up,â Clementine says, âbut Iâve never smelt anything so awful in all my life.â
âI think itâs sulphur,â Maisy says. âMy books said it smelled like rotting eggs. And those must be geysers.â She points towards the blasts of steam. âWeâd better stay away from them. If a blast comes up under out feet, then â¦â
She trails off, looking nervous.
âGood idea,â Teddy says. âI mean, I know I look dashing in red, but I donât fancy life as a pot-boiled lobster.â
The stench thickens as we trek deeper into the boulder field. But with time my nostrils adjust, and even Clementine stops pinching her nose.
âAh,â Teddy says, with a deep sniff. âHome sweet home. Told you youâd recognise it.â
Clementine scowls. âI need my hands to balance, Nort.â
âSure you do. And you need your nose to savour this subtle bouquet of ââ
âNostril abuse?â
âI was gonna say âgood old-fashioned Rourton charmâ â but hey, whatever floats your boat.â
The nearest geyser rumbles. Itâs a deep sound, a guttural roar that rises through the stones and gurgles up through the soles of my feet. It almost tickles: not just a sound, but a physical spasm.
High above, Bastian lets out a cry. âRun!â
We donât stop to ask questions. Iâve heard that tone in peopleâs voices before, and itâs never ended well. We run.
âWhatâs happening?â Clementine gasps.
No one answers. None of us has any idea, beyond the fact that the ground is shaking. Spurts of hot fluid rise and burst like fountains in a richieâs garden. Bastianâs foxhawk wheels overhead, searching out the safest path for us to follow. âThis way!â
I stumble blindly forwards as the air fills with steam. I narrow my eyes to a sliver and barrelonwards. My heart pounds. I stumble through piles of slippery pebbles. The earth groans.
We duck behind a stack of teetering boulders. A moment later it collapses in a chaotic clatter of smashes and cracks. A jet of steam erupts from the debris and I yank Maisy away from the blistering air. âWeâve got to get out of here!â
âOh, really?â Clementine snaps. âIâd never have guessed.â
Thereâs a shriek overhead â the cry of the foxhawk â and I wrench my gaze up with a start. Bastian soars southwards and his beast lets out another screech, as though to summon us. We take off at a shambling run, just as the earth where we were standing begins to crack.
I grab Clementine and wrench her aside as a blast of steam erupts beside her. She screams, overbalancing, but steadies herself against my grip.
âCome on!â I choke.
My breath comes in sharp gasps, but my legs are oddly steady. I donât know if itâs just the animal instinct to survive, but my earlier stumbling and fumbling is over. My body knows what to do. Itâs almost like riding a foxary â sitting back in a numb sort of terror as my limbs take over. My legs leap between rocks; my arms fling outward to balance myself; my head ducks aside to avoid a blast of wind and ash.
And oh, the ash. It tumbles around me like snow. A snow of grey, as pale as the sky, but with the brushing irritation of hot flakes of pepper. It spews up from the nearby geysers, until its heat and dust and coarseness sting my thorn-scratched skin. Every breath is hot and ragged in my throat.
We canât see Bastian any more. I have no idea which way to turn, which way to run.
âLook out!â
The stones beneath my boots begin to crack. I stumble, my balance shattered as the rocks slip and slide. Lukas snatches me with such a jerk that a surge of pain stabs my left shoulder. The shoulderâs been dislocated several times, and the sudden lurch threatens to pop it from its socket once more. But my shoulder stays in place, and I keep my