The Huntress Trilogy
‘I feel like something’s changed, about the chatter,’ I tell her slowly. ‘Da’s been fretting about it. He told me to keep it secret, and he’s never said that before. It’s like it’s suddenly a thing of shame.’ Thaw glides towards me and I hold out my arm for her to land. Then her head nuzzles my jaw. ‘I’ve heard folk say mean things, too. Like Coati, and some of the older girls that hang round Lunda. I’m not telling tales – I can handle myself against them, I just—’
‘Mouse,’ she interrupts gently. ‘I know you can. But you’re right to ask about this – I know I would. And I know something about it. Now seems as fine a time as any for the telling.’
‘Go on,’ I whisper.
‘Since I stepped into the great wide, I have heard many foolish opinions of beast-chatter. Some view it as a sickness. A disease of the mind. It is an idea that is spreading.’
I stare up at her. ‘A disease ? But I ent sick.’ I touch the blade at my belt, and Thaw shrills a cry of outrage.
‘Of course not,’ she adds quickly. ‘But in times like these, folk distrust anyone marked out as different. Especially those with a connection to things they can’t understand. Some powers are so ancient that they are feared. I remember my mother teaching me of the old ways. She said there were once other chatterings, kinned with the same power, but different strands of it. Green-chatter, wielded over the plants, and wind-chatter, which is sister to the weather-witch powers, but more potent.’
Other chatterings?
‘It takes its toll on you, doesn’t it?’ she asks, brow puckering. ‘Is that why you fainted on the Sneaking?’
‘It don’t normally, no. That’s the point – I feel like it’s different. Something’s changing. But aye – my chatter’s what knocked me out cold.’ I nibble my lip. ‘What about Stag, though?’ The name feels like it’s knocking around in the air, bruising my skin. ‘He don’t keep his beast-chatter secret.’
Kestrel considers. ‘He’s using his power for ill-doings. Maybe that protects him, somehow.’ She takes my hand. ‘Enough about him, though. Just be careful. Please?’
‘I’m stuck here, ent I?’ I pull my hand away and turn to stare at the Opals, pins pricking my eyes. ‘Can’t get much more careful than that.’ My voice comes out more bitter than I expected.
‘I know. I’m sorry – you must hate me, coming back here and telling you what to do.’
I offer her a small smile. ‘It’s alright.’
She links arms with me. ‘Now, more importantly – shall we go and find some food?’
We step into the flickering torchlight of the long-hall. The place rings with the cries of babs, the bleating of goats and a score of mismatched tribe-tongues. Squidges have wedged themselves into clusters along the tops of the walls and on the chains of the lanterns. The round, feathered, squidlike creatures squeal about the cold, chubby tentacles quivering. They drip ink onto folks’ heads and into their food.
Great oaken eating benches glitter with hollowed, hungry eyes. The benches are laden with piles of kids, thumping each other’s arms, tumbling around, jostling for space. As we walk past, they nudge each other, staring at my scar. Their stares make me feel skinned. What I did for Leo’s lost spirit is famed round here.
‘There treads the sea-witch,’ someone whispers behind our backs. Nervous laughter whistles around my head, and my shoulders tense.
‘Ignore them,’ whispers Kestrel.
Easy for her to say. She’s getting out of here. We stand in line for shallow bowls of goats’ milk porridge. Pangolin joins us. She’s bundled in thick wool dyed the colour of flame, and a grey enamelled pin in the shape of a draggle holds her cloak close around her neck.
She greets us both, but Kestrel’s manner is stiff and the two eye each other warily. Maybe Kes still ent forgiven Pang for the way she was under the old regime.
I’m so busy watching how they are with each other, the seed of my idea swelling in my bones, that I end up stepping on Pang’s cloak and she trips, almost knocking a pot over.
Curses whip from the cooks’ mouths.
‘She never meant to!’ I blurt.
‘Make her words big to her elders, will she?’ threatens a fat old waddler called Kid, with six chins and three mean looks she switches between. She raises a tarnished ladle like a fist and turns to Kestrel. ‘Sawbones, you keep these filthy sea-roving folk out of my kettle-fires.’ She turns her broad back on us. ‘That’s the last of the provisions. Protector says we’ve to hold back the pot-scrapings for the prisoner.’
Axe-Thrower. But she wasn’t the only prisoner, before. Leo captured a mystik and locked him in the belly of Hackles, but one day the cell was empty ’cept for a dark stain on the floor. The mystik leaked through the cracks in the stone.
Kestrel’s cheeks have reddened. ‘If my mother finds out you spoke of Mouse in such a way, she will not be pleased!’
Kid rounds on us, eyes rolling in her head. ‘You dare take a tone with the women who have kept watch over you since you were belly-swell?’
Lunda appears, holding a bowl of porridge scraped clean. ‘Your mother won’t be around much longer anyway. Oh – haven’t you heard?’ she asks innocently. ‘She received a summons, just before the mid-meal bell. She’ll be flying to the Frozen Wastes as soon as possible.’
As me and Kes hurry from the hall, Kid’s words arrow into our backs. ‘She and her kin pine for the sea like a pack of seals. I say, let them fish for their breakfast.’
We find Leo in her chamber. She tells us the summons came from the Fangtooth Chieftain. ‘Stag has turned on the Fangtooths,’ she tells us. ‘My strongest warriors are making ready to fly as soon as we are able.’
‘You cannot accept this summons!’ begs Kestrel.
‘That Chieftain chased me and Crow into the sea with a volley of fire arrows,’ I add, curling my lip. But I swallow down the real reason I don’t want her going. You can’t abandon us !
Leopard smiles sadly. ‘How can I not go? My help has been requested. Isn’t unity what we fight for? We are trying to re-establish ourselves as a major Trianukkan Tribe. The time for hiding is over.’
‘Then there’s something I need to tell you,’ I say quietly.
Kestrel turns startled eyes on me.
Leo nods. ‘Go on.’
I gabble breathlessly about how I reckon the Land-Opal is at the Wastes – cos that’s what Da’s magyk map told us the last time we used it. The map unlocked when Sparrow sang the old song, and showed us the bright amber orb, far to the north.
Leo pockets the knowing like an ingot of gold, promising to look for the Opal. But she won’t let me go with her, however hard I beg.
Three morning bells later, Leopard orders the riders to keep me busy with milking the goats, polishing the moon-lamps and helping in the sawbones’ nest. Then she and Kes take to the skies, bound on their separate missions, leaving me stuck here. And while I work, all I can think is that Kestrel’s gone, Da’s gone, Leo’s gone, Stag’s still got one of the Opals and here I am, washing out old medsin bottles.
I only remembered that lemming with no beast-chatter after they left.
Time slips past. And the faster it hurries, the stronger my idea grows. If full-growns won’t let me do anything, then the kids are gonna have to stick together to get stuff done. I just have to watch folks for a bit longer first. I have to know, good and proper, who I can trust . . .
‘When’s Da coming back?’ asks Sparrow, blundering into the midst of my thoughts.
We’re cross-legged before the fire in my chamber and I’m smoothing fat into my longbow, Kin-Keeper, to seal the new runes I’ve carved into the yew – though I’ve not yet managed to bring them to life, like Egret Runesmith can. Folk reckon she’s the most gifted rune-worker on the mountain, and many are bitter that she left. But I know there’s no way she and Kes would be apart.
Before I can reply, Sparrow pipes up again. ‘How long do we have to wait around here? When can we go home? The whales need us, you know.’ A slug of blue gloop leaks from his nostril and he sniffs it back in. ‘The ones that ran away from Stag and then got stuck under the ice.’
I feel sick at the mention of Stag. He’s taken everything from us – our home, our grandma, the whales. He tried to kill Da, and Kestrel. He made Crow do his dark bidding.
‘The only way we can help them is by getting the Opals to the Crown, wherever that is.’ I stand and brush myself down, rubbing the fat into my hands.
‘But how?’
‘Leo’s planning to look for the Land-Opal while she’s at the Wastes. So if Da gets back first, my bet is he’ll go too.’
‘And then he’ll have to get all three to the Crown?’
‘Aye. So, we need to think over everything we already know about it. There must be clues we’ve missed.’
‘Well, we know that the Sea-Opal and the Sky-Opal are here, at Hackles,’ he says, firelight tickling his cheeks.
I roll my eyes. ‘Aye, course !’
‘And the Fangtooths got the Land-Opal.’ Sparrow wrinkles his nose. ‘But Leo’s gonna snatch it off them!’
‘Aye – but we’ve got to pray the Opal’s still there . . .’
‘Cos the map’s broken.’
I nod again. The map got so broken, when Stag kept trying to unlock it, that all the runes on it died. None of the Runesmiths at Hackles could revive them – not even Egret. ‘So, that leaves the Crown.’
‘The Crown’s in a whale’s belly, ent it? That’s why Stag was dredging all them whales.’
‘That’s what the legend says, aye. But the Skybrarian reckons it’s a lie, that Rattlebones never hid the Crown in belly of a whale. And that whale that swallowed me said that Glint-of-gold cannot adorn a man’s head, so we know there’s more to the mystery than just finding some rusty old normal crown.’
Sparrow’s mouth opens but before he can reply Thaw screeches, thumping down out of the darkness to peer under my bed.
Thaw?
Sneakythinglurks!
A beast? I listen past her chatter for what type of thing might be lurking under there – and slam against the same void as before. The void where beast-chatter should be.
A lemming shoots out from under the hanging blankets. Sparrow shrieks.
Thaw ducks low to grab it in her talons, but it changes into a slug, lengthens itself on a strand of slime and drops away into the darkness of the floor. I sink to my knees, waves of horror stroking up and down my spine.
That ent no natural creature. And I’ve never seen anyone have a choice of shapes before. I try to find the thing and close my hand over a lump of hard, slimy flesh, but it shrinks suddenly down, and it’s become a thick-legged spider. I lunge for it, both hands outstretched, but it scuttles through a wormhole in the wall. I rock back onto my heels, swallowing a mouthful of spew.
What is going on here? I whisper.
Baaaaaaaaad-featheredblunderings, breathes Thaw, landing on my arm and snuggling her head under my chin.
Me and Sparrow face each other, his eyes pinned to the air next to my head. He opens his mouth, but a horn bellows outside, smothering his voice. Then shouting echoes off the rocks. I press my eye to an arrow-slit in the wall and gasp as I see the black outline of a draggle, wobbling towards the stronghold, caught in the mouth of a storm. I run, ignoring Sparrow’s questions.
Folk yell at me as I barrel past them. It feels like an age before I reach the lower levels.
I jump down the steep steps into the guts of the mountain and tear past a startled Lunda – then double back and catch her wrist.
‘Is it Leo? Where is she?’
A look of disgust traces her features. ‘It’s “the Protector”, to you.’
‘Where is she?’ I hiss again, through my teeth.
‘She’s not here,’ says Lunda, wrenching back her wrist. ‘Her draggle returned with a message, is all.’
I push past her and tear to the draggle caves. A few snoozing draggles crack open their eyes to peer at me. Coati and Crow are trying to tether Leo’s draggle. It’s the one she always rides, with a stripe of silver fur through the orange. I step closer to the draggle to listen to her chatter.
She’s so strongly frighted that I can feel her chatter pulling on my brain and crowding my bones. I try to breathe, putting out a hand to steady myself.
‘Grab the other wing, boy,’ gruffs Coati.
‘I’m trying!’ says Crow, eyes flashing. He’s been helping with the draggles cos they’re the closest things to horses, in a Sky-realm.
I take a deep breath and try to tune to the chatter again. It takes a few beats to untangle even a word of sense.
Fleefleefleebloodhandssilverflashmissingriderwhere?
I force my mind back from hers, then reel, leaning on the wall for support.
‘Mouse?’ says Crow, noticing me for the first time.
‘I need your full attention here, lad!’ commands Coati. Eventually they get the draggle tethered.
‘She won’t settle,’ says Crow in concern, stroking the beast’s muzzle. She knocks his hand away, eyes rolling back.
‘Must’ve had a bad flight though the storms,’ says Coati. ‘Get her warm and watered, then keep watch over her until she settles – they always do. Strong of spirit, each one.’ He turns towards the tack room and almost crashes into me.
‘Watch where you’re treading!’ he says. His arms are full of saddle, but a crumpled piece of parchment pokes through the gaps in his fist.
I point at it. ‘What does the message say?’
‘Just that the Protector has reached the Wastes and started secret talks with the Chieftain,’ says Crow, still trying to soothe the beast.
‘Why didn’t she send one of her warriors?’ I ask doubtfully.
‘Guard your own business and I’ll guard mine,’ says Coati, eyeing me stonily as he steps past.
Crow rolls his eyes behind the grumpy old man’s back. ‘She needs her warriors by her side, Mouse. Everything is fine.’
But that’s not the message I’m getting from the draggle.
Tornfrombackdragawaychiefmangonegonegone – chief man gone!
Chief man? I whisper, stepping closer and putting a gentle hand on her flank. The Fangtooth Chieftain? Gone where?
Coati emerges from the tack room and starts to trundle around the caves, whistling as he feeds the draggles.
‘How do you know that message is really from Leo?’ I whisper to Crow.
‘I read it,’ he says, shrugging. ‘It was signed by her, and stamped with her own mark. There’s nothing to fret about.’
Doubt plagues me. I shake my head. ‘I don’t think so. That’s not what the draggle is say—’
I’ve forgotten to keep my voice down. Before I can blink, Coati’s looming over me. ‘Child, I won’t have you practising your dark jargonings in my draggle caves. Off with you to supper!’
He ushers me out of the cave.
I find the round tower room where Leo’s commanders rule over Hackles in her absence. I tell them something’s wrong, that Leo needs help, but they won’t listen.
‘How do you know?’ they ask me, eyes too calm, too blank, looking right through me cos I’m just a child.
‘I – the draggle was spooked. I mean good and proper, and I know it weren’t just storms—’
‘Draggles encounter many irregularities during a flight,’ says one, glancing at me from under big bushy brows. ‘There is no cause for concern.’
I bang through the door and run down the steps from the tower, back into the main web of passageways.
Da needs to get back here, now. He’d believe me, in half a heartbeat. But for all I know, his mission could take ages longer. I scrape my fingertips along the wall as I hurry towards my chamber. All these full-growns having secret meetings, making secret plans, getting stuff done . . .
You can still make waves.
A glow heats up my belly. What if I could assemble my own crew?
If Leo’s in danger, and no one believes me, then I could be her only hope. And if I can get to the Frozen Wastes to search for her, then maybe I can find the Opal!
Sparrow edges round the corner, using the stick Da whittled for him to help him find his way. Thunderbolt hovers in front of his face and his filmy eyeballs scan the air for me, using her light. ‘There you are!’ he huffs. ‘The ghostway spat this out for you.’ He hands me a tightly wrapped scroll sealed with a splodge of blood-red wax.
I blink at him, startled that I’ve found my way back to the door of my chamber without even noticing.
We slip inside the chamber and I snap open the seal. ‘What’s it say?’ jabbers Sparrow impatiently.
‘Gift me a chance!’ Sitting on the edge of my bed, I smooth the letter flat on my knees. Before my eyes, the runes tremble and glow moon-silver. Sparrow scrambles closer.
There are only three words etched into the parchment. Read in private!
As soon as my eyes drink them, the bright silver runes disappear with a small cracking sound, leaving a faint trace of smoke.
Then others appear. ‘It’s from Yapok,’ I whisper, realising how relieved I am to hear from the Skybrarian’s apprentice after so long. Then I remember the lemming and look quickly around to make sure no slitherers are watching from the walls, before reading Yapok’s scrawled silver runes.
The Skybrary stands strong, and we are safe enough for now. The Skybrarian and I have been travelling to seek out new manuscripts for the collection – he says we don’t have to hide so much now that the Sky-Tribes are returning.
We’ve been tracking some names of people who are known to protect books – in crowded bazaars, secret libraries, back-alley bookshops and grand houses.
And I’ve made a new discovery. I wanted you to know because of your quest. Some of the war manuscripts I’ve been looking at – I think they have much older runes hidden underneath the text.
My mind reels. Underneath?
I think I could find something helpful if I can just see beneath the writing, long enough to reveal the truth. But every time I manage to scrape away the newer runes, a strange symbol, like a strangling vine, bleeds upwards through the parchment, throttling the old runes.
Anyway, it feels like progress. I’ll write again if I discover any clues about the Crown.
A shiver ripples up my spine, as a picture of a strangling vine coils in my mind. I turn to Sparrow. ‘We’ve got to take matters into our own hands.’
I make my way to the sawbones’ nest and steal a pan of squidge ink and some brittle old scraps of goatskin and scratch my message into them.
Time’s come for a Sneaking of our own. I call a secret youth’s Tribe-Meet. Honour this law: no full-growns. Bone-crypts, after lamps out. Come if you’re brave enough.
I slip into dormitories and stuff the notes under the pillows of the biggest blabbermouths on the mountain – the kids that can’t turn down a challenge. Then I wait.
The day drags on for ever. I’m a bundle of nerves. My mind keeps straying to the seed I’ve sown. When it’s time to bed down again, I pray to all the sea-gods that my note is enough.
Then down, down, down through the murk I slip, Thaw riding the air by my side.
I scurry down to the bone-crypts, until the crushing weight of Hackles hulks overhead. The crypts are deeper than even the draggle caves, but off in a different direction. I step through an archway sculpted from thighbones and stare around. Thousands on thousands of Sky-folk shoulder blades, collarbones, fingers and toes, and piles of staring skulls boom their chalky death into the tomb-chamber. They’ve been arranged in ornate patterns to honour the dead. I feel a grin melt across my face. If we have to plan for the end of the world, this is a proper place to do it.
I settle down to wait. Thaw stays close, and I try to stroke away her frights.
But soon, I’m praying for something to move. Cos no one comes, and the cold prods my bones. Lamps must be out by now! I chatter to Thaw. Where are they? Sparrow ent even here – and he said he’d bring the kids from his dorm.
Gods. He’d better not have broken his neck on the way down here. I said I’d help him find his way, but the stubborn too-soon just said lemme be !
My eyelids are growing heavy when slowly, one by one, ghoulish shadows wisp through the thighbone archway into the crypts. My gut turns hot and tight. Thaw shuffles her wings and puffs a belch of fright into the gloom.
‘I could be at Hackles the rest of forever and still never learn all its secrets,’ lisps a Wilderwitch girl called Ibex, with hair shaved to her skull and the stubble dyed bruise-blue.
Relief whumps through me.
‘Quiet!’ shushes someone from the gloom.
‘Hope we won’t be here forever,’ mutters Ermine, from somewhere to the left of me.
‘Don’t fret,’ I husk, making him startle halfway out of his skin. ‘Soon, we rove.’
‘Mouse!’ whispers Hammer. ‘Don’t do that!’
‘I was just saying,’ says Erm, to cover his frights. ‘Aren’t you creeped out of your pelt down here?’ He scowls. ‘Just me then.’ His gaze burrows under my skin. Then he tips back his head and stares at the underside of our world.
‘I’m frighted, too,’ says Sparrow.
‘I never said I was frighted,’ spits Erm, crossing his arms.
‘This is the one who left the notes,’ Lunda tells the kids that’re trotting after her. She fixes her eyes on my scar. ‘The pearl-fisher that talks to animals.’ She stalks towards our group with a lantern raised in her hand.
My heart drums and my blood kicks for a fight. Part of me wishes I never invited her – but she’s gonna be useful.
‘Oh, you’re Sea-Tribe, aren’t you?’ asks Ibex. ‘How fascinating! I’ve never even seen the sea!’
I gift her a grin.
But Lunda chuckles coldly. ‘I’m not sure I’d call roving sea-creepers a Tribe ! And I’ve no idea why we’re giving them shelter-feather in our sky-fortress.’ She’s goading me for a brawl. A brawl I realise I’ve been thirsting for.
‘Don’t think this girl walks alone, will you?’ snarls Hammer, who’s got my back along with Ermine and Crow.
‘Aye, and she’s got more than little boys standing up for her,’ says Crow. Someone snickers. Hammer’s fine black brows quirk together in a frown as he rounds on Crow.
‘Boys fighting over her, huh?’ scorns Lunda.
‘Your words are dust to me,’ I say calmly. And I am ready for the next battle.
Thaw-Wielder chats straight into my head. ArmLAND!
For a beat I watch myself from above, through her eyes. It’s the strangest feeling, like there’s a wormy cord threading out of my belly and connecting me to my hawk. I unfurl my wrist and she drops onto it, out of the immense nothing yawning over and around us, like someone high up has dumped a bucket of feathers and claws and quickness into the air. Even Lunda gasps as Thaw resettles her feathers, twitching her head around at them all.
I smile. These kids are starting to know something about my fierce.
‘I’m not fazed by your tricks,’ says Lunda. ‘Soon, you will be dust, too. Only the strongest will survive this Withering.’ Her words wreath from her mouth like pale spekters.