The Storm Lord Who Went Into the Dust

Part One. The Van at the Gate

The first time we properly saw Mister Hadad was on a Monday, and he had brought his own weather.

There was a small black cloud over the van. It followed him wherever he went, like a dog that doesn't want to be left behind. Every now and then it went rumble, and a few drops of rain fell on his shoulders, and he said, "Behave," in a friendly voice.

He was enormous. He had broad shoulders and a thick dark beard, and he wore a gleaming helmet with two curved bull's horns. In his left hand he held a lightning bolt, crackling and fizzing like a sparkler. In his right hand he held two heavy wooden clubs, which gave off a faint glow.

His badge said Mister Hadad, Weather and Playground Equipment.

"I've come about the job," he said, to Mister Harris, in a voice that rattled the windows.

"What job?" said Mister Harris.

"The one in the advert," said Mister Hadad. He pulled out a very damp piece of paper. It said, in Mister Harris's handwriting: Wanted. Someone to keep the weather in order. Mister Harris went pink.

"I put that up in September," he said.

"I came as soon as I could," said Mister Hadad. "I had a few things to sort out with the sea."

That's when he saw us, standing in a row by the gate: Alex and Felix, Elfine and Marion, Maya, Kenji, Ollie and Dot. And at our feet, Willow, whose fur was standing straight up on end like a bottle brush.

"Hello, little people!" he boomed. Thunder rolled over the school. "And hello, little spotted cat."

Willow's ears went flat. She is nine years old, and she has seen a lot of things. But she had never seen anyone who made the sky go BOOM when he said hello.

Part Two. Elfine Has a Fact

"It's Baal," whispered Elfine, as soon as she could talk. She was gripping her notebook so hard that her knuckles were white. "Baal Hadad. The storm god of Ugarit."

"Where's that?" said Alex.

"It was a city, a very long time ago, in the country we now call Syria," said Elfine. "About three and a half thousand years ago. People there wrote their stories on little clay tablets. And the tablets were buried for ages, and then found again. So we know all about him."

"What's he the god of?" said Felix.

"Rain," said Elfine. "And thunder. And storms. He rides on the clouds like a chariot, and his voice is the thunder, and when he opens a window in the sky, the rain comes down. And because of him, the crops grow. The farmers loved him, because without him the fields would be too dry."

Across the playground, Mister Hadad was trying to shake hands with the climbing frame. "Lovely to meet you," he said to it, very loudly. The little black cloud above his head went rumble, and a few drops fell on the frame. "Sorry, old chap," Mister Hadad told it. "He does that."

"His name means Lord," said Marion, who had been reading over Elfine's shoulder. "Baal means Lord. And Hadad means thunder."

"So he's the Lord of Thunder?" said Dot.

"The Lord Who Rides the Clouds," said Elfine. "That was his best name."

"Like Thor!" said Ollie.

"A bit like Thor," said Elfine. "But with a bull's horns, and two special clubs. And he had a very big problem with the sea."

Part Three. The Two Clubs

Elfine told us on the benches, while Mister Hadad was busy saying hello to the bins.

"Once, the sea had a god too," she said. "His name was Yam. He was big and wet and very, very grumpy. And he wanted to be king of everything, and have all the other gods bow down to him."

"Rude," said Marion.

"Yam sent messengers to the gods, saying, Give me Baal. Hand him over. I'll make him my servant," said Elfine. "And all the gods were frightened. But Baal wasn't. He said, I'll fight him myself."

"Did he have a sword?" said Ollie.

"Even better," said Elfine. "He had a friend named Kothar, who was the best craftsman there ever was. Kothar made him two magic clubs. And he did something very special: he gave them names. The first one he called Driver. He said, Driver, drive Yam from his throne."

"And did it?" said Felix.

"Not quite," said Elfine. "It flew through the air and bounced off Yam's shoulders. Yam only laughed. Then Kothar said, Try again. The second club was called Chaser. And he said, Chaser, chase Yam away."

"And?" said Alex.

"It struck him right on the head," said Elfine. "Yam fell down. And Baal was the champion of the world."

"The clubs had names," said Felix slowly. "So they could listen."

"Everything works better when you ask it nicely," said Dot.

That's when the wind changed.

It came across the playground from nowhere, cold and damp, and it smelled of seaweed. Every puddle in the playground went perfectly still, all at once, as if they were holding their breath. Willow stood up, with her tail like a pipe cleaner, and stared at them.

Across the playground, Mister Hadad stopped saying hello to the bins. He lifted his head and sniffed, the way you do when you smell smoke.

"Oh dear," he said quietly, which for him was like a normal person shouting. "That's not mine."

And over the roof, a single grey cloud with a greenish edge began to creep across the sun.

Part Four. The Wave in the Playground

It started to rain on Tuesday, and it didn't stop.

It poured all day, in great grey sheets. By lunchtime, the drains were gurgling. By afternoon, the school field had turned into a lake, and the lake was getting bigger. Mister Hadad stood in the middle of the playground with his arms folded, watching the water creep up the steps.

"This isn't my rain," he muttered. "My rain is polite. This rain is very rude."

The puddles began to bubble. The water on the field rose in a tall, wobbling column, higher than the climbing frame, higher than the roof. It swirled and spun and grew a face. It had two huge cold green eyes, and a mouth full of foam.

"WHO IS IN CHARGE OF THIS PLACE?" it roared.

"That's Yam," whispered Elfine.

"I AM YAM!" roared the water. "LORD OF THE SEAS! AND I WILL HAVE THIS PLAYGROUND! AND THE FIELD! AND THE SCHOOL! AND ALL THE LITTLE CHILDREN SHALL BE MY SERVANTS! AND YOU, STORM LORD, WILL CARRY MY BUCKET!"

"Not today," said Mister Hadad calmly. He raised his clubs. "Driver! Go!"

The first club spun through the air, glowing. It struck Yam square in the shoulder with a boing. The wave rippled. Yam laughed.

"HA! TICKLES!"

Mister Hadad's shoulders sagged. "Oh, I forgot," he muttered. "It never works the first time."

Part Five. Felix and Alex, and the Second Club

"Mister Hadad!" shouted Felix. "The other one!"

"Chaser!" shouted Alex. "Use Chaser!"

Mister Hadad turned. He had a strange, startled look on his face. "How do you know about that?"

"Elfine told us!" shouted Felix.

"The first club didn't work!" called Alex. "You have to say the name!"

"Say its name and tell it what to do!" cried Felix.

Mister Hadad blinked. Then he threw back his head and let out a roar of laughter that shook the roof tiles. "Of course!" he boomed. "A name and a job! Chaser! Chase Yam away!"

The second club left his hand like a rocket, whistling through the rain, spinning end over end. It struck Yam right between the green eyes, with a crack like a thunderbolt.

"OW!" shrieked Yam. "THAT ONE HURT!"

The whole wave wobbled. It started to shrink. The face melted into foam. The roaring turned to a gurgle. In a few seconds, the huge column of water had shrunk down to a tiny puddle in the middle of the playground, no bigger than a dinner plate.

"I'll be back," said the puddle, in a very small, very soggy voice. "I mean it."

It trickled sulkily into the drain.

The rain stopped. The sun came out. And Mister Hadad turned to Alex and Felix with the biggest grin we had ever seen on a grown-up.

"You two," he said, "are the best weather assistants I have ever had."

"We did it together," said Alex.

"I called the first one," said Felix.

"I called the second one," said Alex.

"I know," said Mister Hadad. "That's how it worked."

Part Six. The Window

To celebrate, Mister Harris gave Mister Hadad the old caretaker's cabin at the end of the school field. It was a small wooden hut with a tin roof, and Mister Hadad loved it immediately.

"It's perfect," he said. "I'll hang my clouds on that hook. I'll keep my spare lightning in the cupboard. I'll make it warm and cosy." He stroked his beard. "Just one thing. No windows."

"No windows?" said Marion.

"I'm a bit funny about them," said Mister Hadad. "A window means someone can get in."

"Who'd get in?" said Felix.

"Nobody," said Mister Hadad quickly. "Don't worry. There's a very old story about it. You wouldn't be interested."

"I would," said Elfine.

But before she could ask, a postman walked up to the cabin and pushed a long, dry, grey envelope through the letterbox. There was no stamp on it. It looked like it had been sitting in a drawer for a hundred years.

Mister Hadad picked it up with two fingers. He read it. His face went pale.

"What does it say?" said Alex.

"It says," said Mister Hadad, in a very small voice, "Dear Baal. Please come to dinner at my house tomorrow evening. Do not be late. You are the dinner. Yours hungrily, Mot."

Part Seven. The Dust Man

"Who's Mot?" said Dot.

Elfine had stopped writing. "Mot," she said, "is the god of death. And of dryness. And of the dust that gets into everything. In the old stories, he lives in a house under the ground, with a mouth so big that it stretches from the earth to the sky. And he's always hungry. Not for food. For living things."

"Why does he want Mister Hadad?" said Marion.

"Because rain means life," said Elfine. "Where rain falls, flowers grow. And Mot hates that. He wants everything dry and still. And he knows if he swallows the rain, everything will stop."

"Then he mustn't go!" said Felix.

"I have to," said Mister Hadad. He sat down heavily on the step. "If I don't, Mot will come and fetch me. And bring his dust with him. It's better to face him on my own terms."

"Take us!" said Alex.

"No," said Mister Hadad firmly. "This is dangerous, little one. But I'll tell you what. If I don't come back by morning, you are to find my sister. Her name is Anat. She is fierce, and she is fair, and there is nobody in the world who is braver. Tell her I'm in the Dust House. Tell her I need her."

"How do we find her?" said Felix.

Mister Hadad pulled the lightning bolt from his belt and held it out. "Just wave this," he said, "and shout her name."

He put on his helmet, picked up his clubs, and walked down the cellar steps into the dark.

Part Eight. The Dry Days

Mister Hadad didn't come back by morning.

We should have shouted for Anat straight away. But the lightning bolt had gone dull and quiet in Alex's pocket, and nobody was sure it would still work. So we waited, and hoped, and checked the cellar door at every break. And without him, something started to go wrong.

The rain stopped. Not just in the playground, but all over the town. The clouds dried up like sponges. The sky went hard and blue and cloudless, and the sun beat down on the school, day after day.

The grass on the field turned yellow, then brown, then crunchy. The pond shrank into a patch of cracked mud. The taps in the school sputtered and gave out. The vegetable patch drooped. Even Dot's sunflower, the tallest in Reception, hung its heavy head and wilted.

"It's not fair," said Dot. She was holding the sunflower's stem. A big tear rolled down her cheek. "It's dying."

"It's not dying," said Felix, kneeling down beside her. "It's very thirsty. It's waiting for the rain."

"And rain's coming back," said Alex. "Because we're going to get him."

Mister Harris stood at the school gates in his shirt sleeves, mopping his forehead. "I can't understand it," he said. "Not a cloud in the sky. Not a puff of wind. It's like the whole world has just... stopped."

"That's what Mot does," said Elfine, quietly. "When he swallowed Baal, the seasons stopped. The dry season came and wouldn't go."

"So what do we do?" said Marion.

Alex took out the lightning bolt. It was dim now, just a faint flicker. But when he and Felix held it up together, it flared like a sparkler.

"ANAT!" they shouted, together.

Part Nine. Miss Anat

The ground shook. Thunder rolled from a clear sky. And with a screech of tyres, a huge red motorbike tore up the school drive, spun round in a spray of gravel, and stopped inches from the gate.

On the bike sat a tall woman in a scarlet cloak. She wore bronze bracelets up to the elbows, and her dark hair streamed out behind her. She was holding a gleaming silver sword in one hand, and a wooden sieve in the other.

She took off her helmet. She looked at us. She had fierce, flashing eyes.

"Who called?" she said.

"We did," said Alex.

"I'm Anat," said the woman, swinging down from the bike. Her badge said Miss Anat, Games Teacher and Brother Rescue. "My brother's in trouble, isn't he?"

"Mot's got him," said Felix. "In the Dust House."

"I thought so," said Anat, and her jaw went tight. "He always was the soft-hearted one. Come along, then. Show me the way."

"We're coming too," said Marion.

"You can't," said Mister Harris.

"They can," said Anat. She looked at Alex and Felix, and Elfine, and Marion, and Willow, who had come trotting up to sit beside the motorbike, tail high. "Brave people always make good company. Let's go and get him."

She turned to Mister Harris, who was opening and closing his mouth. "Nobody eats my brother," she said, quite politely. "Not on my watch."

Part Ten. The Dust House

The cellar steps went down much deeper than they should. They were grey and crumbly, and the further down they went, the drier and dustier the air became. By the bottom, we were coughing.

Anat led the way, with her sword held low. Alex and Felix came next, with the lightning bolt held between them. Elfine and Marion walked side by side, and Willow padded at their heels, picking her way through the dust.

At the bottom of the stairs was a vast stone hall, full of cobwebs and shadows. In the middle of the hall stood a long grey table. Everything on it was covered with a thick layer of dust: a dusty plate, a dusty cup, a dusty candle that had never been lit.

And at the head of the table sat a very tall, very thin man in a grey suit. His face was pale and long. His eyes were hollow. And his mouth was open so wide that it nearly touched the floor and the ceiling at once.

There was something wedged in the back of that mouth, just like a cork in a bottle. It had two boots, and a pair of bull's horns.

"Baal!" cried Anat.

"Mfffmmm!" said Mister Hadad, from inside the mouth.

"Ah," said the thin man, in a voice like paper rustling. "Visitors. How lovely. I am Mot. Please, do sit down. I'm afraid there's nothing to eat. I find I'm never very hungry for anything but the living."

"Give me my brother back," said Anat.

"Oh, I don't think I shall," said Mot, with a thin smile. "But I'll make you an offer. I'll swap him for one of these children."

Part Eleven. The Offer

Nobody moved.

The candle on the table flickered, though no breeze had touched it. Mot's smile grew wider and wider. He pointed one long grey finger at Alex and Felix.

"One of the twins," he said softly. "Either one. They're both so warm and bright. I'd take such good care of them. A boy for a god. It's a fair trade, isn't it?"

Felix took Alex's hand. Alex took Felix's hand. Neither of them looked at the other. They didn't need to.

"No," said Alex.

"No," said Felix.

"No deal," said Alex.

"We don't swap," said Felix.

"We're a team," said Alex. "You can't have one of us without the other."

"Then I'll have both," said Mot, with a hungry sigh.

"You can't have either," said Felix, and his voice shook. "We are scared of you. But we can be scared and still say no."

Mot's smile slipped. "Nobody says no to me," he whispered.

"We do," said Alex.

"Everybody does," said Felix. "In the end."

Behind them, Anat grinned and stepped forward. Her sword flashed in the gloom.

"Well said, little ones," she said. "Now let me show you how it's done."

Part Twelve. The Dust and the Water

But Mot was not easy to beat.

When Anat swung her sword, he turned into dust. Grey clouds of it swirled up and filled the hall, choking and blinding. When she grabbed at him, her hands went straight through. The dust blew in her eyes. The dust blew in ours. Every time she knocked him apart, he formed again, like sand.

"I can't hold him!" she gasped. "He won't stay in one piece!"

"He's all dust!" shouted Marion. She pulled her sleeve over her face. "Dust blows everywhere!"

"What makes dust stay put?" yelled Elfine.

Alex and Felix looked at each other. A tiny idea popped into both their heads, and they said it together:

"Water."

"We need water!" shouted Felix.

"The garden watering cans!" shouted Alex. "In the corridor!"

"I'll get them!" yelled Marion.

She was gone like a shot, up the crumbling steps, three at a time. Elfine and Willow stayed behind. Elfine had her notebook open and was reading faster than she had ever read in her life. "Mot's name means death," she said. "But in the old story, Anat doesn't just beat him. She sifts him. She sieves the dust. And she spreads it over the fields. And the dust turns into seeds!"

Willow had been circling Mot's boots. Suddenly she sprang, gripped the bull's horn on Mister Hadad's helmet in her teeth, and pulled with all her nine-year-old might.

POP.

Part Thirteen. Out Pops Baal

Mister Hadad shot out of Mot's mouth like a cork from a bottle. He hit the ceiling, bounced off a cobweb, and landed in a heap on the table.

"Thank you, little cat," he panted. "That was getting very stuffy."

Willow washed her paw. It looked like she'd done it a hundred times.

Footsteps thundered down the stairs. Marion burst back into the hall, with a watering can in each hand and Kenji, Ollie and Maya behind her carrying more. Dot was at the very back, struggling with a bucket that was nearly as big as she was.

"WATER!" yelled Dot.

"Throw it!" shouted Anat.

Everyone threw. A great glittering fountain of water splashed across the hall and soaked the dust. The grey cloud collapsed in a sodden heap. Mot gave a long, dismayed sigh as the dust clumped into dark, wet earth.

Anat didn't hesitate. She dropped her sword. She swung her wooden sieve through the pile, again and again, shaking it so that the dust fell out in a fine, powdery rain. All that was left in the sieve were tiny, shiny seeds. Thousands of them.

"Mot, you have been a bully," she said, "and a thief, and a very bad host. But even you can be useful."

She swept the seeds into a bag.

"The garden needs planting," she said.

Part Fourteen. The Rain Comes Back

When we climbed back up the cellar steps and out into the sunlight, the whole school was waiting. Mister Harris, Missus Tibbs, every child in the school, all of them standing in a silent ring on the dusty field.

Mister Hadad stepped out, blinking. He took off his helmet. He took a deep breath of fresh air.

Then he raised both arms to the sky.

"Come on, then!" he shouted. "Open the windows!"

A single drop fell on his nose. Then another. Then a third. Then, with a mighty roll of thunder, the clouds came rolling in from every side, grey and heavy and wonderful. And the rain came down, in great glorious sheets, soaking us all to the skin.

We cheered. We spun in circles. We stuck out our tongues. Dot ran in a circle with her arms spread wide, shrieking, "THE RAIN'S BACK! THE RAIN'S BACK!"

Anat scattered the seeds across the field, and where they landed, little green shoots popped out of the mud. Within a minute, the grass was turning green. The pond was filling up. And over by the vegetable patch, Dot's sunflower lifted its heavy head, shook off the water, and turned its big yellow face to the sky.

"It's alive!" Dot yelled. "It's alive, it's alive, it's alive!"

Mister Hadad knelt down beside her. His beard was dripping. His eyes were shining.

"It was never really gone," he said gently. "It was just waiting. That's what the dry times are. They feel long and scary, and they feel like they might last forever. But they don't. The rain always comes back."

Part Fifteen. What the Storm Lord Said

Later, in the cabin at the end of the field, Mister Hadad built himself a window.

It was a big square one, facing the sunrise, with a bright blue frame. Marion held the ladder. Elfine held the hammer. Alex and Felix held the glass, one on each side, and slotted it carefully into place.

"I've been afraid of windows for such a long time," said Mister Hadad. He stood back and looked at it. "But if you keep them closed forever, you never get any air. Or sunshine. Or rain."

"And you might let in something scary," said Felix.

"But you might let in something wonderful," said Alex.

"Exactly," said Mister Hadad. "It took two small people to remind me." He rubbed his eyes with the back of his huge hand.

"It's okay to be sad," said Dot, who had followed us in and was sitting on the floor with her sunflower.

"It's okay to be sad," said Mister Hadad. "And it's okay to be brave at the same time. You two showed me that."

Anat leaned in the doorway, polishing her sword. "My brother talks too much," she said. "But he's right about the windows. And about brave people. Next time somebody needs rescuing, you give me a shout. Anyone who stands up to Mot is a friend of mine."

She winked at Alex and Felix. They both went pink.

Willow, curled up on the windowsill, looked at Mister Hadad for a long time. Then she stretched, stood up, walked over, and pushed her nose into his enormous hand.

"That means she likes you," said Elfine.

Part Sixteen. The Ending, with a Hook

It was nearly home time on Friday, and the whole school was out on the field, eating ice cream in the sunshine.

Raven was perched on the climbing frame, polishing a spoon. Coyote lay on Gobbler Hill, telling a long and mostly untrue story to a very sleepy sheep. Anat was teaching Kenji and Ollie how to throw a javelin made of rolled-up newspaper. And Mister Hadad was sitting on the cabin step, with his clubs across his knees, humming a tune that sounded like faraway thunder.

"I could get used to this," he said.

Then something stopped him. He lifted his head and sniffed.

"Do you smell that?" he said.

We all sniffed. The air was getting warm. Not sunny warm, but something else. A deep, glowing, orangey warmth, rising from the ground. A faint smell of sulphur and hot stones drifted over the field.

"That's odd," said Marion. "It's coming from the playground."

We looked at the playground. A long, thin crack was snaking across the tarmac, from the hopscotch to the climbing frame. A soft red glow was pouring out of it, like the light from an oven.

Anat stopped mid-throw. She lowered her newspaper javelin. "Oh no," she said.

"What?" said Alex.

"Not her," said Mister Hadad, pulling his helmet over his eyes. "Not now. She's a force of nature, and she has a very long memory. And the furniture never survives her visits."

"Who?" said Felix.

Out of the crack, a plume of steam hissed up. A pair of bare feet stepped out onto the playground, leaving glowing footprints in the tarmac. Then a long flowing red cloak. Then a head of wild black hair, with streaks of fiery orange running through it.

"Hot," said Dot, in an awed whisper.

"Very," said Maya.

"Pele," said Elfine, in the tiniest voice, and she took a step back. "She's the goddess of the volcanoes."

The woman looked around the playground. Her eyes glowed like embers. A tiny wisp of smoke curled up from her hair.

"Hello, everybody," she said, in a low, crackling voice. "I hear you've been having adventures. I'm looking for the two little ones who said no to Mot."

Every head turned to Alex and Felix. Alex looked at Felix. Felix looked at Alex. There was a pause, and then, at exactly the same time, they said, "Monday."

The End.