This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2006 by Julia Golding
Illustration copyright © 2006 by David Wyatt
All rights reserved
Amazon Publishing, Attn: Amazon Children’s Publishing, PO Box 400818, Las Vegas, NV 89149
www.amazon.com/amazonchildrenspublishing
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Golding, Julia.
The Gorgon’s gaze / by Julia Golding; [illustrations by David Wyatt]—
1st Marshall Cavendish ed.
p. cm.—(Companions quartet; bk. 2)
Summary: Mallins Wood is home to the last surviving gorgon, and Col’s mother, the gorgon’s supernatural Companion, is determined to save it from encroaching development—even to the point of endangering Col and his best friend Connie, the most powerful Companion alive.
ISBN 978-0-7614-5377-2
[1. Gorgons (Greek mythology)—Fiction. 2. Animals, Mythical—Fiction. 3. Human-animal communication—Fiction. 4. Environmental protection—Fiction. 5. Secret societies—Fiction. 6. Supernatural—Fiction.] I. Title. II. Series.
PZ7.G56758Gor 2007
[Fic]—dc22
2006102919
Book design by Vera Soki
First Marshall Cavendish edition, 2007
Originally published in the UK by Oxford University Press, 2006
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Also by Julia Golding
The Companions Quartet, Book One:
Secret of the Sirens
For Joss
Gorgon:
(from classical mythology) One of three mythical female personages, with snakes for hair, whose look turned the beholder into stone.
The one of most note, and the only one mortal, Medusa, was slain by Perseus.
(from The Oxford English Dictionary, by permission of Oxford University Press)
Contents
CHAPTER ONE Gold
CHAPTER TWO Family
CHAPTER THREE Rat
CHAPTER FOUR Cassandra
CHAPTER FIVE Snake
CHAPTER SIX Gorgon
CHAPTER SEVEN Argand
CHAPTER EIGHT Inheritance
CHAPTER NINE The Chest
CHAPTER TEN Colin
CHAPTER ELEVEN Beacons
CHAPTER TWELVE Helm
CHAPTER THIRTEEN Battering Ram
CHAPTER FOURTEEN Shape-shifter
CHAPTER FIFTEEN Michaelmas
CHAPTER SIXTEEN Merlin’s Oak
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Stone Sprites
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Choices
CHAPTER NINETEEN New Member
CHAPTER TWENTY Hescombe
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
1
Gold
“You’re going to get us both killed!” shrieked Connie. She was torn between terror and delight as Col nudged the winged horse into a heart-stopping dive through a wet, gray cloud.
Col laughed back over his shoulder, his flying helmet and goggles sparing him the worst of the weather. “You don’t fool us, Connie Lionheart—you’re loving every minute of the ride.”
“Am not!” she shouted crossly in his ear. “Aargh! Look out!”
The pegasus plummeted to the left. Thud, thud. Skylark’s hooves hit turf, almost jolting her off his back.
“Nice landing.” Connie slid thankfully to the ground.
“What d’you mean? That was a perfect Athenian dive, followed by a Thessalonian Roll!” Col’s eyes, an odd pair—one green, one brown—shone with indignation as he met her gaze. He was looking into eyes that were a mirror image of his own.
Connie stroked Skylark’s nose. “So now that we’ve got here, will you tell me what’s going on?”
They were standing at twilight on top of a hill in the middle of Dartmoor. For miles around there was nothing but grass rippling in the breeze. All was silent, except for the snake-like hiss of the wind in her ears.
“Ask Dr. Brock.”
“What? Why?” Connie was completely confused now. Col grinned. He could be so infuriating. “You’ll tell me what’s going on, won’t you, Skylark?” she appealed to the pegasus.
Skylark shook his mane and shifted his feet evasively.
Connie was beginning to feel angry. What was the point of dragging her to the middle of a moor when Dr. Brock was probably miles away sitting comfortably in his garden in Hescombe right now? “Oh, come on, Col! You can’t bring me all the way out here for nothing!”
“Not for nothing, Universal,” came a voice behind her.
Connie spun around. There was Dr. Brock, his ginger-streaked white hair flapping untidily in the wind. Where had he come from? He seemed to have sprung out of the ground itself.
“What are you doing here?” she asked in surprise.
“We have something special to show you. Follow me.” Dr. Brock—a companion to dragons and leader of the local chapter of the Society for the Protection of Mythical Creatures—turned and led Connie, Col, and Skylark to a steep path leading away from the brow of the hill. The track ended at a brook trickling through marshy ground. Undeterred, Dr. Brock picked his way upstream, splashing in the ankle-deep water. It gave off a gassy reek as he disturbed it. Connie wrinkled her nose but did not hesitate to follow him.
The rivulet issued from a dark gully that fractured the hillside. As they got deeper, the roof of stunted oak trees and lime green ferns shut out the little daylight that was left. Skylark’s hooves clattered on the stones, sending echoes ricocheting off the walls. The hair on the back of Connie’s neck prickled. She had a growing sense of a presence—there was a creature, or creatures, ahead.
“I think we need some light, my friends,” called Dr. Brock, taking a flashlight from his belt. “Do I have your permission?” The last comment was addressed not to Connie and Col, but to the dragon-shaped shadow crouched in front of Dr. Brock, dwarfing the humans. Permission must have been granted for a beam of white light sprang into life, rippling its way over the uneven rock walls.
“There!” Dr. Brock exclaimed hoarsely.
Caught by the beam was a second dragon, slightly smaller than the first, curled up in the far corner of the crevice. It was lying on the ground bent around so that its tail cradled its head. A pair of emerald eyes watched them steadily. The dragon’s hide shone in the light with the pristine tones of a chestnut fresh from its husk. Dr. Brock bowed solemnly, a gesture copied swiftly by Connie. Col and Skylark backed off, knowing better than to approach dragons, or any other mythical creature, unless you were their companion. The chestnut dragon lifted its head briefly, its tongue flickering out to scent the air, before bowing its snout in response.
“This is Castanea,” Dr. Brock said in a low voice to Connie, “Argot’s mate. Come closer—there’s something we want you to see.”
Connie followed him carefully over the stony stream bed. Argot shifted his tail to one side to let them pass, observing them with what Connie sensed to be suppressed excitement.
“Go on,” urged Dr. Brock, ushering her past him.
Connie moved forward into the pool of light until she was in reach of the outer edge of the circle made by the dragon’s tail. She wondered what she was expected to do. Did they want her to encounter Castanea? Share her dreams, as was the practice between dragons and their companions? Neither the dragon nor Dr. Brock gave her a hint, so she edged forward a few more steps and stretched out her hand.
Then she heard it: a squeaking, snuffling noise coming from directly in front of her. She pulled her hand back quickly and glanced up into Castanea’s sh
ining eyes. She was so close now she could smell the sulfurous aroma of dragon-breath warm on the damp air. Lids closed briefly over green eyes: she had been given consent to continue. Leaning over Castanea’s tail, Connie looked down into the hollow ring formed by the curled body. Dr. Brock came to her side and lifted the flashlight high so it shone down into the dark cavity. There lay a twisted mass of legs and tails—crimson and brown shot through with gold—amid fragments of creamy white shell.
Connie finally understood. She was looking into the dragons’ nest at their new family.
“Wow!” breathed Connie. Argot ruffled his wings, near bursting with pride. “How many are there?” she asked, turning to Dr. Brock.
“Ah, that’s the really exciting thing,” he replied. “May I?” he deferred to Castanea. The dragon nodded. Passing the flashlight to Connie, Dr. Brock reached down into the nest and lifted out a single scarlet dragon, which squealed a protest at being separated from its warm bed of siblings. He scooped up another with his free hand—this one a chocolate brown with a long thrashing tail. Connie peered down to count how many remained. There were two still curled around each other—one ruby-red and the other…
“Gold!” Connie exclaimed as the flashlight glanced off the scales of the smallest of the dragon brood.
“Pick her up,” Dr. Brock told Connie. “This is what we wanted you to see.”
Connie gently untwisted the golden dragon and lifted it out. Dr. Brock returned his two charges to the nest and took back the flashlight so she could cradle the dragonet in her arms. It did not protest but snuggled down against Connie’s chest—the size and weight of a cat. She ran her index finger down its neck and felt it shiver with pleasure. A tiny connection was established between Connie, the universal companion—the only living person who could communicate with all creatures—and the dragonet.
She could sense that its thoughts were unformed, running in her mind as a succession of fierce needs. It wanted its mother. It wanted its father. It wanted Connie. Suddenly, as if a match had been put to gunpowder, Connie felt the fire ignite in its belly for the first time. Sparks issued from its tiny jaws like needle-sharp stars pricking her fingers. Argot and Castanea rumbled proudly at their child’s swift progress.
“Are gold dragons rare?” Connie whispered.
“Indeed they are,” Dr. Brock replied. “Dragons are having fewer broods—dragonets of any hue are rare—but as for gold, it can lie dormant for many generations and only come to light once in a millennium. Argand here is the first pure gold dragon I’ve ever seen.”
Castanea blinked her emerald eyes once and Connie realized reluctantly that she must try the mother’s patience no further. Placing the little dragon back in its nest, Connie gave all four young a swift stroke and stood up.
“I am honored—thank you for letting me see your new family,” Connie said, looking over to Argot.
“Universal, Argand’s companion,” Argot said in a subterranean growl of a voice.
“Me?”
“If you wish, that is,” added Dr. Brock. “Argot, Castanea, and I, we thought…well, we thought what would be more fitting than our only universal being matched with our only golden dragon?”
Flying back to Hescombe on Skylark, Col and Connie were both silent, thinking over what they had been so privileged to see.
“How long does it take for dragons to grow up?” Col asked at last. “Do you know?”
“No,” Connie replied, “I only know that dragons live for centuries.”
“I was hoping we’d be able to fly together, but it sounds as if we might be long gone by the time that golden one gets off the ground.”
“Oh, shut up, Col.” Connie gave him a poke in the ribs. She knew him well enough to realize that he enjoyed teasing her, not only to keep her from inflated ideas about her special role as a universal companion, but also because he was a bit jealous. Col said no more, but Connie would have sworn that he was smiling, even though she couldn’t see his face.
They were now flying over the outskirts of the little fishing port of Hescombe—tonight a chutes-and-ladders board of lights, cut off at the southeastern corner by the sea. Connie looked down to see if she could spot the roof of her home, Number Five Shaker Row, from up here.
“Hey, what’s going on?” she wondered out loud.
Col glanced down and saw what had caught Connie’s interest: a trail of red brake-lights wound its way out of Hescombe toward the nearby town of Chartmouth.
“That’s weird,” Col said. “Maybe there’s been a crash. Let’s go and see what’s up.”
“Should we? I mean, what if we’re spotted?”
Connie wished she hadn’t said anything, as she felt Col’s vague interest harden to determination once she had questioned his wisdom.
“We’ll be fine,” Col replied airily, directing Skylark on a new course.
The chain of lights led over the hill behind Hescombe and across open countryside before stopping abruptly at the edge of Mallins Wood. This ancient, magical woodland was the largest forested area in the district. Even from up here, Connie could feel the presence of thousands of creatures in the trees and ground below, living secret lives hidden from humans. The road currently had to loop a long way inland around the edge before it was able to descend steeply into Chartmouth. As people got closer and closer, Mallins Wood had become a precious but endangered island.
From her vantage point above the trees, Connie could see the lights of the Axoil refinery on the industrial outskirts of Chartmouth eating up the horizon with an angry orange glare.
“So that’s it!” Col pointed down. “They’ve arrived.”
At the head of the line of cars, a convoy of battered old buses and caravans was slowly pulling off the road into a picnic spot on the fringe of the woodland. One bus appeared to have broken down—they could see figures flitting in and out of the headlights as well as hear the angry hooting of cars stuck behind the blockage.
“Who are they?” Connie asked.
“The protestors—the eco-warriors. They’re here because of the road.”
Now Connie understood. There had been a local campaign against plans to build a new road to the refinery at Chartmouth, but it had failed to stop the project going forward. She was still furious that permission had been granted to broaden and straighten the existing road, cutting a great swathe through Mallins Wood, making countless animals homeless. Tree-murder, Connie considered it—and so apparently did these eco-warriors.
“Are they Society members?” Connie asked Col as they turned for home.
Col laughed. “No—or only one or two are. Dad hangs out with them—he says they’re even weirder than we are.”
“I find that hard to believe.” Her short time in the Society for the Protection of Mythical Creatures had proved to Connie that its members were the oddest people she had ever met.
“We’ll just have to go and visit them soon to find out, won’t we?” Col replied, turning Skylark for home.
2
Family
Col and Skylark left Connie in a secluded bay not far from her house. As she crunched her way along the high-tide mark, she savored the prospect of the summer vacation ahead. The people in charge of the Society—the Trustees—had exciting plans for her training, and she couldn’t wait to get started. She had been a member for less than a year and much of its work was still a mystery to her. The Society had been established more than a thousand years ago to protect the last remaining mythical creatures by hiding their existence from humans. Only those with the gift of companionship with the creatures were allowed to join—and only after making a strict vow to keep the Society’s true business secret. The rest of the world, including Connie’s parents and friends, had no idea what really went on inside the Society, mistaking it for an ordinary environmental group.
Usually, humans in the Society had a bond with one species only, but very occasionally a universal companion would turn up—someone who could communicate with all creatures
—in short, someone like Connie. Connie was considered all the more remarkable because everyone had believed that the universal gift had died out years ago. For this, and for other, darker reasons, she was regarded as special and her training was of the utmost importance to more than herself.
A cloud drifted from the moon, bathing the beach in silver light. Connie pulled up short by a rock pool, her gaze caught by its eerie midnight-blue sheen, two pale anemones floating near the surface like eyes. Involuntarily, it reminded her of why else the Society thought her unique. She was hunted by the Society’s enemy—Kullervo—a shape-shifting creature whose skin was that shade, no matter what form he adopted.
Her heart beat faster. She looked up and down the deserted strand. He couldn’t be here, not now, could he? Hadn’t she defeated him last year when he had persuaded the sirens to attack an oil tanker? He’d been attempting the first step toward his goal of ridding the world of humans, but she had beaten him by turning his power on him instead. But Connie knew Kullervo would be back for her. He had to have a universal companion to complete his mission. Without her as a channel, his enormous destructive powers would remain confined to working through other, lesser creatures.
“Please. Not now,” she murmured. “I’m not ready for you, yet.”
Another cloud passed over the moon and the water returned to harmless black. Her imagination had been running away with her. Kullervo was nowhere near. He was probably still licking his wounds; he might wait years before he confronted her again. She had time—or so she hoped. That was the chief reason why the Trustees wanted her to spend her summer with creatures from all four companies of the Society. By encountering a diverse range of beasts from each grouping—winged creatures, sea creatures and reptiles, elementals, and two- and four-legged creatures—it was hoped that she’d learn enough about her own powers to resist any new attack by Kullervo. If she stuck to that plan, she’d be prepared. She hoped.…
And now she had Argand. Connie could find no words to do justice to her feelings. She had become used to the idea that her gift meant she would never form a bond with any single creature, unlike every other human companion in the Society who had one creature to be their lifelong friend. Being able to communicate with all creatures had made her strangely isolated—a friend to all but special to none. Or, at least, none that she would willingly choose to be linked with. She could not forget that Kullervo, the creature in the mythical world with powers most like her own, had once claimed that her place was by his side. It seemed right to her to stand up to the shape-shifter in this way and choose another companion. Though a bond with a dragon might never be as strong as that between the universal and Kullervo, over time it might grow and become a counterweight to the pull of that dangerous enemy.