‘I can’t see them any more,’ said Oddo, as the last flicker of the fireball eyes faded into the distance. For an instant he could still hear the thudding of hooves, and Hairydog’s frantic barks, then they too were gone.
‘And the Sídaigi?’ demanded Dúngal.
Oddo looked at the ground and saw a ripple, like a wave receding from a beach. It was the Little Folk pouring after the horse.
‘They’re leaving,’ he said.
There was a pause.
‘The piglets have stopped squealing,’ said Dúngal.
Oddo listened. There was no more stamping or howling, either. The bellowing and bleating trickled to a stop. The hens gave a last rustle and squawk, and settled on their perches.
Oddo heaved a sigh and pulled off his hood.
‘This time they’ve really gone,’ said Dúngal.
‘Yes,’ said Oddo, but he wasn’t thinking of the Sídaigi. He gazed round the dark, peaceful fort. Without Thora, it felt very, very empty.
‘Now we can claim the reward,’ said Dúngal.
Oddo looked at him but neither of them smiled. They were both picturing a girl hurtling into the darkness on the back of an invisible monster.
‘She came here to rescue us,’ whispered Oddo. ‘And she has.’
He bent to scoop up her cloak, torn and trampled into the earth. A single camomile flower slid out and tumbled to the ground. He stared at it, his eyes blurring with tears.
‘There was one more flower,’ he whispered.
When the guards shook his shoulder a few hours later, Oddo was asleep against the pigsty, Thora’s clothing hugged to his chest. He rose stiffly, and kicked Dúngal awake.
‘The King wants to see us,’ he mumbled.
In the longhouse, all the lamps were blazing, and on the white-clothed table golden platters glittered with jewels. The King rose to his feet and regarded them, stroking his long black beard.
‘Well?’ he demanded.
‘The spell is lifted,’ said Oddo wearily. ‘You will have your eggs and milk again.’
‘Ah.’ King Yvar’s mouth twitched. ‘Then please . . . Eat!’ He gestured to the table.
Oddo and Dúngal sank onto the wooden bench and instantly thralls were flittering around, piling their plates with food.
‘Perhaps someone else could look after your . . . ah . . . belongings,’ said King Yvar.
Oddo started, and realised he was still clutching Thora’s ragged bundle. He laid it beside him, picked up a piece of the fine wheat bread, and took a bite.
‘When you are ready,’ continued the King, ‘we will adjourn to the river and you will select your ship.’
Oddo looked at the uneaten piles of delectables, then glanced at Dúngal. In unison, they gulped their half-chewed mouthfuls, and rose to their feet.
‘We’ll go now!’ said Oddo. The sooner they got out of this fort, the sooner they’d find out what had happened to Thora.
In a few minutes they were seated in the royal longship with oarsmen in scarlet and gold rowing them round the bend in the river. Once again, the cluster of longships in the Black Pool hove into sight.
‘Choose one that’s not too big,’ whispered Dúngal. ‘We don’t have a crew.’
Oddo nodded.
They glided slowly between the wide-bellied cargo ships, and the leering prows of the battle ships. Oddo pointed to the shortest, tubbiest vessel. The furled sail was a cheerful red-and-white stripe.
‘That one!’ he said.
The King’s mouth curled superciliously.
‘The hold shall be filled with furs and wines, oil and gold,’ he declared.
‘As quickly as you can, please,’ said Oddo.
‘It shall be done.’
‘We’ll board now,’ added Oddo. ‘And set sail as soon as it’s ready.’
‘Do you require a crew?’
Oddo shook his head.
The King’s face broke into a broad smile.
‘Of course not. You can command the wind and the waves,’ he chuckled. ‘With this small vessel, you two will manage on your own, hey?’
Oddo drummed his fingers impatiently as the goods were passed down the chain of burly servants and heaved aboard.
‘Look at this stuff!’ said Dúngal.
He took hold of a butter-coloured fur and draped it around his shoulders. Then he held up a gold platter and waggled it so that the gleaming surfaces flashed in the sunlight. But Oddo was watching the last jar of seal oil being squeezed into the hold.
‘That’s it!’ he cried. ‘Hoist sail!’
He glanced at the sky and pointed eagerly down the river, calling the wind. The red and white stripes billowed outwards, and the little cargo ship began to skim across the water.
‘When we get around the bend, we’ll moor her, and go look for Thora!’ called Oddo.
‘And Father Connlae!’ said Dúngal.
Oddo blinked. He’d almost forgotten the priest.
As they swept past the high walls of the fort, the slave market came into view. Both boys fell silent, looking at the miserable rows of men, women and children, standing in chains. From the corner of his eye, Oddo saw Dúngal’s jaw trembling.
‘Wait!’ cried Oddo. ‘Pull up.’ He leapt on shore and held out his hand. ‘Pass me some of that cargo,’ he said. ‘We’re going to buy every one of those thralls!’
In a few minutes there was pandemonium. The captives laughed and cried and cheered as one by one Oddo set them free. Then they vanished down the maze of streets, and the Viking traders were left gazing in bewilderment at their empty market. One of the traders was Captain Snari. He glared suspiciously at Oddo.
‘How did you get all those riches?’
‘Just a reward,’ said Oddo smugly. ‘For my magic.’ Snari scowled. ‘Ah well, better get back to my ship,’ said Oddo.
But as he turned to go, he saw a flash of movement in a shadowed alley. An arm reached out to beckon him. He hesitated, then sidled towards it, his heart pounding. With a flood of disappointment he saw Father Connlae emerge, alone, from the shadows.
Then, in the distance, he heard a muffled bark.
Oddo began to run, his feet flying over the cobblestones. As he passed the priest, his eyes raked the alley. There was another bark. Hairydog scampered into sight. And following behind was someone with short, honey-coloured hair and a huge, proud grin.
‘You made it!’ she shouted. ‘You got out!’
Oddo felt tears pouring down his cheeks as he ran towards her. He was barely aware of Hairydog whirling around him in excitement.
He reached Thora, and grabbed her by the arms.
‘What happened to you?’ His words came out in a croak.
She shrugged, but Oddo stared at the bruises and scratches on her face.
‘When we crashed through the gate, I fell off. The next thing I knew, Father Connlae was bending over me. He guessed I’d go to the fort and he was waiting for me outside. Don’t worry, these don’t hurt any more.’ She pointed to her scratches. ‘I’ve dosed myself with herbs.’
Oddo began to chuckle, and he felt as if he’d never stop laughing. He took Thora’s hand and began to pull her towards the market.
‘Wait! Captain Snari’s there. He’ll see me and . . .’
‘Who cares?’ chortled Oddo. ‘He can’t do anything. I’m Oddo the Wind Master, remember! Come on.’ As they crossed the empty market square he looked round for the Captain. ‘Hey, Snari!’ he called. ‘Catch!’ He pulled a gold bangle off his arm and tossed it into the air. ‘That’s for my friends. Thora and Father Connlae!’
He and Thora exploded into shouts of laughter, and even the priest seemed to understand the joke. He was chuckling as they seized his hands and, half-carrying him between them, raced towards the ship.
Dúngal danced up and down at the sight of them, and Thora leaned over the side, gaping at all the treasures in the hold.
‘You’ve got enough riches there to pay taxes to King Harald every year for the rest of your life!’ she exclaimed.
‘Oh no,’ said Oddo. ‘That greedy swine is not getting his hands on any of these.’
‘Then . . .?’ Thora looked at him, her eyes wide and questioning.
He beamed and nodded.
‘We’ve got a ship now. We can fetch our families, and go where we like!’
‘To the Land of Ice!’ whispered Thora.
‘To the Land of Fire!’ said Oddo.
