The Second Siege (31 page)

Max nodded and waved good-bye. Behind him, David lowered Bram’s Key into the figurehead’s opening. As soon as he did so, there was a single beautiful note, pure as a struck bell. It seemed to hover, taut and trembling, in the sudden stillness.

Max hurried over to stand by David. The two watched as the rings began to spin, each silvery orbit accelerating until the sphere became a single blur of silver. A shiver ran through the ship. Icicles from the masts and rigging rained upon the deck and shattered as the
Kestrel
’s great sails unfurled of their own accord. Lines snaked about, heaved to by brisk and invisible hands. As the topgallants were lowered, the mooring ropes snapped.

From the beach there was a collective gasp as the
Kestrel
lifted from the sea to hover in the air. David’s face was aglow with excitement. Snowflakes clinging to his lashes, he gazed up at the sails as they rippled and stretched taut in the breeze.

Max glimpsed something fluttering near his ear. He turned and saw a gypsy moth with a singed wing spiral precariously onto his shoulder.

“You’ll need me!” squeaked the moth, its feelers twitching in the cold.

With a quick glance at David, who remained transfixed by the
Kestrel,
Max plucked Mr. Sikes from his shoulder and stowed the imp in his coat’s warm woollen pocket. The moth peered at him from deep inside, snug in its new burrow.

Banking slightly, the ship began to pivot and swing its prow slowly toward the open sea. Max ran back to the stern and looked out upon the assembled crowd. He spotted his father once again and waved, smiling through his tears, as the ship pushed off, sailing out over the dark ocean on a gentle rise to meet the sky.

“I don’t know,” replied David sleepily, breathing deep and gazing up at the tall mast and its white, smooth sails.

Max yawned and marked the constellations in the sky as the ship rose higher. He peeked inside his pocket and saw Mr. Sikes, now in the form of a field mouse, curled up in a snug little ball. Max imagined he was curled up, too, warm in his sleigh bed, watching the stars through the glassy dome of his room back at Rowan. They sailed on, and the earth appeared no more than a miniature. Peering over the side, Max saw cities arranged like so many toys sprinkled over continents where moonlit clouds drifted like migratory herds. The air was cold and the stars impossibly bright as the
Kestrel
sailed on toward Orion.

“There’s Betelgeuse,” murmured David, pointing at a large reddish star. “And Rigel and Bellatrix. Some call Orion’s belt the ‘Three Magi,’ you know. . . .”

Max nodded dreamily and hugged his coat closer about him.

The stars grew to the size of pumpkins and the moon seemed beyond all reckoning as it bathed the sails and deck in a milky radiance. Gazing over the side again, Max saw nothing below them: no clouds, no land, and no dark swirls of ocean. Then he became afraid, thinking that they might sail on forever, severing all ties to their world as they drifted into the ether.

Whether they had sailed for hours or days or a lifetime, Max could not tell. He was conscious only of the sky becoming thin, its matter stretched beyond capacity, until Max swore he could see tiny gaps in its delicate black weave. He laughed and clutched the rail, leaning forward as the slivers of color became bigger, revealing a hazy wash of blue and green.

They clung to the railings as the
Kestrel
shook and groaned, her timbers threatening to snap like matchsticks. Blobs of deep green became forests, forests became trees, and then the very treetops scratched at the
Kestrel
’s keel as she skimmed above them. There was a tearing sound, and Max saw the topgallants ripped from the mast, floating in their wake like sheets blown free of a clothesline. David yelled something, but Max could not hear him above the whipping wind and the furious rippling of the mainsail. The ship rolled slightly as it cleared the forest, dipping down toward the fields of a farm. Max threw David beneath him and covered their heads.

There was a sudden jolt, followed by another and another as the
Kestrel
bounced across the field like a skipping stone. With a terrible crack, Max felt the mainsail settle over them like a tented sheet as the ship slid across the field in a spray of cabbages and damp black soil. Groaning, the
Kestrel
came to a sudden halt, rolling onto its side and spilling the two boys onto the ground.

They lay there for several moments, breathing hard and regaining their senses. Max struggled to his feet and backed away from the ship to assess the damage. Snapped wood, frayed rope, and tattered sails had been left in their wake, a trail of nautical carnage. He peeked into his pocket to see Mr. Sikes trembling with fright but apparently unharmed and clinging on inside. Limping around the ship, Max saw that the
Kestrel
’s hull had been shorn away, leaving only a skeleton of her upper decks and what remained of her snapped and broken masts. David hobbled around to join him, scratching at an impressive lump on his forehead.

“Guess we’ll have to find another way home,” he said.

Max nodded, running his hand along a jagged hole of splintered wood.

“I wonder whose fields these are,” Max said, glancing around. There was no person or building to be seen. “Probably best not to find out,” he added, wondering how they could possibly explain a shipwreck amidst a stranger’s cabbages.

“Where should we go?” asked David.

Max glanced up at the morning sun, rising in the pale sky. He removed his coat and stuffed it in David’s pack, carefully stowing Mr. Sikes in his pocket while David surveyed the landscape. Straightening, Max followed David’s gaze to a distant hill that rose high above its neighbors.

“Let’s climb up there,” Max suggested. “At least we can have a look around.”

Shouldering their pack, Max led the way. The two hurried off the cabbage field, mindful not to cause any more damage, and walked instead along a packed dirt road that wound like a ribbon among low hills thick with wildflowers. At a small creek, they crossed a narrow footbridge, and then began to climb steeper hills while the sun rose behind them. Max’s stomach growled and he came to a sobering realization.

“I forgot to pack food!”

“Oh,” said David, nursing his bump and looking thoughtful.

“I’m an idiot,” moaned Max, kicking at a stone.

David said nothing and continued walking. Max poked at his stomach and willed it into submission.

As it turned out, their destination was farther than it had initially appeared. Hours of brisk walking passed before they finally saw the hill looming before them. It seemed to be a landmark of sorts; other roads converged upon the hill, and Max spied something rocking in the wind at its crest. David had to pause to catch his breath several times as the pair climbed many switchbacks on their trek to its summit.

Once on top, Max saw that his choice had been a good one. The rocking object he had seen was, in fact, a signpost, and the hill a sort of crossroads. From this height, Max could look upon rolling greenery and white-fenced fields that stretched to the horizon. For several moments, Max and David stood in silence, reading the strange names painted on weathered wood signs that pointed in eight directions:

“Which do we choose?” asked David.

“I don’t know,” said Max, stepping over to inspect them more closely. His eyes locked on the sign pointing to Brugh na Boinne—Astaroth had said he would find his mother there. Max was just about to speak up when he felt something scurry up his arm. Mr. Sikes whispered urgently, his whiskers tickling Max’s ear.

“Danger approaches, Master McDaniels!” piped the imp.

Max turned to look back in the direction from which they’d come. There was someone in the distance, walking along the same road they had taken. Something about the far-off figure filled Max with loathing. Tapping David, he pointed at their apparent pursuer, who was now nearing the footbridge they had crossed only an hour earlier.

“We need to get moving,” said Max.

“I agree,” said David, shivering in the wind. “Which way?”

Max was about to speak again when the imp’s urgent whispers made him pause.

“Not Brugh na Boinne!” pleaded the imp. “Not yet! It is to Rodrubân you must go!”

Max ran his hand along the sign pointing to Brugh na Boinne. He felt the mouse’s tiny claws prick at his neck in protest.

“I vote for Sidh Rodrubân,” said Max at length, succumbing to Mr. Sikes’s urgent counsel.

“Why?” asked David.

“For one thing,” replied Max, “it leads directly away from whomever that is. And it’ll be hard to see us from up here.” David looked out at the wooded paths beneath them, sloping away into the trees. He glanced back at the mysterious figure, which had now crossed the bridge and seemed to be gaining steadily.

David nodded and clucked his tongue in agreement. The two boys scurried down the slope, following the path as it plunged into a wood of tall beech and twisty oak.

Summer showers pattered softly on the leaves while Max and David stole along the forest floor. They had been walking for what seemed to be hours, trying to make good time, but pausing occasionally to marvel at the landscape around them. The air was clean and fragrant, the colors more vibrant than Max had ever seen. He felt as though he were experiencing trees and grass and flowers and clouds for the first time, marvelous shapes and hues that brimmed with life and vitality. Packed dirt gave way to clean cobblestones as the forest opened onto rolling hills where flocks of white sheep grazed on close-cropped pastures.