The Stones of Ravenglass (17 page)

‘Yes!’ cried Wyngate. ‘And if the conquerors come, they’ll think there’s an army here.’

‘They’ll send for reinforcements,’ Thorkil objected. ‘And then what hope would we have of keeping our new home?’ He looked at the mound of rubble, and added, ‘Such as it is.’

‘Then I’ll bring a storm,’ said Timoken.

They stared at him for a moment, disbelieving, and Thorkil said, with a half-smile, ‘I bet it will be a mighty storm at that.’

Eri got up from the couch. ‘I need the girls,’ he said. ‘All of them; to find meadowsweet and gorse, rowanberries, willow herb, ground elder, flowering nettles, dame’s violet . . . come on!’ He began to climb the tumble of stones; Sila followed him, then Esga. The two other girls, Azura and Aldwith, looked at each other and then at Elfrieda.

‘You heard the wizard,’ said Elfrieda. ‘Let’s go. We can find breakfast on the way.’

This seemed to cheer them up and they eagerly climbed after her.

When Eri and the girls had gone, Timoken led the boys on to the roof. It would be dangerous work, he realised, looking at the mounds of large red stones. At any moment, a pile of them might drop through the roof, taking one of the boys with them. If only his spirit ancestors were there to help, but Timoken wasn’t sure how to call them, or even if they would do what he asked.

‘Watch your feet,’ he warned as he began to heave a stone off the top of a pile.

It was hard work. The Ravenglass stones were heavy and difficult to manoeuvre into place. But by midday, they had built a wall of stones facing east where the soldiers had come from. The wall ran the whole length of the castle that lay beneath. As they sat back, rubbing their aching hands, a delicious smell of cooking wafted up to them.

Eri emerged from the trees and looked up at the rough wall that rose out of the rubble.

‘Well done,’ he called. ‘Enid has brought you a meal.’

They scrambled down and stuffed the cooked fish into their mouths, careless of the bones, and almost choking on the skin. Enid had brought four fish today. Eri was proud of her. He kept his eye on everyone, just to make sure they all had their fair share.

After their meal, the boys had strength only to build another half of a wall. Timoken chose the south side, above the entrance with its great, carved doors, now hidden in the rubble. Snatches of Eri’s chanting carried up to them on a wind that was freshening every minute, as the sun began its slow descent.

The girls returned with fingers stained by leaves and flower stems. Eri carried a large bundle of herbs, bound together with ivy. After another meal of fish-bone soup, they clambered, shivering, into the golden room, and there Timoken sat and patiently multiplied Sila’s hare-skin blanket. By the time he had finished, some of the children were already asleep. The wizard helped Timoken to cover them, and then climbed onto the couch and began to snore.

For a while, Timoken stared at the flickering oil lamp. Where had the oil come from? Who had lit it? There could only be one answer. The Damzel of Decay might have disturbed his ancestors but she hadn’t entirely banished them. They were still here.

Life continued in the same way for three days. At the end of the third day, a rough wall had been erected all round the roof of the tumbledown building. Before they went to bed that night, Timoken and the boys placed the helmets in the gaps between the stones. Beside the helmets they laid the spears, their metal tips pointing outwards.

When Timoken returned, he found the wizard lying on the couch. He seemed utterly exhausted. Timoken brought him a tankard of water and he drank it thirstily.

‘A pity this isn’t the Water of Life, eh, boy?’ Eri’s storm-cloud eyes flashed briefly and then he gave a long sigh. ‘This task has all but stolen my life away,’ he said, ‘and the wall is not yet finished.’

‘Tomorrow we’ll all help,’ said Timoken.

‘Tomorrow,’ sighed the wizard. ‘That’s as maybe,’ and he closed his eyes.

Timoken had one more task. He took the chain-mail tunic out of the basket and began to multiply. When he had thirteen tunics, he wrapped himself in his cloak and lay down. He pressed his cheek against the carpet that his bare feet had touched almost three hundred years before, and he fell asleep.

A little before dawn, the castle shuddered, and the wizard woke up. He could hear a thunder of hooves approaching from the east.

‘Not ready! Not ready!’ muttered the wizard. He dragged himself off the couch and went to wake Timoken.

Chapter Seventeen

‘They’re coming!’ shouted Eri.

Timoken already ached from three days of lifting stones, and the wizard’s violent shaking made him groan with pain. He rolled over, clutching his shoulder.

‘They’re coming,’ roared Eri. ‘Wake up. We must defend ourselves.’

The other children were all awake now. They scrambled to their feet, rubbing their eyes, yawning and grumbling.

‘Up! Up!’ commanded the wizard. ‘Man the battlements. Take care not to be seen, but throw those spears as accurately as you can.’

‘First, the chain mail.’ Timoken pointed to the pile of dimly gleaming tunics. With dazed expressions, the children pulled them over their heads and Timoken led them up the ramp of stones and out on to the roof.

‘Where’s your armour, Timoken?’ called Sila.

‘I have my cloak,’ he said. ‘Keep your heads down. We don’t want them to know we’re children.’

‘Or get an arrow in our skulls,’ muttered Thorkil.

They could hear gruff voices, the jingle of harnesses and the snorting and stamping of many horses. Timoken took a quick peak round one of the helmets, and his heart sank.

A long row of mounted soldiers was emerging from the trees on the eastern side of the ruined castle. They were well prepared for battle in chain mail, breastplates and helmets. Swords hung from their belts and those that did not carry shields or spears were armed with long bows and sacks of arrows.

‘Are there many?’ asked Eri, on his hands and knees behind Timoken.

‘A great many. Perhaps two hundred.’

The wizard closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘Too many,’ he muttered.

The wizard’s choked voice made Timoken shudder. He hadn’t known such a moment of doubt for a long time. In the heartless grey light, Eri looked old and utterly exhausted. He appeared to have lost all the youthful strength that he had gained behind the first wall of spells. And he was not wearing any armour.

Timoken watched the others crawl across the stones and crouch behind the empty helmets. He wondered why he had brought them all to this place. They could have lived safely in the forest for the rest of their lives. What had given him this restless yearning for a castle?

An arrow flew over Timoken’s head and embedded itself between two stones. This was not a time for reflection. Bent double, he ran to the nearest spear and hurled it at the enemy below. There was a loud bellow, and a rain of arrows came out of the sky. The children hugged the walls. Not one of them screamed. They glanced at the fallen arrows, seized their spears and flung them.

In answer, a cloud of arrows darkened the sky. The children flattened themselves against the stones and then ran to seize another spear as the lethal arrowheads fell behind them.

Timoken raced from one helmet to another, hurling spears into the enemy below. But he had a horrible suspicion that they were falling uselessly to the ground. He began to wonder if it was only the stationary helmets that were deterring the soldiers from climbing up the stones. Soon they would realize that the two hundred helmets were empty.

A few moments later, Timoken’s fears were realised. Peering through one of the openings, he saw that some of the soldiers had dismounted; with drawn swords they were now approaching the mountain of stones.

‘We only have twelve spears left,’ Thorkil shouted. He, too, had seen the advancing soldiers.

‘Keep throwing!’ cried Timoken.

Thorkil seized a helmet and, pushing it on his head, stood up and aimed his spear at the leading soldier. There was a gurgle of pain and the man dropped to the ground, the spear embedded in his neck.

Encouraged by Thorkil’s success, the other boys began grabbing helmets and dropping them over their heads. Barely able to see beneath the oversized headgear, they bravely stood and hurled their spears.

‘We are about to lose our castle and our lives, Timoken.’ The wizard was sitting with his back to the wall, breathing heavily. ‘I hope you have a solution.’

Timoken had already taken off his cloak. He climbed to the centre of the ruin where the red stones were piled highest. Standing tall, he swept the cloak through the air above his head and in the language of the secret kingdom he called to the sky. He begged the clouds to batter his enemy with hailstones the size of pebbles, with bolts of lightning, with a wind strong enough to steal their helmets, and thunder that roared like a monster from the underworld.

‘Go below!’ he shouted to the others. ‘Now!’

They needed no second telling. The urgency in Timoken’s voice sent everyone clambering down to the room below.

‘The forest gods be with you, Timoken,’ said Eri as he followed the children.

The first soldier’s head appeared above the wall just as the hailstones began to fall. Two pebble-sized blocks of ice landed on his helmet, and he disappeared without a sound. By the time the second soldier showed his face, the wind was so strong it tore him away and dropped him in the trees.

The storm raged above Timoken but never touched him. He flew over the pile of stones chanting in his ancient language. And then his voice was drowned in thunder, and the sky became darker than a night without moon or stars.

The soldiers were trying to remount when the lightning struck. Rods of blinding light crackled through the black clouds, striking helmets, spearheads and breastplates, turning them into white-hot metal. The men were screaming now; they tore off their burning armour and those that could still move lifted their wounded comrades on to the backs of their horses and galloped into the safety of the trees.

Timoken put his cloak round his shoulders and watched the last soldier disappear into the forest. He decided to let the storm rage for the rest of the morning, forcing the Ravenglass soldiers to retreat until they were too far away to change their minds and return to the attack. There was no doubt in Timoken’s mind that they would return, for they had seen the great pile of Ravenglass stones, and their overlord would want to know how and why the stones had been taken to such a hidden and isolated place.

Leaving the stormy roof, Timoken went down to join his friends. He found a scene of great distress and confusion. Eri was burning herbs in one of the cooking pots, and a strange pungent smell filled the room. Beside the wizard lay a boy with a face of ivory; Elfrieda knelt over him, pressing a cloth against his shoulder. The cloth was slowly turning blood red.

‘What . . . ?’ Timoken began.

‘Thorkil has been wounded,’ Elfrieda said accusingly.

‘How?’ Timoken sank to his knees at Thorkil’s feet.

‘An arrow pierced his chain mail,’ said Eri. ‘No one noticed because he pulled it out, but now he is bleeding very heavily.’

‘He is dying,’ sobbed Elfrieda.

‘Not if I can help it!’ Eri put another bunch of herbs into the cooking pot and fanned the smoke over Thorkil’s face. Timoken saw that the boy was breathing, but colour was still draining from his face, and although his eyelids fluttered, he seemed incapable of opening them.

Swinging off his cape, Timoken threw it over Thorkil’s motionless body, pulling it up to cover his face.

‘What are you doing?’ cried Elfrieda. ‘He can’t breathe.’ She snatched a corner of the cloak, but Timoken put his hand firmly on her arm.

‘Leave it!’ Timoken commanded. ‘Your brother’s life is ebbing fast. If you want it to return, you must allow the cloak to bring it back, before it is too late.’

Elfrieda frowned. She looked at Eri, who said, ‘Do as he says, Elfrieda. You can see that my remedy is of no use here.’ The wizard poked his scorched herbs with a stick, his face weary and troubled.

Elfrieda sat back and allowed Timoken to adjust the cloak so that it covered every part of Thorkil, except his feet. The others crouched in corners, weak from the battle. Thunder rumbled overhead and the room was lit by constant flashes of lightning.

The gloomy atmosphere was relieved by Enid, who dropped two fish into the opening. Karli scrambled up to fetch them. Eri cooked the fish over a low fire of straw and twigs. He glanced at Timoken as the flames began to scorch the ancient marble floor, but Timoken hardly noticed, he was too worried about Thorkil.

After their meal, everyone slept, except for Elfrieda and Timoken.

‘Will this storm never end?’ Elfrieda moaned. ‘My head aches with the noise.’ She stared reproachfully at Timoken. ‘You brought the storm. Can’t you stop it?’

Timoken’s thoughts had been with Thorkil. He had become used to the thunder growling away above them. He looked at the cloak but dared not remove it. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he said.

Climbing out into the storm, Timoken thought of the words he had so often used to bring thunder and lightning, rain and wind. He had always had the cloak with him when he called, and he had used it again to pacify a storm. Could he calm this turbulence without his cloak? He thought of arcs of colour filling the sky. He thought of ancient words from his secret kingdom, words that were used to describe a rainbow. He shouted them at the black clouds and closed his eyes.

The hail that had been pounding the red stones turned to a gentle rain. The thunder faded and Timoken felt the sun on his face. When he opened his eyes, the black clouds had rolled away and a rainbow was growing through a vivid blue sky. When it had completed its arc, another appeared above it, and then another above that.

‘Come and see the rainbows!’ called Timoken. ‘Wake up, everyone. We have an omen to lift our spirits.’

Sila was the first to appear. Still rubbing her eyes, she crawled on to the roof and looked into the sky. With wide, astonished eyes she gazed at the three rainbows, crying, ‘Three! I’ve never seen three rainbows.’