The Land of Roar series

‘Hurry up!’ shouts Win, and I run to catch up with him.

‘This is so different to last time,’ I say.

‘I know.’ He shakes his head bitterly. ‘No bikes.’

This morning when I told Win that there was no point taking one bike, it didn’t go down well.

‘No,’ I say, ‘I mean Roar’s back to how it used to be, full of creatures and flowers, and there are no massive sinkholes to fall into.’

‘Or scarecrows waiting to grab us,’ adds Win.

‘Exactly!’

We leave the meadow and walk in the shadow of the Tangled Forest. The trees are huge and their fat trunks tower over us. Branches twist together, forming a thick wall that seems impossible to get through.

‘How do we get in?’ I say, looking for a gap between the trees.

‘I know a special way,’ says Win. He has an excited gleam in his eye, but won’t say any more. Win’s always loved surprises.

As we walk alongside the forest, Win tells me what he’s been up to since we left. A lot of practising ‘mind-blowing’ magic, it seems, and hanging out with the Lost Girls. ‘Obviously Stella didn’t want me to,’ says Win, ‘and she kept trying to get rid of me and telling me to go away, but the little ones nagged her to let me stay until she gave in.’

He explains that the Lost Girls found a boat in the caves below the Crow’s Nest and used this to sail to and from the mainland until Stella discovered that she gets seasick. ‘That’s when they made a bridge,’ he says. ‘It goes all the way from the Crow’s Nest to the cliffs on the Bad Side, and I helped them build it!’ Proudly he pulls up the sleeve of his robes to show me a yellow loomband bracelet. ‘They gave me this to say thank you. We had a ceremony and everything!’

He comes to a stop by two big rocks. We’ve climbed above the Tangled Forest and it sits below us, a swaying mass of green. ‘We’re here,’ he says.

I pull out the map and try to work out where we are. There are rocks everywhere and jungly-looking trees and vines. ‘I can’t see this place on the map,’ I say.

‘That’s because we never put it on there. We wanted to keep it a secret. Don’t you recognise it?’

I peer between the two rocks. I can see boulders piled on top of each other and hear running water. Mist hangs in the air. Something about the sound of the water and the mist tugs at my memory. ‘Is this . . . Boulders and Waterfalls?’ I say.

Win smiles and nods. ‘Yes it is, my friend!’

A shiver of excitement runs through me. Win and I used to love hanging out here because, well, there are loads of boulders and waterfalls. What’s not to like? I step between the rocks and lean forward. Below me is a round pool. Turquoise water spills into another pool directly below it, and more and more pools stretch into the distance like a chain of blue beads. They’re connected by gushing waterfalls that run so fast that they’ve polished the rock into smooth water chutes. Sun shines through the mist and jet-black butterflies hover over the water.

Unable to contain himself, Win pushes past me, shouts, ‘HEAR ME ROAR!’ and leaps fully clothed into the first pool. Straight away he’s caught in a current that spins him round and round before tugging him towards the next waterfall. He howls with laughter as he shoots out of sight.

I hear a splash followed by, ‘COME ON, ARTHUR!’

Happiness rushes through me. Crowky is gone, Grandad is safe, and I’m about to go on the coolest waterslide in the world, and possibly ride a unicorn.

‘Wait for me!’ I yell and I throw myself off the rock.

Win and I have a brilliant time slipping and sliding between the pools and jumping off rocks.

Eventually we find ourselves in a small river running towards the Tangled Forest. We pile giant leaves on top of each other to make a raft, then climb on. This is how we’re carried into the Tangled Forest.

We lie back on our leaky raft. The canopy of leaves is high above us, blocking out the sun, and the only light comes from buds that burst from vines. These buds glow and flicker all around us as our raft drifts deeper into the dark forest.

‘I’m glad you’re back, mate,’ says Win, punching me on the arm.

‘Me too,’ I say, punching him back, but only gently because our raft is very unstable.

When we get caught in a root we get out and start to walk.

We wander between the thick trunks. It’s so hot that our clothes dry quickly, and we keep ourselves going by munching on the biggest blueberries I’ve ever seen. At least, I think they’re blueberries . . . they’re more purple than blue and they taste like doughnut.

‘We need to be quiet now,’ whispers Win. ‘This is where the unicorns hang out.’

He stops in front of a line of tree trunks. At first I think they’ve grown close together, like the ones at the edge of the forest, but then I realise that these trees have been deliberately tied together with vines. I push a knot of ivy to one side and see words scratched into one of the trunks:

‘Is this the Lost Girls camp?’ I say.

Win nods and puts a finger to his lips, and I follow him to the entrance of Tree Tops. At least, it was the entrance to Tree Tops. Once a huge wooden door stood here, but now it’s lying smashed on the ground with plants growing through the cracked wood.

It was Crowky who did this. Last time we were here Stella told us that he’d set fire to their camp and forced them to abandon it. It’s only now that I’m standing here that I understand how total the destruction was.

‘Horrible, isn’t it?’ says Win.

I nod, a painful lump forming in my chest. I can’t believe we stopped visiting Roar for so long. We didn’t come for three whole years and that’s why Crowky was able to take over and do this to Tree Tops. We can never let him do something like this again.

Tree Tops used to be amazing. A higgledy-piggledy collection of tree houses linked by rope bridges and ladders. It was a playground in the sky. Stella’s hut was best of all, of course. It was built so high in the canopy that I never went up there, but I remember watching as Rose climbed the wobbling ladder and disappeared into the leaves.

Now all that’s left are the burnt skeletons of tree houses.

‘It’s all gone,’ I say.

‘Not completely,’ says Win. ‘I’ll show you.’

He runs to a tree, finds a sooty rope ladder and starts to climb. Soon we’re pulling ourselves on to blackened planks. It’s the floor of a tree house. The walls have gone, but the plank floor seems solid enough. Win drops to his stomach and I lie next to him. We peer at the ground below. ‘This is the best unicorn-spotting platform in Roar,’ he whispers.

We keep as still as possible, listening to insects and watching spots of light dance across the forest floor. We don’t have to wait long. Soon we hear twigs snapping and leaves being pushed aside. ‘Are you sure it’s a unicorn?’ I ask, my heart speeding up. ‘I mean, how can you tell that’s a unicorn and not a scarecrow?’

‘Because scarecrows don’t have horns,’ says Win.

And just then a large blue unicorn steps out of the trees. It’s got a scattering of silver spots over its coat, large milky eyes and a ridiculously shaggy mane. It’s beautiful, but its horn is spectacular. It’s silvery and sharp and glows as bright as the moon. I watch, hardly daring to breathe, as the unicorn bends its head and starts crunching something off the forest floor.

Still chewing, it raises its head and fixes its pale eyes on us.

‘I think it knows we’re here,’ I whisper.

Win scoffs. ‘Course he knows we’re here! He would have sniffed us out from miles away. Unicorns are super-good at smelling.’

‘Can we get closer?’ I ask.

‘We can try.’

I follow Win’s lead and slowly we make our way back down the ladder to the ground. The unicorn watches us the whole time. I reach out my hand in what I hope is a friendly gesture. ‘Here, unicorn,’ I say, wriggling my fingers.

‘He’s not a cat, Arthur,’ scoffs Win. ‘If you want him to come closer then you’ll need to give him something he likes. I’ll try to find some apples.’ Then Win darts off and out of the camp, leaving me alone with the very majestic and slightly scary unicorn.

Still munching, he stares at me.

‘Hello,’ I say, taking a step closer. ‘I’m Arthur Trout.’ Then, thinking it might impress him, I add, ‘Master of Roar.’

It doesn’t impress him. In fact, he rolls his eyes.

In case I sounded too cocky, I kneel down on the floor to show I’m subservient to him.

Then something amazing happens. The unicorn kneels down too, like he’s copying me! To see if I’m right, I dip my head. The unicorn dips his head too. Slowly I get up, but the unicorn stays where he is, his nose buried in the long grass, his broad back low to the ground. Does he want me to sit on him?

Suddenly I think how brilliant it would be if Win came back and found me trotting around the camp on a unicorn . . . Also, Rose thinks she’s it galloping across Roar on Prosecco, but what if I had a unicorn as my personal form of transport? In seconds I’ve imagined it all. The unicorn and I have become friends. He’s called Ronaldo and he only eats from my hand.

I step closer. Ronaldo doesn’t move, so I step round his side and gently settle myself on his beautiful silky back.

‘Arthur . . . what are you doing?!’ Win has come back clutching an armful of apples. But he doesn’t look impressed: he looks horrified.

Just then the unicorn swivels his head round and glares at me.

‘He wanted me to ride him,’ I say, wondering if this wasn’t such a great idea. ‘I knelt down and so did he. Then he tucked his head in and waited for me to climb on his back!’

‘Are you sure he wasn’t just pulling that juicy worm out of the ground?’

I draw in a sharp breath. Win’s right. Hanging out of the corner of Ronaldo’s mouth is a fat wriggling worm.

‘I didn’t know unicorns ate worms. Anyway, yesterday you said if we found one we could ride it!’

‘A female unicorn. They’re well friendly, but male unicorns are massively aggressive so if I were you, I’d get off his back right now, nice and slow.’

I nod. I don’t need telling twice. The unicorn has started to growl and is giving me evils. Also, from up here I can see that his horn is very sharp indeed – kind of pointed, like a spear. I go to get off him, but, in a flash, he lets out a whinny of outrage and leaps to his feet, lifting me up in the air with him.

To stop myself from falling I grab hold of the closest solid object: his horn.

This does not go down well.

‘LET GO OF HIS HORN!’ screams Win as the unicorn starts bucking around the clearing. ‘LET GO OF HIS HORN!’

But I can’t let go of his horn. It’s the only thing stopping me from being thrown off. With an enormous whinny and twist of his head, the unicorn finally tosses me off his back.

I shoot over his head and crash down on the ground. For a second stars dance in front of my eyes. I blink them away to see the unicorn bearing down on me, his horn pointing towards my chest like a spear.

‘I’m sorry!’ I yell, trying to scramble away from him, but the unicorn is too fast, and his horn is too long. There’s no escape.

‘It could have been worse,’ says Win, trying to cheer me up.

He’s right. I’d have lost an eye if I hadn’t twisted my head as the unicorn lunged at me. Instead he hooked my T-shirt on to the end of his horn then ran around the clearing, tossing me from side to side before hanging me on a stubby branch.

And that’s where I am now, dangling a couple of metres off the ground, with Win stuck on a branch next to me. We’re not sure why the unicorn decided to hang Win up too, but it might have had something to do with him rolling around and laughing until he cried.

After eating the apples Win dropped, Ronaldo trotted off into the forest without a backward glance.

We could slip out of our T-shirts and fall to the ground, but just below us are some particularly jagged pieces of burnt wood – the remnants of the Lost Girls’ tool shed according to Win – and we don’t want to get speared.

‘Win, can you do some magic to get us down?’ I say.

‘Good thinking,’ he says, then he squirms around until he’s pulled his wand out of his pocket.

He gives it a practice swish then points it at the splinters of wood. ‘Zoo fog!’ he shouts. A few flakes of snow flutter from the end of his wand and settle on the ground beneath us. ‘That’s not right,’ he mutters. ‘Caribou log!’

This time he waves his wand with such enthusiasm that it slips out of his hand and falls to the floor. It lies there oozing pink goo.

‘Whoops,’ says Win.

‘Never mind.’

For a while we just dangle and stare into the forest. ‘Hey, Arthur,’ says Win, breaking the silence. ‘Do you remember when you massively disrespected that unicorn?’

‘Yes,’ I say, and we fall back into silence. If I wasn’t strung up on a branch I might be enjoying this. Beyond the entrance to Tree Tops the forest is looking dark and magical. The lit-up buds flicker, strange birds call to each other and vines sway in an invisible breeze. Far away I can hear running water . . .

. . . and something else.

Twigs snapping. And footsteps.

My chest squeezes tight. ‘Win . . . can you hear that?’

He listens for a moment then looks at me with big eyes and nods. Suddenly I feel very exposed dangling on this branch. ‘Maybe we should try jumping down,’ I say. The footsteps have stopped, but I’ve got the overwhelming feeling that somewhere in the dark trees, someone or something is watching us.

‘Yeah . . . maybe,’ Win says.

But neither of us move. Those bits of wood below us really are very sharp. Instead we stay where we are and listen for the brush of feathers or the crackle of straw. And we look for a pair of blinking button eyes.

‘There,’ says Win, pointing into the gloom. ‘I can see someone!’

I follow his trembling finger. He’s right. Someone is standing in the shadows watching us! My legs start to shake. I’m about to wriggle out of my T-shirt when there is an explosion of movement and a black shape leaps out of the trees and hurtles towards us.

Win and I scream and start to twist wildly from side to side, but we stop when we hear laughter.

Prosecco is standing in the clearing and sitting on his back with a massive grin on her face is Rose. She’s wearing a black fluffy jacket and has a satchel slung over her shoulder.

Prosecco trots towards us and I eye him cautiously. I’ve had enough of hooved creatures for one day. Prosecco might not have a horn, but he has a huge amount of muscles and great big teeth that look particularly bitey right now.

‘Rose, how come you’re wearing some sort of Crowky disguise?’ I say.

‘What, this?’ She plucks at the jacket. ‘I borrowed some of Mitch’s things. What happened to you two?’

‘A unicorn is what happened to us,’ I say.

‘Arthur massively disrespected it,’ adds Win.

After Win has told the story – slowly, and in detail – and Rose has laughed for quite a long time, she helps us down from the tree.

Prosecco agrees to let us climb on to his back, but his generosity doesn’t last long. The second we’re away from the splinters of wood he shakes us to the ground with a toss of his large sparkly bottom. The tip of his tail catches me on the arm and a jolt of pain shoots through me.

‘Watch it,’ says Rose. ‘His tail stings boys, remember?’

I nod as waves of pain radiate through my body. Win helps me stagger to my feet and I realise that if Rose is here, then she can’t have found Mitch.

‘No sign of her then?’ I say.

Rose shakes her head then rubs Prosecco’s neck. He begins a slow walk through the camp. ‘But I know she’s back,’ she calls over her shoulder. ‘I can feel it.’

I watch as Prosecco and Rose blend into the darkness and then reappear again. Shadows stretch all around us and the air is cool. I shiver. It must be getting late. ‘Perhaps we should get out of here,’ I say.

The others quickly agree and together we walk out of the Tangled Forest. Prosecco trots ahead of us with Rose still on his back, but there’s no hope of him giving me and Win a ride. He makes this clear by accidentally on purpose flicking his tail in our direction and giving us the odd sting.

‘Rose, can’t you keep your horse under control?’ I say after a particularly painful whip across the nose.

Flick goes Prosecco’s tail, catching me on my ear.

‘Don’t be rude, Arthur,’ says Rose, ‘he’s a stallion not a horse.’

As Win and I scramble over trees and rocks and jog to keep up with Prosecco, Rose tells us about her trip to the Archie Playgo. ‘Even though Mitch wasn’t there it was good hanging out at her hut. I swam in the lagoon and had a go in her hammock.’

She says this in such an off-hand way that I know she’s trying to hide how upset she is not to have found Mitch waiting for her. I decide that the best thing I can do is distract her, so as we come out of the Tangled Forest I tell her all about our trip to Boulders and Waterfalls, with Win adding some wild exaggerations.

We’re hot, dirty and exhausted by the time we get back to the cave. Well, Win and I are. Rose slips off Prosecco’s back with the energy of someone who hasn’t just walked for miles, then she starts bossing us around, making us build up the fire while she says an excessively long goodbye to Prosecco.

He gallops off into the forest, leaving the three of us to lounge around outside the cave, toasting bread and talking about how good it is to be back in Roar.

As we talk, the sun sets and Win finds us all sleeping bags. Then we lie by the fire, the flames crackling between us, watching the rainbow stars come out.

As usual, Win is the first to drop off. Across the glowing fire I notice that Rose has a wooden box on her lap. ‘What’s that?’ I say.

‘It’s Mitch’s tattoo kit. I found it at her hut.’

She opens the box and I get out of my sleeping bag to take a closer look. Inside are feathers and tiny bottles of ink. I take one out. It’s filled with amber liquid and the label says Bud Dust – Tangled Forest. I swish it from side to side and see flecks of gold swirling in the light of the fire.

Like all merfolk, Mitch was covered in tattoos. I remember being at her hut and watching her dip a feather into one of these bottles then draw on her skin. The ink fizzed, smoke poured from the tip of the feather and then, somehow, the picture was permanent. I don’t know if the ink was magic, or the feather. It was just one of Mitch’s many secrets.

Tucked under the bottles of ink is a leather-bound book. Rose flicks through its pages. ‘It’s her spell book,’ she says.

In green ink, Mitch has written the ingredients and instructions for making a range of spells with names like ‘Whopping Big Storm’, ‘Frothy Waves’ and ‘Wet Cat Smell’. But it’s not just spells that Mitch has put in this book. She’s filled it with colourful drawings; fish, flowers, shells and birds are entwined across the pages in complicated designs.

We look at them one by one until we reach a picture of mountains and a waterfall. Beneath it are the words ‘The End’. I guess this is the last picture in the book. ‘This looks familiar,’ says Rose, her fingers tracing the strange pointed lines of the waterfall. Suddenly she gasps. ‘Arthur, this is one of Mitch’s tattoos!’

As soon as she says this we realise that all the pictures in the book are of Mitch’s tattoos, and we go back through them trying to remember where they were drawn on Mitch. ‘This was on her wrist,’ says Rose, pointing at a blue wave. ‘And this starfish was on her shoulder . . . I think.’ She turns to looks at me, worry written across her face. ‘Arthur, I can’t remember what Mitch’s voice sounded like!’

‘Scary,’ I say. ‘Loud.’

She smiles. ‘Yeah, you’re right.’

It’s getting late, so Rose packs everything away then puts the box back in Mitch’s bag.

I get back into my sleeping bag, and across the fire, Rose lies back and frowns up at the sky. The smile that was there a moment ago has gone.

‘We’ll go back to Mitch’s hut soon,’ I say. ‘She’s got to come back some time.’

‘What?’ she says, looking confused, then she goes back to frowning and staring at the stars. They turn her face orange, then blue. The stars do look beautiful, and soon I find that I’m drifting off to sleep, my mind full of waterfalls and rafts and one very angry unicorn.

I’m not sure what wakes me, but something pulls me out of my deep, heavy sleep.

For a moment I lie still, not sure where I am. Then I see green and pink stars and the glowing fire and I remember, I’m in Roar.

This thought should make me happy, but an uneasy feeling creeps through me. What just woke me up? I pull the sleeping bag tighter round my shoulders and glance at the trees that surround Win’s cave. My eyes linger on the branches as they shift and sway in the breeze. I turn back to the fire. It’s just embers now and hardly giving off any light. Beyond it I can make out the silhouettes of Rose and Win curled up in their sleeping bags . . . and something else.

Sitting between Rose and Win is a hunched shape.

Cold fear creeps through me. What is that?

I squint, not sure if I can trust my eyes. I’ve just woken up and it’s a dark night . . . but the shape really looks like a person. It must be a rock, I think as I blink into the darkness, or maybe Win’s cloak slung over a branch.

Then I hear a faint but distinct rustle of feathers and a harsh ‘Arthur…’ whispered on the night air.

I squeeze my eyes shut and wriggle down in my sleeping bag. I must be dreaming or half asleep, I tell myself as I lie there, listening and hardly daring to breathe. The wind brushes through the trees and the fire crackles.

‘Arthur, take me to Home!’ The gravelly whisper is louder this time and close to my ear. I’m so terrified that I can’t bring myself to even peek out of the sleeping bag. Instead I bury myself further down until my head is covered, and I think happy thoughts. I think of Win and his promise to take us to see the Lost Girls, and I think of swimming in the warm water of Mitch’s lagoon. I imagine every single thing we are going to do in Roar, one by one, and I don’t let my mind drift for a second to voices or the shape by the fire.

And amazingly this works.

Because the next thing I know, the sun is shining down and I can hear birds singing in the trees. I sit up and stretch my stiff body. Straight away my eyes go to Rose and Win, and the space between them. There’s nothing there. Not even a rock. I did imagine it! Relief runs through me as warm as the sunshine.