Ottilie Colter and the Narroway Hunt

by Rhiannon Williams

  ‘Right. Ott Colter. Swamp Hollows. Twelve. And we’re done.’ He passed the list to the dark-haired boy, Ned, who tucked it safely into a pouch on his belt.

  ‘We need to get moving if we want to get in before the weather clears up,’ said Leo, striding across the courtyard into the pouring rain. ‘Come on, lads. The sooner we get there, the sooner you’ll find out why you’re here.’

  ‘You’re lucky, boys,’ said the guard. ‘It’s a long walk, but a rainy day’s a good day in the Narroway.’

  8

  The Narroway

  Ottilie gazed up at the mountains ahead. Behind her lay a small, sharply angled guard tower built into the cliffs, where they had spent the night. Leo was leading them across a rocky valley. Rain trickled down their cloaks to the mossy grass as, two by two, they trudged along an indiscernible path.

  ‘Do you know what this place is?’

  Ottilie jumped. The boy beside her had spoken. Calming herself, she muttered, ‘No,’ without looking up.

  ‘That guard said the Narroway. Have you ever heard of the Narroway?’

  Ottilie shook her head and kept her hood low. She was terrified that if he looked her in the eye he would know she was not meant to be there.

  ‘I’ve never. It can’t be in the Usklers.’

  Despite the fact that he spoke in half a whisper, Ottilie could hear that his accent was clipped. He must have come from money. She stole a quick glance. The boy seemed harmless enough. He was lanky, with golden hair and unremarkable features but for the addition of clunky, round eyeglasses that magnified his pale eyes. That confirmed it – only wealthy people had eyeglasses. Or once-wealthy people who refused to sell them, like Mr Parch.

  ‘I don’t think we’re in the Usklers anymore,’ said Ottilie.

  ‘You’re Ott, aren’t you? Ott Colter?’

  Ottilie nodded.

  ‘I’m Preddy, well, Noel Preddy, but everyone calls me Preddy.’

  ‘I’ve heard of the Narroway,’ whispered a voice from behind. The speaker was a wiry, stooping fellow with dark olive skin. He spoke his words quickly and his accent was rough and difficult to understand, even for Ottilie, who was used to rough accents.

  ‘You have?’ said Preddy.

  ‘Don’t sound so surprised,’ said the boy.

  ‘You’ve read about it?’

  The boy let out a muffled bark of laughter. ‘Can’t read. Just heard it around. The Narroway used to be part of the Usklers, but they cut it off.’

  ‘Why?’ said Preddy.

  ‘It was the way to the Laklands. There was a road running through all the way there.’

  Ottilie blinked. She couldn’t remember reading about the Narroway in Our Walkable World.

  ‘The Laklands – the wasteland?’ said Preddy.

  ‘Wasn’t always a wasteland though, was it? Got chewed up by that old war,’ said the boy.

  ‘But why would they block off a bit of the Usklers just because it leads to the Laklands?’ said Ottilie. Were the Laklands not really empty?

  ‘Beats me,’ said the boy.

  ‘Well, there’s obviously a reason. Something must be going on in this place,’ said Preddy.

  ‘Must be. Otherwise, why would they bring us here?’ said the boy.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s strange that they’ve sent four boys to escort us?’ said Preddy. ‘That guard talked to that Leo Darby like the boy ranked above him, and he can’t be any older than me.’

  ‘How old are you?’ said Ottilie.

  ‘Thirteen.’

  ‘Twelve,’ said the other boy.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Preddy asked him.

  ‘Branter Scoot. I’m from Wikric.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Preddy.

  ‘I’m guessing different parts,’ said Branter Scoot, looking Preddy up and down.

  ‘That seems likely,’ said Preddy, somewhat sheepishly. He turned to Ottilie. ‘Do you remember what happened? How you ended up here?’

  Ottilie didn’t know what to say. Was she supposed to remember? Did any of the other boys remember? Thankfully, Branter Scoot got in first.

  ‘I can’t remember a thing.’

  ‘Me neither,’ said Ottilie.

  ‘The same for me,’ said Preddy. ‘It’s odd. It was as if I could feel the time passing. I knew I wasn’t home. I knew I was going somewhere else, but it all seems like a dream to me now.’

  ‘Was like that when it was happening,’ said Branter Scoot. ‘You don’t reckon we’re all dead, do you?’ he said seriously.

  ‘Highly unlikely that boys only travel to the everafter with other boys of a similar age and no girls at all,’ said Preddy.

  ‘I guess. Anyways, I don’t feel dead. Do you feel dead, Ott?’

  ‘No,’ said Ottilie. She was afraid to say too much, scared of giving herself away.

  The journey was long, slow and wet. Ottilie could almost track the time by the cycle of painful blisters that rose, rubbed and burst against her boots. Dense cloud and a constant drizzle of rain made their surroundings difficult to discern as they passed between the peaks of snow-capped mountains. Beyond, a blanket of mist rested over a vast lake. Preddy was panting quietly beside her and Ottilie was shivering beneath her cloak. Her sodden trousers clung to her ankles, but she was tolerably dry from the shins up.

  ‘Home stretch, boys,’ said Ned, patting Preddy on the shoulder and passing him a waterskin. ‘Just over the bridge, then you can rest for the last bit.’

  Ottilie thought she could see hills beyond, but the mist was so dense she couldn’t be sure. Only when they came to the end of the bridge could Ottilie see six or seven timber wagons waiting for them at the water’s edge. The wagons would have seemed perfectly ordinary if it weren’t for the pair of antlered deer tethered to the front of each one.

  ‘All aboard,’ called Leo.

  ‘They’re docile,’ said Ned, catching Ottilie staring at the bucks, their long reddish coats smoothed by the rain. ‘We use them because they don’t spook easily.’

  She nodded, unsure of what to say, and followed Preddy and Branter Scoot into a wagon. Ned jumped up in front. Ottilie slumped onto a seat beside Preddy. The relief was immeasurable. She was too tired to even shuffle a foot. No matter how bumpy and uncomfortable the ride, sitting down was bliss.

  It was still difficult to make out anything much in the way of scenery, but Ottilie could get a good enough sense of the landscape. First hills, then winding paths through dense forest. The air was thick, but fresh, and smelled of damp bark.

  About an hour or so after sundown, Ottilie could see lights ahead. The mist lessened and she could make out a broad field stretching all the way to an expanse of sprawling hills with more mountains beyond. Atop one of the hills lay a stone fortress, shining silver in the moonlight.

  ‘Wow,’ whispered Ottilie. She had never seen such grandeur. How had they built towers so tall? It was as if the stones had been piled up and pressed together by giants.

  Beside her, Branter Scoot narrowed his eyes. ‘This is our prison then?’ he muttered.

  ‘There you go, lads,’ called Leo from the wagon ahead. ‘Welcome to Fort Fiory.’

  Fiory? Ottilie knew that name. Fiory was one of the old gods from the Lore, the black eagle with eyes like hot coals, lord of the raptors.

  ‘Take a good look,’ said Leo. ‘Most of you won’t be staying long.’

  ‘What do you suppose he means by that?’ said Preddy.

  Ottilie shook her head and shrugged. It didn’t matter. She didn’t intend to stay long.

  The wagons stopped outside a high boundary wall. A solid wooden gate stretched above them, flanked by two fierce stone raptors, a steady stream of water pouring out of their open beaks. Leo pulled on a chain by the gate and a bell sounded.

  ‘Time to get out,’ said Ned, hopping down from beside the wagoner.

  Ottilie’s limbs had stiffened so much she felt she had aged seventy years.

  ‘Watch out for the shepherds,’ said
Leo, somewhat gleefully.

  ‘Shepherds? Like for sheep?’ said Branter Scoot.

  Ottilie wasn’t really listening. This was it. This was their destination. That could only mean one thing: Gully was inside Fort Fiory.

  The gates slid open with a great crunching and grinding, and they followed their guides inside. They trudged along a muddy track through a neatly maintained field. The lights along their path made a forest to the left just visible.

  She heard a gasp from somewhere in front. The boy directly ahead of her darted to the side, knocking Ottilie backwards. She fell to the ground. Tangled in her damp cloak, she looked up in horror as a rumbling growl rolled in from above.

  Staring directly into her eyes, fur black as the night that surrounded them, was an enormous wild dog, its teeth bared in a snarl. It took a single step towards her. Ottilie pictured its great jaws clamping around her neck, tearing at her throat, and wondered that she did not feel the impulse to scream. Something pulled at her elbow and she felt herself half-lifted, half-dragged, to the side.

  ‘She just wants to pass. Best get out of her way.’

  Ottilie stood up, shaking all over. She looked at the boy still gripping her elbow. It was Ned. ‘You’re all right,’ he said, patting her on the back.

  ‘Was that a shepherd?’ said Branter Scoot.

  ‘That’s a shepherd.’

  ‘What do they watch over?’ said Preddy.

  ‘You,’ said Ned.

  9

  Fort Fiory

  The rain finally cleared. A masked moon glowed feebly through the mist and a wash of stars blinked determinedly behind thin wisps of cloud. Ottilie was too tired to care. She barely perceived the uniformed boys roaming about or the occasional screech from beyond the turreted boundary wall.

  Ottilie was vaguely aware they had moved inside. The light was dim. The floor was hard. Her eyes were tired. She hardly noticed the exchange between Leo and a man with a bright blue coat and a silver-topped cane. It was only when the man addressed the captives that she snapped awake.

  ‘Bedtime, boys. There’ll be plenty of time for talk in the morning. You can divide yourselves between these two empty bedchambers,’ he gestured to two open doors, ‘and I’ve got a few spare beds in here with the earlier arrivals.’

  The earlier arrivals! Watching the man lift the old iron latch, Ottilie could barely contain her excitement. She counted down in her head. Five, four, three, two …

  Inside the chamber, it was too dark to distinguish features. There were twenty or so beds, many with large lumps upon them. One of those lumps had to be Gully.

  Ottilie tiptoed over to a spare bed by a tall window, without noticing Preddy and Branter Scoot following her lead. The man shut the door with a scrape.

  Pressing herself into a shadowy corner where no-one could see, Ottilie carefully peeled off her clothing and tugged on the green linen nightclothes she found at the end of the bed. It seemed silly putting clean clothing on over her sweaty, dirt-crusted limbs, but at least it was dry.

  Ottilie crinkled her nose and gazed down at the plump rectangle resting like a fallen cloud at the head of the bed. She had never had a pillow before. She sniffed it. It smelled of dried lavender and old dust. Ottilie clambered onto the bed and let her head rest upon it. She didn’t know what to think. It was nice, she supposed, but her neck felt strange.

  Ottilie tugged the blanket up to her chin and gazed across at all the sleeping lumps. She just had to wait until the other two fell asleep and then she would find him.

  It didn’t take long. In less than five minutes Preddy was snoring loudly, and not long after Branter Scoot joined in with a harmony of heavy breathing and nose-whistles.

  Ottilie slid out of bed, ready to scan each head for Gully’s black, curly hair. She crept over to the bed beside hers, and her heart leapt into her throat. The sleeping boy had discarded his pillow, banishing it to the end of the bed. It was Gully, right there, in the bed beside hers!

  A huge smile broke out over her face. She could have jumped in the air. She could have cried. There he was, unharmed and sleeping soundly as if nothing had happened at all. She had done it.

  ‘Gully,’ Ottilie whispered, her rapid heartbeat puncturing her breath.

  Gully twitched in his sleep.

  ‘Gully, wake up,’ she said, a little louder.

  ‘Go away, Ottilie,’ he mumbled.

  It took him a few seconds.

  Gully sat bolt upright, eyes wide. Ottilie threw her hand over his mouth and pressed a filthy finger to her lips, signalling for him to be quiet. His eyes relaxed a little, and he nodded. Ottilie removed her hand.

  ‘What … where’s your hair?’

  Ottilie beamed.

  Gully didn’t smile. ‘What are you doing here, Ottilie?’ he breathed, his dark eyes widening again.

  ‘I came to get you.’ Her smile faltered.

  ‘But … how?’

  ‘Well. I’m pretending to be a boy. You’ll have to pretend too – say I’m your brother.’ Ottilie’s heart rate increased. ‘Gully, what are we going to do?’ She felt rattled, as if her bones were coming apart at the joints. What in the world was she going to do now that she had found him? ‘What is this place? Why did they bring you here?’

  Gully shook his head. ‘I don’t know anything. I just woke up in a tower in a cliff with this ring on.’ He held up his thumb.

  ‘And no-one’s explained?’

  ‘Nothing. We only got here this afternoon. No-one knows what’s going on. Most of them are really scared. I keep thinking about running away but I don’t know where to go. They had guards watching us in the forest and I was scared of going out there alone anyway.’

  ‘Wh–’ Ottilie’s voice wavered. She couldn’t remember Gully ever admitting to feeling afraid. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I heard things on the way over, and there were shapes in the sky. There’s something out there. It made me feel funny. It went away when the rain started but I … I didn’t like it.’

  Gully had never been bothered by shadows or noises. Ottilie hadn’t thought it was possible to feel more worried. ‘What kind of things?’ she whispered.

  Gully shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never heard anything like it before.’

  ‘People or animals?’

  ‘Animals, I guess …’

  ‘You guess?’ A parade of fiendish beasts circled round and round in her mind. Claws shredding muscle, fangs cleaving bone …

  ‘Ottilie.’ Gully came back into focus. ‘We’ll get out of here. The two of us, we’ll make up a plan.’ He reached out and scrunched her cropped hair with his fingers. ‘You look funny with short hair.’

  Ottilie smiled.

  They slept late. No-one came in to wake them until mid-morning, which was lucky for Ottilie and Gully, considering they had been up talking most of the night. She had filled him in on all of it; Bill, the pickers, the stolen lists and her new name – Ott. Ottilie hated that she was using Ott. Only Gurt ever called her Ott, and Gurt was not one of her favourite people.

  ‘Rise and shine, boys! It’s a new day,’ hollered a voice from beyond the door.

  Ottilie rolled over and looked around the room. Most of the other boys looked like they had been awake for a while, but Branter Scoot was yawning, eyes half-closed, and Preddy was still lying flat on his stomach, snoring into his pillow.

  The door swung open and the same man from last night stepped inside, wearing the same ornate blue coat. He was thin and bandy-legged with dark curly hair, a pointed beard, and notably long fingers, which were wrapped around a black cane with a silver bird’s head for a handle.

  Branter Scoot leaned across his bed and kicked Preddy, who woke with a loud snort.

  ‘That’s the way. You’ve got a big day ahead. I suppose I should introduce myself: Captain Lyre. That’s L–Y–R–E, the instrument, not the sin. I am captain of ceremonies, and one of the directors here at Fiory. Now. Down to business. You unwashed westers, hands in the
air.’

  Ottilie, Preddy and Branter Scoot raised their hands.

  ‘Right, my little filthies, you’ll be washing that muck off – then we’ve got a nice change of clothes for you. The rest of you clean boys, you can change now while I’m having some breakfast sent up.’

  Captain Lyre had said two things that bothered Ottilie. The first was washing. Ottilie couldn’t bathe in front of anyone without blowing her cover. The second was breakfast. She had never heard of such a thing. What did he mean he was going to have breakfast sent up? Was breakfast a good thing or a bad thing?

  Captain Lyre whistled abruptly and Ottilie heard movement in the hall. She tried to keep her face neutral as, to her surprise, three girls entered the room. They were around her age, dressed simply in green dresses with aprons and pale orange napkins rolled up and knotted around their heads like headbands. Their black lace-up boots clicked on the floor as they moved about passing out piles of folded clothing.

  She noted the precision of their movements and the neat way they stood with their heels together, feet forming a little triangle. Girls didn’t move like that around the Brakkerswamp. Ottilie was slumping off the edge of her bed with her knees splaying out. She came closer to matching the boys’ posture than the girls – which was just as well, she supposed. Still, she couldn’t help wondering: were girls supposed to hold themselves differently? Why?

  ‘Come with me, you three,’ said Captain Lyre.

  Crossing the room, Ottilie noticed a dark-haired girl with sharp eyes. Her gaze was intense, unnaturally so, and Ottilie couldn’t comprehend what was behind it. Fearful that the girl could sense something amiss, Ottilie passed by as quickly as possible.

  ‘The springs are down that corridor and through those doors,’ said Captain Lyre. ‘You go right where you’re told and come back up to your room as soon as you’re sparkling. We’ve got your names. We’ll know if anyone’s missing and I promise you, we know this place a lot better than you do.’

  They nodded silently. Captain Lyre nudged Ottilie forwards with the silver beak of his cane. Ottilie felt like she had lost the feeling in her face. What was she going to do? How was she going to get out of this?