Fern and Thor

Chapter XI

Fern scowled and sheathed her knife. At a slight noise behind her, she spun round and saw the Harpy desperately scrambling up the rocks.
“Hey!” she growled. She dug into her pocket, pulling out the shoelace that she had so absent-mindedly put there. She kicked the Harpy once again and tied up her arms and legs as before. She felt numb; she couldn’t quite believe what happened. But it had. Thor was gone. She forced the Harpy to its feet.
“Come on.” Fern marched it up the mountain.
“Wait!” called a barely audible voice behind them. Fern froze as she recognized it. “Thor???”
She gradually wheeled around to face the rugged rogue, hurrying after them. A smile broke out on her face. “Thor!” she jumped on him, wrapping him in a bear hug. “I thought you were dead!”
Thor awkwardly pushed Fern off, his face red. Fern flushed as well, coughing uncomfortably. “I mean, uh, how did you escape?”
Thor, glad to have something else to talk about, took the opportunity eagerly. “Well, I thought I was dead when I fell. But my coat caught a long stick poking out. Actually, I almost died anyway. The damn thing choked me half to death!”
Fern raised her eyebrows. “Continue.”
“Anyway, I heard you battering the yeti,” Thor grinned. “You really worked up a temper!”
Fern shook her head, flustered. Thor persisted hurriedly. “So anyway, I climbed up with my hands and, well, yeah, here I am!”
Fern nodded. “Well I’m just thankful you’re alive. Anyhow, down to business. We’ve got to find Thord’s lair and end this.”
“You’re right.”
Fern turned her back and began scouting the area. “Guard you-know-who” she waved a hand at the Harpy. After a couple of minutes she came back. “Found something!” she called.
“Lead the way.” Thor held out his hand in a gesture. Fern understood and beckoned. She led them to a spot where a stone lay, in the odd shape of a gravestone.
“See?”
“See what?” asked Thor, “I can’t see anything.”
“Look closely.”
Thor submitted and squinted. “Hang on, there’s something etched there”
He began reading out the chiselled script, line by line.

“South-west of here lies the Domain of His Master. The only way to gain entry is to Control the Gale that patrols these mountains to point to the opposite direction”

Fern groaned. “South-west? But that’s where Damaka Forest is! Don’t tell me I missed it!”
“No, you can’t have!” Thor protested desperately. “Maybe it just means slightly south-west?”
“Okay, but you better be right!” Fern sighed. Thor went the direction the stone said. “Come here!” he said after a minute. This time there was light in his voice. Fern followed, dragging their prisoner. “What? Did you find something?” her words came out in a rush.
“Look!”
Fern followed Thor’s gaze to a crack in the rock.
“Yeah? So what?”
“That must be where Thord’s lair is!”
“You may be right.” Fern stood up straighter with her hand on her chin in a thoughtful pose.
“And look above it!”
Fern’s eyes darted to see a rusty old weathervane, unusual because of the strange tainted python perched atop it instead of a cockerel. Its eyes seemed to glow in the dim light.
“Harpy!” Fern barked. The Harpy scowled. “I would think it be better to address me more politely.” It replied through gritted teeth.
“Harpy, control the wind so it blows north-east!” Fern ordered, ignoring its comment.
Thor took his dagger from its scabbard and held it under the Harpy’s throat. Fern scrutinized it. She could tell it was afraid of what would happen if it disobeyed. “Now!” she commanded. The Harpy hesitated, then closed its eyes. As before, small gusts of wind wafted around her. Fern wrapped her hands around her hair to keep it from blowing in her face. Then, gradually, like earlier, it turned into a smallish hurricane, but what was different was that when it reached full peak, all the wind slowly wound off, like cotton off a spindle of thread, shooting off to the north-east. Fern watched in awe until it had finished. The weathervane squealed as it spun around, startling Fern. It now showed that the wind was heading in a north-easterly direction. She jumped, as there was a rumbling noise, quiet at first then increasing, as the rocky gates to Thord’s lair swung open.