Song for a Scarlet Runner

by Julie Hunt

‘Siltboy is bargain boy?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘You were payment for the bargain your father made with the Siltman. And the same thing has happened to me.’

  ‘Your father made Siltman bargain?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Eadie did. She taught me the art of storytelling, but she tricked me. The only story she didn’t teach me was her own. She made the same sort of deal Pike did. The Siltman hid her spirit away here in the Ever so she could never die, and I was the payment.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘The Siltman told me. Eadie took me to Hub and that’s where he got me. Now Eadie is free and she will live forever, and I have ended up here, lost to the world.’

  ‘Not lost. Siltboy has found you. You will live forever just like your muck hag.’

  ‘She’s not a muck hag, she’s a marsh auntie. And I don’t want to live forever, Siltboy. I want to grow up and live my life.’

  Siltboy looked surprised, as if he had never imagined himself grown up.

  ‘I want to see Marlie and Wim again. I want to travel the world like the stranger. I don’t want to end up nine hundred years old and still be exactly the same.’

  Siltboy was quiet for a long time. He stood up and walked around the fort, then he squatted and began drawing in the dirt – four straight lines, and one that went across. He did it over and over again, as if he was trying to add something up in his mind, then he went to his hoard and, scooping up a handful of shells, he let them trickle through his fingers. He looked at his empty hand and closed it into a fist.

  ‘I will save you,’ he declared.

  ‘Save me?’

  ‘Upon my honour. I swear it.’ He put his hand on his heart. ‘Friendship is forged and a promise is made.’

  ‘But how can you save me? You’re trapped here just like me.’

  ‘Where is your luck?’ he asked.

  ‘What luck?’

  ‘The charm your sister gave.’

  ‘I lost it along the way. Eadie tipped me upside down and it fell over my head.’

  ‘Where is your sleek?’

  ‘I don’t know. The last time I saw him was on the boat landing at Mother Moss’s.’

  ‘Say him to me,’ Siltboy ordered. ‘I will call him.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Tell him to me. Give me his looks.’

  ‘He’s reddish-brown and no bigger than a rabbit. His tail flares right out when he gets angry. His eyes are bright and shiny and he has sharp teeth.’

  Siltboy sat down and closed his eyes. He became very still.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I asked.

  ‘Silence. I need to blank my mind so I can hear.’

  Siltboy was quiet for so long that I thought he had gone to sleep, then he began twitching. His face grew narrow and he made a high-pitched cheeping noise that sounded just like the sleek. The look of him frightened me.

  ‘Siltboy, what are you doing? Wake up!’

  He opened his eyes and stared at me as if he had no idea who I was. Then his gaze cleared.

  ‘Sleek is fierce,’ he said. ‘I ask him to bring the luck, but he bites and spits.’

  ‘He’s always like that.’

  Siltboy hung his head, disappointed.

  ‘I don’t think the sleek could help me anyway, Siltboy. When the tide goes out I will try to go back the way I came.’

  He shook his head. ‘No way back, Peat. Not once you reach the Ever.’ He sighed and became still again. He closed his eyes and sniffed the air.

  ‘Is it the sleek?’ I asked. ‘Do you hear him?’

  ‘No. The Siltman calls,’ he said. ‘I must take you to the river mouth.’

  ‘I don’t want to go.’

  ‘No choice. Siltman is master. When he calls, Siltboy obeys.’

  He whistled, and when I closed my eyes I saw Shadow standing before us, with all the lights moving inside him.

  ‘You ride front,’ Siltboy said.

  I held the collar and put my leg over the ghost hound, and Siltboy climbed on behind.

  ‘Away!’ he said, and we swept towards the cliff. For a moment I thought we would go straight over, but when we reached the edge I saw there was a path cut into the face of the rock – a steep path that zigzagged to a stony beach far below.

  A strong wind blew off the sea and I held tight to the collar as we glided down the path. When we reached the bottom Shadow turned to the east and raced along the water’s edge, heading for the river mouth.

  The Siltman was sitting in front of an old hut that looked as if it would blow away at any moment. He was sifting silt, stopping now and then to pick out flakes of silver, which he put in a tin on the ground beside him. The dogs sat around him, watching, with their backs to the wind.

  He didn’t look up when we arrived, just gave a low whistle. The dogs surrounded me.

  ‘Inside,’ he commanded. The dogs herded me into the hut and the Siltman shut the door. ‘Stay!’ he said.

  Was he talking to me or the dogs?

  The hut was made of driftwood and bones. It had a tin fireplace that rattled in the wind. The walls inside were blackened by smoke, and the outside was bleached white. Sand banked against the hut and blew through the cracks. There was no floor, just sand and silt. The hut contained nothing but a shaggy grey mat that might have been a dog skin.

  I peered out through the cracks in the wall. Siltboy was by the Siltman’s side. He looked different from when we had been at the fort. Now he seemed smaller. If he had been a dog, his tail would have been between his legs and his ears would have been down.

  ‘Fetch water,’ the Siltman ordered, and the boy ran away immediately.

  ‘Useless child,’ the Siltman muttered, returning to his work. ‘Are you watching, Siltgirl? This will be your job soon.’

  ‘My name’s not Siltgirl. I don’t want the job.’

  The Siltman gave a wispy sort of laugh.

  I looked at the river, but I couldn’t see the other side. The tide was as high as it had been when Siltboy had found me, and that must have been hours ago.

  ‘If you are waiting for the tide to turn, you will wait forever,’ the Siltman said. ‘Tell me a story, Siltgirl.’

  When I didn’t reply, he sighed. It was a frightening sound – part breath, part growl.

  ‘You must learn to obey, Siltgirl. I have asked you twice. You will not refuse me a third time.’

  I was afraid he was going to ask me again, but then Siltboy returned, carrying water on his back in a skin bag. I wondered what it was made of – a goat bladder? Or perhaps it was the skin of a dead dog.

  ‘Give Siltgirl a drink, then feed her,’ the Siltman ordered.

  Siltboy poured some water into a tin can. He opened the door a crack and slipped it through, then he was gone again, hurrying along the beach. The sun was going down and the sky was streaked with pink and gold.

  The Siltman said nothing more to me. He whistled to himself, and when at last it was dark he walked off into the night, taking his dogs with him. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  The door of the hut wasn’t latched. I went outside and waited for Siltboy. Now that the Siltman had gone, the wind had dropped. A full moon rose over the sea, and the beach and the river were bathed in silver.

  THE WARRIOR’S WAY

  Siltboy gave me shellfish and seaweed for dinner. He didn’t eat anything himself – just sat inside the hut with his head in his hands.

  ‘Nine hundred winters and never a day like this one,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, Peat. There is two Siltboys – one bold-brazen, the other full of fright.’

  ‘Anyone would be scared of the Siltman,’ I said. ‘Even Eadie was scared of him. That’s why she hid in the marshes.’

  ‘Fear is not the warrior’s way,’ said Siltboy. ‘I have sworn an oath and I must keep it.’

  ‘Siltboy, I know you want to help me but it’s impossible. Even if you were brave enough to stand against the Siltman, there is no escape. The deal is done. The bargain
is complete.’

  ‘For shame.’ Siltboy stared at the ground. ‘I hang up my helmet.’

  ‘Where is Shadow?’ I asked.

  ‘Gone. Siltman has taken him.’

  ‘Will he come back?’

  ‘If he can. Shadow, like Siltboy, must obey.’ He gave a little moan. ‘What to do? The thoughts are clashing in the bonehouse of my head. It aches.’

  ‘I’m getting cold,’ I said. ‘Let’s light a fire.’

  We walked along the riverbank, collecting driftwood and small sticks. I set the fire in the little tin fireplace, and Siltboy took a flint from his pocket and lit it. The shaggy mat smelled like wet dog, but I lay down on it.

  ‘Yes, you must sleep,’ Siltboy said. ‘And I must quiet myself to make brave for the battle ahead.’

  ‘What battle? What are you talking about?’

  ‘I is foiled,’ he mumbled. ‘And deeply plexed.’

  My eyes were closing and sleep was coming over me when the air inside the hut changed and Siltboy clapped his hands.

  ‘Ah! My faithful hound! Shadow has come. Now we have a fighting chance!’

  I sat up and looked around. I couldn’t see Shadow in the dark, but I could feel his presence, and when I shut my eyes I saw a vague shape sitting next to the fire. His outline was weak and there weren’t many lights flickering inside him. I lay back down and listened to the waves crashing on the shore.

  I didn’t sleep much that night in the Siltman’s hut. Siltboy was restless. He groaned and sighed, and he paced up and down. Once or twice he went outside to get more wood for the fire. He muttered and cursed to himself, then when he finally fell asleep, he ducked and weaved as if he was dodging blows. And all the time he talked in his sleep. I couldn’t make sense of what he said, but it sounded like he was having an argument.

  During the night the wind grew stronger. It whistled through the walls of the hut, and I thought the Siltman had come back. I sat up and there was Siltboy, wide awake, staring at me.

  ‘Such a clash and clamour,’ he cried. ‘But the wit-battle is won!’

  I stared at him blankly. Was this ancient boy completely mad?

  ‘Surely Peat heard the clatter and the cry?’

  ‘No. Just the wind and the waves. Although you did talk in your sleep.’

  Whatever really happened must have taken place between his ears alone.

  ‘All night Siltboy braved his head-hoard of thoughts,’ he said. ‘All night he riddled with it, and fought.’

  I had no idea what he was talking about.

  ‘Victory is near!’ he cried.

  He was very excited – but how could victory be near when we were both lost, utterly and forever?

  ‘Come!’ he said. ‘I’ll show you the spoils.’

  ‘What spoils?’

  ‘The spoils of battle.’

  He opened the door of the hut and ran to the water’s edge, and I ran after him. When I had caught up, he squatted down and began drawing a map. He might have been plotting a course of action in battle. He raked his fingers through the wet sand, making long wavy lines, then he drew a cross on either side.

  ‘This is the Silver River,’ he said. ‘And them crosses is two worlds – one is the Ever and the other is the world beyond. Do you understand?’

  I nodded.

  He picked up a flat pebble.

  ‘This is you,’ he said. Then he took the stub of a candle from his pocket and, cupping his hand around it, lit the wick. ‘Do you know what this is?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘The marsh auntie’s flame – her spirit.’ He placed the candle on the Ever side of the river. ‘And this is the deed that is done: the marsh auntie’s spirit, safe put and hidden.’ He dug a little hole and placed the candle in it.

  ‘And here is the payment, Peat.’ He put the stone that was me near the candle, and he drew a circle around it. ‘There! All done and forever. The marsh auntie cannot die. But . . . here is the plan.’

  He stood up and walked around his map.

  ‘What if you put the bargain back to front?’ he asked. ‘What if you turn it round, and take back the deed that was done?’ He reached across and snatched the candle from its hiding-hole. ‘What do you think?’

  I wasn’t thinking anything. I didn’t understand his plan.

  ‘Steal it,’ he hissed. ‘Steal it back! Steal the marsh auntie’s flame.’

  He picked up the Peat pebble and he turned and threw it, skimming it across the surface of the Silver River – the real river, not the one on the map.

  ‘You is free!’ he cried. ‘Simple!’

  The stone bounced across the water seven times. Siltboy sat back on his heels, delighted with himself, and his ghost hound must have been delighted, too, because I could see his shadow careering around us in circles in the moonlight, his tail wagging madly.

  ‘That’s good, Siltboy,’ I said. ‘But we don’t know where the Siltman has hidden Eadie’s spirit. It could be anywhere.’

  Siltboy was crestfallen. He hadn’t thought of that. He hung his head for a moment, but when he looked up there was a wild light shining in his eyes.

  ‘Siltman will tell us!’ he cried.

  ‘Why would Siltman tell us that?’

  Siltboy looked slightly dazed, as if all this thinking had weakened him. ‘To turn back the bargain?’ It was more a question than a suggestion. ‘To get rid of Siltgirl?’

  ‘There’s nothing I could do to make the Siltman want to get rid of me. I can’t do anything to him.’

  ‘You could tell him a story. You have the craft of it.’

  ‘That’s what he wants. He wants me to tell him a story.’

  ‘Then do it.’ Siltboy stood up, triumphant. ‘But make it one he does not want.’

  I shook my head in confusion.

  ‘Brave yourself, Peat,’ said Siltboy. ‘Be trickful and cunning. Now we must rest.’

  We went back to the hut. Siltboy fell into a peaceful sleep, but I lay awake for a long time wondering what sort of story I could possibly tell the Siltman to make him want to get rid of me.

  SWOON

  The next morning I woke to bright sunlight and the sound of frenzied yelping. The door of the hut was open. The Siltman was there, his rags flapping. He was shading his face with his hand as he gazed up the river. Siltboy was with him, and the dogs were gone.

  ‘They are hunting, Siltgirl,’ the Siltman called, without looking in my direction. ‘They have caught the scent of something.’

  ‘I’m not Siltgirl. My name is Peat.’

  ‘Soon you will forget your old name,’ he said. ‘The dogs are turning. I can hear them.’

  I looked along the riverbank. The dogs were racing through the water, driving something in front of them – something small and red.

  ‘Sleek!’ I cried.

  He was heading in our direction, with the dogs on his tail, snapping and whining. He swerved and disappeared into a thicket of tussock grass on the riverbank. The dogs immediately had it surrounded.

  ‘Stop them!’ I screamed. ‘Call off your dogs.’

  ‘Why?’ the Siltman asked. ‘They love to hunt.’

  I turned to Siltboy. ‘You shouldn’t have called him!’

  Siltboy cringed.

  The sleek shot out of the tussocks. He flashed past me into the hut and I leapt in front of the dogs.

  ‘Siltman, stop them! Please!’

  The Siltman raised his hand. ‘Hold.’ He didn’t speak loudly, but the dogs stopped in their tracks. They looked towards him, quivering. If he lowered his hand or flicked his fingers they would be onto the sleek in a moment. They would tear him to pieces.

  ‘What will you give me?’ The Siltman stared in my direction with his peculiar eyes.

  ‘A story,’ I said. ‘I’ll give you a story.’

  I hoped the sleek might squeeze through a crack in the back wall of the hut or dig himself out. I had to give him time to escape.

  ‘Stories must be opened and closed,’
I said. I put my hand in my pocket and, to my surprise, something was there. It was the bottle of perfume Lily had given me in the marshes. I held it before me.

  ‘Once, long ago, there was a Siltman,’ I began. ‘He understood the language of birds and animals, and he travelled with a pack of hounds that were as big as horses. The dogs answered his every command.’

  The Siltman slowly lowered his hand and the dogs went to him and sat at his feet. He was listening. The story had better be good. What had Siltboy told me? To be trickful and cunning.

  ‘Every summer the Siltman travelled north and the dogs travelled with him. Every winter he returned to the mouth of the Silver River, by the sea. Then one day a girl arrived. Her name was Peat.’

  My heart was thumping in my chest. I had no idea how the story would go. I took a deep breath and continued.

  ‘Peat was a storyteller. She could tell a tale and make it come true. She had learned from a powerful teacher who was hundreds of years old – a teacher almost as old as the Siltman.’

  I tried to remember the rules Eadie had taught me. See the story in your mind; then the audience will see it, too.

  ‘Peat came from the world beyond.’

  I glanced at Siltboy. He was twisting the stranger’s thread between his fingers and staring at the Siltman with the same rapt attention as the dogs. The thread gave me an idea.

  ‘She was carrying a disease,’ I declared. ‘A deadly disease.’

  I was thinking what to say next when I heard a screech and the sleek jumped from the door of the hut onto my shoulder, knocking the bottle out of my hand. It landed on a rock and smashed, releasing a fine mist. The dogs were on their feet in a second, but the Siltman raised his hand.

  ‘Stay,’ he said. ‘Go on, Siltgirl.’

  The sleek hesitated for a moment before jumping from my shoulder onto the rocks behind me. I saw the white tip of his tail disappear into the dunes.

  When I turned back to the Siltman, I noticed a change had come over the dogs. They were no longer looking after the sleek or waiting for a command from the Siltman. They were gazing vaguely at the ground. The dog next to the Siltman put its head on his foot, and the one on the other side slumped against his legs. The air was filled with an acrid scent. It smelled a bit like ants.