Ottilie Colter and the Narroway Hunt

by Rhiannon Williams

  ‘Never mind that, go on,’ said Montie, without turning around. ‘Go and discuss whatever it is you’re sneaking off to talk about.’

  Alba grinned and ushered Ottilie out the door, clearly bursting with news. ‘I’ve looked everywhere, Ottilie,’ she said breathlessly, as they slipped through the outdoor entrance to the cellar. ‘There’s nothing in the library. Not a word about the rule of innocence – even in the old legends from the Lore, which they say are mostly myths and fables.’

  Alba lit the lamps and Ottilie jerked the door shut, hugging herself in the cold. ‘So you think it’s not real? It’s a lie?’ She found herself whispering, even though there were only moths to overhear.

  ‘Well. That’s the thing. I’ve read every book in that library, and I’ve …’ She looked sheepish. ‘I’ve even had a look in some of the private libraries.’

  ‘What private libraries?’ said Ottilie, settling down on top of a stepladder.

  ‘Some wranglers and directors have their own collections. I’ve made my way through most of them, but not Conductor Edderfed’s. His security system is much more complicated than the rest of them.’ An expression of deep annoyance narrowed her usually owl-like eyes.

  ‘You’ve been breaking in?’ said Ottilie in awe.

  ‘They’ve got all the interesting books in there. The main library only has books on dredretches, but the directors have books on history, philosophy, healing … everything. I know my way around this place better than anyone, and, well, one of the sculkies taught me how to pick a lock a couple of years ago – your friend, actually, Isla Skipper.’

  ‘You know Skip?’

  ‘We all know each other. Who else is there to know?’

  Ottilie glanced at the door. ‘Does your mum know about this?’ She smiled, realising Alba reminded her of Bill. Alba appeared to be a fairly timid creature, yet she was always creeping in the shadows, appearing from secret tunnels and, apparently, stealing from important authority figures.

  ‘Do you know, I think she does. That’s why she gets so mad at me when I’m off reading. She knows I’m doing the wrong thing. She never stops me though.’ A twitchy, guilty grin lit up her face. ‘But Ottilie, here’s the thing. I’ve never been into the bone singers’ scrolls before, and I found something. It was an unfinished collection of stories, and there was one about the king, our current king, Varrio Sol.’

  Ottilie’s heart began to race. ‘What? What did it say?’

  ‘It was about a hex that a witch put on him. I almost passed over it, but then I read she hexed him so that he could send no man to fight to defend his kingdom. Afterwards, he was left with two choices: give up the crown, or rule knowing that for his entire reign, his kingdom would go unprotected. Do you think that could be something?’

  Ottilie pondered it. A hex? But the witches were all gone. They were dead and buried a long time ago. ‘Do you really think there could still be witches out there?’

  Alba didn’t look afraid. ‘It’s possible, just in secret … the same as how there are still Laklanders in the Usklers.’

  Ottilie shivered and glanced at the door. ‘So if he’s hexed so that he can’t send any man to fight … and the dredretches started showing up in the west … then what? He made a secret child army to deal with the problem?’

  ‘It was the only link I could make,’ said Alba.

  It was a link. It fit. ‘But it’s just a story?’

  Alba shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but it’s the only thing I’ve found that comes close to explaining why they would make up the rule of innocence.’

  ‘But, if it is true … who knows about it? I’ve never heard the story before. Do you think the wranglers know?’ Surely these people residing in the Narroway knew whether they were capable of felling a dredretch. Was it possible none of them had ever tried?

  ‘I couldn’t say for sure. But logically, if it is true, the king wouldn’t want anyone to know. If people knew he couldn’t defend the kingdom, he’d be de-throned, maybe even assassinated. I think he made up the rule of innocence to cover himself. It explains why the Hunt is such a big secret. The less people who know what’s going on, the less questions are asked, and the less people there are to silence if they stumble across the truth.’

  ‘I need some air,’ Ottilie muttered.

  The idea that witches were running around hexing kings was too much for her to handle that evening. She unlatched the door and shoved it open with her foot. Lantern light flooded the night, revealing three barrows of freshly harvested vegetables that they were yet to put away. ‘We should probably start on that,’ said Ottilie, grateful for the distraction.

  ‘Good idea,’ said Alba.

  Half an hour later, Ottilie wandered back down to the sculkie quarters with a carrot in her hand and her head in a dream. Igor Thrike was leaning against a wall, talking to Maeve Moth. When Ottilie approached, he stuck out his foot to trip her. Ottilie stepped over it without so much as a glance in his direction. She had more important things to think about.

  A hex. A witch had hexed the king. The dredretches were a threat to his kingdom, an invasion approaching from the west, and he could not send his armies to meet them. She knew there was little evidence to support the theory, but the rule of innocence had never sat well with her, and this seemed to fit. Ottilie wasn’t sure how she felt about the story, or the lies. But as it stood, with the current, deceitful king in power, only the Hunt could protect the Usklers from the dredretches, and more than anything Ottilie wished she could be part of that again.

  29

  The Wind and the Watcher

  The wagon rattled, bumping and jerking on uneven ground. Ottilie was being sent into the heart of the forest, in the direction of the Withering Wood. The usually docile mountain bucks were troubled. She could hear them huffing and snorting as they neared the poisonous patch of trees.

  She was working with the same pair of bone singers from weeks ago, when she had been attacked by the pack of lycoats with Gully and Ned. She knew now that the girl’s name was Bonnie and the boy’s was Nicolai. Their guards were two fifth-tier mounts. They rode ahead of the wagon, scanning the way for any sign of trouble.

  Summer was ebbing away. The days had grown colder very quickly and the mornings even more so. The early morning sky was heavy with dark clouds. An icy wind swept through the open-ended wagon, making Ottilie’s teeth chatter. She hoped they’d stop soon. At least once she started digging she would warm up a bit.

  She shivered. She had that awful feeling again, the strange sense that she was being watched. She glanced over at Bonnie. Her faint eyebrows were drawn together in a frown. ‘What is it?’ said Ottilie.

  ‘I don’t like nearing the Withering Wood,’ said Bonnie, a shadow passing over her eyes.

  But the work needed to be done. They started with the bones closest to the Withering Wood and then began making their way back towards Fiory. Ottilie felt shivery and agitated and kept pausing to glance at shapes and shadows between the trees.

  A warm breeze slithered into the clearing. Warm? Why was it warm? It had the stench of rancid dredretch flesh. The wind had carried the scent from the Withering Wood. Ottilie retched, her stomach retracting. She lurched down onto the ground and vomited.

  She froze, her hand raised to wipe her mouth. A dark figure was standing between the trees. Hooded and cloaked, it was too far off to recognise, but there was definitely someone there, watching her. Ottilie’s heart pounded in her ears. It couldn’t be a huntsman. Footmen were always at least in a pair, and there was no sign of a horse or a wingerslink. Anyway, huntsmen didn’t wear cloaks. A wrangler? A director? No. They would never wander, unguarded, so far from a station. She had seen this figure before. She knew it. Ottilie took a breath and clambered to her feet. She stepped towards the figure and the mountain buck behind her let out a terrified shriek.

  Ottilie whipped around. A greeve, like a fanged reptilian stoat, sprang out from beneath a bramble bush and raced at Nicolai. Ottilie whist
led for the guards, but they were already there, shoving Nicolai out of the way and bracing to defend him. Greeves were almost impossible to catch. They were one of the quickest land-based dredretches. It would take the guards a while to eliminate the threat.

  Above the horses’ snorts and bucks’ shrieks, Ottilie heard a wingerslink roar – there was a flyer nearby.

  The guards fired arrow after arrow at the greeve, missing by a whisker each time. Ottilie kept her shovel raised, ready to strike. Another hot breeze blew through the trees and another wave of nausea overcame her. It took all of her strength not to throw up again.

  A dreadful grunting growl rolled through the clearing. Everyone froze, even the greeve. The ground seemed to shake as hooves thundered and low-hanging branches were ripped from the trees.

  A scorver crashed through the undergrowth. Twice the size of the mountain bucks, the scorver had slimy, greyish skin with razor-sharp spines down its back. Its wolf-like snout was filled with four rows of pointed yellow teeth.

  Despite their horrific appearance, scorvers were thin-skinned, and relatively easy to deal with – although perhaps not so much with a greeve running underfoot. The scorver snarled and rumbled. This was followed by a shrill whistling from the greeve, and more terrified shrieks from the bucks. But over all of it, Ottilie heard the wingerslink roar again.

  The guards sprang into action, and the bone singers started humming and sprinkling salt around themselves while turning in slow circles. They looked like they had lost their minds. Ottilie didn’t move. She heard it again. It was Maestro, she was sure of it. But it wasn’t his normal war cry. He was distressed. Something was wrong.

  There was nothing to be done; the guards had their hands full with the scorver and the greeve. Ottilie made a split-second decision. Clutching her shovel, she crashed back towards the Withering Wood, following the sound of Maestro’s distant roars. If the guards called after her, she didn’t hear them. The sounds led her to the edge of a ravine. Despite the recent rain, the water was mostly dried up so close to the Withering Wood. Puffing hard, Ottilie stumbled along the edge. Maestro roared again and this time she heard something respond; a deafening screech, like a hundred bats shrieking at once. Ottilie threw her free hand over one ear and pushed herself to a sprint.

  She could see them. The ravine wound all the way to the edge of the Withering Wood. Far below, in the blackened, cracking mud, Leo was trapped on the ground, his back to a vertical cliff face. Maestro was in front of him, wings flapping wildly as he roared, standing between Leo and the most horrifying dredretch Ottilie had ever seen.

  Twice Maestro’s size, the dredretch looked like an enormous scaly bat. It had tufts of black fur sticking out between vast green, crusting scales. Fangs the length of Ottilie’s arm stretched out of its jaws. A long, scaly tail swung behind it, lined with spines and ending in a mace-like tip the size of a small boulder.

  Maestro braced and roared, swatting at the air between him and the dredretch, trying to keep it back. Ottilie noticed he was limping. The great batlike beast screeched again, hovering in the air just above Maestro. The sound made Ottilie’s teeth chatter. She gritted her jaw shut and leapt, half-tumbling, half-climbing down the edge of the ravine.

  She tripped and stumbled across the cracked riverbed, smacking her shin on a rock. Squawks sounded somewhere above. Her head snapped up. Jivvies. Leo must have been bleeding.

  ‘Ott!’ Leo called to her. ‘I’m stuck – help me lift this!’

  His leg was trapped beneath a rock. Ottilie pulled herself upright, but something froze her in place. Directly above Leo, at the top of the cliff between two blackened trees, stood the hooded figure. Watching. Ottilie’s heart raced. Witch. She didn’t know why, but it was all she could think. Witch.

  The jivvies shrieked, circling lower and lower. Leo fired at them, missing again and again. He couldn’t get the angle right from his position on the ground. Ottilie tore her eyes away from the figure and dashed towards him.

  Leo fired again.

  ‘Stop wasting arrows!’ She threw her shovel aside and snatched the bow from his hand just as the jivvies dived. Firing in quick succession, she took out three in a row. The fourth, savage with bloodlust, knocked the fifth out of the air, severing its head with its beak. Maestro roared and swatted again. Ottilie shot at the last jivvie, missing its heart but piercing the wing. It was enough. She needed to get Leo out from under the rock.

  ‘Here,’ he grunted, trying to push the rock off his leg, ‘help me lift it.’

  Ottilie latched her fingers underneath, pulling hard.

  ‘Where’s Preddy?’ she panted, realising he should have been with Leo. Had something happened to him? Was he hurt?

  Gritting his teeth with effort, Leo said between breaths, ‘He – had – training – not – with me.’ The rock lifted just enough for Leo to pull his leg out from under it. He let out a sound that was something like a groan of pain and sigh of relief all in one. ‘We need to get out of here,’ Leo grunted. ‘Maestro’s hurt.’

  That very second the dredretch screeched and knocked Maestro out of the way with its mace-like tail. Tumbling across the cracked earth, he hit the cliff face with a crunch. Leo roared with rage. He tried to stand but his injured leg couldn’t take his weight.

  Knees quaking, Ottilie raised Leo’s bow and faced the dredretch. Its wings tucked back, snorting wildly, the dredretch charged at them on foot. Ottilie shot it in the chest but it didn’t so much as flinch.

  ‘Eye, it’ll have to be the eye!’ said Leo, glancing frantically back and forth between the recovering wingerslink and the advancing dredretch.

  ‘Leo, I can’t shoot its eye!’ said Ottilie. The dredretch had eyes the size of grapes. The target was too small. Thinking fast, she aimed again, shooting an arrow into its fleshy foot. The dredretch faltered and stumbled. Ottilie whistled for Maestro and shot an arrow into its other foot, giving the injured wingerslink time to limp across to her. Ottilie helped Leo upright, leaned him against Maestro’s side and clambered up into the saddle before reaching down and hoisting Leo up in front of her. Leo was out on his own so it was only the single saddle, but they could just fit together. His leg was useless. He couldn’t grip. Ottilie helped him buckle his legs into the straps as Maestro beat his wings, lifting up into the air. Down below, the dredretch ripped the arrows out of its feet with its jaws. Shattering them to splinters, it screeched and rose into the air to meet them.

  Leo couldn’t squeeze both his legs so Ottilie had to take control. Steering Maestro in a wide circle, she said, ‘Can we outrun it?’

  ‘No. I don’t think so.’

  The dredretch folded its wings and shot at them like an arrow. Ottilie, having no idea what to do, let Maestro take the lead. The wingerslink rolled in the air and lashed out at the dredretch’s underbelly with his claws. He tore a gash in its scaled stomach, but it healed immediately. The dredretch shrieked in protest, spun in the air, and readied for another advance.

  ‘I can get the eye,’ said Leo. ‘Give me the bow.’

  Ottilie passed it over. Nocking an arrow, Leo drew his arm back, but the saddle was too small and Ottilie’s body was in his way. There was nothing she could do. She couldn’t bend far enough to clear the space and still grip on with her legs. The dredretch lunged at them and Leo fired. The arrow just grazed the side of its head. Leo snarled in frustration. Maestro lurched sideways to avoid the dredretch’s jaws, and Ottilie, who had been leaning away to try to give Leo room to aim, was nearly flung clean off.

  Grabbing Leo’s arm and gripping harder with her legs than she ever had before, Ottilie righted herself. The dredretch circled below, preparing to attack again. But Leo couldn’t aim with her so close behind him.

  There was nothing else to do.

  Terror rattled her bones as Ottilie shifted her weight. Her fingers shook, but she locked her grip and swung off the side of the saddle. Holding onto the straps that bound Leo’s good leg, Ottilie dangled below like bait on a fishing
line.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Leo bellowed.

  The fear was overwhelming. Her entire body seemed to pulse with the rapid pounding of her heart.

  The dredretch screeched and shot up towards her feet, fangs bared.

  Arm straining and fingers slipping, she barked, ‘Just shoot it, Leonard!’

  ‘Don’t you dare fall!’

  ‘Concentrate!’

  Leo took aim. The dredretch tore upwards. Its jaws were an inch from her toes when the arrow struck. Leo’s arrow embedded itself in the dredretch’s beady eye. Without so much as a groan, its batlike wings spread wide and disintegrated into festering skeletal scraps as it plummeted down into the Withering Wood.

  Leo gripped her forearm and Ottilie hoisted herself back up behind him. She glanced down and saw a steady stream of red blood dripping down the wingerslink’s side.

  ‘We need to get him home,’ said Leo, stroking Maestro’s pale neck.

  ‘I left my shovel,’ said Ottilie, her eyes slipping down to the trees in a daze.

  Leo coughed up a bark of laughter, which was cut off immediately as Maestro shuddered beneath them. Leo tensed and buried his hands in Maestro’s sweat-matted fur. ‘You’re all right,’ he muttered, more to himself than the wingerslink. ‘Come on. Home.’

  30

  Mending

  Soaring above the trees, over the Red Canyon, across the fields, and finally sweeping down to land just within the Fiory boundary walls, Maestro didn’t falter once. A wingerslink landing in the upper grounds drew plenty of attention; wranglers and huntsmen on watch duty along the wall rushed towards them, and only when Leo had been helped down from the saddle by two fourth-tiers did Maestro slump onto the grass with a terrifying growl of pain. There was too much blood, red and black, to make much sense of his wounds. But Ottilie could see a terrible gash on his left side that she thought was the source of most of the red blood.

  ‘Back off!’ Someone was trying to help Leo to the infirmary, but he shoved them away.