Behind the Sorcerer's Cloak (13 page)

The plane dropped lower and lower. Mr. Smythe throttled back and touched down gently. There was a great splash, then the Beaver coasted along the surface of the water. Turning in a wide circle she putted toward the harbor and turned into the river estuary. Mr. Smythe cut the engine. The plane drifted to a stop by a large orange buoy bobbing in a patch of brilliant sunshine.

“Our thanks, Manannan, for a safe arrival,” said Myrddin with a heartfelt sigh of relief.

Mr. Smythe snorted.

The children's eyes danced. They hid giggles.

Mr. Smythe swung out of the cockpit door and stood on the float. He tied up to the buoy.

Holly raised her eyebrows.

“Er…it's a long way to swim to the harbor steps,” shouted Owen.

Mr. Smythe pointed to the quay. “The harbor master's sending a rowboat. Peel doesn't have a floatplane dock, and we cannot tie up beside the harbor. We'd damage our wings.”

“Got it,” said Owen. He watched a rowboat leave the steps and approach them. The oarsman expertly maneuvered among the anchored pleasure boats and fishing boats.

“Afternoon, all. Mr. Cubbon at your service. I'll take the kiddies first,” shouted the fisherman with confidence. He shipped the oars, pushed up the sleeves of his thick navy blue sweater and held the boat steady against the floats. “Come on. She's quite safe.”

“You're nearest the door. Climb out first, Owen,” instructed Mr. Smythe. “Come down the ladder to the float and hang on to a strut. Holly, you help Chantel down, and Owen and I will grab her. Myrddin, sit tight and balance the weight. We'll go next with the luggage.”

It took some time for the three children to disembark from the plane, balance on the float and clamber into the rowboat, but everyone managed without falling into the water.

“Super cool,” said Owen as they left the rowboat and scrambled up the harbor steps. He stared around with interest.

The flapping corner of a poster caught his eye.

Peel Viking Festival
it announced.
WANTED: Volunteers
for the role of Vikings to re-enact a raid on Peel castle
.

Owen's eyes shone. Now that was the sort of thing he would love to do. Pity they had other things on their minds. As he scanned the harbor he spotted replicas of the dragon-prowed Viking longboats, bobbing among the fishing vessels.

“Look at the Viking longboats. After this is over, do you think we'll be able to cadge a ride in one?” he asked.

Chantel and Holly didn't answer.

Holly stared at the castle at the end of the causeway.

Chantel leaned over the far side of the causeway wall, watching the breaking waves.

“I'd love to be part of the Viking raid,” said Owen. He stared wistfully at the longboats, then turned his attention to the fishing village of Peel on the other side of the estuary. “We must be staying over there,” he said, pointing at the rows of stone cottages that lined winding streets. “Which do you think is our hotel?”

Chantel joined him, but Holly never turned her head. She wasn't interested in boats; she wasn't interested in the town of Peel. She needed to find Breesha's grave and she needed to find it soon.

AARCK.

A lone raven soared above her and disappeared over the castle walls.

I call upon the raven to guide her.
Sigurd's words at Breesha's graveside echoed in Holly's mind. If the raven was a guide, she should follow it. Holly began to run.

“Hey up, Holly. Wait for Mr. Smythe and Myrddin,” protested Owen.

“They'll see us. It's not far. Come on. Follow the raven,” Holly shouted.

Surprised, Owen and Chantel looked at each other, then across the water to the plane. Mr. Cubbon had rowed back out, and the adults were struggling to unloaded luggage from the rear of the plane into his boat.

“OY! Mr. Smythe!” hollered Owen.

Mr. Smythe turned. The rowboat wobbled, and he lunged forward and grabbed the float. He steadied himself, turned again and shook his fist.

Owen grinned. He cupped his hands to his mouth. “We'll wait by the castle,” he yelled and pointed.

Mr. Smythe raised a hand in agreement and turned back to the plane.

“Right. Now we're off the hook!” Owen said, grinning.

The two cousins raced down the causeway after Holly.

AARK,
cried the raven. He stared down from the red sandstone battlements above the castle gatehouse.

Holly stared up. “What are you trying to tell me?” she called.

With a creak of wings, a second bird swooped down to join him. They rubbed beaks and watched the girl with two sets of beady eyes.

“Your mate is a white raven. That's really rare!” Holly's voice was full of awe. “Light and Dark, Dark and Light. You're a pair of magical birds.”

The white raven hopped along the battlement to be closer to the girl. The bird tilted her head to one side, then the other, spread her wings and flew back inside the castle.

AARK.
The black raven followed.

“So? What's the hurry? Why did you rush off?” panted Owen as he and Chantel caught up with Holly.

Holly pointed up the worn steps, through the gatehouse, to the castle's pay booth. “Did you bring any money? We need it to go inside.”

“Hold on, Holly,” Owen protested. “We've only just arrived. What's the big rush?”

Holly calmed down a little. “I recognize this place. It's where Breesha's buried. I must get inside. The round tower I saw in my vision is in the middle of the castle. So's Breesha. I can feel her pulling me.”

“Magic's pulling me too,” admitted Chantel softly. “Myrddin said we were coming to the most magical place on earth. He was right. The sea is full of white horses.”

Owen grinned and ruffled her hair. “You and your horses.”

Chantel moved out of reach, her face set.

“Nothing's calling me,” said Owen. “But this is a brilliant place to visit. The only thing I feel is worried about Ava. I'm scared she's in big trouble.”

Everyone fell silent. They had still heard nothing from the other two Wise Ones.

A white cat poked its head through a window slit in the gatehouse. It saw the children, jumped down and wound around their ankles.

Chantel stooped and stroked it. “Oh…a white cat…I dreamed about one like you… . What a nice welcome, pretty kitty.” She ran her hand along its body. “Ooops, you've no tail. You must be a Manx cat. That makes you special.” Chantel scooped the cat up and rubbed her cheek against the soft fur. “I'll call you Manxie,” she crooned.

The cat purred.

“Ooooh, you like that name. Look at Manxie, everyone.”

Holly tickled behind the cat's ears.

The cat stretched and turned in Chantel's arms, offering up its soft belly.

Owen chuckled and joined in, stroking and petting the beautiful animal.

A voice began to sing.

The sound floated over the castle walls.

The children's hands stilled as they listened.

The cat twisted out of Chantel's arms, leapt back up the wall and melted through the window slit.

The song continued. It sobbed its way into the children's hearts. Tears pooled in their eyes.

Holly sensed that the song was trying to tell her something, but she couldn't grasp the words.

“How awful, having no one remember your name,” said Chantel with a sigh. She sniffed.

The others stared at her.

“What on earth are you talking about?” said Holly.

“The singer who has no name,” said Chantel in surprise.

Holly grabbed her arm. “You mean you understand the song?”

“Sure, don't you?”

“No, I just hear sad sounds,” said Holly.

“That's all I hear,” said Owen, “so how could you hear words? You're making it up.”

Chantel flushed. “Get lost, Owen. You never believe me. You're as bad as Adam.” The thought of Adam brought more tears to her eyes. She turned away.

Mr. Smythe, Myrddin and Mr. Cubbon emerged one by one up the harbor steps. Chantel ran back to them.

“Idiot,” said Holly to Owen. “Now look what you've done. I know she's only seven, but she's got magic we don't have. Equus said Chantel was the Singer, remember? She might be hearing something we can't, and now she's mad at us.”

Owen kicked a broken scallop shell. “Sorry,” he muttered. “But she's getting more fanciful since Adam disappeared. I'm trying to keep her grounded.” He sighed. “I'll apologize. She'll get over it.”

“She'd better,” said Holly. “Something tells me I really need to understand that song.” She turned and followed Chantel.

Chantel reached Mr. Smythe as he stood catching his breath.

Holly and Owen saw her gesturing toward the castle.

The men turned their heads to look.

Holly speeded up to join them. “Mr. Cubbon, do you know who's singing?” she panted.

“Singing? It's more like sobbing,” said Owen, coming up behind.

“What singing?” Mr. Smythe tilted his head to listen. He shrugged. “I don't hear a thing.”

The children looked baffled. The song was faint but still clear.

Mr. Cubbon said nothing. He stared hard at each child from under his shaggy brows.

Myrddin looked mysterious.

Holly opened her mouth as if to say more, but Owen nudged her. “Shhhh. If no one else hears it, it must be magic music,” he whispered and indicated Mr. Cubbon.

Holly snapped her mouth shut.

A fierce gust of wind whooshed in from the sea, bobbing and tossing boats at their moorings. It carried a frantic galloping of hooves.

A portal, Manannan. We pray you a portal, and your
help.

The urgent mindspeak startled everyone.

All four children's heads whipped around. Mr. Smythe, Myrddin and Mr. Cubbon also turned.

The flag above the gatehouse leapt and billowed, then dropped and lay idle again as the gust passed.

The strange wind gusted across the causeway, up the headland and into the hills beyond. The hoofbeats faded.

“It's Equus,” cried Chantel. “He's in trouble.”

“Not him…Ava,” said Owen grimly. He turned to Mr. Smythe. “We've got to help them. Sir.”

No one argued. The blast of mindspeak was full of dread and foreboding.

Another buffet of wind followed.

The mist boiled and closed in again, but not before strange shadows raced over the water, along the harbor and across the headland.

Everyone shivered as the shadows passed.

“Oh, for my staff, my staff,” muttered Myrddin under his breath.

Chantel overheard. She slipped her hand in his and squeezed.

“Aye, strange doings. Magical doings,” murmured Mr. Cubbon as threads of mist swirled around and between them again. “Manannan's drawin' his cloak around his island. Summat's threatening his kingdom.”

The entire group stared in surprise at the old fisherman.

It was Chantel who got straight to the heart of the matter. She touched Mr. Cubbon's arm. “You heard Equus, didn't you?” she said.

Mr. Cubbon nodded. “The White Horse, aye.”

“…and the magic song?”

Mr. Cubbon nodded again.

“Did you understand the words?”

“Aye. 'Twas the old story of the spirit whose name is lost. She cannot rest till someone remembers it.”

Holly sucked in her breath.

“Told ya,” sang out Chantel. She turned back to Mr. Cubbon. “Were you a Magic Child?” she asked.

Mr. Cubbon's face broke into a delighted smile. “No one ever called me that, me dear. But me Magic Ear was wondrous when I was a child. And 'tis wondrous again of late. I'm thinking we should get you set up at Castleview Inn. Then if I was you, I'd head to Barrule.”

“Barrule?” the children murmured.

“Aye, the mountain where Manannan lives. The direction yon White Horse was galloping. Seems like you have urgent need of Manannan. Come along now. I borrowed the fishmonger's van to carry the luggage.” Mr. Cubbon began to haul a couple of backpacks toward a white minivan, parked farther down the quay, barely visible through the now dense fog.