Dragonfire (2 page)

If you lived in Edinburgh, you would know that at the entrance to Holyrood Park, just inside the gates of the park itself, there is a pretty stone cottage; the home of one of the Park Rangers. Behind this cottage sweeps the immensity of the park itself and the slopes of one of Edinburgh’s most prominent features; a high hill, shaped like a sleeping dragon that is known locally as Arthur’s Seat.

The Ranger’s children, Neil and Clara, had spent much of their childhood roaming the park: they knew its every nook and cranny, and over the years had learned many of its secrets.

In fact, while Amgarad winged his way silently eastwards, Ranger MacLean’s two children were having a fierce, whispered argument, whispered because they didn’t want their parents to hear what they were planning; or rather, what Neil was planning. Clara, who was afraid of the dark, was appalled as she listened to Neil’s latest scheme. She heard him out in silence and found that her hands were shaking.

“You’ve got to be joking, Neil,” she whispered. “You know what the park’s like at night! Full of tramps and weirdos! Mum’ll go mental! You know she will!”

“Chill, Clara! We’ve no choice! We’ve got to go, and it’s got to be tonight. They’ve stopped coming out during the day; I’ve been looking out for them for ages and they’re just not around anymore. Not Jaikie, not Hamish … not even Archie!”

“Do you think it has anything to do with the dreadful noises we keep hearing?”

“I’m sure it has! That’s why we’ve got to go to the well. We have to find out what’s going on!”

“I’m scared, Neil!” Clara protested. “You know I hate the dark!
And,” she frowned, “I’ve a really bad feeling about going out on the hill tonight.”

“I’ll go on my own if you don’t come,” her brother promised. “It’s not only the noises, you know. It’s the birds and the sheep! They’re really nervous and as jittery as anything.”

Clara bit her lip. She knew Neil was right. There
was
something strange going on in the park; something really scary. “Okay, I’ll come with you,” she said decisively, “but only because I’d be just as nervous here, waiting for you to come back.”

Neil’s face lit up. “Great! I knew you wouldn’t let me down. Come on, let’s get ready for bed so that Mum’ll think we’ve gone to sleep when she comes in.”

Midnight saw the house dark and silent as the two children struggled into their clothes, trying to make as little noise as possible. Clara had almost fallen asleep as, one by one, the familiar noises of the house gradually ceased but excitement had kept Neil awake as he thought out the route they would take to the old ruin beside St Anthony’s Well where they had first heard the disturbing, dark rumblings.

“Did you put out the torches, Neil?” whispered Clara, poking her head round the door of his room.

“Yes. Here, where are you? Hold out your hand!”

Clara fumbled for the proffered torch and zipped it into the pocket of her jacket. Neil was excited but she had a premonition of danger and fear gripped her.

Just after midnight, when they were creeping down the garden path and slowly opening the garden gate that still squeaked despite their care, Amgarad swept on silent wings over the two brightly-lit bridges that span the Firth of Forth.

Amgarad’s journey hadn’t been without incident, and he had endured much since leaving Jarishan. Brave of heart and accustomed to being the undisputed master of the skies, he had unhesitatingly taken on all the strange monsters that had crossed his path during his flight and in doing so had done
much to endanger life and limb. After a near-fatal encounter with a helicopter that had left him short of more than a few tail feathers, he had then taken on an articulated lorry with equally disastrous results. Reduced to a trembling but undaunted bundle of feathers, it had taken him some time to recover but, as a result, his approach to the unknown was now considerably more cautious.

He looked at the two bridges over the Firth of Forth with deep suspicion and hesitated. Finally, he circled wide to avoid observation, for in front of him lay the glittering vista that marked his destination — Edinburgh!

Looking in amazement at the swathes of light that lit up the night sky he felt a creeping sense of bafflement and unease. Since leaving Jarishan, it hadn’st taken him long to realize that the world had changed considerably. Grimly he hoped that Edinburgh’s old town would still be as he remembered it; a motley jumble of tall tenements between which ran alleys and ancient closes that hid secrets and, more importantly, offered shelter to the hunted.

Tired after his long flight and more than a little afraid of being seen, his sharp eyes scanned the grey water below, seeking a resting place on one of the tiny islands in the firth. A ruined abbey showed briefly against the silver water and feathering his wings slightly, he edged towards it. Dark, deserted and safe from prying eyes it would serve his purpose. He landed on a broken ledge and rested gratefully while considering his next move. No longer, it seemed, could he rely on total darkness to conceal him; the unexpected brightness of so many lights was a problem that neither he nor his master had either envisaged or expected but there were other ways of travelling unseen. Silently, he launched himself over the sea, uttering a dreadful cry that echoed dismally over the waves and struck fear into the hearts of some nesting gulls. As he glided low over the water, the sea beneath him began to bubble and froth, giving off a dense white mist that rose and began to roll in billowing clouds
towards Edinburgh.

Neil and Clara did not notice the mist at first as they were too busy climbing the steep hillside towards the well. They soon realized to their horror that even with their torches on, they could barely see a few feet in front of them.

“Neil, this isn’t funny,” Clara gasped, looking round at the thick whiteness that surrounded them. “Where’s the well?”

“A bit to the right, I think. Look, I’ll lead the way and you hold on to my jacket. It’s not that much further.”

Gingerly they moved forward, step by step, and it was more by luck than judgment that Neil found the old stonework that surrounded the well. They peered through the grating into its depths, but there was little to see apart from struggling clumps of ferns and grasses. The hill was eerily silent with no sound apart from the steady drip of moisture to comfort them.

Suddenly, Clara grasped Neil by the arm. “I heard something,” she whispered. “No, not from the well,” she muttered as Neil leant over to listen. “Over there … shhhhh … there’s someone over there, in the mist!”

On impulse she picked up a piece of broken rock that lay nearby; it was a weapon of sorts if anyone threatened them. Shivering with fear, she crouched by the well, and had just pulled Neil down beside her when a roar of sound erupted from its depths. They leapt to their feet in fright at precisely the same moment that Amgarad, talons outstretched and wings flapping, swooped down to land opposite them.

It is difficult to say who got the greater fright. Amgarad had certainly not expected to meet anyone at that time of night and after the initial shock saw, to his relief, that his adversaries were merely children. Spreading his wings, he dived at them, his talons ripping the sleeve of Neil’s jacket and his beak tearing at its hood.

Clara turned to run but then remembered the rock she held in her hand. Screaming at the top of her voice, she threw it at
Amgarad and had the satisfaction of seeing him jerk in pain. He loosened his grip on Neil’s jacket and his black, angry eyes turned upon her.

“Run, Clara!” Neil shouted as he rushed at Amgarad, trying to pinion his wings. The strength of the bird was too much for him, however. Amgarad shrugged him off and, with a dreadful cry, knocked him to the ground and held him with one of his talons.

“Neil! Clara! Where are you?” The Ranger’s voice rang out through the mist.

“Here, Dad, here!” screamed Clara.

Amgarad’s head lifted as he heard the Ranger’s voice. The man was too close. Reluctantly he left Neil, flapped heavily into the air and disappeared into the mist.

“Neil, are you all right?” Clara sobbed as she ran up. “Dad’s here. I heard him!”

“Dad! Dad! Over here!” Neil shouted.

“What was it?” gasped Clara. “It was awful. I’ve never seen a bird like that before. It had a beak like an eagle but its feathers were like … dirty rags!”

At that moment the Ranger loomed through the fog. Clara threw herself into his arms. “Oh Dad!” she cried. “A bird attacked us!”

“A bird! Is that what the noise was?” said the Ranger. “Good grief, Neil! Look at your jacket!”

“Never mind my jacket, Dad! Listen here, at the well. What do you think is making that noise?”

The Ranger leant over the well and listened to the strange roars, rumblings and hissings that rose from its depths. “That’s strange,” he said looking puzzled. “I don’t understand it. I’ll come up here tomorrow when it’s light and have a scout round. And if I see the bird that did that to your jacket, Neil, I’ll shoot it!”

Amgarad, hunched on a nearby rock, heard his last remark and smiled nastily. Good luck to him! As he heard them making their way down the slope through the swirling mist, he returned to the well and listened with interest to the noises that emanated from it.

The lights were on in the cottage. “Is Mum up?” Clara asked.

“Yes,” answered their father. “She heard the gate creak and woke me up. You have some explaining to do, the pair of you!”

Mrs MacLean was furious when they arrived, wet and bedraggled, at the door of the cottage. Her anger, however, quickly changed to concern when she saw how tired both children looked.

“Take off your things and …! Neil MacLean! What have you done to your jacket? Look at it! Ripped to pieces!”

John MacLean shook his head. “We’ll go into that later, Janet,” he said warningly. “Now Neil, I want to hear the whole story right from the beginning. Your mother and I are listening.”

Neil looked at them doubtfully. “I don’t quite know where to start,” he admitted. “Really, it’s to do with the MacArthurs. The … the little people that live in the hill.”

Janet MacLean looked at her son with startled eyes. “What are you talking about, Neil? People that live in the hill?
In Arthur’s Seat?
” she said disbelievingly. “Don’t talk rubbish!”

“Honestly, Mum! I know it sounds crazy but there
are
people that live in the hill. They call themselves the MacArthurs. Clara and I have known them for years and we still see them sometimes; not as often as we used to, ’cos we’ve got school and homework and stuff, but they’ve always been around. They’re our friends!”

“And … er … just how did you meet them?” asked his father.

“I don’t really know. They just always seemed to be around when we were exploring the hill. We knew they were different but we were young then and didn’t think that much about it.”

“We just thought they were funny,” Clara interrupted. “They could change themselves into birds and animals, you see. If anyone appeared suddenly, they would merge into whatever animal was nearby — a sheep or rabbit or anything. Even a bird. They could still talk to us, though.”

“It’s true, Dad!” Neil nodded. “They can do magic!”

His father heaved a sigh. “You don’t have to convince me,” he said quietly. “I know all about the MacArthurs.”

“You know
what?
” His wife looked utterly flabbergasted. “Don’t be ridiculous, John! We’ve lived here for years! How on earth can there be people living in the hill that I don’t know about?”

The Park Ranger sighed. “You remember that bad winter we had a few months before Neil was born?”

“Of course I remember it! You nearly died rescuing some sheep on the hill! Do you think I’ll ever forget it? You fell down a cliff!”

“I should have told you at the time but I … well, quite frankly, I thought that if I told you there were faeries living in Arthur’s Seat you’d have thought that the bang I got on my head had scrambled my brains!”

“Faeries? Neil didn’t say anything about faeries!”

“It’s what my father used to call them. He was Park Ranger before me, remember? He told me about them. According to him, they’ve always lived in Arthur’s Seat.”

“You’ve known about them all along, Dad?” Clara sat up, her eyes accusing. “And you never told
us!
”

“Well, I didn’t know that you had anything to do with them, did I? And if I’d started talking about faeries living in Arthur’s Seat, you’d probably have thought I’d gone crazy!”

“What happened, Dad?” asked Neil curiously.

“They saved my life, that’s what happened. I slipped and fell down a cliff when I was bringing in some sheep. It was pitch black and there was a blizzard. I more or less knocked myself out when I fell and I’d have died in a snow drift if they hadn’t
rescued me. I only came round when I was half way home and after what my father had said … well, I just knew it was them. Your mother thought I’d made my own way back but the truth is that they carried me.”

“You should have told me, John,” his wife said sharply. “When I opened the door that night I thought I saw some people on the road outside. They had sheepskin jackets on, I remember, but I was so upset at finding you the way I did that all I could think of was getting you to the hospital.”

“They must have been MacArthurs, then,” Clara nodded. “That’s what they wear — sheepskin jackets over leggings and tunics.”

“All this, though,” interrupted her father, “doesn’t explain why you had to leave the house tonight and go up to the well!”

“It was my fault, Dad. Clara didn’t want to come.”

“But why, Neil? Why go in the first place?”

“I told you. It was because of the MacArthurs. They’ve stopped coming out onto the hill and … well, I don’t know how to explain it, but there’s a strange atmosphere up there just now.”

His father nodded. “I’ve noticed it too,” he admitted. “The animals are jumpy, the geese and swans have left the lochs and now there are those weird noises …”

“Not only from the well,” asserted Neil, “but from other places too. Something’s going on inside the hill, Dad, and I’m worried about them.”

“I don’t know whether to believe you or not,” muttered his mother, running her hands through her hair.

“I’m sure they’re in trouble, Mum. I thought they might be coming out of the hill in the dark instead of the daylight. That’s why we went to the well!”

“Tell me about the bird now,” said his father.

“It was a horrible thing, Dad,” interrupted Clara. “It was as big as an eagle and had a beak like an eagle, but it was more like a vulture with horrible droopy feathers. And its claws!” she
shuddered. “It would have attacked me if Neil hadn’t grabbed it!”

“I think,” interrupted Neil, “that it got as much of a fright as we did. I don’t think it expected to see anyone at the well and it wanted to scare us off!”

“It was a bird, Neil! You’re talking about it as though it were a person!”

“I know,” agreed Neil. “But there was something about its eyes. I wonder if it really was a bird.”

“You can never can tell with the MacArthurs,” Clara said, nodding seriously.

“And on that note,” her mother said firmly, “I think we should all go to bed for what is left of the night!”