“It was a weather giant. I felt the ache in my head—just here.” She pressed her temples—it had gone now.
“Not Kullervo then?”
“No, I don’t think so. His presence is different.”
“Then it is more important than ever to show them his mark and explain what has been happening. Prepare yourself for a rough ride. There will be those who doubt you no matter what you say, and some who reject you even if they think you are telling the truth.”
“Why?”
“Because they fear you.”
This was hard to accept, but she knew he was right.
“Do you still want me to talk to the stone sprites tomorrow—I mean today?” she asked, hearing the clock in the hall strike one.
“Yes. After this storm, we must get to work on this cliff immediately.”
“Okay,” Connie said with resignation. “Well, it looks like today is shaping up to be really great. I think I’ll go to bed before it gets any worse.”
The encounter with the stone sprites was even more unpleasant than she had feared. With Gard by her side, she crouched at the bottom of the cliff in the chill of the morning and bored into the cliffside to find them. They wriggled out to embrace her, pale hands grasping at her wrists, greeting her as a stone-sister in their cold, still world. Their touch bit into her. They hungered for silence; they wanted the earth to return to peace. Humans were so many maggots crawling on the outside of their rocky home, digging into its crust without leave. Driven mad by the ravaging of their land, the sprites had fled deep into the ground, surfacing only occasionally to vent their spite on the warm-blooded beings that sapped the strength of the earth like parasites on a once-healthy host.
Connie was too tired to argue with the sprites; she had no energy to attempt to show them that not all humans sought to destroy.
Please, she pleaded, don’t be angry with all of us. Help us by mending the rock with your strength. You’re the only ones who can stop it from falling; only you can stop me from being forced away from this place. They may send me somewhere where you can no longer reach me—a place where I can be of no use to you.
Then Gard joined her in the shared bond and explained what was needed.
Brothers, you can sense the fault lines, too—the weaknesses hammered in by wave and wind. Strengthen the rock, fill the cracks, renew the stone.
We will do as you ask, the sprites said in their hungry voices. Your cold flesh is to our liking, Rock Dwarf. But you, Universal,—the sprites increased their grip on Connie’s wrists—you should let us chill you to our temperature. Become stone.
Connie shrank from their touch.
“I cannot live like you,” she whispered. “Please let me go.”
The stone in the cliff creaked. For a moment, Connie thought that the sprites were going to bring it down on her head for rejecting their offer. But then the hands released their grip, leaving pale finger marks on her skin, and shriveled back into the rock.
Connie bowed her head. Perhaps, after all, she should have accepted them. Turning to cold, inert stone would have been one way of avoiding all the problems that had piled up around her.
The encounter made Connie late for school. Col and Rat spent their English lesson looking at the door every time someone passed, thinking it would be her. They were eager to ask her about the special session of the Chapter they had been summoned to by an early morning telephone call from Dr. Brock. He had told them very little, just saying that Connie’s appeal was to be heard that night.
“Do you think they’ll let her off?” asked Rat as they leafed through their shared copy of The Tempest.
“Dunno.” Col shrugged. “I hope so.”
“Got to, haven’t they? After what you all discovered—and the fact that she’s the only universal we’ve got.”
“I s’pose.” Col was feeling less certain. There was something in Dr. Brock’s tone that suggested all was not well.
Connie came in toward the end of the lesson, looking tired and grim-faced. She sat on her own, barely listening to anything that was said.
Chair legs scraped as the class abandoned the room for break. Col and Rat swooped on Connie and frog-marched her to a quiet bench away from the others.
“So you’ve got your appeal today,” Col began. “That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Not really,” said Connie, frowning.
“Why not?” Col ruffled his hair and reached in his pocket for his sunglasses as protection against the glare off the melting snow.
“Well, you’d better wait to hear the whole story tonight. But I didn’t do it, no matter what Mr. Coddrington claims.”
“Didn’t do what?” asked Rat eagerly.
“Raise the snowstorm last night. The Trustees caught me trying to stop the white horses from bringing the cliff down on our house. Appearances aren’t good.” Connie nibbled one of her short nails.
“That’s bad,” said Col, whistling softly.
“So it wasn’t you who made that storm then?” asked Rat.
“No.”
“Oh,” he said, disappointed.
“Was that why you were late?” asked Col.
Connie shook her head and hugged her arms to her chest. “No. I had to speak to the stone sprites for Gard. They’re going to shore up the cliff for us.”
“Stone sprites?” said Col. “You mean those things that tried to kill my parents last year?”
“Yep—that’s them. They’re cold and horrible. They creep into you like icy worms trying to gnaw out your heart. I can’t bring myself to like them even though they’ve agreed to help us.”
“So why are they?” Rat asked.
“To put me in their debt. I can help them talk to the rock dwarves and others, you see. They think I might be useful to them.”
From the knot of students at the doors, they saw Anneena approaching.
“Why are you all hiding over here?” she called. “I’ve been looking for you for ages.”
“Hi, Anneena. Where’s Jane?” Connie asked.
“Oh.” Anneena raised her eyebrows. “I left her talking to a boy from the photography club—they’ve been doing a lot of that recently.”
Connie was surprised: she had missed out on so much being wrapped up in her own problems. She had not even noticed Jane’s new friendship.
“So, are they going out?” Rat asked with a smirk.
“As far as I can tell, they tend to be staying in—in the dark room.” Anneena smiled.
“Oh yeah?” said Rat.
“Come on, Rat. It’s perfectly possible to be together a lot and just be friends,” said Connie.
“Yeah. You mean like you and Col?” Rat suggested.
Col gave him a warning look—Rat enjoyed needling him. He could put up with it as long as Connie didn’t catch on.
“Exactly. Just good friends,” said Connie, wondering why Rat laughed.
Trying to create a good first impression, Connie, Evelyn, Mack, and Gard arrived early for the appeal. Shirley Masterson met them in the yard, muffled up in a thick fur-lined coat and carrying a flashlight.
“Here already then? Dad’s asked me to show Society members into the kitchen, but I suppose she should go into the barn,” Shirley said, giving Connie a cold look. “The rest of you can go on up to the house if you like.”
“No, thanks. We’re sticking with Connie,” said Evelyn, gripping Connie’s forearm.
“You know the way, I suppose,” said Shirley, flashing the light toward the big double-doors to their right.
“We do,” said Evelyn. She pulled Connie after her. “What a snob!” she muttered fiercely. Connie said nothing, too low already to be bothered by Shirley.
As the first to arrive, they found the barn in darkness. It took them some time to locate the light-switch on one of the wooden beams. Raw white light hit their eyes as the striplight in the center of the roof stuttered on. The room had been prepared for the meeting. At one end were ranged four chairs and space for a drag
on, a unicorn, and Storm-Bird. Behind them, hay bales had been piled in a terrace to accommodate a large audience. At the other end, a single wooden chair was set facing the spectators.
“We can’t have that!” said Mack at once. He began hefting hay bales over to Connie’s side, creating a sofa of three bales for them. He hid the hard chair in the shadows.
“Good idea,” said Evelyn, “let’s bring some more.” Together they dragged six hay bales and arranged them in a horseshoe. Gard kicked them into place. “Now you sit there,” Evelyn said to Connie, pointing to the center, “and we’ll sit around you.”
Connie sank down on the middle bale, comforted by having her supporters with her. They waited. Beasts and beings began to arrive. Dr. Brock and Argot were among the first. Taking one look at the arrangement of the room, they both immediately turned to sit at Connie’s end, Argot curling his tail around the back of the horseshoe of bales. Dr. Brock smiled encouragingly at Connie.
“Good work last night, Connie,” he said loudly, his voice carrying to the people sitting opposite, some of the Chartmouth members that Connie did not know very well.
Captain Graves came in with Mr. Masterson. Glancing toward Connie and muttering together, they turned to take a seat on the front of the terrace.
“It’s like sitting on the bride’s or groom’s side at a wedding.” Mack grinned at Connie. She couldn’t even smile in response.
Rat came in and absentmindedly sat in the first space available on the terrace. He then looked up and realized what was happening. Clambering over Mr. Masterson, he jumped to the floor and swiftly crossed to Connie’s side.
“You twit, Rat,” said Mack, ruffling the boy’s hair and pulling him onto the seat next to him.
“Twit yourself,” said Rat cheerfully. “All right, Connie?”
“I’m okay,” she replied.
Argand flew in, swooping once around the heads of all present, croaking rudely at the people sitting on the terrace, before landing at Connie’s feet. Then Jessica Moss slipped into the barn, accompanied by Arran. Greeting Connie, they both took places on her right. Erik Ulvsen entered in a swirl of icy air. He strode over to the universal’s side, bowed to the girl he thought of as his pack leader, and then took a seat at the end of her row.
Nearly all the places in the barn were now occupied, except for the chairs facing Connie. Finally the Trustees filed in, led by Mr. Coddrington. He looked with dismay at the change to his seating arrangements and seemed to be on the point of protesting. Kinga, however, had walked past him and taken a place in the middle. Not wishing to lose a prime position for himself, he hurried after her and sat down. Storm-Bird flew in to perch on a sack of fertilizer placed there for its comfort. Morjik and Windfoal settled themselves at either end of the row. As for the weather giant, he could not fit inside but, from the pressure building in her temples, Connie could sense his presence gathering in the yard. A pillar of shifting clouds swirled outside the door, blotting out the stars.
“Right, close the doors. I think we are all present and correct,” said Mr. Coddrington, rubbing his hands together. He, for one, seemed to be relishing the meeting ahead. “We should start. Will the former Society member step forward.”
Trembling, Connie got to her feet. But before another word could be said, the door banged open wide to let in four latecomers.
“Sorry we’re late,” Mrs. Clamworthy apologized, unwrapping her scarf. “I don’t like driving on these icy roads. Icefen, you should really keep your breath to yourself!”
The frost wolf padded in behind, licking his lips.
Col guided his grandmother on one side and Skylark on the other, in case she slipped. He saw that all eyes, including those of Captain Graves, were fixed on them, wondering which way they would go. Mrs. Clamworthy looked quickly from Mr. Coddrington to Connie to the seating arrangements.
“Oh, good,” she said lightly, “I see you’ve saved us some space over there.”
Walking right across the center of the room, she led Col, Skylark, and the wolf to the hay bales on Connie’s left and squeezed in next to Mack. Glancing across at his mentor as he sat down, Col saw Captain Graves frown.
“As I was saying,” said Mr. Coddrington testily. “Now that we’re all comfortable—”
“Quite comfortable, thank you, Ivor,” trilled Mrs. Clamworthy, interrupting him again.
“Then we shall start.” Mr. Coddrington’s pleasure at the proceedings had evaporated, replaced by annoyance at the insubordination of so many members. His tone was waspish as he continued: “Step forward, Connie Lionheart.”
14
Defense
Connie took a small step forward, her hand resting on Argand’s upturned head for comfort. Never one to seek the limelight, this was her worst nightmare: to be standing in front of all these people, with everyone’s eyes on her.
“Connie Lionheart, you lodged an appeal against your expulsion. The purpose of this meeting is to decide whether the grounds for expulsion will be upheld,” said Mr. Coddrington, regaining his stride once more. His gaze slid over Connie and her friends to the people clustered on the terraces on either side of him. “The grounds are as follows: one, on at least two occasions, you did willfully and recklessly summon storms that inflicted extensive damage on this locality; two, you did willfully and recklessly attempt to harm, and nearly caused the death of, three Society members; three, you did slander a Trustee of the Society, accusing him of being in league with our enemy, Kullervo….”
Dr. Brock raised his hand. Kinga jerked Mr. Coddrington’s sleeve to draw his attention to the intervention.
“Yes?” said Mr. Coddrington, impatient to get on.
Dr. Brock got to his feet. “As I remember, Ivor, Connie did not accuse you of being in league with Kullervo; she merely said you were doing his work for him by ousting her from the Society. You must admit, there is a difference. One might even say, she had a point.”
“Hear, hear!” said Mack loudly.
Connie felt a flood of gratitude to her friend, though if the truth were known, she had meant her words rather in the sense Mr. Coddrington described, and not in Dr. Brock’s more favorable construction. She was not, however, about to admit this.
Mr. Coddrington tugged at his tight shirt collar uncomfortably. “Of course she doesn’t have a point. What do you mean?”
“Only that isolating Connie is the very thing Kullervo would want. It would make her much more vulnerable to his attack.” Dr. Brock sat down but looked hard at Kinga, and then at Morjik, over the top of his spectacles. “Indeed, I think you’ll find he’s already been testing her defenses.”
“Well, never mind that,” snapped Mr. Coddrington. “There is enough to be going on with in the first two charges. And you cannot deny, Francis, that whatever Miss Lionheart meant, she was unforgivably rude to a Trustee?”
“Rude, yes, but not unforgivably so, I hope,” replied Dr. Brock.
Mr. Coddrington cleared his throat to call for silence as a buzz of voices broke out around him. “I have also, on the instructions of my fellow Trustees, to add to our considerations a fourth ground—namely, the storm she summoned yesterday, placing in jeopardy her own life and that of two others who courageously went to her rescue.”
Connie shook her head, bursting to deny this charge of which she knew she was completely innocent, but Mr. Coddrington had not finished. Desperately, she looked to Kira, to Kinga, to Eagle-Child, but they all had their eyes on Mr. Coddrington and were avoiding her gaze. She felt out for Morjik, Windfoal, and Storm-Bird but they did not answer her call, shutting themselves away from her.
“Now, let us get down to business,” said Mr. Coddrington, cracking his knuckles. “Connie Lionheart, did you, or did you not, summon the storms in November and December?”
“I did,” she said. There was a gasp from the people in the terrace behind the Trustees. “But—”
“So you admit the charge?” he pressed gleefully.
“Yes. But it wasn’t
willful, or whatever you said. It wasn’t—”
“I’ve heard all this before,” said Mr. Coddrington in a bored tone of voice, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “You are going to tell us ‘it wasn’t like that,’ but then you’ll say you can’t explain it.”
Kinga stood up. “With respect, Ivor, you may have heard it before, but we have not. We have come all the way from Japan to hear this explanation.”
“Of course, Kinga,” he said obsequiously, realizing that he had made a strategic error in forgetting that he was no longer the only Trustee present, “but you’ll find the universal’s excuses wear thin very rapidly.”
“Let us judge that for ourselves,” said Kinga. “Connie, please continue.” The dragon companion turned back to Connie, expecting her to pick up her narrative, but saw instead that, during this short exchange, a change had come over the universal: her skin seemed to be shining with a faint silvery light; her eyes were fixed upon the barn door. “Connie, are you listening?”
With difficulty, Connie dragged her eyes back to Kinga and said hoarsely: “There are hundreds of creatures out there. They’re all trying to bond with me. They’re waiting to come in.”
“Creatures?” said Kinga bewildered. “All Society members are welcome to be present at this hearing. Why aren’t they coming in? Let them in, someone.”
Mr. Masterson jumped to his feet and threw open the doors. He was forced back as a torrent of creatures poured into the room: misshapen rock dwarves, hobbling wood sprites, brown-oozing water sprites, and bringing up the rear, a minotaur with one blind eye. Many of the members gave cries of distress as injured beasts and beings from their companies brushed past them. The creatures swirled into the center of the barn, flinching in the bright light and shielding their eyes, before moving to occupy the shadows behind the horseshoe of bales. Connie’s side now far outnumbered the members sitting with the Trustees.
“Who are all these creatures?” asked Kinga, looking to Connie for an explanation.
The minotaur stomped into the center of the room and glared at Kinga, his breath snorting from his distended nostrils. “They are friends of the universal,” he growled, “and I am the Universal’s Sentinel.”