‘Does iron hurt you too?’ Hannah asked.
Linnet nodded. ‘I don’t understand why you humans love it so much. It puts me on edge just being near you all, with all that iron about you. And it hurts like a brand to be touched by it. Poor kelpie!’
Hannah put her hand in her pocket and fingered the iron key she still carried there. She had not realised iron would affect Linnet that way. She thought about Linnet in modern-day times, and realised suddenly that she had always seen her use copper saucepans and ladles, and old-fashioned wooden spoons.
It was quiet once they had all gone. Hannah lay back under the tree, turning the hag-stone over in her palm. Max went down to the stream and sat by its rushing waters, a line in his hand, but when she looked around a while later it was to find him asleep in the grass, his tam o’shanter tipped over his eyes.
The shadows grew longer. Hannah felt restless and anxious. She looked constantly for her friends, but there was no sign of them. When the sun was poised just above the mountains to the west, she caught up her walking-stick and went in search of them.
At first the ascent was easy enough, and Hannah enjoyed the sight of the purple hills and mountains rolling away in every direction. Soon, though, the way grew steeper and night pressed in. Early stars prickled the sky. Hannah paused, her heart galloping, a stitch slicing her side. She did not know whether to go on or turn back.
Suddenly she heard desperate sobbing coming from higher up the mountain, and a little girl came hurtling towards her, barefoot and wild-haired. She practically fell into Hannah’s arms. ‘Help me! Help me! After me!’
‘Who? Who’s after you?’
‘Quick! Please! Help me!’
Hannah cast a quick glance up the mountain and heard a deep, throbbing growl that made the hairs on her arms stand upright. She grasped the little girl’s hand and began to scramble down the steep slope as fast as she could. A howl rang down the mountain, sounding like something out of a wicked fairytale. Pulse racing, Hannah lifted the little girl down the rock, then, hand in hand, they raced on again.
‘What is it? A wolf?’ There had been something so wild and cruel about that howling that Hannah knew it was no ordinary dog.
‘A phantom hound,’ the little girl panted. ‘It hunted me out of the cave. It’ll kill me if it catches me!’
‘A phantom hound?’ Hannah was puzzled. ‘What’s that?’
Behind them the howl came again. Glancing back, Hannah saw a huge black shaggy dog leaping down the rocks. Its eyes were red as coals, and its sharp claws clattered on the rock. It moved astonishingly fast.
‘Come on!’ She broke into a run again, but found the little girl could not keep up with her. She was sobbing with exhaustion. Desperately Hannah looked around her. Ahead was a tree, its branches curving down low to the ground. She shoved the little girl up into the tree, then hurriedly clambered up herself, keeping her rowan stick clasped firmly under one arm. As the huge black dog leapt towards her, she whacked it as hard as she could. It howled in pain, but leapt again, so close Hannah recoiled from the stench of its hot breath. Hannah wished she had thought to bring her dagger, but it lay with her guitar back at the camp. Suddenly she remembered what Linnet had told her about her walking-stick. If you’re ever in any trouble, twist the handle three times . . .
Hannah twisted the handle. A long, slim sword sprang free of the stick. As the phantom hound leapt for her once more, its fangs dripping foam, its red eyes glaring, Hannah thrust the sword as deep as she could into its breast. The giant beast tumbled down and lay still.
Hannah struggled to catch her breath. ‘Who are you? Why is this . . . thing . . . hunting you?’
‘My name’s Morgana.’ The little girl was clinging as high up the tree as she could climb. ‘I come from under the hill.’ She pointed at Schiehallion.
Morgana . . . Where had Hannah heard that name before? Then she remembered what Linnet had told her of Eglantyne’s two younger sisters.
‘You’re a fairy child!’ she exclaimed. ‘Have you come through the gateway?’
Morgana nodded her head. Her hair was black and wild and very long, hanging to the backs of her knees. Her eyes were a bright and vivid green, the colour of a sunlit forest pool. ‘My cousin . . . Irata . . . she poisoned my father and my sister! She tried to poison me too . . . only I don’t like spiced pomegranate wine, I fed it to my father’s hound . . . and he dropped dead as well! My father, my sister, and half the court . . . all dead . . .’ Her words were lost in gulping sobs.
‘When? Just now?’
The little girl nodded, her face white with horror. ‘It was the feast to celebrate the spring equinox. It’s the first time I was ever allowed to join the feast, and I was so pleased with my cousin for persuading my father . . .’ Morgana wiped her eyes on her sleeve. ‘If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes . . . but she passed the goblet to my father, then laughed as he choked and writhed. All round the room . . . everyone falling, choking . . . I ran and hid, and she called upon her servants to find me . . .’
More howling echoed down the mountainside. Hannah stared out into the darkness with horrified eyes. She saw another huge black shape leaping down into the clearing, its eyes as red as hot coals.
‘What are we to do?’ Morgana sobbed.
Audacia, Hannah told herself, and gripped her bloody sword with trembling hands. As if scenting her fear, the dog flung back its head and howled.
Suddenly there was a twanging noise. An arrow sprang out of the darkness, taking the phantom hound through its throat. It keeled over and lay still, a shaggy heap in the darkness.
‘Lassie?’ Angus strode out of the darkness, another arrow cocked to the string. ‘How are you? What has happened?’
‘Those dogs . . . they came out from the hill.’ Hannah’s voice trembled.
Angus kicked one with his boot. ‘What a brute. A fairy dog, is it? I’ve heard of them. Lucky I heard it howling. Come on down, lass.’
Hannah slipped down, first wiping the sword on her skirt and sliding it back into the stick.
‘Is all well? No damage done?’
‘No, I’m fine.’ Hannah hated hearing her voice shake. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. ‘But there’s a little fairy girl from under the hill. She’s Eglantyne’s sister.’
‘What?’ Angus peered up into the dark branches, then held up his arms to the child in white, cowering at the very top of the tree. ‘Come down, sweetling.’ His voice was the most gentle Hannah had ever heard it.
With a little sob, Morgana slipped and slithered down until she could drop into his arms. He held her close. ‘Come on, little one, you’re safe now. We’ll go back to the camp and see if we can find Linnet to make you a hot posset.’
‘Linnet?’ Morgana’s voice brightened. ‘Not my sister’s handmaiden? Is she here?’
‘Indeed she is. You’re safe now.’
‘No I’m not. Irata is after me. She’ll come with her host and hunt me down.’
‘Don’t say her name!’ Hannah cried. Far away, they heard more howling and a strange, high, gibbering sound.
‘We must get away from here!’ Morgana cried.
‘We’ll get you away from here. Don’t fret, little one.’
Carrying the fairy child, Angus hurried away from the corpses of the dogs, Hannah close on his heels. At the camp Max was on his knees, hastily gathering together all their belongings. Hannah caught up her guitar and slung the strap over her head so it lay on her back. She still had her stick in her hand. The water-horse was wearing a new halter heavy with iron rings. He shook his head and stamped and strained away from his tether, his hide shivering with fear as the howling came closer and closer. Then Hannah heard the pound of running feet. Scarlett came racing down the slope, skirts clutched in her hands, her fair hair flying. Behind her were Donovan and Linnet, running full pelt.
‘The black witch is hunting!’ Angus shouted. ‘Linnet, here is a wee maid from under the hill. I think you know her.’
‘Lady Morgana,’ Linnet gasped.
‘Linnet!’ the child squealed and flung herself into Linnet’s arms.
‘We need to get away from here! Take the water-horse and ride him as far and as fast as you can. Here!’ Angus seized the halter, and threw Linnet up onto the horse’s back with one brawny arm, passing her the rope reins. Morgana was tossed up behind her, clinging to Linnet’s waist. Angus looked around at the other children’s anxious faces. ‘We can’t all ride the horse. Lassies, there’ll be room for you.’ He lifted Scarlett up and turned to Hannah.
She shook her head. ‘I can’t go! You and the boys are only here because of me. I can’t ride away and leave you here. Scarlett! Take my guitar for me.’ Hurriedly Hannah passed her guitar up to Scarlett, who slung it over her shoulder, her face pale.
Angus hesitated, then nodded his head sharply. He released the halter, bringing his hand down on the water-horse’s rump. The horse reared, whinnying, then took off into the darkness, his tail whipping behind him. In a second he and his riders were out of sight.
The Jester
Hannah felt weak-kneed. She gripped her rowan stick and told herself she had done the right thing.
‘Let’s find running water to cross. That’ll help shake them off our trail. And remember they hate iron.’
‘What about brass?’ Donovan joked weakly as he slung his flugelhorn over his shoulder.
The only answer Angus made was to pull a slender black knife out of his boot, holding it close to his body.
It was so dark now they could barely see each other’s faces. A bitter-cold wind shrieked down the mountainside, bringing with it swirls of snow. Mist billowed up from the ground.
‘She comes,’ Angus said. ‘Let’s run.’
The four companions ran through the stinging storm, trying not to stumble or turn their ankle on the rough ground. Twigs whipped their faces, and an eerie howling rose high on either side. A huge black dog leapt at Hannah out of the darkness. She smashed her stick over its head and it yowled with pain and fell back. Hannah ran on.
She heard the tumult of water over stones. Angus plunged into the stream and waded downstream, holding his bow high so the string would not get wet. Hannah hitched up her voluminous skirts and followed. Within seconds her boots were filled with water and her feet were numb. She lost her footing and fell, and at once her skirts were like lead weights, dragging her down. Donovan helped haul her up, and Hannah ran on again.
A howl rose close behind them and was answered by another to their left. They heard galloping hooves, and mad gibbering, and the clank of weapons. Angus turned back anxiously, his finger at his lips, then hurried on. Hannah tried her best to be quiet, but her breath came harshly and the water splashed noisily about her knees.
Suddenly eerie green lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the darkness. Hannah ducked her head, but it was no use. There was a roar of triumph behind them, and the sound of a hundred hooves and a hundred flapping wings.
‘Run!’ Angus roared. He burst out of the water and bolted across the grass, the children close on his heels. Into the forest they fled, hoping to lose their pursuers among the trees. The flying creatures wheeled away, their riders screaming their frustration, but others came racing through the trees. Hannah caught glimpses of them every time she glanced over her shoulder. In the darkness all she could see were squat shapes that ran with long swinging arms like apes, or scuttled like spiders, or hopped and bounded at great speed. One seized her by the shoulder and flung her to the ground, but she cracked her stick against its snout, and it squealed and cowered away, paws over its eyes. Donovan seized her hand and dragged her up, and clinging to each other, they ran on.
Suddenly one of the giant winged creatures plummeted out of the sky, landing right in front of Hannah. She screamed and scrambled backwards, her heart thumping. Green lightning played all around the rider, so Hannah could see her clearly.
It was Irata, the black witch. She was tall and pale and strong boned, with thin black brows that flared out above slanted eyes, and a sulky mouth that was red and swollen as if she had been biting her lips. Her hair was black and writhed about her. In one hand she held a long wand of twisted wood. Irata leapt down and, in two quick strides, was towering over Hannah.
‘What do I find here? Someone aiding and abetting Morgana’s escape? Have you never been warned not to meddle with those of fairykind, human?’ Suddenly her eyes sharpened and she leant forward and seized the hag-stone, which hung on its cord around Hannah’s neck. ‘What is this? The royal hag-stone!’
She ripped the hag-stone from Hannah’s neck and brought her wand down in a whistling blow that sent Hannah sprawling. Irata raised her arm again, only to find her blow blocked by Angus’s long black knife. For a moment they fought, perfectly balanced, then a whip came snaking along the ground, wrapped about Angus’s ankles and brought him crashing down to the ground. The whip had been wielded by a small, squat, loathsomely ugly hobgoblin, with only a few wispy silver hairs on his leathery chin. He wore rough furs and skins, pinned together with wood, and a tall red-brown cap, which made Hannah shudder. She had heard of Red Caps, who dyed their hats with blood.
Angus rolled and tried to leap up, but Irata nonchalantly waved her wand. Where an old man with burly shoulders and a silver beard had been was now suddenly, horribly, a warty brown toad.
Ribbett, ribbett, the toad croaked.
Donovan had been close behind Angus. He cried out in dismay, then seized a rock from the ground and bowled it overarm, with stunning accuracy, right at Irata. It struck her on the temple, and she fell back. At once the green lightning was extinguished and the scene was plunged once more into darkness.
Donovan ran forward and scooped up the toad from the ground. Hannah raced after him. ‘Here!’ she gasped, holding open the capacious pocket of her apron. Donovan dropped the toad in and together they bolted for the trees, Max trailing behind them, panting and holding his chest as he fought for breath.
Green lightning blazed up again, lighting the forest for miles around. A tornado sprang out of the ground and seized hold of them all. Hannah was flung under a bush, Donovan was sent sprawling on the ground, but Max was spun higher and higher into the air. Gasping, her hair all over her face, blood running down from a scratch on her cheek, Hannah saw Irata, her wand drawing circles in the air, her face a white mask of fury.
‘How dare you think to stand against ME!’ Irata screamed. ‘Poor, pathetic, BREAKABLE human!’
She stopped the gyrations of her wand and the tornado suddenly blew itself out. Max fell out of the sky. Down he fell, arms and legs flailing helplessly, then he thudded into the rock and lay still.
‘No!’ Donovan screamed. He cast one swift, compelling glance at Hannah, jerking his head to one side as if to tell her to go, then scrambled up and ran out into the clearing. Hannah, too shocked to even move, watched in bemusement as Donovan raised his flugelhorn to his lips. He blew a high, shrill note of defiance, then stepped forward to face Irata.
‘Leave them alone! I’m the one you want,’ he said clearly. ‘I’m Eglantyne’s son.’
‘You?’ Irata screamed. ‘That’s not possible! Eglantyne died! I caused the vehicle she was in to spin and crash, and I saw it explode with my own eyes.’
‘She didn’t die right away,’ Donovan said steadily, though his eyes widened with sudden shock. ‘She had time to give birth to me first.’
‘But the vehicle went right over the cliff. I saw it burst into flames.’
‘My father . . .’ Donovan’s voice faltered, but then he went on. ‘My father managed to drag her free first. He was badly burnt saving her.’
Hannah was transfixed. Donovan grimaced at her, jerking his head to one side. She knew he meant for her to try to escape while he kept Irata occupied, but she could not tear herself away. It was clear to her that Donovan had only said he was Eglantyne’s son to distract Irata while she and Max escaped, but it seemed he had spoken more tru
ly than he knew.
‘Allan was hurt? Eglantyne died? Oh no!’’ A voice spoke sharply from the crowd. Hannah turned her head and saw a tall man with copper-coloured curls and a wild beard hurrying forward, his pale face set in a grimace of distress. He looked exactly like Hannah’s photo of her father.
He was dressed like a court jester, in a tunic quartered in orange and purple, with orange hose tied with cross-garters of purple. On his feet were ridiculous purple shoes with long, backward-curling toes with a bell at the tip. More bells hung on his dangling asses’ ears. He carried a hobby-horse with the face of a devil, a mandolin slung across his back. He put out one hand to Donovan and said hoarsely, ‘Can you really be her son? But you’re so old, so tall! What are you doing here?’
‘Who gave you permission to speak?’ Irata screamed. ‘Dance for me, fool!’
The Red Cap cracked his whip at the jester’s legs. The jester at once began to play his mandolin and dance, skipping nimbly over the whip. His copper-coloured hair blazed in the green light.
It has to be my father! Hannah thought with a surge of excitement and incredulous joy. I have to rescue him! But how?
A low groan caught her attention. Max was moving feebly. One of his legs was bent awkwardly. Hannah bit her lip. She had to get him away somehow. She put her hands in her pockets to touch her key and hag-stone, an action she did unthinkingly now whenever she was troubled, and found two things. One, a large, damp, rather slimy toad. Two, a small ceramic honey pot with a fat cork.
Of course! Linnet’s invisibility spell!
Hands shaking in excitement, Hannah drew out the cork and dipped her little finger into the paste. She smeared it on her forehead, trying hard to remember the rhyme Linnet had told her. ‘Things seen and things not seen, let me walk between,’ she muttered under her breath, hoping it was right. She then slowly crept towards Max.
No one paid her any attention. The crowd laughed at the jester riding his hobby-horse round and round, pretending to whip it with his hood. It was the strangest sight Hannah had ever seen. The crowd was filled with all manner of extraordinary beasts and creatures—black, horned dogs with eyes that glowed red, grinning dwarves with enormous heads and feet, tiny fluttering fairies with wings like butterflies and stings like wasps, old women dressed in grey rags with eyes all swollen with weeping, hags with blue faces and black claws, and squat hobgoblins each with a single, enormous eye that glowed like an open furnace. One of the most awful sights was a creature like a centaur, except that it had no skin. Hannah could clearly see the knotted muscles and blue, pumping veins running all over its body. The man-figure carried a spear in its long, skinless arms which it beat in time to the jester’s song.