Seaward by Susan Cooper Page A

But she knew things. She even knew about you.”
    â€œMe?”
    He hesitated. “About your hands.”
    Cally’s hands on her lap curled into fists, covering the deformed palms. Westerly reached over and took one hand, opening it gently to show the thick scaly skin. She made a face, pulling back, but he held on. He said, “I didn’t tell you the last thing my mother said. It was that I could trust three that I would meet. A man with eyes like an owl, a girl with selkie hands, and a creature in a high place.”
    Cally looked at her hands. “What’s selkie mean?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Westerly said. “But it has to mean you. I’ve already met the man with eyes like an owl. He’s called Lugan.”
    â€œLugan’s folk,” Cally said, remembering.
    He looked at her quickly. “Do you know him?”
    â€œNo. It was something someone said.” She thought of Stonecutter, and hoped he had not blamed Ryan for her escape when he woke.
    Westerly drank from the flask, put it back in his pack and stood up—then leaned towards the window suddenly, staring down. “God Almighty. What’s that?”
    Cally’s heart jumped. She turned to look, but Westerly was fumbling with the catch of the window. As he pushed the broad iron frame open, she heard from outside a long rumbling crashing roar that was in a moment dreadfully familiar.
    She looked out, across the island treetops. On the far shore of the lake, like a great herd of elephants, grey formless shapes were welling out of the trees and down into the water. A faint sound of splintering came on the air, under the long rumble of stone against earth, and she saw trees quiver and fall, one after another, as the People ground them out of their way. Steadily the huge stone figures lurched forward, splashing into the lake, making straight for the island. As they disappeared under the water, others came moving after them, over them, moving into place until an edge of stone remained visible above the surface. Gradually, inexorably, like building-blocks moved by an invisible giant, they were making themselves into a causeway from the shore of the lake across to the island.
    Cally felt sick with fright. “It’s the People,” she said hoarsely. “Making a way for Stonecutter to come after me. I didn’t think he would.”
    Westerly pulled his head back in. He looked pale. “What are those things?”
    â€œStone. People made of stone. Nothing but stone at night, but alive in the daytime.” She looked for the sun, but it stood too high to be seen from the window. “And there’s a lot of daylight left.”
    â€œAnd Stonecutter?”
    â€œA man. Sort of. He belongs to the Lady Taranis. He wanted to keep me for her.” Suddenly Cally panicked. “We’ve got to get out of the tower, we’ve got to. We’ll be trapped!”
    She grabbed Westerly’s arm; they snatched up their packs and hurried out of the room to the landing. But the white light was there facing them; not lying quiet in the stairwell now but boiling up in a whirling white cloud over their heads, forcing them back. It seemed alive, vicious, menacing: a column of boiling white gas driving them away from the stairs.
    â€œQuick!” Westerly pulled her towards the other door, the dark entrance with its worn legend overhead: WESTERLY.
    â€œBut it won’t let me in!”
    â€œYes it will.”
    He pulled out his knife and held it before him towards the door, point outwards, like a threat. “Open for Calliope,” he said.
    And the door swung open, and Cally saw light inside, and Westerly drew her in.

CHAPTER 9
    T he ceiling and one wall were dark blue, and painted overhead were the bright patterned points of the stars, glittering; even through her daze of fear Cally could see Orion there, and Betelgeuse, and the clustering Pleiades. Hanging from the ceiling, as though