Storm paused amid the impatient hounds and horses as Odin prepared to mount his steed and ride off into the sky. Even as Storm felt the muscles in his legs shift and bunch, ready to take him in one great leap off this world, he heard the Not-Boy’s voice calling to him to stay and, he turned back.
I am Storm of Odin, hound of the Wild Hunt. Who do you think you are, telling me to stay?
Odin rested one hand on his horse’s saddle. ‘Let him choose?’ His voice rumbled like thunder. ‘There is no choice. Storm of Odin is a stormhound, not a mortal dog to be commanded by humans. He belongs with the Hunt and nowhere else. You cannot be two things.’
‘Why not?’ the Not-Boy asked. He pushed forward another step, his gaze flicking nervously over the prowling hounds. ‘I’m a hare and a boy. And Jessie has two homes. If she can have two homes and I can be two things, why can’t Storm?’
Lightning flashed, fainter and further away this time.
Odin shook his head. ‘The world isn’t like that.’
But he sounded slightly uncertain.
Ceridwen laughed. ‘Actually, the world is exactly like that.’ She made her way through the hunters and put her hand on the Not-Boy’s shoulder. ‘David is right: people are a lot messier than you’d like to think, and so are most things.’ Her gaze strayed to Storm again.
Storm wagged his tail – she had a point. Not long ago, he’d thought she was a foul sorceress who wanted to kill him, but it turned out she wasn’t.
The Not-Boy grinned. ‘Does this mean you’ll let me do more magic?’
Ceridwen gave him a pretend glare. ‘No. But it does mean we might stay on here for a while so you can keep going to school. It won’t hurt to have a base of operations. Somewhere to call home while we’re saving the world,’ she added with a faint smile.
The Not-Boy’s face lit up. Storm sniffed his hand.
You still stink of hare, but you’re all right. I might miss you. He would, too, just like he’d miss Jessie and Ben and their ridiculously small house.
‘The storm is moving on,’ Odin said, ‘and we must follow.’ But instead of getting up on to his horse he thrust his spear into the ground and walked back to where Storm was waiting, then crouched down low so that he was looking straight into Storm’s eyes.
Storm shivered. Odin’s face was stern and old – far older than the mortal world – and his single eye glinted like firelight.
‘Very well,’ he said softly. ‘Choose, Storm of Odin. Return to the Hunt, leave your human friends and be a stormhound again. Or stay here. In this world, you will always look like a mortal dog. You will live outside of my protection. I cannot say what will happen to you, or promise when we will next return. It may be years. It may be never.’
His words burned into Storm’s heart. Storm swished his tail, feeling its tip bat against Jessie’s legs. The strange empty space was back and he knew what that emptiness was: the longing for home. It didn’t make sense. Ever since he’d fallen into this world, all he’d wanted was to escape and return to the Hunt where he belonged, so why did the emptiness still bother him?
All around, the huntsmen were mounting their horses, eager to take flight. Jessie put her arms around Storm’s neck and buried her face in his coat.
‘Go, Storm,’ she said, her voice muffled. She let go of him and stepped back. Her eyes were full of tears, but she wiped them away. ‘Go home.’
She smelled the same as when they’d first met – sharp as lightning. Storm had been so small then, and now he was almost the same height as her. Tall enough that she could climb on his back and ride on him.
Storm shook himself, padded across to Odin, sat down and let out a sigh.
I am Storm of Odin and I have chosen.
Then he walked back to Jessie, lay down in front of her and nudged at her, urging her on to his back.
She laughed through her tears. ‘I can’t, Storm. I wish I could, but I can’t go with you. I belong here.’
All this talk about belonging is wrong, Storm thought. You don’t belong to a place, you belong to yourself, and to the people you love.
Storm nudged at Jessie again.
‘He’s not inviting you to hunt,’ Odin said gravely. ‘He wants to carry you home.’ He bent and placed one hand on Storm’s head. ‘You’ve chosen well,’ he said.
‘No!’ Jessie said, understanding at last. Her lightning-sharp scent flared even stronger, filling the whole sky. Her scent was even in Storm’s eyes now, clouding them so that he saw Odin in a blur. Jessie’s face was wet too.
‘It’s not your decision to make, mortal child,’ Odin said. ‘Get on his back. Storm, run with us this last time. We will take you home.’ He stood up, his hand slipping away from Storm’s head. ‘Farewell, hound of the Wild Hunt.’
‘Go,’ Ceridwen said. ‘We’ll see you back in town.’
Tears dripped into Storm’s coat as Jessie clambered up on to his back and clung on.
Storm already felt himself becoming smaller. He tensed, drew back and jumped, and the whole Hunt leaped into the sky with him. Their cries echoed from mountain to mountain, louder than thunder.
He was Storm of Odin, running through the sky with thunderclouds around him. He was Storm of Odin, with the weight of a human child on his back and the freedom of the sky beneath his feet.
He was Storm of Odin, seeing familiar roofs beneath him, dipping gently out of the sky . . .
No, not straight home. There was something else he needed to do first. A stormhound always keeps his word. The Hunt understood and let him lead, down from the sky to a white building with a sign that read: Abergavenny Dog Rescue Centre.
Hounds and horses shimmered as they passed silently through the roof. They landed inside between the two rows of wire cells where dogs, suddenly awake, sat up and barked.
The white terrier’s cell was empty. Gone to a new home, no doubt. Storm would have to look out for him. But for now he stopped outside the cell where the old female dog lay.
I have returned, Storm of Odin said. As I promised.
So you have, the female dog replied. And?
And Odin has a space for a new dog. If you want it.
He tugged the wire door of her cell open. Odin placed his spear on the old dog’s back and she grew, becoming young again, and she leaped into the sky with the others.
He was Storm of Odin, following the baying hounds, falling behind now, but not minding because, just a short distance on, a familiar garden waited, and a tabby cat hissed and fled over the fence with a flick of her tail.
He was Storm of Odin, shrinking back to his puppy size as the house door opened and Jessie’s dad, the Mum-Person, and Ben ran out.
He was Storm, nudging Jessie into their arms, and listening as they all babbled in the way that humans did.
For a moment, Storm remembered what he’d lost, and the vast, empty space opened inside him again, dark as the sky. But then he heard the fading howls in the night, and a new voice among them, the voice of an old dog who was remembering how to run.
Jessie picked him up and buried her face in his fur. ‘It’s good to be home,’ she said.
Storm wriggled against her.
He was Storm, Jessie’s dog, and the promise of home was bright and warm, filling the empty space inside him until he forgot it was ever there.