Stormchaser (4 page)

‘Vilnix's eyes gleamed greedily. Pure lightning! he thought. What power must each piece of stormphrax contain. He looked up. “And … errm … what does it look like exactly?”

‘The professor's expression became dreamy. “Of unsurpassed beauty,” he said. “A crystal that fizzes, that glows, that sparks…”

‘“And yet it is heavy,” said Vilnix. “Or so I learned. But how heavy?”

‘“In the twilight of its creation it is no heavier than sand. Yet in the absolute darkness of the treasury at the centre of Sanctaphrax, a thimbleful weighs more than a thousand ironwood trees,” the professor told him. “It provides the counter-balance to the buoyancy of the rock itself. Without it, the floating city would break its moorings and fly off into open sky…”

‘Vilnix scratched his head theatrically. “What I don’t understand is this,” he said. “If the crystals and shards are so heavy, then how is the stormphrax brought through the darkness of the tunnels to the treasury in the first place?”

‘The Professor of Darkness surveyed the youth gravely. Perhaps,’ said the caterbird, interrupting his own story, ‘just for a moment, he doubted the motives of the young apprentice. I’m not sure. Nor can I say what finally decided him to entrust Vilnix with the information. But entrust him, he did. It was a decision which was to change the course of history in Sanctaphrax. “It is transported in a light-box,” he explained, “with the light it emits calibrated to approximate twilight itself.”

‘Vilnix turned away in order to hide his glee. If a light-box could be used to get the stormphrax in, then surely, he reasoned, it could also be used to get some out. “Perhaps I could see some for myself?” he suggested tentatively.

“‘Absolutely not!” the Professor of Darkness barked – and Vilnix knew he had gone too far. “None may set eyes upon stormphrax,” the professor said. “None save the Knights Academic and the guardian of the treasury –
who happens to be myself. It is blasphemy for unworthy eyes to feast upon the purity of stormphrax,” he ranted. “An action, Vilnix, punishable by death.’”

The caterbird paused dramatically. ‘At that moment, the wind abruptly changed. The floating rock of Sanctaphrax drifted to the west and jerked violently as all the chains went taut.

“‘I understand,” said Vilnix humbly.

“‘Ah Vilnix,” the professor continued more gently. “I wonder if you truly do understand. There are many out there who covet stormphrax for themselves. Unscrupulous windtouchers and traitorous cloudwatchers who would not think twice at observing … at touching…” A violent shudder passed through his body. “At
experimenting
on stormphrax – if they thought it would serve their own ends.”’

The caterbird fell silent for a moment before continuing with his tale. ‘Early the following morning,’ it said, ‘the treasury guard would have seen a gangly figure creep furtively along the corridor from the treasury – had he not been dozing at his post. There was a light-box clutched in the intruder's bony hands. Inside the box were several fragments of stormphrax.’

Twig gasped. Vilnix
had
stolen some.

‘Vilnix scurried back to the Apprentices’ Laboratory at the top of the Raintasters’ Tower,’ the caterbird continued. ‘Triumphantly he placed the box down in front of an eagerly waiting group of young raintasters and, with a flourish, opened the lid. The crystals of stormphrax sparkled and flashed like nothing they had seen
before. “Pure lightning,” said Vilnix. “If we can unleash and harness its energy then we’ll become the most powerful academics Sanctaphrax has ever known.”

‘Hour after hour the raintasters worked, yet no matter what they tried – be it dissolving, freezing, melting or mixing the crystals with other substances – none discovered how to unlock the power of the stormphrax.

‘Outside the window, the sun went down. The light turned a golden orange.

‘Suddenly overcome with frustration, Vilnix raised the pestle and brought it down hard, crushing the fragment in his fury. A moment later, he was overcome with remorse. He had destroyed the priceless stormphrax.’

The caterbird's eye narrowed. ‘Or so he thought at first. When he looked more carefully, though, Vilnix saw the result of his action. The crystals had turned to a sepia powder which moved in the bottom of the bowl like quicksilver. “I don’t know what it is,” Vilnix told the others, “but let's make some more.”

‘A second shard was taken. It was placed in a second mortar. A second pestle was raised. Outside, the light faded. Then, with the exception of Vilnix himself, who was busy pouring his own liquid dust into a jar, all the apprentices gathered round. The pestle was brought down and –
BOOM
!’

Twig started back in surprise.

‘The power of the lightning had been unleashed all right,’ the caterbird snorted. ‘But with the direst of consequences. The explosion ripped through the tower, reducing half of it to smouldering rubble; it rocked Sanctaphrax to its core and jarred the ancient Anchor Chain to the very edge of breaking. The apprentices were all killed in the blast. All, that is, save one.’

‘Vilnix Pompolnius,’ Twig whispered.

‘Precisely,’ said the caterbird. ‘There he lay, on the floor, barely alive but still clutching the jar to his chest. The scent of almonds hung in the air. Dazed and confused, Vilnix stared down at the stormphrax dust. What had gone wrong this second time? he wondered. What had happened?

‘As he pulled himself up on his elbows, a drop of blood fell from a gash in his cheek and into the jar. The instant it made contact with the dust, the thick, red blood turned to crystal-clear water…’

The expression on the caterbird's face grew deadly serious. ‘Crisis now hung over lofty Sanctaphrax,’ it said solemnly. ‘Thanks to the arrogant young raintaster's folly, the ancient chain was now perilously close to breaking point. Worse still, the theft of the stormphrax
had left the treasury depleted. With the buoyancy of the rock increasing every day, and less to weight it down, the upward pressure on the rock became intolerable.

‘There was just one glimmer of hope: the windtouchers and cloudwatchers had confirmed that a Great Storm was indeed approaching. Accordingly, an Inauguration Ceremony was hurriedly arranged. Quintinius Verginix was to be knighted and would set off to chase the Great Storm to the Twilight Woods in search of stormphrax.

‘Meanwhile,’ the caterbird continued, ‘Vilnix lay in his sick bed, his mind working furiously. He might have failed to harness the power of the lightning, but he re-alized that the stormphrax dust he’d created was itself miraculous – a single grain dropped into the foulest water instantly purified it. What would the inhabitants of filthy, fetid Undertown not give for his wonderful dust? “Anything,” he whispered greedily. “Anything at all!”

‘Without waiting to be discharged, he left his hospital ward and returned to the dilapidated tower of the raintasters – or rather rain
taster
, since he was the only one left. There, he busied himself. Everything had to be ready for the great day.

‘Finally that day arrived. The sun rose, and shafts of light streamed in through the eastern arch of the Great Hall where the Sanctaphrax council was already assembled.

‘The Professors of Light and Darkness – in white and black robes respectively – sat at the front of the hall
behind a table, upon which were a sword and a chalice. Before them, seated in rows, were the academics of Sanctaphrax. Every discipline was represented: the College of Cloud, the Academy of Wind, the Institute of Ice and Snow; the airsifters, the mistgraders, the fogprobers … And, on crutches, the single remaining member of the Faculty of Raintasters.

‘A tall, powerfully built young knight crossed the floor and knelt down in front of the Professor of Light. “By the powers invested in me – oh, thirst for knowledge, oh, sharpness of wit,” the professor announced, raising first the chalice and then the sword, “I offer up for your approval Quintinius Verginix of the Knights’ Academy.”

‘The professor looked down at the kneeling figure. “Do you, Quintinius Verginix, swear by all that is wise, that you will serve the Order of Knights Academic with heart and mind, forswearing all loyalties other than to Sanctaphrax.”

‘Quintinius trembled. “I do,” he said.’

Twig's heart swelled with pride. My father! he thought.

“‘And do you swear also that you will dedicate your life to the finding of stormphrax? That you will chase the Great Storms? That…” The professor breathed in, slowly, deeply. “That you will not return until and unless you have completed your sacred quest?’”

The caterbird turned and fixed Twig with its unblinking gaze. ‘His father – your grandfather – Wind Jackal, was a sky pirate captain. How furious Quintinius had been with him when the old fellow had offered him
up for service at the Knights’ Academy, for he had wanted to follow in his footsteps. Yet now … Now! Words could not describe how honoured he felt at receiving the highest accolade that Sanctaphrax could bestow. “Quintinius,” he heard the professor gently say, “do you swear?”

‘Quintinius Verginix raised his head. “I do!” he said.

‘The Professor of Light then leaned forwards and handed the chalice to Quintinius. “Drink!” he said. Quintinius raised the chalice to his lips. The Professor of Light took up the sword, held it high above his head, and waited for Quintinius to drain the chalice. And waited and waited … But Quintinius remained motionless, unable to drink the thick, foul-smelling liquid.