covered his arms and hands. His skin felt cold and clammy.
‘Conrad, wake up! They’re gone, the birds are gone!’
‘So the enemy is vanquished,’ murmured Conrad, beads of sweat clinging to his brow.
‘Yeah! The birds are gone.’
‘Let me rest, Rory. I’m drained from using so much energy. I need to rest.’
Immense relief coursed through Rory’s veins and he began to shake with delayed shock. Imagine, a dragon had saved them! It was the most incredible thing he’d ever seen. He gave Conrad a few sips of water and poured the rest over his injured hands.
‘I’m going to get us some more water, Conrad,’ he said, ‘so don’t move till I get back.’
A few hundred yards away, he found a stream of icy cold water. Filling the two water flasks, he splashed the water on to his own bites and cuts.
It was when he stood up to turn back that he noticed it, the stone turret of a castle, peeping through a gap in the trees, less than a day’s walk away.
‘Conrad!’ he shouted, running back. ‘We’re nearly there. I can see the castle!’
A
t night, in the privacy of her room, Mia studied the Olde Magick book in secret. The writing was curved and looped, the language ancient and difficult to decipher, yet somehow Mia sensed it was important that she master some of the
lessons
it contained. It had been written for young wizards and witches, and contained lessons and spells about all sorts of things: how to turn a rusty pot copper again and make it shine; how to make a barking dog quiet; how to make a fish jump into a net; and deeper magic, like how to shape-change. For this it the book advised starting small, by changing oneself or
someone
else into a toad or a mouse or small kitten! Luckily it also gave instructions as to how to reverse the process.
One night Mia tried to change herself into a kitten, but succeeded only in developing a few whiskers and two pointy, black ears, before nervously reversing the spell. The spells to become invisible, or to change straw to gold, or rain to
sunshine, were far too complicated.
‘Magnificent!’ cried Bella, as Arznel looped so high in the sky that he appeared to touch the sun. Then, with a twist of his tail, he turned gracefully and landed noiselessly back beside the old woman in the middle of the courtyard. ‘Well done!’ she said, patting him. ‘You are the finest of my dragons!’
Arznel tossed his head proudly. Mia leant forward and scratched him behind his ears. He always liked that. The other dragons jostled around her for attention too. Mia pulled out bacon rinds from her pocket, which she knew they loved.
‘You have them spoiled, child, no wonder they adore you!’ chided Bella gently.
The young dragons were all flying well. Oro was the most adventurous, showing off his air acrobatics. Even Dink, the clumsy one, had mastered the art of landing smoothly. Mia was proud of them all. But to her, Trig was still the finest of the dragons. His thoughts connected to hers. He was agile and quick, and by far the most intelligent. She couldn’t wait for the day that Trig would fly with the others.
Bella had begun to let the dragons hunt, encouraging them to catch the odd bird or small animal that they spotted from the sky. The dragons thrived on the sport.
‘I know you don’t like it, Mia, but the dragons have to be able to catch prey to survive. It’s part of their training.’
‘What’ll happen to them when they’re fully trained?’ asked Mia. ‘Will you release them into the woods?’
Bella shook her head. ‘Many years ago, when I was a girl, the woods below were filled with dragons. But they were hunted down and killed. Armies of soldiers and knights were sent out from many kingdoms to rid the world of their dangerous presence. Dragons’ teeth, scales and claws became valuable trophies for silly men to ride home with. They were smoked out from their caves and secret places, and the rivers ran red with dragons’ blood as they were slaughtered. You see, humans were afraid of dragons, they could not understand them or recognise their beauty. Unfortunately, what humans do not understand, they destroy. No, the dragons are far safer here with me, child.’
‘But what will happen to them?’
‘They will grow big and learn to fight and defend themselves. In time they will breed and have young of their own, and you will watch them grow and learn, Mia. It’s our job to ensure the survival of these precious dragons and the return of deep magic to the woods and fields of Arbor. You must realise by now, Mia, that the power of a true mage and dragon keeper entails great responsibility.’
Of late the old woman was often tired and took a nap or retired early in the evening. Mia grabbed every opportunity she could to search the castle in the hope of finding the flying coat, trying to imagine where the old sorceress might have hidden it. She realised that Bella had absolutely no intention of letting her return home. At night, in her room, she cried, Trig licking her tears away. Great waves of homesickness and loneliness washed over her as she thought of her mother and
the family she would probably never see again.
‘The child is looking peaky, moping around the place!’ Bella remarked. Take her to the village with you, Gwenda, but mind you don’t let her out of your sight.’
‘You can help me with the provisions,’ offered Gwenda kindly, giving Mia a willow basket to carry. Mia couldn’t mask her delight at having a few hours’ break from the castle and the old woman.
‘’Tis a fair walk, Mia, but the day is fine and we have many errands,’ smiled Gwenda, as they trudged along companionably over hilly countryside towards a place called Dwarf Vale.
‘I grew up in these parts,’ said Gwenda, her blue eyes sparkling with pride. ‘There’s Morgan’s field – they say that the soil there is so rich and fertile that no matter what Farmer Morgan grows, it is twice the size and twice the flavour of anybody else’s. Let’s see what fresh produce he can sell us today.’
A neat, white farmhouse nestled close to a winding river surrounded by lush farmland spreading in all directions. Fields of cabbages and carrots and giant runner beans, and row after row of onions encircled the house. In a nearby field, a small, stout dwarf farmer was bent over at his work, a batt- ered straw hat protecting his head from the sun’s glare. Seeing them, he came over and began to walk them up and down between the abundant rows of his latest crops. Gwenda touched the plants,
checking them carefully. Mia watched as the farmer lifted cabbage heads and bunches of carrots and placed them in Gwenda’s basket, at the same time picking a seed from one of the many pockets in his smock coat and pushing it back into the very spot from which he had just lifted the plant.
Mia gazed in amazement – before her eyes a tiny, green shoot appeared instantly as a new plant began to grow!
‘I will deliver the rest of the things you want to the castle tomorrow if that suits, Gwenda,’ promised the farmer.
Bidding goodbye and thanks, Gwenda marched briskly on to the next farm. Hens and geese and ducks all scrabbled for their attention as they crossed the farmyard where pretty twin sisters were busy feeding the poultry.
‘One hundred eggs of various types and sizes,’ ordered Gwenda.
One hundred! Mia couldn’t believe it. Her jaw dropped and her eyes opened wide with surprise.
‘Are you fly-catching?’ joked Gwenda. ‘They’re for the dragons, who are more than partial to eggs. Next is the rat farm.’
‘Rat farm!’
Gwenda’s plump face broke into a wide smile when she saw the look of disgust and fear in Mia’s eyes. ‘’Tis only another farm, my girl!’
Mia was terrified as they followed the curve of the road and saw the rusty gateway and the carved sign above it: Rowancroft’s Rat Farm. Beyond that was a ramshackle farm with a collection of broken-down outbuildings.
‘This is my cousin’s place,’ declared Gwenda. ‘It’s gone to rack and ruin but he’s hoping that business will improve now with the return of the dragons.’
Shivers ran down Mia’s spine when she saw the seething mass of black and brown rats collected in low pits and fenced-in areas. They were squirming and wriggling and frantic, all trying to escape. She sat herself up on a stone post, well away from them.
‘They’re farmed rats, Mia. How many of those do you think it takes to feed a young dragon?’ asked Gwenda, matter-of-factly.
Mia felt queasy even thinking about it and decided that this was one aspect of dragons that she’d prefer not to know about. She watched silently as Gwenda and her cousin discussed business.
Dwarf Vale itself was a collection of small dwellings and shops built into the shelter of a copse of low trees. Smoke curled from the chimneys and children ran about playing hide-and-seek. A group of stout dwarf women chatted together as they queued outside a provisions store. Gwenda and Mia joined them. Once inside the store, Gwenda bought flour, tea, butter, ginger and marmalade. The other customers all stared at Mia in curiosity. At the butchers, pork, two chickens and a joint of lamb were added to their baskets. Their final call was to the workshop of a candlemaker. Mia watched with fascination as Bernard Rathbone, an elf with a mop of grey hair, poured boiling-hot wax into long trays of narrow moulds, then trimmed the wicks. The heavy smell of tallow filled the
air as the candlemaker read Gwenda’s order and slipped it silently into his top pocket.
‘Who is this strange little thing you have with you, Gwenda? She’s not dwarf or elf, is she?’
‘She’s Bella’s apprentice,’ explained Gwenda.
‘And how do you find the castle, young apprentice?’
Mia didn’t know what to say. The candlemaker’s eyes were brown, flecked with orange, and she felt like he could see right inside her soul.
‘It’s dark!’ blurted out Mia.
The candlemaker threw back his head and laughed. Taking an armful of candles from a stand behind him, he filled her basket with them, layering them in sizes.
‘Well, we can’t have anyone afraid of the dark, now, can we?’
The candlemaker searched along one or two shelves and then called Mia over and handed her a small, cream coloured candle. She was about to put it in the basket with the rest of them when he grabbed hold of her wrist.
‘This candle is for you, young apprentice!’ he whispered. ‘Keep it on you. You may have need of it someday.’
Curious, and slightly bewildered, Mia thanked him, hiding the candle in a roomy pocket in her skirt, the candlemaker’s long, narrow face remaining expressionless as he began to melt another batch of foul-smelling animal grease and fat to make more candles.
All the way back to the castle, Mia wondered about what the candlemaker had said: what could it mean?