Ottilie Colter and the Withering World

by Rhiannon Williams

  Her mouth fell open.

  ‘I know where they’re going,’ she said. ‘I know where it’s buried!’

  20

  Farewell, Fiory

  They waited for dawn. Ottilie had promised Gully she would not leave him behind, so, strapped with every weapon they could carry, they headed for the wingerslink sanctuary together.

  ‘Hello,’ said Skip as they rounded a corner. ‘What are you two doing up?’ She and Preddy were dressed to hunt, and seemed to be heading for the stables.

  Ottilie’s eyes flicked to the other huntsmen striding in different directions across the grounds. ‘We can’t stay out here – come with us, quick!’

  Preddy hesitated, glancing at the stables.

  Gully gave him a meaningful look. ‘You can be late, Preddy.’

  They explained about Ned and the sunnytree on the way.

  ‘I’m coming too,’ announced Skip as they entered the sanctuary.

  Leo was standing in front of Maestro’s pen. His arms were firmly crossed, eyes shaded by a frown. ‘What are they doing here?’ he barked.

  Alba was there too. She’d ordered them out of the kitchen last night and promised to bring some food in the morning. Shooting Nox a distrustful glance, she tucked the last of the supplies into a saddlebag.

  Penguin was pacing back and forth, occasionally snarling or barking at the wingerslinks, who were rumbling in their pens. Shepherds and wingerslinks were not fond of each other, but Penguin had not left Leo’s side.

  ‘I’m coming,’ Skip repeated, looking Leo in the eye.

  He shook his head. ‘You’re a fledge. Besides, there’s no room.’ He waved at Maestro and Nox, who were saddled and ready to travel.

  ‘We can double up,’ said Skip, leaping boldly over the gate to Maestro’s pen. Maestro swung around and snarled. Skip jumped backwards, and it was a mark of how distressed Leo was that he didn’t laugh. Watching Maestro frighten people usually brightened him up.

  ‘We need room for Ned when we get him back,’ he said stiffly.

  ‘Maestro’s as big as a house,’ said Skip, eyeing him warily. ‘He can take three. You don’t know what’s going to happen out there.’

  ‘She’s coming,’ said Ottilie. Skip was wily and tough. They might well need her.

  Leo threw up his hands. ‘Fine!’ He wrenched the gate open. ‘We don’t have time for this – just hurry up!’

  The wingerslinks leapt into the field. Ottilie and Leo were the first down after them.

  ‘Whistler won’t hurt Ned.’ Ottilie forced herself to sound confident – even though it didn’t entirely match her feelings. ‘Not before he shows her where to go.’

  Leo ground his teeth and stared at his boots. ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘I do. I’m sure of it. He can’t just tell her where to go. He’s only had dreams of a place. He wouldn’t know where the sunnytree is. He’ll have to feel his way there. Maeve says the burns are going to guide him.’ Ottilie didn’t understand magic, but Maeve had been studying the old witch book and she seemed sure that this was how it would work.

  Leo grunted and walked away from her. ‘Pen, stick with Alba, all right?’ he said, patting him on the head. The shepherd slid close and leaned against Leo’s legs.

  Alba crouched down, offering a consoling pat.

  Leo and Skip mounted Maestro, and Gully and Ottilie climbed into Nox’s saddle. She didn’t want to say goodbye. She wanted to believe they would be back soon. Back with Ned. Safe and sound.

  Ottilie sensed something to her left. Bill had appeared at her ankle with a black owl perched on his head. His mouth was turned down and his eyes were heavy with dread.

  ‘She’s coming with you.’ His eyes flicked upwards. ‘In case you need a witch.’

  Ottilie smiled. She could tell it hadn’t been his idea. No doubt Bill had spent a long time trying to convince Maeve not to go, just like he had once asked Ottilie not to go to the Narroway.

  ‘We’ll be back, Bill.’

  ‘You’ve said that before.’ His long fingers curled around her leg.

  She remembered the last time he had done that, just before Whistler took him and kept him for months and months. ‘This time I promise.’

  21

  Back Onto the Map

  They flew via the coast. It was the longest but safest route. They couldn’t risk being slowed by dredretch attacks. It was a strange feeling, Nox swooping over the waves, tilting and curving to follow the line of the shore.

  The strengthening sun washed the world with gold and the cool salty air was comforting, like gentle hands brushing back Ottilie’s hair. Maeve flew ahead, slipping in and out of shifting veils of light. A massive shadow moved beneath them, flashing a fin, then a vast tail, and causing rolling ripples far and wide.

  They stopped twice to give the wingerslinks a break, resting first on a pebbly beach, then a rocky cliff. They were just settling near the cliff’s edge when something caught Ottilie’s eye: a leaking darkness, oozing from a narrow gap in the ragged clifftop. It was like black water, but too thick. It divided into tendrils, sticky roots creeping outwards.

  Gully gasped. An army of rokkers, like giant blood-red scorpions, was peeling free of the gloop. The gap in the cliff was widening, the ground half melting, half crumbling. The sludge slipped off the rokkers as they scuttled towards Leo’s outstretched legs. He leapt up with a yelp of surprise and kicked out.

  Her eyes still fixed on the puddle, Ottilie called the wingerslinks away. Rokkers had a paralysing sting and the wingerslinks could offer little help without endangering themselves.

  Ottilie curled her fingers around the bone necklace in her pocket as Skip, Gully and Leo stamped and thumped, having far more difficulty than they might with something larger. If she hadn’t been so disturbed, Ottilie could have laughed. But she thought she understood what she had seen. She and Leo had witnessed it before – a dredretch rising. But Whistler was nowhere nearby. She knew that for sure, because the bone necklace was not humming.

  This was a patch of withering sickness, and the rokkers had risen on their own. Ottilie had thought the Narroway would have to become a blackened wasteland before that was even possible. She’d had no idea it could happen already.

  She heard the whizz and stick of an arrow and turned to see Skip lowering her bow. She followed Skip’s gaze to a humungous rokker – the size of a large rat – pinned to the ground by her arrow, its toxic stinger half an inch from the back of Leo’s leg. Leo whirled and jerked back, his eyes wide with shock. Regaining his composure, he stepped casually sideways to stomp on the last rokker. He watched Skip pluck her arrow out of the gooey pile of broken shell with a look of annoyance and admiration on his face.

  ‘That’s twice you’ve been saved by a fledgling,’ said Skip, winking at Ottilie.

  ‘I would have got it if you hadn’t,’ said Leo.

  Skip flashed a grin, spun the arrow, and wiped it on a patch of rubbery weeds. ‘What are they doing so near the coast?’

  Ottilie led the wingerslinks closer again. No-one else seemed to have put it together, and she was reluctant to share the unsettling news. Finally, she took a breath and said, ‘They rose on their own.’ She pointed to the putrid puddle.

  Leo frowned, his eyes darting inland. ‘Surely not. Maybe they were sent.’

  ‘You think Whistler knows we’re coming?’ said Gully.

  ‘Why would she care enough to stop us?’ said Ottilie. Whistler had never seemed to take them very seriously before.

  ‘I think after you flattened her in the cave, she’d be stupid not to try,’ said Leo, nodding in Maeve’s direction.

  Maeve was perched on Nox’s saddle. She responded to Leo’s comment with a hoot that could have meant anything, really.

  ‘I supposed if tomorrow at midday is her only chance to do this, she can’t risk anything messing up her timing,’ said Ottilie. How woeful – the thought that Whistler was tracking them, trying to stop them, was the more comforting option
. Ottilie wrapped her arms around her middle. ‘Trust me. She didn’t send them. They rose on their own. Right there. Look.’

  Leo and Skip moved over to inspect the patch of sickness.

  Gully kept his distance – taking Ottilie’s word for it. ‘They … so what … they can rise anywhere now? Without her calling them out?’ he said, his eyes wide.

  She frowned. ‘Not everywhere, I don’t think. Just places where something really bad’s happened.’

  Evil sings to them … Alba had once told her that. Just as an act of goodness had created the healing spring, an evil deed could bring dredretches and the withering sickness. The world was weakening here – that’s what Whistler had said. It was becoming more fertile for dredretches, easier for them to find their way up.

  ‘Something terrible must have happened in this spot,’ said Ottilie, ‘for the dredretches to come without being called.’

  Leo looked out to the ocean, glanced westward, then walked to the edge of the cliff and peered down. He turned back. ‘Slaver caves.’

  Maeve took flight. She swept over the edge of the cliff and disappeared somewhere below.

  ‘What slaves?’ said Skip.

  ‘Viago the Vanquisher reintroduced slavery to the Usklers,’ said Leo.

  ‘That’s Whistler’s dad, right?’ said Gully.

  Ottilie nodded.

  Skip arched a brow. ‘Nice family,’ she muttered.

  ‘I learnt about it in my history lessons before I came here,’ said Leo. ‘After the Lakland War, a lot of Laklanders went into hiding in the Narroway. The slavers used to hunt them and imprison them in coastal caves. Then boats would come through from Wikric Town and collect them to sell at the slave markets there.’

  His casual tone turned Ottilie’s stomach. He was just reciting a memory of a lesson. Slaves … She had known the Usklers had used slaves on and off throughout history, but it had always seemed so distant, almost like a story, not something that had happened to real people – ordered and enforced by real people. But standing here, she could feel it. The reality of it. The horror. It almost knocked her down. She felt a new kind of fear – a crippling distrust. How could people get things so wrong?

  Ottilie noticed that, despite his tone, Leo too was unsteady. He looked pointedly away from the edge of the cliffs, his body stiff and his thumb twitching.

  Slavery was monstrous, and Whistler’s father had reintroduced it. She hadn’t thought it possible to resent Viago the Vanquisher more. But she vaguely remembered reading that Feo Sol had outlawed slavery. That was Whistler’s brother. She remembered Whistler saying her brother was a good king. How disappointing – devastating, even – that Viago came before him and Varrio after.

  Maeve swooped up over the edge of the cliff and stepped onto the grass as a girl. She looked wretched. ‘Dredretches must have been coming through for a while – the sickness is everywhere,’ she said. ‘There’s a whole hive of caves in there, all the way down to the ground. They’re rotted through. But there are still …’ She struggled to speak. ‘S-skeletons and chains bolted to the walls.’

  Ottilie felt her blood drain. She turned back to the pool of sickness – where the world had begun to rot. No wonder …

  It was too dangerous to make camp in the Narroway, even on the coast. Curving further out to sea, they avoided the area where the border wall between the Narroway and the Usklers met the ocean. Being seen risked unnecessary complications, so they drifted far enough out that they lost sight of land. It was a wonderfully freeing feeling, being surrounded on all sides by nothing but sea. Ottilie looked to the south and thought of Sunken Sweep, Ned’s home. She had never been there … never been anywhere, really. She wondered if she ever would.

  The approaching dusk hung a violet veil, still pierced by spears of bronze. They turned northward, heading for land. Gully leaned forwards and gently bumped his head on Ottilie’s shoulder. She understood him. They had done it – at some point, out at sea, they had crossed the border. They had left the Narroway.

  She remembered the escape plan in their fledgling year. How strange that they had finally achieved that goal. But everything had changed. Back then, they had been desperate to return to the Swamp Hollows; now, Ottilie didn’t know where home was supposed to be. Flying Nox, Gully with her – she wasn’t sure there was a closer thing to home than this.

  The sleepy sun flared, dipping lower, and they flew inland. Seeking fresh water, Ottilie spotted a slip of silver and whistled to Leo, pointing.

  Nox and Maestro tilted to land, finally touching down by a gentle cascade where the river curled over a rock shelf and into a wide pool. Dusk settled. A great mass of black shapes swooped out of the treetops and everyone tensed. Leo whipped out his bow and Ottilie’s hand flew to her own before she realised what it was – bats. Just bats. It had been years since she had seen so many animals out in the wild. She smiled as the bats scattered across the hazy sky, some dipping down to skim the water before swooping back up to join the colony.

  Ottilie freed her feet from the stirrups. A heavy black shape plunged ahead of them, landing with a skimming splash. Gully grabbed her elbow. She turned her head and whispered, ‘It’s a swan.’

  She slipped out of the saddle. Her stiff, flight-weary legs stumbled sideways and she let herself fall, the palms of her hands pressing into the Uskler mud.

  22

  Deep Breath

  Skip was sitting against a log, her arms wrapped around her knees. Leo and Gully were riffling through their bags in search of food and Maeve was struggling to conjure a fire. By the light of the glow sticks, Ottilie saw a strange expression on Skip’s face. She wondered if Skip remembered the Usklers at all. She had lived half her life in the Narroway.

  ‘It’s so loud here,’ said Skip.

  Ottilie strained her ears, not sure what she meant. But then the sounds pushed to the front – crickets chirping, mosquitoes buzzing, the owls and other night singers, the possums with their strange call, like rasping breath, the howl of the driftdogs far off near the coast. The world was full and alive again, like it was supposed to be.

  Maeve huffed and let her hands drop to the dirt.

  ‘You can make a rock wall collapse on Whistler’s head, but you can’t make a campfire?’ said Leo.

  Maeve shot him a look so dark that Ottilie stepped between them.

  ‘Don’t anger the witch,’ said Skip.

  Maeve slumped to the ground. ‘I’m so tired! I think that’s why it’s not working.’

  Gully crawled forwards. ‘Course you’re tired – you flew all the way here by yourself. I can do it if you like.’ He dug around for the flint they’d packed and went to work. When sparks flared, Maeve flicked her fingers and a great fire caught. Gully gasped and dropped the flint, and everyone scattered.

  ‘Sorry!’ said Maeve.

  Gully’s mouth was open. ‘That was amazing!’ He shook out his singed hands and grinned. ‘You’re amazing!’

  ‘Bit of warning next time, Moth,’ said Skip with a snort.

  Ottilie grabbed Gully’s hand to check for damage, and he winced. ‘Come on.’ She pulled him over to the water’s edge to dip his fingers in. Gully was still looking back at the fire with wonder in his eyes.

  A loud splash caught Ottilie’s attention along the stream. She looked across to see Nox swipe at the water, sending a silver fish flying onto the bank. Maestro slunk in behind and snapped it up. Nox bared her teeth and turned back to the water, waiting for another catch.

  ‘What are we going to say to them?’ said Gully quietly.

  ‘The wingersli– oh … you mean …’

  The sunnytree was so close to the Swamp Hollows. Once it was done – if they made it through – they would have to go and visit. Ottilie tensed at the thought. She wanted to see them all so badly, and yet she was afraid that Old Moss and Mr Parch would be angry, that they wouldn’t understand, that they would try to make her stay. She didn’t even know what to expect from Freddie.

  One th
ing she had decided – Ottilie was going to ask about her father. She was going to find out who he was. If she was somehow connected to Whistler, she wanted to know about it. There did seem to be some sort of power in blood – a chain of links reaching back to the first to walk the world. But for Ottilie, it didn’t necessarily relate to family. Children with two parents had always been a rarity around the swamps. Family had never been about blood. It had been about the people who were there. The people who loved her and looked out for her. Blood had always seemed different from family, and looking back at her friends around the campfire, that impression pressed deeper.

  She turned back to Gully. ‘We have to save Ned first,’ she said. ‘And stop Whistler, if we can. Then we’ll … figure something out.’

  The birds woke Ottilie just before dawn. She was no stranger to sleeping on the ground, but it had been a long time since she’d had to deal with the stiffness. Leo was leaning against Maestro’s side. He was pale, possibly from broken sleep. Ottilie knew that look in his eyes, knew the way his jaw was set and his fingers were clenched. He was nervous. She tried to shoot him a smile, but couldn’t quite manage it.

  Leo dug into the food bag and tossed Ottilie an apple. Gully yawned and sat up beside her. She passed him the apple and he screwed up his face.

  Ottilie pressed it harder into his hand. ‘Eat it or you’re not coming,’ she said.

  ‘Fine,’ Gully croaked, tearing a shred of the red skin off with his teeth.

  Skip wandered over from the river with an armful of filled waterskins.

  Leo was staring at Maeve, and Ottilie followed his gaze. All around her, the fallen leaves were lifting a little off the ground and floating back down with her breath. It was mesmerising. So peaceful. Ottilie watched the leaves lift and fall, breath after breath, and wished she didn’t have to wake her.