Where the Woods End

by Charlotte Salter

  She considered her options. She and Finn had never gone into this part of the forest, and it wasn’t just because it was one of the last places in her grandma’s notebook. Even the wolves avoided it, sensing something inherently wrong with the air. She stopped for a moment, leaned over, and spat on the ground to get the strange taste of mold out of her mouth. Her stomach was shrieking with wild hunger, but the thought of eating made her press her lips together.

  A large, bloated tree had fallen into the pond, making a bridge that stretched almost the whole way across. It looked like it would fall apart under her feet. But then Kestrel looked at the thick, dark trees around the water and realized that anything could be hiding in there. Anything like—

  I’ll take my chances, she decided quickly, pushing the thought away. The less she allowed herself to think about her grabber, the easier it was to carry on. But it didn’t stop the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, or the sensation of eyes boring into the back of her neck.

  She stepped onto the log. It sank lower in the water, and scum sloshed over Kestrel’s feet. She took one step, then another, her legs wobbling. The log bobbed up and down, sending thick ripples through the oily pond. A large, brown fish slowly rose to the surface and watched her, its tail squirming.

  Granmos had liked using water in her training. Once, Kestrel had woken up to find that she’d been tied to a plank and set adrift in the middle of a leech-infested pond. She had nightmares about those leeches for years, remembering the way they swarmed over her as she struggled to paddle to safety. She couldn’t see a leech without thinking of her grandma and feeling sick with fear.

  Maybe my grabber will be something to do with water.

  But even as she thought it, she knew that it wasn’t true. There was something else that she was terrified of, something a hundred times worse. As she tried to shove the thought away, she lost her concentration. Her foot slipped and she wobbled. The brown fish saw its chance and lurched at her, but she was already gone, running along the rest of the trunk and leaping to dry land. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and crept toward the clearing in front of her.

  Kestrel secreted herself in the gnarled roots of a tree, then she peered over the top to get a better look.

  Her stomach curled up like a piece of bacon in a frying pan.

  In the middle of the clearing a ring of huge gray stones encircled a sprawling mass of fruit trees. Each stone was the height of her waist and as pitted as a rotting tooth. They were spread with moldering fruit, as though they had been used as grim banqueting tables. Twisting in and out of the stones was a wall of black thorns, each one the size and shape of a carving knife, in horrible, almost comical contrast to the bright white flowers poking out of the grass.

  Despite the decay on the ground, the trees inside the ring of stones were drooping with the kind of fruit that lives in fairy tales: red, glossy apples; purple plums the size of Kestrel’s fist; pears that were so huge they looked like they would burst. Suddenly Kestrel couldn’t smell mold anymore.

  She was almost drooling, but her common sense kicked in before she could hurl herself toward the trees.

  Look again, she could hear Granmos saying, and Kestrel obeyed, still longing to feel the fruit between her teeth.

  She blinked and refocused. Animals hung from the black thorns that surrounded the orchard, flat and empty as clothes hung out to dry. Foxes and rabbits and stoats had all been impaled on the spikes. All the blood had been drained from them, dripping through the gaps in the stones and soaking into the soil.

  Kestrel’s stomach groaned again, but not in a good way. She could see now that the grass wasn’t covered in white flowers. It was strewn with bones of all sizes and shapes, white and smooth as though they had been sucked clean. There were teeth marks in most of them, like something had been happily gnawing on them for days.

  It eats things, Kestrel thought, imagining that she was writing it in the notebook. If you make it inside, it chews you up and spits out the bones.

  She was about to inch out of her hiding place when something huge and gray smacked into the ground in front of her. The creature landed a few inches from Kestrel’s hiding place, turned its head, and caught a beetle from the air with a powerful crunch. The creature was the size and shape of a human, but it was thickly covered in stiff gray feathers, and it had huge, dirty gray wings.

  Kestrel ducked back between the gnarled tree roots, her heart thumping. The creature gobbled to itself happily, preening.

  It was close enough for Kestrel to see everything in perfect detail. Its wings jerked as though the creature only had nominal control over them. Its head, hands, and feet were bald, and it had three rows of teeth on the top and bottom of its jaws, sharp as bits of broken bottle.

  Kestrel peered at the trees around the clearing. She remembered the Briny Witch’s warning, and shuddered. Bonebirds.

  Every branch had at least one of the foul creatures crouched on it, their toes hooked over the edge, arms tucked under their twitching wings. They had been asleep, but some were opening their eyes and clicking their jaws, and when they saw the bonebird that was strutting near Kestrel’s hiding place they started to shuffle and chitter. Within minutes they were all in a state of high anxiety. They launched themselves from the trees and landed heavily, pushing and shoving one another out of the way as they scrambled to reach the bones on the ground.

  Kestrel cursed under her breath. She’d almost run straight into the Marrow Orchard, right under the noses of the bonebirds. She hadn’t even bothered to look up at the trees before doing it. She was losing her hunting instincts.

  There was only one gap in the thorns through which she could reach the Marrow Orchard and some of the bonebirds were already in front of it, shuffling their wings and agitatedly biting the air. Even if she were invisible they would feel her shoving past, and she had no doubt that their teeth could cut through to the bone. The thought of getting in the way of one of the bonebird’s mouths made her shudder.

  The last bonebird, a thin one with particularly long teeth, landed in front of Kestrel’s hiding place. It looked around, then stuffed apple after apple in its mouth, chewing noisily and spraying bits of old fruit everywhere while the others pecked at the bones.

  Some of the rotten apples had rolled toward Kestrel. The bonebird hadn’t noticed them, but they were still just out of her reach.

  Kestrel knew that she needed those apples. If Pippit was here he’d run out and grab them, or distract the bonebirds for her. She instinctively touched the side of her face, where he pressed his nose when he was trying to tell her something, and swallowed a lump.

  It was her own fault he’d gone. But it was no good thinking about it now. She shook his weasel-y face from her head and waited for her chance, but the bonebird with the apples refused to turn around again. The minutes felt infinite, and with every second that passed Kestrel was itching to leap up and wriggle her cramped toes and wave her arms.

  Two bonebirds were fighting on the other side of the clearing. There was a horrible screeching sound as they tried to knock each other to the ground with their wings. The bonebird in front of Kestrel craned its neck to watch, clicking its teeth together excitedly. Just as one of the fighters let out a screech of pain, Kestrel reached out and grabbed the three apples closest to her, withdrawing just as the bonebird turned back to eat. She froze, praying that it hadn’t seen her. The bonebird gazed into the tree roots, but after a few seconds it licked its lips and turned back to its feast.

  Very slowly, keeping her eyes fixed on the creature in front of her, Kestrel unrolled the wolf-skin cloak. It was still damp from the Salt Bog, and it smelled like sour cheese. She felt a prick of doubt. It didn’t look special at all.

  She weighed one of the apples in her hand, then wriggled into a position where she could draw her arm back, feeling like she was about to do something very foolish.

  S
he wished that Finn was here to count her down. She wished that Pippit was by her side, ready to attack. She wished more than anything that her dad hadn’t sent her here, and that she’d been able to save him in time.

  But wishes wouldn’t keep you alive in the forest.

  Kestrel threw the apple as hard as she could.

  It sailed into the clearing, high above the bonebird’s head. The bonebird leaped to its feet and pelted after it without thinking, colliding head-on with three other bonebirds that had the exact same idea. One of them opened its mouth wide, unhinging its jaw for maximum effect, and jumped into the path of the apple. The fruit sailed right down its throat. It swallowed with a horrible, greedy gulping sound.

  The other bonebirds in the clearing were taking an interest as well. As their heads turned, trying to work out where the apple had come from, Kestrel drew her arm back and flung the second.

  It went farther this time and three more of the bonebirds hurtled toward it. They threw themselves after the fruit, squawking, snapping their teeth at the apple until it was little more than a heap of mush on the ground.

  They fell back and looked toward Kestrel. They knew the apples were coming from somewhere. Kestrel felt a bead of sweat roll down her nose.

  One of them started to trot toward her, its head tilted to one side. It was joined by another, and another, all three pretending not to notice one another.

  She clenched her teeth.

  This time she waited until they were close, then she flung the apple as hard as she could. They took off after it, screeching along with the rest of the pack, leaving a clear path to the orchard. Without a second thought Kestrel flung the cloak on and tore herself from the roots of the tree.

  She ran into the clearing, hurtling toward the gap in the thorns, the cloak flapping behind her. She was faster than a greased fox. She was as speedy as a centipede diving into the floorboards, escaping the blows of a heavy book. She was going to make it! She . . .

  Oh.

  The bonebirds had already decimated the apple.

  Now they were looking right at her.

  They crowded around her in a ring, cutting her off and snapping their teeth. Kestrel’s heart was hammering so hard she thought it would fail. The Briny Witch had lied to her. She wasn’t invisible at all.

  She tried to shuffle away from the bonebirds, but one of them snapped its teeth at her, and she tripped over a bone.

  She landed on her chin, bit her tongue, and cried out in a mixture of pain and surprise.

  Kestrel prodded her front tooth with her tongue. It was as sharp as a saw.

  The bonebird in front of her wrinkled its nose in disgust and wandered off, its legs jerking like a puppet’s. One by one the others did the same, hooting and preening.

  Kestrel slowly climbed to her feet and looked behind her. Heavy gray wings cast shadows over the ground.

  “The forest have mercy on me,” she whispered. She was a bonebird, complete with wings and teeth. Her wolf-skin cloak was gone, and instead there were feathers stuck to her body, close as a second skin and as itchy as a rash. One of the bonebirds turned back to look at her.

  “Hoot,” Kestrel said quickly.

  It gave her a foul look and moved on.

  Kestrel stood there, paralyzed by indecision. She looked at the shadow of her wings again. They fluttered nervously.

  She took a cautious step forward and tried walking jerkily, even twitching her head as she made her way toward the orchard. After a minute she felt like she was getting better at it.

  “Coo,” she said as the ring of stones loomed up in front of her. She glanced around, but none of the bonebirds were taking much notice of her now. She flapped her arms experimentally. They didn’t feel so bad. In fact, none of this was terrible at all.

  Maybe, if she was honest, she was even enjoying herself a bit.

  If Finn could see me now he’d be so jealous. . . .

  She grew cold at the memory of him twitching on the floor.

  “Coo,” she said again, trying to forget the image.

  Her nerves almost got the better of her as she passed through the gap in the stones. She had to breathe in to avoid being caught by the vicious thorns that weaved between them. Inside the black tangle of spikes there were mice and squirrels and foxes, and some bigger things, too: a treecreeper, a wolf. They hung there sadly like abandoned toys.

  She actually felt a bit sorry for them. Nothing deserved to end up as food for the orchard, even the nasty things that bit.

  The Marrow Orchard stretched out in front of her. The ground was a carpet of tree roots, all knotted together in a huge, complicated mess. The branches were all tangled up, too, so apples were crushed together with berries and lemons were squashed against plums. Now that she was inside the stench of the place was overwhelming, like a compost heap in the sun. Most of the fruit was fat and ready to fall. Everything was sticky, and the air had the tang of blood.

  The roots around her feet were slowly squirming, almost as though the orchard was wriggling its toes. She pulled her feet away from a curling root and curiously touched a cluster of plums hanging over her head. They were as warm as flesh, and they were quivering.

  She snatched her hand away and looked closely at the apples next to her. They weren’t apples at all. They were round and ripe and red, but they squirmed rhythmically like hearts. She stepped back, feeling nauseous. The oranges were curled-up livers, and the white berries with red veins were actually eyeballs. They swiveled to watch her pass. The trees were covered in thick, wrinkled skin.

  Now Kestrel wanted nothing more than to run away, but she couldn’t turn back, not if she ever wanted to get away from the black dog and escape the forest. She picked her way through the fleshy orchard, making herself look at every disgusting, quivering fruit she passed. She hoped she’d recognize the bloodberries when she saw them.

  Something moved behind her. Kestrel turned quickly, withdrawing her spoon, and realized in that second that she was waiting for her grabber.

  But instead, it was the bonebird whose fruit she had stolen. Kestrel glared at it, her heart tripping over itself with relief. Its head twitched and it smiled widely at Kestrel, revealing teeth stained purple with fruit. It turned and innocently plucked an apple from the tree.

  Kestrel snapped her new teeth at it, warning it to stay put, and carried on.

  The more Kestrel looked at the trees, the more difficult it became to see anything that might be called a bloodberry. There were so many colors she felt blinded, and the smell was overwhelming all her other senses. She stumbled through the orchard, no longer bothering to hoot and strut. It felt like she’d been in there for days, but the slowly lightening sky told her that she’d only been in there for half an hour.

  After a while she realized that the bonebird was following her again, always stopping when Kestrel did, staying just a few yards behind. Maybe it suspected something. Or maybe, she thought unhappily, maybe they’re cannibals. Kestrel growled at it, but the bonebird only looked at her interestedly.

  Birds, she realized, didn’t growl.

  She hurried on, becoming more desperate. She’d already taken too long, and she had to get out before her time was up and her disguise failed.

  She pushed between two trees, kicking rotten pears from under her feet and sweeping a low branch out of her way. Her hand came back scarlet with blood. She stifled a cry, wiping her hand on her skirt, then looked up.

  The tree next to her was dripping red. The thick, dark liquid oozed from cracks in its bark, forming a sticky, sweet-smelling puddle at her feet. Its branches were laden with thousands of tiny red berries, each as bright as a bead and attached to the branch by a thin red artery.

  As Kestrel stepped back from the red puddle she saw that there were creatures lying in the roots of the tree. A fox, a hare, a small bird. The fox’s mouth was stained red wi
th juice, and the bird still had one of the berries clasped in its beak. They were all deathly still.

  She reached up to touch a heavy cluster of the berries. They shivered under her fingers as though they carried the heartbeat of the tree. There was almost no doubt that these were the berries she was looking for, and that they were deadly in large doses.

  Her fingers hovered in the air. A question hung in front of her, her choice as delicate as a bubble. Was she really going to take them? Was she really going to feed them to her own mother?

  Then she thought of Finn curled up on the floor, and her fist closed around a cluster of the berries. Before she could think, she pulled hard. They rained down on her, bouncing off her head and arms. She fished around for them on the ground, shuddering as her fingers touched the warm, bloody puddle, and stuffed them in her pockets until she couldn’t carry any more.

  She turned away from the tree and came face-to-face with the bonebird.

  It grinned with all six rows of teeth, and Kestrel immediately knew that it could see right through her. She looked down at her feather-free arms and felt her own smooth, white teeth. The wolf-skin cloak hung limply from her shoulders.

  “I can explain,” she said, holding her hands up, forgetting that they were smeared red. The bonebird screamed, making the trees shudder, and before Kestrel could blink it launched itself at her in a blind frenzy of teeth.

  THE FIGURE IN THE TREES

  Kestrel’s spoon was in her hand before she could think, its pointed edge slashing toward the bonebird.

  There was blood. For a dizzying moment Kestrel thought it was her own, but then she pulled the spoon back and dislodged it from the feathered chest of the dirty gray creature, which fell away with a scream. More red liquid rained from the bloodberry tree, mixing with gray feathers on the ground and forming a big, gloopy mess.

  The bonebird was surprised, but not hurt enough to run away. It clacked its jaws and flexed its neck. It was getting ready to fly at her again, and Kestrel was trapped with her back to the tree.