“Where are we going?” she shouted into Col’s ear.
“I’ve orders to take you to the Mastersons’ farmhouse. You’ll be safe there.”
“Orders?”
“Well, you didn’t give us long to find you, but we were ready. When we heard that you’d been taken, Dr. Brock guessed what had happened. We prepared a rescue party—I was to pull you out while the others acted as a diversion, and I’m to take you to the farm—but we didn’t know where you were exactly until that rock dwarf suddenly shouted out that you were at Deadman’s Cove.”
“Scark found me first.”
“I know. I’m sorry, Connie.”
Connie shivered and clung more tightly to Col, relieved beyond words to be among friends again. She let herself sob on to his shoulder, the fingers of one hand caressing Scark’s bloodied feathers as she clutched the battered body to her chest. She cried until she had no more tears left.
Now they were flying swiftly but calmly over Dartmoor, Connie began to nod with tiredness, her reserves of energy all spent, her mind numb with sorrow. Letting her thoughts wander, she stumbled clumsily into the dialogue between the pegasus and Col. Compared to her dazed, grief-stricken state of mind, they were sharply focused; united in concern for their passenger, alert to pursuit, flying with one mind: a perfect team.
She senses us, Col. Skylark had noticed her presence.
Sorry, I can’t help eavesdropping. I’ve not yet learned to control my gift, she apologized, feeling as if she had walked into a room without knocking.
I understand, Universal, Skylark replied. You are welcome here, is she not, Companion?
To Connie’s relief, there was no hesitation from Col.
Of course she is. Connie, I’ve a confession to make. He paused. Connie felt Skylark give him a mental nudge. I let you down—never really gave you a chance. I’m sorry.
He’s trying to tell you, Universal, broke in Skylark, that he’s been a fool.
Thanks, Companion, said Col sourly. Now that my friend here has explained my feelings about myself so clearly, will you accept my apology? Can we start again?
It was the second invitation to make a new start that Connie had received that evening, but this was one she was eager to accept. Even in her weary state, she appreciated how difficult it had been for proud, popular Col to make an apology to her and admit that he had been wrong.
’Course, she replied. And I’m sorry that I was mad at you about Jane’s dad. I should never’ve said you didn’t care.
So, friends then? said Col.
Friends, she agreed, her head dropping forward against his shoulder. Her thoughts were slipping out of focus: she could no longer hear their silent communication. Exhaustion and shock were finally catching up with her.
Grab her before she falls! warned Skylark, sensing her distress. She is losing consciousness.
Just in time, Col caught Connie as she was about to release her grip around his waist.
We must land to put her in front of me, he told Skylark, but his mount was already circling down to find a convenient spot. Once on the ground, Col was shocked to see how white Connie’s face was—she looked drained of life, like a waxwork image.
She needs help: we must fly like the wind! he urged Skylark as they took off once more, Connie now slumped over the pegasus’s neck. Col took charge of the gull’s broken body. What has Kullervo done to her?
Col and Skylark landed with their burden by the farmhouse, where Evelyn, Jessica, Mrs. Clamworthy, Dr. Brock, Gard, and the remaining Trustees were waiting for them anxiously. Skylark trotted forward and stopped by the steps up to the house, panting hard, his flanks glistening with sweat, legs close to buckling with the effort he had just made.
“Thank God,” Mrs. Clamworthy exclaimed, “you’re unharmed! How’s Connie?”
“He killed her seagull. She’s in shock or something. Take her someone!” Col called. Dr. Brock darted forward and caught Connie as she slid off Skylark’s back. Evelyn let out a wail of distress. “She’s been like this for some time,” Col explained, his voice cracked with concern. “Should we call an ambulance?”
Kira hurried forward and wrapped Connie in a blanket. “Bring her into the house,” she said calmly. “She’ll have the best care she could wish for from Windfoal.”
The party filed quickly into the house, leaving Col and Skylark together in the yard. He placed Scark reverently on the backseat of his grandmother’s car then turned to pat Skylark’s neck affectionately.
You were brilliant! he complimented him.
And you were brave. The horse nuzzled him back.
Leading Skylark with one hand resting gently on his mane, Col sought out the warmth of the stable and a well-earned rest for his steed.
18
Sword and Shield
The sweet smell of hay and the warmth of a tartan cloth—Skylark twittered with pleasure, comfortable in his stall. Nudging Col softly, he released his companion to go back to the farmhouse, as they both knew that Col would not be able to sleep without news of Connie. Col found most of the Hescombe party sitting with Mr. Masterson in the dining room around a shining, dark-wood table, talking in low voices. Evelyn, however, was striding angrily to and fro, casting challenging looks at the disapproving portraits of previous Mastersons gazing down on them from the walls. The youngest clan member was leaning against the door, dressed in a floral dressing gown and slippers, looking in.
“Is Connie okay?” Col asked Shirley.
She shrugged. “Think so.”
Taken aback, Col turned to look into Shirley’s face, but she did not meet his eyes. Her expression was one of boredom, as if she was uninterested in the events of the night—indeed, she was acting as though she was more annoyed to have her house invaded by uninvited guests than anything else. He could not waste time on her if she would not give him a proper answer, so he pushed his way past and into the room.
“Ah, Col!” Dr. Brock rose as he came in. “We were waiting for you. As the last person she saw, Windfoal thinks you should be there when Connie wakes up. Come with me.”
Dr. Brock took Col up to a grand bedroom with heavy red velvet curtains, just beginning to glow with pale pink light in the rising sun. Col saw Connie asleep in a four-poster bed under a canopy, her hair spread out across the pillow. She no longer had the marble sheen that had so alarmed him a few hours ago; instead, her face had regained its usual color, and she seemed to be having a pleasant dream as a smile flickered across her lips.
“She’s been sent to sleep by Windfoal,” said Dr. Brock, “who’s protecting her from all bad memories while she dreams. They’ll come back when she wakes—indeed, I need her to remember because we must know what she’s seen and heard.” He sighed. “Our vigilance failed. It means that it’s time for us to tell her all. We can no longer keep it from her without putting her in worse danger.”
Col and Dr. Brock took seats in a pair of saggy armchairs on either side of an empty fire grate. Despite himself, Col found he was yawning. He rubbed his eyes roughly with his knuckles.
“Is she all right? I mean, what did Kullervo do to her tonight?” Col asked, still haunted by his glimpse of Connie on the moor and the shattered body of Scark.
“I think he almost killed Connie,” Dr. Brock replied softly, “when she refused to help him in his plans to bring havoc upon the human world. But thanks to you, and to others, she’s been saved. But it has been at a great cost: not only has one brave bird died for her, but we’ve had news that when Morjik drove Kullervo and his creatures away, he was badly wounded by lightning burns. Even now he is being brought back by the dragons. He is close to death.”
“Morjik! Scark!” It was not Col but Connie who had spoken. The two turned round to find her sitting upright in bed with a wild look on her face.
“Lie still,” said Dr. Brock, rushing over to prevent her from getting out of bed. “Kinga is doing all she can for Morjik. Don’t worry, there’s strength left in the old dragon yet.”
r /> Connie reluctantly lay back on the pillows, but tossed her head fretfully, still distressed. Nothing would bring back Scark. It was as though she had awoken to a nightmare. Her wonderful gift had turned ugly, and she did not want to think about it. She wanted to go back into the sleep, where everything was calm and beautiful.
Col came to her side and touched her hand. “How do you feel?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she lied, returning his gesture with a slight squeeze of his fingers, “just confused—and afraid—afraid for Morjik.”
“Confused?” asked Dr. Brock gently.
“Yes. He—Kullervo—seemed to want me on his side. I’m not sure why he didn’t just kill me,” Connie replied, withdrawing further under the covers as if afraid to hear the answer.
Dr. Brock rubbed his chin and looked away, working out what he should say.
“I’m not an expert on these things, but I think, Connie, that if the universals have one companion species in the mythical world, it’s Kullervo. You are counterparts—he in his world, you in ours. He knew about you before anyone else did. You see, he has always been on the watch for your kind, ever since we managed to hide the universals from him in the last world war. He’s been waiting and searching for a next one, to take you before we could conceal you from him. He was ready for you, when we’d stopped watching.”
“But I don’t want to be companion to such a vicious creature!” Connie protested.
“Quite so,” said Dr. Brock, laying a comforting hand on her arm. “I said you were counterparts, not that you would have to be a companion for him. In fact, it would be very bad news for us if you did want to join him: with you as a channel, he could magnify his power a hundredfold. At present, he acts in our world through his followers, as his own power is still confined to the mythical world. He needs a universal companion to open the door for him.”
“That means he’ll be coming back for me!” she said desperately, sitting up again. She wanted to run away from being a universal, go back to the time when she had never heard of such a thing.
Dr. Brock again restrained her gently. “For you—or for the next universal to be discovered. I know it’s hard for you to hear this, Connie, but it’s better that you are fully aware of the danger you face rather than run into it recklessly. We should’ve told you earlier, but we thought you weren’t ready. You must understand that he’s prepared to wait for an accomplice. He will try to turn you but, if that fails, he would rather you were dead than alive to resist him. You also pose a threat to him, you see, if you survive in opposition to him.”
“How?” asked Col, horrified. This was the first time he had heard this. Connie looked as ashen-faced as she had on the moor a few hours ago. She had just realized that she was trapped—trapped as a universal. The wild thought that she could run from this truth had been a delusion.
“We’re not sure, but the stories about Kullervo say that he can only be defeated by an equal and opposing force of good. Now, I’d say that our Connie here was good through and through, wouldn’t you?” Dr. Brock’s eyes glistened from under his white brows. “She’s the nearest thing we have to that force.”
“But I can’t do anything against that...that monster,” Connie said incredulously. They all seemed to expect so much of her, and she hadn’t even been able to stand on her feet before Kullervo. She hadn’t been able to save Scark.
“Maybe not yet, but your training has only just begun. Are you able to tell me about him, Connie?” Dr. Brock asked quietly. “No one before has seen him and lived, you see, so we have to know all we can about him in order to fight him.”
Still shaking, Connie took a deep breath and recounted the events of the night in a halting voice. When she reached the part where she had touched Kullervo a second time, she was reluctant to say how close she had come to giving in to him. Now ashamed of her weakness, she did not dwell on this part of the encounter. Tears streamed down her face as she retold the death of Scark.
Col listened with growing alarm as she described the shape-shifting spirit that had imprisoned her. He thought her incredibly brave to stand up to him as she had. “He’s gone, isn’t he?” Col asked Dr. Brock when she had finished, hoping that his friend would at least be able to find some temporary comfort.
“For the moment. The dragons beat him back tonight, and he was last seen traveling to the north in the midst of the weather giant’s cloud. There’ll be bad weather in the Irish Sea today, I’d say.”
The mention of the weather giant brought another event of the night to Connie’s mind. “Dr. Brock, you must do something about Mr. Coddrington! I think he’s on Kullervo’s side.”
Dr. Brock looked shocked. “Ivor Coddrington on Kullervo’s side! I don’t like him, I admit, but I can’t believe it even of him. He’s been in the Society for years!”
“Even so,” Connie persisted. She told him how Mr. Coddrington had waylaid her at the castle; how he had done nothing when she had been carried off by the black dragon. “I think he failed me in the assessment because he was doing as Kullervo asked. Kullervo wants to keep me out of the Society. If you don’t believe me, ask Mr. Coddrington!”
“This is a serious charge, Connie,” Dr. Brock said doubtfully. “Ivor Coddrington has served the Society faithfully through many previous crises; he’s deep in the confidence of the Trustees, knows all our plans.”
Connie felt too weak to argue. “Just ask him.”
“But it was Ivor Coddrington who alerted us to your disappearance!”
This took the wind out of her sails. Had she got it wrong? Perhaps she had let her personal loathing of the man cloud her judgement? “It can’t have been!” she protested.
“But it was. I was there when he ran back to the parking lot to tell us that you had gone—so was Col.”
Connie gave up. With so many witnesses against her, how could she explain that she just knew by a deep instinct that he was not to be trusted? She turned her head away from them, wanting to go back to the peaceful sleep where such matters were not her concern.
“She’s had enough,” Col murmured to Dr. Brock, getting up to go.
“Yes, we’ve stayed too long. Sleep well, child. No one will find you here.” Tenderly, Dr. Brock smoothed Connie’s hair off her forehead, and then the two visitors quietly withdrew from the bedroom.
That evening, when Connie awoke refreshed from her ordeal, her training began in earnest. The time to initiate her into the deeper knowledge of the universals had come. Closeted with six of the Trustees in the hay barn, she was learning how to control bonds with more than one creature at a time. Kinga and Morjik were absent because of the dragon’s wounds, but they were not far away. Morjik was lying in the lambing shed next door, deep in a dragon-dream of pain and suffering, watched over by Kinga. The attack by Kullervo had wrought another change among the Trustees: Frederick Cony, who up to now had spent most of his time asleep or resting, had been galvanized into action and was taking Connie’s training very seriously.
“My uncle Reginald,” he told Connie as he sat perched on a hay bale, his gray hair shining like wet granite in the stark electric light from overhead, “was the last universal in this country before you came along. He died ten years ago, but he told me much that might prove helpful.”
Kira was impatient, striding fretfully up and down the straw-strewn floor with the pent-up rage of a caged lioness. “Frederick,” she said, “we must help Connie block those attacks. As long as she cannot defend herself against them, she’s vulnerable to Kullervo. We cannot protect her day and night in Hescombe: she has her own life to lead there.”
“Of course we must, Kira,” Frederick agreed, “but there is more to the skills of a universal than merely blocking out a hostile presence.” He addressed himself to Connie again. “My uncle told me that the universals were known as the healers and warriors of the Society in the days when we fought battles on behalf of the mythical creatures. The universals even had their own company in the Society, and there was al
ways a universal among the Trustees—the ninth and leader of us all.”
“But we have only one evening to give Connie some emergency aid, not years,” Kira said anxiously. Restless, Windfoal pawed the ground with an ebony hoof and twitched her ears forward expectantly, her coat like dazzling silver foil in the bright light.
“Then let us get started,” said Gard gruffly, giving the companion to unicorns a stony glare. He did not like to see his companion criticized by anyone, particularly when he rejoiced to see some of his friend’s old spirit had come back.
“Righto,” said Frederick briskly, taking charge. “If you would be so kind, Connie, please stand in the center of our circle.”
As Connie stood in the middle of the hay bales, they were all aware that one point of the compass stood empty. Without Morjik, the energy of the circle was out of balance. Windfoal whinnied sorrowfully; the crystal tones of her lament echoed in the rafters. Storm-Bird rumbled like the sound of a distant storm rolling across the plains.
“Now,” Frederick continued, “I remember my uncle telling me that the basic tools of the universal consisted of the sword and the shield. I can only describe what he said to me as, of course, I have never experienced any of this myself: you will have to do the rest.
“He told me that the shield kept the universal free of encroachment from unwanted presences. He said he always imagined holding a great shield over his head so that the attack was deflected away. The most accomplished universals could even make the attack rebound on the perpetrator—this was one of the most effective weapons of the warrior. I suggest we try it now as this, I am told by my respected colleague, is the most urgent need,” Frederick said, casting a wry look at Kira.