Francis Beyond the Gyre (Song of the Arkafina, #4)

1. Auflage 2008
ISBN: 978-1-84319-391-3
Verlag: Mushroom eBooks
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 316 Seiten

Reihe: Song of the Arkafina

The island of Asaruthe has sheltered the Dawnmaid, Myriadne, for the past sixteen years, but Yr has fallen prey to a deadly plague, and it is clear she must leave soon. Katkin travels with Myriadne to help her free the Firaithi from Maggrai's diabolical laboratory.
Meanwhile, Gunnar Strong Arm's twin sons, Jakob and Lut, are feuding with each other. When Jakob carelessly gap shifts, he leaves a trail that Maggrai's minions can follow back to Asaruthe. The death and havoc they wreak will send Lut on a mission of vengeance against Maggrai and his brother.
In the final battle, the Dawnmaid must find a way to converse with her enemies, the Angellus, before they attack the secret haven of the Firaithi with their unquenchable fire. What is it they have been defending through all the turns of the Gyre? The answer astonishes both Amaranthine and human alike...
Beyond the Gyre is the final book in the Song of the Arkafina' series.'

Autoren/Hrsg.

Francis, Suzanne

Leseproben

Chapter Two
Birch
Lut’s blond head popped from below the rim. “What?” Then, seeing her stricken expression, he added, “Are you all right, Poppy?” She hurried forward until she reached the break. Her relief at the sight of him standing unhurt on a wide ledge just a few feet from the edge made her shriek crossly. “Am I all right? I thought you had fallen down the cliff, you ass!” Lut seemed not to notice her irritation. “Good. Give me a hand, will you?” He had hold of the lamb’s back leg, as it dangled over the two hundred foot drop to the rocks below. “I’ll pass it to you. Mind you hang on to it, eh? I don’t want to have to run another race with that one. Once is enough.” Poppy did as he instructed. She handed the wriggling lamb back to Lut once he had scrambled out of the cut and he draped it across his shoulders, holding its feet in the front. The lamb relaxed, and lay on its side. Lut trotted across the field towards home. Poppy cried, “Wait for me! What’s your hurry?” “Got to get this little one back to the house. It is probably dehydrated — and hungry, too. Ma’s got some special mix she makes for the foundlings. We’ll bottle feed it for a few days and it should be fine.” She smiled at him, much impressed. “You are full of surprises, Lut.” He blushed. “What do you mean? I am just Lut, the quiet one. Jakob gets all the attention around here.” He stared at her for a moment, and Poppy thought she saw a flicker of jealousy in his eyes. Then he looked away again. “I just meant that you know so much — about sailing and sheep herding, and...” He gave her a shy grin. “Just because I don’t talk doesn’t mean I don’t know things.” The high green roof of Ikora Gwenn’s house came into view. Several goats cropped the sod on the top, crossing back and forth on the steeply sloping sides. Gwenn was blond and rawboned, like her sons. She stood when she saw Lut approaching with the lamb, and Myrie, who had been sitting on a stool at her feet, scampered away. “Myriadne!” she called, exasperatedly, but the girl had already left the yard, running towards Gwillam’s house. She threw the comb and scissors down in disgust. “Shall I catch her, Ikora?” Although Gwenn was, in one sense, her adoptive sister, Poppy felt uncomfortable with the idea that the huge, ex-warrior before her could be as closely related as that. Ikora, for the fact that Gwenn had married Patre’s brother, seemed so much safer. “No, thank you,” said Gwenn in resignation. “I was almost done. She doesn’t care what her hair looks like, anyway.” She took the lamb from Lut. “What happened here?” Poppy explained about the dead ewe. Gwenn burst into a torrent of colorful cursing, a relic from her days as a Fynäran raider. “If I find out which dog is responsible, I will tie a stone to his neck and throw him off the cliff!” “Ikora Gwenn!” Poppy stared at her unhappily. She growled unrepentantly, “Those sheep are our main livelihood, Poppy. Without them, we would not be able to trade for all the things we need from the mainland. Do you understand?” Poppy sighed and nodded. * * * * “Gwenn came over here earlier,” said Katkin to Huw, trying to break the uncomfortable silence between them. “Oh? Why is that, my Queen?” Huw stopped eating and looked over at Katkin, frowning. “She thinks Jolly has been after the sheep. Jakob said he saw him on the tops.” Poppy threw down her fork and cut in hotly, “Jolly didn’t do anything! Jakob is a liar.” Huw smiled at his daughter affectionately. “Now, Poppy, calling people names will not remedy the situation.” He asked Katkin, “Has Jolly been running free?” She shook her head. “Not as far as I know, Huw, but I can’t watch him every minute. But Gwenn insists we should get rid of him anyway, since he is not needed for the herding.” Gwillam choked on his food. “No! He’s mine. You can’t...” Katkin said, automatically, “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Gwill.” He quickly chewed and swallowed. “I won’t let you do anything to Jolly, Patre.” He lifted his tear-filled eyes to meet Huw’s. “I will have a talk to Gwenn after supper,” said Huw. “Now,” he said brightly, “How were your studies today?” Gwillam cheered somewhat. “I am learning trigonometry. Ikor says I have a great mind for mathematics.” Katkin smiled and patted his head. Poppy sniffed. “He would never say that about me. I can barely add two and two.” “But you are learning Secunian, are you not? Your gift is for languages, Poppy. How is the translation going, anyway?” Katkin’s eyes were bright and sharp. “Well, I am trying, but it is difficult. Lut said he would help me though.” Huw and Katkin both spoke in astonishment. “Lut said?” Poppy nodded. “I had quite a long talk with him today. He really is very nice, just shy.” A look passed between her parents. “Well, isn’t that something?” Katkin said, after a moment. The talk passed to other subjects, and then Huw left the table, saying he would walk across to Gwenn’s house. Poppy and Gwillam did the dishes, while Katkin mended one of the fishing nets. Once the sun sank below the level of the cliffs, she got out several oil lamps, made from large whelk shells, and hung them from the ceiling. Poppy thought Gwillam still looked troubled, and when he went outside, she followed him. She found him sitting in Jolly’s pen. “You didn’t do it, did you boy?” he asked, and Jolly whined in return. She sat beside them. “Don’t worry, Gwill. Patre will sort it out. I don’t think Jolly would hurt a sheep, and neither does he.” But Gwillam shook his head. “He’s doing it to get back at me.” “What on Yrth do you mean? Who is?” “That sneak, Jakob. Because I told Ikor Gunnar that Myrie saw him on the Able Drake.” “Gwillam, you don’t know that.” “Yes I do,” he said stubbornly, as his hands rubbed Jolly’s thick fur. The dog licked his face. “Yes, I do. And I won’t let anything happen to Jolly. You’ll see.” * * * * The next day, Katkin, Huw and Poppy sat around the supper table, all staring at Gwillam’s empty place. That morning, he had not been in his room, nor was Jolly in his pen. Huw and Katkin had hunted all day for him without success. Poppy picked at her fish and potatoes as they discussed plans for a more extensive search in the morning. She looked up when a curious noise drifted through the open windows. It sounded like the keening wail of some discontented beast. Huw jumped from his chair as the sound grew louder, crying, “What in the gods’ names is that?” The door flew open and Myrie entered, dragging her breathless father by the arm. Her deafening wails subsided as she gazed around the room, and then started again as soon as Myrie realized that Gwillam was not there. Arkady shrugged hopelessly. “I am sorry. She has been like this ever since this morning. Gwenn brought her to me when she couldn’t stand it any more. Then Myrie made me come over here.” The girl’s screams continued as she crawled into a corner, rocking back and forth with her eyes tightly closed. Katkin had to shout to make herself heard. “We have been looking for him all day, Kadya. I don’t know what else we can do.” She frowned. “If Gwenn had not made such a fuss about that sheep, this never would have...” Huw broke in. “It does not matter, my Queen. We must do something to help poor Myrie.” He squatted before the girl and patted her hand awkwardly, which made her howl even louder. Poppy said, “Patre, let me try.” She grabbed her brother’s oldest toy, a stuffed floppy-eared rabbit. It had been living on the mantelpiece since Gwillam abandoned it, five years earlier. She knelt beside Myrie and gently tucked the rabbit into her arms. Myrie hiccupped a couple of times, clutched the rabbit to her chest, and fell asleep. Arkady gave a sigh of relief as Katkin explained what Poppy had done. Then he asked, “May she stay here tonight? Now that she is quiet, I don’t want to disturb her.” Katkin said, “Of course. And tomorrow we will find Gwillam and then she will be happy again.” * * * * Sleep eluded her, though Poppy closed her eyes and forced herself to lie still. Finally, with a frustrated groan, she rose from her bed and crept down the ladder, then tiptoed into the kitchen, thinking a cup of milk might help to settle her nerves. Myrie still lay by the fireplace, with the rabbit clutched in her hands. She sighed, and muttered in her sleep, “Click, click, click...” Poppy crossed the stone floor to check on her. Myrie had curled into a ball, hugging the rabbit to her chest. The room felt very chilly, so Poppy found a blanket and draped it over the sleeping girl’s shoulders. Myrie turned over and thrust her arm up, as her clicks became both mournful and more insistent. Poppy did not want her to wake in a strange room, alone and frightened, so she grabbed another woolen blanket and some pillows from the settle and stretched out beside Myrie. Her presence seemed to be a comfort, for Myrie’s clicks subsided and she began to snore. A few moments later, Poppy slept too. Poppy had a dream, and Myrie was in it. They both stood before a vast mirror, ornately framed in silver, and their reflections stared back at them. Myrie’s reflection spoke, and she used real words. “When are you...