by Julie Hunt
There was silence. I hoped Eadie couldn’t hear me in the dark. My thoughts were racing as I tried to make sense of the conversation. I sneaked a look at her. She had lit her pipe and was leaning against the oven, gazing out over the river.
I lay awake for a long time. Eventually the sleek came and curled up against me. After that, I slept.
THREADMOSS
I woke the next morning to the sound of Mother Moss humming as she worked. She had a dun-coloured cow tied up outside the hut, and she was carrying a bucket. I saw that the cow’s udder hung low to the ground and I was up on my sticks in an instant.
‘Can I help, Mother Moss? I’m used to cows.’
‘Be my guest,’ she said. ‘Only watch she doesn’t step on your leg. Sometimes she can be a little silly with strangers.’
But Cara didn’t find me strange. She gave me a gentle nudge and let me sit with my stiff leg sticking straight out under her. As I milked her, Mother Moss was busy at the oven, taking out loaves of bread with a long flat paddle. I must have been fast asleep when she’d put them in.
‘Thank you, Peat. That’s a big help,’ she said as she put the loaves on the bench. ‘The bread boat is coming early today, and I was wondering how I was going to get through the work.’
The smell of the hot bread made my mouth water.
‘Go inside and get yourself some breakfast.’ Mother Moss waved her hand towards the hut. ‘But first, if you wouldn’t mind, could you take Cara out the back and let her go? She grazes on the slopes behind the hut.’
I did as Mother Moss asked. Inside, I found a loaf of warm bread on the table, along with a slab of butter and a huge pot of honey. Apart from on the buns last night, I had only eaten honey once before, when Wim had brought some to the Overhang as a special treat. It was a tiny jar, and Marlie and I had made it last for a whole month.
I spread the honey thickly and sank my teeth into it with a sigh. If only Marlie could share this, I thought. It was as delicious as the marsh cake I had eaten in Eadie’s hide.
Where is Eadie? I asked myself. Has she had breakfast?
I thought she might have gone off into the forest collecting herbs, but when I looked outside I saw that the reed-boat was no longer tied to the landing.
‘Mother Moss, have you seen Eadie?’
Mother Moss was stacking loaves of bread into a big cane basket. ‘I haven’t, Peat,’ she replied. ‘Let’s hope she’s gone back to the marshes. If she has, you are welcome to stay here with me.’
I helped Mother Moss fill the basket, and when she brought two more out of the hut, I smiled and helped her fill those as well. It was good to be working.
‘Did you have enough to eat?’ she asked.
‘Thank you, Mother Moss. Your bread and butter and honey is marvellous. Do you make cheese as well?’
‘I would if I had time,’ Mother Moss said.
‘Marlie and I made cheese,’ I told her. ‘We had seven cows, but none of them gave as much milk as Cara, even after the stranger came. They used to only give a tiny bit of milk, but after he came they gave a lot more.’
‘Did you have a favourite?’ Mother Moss asked.
‘Oh yes, Bella was my best cow. I really miss her.’
My chest felt tight. I was about to tell Mother Moss how I missed Marlie as well, and how worried I was about her, when a wooden boat with two men in it drew up to the landing.
‘Goodness,’ said Mother Moss. ‘They’re here already!’
‘Ahoy, Mother. Got yourself a helper!’ one man called cheerfully as he tied up the boat.
The other jumped ashore and came up to collect the baskets. ‘The people of Hub are waiting for this,’ he told me. ‘It’s the best bread south of the Western Plains. In fact, there’s no better bread in the world – perhaps in all the worlds.’
His friend unloaded some sacks and carried them up to the hut. ‘Wheat and rye, Moss. The miller said it’s excellent flour.’
‘Thanks, Mother,’ called the other man as the last basket of bread was loaded. ‘See you tomorrow!’
I watched them row the boat upstream. Mother Moss sat on a box next to the oven and wiped her brow.
‘Phew!’ she said. ‘Sometimes I think I’m getting too old for all this work.’
‘I’ll help you,’ I said.
She smiled and stood up. ‘Let’s wipe out the bread tins and clean up the bench, Peat. Once we’ve done that and swept up inside, we’ll be ready for a cup of tea!’
Eadie returned at midday. She hadn’t left for the marshes after all. She had been to Hub. I was sorry to see her – I’d been having a good time with Mother Moss and I wished I could stay.
‘It’s all organised,’ she said. ‘There hasn’t been a telling in Hub for a long time, and people are eager to hear us. You will tell first, Peat, and I will follow. We’ll perform in a place called the Undercavern.’
‘No, you won’t!’ Mother Moss didn’t even bother to speak in the western tongue.
Eadie ignored her. ‘Let’s get rid of the mud cast, Peat,’ she said. She undid the bindweed and gently knocked along the length of my leg with a rock until the cast fell open. I stood up without my sticks.
‘You’re as good as new!’ she said. ‘Try it out.’
I walked down the path to the landing. My leg felt fine. I could hardly believe it had been broken. The sleek followed me, but raced ahead when he saw a boat coming around the bend in the river.
‘Look!’ A shout went up. ‘A reed craft!’
The man rowing steered the boat to the landing. ‘Does that belong to a marsh auntie?’ he called.
I nodded.
‘Praise the skies! We need her help.’
He tied up his boat, and a young woman climbed out. She was carrying a child whose head was wrapped in a bloodstained cloth. The man put his arm around the woman and they hurried towards Eadie. A boy followed, leading an old man.
‘What happened to him?’ Eadie asked as Mother Moss led them all into her hut.
‘We were cutting wood and a branch fell on him,’ the old man said.
Eadie gently removed the cloth and blood gushed from a wound on the crown of the child’s head. She pulled what looked like a mass of tangled hair from one of her coat pockets.
‘Threadmoss,’ she said. ‘I’ve had it in my coat for years and have never had the chance to use it.’
She pressed it to the wound and the bleeding soon stopped. The boy whimpered in his mother’s arms. His eyes were closed and his face was deathly pale. Blue bruises were coming out on his forehead.
‘Thank you,’ cried the woman. ‘You’re saving him.’ She pressed her lips to the boy’s cheek. ‘You’ll be all right, little one. The lady is helping you.’
Eadie reached into another pocket and pulled out two dried twigs.
‘Mother Moss, would you make tea from these? Boondock for the shock and Rockroot to steady him.’
‘We are lucky to have found you,’ the man said. ‘There are so few marsh aunties about these days.’
When Mother Moss had made the tea and sweetened it with honey, Eadie pulled a long stem from under her collar.
‘Marsh reed,’ she said. ‘It’s hollow. If he drinks through this he will take in the strength of the marshes.’
The boy’s mother held the reed to the child’s lips, and to my surprise he sucked greedily. As he did, the colour returned to his face.
‘He will live,’ said Eadie. ‘But just to be sure, I will check with the help of Wiltweed.’ She took a withered sprig from inside her coat and held it over the boy’s head. I watched in amazement as the limp plant became fresh and green once more.
Eadie smiled broadly. ‘Let him sleep. He’s out of danger.’
‘Thank you, Auntie. May time repay you a hundredfold.’ The old man reached out and touched Eadie’s sleeve. ‘Do you live here?’ he asked.
‘No. My apprentice and I are just passing through. We’re going to Hub.’
‘Ah!’ The old man cl
asped his hands. ‘The place where the worlds meet!’
‘We are storytellers, and we will be performing there.’ ‘Perhaps you will tell us a story?’
Eadie reached into her coat and took out the story pouch. She handed it to me.
‘My waif will tell you a tale,’ she said.
I took the sunflower seeds from the pouch.
‘No,’ Eadie said. ‘Tell the Siltman story. That’s the one you need to practise.’
I took out the bent nail and held it up, uncertain of how to begin.
‘There was once a warrior . . .’ Eadie prompted.
‘His name was Pike,’ I said. ‘And he was afraid of nothing. Every night he dreamed of fighting, and every morning he woke with the battle light shining in his eyes.’
Eadie nodded encouragement. The sleek came and sat beside me, his chin resting on my leg.
‘Pike’s enemy was a giant called Scabbard, who lived in a sea cave at the bottom of a cliff.’
I tried to remember what Eadie had told me; to see the story in my mind so the audience would see it, too. I didn’t know if I’d seen it all, but when I put the nail back into the pouch the family applauded loudly, and the injured boy woke up and said he was hungry.
HUB
The family thanked Eadie again, and they thanked me for the story, then they rowed away as the light was fading.
‘You will stay another night,’ Mother Moss said to Eadie. ‘We need to talk.’
‘You’ve seen what I can do,’ Eadie replied. ‘What’s there to say?’
Mother Moss shook her head. ‘It’s not such a bad thing to grow old and die, Eadie. It happens to all of us.’
‘But not to me,’ said Eadie.
Once again I kept my head down. The sleek arched his back, making high whining sounds as if he was trying to block out what was being said. When he jumped onto the bread bench and knocked down some bread tins, Mother Moss stood up.
‘Let’s eat,’ she said, and she served us a dinner of bread and fish, and gave me some honey and milk.
Eadie said little during the meal. She moved the food around on her plate.
‘What you’re doing is not right,’ Mother Moss said. ‘And you know it, Eadie.’
Eadie didn’t reply.
‘Promise me you’ll reconsider,’ Mother Moss pleaded. ‘All right,’ Eadie answered. ‘I’ll sleep on it and decide in the morning.’
I went to bed next to the warm oven. The sleek sat on my chest but he was wide awake and his tail swished from side to side, almost as though he was guarding me. The sounds of the night were all around – frogs, night birds, insects buzzing, water slapping against the landing. Mother Moss and Eadie were talking inside the hut, and after some time their voices grew loud, angry. The river rushed past and I could hear the wind blowing through the leaves of the woe tree – a low moaning sound. For a moment I thought I heard the stranger’s voice, in the same low tone.
Go, he said. Go now.
I put my hand on the stranger’s thread around my neck.
Go where? I wondered.
Go low, he said. Hide.
I was just getting up to hide among the trees at the edge of the clearing when Eadie rushed out of the hut.
‘We’re going,’ she hissed. She pulled me to my feet and the sleek leapt away.
‘I want to say goodbye to Mother Moss.’
‘No,’ said Eadie, hurrying me towards the landing. I dug in my heels, but she was much stronger than me.
‘What were you and Mother Moss talking about?’ I cried.
‘That’s none of your business.’ She picked me up and threw me over her shoulder and the cow charm slipped over my head.
‘Put me down!’ I yelled.
‘Shut up. You’re my apprentice and you’ll do as I say!’
‘I’m not your apprentice!’
She threw me into the reed-boat and jumped in behind me, then she pushed us away from the shore and began paddling hard. I looked back towards the hut and there was the sleek, on the edge of the landing. He made a trilling sound that ended in a whimper. I held out my arms to him.
‘Come on, Sleek,’ I cried. But he didn’t follow.
‘He’ll catch up,’ Eadie muttered. She paddled steadily, and I kept quiet.
The journey to Hub probably only took a couple of hours, but so much went through my mind that it seemed much longer. I should have stayed in Drip Cave and waited for Amos Last to come back for me. I should never have wandered into the marshes. I should never have let Eadie take me away from the other marsh aunties. I wished I was with Marlie and Wim . . .
‘Be quiet,’ Eadie snapped. ‘I don’t want to hear another thought out of you! This is as hard for me as it is for you.’
She gave a panting sort of sob. She was paddling hard, and the river was narrow and fast. I kept looking behind, hoping to see the sleek swimming after us, but the water was dark and there was no sign of him. I thought about jumping in and swimming back to Mother Moss.
‘Don’t!’ Eadie cried. ‘The river is dangerous. Trust me. Everything will be all right once we get to Hub. I’ll tell you a story with a happy ending.’
I lay curled up in the bottom of the craft and tried not to think. Lights began to appear above. At first I thought they were stars coming out, but it was Hub – the lights of Hub, twinkling high above like glow beetles. I could hear the sound of a waterfall.
I sat up as Eadie steered the boat into a narrow gorge with tall, steep sides. She paddled close to the edge, where the current was slower. There were boats on the river and I could make out houses in the dark. They were built into the cliffs and they seemed to be heaped on top of each other. Now and then I saw people going past on a walkway that ran along the base of the cliff. They were carrying burning torches. The sound of the waterfall grew louder.
We had to dodge boats tied to platforms jutting out from the shore. They were flat wooden boats and they had huts on them with lights inside the windows. There were tall boats, too, and they made clinking sounds as they rocked about on the water. Some had bright ribbons tied to their masts. Our reed-boat was tiny beside them. I heard snatches of laughter and a man singing in a deep voice – something about a river rolling to the sea. As we passed I listened to the words: ‘Where the river meets the sea . . . you’ll meet your destineeee.’
What’s that? I thought.
‘It’s where you end up,’ said Eadie. ‘Your destiny – your destination.’
She wasn’t angry anymore.
‘Auntie!’ Someone shouted above the noise of the waterfall and threw a rope from the shore. Eadie caught it. ‘Welcome, Auntie! We’ve been waiting for you. Are you performing tonight?’
Eadie put down her paddle as the reed-boat was pulled in.
‘No,’ she called back. ‘My waif is tired. She needs to rest. We’ll tell the stories in the morning.’
A long pole with a hook at the end came out of the darkness. Eadie attached it to the boat and we were towed along the edge of the river. The water was choppy and the current so strong it would have been impossible to paddle against it. The roaring grew louder as the pole dragged us further upstream and, although the gorge was dark, there was a dull glow in the sky up ahead.
I had been scared when Eadie was paddling, but now I was petrified – I felt we were being dragged into the heart of something bigger than both of us. The noise was deafening. I cried out in alarm.
‘Where are they taking us?’
Eadie didn’t hear. She leaned forward, staring ahead.
We came around a corner and I was dazzled by a shock of thundering white water. The gorge ended in a waterfall. There was light behind it – a powerful light that turned everything into bright, swirling turbulence. Our reed-boat bobbed around like a cork on the end of the pole and we were covered in spray. Surely they’re not going to drag us any closer, I thought.
‘They’ll tow us in behind the Waterwall,’ Eadie shouted. ‘The night markets are there, in the Great Hall. Be
neath that is the Undercavern and all the tunnels and waterways of Lower Hub.’
As we came nearer I saw a cavern behind the waterfall – a great archway that gaped like an open mouth. The white curtain of water was cascading over it.
Eadie pointed upwards. ‘The river is fed by a huge lake, and there’s a lookout beyond that. From the lookout you can see a hundred roads and rivers leading in every direction, and they are only the ones above ground.’ She was obviously excited to have arrived in Hub.
I didn’t allow myself clear thoughts, but somewhere at the back of my mind I knew that if I was going to escape, this was my moment. I didn’t dare jump into the wild water, though. Instead, I held tight to the sides of the reed-boat as it slipped behind the waterfall and passed a group of people standing inside the entranceway. It came to rest in a shallow pool. The roar of the water was replaced by the roar of a huge crowd.
‘The night markets!’ Eadie yelled.
Lamps hung from the roof of the cavern. I smelled smoke and fish oil and burning fat. People were hurrying between rows of market stalls carrying all sorts of things – boxes of vegetables, chickens in wooden crates, trays of little clay cups stacked in towers. A boy ran past with his arms full of silver balls, a stack of bright plates on his head. A man completely covered in birds was blowing a whistle and waving his arms as if he was trying to fly. There were more people and more things in this one moment and place than I had ever seen before in my life. Everyone was talking and yelling at once. It was almost too much to take in, but I had to keep my wits about me if I was to get away.
Eadie grabbed my wrist with one hand and, leaning over the side of the boat, scooped up some white clay with the other. She smeared it across my face, covering my forehead and both cheeks.
‘To make you shine in the lights. Everyone must know who you are.’
People rushed towards us, greeting Eadie and touching me on the head, helping me ashore.
‘It is our good luck to have a story waif in Hub,’ they said. ‘We’ll all come to hear her.’
Eadie grasped my hand and led me through the markets. As the crowd parted for us, I realised that the moment when I could have got away had passed.
