Song for a Scarlet Runner

by Julie Hunt

  ‘Amos Last, I had a marvellous dream,’ I shouted.

  ‘People often do,’ he answered. ‘The mist is known for its dreams. But they are unreliable. Once, during the Second Mist, I dreamed my wife had a loving heart.’

  I thought I heard him laughing but I wasn’t sure. We kept walking uphill. I was cold and damp and the bag was heavy. When Amos Last stopped, I ran into him.

  ‘Here it is,’ he yelled. ‘Drip Cave. Mind your head.’

  Drip Cave was dry, and the mist wasn’t as thick inside as out. Amos undid the rope. I could see his shape as he moved about and made a fire.

  ‘Don’t let it go out,’ he said. ‘Hopefully there will be enough wood to last you. If you do use it up, don’t go outside looking for more.’

  He shook my hand. ‘There’s food in your bag. Stay here. I will come back and get you when the mist ends. Try not to sleep too much. The Second Mist can be dangerous. You can go to sleep and not wake up.’

  ‘Will you be able to find your way back home?’ I asked.

  ‘Most likely.’ He didn’t seem pleased at the idea.

  I opened my bag and found he had put bread and oatcakes in there, along with a thick sheet of something sweet and leathery.

  ‘Thank you, Amos Last,’ I called as he left me, but my voice was swallowed by the mist.

  DRIP CAVE

  I sat down and watched the fire. The mist gave it a halo, which filled the cave with an eerie sort of light. It was only a little fire but it crackled bravely. I wanted to build it up. There was a small stack of logs at the back of the cave, along with some brushwood. I wished I had asked Amos how long the Second Mist might last. He must come up here to get away from his wife, I thought as I put a log on the fire.

  To make the food last, I decided I would only eat a small amount at the end of each day. But it was hard to know day from night: I wrapped myself in the stranger’s blanket and waited for it to get dark, but nothing changed. From time to time I went to the cave entrance and looked out. All I saw was white. The Second Mist seemed to have its own light, and the first day went on and on.

  Finally I ate some oatcakes and lay down. There was no sound except water dripping. I dozed, careful not to sleep for too long. Part of me hoped I might dream again of the city with its beautiful gardens, but I had no more dreams. The white mist seemed to seep into my mind, and just as it was hard to know whether it was day or night, I could barely tell whether I was awake or asleep.

  The water dripped and the fire burned low. Like a sleepwalker, I got up now and then and put more wood on. I was afraid the fire might go out; if it did, I had no way of lighting it again.

  The mist seemed to get thicker. I could feel the weight of it pressing on my chest. Soon I had only one log left.

  ‘You’ll be all right, Peat.’ I spoke aloud to myself, but my voice seemed to come from far away. The sound of the dripping grew muffled.

  I felt in the bag for more food and found a little pouch of something soft. It didn’t feel like food. I sniffed it. Tobacco! Did Amos Last think I smoked? I put it in my pocket, then I ate more oatcakes and half the sweet leathery stuff. It must have been dried fruit, or perhaps it was made from the tubers. I lay down again, holding the cow charm.

  ‘Oh Marlie, Marlie, Marlie,’ I whispered. I kept saying my sister’s name to stop other thoughts coming into my mind – thoughts about how my life could run out along with the wood and the food.

  I thought of Alban Bane and the mob. Wim would have to go with them when they went back to Skerrick. I hoped they hadn’t taken Marlie. Poor Marlie. How could she live at the Overhang all by herself? Maybe she would try to follow me – but she had to mind the cattle. If nobody looked after them they would run wild and Bright would get into trouble – he’d fall down a hole, or get himself caught in the thorn bushes that grew at the foot of the escarpment. There’d be nothing that Bella could do to save him. I wished Bella was with me now. She could lie down next to me, and I could lean on her the way Bright did. I longed for her warmth and her dark eyes.

  I drifted into a dreamless sleep, and I might have kept on sleeping if I hadn’t heard a voice in my head, the stranger’s voice.

  Wake up! it said. Get up. Move! I wasn’t sure what language the words were in, but I understood them perfectly.

  I sat up with a start. The fire was almost out. I put the last piece of wood on and realised I would have to go outside and find more. I knew that Amos Last had advised me not to, but what else could I do? I tied one end of the rope to my bag and the other end to my wrist, then I went to the entrance. Before I went out, I ate the last of the food.

  Something had happened to the mist outside Drip Cave. It was so thick I could barely push my way through it. I crawled along the ground and found a couple of bits of wet wood. The weight of the mist made breathing difficult, and I was soon soaked to the skin. I quickly followed the rope back into the cave.

  When I put the wood on the fire it smouldered and the smoke stung my eyes. I thought that I should have tried to get more wood earlier, before the fire got low. Then I could have dried my clothes and whatever wood I found.

  ‘Too late now,’ I muttered.

  Never too late, came the voice of the stranger. So I stumbled outside again and found a few sticks. The fire did its best, but there were hardly any embers, and finally it sighed and went out. There was nothing I could do. My teeth chattered, and soon I was shivering all over. The only warm part of me was my leg, which was still throbbing. I lay down under my blanket and tried to fill my mind with warm thoughts: Marlie and me by the fire in the Overhang, the warm breath of the cows, sun shining on the corn that grew on the riverbanks in my dream. The thoughts didn’t help. Soon I was so cold I couldn’t think. Then the shivering stopped and I didn’t feel anything anymore.

  I lay facedown and tried to stay awake, and if the stranger spoke to me I didn’t hear. The only sound was my own breath, and it was rough and noisy. I don’t usually breathe like that, I thought vaguely, then I realised the breath wasn’t mine. Something was in the cave, some animal. I felt it sniff the back of my neck, and I should have been afraid, but I was too drowsy to care. What did it matter if a wolf or some wild creature got me? I didn’t have the energy to fight. A little whimper came out of me, a kind of sigh like the fire had made before it went out, then something stepped lightly onto my back. I heard a rattling sound and felt warmth. It slowly spread through my body, and I felt as if I was coming back to life. I tried to sit up, and when I moved the rattling sound stopped. Something spat at me. The sleek!

  He hissed and leapt away, disappearing from the cave. I looked up and found the mist had lifted. Drip Cave was light and clear, and a ray of sunlight was falling on the floor at the entranceway. Stray drifts of mist were floating through it, evaporating as I watched.

  I got to my feet and staggered towards the entrance, peering out. There was still mist in the valley below, a great white sea of it, swirling in on itself. It was receding like the tide going out, and one by one treetops were appearing. Birds began singing, loud and clear.

  There was a path leading downhill. To Amos Last’s place, I thought as the sleek appeared on it, running towards me with a tuber in his mouth.

  ‘Thank you, Sleek. Thank you,’ I sighed as I gobbled it down. ‘You’re a true friend. And thank you, Marlie.’

  I reached for the cow charm, but it wasn’t there. The leather thong it was attached to must have broken!

  In a panic I searched the floor of the cave on my hands and knees, but I couldn’t see it. Perhaps I had lost it when I went outside to get wood. I had to find it – the charm had kept me safe this far. I got to my feet, feeling slightly dizzy.

  Then I heard a little clinking sound and the sleek dashed past me out of the cave, dragging the cow charm with him. He stopped not far from the entrance. I was weak and couldn’t move very fast. When I was in reach of him and the charm, he ran off again. I followed, leaving my bag and blanket in Drip Cave.

&nb
sp; ‘Thief!’ I cried, as I stumbled down the hill after him.

  The sleek didn’t take the path. He scampered under the trees then crisscrossed his way down the steep slope, keeping a short distance ahead of me.

  When we got to the bottom, the ground was wet underfoot. I stopped and looked back up the hill, but I couldn’t see which way we had come. There was no sign of the Last house.

  The sleek stopped, too, and stared at me with shining eyes, as if he was daring me to come closer. I studied him warily. He had saved me with his warmth, but I was not going to follow him into the marshes – not after what the Last children had said. Still, I wanted Marlie’s charm. The sleek trotted on, casually, as if he didn’t care one way or the other.

  Then the charm got snagged on a bush. I saw my chance and grabbed it.

  ‘Got it!’

  I tied a knot in the leather thong and put the cow charm back around my neck. The sleek watched me with a blank expression on his sharp little face.

  I turned around, trying to decide whether it was worth trying to go back to Drip Cave for my things or whether I should just find the road and follow it back to the reed-boat.

  But it was too late to do either – not because it was getting dark, but because the Third Mist had arrived.

  THE GREEN MIST

  How to describe the Third Mist? It wasn’t like either of the mists before it. Long wisps settled like scarves over the low trees and shrubs nearby, then bits of it drifted towards me. It was green and seemed to be full of whispers. I caught snatches of conversation.

  ‘. . . listen . . . she’s just a gossip . . .’

  ‘. . . and that messy old shag’s nest . . . disgraceful . . .’

  The sleek flicked his ears as if he was trying to get the whispers out of them. I crouched down and listened.

  ‘. . . it’s just a rumour . . .’

  ‘. . . she was jealous . . .’

  Then the mist began whispering recipes.

  ‘Three parts bog water, one part swamp weed and one part bone meal . . .’

  ‘Swamp hags!’ I gasped. I clutched my hands to my chest and tried to calm myself. Maybe I was hearing things. I was weak from my time in Drip Cave. I may even have caught the sickness the stranger was carrying.

  ‘Add a drizzle of bogwort . . .’ said the mist.

  ‘Not bogwort. Bogwort is a recipe for disaster . . .’

  The mist seemed to be arguing with itself. I looked up. The hill had disappeared into green.

  ‘. . . no fool like an old fool . . .’ the mist whispered. Then it began laughing, a strange wispy sound.

  ‘Shhh, stay in the shallows . . .’ it sighed.

  The words made no sense.

  ‘I’m getting out of here,’ I told the sleek. I staggered back the way we had come – or the way I thought we had come. My leg was paining badly. The sleek followed me with his ears down. The gleam had left his eye and he had a hunched, frightened look. When the voices returned, he cringed.

  ‘. . . she’s a cheat . . . it’s become a mud-slinging match . . .’

  ‘. . . last time I was beaten by a whisper . . .’

  The green mist only lasted long enough for me to get truly lost. By late afternoon it had cleared and the only sounds were frogs, honking waterbirds and the occasional splash of a jumping fish. There was no path to follow and there were no hills in sight.

  Ahead were the burnt-out remains of a stilt hut. The ladder was gone and most of the walls had fallen away. A bird with black feathers was nesting inside the framework. It stretched its long neck and made a low croaking sound when I approached, then it flew up onto the roof and watched me pass with bright-green eyes.

  The ground underfoot was boggy, and every step was difficult.

  ‘I blame you, Sleek,’ I muttered.

  I tried to take notice of the direction of the sun. It would set in the west, and I knew I should be travelling that way, back towards solid ground. I faced the sun and limped on through the marsh. My shadow trailed behind me, long and wavering. It felt like something heavy, dragging me back.

  ‘I have to find somewhere dry to sleep,’ I told the sleek. ‘If I could find a tree with a low fork I could sleep in that.’

  The only trees in sight were on what looked like a small island, although it was hard to tell land from water. Everything was a shade of green.

  Suddenly the sleek raced ahead and dived in. He swam to the island and scrambled up the bank, turning to face me as if expecting me to follow.

  ‘That’s all very well, Sleek. It might be dry over there, but what’s the point if I have to swim?’ My clothes were still damp from the white mist. I didn’t want to get drenched.

  The sleek moved further along the bank, then he stepped out onto the water and walked towards me. He arrived some distance ahead, and I discovered he had used a narrow walkway that was just under the surface. It was made of twigs. I stepped onto it with caution, but it took my weight.

  The island was surprisingly dry. It even had a little path leading up into the trees.

  Things were looking up. ‘Thank you, Marlie,’ I said and touched the cow charm.

  Suddenly a rope pulled tight around my ankle, and in a second the world was upside down. Something popped inside my leg. I screamed, and the sleek did, too.

  My feet were in the sky and my head was facing the marshes. I struggled to look up and saw there was a noose around my foot – I was hanging from a tree, caught in a snare. A fiery pain tore through my leg. It was excruciating. The charm fell over my head and landed on the ground with a plop.

  The noose looked as though it was made of sinew rather than rope. Probably part of some lost child, I thought. A Morrow.

  The sleek stared up at me as if waiting for directions.

  ‘There’s nothing to be done,’ I wailed. ‘Go. Get away.’

  He scampered back down the path and dived into the water.

  I swung from the tree. The blood was pulsing in my head, and the pain in my leg settled into a deep ache that spread through all of me. Would the swamp hags come for me today, or in the morning, or would I be left hanging for days? I wondered what sort of medicine they would make out of me.

  I waited for it to get dark. Let the hags come sooner rather than later, I thought, and the tears ran down my forehead into my hair.

  I must have fainted, because the sleek woke me with a clicking sound. He was on the ground below me and he had a very long tuber in his mouth. He stood on his hind legs and reached up. He was trying to feed me, but I was too high above him.

  ‘Bad luck, Sleek,’ I cried. ‘It’s no use. Just go. Go back to wherever you came from.’

  My tears dripped onto the sleek. He shook himself and sat down. He ate the tuber with a wet crunching sound, then he curled up and went to sleep. When the moon rose and shone on his reddish coat he looked like a small fire burning beneath me.

  I hung upside down as the stars moved over the sky. My leg went numb. When I heard a voice I thought I was dreaming – either that, or the green mist had returned.

  ‘Lily? You can’t fool me. Own up and I’ll let you down.’

  A light was moving across the water. I heard panting and the slosh of heavy footsteps on the walkway.

  ‘Lily!’ the voice insisted.

  Someone was moving towards me – a strange lumpy-shaped figure that seemed to have things growing from it. I smelled smoke and fish and herbs.

  ‘This’ll teach you to come snooping around . . .’

  It was a woman’s voice. As she came closer I saw that the light came from a burning branch she held. The sleek shrieked and fanned out his red tail.

  ‘Scat!’ she yelled, throwing a handful of mud at him.

  The sleek ran off, and the burning branch came closer. I closed my eyes rather than look into the face of a swamp hag.

  THE SWAMP HAG

  ‘It’s not Lily,’ she cried. ‘Damn! Hold this.’

  The swamp hag thrust the flaming torch into my hands and dis
appeared out of the light. Then – ‘Ow! Ow! Ow!’ – I was lowered to the ground in a series of painful jerks.

  ‘Surely you’re not a Morrow,’ she said. ‘Even a Morrow would not be foolish enough to wander into the marshes. You’re lucky you got caught in my snare. If you hadn’t, you would have been lost.’

  She took back the torch and peered into my face. ‘Swamp waif,’ she decided. ‘Not a Morrow. One green eye and one brown. You’re of mixed breed.’

  The swamp hag loosened the rope around my ankle and squatted beside me to examine my leg. ‘Infected puncture wound,’ she gasped. ‘The snare didn’t do this. Well, not all of it. Razor-vine? Snide bite? Or perhaps you were staked?’ She put both hands around my foot and gave my leg a short, sharp tug. I screamed as the pain shot threw my body.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘It had to be done. Your leg’s broken, and if I don’t straighten it the bones won’t knit. Hold this.’

  Again she handed me the torch. I watched her out of the corner of my eye. The lumpy shape of her was actually a garment – a shaggy old coat. It was full of bulging pockets. Bunches of leaves sprouted from several places, and a vine was growing from under her collar. A bundle of sticks poked out of one sleeve.

  ‘Now, what have I got on me?’ she asked, patting herself up and down. ‘It’s hard to remember where I put things.’ She opened the coat, revealing more pockets on the inside. ‘Bindweed must be freshly harvested. I don’t carry it. But bogwort will help with the pain.’ She pulled out a handful of something and pressed it to my leg.

  Bogwort! I thought.

  ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ she replied. ‘A recipe for disaster.’

  I hadn’t spoken aloud.

  ‘Take no notice of things you hear,’ she muttered. ‘This place is full of lies and whispers.’ She took the torch out of my hands. ‘The wound really needs a swamp-balm poultice. Isn’t it always the way, how the very thing you need is the one you haven’t got?’