Uki and the Outcasts

by Kieran Larwood

  ‘And Nox,’ said Uki. ‘Is he one of your … Endwatch?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Necripha, nodding a head to her grovelling servant. ‘I have spies and agents in every rabbit town throughout the whole Five Realms. It has taken me hundreds of years to build up my network. Every scrap of information about the Ancients gets fed back to me.’

  ‘Is that how you learnt about the crystal and the spirits?’

  Necripha shook her head. ‘No, that I sensed myself. And now I know why. This Iffrit and I share a link from the past. To think, all those years and he was so close to me, trapped underneath the ground. If that pesky one-eared rabbit and his family hadn’t weakened Gormalech so, he might never have been discovered.’

  ‘What one-eared rabbit? How did he weaken Gormalech?’ Uki kept on firing questions, trying to buy precious time. But a glint in Necripha’s eyes told him his ruse had been discovered.

  ‘So many questions,’ she said. ‘Trying to keep me talking until morning, is that it? Think I might turn to stone like a troll-rabbit from one of your fairytales?’

  ‘No,’ said Uki, desperate. ‘I just wanted to know. I just needed—’

  ‘Enough!’ Necripha snapped her fingers. Balto raised his dagger again, a spiteful smile spreading over his face.

  ‘Please,’ Uki started to cry. ‘You don’t have to …’

  ‘Oh, but we do, I’m afraid.’ Necripha stepped back, leaving room for Balto to do his work. ‘If that stupid spirit had just taken over your body, like I do with my vessels, he might have been able to pop himself out without too much damage. But he must have been too scared of hurting you. Scared and weak.’

  ‘He was kind,’ Uki said, wishing Iffrit was here now, or Jori or Kree. Anyone who could tell him what to do.

  ‘Well, his kindness has cost you dear, my patchwork friend. He can’t hear or see us, which means he isn’t coming out. Not until you’re dead, anyway.’

  ‘I like dead,’ said Balto. He grabbed Uki’s neck with one paw so he couldn’t struggle. All he could do was stare upwards, at Balto’s paw and the dagger it held, the hungry blade twinkling as it came closer, closer …

  INTERLUDE

  ‘You’re not going to stop there!’ Rue shouts.

  ‘Do you want more?’ asks the bard.

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Then that’s where I’ll stop. Lesson two hundred and eighty-five. I believe I mentioned it earlier.’

  ‘You said it was three hundred, actually,’ says Rue, with a huff. ‘But it’s only really lesson five or six.’

  ‘Every word I speak to you is a lesson,’ says the bard. ‘I hope you’re paying attention.’

  From somewhere near the bard’s toes comes the sound of Jaxom snoring. He had drifted off around the time Uki bought his new clothes.

  ‘Master?’ Rue peers down from his perch at the pile of blankets and ears below him. ‘That horrible Necripha … she won’t be at the tower we’re going to, will she?’

  The bard looks up at his scared eyes and realises he should perhaps have edited his story a little, this close to bedtime. He reaches out a paw to pat Rue’s shoulder. ‘Her? No. I’m sure it’ll all turn out to be a false alarm. Some woodcutters got lost and camped there, or something. I just want to see for myself, to make sure.’

  Rue continues peering. ‘But the Endwatch must still be around, or you wouldn’t need a Foxguard to look out for them.’

  Sometimes the bard forgets how sharp his new apprentice is. He tugs his beard for a moment before replying. ‘We never really knew all that much about them. What you’ve just heard in the story – that was pretty much all we ever learnt. After … well, you’ll find out after what, we were never really sure exactly how many of them there were, where they were hiding … The Foxguard was formed to keep an eye out. Just in case they tried to come back. And to keep certain things safe …’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘Never you mind.’ The bard rolls over, nudging Jaxom’s feet out of his face. ‘Time for sleep now, little one.’

  ‘Hang on,’ says Rue, making the bard groan. ‘I don’t understand. Why do the Foxguard have to be so secret? If the Endwatch really are gone, why all the dice and codes and things?’

  ‘Because,’ says the bard, ‘we don’t want them to know we are watching. If they knew we were looking for them, then they’d be hiding even more. This way, if they’re still around, they will hopefully slip up. Then we can catch them.’

  ‘One more question,’ says Rue, pretending not to hear the bard curse. ‘If the Foxguard are so secret, how do you get members? How does anyone know that there’s an Endwatch to guard against?’

  ‘From the stories, of course,’ says the bard. ‘Every time the tale of Uki is told, rabbits learn about the Endwatch. That’s one of the reasons stories exist: they have very, very long memories. And sometimes, after a telling, the bard will spot a rabbit who asks the right questions or shows the right attitude. Then they take them aside for a quiet word, and maybe make them part of the order.’

  ‘Are all bards part of the Foxguard, then?’

  ‘Not all,’ says the bard. ‘But quite a few. And yes – before you ask – you can be a member, too. I’ll give you some dice in the morning.’

  Rue, who had indeed been about to ask, squeals with delight, and is still smiling when he falls asleep a few moments later.

  *

  They rise early to find that Jaxom has been up before them and got his jerboas harnessed and ready. Gant gives them a quick breakfast of bilberry jam on thick slices of bread, before they set off north again. He has filled their packs with supplies, and even given them a little sparrow in a wooden cage, so they can send word when they need collecting.

  The cart travels much more quickly without its cargo of tartan bales, and they are soon whipping along the dirt track to Nether, bouncing this way and that as they rocket over potholes. There is a cold wind, blowing down from the mountains to the west, and there are no signs of any rabbits on the road. At one point they surprise a herd of wild jerboas, who go bounding off across the plains, as fast as lightning.

  Without the bales to sit on, the ride is very bumpy. Trying to speak without stammering or biting your tongue is very difficult, so there is no chance of any more storytelling. Instead, the bard and Rue stare out as the bleak landscape rolls by, Rue tightly clutching his new pouch of Foxguard dice.

  Just as afternoon is approaching, they spot a dark smudge on the horizon. It grows steadily, until they can make out a huge swathe of trees that must be Icebark Forest. An hour or so later and they come to a fork in the road. One branch heads towards the forest itself, the other turns east, along its edge.

  Jaxom hauls on the reins, stopping his jerboas. ‘This is as far as I can go,’ he says. ‘The road to the left goes into Icebark, the other to Nether. The best way to get to the tower, so I’ve heard, is to skirt the western edge of the forest. It’s in the Arukh foothills. You won’t be able to miss it – there’s nothing else there.’

  They jump down from the cart and the bard and Jaxom clasp wrists. ‘Be careful,’ Jaxom warns again. ‘No fires during the daytime, and if you do light one at night, make sure it’s small. And within the shelter of the forest. There can be Arukh scouts around this time of year.’ He smacks his paw with a fist. ‘I would go with you, but …’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ says the bard. ‘You have to make a living, I understand. We’ll be fine. And I’ll send the sparrow when we’re done.’

  Jaxom nods, his brow furrowed. Rue can tell he isn’t happy.

  ‘You look after this old one, Rue,’ he says, ruffling the little rabbit’s ears. ‘Don’t let him do anything stupid. You’re Foxguard now.’

  ‘Yes, sir!’ says Rue, giving his bag of dice a shake. Jaxom manages a smile before climbing up into his cart again. With a final warning to take care, he shakes the reins and is gone. Rue and the bard watch him until he is just a speck in the distance.

  ‘I’m sure we’ll be fine,’ says the
bard. ‘It’s just a stroll around the forest and back. Nothing out of the ordinary.’

  ‘Except for the tribes of bloodthirsty, savage rabbits,’ says Rue. ‘And maybe an evil order of villains led by a three-eyed monster.’

  The bard rolls his eyes and looks over to the mountains. Towering, cold, timeless slabs of rock draped in strings of mist. Could there be pairs of rabbit eyes up there, looking down on them now?

  ‘It is going to be fine, I promise,’ says the bard, more to himself than to Rue. ‘Even so, when we get back to Thornwood, best not mention all this to your parents, eh?’

  *

  They march to the forest edge and begin making their way along it. Whatever road there was soon vanishes, and they have a tough time picking their way between clumps of brambles and tufty tussocks of coarse grass. Before they know it, dusk begins to fall and they are still nowhere near the foothills that hide the tower.

  ‘We haven’t got very far,’ says Rue. ‘And it’s getting dark now.’ He is carrying the sparrow in its tiny cage. It sits on its perch with its feathers puffed up, giving sad little cheeps every now and then.

  ‘Thank you for pointing out those incredibly obvious facts,’ says the bard. He is beginning to wish he had left this task up to another agent. ‘I suppose we had better camp for the night.’

  They both turn to stare at the forest. It looks very brambly, with lots of dark, unpleasant shadows between the white trunks of the trees. The beds in Pebblewic, even the kitchen floor of Gant’s shop, seem very appealing right now.

  ‘Come on, then,’ says the bard. He takes Rue’s paw and gives it a squeeze. ‘Let’s just go a little way in and build a fire to warm ourselves.’

  ‘Just a little way in,’ says Rue. He gulps.

  *

  Half an hour later, and the bard is leaning on his staff and breathing heavily. He has been whacking at brambles and prickly gorse bushes for quite a long time, trying to make enough space to sit down, let alone build a camp. Rue and the sparrow are looking on, keeping as quiet as possible.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Rue says, wincing, ‘Perhaps there’s a path somewhere? One that leads in amongst the trees?’

  ‘Path? Path?’ The bard waves his staff in the air, scattering broken bramble leaves and bits of twig everywhere. ‘If there was a path, why would I be spending five hours hacking through the thickest patch of thorn bushes in the universe? Just for fun? Or perhaps because I’ve decided to take up bramble beating as a hobby?’

  ‘I was just saying,’ mutters Rue. The sparrow gives a sad cheep in reply.

  ‘Good evening.’ A voice comes from the bushes behind them, making both Rue and the bard shriek in surprise.

  ‘W-who’s there?’ calls the bard. They both scan the scrub with terrified eyes but can’t spot the voice’s owner anywhere.

  ‘I was wondering,’ says the voice. ‘If either of you would fancy a game of fox paw?’

  ‘Oh, thank Clarion’s codpiece,’ says the bard, leaning on his staff again and panting for breath. ‘I nearly had a heart attack.’

  ‘Fox paw?’ says Rue, and then realises what the mystery speaker means. ‘Ooh! I do! I do! I’ve got the dice! Look!’

  The bushes rustle and a grey-cloaked figure steps out. It picks its way between the brambles, then reaches up to remove its hood. Rue looks up at an elderly she-rabbit with smoke-grey fur, marked by several scars. She has a white patch on her nose and piercing grey eyes, deep set under furrowed brows. Beneath her cloak she wears patched and battered leather armour, and a sword hangs at her belt along with … a silver-topped flask.

  Rue stares at her face again, taking in the tattered, torn ears. When she holds a paw out in greeting, he notices she is missing one finger, and another is wrapped in a bandage. She is as old as the bard, maybe older, and so scarred and worn. But the sword, the flask – can it be?

  ‘Jori!’ cries the bard, rushing over to hug her.

  ‘Pook,’ she says, squeezing him back. ‘It’s good to see you.’

  ‘You too,’ says the bard. ‘I was beginning to think I’d made a mistake coming out here on my own. How did you know to meet us?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Jori says. ‘I was in the twin cities when Nikku’s sparrow arrived. I came straight here. I’d just made camp in the forest for the night, when I heard the most incredible noise. Smashing and crashing, shouting and yelling. I came to see who or what was being killed and found you two.’

  The bard looks a bit sheepish for a moment, trying to hide the broken-down brambles behind his back. ‘Um …’ he says. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to look at the tower yet? To see if the rumours are true?’

  ‘Not yet,’ says Jori. ‘I was going to sleep in the forest for the night, then investigate tomorrow. You’re welcome to join me.’

  ‘Yes please,’ say Rue and the bard together.

  ‘This way,’ says Jori. ‘There’s a clear path straight into the forest just over here. I’ve no idea why you were trying to thrash your way through those bushes.’

  Rue opens his mouth to say something, but the look on the bard’s face makes him snap it shut again. Relieved beyond measure, they follow Jori into the depths of Icebark.

  *

  ‘An apprentice, eh?’ says Jori, after being introduced to Rue. ‘And the youngest member of the Foxguard ever. I’m impressed.’ Rue puffs out his chest, making the bard give a proud, secret smile.

  She has made a neat little camp, with a small fire already burning in a deep pit, lined with stones. A wall of lashed-together branches blocks the whole thing off from sight, making them almost invisible. A pot hangs over the firepit, with spicy vegetable stew bubbling away inside.

  ‘I’m learning tales for my memory warren,’ says Rue. ‘And going on dangerous adventures. I’m going to be the High Bard’s champion one day.’

  ‘Don’t get ahead of yourself,’ says the bard. ‘And less of the “dangerous adventures”. I’m taking very good care of you. Just like a responsible master should.’

  ‘Well,’ says Rue. ‘Not really. You got us captured by bonedancers and nearly killed. Then we camped out overnight in Arukh territory. And here we are, in the middle of a forest, heading for an evil tower of doom.’

  The bard gives a nervous laugh at Jori’s surprised expression. ‘Very good, Rue. Exaggerating danger, just like I taught you. Good use of your imagination.’

  ‘Do his parents know about all this?’ Jori asks. ‘Or the Council of Bards? Aren’t there rules for looking after an apprentice?’

  ‘Look,’ says the bard, ‘it’s fine. He’s never been in any real trouble. Except perhaps for a few minutes ago. But you’re here now. We couldn’t be safer.’

  ‘I suppose,’ says Jori, stirring the stew. Rue notices she is missing a finger from her other paw as well.

  ‘So tell me,’ says the bard. ‘What have you been up to all these years?’

  ‘This and that,’ Jori says. ‘I worked as a bodyguard for Clan Sheth for a few years. Did some sellsword work in Enderby, fighting and soldiering for money. I had a pirate ship running out of Chillwater. That was fun until the Emperor’s navy sank it.’

  ‘What happened to your paws?’ Rue asks. ‘And your ears?’

  ‘Rue!’ snaps the bard. ‘That’s none of your business!’

  Jori holds her scarred paws out in front of her, giving a bitter half-smile. ‘It’s all right. I suppose I do look quite shocking these days. This, little one, is what happens when you use dusk potion for too long. First, your toes fall off, then your fingers and ears. No dusk wraith has ever survived as long as me, so I’ve no idea what will drop off next.’

  The bard nods at the flask on Jori’s belt. ‘Do you still … fight with the potion?’ he asks.

  ‘As little as possible,’ says Jori. ‘And I have found ways to make the mixture weaker over the years. Probably how I’ve survived so long.’

  Rue stares at the silver-topped flask, wondering why anybody would want to drink something that would mak
e their bits drop off. Then again, the power of the potion had probably saved her life a few times. It made him think of the story, of how Uki had been captured.

  ‘I’ve been hearing about your adventures,’ he says. ‘Uki and you and Kree.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ says Jori. ‘Is your master making a good job of it?’

  ‘Very,’ says Rue. ‘And I knew someone from the tale would pop up in real life. It kept happening when he was telling me about Podkin.’

  ‘Perhaps the words are calling them,’ the bard says, his eyes lost in the crackling flames of the fire. ‘They have a strange magic, you know.’

  ‘Or perhaps,’ says Jori, ‘the story isn’t finished yet.’

  She shares a troubled look with the bard, and Rue knows somehow that they are talking about the tower. The thought makes him shiver.

  ‘Well,’ says Jori, breaking the tension, ‘seeing as we have some food and a fire, perhaps your master should continue? I’d love to hear about my old friends again.’

  ‘Yes!’ says Rue. ‘Yes, please!’

  ‘Very well,’ says the bard. ‘But no interrupting to correct me, Jori.’

  ‘I shall be the perfect audience,’ Jori smiles. ‘As long as you make me look good.’

  ‘That,’ says the bard, ‘may be beyond even my powers …’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  To the Rescue

  Uki held his breath.

  He could feel the dagger’s blade along the edge of his scalp, a sharp slice of pain that he knew was just the start of something much, much worse.

  His face was inches away from Balto’s. He could smell his stale breath, see the spark of horrible excitement lighting up his dull eyes. He looked like he was going to really enjoy what came next.

  Goddess help me, Uki prayed. Mother always believed in you and she was never wrong. Please, save me.