Ottilie Colter and the Withering World

by Rhiannon Williams

  ‘Sorry – no fish.’ She held out her empty hands, her skin glossy with rain.

  Hero bared her teeth and turned her back.

  Ottilie was just stretching her overworked legs when she heard a scuffling from somewhere in the decaying stalls. Her pulse quickened. Hardly anyone ever came up here – not even the sculkie squad since they had become the Devil-Slayers.

  Resting a hand on the knife at her hip, she followed the sounds all the way to the open trapdoor. Greenish light was shining out of it. Someone had glowsticks below.

  Ottilie heard a soft nicker and her head snapped up. Two horses were locked in the only stall with a working gate. They were restless, stamping their feet and flicking their tails, but she had been so focused on the light she hadn’t even noticed them. It was Echo and Warship, which meant …

  ‘Preddy?’ Ottilie called down into the tunnel. ‘Skip? What are you doing?’

  There were a few moments of silence and then Skip’s head popped out of the opening.

  ‘Ottilie? What are you doing here?’

  Ottilie was relieved that she seemed friendly enough. She gestured to her sopping clothes. ‘I was running and then it started pouring.’

  ‘Oh, same,’ said Skip distractedly, looking back down into the tunnel.

  Ottilie laughed. ‘What?’

  Skip tore her eyes back up. ‘I mean, sort of. Me and Preddy train here sometimes when the main yards are busy.’

  ‘How is that the same?’

  Skip looked back down into the tunnel. ‘Can you read it?’ she hollered.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ said Ottilie.

  ‘You’re not making any sense,’ said Preddy’s voice. He must have been climbing up, because his words were louder by the end.

  Ottilie had absolutely no idea what was going on.

  Preddy spoke from somewhere beneath Skip. ‘When the rain started, we didn’t know how long we would be stuck, so Isla was going through the tunnels to get us some food and she saw something.’

  ‘Lucky we found some of our old glow sticks in the barn, otherwise I wouldn’t have spotted it!’ said Skip, with a proud, toothy grin. She beckoned, then swung down the ladder.

  Ottilie followed her down and along the tunnel.

  ‘I saw it here,’ said Skip, ‘but I can’t read, so –’

  ‘You can read,’ Preddy interrupted.

  Skip swatted her hand in his direction. ‘Not well. Anyway, I got Preddy to come and see. That’s when you showed up after your swim.’ She laughed.

  ‘It’s right here.’ Preddy held the glow sticks high. ‘We must have passed it a hundred times but we never looked up!’

  Ottilie’s mouth fell open. Painted on the ceiling of the tunnel was … She strained her eyes. Strange markings.

  She blinked.

  No, not strange – familiar letters. A song or a poem. A section of the ceiling had crumbled off, and what might have been the first verse had been reduced to its final two words: lead you. Beneath it, another verse seemed to be fully formed.

  ‘Well?’ said Skip impatiently. ‘What does it say?’

  Preddy cleared his throat and held the glow sticks higher. ‘Light of the sun, peak of the sky. Wander no longer, there breathing bones lie.’

  Breathing bones? Ottilie shivered. She didn’t know what it meant, but she didn’t like the sound of it.

  ‘Midday,’ said Skip. ‘Light of the sun, peak of the sky – midday.’

  ‘But what about the last bit?’ said Ottilie. She looked at Skip, who shrugged, and then at Preddy, who was gazing at Skip with a strange look on his face.

  ‘Preddy?’ said Ottilie. ‘What are breathing bones?’

  ‘What?’ said Preddy, with a slight jump.

  It was impossible to tell in the greenish light, but Ottilie could have sworn she could see heat rising on his face.

  ‘Breathing bones is a fancy term for … well, sort of … the living dead. Or someone buried who still lives – that’s probably more accurate,’ he said.

  ‘You mean a sleepless witch?’ said Ottilie. Her breath shuddered a little upon release and she was suddenly very aware of the small space and the darkness.

  ‘So it’s a rhyme about finding a sleepless witch at midday?’ said Skip. She spoke so casually. Ottilie hadn’t filled her friends in on Whistler’s interest in the sleepless witch. It was too tangled up with Ned’s situation. Skip didn’t have any reason to think this was anything other than an interesting piece of history.

  ‘Seems to be,’ said Preddy. ‘I wonder what that used to say?’ He pointed up to the crumbled section.

  Ottilie didn’t really want to know. ‘Why would anyone want to find the sleepless witch?’ Well, she knew one person who did … had Whistler seen this?

  ‘Maybe just so you know where it is – so you don’t accidentally dig it up,’ said Skip with a laugh. Ottilie hoped she was right.

  Preddy frowned up at the words. ‘It’s witch script.’

  ‘What is witch script?’ said Skip. Ottilie didn’t know either.

  ‘When I first looked,’ said Preddy, ‘it was in ancient Usklerian – then it shifted to the modern alphabet.’

  ‘You can read ancient Usklerian?’ said Skip.

  He shook his head. ‘But I know what it looks like – my old tutor showed me samples of it.’

  ‘So you know that it’s witch script because the letters changed?’ said Ottilie.

  ‘It translated for us?’ said Skip.

  Preddy nodded. ‘That’s what witch script does – I learned about it. When it’s very old, the magic slows and you can catch the change – which means this must have been here for centuries.’

  Why had this tunnel existed so long ago? The Narroway Hunt had only been in operation for thirty years. How old was Fort Fiory? Ottilie didn’t have any answers, but it didn’t seem like something they needed to worry about.

  Still, worry she did. All afternoon and into the evening, she had a strange sense of unease. She felt like she was missing something, as if there was a riddle that she couldn’t quite figure out, only she didn’t even know what the riddle was.

  When it was finally time for her patrol shift, Ottilie couldn’t have been more relieved. She had never thought she’d look forward to encountering dredretches, but at this point a skirmish with a flock of jivvies or a wrestling match with a learie was all she wanted to deal with.

  19

  The Dreamer

  ‘What’s that?’ Leo pointed below.

  They were technically supposed to be patrolling different zones. But, dreading being on her own again, Ottilie had ignored orders and followed him along his patrol route. Leo, to her great surprise, had not said a thing about it.

  Nox swept lower. The glow sticks bound to her saddle cast a greenish light across the ground. Ottilie strained her eyes. There was a shape bounding through the webwoods.

  ‘It’s a dog,’ said Ottilie. She could hear its bark, but it couldn’t be a shepherd – not this far from Fiory. Not unless … Her breath caught. ‘I think it’s Penguin!’

  ‘Can’t be,’ Leo called down to her. ‘Ned doesn’t have a shift tonight.’

  Swinging back to investigate, they came to a decaying ditch that was poisoned by the withering sickness. Sure enough, a patchy, half-grown shepherd was bounding backwards and forwards, kicking up noxious muck with every panicked leap.

  Leo swore and jumped to the ground. Penguin bolted towards him, his barks turning to whines. Ottilie slid down and approached on unsteady legs. She scanned the area, but there was no sign of Ned within the light of their glow sticks.

  ‘Where is he? What happened?’ said Leo, patting Pen to try to soothe him.

  ‘He’s been sleepwalking.’ It just tumbled out.

  ‘I know! You’re the only one who keeps secrets from me.’

  She felt his words like a slap in the face. She had only been trying to protect Ned. Little did she know he had confided in Leo himself. It didn’t matter. She wa
s panicked. If Ned was in the same absent state he’d been in when she’d found him in Floodwood, he would be helpless before a dredretch.

  For over an hour they searched for him, switching between looking on foot with Penguin and flying. Ottilie was on the ground again and Leo had disappeared into the dark when a black shadow swooped in front. She whipped an arrow from her back. At her side, Penguin lowered his head and snarled, hackles raised. The wings withdrew and Maeve stepped onto the leafy carpet. Penguin settled in an instant.

  She was panting. Between breaths, she managed to gasp, ‘The birds told Bill. They saw … Whistler. She took Ned!’

  ‘What?’ said Ottilie. Her vision swung. She reached to Penguin for comfort. Cool air beat across her face as Maestro thumped to the ground nearby.

  ‘Whistler’s got Ned, Leo!’ said Ottilie.

  ‘What! Why?’ He jumped down and hurried over to them.

  ‘He was sleepwalking,’ said Maeve. ‘Beyond the wall. She just snatched him and flew off!’

  ‘But how did he even get out here?’ said Ottilie breathlessly. ‘You can’t just sleepwalk past wall watchers.’

  ‘They were distracted, shooting down jivvies,’ said Maeve. ‘The gate opened by itself. Or that’s what it looked like, but I’m guessing Whistler did it.’

  ‘What does she want him for?’ said Leo, his voice thin with panic.

  The possibilities swarmed. Ottilie gasped. ‘The backup plan!’ she said. ‘Bill said Whistler gave up on him. He couldn’t give her any information about the sleepless witch. She said she would have to go with her backup plan. It must be Ned, and the dreams – it’s all about this sleepless witch that Ned’s been dreaming about!’

  ‘We have to go after him,’ said Leo. ‘We have to find him.’

  Ottilie dug her fingernails into her palms. Yes, they had to go after him. But where had he gone? ‘We have to talk to Bill.’

  Bill covered his eyes, rocking back and forth on a stool by the hearth. ‘I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t remember anything.’ He rocked back so far that he nearly fell off the stool. Maeve pushed him upright.

  ‘Nothing?’ Ottilie’s voice shook. What were they going to do? What would happen to Ned?

  Bill just shook his head, his mouth drooping.

  Ottilie chewed her lip as she paced in front of him. She and Leo had gone straight to Montie’s kitchen to gather food while Maeve found Bill. They didn’t know where Whistler was taking Ned, but it seemed foolish to leave without any provisions.

  ‘What are you doing in here?’ said Alba, appearing in the doorway with a tray of dirty dishes – probably the remnants of a director’s late-night meal.

  ‘Taking food,’ said Leo.

  Ottilie and Maeve quickly filled her in.

  Alba exhaled and placed the tray on the table. ‘You’re really lucky Mum went to bed early.’

  Ottilie barely heard her. She had already turned back to Bill, who was muttering under his breath.

  ‘Are you saying numbers?’ said Maeve, leaning forward as if trying to read his lips.

  ‘A number?’ Bill stood and looked up at the drying thyme strung from the ceiling. He flipped his fingers, as if counting. ‘Two days. Three … three threes!’

  ‘Three threes are nine,’ said Alba, as if she couldn’t help herself.

  ‘Why are we doing maths?’ said Maeve.

  ‘What does this have to do with anything!’ Leo thumped the table, making them jump. Only Maeve was steady. She fixed him with a glare.

  ‘Years,’ said Bill. His bendy feet made sticking noises as he paced the floor. ‘In two days, it’s nine hundred years since they sealed the iron coffin underground.’ He placed his hands over his eyes. ‘I remember,’ he whispered.

  ‘So?’ said Leo. Ottilie could tell he had tried to say it gently.

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Maeve.

  Bill sat again and tapped his temple.

  ‘Whistler’s been waiting,’ said Ottilie. ‘Waiting for something …’

  Alba clapped a hand to her mouth, then reached into her pocket. ‘Three circles, circles, circles past …’

  ‘What?’ said Maeve.

  ‘I’ve been reading about Seika Devil-Slayer,’ said Alba, smoothing out a crumpled piece of parchment, ‘and I keep coming across this. The Sleepless Stars – an old rhyme. I’ve been carrying it around, trying to figure out its significance.’

  Ottilie’s eyes snapped to the parchment – this was the rhyme that mentioned the dreamer. Alba had told her about it before.

  ‘A rhyme?’ said Leo, as if he thought this a complete waste of time.

  ‘All in a row, the glowing guide. From sleepless stars it cannot hide,’ Alba chanted.

  Ottilie frowned. ‘I don’t underst–’

  ‘Three circles, circles, circles past, the dreamer seeks it out at last.’

  Bill started rocking again. Maeve patted his shoulder. ‘Three circles?’ she said.

  ‘I think it means centuries,’ said Alba. ‘I’ve been trying to work that out for so long – the wording made me think it might be referring to time in some way, but I never thought of centuries! But it’s three circles, circles, circles, like Bill said. Three by three – nine! And the dreamer, the glowing guide, it has to be Ned!’

  Leo thrust out his arm. ‘Ned’s marks are like three stars,’ he said.

  ‘And they glow when he dreams,’ Ottilie added. There was no time for secrets now. She twisted her ring around her thumb, thinking hard. There were little clues everywhere. These words, these old rhymes … Even on their rings. Lines from the lightning song. Maybe the lightning song had something to do with all this, too – it was about a sleepless witch, after all.

  Burns like three stars … Ottilie gasped. ‘Hiss, flick and sputter, three will mark it hot!’

  Alba’s eyes stretched to the size of dustplums. ‘And crunch, thud, dig deep down … It’s about where it’s buried! It can’t all be a coincidence. It’s been nine hundred years since a sleepless witch was buried, and Whistler marked Ned as the guide. The burns must be guiding him to the iron coffin!’

  Ottilie’s mind was spinning. ‘So that’s it – it has to be … it all fits!’ she said. ‘Whistler wants to dig up the sleepless witch, but Bill couldn’t tell her where it was buried, so she had to wait for the nine hundredth anniversary – and for a dreamer to guide her. This must be what she’s been waiting for!’

  ‘A witch that can’t be killed,’ said Maeve, going pale.

  ‘She must want it to join her army,’ said Ottilie, horrified. ‘A sleepless witch would definitely help her get past the Narroway Hunt. And … what … in two days?’ She looked at Bill, who covered his eyes with his hands and nodded.

  The final piece clicked into place. ‘At midday,’ said Ottilie. ‘If that’s what she’s planning, then in two days, at midday, that’s when she’ll dig it up.’

  Everyone was staring at her.

  ‘Skip found something marked on the tunnel near the haunted stables,’ she explained. ‘It was written in witch script – something about finding the sleepless witch at midday … there breathing bones lie.’

  Alba was frowning, tapping her leg.

  ‘The rhymes, they’re all about the same thing,’ said Ottilie.

  ‘Like prophecies?’ said Alba.

  Maeve shook her head. ‘It sounds more like a spell to me. You probably have to do a certain ritual to get what you want. Magic is like that. Especially long-lasting spells. I’ve read about things like this. Maybe you can’t dig up the coffin unless you mark the dreamer, who will then lead you there at a certain time, on a certain day. Nine hundred years sounds like a sort of weak point before the turn of the age – before it’s sealed forever.’

  ‘The rhymes could be like old records of the ritual,’ said Alba. ‘Maybe people trying to remember, passing it down through generations. Songs get under people’s skin. They live much longer than any written records.’ She frowned. ‘But why the nine hundredth anniversary? Mar
king the dreamer … all the conditions? Why make it so difficult?’

  ‘You wouldn’t want to make it easy,’ said Ottilie. ‘It’s a sleepless witch.’

  She bit hard into her lip. Why hadn’t she put this together earlier? She knew Whistler was interested in the sleepless witch, and anyone could have guessed why! She had been so scattered, her focus flitting from one thing to the next, with Scoot, the king, rescuing Bill, not to mention her hunting duties … she hadn’t been thinking clearly.

  ‘From what I’ve learned, you don’t get much of a choice about spells,’ said Maeve. Her eyes darted to the door, as if she feared she would be overheard and exiled to the Laklands again. ‘Especially the really powerful ones. If a witch wanted to magically seal the coffin, but weave in some sort of loophole in case someone needed to get to it … for whatever reason, nine hundred years might have been the only option – a weak point, like I said.’

  ‘But this still doesn’t help!’ said Leo. ‘If Bill doesn’t know where the iron coffin is buried, how are we going to find Ned?’

  Ottilie frowned, thinking hard. Something was bothering her, some memory or knowledge just out of reach. She went over the lightning song in her mind, trying to remember the correct order, the original lines as Alba had clarified them months ago:

  Flash, smack and crackle, lightning knows the spot.

  Hiss, flick and sputter, three will mark it hot.

  Wail, whine, dinnertime, sleeper comes for none.

  Crunch, thud, dig deep down, pay for what you’ve done.

  ‘Lightning knows the spot,’ she muttered. ‘When lightning strikes the ground, it means there’s a witch buried below.’ She remembered Scoot saying that in their fledgling year, the day the yickers attacked them in Floodwood.

  ‘So?’ said Leo. ‘Lightning strikes all sorts of places. It could be anywhere.’

  She was on the very edge. She had the answer. It was like a dusty old book – she just needed to brush it off and hold it to the light. Ottilie thought of the last time she had seen Ned, staring at the golden flowers by Scoot’s bed. She remembered the treasure she and Gully had buried beneath their favourite tree, and the bolt of lightning that had sent her fleeing into Longwood so many years ago.