Snowbone

by Cat Weatherill

  Oh!” she said. “Oh!”

  She turned to Butterbur, and Figgis couldn't help but notice the expression on her face. Snowbone, hard little Snow-bone, had gone soft. Gooey soft. With her wide eyes and wondering mouth, she looked as if she'd found fairies.

  “Can I go in?” said Snowbone.

  To Figgis's surprise, his aunt smiled. In that moment, Butter-bur had seen herself in Snowbone. Many moons ago, she had been just the same: a guarded, prickly little girl whose heart was open only to animals. She nodded.

  Snowbone stepped through the stable door into ankle-deep hay and started exploring. She immediately noticed the patients weren't penned. They were mingling in perfect harmony. A bandaged pig was dozing beside a mule with saddle sores. A cow with hoof rot was sharing a hay bag with an itchy goat. On a beam above sat a cat with an amputated tail. On a cushion in the corner sprawled a dog with a bellyache.

  Snowbone went to each in turn, noting the strange-smelling ointments smeared on every wound. And when she returned to the surgery, she found Butterbur was mixing up something similar to treat Figgis. A small stove had been lit, and Butterbur was adding handfuls of this and sprinklings of that to a bubbling pot.

  “This is nearly ready,” said Butterbur. “Take off your shirt and sit down.”

  Figgis obeyed.

  Butterbur took a large, triangular piece of muslin and spooned the mixture onto it, then tied it round Figgis's body so the poultice was lying against the troublesome stump of his arm. “All done!” she said. “Now, I think it's time we joined the others for dinner.”

  And what a dinner it was! Wildwood pie, roast potatoes, carrots and gravy, with toffee-baked apples and cream to follow. The travelers feasted like kings and talked till midnight. Finally, they retired to their rooms, and if they found it strange that such a modest house should contain dozens of bedrooms, they didn't say so. They just clambered into their beds and, with the snow piling up outside, fell asleep wishing they could stay till spring.

  The house grew colder. Nothing could be heard except the ticking of a clock, the scratching of a mouse … and a bedroom door, slowly being opened. Footsteps padded across the floorboards. A hand reached out. A sleeper awoke.

  “Blackeye,” whispered Butterbur. “Come with me. Now.”

  Chapter 27

  utterbur took Blackeye to the surgery. The oil lamps were burning low; the animals were sleeping; the scent of the poultice lingered in the air.

  Butterbur pulled a stool out from under the table and sat Blackeye upon it. Then she took his face into her hands and turned it so his left eye—the black one—was facing her.

  “Tell me,” she said, examining it closely. “How good is your eyesight?”

  “Pretty good,” said Blackeye.

  “Just pretty good? No better than anyone else's?”

  Blackeye thought for a moment. “You're right,” he said. “It is better, now I think about it. When we were back at the beach, a ship went down in the storm and I saw it long before anyone else. I don't think Snowbone ever saw it, though she pretended she did. Her eyes are rubbish.”

  “This black eye of yours is very beautiful,” said Butterbur. “And very special.”

  “Would my parents have black eyes too?” said Blackeye.

  “No,” said Butterbur. “It's extremely rare. Maybe one in a million.”

  “You're kidding!” said Blackeye. “I thought it would be common.”

  “Oh, no,” said Butterbur. “Definitely not. Tell me, do you ever have … funny feelings? Like feeling that something's going to happen before it does? Or feeling like you're in two places at once?”

  “No!” said Blackeye, laughing.

  Butterbur smiled. “Well,” she said, “you're still young.”

  She pulled out a stool for herself while Blackeye wondered what on earth she meant.

  “Long ago,” said Butterbur, “in some parts of the world, people believed that a man's soul lived in his left eye. So when they went into battle, they gathered the bodies of the warriors they had killed, cut out their eyes and ate them.”

  “Urgh!” said Blackeye.

  “I agree!” said Butterbur. “But they thought it would make them strong. It would double their souls. Double their power.”

  “Does my black eye mean something?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Butterbur. “It means you have the ability to see beyond this world.”

  Blackeye was mystified. He stared at Butterbur. In the pink half-light of the room, her eyes were red as holly berries.

  “There are two worlds,” she said. “There's this world—and there's the Otherworld. That is the home of the Ancients.”

  “Where is this Otherworld?” said Blackeye.

  “Under our feet!” said Butterbur. “But if I took a shovel now and started to dig, I wouldn't find it. The Otherworld is real but it's hidden in a different dimension. I can't see it. B ut you can. You have special sight. Shadow-sight. You can go to the Otherworld. For you, it will be real.”

  “I don't want to go to the Otherworld.”

  “Oh, but you must!” said Butterbur. “The Ancients have given you this gift. You must use it.”

  “But how?” said Blackeye. “You say the Otherworld is real, but how do I find it?”

  “Well,” said Butterbur, “to travel into the Otherworld, you must leave your body behind. Your soul must do the journey alone. I can give you a potion that will help you the first time. So, what do you say? Are you ready to go?”

  Blackeye didn't know what to say. He couldn't help thinking it was all a dream. Soon he'd wake up, Manu would be snoring in the other bed and the smell of breakfast would be drifting up from the kitchen.

  But it wasn't a dream. It was very, very real.

  Butterbur was standing in the corner of the surgery now.

  She was kicking aside a rug.

  Pulling on a heavy ring set into the floor.

  Opening a secret trapdoor.

  And Blackeye heard himself saying, “Yes. I'm ready to go.”

  Chapter 28

  utterbur unhooked a lantern from the wall and led the way, down, down, down into a dark cave quite different from the surgery above. Here everything was damp and dingy The bottles and jars crouched like spiders in the shadows, clinging to rough shelves hewn in the rock walls.

  Butterbur hung the lantern from a hook in the middle of the ceiling and Blackeye saw a low couch.

  “Lie down.”

  Blackeye obeyed. Butterbur went to one of the shelves and returned with a small bottle containing a clear, amber liquid.

  “Drink this,” she said.

  “What will it do?” said Blackeye.

  “It will relax your mind,” said Butterbur. “I will watch over your body and be here when you return.”

  Blackeye took the bottle and drank it down.

  “Close your eyes,” said Butterbur. “Concentrate on your breathing. In, out. In, out. Nice and slow. In, out.”

  Blackeye breathed slowly, deeply, in, out, and waited for something to happen. Eventually he noticed a heaviness creeping up his body from his toes. Soon he couldn't move, even if he wanted to. He felt so heavy, he thought the couch would collapse under him.

  Then he seemed to be sinking. Down through the couch, down into the earth. He was leaving his body behind! The journey was beginning.

  He opened his eyes but there was nothing to see. Everything was black. And still the sensation went on—the gentle falling, down, down, down. Almost like falling into a deep, delicious sleep. He closed his eyes and journeyed on.

  Oh! Suddenly he wasn't moving anymore. Was he there? He lay quite still, not daring to move. He took a deep breath. The air was moist and smelled of soil. He opened his eyes.

  First, he looked at himself. He was all there, but he was shadowy. Transparent. He could see and smell and presumably hear, but it seemed he couldn't touch anything. He tried to feel the ground but his fingers disappeared into it, like smoke.

  Next, he
looked at his surroundings. He was in a tunnel, with earth all around him and a thick tangle of tree roots above.

  Blackeye cautiously stood up. He was clearly deep underground, but there was a strange twilight, enough to see by. He started down the tunnel. It twisted and turned, taking him deeper, and he couldn't help feeling he was in an enormous rabbit warren. Then he saw a mysterious blue glow ahead, and as he emerged into a sizable chamber, he discovered its source. There were blue flames flickering among the tree roots overhead, tumbling, climbing, chasing one another like squirrels.

  Blackeye had never seen anything so breathtakingly beautiful. He felt he could watch for hours. But he moved on. Tunnel after tunnel, chamber after chamber, all of them shimmering and shining, bathed in the same cool, celestial blue light, and all of them deserted.

  Blackeye drifted on, but the light was fading. Now the chambers were deathly dark. No roots, no fingers of flame. The air was thickening. A heavy muskiness permeated the burrow system. And the ground was moving.

  Blackeye hardly noticed it at first—it was no more than a faint trembling. But soon it became a rumble. The whole tunnel was shaking and he knew why.

  There was something coming.

  Blackeye froze. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. His legs seemed rooted to the ground. A wind battered his face as it rushed ahead of the horror. A beast-howl bark snapped at his ears.

  It was coming.

  Blackeye turned and started to run. Faster, faster, boot and brain: think-think-think-think-think-think-think!

  He didn't know where he was going. The Beast did, and it was getting closer. There was no way out, no escape, and the Beast was getting closer. He had no knife, no gun, no sword. The Beast had teeth and claws and it was getting closer.

  Stop! Blackeye skidded to a halt. “This isn't my body!” he said. He patted his thighs, his belly, his head. His hands passed right though. “This is just a projection! The Beast can't kill me … can it? Can it? Oh! Oh! Ohhhh!”

  A great black paw swiped round the bend in the tunnel. Cleaver claws sliced the air where Blackeye had been. But Blackeye was floating. Up, up, up through the blackness, up through the couch, back into his body. And when he dared to open his eyes, all he saw was the moon of Butterbur's face, golden in the gleam of the lantern.

  Chapter 29

  lackeye told Butterbur all he had seen. She nodded her head.

  “I have read this in the old books,” she said. “The roots are the roots of ashen trees and the flickering blue flames are the souls of the Ancestors. As long as the trees live, the souls remain tethered and the Ancestors thrive.”

  “And what about the Beast?” said Blackeye with a shudder.

  “Ah, the Beast!” she said. “That is the Spirit of the Land. The Spirit of Ashenpeake. Did you see what it looked like?”

  “No.”

  “That's a shame! I'd like to know, and the books never mention it.”

  “Why did it attack me?”

  “It was protecting the island, I imagine. Or the Ancients— the Otherworld is their home, remember. Anyway, young man, it's time you were in bed. So come!”

  They climbed the stone stairs back to the surgery.

  “I would like you to do this every night while you're here,” said Butterbur, concealing the trapdoor with the rug. “If you develop your skills, you can shadow-fly wherever you want. There are many things I can teach you. Will you come?”

  Blackeye nodded.

  “Good lad. But promise me this: you won't tell anyone what you're doing.”

  Mouse. Blackeye told her everything. There were no secrets between them. They were the best of friends. No, they were more than that. One day, they would be married. They both knew it.

  “You must promise me,” said Butterbur sternly. “Your friends will learn about it in time, but until then—” She put her finger to her lips.

  Blackeye promised. Then, with a yawn, he crept up the stairs to his room, carefully opened the door and slid into bed. Soon he was fast asleep, with Mouse and the soul-lights dancing through his dreams, fleet as the frost outside.

  Chapter 30

  he tiddlins stayed with Butterbur while the snow fell ever deeper. Every day Butterbur applied a fresh poultice to Figgis's arm, which, to his immense relief, started to re-grow. Snowbone worked in the animal hospital, learning how to fold bandages and mix medicines. The tiddlins built snowmen and threw themselves downhill on sleds and tea trays.

  Every night Blackeye flew.

  He was a perfect pupil. He remembered everything Butterbur told him and practiced hard. Soon he was able to shadow-fly wherever he wanted, and he didn't need the amber potion. He simply had to concentrate on his breathing until he felt himself slipping out of his body and then he was away.

  Blackeye didn't return to the Otherworld. He had no desire to meet the Spirit of Ashenpeake again, and there were far more interesting places to go. On the second night, Butterbur had suggested flying to Black Sand Bay.

  “Can I?” he said. “Really? I thought I could only visit the Otherworld.”

  “No!” laughed Butterbur. “You can go wherever you want. Up or down.”

  And so, night after night, Blackeye had explored the island. He had looped-the-loop over Black Sand Bay, soared over the summit of Ashenpeake Mountain, drooled at the aroma of fish and chips over Kessel harbor, and raced dolphins by moonlight off the Southern Peninsula.

  He kept his promise to Butterbur. He didn't tell anyone his secret, not even Mouse. And though he was tired and stumbly after his lessons, he always managed to return to bed without disturbing anyone.

  But on the fifth night, someone was watching. Someone who had noticed his tired eyes and faraway look. Someone who now stood, pale and silent, in the shadows at the end of the corridor.

  Snowbone.

  Chapter 31

  “hat's going on?”

  It was the following morning. Butterbur had called a special meeting in the dining room and Snowbone had decided to ambush Blackeye before he could get there.

  “I don't know what you're talking about,” said Blackeye.

  “I think you do,” said Snowbone. She squared up to Black-eye, hands on hips, eyes bright. “I saw you last night, sneaking back to bed when you thought no one was looking. I've seen you whispering with Butterbur in the surgery.”

  “So?” Blackeye grinned. “It's nothing.”

  He slipped by her and headed for the dining room door, but Snowbone was there first, barring his way.

  “Tell me,” said Snowbone.

  “No.”

  “Tell me!”

  “No!” said Blackeye, and he flashed his usual carefree smile.

  Snowbone felt like thumping him. “I bet you've told her.”

  “Told me what?” Mouse had appeared out of nowhere.

  “Where he goes when the rest of us are in bed,” said Snow-bone.

  “No, he hasn't,” said Mouse, and, to Blackeye's dismay, her beautiful eyes clouded over.

  “It's nothing to worry about,” said Blackeye, taking her hand.

  “So there is something!” cried Snowbone triumphantly.

  “Yes, but I can't tell you.”

  “Why?” demanded Snowbone.

  “Because I told him not to!” said Butterbur. She had been in the dining room all the time. “And that's the way it's going to stay. Back off, Snowbone! You don't need to know everything. There are things in this world that simply don't concern you. Now get out of the way. You're blocking the door, and Blackeye is trying to come in for good reason. And it's no use scowling at me, young lady, I won't change my mind. Mouse, welcome. Take a seat. Figgis, Manu and Tigermane are already here.”

  Snowbone stomped into the dining room and found a seat. Butterbur took her place at the head of the table and smiled at the gathering.

  “Figgis has been telling me your plans,” she said. “I'd like to help. That's why I've summoned you all here. I've brought some maps along. I think they'll make th
ings clearer.” She unrolled one of the maps. “This is Ashenpeake Island,” she said. “We are here at Bogey Bridge. As for the traders you're after, the man at Wimberry Tump said they'd taken the Puddle road. Well, that makes sense to me, because I suspect they're heading here.” She pointed at a place on the east coast. “Spittel Point. It's a port, very popular with slavers.”

  “Why would they go there?” asked Tigermane.

  “That's where all the deals are done,” said Butterbur. “They can find a ship that will carry the sap to the Nova Land.” She unrolled another map. “This is a map of the world. We are here, on Ashenpeake. This”—she traced a route west, across a huge expanse of ocean—“is the Nova Land, the ‘new world.’ It's a vast place. Most of it is still unexplored. All the towns are here, on the east coast. Farrago is the biggest—and the roughest. It's growing so fast, no one can really control it. It's wild and dangerous, and that's why the sap will be going there.”

  “I don't understand,” said Mouse.

  “The slave trade is changing,” said Butterbur. “When people first moved to the Nova Land, the demand for slaves was enormous. Traders shipped thousands of eggs across and fortunes were made. Now the market is starting to collapse. The Nova Landers are breeding their own slaves. Suddenly there's no need to buy eggs from abroad. So the traders are dealing in something that the Nova Land doesn't have—ashen sap.”

  “What exactly is ashen sap?” said Manu.

  “Ashen sap is what Ashenpeakers have instead of blood,” said Butterbur. “If you cut us deep enough, it comes out. It's a sticky white stuff and it has extraordinary healing powers. It can heal any wound—even a flesh-and-blood wound—and that's why the traders are so interested in it. The Nova Land is a dangerous place. People are having all kinds of accidents, and traders who can supply ashen sap will be rich.