‘How are we going to get to Shadowfall?’ she cried. ‘The map didn’t want us to come down here. It wanted us to stay above the canopy and now it’s not doing anything at all! Crash-landing in the Bonelands was not part of its plan!’
‘Maybe not,’ Fibber said, ‘but Total Shambles is injured. What if the map is pausing, like it did yesterday when we had to stop for food and shelter, because it knows we need to help the swiftwing?’
‘Help him?’ Fox spluttered. ‘But – but we could be ambushed by the Midnights! Or attacked by Morg herself!’
She glanced at the injured swiftwing and tried to steel herself against feeling sorry for him, which was hard because Total Shambles was now whimpering and shivering, and it took everything in Fox not to rush to his side and give him a pat. Fox braced herself against such drastic action. Businesswomen didn’t do patting when the going got tough; they did stamping. ‘We haven’t got time for this. We need to get going.’ Fox shuddered at the plants around them. ‘Now!’
Ignoring his sister, Fibber reached inside the pocket of his shorts and drew out the little bottle of pucklesmidge syrup.
Fox shook her head. ‘No. Absolutely not, Fibber. We went all the way to the Constant Whinge to get that and it’s the only thing that will keep us alive if Morg’s Midnights close in!’
‘We’d be dead already if Total Shambles hadn’t saved us,’ Fibber said quietly. ‘Now we need to save him.’
Heckle, who was lying face down on the ground with her head under her wing, said in a muffled voice, ‘Heckle is feeling very afraid of the nightcreaks.’
Fox spun round. ‘N-nightcreaks? What are they?’
And then her pulse quickened as it became very clear what Heckle was referring to. Now that the twins were quiet, and Total Shambles’ whimpering had dropped to a shaky breath, Fox heard another noise in the silence. A creaking sound, like the bones of someone very old cricking into life.
Fox glanced at the trees around them and her eyes widened. The branches were dead and yet they were, unmistakably, moving. They weren’t thrashing about like the boughs of the tantrum tree had done, but the very tips, which ended in clusters of straggled twigs, were moving nonetheless with tiny, creaking actions. Fox gasped as she realised that these twigs looked uncannily like thin, bone-like fingers waking up and reaching out to the twins.
‘We need to find Spark – if he or she is even still alive!’ Fox cried. ‘We don’t stand a chance here without a Lofty Husk’s protection!’
Fibber shook his head stubbornly. ‘I’m not going anywhere until Total Shambles is healed.’
And, though the nightcreaks were reaching ever nearer and the flickertug map definitely hadn’t advised they hurtle down into the Bonelands, Fibber pulled the cork off the bottle anyway. He ducked as a nightcreak reached out its clawed hands for him, and poured the syrup over the swiftwing’s wounds. Total Shambles winced in pain.
Fox yelped and scuttled backwards as another nightcreak swiped at her, its twig fingers bristling excitedly at the prospect of a new catch. Fox rolled out of its reach, scurried a little distance away and then glanced over the edge of Fool’s Leap. Her stomach lurched. The drop was vast, a sheer face of rock plunging down into the shadows, but there was something else down in that ravine, too. Something that made Fox’s blood chill.
Sprawled on a ledge of rock jutting out a few metres down was a panther. And, in the moonlight, Fox could see that its once golden fur was blotched with red. She swallowed. This had to be a Lofty Husk and she could tell by the way it lay – its neck twisted, its eyes open and empty – that it was no longer alive.
Shaking with fear, Fox hurried back to Fibber. The nightcreaks were swiping left, right and centre with their straggled claws, but Fibber was keeping ahead of them, twisting this way and that every time they dipped close so that he could pour the last of the precious cure over the swiftwing’s leg.
‘The Midnights – they – they killed the Lofty Husk patrolling Fool’s Leap,’ Fox stammered. ‘Spark. He’s down in the ravine, I’m sure of it! And, if Goldpaw hasn’t heard from the other Lofty Husk who’s been patrolling the Bonelands, I think we can safely say that one has been killed, too!’ She jumped to the side to avoid a nightcreak’s grasp, then glanced at the empty bottle in Fibber’s hands. ‘We don’t even have any pucklesmidge syrup to save us when things go wrong now! We’re on our own in the Bonelands!’
Total Shambles struggled to his feet.
‘Not quite alone,’ Fibber said, leaping back to avoid a branch. ‘The syrup has closed Total Shambles’ wounds. I doubt he’ll be able to fly tonight, but he may be stronger tomorrow.’ He looked ahead, into the Bonelands. ‘We should keep moving. Get away from the nightcreaks.’
And, as if the flickertug map could tell that Fibber’s work here was done, it sparked into life, pulling Fox between two grasping branches. Fibber followed with Total Shambles limping on behind and Heckle fluttering nervously overhead. Then the map, despite a few close shaves, led them out of the nightcreaks and into a part of the forest where the undergrowth had risen up so high it was almost impossible to see the trees.
Strangler vines wrapped themselves round hollowed trunks, cobwebs hung like veils, fungi spread out like a rotten carpet and everywhere there were brambles. The thorns were larger than any Fox had seen back home, and their whiteness made them look more like fangs than thorns. But the map was tugging her on towards what looked like an opening in the brambles. A tunnel of sorts.
‘There.’ Fox pointed. ‘We should be safe inside that tunnel. For tonight, at least.’
Fibber nodded. ‘It’ll give us somewhere to rest out of sight until Total Shambles has recovered.’
The tunnel was almost the size of a large car, and tall enough that Total Shambles could, when he hung his head, limp inside. Moonlight trickled through the gaps in the brambles, falling about them in spiked shadows, and Fox noticed that there were little nuts, not unlike the snoozenut in her satchel, growing on a shrub that had become entangled with the brambles. She lifted the fablespoon out, whispered ‘please’ and held it up to one of the nuts.
NAME: DUSKNUT BUSH
CHARACTER: PERSISTENT, THRIVES WITH VERY LITTLE SUNLIGHT
RISKS UPON EATING A DUSKNUT: NONE, THOUGH BITTER AFTERTASTE
Fox picked one and bit into it. It wasn’t nearly as tasty as an omnifruit, and the bitter aftertaste really was unpleasant, but it was food nonetheless. She was too frightened to feel properly hungry, but she knew that they should eat every chance they got because who knew what dangers lay ahead? So Fox, Fibber, Heckle and even Total Shambles chewed on the nuts – right up until the point they noticed the firefly approach the tunnel. It hovered at the entrance, a beacon of light in the tangled forest.
‘Goldpaw talked of the Lofty Husks sending messages through fireflies,’ Fox whispered, a glimmer of hope sparking inside her.
Fibber’s eyes lit up. ‘Perhaps this is a message from Goldpaw saying that she’s on her way to help us?’
The twins watched, spellbound, as the firefly moved back and forth. So bright was its light that it left its glowing movements hanging in the dark as words, like the way a sparkler does when you wave it at night. Fox read the message aloud:
Dear Fox and Fibber,
It is Goldpaw here. Wherever you are in Jungledrop I hope that you are safe.
Since Iggy’s kidnap, more Unmappers have been taken by the Midnights, so I have instructed everyone to remain in Timbernook, where the protection charms are strongest. But in staying here we have limited access to food and water. So the survival of everyone and everything in Jungledrop depends upon your finding the Forever Fern in the next few days - before Morg’s dark magic closes in on us for good…
Trust in the flickertug map. It will guide you well, and I have faith that your time in Jungledrop will show you that quests are more easily won and foes more likely beaten when you have someone by your side. Know that Brightfur and I believe in you and that, while you search
for the fern, we will do all that we can to protect Timbernook and Doodler’s Haven from Morg’s dark magic so that there is a chance, in all of this, for us to send rain on to the Faraway in the end.
You are our only hope now.
Goldpaw.
The firefly melted into the night and, as the darkness returned, Total Shambles hobbled to the entrance of the tunnel, perhaps to keep guard.
Fibber watched him. ‘He may not be that graceful, but he’s a noble swiftwing all the same.’
Fox scoffed. ‘What use will an injured swiftwing be against Morg’s dark magic?’
Fibber thought about this. ‘Maybe it’s a bit like what Goldpaw said in his message: foes are more likely beaten when you have someone by your side.’
And such was the way that Fibber said those words that Fox wondered whether her brother was just talking about Total Shambles.
The swiftwing rested his head on his front legs while Heckle nestled herself on top of Fox’s satchel.
Fox lay down in the dark, too, but she couldn’t sleep. ‘What was the point of Goldpaw’s message?’ she said sulkily. ‘Apart from saying that more Unmappers have been kidnapped and time is running out, it didn’t tell us anything we don’t already know.’
Fibber was facing away from her, his body curled protectively round his briefcase, but he was listening all the same. ‘Maybe there doesn’t always have to be a point to a message,’ he said after a while. ‘Maybe Goldpaw just wanted us to know that we’re not alone. That she and Brightfur are rooting for us.’
Fox said nothing. Nobody had ever rooted for her. The very idea seemed extraordinary.
They fell silent again. And the Bonelands was silent, too. An eerie stillness hung over everything. Eventually, Fibber spoke, his voice just a whisper in the dark.
‘I’m tired, Fox.’
Fox was about to reply that she was incredibly tired, too, but that she was sure it was par for the course when being a successful businesswoman, so really this was quite good training. But then she hesitated because there was something about the tone of her brother’s voice again that made her wonder whether there was more than one meaning to his words.
‘I’m tired of doing things for Mum and Dad that I don’t want to do,’ Fibber said quietly. ‘Tired of competing against you. Tired of being told by Mum and Dad, every single day, that I don’t measure up to you – that you’ll be the one to save the Petty-Squabble empire because you’re better than me.’ He paused. ‘And I’m tired of waking up each morning, pretending I’m someone I’m not.’
Fox could scarcely believe what she was hearing. All her life she had been told by her parents that Fibber was the superior twin. That he was cleverer than her. That he was a better liar than her. That he was, ultimately, far more talented and that he would save the family fortune. She had grown up believing herself to be the talentless, unlovable one. Yet if Fibber was telling the truth now then, unbeknown to her, he had been told that she was the one her parents had the most faith in.
Fox stared into the darkness of the tunnel. She knew her parents thought rivalry inspired greatness, but had they really been pitting her and her brother so obviously against each other all their lives only to save the Petty-Squabble empire? How could she and Fibber have fallen for such a trap? Anger boiled inside her. She had always known her parents withheld their love for her, but could it be that the same was true for Fibber, too? Then another thought made its way through the anger… If all this was true, then maybe there was a chance for her and Fibber to be allies rather than rivals.
Fox felt an almost uncontrollable urge to pour out her most secret thoughts to her brother: to tell him that she was tired, too – of stamping all over other people, of the pressure from her parents, of the feeling that she was never good enough. But the wall around her heart was still high and sturdy and, although she could feel the words forming inside her mouth, she found herself trapped in silence. For it is hard for someone who has been lied to their entire life to start over and trust again. And, because the world had always seemed to Fox to be pitted against her, she didn’t recognise kindness and truth when they did, finally, come along.
‘I know I’ve spent most of my life lying and scheming,’ Fibber continued, as if he could read his sister’s thoughts. ‘To you, to Mum and Dad, to everyone, really. But I lied because I was too afraid of telling the truth – of Mum and Dad finding out that I’m no businessman-in-the-making, that I don’t have any profit-soaring strategies up my sleeve, that I’m never going to be the one who saves the Petty-Squabble fortune. That really, deep down, I don’t want to be.’
Fox listened, hardly daring to hope that Fibber was, at last, telling her the truth. She had always felt worlds apart from her brother, despite the fact that she had never known a day without him. And yet could it be that they weren’t so different, after all?
‘I’ve been wondering –’ Fibber paused – ‘ever since I saw Doodler’s Haven, whether maybe there’s a place for me in this kingdom after the quest finishes. Out in Jungledrop, I could do what I’m good at, what I enjoy. I’d be happy.’
Fox frowned. Fibber had been terrified when he’d stepped off the Here and There Express and now he was saying he wanted to stay in Jungledrop? What had he seen in Doodler’s Haven that had changed his mind? Her thoughts whirred with possibilities. But because, for so many years, Fibber had imagined Fox to be secretly sly, and through her behaviour tonight she had given him no reason to question this, Fibber interpreted his sister’s silence as scorn.
So, with a sigh, he moved the conversation on. ‘We need to take Goldpaw’s advice and work together to find the Forever Fern. And we need to do it for Jungledrop and all those suffering in the Faraway because otherwise there won’t be a world for you to go back to.’
Fox wished she could see Fibber’s face so she could search it for the telltale sign of a lie. Although she wanted, with every fibre inside her, to believe him, she couldn’t shake the years of lying and competition. And surely that’s what all this was now. Another trick – Fibber’s greatest yet – to pull the wool over her eyes, to make her think he was on her side when really he was planning to double-cross her in his own devious way as soon as they found the Forever Fern.
Fox listened as Fibber fiddled with the buckles on his briefcase. She thought of the contents bitterly. Her brother had a backup plan in there. One Mrs Scribble believed in. And Fox only had the Forever Fern. Everything – finally being loved and cherished and not being sent away – hinged on her beating Fibber and being the one to take home the fern to their parents.
‘What’s in your briefcase?’ Fox asked guardedly.
Fibber stopped fiddling with the buckles immediately, but he didn’t turn round.
‘You heard me: what’s inside it?’
Fibber sighed. ‘I’ve been trying to be honest, Fox. I’ve told you exactly how I feel for once, but you’ve given nothing back. You just listened in silence and now you’ve brought up the briefcase again. I’m not going to say what’s inside it unless you tell me what’s inside you.’
Again, Fox felt words forming on the tip of her tongue. An opportunity had opened up unexpectedly. And the weight of such a thing hovered between the twins like a small, invisible bridge in the dark. Fox wanted to say that her deepest longing was for a brother who she could talk to on the way to school, who she could hang out with at weekends, who she could laugh with on holiday. But the thought of everything she might lose if she let herself wish things were different swelled inside her and mingled with the fear of opening up only to be double-crossed by Fibber. So the wall around her heart stood firm.
Heckle’s voice slipped into the darkness. ‘Trust is like a shoelace,’ she said quietly. ‘It takes two hands to tie it into something worthwhile.’
Fox wasn’t sure whose thoughts the parrot was revealing – perhaps simply her own – but she knew that she couldn’t give in now. There were years of feeling unloved standing in the way of this moment and, no matter h
ow much she wanted to believe Fibber, she couldn’t.
Silence surrounded them once again.
Finally, Fibber sighed. ‘Goodnight, Fox.’
There was a pause and then Fox mumbled, ‘Night.’
After a while, Fox noticed her brother’s breathing grow deeper and slower. She waited a while longer to be absolutely sure that Fibber, and indeed Heckle, were asleep, then she took a deep breath. Important businesswomen focused on agendas and targets; they didn’t spend time messing around with emotions and trickster brothers who had suddenly decided to be nice. She stood up quietly and tiptoed over to Total Shambles.
It wasn’t that Fox had it in for the swiftwing, though she was pretty cross that Fibber had used all the pucklesmidge syrup on the creature. It was more that Total Shambles seemed a threat when paired with her brother and she was jealous of the bond they seemed to share.
What if, when Fox had gone to look over Fool’s Leap earlier, Fibber and the swiftwing had been plotting something together? If Total Shambles’ leg did make a full recovery, he could just whisk Fibber into the sky and leave Fox in the Bonelands to be finished off by Morg. She couldn’t take the risk of having the swiftwing around, and her fear and suspicion now swallowed any thoughts of patching things up with her brother. Besides, Total Shambles wasn’t even of use as protection against dark magic; he still couldn’t fly. It was time for her to take action and outwit her brother before he did the same to her.
Fox leaned in close to the swiftwing’s ear and whispered: ‘I know Fibber might seem all decent and good, but he’s the best liar in the Faraway. He’s won medals and trophies for his trickery.’ She winced at the embellishment. ‘So it’s my bet that all those nice things he was saying earlier about staying to heal your leg weren’t true. He might have given you the pucklesmidge syrup, but it’s only because he plans to use you to get closer to the Forever Fern. He’ll ditch you, the first chance he gets, as soon as he thinks you’re no use any more.’
Jungledrop Page 11
