Prince of the Wind Read online

  I was up in a flash and over at the sleeping shape of Rich, shaking him none too gently by the shoulder. ‘Hey, Rich — wake up! That book: there’s writing in it! Richard!’

  ‘Garrawazza … flumblepish …’ mumbled Rich, turned over and started to snore.

  I tried the girls, but they didn’t so much as twitch. Without much hope I crouched down beside Jamie and gave him a poke with my finger. ‘Jamie,’ I hissed. ‘Jamie! Wake up! There’s writing in the book — you can read it by moonlight!’

  Jamie’s eyes popped open and he sat up like a jack-in-the-box. ‘Honest? How cool is that! Let me see …’ he reached out his hand for the book and rapidly scanned the first page. Then he looked up at me again, his face very solemn. ‘D’you realise how important this is, Adam? It could be the key to everything. It’s a diary, belonging to Zaronel before she was made queen … the words of the past the poem talks about! It’ll tell us what happened to Prince Zephyr, and where to find him — it has to!’ He struggled out of his sleeping bag, eyes shining with excitement. ‘We must wake the others!’

  But even with Jamie’s help, the others didn’t budge. So in the end it was just Jamie and me who settled ourselves in our sleeping bags with our backs to my log and a mug of cocoa each, toes stretched out to the fire. ‘Shall I read it out loud?’ Jamie offered. ‘I’m real good at reading grown-up writing.’ Without waiting for an answer, he wiggled himself into a more comfortable position, took a noisy slurp of cocoa, and began.

  I am Princess Zaronel of Antarion. I write in moonlight, words to be read on some moonlit night far hence, by whom I do not know.

  This Book of Days was given to me by my father as a parting gift, and the quill by my mother. Though it looks at first sight to be a silver arrowhead, it draws out into a finely-crafted feather whose magical filaments pull the moonbeams from the night sky onto the page before me.

  It is strange to think that these same two moons shine down upon Antarion, many long days’ journey across the sea. How I long for home … to be in my own familiar chamber, instead of this lonely turret room so far away!

  They call me the Jewel of Antarion, and a jewel I am indeed: a thing of no real worth, a mere trinket to be bartered in the game of power. Had I been born a prince, I would be free to ride astride and wield a sword … and free to be king after my father. But now the future of Antarion depends upon this alliance with Karazan; though I have but sixteen summers, I must wed a stranger and hope that one day I will bear a son to rule the united empire.

  At sunrise I must prepare for an audience with the Princes of Karazan. Prince Zane and Prince Zeel … I do not know which I will be forced to wed, nor do I care.

  The choice will not be mine to make. According to the tradition of Karazan, a contest will be held to decide which of the princes will ascend the throne; I must marry the one chosen as king.

  In the three days before the contest the princes will pay court to me, each day presenting me with a gift of their own choosing. But I care nothing for them or their gifts, no matter how lavish they may be! I am sick to my heart for home. All I take comfort from is Zagros, the companion of my childhood, pledged to protect me until I choose to send him hence.

  But he is all I have to remind me of Antarion — and I shall keep him here forever!

  ‘Imagine that,’ said Jamie after a pause. ‘Sent to a strange land, forced to marry someone you’ve never even met — and having to worry about babies and stuff when you’re only sixteen! That’s the end of the first entry — it carries on over the page.’ He took a long swallow of cocoa, and made a face. ‘Yuck — this has gone cold. Adam … it’s weird. The diary’s written in old-fashioned language, so you’d think it’d be hard to understand. But it isn’t. I can see it all so clearly, can’t you? I’ve always imagined Queen Zaronel really beautiful; a bit like Gen, with long, wavy golden hair.’ He blushed in the darkness, and shot me a quick sidelong glance to check I wasn’t laughing at him.

  ‘Go on,’ I said, though I knew what he was going to say.

  ‘But now, reading this, I can see her sitting at the window writing — a tall, narrow window with a curved top, a shaft of moonlight falling on the page. Her long hair is falling round her shoulders, but it’s not golden: it’s dark, almost black, and her eyes are grey as mist …’

  ‘You’re seeing it the way it really was,’ I said slowly. ‘I saw it too. The Book of Days … it’s more than just a diary, Jamie. It’s a window to the past, in a way I don’t even begin to understand.’

  Jamie gave me the smallest of smiles. In the glow of the firelight he looked somehow different from his usual chubby, baby-faced self. ‘You’re right,’ he said softly. ‘It’s called magic, I guess.’ Smiling back, I was suddenly glad it was Jamie who’d woken, and not Rich or Kenta or Gen.

  Then Jamie turned the page and read on, the words of the past swirling round us both like dark water, drawing us down deep and deeper still, back to those long-ago days … and once again I saw the events unfolding in my mind as Jamie read Zaronel’s words, as clearly as if I’d actually been there.

  Zaronel was woken by a soft tap on the heavy wooden door. She had closed the shutters of the tall window before she fell asleep, and the room was dark and the air brittle with cold.

  The door opened a crack and the young maidservant Karris peeped shyly in. ‘It is time for you to rise, my lady,’ she said with a little bob. ‘May I enter and make up the fire?’

  ‘Of course.’ Zaronel settled back into the softness of the furs and watched as the maid crouched at the stone fireplace, arranging firewood with nimble fingers. In moments the room was filled with crackling warmth.

  ‘It has snowed in the night, my lady.’

  Yes — that was the chill that had made its way through the stone walls! Instantly Zaronel was out of bed and throwing open the casement. Icy air rushed in, stinging her cheeks and bringing tears to her eyes. Everything was carpeted in white … the trees wore mantles of ermine … ‘Come away from the window, my lady! You will catch your death of cold!’

  ‘No I won’t!’ Zaronel laughed. ‘The first snows never hurt anybody, Karris — and see how beautiful it is! Oh, how I wish I could saddle a horse and ride out this morning, instead of …’ She bit her lip, a shadow falling over her face as she gazed down at the snow.

  She did not feel the maidservant tuck a soft wrap round her shoulders, or hear her bustling round the chamber, poking the fire till the sparks flew, pouring water, setting out the gown she was to wear for her first audience with the princes.

  I will face whatever lies ahead without flinching, Zaronel told herself, for the sake of Antarion. But her heart felt as heavy and cold as a stone under her silken nightdress.

  Just as she was about to turn back to the room, a movement at the edge of the forest caught her eye. A man on horseback. The horse was as magnificent as any Zaronel had ever seen, even in her father’s court: a winged stallion the colour of fire, power and energy harnessed to a perfect partnership with the rider.

  Zaronel watched, entranced, as the horse paced proudly out from the trees … and then a hare leapt out from almost under its hooves. Instantly the stallion exploded, corkscrewing sideways, then leaping forward and throwing out his wings to take flight. Zaronel gasped, expecting to see the rider crash to the ground … but he sat light and easy in the saddle, his perfect balance seeming to anticipate the horse’s every movement. In seconds the stallion was collected again, neck arched and steam snorting from his nostrils as he danced forward, printing an even chain of hoof-prints in the new snow.

  Now Zaronel’s attention was on the rider, not the horse. Some servant, sent out in the chill dawn to exercise a mount that could only belong to a nobleman. He was bareheaded, wearing the homespun breeches of a commoner and a worn leather jerkin. He held the reins in one hand; the other arm cradled something swathed in the folds of his cloak. Zaronel smiled. A brace of conies, no doubt, poached from the royal forest. But he rides like no man I have ever s
een …

  At that moment, passing below the tower, the man glanced up. For a second their eyes met: the wide grey eyes of the princess, clasping the shawl to her breast, her heart suddenly quickening … the clear hazel eyes of the horseman, beneath a rough tangle of hair the rich red-brown of autumn leaves.

  Jamie’s secret

  I rubbed my eyes, blinking stupidly into the fire as the pictures I’d seen so vividly in the glowing embers wavered and faded into the shadows. Somehow, the night seemed to have darkened …

  I looked up. The sky that had been so clear when Jamie started reading was streaked with tattered cloud blowing in from the sea. The moon was a blurry smudge, and the stars had almost disappeared.

  Jamie was squinting down at the book, his nose just about touching the page. ‘It’s no good,’ he said regretfully. ‘The writing’s gone.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s just as well. We really ought to wait and read it with the others, in case we miss something.’

  Jamie closed the book and handed it back to me, yawning. ‘Anyway, I’m tired.’ He stood, still in his sleeping bag, and sack-jumped a couple of hops further from the fire. ‘Are you OK to keep watch still, Adam?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I’m fine.’ The restlessness I’d felt earlier had been replaced by the slightly dazed, spaced-out feeling you get when you’ve been reading for too long and have lost track of time.

  Jamie settled down with his hands behind his head, staring up at the sky. I took a couple more logs from the pile and criss-crossed them on the fire, watching the flames turn purple and send out tiny yellow tongues to lick at the wood.

  As the fire flared up, the surrounding darkness deepened. I was about to go over to my pack to find my penny whistle when Jamie spoke again, almost too softly to hear. ‘I reckon she’s in love.’

  ‘What?’ He’d curled over onto his side like a fat caterpillar and was staring at me, eyes wide and solemn-looking. ‘Who?’

  ‘Princess Zaronel. She’s come to Karazan to marry one of the princes, but now she’s fallen in love with the guy on the horse. What will she do, d’you think?’ A pause; then: ‘Do you believe in love at first sight, Adam?’

  Only Jamie could start with that kind of stuff in the middle of the night. ‘Nah,’ I growled, scowling into the fire. ‘I don’t even know if I believe in love, full stop.’

  ‘Well, I bet you didn’t believe in magic either, till you came to Karazan.’

  He had me there. I shrugged.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘That’s great, Jamie. I’m happy for you. Go to sleep.’

  ‘Adam … have you ever … liked someone?’

  ‘Sure I have. I like you guys — and I’ve got this friend called Cameron …’

  ‘That’s not what I mean.’

  ‘Jamie,’ I said, trying to make my whisper sound impatient enough to shut him up, ‘we’ve got a long day ahead. I really think —’

  ‘Have you ever been out with anyone — a girl, I mean?’

  An uncomfortable memory glooped slowly up from the depths of my subconscious like a glob in a lava lamp. A couple of months ago there’d been a rash of boy-girl stuff at school. Suddenly everyone was ‘going out’ with everyone else … everyone except me. It was all anyone talked about. Even Cam persuaded me to take a message to Nicole’s best friend asking if Nicole wanted to go out with him — and she’d said yes, coke-bottle specs and all. To hear old Cam talk, it was the romance of the century. They spent every break time in the library, sitting opposite each other at the table in the corner, noses deep in their books. Far as I know, they never actually exchanged a single word.

  Then I got this letter. I found it in my desk one morning when I arrived at school — right there on top of my dictionary. A piece of yellow paper with a tiny bluebird in the corner, folded in half. Adam Equinox, it said on the front; so I knew for sure it was meant for me. I could tell at once it was written by a girl. The writing was round and curvy, with a little circle instead of a dot on top of the ‘i’.

  I snatched it up and stuffed it into my pocket and headed off to the boys’ toilet, red as a beetroot. Locked myself into a cubicle, closed the lid and sat down. Stood up again, fished out the letter; sat down again. Stared at it. Adam Equinox.

  One thing was for sure: it was from a girl. Another thing — for certain sure — it really was for me. I opened it out with numb, clumsy fingers. The writing was big and round and easy to read.

  I think you’re cute. Interested? Then meet me at the drinking fountain by the art room at break. C U there — I hope! Christie

  After the Christie was an X — more of an x really, I guess; small and tidy, with a circle round it.

  I knew what that X meant.

  Cute … me? And for it to be from Christie Martin … As far as I could tell, she didn’t even know I existed. She was part of this ultra-cool group of girls — not part of it; the centre of it. They didn’t play at break time; instead they wandered round watching the other kids with disdainful looks on their faces, nudging each other and giggling. Or they’d sit in a huddle on one of the circular benches under the trees, doing whatever it is girls do.

  Christie … she was tall — almost as tall as me — with white-blonde hair so straight it looked like she ironed it. She had one of those cool, haughty faces that would be pretty if it ever smiled; she wore her skirt kind of hiked up to show off her long brown legs. Every time I ever got close to her — pushing past to the lockers, say — she had this way of glancing sideways and kind of tossing her hair that made me feel like dirt.

  And now …

  I couldn’t get my head round it. I sat like I’d been turned to stone till long after the bell, staring at the note. Stumbled into class late with a mumbled excuse to the McCracken … risked a quick look over at Christie’s desk by the door, thinking maybe she’d give me a smile or a wink or some kind of a sign. But she just carried on marking her homework without so much as glancing up.

  Cam rushed off to the library as soon as the bell went, specs misted over with passion. The other guys grabbed a softball and bat and disappeared in the direction of the playing field. As for me … I slouched past the science lab to the art room and skulked outside, trying to look like I just happened to be passing.

  After ten minutes, I wondered if I’d read the note wrong.

  After twenty, I was about ready to leave.

  After half an hour, break time was over.

  I walked into class with my eyes glued to the floor … past Christie’s desk to mine, up front under the McCracken’s watchful eye.

  A ripple of giggles followed me to my seat. I pulled out my chair, scowling like fury, ears on fire. From behind me I heard a sweeter-than-sugar whisper: ‘Enjoy your break, Adam?’

  I didn’t hate them for doing it; I hated myself for believing it.

  Now I tuned back in to Jamie. Turned out he hadn’t waited for an answer; he was burbling on, seemingly more interested in talking than listening. ‘But of course I’d die if anyone found out, even her. Especially her. Do you absolutely promise never to tell anyone, Adam?’

  ‘Huh?’ I was totally lost. ‘Who are you talking about?’

  ‘You know who! I’ve just been telling you!’

  Blankly, I tried to rewind a conversation I hadn’t heard a word of. Why was he rambling on like this — why now, and why to me? But I knew he’d be hurt if he realised I hadn’t been listening to a thing he’d said … ‘Don’t you worry, Jamie — your secret’s safe with me,’ I said gruffly, man to man. Couldn’t be safer, I thought wryly.

  But Jamie wasn’t finished yet.

  ‘It’s like the other person’s way more important to you than you are yourself … you know you’d do anything for that person — absolutely anything, without a second thought. Haven’t you ever felt that way about anyone, Adam?’

  I pretended to think about it. Truth was, I was way out of my league in this mysterious one-sided conversation. Then suddenly a picture popped into my head — but
it wasn’t Christie Martin, or anyone remotely like her. It was old bossy-boots Hannah Quested with her dandelion hair and sparkly smile — all five years old of her. I couldn’t help grinning in the dark. Yeah, I had to admit I’d turn myself upside-down and inside-out to see that cheeky little smile — but that wasn’t what Jamie was talking about. ‘Nah,’ I said, ‘not so you’d notice. I guess I really just don’t do romance.

  ‘And now, Jamie, for goodness sake turn over and go to sleep!’

  A piece of cake

  We left Stillwater behind us in the cool dawn, its still surface reflecting the pink and gold of the rising sun.

  On and on we tramped, expecting any minute to see the glint of the sea. But the sun was high in the sky and hot on our shoulders before we finally crested a low rise and there it was in front of us: blinding blue stretching away to the curve of the horizon, low lines of surf furling in to spread themselves on a level beach of sun-washed sand.

  To our left was the river. Kenta had told us the estuary was a wide unbroken expanse of water. And it would be — at high tide. But now the river met the sea in a shallow, sprawling fan, twisted ribbons of water winding their way between flat spits of sand.

  ‘The river’s tidal,’ Jamie told us knowledgeably. ‘I’ll bet that’s why the water spiders aren’t a problem here — the water’s salty so close to the sea.’

  ‘Well, we aren’t going to be able to row across, that’s for sure,’ Rich said cheerfully, ‘even though Kenta’s famous boat’s there — look!’ Sure enough, on our side of the river, high and dry and looking as though it hadn’t been used in years, a small wooden rowing boat lay on its side. ‘But the good news is, we won’t need to. See how flat the beach is, and how quickly the tide’s going out? I bet by the time we get down to the water we’ll be able to walk across without even getting our feet wet!’

  Rich was right. Even in the short time we’d been standing there, the sea had retreated a good distance.