The Huntress: Storm Page 7

He spies me and struggles to sit, but I wave at him to rest his blubber.

  His eyes are more troubled than I’ve ever seen and the vicious cord of the pain is throttling him worse than ever.

  ‘Sparrow?’

  ‘He’s alright.’

  He relaxes, but only for half a beat.

  ‘Bones, I failed.’

  I shake my head but anger crumples his face. ‘I did. I was stupid. Now I can’t follow Leo to help her win the Opal. What are we going to do?’ He shakes his head and looks at me. ‘Sorry, Bones. None of this is for you to worry about. Just promise me you’ll stay close, and stay safe.’

  I feel the lie claim my tongue before I speak, and I hate it. I’ve never lied to Da before. ‘I promise,’ I whisper.

  A sawbones steps close and presses more pain medsins into Da’s hand. He swallows them. Then he nods at me, his muscles relaxing as the pain is swept away for a few more beats of the drum.

  ‘This is stupid,’ says Crow, as we wait in the bone-crypts for the rest of the crew.

  I shake my head. ‘It’s time to rescue the Protector and hunt that Opal.’

  ‘Lunda’s just setting you up with a dare. Do you have to take the bait?’

  ‘She ent. And anyway, nets don’t mend themselves. I can’t stay here.’

  ‘Don’t start spouting all them captain’s sayings at me.’

  ‘I’m right though, eh?’ I nudge him.

  Crow winces. ‘Your da made me swear to watch out for you after you frighted everyone to death sneaking out!’

  ‘I’m sorry, alright?’ But a little spark flares in my belly. I don’t want Da telling anyone to look after me.

  Silence moulds around us. We watch each other, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing as me.  How did I end up with you?

  But I’m heart-glad I did.

  When the crew is assembled, I stare around at them all. ‘My da and the Protector were going to make another plan when they returned to Hackles – to rescue an ancient stone of power. But Da can’t go anywhere now, and Leo’s in danger. So here’s my new plan: save Leo, then find the Opal. Da’s map told us the Opal is at the Wastes.’ I tell them how we’ve already rescued the other two Opals, and that they’re hidden here at Hackles. I make them swear to guard that secret with their lives.

  But doubt crawls over Ibex’s face. ‘How is that our fight?’

  ‘It’s all linked with the Withering,’ I explain slowly, chewing on the thoughts as they come. ‘Until we get the Opals back together, winter will only tighten worse. How can I get to Axe-Thrower?’

  ‘I have been pondering the same,’ says Lunda. Her mouth is set in a grim line and her eyes spill white fire. ‘At morning and evening gong, the cooks have to get food scraps to her cell. They hate doing it. One of us can offer to take the scraps – they’ll never suspect anything.’

  ‘That should work,’ I tell her, grinning.

  ‘You’ll need a disguise, too,’ says Pangolin. ‘Ibex and I brought supplies to change your looks as best we can.’

  A hunted child. I nod.

  Pangolin crouches next to me. She combs out my tangles with oil and then weaves the strands into a braid so tight it pulls at my eyebrows. ‘I am envy-stung,’ she says, her voice buzzing painfully in my head.

  Startlement nips me. ‘Why?’

  ‘So thick, your hair! And lustrous black. Very eye-pleasing.’

  I grimace. ‘What’s the good of that?’ Especially with a scar long and twisted enough to make innkeeps and dockmasters weep. ‘By the time I’m your age I’ll likely be as scarred as the moon!’ If any of us survive that long.

  She laughs, then makes me dunk my head in a basin of blue dye.

  Lunda gifts me a scarf to cover my face. ‘Raindrop mail may draw too many looks, or even trace you to Hackles.’

  ‘We cannot disguise your eyes,’ Pang says solemnly. ‘So don’t do that thing you do, where you look too closely at people. Cast your eyes low.’

  ‘Oh, and you’re a boy,’ says Lunda. ‘Remember that.’

  Before leaving the crypt I scratch a message to Da, gifting him my heart-sadness, and begging him – please – to trust me. ‘I need you to give this to Da,’ I tell Sparrow, pulling my letter out of my pocket. The silver key Leo gifted me comes out with it and drops on the floor, so I gift him that, too. ‘But not until he’s feeling well enough to seek you out.’

  ‘Why don’t you ?’

  ‘Sparrow, can you just do what I’m asking for once in your life?’

  My little brother lies on his bed, glaring up at me through the thin glow leaking from his moonsprite. ‘Where you going?’

  I lower my voice. ‘I’m going away for a bit.’ He bolts upright and opens his mouth to complain but I shush him. ‘Sparrow! This is proper important!’

  ‘Aye, so’s Thunderbolt! She’s not well, but you don’t even care.’

  I squint at the moonsprite lying stretched along his collarbone. She’s grown fainter, and harder to see. I reach out to her in beast-chatter.  Thunderbolt. You alright, girl?

  The moonsprite moans faintly, then squirms. She don’t answer me.

  Rest yourself, Thunderbolt, brave girl, I tell her.

  Cold, her faint voice chitters finally.  No fly-powers. Weak, no life-warmth.

  I know, I’m heart-sorry. Wetness blurs my eyes. Thunderbolt is part of our Tribe. A link to our home.

  ‘Is she talking?’ asks Sparrow. ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She’s feeling cold and weak,’ I tell him. ‘That’s why I have to go, too-soon. Cos I do care.’

  ‘If you cared you wouldn’t be leaving me,’ he insists, rivet-stubborn.

  ‘Please, just do as I say,’ I beg. ‘And I need you to watch over them Opals. Any sniff of trouble, let Da know.’

  ‘Just cos you’re famed round here, don’t mean you can be bossing me around all the time,’ he hisses. A smell of burning creeps into my nose.

  ‘Oh, shut it, will you? And don’t even think about threatening me with lightning just cos I’ve asked you to make yourself useful.’

  There’s a flash of purple.  Zap!

  ‘Argh!’ I yell. When I look down, I see a tiny hole in my breeches, seeping smoke. He’s flicked a bolt of lightning at me. ‘Sparrow ! You can’t do that!’

  ‘It was only a little bit,’ he says quietly, smiling. Then he starts to weep. ‘Our kin’s getting back together and now you want to leave me here.’

  ‘You’ve got Da, and Bear, and even Vole!’

  He peers up at me and grabs hold of my wrist.

  I stand up, trying to prise his fingers off. ‘Sparrow, I have to go. You have an important job to do here. You have to look after Da.’ A thought strikes me, sudden as a hammer in the gut. ‘Oh, Sparrow.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ve got to look after someone else, too.’

  My hawk puffs herself up and spits, flaps her wings into a frenzy and thuds onto my shoulder, sending me sprawling to the floor under her weight. Then she ducks her head under my chin and coos and croaks.  I know, Thaw-beast. I know it hurts.

  It takes all my heart-strength to force Thaw-Wielder to stay in the chamber with Sparrow. The sobs rattle up and out of my chest from depths I never knew I had, scraping me hollow.

  I can’t take you with me, Thaw girl.

  Nottake? She is proper outraged.  Stay feather-close, for ever times. MY two-legs. She screeches wildly, like I’ve plucked out a feather.

  The guilt smashes over me like a wave.  Thaw, please, PLEASE try to understand. I can’t keep you hidden. The Fangtooths hunt sea-birds. They will rip you from the sky! It’s for your own good.

  Thaw rip THEM. She huddles, bright-eyed with fury, on Sparrow’s knee. He tries to stroke her but she nips his fingers, making him yell.

  Thaw. I reach for her and she turns her back.  Thaw. Oh, please, Thaw love!

  But she won’t talk to me. She’s silent as a shape-changer.

  ‘You should go,’
says Sparrow.

  I nod. When I shut the door behind me I hear Thaw’s body smash into the wood as she throws herself against it. Then she screams.

  I blunder away, through a veil made of tears.

  I step into the long-hall, head still pounding. The cooks’ backs are turned but I can hear them gabbing about the same thing as at breakfast – resentfully holding back scraps of the food at the bottom of the pans for the prisoner.

  ‘What’s wrong with a good old-fashioned sky-burial, eh?’ demands Kid.

  ‘Protector thinks her a valuable hostage, as you well know,’ says a friendlier one.

  But doubt slithers through me as I listen. For a hostage to be worth a stitch, someone has to care, and no one has tried to claim Axe-Thrower. It’s like no one’s missed the Fangtooth at all.

  I move along the hall towards the kettle-fires, pulling my scarf away from my face. The cooks turn around, jaws slack enough to catch flies. ‘We’re busy, girl,’ barks Kid.

  ‘I’ll take the scrapings to the prisoner for you,’ I offer, casually.

  Doubtful full-grown looks are swapped between them. ‘You ? Why?’

  ‘I’m never any use round here.’

  ‘That’s not why. I’ve seen your proud look.’ Kid draws herself up. ‘Why really?’

  I sigh through my nose. ‘Alright, I’ll tell you, waddler.’ Fire whips into my cheeks. ‘I wanna taunt the Fangtooth. She helped drown my grandma.’

  There’s a pin-sharp pause. Then Kid begins to croak a thick laugh. ‘There it is. The truth’s not such an ugly thing, is it?’ She passes me the pot-scrapings in a clay bowl and a heavy iron key. Then she dips her head. ‘Have fun.’

  Have I gone and got that old cook to gift me some respect? I take the bowl with a grateful nod, and scarper. I feel Kid’s eyes on my back.

  As planned, Crow links up with me on the way to the cell. I squint into his eyes. I’d swear to all the sea-gods that they’re more yellow. And has he grown more scrubby hairs on his chin, or are they the stubs of feathers? I lean onto tiptoe to look more closely, but he jerks away. ‘Let’s be gone if we’re going,’ he snaps, shaking his arms to make long, greasy black feathers sprout all over him; an extra layer against the cold.

  I feel a quick stab of jealousy – wish I could control my powers as well as he can. Or at all.

  On our way to the dungeon, he snaffles a pinch of old fat for the energy he’ll need to shape-change.

  ‘The time’s come for this hunted child to become the Huntress,’ I whisper.

  ‘Don’t be so ruddy dramatic,’ he says, as our bodies blend into the gloom.

  A dark thrill bubbles in my blood. We wait at the end of the passageway until Pika’s distracted the guards. Then we hurry forwards and I put the pot down outside the cell door.

  I fumble the key out of my pocket and fit it into the lock. Then I stand there, struggling to breathe. My fingers tremble. Crow guards the door while I step inside, pulling my scarf tighter around my face.

  As my eyes slowly widen to let in the threadbare light, I see her – the Fangtooth first mate who helped Stag murder my grandma and claim our ship. But she’s a husk of the muscled Tribeswoman she was. She’s thin, and it looks like she’s been pulling her hair out in clumps. As I watch, her fingers pull and twist one of the strands still clinging to her scalp.

  ‘Axe-Thrower!’ I blurt, the name burning my tongue. Crow lurks behind me, a shadow.

  She glances at me. ‘Who are you? What do you want from me?’

  ‘I’m Rat,’ I tell her, plucking the first name that pops into my mind. ‘Son of one of the cooks.’ She watches me and unbidden the memory rushes back, from the night she stalked me here. The dread as she folded her palm around my mouth.

  With shaky hands I slide the bowl of pot scrapings – blackened onions and jellified bog-myrtle and rubbery clumps of flour – towards her.

  Axe-Thrower scuttles over and snatches the bowl. Her thin face stretches into a grimace as she hurls the spoon across the floor. Then she tips up the bowl and the scraps plop out into her filthy straw. I think of how little there is to go around, and anger lurches in my belly.

  ‘Ent you hungry?’ I whisper.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Her hollow laugh carves a chunk out of the darkness. ‘But I don’t know how long they plan to keep me alive, or what they’ll do to me in the end.’

  ‘Who? The draggle-riders?’

  She laughs bitterly, shaking her head. ‘Not them. The others.’

  There’s something terrible about the way she says others. It makes my skin crawl. ‘What others?’

  She just looks at me, with a strange, sad smile.

  ‘Do you want to go home?’ I hiss.

  She spits. ‘Cruel child.’

  ‘I mean it – do you?’

  Her head snaps up. ‘Why do you taunt me?’

  ‘No one has claimed you.’

  She hisses through her teeth. ‘Take your gloat, and—’

  ‘Except me.’ I stand arrow-straight. ‘I claim you. I will set you free.’

  She stiffens.

  ‘On one condition.’ I breathe deep, steeling myself. ‘You take me with you.’

  We check the passageway and slip out of the cell, locking it behind us. I know the crew’s working hard to make sure no one comes this way, but my heart’s still kicking against my chest like a wild thing. I pass the Fangtooth a hooded cloak and a scarf for her face. Crow walks on the other side of her; a tall, shadowy form in the corner of my eye. He keeps his face covered, like mine.

  ‘You know, your senses have deserted you,’ she whispers, close to my ear. ‘Don’t you know what’s out there, little one?’

  I ignore her. Every door we need to pass is unlocked, thanks to the work of the crew.

  We move through the passageways, sneaking past doorways where groups huddle together, telling stories, playing games, piping music or brewing spells against the weather.

  In the draggle cave, there’s no sign of the warden. Ibex must’ve lured her away as planned. I get Crow to wait with the Fangtooth just outside the main cave, so I can chatter without her hearing me.

  I chattered to the draggles about our plan before, and it seemed like they were willing to help. But now, none of them want to talk to me. I stare up at their sleeping forms, hanging from the roof of the cave.  We need to get back to the place where your leader is in trouble, I beg.  I know it’s dangerous, but we can’t abandon her, and none of the full-growns believe me!

  A long pink snout pokes out from a mass of orangey fur.  Long flying. Wind-snap winds. Danger. Nest-mate quiver-frighted from time before.

  Aye, I admit, casting a quick look over my shoulder, half expecting to hear the pounding of boots as the riders realise what’s happening.  But how can we leave the Protector of the Mountain stranded, with no way out?

  The snout disappears, and I’m faced with a wall of filthy, drool-soaked fur. A scream of frustration pushes up my throat. But then the draggle breaks away from the flock and drops heavily to the floor. I saddle up quickly, thanking the beast under my breath, and grab my longbow and a bag of supplies from the hiding place I agreed with Pika.

  Crow leads Axe-Thrower into the cave. Her face dissolves into a mess of angry fright when she sees the draggle. She rounds on me. ‘Why do you want to get to the north? Why are you risking so much?’

  ‘I have to get there. Without you, I’ll never get into Fangtooth territory. That’s all you need to know.’

  ‘Then why are you hiding your face?’

  I tug the scarf tighter over my nose. ‘You ent in charge, here! Without me, you’ll never get home. So stop asking me questions.’ I turn away, fitting a metal bit into the draggle’s mouth and making sure the lantern works.

  ‘Why should you want to get to my homeland?’

  I bite my lips. I can feel the weight of all of Hackles sitting on my shoulders. ‘Cos.’

  ‘Why? ’

  I drop my voice lower and spill the first lie
that pops onto my tongue. ‘I want to join the Fangtooths,’ I say, proper earnest. ‘Work for them, learn from them, get as far from this mountain as I can. I can’t stand these goat people.’

  She glances around her as I speak, curling her lip at the sight of the cave. Then she nods. I hold onto the reins as she climbs into the saddle. The draggle sniffs her fright and I feel the creature’s nerves grow as tense as the Fangtooth’s.

  Peace, I chatter softly, trying to calm her sails.

  Then I guide the draggle to the mouth of the cave, climb up in front of the Fangtooth and squeeze the beast’s sides with my heels. We soar into the air.

  I’m sorry, Da. Forgive me.

  We teeter through the storm. I turn my head and glimpse Crow leaping into the void, shape-changing into a blur of tattered black feathers studded with two bright yellow eyes. Axe-Thrower presses her skull painfully hard between my shoulder blades. She warms my back with her screaming.

  I loathe the sight of the Fangtooth’s fingers laced around my middle, and the feel of her bones digging into my flesh. Hers are the fingers that once tore at my hair, to keep me from reaching Grandma. The hands that held me down while Stag cut antlers into my arm. The same ones that pressed down over my mouth when she hunted me to Hackles. The memories crowd so thick behind my eyes I have to shake my head to clear them.

  We travel eastwards across the Iron Valley, towards Hearthstone, painful-slow against the wind. I chatter to the draggle, trying to help navigate, but I have to bellow against the wind.

  Then Axe’s grip loosens from my middle as she catches my elbow and pulls, hard, twisting me around until she’s able to thrust her face close to mine.

  ‘Get off me, you loon!’ I yell, fright bursting in my belly.  She’s gonna throw me off. In this beat, I’m heart-certain of it.

  ‘Silver-grey eyes and a way of talking with beasts?’ she purrs, almost gently. ‘I know you, girl.’ There’s a gloat in her voice but I feel like it’s covering something like shock. Now that she knows who I am, she’s got to be wondering why I’d help her.

  I jab with my elbow until she lets go. Then I clutch the reins tightly, hands shaking. ‘You don’t know nothing about me,’ I bite. ‘And anyway, what do you care? I got you out, didn’t I? Ent like you’re about to try and go back now.’