The Huntress: Sky Page 7

  The Protector snaps her head towards Kestrel. ‘Yes? And how would you know all this?’

  ‘Because she snuck into the creature’s cell!’ calls Lunda. Pangolin must’ve tattled to her.

  ‘My own flesh disgusts me!’ declares the Protector. ‘Remove it from my sight.’

  Two guards stride forwards and drag Kestrel from the platform.

  Shame on you for hurting your own kin, I think at the Protector. When she looks at me, my heart wriggles in my chest.

  But while Kestrel struggles in the guards’ grip, and Crow and me are shoved closer to the Star Door, my ears tune to a scratching, like claws on wood. I glance back down the long-hall, towards the doors. A wisp of fog curls through the wood and sets the beasts screaming in their stalls.

  When the howls come, they shatter the moon-lamps and the moonsprites slip away through cracks in the rock.

  A warrior bursts into the long-hall, beating a wooden shield with a spear. ‘They’re upon us!’ Riders seal the doors after him.

  ‘How did they breach the storm-barrier?’ demands the Protector, gripping the arms of her throne with fingers turned white as chalk. ‘I want to know how their weather-witches learned our secrets. Now!’ But guards lift her to her feet and bundle her off.

  ‘Stop the sea-creepers!’ she shouts, before vanishing.

  In the beat of mayhem that follows, Kestrel breaks away and bolts towards us, grabbing a dagger from the circle of six strapped to her chest. She saws our hands free as riders stream past, forgetting us in their fright.

  I rip my gag away. A group of riders lunge for us, but something smashes through the doors – it’s a sky-wolf, snuffling and yipping. Behind it, more wolfish wisps claw their way in.

  The fog-wolves swirl around the hall, a ball of grey that whispers promises of teeth and blood.

  When their fog-paws touch the ground, they settle, seem to grow heavier, like etchings plucked from a dream. The grey scrawls condense into snarling wolves of flesh and bone, and then they’re here – three bristling wolves in the middle of the hall.

  One prowls forwards and swipes a rider in the belly, knocking her onto her hands and knees. She scrabbles upright, reaching for her spear.

  My mouth turns dry. ‘Run!’ I hiss, snatching at Crow’s sleeve. We race away from the wolves, weaving past riders, towards the doors. Kestrel follows.

  On the steps, Crow staggers and falls into the snow. ‘Go without me,’ he gasps, his voice a scratchy whisper.

  ‘Not a bleeding chance!’ I grab the back of his cloak and wrench him to his feet, then we wheel away across the courtyard, the snow flying at our faces and stinging our eyes.

  I cast around for Kestrel. ‘Where are they keeping my brother?’ I shout against an iron-strong gale that pins down our arms and forces us backwards. Kestrel’s reply is swallowed by the wind.

  When the wind dies, I sway in the stillness. And that’s when I hear it – the crunch of heavy paws through the snow.

  ‘Move!’ grunts Crow, so I kick forwards, pushing against the storm. Crow flickers in and out of sight, between the folds of driving snow. Kestrel is behind, I think, and I try to look for her but then I’m stumbling over something lumpy on the ground. I put out my hands as I fall – and touch the angle of a jaw and a stiff, frozen beard. I snatch my hands back. ‘Gods swim close,’ I mutter through chattering teeth, cos the horn-blower’s lying in the blizzard, guts steaming where they’ve been torn out by sky-wolves.

  Kestrel grabs my arm and hauls me upright. ‘Come on come on come on!’ Then she screams and we dart out of the way as a pack of sky-wolves – two black, one grey, broad backs speckled with snow – pace towards the fallen man. They sniff the air, breaths frosting, and release a mighty howl – it shakes through my marrow, niggles the back of my throat and rattles my ribcage – then the biggest of them dips its snout to the man’s body. The other wolves shuffle and wait their turn. Then one lifts its muzzle and stares into my eyes.

  It’s taller than a polar dog and it reeks of old kills. Its fur stands up in a ridge along its back. It prowls closer. The lack of beast-chatter is a black hole in the air.

  The sky-wolf growls and rushes at me.

  Kestrel sends a dagger sailing straight into its chest. It yelps and crashes onto its side, dark wetness staining the snow beneath it. The soft fur and long snout are sucked into the skin, until a black-haired man lies still in a pool of blood and fog.

  I drag Crow towards Kestrel and we slip-slide across the yard. There’s a flash of gleaming wolf eyes and teeth and Crow pitches forwards, a wolf ’s bloodstained muzzle clamped on the end of his boot, shaking him.

  He kicks back and Kestrel flings another shining dagger. The blade pierces the wolf behind the ear and it flinches away, yelping. We flee as the wolf uses its paw to try to loosen the dagger.

  Kestrel grabs my sleeve and makes us duck low against the rocks. Her face is taut with terror as a troop of riders race past. My heart slams against the roof of my mouth.

  Then they’re gone, and Kestrel looks at us. ‘Are you all right?’ she asks Crow.

  ‘Never been better, thanks to my steel toecaps,’ he mutters.

  Kestrel beckons us out from behind the rocks and ushers us on. Then she signals for us to slip behind the hut I saw before, with its billowing chimney. We gulp the thin soup of air, full of smoke and snow. Kestrel sweeps an armful of snow towards her, packs it into a tight ball and hurls it at the door.

  ‘My brother,’ I gasp. ‘If he hears all this howling commotion he’s gonna be proper frighted, I need to—’

  Kestrel presses a hand over my mouth to shut me up, but before I can sink my teeth into her flesh the door inches open and a short, flushed girl with soot-smeared cheeks pokes her head out. She’s holding chains of spinning raindrops between her fingers and she stares grimly at Kestrel. ‘What’s happened?’

  Kestrel lifts her hand from my mouth and jumps into the girl’s arms. They hug tightly. Then Kestrel turns back to us and waves us on. ‘Get in, quick!’

  Kestrel pushes us into the baking hot room and the girl slams the door closed with a snowy thud.

  Set in a huge stone hearth is a fire that swallows all the air. Kestrel unfastens her feather cloak with shaky fingers and lets it tumble to the floor.

  I look from her to the other girl – she’s busy bolting the door. Then she presses her hand against the wood and it glows with hidden runes that flash and settle back into quiet waiting.

  Kestrel looks so sad and frighted that I put my hand on hers. ‘Heart-thanks for saving us, Kestrel. My name’s Mouse, by the way. And that’s Crow.’

  She presses her fingers to her mouth. ‘Oh sky-gods, I cannot believe what I’ve done!’

  The other girl faces us. Black smears of coal, burn-marks and silver runes clutter her brown arms and hands. Her cheekbones are traced with the silver outlines of mountain ranges. As I gaze at the tattoos, Da’s enchanted message with its map lines rushes into my mind. She raises her black eyebrows. ‘These the sea-creepers? What are they doing here?’

  ‘I’m no sea-creeper,’ mutters Crow.

  The girl clicks her tongue. ‘Sea-creeper, land-lurker. Same difference, round here.’

  ‘There’s no time for squabbling.’ Kestrel steps towards the other girl and clasps her hands. ‘Can you spare some weapons?’ she asks.

  The girl stares up into Kestrel’s eyes, her expression hardening. ‘What have you done?’

  Kestrel utters a small whimper of panic and drops the girl’s hands. She runs across the room and starts casting around, eyes wild. Then she wrenches open a wooden chest and roots around inside.

  I follow her. ‘I need to get my brother!’

  ‘I’ve told you, he is asleep. He won’t be afraid.’

  ‘And if he—’

  ‘The sawbones do not fight. Someone will be there with him. He will be kept safe.’

  I know a stranger ent gonna be able to comfort Sparrow if he wakes. ‘But—’


  ‘But nothing.’ The other girl stalks past us, sweat running over her lean, muscled arms. She stops in front of a linen dressmaker’s model, with a half-finished raindrop headdress on. She drapes her raindrop chains around the model’s neck, then wipes her hands on her brown leather apron. ‘I’m Egret Runesmith,’ she tells us, silver nose-ring and silver eye-paint flashing as she turns her head to squint through a narrow crack in the wall. ‘And this is my forge. So if my girl says your sea-creeping brother is safe, you’ll listen.’

  I step closer to the raindrop armour and reach out to touch it. Though it looks as soft and blurry as water, it’s hard, cold and sharp-edged. It’s just like the net we were caught in. I pull my finger back. ‘How do you make that?’

  Egret narrows her dark eyes at me. ‘Alloy of rain-gems and tears of the moon,’ she says in a bored tone. ‘Spelled with runes for living and for battle.’

  Tears of the moon . . . I remember, when I had only six or seven Hunter’s Moons, Da brought me a silver necklace from his rovings on land.  Traders call these silver drops moon-tears, he told me.

  Are they Ma’s tears, fallen from the Tribeswoman in the moon? I asked.

  This girl clutches battle-powers that I don’t understand. I press my back against the warm stone wall, bones itching to run and get Sparrow. But it’s like Kestrel reads my thoughts, cos she shakes her head, then gestures towards a low wooden bench cluttered with tools. Me and Crow sit down and glance around the forge.

  Against the opposite wall is a low bed covered with white goat-hair blankets, shelves full of boxes and a table cluttered with clay mugs. The blackened walls are spattered with soaring arcs of pink, purple and yellow paint. Kestrel watches me, clears her throat. ‘We paint our emotions free, so they don’t rise up our throats and spill everywhere. We’re not supposed to have feelings.’ She laughs tightly.

  ‘So. Are you ever going to tell me what happened?’ demands Egret, eyes fixed on Kestrel.

  Kestrel stares at the floor. ‘I have to leave, right now, or they will kill me. And them.’ She nods at me and Crow.

  ‘Leave?’ asks Egret doubtfully. ‘What do you mean? You know you can’t.’

  ‘It’s all changed. One word was all it took.’ Kestrel sounds close to panic. ‘Now there’s no choice.’

  ‘What did you do?’ Egret steps closer and wipes a streak of blood from Kestrel’s cheek.

  ‘There’s no time!’

  Egret takes Kestrel’s wrist, forcing her to meet her eyes. ‘You’re not going anywhere until you explain what’s going on.’

  ‘At the trial, I – spoke out, against Mother.’ Kestrel raises miserable eyes to Egret and then stares round at the room.

  ‘You what ?’

  ‘I know!’

  Egret gives a shocked laugh and folds her arms. ‘So much for biding our time. I’d no idea being with me meant so little to you.’

  Crow catches my eye and frowns. I shrug.

  Kestrel swats the hair out of her eyes. ‘It isn’t like that!’ she pleads. ‘I just – couldn’t stay silent any longer.’

  I take Crow’s arm and we edge towards the door. Egret catches sight of us and barks a laugh. ‘You won’t get past my runes,’ she says sternly. ‘And if you did, the storm or the wolves or the spears would finish you.’

  Kestrel chews her lip. ‘I’m trying to help you,’ she tells us.

  ‘Why?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes,’ says Egret, wrinkling her nose. ‘I’d like to ask the same thing.’

  ‘Because too many times I’ve risked healing a prisoner, and then they just disappear and – it was all for nothing.’ She blinks fast and looks away. ‘I won’t see it happen to you. Our treatment of outsiders makes me sick!’

  Look in a person’s eyes, whether they’re born of Sea or Sky or Land, and you’ll learn there’s not so much difference between you, shimmers Bear’s voice in my memory.

  Slowly I realise that Crow’s watching Kestrel with soft eyes.

  I lift a brow. ‘Hope you realise that just cos she’s another shape-changer, that don’t mean you straight-off know her.’

  He glares, face reddening. ‘Would you mind shutting your face?’

  Kestrel breaks off her row with Egret and glances over at him in surprise. ‘You’re a shape-changer?’

  ‘Someone’s got good ears,’ he grumbles. ‘Aye.’

  ‘I’ve never met another before!’

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘Though I’m not really one any more.’ Kestrel’s got her arms wrapped around her body, and she’s still trembling.

  ‘What happened?’ he asks, as close to shy as I can imagine ever seeing him.

  I stare at Kestrel’s iron-arm and remember her talking about some accident.

  ‘I lost a wing in a terrodyl attack. My Tribe found me in the valley, half a bird, half a girl, all a-flicker. Now it’s too dangerous for me to change, and besides, it is forbidden. They stop it with a medsin, so I don’t bring mother’s wrath, or start changing around my iron-arm.’ Her face speaks louder than any words could about how painful that is. ‘But I – have not been taking it. It dulled my feelings.’

  ‘Aye,’ mutters Crow darkly. ‘That must be the same filth they fed to me.’ He watches Kestrel until heat spills across her cheeks and she turns away to start searching behind a wooden chest.

  I follow her, pulling my hands free from my pockets, but as I do it something flies free from my cloak. The Opal! My gut clangs and I scrabble to my knees to grab the gem, but it bounces under a cabinet with a high shill against the stone.

  I drop to my belly and peer underneath, put my hand under and fish around on the floor, but I can’t reach it and I could scream. I sense Kestrel lying down next to me before she speaks. ‘What did you lose?’ she asks.

  ‘Nothing,’ I say quickly, straining and stretching. But the Opal lies faintly glowing against the wall under the cabinet, far out of my reach.

  Kestrel pushes her arm into the gloom and her fingers sweep against the Opal, nudging it closer. I swipe for it, but she flicks it into her own palm and pulls it free, standing and dusting off her skirts. She frowns into her hand, turning the Opal over as I leap to my feet. Loose strands of hair pull free from Kestrel’s braids and weave around her head in a breeze that ent there. ‘What’s this?’ she whispers, eyes bright and curious. She sucks in her bottom lip and darts her eyes at me. ‘Why is it so warm, and bright? It feels alive.’

  The others crowd close to look. I force myself to breathe, but their eyes touching the Opal feels like having my cabin stolen again. Like having a layer of skin peeled away. ‘Give it to me,’ I say quietly, filling my eyes with iron.

  Three pairs of startled eyes fix on my face. Then Kestrel steps close and holds out the Opal. I snatch it up, and my breath comes easier. I wish I’d calmed my sails, cos I don’t want anyone thinking the Opal is halfway near as important as it is.

  Crow stares at the Opal, arms crossed tight. He shoots me a look of betrayal, like he’s hurt I never told him. I realise he might know something about the Opals, cos he spent so long working for Stag.

  Egret watches me intently.

  An itchy flush steals up my neck. ‘It’s nothing – just a keepsake from my da.’

  ‘I can always smell a lie, especially when it stinks as much as that one.’ She scowls. ‘We’re already risking everything for you sea-creepers. Tell me what it is, or I’ll shove you out into the snow and see how you fare alone.’

  I ent never gonna be able to deny the power of the thing when they can all see it for themselves, and the story she’s begging for presses hard against my lips. The Opal oozes salt-sticky dampness into my palm.

  When I start to tell them, it’s like I’ll never stop the flood of words. I tell them everything I can: Da not coming home, Bear finding the carving of our ship, and Da’s secret message appearing on its sails, telling me to find the Storm-Opals.

  But I don’t tell them about what happened to Grandma, cos when I think about doing
that my breath grows shallow and I’m frighted of getting plunged back through time again.

  ‘Mouse,’ says Kestrel, gently touching my arm.

  I blink at her.

  ‘I’d not a clue the Opal Crown legend rang with truth,’ she says. She flexes her metal hand. It’s easier to see in the firelight, and proper beautiful – a dusky grey with shimmering pink-gold runes under its surface. ‘So, if you don’t find each Opal and restore them to the crown—’ Her voice trails off hopelessly.

  I stare at my boots and heave a sigh. ‘All Trianukka will turn to ice. So many creatures will lose their lives. And after that, who knows what?’

  You can’t save them either, slithers a mean voice in my head.

  Egret sighs loudly, grabs a small white cake from a platter and stuffs it in her mouth. She gestures roughly at me and Crow. ‘Eat,’ she says through a mouthful. ‘It’s clear we have to get you out of here somehow. The fog will try to make you forget your own name – you need to stay strong.’

  ‘What are they?’ I ask, picking up a sticky cake. When I bite into it, a sweet burst of cream fills my mouth. The fat and sugar seems to drip straight into my veins and the relief loosens my tight breath.

  ‘Snowy mooncakes,’ enthuses Kestrel. ‘She bakes them just for me. We should take some with us.’

  ‘Oh should you now?’ says Egret. Then she flinches as a sharp squeal fills the air, like giant claws scraping against ice. The mountain is smashing its enemies with more bombs.

  ‘Take them where ?’ I ask.  If we even get past the sky-wolves, the ice-bombs and the storm-barrier.

  ‘There is a boy called Yapok,’ says Kestrel. ‘Among the Wilderwitches. I think he could hide us. He was a keeper of books.’ She gives the last word the same weight as death, or bombs.