Holly thought she was right. "I wish I could see them. What went wrong? That's what I want to know."

"How do I know? I reckon this Fyraire Starlord of theirs is just another legend that didn't come off. He can't come, or he's dead, or never existed. In which case it's like Elathan says, we've been wasting our time."

"Fyraire..."

"What's the matter?"

"Somebody just walked over my grave. G.o.d, it's cold."

Chris raised her eyebrows. She thought it a hot and muggy storm. Dismissing it, she said, "Elathan was right-they should've knocked h.e.l.l out of the sea-people at the first opportunity."

"They'll have to now, won't they?"

The rain pelted down in the twilight. A short way away the sea thundered.

"Chris, I'm just gonna go up Tackleway, up the steps, I can see across to the marshes from there."

"What good will that do?"

"None. But I just want to see."

"Well, go up then. I don't care."

Holly climbed the slippery steps. Coming to the top step, the storm hit her full-face, blasting in over the cliffs. It was a sea of gorse and mud there, high enough to catch the last yellow dusk.

What am I doing? I'll go back. Chris was right. She hugged herself, getting wetter. Streaming hair whipped into her eyes. She stepped forward on to Highrock, peering forward to see if she could just glimpse the marsh- -swayed and slipped and felt rock hit her palms and held it!

She was on one knee, dizzy-headed, with no memory of how she got there. She tried to think.

I was... everything was different... sun... no rain. I saw- no, that's crazy!

It seemed to her as if the rain and the town had been wiped out, and in their place was level ground; a forest of silver birches glittering leafless, red bracken ma.s.sing over their roots. The sky was not dark but frosty blue, and bright... For a second she had wanted to run blindly forward into that spring and morning country-and then whatever rift had opened between the worlds closed, and she was wind-beaten and wet and standing on the East Hill. The sea boomed.

She ran pell-mell down the steps away from Highrock, back to the town. Chris glanced up disinterestedly.

"Well?"

"Nothing."

"I thought not. Let's go home."

Holly got off the bus at Birchdale Junction and ran down Stonegate Street. It was not a late hour to come home; she didn't antic.i.p.ate anything more than a scolding for getting wet.

And who can help being caught in a storm? Especially at midsummer when you don't expect it. Midsummer-oh, Jesus, what went wrong?

With her hand on the front gate, she stopped and heard a groan that was half scream, half shriek, coming from the field-from the stables. She listened tensely, gripping the gate, and when it came again, recognised it as a horse. She ran into the house.

"Oh, you did get caught, didn't you, dear? Couldn't you find a place to shelter? Come in and take those wet clothes off."

"OK, Mum. Got this way trying to catch a bus. Hey, what the h.e.l.l is that?"

"Next-door said to me it was that white mare foaling. Do you want a hot drink?"

"Yes please. You mean Strawberry?"

"If that's its name. The vet's van has been down there for an hour or more now. I hate to hear an animal in pain; I do wish he'd do something for it..."

As her mother vanished into the kitchen, the scream came again. Holly pulled off shirt and shoes and jeans and began to scrub herself dry with a towel.

"Good Lord, girl, what happened to you? You look like a drowned rat."

"Hi, Dad; I got caught in the rain down the Old Town. See that lightning?"

"Don't catch cold. Go up and put a dressing-gown on."

"OK, OK: don't fuss."

The sound of the mare's torment did not fade until midnight was past. Warm in bed, with the rain clawing the windows, Holly lay down and cried herself to sleep.

She heard the rain stop around six and then drifted through troubled dreams in the darkness, and overslept. It was close on ten before she woke again.

The grey slate roofs gleamed silver, the trees sparkled, and coils of mist drifted over the pond in the park. Holly dragged herself out of bed and pulled the window open, hearing church bells. The plants in the garden were flattened; the horse'sfield a ploughed mora.s.s. She saw two men come out of the stables and plod across to a van parked in the drive, and heard their voices clearly: "She'll be fine now. I can't answer for the foal. I'll drop by again later."

"I don't understand it. It looks as if-"

The van's engine coughed noisily. Holly put her head in her hands, hating the morning. That Strawberry should have trouble now seemed only natural. There isn't much lately that hasn't gone wrong, she thought.

Chris was at church, she knew, so she went alone to the ruins of Orione. The rocks were damp and ominous; more of the bank had come down with the storm. No Fletcher. Not even Holdfast.

She thought, He's somewhere. He said he'd let me know what happened, and he wouldn't let me down. I can't go to the Hills...

She caught one of the infrequent Sunday buses down to the Old Town, but the boy was not at Highrock, as she'd half-hoped he would be. She wandered down the deserted streets, listening to the m.u.f.fled singing coming from the churches. The morning was clear. She thought, If the sea-people are controlling the weather they're not very good at it. Or have they made their point, and are they saving all their strength for midwinter?

She walked back along the promenade towards the town centre. Thinking hard and not looking where she was going, she apologised automatically when she b.u.mped into someone coming from the opposite direction.

"Christ! What you doin' down here?"

It was Helen Gabriel alone, without her gang.

"Where's Ivy, then?"

"Search me." Holly was not intimidated. She barely remembered how the other girl had tried to hurt her.

"That, last night. What was it?"

A civil question? Holly wondered. The h.e.l.l. She's curious . "You mean in the churchyard? What did it sound like to you?"

"Like... I dunno what like. Nothing clear. Too bright." She shook her head impatiently; the moment of understanding pa.s.sed. "Look, one of you poxy little cows knows what it was, and you're b.l.o.o.d.y well gonna tell me!"

"Keep off me, Gabriel." Holly walked away, felt a hand slam into her shoulder and staggered, thinking, Just let her try! I'll beat s.h.i.t out of her.

"Don' you play tough with me, girl."

"Stay off me," she snapped back, then: "because you don't know what'll happen if you don't..."

At any other time Helen would have laughed scornfully, and hit her. Now she stared at Holly for a long minute, then pushed past and walked away, not looking back.

Holly went home.

She didn't see Fletcher the next day, or the day after that; and then it lengthened into weeks. With the end of the summer term and the prospect of two weeks camping in Cornwall, Holly put the Hills to the back of her mind. When she came back from Cornwall and met up with Chris, there was the park, the cinema, the beach; tennis, swimming, and the pure joy of being off school and doing nothing at all. A whole month.

August drew to a close in the hottest summer that century. Since they were due back at school on the next Tuesday, Holly and Chris came down to the beach on the Sat.u.r.day for one last long afternoon.

Chris picked her way round trippers, towels, deck chairs, and transistor radios to settle down in the shelter of a stone breakwater. Holly, barefoot, winced over the pebbles.

Voices and music jarred in the sweltering heat. Acres of blue sky burned above. The promenade was packed with people.

All wore shirtsleeves, or light summer dresses, or swimming costumes. They covered the beach like ants. The hotels and boarding-houses along the seafront wavered in the heat-haze. Ice-cream sellers sold out.

Holly paused, removing her jeans. A worn red swimming costume showed underneath. She said, "Are we safe near the sea?"

"You what?" Chris was nonplussed for a minute, then, "Not that again. Look, we're out of it. We'd've heard if it was otherwise, in two an' a half months."

"Yes, but I just thought-"

"You worry too much. If you wanna worry about anything, try Gabriel. You reckon she's gonna be all sweetness and light after last term?"

"Do I, h.e.l.l!"

"Well, then. Come on."

Holly made sure she could keep an eye on her clothes, then ran down over the pebbles to the hard-packed sand, where fan-like ripples inched up the beach.

Holly waded out, ankle, knee, thigh-deep; cold as charity; then struck out and let the sea hold her, rolling with the waves.

The chill wore off as she swam out, floated, and let the translucent water thrust her sh.o.r.ewards. She drifted, feet just touching the sandy bottom. Chalkspit had vanished in haze; it was as if the world ended at Gallows Hill...

At last she waded ash.o.r.e, stomach queasy with swallowing salt water. Out of the sea her limbs were stone-heavy. She sat on the towel and let the heat ease her and dry her stinging eyes. She fell into a half-trance.

Shouting roused her. She blinked stupidly, not realising what she was seeing, and then it came into focus. Chris, out of her depth, clinging to the slippery stone groin and screaming. Then losing hold and going under so smoothly it was a second before Holly jumped up and ran down the beach.

She stopped. Stared helplessly at the shining and empty sea. No telling where...

Bare feet slapped the stone behind her. A boy, running down the breakwater, sure-footed where the waves beat across it.

She knew it was Fletcher. He knelt astride the stone where Chris had vanished, and reached down. He was shouting, but not in English, and not at Holly. She waded out to try and help.

"Get back!"

"What?"

"Get back, quick. I've got her." He waved her back with one hand, the other shoulder-deep in the sea.

Holly splashed ash.o.r.e. In all that crowd she saw no one taking any notice of them. They think we're mucking about. GoodG.o.d, no wonder people drown.

Chris stumbled up the shingle, supported by Fletcher. Holly caught her as she staggered, and sat her down on the towel.

The girl was a sick white, gold hair sleaked dark, water pearling her face and body. She was staring vacantly at the sea and shaking.

Fletcher squatted down. "You have a drink for her?"

"What? Yeah, somewhere. We had a flask of coffee." She let Chris have a cup, and the girl drank it down scalding hot.

"What happened? There ain't no rocks. Was it cramp? I never seen anything like that-"

Chris pulled the towel up round her shoulders. She focused on Holly and Fletcher, and tried to smile.

"Never learn, do you?" The boy sat back on his heels. Holly saw he was in jeans and T-shirt, his hair longer, his skin dark.

Although he still had a slight accent, his phrasing was entirely human.

Chris pushed the wet hair out of her eyes, and was herself again. "G.o.d, that was bad. You won't believe what I saw-"

"I might," Fletcher invited.

"Well. I was just mucking around, floating. Somebody grabs my ankle and pulls me down-I think it's some yob, so I kick out, but he don't let go. So I go under, swallow some water, get scared. Thought I could hold on the break-water. He pulls me down. Then I see him."

"Underwater?" Holly interrupted.

"I could see enough. He was breathing. Under water. And the way he looked; My G.o.d, vicious. I couldn't swear to it-but I think his fingers were webbed."

I know how Chris loves to exaggerate... but no, she was really scared. Holly asked, "Sea-people?"

Fletcher pointed upwards at the white blizzard of wings, and they listened to the harsh crying. "They finally found you.

And Tarac's people don't dare come this close to the sea."

"Lucky you were around."

"I've been watching you since midsummer."

"Watching-?"

He said, "I suggest you get off the beach. I told the seaborn to leave you be, or I'd set the hounds on him. If we wait too long he'll find out I was lying. All right?"

"All right." As they prepared to go, Holly asked, "Where's Holdfast, then?"

"In the Hills."