‘We’ve been through this before – Maestro can take three people!’ said Skip, kicking the barrel again.
‘He’s not a boat!’ snapped Leo. ‘If we’re going to be beating off dredretches and dodging Whistler we can’t just load him up like a cargo ship!’
‘We don’t have time for this,’ said Ottilie. ‘We have to go. Bill, any sign of her yet?’
Bill lifted up one elbow like a chicken wing.
‘Does that mean no?’ said Scoot.
Ottilie looked at Maeve, who shook her head.
‘You promised,’ said Gully quietly. ‘You said you wouldn’t leave me behind again.’
Ottilie was about to argue, but he was right. She had promised, and anyway, he was in just as much danger at Fiory as he would be with her. At least this way they could look out for each other.
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Gully comes with us.’
They all turned to Leo. ‘Don’t look at me,’ he said. ‘I’m not taking anyone.’
‘The Withering Wood!’ Maeve burst out.
Bill’s eyes were open. He nodded solemnly.
‘The magpie’s seen Whistler –’
‘At the big dead tree that looks like a spider,’ Bill finished for her.
Scoot looked back and forth between them. ‘So, are you just one person now?’
‘She’s not a person,’ said Bill, crossing his eyes.
‘Yes, yes, she’s a bird,’ said Scoot. ‘I remember.’
Ottilie jumped up. ‘Let’s go,’ she said to Leo.
‘We’ll meet you there,’ said Skip.
Leo raised his eyebrows. ‘What?’
‘Am I speaking in Triptiq?’
Leo responded in a language that Ottilie didn’t understand. Skip looked flummoxed.
Preddy cleared his throat and explained, ‘He said, “No, I speak Triptiq.”’
Skip was clearly trying not to smile. ‘I said, we’ll meet you there! You’re not the boss of me, Leo. We’ll find a way out.’
‘We can try the bone singers,’ said Ned. ‘At least one of them has to know a secret entry point to the fort – that’s how Gracie got the wylers in, remember?’
‘They won’t tell you anything,’ said Ottilie. ‘I’ve tried talking to Bonnie before.’
‘Anyway, they’re probably asleep,’ said Scoot.
Ned shook his head. ‘Bone singers can all ward – they don’t wear rings. And I bet they’ll speak up if we tell them an army of dredretches is headed here.’
Ottilie moved over to Nox’s pen, and Ned followed her and Gully inside. She changed Nox’s saddle from the single to the double, and moved towards the ladder down to the field. Through the wide open doors, she could see the others gathering below.
‘Be careful out there,’ said Ned, to both of them.
Ottilie glanced at her thumb. Her ring was in her pocket. She was going to have to ward. She already felt sick at the thought of it.
‘You can do it,’ he said, just to her.
They stared at each other for a moment. Ned looked unable to make up his mind about something. Ottilie’s heart started beating very fast. She hadn’t seen this coming. She didn’t even understand where it came from.
She was caught between stepping towards Ned and turning away. The result was an awkward trip forward, and Ned stepped in to meet her. Ottilie found her feet, and without another thought she rose up onto her toes and kissed him.
It was like slipping beneath water. Safety and peril in the same instant. Slow but fleeting.
They parted in unison. Ned’s eyes were smiling. Ottilie couldn’t think. She sensed Gully looking between them and turned to him. Grinning, he said, ‘What is happening right now?’
‘Why does everyone keep doing that today!’ said Leo from the field below. Ottilie was relieved to hear Scoot’s responding laugh.
It took a fair bit of concentration to get down the ladder. She was giddy, weightless. Although meeting Ned’s eye was terrifying, she was completely incapable of looking away. She couldn’t quite feel it, but her feet hit the ground, and Ned and Gully followed after.
Ottilie hugged Scoot. ‘You better still be breathing when this is over.’ She gripped his upper arms, pressing her fingers into his flesh – a reminder that he was warm and walking.
‘Promise,’ he said.
Ottilie looked around. ‘Where’s Bill?’
Maeve climbed down the ladder from Maestro’s empty pen. ‘He’s still in there. He’s talking to the birds.’ It was better that way. Bill had never been good at partings.
She squared her shoulders and looked up at the boundary walls. To anyone watching, it would look like they were fleeing – deserting Fiory in its hour of need. Gripping Nox’s saddle, she mustered her courage. She pulled herself up and Gully followed behind her, quickly buckling in his legs. Ottilie nodded to Leo and together Nox and Maestro leapt into the air.
39
The Witch in the Wood
As they flew out over the trees, Ottilie did her best not to think about warding. She couldn’t deny that the sick feeling and heavy-headedness were increasing.
A lone vorrigle beat its featherless wings, rising up from a webwood grove. Ottilie’s head thumped, her stomach churning.
Leo shot it down and looked over at her. ‘You can do better than that!’ he barked, but she knew there was real concern behind it.
She looked back at Maeve, following behind. Should she have let Leo and Maeve handle this alone? Maybe she was just a burden. She might get them all killed … and now she’d dragged Gully into it, too.
In the midst of her worry, something occurred to her. Ottilie turned and called over the wind. ‘Leo –’ It came out with such purpose, but she wasn’t sure how to say what she wanted to – how to get it across to him. Finally, she chose the only words that made sense to her. ‘You’re my brother.’
Leo scanned her face as if seeking signs the sickness had turned her mind. ‘You know something I don’t?’
She was determined that he hear it. ‘You’re a brother to me.’
‘All right, Ott, calm down.’
‘I mean it, Leo!’
To her surprise, Leo’s face clouded. ‘Stop it,’ he snapped.
‘Stop what?’
‘Saying goodbye! You can ward. Just pull yourself together and believe it!’ He glared at her. ‘And I do – you too – I mean – me … you know what I mean!’
Gully shot down a flare that was circling below. The lizard-like beast splintered in a shower of sparks, shards of scale and bone scattering across the canopy. ‘You two should really start paying attention!’ he said, looking around for the others – flares almost always travelled in threes.
Ottilie felt a smile creep onto her face. The flare hadn’t affected her. She didn’t feel sick. She hadn’t even noticed it.
‘He’s right, you just have to believe you can do it,’ said Gully, in her ear. ‘That’s the trick. There has to be no doubt in your mind that you won’t get sick – don’t even think about it.’
‘I don’t know if I can do no doubt,’ said Ottilie, her confidence already fading. No wonder Gully was so good at warding. He was the sort of kid who wanted to climb a tree in a thunderstorm. He didn’t think things through. But she had to master it – there was no choice. If she couldn’t ward, she would tumble off Nox into the blackened forest they had just begun to cover. She might not be good at dealing with doubt, but she was good at being strong-willed and determined. That had to help, surely?
The second and third flares were nowhere to be seen, which wasn’t particularly comforting. In fact, they didn’t encounter any more dredretches at all. Ottilie thought she knew why. There were no dredretches in the area because they were on their way to Fiory.
They had left Montie and Alba in the infirmary. Perhaps they should have put them somewhere more secure. And what of Bill? He wasn’t human, so the dredretches shouldn’t be interested in him. But a bloodbeast could be. She only hoped his hiding skills
had improved.
Ottilie fixed her mind to the present as they approached the heart of the Withering Wood. There was no point in trying to sneak up on Whistler. After all, they had come to speak with her. It was eerie, this peaceful approach. Ottilie drew an arrow as Nox circled lower, but no attack came.
A figure became visible between the deadened branches: Whistler, all alone, watching them drift in, as softly and silently as smugglers mooring at midnight.
Nox and Maestro touched down by the philowood tree.
Whistler met Ottilie’s eye, a look of surprised amusement on her face. ‘I don’t remember inviting you.’ She glanced upwards, as if trying to remember something. ‘Shouldn’t you be flavouring a batch of tomb soup?’
‘We got out,’ said Ottilie, gripping her bow and arrow tighter.
‘Bravo,’ said Whistler. ‘But shuffle off, would you? I’ve got an appointment.’
Ottilie risked taking her eyes off Whistler to scan the area. An appointment? With who? The king? But he was locked safely in Fiory.
That was when she spotted it. Set inside an old stump, a small copper cauldron was gently simmering, with faint spirals of violet steam trailing in the wrong direction – down rather than up.
Whistler liked answering questions. It seemed the safest way to begin.
‘How did you make everyone sleep?’ said Ottilie. She sensed movement behind Nox, and glanced back to see Maeve landing in a tree high above.
‘Neat little trick, wasn’t it?’ said Whistler, leaning back against a branch of the philowood tree. ‘You remember the pipe? Ordinary folk couldn’t wield something so evil without a bit of protection.’ She seemed to force a smile, and Ottilie wondered why. Even now, after everything Whistler had done, Ottilie couldn’t believe that she truly looked down on people for not being able to enact evil. She was sure that smile was to cover something else. Something deep down … Could it be regret? Everyone wants to be good, don’t they? Maeve had said that. It seemed Whistler had chosen a dark path and walked so far down it that she couldn’t find the way back.
Whistler’s eyes met hers. For a moment, Ottilie worried that she could read her thoughts – that she’d angered her. But she simply continued, ‘Clever Seika had the pipe bound with the metal from a warding ring she’d forged herself – a device her coven had been experimenting with to protect people from the fendevil. It was the only way she could use the pipe without getting sick.’
Ottilie felt the weight of her own ring in her pocket.
‘Afterwards, the witches made hundreds and hundreds of rings, using the same protective charm,’ said Whistler, quite conversationally. ‘They made as many as they could, wanting to safeguard as many people as possible if another fendevil ever emerged.
‘The rings are all connected,’ she went on. ‘Kin, if you will. Made from the same metal, charmed by the same witches. That’s how I was able to send my message to those who had displeased me. Change one, change them all – or most of them.’ Her mouth twitched into a smile. ‘I’m sure you noticed, I left you off that list. I’d have changed it after the business in the tomb, but I’ve been rather busy … and of course I thought I’d already dealt with you.’
It made sense now that the rings had been marked with a line from the lightning song. More clues from those ancient witches about the whereabouts of the pipe.
‘Why does everyone think you made the rings if you didn’t?’ said Leo.
She smiled a cat’s smile. ‘White lie. I needed to make myself invaluable to the Hunt, so they would keep me around and let me do as I pleased.
‘It’s still thanks to me that they have them. The rings were hidden in the canyon caves – buried deep during the witch purge. I sought them out – studied the ancient texts and deciphered the clues. It was no easy task. Besides, they would never have used the rings if they knew they were made by witches.’
‘How did you convince them you were just a mystic?’ said Ottilie. ‘Everyone knows mystics can’t really do anything. How could they believe those rings weren’t from witch magic?’
‘It’s amazing what people will believe when it’s convenient for them,’ said Whistler, her eyes falling on Leo.
‘What has this got to do with making everyone sleep?’ said Leo.
‘Long story short: the rings are all linked, and the very first one was embedded in the pipe, in order to cancel out the toxicity of the sleepless witch’s bones. That way, a good person could wield the pipe without getting poisoned,’ said Whistler.
‘So you made them sleep using the pipe?’ said Ottilie.
‘Clever, wasn’t it?’ said Whistler. ‘Turns out it’s not just the dredretches you can control with this thing.’ She pulled the pipe from her pocket and clutched it in her sleeve. ‘Bit of a design flaw, really.’
‘Why make everyone sleep, then?’ said Leo. ‘Why didn’t you just kill them all and be done with it?’
‘My, my, such a violent mind for one so young!’ She slowed her speech, as if she thought him dim-witted. ‘The rings are linked by a protective charm, you half-grown thug. I can’t do any harm with it.’
Leo seemed to have heard enough. Aiming an arrow, he said, ‘Wake them up.’
Whistler didn’t respond. There was a rustling all around. Ottilie’s skin prickled. She would not get sick. She would not!
Maeve swooped lower, her eyes set ahead.
In a moment, Ottilie saw what the owl’s eyes had caught first. Through the wilted trees, wylers prowled; a mass of fiery fur. Just behind them, Gracie was riding the white wyler, leading a lumbering shape with a rope.
40
The Afterlife
‘Ah, Varrio,’ said Whistler. ‘Thank you for joining us.’
Ottilie breathed through her nausea and fixed her gaze on the king.
With bound hands, Varrio Sol stumbled through the muck. His skin was greener than before, and his eyes so wide his entire face seemed warped. He looked like a man just woken from a nightmare, not quite sure how to reach reality.
Ottilie forced her focus back to the pipe. If they could just get it away from Whistler, perhaps Maeve would be able to use it to wake everyone up.
Whistler looked at Gracie. ‘Did he give you any trouble?’
Gracie cocked her head and made an impossible sound, like a calm shriek.
Ottilie’s throat pulled tight. When was the last time she had heard Gracie speak? Was she even capable of it anymore? Whistler was a fiorn who could shift between her witch and winged forms. But whatever this binding was, whatever had been done to the bone singers, it was different. Had they known, when they chose to join Whistler – when they chose to be bound to bloodbeasts – had they known what they would become?
‘Fennix,’ snarled the king. ‘Have this creature release me!’ His eyes flicked to Gracie and away again, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her.
Whistler waved her sleeve. ‘Of course.’
Gracie’s smile sent chills down Ottilie’s spine. It was not an expression of mirth or joy. A human smile was beyond her now. As if the muscles still knew what to do, but the feeling behind it was gone. Just a creature baring its teeth.
Ottilie could see the king’s hands shaking as Gracie gently unbound his wrists. Whistler had him now. While the dredretches tore down the Usklers’ only defence against them, she was going to settle her score.
Whistler’s eyes flashed not with magic, but deep human rage. ‘Do you know what I’m standing on, Varrio?’ She did not wait for an answer. ‘I’m standing on Maia.’
The king blanched. ‘What are you talking about?’ he hissed.
‘Forgotten her so soon?’ said Whistler.
Ottilie felt the air liven, curling around her and invading her insides with the scent of the Withering Wood. She coughed and, behind her, Gully gagged, but Whistler did not seem to notice.
‘Of course, you were busy,’ she said. ‘I heard you had the second one trampled by a horse … smart to go for something so different to the first
.’
She didn’t know. Whistler didn’t know that the king’s second daughter still lived, that she’d met her. What she longed for had been under her nose all this time. She’d looked for the wrong thing.
When she’d first joined the Hunt, Ottilie had lied about who she was. Her deception had caught Whistler’s attention. So had Maeve’s isolation and power. Gracie’s cruelty. Despite everything, despite believing herself a champion of the mistreated, the unwanted, Whistler had overlooked Skip.
‘That was an accident,’ said the king. ‘Beyond my control.’ He lurched, as if about to be sick. ‘As was Maia’s illness,’ he managed to splutter.
The moment he spoke her name, the deadened leaves began to rustle and a hot wind whipped up.
‘Get on with it!’ croaked the king, clutching at his throat. ‘You brought me out here to kill me. So do it.’
Whistler winked at Gracie, who whipped out her knives, spun them in her palms and lunged at the king.
Varrio squealed and fell to his knees. ‘No, please! Spare me. I’LL DO ANYTHING!’
‘There’s my coward,’ said Whistler. ‘Don’t worry, Varrio. I’m not going to kill you. Quite the opposite.’
His eyes fell on the cauldron, and for a moment the cheery bubbling was all Ottilie could hear.
‘I thought about how to punish you for a very long time,’ said Whistler. ‘At first I thought death a good option … especially if you ended up down there.’ She dug her heel into the festering soil. ‘Facing eternal torment.’ She clicked her tongue. ‘But that’s the trouble. We can’t be sure about what comes next. No-one really knows what happens after death … where we go. It could be nothing at all – oblivion – far too good for you. But then I thought, eternal torment sounds quite good, doesn’t it?’
With a pop and a snap, Maeve was a girl again, standing between Nox and Maestro. Ottilie tried to catch her eye. Why had she changed?
Whistler didn’t acknowledge the disturbance. She merely gazed fondly at Gracie’s wylers, then waved a sleeve over the bubbling cauldron. ‘I can’t reliably send you to a world of endless pain and violence, but after seeing the hell my devil of a father wreaked upon the Laklands … I realised I could bring it to you.’
Ottilie Colter and the Withering World Page 19
