The Book of Storms by Ruth Hatfield Read Free Book Online

skin stayed cool, his short black curls unruffled. Things didn’t stick to him if they could avoid it—there were better ways to travel for even the smallest thorn or burr than stuck to his long black coat. Journeys didn’t tire or alter him, no matter how long they took or how fast he traveled.
    The lurcher at his side was a wreck. She staggered to the patio outside the house, swayed for a couple of seconds, then toppled sideways and lay flat on her side, her legs stretched out. Her rib cage pushed up through gray matted curls, each bone distinct from the next like the sleepers of a railway line.
    Sammael ignored her and went straight to the sycamore tree, resting a hand on it. The dead wood stayed mute under his fingers.
    â€œThis is the tree, then,” he said, taking his hand away. “You’d think the lightning could have picked a better specimen.”
    The grass under his feet trembled as the blades reached out to each other. He felt it wriggling and kicked at it.
    â€œDid you see the human?” he asked.
    The grass was silent.
    â€œGrass,” he said. “I’m talking to you.”
    A few of the grasses whispered among themselves, trying to keep their voices down.
    â€œDon’t irritate me,” said Sammael. “Just answer. You, the meadow grass. Trueflax, that’s your name, isn’t it? Tell me what you heard.”
    The grass was small and thin, only a young shoot. “The human boy came into the garden,” it said, trying to sound bold. Inside, the sap that kept its stem firm had turned into bubbling soup.
    â€œYes. And?” Sammael knew there was just a chance that the ant might have got it wrong. Ants were notorious for being focused on their work and only ever had a maximum of half an eye on anything else, which did sometimes make them unreliable witnesses.
    â€œHe went over to the tree, stood—well, just where you are. He stood on top of me as well.…” Trueflax tried to keep his breathing steady. The bubbles inside him were turning into rattling chips of ice.
    â€œGet on with it!” snapped Sammael. “I’m not asking you to retell The Odyssey !”
    â€œHe picked up the stick and stood for ages, then started to say some stuff—it didn’t make much sense. He said, ‘hello,’ and ‘I’m in the light,’ and … what else? Oh, yes, he said, ‘Work out what?’ That was it, I think … oh, yes, he said ‘hello,’ again. And he put the stick on the tree, then picked it up again, and we heard him speak after that … but why he should suddenly have learned to talk, none of us can tell. We never thought humans could talk, not in that way, though we do hear them make strange sounds sometimes, but you can never be sure that they’re really sentient, can you? It seems so unlikely.…”
    Trueflax gave a gasp and his leaves wilted, unable to keep up with the effort of speech. Sammael thought about flicking him back into life just to terrorize the other grasses, but there were more important things to be done.
    Clearly the boy had found the taro—that was beyond doubt now. Clearly, too, he had no idea what it was or how to use it. He’d be easy to track. He was probably running around somewhere close by, making more noise than a herd of stampeding wildebeest as he tried to discover all the things that could speak, and what each and every one of them had to say.
    Sammael looked about him. No sign of the boy here.
    He stamped on the grass to revive it. “Where did he go?”
    â€œD-d-don’t know…” tried Trueflax. The other grasses were all too petrified to help him out.
    â€œWrong answer!” Sammael crushed his heel into the ground. Trueflax yelped, although any pain he was feeling must have been imaginary. It was amazing what imagination could do.
    â€œM-maybe … maybe he went into the house, then out the other side, then