I want to say that I don’t think Sana will be so easily convinced into peace, but I know we have to try. We must attempt to fix the void between the blanks and marked – maybe this is what the story of the sisters was telling us to do.
But how does this fit in with Longsight, and his strange new powers?
“Mel,” I say, “do you really think he came back from the dead? Do you think his marks vanished? Was it a miracle?”
She is suddenly still and now I see it, the thing that has been driving her. Fear.
“The mark was real,” Mel admits quietly. “Obel inked him – we saw the needle push into his skin – and now the line is gone. A miracle? I don’t know, but I do know that whatever Longsight and Minnow are planning, whether it is miraculous or not, it will only mean more power for them and less freedom for the people. Whatever he says, however generous he might appear, the mayor will always put his own needs first.”
I nod, and continue packing. Within moments we are ready.
“Won’t they notice?” I ask tentatively. “We can’t just leave, can we?”
“Of course we can,” she says, sounding braver than she must feel. “I strutted around the government building making a nuisance of myself, demanding extra measures in these extreme times. Eventually, I declared that I would travel to Riverton with my charge (that’s you, Leora) to call for their wisdom and support. It buys us time and it gives us reason to leave Saintstone unobstructed. We have even been given horses.” She grins. “The mayor can’t wait for us to leave. Now. You do remember how to get to Featherstone, don’t you?”
Chapter Twenty-two
The horses are sure-footed, but there are times where I take us down a wrong path and we have to turn back. It was quicker when I was riding with Sana because, of course, she knew the forest perfectly. Although I remember the route, I still need to check for the right landmarks, and it’s becoming noticeably darker with unnerving speed.
“They will already know we’re coming,” I tell Mel. “The blanks. They watch the routes from Saintstone.”
She shrugs. “I’m counting on it.”
“If you’re counting on them being pleased to see me, well … they won’t be rolling out a great welcome, Mel. I left under a cloud, and Sana will have made sure to muddy my name since I’ve been gone.” I shiver, remembering my last few days in Featherstone. Dragging Gull from the water under the forbidding gaze of the community. That terrible discovery, that Sana had been starving and infecting her own people, to agitate for war with the marked. That bloodstained knife. The horror of Longsight’s death. Riding away from Oscar, every step feeling like my heart was being wrenched out of my chest. Leaving behind Tanya and Solomon and Fenn, all good people, to pick up the pieces.
“You still care for them, though.” Mel reaches up and brushes a branch with her hand as she passes underneath.
“I do,” I say fiercely. “I care that they’re being mistreated by Sana and they don’t seem to realize it. She has been keeping resources from the people: food, medicine, clothes. The way she sees it, the hungrier the people are, the more angry they will be with Saintstone. She needs their anger. She is desperate to wage war.”
“I wonder why,” Mel says thoughtfully. “It’s not a war they could easily win. Does she want to win – or does she want to fight?”
“She’s been let down by people she loved and trusted.” I think of how she talked about my birth mum, her best friend, Miranda, falling in love with Dad and how, to her, it was the worst possible betrayal.
“You’ve been let down too, Leora, and yet you’re not like Sana. I’ve seen you angry, true – but I’ve never seen that anger turn to hate.” She smiles briefly. “Well, maybe just once.”
I frown, dreading what she might say next. Mel slows her horse and we ride side by side.
“You were raised to hate the blanks. We all were. All of us in Saintstone are taught from an early age that these are evil beings who are desperate to steal our souls. So little wonder that you hated your father when you heard that he had married a blank. You hated him all the more when you realized you were that blank woman’s daughter and he had kept all this from you. It was fear and anger and self-loathing that led you to hate him enough to see his book burned.”
I swallow, remembering that day, the hatred that coursed through me bittersweet as wine.
“But that hate left you quickly,” Mel goes on. “And you have since acted to resist it. Sana is different. We can develop our anger into hate by feeding it with fear and ignorance, blame and bitterness. But eventually, the hate devours us.”
We ride in silence for a while and the fragrances of the forest rise up to greet us. Everything is just a breath away from full bloom, the buds and leaves fit to burst with life. The ground beneath the horses’ hooves gives up a herbal scent of rain and ritual, and I think of Gull taking me through the forest, walking barefoot and smiling at her surroundings as though they were her only friend.
“Tell me more,” Mel says after a while. “Was Sana really the one who killed Longsight?”
“She was the one who stabbed him, yes.” I remember that night. The night that Gull painted her skin with a paste of ash that burned her, desperate for a mark of her own, Oscar holding her arm under running water. Fenn telling us that we had to leave. And then the final piece of the puzzle falling into place. The box with Sana’s black clothing and red knife.
She confessed to us that very night – as though admitting to a ruse. She gloried in it – she knew the people’s hunger made them desperate for something to fill them, and that something, she had decided, was her – her as their leader, her as warmonger, her as the one person who could bring them victory. The people thought she meant all this to bring peace – when really all she wanted was the fight.
I dread to imagine what kind of a town I am returning to, what will be left of the people I care so much for. But Mel knows so little of Featherstone and its community – how can I prepare her for what she is about to find? A whole world of opposite.
“When I travelled through the forest with Sana the first time, she spoke of regular meetings with envoys from Saintstone – the crows,” I tell Mel. I look at her cautiously. She must know the crows exist, but I have never talked about them with her. “She was just a kid, but she would be taken along sometimes. They would gather here and hand over resources: food and medical items and clothing. But I think it was a meeting of friends too; they would share food and messages and stories.” This makes Mel sit straighter.
“What else do you know of the crows?” Mel asks. Her voice is neutral and I glance at her again.
“Not as much as I would like,” I admit. “I know Obel, Oscar and Connor were – are – part of the group, and they felt the blanks were unfairly treated and would bring them supplies and news. And I think my dad was too, or at least he supported them. Agreed with what they were doing. But I don’t know how it works or who the rest of them are.”
I look to her for more, but she is quiet. Mel is thoughtful for much of our time riding – gazing around her at new sights, amazed at the way the light plays through the leaves creating shadows and glimmers that dance together.
Chapter Twenty-three
“We just cross the river here,” I say, nodding ahead. “You’re sure about this?”
Mel nods and we lead our horses over the bridge. I remember a story Dad used to tell about goats trip-trapping over a bridge and a troll threating to eat them. I didn’t like that one – it scared me. Made me wonder what else was under bridges and beds waiting to leap out.
We still have a way to go before we reach Featherstone, but we’re on their land now. I turn at every sound and try not to be lulled by the familiar giggle of the river water.
It’s a surprise, then, when it’s not an ambush that stops us, but a friend. A friend with hands up and a smile on his face a mile wide.
Oscar.
“Whoa!” he says in a deep lullaby voice, and the horses slow, not faze
d by his appearance. He knows exactly how to behave. He always does. He comes near and rests his hand palm-flat between my horse’s eyes. He whispers to him and rubs his neck. Oh, I wish I was a horse. Oscar looks up at me and I blush extravagantly. “Fancy seeing you here.” His grin pulls me in and I let myself go.
I feel woozy as Mel and I walk, leading the horses, following Oscar, who has told us to save conversation for later. I don’t know whether the giddiness comes from being used to the rock and sway of being in the saddle or just the spinning feeling of seeing Oscar and the relief that he is OK. He’s leading us away from the path I would normally take. Oscar said we needed to be careful and quiet and to take a different route. He looks back at me now and then, each time with that smile that dazzles me more than a sunset.
We emerge into a clearing made by a fallen tree. The remaining foliage has grown gingerly up and outwards, and as the light pours down, the fur of moss and the pale scales of lichen make the low, twisting branches look like creatures. In the clearing is a tent and a fire, besides which sit Tanya and Solomon. They look at us with wide eyes as we enter their dwelling. There is a pause, and then they stand up and, to my overwhelming relief, Tanya pulls me to her in a crushing hug.
“I have so much to tell you,” I whisper into her shoulder. “Gull is fine, she’s safe.” Please let this be true. “But I couldn’t bring her with me.”
She hushes me.
“You can tell me everything, Leora.”
The smell of woodsmoke and Tanya’s hair makes me feel like I’m coming home. To one of my homes, at least.
Oscar ties the horses up and Mel looks at us as though she is ready to back away and run – her fingers clasp, knuckles white, and her breath is quick. I suppose I thought she would be regal even here, that she would walk into Featherstone, head up, back so straight, and remove her cloak in a sweeping flow, revealing her full colours. But she is shrunken in the forest; she looks at the blank skin of Tanya and Solomon and I see her swallow back years of ingrained fear and disgust.
It’s Tanya who moves.
“You are welcome.” She holds out both hands to Mel. “I am Tanya, this is Solomon – and Oscar, obviously, you know. Leora is a daughter to us. Seeing Leora return is wonderful; seeing her return with a friend is even better.”
Tanya’s kindness is a lasting thing – like the north star or the frost in winter, you can rely on it to be there. A lump grows in my throat and I duck my head, thinking of her children, in Saintstone. One in a cell and the other … I don’t know where. But safe, Longsight told me she would be safe.
Mel kneels on the floor before Tanya. She takes Tanya’s hands, dips her head and says, “My name is Mel. I’m here as a friend. Thank you for your welcome.” Only I can tell what effort it costs her. I see the White Witch on the storyteller’s skin and imagine her cursing Mel for her treachery.
“We don’t have much,” Solomon says, to Mel and to me, and he gestures at the scraps of blankets and rolled bedding that they are using to sit on around the fire. “But what we have we share. Come, sit down. You must be thirsty?”
Solomon boils water over the fire and brings us a kind of tea made with yellow leaves. Although it’s bitter, it is invigorating. Mel sips at hers cautiously. Mel: always given the best of everything when it comes to food and drink. I don’t suppose she’s ever had to force something down to be polite or simply to survive.
A silence covers us and a minute of calm passes, but beneath it, under the surface, the question floats. Where is Gull?
“Gull is safe,” I blurt out again, and then I realize that is all I can say.
“Why is she not with you?” Tanya’s chin quivers. “Doesn’t she want to see us?” She grips my hand desperately and I wish I had more to tell her, better answers at least.
“Longsight is alive,” I say and I see their eyes widen in shock. “And I was captured the minute I got back. Gull was taken in.” I will myself to be brave – to be truthful. It’s the least the Whitworths deserve. “Tanya, I am so sorry – I don’t know where Gull is, but I have been told she is safe.” Safe as long as I’m not found out. As long as no one knows I came to Featherstone. Safe … if I can trust a word Jack Minnow says.
Tanya’s hand goes to her chest and her eyes close. She nods, as though she knows this story – as though she was just waiting for me to say it.
There is barely any food, but the Whitworths share with us a broth and we offer them all our goods. They marvel at the sight of cheese and Tanya laughs when she picks up the bread and says she might use it as a bed tonight, it is so soft. Apparently, on their first day here, Oscar tried to catch fish.
“I don’t believe there are any in that river.” He scowls when Solomon laughs at him.
“Not now that you scared them off.” Solomon dodges a nudge from Oscar.
“Why are you here?” I ask. “Why aren’t you home – in Featherstone with the others?”
The smile drops from Solomon’s face. “Things have changed quickly for us too.”
A sudden yelp of pain interrupts us. In the dying light, Mel is gathering firewood and she’s already got a splinter. Tanya removes it and gives Mel a poultice to rub into the wound. “It wouldn’t do to get an infection out here.”
“It’s just a tiny cut! It’s hardly going to kill me,” Mel exclaims.
“No, but blood poisoning could. We don’t have the medical resources that you have. It is not worth risking.”
Mel goes quiet as she holds the mulched-up leaf to her palm.
“How have you kept going out here?” she asks.
“Out here in the woods, or out here in Featherstone?” Tanya asks with a smile and a raised eyebrow.
“Both. I had never imagined it like this.” She throws the herb on the fire and carries on collecting wood and twigs. “Actually, I had never imagined it at all. I refused to – what was the point of thinking about how you live, when all I really cared about was that you didn’t?”
A kind of gasped silence leaves a vacuum between us – it is as though time has taken a breath. The quiet breaks with a twig under Mel’s foot. “I was so blind. I still have so much to see.” She lays her sticks in a neat pile at Tanya’s feet, like an offering. “I hope you will show me.”
Solomon speaks. “We have some help – a few in Featherstone care about us still. As for Featherstone – the crows bring them food, just like always. But there’s less – the crows are having to be more circumspect. There are those in Saintstone who would have them destroyed.”
“How do you know all this?” I ask. “Is Fenn still in Featherstone?”
Solomon nods proudly. “In many ways staying in Featherstone was riskier than leaving, but he did it. Once Oscar told us what Sana had been doing to the people – and had done to Longsight – we challenged her in front of the rest of the community. Our questioning was useless; she has them so convinced.”
“She has them terrified,” Tanya adds and Solomon nods.
“There was no choice for the three of us – Sana has banished us. She has made the people believe their hunger is our fault for being unfaithful. Fenn convinced Sana that he supported her in spite of all he’d seen that night you left with Gull. He let her believe that her actions made him want to follow her even more devotedly. Justus vouched for him.”
Tanya gives Solomon’s hand a squeeze. “Fenn’s trying to help those we left – the innocent, ordinary people of Featherstone,” she tells me. “Sana’s still doing it, Leora – she’s still keeping them in the dark, keeping them hungry and desperate.” Clever, cruel Sana. “And it’s working.”
“Working how?” I ask, dread in my voice.
“Do you remember what it was like, Leora? To be so hungry? The hopeless hunger that you know won’t recede, because you know that even if you eat something that day it won’t be enough – it won’t fill or satisfy.”
“I remember it,” I say quietly. And yet, I almost don’t – it’s strange how quickly I have forgotten. But I remem
ber the fear. The idea that I might feel hunger like that again if I stay here leaves a terror in my bones that almost makes me run.
“How did you feel about Saintstone when you were hungry, Leora?” Tanya said softly. “What did you think when you knew their bellies were full while you ate mouldy bread?”
“I hated them,” I whisper. And there is no lie there – I never felt more at home than when we were hungry together. More united in hatred. “I wanted to hurt them like they were hurting us.” There is sad recognition in Oscar’s face.
“They blame us,” Tanya says, a little quietly. “According to the teaching, Gull was meant to stay beneath the water on her birth day ritual.” I close my eyes and remember the cold of the dawn and the ice of water and the horror of Gull’s limp body. “The verdict had been cast – she was meant to pay for her sins, for the sins of the people, by staying under. A sacrifice.”
I swallow. It was me who dragged Gull out of the water that day. I did this. As if reading my mind, Tana lays a sudden hand on my arm. “And I will always be grateful to you for saving her – we will always be in your debt. But faith and tradition are powerful masters, Leora, as you know. Sana tells the people that their poverty, the land’s exhaustion, their hunger and sickness, is not just the fault of the marked; it is also judgement upon them for their faithlessness. Because Gull did not pay the price, the land must pay instead. They are told every day that they live under a curse. The community have never been so devout – so watchful and wary of sin in their midst.”
I think of Mayor Longsight and the way his acts of wonder have fostered new faith and belief.
“People want hope,” I say. My voice sounds very small in the stillness.
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