The Gorgons Gaze # 2 (Companions Quartet) (20 page)

“What!” Rat and Connie turned on her indignantly.

“It can be our symbol—something for the story to focus on. We can call it Merlin’s Oak. We need some photographs, someone to front the story—yes, yes, it’s perfect.”

“What’s she going on about?” Rat asked Connie in a puzzled tone.

“She’s got an idea…” Connie began.

“And when Anneena has an idea, we all hear about it sooner or later,” finished Jane. “Usually sooner.”

Rat looked at Anneena doubtfully.

“Do you think your mom would help?” Anneena asked him.

“Help with what?” He did not seem too sure about a suggestion involving his mother and had begun to edge away from them.

“Tell the reporters about Merlin’s oak, of course!” Anneena seemed genuinely surprised that he was not following her train of thought.

“Dunno. You ask her yourself. Look, I’ve gotta go.” Rat slipped off and started running toward the wood. “Gotta finish that fence.”

Anneena continued to spin her plans as the girls returned to Chartmouth on their bikes, shouting snatches of them to Jane and Connie as they all enjoyed the smooth ride downhill, a reward for the hard climb earlier.

“But what about Col?” Connie asked her when they got back to Lionheart Lodge.

Anneena’s face fell. “Sorry, I was getting carried away. I’d almost forgotten. But what can we do?”

“Someone needs to go and look for him,” Connie said firmly.

“But we can’t do that! How would we even get to Wales?” Anneena protested.

“I want to do something, too,” Jane said as she leaned her bike against Connie’s, “but I really don’t know what we can do other than tell his grandmother everything, as we’ve been doing.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Connie replied, “but I know I can’t sit back, just hoping that he’ll turn up. What if something really bad has happened?”

“But it can’t have—” Jane said, shocked, “he’s with his mother.”

Connie had difficulty sleeping that night, worried by the images Argand had shown her. She wanted more than anything to speak to someone in the Society, someone in whom she could confide her fears, but her great-aunt had cut off all channels of communication. What exactly
Connie was afraid of, she couldn’t say. As Jane had said, Col was with his mother; he should be fine. But even though Argand’s mind was still unformed and could not hold complex thoughts, she had given Connie a sense of something snake-like—Cassandra’s gorgon, perhaps?—and also a dark creature with hooves. Then there had been a flash of a picture of Col distressed, ensnared, screaming.

Connie couldn’t bear it. It wasn’t enough to send Argand with a message to Argot in the hopes that the dragon, and Dr. Brock, would understand how serious this was. She had to do something. But what? She had no way of getting to Wales to see for herself.

Tossing on her bed, it took Connie a moment to realize that the hair on the back of her neck was tingling as she felt the presence of another creature.

She threw the covers back, and stumbled over to the window. There on the lawn was a white stallion with folded wings: Skylark. She threw the sash window open. Here it was, her way out! Why hadn’t she thought of it before? She put her fingers to her lips to silence Skylark’s joyful greeting.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” she called softly.

Laughing inside, Connie scribbled a note for Godiva and left it on her pillow. Then, pulling her flying suit out from the bottom of the chest, Connie prepared herself with layers of warm clothing for the long flight she hoped to be undertaking, if she could persuade Skylark. They
could go and look for Col together!

There was no sound from her great-aunt’s room as Connie ran past. Then she was out the front door and had her head buried in Skylark’s mane. A flood of communication passed between them as her touch made the familiar connection. She could read everything the pegasus was thinking and feeling. Skylark was desperately worried about Col and eager to do something. He had heard from Mrs. Clamworthy that Connie had found out where Col’s mother lived. Frustrated that no one had set out to look for Col immediately, Skylark had resolved to come to fetch her. It took no time for them to agree to set off.

“I’m going to be in so much trouble,” Connie muttered as she climbed on his back. But just then she didn’t care.

Early on Sunday morning, while it was still dark, Skylark and Connie reached the Brecon Beacons. Frail strings of lights marked the small villages and isolated farms that fringed the mountain mass, but its interior yawned black to the sky, like a great hole ready to suck in the stars that twinkled overhead.

What do you think, Skylark?
Connie asked her mount, who had far more experience of aerial reconnaissance than she did. They had been circling around for some time and knew they were near their goal.
That might be Bwlch. Mr. Coddrington said he’d put the pin to the left of it on his map
.

Skylark dove lower.

See over there
, he said,
that’s a bonfire
.
Let’s go a little nearer
.

Like a barn owl swooping down on its prey, Skylark silently glided toward the flickering light. Connie strained her eyes to see what was going on, but she could only make out indistinct figures in a farmyard passing to and fro in front of the flames.

The van!
Skylark exclaimed. His keener eyes had made out the dusky shape of the van parked by the barn.
This is it
. He began to descend for landing.

Pull up!
Connie ordered, stung by a sudden intuition like a slap in the face. Skylark responded immediately and propelled them higher, out of sight of the farm.

What is wrong, Universal?
he asked her.

I’m not sure, but I felt something. There’s a mythical creature down there—or maybe many—I can’t be sure. I think it might be safer to arrive in daylight
.

They hid in a copse not far from the farm, waiting for dawn. Connie huddled on a pile of leaves, wishing she had thought to bring a blanket, and tried to catch a few winks of sleep. Skylark moved restlessly, keeping watch. The sun crept slowly above the horizon, illuminating everything in a cold, cruel light. Connie got to her feet and stretched her cramped limbs.

You’d better stay here
, she said to Skylark,
in case there are any people other than Col and his mother around. I’ll come and get you when I can give you the all-clear
.

Skylark snorted with frustration but accepted this advice; he could not go trotting into a farm and risk meeting the farmer.

The light grew stronger as Connie walked down the track, pushed the gate open, and entered the yard. All was quiet. In front of her sat the light green van parked by a wooden barn, to her right was a ramshackle stone cottage, and to her left a number of outhouses. The yard seemed empty. The embers of the bonfire still glowed hot in its center, but all traces of the people she had seen dancing around it were gone. Her skin still tingled—there were creatures close-by, but she could feel nothing for certain, no distinct natures. It was as if they were purposely trying to disguise their presence from her. She rubbed her arms thoughtfully, wondering if she should risk proceeding without knowing what she was facing. But what about Col? Decision made, she approached the cottage door and knocked. After a few moments, a woman with straggling blonde hair opened it.

“So you did come, after all,” the woman said, looking disdainfully at her visitor.

“Mrs. Lang?” Connie asked.

“
Miss
Lang,” Cassandra corrected her.

“Can I see Col?”

“I suppose so,” she said coldly. “Wait here a moment.” She went back into the house, leaving Connie on the doorstep. Connie wiped a hand across her tired eyes, feeling
confused. It seemed too easy, but also odd. Cassandra Lang was clearly not surprised to see her—how could that be? No one knew she was here. She did not have time to solve this puzzle as she could now hear footsteps approaching. Cassandra Lang returned, followed by a boy dressed in black leather riding clothes.

“Col!” Connie exclaimed, rushing to hug him. “We’ve been so worried about you.”

The boy received her hug unresponsively. He looked over to his mother.

“Col, what’s the matter with you?” Connie asked, stepping back. Inspecting him close-up, she saw that his eyes were dead; there was none of Col’s usual animation in his face: no grin, no laugh. “What have you done to him?” she asked his mother.

Cassandra frowned. “I’ve done nothing. Kullervo has taken him for training.”

“Kullervo?” Connie’s mind whirled as she tried to understand what was happening. “How could you let this happen? Don’t you know what being taken by Kullervo means? He’s destroying Col!”

“That’s not true,” Cassandra sneered. She was angry; she didn’t want to hear her own doubts voiced by this child.

“But look at him! Kullervo’s done something terrible to him. This isn’t Col!” Connie made a grab for Col’s arm, intending to shake him, to wake him out of his stupor, but
the boy pulled away.

“Kullervo’s told me that he’ll be all right once he is used to it.”

“You’ve betrayed your son!” Connie said desperately.

“And you betrayed all mythical creatures when you refused to join us!” Cassandra spat back.

Connie turned away from Col’s mother in disgust. If Kullervo was around, she had to get Col out quickly. “I’m not staying here. Come on, Col, we’re going.” She made another grab for his arm and began to pull him toward the gate, thinking that if she could get him to Skylark then maybe he would snap out of this strange daze.

“Stop her!” Cassandra shrieked.

Out of the building closest to the gate glided a bronze figure, wings unfurling like a cobra’s hood around her hissing, spitting head as she reared up before the two friends. Connie felt Col being wrenched from her grasp.

“Fool, don’t let him see her eyes!” Cassandra hissed, ripping her son away from Connie, so that Col was no longer in direct sight of the creature. “She’s all yours!” she shouted to her companion, giving a triumphant laugh.

Standing alone in the middle of the yard, Connie turned to face the gorgon.

12
Helm

T
he dark eyes of the gorgon blazed at Connie, beating down upon her with awesome power. Connie felt it as a burning coldness scorching her skin, entering her flesh, and freezing her to the spot. Connected to the creature through its gaze, she felt her hair began to rise from her scalp, writhing with the angry, tormented dance of the snake-locks. The gorgon snarled, baring her teeth in a vicious grimace, confident that she had caught her victim. She could now begin the slow process of the kill as her power to turn to stone worked inwards to still Connie’s pounding heart.

The universal’s shield! thought Connie frantically.

The constricting grip of stone had reached her chest. Her breath became labored and her throat choked. The attack had penetrated too far. She couldn’t conjure
the shield—but she had to! Slowly, inch by inch, trying to forget her pain and fear, she raised in her mind the silver shield, a barrier between her and death. She could feel the power of the gorgon’s gaze now beating against it, trying to turn it into stone so it would be too heavy to hold.