Seaward by Susan Cooper

bear it; he hunched his shoulders, sliding his hands up towards his ears.
    Then at length the voices began to die, and the last fluttering forms were curving by his head—swallows, darting and faintly piping, and a slow-flapping pair of doves, their wisps of grey down floating to the lovely mound of feathers that showed where Cally lay. Last of all, a small hawk fell from the sky like a stone; hovered; dropped a soft brown feather and darted away.
    Westerly thought sadly: they’re burying her .
    But there was a stirring beneath the mound. For a frozen moment he stared. Then he saw Cally sit up, blinking, shaking feathers out of her hair.
    Westerly gaped at her, feeling a great grin begin to spread over his face. She scrambled to her feet, brushing at the soft fragments of down that fell away from her with every move, and she looked round in amazement. She saw Westerly. “What happened?” she said.
    Westerly crossed to her. He put his arms round her and hugged her very hard, dabbing an awkward kiss at her cheek as he let her go.
    Cally turned very pink. “What was that for?” she said, busily brushing away more feathers than were there.
    Westerly said simply, “I’m glad to see you.”
    She glanced up at him—but then her eyes widened and her face changed, and he knew that she was looking past him at the stone dragon, remembering. She said in panic, “Stonecutter—”
    â€œGone. Don’t worry—he’s gone. The Lady Taranis came and . . . took him.” He flinched from the images that would come if he told her more. “He can’t hurt you now. He’s gone.”
    Cally stared at him. “Taranis came?”
    â€œHe was telling the truth—she had this place built for us. This tower of dreams, she called it. She wants to keep us here. Forever. To be with her.”
    Cally said fiercely, “I’d rather be dead!”
    â€œWe’ll get away,” Westerly said, with a confidence he did not feel.
    â€œQuick then—now!” Cally’s voice was tight with fear. She ran to the empty square hole in the stone floor, where the trapdoor had been. “Has Stonecutter really gone?” Without waiting for an answer, she swung herself down over the edge of the gap and sat feeling with her feet for the ladder.
    Westerly grabbed for their packs. “Here—let me go first.”
    â€œWhy?” Cally said. She disappeared. Westerly opened his mouth, shut it again and followed her. Looking back as he climbed down into the tower, he saw the stone head of the dragon outlined against a reddening sky, snarling frozen into the sinking sun.
    Cally led the way down the winding stone steps, without a glance back at the rooms that bore their names and offered all their hopes. The cold white light of the tower flowed quietly round their feet, docile now as it had been when they first climbed the stairs. Westerly reached an experimental hand down into the white mist; it moved elusively away from his fingers.
    He said thoughtfully, “Maybe it only does what Taranis wants. Why does she want it to help us now?”
    Unheeding, Cally marched across the lofty rock-walled entrance chamber, towards the outer doors.
    â€œBe careful,” Westerly said, suddenly full of unease.
    Cally said confidently, “They’ll open.” She reached out a finger and touched one of the tall slate doors, and with a slow deep creaking it slid to one side. They blinked as the sun blazed into their eyes, a great orange ball sinking towards the treetops; for a moment they could see nothing else in the open doorway.
    Then Cally let out a choked gasp and lunged for the door again, and against the glow of the sky Westerly saw, very close, towering over the doorway, the great grey figures of the People. They were massed outside in a vast crowd, blotting out the trees. He stared in horrified fascination at their huge half-made stone bodies; at the faces