SandRider by Angie Sage
Tod slipped the Scare Charm into her hand, made a fist and squeezed the Charm as hard as she could to Activate it. Then, remembering that she must turn it on and tell it what she wanted it to do, she yelled, “On! Set me free!” and opened her hand. There was a blinding flash of red light, and a small red ball bristling with needle-thin spikes flew out. It headed straight for Newt’s arm. “Ouch!” he yelled. He grabbed hold of his arm and leaped away from Tod, leaving her with a clear space in front. The Charm ricocheted off the wall, bounced back and began leaping from one member of the gang to another. In the midst of the yelps and yowls, Tod pushed her way free and headed for the safety of Sled Alley.
Darius watched her heading toward him in alarm. “Argh!” he yelled. “There’s a horrible red bug chasing you!”
Tod wheeled around to see the Charm bouncing after her like a faithful puppy. She scooped it off the ground and told it, “Stop.” As an afterthought, she said, “Thank you.” Tod wasn’t sure if one was meant to thank Charms, but it seemed only polite. The Charm pulled its spikes into itself and its angry red light faded. In a moment Tod had a little rubbery red ball sitting quietly in her hand. She was exhilarated. The Magyk had worked brilliantly. “Thanks, Darius,” she said. “Can you let me through, please?”
The sight of real Magyk had made Darius so in awe of Tod that all he could do was stare.
Aware that the seconds were ticking by fast to the Lead Out, Tod said urgently, “Darius, please. I have to get through.”
“All of you?” Darius whispered.
“Yes. All of us. Thanks!” Tod scooted down Sled Alley and skidded into the Sled Shed to find Drammer Makken standing proprietorially beside the Wiz. Drammer looked shocked.
“Thank you, Drammer,” Tod said coolly. “I’ll take over now.”
Drammer glared angrily, turned on his heel and stormed out of the shed.
“You cut that fine,” Oskar said. “You had nine seconds left.”
The Lead Out bell rang and the Sled Shed became quiet and tense. Each racer stood by their sled, and as Tod took her place beside the Wiz the Chief Hermetic Scribe appeared at the door, impressive in his ceremonial dark-blue-and-gold robes.
Despite his formal dress, Beetle was smiling broadly and looked as excited as any of the racers. He surveyed the lineup and looked particularly fondly at his old Inspection Sled. Under Oskar’s care it had become a sleek, low-level racer, and Beetle was impressed. Its rough wood shone with a deep, polished shine and some new and very shiny levers on the front bar promised some slick maneuvers on the racecourse.
Beetle began to speak. Tod listened with rapt attention as he complimented the racers on their sleds and wished them good luck. Tod smiled. She liked the way Beetle looked, how his shiny black hair flopped forward over his eyes, the way he always pushed it back when he was concentrating. She liked the air of seriousness he carried with him too, but today, Beetle had a carefree air that Tod had never seen before. He caught her eye and smiled. Tod smiled shyly back. She was so glad she had not run off to tell Septimus about Kaznim going through the Manuscriptorium Way.
Tod was right, Beetle was happy in the Sled Shed. When he needed peace and quiet in which to think, Beetle often retreated there and sat quietly with the sleds. It was not only because he loved the company of sleds, but also because it was the one place in the Manuscriptorium where the ghost of Jillie Djinn could not go. In life Jillie Djinn had never set foot in the Manuscriptorium boatshed and now she had to obey the rules of ghosthood: “A ghost may only tread once more where, Living, she has trod before.”
It was time for the Lead Out and traditionally, Beetle’s old sled led the way, followed by the Wizard Tower sled. Feeling nervous, Oskar took his sled’s dark blue rope and set off through the wide sliding door. The frisky sled came bouncing behind him, watched with a fond gaze by the Chief Hermetic Scribe.
Tod followed Oskar along Sled Alley. When all the sleds were out, Oskar stopped and the line drew to a halt. Beetle strode to the head of the procession and then Oskar led off behind him. As they moved through the shadows of Sled Alley in the wake of the dark silk robes of the Chief Hermetic Scribe, everyone fell quiet with the sense of occasion.
They followed Beetle out into the bright whiteness of Wizard Way. The thunderous roar of the crowd burst upon them like a wave, reminding Tod of the time she and her father had once almost lost their boat in the surf. Her thoughts were cut short by a piercing peep of a whistle. The seconds stepped forward, and when Tod’s second—Romilly Badger—helped her guide the Wiz onto the grid, Tod felt as though she had been thrown a lifebelt.
“Someone spiked the FizzFroot,” Romilly said. “They’ve all got a bit silly.”
While the seconds were fussing with the sleds and making sure each was correctly in its grid box, Beetle’s distorted voice came through the megaphone. “Riders for the Apprentice Race, take your places on your sleds!”
Tod sat on the Wiz, untied the whistle and put it into her pocket. She placed both feet on the front bar, took hold of the purple rope and felt Romilly rest her hands on the back bar, ready for the all-important push-start. Tod glanced over at Oskar, who had Colin Partridge as his second. Partridge was bent double like a spring waiting to uncoil.
The riders focused their gaze on the course that stretched out in front of them: a wide, straight line of shiny white ice that disappeared into a sharp right turn at the far end of Wizard Way.
Beetle’s disembodied megaphone voice began to count down. “Get set . . . Three . . . two . . . one . . . GO!”
THE APPRENTICE RACE
A massively powerful shove from Romilly took Tod by surprise. The Wiz shot forward and set Tod off balance; she leaned slightly to the left and, in a shower of Death Wings, she found herself heading straight for the Grot. Tod leaned hard over to the right and pulled the Wiz away from the black spiked runners of the Grot in the nick of time. To her embarrassment, the Wiz continued on its diagonal track, now running fast toward the snow wall that divided the racetrack from the spectators. Panicking a little, Tod leaned too far to the left, the Wiz veered away from the wall and careered once again diagonally across the track, heading for the opposite wall. But this time there was no danger of crashing into any sleds—they were all well in front, heading down Wizard Way in a fine spray of ice. As Tod fought to get control of the zigzagging Wiz, she became aware of laughter and a triumphant yell from Drammer Makken: “Useless!”
Tod wished the snow would swallow her up. But as the Wiz once again shimmied over to the opposite snow wall, she heard Beetle’s voice above the ever-increasing laughter. “Silence! Silence, or I shall restart the race. This is a normal start for the Wizard Tower sled. Do not disturb the rider’s concentration.”
Despite most of the spectators knowing that this was most definitely not the normal start for the Wiz, they fell silent. The relief from the laughter and Beetle’s support gave Tod the clarity she needed. She leaned forward and whispered the words that were written on the little silver wings Septimus had given her when she had become his Apprentice: “Fly free with me.” And then it happened. Tod felt the Wiz’s energy gather into its very center and at last the sled became balanced. Concentrating hard, Tod steered the Wiz into the middle of the track and suddenly, they were off.
A gasp came from the crowd as the Wiz shot down the racecourse in a glint of purple and gold, trailing a rainbow spray of minute ice crystals behind. As the last of the six sleds in front shot around the first bend, the Wiz was rapidly making up lost ground and the crowd’s laughter had transformed to cheers and whoops of excitement. No one had seen the Wiz go so fast before, and by the time it, too, had disappeared, it was generally agreed that the Chief Hermetic Scribe had got it wrong. Tod had been deliberately fooling around in order to give the field a decent chance—and provide an entertaining start to the race in the bargain.
The Wiz hurtled down Snake Slipway and as the sled swooped around to the right in a beautifully controlled turn and entered
Tod took the Wiz across the track at the Castle bank to take advantage of the inner bend. Here the snow was clear from sled tracks but much deeper. It was now that the effect of Septimus’s purple cloth became apparent—the Wiz cut through the snow like a hot knife through butter. As Tod leaned into the gentle curve of the Castle Wall, she became aware of cheers from the houses along the Walls and for the first time since the start, she risked a smile. With the swish of the snow loud in her ears, the wind in her hair and the spray curling up behind her, Tod headed past the East Gate Lookout Tower. A line of rats gathered on the roof waved enthusiastically, but Tod had eyes only for what was in front of her. And what she saw made her laugh out loud—she was catching up. Fast. No more than twenty yards ahead were three sleds: Grot and Spit Fyre neck and neck with Sarnie trailing. A few seconds later the markers for Forest Ramp came into view and she saw Oskar’s sled heading across the Moat and up the ramp into the next section of the course. Not far ahead of him was the Bucket and in the lead was the Spurius Fatuus, raced with a supreme fearlessness. The Spurius, Tod thought, would be hard to beat.
It was on the wide Moat course that overtaking was easiest and Tod was determined to take advantage of that—there was no way she was going to be the last one up Forest Ramp. She leaned outward, took the Wiz flashing across the tracks of the frontrunners and flew past the Sarnie in a shower of spray. Tod settled the Wiz into the tracks of the Grot and moments later was winging past the Grot and then the Spit Fyre in quick succession, both of whose riders looked shocked. Then she, too, was zooming up the Forest Ramp to the sound of cheers.
Tod and the Wiz were now entering the narrowest part of the course, which the riders called “the trench.” There was really only room for one sled here, two if you were being reckless. The track was U-shaped in profile with banks of snow so high that all spectators now lost sight of the sleds for some thirty seconds.
Ferdie was watching through a pair of Enlarging Glasses that Oskar had borrowed from the Manuscriptorium, “So that you can see me win, Ferd.” She saw the Wiz disappear into the trench, closely followed by a furious Grot, which had edged the Spit Fyre off course and into the bank. Ferdie turned her attention to Oskar. Oskar had overtaken the Bucket at the top of Forest Ramp and somehow in the confines of the trench he had done the impossible. To her delight, Ferdie saw her twin emerge ahead of Larry’s scribe, Doran Drew. The scribe looked wild. She was crouched down on the long, narrow sled, which shone silver against the snow, and was on Oskar’s tail, so close that their runners almost touched. They were in the straight that headed to the Forest Pit and the snow was soft and loose. The Beetle was throwing up a stream of slush that covered Doran’s goggles and every time she ran her hand across to clear them, she lost ground.
“Go, Oskie, go!” Ferdie yelled.
Suddenly a dip hidden in loose-packed snow caught on the Beetle’s stumpy runners and threw the sled to one side. Ferdie gasped. She watched Oskar struggle to pull the Beetle back into the smooth center of the course. He managed it well, but Doran took her chance and now the Beetle and Spurius Fatuus were neck and neck, flying along the long, wide, straight track beside the Forest, heading for the Pit.
Catching up fast was the Wiz.
Ferdie put down her Enlarging Glasses and leaned out to get a better look at the whole course. Oskar and Doran had just disappeared over Dead Drop, the precipitous slope that went down into the Forest Pit. Ferdie watched the Wiz—closely pursued by the Grot, its rider crouched like a cat, his black robes streaming behind him—running down the long straight toward Dead Drop.
The straight was lined on the far side by the outlying trees of the Forest—tall, impassive spectators. As Tod sped beneath their overhanging branches, Ferdie caught a flash of silver from behind one of the trunks. Ferdie was not as technically Magykal as Tod, but she had a gift of Feeling the presence of people who were—or would be in the future—connected with her. And right then Ferdie Felt that there was someone in the Forest, watching. And not in a good way.
Ferdie was right, there was a watcher in the Forest. A young witch named Marissa was standing in the shadows of an ancient oak that the Forest witches (known as the Wendrons) called the Guardian, the most outlying of the Forest trees that allowed the witches to Blend with its shadow. Marissa wore her old dark green Wendron cloak despite the fact that she had fallen out with the coven and no longer belonged. (Marissa had also been a member of the Port Witch Coven, but she had had enough of them too. She was now what she called “freelance.”) And so, as Marissa stood beneath the Guardian, her long brown hair held back by a plaited leather headband, her Wendron cloak wrapped around her, she was as near to invisible as it is possible to be without an UnSeen.
The glint of silver that caught Ferdie’s eye came from the collection of silver rings that Marissa wore on every finger and both thumbs—and the reason they glinted was because Marissa’s hands were shaking. For the first time in her life, Marissa was scared. Someone had made her an offer that she dared not refuse and she had to double-cross Morwenna Mould, Witch Mother of the Wendron Witches, in order to make it happen. Maybe, Marissa thought as she stood in the shadows of the Guardian oak, maybe being freelance wasn’t such a great idea after all.
Tod was now hurtling toward Dead Drop. As if sensing her trepidation, the Wiz slowed and she heard the swish of approaching runners behind—the Grot was catching up fast. “Go-go-go!” Tod yelled, and the Wiz was gone, shooting over the edge of Dead Drop and plummeting down. Tod’s breath seemed to be pulled out of her as she fell, and then with a jarring thump the runners caught the slope and the Wiz was off, shooting across the icy floor of the quarry. Another thump from behind announced that the Grot, too, had landed and Tod urged the Wiz on, gaining ground on Oskar and Doran, who were hurtling across the quarry floor, neck and neck.
The floor of the Pit was deep in snow and shadow. The winter sun never reached here and the chill struck through Tod’s fur-lined cloak. Silent and fast, the silky-smooth golden runners of the Wiz gave it the advantage; it left the Grot behind and drew so close to the two leaders that their spray covered Tod in an icy dust. The steep incline out of the Pit now approached. All three slowed, but the Wiz less so. In the race up the incline Tod very nearly caught the leaders, but as they emerged into the warmth of the sun and the course leveled out, Oskar performed a very sneaky turn and cut across the line Tod was taking. Doran followed him, dropping back into second place, and Tod had to throw the Wiz sideways. Quickly she flung the sled back on track, slipped in front of the Spurius Fatuus and was away, hurtling after Oskar, heading for the shadows between the Infirmary and the Forest.
At her First Aid Post on the Infirmary veranda, Ferdie was relieved to see the Beetle and the Wiz emerge safely from the Pit. She watched the sleds rocketing along the darkest part of the course—the straight beside the escarpment at the edge of the Forest. The Wiz was close on the tail of the Beetle, and the Spurius was close behind. The Grot had just emerged from the Pit, the Spit Fyre and Bucket were still in it and the Sarnie was way back, teetering on the edge of the Pit in a fit of panic. Ferdie saw Tod take the Wiz to the edge of the straight and in a breathtaking turn of speed, she overtook Oskar in a daring loop. In another swoop, Oskar overtook Tod and they both hurtled on, and then Tod was once more ahead—the race was turning into an exciting duel.
“Go, Oskie, go!” Ferdie yelled.
As if in response to Ferdie’s yell, Oskar once more took the lead. As he sped toward the sharp right-hand turn that would take him onto the drawbridge lead-up, Ferdie saw once more a flash of silver from the shadows of the oak. At the same time she saw Tod’s sled suddenly slew across the track, hurtle over the snowbank and shoot into the trees beyond.
Out of the corner of his eye, Oskar had seen Tod’s sudden change of direction and he knew from the way she was struggling to control the Wiz that all was not well. Without even thinking that with Tod out of the running he was very likely to win the race, Oskar skidded the Beetle to a halt and turned around, very nearly crashing head-on into the oncoming Spurius. Doran zoomed past with a whoop of triumph.
Ferdie ran toward Oskar, yelling, “Oskie, Oskie, wait for me!” In seconds she had jumped onto the back of the Beetle, yelling, “There’s something in the Forest, Oskie. Something waiting for Tod!”
A chill of fear went through Oskar. He took the Beetle through the break in the snow embankment where the Wiz had ploughed through and headed into the trees.
On the course behind him, a nervous Sarnie wobbled by.
OVERRIDE
All along the straight, Tod had felt the Wiz wanting to pull toward the Forest and as they drew near an ancient oak, she saw a flash of silver in the shadows below the tree. A stab of fear shot through her—someone was waiting for her. Tod leaned forward to force the Wiz onward, but suddenly realized she no longer had control of the sled. And then it happened—the Wiz shot across the track and through the snow embankment. The next moment Tod and the Wiz were bumping along the Forest floor and as they sped past the oak tree, out of the corner of her eye Tod saw a witch beneath the tree, watching her—but when she turned to look straight at her, Tod saw nothing but thick green shadows.
Tod felt very scared indeed. All the stories of the Forest that were told at night in the Junior Girls’ Apprentice Dorm came back to her. As the Wiz slalomed through the trees, Tod clung to the sled, unsure whether she was more scared of falling off or staying on. The Wiz hurtled along, bumping over the stony ground, which was covered with only a thin layer of snow. A sheer rocky escarpment, dark and dripping with snow-covered moss, now rose up before her, and it seemed to Tod as though the sled was heading straight for the rock face, intent upon its own destruction. As she readied herself to jump off—a frightening prospect, as the sled was going extremely fast—Tod saw a fissure in the rock straight ahead and she knew that was where the Wiz was going. She must jump now . . . now . . . And then it was too late. The Wiz shot into the deep, dark narrowness of a sheer-sided canyon and Tod was with it. Where they were going she had no idea, but wherever it was, she and the Wiz were going together.