Moll wasn’t sure how to respond to this so she clicked her tongue and focused on the mortar.
Mellantha reached towards a row of jars on the shelf. ‘No, not bat spleens . . .’ she muttered to herself. ‘And not toad tongues this time.’ She lifted a jar of jellied eyeballs up. ‘Hmmmmmn . . . Perhaps not eels’ eyes . . .’ She picked up another jar. ‘Of course, of course . . .’
Moll grimaced at the contents of the jar: a small, dead reptile floating in liquid.
Mellantha passed it to Alfie who winced but unscrewed the lid nonetheless.
‘We need the tail of a newt,’ she said, ‘because newts are special creatures.’
‘Why?’ Alfie asked.
‘If they lose a limb, they can grow another. One of nature’s miracles.’ Mellantha sliced off the tail with a knife. ‘And we need a miracle right now.’
‘Don’t believe in miracles,’ Alfie mumbled.
‘Yet you believe in magic,’ Mellantha said quietly.
‘And what I’ve seen of that isn’t pretty.’
‘How can you live in a forest and not believe in the glittering magic of it all?’ Mellantha whispered.
Alfie looked to Moll for support. But she only shrugged. ‘Haven’t you heard the tree spirits whisper? And the wind – it helped us escape the vapours! That’s proper magic. The drums and chants and pits in the ground that Skull calls magic is just a rotten copy of the real stuff.’
She peered into the bowl. The liquid was a swirl of black, purple and yellow, like marbled dyes mixing together, and the ground-up egg and feather floated on the surface.
‘We’re nearly there,’ Mellantha said.
She picked up the bones from the table and placed them in the bowl. They bobbed on the surface of the multi-coloured mixture, the words staring blankly up at them. Alfie and Moll watched for several seconds.
‘Nothing’s happening,’ Alfie mumbled as Moll glowered at the bones.
‘Wait,’ said Mellantha.
She picked up a rattle and closed her eyes. And then, into the silence, she shook the rattle again and again. Each thrust sounded like a gust of wind rushing through the trees. Moll’s breath caught in her throat. The last rattle she’d heard had been from Skull’s Dream Snatch. She swallowed. This was different, she told herself. It had to be . . .
And then, very quietly, Mellantha began to whisper strange words under her breath: they seemed to start from the very back of her throat, deep and guttural, and then finish in soft swishing sounds. Moll had never heard anything like it before. It wasn’t like the Dream Snatch. It was different somehow and she wasn’t afraid.
Then something extraordinary happened. The bones started to judder, as if brushed by an invisible wind, and, almost so slowly that it seemed as if it wasn’t happening at all, they started to break.
‘Look!’ Moll whispered, clasping her mouth.
As they watched, the bones broke into tiny pieces, each carrying a single letter from the original words. The letters bobbed on the surface of the mixture until the bones no longer spelt Dew Hill Maiden, but were a jumble of meaningless letters.
Mellantha struggled across to the window and nudged it open. She pushed her clawed hands through, bending them, twisting them, curling them into the night. Moll remembered her words: a witch doctor’s hands are their tools. And suddenly Mellantha’s didn’t look ugly any more – they were almost beautiful as they shaped the incantation. A silken breeze floated through the window and it seemed to come in a whisper of sparkling black dust, as if Mellantha had called the very essence of night itself into her hovel.
And, before their eyes, the letters in the bowl began to move. They clicked against each other, almost dancing on the surface of coloured swirls. Moll’s eyes widened as she watched the letters rearrange themselves into four recognisable words:
I AM WELL HIDDEN
No one said anything and then Alfie shook his head. ‘But – but that’s not any clearer. It’s another riddle!’ He kicked the leg of the table. ‘We’re still no closer to the amulets!’
Mellantha had closed her eyes and was whispering under her breath. ‘Keep waiting,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s not over yet.’
She shook the rattle one more time, then the moon peeped out from the clouds, falling like a spotlight on one of the words:
WELL
The letters jiggled before them.
And then Alfie gasped. ‘It is a riddle; the Oracle Bones are playing with the words! I am well hidden . . . Are the amulets hidden inside a well? Is there a well in Tanglefern Forest?’
Moll looked blank but Mellantha nodded. ‘In the heart of the forest—’
Gryff burst into the hovel, his ears flattened to his head. ‘Urrrrrrrrrrrrr.’
Moll hurried to the door and peered out. ‘There’s nothing there.’
Gryff began to growl and hiss and stamp.
‘What is it, Gr—’ Moll started.
A blood-curdling howl split her words. A few seconds went by and then another howl followed, its call swelling in the marrow of their bones.
The hounds were coming for them.
‘They’ll find you if you stay here! They know where I live!’ Mellantha wheezed, hobbling over to the door and bolting it fast.
Moll looked down at the bowl and noticed that the bone fragments were now nowhere to be seen.
‘Pull back the crates on the far wall. The slats of wood behind are broken and you can crawl out through the gorse bushes and trees behind the hut! They’ll hide you until you reach the bottom of the hill.’ Mellantha gripped Moll’s hand. ‘And then run – run like the wind! You’re the only person who can stop the madness of the Shadowmasks!’
The howls were louder now, slicing the night to slivers. Moll could feel her body shaking as she and Alfie grappled with the wood, tearing it back to reveal a hole.
Mellantha seized another tiny phial of black liquid from a shelf. ‘T-take this,’ she stammered, thrusting it into Moll’s hands. ‘You’ll need it when they’re fighting for your mind. There’s still so much you should know.’ She pointed to the rag she’d given Moll earlier. ‘But there’s no time now. Think about the letters, the word. It’s all there.’ Her eyes were half crazed with fear. ‘Go – go!’ she cried, pushing Moll towards the hole.
There was a pummelling at the door as the hounds drummed against it with ominous thuds.
‘But you – aren’t you—’ Moll began.
Mellantha shook her head. ‘It was written in the Oracle Bones; I knew when I saw your pa’s bone reading. In my dreams, I see a place where one day I’ll rest from all this pain. The place is on a hill, Molly – only it’s bigger, taller and safer than my one here and it’s not covered in darkness; it’s covered in glittering dew. DEW HILL MAIDEN: the Oracle Bones have come to take me home.’
‘No!’ Moll cried. ‘We didn’t know!’
More thuds crashed against the hovel door.
‘It’s time, Molly, and I’ve outlived their curse at least.’ Mellantha smiled sadly. ‘Hounds, you say? I can bear that pain more than being haunted by the dark magic of the others.’
Alfie seized Moll’s arm and dragged her towards the hole. ‘Come on!’
But it was Gryff who finally tore her away, wrenching at her dress with his teeth. They pushed through the hole, into the undergrowth, a tangle of mellanthas, brambles and overgrown gorse. The sun was rising above the horizon on the sea and a wind had gathered, rushing across the heath below them like a tormented breath. Above them clouds loomed, swelling across the unsettled sky. Heads down, the two children raced through the undergrowth, blind to the gorse bushes tearing at their skin.
There was a loud thud behind them and then the hovel was a frenzy of noise: crashing objects, gnashing teeth and Mellantha’s whimpered cries. The wind moaned with Mellantha in desolate gusts, but soon her cries were drowned and once again the hounds wailed.
And then suddenly their cries subsided and a voice pierced the groaning wind. ‘There’s a
hole at the back,’ came Gobbler’s unmistakable snarl.
As if in response, the hounds growled together, then pounding feet thundered into the undergrowth behind Moll, Gryff and Alfie.
‘They’re getting closer!’ Moll cried, her eyes wide with terror.
The wind raged on, whipping their hair from their faces and gusting through the gorse. At last, the undergrowth and trees pulled back to reveal a ragged track across the heath. Boggy marshes swamped the track, but the three of them charged on through, water spraying their faces. Moll could feel the wind spirit’s strength, urging them on, away from the hounds.
Alfie seized Moll’s wrist. ‘Faster! We can make the forest, we can make it!’
The wind grew wilder, catching their heels and whirling them on. They could see the trees now, green giants rearing up before them. Gryff pounded on beside Moll, never breaking from her for an instant.
Another voice came from behind, calling into the darkness – cold and hollow. ‘Keep the hounds on her scent, Gobbler!’
Skull.
Moll threw a glance over her shoulder and what met her eyes chilled her. Some way behind them on the track, four huge hounds were craning their necks towards them, their yellow eyes glowing, their mouths foaming. And behind them were Skull, Gobbler and the boys, mounted on cobs. Moll turned back and fled on towards the forest.
Suddenly, from the shadows of the forest, a line of cobs burst out on to the heath. Moll’s eyes widened. Her heart thundered.
‘Oak!’ she screamed. ‘Oak!’
‘Don’t cry out!’ Alfie panted.
Moll screamed again, unable to stop herself. ‘Oak!’
Gryff tugged at her dress with his teeth. No, Moll, no, he seemed to say.
The cobs rushed forward: Oak, his sons and Siddy’s father, Jesse. They’d come for her – despite what Skull had made her think – because ‘Oak’s camp never leave a man behind’.
Moll sped along the path between Gryff and Alfie, her heart surging. ‘Oak!’
And then Oak answered. ‘Keep running!’ His shout was loud, louder than the wailing wind, and Moll rushed towards it.
She turned her head. Behind them, the hounds edged closer. And yet there was something strange about them. Their necks weren’t craned towards her; their eyes weren’t even fixed on her. They were hunting someone else entirely.
She glanced to her side. Alfie. They were hunting Alfie.
‘Oak!’ Moll cried again as the hounds shrieked behind her.
‘Moll!’ Oak roared.
His cry lingered in a gust of wind. And from behind them came Skull’s terrible laugh, twisting above the pounding hooves of his cob.
Moll raced on, blotting out the sounds from behind her as she realised something with sickening dread. Alfie had tried to warn her. Gryff had tried to warn her. But still she’d called out. And Oak would have always answered.
They’d handed Skull the last piece of the Dream Snatch. Her name.
Moments later, Oak was among them, yanking Moll up from the ground on to the back of his cob and spurring them both away. Moll leant into Oak’s body for a second, glimpsed Gryff racing along beside them, but, when she searched for Alfie, he was nowhere to be seen.
She craned her neck back and there, some metres behind them now, Alfie was cowering among the knotted gorse to the side of the track, his face white, his eyes wide. The hounds were prowling close to him, their ears flattened to their heads, saliva hanging from their fangs in drooling chains. Moll watched him, her breath caught in her throat, as Oak’s cob carried her further and further away. Alfie had given Skull the scrap from her dress, so why had the hounds tracked him? She glanced down at her dress and felt suddenly weak. There was no scrap missing; her frock was untorn.
She leant into Oak. ‘We need to go back for Alfie! He – he . . .’ What was she saying? She didn’t need him any more. She knew where the amulets were and she had only needed him to help her escape. Why did she feel responsible for him?
Oak hauled his cob to a halt.
‘Keep going!’ roared Wisdom. ‘Or the hounds’ll attack like before!’
Only then did Moll notice Wisdom’s hand was bandaged up tight and Jesse’s ankle was bound. So Skull’s hounds had caught them that night.
Oak urged his cob further down the track, away from Alfie and the hounds.
‘But . . .’ Moll started. Her lips quivered as she watched a hound scratch back the undergrowth where Alfie crouched.
Gobbler hurried closer and grabbed Alfie by the collar, spitting into his face. Alfie’s eyes were fierce, but Moll could see his body trembling.
Oak started back towards them, but Skull reached into his robes and drew out a pistol.
‘Ride!’ Oak roared. ‘Ride!’
There was a loud crack. Oak’s cob stumbled slightly as blood ran down its piebald leg, then it galloped on towards the forest, speeding Oak and Moll with it.
And, with her stomach churning, Moll kept her head turned and watched Alfie’s body disappear as the hounds closed in.
There was a smile behind the mask and it curdled with pleasure.
‘Moll.’
The word rolled over Skull’s tongue, then buried itself deep inside his mouth.
It was the dead of night and it was raining heavily. Leafless trees craned over the clearing where Skull and his gang squatted and lichens trailed from the branches like burnt hair – long, tangled and grey. The only light came from a lantern set down in the centre of the gang’s circle.
Rain smeared down Skull’s mask. ‘Moll. Moll Pecksniff . . . We’ve got her good and tight now we know her name. She won’t get away from the Dream Snatch this time.’ The mask tilted towards Gobbler. ‘Polish the ceremonial table. Bring out the drums. It won’t be long before she’s back.’
Gobbler’s hunched back swelled with anticipation. ‘The time’s come, hasn’t it, Skull? For what we’ve all been waiting for.’
Skull’s mask dipped. The boys stiffened.
‘It’s time to summon the Master of the Soul Splinter,’ Skull growled.
One of the boys moved the lantern closer.
Brunt shoved him. ‘You’d better toughen up all right.’
Gobbler curled his tongue over his teeth, sucking in the rain. ‘This is how the Shadowmasks’ll kill Moll Pecksniff and her wildcat after the Dream Snatch brings them in.’ He jabbed a sharpened stick into the ground, centimetres from the boy’s hand, and then he smiled. ‘An untraceable kill . . .’
‘What about the amulets? Do they have a chance of finding them in time?’ Brunt asked.
Skull’s voice gnawed at the inside of his mask. ‘We need to know why they went to Mellantha. Did the traitorous hag know something about the amulets after all?’
Brunt sat forward. ‘With Mellantha dead, can’t we ask our little friend Alfie?’
Gobbler’s running eye blinked several times, then he sniggered. ‘The hounds took a liking to him – a strong liking. He’s not in a state to talk yet.’
Skull spat. ‘I told you to hold the hounds back. We need to get the boy to speak.’
Gobbler lowered his voice. ‘He won’t be speaking for some time, Skull . . .’
Skull’s lifeless eyes blinked once. The lantern the boy was cradling shivered and went out.
‘I don’t care what state he’s in. Until we have the girl, Alfie’s the only one who has the answers we need,’ Skull replied.
‘But he’s a stubborn one – with a will of iron,’ one of the boys ventured.
The rain slid down Skull’s mask in snaking lines. ‘Then beat his cob. Beat it in front of him. That’ll get him to speak.’
All around them the night was a black abyss, filled with the sounds of rain.
At the other end of the clearing, set back within the trees, there was a choked whimper. Breath ripped out of Alfie’s body, dragging him back into consciousness. Shooting pains burned through his legs, pounding upwards into his body. He tugged against the ropes that bound him to the t
ree, but they held him fast. Alfie winced. Even his hands, now throbbing at the wrists, had been bound behind his back.
What had happened? Mellantha, the bone reading, Moll, and then the hounds . . . They had been pounding through the undergrowth towards them – a terror of teeth and claws. Then Moll had disappeared. Oak had come for her and she had escaped and left him for dead.
He flinched as he straightened himself up. The tree he had been tied to jutted into his back, grating on his spine. Again shooting pains coursed through his body. His shorts had been shredded around the knees and his skin torn by cuts and scratches. Grimacing, he rolled his ankle over. Two rows of teeth marks were gouged into his flesh, rupturing his leg into a mangled wound.
A spasm gripped his body and Alfie retched. Fighting back the tears, he bit down on his lip. A gust of wind rustled the dead leaves and tugged his ripped shirt open. Bloodied scratches marred his chest. Still the rain beat on. Alfie wanted to cry out into it, but the pain swallowed his strength.
From the trees nearby, Alfie heard Raven whinny. And this time the boy couldn’t fight the tears. They fell from his eyes freely until sobs shook his body. Raven stepped forward, as far as his tethering rope would allow. He craned his neck towards Alfie, breathing gently through his nostrils. But, however far he stretched, he couldn’t reach the boy.
And that’s when it came to Alfie: a small tatter of hope. He looked at Raven through misted eyes.
‘You’re after my rings,’ he said to his cob in a cracked voice. ‘My – my rings . . .’
Each word wrung his body with pain. But now he had a plan. Though it might take hours, there was a chance he could cut his way free of the rope with the spikes on his gypsy fighting rings. He looked at the clearing with desperate eyes. Where would they go? And on a night like this? He shook the thought from his mind. That could wait; the most important thing was escaping Skull’s clutches once and for all.
Hours drifted by and still the boys remained with Skull and Gobbler in the clearing. Their voices twisted through the rain to Alfie – strange words loaded with terror: they were planning to summon something. He strained to hear what they were saying – something about a Soul Splinter to use on Moll and her wildcat. Alfie stiffened; the word was somehow familiar, as if he’d heard it many years before. He shook his head, turning back to the ropes. Facing his past was a task for another night. Now he needed to focus on getting free.
The Dreamsnatcher Page 12
